#I can be clever. sometimes. not all the time. not even close. but sometimes.

[egginfroggin]

*smacc*

It's ya boi. Major character death.

Emmet's fine, he's just a wee lil bit dead, that's all. Nothing some therapy won't help.

So I've had like no inspiration last long enough to really finish an illustration, so instead I'm trying to embrace the sketchy half-finished look.

Also, highlighter brush, beloved.

Have a good day! :>

(Program: Krita; time taken: about 1 hr. 40 minutes)

[freebooter4ever]

What do you miss most about Pittsburgh?

Oh gosh, that's a question! I mean aside from the obvious answer of my old dance buddy lettia or naeem.

I miss pittsburgh's community, specifically the very music and art oriented one i was in. There's community here in LA but its all about fame, and money, and celebrity, and how you can use other people to get ahead. Just the other day i saw an influencer i actually kinda admired brag about meeting someone who out of respect for them + their privacy i have never never mentioned because i met them as a friend first. And it felt so weird seeing this person i know be used as click bait for the influencer's hits/likes/subscriptions. It kind of jolted some reality into me about how this city operates even in the smaller circles i run in. Its like the vibes in LA are all about 'being someone' and self importance. If someone is only going to respect me for my money (or disrespect me for my lack of money), or who i know, or credits to my name, i dont think i want their respect anyway.

Pittsburgh though - nobody was anybody in pittsburgh so we didnt fucking care, lol. It was a lot easier to go to things, to feel connected. There was an emphasis on diy, where it didnt matter who you were or who you knew if you had a good idea there was a chance it could happen. There were things like Art All Night and the various music festivals in the different neighborhoods. I was most connected to the music scene so i miss the casual afternoon concerts in someone's tiny apartment with everyone crowded around the band. The basement parties, the dancing. Ted's rowhouse was on fisk street so when i lived there with friends i really enjoyed how much of a community space it was - people were always coming and going off of butler street, movie nights, human chess parties. It definitely could feel too small sometimes - literally everybody knew everyone and everybody dated everyone. The year i left two of my ex boyfriends were living in the same house and i cant tell you the number of 'male harem' jokes i got about that one. Or the number of times a dude wanted to date me and when i said 'no' i immediately got excluded from an entire friend group. But no matter how frustrating the smallness got, i still was also aware of how special it was. Its also mostly over - a lot of my friends from that time have since dispersed to other cities. I think moments like that are fleeting, but thats what makes them unique.

But even with all that said, you know what my favorite thing to do in pittsburgh was?

Driving

and ok ok that probably sounds stupid. And it probably does not help that im in LA where driving is now the second level of hell. But even compared to seattle or nyc or other places i lived, driving in pittsburgh was just so much fun and you cant recreate that anywhere else. I once saw a data visualization of the main cities of the US and places like LA and even NYC were nicely laid out squares but pittsburgh was just this insane clusterfuck pencil scribble, and thats truly it. Cause not only do you have over 100 bridges and lots of one way roads that will funnel you onto a bridge you absolutely dont want to go over but whoops guess you're going anyway, but this city was also built on a cluster of hills. Thats what makes up the various neighborhoods - and the roads that connect these hills through hollows and over forests - are the most confusing rat maze you can imagine. For every one way to go there's also probably a dozen other options and mentally calculating which route will be fastest taking into account traffic and distance and 'speed limit' is a skill only acquired after years of living in the city. And if you have a tiny car and nasc*ar level driving skills thanks to the multiple generations of engineers in your family....driving up and down those hills is just a joy. It also, uh, helped that I made my own hours so worked from 11am - 3am most days and avoided all traffic. And in the city proper the pigs arent allowed to r*adar so as long as you knew where the speed traps were you could...uhhh... Be lenient. I only ever got pulled over once and that was because one time in the spring of 2016 i went home from work early one night and these asshole hockey fans were taking up the entire street around the rink that would get me onto bigelow and connect me to lawrenceville. And since i couldnt go down that one street, becaues its pittsburgh, i had to go in the complete opposite direction to find another route home which took like an extra fifteen minutes. And yeah i got pulled over, started crying and explaining i was just trying to get home from work, and they let me go. But damn those hockey fans. :P (but also had i realized you could go hangout outside and watch the hockey game on giant screens with a huge crowd of fellow broke but dedicated weirdos, i totally would have loved that. Thats what pittsburgh is all about lmao)

Anyway one of my old friends moved from pitt to LA, and then he moved from LA to shanghai. And i once asked him would he move back to LA and his response was that he couldn't imagine living in LA again after living in a Proper City like shanghai. And he made it clear that he saw being able to 'make it' in larger and larger cities as like...a mark of his personal progress. But me? Im a small town girl unfortunately. I still dream about the day i can fuck off to live in a cabin in the woods somewhere.

[yanderedrabbles]

What's the worst thing Yan Military Contractor has ever done to the reader?

Yandere! Military Contractor

The very worst? Now that's tough competition. He's fucked you raw so many times that afterwards you can only curl up and whimper, legs aching so bad you can't stand. He's bitten you so hard that he's left a scar of his teeth on your thigh. He's bent your arm so very far up your back that on bad days your shoulder still aches. He's done anal without any prep or lube.

But the very worst? That happened on the day you almost escaped.

He likes to humour you. Likes letting you try and get away, just to drag you back at the last second. Likes the way you fight so much harder when freedom is so very close. But he never once entertained the thought of you actually succeeding.

You're too damn clever sometimes. Too smart for your own good.

You planned your escape carefully this time. Waited for a rainy day when he'd have trouble hearing your footsteps and seeing your tracks. Managed to make a mess in his armory and get out of a second story window when he was distracted counting his guns. And then you ran.

You saw a tree out on your forced walks once. Thick oak with branches that just about reached over the fence. It would be a hard fall, but if you managed to not snap an ankle you'd be home free.

He almost found you. You were up in the branches, rain pelting you in thick sheets when he walked right under you. It was pure luck that you noticed him in time. Even without the noise of the rain to cover his footsteps, he was dead silent.

He looked pissed. But that wasn't what made your heart drop.

He had his gun with him. Not one of the rifles or shotguns. That might have almost been better. Those guns felt unreal, felt like something out of a movie. No, he was carrying his chrome .50 calibre Desert Eagle.

You hated that gun. It was the one he carried on him almost all the time, the one he had the day he took you. Huge, mean looking thing. 'One of the nastiest shots you'll ever see,' he told you once.

It was scratched with years of use. A soldier's gun. A killer's gun.

You fingers went numb on the branch before you had the courage to keep moving. You dropped down on the other side of the electric fence, landing bad. You smacked a hand over your mouth to stifle your yelp.

Staggered to your feet, holding onto the trees to take the pressure off your stinging ankles. You did it.

You actually fucking did it.

You were free. Actually, finally free. You half didn't believe it until you reached the end of the trees and open farm land stretched in front of you. The rain was so much worse without the trees to protect you, but you didn't care. An empty field of wheat had never looked so damn good.

"On your knees."

You froze. No. No.

"I said, get on your fucking knees!"

You sat so fast that you felt lightheaded.

He came to stand in front of you, blocked your view of the open land and your last chance to escape. He was scowling, hand gripping his gun so tight that veins were standing out on his forearm.

The rain was sheeting down around you, running past the grooves and catches of his pistol. You couldn't see his face through the rain, but you could feel his eyes. Raking down your body, burning.

He pointed the gun at you, cocked it. The metallic sound of it somehow the loudest thing you'd ever heard.

"Open your mouth."

"I'm sorry! Please just-"

"Open. Your. Mouth."

You did. He forced the barrel passed your lips, all the way to the back of your throat. Your teeth scraped the metal.

It tasted bitter. Iron, gunpowder. It tasted like your death.

His finger was on the trigger. One little twitch, one inopportune gag, and you were done.

"Suck it."

You did, crying so damn hard but terrified to make a sound.

"No," he snarled. "Suck it like you would a cock."

He grabbed your hair, yanked your head back. "Show me why I shouldn't kill you right here and now. Remind me exactly why I keep you around."

You sucked his gun like your life depended on it. Tongue out, drooling, like you weren't a hairs breadth from death. Looked up at him with rain and tears pouring down your face.

You must have given him one hell of a show. When you couldn't take it anymore, when you were shaking from the cold and your lips were turning blue around the metal, that's when he pulled out. One hand still in your hair, he pointed the gun at the sky and pulled the trigger. The gunshot echoed over the trees.

Fuck. You really did just have a loaded gun in your mouth.

He holstered it, grabbed your jaw with the hand that just held your death.

"Never again. Yeah?"

"Yeah."

[cashmoneyyysstuff]

i'm too proud to talk to you anyway !

synopsis : but if you do, don't you know, that i don't mind...

an. im pretty sure this is the first time ive ever written non bf katsuki/ non childhood friend suki ever...im going thru withdrawal eugh...n e wayss! i thought this was a cute silly concept and i hope i did well ! hope yall enjoy :3

cw. nothing i think ! fluff, forced proximity i think ? katsuki's a potty mouth but..it's katsuki, reader is a sweetie, reader says thank you and sorry a lot so i mightve been projecting a bit sorry twins lolol :P, katsuki is referred to as bkg and it hurts my heart..like thats my man we aint casual </3 katsuki is lowkey pining but unaware and in denial, reader is in the bksquad ! lmk if i missed sum else !

shit, shit, shit. you were this close.

you pant and groan in annoyance, seeing your train about to depart just as you arrived at the terminal.

shit, you knew you shouldn't have slept in !

you loved taking this train because it never got too full. sure, there were always people commuting early but you had the luxury of not being squished to death in a train that, by the time you got to school, resembled a can of sardines.

you could make it, you were a hero-in-training ! you'd built up your stamina for moments like this...probably ! definitely !

so you continue running with all your strength, you don't think you'd ever run this fast just to catch a train in your life, but you remember what happened to kaminari when he ended up late during mr. aizawa's morning class and you'd rather not have to run extra laps.

so you run, and before you can reach for the doors, an arm stops them from closing just in time for you to jump in.

thanking everything that was holy, you jump in ready, to profusely thank your saviour. but you stop short when you realise who had saved you.

one of your classmates, bakugou katsuki.

"oh." you can't stop yourself from releasing the sound when you see him, but manage to fix your face and offer him a smile.

bakugou squints at you, scoffing before looking away.

well, you'd expected something like this.

you didn't talk to bakugou much. you'd always found him and his quirk amazing, especially during training, and he was actually a really good sparring partner. he took you seriously and he was more clever then you thought he was.(with the way he was always rushing into fights head first)

he also gave you a semblance of advice one time, at least you think so...there was definitely some type of advice hidden in between all that cursing.

but he was objectively quite the asshole.

the only reason you even started hanging out was because kirishima liked to invite him to hang out with you all during lunch. sometimes he tagged along, and sometimes he told him to fuck off. but kirishima always being determined and naturally friendly never stopped asking him. you assume that's why he'd been coming along with you guys more often now. guess nobody could resist the boy's manly charm.

and yeah, he was a dick. but you had to admit his quips and his back and forth with sero was pretty funny. the problem was that you have a feeling he doesn't like you. you specifically, for a reason you're unaware of.

you'd never been rude to him, not even teasing him as much as the rest of your friend group did (watching him blow up was always funnier anyway) but despite that it just seemed like he couldn't tolerate being around you for some reason. he always keeps his responses short and snippy, never even looking your way when you tried to strike conversation.

kirishima had told you once he was probably "just awkward, he's just that kinda guy ! maybe he's just too shy talk to you !" which you highly doubted but decided to keep your mouth shut.

you won't force conversation with him, you had no obligation to. but you do feel thankful that he hadn't let you embarrass yourself. and you really wanna thank him.

it takes you a few minutes to catch your breath, and three stops to find the courage to actually talk to him. but before you can open your mouth again, a huge group of people storm into the train, leaving you to gasp in surprise.

what the hell ? there aren't supposed to be so many people here, at least not in your sacred train !! what was going on ?!

to your utter dismay and irritation, you're being pushed and shoved around for other people to claim their places, growing more annoyed at the people shoving and insisting their was space and telling others to "please move along!"

"fucking hell..." you mutter, irritated.

"could fuckin' say that again."

you look up to see bakugou looking ahead at nothing. his scowl is ever present, if not harsher, and he grunts when he feels someone shove his shoulder, shoving them back with a growl. must be nice having balls of steel.

"oh, woops. sorry.." you apologise, trying your very best not to press up against him too much. despite the train crowding more and more.

"whatever. just stop squirming."

"it's not like i'm doing it on purpose !" you hiss defensively. bakugou rolls his eyes, but remains quiet.

you feel an arm in you rib and instinctively lean away, thus closer to bakugou. his eyes flit down towards you, but again, he says nothing.

"ugh—uhm, thank you—for this morning." you whisper, you're close enough where you're sure he can hear you. "you really saved me back there." you joke.

bakugou doesn't miss a beat, looking down at you with an eyebrow raised "yeah well. guess i felt nice for a change and didn't want you to embarrass yourself, running after the train like an idiot."

your face warms and you furrow your brows 'i was gonna make it."

he huffs out a laugh, you think this is the first time you've seen him do anything but frown. "sure, keep telling yourself that."

suddenly, the train comes to an abrupt halt. causing passengers to exclaim and jolt around, one such passenger bumps against you, shoving you forward. you trip, landing straight against bakugou's chest. your nose hurts as soon as you make contact. you'd seen how ripped this guy was, but was he genuinely made out of fucking stone ?!

your eyes snap open when an arm—his arm, wraps around your shoulder to stabilise you, he mutters curses under his breath towards the train constructor. he smells nice. you brace yourself against his chest.

"watch it, dumbass." he warns lowly. his voice quivers just a bit, like he's holding something back.

"...sorry. my bad." you squeak. the next time the train comes to a halt, you practically jump away from each other, avoiding looking each other in the eye while still being forced so close. you do notice the way that bakugou's arm stays behind your shoulder just a little bit longer. you notice but pretend you don't. looking up at him through the corner of your eye you see the way his jaw is set tight. you quickly look away.

(you don't notice him looking at you.)

after a certain stop, the train finally empties out. you take a deep breath, giving bakugou one last glance before finding a free spot to sit and finally relax your shoulders.

you jump when bakugou sits in the spot beside yours. there weren't that many left open, but there were definitely still way more free spots away from you.

"thanks, again." you mutter, avoiding eye contact.

bakugou grits his teeth, groaning like you saying those words pained him. or irritated him (or both.)

"stop thanking me, just didn't wanna get knocked over. fuckin' bastards fell limp like a stack of dominoes.."

his response makes you snorts unexpectedly, "yeah, it's usually not this full."

"s'cus the previous train got cancelled. somethin' about an accident." your classmate explains.

you blink in surprise, was bakugou—your most explosive antisocial classmate—actually having a genuine conversation with you ?!

and suddenly you can't think of anything else to say besides "oh, makes sense."

"well, anyway...even if you didn't mean to, i'm glad. means i won't have to get crucified by mr. aizawa for being late.."

bakugou scoffs, but it sounds almost like a disguised laugh.

the announcer calls for the next stop, two more stops and you'll get off.

then, a lightbulb.

"oh, hey. i didn't know you took this train too ! i've never seen you."

bakugou doesn't look at you, squinting at himself through the opposite window, his leg bounces.

"usually sit in the front."

you raise an eyebrow "what made you come to the back ?"

"q-quit questioning me, dammit ! your ass should be grateful i was even in the back so you didn't fuckin' slice your hand off !"

now this was more like the bakugou you were familiar with, and for some reason this puts you at ease. you laugh at his defensiveness, and bakugou visibly un-tenses. he leans back and rests his head into his palm, muttering about you being "so damn weird..."

you manage to arrive to school without any further hiccups. and despite bakugou not actively making conversation with you, his strides almost match yours, like he wants you to catch up to him. and even though he barely gives you a nod when you wave at him later in between classes, you feel like you've gotten closer to him somehow. anyway, you're just glad to know he doesn't despise you.

when kirishima invites him to hang out during lunch today and you and your other friends wait for a response from him, some of your friends egging him on, you catch the way his eyes meet yours before he reluctantly agrees, calling your friends "fuckin' clingy".

he sits next to you during lunch.

kaminari whines about it, saying something about how he stole his spot.

"you snooze you fuckin' lose, dunce face." bakugou quips, causing your table to laugh.

unbeknownst to you, bakugou wonders why he'd decided to agree to hang out with you all more and more often lately. you and your lame ass friends had become a constant nuisance in his life. especially you.

ever since he'd noticed you, really noticed you and your strength when you'd paired up with him during training, you'd always been hanging in the back of his mind. your voice was always the first one he heard in crowds, your face was always the one he just so happened to look for see first, and your stupid perfume seemed to cling to him everywhere he went, ultimately always leading him to you.

shit, you were really fucking annoying.

unbeknownst to you, bakugou wonders why he decided to sit in the back as well.

cashmoneyyystuff © 2025. hey, this is my stuff ! please don't copy or modify it, that's very weird and lame and i'll cry. if you want to take inspiration from one of my works, just let me know or mention me in your post <3

( taglist ! )

@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

[theskywithin]

💫🪞 Juno in the Houses 💌🕊️

Juno in the houses is about the kind of love that leaves a fingerprint on the soul, the vows we make without speaking, the lessons we keep meeting in every mirror.

If you liked this post, I’m offering 50% off full birth chart readings for the month of May — just $25 / 25€. DM me to book 💌

JUNO IN THE 1ST HOUSE

There’s a mirror welded into the skin with this placement. A silent expectation stitched into your spine: If you love me, I’ll exist. Juno in the 1st doesn’t just seek partnership, it becomes it. Your body turns into a question you’re asking others to answer. Do I belong in this form? Do I deserve to be chosen? In this life, the soul carries the imprint of being defined through the eyes of someone else. The first glance. The first promise. The first wound of being misunderstood. You may fall in love with those who reflect you too well or not at all, constantly orbiting the tension between merging and mattering. But the real vow isn’t to another person. It’s to yourself. To stand still inside your own image. To not flinch when love arrives. To not shapeshift in order to be touched. Juno here asks: Can you commit to being seen as you are, even before someone sees you? Can you stay with yourself long enough to know the difference between recognition and projection? This placement is about re-entering your own body, and calling it home.

JUNO IN THE 2ND HOUSE

Here, Juno moves like a seamstress. She threads her needle through your skin, stitches your worth into the lining of everything you touch, velvet glances, half-sipped silence, the weight of a wrist pressed into someone else’s palm. Love becomes cloth. Tangible. Measured in texture. You don’t just want to be chosen, you want to be kept. Wrapped in. Handled like something rare. But the pattern is old. You carry a memory of being appraised, not adored. Cherished for your function, not your form. And so you tighten your laces. Reinforce your hems. Offer yourself like a tailored coat: Will I warm you enough? Will I fit the shape you need? There is grief, sometimes, in how easily you offer comfort. And in how few ever ask what it costs you. But the soul’s promise isn’t to remain wearable. It’s to no longer confuse usefulness with love. To stop shrinking into garments that were never cut for your shape. You are not a fabric for others to wrap around their emptiness. You are the original thread. The heirloom pattern. The velvet of being that softens with time, not loss. And one day, love will come not to claim you, but to sit quietly beside you, palms open, asking nothing. Because the vow has changed. You no longer offer yourself to be used. You offer yourself to be known.

JUNO IN THE 3RD HOUSE

Juno here is a secret letter folded into the lining of your voice. It’s the vow you try to speak without knowing the language yet, the one you’ve been rewriting since childhood, every time someone interrupted you, misunderstood you, or loved you only for the version of you that kept quiet. Love, in this house, is made of syllables. Of late-night sentences braided with fear. Of conversations that begin with honesty and end with translation, you say truth, they hear threat. This placement carries the ache of being split between words and meaning. You learned early to speak carefully. To listen harder than anyone else in the room. To shapeshift into the dialect of the one you adored, mirroring their cadence, adjusting your tone, rewriting your truth to stay close. But your soul didn’t come here to echo. It came here to name. To speak not just to be understood, but to be real. And so, Juno in the 3rd doesn’t ask for a partner who’s clever. It asks for one who listens between the lines. Who hears the tremble behind your metaphors. Who doesn’t correct your grammar when your grief slips out mid-sentence. The vow isn’t just to communicate. It’s to unlearn all the ways you made yourself more palatable in love. It’s to stop translating your truth for someone else’s comfort. Because when you finally speak in your own accent, the one shaped by all your contradictions, the right one will answer without asking you to explain.

JUNO IN THE 4TH HOUSE

Juno here is not in the room. She’s in the walls. She’s the creak in the floorboard no one else hears, the chill that moves through the house when memory passes by. She’s the promise the soul made long before this life began: I will never build a home on fault lines again. There’s an inheritance in this placement, not of blood, but of blueprint. Somewhere along the lineage, love meant survival. Affection came with conditions. Safety arrived with silence. So now, you hold your breath around people who say “forever,” wondering if they’ve ever seen a foundation crack from the inside out. Love touches the most hidden part of you here. The part that flinches at softness. That rearranges the furniture of your heart whenever someone gets too close. That longs to be known but locks the door before anyone can knock. Juno in the 4th teaches that intimacy is not about history, it’s about shelter. Not about origin but return. The partner your soul remembers isn’t the one who lights a candle in your hallway. It’s the one who brings kindling to the storm. Who sits with you in the basement of your being, where the ghosts of childhood still whisper, and doesn’t tell you to be quiet. The vow here is not to create a perfect home. It’s to stop abandoning yourself in the name of keeping someone else warm. Because your heart was a house long before anyone asked to move in. And now, you remember: the light was always coming from inside.

JUNO IN THE 5TH HOUSE

Juno here lives in the orchard. She tastes like fruit warmed by the afternoon, like something that ripens just from being looked at gently. Love, to you, is a sensory thing, not romantic, not grand. Just the slow touch of presence. Just two mouths learning how to speak joy again. But there’s an old wound under this sweetness. A past-life ache that says: If I let myself feel too much, they’ll leave. If I shine too brightly, they’ll get burned. If I fall in love with the moment, it won’t last. And so, sometimes, you pull back when joy gets too close. You interrupt your own laughter. You brace for absence before the hand ever lets go. Juno in the 5th carries a deep knowing: love is not supposed to be a task. It’s supposed to be a dance. A delight. A sacred kind of silliness. And yet you may choose partners who tighten when they should loosen. Who intellectualize what was meant to be tasted. Who touch you like a concept, not a body. The vow isn’t to create beauty. It’s to become it without shame. To trust that joy can be an anchor, that presence can be a promise, that love can feel like honey, not hunger. When you stop questioning whether pleasure is safe you’ll find someone who doesn’t just walk with you through the orchard, but bites into the fruit beside you. Unafraid of the sweetness. Unbothered by the mess.

JUNO IN THE 6TH HOUSE

Juno in the 6th doesn’t speak in declarations. She moves through the day like a whisper in the spine, folding towels, refilling the glass, asking how you slept. Here, love is not a feeling. It’s a rhythm. A way of staying. But this placement carries the weight of past lives where devotion turned into duty. Where care was transactional. Where love meant overgiving, overfunctioning, outlasting your own body’s limits. So now, you may serve in silence. You may love through effort. You may fall for those who need fixing, mending, translating, as if love were a job you’re not allowed to quit. There is exhaustion here, if you’re not careful, a subtle erosion of self in the name of reliability. But Juno in the 6th is not about self-sacrifice. It’s about sacred calibration. About finding someone who doesn’t just show up on the good days but knows how to meet you inside the mess. Who doesn’t romanticize your strength but recognizes when you're running on reserves. The vow is simple, but profound: to stop proving your love by breaking your back. To let care be mutual, mundane, miraculous. To let someone hold the weight with you, not hand it back with thanks. Love here isn’t loud. It’s the dish still warm in the oven. The chair turned slightly toward yours. The kind of presence that doesn’t ask to be praised, only returned.

JUNO IN THE 7TH HOUSE

Juno in the 7th doesn’t just sit across the table. She becomes the table. The room. The atmosphere between two people when something holy and uncomfortable is being exchanged, not words, not vows, but recognition. There is a strange gravity here. A psychic pull toward the one who sees too much, too soon. The one who looks at you and accidentally unlocks an entire cathedral of memories. The one whose presence makes your own reflection unbearable or beautiful. This placement carries the memory of eye contact that changed you. Past-life entanglements. Silent contracts. Lessons in love that were taught through mirrors, not mouths. And so now, love arrives through the shape of the Other, the one who makes you real. The one who makes you recoil. The one who brings you back to yourself, over and over, whether you want to come back or not. Juno in the 7th is not asking for a partner. She’s asking for a witness. Someone who doesn’t leave when the projection shatters. Someone who understands that sometimes, the deepest intimacy is holding up the mirror and staying while the other one breaks. The vow here is to stop chasing balance. To stop confusing agreement with connection. To stop splitting yourself into halves just to be held. Because the real vow isn’t made to another person, it’s made in their presence, to finally see yourself clearly and not look away.

JUNO IN THE 8TH HOUSE

Juno in the 8th doesn’t make promises, she makes offerings. A name left at the river’s edge. A heartbeat surrendered in the dark. This is not love as a feeling. It’s love as initiation. There’s something ancient here. A soul-memory of bonds that went too deep, or not deep enough. Of giving yourself like an open wound and being devoured instead of held. Of learning, too young or in another life, that love could be a burial and yet still returning to the grave with flowers. This placement doesn’t want surface connection. It wants the bones of you. It wants to know what you look like without your coping mechanisms. It wants the version of you that cries without explanation and trusts that you won’t be left for it. You may find yourself drawn to those who awaken your grief, not to suffer, but to remember. To finally tend to the places inside you that intimacy abandoned. To stop guarding the vault and invite someone into the ruins. But the vow isn’t to fuse. It’s to undress, psychologically, spiritually, emotionally. To be naked in front of another soul and still choose to live. To no longer fear that love will end you and to know that if it does, it will be the death of who you aren’t. This is the house where love becomes a ritual of shedding. Where trust means letting someone walk with you into your own underworld and not asking them to save you. Because the ones who stay won’t just see your shadows. They’ll hand you the candle.

JUNO IN THE 9TH HOUSE

Juno in the 9th doesn’t knock on the door. She waits at the edge of the known world, lantern in hand, whispering promises through the wind. She is not the partner you recognize, she’s the one your bones remember before your mind catches up. Not a soulmate. A soul-echo. This placement hums with distance, not just physical, but existential. You may love those who live in other countries, other timelines, other states of becoming. Or those who remain slightly out of reach, suspended just above understanding, beautiful, untouchable, like a cathedral half-lit in fog. The ache here is not just for union. It’s for expansion. For someone whose eyes widen your cosmos. For the kind of intimacy that cracks open a hidden room in your psyche and lets the stars walk in. But this kind of love can also leave you untethered. You may mistake projection for prophecy. Wander from one profound connection to another, collecting revelations instead of roots. You may love through altitude, never quite descending, never quite staying. The vow here is to believe, not in another person, but in the version of you that emerges in their presence. The one who says too much. The one who loves without proof. The one who isn’t afraid to be foolish in the name of something vast and real. Juno in the 9th is the soul’s promise to trust the pull to follow the strange compass of chemistry and knowing, even when there is no map. Even when it takes you to the edge of your comfort and leaves you there with open hands. Because the kind of love you came here for? It doesn’t ask for certainty. It asks for faith.

JUNO IN THE 10TH HOUSE

Juno in the 10th stands on the roof at midnight. Not to be admired, but to be held up by something other than the ground. There’s a chill to this placement, not unfeeling, but exposed. Like a bell tower catching every echo. Like someone who learned, long ago, that love would come only after achievement. After proof. There’s a soul-memory here of being chosen for what you did, not who you were. Of being honored, but never known. So now, the heart builds scaffolding instead of sanctuary. You learn to love through accomplishment. You offer your competence like a gift wrapped in silence. But inside that posture is a softer vow, waiting. To not be turned into a role. To not become the version of yourself that earns admiration at the cost of intimacy. You may be drawn to partners who appear strong, composed, impressive, but love you only from a distance. From a pedestal. From behind a mask of mutual functionality. The connection is real, but the tenderness gets lost in translation. Because Juno in the 10th isn’t looking for status. She’s looking for witness. For the one who sees you when you’re off-script. Who knows how to stay when the world turns its back. Who walks into the room not to applaud but to kneel. The vow here is to stop proving. To let love come without an audience. To learn that being trusted is not the same as being seen. Because the most powerful thing you will ever do is take off the armor while someone’s watching.

JUNO IN THE 11TH HOUSE

Juno in the 11th doesn't fall in love. She drifts toward it like a signal broadcast across lifetimes, hoping the right frequency hears her hum. This isn’t romance. This is recognition from the outskirts. This is two souls orbiting the same forgotten dream, and realizing, mid-spin, they’ve met before, not in body, but in vision. You carry the memory of being alone in a crowd. Of belonging to a movement, but not a person. Of being celebrated for your ideas but starved for intimacy. So now, love feels safer when it’s abstract. When it has room to breathe. When it doesn’t ask for skin-to-skin closeness but soul-to-soul resonance. You may fall for minds before bodies. For friendships that slowly shape-shift. For those who carry a glint of the impossible in their eyes like they remember the same lost utopia you do, even if they never say it aloud. But the risk here isn’t distance. It’s dissociation. It’s confusing connection with concept. It’s mistaking collective love for personal touch, and forgetting that even the most cosmic bonds need warmth to survive. The vow is not to disappear into the dream. It’s to come back to earth with someone who holds the same sky in their chest. To learn that loyalty isn’t about ideology, it’s about presence. About knowing someone could choose anyone and still shows up, again and again, for you. Because in the end, Juno in the 11th isn’t looking for a crowd. She’s looking for the one who finds you in the static. Tunes in. And stays.

JUNO IN THE 12TH HOUSE

Juno in the 12th doesn’t wear a ring. She wears a shadow. She wraps herself around your aura like a forgotten melody, the kind that haunts you, even if you can’t place where you first heard it. This placement is not about partnership. It’s about surrender. About the kind of love that lives in the spaces between moments, the glance that lingers, the dream that repeats, the silence that doesn’t need to be filled. You may carry the imprint of hidden love. Of devotion unspoken. Of soul contracts that were broken before they could be named and so now, love feels like a riddle you can’t quite solve. You fall for ghosts. For feelings that arrive before their source. For people who slip through your fingers but remain lodged in your spirit. There is grief here, but also grace. Juno in the 12th asks: Can you love without possession? Can you stay open when no one is promising to stay? Can you believe in a bond you may never fully explain? The danger, of course, is vanishing. Becoming the dream instead of the dreamer. Waiting in the silence so long that you forget your own name. But the vow, the real vow, is not to lose yourself in love. It’s to trust that what’s real doesn’t always have a form. That the heart knows what language cannot hold. That even the invisible can be intimate. One day, someone will love you without needing to find you. And you will realize that you were never lost. Just hidden, until now, in the space where the soul whispers yes.

✨ Want to go deeper into the language of the soul? My book The Sky Within is a poetic guide to decoding the birth chart, now available on Amazon and all digital platforms.

[fortunxa]

── .✦ H E A D C A N O N #2

boobs, ass, or thighs kind of girl?

#cw. Jinx x fem!reader (established relationship), needy!Jinx, fluff & mild angst, smut drabble bonus (thigh riding/humping). mdni .ᐟ.ᐟ

Jinx masterlist ⭑.ᐟ

Jinx is 100% a thighs kind of girl.

There’s something about them that undoes her. The strength hidden under soft skin, the way they shift when you walk, the way they flex when you sit. She notices every little detail without even meaning to.

Any excuse to get her hands—or herself—on them, she’s taking it.

Sitting? She’s dropping into your lap without even asking, one leg thrown over yours, draped casually like you’re a chair made just for her. “Best seat in the house,” she’ll murmur, proud and smug, her arms thrown around your neck like she’s claiming territory. She’ll bounce a little, wriggle around until she’s perfectly molded against you, then settle there like she’s got no plans of moving for the next six hours. “Perfect fit.” Bonus if she’s working on something. She’ll plop down with a huff, clever hands already busy. “Shh, stay still. You’re part of the workbench now.” She will then lean back with a satisfied hum, her back pressing against your chest, occasionally wiping grease, paint, or ink onto your clothes without thinking.

Sitting next to each other? Her palm is already sliding over your thigh like it belongs there (it does). She’ll grip it casually, thumb drawing lazy circles, or drum an absentminded beat only she can hear. “Mine,” she’ll whisper sometimes, not even looking at you, her fingers squeezing a little tighter like she’s making sure you know it, too. No matter where you are, no matter who’s around—her hands always remember where to land. Obviously loves it when you throw your legs over her lap.

Standing? That doesn’t stop her either. She’s sidling up close, hands trailing down your sides until she can squeeze the tops of your thighs, humming low in her throat like she’s found treasure.

If you’re wearing anything even slightly revealing? Good luck. She’ll whistle low under her breath the moment she sees you, dragging her gaze slowly. “Holy shit,” she’ll mutter, leaning in close, “You tryna kill me? ‘Cause it’s workin’. Dead. Done. Bury me between those thighs. Tell ‘em it’s what I would’ve wanted.” You’ll catch her eyes flicking downward mid-conversation, lingering just a second too long before she grins, all teeth and bad intentions. Half the time she doesn’t even realize she’s holding her breath watching you.

Laying between your thighs is one of her favorite things in the entire world, though. The way your legs bracket her body, caging her in, keeping her close and protected—it makes her feel invincible and small all at once. When she’s between them, she’s in no hurry to move. She’ll sprawl out on her stomach, arms hooked lazily around your leg, chin propped on your thigh as she peers up at you with that lopsided grin that always spells trouble. “Hope you weren’t planning on goin’ anywhere,” she’ll chuckle, slow and sticky sweet. “’Cause you’re stuck with me now, sugarplum. Whole lotta legs, not nearly enough me on ‘em.” She absolutely loves using your thighs as a pillow.

And gods forbid you run your fingers through her hair while she’s there. She’ll melt instantly—slack-jawed, eyes fluttering shut, a soft whimper slipping out before she can catch it. She’ll cling harder, pulling herself deeper between your legs like she’s trying to crawl inside your skin and stay there forever.

But when she misses you—really misses you—Jinx gets different.

It doesn’t take much—a bad dream, a rough night, a few hours too long without hearing your voice—and suddenly, she’s at your door, jittery and restless like she’s been pacing for hours, her smile stretched too tight, her laugh too high. She doesn’t even say hello, just collides with you before dropping to her knees with no grace or pride, arms around your hips, face pressed into your stomach. “Told myself I was fine,” she mumbles, voice cracking. “Lied right through my damn teeth.”

And before you can even process it, she’s climbing into your lap, straddling your thigh, pressing against you like she’s afraid you’ll vanish if she lets go. Her hands are frantic and everywhere at once like she’s trying to memorize you all over again. Then she starts moving—small, desperate rocks of her hips against you, chasing comfort, chasing anything that feels real.

Her breath catches in her throat, a soft, broken moan escaping before she even realizes it. “Fuck, baby…” she whimpers, forehead pressing hard against your shoulder, “missed you. Missed you so bad, it’s stupid. Thought maybe… thought maybe you—” Her face nuzzles into the crook of your neck, hot, desperate little gasps brushing your skin as she rocks harder and faster like she’s trying to grind the fear, hurt, and longing right out of her body. “Please…” she whines, barely audible, her rhythm messy and uneven. “Please, baby, lemme—lemme have this, just need it, need you. Swear I’m gonna lose my fuckin’ mind—”

Boobs? Sure, she’ll tease. She’ll squeeze, nudge, and make ridiculous comments. “Whatcha hidin’ under there, huh?” she’ll snicker as her hands snake under your shirt, not caring if it earns her a swat to the arm or an eye-roll.

Ass? Appreciated. She’ll throw a few playful smacks your way, maybe get caught staring once or twice when you walk ahead of her or if she’s following you up a staircase, but it’s a casual kind of want—background noise to her real obsession.

Thighs, though? Thighs are personal. They make her greedy. They make her ache in a way that jokes can’t cover up. That’s where her hands stop playing and start holding. “Gimme a minute,” she’ll mutter, half-draped across your lap, forehead pressed against your thigh like it’s the only solid thing left in her spinning little universe. “Or… y’know. The rest of the night.”

It’s the altar she’s absolutely willing to pray at. It’s the place she lays her head on, the place she rocks her body against, the place she clings to.

🩵 fanart bonus by @gloomycattoo !!

— dividers by @omi-resources !!

‘don’t mention thigh riding/humping’ challenge, go! (spoiler: i lost. i’m clearly very normal about it 👍)

[lovingmayday]

i am a firm believer that suo hayato is a YEARNER and a tease. he has the mask that helps him stay grounded and rational but he just can't help but lose his mind around you. his ability to conceal it just makes him more sly.

he finds every casual reason to touch you. like move your hair from your face, wipe the crumbs from your mouth, and even flick your forehead sometimes when you do something reckless or stupid. your touch just gives him butterflies. makes him feel all happy and tingly and at peace.

and your almost-touches make him react the exact same way. he doesn't hold his hands behind his back when he walks with you. he lets it sway at his sides like yours do so there's a chance your knuckles might brush against each other.

he also intentionally stands or sits near you whenever he gets the chance—though he calmly denies it when your circle notices and points it out.

it's not that he's embarrassed. or that he doesn't want to outwardly express his fondness. suo is just content with what the two of you have. it's quiet and peaceful—a small world that only the two of you share.

although, he's pretty sure his friends already know and are just waiting for suo to announce it. sakura's romance radar has a 100% accuracy, after all.

he stares. unabashedly. he stares so much that your image is permanently ingrained in his head. he memorized every feature, every freckle, every beauty mark he sees on your skin. and he quietly recounts them whenever he looks at you. when you catch him staring, he doesn't look away. just smiles and watches you get flustered.

you're aware of suo's affection. how could you not? —when he's made them as obvious as he can when he knows you're the only one watching.

but he's never outright said it.

it's because he never needed to.

and he never needed to ask either—ask if you were fine with his advances and ask if you felt the same way. suo was cleverer than most and you trusted he could figure it out himself.

unspoken and unstated but not unexpressed.

suo saw you sitting on a cafe's outdoor table during patrol. sakura and nirei were bickering beside him but, this time, he didn't intervene like he always did. he slipped behind them to come to you.

you were busy studying and listening to music. he hasn't seen you in a while. he recalled you mentioning an important exam coming up and notices a half empty coffee mug on your table. you haven't been taking breaks like he suggested. he thought to himself.

he approached you from behind, gently tugging off an earphone. it made your brows furrow as you whipped your head at the unwanted disturbance. you soon regret it deeply.

his hand was on the back of your chair while he was leaning forward—your faces merely an inch apart.

"s-suo!?" his close-lipped smile stretched when he saw you erupt—cheeks flushed and eyes widened. suo made no effort to move away.

"you weren't responding when i was calling your name," he said innocently, straightening back his posture. "and you shouldn't have your volume too high. it's bad for your ears."

you forced yourself to regain your composure, tearing your eyes off his as you looked away, guiltily and quietly pausing your music.

"have you been taking breaks? the exam is a week away, if i remember correctly. i think you should allow yourself to take it easy," he added and watched your lips form a pout. he smiled to himself.

he was about to continue before you grumbled under your breath, "first time we've seen each other in days and the first thing you do is nag me.."

suo's smile faltered before it softened. a familiar feeling of butterflies fluttering in his stomach as he looked at you adoringly. "aw, i've missed you, too."

"i-i didnt say that??!" your blush deepened.

"i just worry about you! you haven't been listening to me." he flicked your forehead. "i guess i have no other choice than to force you to rest," he said with a faux sigh.

"literally no one is forcing you!!" you yelled, rubbing the spot on your forehead he hit. "and that hurt!"

"should i kiss it better?" he teased, leaning forward once more.

you were about to curse him out when you hear a commotion from behind suo. he looked back as well. you see nirei fussing over sakura—bent over and weakly holding onto the other for support. his face was beet red and you could almost see the smoke steaming from his ears.

"oh, dear," suo chuckled lightly at the sight. he turns back to you and smiles apologetically. "our patrol is almost over," he stated, "would you mind waiting here until i return?"

you thought it over before sighing defeatedly. there's no stopping him when he's already made up his mind. "you don't have to," you replied.

he reached over to move stray pieces of hair behind your ear. "i want to," he reassured. you gave him a small smile, thankful.

he waved back as he walked towards his friends, continuing his patrol and leaving your heart racing.

[solxamber]

All the NRC students (+maybe neige and Chen'ya) with a incubus? Can be either platonic or romantic but romantic would be preferred

(Male reader please!)

All NRC (-Ortho), Rollo, Neige, Che'nya with M! Incubus! Reader

thanks for the request <3 also had a lot of fun writing this so it ended up getting a little out of hand

Riddle Rosehearts

Riddle prided himself on maintaining control—control of his dorm, his emotions, and, most importantly, his heart. So when you, with your playful, lingering glances and mischievous smirks, started pulling him into your orbit, it rattled him.

It didn’t help that you knew exactly what you were doing.

“I’ve told you before about your uniform,” Riddle said sternly, eyes flicking over the slightly disheveled appearance you sported. The red cravat was loose, shirt collar slightly askew, and there was something about the casual disregard for the rules that sent his pulse racing.

You tilted your head, stepping just close enough to make his heartbeat uncomfortably loud in his ears. “I’d fix it, but I think you like it this way.”

Riddle’s face burned, and he instinctively took a step back, his composure slipping. “T-That’s absurd! The rules exist for a reason—”

You smiled, a slow, deliberate thing that made his breath hitch. “Maybe you just like breaking the rules when no one’s watching.”

Riddle’s heart thudded against his ribcage, his voice lowering to a flustered murmur. “I... I don’t know what you’re implying, but... please—fix it.”

But you didn’t move, and for the first time, Riddle wasn’t sure if he wanted you to.

Trey Clover

Trey had always been steady, reliable. The calm amidst the storm of his fellow Heartslabyul students. But you? You were the unpredictable spark in his otherwise predictable life.

He watched as you leaned casually against the kitchen counter, watching him roll out the dough with that knowing smile on your face. The way you lingered so close, the heat of your body just barely brushing against his, had him more distracted than he’d ever admit.

“You know,” you said, voice low and smooth as honey, “you’re really good at this whole ‘baking’ thing. I can’t help but wonder what else you’re good at.”

Trey’s hand stilled, his heart suddenly pounding a little harder. He glanced at you, trying to keep his voice steady. “It’s... just practice.”

You laughed, the sound soft and intimate, as if the two of you shared a secret. “Hmm. Maybe you could teach me sometime. I’m a quick learner...”

Trey swallowed, eyes flicking to yours, his usual calm slipping just a bit. “I-I could. But, uh, maybe we should focus on the task at hand first.”

But the way you stepped closer, your shoulder brushing against his, told him that focusing was going to be a lot harder than he thought.

Cater Diamond

Cater loved attention. He lived for it. But the way you looked at him? That was something different. Something that made his heart skip a beat, even though he’d never admit it.

“You’ve got all those fans, Cater,” you said, leaning close enough that he could feel the warmth radiating from you, “but when’s the last time you had someone all to yourself?”

Cater’s grin faltered, just for a second. “What’s this? You jealous? Don’t worry, I’ve always got time for you.”

But his casual charm wasn’t quite enough to hide the way his pulse quickened as you leaned even closer, your breath brushing against his ear.

“Jealous?” you echoed, your voice low, teasing. “Nah. Just curious. Wondering if you can handle it when all the attention’s on you for real.”

Cater swallowed, his playful demeanor slipping as his mind raced. You always did know how to get under his skin. “Hah... you’re too much, you know that?”

You grinned, and Cater couldn’t help but wonder if, for once, he’d met someone who could play his game better than him.

Ace Trappola

Ace liked to think of himself as smooth. Unshakable. Too clever to fall for anything or anyone. But every time you got a little too close, flashed that wicked grin, or dropped a suggestive comment, he found himself floundering in a way that left him both frustrated and intrigued.

“So, Ace,” you drawled, standing far too close for him to feel comfortable, “how long are you gonna pretend I’m not getting to you?”

Ace shot you his best smirk, crossing his arms as if the proximity wasn’t bothering him at all. “Pfft, please. You’re not even on my radar.”

But the slight tremor in his voice betrayed him, and you stepped even closer, your hand lightly brushing against his arm.

“Really?” you murmured, your eyes glinting with amusement. “You’re telling me that if I kissed you right now, it wouldn’t faze you at all?”

Ace froze, his heart doing an acrobatic flip in his chest. “I-I mean... not at all,” he stammered, but the blush creeping up his neck told a different story.

You grinned, pulling away just before he could gather his thoughts. “We’ll see about that.”

Ace exhaled shakily, trying to regain his composure, but all he could think about was the way his heart hadn’t quite slowed down.

Deuce Spade

Deuce wasn’t used to being flustered. He was the serious one. The dependable one. But you? You had a way of completely throwing him off his game with nothing more than a smile.

“Deuce, you’re looking a little tense,” you teased, your voice soft and almost soothing as you stood in front of him. “Something on your mind?”

Deuce swallowed hard, trying to focus on anything other than the way your fingers lightly brushed against his arm. “N-No! I’m just... thinking.”

“About me?” you asked, your lips quirking up in a teasing grin.

Deuce’s face turned bright red. “N-No! I mean, not that I don’t—no, wait, I didn’t mean—uh—”

You chuckled softly, leaning in just a bit closer, your lips barely inches from his ear. “Relax. I’m just teasing you. Unless...”

Deuce’s breath hitched, his heart racing as he tried to find his voice. “U-Unless?”

You smiled, pulling away slightly, but the warmth of your touch still lingered. “Unless you want me to be serious.”

Deuce’s brain short-circuited for a moment, and all he could do was nod, his face burning as his heart hammered in his chest.

Leona Kingscholar

Leona was used to being in control. To having people fall in line around him. But you? You were the one person who never seemed to be affected by his lazy dominance. If anything, you enjoyed pushing his buttons.

You stretched out beside him in the sunlight, lazily twirling a blade of grass between your fingers. “So, what’s the plan, Leona? Gonna keep pretending you’re not interested forever?”

Leona opened one eye to glare at you, his voice a low growl. “I told you, I’m trying to sleep.”

You smirked, propping yourself up on your elbow to lean closer to him. “Uh-huh. Sure. But you’re not very convincing when your heart’s racing like that.”

Leona’s eyes narrowed, but he couldn’t stop the smirk that tugged at his lips. “You think you’re cute, huh?”

“I know I am,” you replied smoothly, your fingers brushing against his arm just enough to make him tense.

Leona scoffed, turning his head away, but the flush on his cheeks betrayed him. “You’re asking for trouble, herbivore.”

But the way he didn’t move away told you he didn’t mind one bit.

Ruggie Bucchi

Ruggie wasn’t used to being the one on the receiving end of tricks. He was the one who pulled the pranks, got the upper hand. But you? You had him constantly on edge, never knowing what you’d say or do next.

“You’re playing a dangerous game,” Ruggie said, his voice low and teasing as you sidled up next to him.

You raised an eyebrow, your lips curling into a smirk. “Am I? Or maybe you’re just not used to someone playing it better than you.”

Ruggie laughed, though there was a hint of nervousness behind it. “Better than me? C’mon, I’ve got this in the bag.”

You leaned in close, your breath warm against his ear. “I don’t think you do.”

Ruggie’s heart skipped a beat, his mind scrambling for a witty comeback, but all he could focus on was the way your lips brushed against his ear ever so slightly. “Y-You’re not playing fair.”

You chuckled, pulling away just enough to meet his eyes. “Who said anything about playing fair?”

Ruggie grinned, his confidence slipping just a little. “You’re trouble. But... I think I like it.”

Jack Howl

Jack prided himself on his discipline, his focus, his unwavering sense of duty. Yet, you had a way of completely unraveling all of that in a matter of seconds.

He was lifting weights in the gym, mind focused, muscles straining, when you appeared beside him. “Need a spotter?” you asked casually, leaning against the bench with a smile that was just a little too playful.

Jack grunted, trying to ignore the way your presence made his heart race. “I can handle it.”

You chuckled, leaning in just a little closer. “I’m sure you can, big guy. But why pass up the chance to have me watching your back?”

Jack nearly fumbled the weight, his ears flicking in annoyance, though he couldn’t quite hide the blush creeping up his neck. “I-I’m fine.”

But you didn’t move. Instead, you rested your chin on your hand, watching him intently. “You know, I think you try too hard sometimes. Maybe you should let someone else take care of you for a change.”

Jack’s grip tightened on the barbell, his pulse quickening. He wasn’t sure if it was the weight or the way you were looking at him that was making his chest feel tight. “I don’t need—”

You reached out, brushing a hand against his arm, sending an electric jolt through him. “Don’t need help? Or don’t need me watching you like this?”

Jack huffed, setting the weight down with more force than necessary. “You’re impossible.”

But the way his tail twitched betrayed the fact that he didn’t really mind.

Azul Ashengrotto

Azul was a planner. Every move, every interaction was calculated, precise. And yet, somehow, you always seemed to throw his carefully crafted plans into chaos.

He watched as you entered the VIP room of the Mostro Lounge, that ever-present smirk on your lips. “You’re awfully quiet today, Azul,” you teased, crossing the room with a confidence that always made his palms sweat.

Azul adjusted his glasses, trying to maintain his usual calm demeanor. “I’m simply... observing.”

“Observing, huh?” you echoed, leaning on the edge of his desk, far too close for comfort. “And what exactly are you observing?”

Azul cleared his throat, eyes flicking nervously to yours. “Y-You, of course. You’re quite... unpredictable.”

You grinned, your fingers brushing against the edge of the desk, inching closer to his hand. “Unpredictable? Or maybe you’re just bad at reading me.”

Azul’s heart raced, though he tried to keep his expression neutral. “I assure you, I’m quite skilled at reading people.”

You leaned in closer, your voice dropping to a whisper. “Then what am I thinking right now?”

Azul froze, his mind scrambling for a coherent thought, but all he could focus on was the heat radiating from your body and the way your eyes seemed to see right through him. “I-I...”

You chuckled, pulling away just before he could respond, leaving him flustered and very much off balance. “Guess you’re not as good as you thought.”

Azul adjusted his glasses again, trying to regain his composure. “You... are infuriating.”

But the flush on his cheeks said he didn’t mind being bested by you.

Jade Leech

Jade was used to being in control, much like his boss. He enjoyed observing people, watching how they reacted, and staying two steps ahead. But with you? You were always just a little bit ahead of him, and that intrigued him far more than he’d like to admit.

“So,” Jade drawled, his usual polite smile firmly in place as you stood across from him in the lounge, “what brings you here today? Surely not just to cause more chaos?”

You smirked, tilting your head in that way that always made his heart beat just a little faster. “Maybe I just like the view.”

Jade raised an eyebrow, though his pulse quickened. “Is that so? I wasn’t aware the decor was so interesting.”

“Oh, the decor’s nice,” you said, stepping closer, your fingers lightly brushing against the smooth wood of the table. “But I wasn’t talking about that.”

Jade’s smile widened, though he couldn’t quite suppress the flicker of surprise in his chest. “You’re quite bold, aren’t you?”

“Bold?” you echoed, your hand resting on the table just beside his. “Maybe. Or maybe I just know what I want.”

Jade’s eyes gleamed with intrigue, his voice lowering to a murmur. “And what is it that you want?”

You leaned in, just enough to make his heart skip a beat. “I think you already know.”

For the first time, Jade found himself unsure of what move to make next—a sensation both unsettling and thrilling. “You... are quite the enigma.”

You grinned, pulling away with a wink. “And you love it.”

Jade’s smile didn’t falter, but the way his heart raced told him that, perhaps, you were right.

Floyd Leech

Floyd was wild, unpredictable, and always on the hunt for something exciting. You? You were the perfect mix of chaos and control, and that made you his favorite person to mess with.

“Shrimpy~!” Floyd’s voice echoed down the hallway as he bounded toward you with his usual enthusiasm. “Whatcha doin’? Boring stuff again?”

You glanced up, smirking as he slid to a stop in front of you. “Just waiting for you to catch up, Floyd. Took you long enough.”

Floyd grinned, his mismatched eyes gleaming with excitement. “Oho, you’re in a mood today, huh?”

You shrugged, leaning back against the wall, your posture casual, but your eyes gleaming with mischief. “Maybe. Or maybe I’m just wondering if you can keep up.”

Floyd’s grin widened, his heart racing at the challenge. “Oh, I can keep up, don’t worry.”

You stepped closer, close enough that Floyd’s playful grin faltered for just a second. “Can you, though?”

Floyd’s eyes narrowed, his excitement turning to something sharper, more focused. “Heh, you’re askin’ for it, Shrimpy.”

But instead of backing down, you just grinned, your hand lightly brushing against his arm. “Maybe I am.”

For the first time in a while, Floyd found himself caught off guard, his usual chaotic energy tempered by the unexpected heat in your gaze. “You’re somethin’ else, Shrimpy.”

You winked, pulling away before he could react, leaving him both intrigued and frustrated in the best possible way. “I know.”

Kalim Al-Asim

Kalim was all sunshine and joy, always smiling, always positive. But when you were around? He found himself feeling something a little different—a flutter in his chest that he didn’t quite understand.

“You’re always so happy, Kalim,” you teased, your voice soft but playful as you sat beside him on the steps of Scarabia. “What’s your secret?”

Kalim beamed at you, his usual enthusiasm shining through. “It’s easy! I just focus on the good things. Like you being here with me!”

You laughed, nudging him with your shoulder. “That’s sweet. But what if I wasn’t here?”

Kalim blinked, his smile faltering for just a second. “Then... I’d be sad, I guess.”

You tilted your head, your smile turning a little more mischievous. “Really? Sad? Or maybe... you’d miss me?”

Kalim’s face flushed, his usual cheerfulness giving way to a sudden nervousness. “O-Of course I’d miss you! You’re my friend!”

You leaned in, your voice lowering just enough to make his heart race. “Just a friend?”

Kalim’s eyes widened, his heart skipping a beat. “W-Well, I mean... I-I—”

You chuckled, pulling away before he could stumble over his words any more. “Relax, Kalim. I’m just teasing you.”

But the blush on his cheeks remained, and Kalim couldn’t quite shake the feeling that maybe, just maybe, he wanted to be more than just friends.

Jamil Viper

Jamil had spent most of his life in control, always planning, always calculating. But with you? You threw all of that right out the window. No matter how hard he tried to remain calm, you always seemed to know just how to get under his skin.

He was organizing a batch of ingredients for the next Scarabia banquet when you strolled into the kitchen. “Jamil, you’re always working so hard,” you said, your voice lilting with a teasing edge.

Jamil didn’t look up from his task, though the way his grip tightened on the spoon betrayed his reaction to your presence. “Someone has to,” he muttered, keeping his voice neutral.

You leaned against the counter, watching him with that playful glint in your eye. “But don’t you ever get tired of being so... responsible all the time?”

Jamil glanced at you, his eyes narrowing slightly. “What are you getting at?”

You grinned, reaching for one of the nearby aprons. “I’m saying, maybe you need a break. Let someone else take care of things for once.”

Jamil snorted, shaking his head. “And who exactly would that be? You?”

You slid the apron over your head, your movements far too casual. “Why not? I can handle a kitchen just fine.”

Jamil raised an eyebrow, watching as you tied the apron with a flourish. “Somehow, I doubt that.”

You shot him a playful wink. “Guess you’ll just have to trust me.”

For once, Jamil was at a loss. The idea of letting go, even for a second, was foreign to him. But the way you moved with such confidence... it made him wonder what it would be like to let someone else take control, just for a little while. “Fine,” he said after a moment, crossing his arms. “But if you burn anything, you’re cleaning it up.”

You grinned, reaching for the nearest pan. “Deal.”

And as you moved around the kitchen, humming to yourself, Jamil found himself watching you with a mix of exasperation and something warmer—something he wasn’t quite ready to admit.

Vil Schoenheit

Vil had always prided himself on his perfection. His looks, his demeanor, everything about him was carefully crafted to be flawless. But you? You were the one person who could make him forget all of that, even if just for a moment.

He was seated at his vanity, carefully applying his skincare routine when you entered the room. “You know, Vil, you’re almost too perfect,” you said, leaning against the doorframe with a smirk.

Vil raised an eyebrow, his eyes meeting yours in the mirror. “Almost?”

You stepped closer, your eyes glinting with mischief. “Yeah. But perfection’s boring.”

Vil turned slightly, regarding you with a cool, appraising look. “I see. And what, pray tell, would you suggest?”

You grinned, walking up behind him and resting your chin on his shoulder. “Maybe you should loosen up a little. Try being... I don’t know, human.”

Vil’s lips curved into a smile, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “I’m afraid that would be lowering my standards.”

You chuckled, your breath warm against his neck. “Or maybe it would just make you more relatable.”

Vil’s gaze flicked to yours, a spark of something sharp and amused in his eyes. “I’m not interested in being relatable.”

You straightened, your smile widening. “Good thing I’m not asking you to be.”

Vil turned fully to face you now, his violet eyes narrowing slightly. “Then what are you asking?”

You shrugged, your tone playful. “Maybe I’m just asking you to let me in.”

For a brief moment, Vil’s carefully crafted facade cracked, and he found himself wondering what it would be like to let someone see beyond the perfection. But he quickly composed himself, his smile returning. “Perhaps.”

But the way his heart skipped a beat told him that you were already closer than he’d like to admit.

Rook Hunt

Rook loved beauty in all its forms. He admired it, sought it out, and treasured it. But there was something about you—something wild, unpredictable, and utterly enchanting—that drew him in like nothing else.

You were standing at the edge of the Pomefiore courtyard, gazing out at the forest beyond when Rook appeared beside you. “Ah, mon trésor,” he murmured, his voice soft and reverent. “What a beautiful sight.”

You glanced at him, smirking. “You say that about everything.”

Rook chuckled, his green eyes gleaming with amusement. “Perhaps. But in your case, it is always true.”

You rolled your eyes, though the warmth in his gaze made your heart flutter. “You’re such a romantic.”

Rook smiled, leaning in just a little closer. “Can you blame me? You are... irresistible.”

You raised an eyebrow, your smirk turning playful. “Am I?”

Rook’s eyes sparkled, his voice dropping to a murmur. “Without question.”

For a moment, you were caught in his gaze, the intensity of his admiration washing over you like a wave. But then, with a grin, you stepped back, breaking the spell. “Well, I guess you’ll just have to keep chasing me, then.”

Rook laughed, his heart racing at the challenge. “Ah, mon cœur, I would chase you to the ends of the earth.”

And as you turned away, a smile playing on your lips, Rook knew that he would do just that—no matter how long it took.

Epel Felmier

Epel had heard rumors about you—whispers in the halls of an incubus who could charm anyone with just a glance. But that wasn’t what caught his attention. It was your mix of quiet strength and subtle flirtation that kept him intrigued. You had this easy confidence that drove him wild, even though he’d never admit it.

You were lounging on a low wall near the Pomefiore gardens, basking in the afternoon sun when Epel stormed up, looking as if he had something to prove. "So, how does it work? Your whole 'incubus charm' thing?" His tone was half curious, half challenging.

You chuckled, tilting your head. "You want a lesson, Felmier?"

Epel crossed his arms, trying to appear unaffected, though the slight flush on his cheeks gave him away. "Nah, I just... I don’t get it. How do ya make people swoon without even trying?"

You smiled, leaning forward slightly, your voice dropping to a low, teasing murmur. "Maybe I just have that effect on you."

Epel’s eyes widened, and he quickly looked away, cheeks turning a brighter red. "Y-yeah, right. As if!"

You laughed softly, standing up and stepping closer, close enough for Epel to feel the warmth radiating from you. "You seem flustered. Careful now, or people might think you're one of my admirers."

Epel swallowed hard, trying to regain his composure. "I ain’t like the others, y’know. You’re not gonna charm me that easily."

"Oh, Epel," you teased, brushing a finger lightly under his chin, tilting his face up to meet your gaze. "Who said I was trying?"

Epel froze, heart pounding in his chest, his usual bravado completely melting under your touch. But before he could say anything, you pulled back, leaving him standing there, speechless and confused.

"You’re fun to mess with," you said with a wink, turning to walk away. "But don’t worry. I like you for more than just your pretty face."

As you disappeared down the path, Epel stood there, face burning and thoughts racing. He wasn’t sure if he was flattered or completely thrown off balance, but one thing was for sure—he was hooked.

Idia Shroud

Idia hated attention, and you—an incubus who naturally drew people in—was the last person he expected to become infatuated with. But there was something about you that made it impossible for him to focus on anything else. It didn’t help that you seemed to enjoy making him squirm.

He was holed up in his room, hunched over his desk, when you casually materialized in the middle of the room. "Yo, Idia," you greeted with a grin. "Miss me?"

Idia nearly fell out of his chair, his hands fumbling to close several tabs on his computer in a panic. "W-what the—don’t sneak up on me like that!"

You chuckled, leaning against his desk with your usual easy confidence. "You’re cute when you’re flustered, y’know that?"

Idia’s face turned bright red, and he pulled his hoodie over his head, muttering under his breath. "N-n-not cute. I’m not... cute."

You smirked, leaning in closer. "Oh, but you are. The way you hide in your hoodie, the way you avoid eye contact... It’s pretty endearing."

Idia peeked out from under his hoodie, his golden eyes wide with a mix of confusion and disbelief. "Endearing? M-me?"

"Mm-hmm," you hummed, reaching out to brush a strand of his blue hair away from his face. "You’re more interesting than you think, Shroud."

Idia’s breath hitched, and he quickly pulled his hood tighter, as if it could somehow protect him from your teasing. "Y-you must be messing with me," he muttered, his voice barely audible.

You grinned, leaning back but keeping your eyes on him. "Maybe a little. But I mean it. You’ve got this whole mysterious, untouchable vibe going on. It’s kind of hot."

Idia froze, his mind short-circuiting at the word "hot" being used in reference to him. He stared at his screen, trying to pretend like he wasn’t blushing furiously under his hood. "Th-this is like... some kind of nightmare..."

You laughed, pushing off the desk and heading toward the door. "Nah, just a dream you’re not ready for yet."

Idia didn’t dare look up as you left, but his heart was racing, and his mind was filled with thoughts he had no idea how to process. You were dangerous, but also kind of intoxicating. And despite everything, he found himself looking forward to the next time you’d appear in his room out of nowhere.

Malleus Draconia

Malleus was used to people fearing him, revering him even. But you? You weren’t scared. In fact, you treated him with the same teasing confidence as everyone else, and that... intrigued him.

You had found him in his usual spot by the gargoyles, admiring the stone figures with that serene look on his face. You leaned casually against a nearby pillar, watching him for a moment before speaking. "Y’know, for someone so powerful, you sure spend a lot of time alone."

Malleus turned to you, his emerald eyes gleaming with curiosity. "Does that surprise you?"

You grinned, walking over to stand beside him. "A little. I mean, shouldn’t someone like you have people fawning over them all the time?"

Malleus raised an eyebrow, his voice calm but amused. "I am not particularly interested in such... distractions."

You chuckled, giving him a playful nudge. "Oh, come on. Everyone needs a little attention sometimes. Even you."

Malleus looked at you for a moment, his gaze lingering on your face. "And you believe you are the one to provide it?"

You met his gaze, your smile softening just a bit. "Maybe. Or maybe I’m just curious about what makes you tick."

Malleus considered your words, his eyes narrowing slightly as he took in your playful demeanor. "You are unlike any other... bold, yet not reckless."

You smirked, leaning closer. "I’ll take that as a compliment."

Malleus tilted his head, studying you with an intensity that made your heart race. "Perhaps it was meant as one."

For a moment, the air between you was thick with unspoken tension, but you broke it with a light laugh, stepping back. "Well, if you ever get tired of talking to gargoyles, you know where to find me."

Malleus watched as you turned to leave, his lips curving into a small smile. "Indeed. I may take you up on that offer."

And as you walked away, you couldn’t help but feel like you’d just unlocked a side of Malleus Draconia that few had ever seen. The thrill of it was enough to make your heart race.

Lilia Vanrouge

Lilia had lived through centuries and seen all manner of beings, but you—a cheeky incubus with a penchant for teasing—caught his interest more than anyone in recent memory. You had a charm about you that was hard to ignore, and Lilia, of course, found it entertaining.

One evening, you found him lounging upside down on a tree branch, casually playing a game on his phone. You leaned against the trunk, grinning up at him. "Don’t you ever get tired of hanging upside down like a bat?"

Lilia’s red eyes flickered toward you, and he chuckled softly. "Why would I? The world looks more amusing this way. And I get to see delightful surprises, like you."

You smirked, folding your arms. "Flattery will get you everywhere, you know."

"Ah, but I don't need flattery with you, do I?" Lilia responded smoothly, dropping down from the tree and landing gracefully beside you. "You're already drawn to me."

You laughed, stepping closer. "Confident, are we? You must know my type, then?"

Lilia’s smile widened, his sharp fangs peeking through. "Perhaps. You do have a taste for the mysterious and ancient, do you not?"

You raised an eyebrow, leaning in just enough to make the air between you crackle with tension. "Maybe I like a little danger."

Lilia’s eyes gleamed mischievously. "Careful now. I might just take you up on that."

For a moment, there was a spark of something unspoken between you—something thrilling, intoxicating. But you knew Lilia well enough to know he enjoyed the dance as much as you did. You gave him a wink before pulling back. "See you around, old man."

Lilia chuckled, watching you walk away with a look of pure amusement. "I do enjoy our little games," he murmured to himself. "Such an interesting soul you are."

Silver

Silver had always been calm and composed, his emotions well-guarded behind his serene expression. But with you, something shifted. You had a way of breaking through his defenses, and even if he tried to ignore it, you seemed determined to fluster him.

One afternoon, you found Silver in a quiet spot near the garden, practicing his swordsmanship. He was focused, moving with precision, but you, being you, couldn’t resist a little disruption. "Nice form," you called out, leaning against a tree. "But I bet you’ve never faced a foe like me."

Silver paused, lowering his sword and turning to you with his usual calm gaze. "Are you suggesting a duel?"

You grinned, stepping forward. "Not exactly. More like a... sparring of wits. I think I’m winning already."

Silver blinked, clearly puzzled by your words, but there was a slight twitch of a smile at the corner of his lips. "I wasn’t aware we were competing."

"That’s because I’m subtle," you teased, giving him a playful look. "You should keep up."

Silver’s eyes softened, and for a moment, his usual stoic expression faltered. "I’m trying. But you... you’re not easy to figure out."

You took another step closer, your voice dropping to a more intimate tone. "Maybe that’s part of the fun."

Silver’s breath caught for a moment, and he quickly looked away, clearing his throat. "You’re... different from anyone I’ve met before."

"And that’s a good thing?" you asked, genuinely curious.

Silver nodded slowly, meeting your eyes with a sincerity that made your heart flutter. "Yes. It’s a good thing."

For a moment, the two of you stood there in comfortable silence, the connection between you growing stronger. And though Silver was not one for grand gestures or flirtatious banter, his presence alone made you feel something deeper than words could express.

Sebek Zigvolt

Sebek was nothing if not loyal to Malleus, and that made dealing with you—a distracting, charming incubus—all the more frustrating for him. No matter how hard he tried to focus on his duties, you always seemed to show up at the worst possible moments, throwing him off balance with your teasing.

You found Sebek in the library, his nose buried in a book about fae history. With a sly grin, you slipped into the chair beside him, leaning on your elbow and watching him intently. "You know, Sebek, you could use a break every now and then."

Sebek stiffened, his green eyes narrowing as he glanced at you. "I have no time for distractions! Lord Malleus requires my full attention at all times!"

"Uh-huh," you replied, clearly not buying it. "I’m sure Malleus is off doing his own thing. Meanwhile, you’re here, working too hard."

Sebek slammed his book shut, standing abruptly. "I am not ‘working too hard!’ I am doing my duty! Unlike some people who waste their time with frivolous nonsense!"

You smirked, standing up to match his energy. "Frivolous, huh? Is that what you think of me?"

Sebek’s face turned red, but whether from anger or embarrassment, you couldn’t tell. "Y-you’re always... always causing trouble! With your... your incubus ways!"

"Incubus ways?" you repeated with a laugh, stepping closer to him. "Sebek, you’re adorable when you’re flustered."

"I am not flustered!" he barked, though his reddening face said otherwise.

You leaned in, lowering your voice just enough to make him even more uncomfortable. "You’re really bad at hiding it, y’know."

Sebek sputtered, taking a step back as if he didn’t know how to handle the situation. "I... I have no time for your... your charm!"

You grinned, thoroughly enjoying the effect you had on him. "Don’t worry, Sebek. I’ll leave you alone... for now."

As you walked away, you heard Sebek muttering something under his breath about ‘distractions’ and ‘duty,’ but the small smile on your face told you everything you needed to know. He was hooked—whether he liked it or not.

Rollo Flamme

Rollo prided himself on being composed, dignified, and resistant to the distractions of the outside world—especially when it came to magic. Yet, no matter how hard he tried to avoid the temptations of the world, you always seemed to challenge his resolve.

It was an unspoken game between the two of you. Whenever you visited the City of Flowers, you'd find a way to tease him, either with your charm or just by being yourself—a confident, unabashed incubus who was clearly enjoying Rollo’s discomfort.

One afternoon, you caught Rollo walking through the garden, looking as serious as ever. "Rollo, fancy seeing you out here in the sunshine," you said with a grin, stepping into his path.

He stopped, eyeing you warily. "What do you want?"

"Now, is that any way to greet a friend?" you teased, taking a step closer. "I was just admiring the flowers. They seem to like the sunshine—maybe you should give it a try."

Rollo’s brow furrowed, his eyes narrowing as if he was trying to understand your motives. "I have no interest in trivial matters like sunlight. I have more important things to attend to."

"Of course you do," you said, rolling your eyes. "But maybe you should lighten up a bit. Enjoy life while you can."

Rollo’s expression hardened, clearly annoyed by your carefree attitude. "Not everyone indulges in hedonism like you, incubus."

You chuckled, crossing your arms. "Who said anything about hedonism? I’m just suggesting you try having some fun."

"Fun," Rollo repeated, the word sounding foreign on his tongue. "Fun is not my priority."

"Maybe it should be," you said, giving him a sly look. "Life’s too short to be so serious all the time."

Rollo’s lips pressed into a thin line, his resolve clearly wavering. "You’re wasting your breath. I won’t be swayed by your... charms."

You grinned, leaning in just a little closer. "We’ll see about that."

As you walked away, you couldn’t help but notice the way Rollo’s gaze lingered on you for just a moment too long. Maybe, just maybe, you were starting to wear him down.

Neige LeBlanche

Neige was a sweetheart—open, cheerful, and always kind-hearted. He found your presence comforting in a way that surprised even him. Despite your incubus nature, he was drawn to your charm, though it was clear you used it in a more subtle way around him.

One snowy evening, the two of you were out in the village, walking together under the falling snow. Neige was humming a soft tune, his usual cheery self, but there was a quiet warmth between you that wasn’t there before.

"You really like the snow, don’t you?" you asked, watching as Neige caught a snowflake on his finger.

He smiled, his cheeks rosy from the cold. "It reminds me of home. There’s something so peaceful about it."

You nodded, watching the way the snowflakes danced around him. "It suits you. You’re like a snow prince."

Neige laughed softly, his eyes twinkling. "That’s a sweet thing to say. But I’m just me."

"Just you?" you echoed, tilting your head. "Neige, you’re a lot more than just ‘you.’ You’re... warm. Kind. You make people feel at ease, even me."

Neige looked at you, surprised by your honesty. "I didn’t know you felt that way."

"Of course I do," you said with a smile. "You’re different from anyone I’ve met. Most people don’t look past the whole incubus thing, but you... you see more."

Neige’s smile softened, and he reached out to gently take your hand. "I don’t see you as an incubus. I see you as... someone special."

Your heart skipped a beat at his words, and for once, you didn’t have a witty comeback. Instead, you squeezed his hand, feeling the warmth of his touch against the cold winter air.

"Neige..." you began, but before you could say more, he leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to your cheek.

"Thank you," he whispered, his breath warm against your skin. "For being you."

You stood there in the snow, your heart racing as you realized just how much Neige meant to you. And for once, you let yourself enjoy the moment without any teasing or playful banter—just the quiet, tender connection between you and him.

Che’nya

If anyone was as mischievous as you, it was Che’nya. The two of you were a chaotic pair, always getting into some kind of trouble together. He found your incubus abilities amusing, often encouraging you to use them to mess with others. But when it came to the two of you, there was an unspoken understanding that your games were more than just harmless fun.

One day, you found Che’nya lounging in a tree, his signature grin plastered across his face. You jumped up to join him, perching on the branch beside him. "Up to no good again?" you asked, smirking.

"Always," Che’nya replied, his eyes gleaming with mischief. "But what about you? I hear you’ve been causing quite the stir lately."

You grinned, leaning back against the trunk. "What can I say? It’s in my nature."

Che’nya chuckled, leaning closer to you. "You do have a way of stirring things up. But I wonder... what would happen if you turned your charm on me?"

You raised an eyebrow, intrigued by the challenge. "Is that a dare?"

"It’s an invitation," Che’nya said, his grin widening. "Let’s see if you can out-charm me, incubus."

You leaned in, your face mere inches from his. "Careful what you wish for, Che’nya. You might just fall for me."

Che’nya’s eyes twinkled with amusement, but there was a hint of something more in his gaze. "Maybe I already have."

For a moment, the playful banter between you fell away, replaced by a spark of real connection. You could feel the tension in the air, the unspoken understanding that there was more between you than just teasing and games.

But, true to form, Che’nya was the first to break the moment with a laugh. "You’re good, I’ll give you that. But I’m not so easily won over."

You chuckled, shaking your head. "We’ll see about that."

As you jumped down from the tree, you glanced back at Che’nya, your grin widening. "I’ll be back to claim my victory, Cheshire."

Che’nya’s grin never faltered as he watched you walk away, but deep down, he knew that when it came to you, he was already losing the game.

Masterlist

[kenzdolls]

𝐃𝐀𝐁𝐈/𝐓𝐎𝐔𝐘𝐀 𝐓𝐎𝐃𝐎𝐑𝐎𝐊𝐈 𝐑𝐄𝐋𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍𝐒𝐇𝐈𝐏 𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐂𝐀𝐍𝐎𝐍𝐒:

𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐬: 𝐭𝐨𝐮𝐲𝐚 𝐭𝐨𝐝𝐨𝐫𝐨𝐤𝐢 𝐱 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫, 𝐭𝐨𝐮𝐲𝐚 𝐭𝐨𝐝𝐨𝐫𝐨𝐤𝐢 𝐱 𝐠𝐧 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫, 𝐯𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐚𝐢𝐧! 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫, 𝐝𝐚𝐛𝐢 𝐱 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫, 𝐩𝐫𝐞-𝐩𝐥𝐟, 𝐩𝐫𝐞-𝐰𝐚𝐫, 𝐟𝐥𝐮𝐟𝐟

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: 𝐭𝐨𝐮𝐲𝐚 𝐭𝐨𝐝𝐨𝐫𝐨𝐤𝐢 (𝐝𝐚𝐛𝐢) 𝐠𝐧! 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

MEETING DABI:

he acts like he doesn't care about you when you first meet, but he's definitely sizing you up, trying to figure out your quirk and how useful you'll be to the league.

your first real conversation is probably him sarcastically asking if you’re sure you’re in the right place, followed by a cutting remark about your villain name.

he secretly respects a good villain name, though. if yours is clever, it gets you a few points in his book.

if your quirk complements his in some way (like you can create flammable substances or help control his flames), he'll be intrigued, but he'll never let you know that outright. he'll just suddenly be around you more often during training or missions.

he’ll make a rude joke about your villain outfit and then make a comment about how you should “try harder” if you want to make it past this league.

DABI CRUSHING ON YOU:

he'd never admit it, but your dedication to villainy is a huge turn-on for him. seeing you embrace the darker side of yourself is... interesting.

he'll pick fights with you, not because he hates you, but because he wants to see you use your quirk. it’s also his weird way of flirting.

you'll catch him staring at you sometimes when he thinks you're not looking, especially after you've successfully pulled off a particularly brutal or clever move.

he pretends to be annoyed when you ask him for help or advice, but he secretly enjoys it. it's a chance to show off his knowledge and power.

he’ll start leaving small “gifts” for you: stolen items that he thinks you might find useful or amusing. it could be anything from a rare explosive to a vintage lighter to a particularly disturbing news clipping.

if someone else flirts with you, he'll become dangerously territorial. he might not say anything directly, but he'll make his displeasure very clear with a chilling glare or a well-placed threat.

he always seems to know when you are in trouble, often appearing out of nowhere to (reluctantly) help you. He'll deny it if you thank him.

the first time he accidentally touches you (maybe during a training exercise), he'll flinch away like he's been burned, even if it's just a brush of your hands. he’ll pretend it's because he doesn't want to get close to anyone, but really, he's just flustered.

DATING DABI:

dating dabi is intense. it's not all sunshine and roses. expect a lot of angst, brooding, and philosophical debates about the nature of heroism and villainy.

he's not good with physical affection at first. maybe a fleeting touch or a hand on your shoulder. it takes time for him to get comfortable with more.

he’ll only show you his soft side when you’re alone. think quiet moments where he lets his guard down and actually talks to you about his past (but only in vague terms, of course).

he’s fiercely protective of you, but he’ll never coddle you. he believes in your strength and will push you to become even stronger.

his love language is acts of service. he might not say "i love you," but he'll always make sure you have everything you need to succeed in your villainous endeavors.

he'll open up to you, eventually, about his past as touya. but it'll be a slow, painful process, filled with anger and resentment. be patient with him.

he'll test you, constantly. he needs to know that you're loyal, that you understand him, and that you're not going to abandon him like everyone else in his life.

dates consist of arson. maybe robbing a place, maybe blowing up a building that’s endeavor’s.

he'll find a "comfortable spot" that he isn't burning hot, and let you touch him there.

he finds comfort in hearing about your plans for the future, even if they’re incredibly violent. just knowing you're thinking about the future at all is comforting to him.

he might buy you jewelry he steals from the heroes he kills.

he will start trying to control his flames, but he will never be able to completely. he will always have a small fire burning somewhere on his skin.

he hates cuddling but he doesn't complain when you rest your head against his chest, as long as it's over his clothes.

he finds it hard to smile so his way of showing you he is happy is through a small nod.

you'll be one of the few people who see him smile. it's rare, but when it happens, it's genuine and surprisingly beautiful.

you’re his anchor. you’re the reason he keeps fighting, the reason he hasn’t completely succumbed to the darkness. he’d never admit it out loud, but you’re the most important thing in his life.

© 𝐊𝐄𝐍𝐙𝐃𝐎𝐋𝐋𝐒 𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟓 —

[deadtired-highkeyenergetic]

Feelings

Arcane. Yes. More brain rot as if I didn't have enough already.

Summary: Young!Silco x reader, Silco confesses to a certain extent when reader is drunk and very unlikely to remember the confession

You're a fighter, he knows that well. Those who lived in the underground tended to be such, for survival's sake. You're a survivor, he knows that well. You were still alive after all, and that was the mark of a survivor. So why did his chest tighten every time he saw you do a dangerous thing he knew you'd done a thousand times before? Why did his heart jump to his throat every time he saw you fight?

Why did his stomach flutter every time you looked back at him?

As you downed yet another glass of your favourite drink, the familiar smell wafting from your breath, he feels his throat constrict at the closeness of it all. Your free hand is mere inches away from his own hand, fingers tapping on the wooden counter top of the bar, your shoulder brushing against his. If he concentrates hard enough, he swears he can feel your warmth, then again it might be the chill of the night playing tricks on him. Still, it doesn't take away the fact that you are so close to him, knocking back shot after shot.

"How many?" Vander asks, gesturing towards you.

"Not enough," you slur, shoving the now empty cup towards him.

"Eight," Silco answers without hesitation, reaching over to take the cup away.

"Not enough," you mumble again, clumsily grasping for your cup.

"I think otherwise," Silco frowns, passing the cup to Vander who leaves the two of you alone to start cleaning up the bar. It's about time The Last Drop closes anyways, and Vander knows it's easier for his brother to talk openly to you when he isn't around. Felicia sends Vander a knowing wink and continues pretending to not eavesdrop on the juicy conversation, but fails to hide her growing smile. Vander huffs in amusement and decides to give the two some privacy, grabbing the woman's arm and gently hauling her away, much to her annoyance.

"You've had enough for tonight," Silco sighs, trying to drag you off the stool to which you stubbornly cling.

"Nooooo!" You whine, pouting at him which causes the butterflies in his stomach to go off at an alarming rate. Still, he finds a way to overcome that weakness, if only for a moment, and properly yanks you away. You stumble into him, head smacking into his shoulder and he grunts.

"You're heavy," he grumbles, slinging your left arm over his shoulder.

"I'm not heavy, you're heavy," you cackle, clearly thinking your comeback is very clever. He rolls his eyes, wondering why he even bothers sometimes but then he sees the way your eyes crinkle as you laugh and his heart melts again. He starts to make his way to the spare bed in his and Vander's shared apartment, the route familiar due to the number of times he's hauled your drunk self there. You stumble every now and then, groaning at the headache that's starting to kick in and nearly smack him in the face for some unknown reason but Silco still gets you to your destination, dropping you unceremoniously on the bed.

"Don't move," he says sternly, going to the wardrobe to take a fresh set of clothes for you.

"Hehe." He can hear you giggle, and from the way your giggles start to become muffled, he's pretty sure you've gone ahead and moved anyways. He sighs, shaking his head and turns around with your clothes draped over his arm to find that you've started rolling around on the bed. It's amusing, to see you drunkenly try to wrap yourself in the blanket as you roll about but then that feeling quickly gets replaced by fear when you roll off the bed and hit the floor with a yelp of pain.

He rushes over immediately, your clothes haphazardly thrown onto the bed and unwraps you from your blanket tangle, checking you over for any injuries. Fortunately, there's none aside from a bruise that is sure to form on your forehead where the floor had come up to meet it, and Silco is relieved. Not that he would ever tell you that, of course.

He helps you back onto the bed, listening as you whine about how your head hurts even more now and holds himself from flicking you in the forehead. Right now, he needs to ensure you don't throw up all over yourself and that you wake up tomorrow with as little issue as possible. Luckily, tonight you've decided to be cooperative, so it doesn't take long for Silco to change you into your new set of clothes and get you to lie down on the bed without rolling around.

"M sorry."

"For?"

"Everything."

"Everything?" He frowns, trying to recall a reason for you to be like this. You take it the wrong way and curl into a ball, shying away from him. He reaches out but you pull away, shaking your head.

"You always have to clean up after me," you mumble sadly. "I'm such a burden."

"Don't you dare say that about yourself!" Silco snaps, and immediately regrets it as you skitter as far away from him as the bed allows. He takes a deep breath, pushing the anger he feels at himself for not noticing your feelings earlier and centers himself. He has to rectify this mistake, make you see yourself the way he sees you, if only so that he can see a smile on your face again tonight.

"You're not a burden," he says, gently taking your hand.

"As if," you mutter, but don't let go of his hand.

"I mean it. I clean up after you because I —" The words get lodged in his throat. He swallows, and tries again. "I — I care for you."

There. It's out now. The reason why he always steals glances at you, the reason why he's always chiding you, the reason why he gets all worried whenever you throw yourself into danger without a care in the world.

Nobody cares if we live or die, you had said before, we're but specks of dust to Piltover, lost to the wind forever if we die and insignificant if we live.

But we are not. We're just as human as they are, he'd replied.

And that's why there's that dream of Zaun, isn't it? Your smile had lit the murky grey of the underground up. A toast, to a Zaun reality.

A toast. That was the first time he had seen you drunk, and you'd nearly fallen into the waters below. Silco had caught you just in time, staring into the depths of your eyes and saw the fire that burned behind them despite how drunk you were.

"You're special to me, in a different way from Felicia and Vander." He knows you won't remember this conversation, and that brings him a small comfort, even if there's a part of him that wants you to remember it. You look up at him, taking in the way his gaze softens, feel his hand give yours a squeeze, and feel a fuzzy feeling in your chest that's definitely not from the alcohol.

"Special," you echo. He gives you a nod, silent but encouraging. You squeeze his hand back, liking the way the word rolls off your tongue, but you like the way his name rolls off your tongue better.

"Silco," you say, unsure of what to follow the word up with. He raises an eyebrow, and huffs with amusement when he sees the way you struggle to keep your eyes open. The alcohol is catching up with you, it's only a matter of time before you knock out and this night will be lost to the wind.

"Stay, please." You whisper, feeling sleep tugging at your body.

"Always." It's a promise not just for tonight, but for the rest of your lives, whether you know it or not.

Always.

[on-leatheredwings]

Checkmate

Yandere! Tim Drake / (AFAB) Reader

> romantic, rated M > tw/cw: yandere-typical behaviors (obsession). M rating is for a boner. just some sexual tension. reader is mentioned as bisexual.

> summary: Intellectually, Tim falls fast. Romantically, he falls hard. Seems this time it's both. > a/n: i just wanted to post some tim practice, pls let me know if i did okay. I made him a bit of a fuckboy i guess but ngl i think tim’s just run through af 😭 > word count: 1268

Tim likes you. And knowing himself, soon, he’s going to really like you.

More than anticipated, too. He didn’t think he’d have much of an opinion at all on you, when you had first met on your first day, in your new position as his personal assistant.

Personal assistant. 

At the reveal, he exchanged a hard look with Bruce across the room. Tim Drake had not been slacking on the job. And sometimes he had the eye bags to prove it.

Tim hadn’t even said anything yet, when you chirped, “Think of it as delegation.”

You gave him a pleasant, albeit cheeky look – which he respected. If you had the qualifications and enough charm to impress the hiring manager, who was a notorious hardass in interviews, you were probably fine. Probably more than fine.

Either way, he expected to forget your existence until you texted or called him to remind him about meetings he hadn’t forgotten about.

It turns out, you had… personality. Probably more than you should’ve, working in the professional setting of Wayne Enterprises. You dealt with Tim’s shit (absences, excuses), but gave as good as you got (ultimatums, thinly-veiled blackmail to run and tell Bruce). You were also… very attractive. And clever. And smart. And insightful.

And God, he wonders if you have a boyfriend. Or girlfriend. Partner. And he wonders if he can somehow orchestrate a breakup. 

Tim moves a chess piece across the board. 

Okay, maybe he’s being too hasty. 

Oh, for the love of– you know what? No, he isn’t being too hasty. Anyone working in such close quarters with the heir apparent of Wayne Enterprises is heavily vetted. But it’s about time he did his own background check on you. He has made it three whole months without doing so. 

See, he really is getting over his control issues. Eat that, Stephanie.

Okay, if he’s going to entertain the idea of courting you– Wait, wait, since when was it courting? Yeah, no. He’s merely entertaining the thought of you. He’s been burned too many times now to start courting.

Let’s talk about having sex first before we start talking about dating, he jests with himself.

Anyway. He wonders what would be the most interesting means of going about this. Coming out and confessing would be a little boring. Too easy. His eyes wander to your lips. You’re too focused on making your next move to notice him ogling the soft swell of your chest beneath a sharp button-up. You’ve rolled up the sleeves – very casual for this very casual hangout. You both lounge on your bed, in your bedroom, in your apartment, because if Tim wins, you don’t get to hound him on personally contacting investors. (Sometimes, you gotta leave malcontents out to dry. Make them miss you.)

He hopes you like being experimented with. Or maybe you like experimenting on others. He would do anything you liked because, man, it’s thrilling to know people and their wants. Anything you give, he could take it–

Tim startles as a realization comes to his mind. 

… Him. Taking it.

Is that something he wants? To bottom for you? … Is that something… he wants? 

Yes.

Now that the idea has been conceived, yes, he wants that. So that’s that. 

The reality of whether you’d want to do that… is slim… maybe? You’re bi as well. Maybe that changes things. He’s not going to think about it too hard, because now he’s getting excited.

Tim would love for the skittering, synapses-firing-on-all-cylinders effect in his brain to cool down – for everything to wash over with cool calculation and academic interest. He manages to do that much for even the most intriguing cases. But you… Tim sighs.

And now he’s hard.

Tim shifts uncomfortably. He’s lying on his stomach, held up by his forearms. 

He sighs, even though there’s an evil piece of his brain snickering and taunting, “But you love this, though!” Evil, evil.

At Tim’s increasing silence, you lift a brow. Man, he’s been out of it all game.

“Tim?” He comes back to planet Earth. “It’s your move. Again.” You wear a Cheshire grin. “It’s almost like we’re taking turns, or something.”

He blinks, baby blue eyes clearing up. He shifts in his spot, feeling trills of pleasure from friction against erection. Your sheets. Against his erection. He bites back a smile. Okay, yes, he loves this. He likes hiding like this, right under your nose.

Him getting a boner was a development he had foreseen coming ten minutes ago, once he started daydreaming about you. So he just went ahead and casually switched positions. A risk, but a calculated one. He was pretty sure there’d be no reason for him to get up and expose the tent in his jeans. And boy does he love it when he’s right.

Tim goes to move another piece, when he glances up at you and nearly goes slack-jawed. You don’t meet his eyes. Instead, you wet your lips, seemingly meditating on something.

You meditate on him. After all, Tim is so… pretty. Pretty in a way unlike the rest of his gorgeous brothers. He has pretty eyes framed by dark lashes and a smaller frame, though he’s deceptively muscled under the clean-cut slacks and button ups. He has silky black hair that often falls into his eyes; a defined jaw. And pale skin. He is notably the palest in his family, burning miserably on beach days. It is that pale skin, contrasted so sharply with his dark green tee, that brings your eyes to his collarbones.

Tim nearly erupts.

Fuck, yes. He caught you staring. It takes him self-restraint not to puff out his chest or try to show more skin, lest he reveal his hard-on.

You snap out of it only moments after he notices, grin returning to your face.

“You know if you lose focus like that, I’m going to win,” you tease, almost childlike mischief in your expression. 

Tim so badly wants to parrot the words back at you, but he doesn’t want to scare you into never checking him out ever again. The little inch you just gave him– oh, he intends to take a mile. Whatever small acquiesces you give in the future, he knows he’ll take that and much more.

Now, he’s hungry for you. As soon as this game is done, he’s going to create a new case study file, just for you. He could start kicking his feet at the thought, he's that excited. He’s excited! 

He’ll put the pedestrian, basic stuff like your height, weight, alma mater, major, past jobs and experiences. Somehow get into your social media that’s all on private mode to see what you’re always laughing at on that damn phone. He’s also going to bring up your phone records, go through your email, go through your physical mail. Oh, fuck, surveillance. He’s already in your room, too, luckily. If only he had more of his bugs on hand… The ones he always keeps in his belt buckle will do for now. Also, Tim needs to think of some way to acquire your breast, waist, and hip size – he has a good idea of those measurements, but he wants to know. When is the next time you’ll be out of the house and not at work, he wonders–

“Tim,” you whine, impatient. The sound is music to his ears.

Tim’s eyes rise from the board to your pouting face, and he smiles apologetically. Suddenly, your face dawns with disbelief and indignance.

Tim swiftly picks up one last piece and knocks one yours over.

“Checkmate.”

[drunkenlionwrites]

Verso relationship headcanons

Pairing: g/n reader x painted Verso

Warnings: MDNI, canon setting, mild spoilers for the game, some nsfw smutty headcanons in the last part

Writer's note: i have few ideas and wanna write a few little somethings, so just wanted to define Verso a little bit more for myself before I start doing all this. Support banner by @cafekitsune

Verso doesn’t chase people, but he stays beside you. When he first meets you, he’s watchful, quiet. He listens more than he speaks, and his presence feels calm but unreadable. At first, you think he’s simply reserved. Later, you realize: he’s always looking for someone to hold onto.

He surprises you with how funny he is. Not the loud, outrageous kind of funny. Verso’s humor is dry, clever, and timed just right. He’s the guy who’ll quip softly under his breath at the worst possible time just to get you to laugh in the middle of a crisis.

You were the one who made the first move, or thought you did. In truth, he was quietly encouraging you the whole time. The small glances, the subtle closeness, the soft way he said your name - it was all intentional. He just never wanted to rush you.

Touch is sacred to him. He never takes it for granted. When you hold his hand, his fingers curl around yours so gently, like he’s afraid of breaking something fragile.

He’s not overtly clingy, but if you sit next to him, he’ll gradually lean in until your shoulders are touching. If you lie down beside him, he’ll shift closer until his forehead rests against yours, or you're tucked securely under his chin.

He kisses you slowly, thoughtfully. Like he’s trying to memorize it. Like he’s not sure he’ll get to do it again. It’s always careful, but never cold.

He holds you in his sleep. Always. Even if he starts on the other side of the bed, he’ll be curled around you by morning. You’ve woken up to find his hand in your hair, his face tucked against your neck, his breath soft and even.

He likes to do things with you. Even if it’s quiet work - making memos, cleaning weapons, preparing rations - he feels more grounded when you’re nearby.

He’s surprisingly good at small, domestic tasks. He braids rope better than anyone in the camp, and he brews tea like it’s a ritual. If you’re injured, he’s the one you want redressing your wounds: he’s gentle, precise, and always murmuring quiet reassurances.

He remembers everything. Your favorite way to eat eggs. Favorite pastry. Which side you sleep on. The fact that you get cold when the wind shifts. He rarely says anything about it, he just adjusts accordingly.

He doesn’t share easily, but he does with you. Not in big confessions, but in moments: a story, a sigh, a half-finished sentence. You learn to read the things he leaves unsaid.

You don’t know why he sometimes stares at the campfire like he’s mourning something. Or why he hesitates before kissing you goodnight. You don’t know what he carries, but you feel it. You’ve told him before: “Whatever it is, you don’t have to carry it alone.” He didn’t answer, but he kissed your forehead and held you until morning. NSFW headcanons:

Verso is gentle until he’s not. He starts off slow. Careful. Every touch is like a prayer. But once you’re his, once you ask for more, there’s a darker edge beneath the surface. He holds nothing back. He can’t.

He doesn’t treat sex casually. Whether it’s your first time or your fiftieth, there’s always an air of meaning behind it. You’ll catch him staring at you mid-act like he’s memorizing the way your body arches, the way you say his name.

He always puts you first. You won’t even have to ask, he’s attuned to every breath you take, every small sound, and he reads your reactions like scripture. Your pleasure is his anchor, his obsession. He needs to make you feel good like it’s the only way he can prove he’s real.

He doesn't do dirty talk per se, bu oh does he talk. He’s not loud, but when he speaks? It's all in that low, close voice that feels like it crawls down your spine. “There… that’s it. That’s what I wanted to hear.” “Tell me what you need. I’ll give you anything.” “You’re perfect like this… you know that?”

He wants to hear you. If you’re shy? He’ll tease it out of you slowly, murmuring praise in your ear, coaxing your voice with his touch. If you’re vocal? He drinks in every sound like it’s a gift.

He struggles sometimes with vulnerability afterward. You might see him get a little quiet after, especially if it was intense or loving. He’ll hold you like he’s afraid to let go but won’t always say why. He’ll just ask, “Was that okay?” with more weight behind it than he lets on.

He does have a praise kink -for yours, not his. He needs to be told he’s doing good. That he’s wanted. That he feels real to you. Whispering, “I want you,” or “You’re mine,” will wreck him every time.

Giving oral? An art form. Verso takes his time, devotes himself to it like it’s sacred. Expect strong arms pinning your thighs down while he loses himself between them. He’d do it for hours if you let him. He loves the way you come undone.

He’s into eye contact. Intense, soul-searching, “don’t-look-away-from-me” kind of eye contact. He wants to see you fall apart and wants you to see how much he feels for you when you do.

Loves it when you take initiative. If you climb into his lap, straddle him, or whisper in his ear that you want him? He gets so still. Like his breath catches in his throat. He’ll blink once, then reach for you with shaking hands, like you just gave him the stars.

Loves aftercare. Whether it was sweet or intense, he’s all about holding you close afterward. Pulling the blanket around both of you. Stroking your back. Kissing the top of your head and whispering, “You’re everything to me.”

There’s always something just beneath the surface. A tension, like he’s fighting something, holding back too much emotion or too much truth. But in these moments, it slips out: The way he touches you like you’re a memory he’s terrified of losing.The way he gasps your name like he’s grateful to be saying it.The way he holds you after like he might never get the chance again.

He never says it during sex, not I love you. Not directly. But it’s in every touch, every look. You feel it more than you hear it.

[elliespassagerprincess]

Headcannons: professor!ellie williams x reader

masterlist

professor ellie masterlist

☆ She teaches something cerebral—Literature, Creative Writing, or Philosophy—and has a cult following of students obsessed with her intellect and cold beauty.

☆ She’s the kind of professor that everyone crushes on, but no one dares approach. Sharp tongue. Impossibly high standards. A reputation for never mixing business with pleasure.

☆ She lectures with her sleeves rolled up, tattoos exposed, glasses perched low on her nose as she picks apart theories with quiet confidence.

☆ You challenge her in class. You’re clever, intuitive, and occasionally bold with your interpretations. That makes her look up from her notes more often than she should.

☆ She starts reading your papers more carefully than anyone else’s. Leaves long, thoughtful feedback. Starts quoting your insights in lectures.

☆ You feel her eyes on you. Not often—but enough to wonder if you’re imagining it.

☆ You start visiting her office under the guise of discussing assignments. She always looks up slowly when you enter. You swear her voice drops half an octave when she talks to you one-on-one.

☆ The air between you is thick. Tension buzzes under every conversation—your knees brushing under her desk, her lingering glances at your mouth.

☆ You leave every time a little breathless. Every time, you swear you’ll stop going. You never do.

☆ She’s calculated. She doesn’t take risks. But something about you breaks her pattern.

☆ She knows this could ruin everything—her job, her career, her integrity. But she can’t stop wondering what your skin would feel like under her fingers.

☆ She starts pulling away—cold in class, distant in office hours. You notice. It hurts.

☆ It happens late. You’re the last student at her seminar. The conversation turns personal. You say something that disarms her completely.

☆ You’re standing close. Her breath catches. She kisses you.

☆ She pulls away immediately. Apologizes. You tell her you wanted it. She tells you it can’t happen again (It does)

☆ You agree on rules: No affection on campus. No texting unless it’s academic. No being seen together in private spaces. Every rule falls apart quickly.

☆ She starts leaving books for you with hidden notes inside. You start staying after class even when you don’t have questions.

☆ When the door is locked, she’s softer. Takes off her glasses, lets her fingers trail across your cheek as she kisses you slowly.

☆ She lets you lie with your head in her lap while she reads aloud. Strokes your hair and calls you “baby” in a whisper.

☆ She admits she dreams about you. That sometimes she writes about you and deletes it in a panic.

☆ If someone flirts with you in class, her smile tightens. She calls on you more. Challenges your answers with sharp questions just to re-establish dominance.

☆ Outside class, she lets it out. Pulls you onto her lap and murmurs:

“You belong to me, you know that?”

“I see the way they look at you. But they’ll never know you like I do.”

☆ She tries to keep her distance, but it always ends the same—your lips on her neck, your hands under her shirt, her voice breathless: “God, I can’t stay away from you.”

☆ She’s never done this before. Never even thought about crossing the line. But for you, she’d risk it all.

☆ She scrubs your name from her personal phone. Starts using encrypted apps. Uses burner emails to talk about anything non-academic.

☆ Always looks around before letting you into her office. Never leaves a paper trail.

☆ She even gives you a code phrase—"What time is the seminar again?"—that means you want to see her alone.

☆ You like how commanding she is. How she takes control with her voice alone. She calls you “darling” or “sweet girl” only when no one else can hear.

☆ But you also love making her lose control. Love seeing her flustered. Love hearing her beg—only for you.

☆ She has a small couch. You both fall asleep tangled up after a long night of whispered confessions and kisses.

In the morning, she wakes you with soft kisses and regret in her eyes.

“We can’t keep doing this.”

“Then stop.”

She doesn’t.

☆ She writes about you. You find it once by accident. A half-finished poem with your favourite lipstick shade in the margin.

☆ She’s furious when you read it—then kisses you like she wants to drown in you.

☆ The first time she says she loves you it slips out during a quiet moment. She freezes. Looks at you with eyes full of fear and awe.

“You don’t mean that.”

“I do.”

She kisses you hard, like she’s trying to erase the fear.

☆ Only you are allowed in her apartment. She never brings anyone else. You cook together, read on the couch, listen to old vinyl records.

☆ She wears soft sweaters, no makeup, lets you sit between her legs while she grades. Sometimes she forgets the world is waiting outside.

☆ One day you accuse her of being ashamed of you. She snaps, tells you this could ruin everything. You scream that you’re worth the risk.

☆ She shows up the next day with red-rimmed eyes and a stack of your favourite books.

“I’m scared. But I want you.”

☆ She's always teaching you something new. Not just in class but in life too. She shows you how to break down arguments, how to write better, how to stand your ground in a debate.

☆ She’s fiercely proud of your mind. Tells you, “You’re the smartest person I’ve ever taught—and the only one I want.”

☆ You almost got caught a few times. A classmate sees you leaving her office late at night. Once in class you slip and say “Ellie” instead of “Professor.”

☆ You both panic. Lay low. Stop touching. Stop texting. It’s torture.

☆ She cracks first. Shows up at your dorm. “If we’re going down, I want one more night with you.”

☆ In whispered conversations at 3 a.m., you talk about a life after school. A place where she’s not your professor. A place you can be together without shame.

☆ She wants to publish a book. You want to teach. You want to love each other in the daylight.

☆ She gets offered a position at another university. She can leave—with a clean record. She asks if you’ll come.

“If we stay here, we lose. But if we go… we can finally be real.”

[nanamiskentos]

Begging you to write something for Kashimo you're the only writer I've seen that actively writes for him please i will literally suck you off (pretend I just didn't type that, i'm just desperate for fine shyt)

I CAN DO A LOT WITH FIFTEEN MINUTES ❛ hajime kashimo won't ever admit defeat, even if there's a time constraint. he just has to make you finish ❜

cw — afab!reader, MDNI, marking, édging, kashimo doesn't fw gojo, thigh ríding, inappropriate jujutsu usage, gojo cameo, fíngéring

"i kinda' ship them, wouldn't you agree?" you're snapping your glossy mouth, gently gnawing on your lower lip. straddled over a toned, muscular thigh, with your back pressed against a washboard, deliciously carved abdomen, "hakari and kirara, right?"

you hear a clever tongue click absent-mindedly behind the soft shell of your ear, "i do not understand this, i may find them . . insufferable, but are they not friends of yours?" you can hear the strained confusion colouring kashimo's voice, that, and the impatience as he's hissing and sucking a quick draw of breath between teeth as you lean back into him just a little bit more, "why would you send them off on a boat?"

ah, sometimes it's easy to forget that the sharp-tongued, bratty, teal-haired sorcerer ( who spends his days attempting to pick fights with anyone who looks at him 'funny' ) is yet to fully swap out his birth-tongue medieval vernacular for something a bit more up to date.

"it means that i think they'd look cute together, 'jime," you sigh, hearing kashimo sigh, loud and heavy, before opting to bury his face into the crook of your neck. if only to nip at the soft flesh there, awaiting the blooming petals of the pink and violet bruises he so loves to see there.

"that's nice, little dove," kashimo murmurs, and you can tell that he's doing his best to indulge your gossip and conversation, but the thick curve that's straining against the loose drape of his martial pants is making it quite difficult for him to focus, "but we do not have long before everyone is scheduled to meet here. and the last thing i wish for is that irritating, white-haired upstart to kick up a fuss."

"who?" you frown, a soft whine slipping from your lips as kashimo's strong hands find a firm grip on your waist, gently beginning to move you back and forth in a slow rocking motion, "gojo?"

"if i do not like someone, i will not indulge them by speaking their name."

sighhh, frankly what gojo thinks is the last thing on your mind right now. . . for all you can truly think about is the gentle, cloying strands of slick that must be pooling now in your underwear. stimulated by the soft brush of fabric creating an electrifying friction, dampening kashimo's pants with a translucent stain of your arousal.

you're so lost in the addictive sway of your cunt against the contours and muscle of kashimo's thighs, like the subtle pressure of a coiled spring just waiting to break loose, "feels s-so good, 'jime."

a rasp-rough chuckle from kashimo, his hands falling away from your hips and leaving you to rock yourself against his thigh in growing desperation. hands instead curling around your front to slide surreptitiously up your top, breezing past sensitive and pebbled skin to gently cup your breasts, tweaking and flicking, "yeah, yeah? thought so, heh, my fair lady."

but just as you're so, so close to seeing stars shoot across your vision, kashimo bounces his thigh, creating the most delicious jolt that suddenly breaks your rhythm and leaving you to kiss your climax a tearful goodbye, "what the f-fuck, i was gonna' –"

kashimo is so close to you, his face practically glued to the back of your neck that you can feel the flutter of his long, teal lashes as he rolls his eyes, "whaaat? you were gonna cum, was that it, little dove? is that why you're suddenly so –," a bandaged finger reaching around to wipe a stray, frustrated crystalline droplet from your teary eyes, "weak, mm? weak for my touch?"

"y-you're the one who said we didn't have long 'n –"

the same finger that was gently brushing over your weeping eye, gliding away the last remnants of your ruined orgasm, now presses over your lips, firm, "shh."

kashimo quickly spreads his thighs apart, and considering you had just been balancing on one, the action should have toppled your balance. but a veiny arm wraps your waist, keeping you in. . place pressed against his back.

instead, now your legs are spread wide, each ankle hooked around kashimo's calves so you balance precariously.

praying to god, to tengen, to every deity out there and throwing whoever you can quickly of in, that the training room door will remained closed for at least fifteen minutes. but it's hard to think rationally when kashimo is purring, still pressed to your back as he reaches around your waist to gently pull down your waistband.

"how filthy," he teases, "tsk', i've barely even touched you, and you're drippin' allll over my fingers." and while you'd like to keep your dignity intact, there's no denying that every prod of kashimo's padded fingertips against your pussy leaves the bandages soaked in your wetness.

"alright, little dove," kashimo murmurs, "here we go, keep ya' balance for me." and you wonder why he's bothering to give you a warning when your cunt is already spread by his hand, but in hindsight, it makes so much sense because like most things kashimo does, his pace is brutal and aiming to win.

in and out, in and out. the sloppy pshh and pop! of kashimo's fingers driving into your gummy walls has you keening, and it has the old sorcerer loudly moaning before he sucks in a breath, lips pressed together tightly like all he wants to hear right now is you, just you.

"ah, ah, 'jime," you writhe in his gasp, groaning as his fingers prod and curl in all the right places. sharp, pistoning motions that faintly crackle, you swear, heightening every sensation tenfold, "are you, f-fuck, are you seriously using –, oh my god!"

you can feel kashimo smile against your neck, and the soft press of his lips on your skin, "am i using what, love?" waiting for your answer that was never going to arrive, not with how kashimo's pumping his middle finger against that sweet spot, "ah, can't even speak now, 's a damn shame."

what a debauched sight the two of you must make. kashimo, flushed just from watching and hearing you fall apart on his lap, with his teal hair unbound. choppy, slick strands brushing his shoulders. you, with your legs pushed wide open, and wider still as kashimo jolts his own thighs apart further.

you're babbling now, riddled cries of the sorcerer's name, as he never lets up, not even once on the nasty pace. if you turn your head to fall back against kashimo's shoulder, you can taste the trail of salt-tears at the corner of your mouth, "baby, 'j-jime, so close now, baby."

"good, good," kashimo hisses, and you don't miss how he's furiously bucking his hips up, jolting you higher into his lap as he must chase some friction for his own release, "if you jus' hold onn, little dove."

a thumb messily gliding through your glossy mess to flick at your clit, all in conjunction with kashimo melding three fingers into your pussy, well, it's got you hurtling close and the sorcerer knows it, "three." he crooks his fingers inside and towards your groin, "two." sloppily running his thumb alongside the side of your clit, scooping, "one."

a devastating high that leaves you both panting, and your hips clenching and twitching, your arousal so plentiful that it's beginning to froth and pool at the edges of your pushed aside underwear. kashimo hisses, and then sighs, "made a mess, love." and you need not pointedly mention the dark stain on his loose, white pants.

"you look like a mess, 'jime." your legs feel utterly boneless but you make an effort to move, falling back into kashimo's surprisingly gentle, "i've got a hold of you." the sorcerer's laughing as you smooth your skirt down, grimacing at the slap of slick and sweat that's dampening your flesh.

kashimo's snapping his teeth around a loose tie that hangs off his wrist to scrape his cyan hair back up into his recognisable knots, "you know, if we had more time, little dove, i would have –" he makes a quick whistling sound, jerking his wrist over his groin and pointedly looking down to your shaking thighs, "but we had to make do."

it's a surprisingly crude gesture from the prudish sorcerer that makes you laugh, "and right on time, too. because i swear, if anyone had –"

"i swear to fucking god, you two pull that shit again, i'm going to fight sukuna early." yeah, right on time, because gojo's pushing open the training room door with one hand, the most disgusted look over his face that informs you that you didn't account for the sheer magnitude of six eyes.

gojo's bright-blue eyes swivel away from the turquoise-haired sorcerer now, to where you're shuffling sheepishly and avoiding kashimo's proud, fanged grin, "and you, control your boy toy. i don't have time for this shit."

you press your lips together in faint embarrassment in front of one of your oldest friends, all while kashimo is vaguely fiddling with his hands, making you wonder if he's about to pull out some new domain expansion that no one has heard of. but what you end up hearing is a satisfied 'aha!'.

"see, i'm getting the hang of these modern things." kashimo's fingers are curled into a tight fist, all save for the middle one, proudly flipping gojo off ( who just mutters some ominous portent about hoping that december 24 rolls around quicker )

[suskz]

reader x hyunjin based on the last skz code where they went camping - he looked so hot working on that tent 😯💨 - , going with the boys since it was all minho idea, reader doesn't like camping but she likes him so, building tension up bc that's hot too, and maybe he could switch places with reader's bff and sneak into their's tent? 🖤

pairing: Hyunjin x Fem!Reader

t/w: friends to lovers ; Hyunjin is a flirt ; fluff ; a little suggestive.

w/c: 2.1k

a/n: it was fun to write! And yeah, Hyunjin really looked hot (I mean, he always is). The way he rolled his sleeves up omg, I couldn’t not write this. Hope you like this, anon!

↳ Reader has with the members the same friendship they have with each other.

"I hate this." Jiwoo complains as she drops the bag she was holding to the ground.

"Come on!" You try to cheer her up, "It's nice to be out in nature sometimes!"

She shoots you a glare, "That's easy to say," she says bitterly, "You hate camping more than I— hey!" she exclaims when you nudge her arm with your elbow, silencing her.

"I love camping." You lie loudly, with the boys just a few meters away from you.

"I can't say the same." Changbin comments, slapping his arm to kill a mosquito.

And suddenly, an arm falls around your shoulders. You turn towards the person who has come up next to you and see Hyunjin, unconsciously shrinking under his close presence, "I agree with Y/nie, a bit of fresh air away from the city is nice."

A small smile forms on your lips.

"You say that because you have no intention to help with anything." Chan chimes in, opening one of the bags he carried.

"Clever of you to assume that." Hyunjin responds, smiling.

"That's why Hyunjin will help set up the tent." Minho states, biting back a smile.

"Huh? I don't know how!" Hyunjin complains, taking his arm off your shoulders and moving closer to the older guy.

You regret that the contact was so short, but you maintain your composure and watch him walk away.

"You'll learn." Minho closes the conversation in a tone that allows no reply.

—

“You need to pump it?” Hyunjin asks, looking for the pump to inflate the tent.

You watch him curiously, seeing him search non-stop for a while.

“Did you find it?” Minho asks him, watching in disbelief. There are only 5 bags, how can he not have found it yet?

He starts to approach him, but you are quicker.

“They have accessories here.” Hyunjin says in a pouty, hopeless voice, closing a bag. He turns to continue searching but almost falls to the ground from the jump he makes when you suddenly stand up in front of him, very, perhaps too, close.

You hand him the pump that you found in a few seconds, “You suck at finding things.”

He puts a hand on his heart, opening his mouth and sighing slowly with closed eyes, as if he has just seen a ghost, “You scared me.”

You roll your eyes at his dramatic behaviour, “Don’t thank me.” You say sarcastically.

He smiles, his front teeth slightly showing behind his slightly parted lips, “Thank you, Y/nie.” He blows you a kiss for show. You are used to this, yet you blush, while he bends down to attach the pump nozzle to the tent opening.

“Do you need help with that too?” you tease, smirking, trying to hide the visible blush coloring your cheeks from yourself, since he can't even see you.

“Huh?!” He stands up and rolls up the sleeves of the baggy t-shirt he’s wearing, showing his muscles, “I don’t need your help, these are enough for me.” He flexes his biceps.

You like them, don’t you? You think he’s cool, right? Hyunjin hopes so.

You chuckle at his words while he gets to work to really show what he’s capable of as you return to Jiwoo, who needs help with setting up your tent.

You don’t even realise you've been distracted watching him the whole time, as his muscles contract with the effort of pushing the pump handle, and soon small drops of sweat start to trickle down them.

Your eyes are fixed on the way his hands roll up the sleeves each time they unroll and on the way he lifts his head and pulls his hair back with one hand when it bothers him too much and prevents him from seeing. It almost seems like he does it on purpose so your eyes never leave him.

But someone's hand rests on your shoulder, waking you up. “He’s really handsome, isn’t he?” Minho smirks and holds back a laugh when you turn to look at him, blushing and trying to stammer out a response, but he stops you right away, “Wipe off all the drool you’ve spilled first.” He chuckles and walks away with your eyes on him, shaking his head slowly, amused.

Just then, you hear the sound of someone falling to the ground, and when you turn, you see Hyunjin sitting from exhaustion. His breathing is heavy, and pained sounds and light groans leave his lips, the heat of the sun making everything worse, while Jisung takes his place to finish inflating.

His friend hands him a black tank top to wear instead of the sweat-soaked shirt he has on, and that's what Hyunjin does.

He takes off the white t-shirt and uses it to wipe off the sweat covering his body. And once again, it seems like he does it to show off so that you watch and can’t take your burning eyes off him, off his body. But deep down, you know it’s not like that, and this thought forces you to immediately look away when his eyes meet yours, amused. It’s a quick contact, it lasts little but says a lot.

And you have to use all the self-control you have in your body not to set your eyes on that tight black fabric that perfectly hugs his body, making his muscles appear more tense and defined.

“That’s better.” he sighs with relief, soon returning to work and starting to add the stakes.

The silence is filled with the sounds of hammers, and you don't notice when he moves away from the group.

When you stand up after finishing setting up the tent, you look around, confused by his absence. “Where's Hyunjin?” you ask Jiwoo, who is taking out lights from a bag to use as decoration.

“He went for a walk over there; there's a river a bit further from here.” She points in a direction with the index finger of her free hand.

“Oh.” you nod in understanding.

Only a few seconds of silence pass before she speaks again, “Go to him, he's alone; I'll take care of decorating the tent.” It's written all over your face, what you want to do. She suppresses the urge to roll her eyes and winks at you instead.

And you don't need to be told twice.

When you arrive at the spot, you search for him with quick, darting glances. “Hyunjin?” you call out before finding him lying on a large rock with his hands on his belly and his eyes closed.

He didn't answer, so you gather that he's sleeping. You slowly approach him, trying not to make any noise, and sit down next to his sleeping body.

You look at his serene face and can almost hear his calm breath and sense the steady beats of his heart.

The place itself is very quiet. It's cozy, isolated from everyone else, and intimate.

You glance around a couple of times with furtive eyes, but you end up realising that you're alone. Then you look at him, his slightly parted inviting plump lips. You bring your face close to his almost instinctively, faces so close that you can feel his warm breath on your own lips, but then you pull away.

What are you trying to do? It's wrong and stupid. If someone saw you, it would be a mess.

And if you had done it, he would have noticed, because he's awake.

Your ears burn, your cheeks flushed with shame and guilt when his eyes open.

He doesn't say anything for a few seconds, looking at you with distant irises, wrapped in thoughts, then he sits up, raising his torso.

"I heard you calling me but I didn't feel like answering.” he tries to smile to tease you, but what comes out is more of a grimace. You pretend not to notice though, lying to him as well as to yourself.

"I knew it, that's why I've been sitting in silence." You smirk, trying to push away the shame and alleviate the strange tension that has arisen.

However, the situation changes so quickly. There is still tension between the two of you, but it is different with his hand holding your chin and his thumb slowly, intensely stroking your lower lip. Intense, too, is the look his burning eyes give to your rosy lips.

When your eyes meet, his movements stop, and it’s difficult for you to tell what he is thinking. The eyes are the reflection of the soul, he likes to say, but at the moment his do not reflect much.

And then, he pulls away from you. His gaze, his hand, a moment later are no longer on you.

He stands up, "You had something on your lips." He looks around, normal, apparently enjoying the scenery.

You touch your lips, embarrassed, "Oh."

He looks at you and chuckles softly, sitting back next to you with a now more serene air.

One of his arms rests on your shoulder in a friendly gesture, trying to get as close to you as possible.

"I like this place, it's quiet and relaxing," he says. "I want to paint it."

"Hey lovebirds!" You hear someone say from just a bit further away from you. You immediately recognize it's Jisung's voice, who has joined you. "Get a room."

Hyunjin chuckles, and you try to do the same, but your mind is clouded by the memory of his gesture.

The fact that he didn't stop you when you tried to get closer to his lips, the way he touched yours with his thumb.

These images still flash in your mind while everyone else sleeps. You touch your lips with two fingers almost unconsciously, smiling sadly.

But apparently, you're not the only one lost in thought, as the entrance to the tent is opened and the little lamp in between you and Jiwoo is turned on. The latter gets up and leaves, letting someone else in.

And how could you not recognize that head of dark hair making its way inside, closing the entrance zipper after murmuring a 'thank you' and receiving a nod in response.

"Hyunjin? What are you doing here? It's late." you ask him, but receive no answer.

You receive no answer because instead, his lips crash against yours in a needy gesture.

Your eyes widen at the sudden gesture, but you don't push him away, not even when his lips start moving on yours shortly after. Instead, you reciprocate.

It's desperate. Your movements aren't even in sync, but it's okay. It's perfect like this; you couldn't ask for anything better.

One of his hands rests above your ear, caressing it so delicately that you barely even notice, as if you’re made of porcelain.

You break the kiss with quick breaths and uncontrollable heartbeats, emotions finally laid bare.

"I've wanted to kiss you for so long." he admits in a whisper, looking into your eyes.

You find the strength to speak, albeit lightly, "Today by the river… I didn't just watch you." You admit, and you can't help the hint of embarrassment you feel in saying those words to him.

"I know, and I hoped so much that you'd do what you were about to do, but you stopped." His smile doesn't falter for a moment. "You didn't have anything on your lip; I just used it as an excuse to touch you. I actually wanted to kiss you, but when I looked into your eyes, I didn't have the courage." He confesses.

"And here you are now." You chuckle.

He huffs a chuckle, "It wouldn't have been like this if you hadn't tried to kiss me first."

“Now I wish I hadn’t stopped earlier today, by the river.” you say, lowering your eyes to his lips and then back to his, licking your own lips. “I’ve always thought you have nice lips and I’ve always wondered what it would be like to kiss you, you know?”

“Now you know,” he says happily. “Or do you need to explore a little more?”

You don’t even need to answer; he already knows the response. And once again, your lips are on each other’s, in a kiss that quickly becomes fast and hungry.

Your hands roam over each other’s bodies, fingers tangled in hair, hands gripping cheeks, hips, ending up on thighs.

Your breaths are fast, and the tent heats up. You’re so lost in each other that you don’t realise you’re not being very quiet anymore.

It’s Changbin’s voice that wakes you up and makes you pull away. “Could you guys keep it down a bit?” he shouts from a couple of tents away from yours.

“If you two don’t let me sleep or wake me up at any hour of the night, I’ll put you in the air fryer.” Minho’s voice intervenes right after, annoyed.

You and Hyunjin lock eyes and then laugh silently.

“At least we’ll be put together.”

[bower-quinn]

Grease and Glances

You're Steve Harrington’s little sister—and secretly crushing on Eddie Munson for weeks. But a broken bike brings you closer. Closer than you ever imagined. From strangers to friends to lovers. fluffy, description of sex, 18+, smut Watch out! There are severeal chapters.

<- Chapter One <- Chapter Two <- Chapter Three

Chapter Four

The next morning, it takes you a while to notice that Eddie is much quieter than usual. The memory of yesterday’s conversation with Steve is still lingering in your mind. He talked a lot about decency—how one should call if they're going to be out late. Especially if someone has cooked and is waiting. Like on so many evenings, your parents weren’t home, and Steve had cooked again and ended up eating alone. But behind all that was just his worry that something had happened to you.

Steve could be terribly annoying sometimes, but he was also simply the best brother in the world.

As you smile at the thought, your gaze falls on Eddie. He’s staring out the window, thoughtfully looking at the sky.

You arrive at school. By now, no one really cares that you and Eddie come together. It’s become part of the routine.

You get out and slowly start to wonder if Eddie is sick. He's never been this quiet.

“My bike’s fixed,” he says suddenly. You look at him, surprised.

“Okay?”

“Yeah. Wayne finished it yesterday. So I could’ve used it today already.”

He doesn’t look at you as he says this, instead kicking a pebble in front of him.

You nod slowly, keeping your eyes on him. “Okay. And? Does that mean you don’t want to ride with me anymore?”

His head snaps up immediately, a shocked expression on his face. “What? No! I mean—I just thought... maybe you didn’t want to anymore. I didn’t want to be... clingy or something.”

A terrible thought rises in you, something you can’t just push aside. “Eddie. Just tell me straight. Did you only enjoy our rides because I drove you around? Or... was it also about me?”

That last part is so hard to say.

He takes a moment. Then he breathes in deeply.

“Of course it was about you,” he says quietly, almost offended you even had to ask. “I loved every second. Every single one.”

Your expression stays serious, though a bit of relief warms your chest.

Eddie lowers his head again, nudging the pebble with his foot. “I just... I was scared you wouldn’t want to spend time with me anymore. Now that you don’t have a reason to.”

He still doesn’t look at you, but you can see the tension in his shoulders, as if he’s bracing for a blow. A comment. A laugh. A retreat.

Instead, you take a step toward him. Lift your hand, and your fingers gently touch his forearm.

“Eddie,” you whisper. “I don’t need a reason to spend time with you. I just want to.”

Slowly, he raises his head. Your eyes meet. And in his is an expression that steals your breath: hope. Fragile, tentative—but real.

Vanilla cream with strawberries.

“Then...,” he begins hesitantly, “will you still come by tomorrow? Even if the bike’s not broken anymore?”

You smile. “Only if you—”

But then you’re interrupted by a high-pitched giggle. A very pretty blonde girl is openly staring at you both. Amanda Bishop, a year above you. She eyes the two of you, standing so close, your hand still on Eddie’s forearm.

“Heyyy, Harrington. So... you and Munson... are you guys a couple now? Or just a carpool with benefits?”

She wiggles her eyebrows suggestively. Rage surges in you. What does she know? Maybe you could’ve let it go, said something clever, and walked away with Eddie. But Eddie’s reaction is what tips you over the edge.

Eddie opens his mouth. Pauses. Looks at you briefly, then takes a step back. Like he doesn’t want anyone thinking that about you.

You and the freak.

You stare at Eddie.

Something inside you clicks. Snaps into place—sharply.

Without a word, you grab Eddie by the collar, pull him toward you—and kiss him. Hard. Hot. Your lips find his with a need that surprises even you.

Eddie gasps into the kiss.

But only briefly. Then one hand finds your hip. The other presses you against the cold wall of the school building. His tongue brushes your lip, and you happily let him into your mouth. He tastes exactly like you imagined. His body pushes against yours, and the butterflies in your stomach become little torpedoes firing into your insides.

Your lips move together, and all you can think is that you could stay here forever, kissing him. Kissing him. Kissing him.

You don’t even notice Amanda walking away. She stared for a few seconds, but the show got a bit too intense.

Eddie pulls back, breathless and flushed. Your body aches as if something vital has been taken from it.

He stares at you, wide-eyed. Shocked.

“Okay... wow. I... uh... I’m sorry. That was... I shouldn’t have—”

Why is he apologizing? you think. You kissed him, after all.

“You’re not just supposed to pick up all bad habits from me,” comes a voice behind you. You both jump and turn to see Steve standing there. He looks grossed out, but also kind of amused.

“What are you doing here?” you ask, horrified, groaning as he holds up your gym clothes.

“You’re getting forgetful,” he replies, his gaze flicking to Eddie, “and I can see why.”

“Uh, Steve, this is Eddie,” you say, your face flaming red, “Eddie, Steve.”

“Hey,” Eddie says awkwardly.

“Nice to meet you,” Steve nods to him, then looks at you. “So the spoon has finally reached its destination?” he asks innocently.

“Steve, for the love of god,” you groan, and he raises his hands.

“Alright, I’m out!” he winks at you and walks off.

What an asshole, you think, praying Eddie didn’t catch that last part—but of course he did.

“Want to explain what Steve meant by that?” he asks, not looking as shocked anymore.

“Oh god!” you cry, throwing your hands up. It’s all over now anyway. “Steve gave me a whole lecture about how to get closer to your crush—and he used cake as a metaphor!”

Your face is burning with shame now, but Eddie nods like you just said something very wise.

“So you’re the spoon,” he says, pointing to you, then to himself, “and I’m the cake?”

“Good grief, yes!”

“So that means,” he speaks slower, staring at you in disbelief, “I’m your crush?”

“Yes,” your voice is barely a whisper.

He nods, clearly thinking. The seconds before his response feel endless. Your cards are all on the table, but Eddie is still holding his last one.

But instead of an answer, Eddie kisses you again. Until the bell rings to signal the start of class.

Chapter Five ->

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