#empty spool

[kieraoonadiy]

This is brilliant!!!!

Cosplay Tip! Empty spools work exceptionally well as connector parts for lightweight items, like antlers/horns in this example.

[tj-crochets]

I finally found my hot glue gun and the right glue to go with it and now the possibilities are endless!!! What should I make with the hot glue gun?

[chalkythetalkie]

Victor found this ancient (1970s) Instamatic 155x Kodak camera in his closet yesterday, and now we're concocting a way to bring it to life again! Won't be easy, since the film format used on Instamatics (126 film) is no longer being manufactured, but it's a fun project

[measureyourlifeincake]

i wanna work on my knitting but i dropped several stitches in a row and i really dont wanna pick them up so now its just sitting there until i finally get the motivation to roll up my sleeves and do it😭😭😭😭😭😭

[kaasi-legacy-designs]

Does everyone have a designated graveyard for thread spools or am I just weird?

[cultivating-wildflowers]

reblog and tell me in the tags what's in the center console/drop-zone in your car

[azsazz]

Cold Shoulder (Part 2)

Hockey!Azriel x Ice Skater!Reader

Summary: Anon Req: Cold Shoulder pt 2 please 😫😫 I’m a sucker for jealous Az 😫😫

Warnings: N/A

Word Count: 3234

Other Fics in the Hockey!Az AU: Penance, Shut Out, Out of Order, All's Well That Ends Well, Brr-eakdown Shots & Spins Sprinkles of Luck and Doubt Cold Shoulder (Part 1)

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Azriel thought that he was stubborn, but you’re giving him a run for his gods-damned money.

You’ve been avoiding him, which is a feat considering both of your practices overlap and that they’re held in the same building. It really shouldn’t be all that hard to run into you, unless you’re actively avoiding him.

Which, he gets. He was an utter asshole to you the last time you saw each other. He hasn’t stopped thinking about that evening for more reasons than one. The way your nipples piqued under his attention and goosebumps rolled across your flesh just from the sight of him. That raw, brutal affection in your eyes that had locked him under your spell. The way you were drenched in warm water pouring from the shower spout, the liquid running down each delicate curve of your body. He never thought he could be envious of water until that very moment. He had wanted to indulge, to reach out and trace those same lines, and he did. He did until his mind had caught up with him and realization sunk in. How he’d snuck into the women’s locker room to see you ten minutes before he was supposed to leave for one of the most important games of the Bats’ season.

Girls are the last thing he’s supposed to be focusing on this year.

Still, Azriel shouldn’t have allowed his fears to consume him. All it took was a single tug at that thread and he fucking unraveled like a spool rolling down a hill. How he couldn’t stop thinking about you all weekend, replaying how your face had fallen when he all but rejected you, when he’s the one that had sought you out. He feels like a fucking prick, doing that to you under the worst circumstances possible.

When he scored a goal, he’d look up into the stands, searching for your smiling face, before quickly realizing that you weren’t even in the same state, not that he’d expect you to cheer him on after what he had done. The high from gaining a point for his team quickly withered at the reminder.

And now you’re playing hard to get. You were the first person he sought out after arriving back to campus with the team. He couldn’t find you anywhere. Not at the rink the four different times he tried, not at your dorm, though, he couldn’t really be all too sure about that one because your roommates acted like Pitbulls, glaring him down at the door. You weren’t at the library or the athletic training rooms, not at your favorite bench in the commons.

It was like he had imagined you, and Azriel did wonder if he had finally gone crazy.

It isn’t until after practice one evening, when he’s actually considering leaving you alone after coach had reamed him out over how unfocused he’d been, that he sees you again.

Azriel spots you in the rink on his walk of shame back to the hockey house, his gear back thrown over his shoulder. He shouldn’t have it, it should be in the locker room, but he’s too far lost in his thoughts to realize it’s slung over his body, hitting the backs of his thighs when he walks.

Of course, he’d never be too engrossed in his thoughts to notice you.

You’re sitting on the bench, peering over the ice. There’s no one around, the arena is empty, and he takes a step closer without realizing it, drawn to you.

You’re thinking, that much he knows, because you haven’t spotted him yet and your bottom lip is sucked between your teeth as you chew on it. He wants to untuck it, swipe a thumb across it, kiss it.

He takes the time while you’re distracted with your own thoughts to shuffle closer. He’s drinking you in greedily, and his heart speeds in his chest, the air plunges from his lungs. It’s been so long since Azriel has seen you, he doesn’t realize how badly he’s needed this until this very moment. He’s pretty sure that his hands are shaking.

You look like an angel. Smothered in a sweatshirt that he recognizes as his. Fuck, his cock aches at the sight. You haven’t completely cut him from your life. He might stand a fucking chance for your forgiveness after all.

He follows the musculature of your legs in your black leggings, down to where your leg warmers are scrunched over your calf as you tug your ice skates on.

It’s when you shove back the sleeves of his sweatshirt that he sees the compression brace wrapped around your wrist.

Azriel frowns deeply.

You’re hurt.

A swell of emotions bubbles in his chest. It’s a combination of panic and fury. Panic because he hadn’t been here when you were injured. Fury because whoever had a hand is this is going to face his wrath.

Azriel makes his presence known, but he’s too wound up to apologize for startling you. He adds it to the list of things he needs to grovel for. “You shouldn’t be skating while you’re hurt.”

Your mouth parts in shock at his sudden appearance. Without your permission, your gaze flickers his way. Gods, does he look delectable in his post-practice sweats. It’s always been a weakness of yours, to see Azriel dressed like this, and you have to forcefully remove your gaze from his heated hazel ones, remind yourself that you’re angry with him, and that you’re trying to practice.

You refrain from telling him that you’ve been skating just fine since the night he left you in the shower stall with your dignity and heart on the floor.

“It’s only a grade two sprain,” you finally huff, pulling your laces tight. Your teeth dig into your bottom lip as you smother the wince you want to hiss out when the motion tugs uncomfortably at your injured hand.

You’ve never been prone to injury. In fact, tearing your ACL was your first serious injury ever, but you weren’t going to let that stop you. You did everything you could to get back to the sport that you loved; physical therapy, training in ways that wouldn’t put too much stress on your knee, keeping to your meal plans and schedule, and in no time, you were back out on the ice, reveling in the rush again.

“You could hurt yourself even more,” Azriel says gruffly, and the sound of his hockey bag falling to the floor is startling, but not as startling as it is when he crouches down in front of you to tie your laces for you. It reminds you all too much of the day you spent together at the rink when you traded skates. Your heart surges painfully in your chest.

You keep your eyes averted from him because if you meet those molten eyes of his, you’re going to allow him to escort you back to your dorm and help you relax with his body against yours.

“I’m fine,” you mumble, but allow him to finish tying your laces for you. So thoughtful, even after whatever the both of you shared went to hell. You keep an eagle-eye on his fingers as he works, just in case he does decide to take them off instead.

Fucking stubborn, indeed.

“If you fall, you could—”

“Thanks, Azriel,” you bite, pulling your skate from his grasp as soon as the tie is knotted. “But I don’t need a lecture.”

You shove to your feet, taking off your hoodie and shoving it over your shoulders. It the only thing you could find of his, and although it no longer smells like him, it’s been a comfort nonetheless. Now’s the time to give back the last piece of the short-lived, un-named relationship you and Azriel shared, except when you offer it to him, he refuses to take it.

Pain flashes through his eyes when you shove the balled-up fabric at him again. You avoid his gaze, breathing shallowly and forcing yourself not to think too hard about the tears prickling your eyes or the way your nose tingles with emotion. Can’t he see that him being here is hurting you? You just want him to take it for fuck’s sake, take it and leave because this hurts more than any sprain ever could.

You don’t need his worries, especially not when he wasn’t worrying about how he left you feeling in the locker room, or the days that followed. What you need is to be out on the ice warming up because that’s exactly where your coach wants you.

Azriel’s jaw clicks with how quickly his mouth snaps shut. You’re pretty sure that he’s grinding his teeth, but you don’t look back to examine how irritated he is. He might almost be as irritated you were when he showed up to your practice the other day and started calling Eris names. “Fine,” he responds in an uncompromising tone. There’s a sound of another zipper and you really don’t want to look but your curiosity gets the better of you.

“What do you think you’re doing?” you ask, halting in your tracks. Azriel’s doing exactly what you thought he might be doing, pulling his skates out of his bag. He kicks his shoes off and plants himself in the spot on the bench that you just occupied.

“If you’re going to refuse to rest,” he grunts, shoving his foot into his skate. When he bends over and reaches for his laces, your eyes are glued to the ways his muscles contract. “Then I’m coming with you.”

“I don’t need a babysitter,” you respond harshly, ignoring the way that your stomach flutters at the sentiment. And he thinks that you’re the stubborn one, when he just got out of practice and instead of going home, he’s lacing up again.

You even cross your arms over your chest for extra emphasis, but Azriel’s too focused on tying his skates.

“No,” he agrees, though you see that he doesn’t mean it. Of course, he’s not trying to be a babysitter to you, he’s using this as the perfect excuse he’s been looking for a week. Plus, he really doesn’t want you hurting yourself. “But if you’re going to be this headstrong about skating with an injury,” he stands to his full height and moves closer to you until you’re nearly chest to chest. You have to crane your head back to continue to glare up at him. “Then I’m to accompany you. Besides, I don’t see your partner here.”

“He’s on his way,” you bite back. It’s a bold-faced lie. You have no idea where Eris is at all, but it’s the only weapon you have left in your arsenal.

You need Azriel to leave. It was easy to hold this grudge over him whilst not having to look into those soft hazel eyes. You’ve thought about nothing but him in the time since, and even though he’s hurt you, it’s not beyond repair. If anything, you want an explanation more than an apology, because you saw the battle behind his eyes that day in the locker room, the realization of something striking, and causing him to freak out in his own stoic, frigid way, and for him to walk away.

The corner of Azriel’s mouth twitches and your stomach clenches. You want to see that self-assured smirk, even if you’re on the receiving end of it.

“Then you won’t mind if I stay until he arrives?” Azriel asks. It sounds more like a taunt.

His breath flutters your eyelashes. You didn’t even realize how close you were standing.

You force your shoulders into a shrug. It’s difficult to turn away from the warmth of his body. “Do whatever you want,” you mumble, gliding out over the ice.

You wring your fingers together. It’s not like you can call Eris and have him race over here to practice. He could be studying, he could be hanging out with friends, at a bar, and you’re not close enough to where you feel like you can ask for a favor without owing him something in return. You may be paired with him while you’re on the mend and getting your head straight, but you’re definitely not the best of friends just yet.

You hear Azriel’s skates hit the ice and you’re reminded of that last time you were here together, learning how to handle a stick and puck while he attempted twizzles that make you laugh so hard your stomach ached.

He catches up easily and neither of speak. You don’t give him the chance to because as soon as he opens his mouth to apologize, you’re increasing your speed into a few warm up laps.

Azriel doesn’t follow and there’s a sting in your chest. You didn’t want him to follow, not really, you tell yourself. You just figured that he would.

You dare a glance at him when you’re on the other side of the rink. His hands are stuffed deeply in his pockets and he’s gliding across the ice in a leisurely pace, like he’s taking an easy stroll down the sidewalk. Skating is second nature to him, he doesn’t even have to think about it, which is perfect because he’s trying to figure out a way to apologize to you.

When you’re about to lap him, Azriel gains speed. He twists around easily so that he’s skating backwards in front of you. If he didn’t look sexy before, he sure as hell does now, staring you down with big, hazel eyes and skating backwards like he knows the exact length of the ice and when to turn.

It makes heat grow low in your belly the longer he stares at you, how easily he adapts when you speed up just a little bit more.

“Why are you here?” You ask, the first to break the silence. There’s nothing but the chill of the ice and the sound of your skates grinding against it. It’s your solace, but you might think Azriel is becoming a part of that, too, with the way your tense shoulders melt under his gaze.

“I want to apologize to you again.” Azriel slows just enough so that you’re skating only a foot away from each other. You stumble at his sudden nearness, and he catches you around the arms before you can fall, keeping you upright.

“You don’t need to, Azriel,” you avoid his gaze, mortified at the way your cheeks heat at his touch. You curse yourself. You shouldn’t have chosen today to crawl out of your dorm room to practice. “You’ve made it more than clear how you feel.”

“I don’t feel that way, though,” he vehemently responds, shaking his head. He squeezes your arms, emphasizing his words, and when you glance down at his fingers, he reluctantly lets you go, stuffing those marred hands right back into his pockets.

Your heart aches at the motion.

I want you all of the time, too. The words replay in your head. Moments right before he went back on his words, backed out of the shower stall, and disappeared without a trace.

They hurt, and the soft look on Azriel’s face tells you that he meant every single one of those words when he told you them. You don’t know what it is that made him retreat directly following.

When you don’t answer, Azriel continues. “I want you, sweetheart. I want you so fucking badly that it hurts.” Your breath catches in your chest at his honesty. You wanted him, too, still do, but you’re more confused than ever. How can he have gone from wanting you to completely shunning you, to this?

“I don’t understand,” you whisper. You didn’t even notice that the both of you have slowed down until you come to a stop at the gate that leads back to your things. If you wanted, you could slip right off the ice and be out of the rink in minutes. You swallow harshly at the thought of leaving Azriel like he left you.

He’s nervous, you can tell. He digs the tip of his skate into the ice, but he doesn’t break your gaze. “I was a fucking idiot for what I did to you. I’m sorry that I got in my head about what was happening between us, but I just couldn’t deal. It all hit me in that moment, how much I need you.” He chews his lip, thinking of what he wants to say next. “I told myself that I need to focus this year. There are scouts watching, coach is on my ass about playing my best, my dad’s on my ass about being the best on the team, hell, I’m on my own ass trying to keep everyone happy. But I didn’t realize until I left you like that that the person I wasn’t keeping the person that I care about the happiest.” Your heart swells as his eyes soften.

Azriel slides closer in a tentative push, and you let him. “I wasn’t keeping you happy by walking away. I thought space might help us focus better on what we’re trying to accomplish this year, with you getting back into skating after your injury and me trying to impress recruiters. Fuck, I wasn’t even making myself happy…” He trails off with a sad smile.

Your heart pounds so hard in your chest that it hurts. You shuffle closer to Azriel until you’re only inches away. You tilt your head back to see his face better.

“What makes you happy, Azriel?” You whisper, fearful that his answer might break you into pieces.

He lifts a hand and caresses your face. His hazel eyes are locked on yours, and the small smile that tugs at his lips makes you want to roll up onto the tips of your blades and kiss the daylights out of him.

“You make me happy, sweetheart,” he confesses, and you shatter. “And if I could go back in time, I wouldn’t have walked away from you. And if you give me a second chance, I’ll never walk away from you again.”

“Azriel,” you can’t help but laugh. It sounds wet, and no, those aren’t tears in your eyes. “You can have both. I feel the same way sometimes, that I’m spending too much of my spare time doing anything other than skating, but I’ve made peace with the fact that it’s okay to want other things. It’s okay to still follow your passions while wanting other things. It’s okay to recover,” you breathe, letting your own words sink in. You don’t want to be here right now; you forced yourself here on a weekend night to get your mind off of a certain someone. But he’s found you all the same.

“So, you’re giving me another chance?” He asks innocently. His eyes are screaming anything but. They’re heated with the ideas of all the things he wants to do to you now that you’re back in his arms.

You hum thoughtfully, teasingly. “I don’t know, I think there’s a few things you’re going to have to do before I can actually forgive you, Az.”

His shoulders fall in relief at the use of his nickname. He doesn’t care what you’ll make him do. He’d do anything for you. “Name your price, sweetheart.”

_________________________________________

Azriel Hockey!AU Tags:

@whyonearthisyourusernamethi-blog @going-through-shit @crazylokonugget @lilah-asteria @girl-who-writes-stuff @moosemahboi @sherayuki @lyinginameadow @acourtofatboydreams @blackthorngirl @shadowsingercassia @evergreenlark @hannzoaks @bloodicka @whyshouldihaveanam3 @elle4404 @cherry-cin @quinzzelx @i-am-infinite @feeriqueivre @blightyblinders @kennedy-brooke @nyxbranwenn @dee-writes-smut @konaanaria13 @sunny1616 @lilylilyyyyyy

[daechwitatamic]

What are the Vibes? || CSC

(banner and title by @sailorrhansol lol thanks bestie)

What are the Vibes? Seungcheol x afab!reader || pwp || established relationship kind of implied NSFW - minors DNI

wc: 1.2k warnings: language, kissing, fingering (f. receiving), vibrator use (f. receiving), piv sex, bossy seungcheol makes a frustrating rule in bed but it's all in fun

summary: Seungcheol always gives you what you need. Today, he's gonna make you ask for it first.

author's note: once every two years i blink and a pwp appears. this one is a gift to hali, who writes what i ask for every time and deserves to receive nice things too <3 the babygirl is just for you, babygirl. ily and thank you for typo check!!!! <3

Straight into smut, so putting the whole thing below a read more!

When Seungcheol presses your favorite purple vibrator against your already nearly-shaky fingers, your intuition sparks, warning you that you’re in for it. Maybe it isn’t intuition. Maybe you just know him - know what kind of mood he’s in from the set of his jaw and the flash in his eyes.

You’re already one round in; he’s already made you come on his fingers once and then again on his cock, your ankles on his shoulders. You were ready for him to come deep inside you, leaning over you far enough to make your hamstrings sting with the stretch, but he’d backed away, slipped out of you, left you whining and empty.

“You do it,” he tells you, as your fingers close around the silicone. “Give yourself one for me.”

He stretched out next to you, stroking himself lazily, like it didn’t bother him at all to stop in the middle. You’re caught for a second on all his rounded places - the swell of his shoulder, his biceps flexing as he works his cock slowly, the rise of his cheek with that smirk that means trouble, the ass that could launch a thousand ships.

“Go on,” he tells you, and you take a shuddering breath as your thumb finds the familiar button by muscle memory. The first setting barely registers - you’re already overstimulated and it just feels like the physical representation of noise when you’re going to need a melody if you’re going to come like this. But when you dip the fingers of your spare hand towards your opening, already sore in the best way and still messy and slick from earlier, Seungcheol’s hand whips out and grabs your wrist lightning-quick.

“Nope,” he murmurs darkly, rolling so he’s halfway over you. He releases your wrist and uses his new proximity to kiss you sweetly, lingering lovingly, at odds with his entire demeanor. When his lips leave yours, he whispers, “Outside only. Inside is mine.”

You let out a huff - part frustration, part amusement. But Seungcheol doesn’t often play games like this with you, and it’s thrilling in its novelty. You obey, sliding the toy closer to your clit, trying to work yourself back up slowly. Satisfied and trusting you to follow his rules - whims, really - Seungcheol moves back to his spot next to you, eyes combing over your prone body.

You try all your normal tricks, but long minutes pass and while it feels good you can tell it’s not climbing - the pleasure isn’t tightening or spooling or triggering that snap that you always know is a warning sign. You huff again, this time all frustration. It isn’t going to happen - not with only external stimulation.

“What is it?” Seungcheol asks, low, and there’s something teasing in it. It’s like he expected this, and now he’s pleased to be right.

“I can’t,” you complain. “I need…” You trail off, shy, even after all this time.

He knows what you need. He’s going to make you say it anyway. He waits you out, like a saint with all the patience in the world.

“Need you,” you try pitifully, hoping he’ll let you get away with it.

“I’m here,” he says innocently, and you make a noise of complaint, nudging at his shins with your toes in protest. His smile grows; he’s enjoying teasing you.

“You know what I mean,” you protest. The toy buzzes valiantly in your hand, but you’re barely even pressing it against yourself anymore - it isn’t doing much for you at this point. Your body knows what it wants. Nothing but Seungcheol will do.

“I guess if you want something, you’ll have to ask for it,” he pretends to muse, trying to fight off a satisfied smile.

You whine wordlessly, frustrated. “Seungcheol,” you scold.

His smile only grows, dimples deepening. “What do you need, babygirl?”

You want to stomp your feet and bang your fists in protest. “I need you, please, this isn’t enough - I’m not gonna -”

“What do you need?” he asks again. You nearly sob with frustration; it’s clear he won’t be giving you anything unless you ask.

Frustration and desperation dance together behind your ribs, and you hear yourself beg, “Anything, Cheol, even a finger, please - just something, I need you.”

This must be the magic phrase that Seungcheol needed to hear today, I need you, because his smile splits across his face. “Just a finger?” he teases, but he’s circling the tip of his pointer around your spasming hole and it’s already six billion times better than it was a second ago, your body responding with a hearty clench and a new rush of fluid. “That’s all you want? Are you sure?”

“I mean,” you gulp, trying to breathe at your body chases that tantalizing fingertip, hips canting like you might catch him off-guard and slip him inside, “That’s not all I want, but if that’s all you want to give me right now, then I’ll take it.”

He coos annoyingly, but rolls closer, pushing that single digit into your heat. It’s barely anything but your eyes nearly roll back just from sheer relief - this is what your body wanted, this is what it will take to push you over the edge.

“That’s not all I want to give you,” he promises, barely louder than a whisper, and then adds a second finger, wasting no time in curling them into that spot on your front wall that he knows so well.

It takes only seconds for your body to respond, clamping down on his fingers, the muddled buzzing from the vibrator suddenly coming into perfect focus - sharp and targeted. You hear yourself wail, but the room’s gone fuzzy as his fingers piston into the spot that keeps your muscles clenched for so long that you think you sail right past a first orgasm straight into a second one. You click off the vibrator and toss it to the side, reveling in the feel of his fingers stroking along your sensitive walls, pushing lightly against that spot that makes your toes curl.

Seungcheol whispers praises into your ear, fingers finally slowing, ending with a nearly-awed, “You just got so wet.”

You can feel it, inside and out, but the orgasm has chased away any shyness and now you can finally say what you mean:

“Hurry up,” you tell him, tugging at his arms to get him in motion faster. “Get up here and fuck me.”

He lets out a sound that’s partly a laugh and partly disbelief, but he doesn’t hesitate at all before rolling over top of you and pressing his tip against your entrance, pushing to the hilt slowly but without pause. When he bottoms out, a soft sound of satisfaction rumbling from his chest, you clutch at him, holding tight to his shoulders, wanting to keep him here - right where you wanted him all along.

He nips at your jaw playfully before pulling nearly all the way out, then sheathing himself smoothly once again.

“Yes, please, just like that,” you breathe, eyes fluttering closed.

He gives you a devilish smile and repeats the motion. “All you had to do was ask,” he says with a grin.

--

thank you for reading!!

[gloomwitchwrites]

So you’ve pleasure-wrecked the 141 and Nik, but how about the rest of the team?

Farah, Kate, Alex, Rudy, Alejandro - they deserve a turn to get wrecked to the point of tears from pleasure.

Again, partners, toys, tools, etc. are all open to you. 😈 Have fun! 😘

Oh? Do we need a bit more of this? Well, here we are. Enjoy you depraved gremlins.

For the masterlist and how to submit your own request, click HERE

Pairings: Farah x Alex x Reader (gn & fem), Kate x Kate's Wife, Rudy x f!reader, Alejandro x f!reader

Content & Warnings: oral sex, unprotected piv, creampie, sex toys, vibrators, dildos, dirty talk

Word Count: 1k

ao3 // main masterlist // imagines & what if series

Farah Karim (x Alex Keller x gn!reader)

Fingers caress over skin. Circling. Circling.

Farah groans softly, her eyelids fluttering as her head tips backward in ecstasy. Alex is situated between her legs, hands grasping her thighs, keeping them open as he thrusts inside her. Beads of sweat coat his forehead, his gaze heavy-lidded.

You gently grasp her throat, urging Farah to look in your direction. She surrenders to you but she can only whimper in pleasure. You lean in, pressing your lips to hers, clicking on the vibrator just as she welcomes you.

Farah shudders. Gasps. Alex groans. The vibrator might be pressed to Farah’s clit, but he can feel it too while he’s deep inside her. You keep it focused on her clit, teasing the area around it, edging her over and over again.

“Please,” she begs, and you suck a nipple into your mouth as you move the vibrator back to her clit. “Please.”

Tears bloom in her eyes, falling to stain her cheeks. It’s a gorgeous sight, and you lightly lick them up, savoring her pleasure. Alex is lost in the both of you, watching your mouth tease Farah’s skin as he thrusts repeatedly.

You give him a wink, stealing a kiss from Farah.

Kate Laswell (x Kate's Wife)

Kate is rarely at a loss for words. And she’s rarely not in charge.

Her wife squirts a bit of lube in her hand, sliding it up and down the dildo she’s holding. It’s a dark purple, the head flared at the base and thick, the length of it covered in small ridges and bumps to stimulate every nerve ending perfectly.

It’s usually the opposite. It’s usually her wife taking the dildo as Kate enjoys. A true role reversal. A way to unwind.

“You’ve been so stressed recently, Kate,” she murmurs with a smile. “Relax.”

Kate listens, following her instruction, breathing deep, and exhaling when the dildo starts to enter her body. It retreats. Enters again. Starts to vibrate.

A shuddering gasp. A shiver. Hands grasping. Reaching.

A gorgeous longing flowers in Kate’s stomach, slowly spooling outward. Kate falls into it, seeking out that end. It is elusive for a time, twisting away only to come back in little bursts. The retreat is suffering, but the return is exquisite. Back and forth, teasing and toying until Kate is lost to it—near tears.

She hears her wife’s voice. Coaxing. Lovely. Soft.

Over the edge. Dancing there. Dropping, only to ascend.

Alex Keller (x Farah Karim x Female Reader)

Alex groans, his hand fisting hair. There are two of you worshipping his cock. Two of you kissing. Two of you sucking. Two of you licking. It’s almost more than he can take. And the sight of it? A dagger through his heart.

“Goddamn,” he mutters as you suck him down while Farah gently cups his balls.

You hollow your cheeks, sucking slowly upward until the head pops out of your mouth wetly. Farah moves up his body as your tongue swirls around the flared head, teasing the underside where the vein is most prominent.

Alex shudders, balls tightening at the sensation. You and Farah have been insatiable. Riding him, sucking him, fucking him empty. The pleasure has been insurmountable, a mountain of it, and now, he’s on the cliff edge again, looking down, wanting to jump.

Farah’s lips leave a trail, pausing to kiss a nipple. Alex grips the back of her neck, squeezing, guiding her to his mouth. The kiss is deep. Wanton. A consuming thing that swallows up him just as you shift your hips and sink down onto his cock.

It’s just a few kisses from Farah and a squeeze of your cunt as Alex explodes.

Rodolfo "Rudy" Parra (x f!reader)

Mumbled, groaned Spanish leaves Rudy’s lips. His eyelids are shut tight, jaw clenched. Sweat beads his brow. Placing your hands firmly on his bare chest, you lift yourself slowly up his cock, and then drop back down, bringing him completely inside you.

“Fuck,” moans Rudy, his hands tightening on your thighs.

Mingling with Rudy’s sounds of pleasure is the wet squelch of his cum acting as lube inside your pussy. He’s already come twice, watched as it slowly bloomed in your opening the previous two times.

Who knew he had a breeding kink?

“Want to come inside me?” you whimper, already knowing Rudy’s answer.

Rudy’s confirmation is to hold onto your hips and thrust up into you. You bend forward, and capture his lips with your own. Rudy responds, keeping you pinned against him, the two of you meeting again and again until a growing pleasure builds.

Mingled breath and tangled limbs. Rudy is lost in you as you are in him. Every upward thrust from him is an urgent thing, bordering on frenzy. Insistent, and you surrender, allowing him to seek his end.

He is all whimpered breath and wet eyes. No tears, but fuck he’s beautiful like this.

Alejandro Vargas (x f!reader)

You lean forward, putting most of your weight on your forearms. Sinking into the pose, you spread your legs wider, supporting your knees as best you can. This isn’t really about you, but the man behind you. The man between your legs.

A stranger named Alejandro. Someone you met at the bar. Someone you took tequila shots with. And now, he’s breeding you, putting you on your hands and knees all night, taking his cock like the good girl you are.

Every pounding thrust threatens to push you across the bed, but Alejandro’s grip is tight, keeping you in place as he pistons in and out of your body. Resting your head against your crossed forearms, you glance back over your shoulder, seeking a glimpse of him.

Alejandro’s dark hair is messy, and it only adds to his allure. His muscles are clenched with tension, and it’s clear to you that he’s completely lost in your body—ready to burst.

You purposefully squeeze your muscles around his cock. Alejandro chokes. Stutters. You repeat it, and that is when he breaks.

Head falling back, Alejandro moans aloud, the sound sweet to your ears. With it comes a fullness in your pussy.

[odileeclipse]

In the Presence of Truth {"Sage of Truth" (SMC) x Reader} PT 13

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You exhaled a quiet laugh, glancing down at your hands before the weight of what you had asked returned to the forefront of your mind. Would he actually come? It had been a moment of impulse, that invitation. A flicker of something unfamiliar driving you to extend a bridge where there had previously been none. You weren’t sure what compelled you to do it, only that the idea of leaving this space, this feeling, behind as you stepped back into the rigid structure of your lessons felt…Lonely. You cleared your throat, shifting slightly. “It’s not exactly a scholarly gathering,” you admitted. “Just me and my friends being… well, normal. Nothing profound, no debates about philosophy or the nature of existence. Just food. Talking. Laughing.” You hesitated. “That might not be your kind of thing.” Shadow Milk Cookie was silent for a long moment, considering. “…It is true,” he said at last, “that I do not often engage in such gatherings.” You tried not to let disappointment creep into your chest. “That does not mean I would be unwilling to.” Your eyes snapped up to meet his. Something in his expression had shifted, subtle but undeniable. There was still that air of careful thought, of weighing decisions with meticulous precision, but there was also something softer. Something that felt a little like understanding. “You invited me,” he said simply, as if that alone was enough reason to consider it. You swallowed, nodding. “Yeah. I did.” He hummed, glancing toward the water once more. “I will let you know when the time comes.” It wasn’t quite a yes, but it wasn’t a no either. The willow’s branches swayed, the light shifted, and the world carried on. And beside you, the distance between you and the Sage of Truth…Shadow Milk Cookie felt just a little smaller than before. The hours had unraveled between you like thread slipping through careful fingers unnoticed at first, until the spools ran empty, leaving only the quiet realization that time had moved while you weren’t looking. The sky had softened into the golden hues of afternoon, the same sky that always signaled the slow shift toward evening, toward the time you and your friends would gather for dinner. And yet, here you still were.

The koi-like creatures drifted lazily beneath the water’s surface, the willow’s tendrils swayed, and the air had cooled just enough to carry the scent of damp earth and distant hearth smoke. Somewhere beyond the gardens, the academy’s halls stirred with the sound of students wrapping up their studies, footsteps and laughter echoing faintly in the wind. You hadn’t meant to stay this long. And neither, it seemed, had he. Shadow Milk Cookie still sat beside you, his posture as composed as ever, yet… different. More at ease. As if he had settled into the moment as fully as you had, letting conversation flow in a way that was neither structured nor scholarly just natural. You had talked about things that didn’t matter and things that did. You had asked nonsensical questions simply because you could, because it felt nice to exist outside of the rigid roles of teacher and struggling student. You had wondered aloud whether the koi-like creatures dreamed, whether the stars had favorites, whether his hair, flowing like a river of ink washing into sky, was a reflection of something deeper. “If truth is endless,” you had mused, “then I guess it makes sense that your hair looks like the night sky.” He had given you a look that suggested he was torn between amusement and exasperation. “I fail to see the correlation.”

“You would,” you had huffed, though there had been no real bite to it. And now, the time had come to part ways, to return to the rhythm of your routine. Almost reluctantly, you sat up a little straighter, stretching your arms. “It’s about that time,” you said, voice lighter than you felt. He hummed in acknowledgment, his gaze flicking toward the shifting sky. “…Have you decided?” you asked, hesitating for just a moment. “About dinner?” His eyes turned to you, unreadable in the soft afternoon glow. You had asked once before, when the idea had been nothing but a passing thought, an invitation given without expectation. But now the moment had arrived, and with it came the awareness that his answer mattered more than you had originally let yourself believe. Because in these hours spent speaking as something close to equals, something had shifted. The line in the sand was still there, but the tide had come and blurred its edges, leaving behind something unspoken, something new. Shadow Milk Cookie regarded you for a long moment, as if weighing not just the question, but the intent behind it. “…I will accompany you.” You blinked, caught off guard by how simply he said it. No long-winded deliberation, no careful sidestepping. Just an answer. A yes. A grin tugged at the corner of your lips. “You make it sound like a formal engagement.” He exhaled, something close to a sigh, though there was no real annoyance behind it. “Would you rather I rescind my acceptance?” “Absolutely not.” You stood, brushing off your clothes before tilting your head toward the winding path. “Come on, then. If we’re late, Chai Latte will start interrogating me, and I don’t think you want to be on the receiving end of that.”

For a brief moment, you thought he might hesitate. But then he stood, his movements as fluid and effortless as the ever-flowing strands of his hair. “…Very well,” he said, as if conceding to some great, unknown truth. And together, you left the willow behind, stepping toward something you hadn’t yet found the words to name. The dining hall was alive with the warmth of conversation and the clinking of silverware against porcelain. The high, arched windows let in the fading gold of the afternoon, casting soft shadows over the long tables where students gathered in clusters, some bent over open books, others laughing over shared meals, the weight of the day’s studies momentarily forgotten. The familiar scent of fresh bread, roasted vegetables, and fragrant tea drifted through the air, wrapping around you like something safe, something steady. You wove through the throng of students with practiced ease, Shadow Milk Cookie beside you, his presence still something you were adjusting to outside of structured learning. It was odd not unwelcome, just new to have him here, a figure who had always seemed just beyond reach now following in step with you toward something as ordinary as dinner. And yet, despite the unfamiliarity, there was a quiet sort of ease to it. When you reached the long buffet table lined with food, your hands moved almost on instinct, reaching for familiar choices the options you always went for. But something else guided your fingers, something quieter, something you weren’t entirely aware of until you set your tray down and realized  you had chosen differently.

Vegetables cooked with care, grains carefully balanced, tea brewed lightly rather than steeped too long things that wouldn’t have stood out to anyone else, yet now sat before you like a quiet confession. Shadow Milk Cookie’s plate mirrored your own in ways that should have been coincidence, but now… now you weren’t sure. Had you done this unconsciously? Assimilated his preferences, however subtly, as a means of feeling closer to him? You swallowed, brushing the thought aside before it could take root. “Finally,” Earl Grey Cookie’s voice cut through your thoughts as you reached your usual table, his expression one of exaggerated relief. “I was starting to think you had abandoned us in favor of scholarly pursuits.” Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie chuckled from his seat beside him, shaking his head. “It wouldn’t be the first time.” You rolled your eyes, setting your tray down before plopping into your usual seat. “I do have a life outside of studying, you know.” Earl Grey Cookie arched a brow, his sharp gaze flicking to the figure standing just behind you. “Clearly.” The unspoken weight of his words settled between you for only a moment before you waved him off, refusing to give him the satisfaction of making you flustered. “Oh, don’t start.” But Earl Grey Cookie merely smirked before his expression shifted into something more appraising. “Is this going to start becoming a daily occurrence, then?”

You scoffed, mirroring his raised brow. “Why? Jealous I’m spending time with someone smarter than you?” Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie nearly choked on his drink, while Chai Latte Cookie let out a delighted giggle behind her teacup. Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie let out a low chuckle, setting his fork down. “I don’t know, (Y/N). You might be treading dangerous waters.” “Please,” You huffed. “Earl Grey Cookie wishes he could keep up with me.” Earl Grey Cookie smirked, unfazed. “Is that so?” Earl Grey Cookie, to his credit, didn’t miss a beat. “Smarter, perhaps. Better company? That remains to be seen.” “Mm,” You hummed, reaching for your tea. “I mean, you do rely on me for your daily entertainment. Must get boring when I’m not around to remind you that you’re not the most clever person in the room.” Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie stifled a laugh behind his hand. Earl Grey Cookie, ever composed, merely tilted his head. “Ah, but you assume you are the cleverest, when in reality, I merely allow you to believe so.” You grinned, leaning forward slightly. “Oh? And here I thought I was the highlight of your day.” “I’ll admit, your suffering is entertaining.” Shadow Milk Cookie watched the exchange with an unreadable expression. It was strange Earl Grey Cookie and he were not so different. Both held themselves with quiet dignity, both carried intellect like a finely honed blade. And yet, the ease with which you spoke to Earl Grey Cookie, the way you teased and played with him without hesitation…He had never heard you speak to him like that. Had never been on the receiving end of that effortless, unguarded warmth. Something unfamiliar twisted in his chest. Something close to jealousy…no, envy. And across the table, Chai Latte Cookie saw it. Chai Latte Cookie giggled behind her teacup, the corners of her lips curving into something amused, something knowing. Shadow Milk Cookie watched the exchange with quiet intensity, his golden eyes flickering between them.

He and Earl Grey Cookie were not so different. They both carried themselves with quiet authority, both wielded intellect with precision, both understood the weight of knowledge. And yet you had never spoken to him like that. There was an ease between them and Earl Grey Cookie, a natural playfulness, a warmth that flowed without hesitation. Your sharp words with him were banter, light and teasing, filled with familiarity rather than apprehension. With him, they were still careful. Respectful, yes, but… restrained. Something settled uncomfortably in his chest. Jealousy? No. Something else. Something close. Chai Latte Cookie’s voice broke through his thoughts, light and playful, yet layered with something deeper. “(Y/N) is just so captivating, aren’t they?” she mused, stirring her tea slowly, her gaze flicking to him for just a moment. “A joy to be around.” Shadow Milk Cookie turned his head slightly, studying her. The words were simple, but the meaning was not. She was watching. She had seen. Her gaze flickered once more to you, who sat across from Earl Grey Cookie, taking a sip of tea despite the fact that it had clearly steeped too long, despite the way they winced slightly at the bitterness. Drinking it, even though it burned going down, just to be petty. Just so Earl Grey Cookie would have to remake it. Their quarrel was nonsensical, meaningless, a game they played simply because they could. And yet, Shadow Milk Cookie sat here, watching. Chai Latte Cookie tilted her head, a knowing smile playing at her lips. Shadow Milk Cookie exhaled slowly. “They are…” He hesitated, just briefly, before speaking. “Determined.”

Chai Latte Cookie let out a soft hum. “That they are.” Across the table, Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie, having witnessed your petty war against Earl Grey Cookie’s tea, chuckled. “Oh, enough,” he said, shaking his head in amusement. “Since (Y/N) seems so intent on making life difficult for Earl Grey, I think it’s only fair we return the favor.” You stiffened. “Wait-” Before you could react, Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie smoothly swapped their cup with a darker, stronger brew. A drink so potent that you could smell the bitterness before you even lifted the cup. Earl Grey Cookie leaned back slightly, arms crossed, smirking as he watched them hesitate. “Well?” he prompted. You groaned but, never one to back down, took a sip. Instant regret. The sheer intensity of the flavor made you grimace, your throat tightening as the bitterness lingered. Laughter rippled around the table, Chai Latte Cookie’s delighted giggles, Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie’s triumphant chuckle, even Earl Grey Cookie’s smirk deepening ever so slightly. You set the cup down with a slow, deliberate sigh. “I hate you all.” “Oh, come now,” Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie grinned. “This is justice.” groaning dramatically, you slumped against the table. And for the first time, Shadow Milk Cookie felt something odd settle within him something unfamiliar, something yearning. Because despite the absurdity of it all, despite the ridiculous antics It was warm. And for the first time, he wondered If, one day, you would speak to him with the same ease. Earl Grey Cookie took a slow, deliberate sip of his freshly brewed tea, setting it down with the kind of elegance that suggested he knew exactly what he was doing. His lips curled into a smirk as he tilted his head at you.

“You look defeated.” You scowled. “I am not defeated.” “Your expression says otherwise.” “My expression,” you retorted, narrowing your eyes, “is the face of someone plotting their next move.” “Oh?” Earl Grey Cookie leaned forward, lacing his fingers together. “A move that will finally best me, I assume?” “Finally?” You scoffed, placing a hand over your chest in mock offense. “You say that as if I haven’t bested you before.”Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie let out a laugh, shaking his head. “Here we go again.” Earl Grey Cookie didn’t even blink. “Go ahead, (Y/N). Indulge me. When, exactly, have you bested me?” “Oh, I don’t know,” you mused, drumming your fingers against the table. “Maybe that time you got completely lost in that one library and refused to ask for help?” Earl Grey Cookie’s smirk didn’t falter. “It was a large library.” “Right, right, a ‘large’ library. And yet, who was it that had to come fetch you?” Chai Latte Cookie giggled, resting her chin on her palm. “Oh, this one sounds good.” Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie smirked. “I remember that. Didn’t you spend hours wandering in circles?” Earl Grey Cookie took another calm sip of his tea. “I would not say hours.” “You definitely spent hours,” you countered. “And when I did find you, you tried to pretend you had been ‘surveying the architecture.’” “A fine excuse,” he mused. “An awful excuse,” you shot back. “I saw you staring at a map like it had personally wronged you.” “And yet,” Earl Grey Cookie said smoothly, “I did find my way in the end.” “Because I dragged you out!” Chai Latte Cookie and Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie laughed, the warmth of the memory making the moment all the more enjoyable. Earl Grey Cookie, ever composed, merely sighed. “Ah, but I do believe my superior intellect has bested you in other matters.” “Oh, do you?” You raised a brow. “Indeed,” he replied, voice as smooth as ever. “For instance, who was it that helped you during that one disastrous attempt at potion brewing?” You grimaced. “Okay, but in my defense-” “And who,” Earl Grey Cookie continued, the amusement clear in his voice, “was it that had to explain, at great length, why enchanting your own shoes to hover was not a practical means of transportation?”

Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie snorted. “Oh yeah, that was a fun day.” “It would have worked if I had just gotten the right balance-” “No, (Y/N),” Earl Grey Cookie interjected, his smirk widening ever so slightly. “It would have ended with you flat on your face.” You huffed. “I hate that you have good points sometimes.” “As you should.” The table burst into laughter, the kind of laughter that came from familiarity, from the joy of long-standing friendship and shared memories. You hadn’t had a moment like this in so long just playful banter, just warmth, just being. It felt good. “You are comfortable,” Shadow Milk Cookie observed. The words weren’t unkind. If anything, they were spoken with the same measured calm he always carried. But something about them felt… pointed. Something about the way his golden gaze flickered between you and Earl Grey Cookie, how his voice held an undertone that wasn’t quite jealousy, wasn’t quite longing, but something teetering between the two. Something that went right over your head. Earl Grey Cookie, however, caught it instantly. He studied Shadow Milk Cookie for a moment before offering a small, knowing smirk. “Tough luck,” he said, voice light but firm. “We’ve known each other much longer. Even before the Academy.” Shadow Milk Cookie tilted his head ever so slightly. “Ah.” It was all he said, but the weight of it lingered. You blinked, realizing the shift in conversation. “Wait, did I never tell you?” Shadow Milk Cookie glanced at you. “Tell me?” You waved a hand vaguely. “About the four of us? How we met before coming here?” He shook his head. “You have not.” “Oh, well,” you leaned forward, suddenly animated, “we actually met back when we were younger…years before we even thought about coming to the Academy.” Chai Latte Cookie smiled knowingly. “Oh, this is a good story.” Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie chuckled. “Which one? There’s too many.” “True,” you grinned.  And just like that, the night stretched on, filled with laughter, filled with old stories, filled with the kind of warmth that only years of familiarity could bring. And Shadow Milk Cookie listened. Listened, and for the first time, truly understood  Just how far back you and Earl Grey Cookie’s bond reached. Just how much he had yet to catch up to. You leaned back in your seat, a grin tugging at your lips as you thought back to the past. The flickering candlelight of the dining hall cast long shadows across the table, but your mind was already elsewhere somewhere far from the Academy, far from the weight of exams and expectations. Somewhere simpler. "Alright, alright, now for how we all met " you started, glancing between them. "So, it all started when we were kids before any of us had even thought about the Academy. Back then, we were just well, us." Earl Grey Cookie hummed in amusement, resting his chin on his hand. "Just us? I remember you being an absolute menace." You scoffed, crossing your arms. "You say that like you weren’t right there alongside me."

"Only to ensure you didn't completely ruin your own reputation." Chai Latte Cookie giggled, stirring her tea. "Oh, don't act so above it. You were just as bad." Earl Grey Cookie let out an exasperated sigh, but the corner of his mouth twitched upward, betraying his amusement. Shadow Milk Cookie listened quietly, golden eyes fixed on you with an unreadable expression. He had been silent for most of the conversation, simply observing, but his attention never wavered. You waved off Earl Grey’s dramatics and continued. "Anyway Hazelnut, Earl Grey, Chai Latte, and I all grew up in the same town. It wasn’t particularly big or impressive, but it had character, you know? A lot of old history, a lot of people who swore by tradition. And of course, a lot of older scholars who hated when us kids got in the way." Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie smirked. "Which we definitely did." "So," you continued, "the first time I met Earl Grey, I-uh." You hesitated, suddenly aware of Earl Grey Cookie’s expectant stare. You sighed. "Okay, fine. I might have challenged him to a duel." Chai Latte Cookie gasped in delight. "You did? I always thought it was him" "Listen, in my defense, he was insufferable even back then." "I was correct," Earl Grey Cookie corrected smoothly. You ignored him. "Anyway, we were arguing over some old scholar’s work something about magical inscriptions or whatever. I don’t even remember what, exactly. But it was heated. And at some point, I got so frustrated I just " You gestured vaguely. "Well, I declared a duel. And being the insufferable child that he was, Earl Grey actually accepted."

"It was only fair," Earl Grey Cookie said matter-of-factly. "One must back their words with action, no?" You rolled your eyes. "So we did it. Right in the middle of town. We squared up like we knew what we were doing which we absolutely didn’t, by the way. It was ridiculous. We were flailing at each other with training wands, and at one point, I tripped over my own robes" Chai Latte Cookie clapped a hand over her mouth, trying and failing to contain her laughter. You shot her a glare. "and Earl Grey nearly knocked himself out on a statue trying to dodge me." Earl Grey Cookie cleared his throat. "An unfortunate miscalculation." "Hilarious miscalculation," Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie corrected. "And then," Chai Latte Cookie cut in, eyes shining, "I stepped in to stop them from completely embarrassing themselves, and then I had to spend the next week convincing the elders that they weren’t actually a threat to the town’s intellectual reputation." "That part is true," you admitted with a sheepish grin. "Chai Latte had to sweet-talk them into believing we weren’t complete delinquents." "You were complete delinquents," she corrected with a dramatic sigh. "And I was a saint for sticking with you all." Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie chuckled. "And then I got dragged into this mess because someone needed to be the reasonable one." "I tried to be the reasonable one," Chai Latte Cookie argued, flicking a sugar cube at him. "But you’re the only one they actually listened to." "Because he bribed us with food," you admitted, shrugging. "That does sound like me," Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie said, grinning.

You turned back to Shadow Milk Cookie then, curious to see his reaction. He was quiet, gaze still fixed on you, expression unreadable. "You really did grow up together," he mused, more to himself than to anyone else. "Yeah," you said softly. "We did." And for just a moment, you thought you saw something flicker behind his golden eyes, something thoughtful, something distant. Before you could say anything, Earl Grey Cookie spoke first, his voice calm yet carrying an unmistakable weight. “It’s not that we mean to be exclusive,” he said, turning his tea cup idly between his fingers, “but there’s a certain understanding that comes with time, wouldn’t you agree?” The words were measured, careful not unkind, but pointed. You glanced at him, caught between curiosity and mild exasperation. Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie nodded in agreement, ever the steady voice of reason. “Years have a way of binding people together. It’s not something you think about until you realize how much of yourself is woven into someone else’s life.” Chai Latte Cookie rolled her eyes, though her smile softened the gesture. “Oh, don’t listen to them, Shadow Milk Cookie. They’re just being nostalgic and dramatic. They’ve spent so long looking out for each other that they don’t realize how obnoxiously obvious they’re being about it.” Shadow Milk Cookie regarded them in silence, his expression unreadable as always. But something in his gaze flickered just for a second. You cleared your throat, shifting the attention away. “Well, speaking of being obnoxiously obvious, Earl Grey, weren’t you saying earlier that you learned something interesting in class? Something that I’d apparently love?”

Earl Grey Cookie’s lips curled into a knowing smirk. “Ah. So you were listening.” You scoffed. “Of course I was. You said my name and ‘interesting’ in the same sentence. I was practically obligated to tune in.” “Well then,” he said, setting his tea aside with deliberate precision. “Allow me to enlighten you.” Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie let out a soft chuckle, while Chai Latte Cookie muttered something about him being dramatic. You, however, leaned in, curiosity piqued. “Do you remember the discussion we had about astral inscriptions last month?” Earl Grey Cookie asked. You frowned, searching your memory. “Vaguely? You mean the old ones that scholars still can’t fully translate?” “Exactly. We were discussing how certain scholars believe they were never meant to be read in a conventional sense.” He paused, letting the intrigue build. “Well, our professor mentioned an ongoing theory, one that suggests they’re not a language so much as a mathematical equation. A formula, rather than prose.” Your eyes widened. “Wait, you mean like a spell?” “In a way, yes. The theory suggests that the inscriptions aren’t just meant to be understood but activated. That their meaning is revealed only when the right sequence is performed.” Chai Latte Cookie, who had been listening with mild interest, raised a brow. “That’s… oddly poetic.” “It is poetic,” you murmured, mind already racing with the implications. “Imagine entire texts that don’t just tell knowledge but become knowledge. That means-” “That some of the most enigmatic passages in history might be locked behind a logic we haven’t yet unraveled,” Earl Grey Cookie finished. You sat back, exhaling. “That’s insane.” “And yet, it makes sense,” he said smoothly. Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie chuckled. “Look at you two, finishing each other’s thoughts. You really are insufferable.” You nudged Earl Grey Cookie with your elbow. “You have to show me your notes on this.” “I already knew you’d ask,” he replied, reaching into his bag. “I made a copy.” “You legend,” you said, taking the parchment from him with something close to reverence. Chai Latte Cookie sipped her tea, giving Shadow Milk Cookie a knowing glance. “See? This is what we mean. You’d think they were born for this.”

Shadow Milk Cookie had been watching the entire exchange, silent but entirely present. His golden eyes flicked between you and Earl Grey Cookie, then down to your hands as you carefully unfolded the parchment. Something in his expression shifted. Something small, something almost imperceptible. Jealousy was a strange thing. And yet, there it was. Shadow Milk Cookie finally spoke, his voice measured, deliberate. “If this is something that intrigues you, I could lend my expertise,” he offered, golden eyes glinting in the low dining hall light. “I have spent years researching ancient inscriptions. I am certain I could provide clarity where others have struggled.” The words were simple, logical. And yet, there was something underneath them, something not quite visible but certainly there. You blinked, caught off guard by the sudden offer. “Oh well, I mean, that would be-” Earl Grey Cookie raised an eyebrow, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. “Are you sure, Sage? It’s an awfully time-consuming subject to dig into.” Shadow Milk Cookie’s gaze flickered toward him, his ever-calm expression betraying nothing. “I would not have offered if I did not believe it worthwhile.” Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie glanced between them, sensing something shifting in the air, while Chai Latte Cookie, ever the observant one, hummed into her tea. You hesitated, looking between the two of them, feeling an odd tension begin to settle. It wasn’t antagonistic, but it wasn’t exactly comfortable either. Chai Latte Cookie exhaled through her nose before setting her cup down with a soft clink, smoothly slipping into the space between words before they could become something more.

“Oh, come on,” she drawled, placing a hand over her chest as if the weight of the conversation had personally wounded her. “All this talk of research, and not one of you has offered to help me with my studies? Am I not worthy of such esteemed scholarly attention?” You snorted. “Chai, you don’t need help.You already climbed the ranks…You’re already top of the class in your division.” “And yet, I am neglected,” she lamented. “Truly, a tragic fate.” The dramatic delivery was enough to break the odd tension, a few small laughs rippling around the table. Even Shadow Milk Cookie let out something that could almost be considered a breath of amusement. You shook your head, grinning. “Alright, alright. If you ever need an essay proofread, I’ll drop everything.” “See, that is what I wanted to hear,” she said, satisfied. Then, with a casual glance in Shadow Milk Cookie’s direction, she added, “But really, (Y/N) Cookie is quite captivating, don’t you think? Always drawing people in, always keeping things interesting.” Shadow Milk Cookie’s golden gaze flicked toward her, unreadable. She met his eyes with an expression that was perfectly pleasant, almost too pleasant. It was a test, in a way. A subtle prod to see what, if anything, he would say. He didn’t answer immediately, instead allowing the words to settle. “…They are certainly remarkable,” he admitted at last, though his tone remained carefully neutral. You didn’t fully catch the exchange, too busy inspecting Earl Grey Cookie’s notes, but Chai Latte Cookie took in the slight change in Shadow Milk’s expression, the way his posture had shifted, and stored the moment away for later.

She said nothing more on the matter. For now, she had her answer. Dinner stretched on, laughter rippling between you all like waves in an easy tide. The weight of the academy, the endless lectures, the pressure of expectations none of it mattered in this moment. Here, at this table, surrounded by friends, it was as if time had loosened its grip just enough to allow something lighthearted to flourish. Even he the ever-poised, ever-revered Shadow Milk Cookie had been swept into the current of camaraderie. At first, he had been content to observe, his golden eyes flicking between the banter exchanged across the table. But the energy was infectious. Somewhere between Earl Grey Cookie’s exasperated retelling of how Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie had nearly set their entire laboratory station ablaze, and Chai Latte Cookie dramatically recounting a rumor she’d overheard in the library, a quiet chuckle escaped him. A chuckle that, much to your own surprise, turned into laughter. It was soft, refined, but unmistakably real. Your head turned in quiet shock, and you weren’t the only one who noticed. Earl Grey Cookie nearly choked on his tea, Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie grinned as if he had just witnessed something historic, and Chai Latte Cookie, ever quick to react, placed a hand over her heart with an exaggerated gasp.

“Oh my stars,” she whispered, as if she had just been granted a divine revelation. “Was that was that actual laughter from our esteemed Sage of Truth? I think the very foundations of the academy might tremble.” Shadow Milk Cookie exhaled, amusement still glinting in his eyes. “You exaggerate.” “I do not this is a momentous occasion! (Y/N) Cookie, did you hear that? Did you hear it?” You had, and you couldn’t help the small smile that tugged at your lips. “I think he’s laughing at you.” “I don’t care who he’s laughing at. The point is that it happened.” Earl Grey Cookie smirked. “This must be a sign of the end times.” Shadow Milk Cookie shook his head, but there was no exasperation in his expression, only something quiet, something almost content. The conversation meandered from there, shifting into stories from class, odd encounters in the hallways, harmless gossip about professors and their quirks. The dining hall had begun to empty, but none of you made a move to leave just yet. And then, amidst it all, Chai Latte Cookie’s eyes flicked toward your plate. Her gaze lingered not in judgment, not in anything remotely unkind, but with a quiet knowing. A familiarity woven from years of shared meals, of whispered conversations over cups of tea, of simply knowing you. “…That’s not what you usually get.” It wasn’t an accusation, nor did she phrase it as a question. It was just an observation, one spoken with the kind of care only she could manage. You blinked, glancing at your plate as if you’d only just noticed yourself. You had unconsciously chosen something lighter, something more balanced, something that, if you thought about it, was reminiscent of the very meals Shadow Milk Cookie favored.

“I-” You hesitated, grasping for an explanation and coming up empty. She didn’t press. She just smiled, eyes twinkling, before taking a sip of her tea. “Interesting,” she mused. “That’s all.” Shadow Milk Cookie, silent up until now, observed the exchange with careful intrigue. You weren’t sure why, but something about Chai Latte Cookie’s tone made you shift in your seat, a warmth creeping into your cheeks. Earl Grey Cookie, unaware or simply uninterested in whatever silent conversation had just passed between you and Chai, leaned back with a stretch. “Alright, before we get too deep into existential crises over dinner choices Hazelnut, didn’t you say you had something planned for revenge earlier?” Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie grinned wickedly. “Oh, right. (Y/N) Cookie, your days of tea sabotage are numbered.” You barely had a moment to react before he switched your half-finished drink with a concoction of his own making. It was… an abomination. Greenish in a way tea should never be. You narrowed your eyes. “You wouldn’t.” “Oh, I would.” Chai Latte Cookie burst into laughter as you glared at the offending cup, while Earl Grey Cookie crossed his arms, nodding approvingly. “Justice.” As the teasing and laughter carried on, Shadow Milk Cookie sat quietly, watching the way you so easily belonged here how you fit so seamlessly among them, how your laughter carried through the space like warmth on a cold day.

And for just a moment, the remnants of that unfamiliar feeling stirred in his chest once more. Not quite envy. Not quite longing. Something in between. As the evening waned and the last of the plates had been pushed aside, Shadow Milk Cookie was the first to rise, smoothing down the edges of his robe with practiced elegance. “I have matters to attend to,” he announced, his voice measured, but there was something unreadable in his gaze when it flickered toward you. “Thank you for the invitation, (Y/N). It was… enlightening.” There it was again. That subtle weight behind his words, something deliberate. You barely had a moment to process it before he turned on his heel and left, his steps quiet but certain as they disappeared down the corridor.

“Ohhh, what the hell was that?” Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie’s voice cut through the quiet, loud enough to make a few remaining students glance over before he huffed and shoved his hands into his pockets. “Am I losing it, or did something weird just happen?” Earl Grey Cookie, still leaning lazily against the back of his chair, smirked. “No, I felt it too.” Chai Latte Cookie let out a dramatic sigh, already standing and tugging at your arm. “Come on, we have to walk you back.” You blinked, frowning. “I don’t need-” “Yeah, you do,” Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie cut in, waving a hand. “Because clearly, you need someone to spell things out for you.” With little room to argue, you let them guide you out of the dining hall, the cool evening air nipping at your skin. The four of you moved with familiarity, a rhythm formed through years of friendship. Yet tonight, something felt off the way they kept glancing at you, the way their expressions flickered between amusement and exasperation. Finally, Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie sighed, dragging a hand down his face. “Alright, I’ll say it since nobody else is.” Earl Grey Cookie snorted. “Since nobody else is? We’ve been dying to say it.” Chai Latte Cookie laughed. “We were just trying to be nice about it.” You groaned. “Say what?” Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie didn’t hesitate. “Shadow Milk Cookie? Jealous.” You nearly tripped over your own feet. “What?” Earl Grey Cookie shook his head. “Oh, come on. You can’t tell me you didn’t notice. He was watching you like you were about to disappear.” Chai Latte Cookie hummed. “And the way he kept jumping in whenever you and Earl Grey started going at it? That wasn’t just curiosity, sweetheart.”

You scoffed. “That’s ridiculous.” “No, what’s ridiculous is the fact that you changed your whole dinner order to match his without even realizing it,” Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie shot back, eyes sharp. Your mouth opened and then closed. Earl Grey Cookie grinned, clearly enjoying this far too much. “And that little moment between us?” He gestured between you and himself. “You know, when I was showing you that thing from class? That’s when he really started to look like he wanted to throw me into the nearest bookshelf.” You gaped. “He did not.” “Oh, he did,” Chai Latte Cookie mused, tilting her head. “You really don’t see it, do you?” You sighed, exasperated. “There’s nothing to see.” Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie raised an eyebrow. “Oh yeah? Then tell me why he suddenly had to offer his extensive knowledge to help you the moment Earl Grey started getting your attention?” You hesitated. “…That doesn’t mean” “It means exactly what you think it means,” Earl Grey Cookie cut in, his voice oddly amused but knowing. He glanced at you. “Look, I’m not saying you have to do anything about it, but just be aware. The guy’s not exactly subtle, even if he thinks he is.” You huffed, shaking your head. “You’re all reading too much into this.” Chai Latte Cookie just smirked, linking her arm through yours. “Oh, sweetheart, we live to read too much into things.” As you approached your dorm, the conversation still buzzed between them, all three of them dissecting the night’s events like it was a mystery novel they were determined to solve.

Earl Grey Cookie stretched lazily. “Tough luck for him, though. We’ve got years on him.” Chai Latte Cookie rolled her eyes. “It’s not a competition, you know.” Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie snorted. “Tell that to him.” You groaned. “You’re all impossible.” Chai Latte Cookie squeezed your arm one last time before letting go. “We’re just looking out for you, love.” You sighed, pushing open the door to your dorm, the warmth of the room pressing against your skin. As you glanced back at them, their faces were still full of amusement, affection, and something else. Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie smirked. “Just… keep your eyes open, alright?” With that, they left you to your thoughts, the door clicking shut behind you. And for the first time all night, you were alone with them. You stood there for a moment, letting the quiet of your dorm settle around you. Their words lingered, pressing at the edges of your thoughts, but you shook your head, exhaling. They were exaggerating. Had to be. Sure, Shadow Milk Cookie was… particular, but jealousy? Over you? The idea was almost laughable. Your friends only knew him through you, which meant you had the better judgment in all this. Right? You sighed, pushing the thoughts aside. There was no use dwelling on it.

The next morning, you woke early, stretching lazily as golden morning light seeped through your curtains. Sunday. No lectures, no responsibilities just a day to unwind. You got ready at your own pace, relishing the rare, slow start to the day, before heading to the dining hall. Breakfast smelled incredible today. Warm syrup, fresh fruit, and oh, they had the ice cream bar open early. Well. It would be a shame not to indulge. You loaded your plate with golden, honey-drizzled waffles, the syrup pooling in each perfect square. Then, with zero hesitation, you made a beeline for the ice cream, adding a generous scoop to your plate. The cold creaminess melted slightly against the warmth of the waffles, mixing into the honey in a way that promised pure satisfaction. By the time you sat down with your friends, they were already deep in conversation. “Finally,” Earl Grey Cookie greeted, sipping his tea. “I was beginning to think you’d been kidnapped by the library.” “Good morning to you too,” you said dryly, setting your plate down. Chai Latte Cookie peered at your breakfast, eyes twinkling. “Living decadently, I see.” “Nothing like an indulgent morning,” you quipped, slicing into your waffle. The first bite was heavenly, warm syrup mixing with cool ice cream in a way that had you humming in satisfaction.

But before you could savor it for too long  “Well,” Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie drawled, leaning back in his chair, “at least you get to eat without the Sage of Truth breathing down your neck this morning.” Earl Grey Cookie huffed a quiet laugh, setting his cup down with a soft clink. “Figuratively, of course.” You rolled your eyes, swallowing your bite. “Oh, come on” “No, no, let us enjoy this moment,” Chai Latte Cookie teased, propping her chin on her hand. “A quiet morning without a certain scholar lurking about. Truly, what a rare sight.” Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie smirked. “Maybe he’s off brooding somewhere, nursing his wounded pride.” You groaned. “You all need to let this go.” Earl Grey Cookie only raised an eyebrow. “Do we?” “Yes.” You pointed your fork at him. “Because nothing happened.” “Oh, something happened.” Chai Latte Cookie’s grin was all too knowing. “You just refuse to see it.” You exhaled, exasperated, and took another bite of your waffle, deciding to ignore them. They, of course, refused to be ignored. You set your fork down with a sigh, eyeing the three of them as they practically vibrated with unspoken thoughts. Clearly, last night’s rushed walk to your dorm hadn’t given them enough time to say everything they wanted to say. And judging by the way Chai Latte Cookie was practically bouncing in her seat, this was a debrief waiting to happen. “Alright,” you relented, crossing your arms. “Go ahead. Clearly, you’ve been holding back.” Chai Latte Cookie let out a delighted squeak, clapping her hands together. “Oh, finally! I knew you’d come to your senses!”

Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie was already reaching into his coat pocket, pulling out the small, well-worn notebook he always carried. He flipped it open with a practiced ease, clicking his pen before glancing at Earl Grey Cookie, who, without being asked, leaned in to skim his notes. “Oh, for the love of” You groaned, rubbing your temples. “You’re taking notes?” “This is crucial information,” Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie said seriously, jotting something down. “We need all the details.” “You guys are acting like this is the next biggest scoop of the century.” Earl Grey Cookie adjusted his glasses, utterly unfazed. “Because it is.” You opened your mouth, ready to refute that, but Chai Latte Cookie had already turned to you, eyes shining with glee. “Okay, first of all how have you not noticed how he looks at you?” she asked, voice dripping with amusement. “Because, sweetheart, if looks could hold someone in place, you’d be permanently stuck in time.” You blinked. “What are you even talking about?” Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie gestured vaguely in the air. “The way he watches you. The way he listens.” He tapped his pen against his notebook. “The way his entire being tenses whenever Earl Grey so much as breathes in your direction.”

Earl Grey Cookie let out a small chuckle, shaking his head. “It’s true. He looked positively put out last night.” You scoffed. “He did not.” “Oh, he did,” Chai Latte Cookie singsonged. “It was subtle, but come on, this is us. We know each other too well to miss something like that.” You threw your hands up. “You don’t even know him that well!” “Ah,” Earl Grey Cookie said, raising a finger. “But we know you.” “That’s not the same” “It kind of is,” Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie interrupted, scribbling in his notebook. “Because if we notice things about you that change when you’re with him, it tells us a lot about him.” You frowned, shifting in your seat. “You’re all reading into this way too much.” Chai Latte Cookie gasped, placing a hand over her chest in mock offense. “How dare you?” Earl Grey Cookie smirked. “We wouldn’t be your friends if we didn’t overanalyze your life choices.”

You groaned, slumping forward onto the table. “This is absurd.” “Absurd,” Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie echoed, flipping to a fresh page. “But not unfounded.” Chai Latte Cookie nodded enthusiastically. “Mhm. Case in point the tea situation last night.” You peeked up from your arms. “…The what?” “Oh, please.” Chai Latte Cookie grinned, leaning in. “You burned your throat to mess with Earl Grey. And Shadow Milk Cookie just watched stiff as a board, probably fighting the urge to pry the cup out of your hands.” “That’s just” You waved vaguely. “He’s particular about tea.” “No, no, no.” Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie pointed his pen at you. “That wasn’t just ‘he’s particular about tea.’ That was he doesn’t know how to handle how easily you play around with Earl Grey Cookie, and it bothers him on a fundamental level.” You sat up, crossing your arms. “Oh, come on. That’s a stretch.” “Is it?” Earl Grey Cookie mused. “Because I did catch the way his expression shifted when I mentioned we’ve known each other since before the Academy.” Chai Latte Cookie hummed. “Oh, he definitely didn’t like that.” Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie wrote something down before holding up the notebook for Earl Grey Cookie to check. Earl Grey Cookie adjusted his glasses, scanning the notes. “Mm. Add something about how he immediately offered to help with your research interest.” “Oh, good one,” Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie murmured, jotting it down. “Guys,” you groaned. “You’re killing me.” Chai Latte Cookie nudged you with her elbow. “You love us.” You sighed, dragging a hand down your face. “I tolerate you.” “Same thing.” Earl Grey Cookie closed the notebook with a satisfied hum. “Regardless, our assessment stands.” Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie nodded. “This is big.” “Huge,” Chai Latte Cookie agreed. You shook your head. “You’re all ridiculous.” “Maybe,” Chai Latte Cookie said, propping her chin on her hand. “But you have to admit it is kind of interesting.”

You frowned, staring down at the last bite of your waffle. The ice cream had melted into a sweet pool around it, blending with the honey in a way that was strangely mesmerizing. “…Even If and I mean if you guys are right,” you muttered, “it doesn’t mean anything.” “Maybe not,” Earl Grey Cookie conceded. “But it’s certainly something.” You sighed, grabbing your fork and spearing the last bite of your waffle. Ridiculous. All of them. But even as you shoved the bite into your mouth, their words clung to you like syrup on your fingers, sticky and impossible to ignore. Once the final note was jotted down and Earl Grey Cookie gave an approving nod, Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie clicked his pen and shut his notebook with a snap. “Alright,” he said, setting it down on the table. “Now that we’ve got all the facts down, it’s time for the fun part.” You sighed. “Oh, great. Because this wasn’t already a circus act.” Chai Latte Cookie ignored you, clapping her hands together eagerly. “Okay! Now, theory time! What do we think is going on?” Earl Grey Cookie folded his hands together, utterly composed as always. “Hazelnut, since you’ve been the lead investigator here, why don’t you start?” Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie smirked, tapping his fingers against the notebook cover. “Oh, gladly. My theory?” He pointed at you. “Shadow Milk Cookie doesn’t know what to do with you.” You blinked. “Excuse me?” He leaned forward. “Think about it. He’s this big scholar, right? Super refined, theatrical, incredibly well-versed in everything except you. You throw him off. You frustrate him. He’s used to people treating him a certain way, and then you come along, all flustered and hesitant, and it messes with him.” Chai Latte Cookie hummed. “Ooooh, I like that. It’s true he’s used to people being all reverent and careful around him, but with you? You’re a nervous wreck, sure, but you’re still you. You challenge him without even realizing it.” You frowned. “I don’t challenge him” “Sure you do,” Earl Grey Cookie cut in. “And more importantly, you interest him.”

You crossed your arms. “That’s a stretch.” “Oh, is it?” Chai Latte Cookie leaned in, eyes gleaming. “Because if you ask me and, you know, I love my romance stories I think it’s something more.” Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie raised an eyebrow. “Go on.” Chai Latte Cookie propped her chin on her hands. “He’s fascinated by you. And not just in some casual, ‘oh, what a curious scholar’ kind of way. No, no, no. He sees something in you, and he’s drawn to it. Maybe he doesn’t even know what yet, but it’s there.” You exhaled sharply, shaking your head. “Come on, guys. He’s not” “You don’t see the way he looks at you,” Earl Grey Cookie interrupted smoothly. “And it’s unfortunate, really, because it’s quite telling.” Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie nodded. “There’s intent behind it. He watches you like he’s trying to figure something out.” Chai Latte Cookie smirked. “Or like he’s trying to figure you out.” You stared at them, feeling incredibly outnumbered. “You’re all ridiculous.” “And yet,” Earl Grey Cookie mused, sipping his tea, “we’re rarely wrong.” Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie pointed at you again. “So, what do you have to say for yourself, huh? Gonna keep pretending this is all just normal scholarly interest?” “Yes,” you deadpanned. “Because that’s exactly what it is.” Chai Latte Cookie clicked her tongue. “Sweetheart, denial is only cute for so long.” You groaned. “This is absurd.”

Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie shrugged. “Hey, we’re just laying out the facts. And the facts strongly support our case.” Earl Grey Cookie tilted his head, considering. “Perhaps he doesn’t even fully realize it himself.” “Exactly!” Chai Latte Cookie snapped her fingers. “You think someone like him has time for this kind of thing? He’s too wrapped up in his own world of truth-seeking to stop and realize what’s happening right in front of him.” Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie sighed dramatically. “Tragic, really.” You buried your face in your hands. “I hate all of you.” Earl Grey Cookie chuckled. “You love us.” Chai Latte Cookie nudged you. “So, what are you going to do about it?” “Nothing!” you cried, exasperated. “Because there is nothing to do!” Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie smirked. “Yet.” You groaned, pushing away from the table. “I am leaving.” Earl Grey Cookie stood as well, adjusting his coat. “Then we’ll walk with you.” “Oh, fantastic.” You rolled your eyes. “Because I love spending more time being harassed.” Chai Latte Cookie looped an arm around yours, grinning. “Come on, we just care about you.” Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie and Earl Grey Cookie flanked you as you all headed out, their voices continuing to dissect every interaction, every detail. And no matter how much you protested, you couldn’t shake the nagging feeling that maybe just maybe they weren’t entirely wrong. You exhaled sharply, crossing your arms as you walked with them. "Okay, fine. Earl Grey, you’re always the one with the most measured takes. You have to have a theory that’s actually based in reality. What do you think?"

Earl Grey Cookie smirked as if he’d been waiting for you to ask. He adjusted his coat, hands neatly clasped behind his back. “I thought you’d never ask.” Chai Latte Cookie rolled her eyes with a knowing grin. “Oh, here we go.” Earl Grey Cookie took a moment, as if carefully composing his words. “From what I have observed, Shadow Milk Cookie is not a man accustomed to emotional vulnerability. He is esteemed, revered, and above all detached. But when it comes to you, there is a shift.” He glanced at you meaningfully. “A noticeable one.” You blinked. “That doesn’t mean anything” Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie cut in, smirking. “Ah-ah, let him finish. He’s just getting to the good part.” Earl Grey Cookie continued smoothly. “I don’t think he realizes it yet, but I would argue that you challenge him on a level he has not encountered before.” You frowned. “That doesn’t even make sense” “Oh, it does,” Chai Latte Cookie hummed. “Keep going.” Earl Grey Cookie gave you a knowing look. “He is used to admiration, to reverence. But you? You are hesitant, overwhelmed, and yet you still push forward. You question him. You argue, even if you don’t realize you’re doing it. And that intrigues him.”

You stared at him, unsure of what to say. Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie snorted. “Oh, yeah. That’s definitely got the scholar all messed up.” Earl Grey Cookie allowed himself a small smirk. “Precisely. But beyond intrigue, there is something else brewing. He reacts to you in a way he does not react to others.” “Which means?” Chai Latte Cookie prompted, leaning in. Earl Grey Cookie met your gaze. “Which means he is invested. More than he should be.” Silence stretched between you all. You rubbed your temples. “You’re all reading way too much into this.” “Are we?” Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie grinned. “Yes!” you insisted. “He’s a scholar. He’s curious. That’s it.” Earl Grey Cookie simply hummed. “Perhaps.” But there was a glint in his eye that told you he didn’t believe that for a second. Chai Latte Cookie sighed dramatically. “Honestly, you might be the worst part of this whole situation.” You gaped at her. “Excuse me?” She laughed, nudging you playfully. “You’re so blind to your own effect on him! You’re making him confused, and you’re definitely confusing yourself.” Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie clapped you on the back. “It’s actually kind of hilarious to watch.” You groaned. “I hate you all.” “Yet you’re still walking with us,” Earl Grey Cookie mused. You grumbled under your breath. “Only because you’d probably just follow me anyway.” Chai Latte Cookie giggled. “Oh, definitely.” Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie flipped open his notebook, clicking his pen. “Well, this was productive. I think we have more than enough material for today.” “Oh, fantastic,” you muttered. Earl Grey Cookie closed his eyes in amusement. “This is far from over.” You huffed, shaking your head as you finally reached your dorm. “I’m going inside. I refuse to entertain any more of this nonsense.” Chai Latte Cookie beamed. “Goodnight, sweetheart~.” “Don’t dream about the scholar too much,” Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie teased. You slammed the door behind you, heart hammering. Because no, they were wrong. They had to be…Right? You sighed, staring at the closed door of your dorm. Maybe slamming it in their faces wasn’t the best way to shut down the conversation, even if they were being absolutely insufferable about it. Theories, notes, revisions they were treating last night like it was the biggest scoop of the century, and you were their unwilling case study. And yet, as you stood there, arms crossed, trying to shake the lingering thoughts of their absurd analysis, something gnawed at you. Maybe you had been a little too dismissive. With another sigh, you turned on your heel and swung the door back open. Your friends were still there. Naturally.

Chai Latte Cookie blinked at you, then broke into a knowing smile. “Oh? Back so soon?” Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie smirked, lazily flipping through his ever-present notebook. “Took you longer than I expected.” Earl Grey Cookie simply raised a brow, arms crossed. The look he gave you was expectant, as if he knew you had something else to say. You huffed. “Alright, look. I didn’t mean to slam the door.” “Of course,” Chai Latte Cookie said sweetly, though you could see the amusement dancing in her eyes. Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie snorted. “Uh-huh.” You exhaled sharply and crossed your arms. “Anyway. You all went to the Ghost City last week, right?” That got their attention. “Oh?” Chai Latte Cookie leaned in, intrigued. “Yeah,” you muttered. “The ice cream shop.” Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie’s grin widened. “Now you’re speaking my language.” Earl Grey Cookie tilted his head. “You wish to go now?” You shrugged. “Why not? I didn’t get to sneak out with you last time, so I figure why not make up for it now?” Chai Latte Cookie’s face lit up. “A morning trip to the Ghost City? How scandalous.” Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie clapped a hand on your shoulder. “That’s the kind of thinking I like to see.” Earl Grey Cookie adjusted his cuffs, looking over the three of you with a mix of fondness and exasperation. “And I assume we’re not taking the normal way?” Chai Latte Cookie waved a hand. “Oh, please. That would be boring.” You rolled your eyes but couldn’t stop the smile from creeping onto your face. “Alright, then,” you said. “Let’s go.” And with that, the four of you set off, the morning sun casting golden light over the Academy as you slipped away toward the Ghost City.

A/N I will reply to my inbox soon y'all I LOVE THE ART IM SEEING but I will reply to it and give my time to them...for now I have a lecture to attend so <3

anyways...

Remember to follow and reblog for more bangers 😎😎😎🔥🔥🔥🔥

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[ilguna]

Hey! Can I get the number 89 (in honour of 1989 tv) with finnick ?

☼ lovestruck, lovesick, lovelorn pt1 (Finnick Odair) ☼

warnings; swearing, death mention, death, gore for sure, blood, weapon usage, mention of prostitution.

wc; 8.6k

prompt; 86. "Do you trust her?" // "No, but I trust her anger."

notes; i already did 89 for Peeta (castaway) and i'm trying not to do any repeats, so we're going with 86 :)

part two, part three.

--

The golden Cornucopia sits abandoned in the middle of this black sand island, whereas normally it’s occupied by the Careers to ensure that no intruders steal from them. There must not be anything worth protecting in here, then, besides the weapons that are displayed.

This allows the group to spread out, picking places to rest in the shade. Peeta lowers Beetee to the ground, propping him up against a box. He backs off, going to stand next to Katniss.

Beetee calls out to Wiress, making her go over to him. She crouches down, hands on her knees, waiting. In her limited state of mind, you’re fairly surprised that she’s still comprehending people, much less requests. He holds up his coil of wire, she takes it. “Clean it, will you?” 

Wiress nods, wordlessly getting to her feet and going to sit on the edge of the island to clean the spool of blood. She dunks it in the water, occasionally using her fingers to rub a particularly hard spot. While she does this, she begins to sing, no longer repeating the words ‘tick tock’.

It must be some sort of nursery rhyme from District Three, because you don’t recognize it. It’s about a mouse running up and down a clock, which is fairly appropriate, given the recent discovery, thanks to her.

“Oh, not the song again.” Johanna says, rolling her brown eyes. “That went on for hours before she started tick-tocking.”

Wiress stops suddenly, getting to her feet, posture rigid as she points to the jungle and says, “Two.”

The rest of you watch as a white wave of fog begins to seep onto the beach. From here, it doesn't seem so threatening. You probably wouldn’t think twice about it, if you hadn’t run for your life from it early this morning. While it melted your jumpsuit and poisoned your skin, causing you to strip to your under clothes and for your body to be covered in scabs from where it touched you.

You’d rather fight the orange monkey muttations a hundred times than risk doing that again.

“Yes, look, Wiress is right. It’s two o’clock and the fog has started.” Katniss says.

“LIke clockwork.” Peeta agrees. “You were very smart to figure that out, Wiress.”

Wiress smiles, and then kneels in the sand to continue singing and dunking the coil in water. “Oh, she’s more than smart.” Beetee says from beside you. Your eyes slide over to him. “She’s intuitive. She can sense things before anyone else. Like a canary in one of your coal mines.”

“What’s that?” Finnick asks Katniss.

“It’s a bird that we take down into the mines to warn us if there’s bad air.” She says.

“What’s it do, die?” Johanna scoffs.

“It stops singing first. That’s when you should get out. But if the air’s too bad, it dies, yes. And so do you.” Katniss ends that line of conversation, turning to go inside of the Cornucopia.

Johanna goes in after her to poke around in the weapons, since she’s been empty handed the entire time. Funny how Beetee was able to make it to the Cornucopia before she did, even if it ended up getting him hurt because of it.

You briefly glance at Finnick from where you were watching Johanna, and you have to do a double-take when you realize that he’s staring at you. He looks you over, up and down, which would be flattering, if you didn’t know that he was assessing your demeanor, deciding if you were a threat.

You squint at him, face twisting. “What?”

“Nothing.” He tells you.

“It’s not nothing if you’re looking at me like that.” You snap. “Leave me alone.”

He shakes his head, but doesn’t say anything back. You’re getting tired of him thinking that you’re going to betray the alliance. You’re in this as much as he is, you volunteered to be here. If anything, he should be a little grateful that he got a district partner that’s invested and capable.

He doesn’t see it that way, though. He thinks that you’re just as bad as Enobaria and Brutus—that you’re itching to get back into an arena to kill for some spotlight. And you know this, because he told you himself on the train. Once you were out of sight of the cameras, he tried to lay you out in front of Mags and the escort, and you shut him down.

You know he disagrees with the way you choose to handle situations, but to think that you would get in the way of a rebellion was a slap to the face. You made sure he knew that later on, when you were out of earshot of the Peacekeepers. If he wanted to think of you so lowly, fine. The line is drawn when he begins to implant those ideas in other people’s heads, too. Especially since you’ve done nothing to deserve it.

It didn’t matter to him. In fact, he tried to block you from being invited into the alliance by telling Haymitch that you could fuck the whole plan if your mood changes. He said all it would take is one disagreement, one thing not going the way you wanted, one wrong look, and you’d make sure that everyone else would be brought down by it.

Thankfully, Haymitch knows better than to just take Finnick’s word for it. He might be a drunk, but that doesn’t mean he wasn’t paying attention for the past ten years. He knows that you and Finnick have a history of not getting along. If anything, you’ll sabotage Finnick more than you will the alliance as a whole.

Which is why he told you that you have a place in it, if you want. And while everyone else places stepping stones to make sure that the plan to get rescued is in place. You were told that you have two jobs; the first one being protecting Katniss and Peeta, a task that you were already prepared to risk your life for. As for the second one—if anything were to go wrong, if someone unexpected were to get killed, you’ll replace their shoes, and get Katniss and Peeta to the end of the day at all costs.

This is why you’ve been on edge. If Finnick would see past his hatred for you, and thought about it, he’d realize that you’re trying to make sure that Katniss and Peeta are in good positions. You are not the threat here.

Johanna lets out a grunt, you turn your head in time to watch as she throws an axe through the air, straight at the Cornucopia. It hits the sun-softened gold with a gentle thud, and it sticks. She crosses the area, pulling it out by the handle, making a face at the blade.

Katniss is digging through the weapons, probably looking for more arrows to add to her collection, because two sheaths aren’t enough. When she finds one, she swings it over her back and comes out to stand over Peeta, who’s drawing a map of the arena onto a large leaf that he brought from the jungle. He slices the circle, creating twelve equal wedges.

“Look how the Cornucopia is positioned.” He says, looking up at her.

Her eyebrows draw in, and she turns around to take a look at the building she just came out of. “The tail points to twelve o’clock.”

“Right, so this is the top of our clock.” He says, numbering the wedges one through twelve. “Twelve to one is the lightning zone.” He proceeds to write lightning in the wedge, and then goes clockwise, adding blood, fog, and monkeys in the next sections.

“And ten to eleven is the wave.” She says, he writes it down. 

Finnick comes over with Johanna, the two of them have upped the weapon count on their bodies. And he thinks you’re the dangerous one, as if you don’t have a sword and a couple knives on you. Does he really need two tridents and half a dozen knives? It makes him look…

Hot, a voice whispers from the depth of your mind, It makes him look hot.

He’s standing in a patch of sun, where the Cornucopia doesn’t quite reach. The sunbeams baking his already tanned skin. His eyes are a brighter shade of sea green, with the light being in his eyes. He looks like he belongs at the bottom of the ocean, commanding the creatures that dwell in it.

He must feel your eyes on him, because he flickers over to yours. You stare for a second longer, before blinking and looking away, back at the map that’s being drawn. 

It’s a shame that Finnick decided years back that he would rather keep you at a distance instead of making a friend out of you. The two of you are so similar that it hurts at times, but all he can see are the differences, which hurts more.

The both of you won at young ages, with him setting the record, while you won at fifteen. He had an advantage in his Games, though, because the sponsors were drawn in by his good looks for being someone so young. This meant that he had everything he could have ever asked for gifted to him in the arena.

On the other hand, you didn’t make much of an impression during your reaping or the Tribute Parade, forcing you to change the strategy that you’d been given by Finnick and Mags. They wanted you to keep your head down, but if you wanted even a sliver of a chance, you needed to make your name big.

So, that’s exactly what you did. And that’s where the resentment he has for you, started. You showed off absolutely all your skills in the Training Center, making sure the Gamemakers knew you had potential, getting you a score of nine. During your interviews, you told Caesar that there wasn’t a single hurdle you wouldn’t jump to get home.

That statement was put to the test in the arena, when you killed several tributes, including your own district partner, because you knew it put you one step closer to getting out. You didn’t care what bridges you had to burn, how many sponsors you had to lose, or if you lost the support of your mentors. Nothing could stop you, and it didn’t.

Finnick hates that you had no remorse when you got out of the arena. Or now, because you told him that this is the hill you’ve chosen to die on, because between life and death, you choose life. He can’t wrap his head around the fact you’re so cold. How could the two of you be from the same district?

The similarities came back into play when you turned sixteen, when the Capitol realized that they do care about you. Which changed your title from victor to Capitol darling. You were told to join Finnick and be a prostitute, or President Snow would kill your family. 

This is where you screwed up, believing him to be bluffing. You didn’t think he would actually do it, but he’s a man of his word. When you were done listening to the screams and pleas of your parents to spare your siblings, Snow told you that if you didn’t agree, Finnick’s family would be next.

You had no choice, you had to agree. And when Finnick found out that you landed right where he was, there wasn’t a single shred of empathy he had toward you. Not even after you returned to District Four, and he learned that your family had been murdered in your home. The one you’d be forced to stay in for an additional two weeks while they got your victor house ready.

If you weren’t indifferent to his existence before, you sure as hell were then.

“Did you notice anything unusual in the others?” Katniss asks Johanna and Beetee, referring to the wedges. 

“Only blood.” Johanna says, Beetee nods.

“I guess they could hold anything.” Katniss looks down at Peeta.

“I’m going to mark the ones where we know the Gamemakers’ weapon follows us out past the jungle, so we’ll stay clear of those.” Peeta says, drawing diagonal lines on the fog and wave beaches. He then sits back. “Well, it’s a lot more than we knew this morning, anyway.”

You look up, going to check on Wiress, since she’s gone quiet. Your eyes find Gloss, water dripping from his bare skin, knife sliding across the skin on her throat. It’s too late to save her, you know this when the blood begins to come down her neck like a waterfall.

The knife on your belt is in your hand and flying through the air in the matter of seconds. It’s headed right for Gloss, and when the blade lodges in the center of his forehead, it throws him back. This kills him instantly.

A movement out of the corner of your eye makes you turn your head, hand reaching for the knife that’s lined up next, but Johanna’s on it. She buries her axe in the center of Cashmere’s chest, eliminating her.

Three cannons blast, back to back.

Finnick swings his trident upward, deflecting a spear that had been aiming for Peeta, thrown by Brutus. Finnick goes to twist his body to take the knife that Enobaria throws at Beetee, but he misses by an inch. It’s too late for you to save Beetee, as the knife shatters the lens on the right side, and the blade buries itself in his eye socket.

Fuck.

Another cannon blasts.

You shove Finnick out of the way to chase after Enobaria and Brutus, who are making their escape around the backside of the Cornucopia. They’ve successfully killed two of your most important allies, and they don’t even realize it.

The two Careers are running down one of the sand strips to the beach. You manage to throw one more knife at Brutus before he’s out of range. It slams into his right calf, taking him down. He lands on his hands and knees, which is exactly what you were hoping for.

Right as you’re about to step onto the strip, the ground beneath you jerks, throwing you down. The center island of the Cornucopia begins to spin, fast. You press your sword between your body and the ground, digging your fingers into the grooves to hold on. 

It’s only thirty seconds later when it slams to a stop without warning. 

You squeeze your eyes shut, taking measured breaths to calm the growing annoyance in your chest. The Gamemakers knew you would kill Brutus, and later Enobaria, if you caught up with her. That’s why they had to intervene, otherwise the fun of the Games would be gone.

You slam your fist against the rock, pushing yourself to your knees. You lean back on your heels slightly, face to the sun while you collect yourself. With Wiress and Beetee being gone, this is a very large hiccup that you’re going to have to smooth out. You jinxed yourself, didn’t you?

A sigh leaves you as you get to your feet, swinging the sword into your hand. As you round the corner, you can see that everyone else is upright. Finnick looks over at you, eyebrows raised, waiting for good news, because you were the closest to the Two tributes.

“Brutus is injured. I would’ve had him if the fuckin’ Gamemakers had minded their own business.” You stab the tip of the sword into a patch of sand.

“Where’s Volts?” Johanna asks, looking around the group.

“He’s dead.” You tell her.

She meets your eyes, “What happened?”

“I—” Finnick starts.

“I didn’t block the knife in time.” You talk over him. “Enobaria’s got a strong arm, it went right through his glasses.”

You can see Finnick staring at you from the corner of your eye. You lick your lips, tasting the salt of the water, before pressing them together. When you look at him, the two of you stare for a long second.

You, Johanna and Finnick know what this means. If just one of the Three tributes had been killed, you could’ve used the other. With both of them being gone, it means that someone needs to pick up their job, and you were the one that was elected to do just that.

“What now?” Finnick asks you.

You tilt your head, eyes going out to the water, finding two of the four bodies. It’s got to be Wiress and Gloss, because they’d been right next to each other when they died. You lean your sword up against the Cornucopia before wandering forward, to the edge of the island.

Wiress is floating on her back, on her stomach sits the spool of wire, golden and shining in the sunlight. You begin to head down the sand strip closest to her body. “I want the wire.”

“What for?” Johanna asks, “That was his weapon, not yours.”

You look over your shoulder. “It has to be now, doesn’t it?”

Johanna makes a face, but it’s not one of doubt. She knows that you’re right, that’s why she won’t bother to argue. Not that she would, anyway. You and Johanna get along, basically two peas in the same pod. She just likes Finnick more, because he puts up with her bullshit.

You jog as close as you can get to Wiress’s body, before diving in the warm water. It’s a nice break from the sun, even if it is for a minute. It doesn’t take long to get to her body, prying the coil from her fingers. You’re about to swim away, when you hesitate, closing her eyes.

Finnick is waiting for you on the strip when you get back to it. You place the wire on the rock, and he reaches down to help you up. Your face twists, but you take his hand, letting him help. The moment you’re on both feet, he pulls you close, a rough hand on your shoulder as he pulls you close to speak in your ear.

“If you can’t do this, you need to tell me. I’ll figure something else out.” Finnick harshly whispers.

You jerk back, squinting at him. “Worry about yourself.” 

As you stoop to grab the wire, Finnick shakes his head. “I mean it, (Y/n).”

“And so do I.” You tell him, lowering your voice. “There’s a reason why Haymitch trusted me with this, and not you.”

He raises his eyebrows, “We’re back to this, huh?”

You scoff loudly. “You’re the one that’s upset by it, Finnick. So, here’s a fucking suggestion: deal with it.” You shake your head. “You’re so worried that I’m going to betray the alliance, that’s you’re forgetting that this is what I do.” You motion to the jungle with your free hand. “Enobaria and Brutus can run all they want, but we both know they’re going to have to come out eventually if they plan on finishing us off. And when they do, they’re going to get it.

“Not from you, not from Johanna, from me.” You seethe, moving around Finnick to head back up to the Cornucopia. You throw your hands up, one of them still holding the wire. “Face it, Finnick, I’ve got this handled.”

You turn around, finding that your three other allies have their eyes on you. You ignore them, watching where you place your feet. On the island, you retrieve your sword, dropping the wire onto a box. Finnick is a few feet behind you, wearing a hard expression.

You hate it when you have to talk to him like that, but you can’t do it any other way if you want him to listen to you. It’s like he doesn’t care unless you’re being hostile, except that tone of voice has him on edge, afraid that you’re going to flip a switch.

There is no happy medium. It’s like he’s dead-set on thinking that you’re an unlikable person. You wouldn’t have minded having an actual conversation between you, Finnick and Johanna to figure out a plan together. It’s his fault that he decided to take the situation into his own hands by assuming that you wouldn’t have the ability to fill Beetee’s shoes.

It makes you mad, so now you’re going to take care of it by yourself. As much as he wants you to ask for help, you’ll do everything in your power to make sure you don’t need him. Or the others, for that matter.

“Let’s get off this stinking island.” Johanna says once Finnick has joined the group.

You dig through the weapons in the Cornucopia, looking for a pair of knives that aren’t too short. The only ones that are available are displayed on the wall in the very back. They’re slightly curved, not too heavy. They’ll work just fine.

You watch as Peeta, Finnick and Johanna start in three different directions.

You stand next to Katniss, watching this. When they realize that no one is following them, they stop.

“Twelve o’clock, right?” Peeta asks. “The tail points at twelve.”

“Before they spun us.” Finnick says. “I was judging by the sun.”

“The sun only tells you it’s going on four, Finnick.” Katniss tells him. “Any one of these paths could lead to twelve o’clock.”

You tuck the knives in your belt, as you circle the Cornucopia with them to try and find the path that’ll lead to the twelve beach. Only, the jungle is perfectly replicated in every section, down to the last tree. Johanna suggests following Enobaria and Brutus’s path, but it’s been washed away.

Katniss stops. “I should have never mentioned the clock. Now they’ve taken that advantage away as well.”

“For now.” You murmur. “We still have the wave at ten to tell us, we’ll be back on track after that.”

“Yes, they can’t redesign the whole arena.” Peeta says.

“It doesn’t matter.” Johanna’s growing impatient, wanting to move. “You had to tell us or we never would have moved our camp in the first place, brainless. Come on, I need water. Anyone have a good gut feeling?”

You let them decide which strip to take to the beach. Katniss and Peeta begin to lead the way. You grab the wire, motioning for Johanna and Finnick to go next, but they don’t budge. You roll your eyes and duck your head, putting a good distance between you and Peeta before you walk.

“What’s the plan?” Johanna’s voice sounds far, and she’s trying to be quiet, but there’s not enough going on for it to conceal her.

“She says she’ll handle it.” Finnick murmurs, you can’t tell if he’s mad or not.

“That’s it?” She asks, “It looked like she was yelling at you.”

“She did.” He says. “She told me to worry about myself, and she’ll handle Enobaria and Brutus.”

Johanna doesn’t speak right away. “Do you trust her?”

“No, but I trust her anger.” He tells her. “She’s right, this is what she does best.”

“So, you want to follow behind her?”

“Do you have any other ideas?” Finnick shoots back.

“No.” Johanna sighs.

When you get to the jungle, they look inside of it, trying to figure out if there’s anything waiting inside or not. When you can’t see any immediate threats, they relax.

“Well, it must be monkey hour. And I don’t see any of them in there.” Peeta says. “I’m going to try to tap a tree.”

“No, it’s my turn.” Finnick objects. “I’ll at least watch your back.”

“Katniss can do that.” Johanna says. “We need you to make another map. The other washed away.” She reaches up, yanking off a large leaf to hand to him. “(Y/n) can stay with us, while she figures out what to do with the wire.”

You drop it in the sand, along with your sword, as you sit down. Peeta crouches beside you, beginning to make his map, again. As you watch him draw the slices, your mind begins to wander. 

Katniss and Peeta are the Careers’ focus. They want to target the ones with the highest scores first, and then work their way down. If they take out a few of you in the process, then that’s great, but they’re afraid of what the Twelve tributes could’ve possibly done in order to get a perfect score.

It was a little odd for Gloss to go for Wiress, if this is the case. And Cashmere wasn’t able to kill anybody before she died. You guess she might have been going for Katniss, but Johanna was in between them, she wasn’t going to make it that far. That’s why Brutus tried to get Peeta with the spear, and maybe the knife was originally aimed for Peeta, not Beetee?

You just can’t wrap your head around their strategy of getting rid of the Three tributes. Were Enobaria and Brutus that worried about you guys coming up with a plan to use the explosives on the tribute platforms? It wouldn’t be the first time it happened in the Games, it’s just a stupid idea to do it in the water, when you have nothing to steady yourself on.

Either way, you need to figure out a way to draw them in. If there’s anything you know for sure, it’s that they’ll wait until dark to attack again, because they’ll have cover. It’s only the two of them now, which means they won’t attack the five of you all together, they’ll get overpowered in seconds. They’ll wait until you split up.

You play with the wire, twisting it between your fingers while you think.

If they send another twenty-four rolls from District Three tonight, you’ll have no choice but to go into the jungle for the lightning section, because that’s where they’ll be rescuing you out of the arena. You would just say that you should go up to the lightning tree and wait, except you won’t know what time it is until ten, like you said.

When the wave does it, you’ll have two hours to get to the tree. After that, Katniss and Peeta will have to get split up long enough to get the tracker out of their arms. That’ll be the perfect time to kill Enobaria and Brutus, too.

You just need a reason for them to split up. Johanna’s already agreed to getting it out of Katniss’s arm, which left Peeta for Finnick. You need some sort of placebo plan in the meantime, something for them to focus on to keep their minds off of the fact that the situation is going to be very, very suspicious.

“That’s it.” Peeta says, sitting back. “I don’t—”

A scream cuts through the still air, silencing him. You whip around to look back at the jungle, unsure of whether or not it belongs to Katniss. As you get to your feet, sword in your hand, you can hear another voice, shouting back. That one sounds like Katniss.

“What’s happening?” Peeta asks.

You get to your feet before he does, pulling the sword into your hand as you break through the jungle, swinging at any leaves in your way. “I think we chose the wrong section.”

“It’s supposed to be the monkey mutts right now, how can it be anything else?” Peeta asks.

Your face twists as you look over your shoulder, finding that Johanna’s eyes have rolled back as far as she can get them. “Because it’s the next hour?” She snarks.

Peeta doesn’t respond. For a moment, you’re genuinely concerned that the forcefield on the first day might have fried his brain a lot more than you thought. When you begin to think of all the decisions he’s made over these past couple of days, you relax. It’s not really out of his nature to say something stupid once in a while.

You’re about twenty yards into the jungle when you stop suddenly, sword at your side, eyes scanning the trees above. When Johanna and Peeta finally pause, you realize just how quiet it is out here.

Johanna takes a step or two forward, coming to stand next to you, looking up at the tree branches. She covers her eyes with one hand, squinting. “There’s no birds.”

“Exactly what I was thinking.” You tell her, your normal voice feels too loud. “There’s not even insects.”

“What are you thinking?” She asks, looking at you.

“I feel like it’s too early to be the beast, because the sun was down further yesterday.” 

She nods. “A new hour.”

“That doesn’t explain why it’s so quiet.” Peeta says.

“Could be something in the trees.” You tell him, turning your body to face him. “That’s why I don’t want to go further in.”

“But Katniss and Finnick are in there.” Peeta shakes his head. “We have to.”

“Don’t you think they would’ve called for help by now?” You ask, “We heard Katniss say something, but then she stopped.”

“And they can’t be dead because there’s no cannon.” Johanna says after. “What if they’re hurt?”

You look further into the jungle. “It’s a bad idea.”

“We have to try.” Peeta says, starting toward the two of you.

You move in time to let him pass without running into your shoulder. He makes it an additional five yards before he walks smack into a wall, head bouncing off. A little smile fights its way onto your face, and then it vanishes when you realize that this is exactly what happened when he hit the forcefield.

He reaches out, going to touch it. You stride forward, grabbing the back of the neck of his undershirt, yanking him back. “Are you stupid?”

“Wait.” He swats your hand free. “Watch.”

You grab his wrist when he holds his hand out again, causing him to look at you with wide eyes. “I’m not taking any chances with you.”

“Then do it yourself.” Peeta motions, you let go. “It would’ve blown me back if it was a forcefield. Besides, it’s too far down.”

You look at space in front of you, seemingly fine. The wall that he’d run into isn’t even visible. You take in a breath, holding it, before sticking your hand out in the direction of it.

The palm of your hand vibrates against it, you apply pressure, wondering if it’ll budge if you lean into it, but it doesn’t move. You look down at your sword, pressing your lips together. If this is a forcefield, this will most definitely kill you. Still, you swing the sword into the invisible wall, and you’re pleasantly surprised when it doesn’t explode into sparks upon contact.

“Well…” You trail off, beginning to walk around the wall, keeping one hand on it. No matter where you touch, or how far along you walk, the wall doesn’t stop. You make it into the next section of the jungle, and around the corner, and still feel it there. When you make it back to Johanna and Peeta, you shake your head. “Sealed.”

“They’re inside?” Peeta asks. “Do you think they can hear us?”

“I’m going to say no.” Johanna grunts, swinging her axe into the wall repeatedly. “If we can’t hear the birds,” Her voice is strained, “Then we can’t hear them.” She stops, tossing the axe aside, it lands next to a bush. She sighs, “I guess we’re going to wait out here.”

Peeta doesn’t like this idea, you can tell by the way his face screws up, but he knows you don’t have any other choice. 

“I’m going to grab the wire, then.” You tell her.

“Speaking of it, come up with anything yet?” She asks, eyebrows raised.

“Almost.” You say, walking away from her.

When you get to the beach and find the wire, you don’t go back into the jungle right away. You stand beneath a patch of shade, staring at the Cornucopia, and the trees beyond it, squinting.

From what you can tell, Enobaria and Brutus aren’t on the beach or in the treeline, which means that they’re in those trees, somewhere. They must be fairly far in, where they’re resting. They likely won’t come out again until they’ve been sponsored and their wounds are healing. And even then, they’ll make sure you’re not on the beach, first.

Or maybe they are able to see you, and you just can’t see them.

If you were in their shoes, you’d be watching your every move right now to figure out what you’re doing. And if that’s the case, it doesn’t matter what you do with this wire, they’ll already know the plan. Really, it would just be an excuse to split Katniss and Peeta.

So, that’s what it’ll be.

The wire could be used for a number of things, you could probably make a trap out of it. There’s enough of it for you to bring it to the tree and back down to the beach, twice. The question is what Beetee would have used it for.

You close your eyes, listening to the waves on the beach, trying to remember how Beetee won his Games. You were talking to Mags about it the other day, she was telling you that it’s been thirty years since he won. Back then, he wasn’t the strongest tribute either, he had to make something to electrocute the last remaining tributes.

He wouldn’t really be able to do that now. He had the sources—the lightning at midnight and the water at the center. In the condition he was in before he got killed, he wouldn’t have been able to make the trip up to the tree, back down to the water, and up again to be out of the way of the electricity. And the chances of the wire being cut by the Careers isn’t that low, even in your situation now.

You’d need someone at the base of the tree, and someone unspooling the wire down to the water…

Your eyes pop open, it takes them a second to adjust to the sudden light. You stare at the water. This is what Beetee was going to do, wasn’t it? The wire acts as a conductor. If you hook it up to the tree at the right time when it strikes, it’ll fry everything in the water.

But what you want is to kill the Careers, in a way. The sand would have to be wet too, or at least damp. Which… Which will be the exact case when the wave hits at ten, and it’ll be cooler out, so the water won’t evaporate as quickly. If you bury the spool in the sand, it should have the entire beach covered and the water.

“Bingo.” You say, grabbing the coil.

You join the others back inside of the jungle, finding Peeta on the floor, forehead pressed to the invisible wall. Johanna’s pacing back and forth, arms crossed over her chest. When you get closer, you’re able to see that Katniss and Finnick are on the other side, both of them with their hands over their ears.

When a twig snaps beneath your weight, Johanna looks over. She lets out a sigh, shoulders slumping. “What took you so long?”

“Came up with a plan.” You tell her, dropping the wire and your sword next to one of her axes. 

“What plan?” Peeta asks, unmoving.

“On how to kill the remaining Careers.” You wink at Johanna, but it’s not flirtatious.

You know she understands when the crease appears between her eyebrows, giving you a slight nod. “Care to enlighten us?”

“When they’re out, I will. I don’t want to have to repeat myself.” You nod at the other two. “What’s going on in there?”

“I think it’s jabberjays.” Johanna says, pointing up at the trees behind the wall. “They’re fifty of them in the trees. Katniss tried killing them, of course it didn’t work.”

Your eyes land on Finnick, finding his muscles rigid. You crouch to get a better look at his face, there’s a streak of red from his nose, down his lips, and off his chin. “What happened to Finnick?”

“He ran face-first into the wall.” Peeta says. “It was a bloody nose.”

You hum, lowering yourself to the ground. “Hopefully it won’t be much longer.”

—

The wall suddenly breaks, Peeta falling forward. He catches himself on his hands, getting to his feet. He doesn’t even say anything, just scoops Katniss into his arms, and walks straight out of the jungle with her, leaving the arrows behind.

You sit up, looking over at Johanna to see that she’s staring at you. She tilts her head, “Do you want to try?”

You take in a breath, “I’ll let you know if it works.”

She nods, following after Katniss and Peeta, because someone needs to be watching over them. You get up, walking a few feet over to Finnick, before crouching down beside him. 

You lift a hand, hovering it over his back for a minute, and then change your mind, placing your elbows on your thighs to lean on them. He’s got his eyes closed, head down. He probably can’t even hear you. You don’t even know how he’ll react to being touched, much less by you.

You press your lips together, heart hurting at the sight of him. It’d be better if Johanna were here, she can talk to him. All you’ll do is upset him more. You grind your teeth, once again wishing that this wasn’t your relationship. As you go to stand up, the hands over his ears loosen, head beginning to lift.

He looks around in the jungle first, making sure the threat is gone. That’s when he notices you beside him, waiting. His eyes are watery, he swallows.

“Hey,” You murmur, “Are you okay?”

He stares at you, eyebrows drawing in.

You nod, “I’ll go get Johanna.”

Once again, you try to get to your feet, when he speaks, “Why?”

“Why… what?” You ask, pausing.

“Why would you get Johanna?” He asks.

You turn your head in the direction of the beach. Is he really going to make you say it? Does he want to see the pain it’ll cause you? Or does he think it’ll come out venomous?

When you look at him, you sigh, “Because I’m not really a comforting person to you, am I?”

He doesn’t answer your question, “Where are they?”

“They’re on the beach.” You tell him. “I figured out a plan that’ll work. I’ll tell you guys when you’re ready.”

“Do Johanna and Peeta know?” He asks.

You shake your head, “No.”

Neither of you move, staring at each other. And while you could stay here forever, you don’t allow yourself. You push on your knees, standing up. You offer your hand to him, but he moves it away, just like you figured he would.

He doesn’t say anything, walking past you to leave. You stare at the scene of dead birds in front of you, before you turn around, collecting yours and Johanna’s belongings, and going to join them on the beach. 

Katniss seems better, she’s talking to Peeta. Johanna is standing over them, she glances at Finnick when he passes by. She has to twist her body to see you standing in the treeline. You hand her the axe.

“It was a trick, Katniss. A horrible one. But we’re the only ones who can be hurt by it. We’re the ones in the Games. Not them.” Peeta says.

“You really believe that?” Katniss asks.

“I really do.” 

“Do you believe it, Finnick?” 

“It could be true. I don’t know.” He says, looking up at Johanna, ignoring you entirely. “Could they do that? Take someone’s regular voice and make it…”

Johanna makes a face, looking at you for help. You play with the piece of wire you’d unraveled, “I’m sure Beetee would know.”

“Peeta’s right.” Johanna then says. “The whole country adores Katniss’s little sister. If they really killed her like this, they’d probably have an uprising on her hands.” She deadpans. “Don’t want that, do they?” She scoffs, throwing her head back to shout, “Whole country in rebellion? Wouldn’t want anything like that!”

She shakes her head, wandering around the beach to pick up shells. When she finds a good few, she stops next to Finnick, holding her hand out. “I’m getting water.” Finnick drops the spile into her hand, and she begins toward the jungle.

Katniss grabs her hand. “Don’t go in there. The birds—”

“They can’t hurt me. I’m not like the rest of you. There’s no one left I love.” She says, shaking her hand free. You don’t miss the look she gives Finnick, and then you, as she disappears into the jungle. 

She comes back a couple minutes later with a shell of water, handing it over to Katniss first. She makes trips back and forth, letting each of you have some. She comes out one trip with a pile of arrows that she gives back to Katniss.

Finnick shakes his head, walking to the water. He stops a few feet in, and sits. You let the wire drop to the sand, tired of bringing it wherever you go. You don’t move from where you are, eyes fixated on his back.

“Who did they use against Finnick?” Peeta asks, curious.

Katniss is quiet. You’re expecting her to say Annie, because it makes the most sense, but when you look over, she’s eyeing you, and so is Peeta. 

“What?” You ask. “Was it Annie?”

“No, it wasn’t.” Katniss murmurs. “We thought we heard you.”

A loud laugh comes from you, unwarranted. The thought of Finnick caring about you enough for the Gamemakers to use you against him is funny. Really funny, actually. It must’ve been a walk in the park for him, listening to your pleas. A little gratifying, because he could pretend that you were getting what was coming for you.

But Katniss isn’t laughing, she’s serious. 

The humor leaves your smile, “It must’ve been his mother, that he was mistaken for me.”

“No, because we heard his mom, too. That first scream was yours.” She insists, “And he dropped everything to find you.”

“Finnick would never do that.” You tell her, voice cold. 

She doesn’t press it further, but the look in her eye is enough. She’s not lying to you, she’s telling the truth. She doesn’t gain anything from making something like that up.

You won’t believe it though. This is the same Finnick that told Johanna that he didn’t trust you, an hour and a half ago. There’s nothing that could’ve made him change his feelings in that time span.

Unless it didn’t.

Your eyes narrow at the back of Finnick’s head, hand tightening around your sword. 

A cannon blast keeps you from thinking about the subject any further, but the bubbling in your stomach is only getting hotter. Finnick gets up, coming to join you three, as well as Johanna, materializing out of the jungle. You stand together, watching a hovercraft appear over the next section, claw dipping in several times to retrieve all the pieces of one body. 

The beast.

This sparks Peeta to create another map, this time he’s able to fill in more than half of it. It starts with lightning, rain, and fog. It moves on to monkeys and jabberjays. He has to skip a section, and then writes beast. And the next one you have after six to seven is the wave at ten. This means you’re missing five of the other hours. 

The others begin to come back to life. Finnick begins to weave a water basket and a net to fish for dinner. While Katniss takes a swim and applies more ointment. By the time she’s done, Finnick has worked up a pile, so she sits on the edge of the water, cleaning them for him. 

It doesn’t take long for Katniss’s words to creep back into your mind, refusing to leave it be. Finnick cares about you, a thought that should have you excited, but it makes you uncomfortable. He has spent the last eight years making sure that you know that he hates you and couldn’t care less about what happens to you.

Yet here he is, supposedly dropping everything to save you. Possibly even leaving Katniss behind to do it. The Gamemakers must know something that you don’t, if they knew to use your voice. You want to assume that they thought Finnick was worried solely because you’re his district partner. Except, that doesn’t make sense either, because the two of you are notorious in the Capitol for being a pair of mentors that get into fights about how to handle things.

He has a lot of nerve.

The sun falls below the horizon, the moon rising to replace it in the sky. When they finish cleaning the fish, they bring it over, setting it in the middle of the circle for you to enjoy. The four of them begin to settle in the sand, you don’t move from where you stand.

The anthem begins to play, stopping them from digging in. The Capitol seal lights up the sky, and then it’s replaced by the faces. Cashmere, Gloss, Wiress, Beetee. The woman from Five, the morphling from Six, Blight, and the man from Ten. 

Eight tributes dead.

Strangely, this makes you think of your own Hunger Games. Where you managed to kill four people in the span of two hours, one of those being Rio, who was your district partner. By the end of the Games, you had eight kills under your belt. A third of the competition was taken out by you, a little fifteen year-old.

Once again, a factor that used to make Finnick sick. And now it doesn’t.

“They’re really burning through us.” Johanna says.

“Who’s left? Besides us five and District Two?” Finnick asks.

“Chaff.” Peeta says without missing a beat.

The sound of clinking fills the air, you look up to find a parachute coming down, teetering from side to side. It lands perfectly in the middle of the group, unfolding itself to reveal the steaming rolls.

“Do these look like District Three to you?” Finnick looks at Johanna.

“Yeah, look at the imprint.” She says, running her finger over the top of one. “How many are there?”

Finnick counts them, being sure to be thorough. “Twenty-four. How should we divide them?”

“Let’s each have three, and whoever is still alive at breakfast can take a vote on the rest.” Johanna says, causing Katniss to laugh.

You pull your sword out of the sand, swinging it up to rest the flat part of the blade on your shoulder. Finnick looks up at you, eyeing your stance. You step away from them, shaking your head.

“Sit down, (Y/n).” Finnick tells you.

“Why, so you can keep an eye on me?” You snap, crossing the treeline. “Come and get me, Finnick.”

You make it a few feet in, before you hear the snapping of branches behind you. You sigh, turning with raised eyebrows to see that Finnick took it as a challenge. You didn’t mean it that way. You didn’t want him to chase you.

“Get out here.” He tells you.

You walk backward, tilting your head at him. “I’m just making sure Enobaria and Brutus aren’t out here.”

“I don’t care.” He’s still walking toward you. “We’ll worry about that when we make camp.”

You stop, letting your sword down from your shoulder. When you look past him, you can see that there’s enough distance between him and the beach. There’s privacy to talk and sort out what you heard.

Your eyes land on him, “Katniss told me something,” You start, watching his eyebrows twitch, “About how you thought I was the one screaming for help.”

Finnick shakes his head, “I thought it was my mom.”

“Yeah, that’s what I said too.” You tell him, “But you said my name, and you dropped everything to go and get me.”

He sets his jaw, “So?”

“So,” The word is bitter, “What changed?”

He laughs, “Nothing, (Y/n). I went—”

“They used loved ones and family.” You cut him off. “You care about me, admit it.”

“I don’t.” He tells you. “I never have, and I never will.”

“You chased after the jabberjays thinking it was me, and you followed me in here because you’re worried that I’ll get caught by the Careers, admit it.”

“I don’t know what you think is happening, but whatever it is, it’s not true.” His voice wavers.

This is all the confirmation you need. “You want to know what I’m thinking right now?” You press your pointer finger to the middle of his chest. “That you’re not bothered by me anymore, and you haven’t been for a while. You’ve done a damn good job of hiding it up until now, but the jabberjays got you good.”

Finnick grabs your wrist, “That’s not true.”

“What changed, Finnick?” You insist.

“Nothing, because I don’t have feelings for you.” He snaps. “The reason why I came in here is because we want to move camp to the ten sector once the wave happens, I just didn’t want you to get lost out here and think we abandoned you, making you think it’s a free-for-all.”

He lets go of your wrist, face screwed tightly, as he leaves you here. You watch him go back to the beach, while you take several breaths, feeling the pit in your stomach grow.

What have you done?

---

this is part of my 3k celebration!!

[thezeninclan]

how the love & deepspace boys like to sleep with you

your hair. the sweet floral hues of the shampoo you’ve been leaving at his house lately, the same shampoo sylus would rather face a dozen berserk wanderers before admitting that yes, he has used it once or twice— when you’ve been gone for too long and he misses the airy, seductive scent he craves. he’s grown addicted to you, to the way your hair tickles his nose when you sleep pressed up against him, the way your breath puffs out when you’re sleeping really, really deeply, even the way you sometimes giggle in your sleep and then blush red as his helioian rug when he tells you about it the next morning. he can’t sleep as well without you anymore, so used to the way your body curves against his in the night that when his bed is empty he can’t help but feel colder, hollower. but every time he sees that broach pinned to your chest glitter in the light he knows he’ll never have to experience it again.

there’s something so comforting about the weight of your head on zayne's chest, something he’s sure there’s absolutely no scientific explanation for how much he craves. even when you start on your side of the bed, beside the bedside table you’ve decorated with the plushies he’s won you on your dates, you never fail to migrate to his side. even in sleep you pull yourself against him, tangling your legs between his, tucking your head beneath his chin and wiggling his arm around you with a frankly adorable utterance of sleepy muttering, and he can’t help but smile as he realizes you’ve left one arm free so that he can still turn the pages of the medical tome that rests against his chest. it’s more than calming, almost meditative, the way his chest grows warm and light as his fingers trace absently at the skin of your back as you curl up beside him. it’s like heaven— he doubts he has ever slept better.

your body is so warm, so soft, against xavier's in the middle of the night. like a weighted blanket he never knew he wanted, needed. even on the first night you had shared a bed, he knew he never wanted to be parted from you— as if he hadn't known that before. even when he pulls away in sleep, the nightmares that sometimes plague him enough to have him cringe away from you subconsciously, you always find your way back to him, just as you always have. you rest your head against the concave of his back, wrap your arm around his waist and pull your body up against his, as though you had sought him out even in your sleep, a thought sweet enough to lull him back to sleep, even after the worst nightmares.

rafayel may act aloof, act like he doesn’t care that every night you curl around him like a sun seeking vine spooled around the spokes of a fence, but he does. of course he does— and you both know it.

he molds himself against your back once you fall asleep, letting your legs rest against his, your limp fingers entwining with his, just laying still for a bit, letting himself be lulled to sleep by the gentle respire of your sleepy breath. but sometimes he can't sleep, just sometimes— for since he began to share a bed with you those sleepless nights have grown less and less frequent. instead he stays awake, mapping every inch of your face, following the curve of your lips with his eyes the same way he would with a brush, memorizing the color of the sun kissed freckles across your cheeks, the flutter of your lashes, the hue of your curved lips. it's quickly become his favorite pastime.

[the-californicationist]

hi cail! this is sizzleee2 from another account 😅 i was wondering if you could possibly make a fic with anyone from tf141 with fem!reader who immediately after sex feels asexuel and gets a little distant, doesnt need aftercare because shes never had any and then finds out how good aftercare feels??? idk, if you dont want to then no pressure! you r just my favourite writer and i love to read your fics!!

-sk0 <3

I’m slowly making my way through my ask box, and you probably forgot about this but I didn’t! lol 😂 I don’t think I fulfilled this request though. Epic fail on my part. Aftercare?? Maybe. If you squint. I’m so sorry. I just got too horny for Gaz. Forgive me? 🩷🩷

TW: female reader, the expected amount of Kyle sass (see gif)

——— MDNI ———

Tethered

—

The skin-searing warmth of his body left you as he finished, falling away and leaving you cold and lonely. The air of the room rushed across your skin, reminding you that he was done with you. He’d used you, and much like the tarred end of a smoked cigarette, you were filthy, you were wet and sticky from his mouth, and you were no longer smoldering from his burning affection. You had been savored and snuffed out, and that was that.

As soon as his heavy frame rolled off of you, you flung the sheet away and darted into the bathroom, ready to be clean again.

You wished you could be like those girls in the movies; the ones who curled around their emptied lovers, laying her head upon his chest, letting him squeeze and fondle her as he dozed, playing in the sweaty mess of her hairline, skirting his brutish fingers along the slope of her brow.

But you weren’t. You were something else. You weren’t sure exactly what, but your past partners had called you all sorts of things. Low-maintenance. Easy-going. Little Miss Quickie.

“Hey,” the door to the bathroom was wrenched open, and in the dark portal of its frame stood your most recent conquest: Sergeant Kyle Garrick, scowling down at you.

He was still naked, as were you, and now that the sparkling fire of your pleasure had been extinguished, it was less exciting and more practical than it should’ve been. Sure, the heavy musculature of his neck and shoulders were still beautifully aggressive. The broad span of his chest was yet as inviting as it had been at the bar last night. The deep v-cut of his Adonis belt was just as tantalizing, particularly when it lead to a softer, shinier, well-used cock, still dripping desire from its gleaming slit.

“What?” You asked, turning to face him, your washcloth in hand.

“Where’d you go? I’m not done,” he asked.

As Gaz stepped forward into your space, you turned to give him your back, watching him in the mirror, feeling and seeing his enormous arms curling around your shoulders and belly like a giant kraken, ready to pull you back into the sea of his bed.

“You felt done to me,” you shrugged, continuing to wash your face, “Was it not good for you?”

The incredulous look in his eye froze you to the spot, and the suds of your soap foamed and popped across your cheek as you waited for his reply.

He pulled himself away, unwinding himself like ribbon from a spool, slipping through you like sand through loose fingers.

“It was proper brilliant. You know it was. You were there,” he laughed, a hint of bitterness tinging the edge of his mirth, “Am I wrong, babes?” Then, his timbre darkened with a quiet uncertainty, “Am I wrong?”

“No,” you turned to face him, wiping your cheek clean, “It was really nice. It’s not you. I’m just usually Ubering home by now.”

You raised your eyebrows at him, pushing back. But he didn’t shy away. He smiled, almost knowingly, as if he expected you to say as much.

“Not much of a cuddler, is that it?” He smiled a bit wider, reaching his arms around you cautiously, waiting for you to pull away again.

You shook your head, and he held your chin in one of his large fists, lifting you up to face him. He studied you, looking into your eyes as if trying to see your mind working away behind them,

“Want me to show you how?”

You met his gaze, and you didn’t know what expression you wore on your face. It was hard to even describe the emotion you were feeling, much less name it. But, when he looked down at you, he seemed to know.

Gaz grabbed your hand in his and dragged you over to the large shower behind him. He turned the water on hot and coaxed you inside. For a few moments, you thought it may be too warm for you to stand it, but as your skin became accustomed to the steam and the heat, you felt your body relax. He didn’t bother with soaping you up or washing your hair; he simply held you against him, your head tucked into his chest, shadowed by his hulking form, covering you in the oppressive warmth of his affection and the pouring water. It flooded your senses, and you felt yourself becoming more pliant to his whims, more open to suggestion, blooming under his touch like a reluctant bud, afraid of the bite from the frost you knew too well.

Because this wasn’t forever. He’d say goodbye eventually. You’d feel the sting of loneliness one way or another. Better to rip the bandage off now and get it over with. Right?

“Hey, come back,” he held your jaw in his strong fingers, making you meet his eyes again, “That’s it. Stay with me, baby. You don’t need to go anywhere. Don’t need to do anything. Just be here, right now, with me. I’ve got you.”

You didn’t know why, but you rejoiced to hear those words. There was something in the way he insisted, something in the comfort of his steady, unhurried embrace that allowed you to melt down into his arms.

When he began to rub you down, chasing the rivulets and currents of the cascading water, you didn’t feel rushed. There was no urgency. He fondled you and caressed you; he squeezed your soft breasts in his palms, but he wasn’t after an orgasm - not yours nor his. He just wanted to touch you.

You felt his hand find your tender pussy, his fingers stretching their way into your hole, still sore from taking his challenging length, still slick from the sticky mixture of your come.His fingertips pressed inside of you, and it was his turn to sigh, his body relaxing into yours, warm to his bones from how joyful he felt at being so welcomed into your hot core.

Pressing your head into his chest, you let yourself live in the moment. You were allowing yourself to be in this steamy limbo with him, feeling him as he was feeling you and yet in no rush to the finish line.

“I’ve got you, babes,” he kissed your forehead, pushing into your cunt even deeper, rocking rather than thrusting his hand against you, letting you grind your hips into the heel of his palm, “I don’t wanna stop. But, if you —“

You shook your head, and even though you weren’t looking at him, you felt him smile. You whispered into his chest,

“It’s alright. We don’t have to stop.”

“Come back to bed with me, then,” Gaz demanded gently, his voice holding a stronger challenge than it had before, steeled by your precarious consent.

You looked up at him, unsure if you could give him what he wanted, but you were willing to try.

You nodded, and he flipped off the water, reaching out of the door to wrap you in a big towel. You watched him dry off quickly before leading you back to bed. He climbed in before you, turning back the duvet, giving you a shadowy little burrow to stuff your body into. You turned away from him, your back to his chest. You held your breath in your lungs still for a moment, wondering and waiting, but once you felt his skin on your skin, you could relax again.

Reaching behind you, you found his hard prick and guided it so that he would slip between your legs, nestled right below your lips, curving through your chubby thighs and up against your mons. The trembling sigh that came from his throat as his cock slotted itself into place lit a fire in your chest again, reigniting the once-cold embers.

He thrust himself against you, testing the waters, waiting for you to reject his advances, but you canted your hips, letting the wetness of your hole glide against the body of his cock, licking him like a mouth as he rutted between your legs. His tongue was on your neck, his hands were on your breasts and belly, his scent invaded your nose; he was everywhere. You didn’t have a chance to second-guess yourself or your smoldering excitement because he was like the steam from his shower; he suffocated your doubts with his desire.

“That’s my good girl,” he muttered against your kiss-bitten flesh, “Use her on me like that. Just like that.”

Gaz reached down to cup your mons, his fingers cradling his head each time he fucked his cock against your folds, keeping it pressed into the slit of your wet quim, nudging your clit every time he shoved himself forward. You helped him, rocking your hips back and forth, matching his rhythm, listening to the soaked, milking noises your sex was making with him.

“See?” He whispered, slurring his words from the pleasure that he was stoking inside of himself, using you to build his fire back to a high roar, “A cuddle isn’t so bad. That’s why you gotta stay here in bed with me, baby. Give me a chance to get hard for you again, yeah?”

You nodded, moaning in agreement, arching your neck to give him more room to work his mouth on you. He took advantage of it right away, feasting on your sensitive skin, raking his sharp teeth across you like the flat edge of a knife, stinging but not ready to draw blood.

“Wanna take you again. Let me have you,” he snarled, all his gentility burning away against his blazing want.

Before you could so much as whimper his name, his hand pressed down until his cockhead was prodding against the soft mouth of your cunt, waiting for your body to swallow him whole. He held his breath as he dipped inside of you. He went slowly, inching his way through your soaked walls, drowning his long shaft in its familiar sheath, groaning and shaking from the bliss of it.

You twisted your hand in the sheets, nearly screaming from the pleasure, too full to move, overstimulated and yet begging him for more with the hungry grind of your hips.

Then, he used his heavy body to shove you beneath him, rolling you onto your belly, pinning you beneath his chest and wrapping his arms around you, stealing away any chance of your escape. But you didn’t want to escape, not anymore. All of your thoughts had been rewired and rewritten with his ink pen, reminding you that you were his to take.

“Ungh, fuck!” He bit down on the nape of your neck, whimpering in a dark, gravelly tone, “Just like that. Squeeze me, baby. Use that fuckin’ pussy on me.”

“Gaz…” You keened, feeling the edge of your orgasm rising within you like a white-hot sun.

“What?” He snapped a little cruelly, “Still wanna go home? Fuck that. Not done with you, baby. Gonna make this tight little pussy remember the shape of me, yeah? I’ll keep you hungry for it.”

As your legs began to shake, Gaz fucked himself into you even deeper, reaching too far and stretching you too wide, forcing a wall of pleasure to slam into your core, making you clench around him that much harder. You felt yourself flood with your own sticky come, and right at the top of your blinding joy, you heard him hiss against your ear, chuckling in a teasing, devilish tone,

“That’s what I thought. Not goin’ anywhere, are ya?”

[edenspoem]

YES PLEASE. BLOCKBUSTER ELLIE?? 90’s?? SIGN ME UP. WHERE DO I PUT MY NAME??😖😖🙏

- 🩵

a/n + cw; OMGG AN EMOJI ANON i haven't seen you guys in a hot minute, but YESSS BLOCKBUSTER ELLIE!! specifically x customer reader. it's a cute duo! and let me relay why from my very scrambled 3 am jot-down. was going to make this a blurb, but it better translates through something more structured. ++ SFW! kinda mean!reader tbh (but ellie likes that), very fluffy you might squeet, quickly written, awkwardness, ellie being a nerd. [first pic from amoaeIIie on pinterest]

Imagine Ellie, in her blockbuster getup, leaning her butt into the edge of the register counter, jamming to whatever is playing on her hand-me-down walkman; earsbuds in, eyes downcast, head bopping slowing - soundly unaware of you awaiting service on your over-due rental. "Hello?" your volume divides the soft ambiance of the store, but it isn't enough to rope Ellie's mindspace from the clouds. Calling out again, "Hell-looh?" you extend beyond the cash register and wave your hand - nothing, nada.

How the hell has this girl not gotten her ass fired yet?

After numerous roadblocks, a brazen last resort comes into play. You cut around the counter briefly to take things into your own hands (literally) because you have not the time, nor the patience, for her slacking off.

Beryl eyes drop sharply to the walkman in her pants pocket when a single earbud is spooled from her ear, assuming it fell - but to her surprise, it hung low from your finger, and a glance above that finger was your face. Risen of one brow, flat-lined of your lips; impatient.

And her entire focus blanks out when you begin to speak, curtly and satirically, "Hey, I know busting out your Dad's old walkman in public makes you feel cool and whatnot, but you're on the clock." handing the slim cord back over to a stunned girl, flushed behind the pop of her freckles. Maybe your tone of voice sent her higher into the clouds, past a coven of angels, because her lips part narrowly and remain still for a single second - save two or three. Or maybe it's 'cause you specified it as her 'Dad's' which was.. spot on.

And whatever excuse she had quickly cherry-picked for you, hesitated audibly in her throat before it split from it, "O-Oh, right, shit sorry - was about to end my shift n' thought the store was empty. My bad." scrambling to stuff the other earplug in her pocket and avert all attention to you. Very eagerly.

"Looks like you've got a late fee on this one.." her pitch pummeled deeper, and coarser as she concentrates on the clunky screen she hunches slightly to use. Scrunching the freckles of her face together, hogging the blue-lit screen. Poor girl probably forgot her glasses at home. "Annnd are you looking to rent the sequel?" she peeks her auburn head from the screen and holds up the cased movie, tracing her index over the plastic cleft, tapping twice. "To this - it has a second part."

There's no denying it: she is cute - and guilt rolls your guts around for being so snippy and sullen to her earlier. But based on her demeanor growing enthused the second she saw what movie you had in hand - she doesn't seem to care a hoot.

"Out of stock," replied you, indifferent-sounding - and strking; crossed arms, bent knee, stiffly-standing. Comparable to a millpond. "Guess I won't be the only person with late fees." you take a breath to jest, shaking loose strands of hair from your eyes.

"Haha," you're no world-class comedian; that joke wasn't all that funny, but the need to hurl any affirming noise at you, was necessary. Relenting to reflex. What can she say? Love at first sight! "Yeah, that seems like the agenda these days," Ellie sighs out, molding the plump of her lip under her teeth and reshapes it into a dorky smirk. Isn't she just a sweet chocolate-box of adorability?

"Hmm, bummer."

That hum and word trips into her ears, knocking some brain-cog, and an idea limns her features; they glow wide. "Actually - um, I've got a copy of the sequel at my place. Technically it's my Dad's, but.." her pitch fluctuates, mindlessly thumbing the case between two fiddly hands. "Maybe you can - if you want, not pressuring you or anything - come over?" she throws a pointed thumb backwards, motioning a potential future. "Watch it? If you weren't planning on watching it with somebody else."

Slick trick to seeing if you're single; of course you'd watch movies with your boyfriend - or girlfriend.

"Hmmm.." you hummed longer this time, and this time it admitted the mushrooming of an almost aggravating anticipation in her belly. Like you meant to torture her with 'hmms' and nothing but 'hmms' as your answer hung high in cloudy abeyance, until, "What's the name on your tag - ah, Ellie."

"Yeah?"

"Ellie," you confirm her name twice, and speak it to enthrall her full-scale attention. Made it sound fucking sugary sweet, through a swirly whisper and a twist of your head. "If you can give me a discount, or a full wipe on that late fee, then yes. It's a date."

Light panic ensues. "Date?" she croaks and laughs it off, "I mean - pshh, guess that's one way to put it." backtracking to her hunched, elbows-on-the-counter pose.

"You put it that way."

"Yeah, I just.. didn't wanna admit that." immediately, she uncurls her spine again, relaxing her muscles to somewhat peer at you. "Sure. No more fees." Rounded eyes lost - adamant on indirectly staring at you and the space below you, because Goddess forbid a stroke of idiocy flickers through her while gawking at you.

The store runs dead-quiet in the background of your conversation, leading you to one golden question. "Your shift over after this?"

Oh damn, her cheeks are pink. "Uh-huh," bet she's oblivious to that red-hot beam nearly bursting the seams to her face, too. Nasal lines fold as a severe smile tugs, shadowed by her bent thumb poking at it. "Takin' my car?"

And that's how you pick up girls at a video store in the 90s - the Ellie Williams way.

this isn't even the full idea

[noxx-notions]

Suggestion of a crafting resource for people to look for in their communities because I didn't know it existed near me and others may not know to look for it!

There's a place in my town called a creative reuse center that is dedicated to reducing material waste and making art materials accessible to the community. The way it works at mine is they take material donations from customers but also from local businesses getting rid of excess materials and other stuff and sell it at a reduced cost. Here they sell some individually priced items, but most of it is by weight at $2/3 per pound. And literally it could be anything you may need for any type of project. There's fabric, yarn, thread, paining supplies, office supplies, old books and magazines for collaging, poster board, paper, and then just like random items that could be used in different projects like cds, corks, empty spools, cardboard tunes, leather, cigar boxes, literally anything.

I got all of this vintage tatting and mending thread (plus some dmc) for literally less than 50 cents the other day.

I saw someone recently who was a teacher walk out with four full grocery bags of crafting supplies for her students for about $40.

At this one they also host community events and classes which I haven't gotten the chance to attend yet but I'm looking forward to it!

Like I said this was something I didn't even know to look for until I came across it mostly by chance, so if you are looking to reduce your crafting waste by buying second hand or lower costs or looking to get rid of and donate some supplies maybe check to see it there's something like that near you!

[verbenaa]

air so deep and sweet

𝑠𝑢𝑚𝑚𝑎𝑟𝑦: “You’re just utterly shameless, aren’t you?’ He tsks, “Seducing me away from my work like this.”

Astarion’s eyes rove your form laying beneath him in reverence, the silken strands of your hair spread like a halo around your face and your dress a mess around your waist.

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𝑝𝑎𝑖𝑟𝑖𝑛𝑔: Astarion/Reader 𝑔𝑒𝑛𝑟𝑒: smut, fluff, slice of life! 𝑤𝑜𝑟𝑑 𝑐𝑜𝑢𝑛𝑡: 7.1k 𝑤𝑎𝑟𝑛𝑖𝑛𝑔𝑠: body worship, vaginal fingering, cunnilingus, hand jobs, vampire bites, mentions/discussions of anal, vaginal sex, vampire sex, soft dom astarion

MDNI, 18+ CONTENT

𝑎/𝑛: This is my first ever fanfiction despite a literal 20 years of reading them LOL i truly have lost the plot. Find me on ao3 too, my username is leadii 💕

ao3 here

masterlist

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Dim candlelight plays along the walls of Astarion’s studio, illuminating the discarded bolts of fabric leaning against the wall with haphazard grace, the threads of linens, silks, and cottons a riot of color against the muted walls. Spools of silken thread and tangles of ribbon lay sprawling across the work table, interspersed with pincushions and stray needles waiting to be threaded.

The studio itself is small, humble in its nature. Set aside on a small street within the city walls it wasn’t a far walk from your shared home, making it an easy decision to join him on the nights he decided to work.

Lush velvet draperies hang heavily across several leaded windows, while multicolored rugs layered themselves over the floor. Fat pillars of candle wax sit haphazardly upon several surfaces, filling the room with moving pockets of light, their dance helped along by the light summer breeze blowing through the open windows. It was undeniably one of your favorite places to be.

Despite Astarion’s initial claims to the contrary (if you could even call his half-hearted condescension to the concept such a thing), he was decidedly well suited for a life of domesticity. Much like a spoiled cat, he very much enjoyed his luxuries. Vials of scented oils, a soft bed covered with blankets and quilts, piles of books in the corners of rooms waiting to be read at his decision. You were very quick to learn that Astarion was nothing if not a creature of comfort. And he made it so very easy to spoil him, accepting your love and affection with open arms.

You nestle deeper into the nest of pillows that made up the corner you had decided to call your own, novel discarded beside you and your goblet of wine long emptied of its contents resting against the floorboards. With a small huff your attention turns from your surroundings to said owner of the studio, watching him weave the needle in and out of the fabric in his hands, focus intent on his art.

He had such beautiful hands, you couldn’t help but think. Hands as well-versed in sowing chaos as easily as they could thread a needle to create the tiniest of embellishments upon a single piece of silk. Hands as intimately versed in the art of death as they were in the art of drawing pleasure. Sometimes, you think, he is secretly desperate to prove that his hands no longer have to steal, cheat, or seduce for others and instead were capable to creating something soft and vulnerable for himself instead.

With a small stretch you sit yourself upright, adjusting the lovingly embroidered straps of the light linen dress you wore to compensate for the overbearing warmth of summer. You were always content to accept any creation Astarion made for you and your dress was no exception, tailored to perfection to sit on your curves perfectly with small decorations of lace and embroidery as he saw fit.

As though drawn by your thoughts, his carmine gaze glances up to meet your own. Astarion’s eyes linger upon your form as you slowly stand and stretch your arms high above your head, back arching slightly with the motion before you step to the nearest open window. A light breeze ruffles your hair as you rest your elbows on the sill, careful of the several plants currently residing there as your eyes move to watch the people below weave through the streets in the darkness.

“Dearest, do you mind lending me those ever-so-lovely eyes of yours for a moment?” His voice is a casual drawl. “I wish to seek your opinion on this particular color scheme.” 

You turn to face him from your spot at the window as he gestures to the work in his hand with a small movement of his wrist, and quickly step across the floor to stop at his side. You glance down to see the wooden embroidery hoop he holds with measured regard in one hand, the other carefully grasping a small, sharp needle. You lean in slightly to see better, your breasts adding the barest of pressure against his arm.

You focus your vision upon the delicate pattern of his needlework, the threads weaving together to create an intricate pattern of scrolling vines and abundant spring blossoms in a warm milky white adorning the collar of a cream colored linen shirt, the colors almost ethereal together in their similarity. 

“I hate to break this to you, but…I do believe it is simply cream upon cream,” you say with a small smile gracing your lips. “What ever is there for me to even give my opinion on?” 

“It’s called monochrome, my dear.” Astarion gives you a look of affectionate exasperation before continuing, “Despite what everyone seems to think, I am capable of subtlety when the occasion permits.” You briefly turn to look at him, an elegant eyebrow arching in amusement. 

He rolls his eyes and scoffs slightly before murmuring, “Certainly those pretty eyes of yours can see the differences despite the similarity of color?”

Sure enough, upon further inspection you could pick out the slightest hint of metallic gold threaded throughout the creamy colored delicate flowers and surrounding vines, the only detail differentiating the colors from one another. The subtle shine of the golden threads were mesmerizing to follow with your eyes, the candlelight bouncing off of them creating fiery highlights on the raised embroidery. Like everything Astarion touched, it was undeniably beautiful.

“I suppose it looks decent.” You tease, pressing your chest further into his arm while your attention shifts to the elegant planes of his face. He was simply so easy to admire, the way his hair always seemed to fall so perfectly into place, his mouth held soft in concentration looked so inviting.

A noise of protest leaves his lips at the mere thought his creation was only ‘decent’, and you can’t help but laugh at the reaction while leaning in to press a soft kiss to his pale cheek.

“It must be so hard to have such artistic merit, Astarion. I’m afraid such a talentless individual as myself can’t fully appreciate such craft and workmanship.” You playfully lean your body back and throw a hand up your forehead in mock distress, earning a short laugh from him. 

“Despite such questionable opinions, you are far my talentless, my dear.” Astarion sets aside the hoop and needle to the far edge of the worktable and turns in his chair, settling his full attention on you.

“In fact, I would be more than willing to remind you of the several of the talents you possess.”

Slowly, he draws his eyes from your features to glance down at the twin pinprick scars decorating your neck before slowly continuing lower to finally rest on a spot above your breasts. He brings his fingertips to brush lightly against the skin, pressing against the delicate lace trim of the neckline, sweeping slowly and softly back and forth against the swells. He watches the sudden intake of your breath with interest before his eyes glide up to meet your own again. 

A slow, feline smile graces his lips. “Such a distraction, dearest. Especially when you press these lovely breasts of yours into me.” 

You match his smile with a sly one of your own.

“Can you blame me?” You give a half-hearted shrug, hardly caring that you had been caught in your so-called crime. “It’s quite hard to not want to be close to such a beautiful individual like yourself.”

“Ah yes, there it is. Talent number one: flattery.” 

He moves the hand tracing patterns against your skin upward, glancing touches against your neck, before curling his fingers underneath your chin to bring your face closer to his own. 

You knew he could easily see the effects of his relatively innocent ministrations, could view the inevitable pink beginning to decorate your cheeks. 

Could smell it in the blood beginning to race through your veins. 

Astarion had always known exactly what to say made you breathless and had never held back on using that knowledge to his advantage to make you weak to his whims. 

“Now be a good girl and take a seat.” His voice is low, hungry; he leans forward and both his hands find your waist and pull. 

You feel your body relax easily into his touch, letting him smooth your skirts out of the way as he brings you towards his waiting lap. Your hips instantly connect together, fabric the only barrier between you. You feel a telltale twitch beneath you, signaling his pleasure at the slight friction created by the connection and your hips grind against his own instinctually, the friction and pressure adding to the growing warmth deep in your belly. 

Astarion leans forward, connecting his mouth with your own in a scalding kiss, moaning into your mouth as his hips roll against your own, his growing erection pressing closer to your covered center. 

Wrapping your arms around his neck, you pull yourself even closer to him as your hands card through the silver curls sitting at the back of his neck. Opening your mouth, you lick against his lips hoping he will open them for you. Astarion obliges, meeting your tongue halfway. 

Your tongue brushes against a sensitive fang, drawing another moan out of him and he slowly pulls away from the kiss, lightly nipping at your bottom lip as he leaves before moving to press small, sweet kisses across your jaw. 

“Would you indulge me a snack, dearest?” He presses a quick kiss followed by a small lick to the skin behind your ear, sending a shiver of pleasure down your skin.

“I suppose I could be convinced…” Breathy sighs fall from your lips as he peppers kisses down the elegant column of your neck. “Quite easily perhaps, too.”

“Will you give me a small taste, my dear?” he mouths the words against your skin, lips hot.

Your eyes fall closed at his kisses. “You know you don’t even have to ask to have my blood. I give it to you, freely, and I always will.” With a tilt of your head you grant him more access to continue his search.

“I don’t deserve you.” “Absolutely false. You deserve everything.” The words roll off your tongue with quick ease, certain you’ve never spoken truer words.

As Astarion moves the straps of your dress aside to hang off your shoulders and free the expanse of your neck and collar he finds the spot he had been looking for, laving the area with his tongue briefly before he bites down.

A split second of burning heat as his fangs dig into the flesh of your neck with as much delicacy as he can manage before he finally begins to suck, the pull of the blood leaving your body as he drinks brings a decidedly indecent moan to your lips, the heat of your core growing wetter with every draw of his mouth.

As Astarion drinks in your lifeblood in slow gulps, you feel his hands moving to the neckline of your dress and he grabs at it, pulling the fabric down across your chest, exposing more and more of you with every pull of the fabric. You had forgone a corset today in an attempt at comfort in an unending battle against humidity, trusting the bodice of your dress to instead keep your (somewhat questionable) modesty in tact. 

The rush of cold air combined with the sudden brush of his chilled hands against your breasts as he lets the dress fall to hang freely around your waist draws a surprised gasp from your lips. You move your arms out of the straps before burying them again in his silver locks.

He quickly brings a free hand up to grasp a breast, brushing his thumb over a newly hardened nipple. Extricating his fangs from your neck, his tongue moves to lick up the blood tracing down from the wound, not letting a single drop go to waste.  

“Such a delightful little treat,” he murmurs against your skin, lips brushing with every movement as your hips grind downward against his growing erection in slow rolls. 

His lips move further down your chest, no longer following the trail of fresh blood but that of the blood in your veins leading to your heart. 

Astarion presses a chaste kiss over the place where your heart beats, your back arching with the movement of his lips as he moves lower to capture a hardened peak. A soft cry at the touch of his mouth falls from your lips, the motion of his tongue drawing circles around the bud sending a flash of heat straight to your core. 

He laves at the bud, alternating licks and soft bites in a bid to stoke the fire inside you even higher, his free hand coming up to massage its twin with delicate motions.

Astarion cants his hips up into yours as he sucks hard at your breast, his prominent erection pressing into your growing wetness before his mouth moves to your other breast, continuing his ministrations.

“Astarion, please, I need more.” You whine, attempting to press harder against his erection in hopes the touch will grant a reprieve from the building heat between your thighs.

“As you wish, my love.” He grants your request with a whisper, his hands falling on your thighs to support you as he moves to stand, bringing you with him. Chair pushing back with the movement, he places you on the desk in front of him as his hips spread your thighs. 

Desperate to keep the connection between the two of your bodies, Astarion stands between your legs, pressing close. His hands skate up your body to land on your cheeks, tilting your face to look up at his own as a thumb brushes absentmindedly against your bottom lip. He leans down to press his lips to your forehead, your eyes, cheeks, nose, and finally your lips. 

“Lay back, love,” His words are a whisper as one hand makes it way from your cheek to rest on the back of your head. “It’s alright, I’ve got you.”

His eyes never leave your own as your body relaxes, trusting him, and he leans you back onto the tabletop with care until your body meets the wood. 

Barely breathing, you watch as his hands made their way teasingly downwards, skating over your bared breasts to find the skirt of your dress, moving to push the thin fabric tantalizingly up your thighs to settle around your waist and out of the way. Astarion’s eyes settle upon a tiny, lacy pair of panties, the fabric the only thing keeping you from being completely bared to him. 

“You’re just utterly shameless, aren’t you?’ He tsks, “Seducing me away from my work like this.” Astarion’s eyes rove your form laying beneath him in reverence, the silken strands of your hair spread like a halo around your face and your dress a mess around your waist.

He was so beautiful it made your heart feel like it was going to beat out of your chest. 

With bated breath, you raise a hand to draw your fingers softly over his cheek, capturing his attention. 

“Promise me that you will tell me if this gets to be too much for you,” Your eyes meet his as you watch his expression fill with sudden affection at your request. 

“What a sweet thing you are,” Astarion brings a hand to cover the one you had placed over his cheek. “Thank you for always taking care of me so.” With a small movement, he turns his head to bring his lips to press against your palm. 

“I promise you that anything and everything I do with you is my choice.” Astarion moves the hand that covers yours to flit down your body, teasing touches over your peaked nipples, down your belly, before brushing against the line of your underwear. A sudden intake of breath escapes your lungs as he watches your stomach jump with the touch. 

A smirk graces his face as he moves those same fingers lower, brushing lightly against the gusset of your underwear before pressing harder against the growing damp of the lace. His touch creates a sweet friction, your wetness mixed with the texture of the lace and the pressure of his fingers drawing a soft moan from you.

You whine as his fingers pull your underwear to the side, Astarion moving to slide his fingertips up and down your exposed slit, spreading your wetness. He makes teasing passes around the small pearl that rests above; close but never quite touching where you need him, your arousal aiding the smooth glide of his motions.

“I’ve barely touched you and you’re already this wet for me, darling?”

“You know I always aim to please.”  The words are hard won but you manage to  give him a haughty smile nonetheless, trying to maintain the last shred of willpower you have left to pretend to be unaffected.

He moves to pump a finger shallowly inside you, not nearly deep enough to provide any relief. You gasp at feeling, attempting to roll your hips in hopes to bring his finger deeper. But just as quickly as he enters he leaves, eliciting a noise of frustration from you.

“Patience, patience.” He tuts, hands moving to your hips to tug at the lace resting over them. He yanks at the fabric, and you raise you bottom to aid him in finally removing them. Astarion pockets the pair with a smug look as his hands move to spread your thighs further apart.

With every push of your thighs Astarion bares you to him, your arousal glistening against your center in the low light.

“You know, dearest, I think I would maybe like to have a taste of something else as well.” You feel your cunt clench at the prospect, adding to the building heat deep inside you. 

“Consider me at your mercy, then.” A smirk from him at your blessing as he slowly lowers himself to his knees before your spread legs.

Astarion is supplicant before you as he rests his head on your upper thigh, unfairly close to where you want him most. Your hips jump in anticipation as he begins pressing tantalizingly soft kisses into the crease where your hip meets your thigh.

You feel his fingers touch you finally, delicately spreading your folds as he watches your most intimate place open for him. His thumb comes to rest against your clit, rubbing lightly at the small bud and you release a contented hum at the warmth of the pleasure inside your body growing with the movement of his fingers.

Your eyes fall shut at the sheer relief of his attention, his expertise in knowing exactly how and where to touch to drive you wild drawing a moan from you. Your hand falls from its place in his hair to land beside your head, jostling errant sewing supplies from their resting place next to you.

“Careful, darling. Watch those lovely hands of yours to not catch on a needle. I would so hate for you to bleed so needlessly.” A roguish smile alights his lips as he lowers his mouth to lick a slow stripe up your center, intent to collect as much of your wetness on his tongue as he can.

Your hand immediately finds its way back to his hair, gripping his silver curls mindlessly as he begins to work his tongue up and down your center, tracing patterns against your sex as he goes.

His tongue moves to finally circle your clit with small movements, intent to drive your pleasure higher and higher with every pass. His mouth moves lower, licking across your folds as he finds your entrance, tracing around it with agonizingly slow motions.

Astarion is quick to move a hand to rest over your belly as your hips jut up, applying soft pressure as he grows bold in his motions and his tongue moves to push inside of you. Your grip on his curls grows harder with every thrust of his tongue inside your body, head thrown back and moans growing louder as he brings you closer and closer to completion.

The hand resting on your stomach moves to press lightly at your clit, once again resuming the small circles round and around as his tongue continues its exploration deep in your core, eating you out with fervor. 

Astarion continues to lave inside you, his soft tongue whorling against your walls as his fingers expertly work your clit in tandem with your cries as your hips ride his face, thighs shaking as your orgasm barrels towards you. 

And it’s just like that when you cry out and finally come, his tongue moving deep inside as his finger strums your clit with practiced motions and the feeling is white-hot as you plunge into your ecstasy. He licks up your come greedily, tongue never stopping its endeavor as you ride the wave of your orgasm, breathy cries leaving your lips and hips rolling until your body finally relaxes. 

Shaking in the aftermath of your orgasm, your hand falls from Astarion’s hair to rest over your eyes as your breathing begins to even out and you finally come down from the high, Astarion cleaning up your cum until you can take it no longer, hips jerking in overstimulation away from his mouth.

Astarion places a light kiss over your clit before raising up from his knees back to his full height, your slick glistening on his chin and lips in the light of the candles as his still clothed cock brushes against your empty center.

Astarion leans forward, arms caging your head as he leans down to nuzzle your cheek whispering ardent words, “Out of all the beautiful things in this room, you are by far the most gorgeous.”

His admission momentarily stuns you. Astarion had never been shy in his admirations of your beauty and while you had grown more used to them during your time together he still managed to catch you off guard with such compliments from time to time.

“Can I please touch you? Taste you?” You pant, desperation coloring your words in the wake of his earlier admission as you begin to push yourself up onto your elbows. Astarion’s hand comes down and gently presses on your chest instead, and you lower yourself back down at the gentle command in the gleaming red of his eyes. 

“You can put that clever mouth of yours to use later, my dear. I have other plans for you, I think.” His eye rove your features before pressing his mouth upon yours in a fevered kiss, his tongue licking against your lips asking for entry. You can taste the essence of yourself on his lips and groan at the taste, opening yours to tangle his tongue with your own.

Astarion deepens the kiss as his hands find your own and grasping them gently, he brings them down his body to rest upon his still-clothed cock. 

“You said you wanted to touch. Indulge me, lover.” His lips never leave your own as he speaks the words, tongue sneaking out to lick at your bottom lip.

Your hands spring to action immediately to palm his cock through his leather pants before you find the laces holding him and undo them with deft fingers familiar with the task.

Astarion’s thick cock springs free of the confines of the pants and your fingers find the beads of precum decorating the tip and spread the wetness down his length. your fingers glide from top to bottom in smooth motions over the veined velvet of him, his essence aiding your ministrations as his mouth falls open from the sheer indulgence of your touch. His head falls heavily onto your shoulder and his lips move over the spot he fed from earlier, kissing and licking the area as your hands work him closer to closer to the edge. 

Lifting a hand from him you bring your fingers to your own wetness, drawing your fingertips through your slick before pumping two of them inside yourself in an imitation of his own motions earlier as you moan at the feeling.

Astarion glances down to see your fingers buried in your own cunt, the sight making him go impossibly harder as he watches you briefly pleasure the both of you. With a whine, your fingers leave your body to return to Astarion, a mixture of your arousal and come coating your fingers as your spread it onto his waiting cock, increasing your rhythm to rub him faster.

“Gods Above, you really are something else.” His pupils are blown out in lust as he groans at both the sight and feel of your hands working his shaft, one hand massaging the crown of his cock while the other works him closer to the base in quick motions.

A wicked thought strikes your mind, and you almost feel badly for even entertaining the idea. Almost.

You can feel his breath fanning your neck with every pass of your hands, his moans growing more unrestrained as your ministrations draw him to edge of completion. Without warning you withdraw your hands from his weeping cock, cruelly denying him the climax he was so close to.

Astarion’s head flies up from where it rests on your shoulder as a noise of disbelief leaves his lips and he shoots you a look of pure shock. The knowledge you caught him so unaware has you riding another kind of high, one you rarely had the privilege of reveling in.

“You little minx! Who knew you were capable of such cruelty. You’re going to pay for that, you know.”

Mischief settles on your features. “Maybe that was the goal.”

“Ask and you shall receive, little love. Don’t say I didn’t warn you.” His lips curve with a devilish grin, eyes glinting in the candlelight as his hands move to grip your waist, fingertips pressing hard into the soft skin.

“How should I make you pay for it, then?” He muses. “Should I shove my cock into that tight, sweet cunt of yours and fuck you so hard you won’t be able to stand? Or maybe I should make good use of that wicked little mouth of yours and fill it instead?”

His darkening eyes bore into your own, your cheeks heating at his suggestions as you shift under his contemplation.

“You do look quite beautiful like that, you know. Mouth stretched around me as I fuck your throat. You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” You give an enthusiastic nod at the prospect, excited for whatever punishment he deems appropriate to hand out.

Without warning, you feel the hands upon your waist move to lift you up and flip you over, your stomach making contact with the table as your bare breasts press tight against the wood grain. His hand comes to rest in the center of your back, pushing you further into the surface. You move your head to rest your cheek upon the table, the coolness of the wood a welcome sensation to the quickly rebuilding heat inside you as your eyes glance up to meet his own in curiosity. 

“Too bad. I have another idea instead.” His voice is deep with promise.

Such trouble you had gotten yourself into, it seems. 

Cool hands move from your back to the forgotten skirt of your dress to flip it upward to rest around your waist once more, exposing your ass and glistening center to the warm air. 

Astarion brings his hand down hard against one of your cheeks, the sharpness of the spank making you cry out as surprise and pleasure mingle into one. He rubs the growing red mark left on your skin before bending down to press a his lips to it, soothing the area with barely-there kisses. 

He brings both hands to your ass now, rubbing soothing circles over the area before moving to pull your rear cheeks apart, allowing Astarion to see absolutely everything.

A wave of embarrassment hits you to be put on such display for his vision despite his knowledge of your body, and you fidget slightly under his intent gaze of your most intimate areas. 

“Astarion…” you let out a moan and he is quick to shush you as he moves a hand off your asscheek to brush his thumb in light circles over your asshole. 

“Maybe I should take you here instead, I know how much you love when I play with your pretty ass.” His voice is deep, eyes impossibly dark. 

“Oh fuck,” His words draw a ragged moan from your lips at the mere thought, setting your neglected pussy on fire with need.

“Prove to me you can be a good girl.” His thumb applies soft pressure before it leaves you to be replaced by his lips. He presses a soft kiss to the tight hole before kissing downwards and licking deep into your cunt without warning, lapping at your waiting wetness.

“Gods, Astarion…” your hips press backwards towards his waiting mouth. “Whatever you want, wherever you want, my love. I’ll do anything. I just want you inside of me.” Your voice is hoarse with need, no longer caring to win this little game you had started.

You feel Astarion’s mouth leave your pussy and whine at the loss, but he is quick replace your empty cunt with two of his elegant fingers instead, sliding them in and out at slow, measured pace. 

“Do you think I should let you come one more time before I fuck you so hard you won’t be able to walk properly?” You are helpless to do anything other than nod your head in insistence, hoping he won’t rob you of your orgasm the way you had done to him. “I don’t know if you deserve it yet.”

Astarion slowly pulls his fingers out of your body only to add a third finger on the plunge back in, drawing a cry from your lips at the sudden fullness. 

His fingers push deep and curl inside of you pressing against that special spot over and over again, driving you to new heights as the lightest veil of tears begins to dust your lashes at the sheer bliss of the feeling.

Noticing the tears, you feel Astarion immediately stop his ministrations and lean over your back to look into your eyes with concern, a noise of protest at the lack of motion falls from your mouth as his fingers slowly leave your body to rest on your hip, brushing calming circles on your skin.

“Is this too much, love?” Any trace of his teasing dominance is gone from his voice as he speaks the words to you clearly, looking intently for any indication you needed him to step back from the scene the two of you had created. “We can stop, darling, if you need to. I don’t want you to push yourself too far to please me.”

You smile at genuine concern evident on his face, blinking away the sheen of tears. 

Pushing your hips back into him with as much motion as you can manage in your prone position against the table, you lean your body up in hopes to press a kiss to his lips. Astarion leans in, mouth quick to meet you halfway in a kiss as his spare hand moves to cup your cheek.

“The only thing you are pushing is my patience, love. Please don’t stop.” You beg, hoping he will acquiesce to your desire to continue as you lower your body back down onto the table. “The only thing I want in this moment is to come so hard I can’t think straight and then to have that beautiful cock of yours inside of me in whatever way you wish to give it to me.”

“Insatiable. Who taught you such language?” His body follows yours down, back pressing against your own as his lips brush against yours as he speaks the words, the concern leaving his eyes replaced with mounting desire.

“Believe me, there is nothing I want more than to be buried deep inside you,” The hand on your hip makes its way back towards your center. “Make me the same promise I made you earlier.”

The words come to your mouth effortlessly.

“I promise you that anything and everything I do with you is my choice.” You recite the words softly, with ease. 

Quieter now, you whisper. “I trust you, Astarion.”

You know how much your words and trust mean to him, can see it in his unguarded expression. Astarion didn’t put much trust in the Gods, but he would never stop thanking whichever one it was that brought your paths together. His fingers gently graze your pussy, ringing around your entrance with soft, teasing touches.

“I love you.” Astarion says before pressing his lips firmly to your own, those same three fingers finally slipping back inside.

Astarion renews the pace of his fingers right away, pressing and curling with precise motions meant to bring you to the brink.

You give into the sensation of every movement of his fingers, mouth open and eyes falling shut at the feeling and it’s not long before he has you once again close to your orgasm. 

“Please, don’t stop,” you whimper as your thighs begin to shake.

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Astarion brings his other hand down your body to brush lightly against your clit. He sounds as lost in desire as you feel. “Want to feel you come on my hand. Can you do that for me, sweet thing?”

His words have you clenching hard on his fingers, the pressure of them against your insides combined with the fingers of his other hand brushing light, concentric circles over your clit have you coming within moments of his request.

“Such a good girl to give me what I want so easily.” You barely hear the words that fall from his lips through the haze of your ongoing orgasm, the feeling of his breath on the skin of your ear serving to only enhancing the moment.

Your body spasms around his fingers and cries of ecstasy fall from your lips as he continues, working you through your orgasm while his lips press soothing kisses anywhere his lips can reach—your face, your neck, the tip of your ear. 

“That’s it. You always look so beautiful when you come for me.”

Slowly, finally you feel your body begin to relax through the haze of your orgasm. Your mind comes back to you and you release a small laugh as your breath starts to even out, feeling him leave your body. Without breaking eye contact, he brings the fingers that had filled you so deeply to his mouth and licks them clean. The sight of it sends a wave of heat right back to your cunt, a shudder of anticipation running through you.

“I think you already succeeded in your wish to make me unable to stand.” You pant.

“And to think I haven’t even fucked you yet.” His cock is hard as his eyes scan your form from the flesh of your core to the flush of your cheeks, your eyes glassy with a haze of lust.

“I think I want to fuck you just like this.” He whispers into your ear as his hands run soothingly over your back. “I like you this, on display as you wait for me.” You desperately attempt to push your hips back to brush against his uncovered cock, looking for any bit of friction.

You watch him from your place on the table, the lithe way his body moves as he takes off his luxurious silk shirt to expose his chest.

His beauty was almost otherworldly as the dancing candlelight illuminates the carved marble of his skin, light and shadow creating a moving chiaroscuro upon the planes of his body.

He looked like a god.

“You are so beautiful.” Your words are a mere whisper as he moves his thick cock to finally brush against your center, slicking himself in your spend as the tip catches against your clit, drawing twin moans from you both.

Grabbing your hips, Astarion positions himself at your entrance and begins to slowly push inside, so familiar with your body he barely needs to guide his cock.

His head drops to press a kiss to your shoulder before righting himself again, hissing in pleasure at the feeling of your walls closing around him as he slides in, your wetness aiding him as he bottoms out and his hips press hard against your own. 

Low moans escape you at the sheer feeling of his cock stretching and sliding home and your hands move grasp for purchase on the desk as he slowly begins to rock back and forth. 

“If only you could see yourself now,” His voice is deep as he watches himself pull his cock out of your body almost completely, only the head left resting shallowly inside you before pushing forward with a hard thrust, hitting a place so deep you let out a ragged cry at the feeling.

“Gods, Astarion, just like that.” He fucks you hard, the force of his thrusts pushing you back and forth with small motions, breasts pressing hard against the wood of the table as one of your hands finds his own still holding your hips. You grab at his wrist in hopes he will take it, needing to touch more of him. Sensing your need Astarion takes your hand, bringing it to his lips to press a soft kiss on the back of it before resting your joined hands on your lower back. 

“No one takes my cock like you,” He pants through his thrusting. “You were made for me, weren’t you?” 

Supplications fall from his lips as he moves in and out of your body, showering you with worship as if you were his own private deity. His words further kindle the rising flame inside your belly, every touch of his cock against your walls serving to push you closer and closer to your third orgasm. 

“Only you,” you pant, hips canting back into his own to match the rhythm of his thrusts. “No one else.”

You feel so incredibly full with your body positioned like this, every movement of his cock has him pressing hard against your sweet spot, the feeling like heaven as cries fall from your lips.

“I love how wet you get for me, darling,” Astarion can feel you tighten around him as you grow nearer to your orgasm, your body trembling and cunt pulsing with pleasure as your hips drive back into his own. The feeling of you so close to your orgasm has hips losing their rhythm, his eagerness at the two of you reaching your end together driving him to move harder with every press inside you.

You love seeing him, feeling him like this. His hips finally moving with wild abandon, chasing pure instinct as he moves fast and deep inside your body. A hand comes up to settle in your unbound hair, softly gripping the silk-like strands in his fingers and in his passion he pulls softly, the motion lifting your head. His lips lower to your ear as his back presses fully against your own, the feeling of his cock moving even deeper inside you unmatched. Between his chest against your back and his cock moving so deep he was practically rutting inside, you were almost certain your cunt had never felt so full. Breathless whimpers escape your mouth at the feeling, eyes closing in complete ecstasy as the sound of his own moans against your ear leaves your cunt clenching hard as he hits your g-spot over and over again with each deep thrust.

“Beg for it. Beg for me to let you cum.”

And beg you do.

“Please, Astarion!” A chorus of pleas rise from your throat voicing your desperation as his tongue licks the shell of your ear, the hand in your hair tightening slightly with every word and moan that falls from your lips. 

You can barely think as you feel your orgasm careen towards you, unintelligible in your words as you lose yourself in the feeling of your bodies. Astarion’s cock hits that deep inside spot at your front wall once more, and you finally let go, orgasm taking over your body, stars behind your eyes in all-consuming pleasure. You recognize Astarion nearing his own end, his hips rutting into yours as you ride out your orgasm on his cock, cunt squeezing him in a vice. He comes with a drawn-out moan as he paints your insides with his cum, hips shuttering until his thrusts slow down.

Astarion stays inside you, cock softening as he rubs his hands up and down your sides as you both come down from your high, his cold cheek pressed against your shoulder. With deep breaths you take air so heavy and sweet with your shared lust into your lungs, the weight of Astarion on your back an anchor to the world.

With one final pump Astarion pulls himself from your body, watching as your empty cunt weeps with a mixture of his and your own cum. Before he can stop himself, he reaches two fingers up to catch the cum on his fingertips, gently pushing it back inside you before it can fall out onto the table resting below your hips. 

“Wouldn’t want you to waste a single drop, my love.”

You whine and buck your hips, overstimulated after coming so many times in a row. With one last press of his fingers, he leaves your cunt, leaning forward to place a kiss on the small of your back.

Astarion grabs a discarded piece of silk off the table beside your head and he gently wipes at the mess that threatens to leave your body before cleaning his own spent cock. As your breathing returns to its normal pace, you push yourself up slightly. 

“Silk. Really, Astarion?”

“Only the best for you, my love.” Astarion is quick to help you off the table, steadying you as you sway slightly after being in the same position for so long. He presses a kiss to your lips as he helps pull your dress back up over your breasts and into place. 

“I would ask if I was too rough, but I know you better than that.” His remark makes you laugh as you lean into him, throwing your arms around his neck with a wide smile.

“You know, I think I’m missing a tiny piece of my clothing,” Your eyebrows raise as you gesture to his pocket where a tiny piece of darkened lace sticks out from. "You wouldn’t happen to know where it is, would you?”

“Why bother?” Astarion gives a casual shrug as he waves off your query. “I’m just going to take them off of you again when we get home.” 

He stuffs the underwear in question deeper into his pocket, patting it securely before flashing you a crafty smile.

“After all, I haven’t even had my dinner yet.” He leans in, setting your heart aflame with a passionate kiss before grabbing your hand to lead you out the door and into the waiting night.