#for something that... well.. both you and them are doing for fun?

[navybrat817]

Game Nights

Pairing: Thunderbolts!Bucky Barnes x Female Reader

Summary: Game nights in the tower are unpredictable.

Word Count: Over 900

Warnings: Humor, mentions of violence, the team loves trolling on John, kissing, implied smut, team bonding (kind of), Thunderbolts spoilers, Bucky Barnes (he's a warning, okay?).

A/N: Silly headcanon set in the same world as Not Exactly a Secret and part of my Tower Shenanigans. I'm not at all sorry. ❤️ Not beta read and written on my phone, so any and all mistakes are my own. Please follow @navybrat817-sideblog for new fics and notifications. Comments, reblogs, feedback are loved and appreciated!

Game nights typically take place on Saturdays since Fridays are reserved for movie night. Snacks and drinks are a must, but there is a drink maximum, so things don’t get too crazy or emotional. 

Bucky purposely gets John the generic brand when it’s his turn to go snack shopping and tells him to deal with it since the quality is just as good. Everyone else gets the name brand of whatever they want. 

There's a huge board with all of your names and the games listed. The tally marks are in various colors, and sometimes names are erased and replaced with affectionate nicknames. 

When John demanded to know who changed his name to “the man with a punchable face”, Bob was ready to confess, but Bucky took the blame, followed by Yelena, you, and Ava. It was a real “I'm Spartacus!” moment. 

Anyone caught cheating is on clean-up duty. You and Bucky have both cheated on the same night so you could clean up together. 

There are occasional tournaments complete with medals and trophies. The gang insisted that participation ribbons were not allowed, but you found a funny last place trophy that you had to get and everyone agreed.

The gang tries to switch it up between classic games, video games, and children's games to keep things interesting. No matter what you play there is a level of competitiveness. 

You try not to rub it in when you win a game, but you will have a subtle smirk on your face when you catch Bucky’s eye. Alexei, on the other hand, loves to yell, “In your face!” while doing air thrusts and Yelena has come close to banning her dad from game nights because of it.

If it’s girls versus boys, the girls win almost every time. The boys can't figure out how, but it might have something to do with John and Alexei both trying to be the leader, Bucky being done, and Bob just wanting to have fun. 

Bucky picks you for any game that requires a partner or teammate outside of girls versus boys, even if there is someone better suited. He doesn't care because he always wants you by his side. 

Bucky also picks two-player games for the two of you to play while the rest of the gang plays something else. Yelena often does the same thing with Bob. 

Weapons aren't allowed. That rule should've been enforced from the beginning, but John insisted after Bucky threatened to stab him during a game of Uno. 

To be fair, John kept playing Draw 4 cards and everyone knew it was a dick move. Even John knew it. 

Bucky will switch to Russian when he gets frustrated or really into a game. He didn't realize it until Yelena and Alexei replied in Russian. 

Hide-and-Seek is banned. Ava kept phasing out of her hiding spots, and you and Bucky got caught fooling around in the coat closet. 

Truth or Dare is also banned. Too personal with the questions when it was meant to be a fun night and Ava kept daring you and Bucky to kiss each other, which you did.

Bob got nervous the first time you all played Among Us, but Yelena assured him it would be fun. It ended with a chair flipped over, which is considerably tame.

Bob also goes into any shooting game prepared to lose because look who he’s playing with? He still has fun with it.

You once sweet talked Bucky into playing Dance Dance Revolution and he did well, surprising no one. So did Yelena and Ava, and not a single one of them cracked a smile while they danced.

John takes Pictionary way too seriously, and you threatened to break the easel and stab him when he raised his voice at Bob. Bucky fell in love with you a little bit more. 

Ava encouraged you to flash Bucky once when he was winning at Mario Kart. You did and he looked, but he still managed to win. 

Yelena argues with Alexei during Jenga. She doesn't need him to tell her which block to move or distract her. 

You and Bucky always end up choosing each other's cards during Cards Against Humanity. You just get each other, and you love getting a laugh out of him every time he reads your card. 

Alexei insists that karaoke should be considered a game and he always wants to sing first, which embarrasses Yelena. He once serenaded you and Bucky because, well, he’s one of your biggest supporters. 

Card games are tense and Yelena usually ends up with the most money by the end of them. She prefers Poker to Blackjack. 

Bob was so happy the first time he won Clue that he almost cried. Everyone hugged him, knowing he never got the chance to have fun game nights growing up. 

John recently made a casual comment about wanting to play games like these with his kid. No one gave him a hard time because everyone could see how much he longed for it. 

Some game nights end with yelling and broken furniture, but more often than not they end with smiles, laughter, and a sense of normalcy. It’s a nice change of pace from some of the horrors you’ve faced, and a great way to bond. 

But Bucky will still find a way to stab John if he can if only to keep him on his toes. 

BAHAHA. What do we think? Any other games? What other shenanigans do we think they get up to in and out of game nights? Let me know! Love and thanks for reading.

Masterlist ⚓ Bucky Barnes Masterlist ⚓ Ko-Fi

[notalittleatall]

This is an AI generated post! AI can mimic posts for most popular subreddits pretty well, and this one has a lot of hallmarks for AI writing.

Primarily the signs are the stylistic choices. “It started small” is a very common phrase, also the format. The biggest giveaway is how the story doesn’t quite logically make sense if you read it carefully. Both it doesn’t materially make sense, and that it doesn’t make sense that the writer would write it like this.

“I got my friend to dress up as a Victorian ghost child”. First of all, this isn’t something people do. It’s a massive escalation from the previous methods and basically impossible to pull off. If you were lying, you would either not include this or you would elaborate properly on it, as this could be an outrageous and fascinating detail. Instead, it’s treated without emphasis. AI. Same with Steven “talking to the doll as if it was real”

Also, for fun, i asked chatgpt to generate a story generated on the same basic premise. See below:

Sure! Here's a fake r/AITAH post with that premise — written in a casual, Reddit-style tone:

Title: AITAH for pretending my house is haunted to get my ex to move out?

So I (28F) was dating Tom (31M) for a little over a year. He moved into my house (I own it, inherited from my grandmother) about 6 months ago. Things were great at first, but gradually it became clear we weren’t compatible long-term. I broke things off about two months ago.

Here’s the issue: he won’t leave.

He says he “doesn’t have anywhere else to go,” that it’s “unfair” to kick him out with no notice (I gave him 30 days!), and that because he helped me fix the sink once and paid for groceries sometimes, he somehow has a stake in the place. Legally, I checked, and he doesn’t — he’s not on the deed or lease, never paid rent, and I’ve given him more than reasonable time.

After weeks of him ignoring every polite request, I got petty. Maybe too petty.

I started faking a haunting.

I creak open doors at night when he’s sleeping, hide random stuff from him (his keys, wallet), play whispers from my phone via Bluetooth speakers, and once even wrote “GET OUT” on the bathroom mirror in lipstick. He’s super into paranormal stuff, so I knew he’d freak.

It worked. He started getting paranoid and even saged the house last week. Finally, he told me yesterday that he’s “not safe here” and is going to stay at his brother’s.

I feel a little bad, because yeah, I gaslit the man with ghosts. But he wouldn’t respect boundaries, and I didn’t want to escalate it legally unless I had to. My friends are split — some say it was genius, others say it’s toxic behavior.

So… AITAH?

It’s similar, obviously. However notice how it used the phrase “saged the house”. This is an extremely uncommon thing to do, and if someone did do it it would be extremely uncommon for them to describe it with these words. This phrase is included in both the post and the chatgpt story.

[kleptokure]

Chaotic Crushes ᰔᩚ

Burning Spice & Golden Cheese, Mystic Flour & Dark Cacao, Shadow Milk & Pure Vanilla x GN!Reader (separate pairs)

❯❯❯❯

Burning Spice Cookie & Golden Cheese Cookie

The day was moving along as it tends to. There were no duties that called for your aid, and you could rest as much as you liked. While that did sound nice, you decided to log into a game you play quite frequently: Cookie Run: Kingdom.

Hopping onto your device, you found you had little to do. Nothing much besides the daily activities until the next update comes out. Before the inevitable of logging off, you wanted to play around with your favorite pair of counterparts: Burning Spice Cookie and Golden Cheese Cookie. It wouldn't hurt to have a bit more fun.

You located the two and dragged them to an open area in your kingdom. They did not share an interaction, but you liked to pretend the both of them were annoyed with the other's presence. While they were your favored, you enjoyed bringing about their forced bonding. It's not like they can deny the player.

Random dialogue appeared above their heads, which was nothing out of the usual. In spite of that, there was a chat bubble that made you look twice.

"I do not see what you gain from this!"

Golden Cheese Cookie held the stance of staring into your screen, as if she truly was speaking to you. Of course, that would be nonsense since this is a game. And yet your next actions include clicking on Golden Cheese repeatedly. You search for that same sentence, but nothing alike appears.

Her Radiance then returns to a normal pose, which settles you a bit. Still, maybe you should have taken up on that nap earlier.

To return yourself to peace, you drag the beast back to the side of the ancient. They behave as coded. Somehow, you retain that sense of unease. It seems you can't let that mishap slide by. You were right to do so because another so-called accident appeared.

"Your badgering has grown boring over time!"

Your eyes hovered over the chat from Burning Spice Cookie. The pose of looking your way was taken by him as well. You begin to think, was there an update you missed? You are positive you would have known at least something of it. The cookies cannot simply act how they please all of a sudden.

You are growing both anxious and amused. The factor of mirth was less, though. With that said, you decided to log off for a moment. Cookie Run: Kingdom did not appeal to you like it tends to.

But it seems the game was persistent in having your attention. You were unable to pull out of the tab at all. It was stuck on your screen, with the music playing in the background as always.

Irritated, you scrutinized your screen. There were no pop-ups that were notifying of a bad connection, and all movement progressed with zero delay. Your eyes felt the need to trail back to Golden Cheese and Burning Spice, only to find the pair with their eyes staring at you. This time, they took up no other actions. Just a long, hard stare your way.

You were beginning to freak out. The situation was not looking upwards due to the fact of your screen zooming in by its own commands. All you could see was the two of them.

You confirmed it yourself; your game was broken in some way. It was hard to know how. As much as you wanted to ponder over the circumstances, you were gifted no time to. Your screen became a blinding white, and you backed away from it. Whatever was happening, it was intentional.

You wait for an event, yet your eyes catch nothing amiss. Your screen was black, meaning the entire game decided to shut off. Oh well. That was preferable anyway. Now you feel silly for being afraid. But then your ears catch an unexpected noise.

Inspecting, you witness hands extending out of your display. To reiterate, hands are coming out of your screen. The sight may be in front of you, but you pinch yourself in hopes of this being a terrible nightmare. Much to your dismay, you experienced the pain.

Running out of your room was a smarter choice, yet you backed into a corner. Fear engulfed you, and you were too afraid to watch. You relied entirely on your hearing, which brought a loud laugh that echoed off the walls. Silence followed after, sending off a false sense of security.

Footsteps were loud against your floor. Before you could grasp onto the noise, hands grasped around you. You were lifted off of the floor and carried by a muscular subject.

Now opening your eyes, there was much to indulge in. You were unaware of what to concentrate on. The strong aroma of spice nearby did not assist your focus. Even so, you believe you know what predicament you have fallen in. Is that truly who you think it is?

"How dare you place your hands on my treasure? Release them at once!" With a voice so divine and a presence that shines like gold, Golden Cheese Cookie stood in your room. Hovered, to be exact. Her wings defied what was humanly possible.

Holding you was the person she shouted at. The scent that stems from them left you with one guess.

"Hah! You dare tell me what to do? They shall be for my appeasement," the booming voice of Burning Spice Cookie states. You could feel the muscle in his arms, which were wrapped around your side. It seems he came into your world just as brawny as he was spoken to be in his own dimension.

For the slightest second, you squirmed to readjust your position. Your small movement caught the gaze of the two. Their eyes burned into your skin like you did something wrong.

For reasons unknown to you, Burning Spice Cookie released his grip around your figure. You took the chance of backing away from them, their sights not leaving you for a moment.

Golden Cheese inched closer to you, and Burning Spice behaved the same. She sent him a harsh stare; he returned it. Another argument would arise soon. That is the last act you would want executed, so you spoke up for once, ridding yourself of your shell-shocked behavior.

"Hey," you said, your tone not exactly still. Once again, you had their attention, which included their unsettling stare. Your next words did not follow after since you were unsure of what to say. Calm down? It would be hypocritical to demand an attitude you don’t even own right now. You chose to question instead.

"How... How are you both here right now?" Even now, you are not certain of the way they arrived. Could they merely just jump out of the game at any time? If so, why could they not appear in their cookie form? Circumstances would be much simpler then.

You did take note of their somewhat kind bearing towards you. Golden Cheese Cookie deemed you her treasure, and Burning Spice Cookie regarded you as his form of appeasement. You do not recall doing much for them in the game. How could they view you so highly?

Then you remember the starting signs of this entire situation. They stared at you from within the game, which means they can see you, which means they could see you this whole time. The idea does not settle well. Perhaps they could hear you coo over them at random intervals as well.

Now that you believe you have a few facts understood, you wait for a reasonable response from one of them.

"Right! Excuse my rude entry, darling. I have desired to see you for quite some time now, you know..." Golden Cheese Cookie sounds displeased for a matter you were unable to control. By some means, you feel guilty.

"You," Burning Spice started off. His tone startled you a bit. "You are far from boring. I have ached to find my way to you." He stepped closer, a grin spread on his face. "I have you now." You gulped at his last claim. You are sure he means that.

"Shall I inflict my radiance upon your stupidity once more?" Golden Cheese Cookie did not take a liking to his declaration over you. If her weapon came along, there would surely be a brawl. You are starting to see a pattern for the reasonings of their quarrels.

"How about we all sit down?" You suggested before Burning Spice could respond to the threat Golden Cheese sent. You made a trail towards your bed and sat down. Thankfully, they followed in your steps. You were glad your bed did not collapse under their weight.

Their compliance is surprising. They manage to tower over you, and the power that accompanies them is greater than yours. It is an odd feeling to have both of the mighty beings seemingly under your command. It is not a bad feeling, though.

Golden Cheese Cookie put her wings to rest. She made herself a seat right to your side. Her wing snuck around your shoulder.

Burning Spice Cookie spared no time for her attempts at flattery. He took a seat next to your other side, pressing his own skin to yours. Her wing was moved aside, replaced by his head smushing to your cheek. It is obvious he was curious about your nature.

It would appear these cookies know nothing of personal space, yet in reality, they do. The both of them simply deem it unnecessary when it comes to you.

"So, um, why are the both of you here?" Since your last question was ignored, you brought up another. You received their claims of wanting to meet you, but why? Was remaining inside the borders of their game not satisfying enough?

"Subjected to the unworthy matters of such a monotonous game," he huffed, like the memory pained him. "But then there was you. Your presence was a constant—yet your arrival excited me all the same." A chuckle brewed within him. "I craved the thrill you give."

His statement was strangely flirtatious, all spoken in a proper manner as well. It could cause your stomach to flutter. His fiery eyes, paired with his long lashes... Burning Spice Cookie was a sight to behold in his human form, and that was a plain fact.

You turned away from him, giving a hum in response. He was bored and stuck in a game. His motive was understandable, as anyone would go crazy under that situation.

Golden Cheese Cookie released a sigh intertwined with annoyance. It was clear she did not care a bit about Burning Spice's reason. Clearing her throat, she brought the attention to herself.

"Well, how could I not want to meet the one responsible for all my prosperity?" Her eyes sparkled while they fixed upon yours. She appeared even more divine than she did in the game.

"I only wished to thank you face-to-face." Her hand snuck into yours, attaching your palms together in a tight grasp. "You've provided me with an abundance of gold, yet my most prized possession is right here," she declared.

It is getting really hot in here now. You were bound to end up flushed between the two of them, but their words caused circumstances to grow poor. You would not want to mistake anything, but how else would one take their statements? The way they look at you with such admiration? You believe you'll faint.

"It's no big deal, really," you assured. Your eyes averted from hers since you found her stare overbearing.

Burning Spice Cookie was nowhere near fond of the sight of you and that woman, who he believes would be better off elsewhere.

Snatching away your attention from the greedy queen, Burning Spice placed his hand upon your lower back, pushing you closer to him. While you wanted to look anywhere but at a pair of eyes, he focused your gaze on his own.

"Appeasement," he titled you, "amuse me."

An odd choice of a nickname, but you find it fitting when it comes from him. Focusing on his request, you find yourself lost. How could you amuse a beast of destruction? There is no way you would challenge him in combat, so you think of a choice you would be capable of.

"Nonsense! They do not have to appeal to the likes of you," Golden Cheese Cookie sneered. She could be correct, yet you acted in the interest of the man anyway.

Shifting upwards, you pulled yourself to press a kiss to the cheek of the beast. The second after, you felt sick with apprehension. Was that the best option in mind? There must have been an alternative to please his constant need for entertainment.

In spite of your assumptions, Burning Spice Cookie was delighted. Within his mind, he presumes he will never find himself bored with you present.

To express his gratification, he releases the sound of boisterous laughter. Once again, he tightens his arms around you, which could be concluded as his form of a hug.

"Yes...! That's the rush I crave! Appeasement, amuse me again." Maybe introducing him to your small way of amusement was a bad choice. He is as greedy as his counterpart.

Speaking of his counterpart, her radiance is far from pleased. You dared to press your lips to the skin of that brute? Oh, you must have felt pressured, she claims. Fear not, as your queen is nowhere far.

She pulls you from the arms of her enemy. Commencing her wings to flight, Golden Cheese Cookie carries you in her own hold, which she deems where you will be far more content.

"You vermin! I will—" The scolding that approached the man came to a pause. The mouth Golden Cheese has was sealed due to your abrupt action. She received your soft kiss to her cheek, causing her anger to diminish into dust.

For a gesture so small, Golden Cheese Cookie feels the urge to request an abundance more of your affection. She presumes you would not hesitate if she asked. You were so giving when it came to her gold; would you provide a different source the same way if inquired?

She will question you later, preferably at a distance away from the beast. For now, you are returned to your feet and given your freedom.

The two are surprisingly silent. Still, you can catch them eyeing you, and their stares speak for them. It seems to be a matter you will have to learn to get used to, as it is not looking to be going away.

You hope they can attempt to coexist since you are positive they plan to stay awhile. Or they will refuse, and persistent fights will arrive. Regardless, a kiss could potentially help, based on the behavior they exuded moments prior.

While you're here, things will be under control. You'll have to be the one to assist with their questions. They will have a lot to ask about your world and a lot to ask about you. Nonetheless, they will be fine. But will you?

Mystic Flour Cookie & Dark Cacao Cookie

Late at night, you were awake in your bed. At an hour like this, it would be best to go to bed, but your sleep schedule was already ruffled. You saw no reason in attempting to fix it now. Besides, there were significant issues that required your aid. Those issues may be within a game, but they remain problems all the same.

While you do love Cookie Run: Kingdom, you were growing tired of logging in to repeat the same actions. In all honesty, you were missing a few days of resources that you could claim. The whole of your motivation was left to your guild. You did not want to get kicked for inactivity.

You were amidst your dark room, the lone source of light acting as the screen displaying the game. Your eyes exhibited boredom as you waited for each of the nine battles to end. The 2x button seemed like it was failing to help.

At the commencement of the final battle, you glanced at your team, which included Dark Cacao Cookie, along with his opposite, Mystic Flour Cookie. You are aware there is dialogue between him and his son at the start of a shared battle, so you tend to pay the text bubbles no mind.

This time around, you took a glimpse of what they conversed about. To your surprise, it seemed like you were included in his conversation.

"Why must you be so distant at times?"

You do not believe you read that correctly, but a quick read over proves you wrong. What does he mean by that? Was he talking to Dark Choco Cookie? It could apply to him, but such can be said for you as well. You have failed to log in for a few days now.

It must be something you are unaware of. You would rather not bother your mind with what appears to be a bug. Then again, you still played out a practice guild battle to investigate your worries. You eyed your team, and there popped another sentence, but not from the cookie anticipated.

"I have longed for the sight of you once more."

Now, it was Mystic Flour Cookie who acted bugged. Seriously, what was up with your game? You do not pay much attention to your battles; that much is true, yet you believe you would have taken note of their dialogue by now.

Aiming to make sense of the situation, you check the game's update log. You scroll, your eyes trailing over each bar of text to find what could settle your worries. There was nothing to be seen, and you were left clueless.

Thinking over what happened, you conclude this was nothing to fret about. It could very well be a mistake that the developers released by accident. After all, it is just a cookie game. They are all coded to act how they do. It would be silly to think they're sentient.

Before you went to bed, you took the two cookies who had startled you: Mystic Flour and Dark Cacao. You drag them to interact with random objects placed in your kingdom. It made you feel the slightest bit better.

"To even think you guys were real... Maybe I'm missing too much sleep," you spoke to your screen. You did not expect an answer in return.

"I am real."

What? Okay, now you realize the state of your affairs. That could not possibly be programmed into Dark Cacao Cookie's chat. Your game is absolutely hacked, or bugged, or something. It has to be something.

"I'll show you if I must."

Those next words send you into a panic. When did this become a horror game? How does she plan to display an impossible act? It was impossible for her to become existent, right?

If it were true, then you would like to prevent it. The timing was much too far into the night for events like this to be happening. With a quick mind, you conjure up a reaction.

"Wait! Wait, how about... no?" You tried to let your response down softly as to not offend whatever sentience was before you. It would be breathtaking to witness a humanized cookie, but the dark in your room made you think otherwise.

Your rejection was not taken as lightly as you wished, though. They were not as quick with sending out responses compared to before. In fact, your entire screen went black, most likely due to the power of them. This was all appearing far too genuine to entertain the thought of this being a dream.

Using your nimble wit, the best choice of action was to flee. Where? Your closet. Although when you take place behind the closed door, you realize that a different location would have been better.

It was too late. Your brain had played tricks on you by now, making you believe whatever was out for you took place in your room. As might be expected, you soon realized that was stupid. Your subconscious was scared, and you knew it.

What was there to be afraid of? You said it was simply a cookie game. There is not anything out for you. Your mind was eased, and you stepped out of your hiding place.

It goes without saying, there was nothing within your space. No monster, no cookies, nothing. A sigh you were unaware of holding escaped from your mouth. Then the sigh was not the only sound inside of your room.

The next thing you knew, there was a loud tumble audible, and you jumped out of surprise. After that, there came your returning fear. It may have been dark, but you could notice the outlines of two people, who were beginning to stand up.

Before anything else, you turn on your side lamp. You were scared, yes, but you would also like to see the face of what would end you. With a spring of light, you look forward.

In front of your eyes, you could observe recognizable faces. It did not take long for you to understand what happened.

"Your resolution irks me to no end. There is no reason for you to be here," spoke the pale lady, her voice firm in tone.

"Yet again, you stand in my way. I will cut you down once more if necessary," the man folded his arms. The hostility in the air was thick. You are well aware of the past between the two of them. It looks to be that they shared a matching goal: reaching you.

"Holy..." You breathed out in shock. Despite the rapid amount of blinks you took, the pair remained ahead of you. This is far from imaginary. You have Dark Cacao Cookie and Mystic Flour Cookie amidst your room.

Your singular word attracted the gaze of them both. Unlike them, you were unable to vocalize your feelings. It was obvious you were shocked. It was no problem in their opinion. As nice as your voice sounds, they came here to lay their eyes upon you in person.

Her footsteps were agile; it did not appear as if she even moved. In the next second, Mystic Flour stood before you. You leaned back, yet she leaned in. Her eyes opened, revealing the darkened stare she owned.

Even with features that would seem disturbing, Mystic Flour Cookie appeared ethereal. It was captivating to witness her from a distance, whereas the shortened proximity taps at your nerves. You pray any of your prior words had not insulted her.

Her hand crept to your cheek. "It is you," she whispered, her touch gentle when in contact with your skin. Your mouth was dry, yet you evoked your response in due time.

"...Are you real?" Your voice was quiet as you asked for confirmation. You felt as if you were getting swallowed in her unwavering gaze, but you kept still. Her hand was cold at the time she cupped your cheek.

Dark Cacao Cookie stepped forward, disliking the view he saw. "She should not be here." His hand fell onto her shoulder, increasing the space between you and her.

Mystic Flour Cookie's face twitched, and she brushed the hand of the man off of her shoulder. It did not take much to notice their hatred for one another. You would rather there arise another topic since it seemed like the two would argue at any moment.

"Dark Cacao Coo—or, just Dark Cacao, how are you..." Your sentence had not come to finish, as you cut yourself off at the sight of the lord stepping closer. It was to no one's surprise that he towered over you. His hand dropped its secure grip on your shoulder. They both come off as touchy, you believe.

"I have managed to achieve my true strength. I am able to protect my kingdom with ease and fight for my subjects. My sword has grown sharper—because of you." His stare was resolute as he looked your way. You felt your ego inflate due to his words. How nice it felt to experience a lord expressing gratitude for you, albeit he originates from a game.

"I did that? I mean, yeah, I did that! It was easy, really. You were very deserving of it." It was like all of your previous anxiety had diminished. Since you were aware they held you in high regard, you would play along. It brought no harm to.

You catch sight of Dark Cacao's bashful face. It looks like your words went to fluster him. He will have to get accustomed to it. Knowing how much power you hold, you plan to use it to your advantage.

In the corner of your eye, Mystic Flour Cookie gives the impression she is brooding. Perhaps your small praise of her rival left her upset. It would not be fair to pick and choose when you are certain they both worked hard to reach you. Breaking out of a game sounds like no easy work.

Shifting her way, your hands find their way to hold her own, bringing her near your person. This gains her attention, and her eerie stare is placed onto you once again.

"Mystic Flour," you started off in a murmur, "I think you did what you had to do. In the end, you are worthy of the care I give you." You were close enough to whisper in her ear, pulling away to send her a quick smile. With her skin complexion, you could see the red tint on her face with ease. She is as adorable as her foe.

You spoke in a mighty tone, keeping the god title they placed you in. It would only be right. It was clear they were in need of some sort of tribute. They may be tall and powerful, but their need of affection remains. As their "god," you were more than happy to give what they sought from you.

Mystic Flour Cookie shut her eyes and returned a nod of her own appreciation. Her hands tightened around yours, yet you had to free one palm from hers to clasp another.

Dark Cacao Cookie appeared bothered at the statement you gave to her, but his complaints were unheard. It was as if his exasperation reduce to dust when you held his hand.

"Now, let's stop the sulking." Your request fell on deaf ears. Mystic Flour cannot tolerate that man, even for you. The same can be said for Dark Cacao. There is a limit to what he can do in favor of you.

"Hey, uh, when will you guys return to your world?" You eyed both of them, believing you could guess their answers.

"I plan to stay by your side," he replied. You feel uneasy when Mystic Flour Cookie does not send her response. With that given, you are sure they own an identical answer. Would it be possible to change their minds? From your memory, they were keen with resolution and set with apathy. It may take a bit to send them off, if it's even attainable.

For now, you will have to deal with the two of them. They are silent enough, but their animosity is constant. Will you be able to deal with the tension?

Shadow Milk Cookie & Pure Vanilla Cookie

It was early morning, and in your bed you lay, wide awake and eager for the upcoming day. There were no events to attend in person. Instead, there was an update coming to the game you adored: Cookie Run: Kingdom.

You wanted to prepare for the arriving cookie, so you made sure to gather all of the resources that were within your reach.

All of the codes available were input, and you claimed your rewards from such. Heading to your guild's alliance, you battled the highest difficulty you could manage. The rewards for a high tier were not ones to be passed up.

Finished with that, you moved onto the daily acts you could do. Collecting your train goods, sending off the balloon, and fulfilling wishes. Everything was almost complete, but you had the arena to finish up with. Tallying time was around the corner, so you wanted your tier to experience growth before then.

As always, you clicked on battle after battle, watching as your collection of trophies rose next to your tier. Down the path, you faced a few problems with Pure Vanilla Cookie dying off. He was insufficient compared to other teams, so you wanted to fix the problem.

Seeking out his beascuit stats, you aimed to modify a few things. Before you clicked on the icon, you received a piece of dialogue from the healer.

"Could you spare me a minute or two?"

Huh. Although that sounded sweet, you were focused more on the creation of the text. Somehow, you cannot dwell on the memory you first heard that. Was it added on a later date?

Having fixated on Pure Vanilla Cookie during a certain period, you feel as if you would recall his question, yet you fail to. It must be your blurry memory. It seems like a reasonable conclusion.

You wanted to view those words anew to remember them the next time around, just to ensure no unnecessary confusion. Even so, after you tapped the character a few times, you could not find the message you were in search of. It disappeared, like it never existed. Strange, but you chose to let the topic go.

While you believe you clicked on Pure Vanilla Cookie's beascuit, you ended up on another cookie's stats: Shadow Milk Cookie. It was simply an accident, so you undo your mistake and return to Pure Vanilla's screen. Over again, you click on his beascuit, but then the same mishap occurs. How are you ending up on Shadow Milk instead? Your game is awfully glitchy today.

Then, out of nowhere, you are on the screen of the blue jester. His cookie floats to the left, seemingly innocent of the reoccurring disturbances. Another inconvenience arrives, and you are stuck on his screen. You are unable to click on the next cookie. None of the arrows work, and the exit button has denied you.

You would go to assume you need to reset, but the fact that everything else is fine leaves you curious. You are allowed to click on his cookie, beascuit, toppings, and skill. All is well, except the exit source. At some point, you just started to spam it. That's when you hear your next problem.

"Hey! Didja forget? I'M the star of the show!"

That marks the second time you are presented with unseen dialogue, both of which feel like you are being spoken to directly. You do not have a known cause for this, but you hope a shutdown of the game could aid your tiny predicament.

But of course, luck was not on your side. You were not presented with the chance of closing the game. The display of Shadow Milk Cookie persisted. It would be weird to blame a fictional character, but you want to point fingers at him anyway.

Looking around, you check for a bad internet connection. Nope, nothing. When your eyes trail back to the screen, you do notice another fact. Shadow Milk Cookie is gone. He is not on your screen, even though you are on his page. What could possibly be wrong with your game? A cookie cannot just up and walk away.

Then, one feature worked. You could move onto the page of the next cookie in your team, like you had been wanting to earlier. Now, Pure Vanilla Cookie is displayed. You could have returned to a normal routine, yet you did not. The last few moments were not to be dismissed.

All of a sudden, there was audible giggling behind you, which echoed in your room. There was no one else but you that resided here, so you were obtaining genuine fear.

Glancing at your screen, there was yet another interference. Pure Vanilla vanished in the same manner Shadow Milk did. Have your cookies just decided to leave you? You always thought you cared for them well, but perhaps not.

You felt no need to stay within the bounds of your room for much longer, so you got up and headed to your door. You are not sure one would believe your situation if you were to tell them, but you hold no care for that. Getting a breath of fresh air was your main goal.

Every goal is accompanied by its obstacles, except you forgot about that part. You did not anticipate the arrival of your new guests, which left them with an opportunity to sneak up on you.

Stopped in your tracks, you stumbled upon your locked door. Not from the inside, but from the outside. Your urgency increased with each rattle of the knob until a voice was heard behind you.

"Awwwh, where are you going? The fun just started!" There poofed a blue man in front of your way of escape. While you wished to be courageous, you were startled by his appearance and shrieked, stumbling over your balance and falling. Fear not, as there was an awaiting grasp at your back.

"Shadow Milk Cookie, must you behave such a way? You are scaring them," spoke the soft voice near, their arms steady around your body. Hearing that name confirmed what you initially thought to be insane. The character became real, and he was right ahead of you with a grin across his face.

Peering upwards, you spotted the opposite of the jester. He turned your way with a kind smile adorning his face.

"My light..." Pure Vanilla Cookie tugged you closer, his voice warm like a candle. His embrace felt safe, yet you were still alarmed by the situation.

Shadow Milk rolled his eyes at the sappy man. The beast wanted nothing more than to have you near him, but he begrudgingly listened to Pure Vanilla. His goal was not to scare you, although it would be humorous to.

You slipped from the grip of the blonde man, who was saddened but allowed you as you wished. Your expression seemed tense, and he did not want to frighten you. Their attention was on you and you alone.

Thinking too hard gave you a headache. You do not think you could comprehend what occurred before you. "I don't—I can't understand what just happened." They both recognized your concern, but Pure Vanilla Cookie was the one who expressed his sympathy.

"There is nothing to fear—" The compassionate man was pushed to the side, overshadowed by his parallel.

"Whatever could you mean? The star of the show has graced you with his presence!" Shadow Milk Cookie was able to fly, which was an entirely different matter for you to gawk at. He hovered to your side and wrapped his arms around your neck, his touch smooth but cold. You felt his hair curl to your cheek, as if it possessed its own mind.

Your eyes stared into his. Seeing him in the game was fine, yet his features became more prominent when humanized. Observing the eyes in his hair truly left you bothered. "Why?" Your question was legitimate. What made them determined to visit you? They seem nice enough, so you are glad you did them no wrong.

"I needed to see you SO BAD! I mean, any good host would spend time with their number one fan." He deemed you his number one fan? Really? You are not sure if you felt flattery.

Your hand was pulled in the direction of Pure Vanilla Cookie, diverting your heed to him instead. Shadow Milk Cookie gave no approval to this, his expression salty and hateful. It was obvious he believed the attendance of Pure Vanilla was unnecessary.

"My friend, you have given me your faith throughout my journey. I could not have done it without you." His eyes unveiled the pretty case of heterochromia he has. The way he stared at you made you feel all nice. You were unknowing of exactly what you provided for him, but you received his gratitude all the same.

"Blah, blah, blah. They only did what was coded. I’m sure they had my best interest at heart," Shadow Milk Cookie excused, reclaiming your personal space as his own with the pull of his arms. You did not confirm nor deny the statement given by Shadow Milk. Slight irritation exuded from the usually calm man.

"...What do the two of you want from me?" Now that they reached you, you wondered what their plans were. If it is anything simple, you can see yourself offering.

"I only desired to see you, my light." Pure Vanilla Cookie was so upfront with the admiration he held for you, it was almost overwhelming to hear. He was almost a stranger admitting this. "I wished to illuminate you with the same warmth you gave me."

Despite how strong he may come off, you appreciate his thanks. Your hand lowered to hold his. Your action surprised him, but your next movement shocked him.

You planted a kiss on the back of his hand, returning his faltered smile with your own. It was the least you could do for such heavy devotion. You found yourself respecting him as well. Pure Vanilla sent out shy chuckles, clearly pleased by what you conducted. Would it be selfish to ask for another? He ponders.

Watching from the sidelines, Shadow Milk Cookie is furious. How does that stupid, blind gnat receive a kiss from you? He believes your kindness needs to learn some limits, which should stop right at the edges of that foolish man.

You were aware of the jealousy oozing off of Shadow Milk Cookie. It was simple to catch on to his emotions after a few minutes. You would not want anything broken in your room due to a fight, so it would be best to share your affection. It was planned to be passed anyway.

Before you could reciprocate the same behavior for Shadow Milk Cookie, the man scooped you up in his arms effortlessly. Inspecting his face, you notice a scowl taking place on his lips. For someone who was so playful a second ago, he held such resentment within him.

"Not everything can be solved with friendship, Silly Vanilly," he mocked, sarcasm in his tone. You believe the only reason he fails to attack his rival is because of you. At any other rate, there would be holes in the wall.

To lessen his loathing, you were quick to bring his hand to your lips. You send him a kiss, similar to the way you gave Pure Vanilla. The piece of affection seemed to shut his temper up immediately, and he clung to you further.

"Ha ha! I knew ya loved me more!" That seemed to be baseless evidence, but you repaid his hug with a smile anyway. It went without effort to get acquainted with his silliness when in person. You can foresee the new fun he will bring with his antics.

Pure Vanilla Cookie could not say he was pleased with what he saw, but he went without speaking about it. You behaved the way you do because of your benevolence, and he wanted to respect that. He would live up to his nickname if he were to compete for your time.

Managing the two of them for a bit does not seem difficult. Surely, if they could come here, they could go back. They will return to the game at some point, but you can hang out with them right now. Hopefully, their competitive demeanors will be rid of. You can only anticipate how you will handle them until then.

[bernardsbendystraws]

You Don’t Own Me

SERIES MASTERLIST

Chris Sturniolo lives by his own rules, refusing to be controlled. Some see him as a rebel, a troublemaker—but is that the full truth? Meanwhile, Y/N is focused on making the most of her last year of high school, determined to have a normal teenage experience. But when their worlds collide, they realize they may have more in common than they ever expected.

WARNINGS: COPYRIGHT NOTICE. PLEASE READ AND LOOK UP DEFINITIONS OF WARNINGS FOR FURTHER CLARIFICATION. HUGE TW FOR THIS CHAPTER. CSA (only mentioned, not described), angst, fluff, fighting, physical altercation, lying, and more.

A/N: This is long as fuck and have fun on this emotional rollercoaster lol this is barely proofread btw

With love and big tits, Rose

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

P24: Too Soon?

A week. My mom would be gone on some work trip for an entire seven days.

I really don’t believe it. Part of me always thought she would lie about them being ‘work trips,’ but now I was sure. What kind of work trip didn’t have cell service?

She’s lying. I know she’s hiding something, I know deep down this probably isn’t the first time she’s done this before. But that’s not even the worst part.

The worst part is that she that she left Byalen in charge to ‘watch’ me—like a fucking babysitter, since I couldn’t be trusted anymore because of the time she caught me coming home with Chris early in the morning.

Fucking hypocrite. 

Sure, I wasn’t telling the truth—but neither was she. Like mother, like daughter, I guess. 

Currently, I’m on my bed, staring up at the ceiling as my phone rests on my stomach. Chris’ voice echoes through the device. We’ve been talking for hours. I really want to just go over and see him—see my boyfriend, but I can’t. Not while I’m being fucking babysat. 

“Are you sure you don’t wanna sleep over? You need to sleep.” Chris says.

God, the offer is tempting. All of me wants to say yes, walk over to his house, and cuddle up in his arms. But I can’t. I’ve slept like shit for the past three days and it keeps getting worse. I need him to hold me in order to feel okay, I wanna sleep in a house that feels like a home too. 

It’s not even just him. It’s Jimmy, it’s Matt, and hell—even Trevor. I love being around them, it makes everything feel so much easier. 

I huff, shaking my head against my pillow as I roll my eyes. “I can’t, I’m being fuckin babysat at 18 years old.” I remark. 

A wave of silence washes over for a minute. I can practically hear Chris thinking, the slight vibration of a curious hum sounding through the phone. My fingers callus over my lip, the slight graze of my nails making the muscle tingle in a way that mimics how Chris’ lips feel against my own.

Fuck. I miss that. 

It’s like he has something that I need and crave all the damn time, like he possesses some sort of energy that makes my body feel better—lighter, even. 

“Well…what if I came over there?” He offers. 

My eyebrows twist together. I lick over my lip, gnawing on the muscle as I think of his statement. 

“But…but what if we get caught?” I question. 

I could imagine it. Baylen would see Chris and all hell would break loose. 

I doubt he’d cover for me, he’d probably enthusiastically go telling my mom the second she walks back into the house. 

Chris lets out a dry laugh. “Has he really ever bothered to check in your room? I mean, even if he does, I’ll just hide in your closet or something.”

“That’s kinda gay, bro,” I joke, gnawing on my lip as I hear Chris let out a fit of chuckles that make my heart echo in my ears. 

I love being able to do that. Hearing him laugh—making him laugh, it all feels so pure. It honestly feels as intimate as him in between my legs, just in a different type of way. 

Either are addicting. It was hard to miss only one or the other, I craved both. 

I wanted to feel the euphoric relief from his touch. I wanted to laugh with him to the point where I couldn’t think of anything except how bad my stomach cramped from giggling. 

I wanted everything and all of it—I just want him. 

It’s only been a bit over a week since we made things official, but god—I could feel emotions building so rapidly, so much that they felt like they were consuming every corner of my mind.

Some of it made me sick. 

I never felt this way with Ryan, my ex. The butterflies were there, but not to this extent—not to the point where I caught myself trying to imagine he was holding me in order to fall asleep. 

“Do you want me to come over and not?” Chris remarks, pulling me back to reality as his voice echoes through my phone. 

I bite back a sore smile, humming in approval, “Yes please.” 

___

It feels good like this. Every inch of my body is content, my limbs melted in his hold as I let myself breathe in the fresh air from the cracked window in my bedroom.

His hand is combing through my hair. I hear him clear his throat, his chest rumbling as he begins to speak, “So, um…I…I’ve really missed you.” he says—again.

My lips tug into an unrelenting smile. We’ve been cuddling for hours and he’s repeated the same statement at least ten times. 

It should be annoying, but it’s not. It makes me feel warm—it makes me feel a part of the moment, like every wave of the breeze is infiltrating the pores on my skin to ground me with a profound amount of peace. 

“I missed you too.” I reply, scratching my nails over his chest as I let out another hum of contentment. His lips press against the crown of my head, a lingering kiss placed on my scalp as I feel his warm breath tickle into my hair. 

It’s dark now. We should be tired, but we’re not. A short nap had rendered us a bit sad since we wanted to watch the sunset together, but it was okay since now we got to watch the night sky illuminate with a crescent moon and thousands of stars varying in vibrance. 

I wonder who’s watching. Maybe my dad is one of those stars, maybe he gets to see me finally living after all these years without him. 

The gap of his presence still aches in my heart, but it’s not as exhausting. A tiny splinter of a gap still remains in the pumping muscle, but it seems to be soothed by the added layers of security from Chris’ arms around me. 

“What’re you thinking about, pretty girl?” Chris asks, combing through my hair. 

I crane my head to stare up at him, sparing a soft smile as I give a slight shrug of my shoulders. “I just…” my words float into the air, unfinished as I gulp the lump in my throat that seems to build with how his eyes are piercing into me. “-I really like this. I…really like you…being here with me. It’s just–” 

Chris leans down, pressing the tip of his nose against my own as he blinks, his eyes lashes fluttering against my own with a ticklish sensation that makes a soft sigh fall from my lips. 

“-good. I’m glad you like it because I love it. You don’t understand how much I missed holding you, really,” he whispers, his breath fanning across my lips in a way that makes my stomach swarm with warm butterflies. “-this makes me so, so, so fuckin’ happy—holding my girl, in my arms—”

“You’re never gonna stop saying that, huh?” I tease, biting on my lip as his eyes open and gleam into my own.              

Chris purses his lips, shrugging. “Nah. Getting to call you my girl?” he puffs, his eyes going with before he offers a playful smile, “-could never get old to me. Makes me feel all….” he wraps his arms tighter around me, pulling a gasp from my mouth as he pulls my chest plush against his, “-warm.” 

Ugh. He feels the same way I do—maybe even more so. 

I let myself bathe in his stare, the reassurance of his gaze making me feel like moonlight—calm, radiate, and important. Part of me doesn’t wanna speak at all, the fear of this exact moment ending making my heart pulse in my chest with a sharp sting. 

But it’s okay. 

It’s okay because I know there will always be more moments like this with him. It’s okay because there’s no doubt in my mind that he’ll ever let me feel anything less than cared for. 

Words linger on the tip of my tongue, words I know I shouldn’t say—not yet, at least.

But it’s true. I love him, I really, really do. I don’t know when the realization happened. Honestly, I think it might’ve been when we first met, like some sort of cautious feeling that was warning me of destiny. 

Chris licks over his lips, his smile fading into a serious look as he swallows thickly. “I…I know we haven’t been official for very long, but—I…I feel things for you, I feel so much it hurts,” he breaths. 

My breath halts in my chest, my ears ringing as my bones seem to vibrate inside my body. He feels it too. It’s like everything about us is connected, like everything is falling into place so effortlessly it feels like magic. 

“I…” The words fall flat on the tip of my tongue, my eyes glazing over with pure emotion as I let my eyes wander over his face.

It’s so comfortable. All I can hear is our hearts beating in sync, the way my entire soul is burning for me to say it—say everything. 

“I love you.”

My eyes widened in shock. The words had rambled off my tongue so rushed, the devotion hanging in the air with an accompanied echo of his own voice. 

“Oh.” 

Our words are still in sync. We both let out a small laugh, the giggles falling quiet as we just breath in each other’s presence. 

“I guess that wasn’t as scary as I was making it out to seem, huh?” he tuts. 

I shake my head, laughing under my breath as I shrug, “-I guess so.” 

___

Chris’ POV

I keep waking up. I’m not sure what time it is, but it’s like my body doesn’t want to sleep, even though I’m very comfortable, I just wanna look at her in my arms. 

The slight sound of crickets echoing with the cool night air makes me sigh. My eyes drift over to her nightstand, her empty water bottle catching my attention. She had jugged all of it and fell back asleep within an instant a while ago, waking up a bit later, disappointed to find the bottle empty. 

Maybe I should fill it for her.

Yeah.

Slowly sliding away, I wince hearing her let out a small whimper, reaching out for me as I stand up fully. Her eyes peek open. I pet over her shoulder, cooing, “-hey, go back to sleep—’m just gonna fill your water, okay?” 

She nods hazily, her eyes falling shut with a slight scowl printed on her face. 

God, she’s pretty.

My stomach flutters with warmth as I watch her bottom lip pout slightly, her arms reaching out and tugging the pillow that was beneath my head into her hold as she greedily takes a large breath.

Fuck.

She’s barely awake and she still wants me. 

With light steps, I carefully make my way out of her room, venturing through the halls in hopes of finding the kitchen. It doesn’t take long. I walk into the tiled room, the cold flooring against my feet making me miss the warmth of her touch. 

“Ugh,” I sigh, walking over to the sink and filling the bottle, trying to tilt the object to create as little noise as possible. 

My lips roll together, my mind racing with thoughts as I reminisce on earlier. I was so scared to tell her that I loved her, I was scared it was too soon, too much, or purely insane to feel so strongly when we only made things official a bit ago. 

But she said it at the same time, and somehow that was better than her saying it back. 

“Who the fuck?” 

My eyes go wide as I screw on the cap to the water bottle. I turn around, finding her brother with messy hair and sunken eyes staring at me with a scowl. 

Fuck. 

“Shit.” I mutter, squinting my eyes shut in hopes I’m just having a nightmare. 

But no. 

I open my eyes, he’s still there—closer. 

“Who the fuck are you?” he interrogates, his shoulders broadening as his nostrils flare with an angry huff. 

“I, uh,” I look towards the hallway, mentally cursing myself as I think of her getting in trouble because of me, “-I’m Chris. I’m…uh—”

I don’t get the chance to finish. Baylen’s eyes shift to the bottle in my hand, his tongue prodding on the side of his cheek as he shakes his head disappointedly. 

“What? Are you her boyfriend or something?” he asks, lips tugged into a straight line. 

Gulping, I nod. Surely me being her boyfriend is better than being a stranger breaking in, right?

“No.”

The fuck?

My brows furrow together at his statement. Baylen seems to analyze the confusion on my face, shrugging as he repeats the words with a more tense voice, “-I said no.” 

“What? No? Hate to break it to you, but that’s not really your decision.” I point. 

No wonder she can’t get along with him, he’s a prick. He barely acts like a brother, yet he’s trying to dictate our relationship? 

Fuck that. I’ve done more for her than he has with a fraction of the time. 

I mean, how hard is it to be there for his sister? 

After losing my mom and Nick, no matter how distant or hurt I was, I still hugged Matt when he needed it. I might’ve grown distant, but I never grew heartless.

Baylen couldn’t even suck it up to play video games with her. 

His face contorts with distaste. I let out an angry sigh, my eyes rolling while he let out a scoff. 

“She’s my sister. I’m the one who gets to look out for her, not some guy she’s known for what, a couple months?” he remarks, a slight snort echoing at the end of his sentence. 

His words seem to make my heart pummel against my chest with rage, the statement making my blood boil as I lick over my teeth. “Look out for her? You can’t even sit down and play a video game with her for more than five minutes. Just…” I shake my head, watching as his face shifts into shock before the fury in his eyes starts to become more intense, “-it’s whatever.” 

Baylen clicks his tongue on the roof of his mouth, shaking his head, “Shut the fuck up. You have no idea what you’re talking about.” 

My nose twitches, my eyes squint as my jaw becomes tight. Who the fuck does he think he’s talking to? 

“Oh, I have no idea what I’m talking about?” I huff, my brows lifting as I let out a dry laugh, “-no, you have no idea what you’re talking about. You’re an awful fucking brother, you have no say in anything when you’re treating her like…like a fucking dick.” 

His jaw clicks. Baylen stalks forward, his hands twisting in the collar of my shirt as he yanks me to the side, pushing me against the wall as his eyes glare into me, the anger radiating off of him making the ache in my head from the impact seem less apparent as I drop the water bottle and clutch onto his wrists, trying to yank him off of me. The loud clunk of the bottle hitting the ground makes me wince. I huff at his unrelenting grip, taking a heavy sigh as I try to calm the pulsing anger in my body. 

I can’t hit him. She cares about him—even if he hurts her, I know that would make her upset.

“You have no idea what you’re talking about,” he repeats, his voice dangerously low as he pushes me harder against the wall.  

“You abandoned her when she needed you most. What kind of brother does that?” I spit, the emotions in my voice leaking with a bit of hypocrisy. 

I wasn’t always the best when it came to comforting Matt after my mom and Nick had died, but at least I came around. Someone had to knock some sense into me—that someone being my dad, but it didn’t seem like anyone was ever gonna set Baylen straight. 

“You—you don’t get it. Stop. Just—just shut up,” he yells, shoving me even harder as I feel the back of my head pulse. 

“I do. Just…ow, fuck—” I hiss, the pain becoming evidentally apparent as my skull aches, “-I lost some of my family. Someone had to knock some sense into me. She—she’s your sister, you both lost your dad, she’s hurting and—shit.” 

It fucking hurts. The back of my head is pulsing, an echoing pain bursting through my forehead as I try to move, only to have him shove me harder. 

“I didn’t lose anyone. You…you don’t understand.” 

My eyes peak open, curiosity accompanied by pain as I hear a slight crack in his voice. His face drops with sadness, the anger fleeting into some sort of sullen emotion as he swallows thickly. 

“You…you don’t understand. That man—he’s not my father. He’s a sick excuse of a man that traumatized her and she doesn’t even fucking remember,” he spits. 

“I…what?” I breathe, my chest tightening as Baylen loosens his grip around the collar of my shirt, his lower lip wobbling. 

“I’m never supposed to tell her. I…I have to hear her mourn a man who would…who’s the reason she’d have to sneak into my room—he’s the reason she could never make it through the night without having an accident. Something was wrong—everything was wrong.” 

“What—what’re you saying?” I ask, my mouth falling open as I let my hands fall from his wrists. 

Baylen’s eyes sink with sadness, his cheek hollowing as he gulps. “She wasn’t potty trained for a long time. At first, I didn’t get it. But…but…he was touching her, her body was showing all the signs of sexual assault, but I was just a kid, I didn’t…I—by the time I understood what had happened, it—it was too late. Now I have to hear her mourn a man who is the reason I feel—he’s…he’s the reason I can’t comfort her, he’s the reason I can’t look at her,” he says, his head tilting as his face scrunches with pain;

“He’s the reason I hate myself—the reason I can’t let myself get close to her without seeing how much of a failure I am.” 

Oh.

[batmanisagatewaydrug]

Sex witch I need your help. After seeing the books by black women discourse post I came to the decision that for every prompt that I filled in my bingo with a book by a white author, I’m going to redo with a book by a nonwhite author. Problem is that I was going to read revolting prostitutes for the social justice and activism prompt except as far as I know neither of the authors are racialised. As the resident pro sex nonfic reading person I know of, do you have any books about sex work activism written by non white people? Im doing my own research as well but thought I might ask you as well. Cheers and godspeed

hi anon,

I LOVE a fun little research challenge, and I especially enjoyed this one. it's awesome that you're so dedicated to seeing through the book bingo with authors of color, and that you're so passionate in this particular topic! I found a lot of books that I'm definitely adding to my own-to read list.

an anthology that I've had on my own list for a while is the anthology Working It: Sex Workers on the Work of Sex, which features contributions from sex workers with a wide array of racial identities, nationalities, and cultural backgrounds and has at least one Black editor, peech breshears (who I've seen referred to with both she/her and they/them pronouns, preferred identity unknown).

it also may not be exactly the type of nonfiction you're after if you're looking for something similar to Revolting Prostitutes, but there are also some very cool memoirs in this area. Maya Angelou's Gathering Together In My Name recounts her own time in sex work as a young mother, both as a pimp and as a sex worker herself, and for a more contemporary account of working in the porn industry there's Asa Akira's Insatiable.

some other very cool-sounding titles that I've amassed, listed chronologically:

I've Got to Make My Livin': Black Women's Sex Work in Turn-of-the-Century Chicago (Cynthia M. Blair)

To Live Freely in this World: Sex Worker Activism in Africa (Chi Adanna Mgbako, 2010)

Dealing in Desire: Asian Ascendancy, Western Decline, and the Hidden Currencies of Global Sex Work (Kimberly Kay Hoang, 2015)

Camming: Money, Pleasure, and Power in the Sex Work Industry (Angela Jones, 2020)

We Too: Essays on Sex Work and Survival (edited by Natalie West and Tina Horn, contains contributions by several writers of color, 2021)

But I Am Here: Speeches, Writing and Art from the Sex Worker Movement in New York City (edited by Kate Zen, 2021)

Not Your Rescue Project: Migrant Sex Workers Fighting for Justice (Chanelle Gallant and Elene Lam, 2024)

and as always if anyone else has a cool title they'd like to drop, I'd love to hear about it and I'm sure this anon would as well :3

[thesafflelad]

It's such a predatory industry, during a time where everyone— especially kids, teens, and young adults— are so lost in the world that cult formation is on an all-time rise, I don't blame the kids. Honestly, until like 14, I don't blame kids for ignorances or learning plain-bad information in general; that's on the adults that agree to raise them. It's like prime-time for coercion to anything from a young age, right now and if something tells a kid it can do their schoolwork for them, they'll take it.

Then the generative word vomit calculator can tell the kids anything and, well, they'll believe it. Influencers that are suspiciously appealing more and more to the younger demographics say "it gives me better answers than Google," or "It can help me summarize a long page in a flash," and why wouldn't the kid believe them? It takes a while for kids to learn cartoons aren't real, and longer still that even live-action shows can be fake, too; kids inherently trust stuff like that. If the Wiggles told me we had fruit called purples that were just like oranges but bigger and purple, my absorbent sponge brain would've absorbed.

It's just predatory kids marketing; it's just the Spider-Man x Elsa videos' philosophy. If you make something appealing enough— cute, convenient, or both— then kids are gonna be interested. Even after I learned to tie my shoes, I still liked velcro more. Harmless example, but the same general idea. Gen.Algorithms are the current buzz-thing.

Gen.al the convenient new thing to make your kids stop existing in the front of your head so you can keep doing the fun adult things, and I will friendly-kill my own generation and call them out. iPad babies are old enough to be parents, now. And they learned that it's okay to be in front of the screen and rely on the apps more and more. I'm 20, and after 8th grade(2017-18), my computer classes didn't feature online safety units, anymore. In fact, nothing was... explored. Unless parent or grandparent was a bullied nerd that went to the library with a floppy disc expansion drive and a box of floppy discs, you were fucked if you wanted to learn how to even start a computer.

[munsonsmixtapes]

What about ghost who is secretly in love with his roommate and he’s returning home after being away on deployment? A lot of tension and a big messy love confession after he can’t hold back how he feels about her anymore and some smut ???

Ugh this one was so fun to write!

cw: MDNI (18+) smut (p in v) mask kink, nipple play

Ghost unlocks the door to his apartment after months of not being there. He lets out a sigh of relief as he takes in the decorations and furniture the exact same as he left them six months before. He smells that candle he knows you like to light and suddenly, he feels at home. He looks around the place for you, but he doesn’t see you but he hears you.

“Simon!” You exclaim his name and he really did miss hearing that.

All he sees is a blur racing towards him and he stumbles backwards as arms wrap around his neck. He gets a whiff of your perfume and his luggage is dropped to the floor as his arms wrap around your waist, lifting you from the floor and spinning you around, giggles pouring from both of your mouths as he does so.

Simon sets you on the floor and he takes a moment to get a good look at you. All the feelings for you that he’s been holding in are surging forward and he’s trying so hard to prevent from kissing you. You’re all he’s been thinking about for months. He’s read your letters over and over again, so close to writing everything he’s been feeling for you, but he couldn’t. He feels like he owes you the truth in person. That is, if he can stop being a fucking pussy about it.

You take your time looking at him too. He’s got so much more muscle than you remember, the photos he’s sent you not doing him justice. His biceps are huge and you hate how your thoughts are immediately getting dirty.

You snap out of it and pull him into another hug, pressing your cheek into his chest as you give him a squeeze, your arms wrapping around his waist. You realize that you haven’t hugged before, this being the first. You didn’t really talk that much before he left but when he was gone, you somehow got closer and you actually became pretty good friends-even though you want to be more. Even though you’d never actually admit that.

“Can I help you unpack?” You ask, needing something to distract yourself from how badly you want him.

“I’d like that,” he smiles and picks up both of his duffel bags as he carries them to his room with following closely behind. You open the door for him and it’s exactly the way he left it-well, sort of. It looks cleaner and he can’t figure out why.

“I wiped down the furniture and washed your bedding yesterday so it would be all nice and clean when you got here.” He’d normally find this as an invasion of his privacy, but he just can’t find it in himself to be mad at you. The gesture is so sweet and he feels his heart melt just that much more.

“You didn’t have to do that,” he says, setting his bags on the bed. “But it’s very appreciated.”

“I wanted to,” you reply, taking some of the clothes and putting them away in the correct drawers. Simon can’t believe how easy it is to imagine you in his life romantically. If you’re helping him unpack his luggage as his roommate, what would you be doing as his girlfriend?

He unzips the other duffel and almost jumps at the mask sitting on top. He forgot that was in there and it catches him off guard.

“I missed you,” you tell him and god did he miss you too. He thought about you the entire way home, imagining your reunion, though in his mind, there was a lot more kissing.

“I missed you too,” he replies. Simon isn’t really one to share his feelings so this already feels odd to him. But you’re the one person he feels like he can tell anything to. Well, anything besides how madly in love with you he is.

You both stand there for a beat, staring at each other, both of you trying to figure out what to say. You step closer, standing on your toes and reaching up to push back the strands of hair that have fallen onto his forehead.

His eyes flutter shut at the feeling of your fingers in his hair and when you give his scalp a little scratch, he’s putty in your hands. He leans down, his face only inches from yours and you let your hand fall from his hair, your finger trips tracing over the scars on his face. He’s so close that you could just-

Simon seems to be thinking the same thing because he’s leaning even closer, his lips pressing against yours in a brief kiss. It’s so quick that your brain barely registers what’s happening.

“I’m sorry,” he apologizes quickly, his eyes widening in panic, afraid that he’s just offended you.

“I’m not,” you shake your head. “Come back here. I wasn’t done.” He obeys, a little smirk kicking up at the corner of his mouth as he leans down, meeting you as you push up on your toes.

Your arms wrap around his waist as his are around your waist. Your lips meet again, slotting between each other and this is even better than he was imagining. Your lips are soft and they fit so perfectly between his, like they’re puzzle pieces meant to fit together.

“I’ve been wanting this for so long,” he whispers against your mouth. “You have no idea.”

“Oh, I think I do,” you whisper back and now he’s got to have you, feeling his cock harden ever so slightly.

“Jump,” he says and you do, Simon easily catching you as he catches you, your legs wrapping around his waist as your tongue slides into his mouth. He carries you over to the bed and gently sets you down on it, sinking to his knees between your spread legs, your lips still attached.

You pull away to catch your breath and don’t miss the mask that’s in your line of sight. You do a double take and can’t help but let out a laugh as you reach for it, holding it up so Simon can see it.

“It seems like you have some explaining to do, Mr. Riley,” you tell him as you let the mask swing back and forth between your fingers. “Is this some sort of kinky thing I’m unaware of?”

“No,” he says, his cheeks turning pink as he reaches for the mask, holding it out of his reach. “It’s a military thing.”

“Uh uh uh,” you shake your head. “You have to at least let me try it on.” He just lets out a sigh as you put it on and can’t help but laugh as you put it on, the thing looking so silly on you. “How do I look?”

“Ridiculous.”

“You’re right. It definitely looks better on you.” You take the mask on and he bends over, each hand landing on either side of you. You put it on his head and immediately feel yourself getting wet at the sight.

“How do I look?” He asks, his voice much lower than you’ve ever heard. He’s inching closer, his eyes boring into yours and you can see them clouding over with lust.

“I think it’s concerning how turned on I am right now.”

“I don’t,” he shakes his head. “Now are you gonna stare or are you going to kiss me?” You respond by pressing your lips to his and it’s awkward as you both try your best to pick back up where you left off despite the mask.

He leans you back onto the bed, pushing his duffel onto the floor as he does so. His hands slide up your shirt and he pulls it off to reveal your bare chest, nipples hard beyond belief. God, you’re perfect.

“Fucking amazing,” he breathes, his accent more prominent now and you take the mask off just long enough to get his shirt off and then it immediately goes back on his head. You take in his toned body and this is such a different sight. You can’t take your eyes off of him.

You make an effort to pull him down onto the bed next to you and he falls, not making you work for it. As soon as his back hits the mattress, your straddling him, peppering kisses across the expanse of his chest. You bring one of his nipples into your mouth and he lets out a whine in response, his hand grasping at the bedding underneath him.

You lick and suck on him and his brain is melting, hoping that you leave marks on him, physical proof of what you’ve done tonight so he can be sure that it’s not all in his head.

“Fuck,” he whines. “I've been waiting months for this and you have not disappointed.” He doesn’t feel your lips anymore and he sits up to see you staring back at him, your mouth falling open.

“You’ve been waiting for this for months? I’ve been waiting for months.“ You can’t see it, but Simon is grinning underneath the mask. He takes it off, wanting to say his next words with it not on his head.

“I love you,” he says, his voice sounding whiny, desperate.

“I love you too, Simon. And you being away made me realize how much.” You’re both grinning like idiots now and he pulls you in for another kiss, his hands sliding down your sweatpants, pushing them off along with your underwear and once you’re completely naked, you unbutton his pants and as soon as your both naked, his eyes widen as if he’s realized something.

“I-I don’t have a condom.” He totally would have if he knew this was going to happen.

“I have one,” you tell him. “Wait here.”

“Oh, I’m not going anywhere,” he smirks and watches you race out of the room. You’re back in record speed and he watches you tear it open and roll it onto his cock.

You’re on him in an instant and he barely has any time to react before you’re riding him. Your fingers are digging into his shoulders as you’re riding him, your tits bouncing up and down because of how fast you’re going.

Simon’s hips buck against yours, pushing his cock as fast he goes. His pace matches yours, neither of you able to hold back anymore and you only slow down to press a kiss to his lips then put the mask back on him.

“I didn’t think you’d find this so hot,” he says through a chuckle.

“Well, I do.” You pick up your pace even more and he’s trying his best to keep up, pushing inside of you inch by inch until he’s fully seated. “Fuck,” you whine. Your eyes are watering at how full you feel, but there’s no way you can stop. “Feels so good. Harder.”

Simon listens, somehow going even harder and faster, feeling winded but he’s not going to stop until either of you come. He’s sure that he’s close which would make sense since he hasn’t gotten any action for months.

There were women at the bars he and the guys went to but his mind was always on you. Even though he wasn’t sure of your feelings at the time, he still wasn’t looking at anyone else. You were and still are the one person he has eyes for.

“Fuck, baby, just like that.” His orgasm is rapidly approaching and when it does, a string of curse words followed by the word “sweetheart” which makes you melt.

Your legs feel like jello as you climb off of him and he’s quick to race to the bathroom. He comes back with a wet washcloth and spreads your legs, sinking to his knees as he wipes up your mess.

Once he’s done, he disposes of the cloth and helps you get dressed in one of his many t-shirts, him doing the same and the two of you tell each other that you love each other as you fall asleep, looking forward to waking up to each other for every day for the rest of your lives.

[thewertsearch]

JOHN: do you think that all of our unbridled corpse smooching means karkat's silly shipping prophecy will come true?

John, I know for a fact she's not into you - not right now, anyway - and I'd bet a hundred Boonbonds that you're not into her, either. Even Vriska has more romantic chemistry with you.

JADE: you can hop right through me and join them JADE: then you can travel with them to the new session if you like

Yeah, but you can't hop through yourself, and I highly doubt John is willing to abandon you for literal years. Who does he look like, Grandpa Harley?

...alright, forget I said that.

Look, John's a good egg. He's not going to leave the sister he just met alone on a ship for half of her adolescence. Considering Jade's particular background, that's not something I think she could ever forgive, and it would probably fuck her up for decades to come - possibly forever.

JOHN: i would feel really bad leaving you here, even if you do have a million salamanders and chess guys to keep you company.

And Davesprite, right? He was right beside Jade when she ascended, so I have to assume she picked him up offscreen. She fucking better have, because I still refuse to accept the possibility that Sprites don't survive the end of their session.

Assuming they do, we definitely have Davesprite - and probably Nannasprite & Jaspersprite as well. They were both on planets during Cascade, and it sounds like Jade collected each planet's inhabitants, as well as the planets themselves.

Come to think of it, we should also have the Denizens, who are presumably still lurking in their Palaces. That opens up the possibility of John, Jade or Davesprite making a Choice during their trip - which may well be necessary, considering the absolute mess of a timeline they're due to be dumped into.

JOHN: you are my friend and also my sorta-sister, and we just met for the first time ever a few minutes ago…

It's still pretty crazy that we're finally allowing the kids to start meeting up in person. I think the only pairs who haven't encountered each other are John/Dave and Rose/Jade - which is dang homophobic, if you ask me.

I still ship Rose and Jade a little, despite the comic's insistence on keeping them apart - and as long as we still have pages, we still have time. A true RoseJade warrior never gives up.

JADE: personally, i think this trip could be a lot of fun! JADE: theres no pressure to do anything important or run around like lunatics anymore JADE: we can just relax

Exactly. You can spend time getting to know each other - as well as Davesprite, who definitely needs the company, and Nanna, who is technically your long-lost mother. Plus, you'll be able to start experimenting with your God Tier powers, and potentially unlock more metafictional abilities to increase your quality-of-life.

Also... they aren't actually restricted to living on the Prospitian ship, are they? Jade's got everyone's houses in her sylladex, and there's no reason she can't return them to their original size, once things have settled down a little. The kids can hang out in their own homes!

The more I think about this setup, the sweeter it is. For the first time ever, John, Jade and Nanna can actually be a family.

[theonlyonesora]

The Third Rule

Lily x Oscar Piastri x You (Reader)

Chapter 5 - Viva Las Vegas

A few monhs had passed. The intensity of that weekend faded into something softer, easier to live with. Things between Lily and me had returned to their usual rhythm—jokes over iced coffees, late-night walks, stealing each other’s clothes, and laughing until our stomachs hurt.

But there was something else now. Something unspoken. A third pulse in the room.

Oscar had started calling more. Not just to talk to Lily—but sometimes to ask me how I was, what I was up to, if I’d watched the latest F1 drama unfold on social media. And when Lily visited him on weekends, I started receiving photos from both of them—funny selfies, inside jokes, stupid TikToks. Their "we miss you" energy had begun to feel... different.

It was like they wanted me closer. Like they didn’t know how to ask.

Then one afternoon, in the middle of folding laundry and blasting ABBA, Lily walked into the living room with a grin that was dangerous.

“You’re going to Vegas.”

I blinked. “Come again?”

“Oscar has a race there next month. He said you should come with me.”

I dropped a towel. “Are you serious?”

“He already bought the ticket,” she said, sitting beside me on the floor, all breezy and casual, as if she didn’t just casually rearrange my whole life.

“You’re joking.”

“Nope. Flight, hotel, paddock access. All of it.”

I stared at her. “He’s paying for everything?”

“He insists. He says it’ll be fun. I say it’ll be chaotic.”

I swallowed. “And you?”

Lily just smiled. “I think it’s time.”

Las Vegas.

I’d never seen so many lights at once. Neon and noise. Glitter and gasoline. It felt like someone took adrenaline and poured it into the shape of a city.

Oscar picked us up at the airport himself, wearing a hoodie and cap like it could possibly hide who he was. He looked tired, but his smile when he saw us was real.

And he hugged me.

Not like a friend-of-my-girlfriend hug. Not awkward. But not too much either. Just… warm. Familiar.

Like we’d done this a thousand times before. Even though it was our first.

“This is going to be a fun weekend,” he said into my ear.

I shivered.

Dinner was at a rooftop restaurant overlooking the Strip. Lily wore red. I wore black. Oscar sat between us, spinning his wine glass and smiling like he had a secret.

The conversation was light. Easy. Full of inside jokes and playful teasing. Lily flirted with him like no one was watching. I flirted with her just to make him laugh. And Oscar—well, he watched us both like he couldn’t decide which fire to get closer to.

At one point, Lily leaned toward me, voice low: “You look good tonight.”

“So do you.”

Oscar, catching the whisper, grinned. “Should I be worried?”

“No,” I said, sipping my wine, locking eyes with him. “Unless you’re into that.”

Lily choked on her drink.

And that was when I knew.

Something was going to happen in Las Vegas.

Maybe not tonight.

But soon.

And no one would be able to pretend after that.

.

Qualifying had been electric.

Oscar had finished second, the kind of lap that left the entire paddock buzzing. Vegas was alive—hot, loud, glowing like it never slept—and we walked through it like it was ours.

Lily and I had been by the garage, watching from behind the scenes with team radios pressed to our ears. She knew exactly what to listen for. I was just pretending to be calm.

Oscar waved the moment he saw us, peeling off his helmet, sweat-dampened curls a mess, grin wide and shining. He looked at Lily, then at me, and I swear the flicker in his eyes was the same for both of us.

After the press, the meetings, and the debriefs, we found ourselves in the elevator of the Wynn, 32 floors up, still humming from the rush. The hallway to the suite was silent, plush, golden. Oscar held a bottle of team champagne under one arm, Lily walked barefoot because her heels had murdered her feet, and I was texting our group chat to let them know we were alive.

The suite was too nice. A skyline view, glass walls, velvet everything. And one massive king-sized bed.

“Wait,” I said, pausing. “Only one bed?”

Oscar set the champagne on the table with a smirk. “They must’ve assumed.”

Lily turned to me, unbothered. “You’re the little spoon.”

“I always get elbowed when I’m the little spoon,” I complained.

Oscar opened the champagne with a soft pop. “We can alternate shifts.”

“Hot,” I said dryly, snatching a glass. “Very poly of us.”

One bottle in.

We were on the floor, backs against the bed, laughing over a stupid TikTok Oscar had filmed of Lily trying to sneak into the paddock disguised as a staff intern. She almost got away with it.

Lily was lying across both our laps, head on my thigh, feet in Oscar’s hands. She was tipsy. Glowy. Beautiful.

I looked at her. “You’re going to be so hungover tomorrow.”

“I’m always hungover around you,” she mumbled. “Emotionally and otherwise.”

Oscar brushed his thumb along her ankle. “You're both a menace.”

I raised my glass. “To menacing.”

He clinked his against mine. “To danger.”

Lily didn’t move, but her voice softened: “To us.”

There was a pause.

Us.

I felt it. Oscar felt it.

The wine, the heat, the way she was draped across us like she belonged there.

Maybe she did.

Later, when we curled into the bed—all three of us Lily between us — limbs tangling, warmth and skin and unspoken questions pressing into the dark—Oscar whispered something against my neck:

“You feel like home already.”

I didn’t answer.

Because I was afraid of what I might say back.

The Next Morning, we woke to Oscar’s name trending and not just Oscar Piastri P2 Las Vegas.

No. This was different.

Someone had caught a photo—maybe from the hotel lobby, maybe at dinner the night before. The three of us, laughing. Too close. Too much eye contact. Someone had zoomed in on Lily’s hand on Oscar’s shoulder, and mine on Lily’s thigh.

It wasn’t proof.

But the internet didn’t care about proof.

“Oscar Piastri’s girlfriend and her hot friend—what’s going on?” “Throuple energy. I’m calling it now.” “Why do I want to be the fourth?”

Lily rolled over in bed and groaned into the pillow. “We’re going to be memes.”

Oscar was already scrolling. “Well… at least we’re attractive memes.”

I took the phone from him and threw it on the floor. “No phones before breakfast. New throuple rule.”

They laughed. But no one disagreed.

Tag List:

@freyathehuntress, @mimisweetz, @aleatorio1234, @totallynotluluu, @rorabelle15, @prongslena, @linnygirl09, @mangotaitai, @forensicheart, @devilacot, @lilorose25, @landofotographyy

[jungkoode]

死 KKANGPAE | #16 死

† shooting range and dinner †

"When his insomnia slips out, you decide being a useful fuck buddy is part of the arrengement. Even if sleeping is not exactly what you want to do tonight."

next | index

⚔ chapter details ⚔

word count: 9,3k.

content: jeon taking a nap in j-hope’s office and hobi having none of it, verbal fights between friends, bestie plans being cancelled, shooting range practices that feel like lame excuses to touch, insomnia confessions, sleeping arrangements where both of them fail to simply sleep.

☠ author's note ☠

Y'ALL I'M SCREAMING. Look at my boy Jeon being all emotionally constipated and sleepless and GRUMPY! I cannot with him sometimes (⁠╯⁠°⁠□⁠°⁠)⁠╯⁠︵⁠ ⁠┻⁠━⁠┻

So I'm really exposing my kinks here, but the whole "let's sleep together but actually sleep" trope is just *chef's kiss* perfect. Insomnia-ridden boy who can only sleep well with you nearby? GIVE IT TO ME INTRAVENOUSLY, THANK YOU.

And J-Hope being all "I'm your friend whether you like it or not, you stubborn asshole" is everything I needed today. Their friendship is so beautifully dysfunctional I want to frame it and hang it on my wall.

Meanwhile, you guys in the comments are like "show us Jeon's POV!" and I'm over here like "fine, take his whole entire trauma-riddled brain, are you happy now?!" The answer is yes, you're all trauma vultures just like me. No shame in our game.

I had so much fun writing the shooting range scene though! That whole "let me adjust your stance" trope where they're basically just looking for an excuse to touch you? ICONIC. I will never get tired of it. Sue me.

And don't even get me started on that dinner scene. Jeon actually eating with another human being and not hating it? CHARACTER GROWTH, PEOPLE!

Sorry for leaving you hanging with the spicy bits but... actually no, I'm not sorry at all. The slow boil to explosion is the best part and I'm savoring every moment of your collective suffering (◕‿◕✿)

See you next chapter, you magnificent disaster enablers!

⚔ socials ⚔

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tumblr/twitter: @jungkoode

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾ ⋆⁺₊⋆ ☁︎

"Again, Jeon?"

J-Hope's voice hits him as soon as he walks in, but Jungkook can't bring himself to care. His body feels heavy, mind foggy with exhaustion.

The medical ward has become too familiar lately—the sharp smell of antiseptic, the soft hum of medical equipment, the way the afternoon light filters through the blinds.

He grunts in response, already making his way to his usual spot. The stretcher's not comfortable, not really, but it's better than lying awake in his own bed.

"You can't come here every afternoon, you know. I have shit to do and your snoring is not precisely helpful."

Jungkook almost rolls his eyes. He doesn't snore—never has—but arguing takes energy he doesn't have.

"Then put some background music."

"You—"

He doesn't wait for J-Hope to finish, just rolls onto the stretcher, facing the wall. The vinyl covering is cool against his arm, and somehow it's grounding... perhaps in a way he doesn't want to examine too closely.

"Are you for real right now? This is the third day in a row you're taking a nap in my office."

"You said yourself I should nap from time to time." His voice comes out muffled, face half-pressed into the thin pillow.

"Yes, but not in my goddamn office!"

The silence that follows is heavy.

He can picture J-Hope without looking—probably pinching the bridge of his nose, that look of exasperated concern he gets whenever Jeon's being particularly difficult. He hears the medic's chair creak as he leans back.

"Look, Jungkook." The use of his real name makes something in his chest tighten. J-Hope only uses it when he's about to say something Jungkook won't like. "I don't wanna be the one saying this to you, but you need to get your shit together."

"Well I am trying to fall asleep right now." The deflection is weak and they both know it.

"That is not what I mean you dimwit." There's that familiar mix of frustration and worry in J-Hope's voice. "Believe me, I'm glad you're finally trying to get some proper rest. But this—in my office? Just why."

Jungkook quiet, hoping J-Hope will drop it. He doesn't want to think about why he keeps coming here, why his own room feels too empty, too quiet. Why he can't sleep unless he can hear someone else breathing nearby.

(He definitely doesn't want to think about how he slept better in that tent, with y—)

"Jungkook."

Not his real name again.

Something in him snaps.

"Fine. I don't fucking know, okay?" The words come out sharp, defensive. He glares at the wall like it's personally offended him. "I just seem to sleep better in company."

"In company?" He can hear J-Hope's brain working, trying to piece together this new information. "Okay, what—? Elaborate right now."

"No."

The word is final, heavy with all the things he refuses to say.

Like the nightmares that wake him up gasping. Or how silence fucking makes his skin crawl. Or how being alone with his thoughts is becoming unbearable.

About how he hasn't had a decent night's sleep since—

"Whose company, Jungkook? This isn't about little bed-hopping habits, is it?"

It's offensive, the question, really.

But all he does is stare at the wall, trying to ignore how his mind immediately conjures up images of you. Of how he actually slept through the night in that tent.

No nightmares, no cold sweats. Just... sleep.

Four fucking years of insomnia, and the solution was this s̶t̶u̶p̶i̶d̶ simple?

"No, it's not." His fingers curl into a fist against the stretcher, leather creaking under fingers—and the sound grates on his nerves, already frayed from lack of sleep. "I ain't talking about it. Drop it, Hoseok."

Using J-Hope's real name now is a low blow, but Jungkook is too tired to care. He just wants to test his theory—see if sleeping near someone, anyone, will keep the nightmares at bay. He doesn't need J-Hope playing therapist, doesn't need him picking apart why this might be working.

Because that would mean thinking about you, about that night, about how for the first time in years he actually felt—

No.

"I'm your friend, Jungkook. And as a member of the Council of Nine, I have to know if anything... or anyone is becoming a weakness."

Jeon almost laughs.

A weakness? No. This isn't about feelings. This is about finally getting some fucking sleep without having to relive—

He cuts that thought off too. Focuses on the antiseptic smell of the medical ward, the equipment, anything but the memories threatening to surface.

J-Hope's concern is misplaced. This isn't about compromising the gang or breaking rules. It's about finding a solution to a problem that's been haunting him for four years.

So if sleeping near someone help? Fucking fine. He'll take what he can get.

Even if it pisses him off that it took this long to figure it out.

"There is no fucking weakness, you got that?" His eyes feel like lead weights in his skull. "I just need some goddamn sleep. I've gotta be sharp for the mission. That's all you need to know."

He can feel J-Hope's eyes on him, searching for cracks where light would shine through.

There's none.

It's been a long time since there's none.

But the medic knows too much, has seen too much. Was there that night when everything went to shit, when V—

"And after the mission? What then? You keep coming back here for your afternoon siestas or are you gonna be sleeping with that company?"

The implication slices through without sugarcoating. There's another word hovering in the air between them, pressing down on the air like a goddamn vacuum.

Traitor.

It sits there like poison, like the taste of copper in his mouth from that night.

Jeon pushes himself up, muscles tense, anger corroding his veins. His head is pounding from lack of sleep, making everything sharper, harder to control.

"I'll deal with it when it comes. Besides, who the fuck will notice? You gonna bitch about it to the rest of the crew?"

"Watch it, Kook." The use of his nickname is a warning, one that would mean more if he wasn't so fucking tired. "I'm trying to help you, not rat you out. But if you become a liability..."

"I ain't no fucking liability."

He's on his feet now, wrath burning through the exhaustion. His fists clench until he can feel his nails biting into his palms.

The suggestion that he'd risk the gang again, that he'd let himself be compromised like that... He does not appreciate it.

It makes something dark and ugly twist in his chest.

"You think I don't know the stakes? You think I'd let myself become another Sylvia episode?"

"Surely you're more intelligent than that."

The words hit exactly where J-Hope means them to. Because yeah, everyone thought he was intelligent back then too. Look how that turned out.

Jungkook holds J-Hope's gaze, something ugly settling in his chest.

For a moment, he considers telling him about you, about this arrangement that's purely physical—no strings, no complications, just a solution to his sleepless nights.

But the words catch in his throat. Because J-Hope isn't just asking for himself, is he? He's asking for AD too. AD, who still carries Sylvia's ghost like an open wound, who took her death even harder than he did.

Who trusted her, protected her, only to watch her choose Jungkook—and then watch her die for that choice.

The guilt sits like lead in his stomach. He can't do that to AD again. Can't make him watch from the sidelines as another woman gets tangled up with Jungkook, always wondering if history's about to repeat itself.

The weight of Sylvia's death is still a chain around his neck, dragging him down every time he closes his eyes.

So he swallows the truth, lets it burn on its way down. This thing with you—he'll handle it himself. Keep it contained. Control it before it becomes something he can't take back.

His face settles into careful blankness as he meets J-Hope's searching look.

"I fucking am. I don't need your nagging."

It's not even a lie. This isn't like Sylvia. He won't let it be. You're different—safer. You know exactly what this is.

"You sure you don't?" J-Hope's voice rises. "Because from what I recall, you've been a messy piece of shit ever since she's gone."

Something dark and ugly coils in Jeon's chest. "Watch how you sling that shit at me, J-Hope."

"Keeping an eye on it, always. Seems we all gotta tiptoe with our words 'round you, huh? Drop one mention of her, and you're all about throwing punches, no thoughts, just rage. Done you a lick of good, has it?"

"Shut your mouth!"

The words rip out of him before he can stop them, raw and ragged.

Because J-Hope's right, and that's what makes it hurt so much.

Four years, and he still can't hear her name without feeling like he's drowning in it all over again.

"Pull yourself together, Jeon!" J-Hope's voice cracks with frustration. "You've been haunted by those fucking nightmares since she died, and now what? Using someone else's body to quiet them down? Jumping from one disaster straight into another and expecting me to just watch?"

Jungkook's eyes feel like they're burning. "No one's asking for your fucking two cents. Always sticking your nose where it doesn't belong."

He wants J-Hope to hit him, to hate him, to stop looking at him with that mix of concern and disappointment.

So his next words are not something he's proud of. But something he feels he needs to do.

"Why don't you go find a bottle to crawl into?"

It's a low blow, and he knows it. Watches J-Hope's hand shake, sees the muscle jump in his jaw.

"Don't you fucking go there, Jeon." The warning in his voice is clear. "I see what you're doing—spiraling because you're losing control. But I'm not playing that game. I'm not V."

"Right, you're not." Jeon's laugh is hollow, bitter. "At least that bastard's honest about not giving a fuck about anyone but himself."

"Jesus fuck, Jeon. You're not the only one carrying shit, you know that?" J-Hope's laugh is all broken glass. "Is that what you want? Me to knock your teeth in? You think that'll fix whatever's going on in that fucked-up head of yours?"

"Whatever. I don't give a shit."

"Yeah, keep telling yourself that. Maybe one day you'll actually believe it. Pushing everyone away—that's about the only thing you're good at anymore."

"Don't need anyone. Do just fine on my own."

"Really?" J-Hope's voice is sarcasm. "That why you're trying to sleep in my fucking office?"

"Fucking hell, man. Just drop it and let me rest. I'm not digging into your shit, am I? Let me handle mine." His voice comes out raw, desperate, and he hates it.

"You might not see it, but some of us actually give a shit about you, you stubborn asshole." J-Hope's voice softens, and that's worse somehow. "I might share that council seat with you, but I'm also your friend—whether you like it or not. I'm worried, okay? This isn't how you deal with your demons."

Jeon closes his eyes, exhaustion settling into his bones. "Maybe it's exactly how I deal with them."

Maybe he deserves them.

He doesn't say that.

"It's a shit way of dealing with anything, Jungkook." The softness bleeds out of J-Hope's voice, and something in Jeon's chest loosens.

Anger he can handle.

Concern?

That's harder to dodge.

"Fuck, I'm not watching you spiral down that rabbit hole again. You can hate me all you want, but I won't stand here and watch you self-destruct. Not a second time."

"I get it. Like I said—not your cross to bear."

Jungkook can feel J-Hope's eyes on him, cutting through his bullshit like always.

"Fine, Kook. Hoard your secrets. But the moment it fucks with the mission, you're answering to me—and the Council."

Jeon knows that tone. It's not just a threat—it's a lifeline J-Hope's throwing him, begging him to get his shit together before everything falls apart.

The anger sits like acid in his chest, but he swallows it down.

This isn't about him and J-Hope anymore. This is about the mission. About the gang. About not letting his f̶e̶e̶l̶i̶n̶g̶s̶ weakness compromise everything like last time.

"Got it," he mutters, dropping back onto the stretcher and turning to face the wall. The stone is cold against his face, grounding in its indifference.

Behind him, J-Hope's chair scrapes against the floor as he turns back to his work. The sound is harsh, angry.

But it's okay if he's angry. Better that than worried. Better that than watching Jeon like he's a bomb about to go off.

"Fucking Sylvia," J-Hope mutters.

Then, silence drops.

For all his crankiness, J-Hope won't kick him out. Can't, maybe, because under all that anger is the same guy who dragged Jeon's drunk ass home after Sylvia, who patched him up when he picked fights he knew he'd lose.

J-Hope's right to be worried—secrets in Kkangpae have a way of turning lethal. One wrong move, one slip, and everything goes up in flames.

Again.

(But this thing with you isn't like Sylvia. It isn't. He just needs to figure out how to sleep through the night without—)

Jeon closes his eyes, lets the antiseptic smell of the medical ward fill his lungs.

Maybe if he lies here long enough, sleep will finally come.

Maybe this time, he won't dream.

𝚂𝚑𝚘𝚘𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚛𝚘𝚘𝚖 𝚒𝚗 𝟻. 𝚃𝚑𝚒𝚛𝚍 𝚏𝚕𝚘𝚘𝚛.

The message glares at you from your phone screen, all business and no explanation. Typical Jeon.

𝙹𝚎𝚘𝚗?

．．．

𝘚𝘦𝘦𝘯

Great. He's seen it and can't be bothered to reply. Fantastic.

You stare at your phone, trying to will a response into existence. Nothing. Just that stupid "seen" mocking you. It's like talking to a brick wall, except the wall probably has better communication skills.

Jeon and his one-word texts. The man's got a gift for saying absolutely nothing while still managing to ruin your plans. You had a whole evening of doing absolutely nothing planned, and now? Now you're apparently going to the shooting range. Yay!

You toss your phone onto the bed; angry, petty. It bounces once, screen still lit up with Jeon's oh-so-eloquent message. His profile pic is just a blank space. Of course it is. God forbid he show an actual human emotion. Or, you know, a face.

With a sigh that could probably be heard three floors down, you drag yourself to the bathroom. For once, it's empty. Small mercies, right?

You tie your hair back into a ponytail, all business. Can't have stray hairs getting in the way when you're handling firearms. That's a safety hazard or whatever. Plus, you know Jeon would probably lecture you about it.

Mr. Safety-First-Unless-It's-About-Emotions.

The mirror shows you a face that's equal parts annoyed and resigned.

This is your life now—dropping everything because Jeon decided to grace you with a whole six words. Six! He's feeling chatty today.

You stare at your reflection, wondering for the millionth time how you ended up here. Not just in a gang, but at Jeon's beck and call. The man's like a black hole—impossible to ignore, drawing you in whether you like it or not.

(You like it. You hate that you like it.)

Time to go play with guns, apparently. Because nothing says "fun night out" like potential bullet wounds and Jeon's silent judgment.

This better be good, you think. But with Jeon? It's always a toss-up between mind-blowing and mind-numbing.

Guess you'll find out which one it is tonight.

You finish tying your hair back and grab your phone, typing out a quick message to Yunjin. Your fingers hover over the keys for a second because ugh. You were actually looking forward to dinner with her.

𝙲𝚊𝚗'𝚝 𝚖𝚊𝚔𝚎 𝚍𝚒𝚗𝚗𝚎𝚛. 𝙶𝚘𝚝 𝚌𝚊𝚕𝚕𝚎𝚍 𝚝𝚘 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚜𝚑𝚘𝚘𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚛𝚘𝚘𝚖. 𝚁𝚊𝚒𝚗𝚌𝚑𝚎𝚌𝚔?

The card reader beeps when you swipe your ID, sound echoing through the empty hallway like some ominous warning bell.

The elevator ride feels like you're being delivered to your doom, each floor passing with total indifference to your impending crisis.

Ding.

Third floor. You step out into a corridor that feels way too quiet. Your sneakers barely make any noise against the floor, which just makes your heartbeat sound louder in your ears.

You reach the shooting range and—because you're not a complete idiot—you don't just barge in. Instead, you peek through the reinforced glass window like some s̶t̶a̶l̶k̶e̶r̶ cautious person.

And fuck.

There he is, in his own little world of violence.

He's wearing his usual dark t-shirt, fabric's stretched across his shoulders in a way that's honestly unfair for every other man. His combat pants are doing that thing where they show off every muscle without being obvious about it, and his boots are planted like he owns the ground he's standing on.

He hasn't spotted you yet. He's too focused on the gun in his hands, handling it with the kind of familiarity that reminds you he does this for a living. The protective gear—ear muffs and glasses—should make him look dorky, but nope. In your brain that simply catalogs as hot.

Each shot he fires is like... well, it's like watching someone who knows what they're doing. Which, you suppose, makes sense.

The recoil doesn't even phase him—his body just absorbs it like it's nothing. Spent casings hit the floor with little metallic pings, and you find yourself weirdly fascinated by the way his fingers adjust on the grip between shots.

(You're definitely not thinking about what else those fingers can do. Absolutely not. That would be unprofessional.)

You watch him reload—movements quick and methodical—like he could do this in his sleep. Probably has, honestly. This is Jeon's comfort zone, after all.

You step inside, and it hits you again how different the air feels in here. Smelling like gunpowder and that underlying tension that always shows up when you're around him.

Jeon doesn't turn around, too focused on whatever target he's destroying. You can't help the little smirk that tugs at your lips because finally—a chance to catch Mr. Perfect off guard. He's so zeroed in on his shooting that he might actually not notice you for once.

(You should know better by now, but hope springs eternal or whatever.)

Your sneakers don't make a sound on the rubber floor as you creep closer. You're already planning it—maybe a sudden clap, or yelling his name. Something to make him jump, even just a little. The thought sends this weird thrill through you, like you're about to get away with something.

You take a deep breath, ready to execute your master plan, when—

"Don't even think about it."

Motherfucker.

He doesn't even turn around. Doesn't move a muscle. Just keeps standing there like some statue of Perfect Shooting Form, and you can hear the smirk in his voice.

It's not fair how he does that—makes you feel like you're being predictable without even looking at you.

"You got radar in your head, or what?" you ask, trying to play it off like you weren't just caught being an absolute child.

Your voice comes out light, playful, which feels kind of wrong in a room designed for practicing how to kill people efficiently. But that's kind of your whole thing with Jeon, isn't it? Finding these little moments of tomfoolery in between all the violence and duty.

Sometimes you wonder if he lets you get away with it because he needs those moments too.

Jeon turns around, and as usual, there's this look in his eyes. Could be the fluorescent lights, could be him being a smug bastard.

He sets down his gun with this final-sounding click that somehow makes the room feel too quiet.

"Let's just say I've got a good sense of when someone's lurking in my blind spot."

The corner of his mouth twitches, and you're starting to think he practices that almost-smirk in the mirror.

You watch as he moves to the gun rack, all fluid movements. He picks out this pristine semi-automatic that gleams under the shitty range lights like it's showing off.

"Come on." His voice drops the playful edge. "If we're going to have your back in the field, you need to be able to hold your own. No hesitation this time."

This time.

The words bring back memories of your first shooting lesson with him—how your hands shook, how the gun felt too heavy with the weight of what it could do. You weren't ready then.

But now, with this mission hanging over your heads like a guillotine, you don't have the luxury of not being ready.

You step forward, closing the gap between you. When he hands you the gun, his fingers brush against yours, and even that tiny contact sends electricity up your arm. The metal's cold against your palm, but you grip it like you mean it. Like you're not thinking about how those same hands felt on your skin just days ago.

"Good." He nods, and something warm unfurls in your chest at his approval. "First, your stance—it's all about balance. Feet shoulder-width apart, one foot slightly ahead of the other."

You follow his instructions, hyper-aware of his eyes on you. It feels like being under a microscope, but like, a really hot microscope that you maybe want to kiss again.

You plant your feet, trying to look like you know what you're doing.

"Now, grip. Not too tight—imagine holding someone's hand. Firm, but you're not trying to crush it."

He moves closer, and suddenly the air feels thicker. His comparison makes your brain short-circuit because now all you can think about is holding hands, which leads to thinking about holding other things, which—yeah, nope.

Can't think about that. Not while you're holding a deadly weapon.

His hands come up to adjust your grip, and it should be clinical. Professional.

But there's this undercurrent of something between you, like static electricity looking for a place to ground itself. Like every little touch is loaded with meaning.

You find your rhythm with the breathing, in and out, as Jeon steps back to give you space. He's watching you with that unreadable expression of his, but his eyes are intense, like he's trying to will you into not fucking this up.

"Align the sights." His voice drops low, and fuck, it shouldn't affect you when he's teaching you how to shoot people. "Focus on the front sight—everything else is just background noise. Breathe in, breathe out, and on the exhale—that's when you squeeze the trigger."

You narrow your eyes, zeroing in on the target downrange.

It's not just a paper outline anymore—it's a test.

Another thing you need to prove you can handle in this life you've chosen.

You let out a slow breath, and with it goes some of that nervous energy that's been making your hands shake.

Right now it's just you, the gun, and this need to show Jeon—and yourself—that you're not out of your depth here. That you belong in this world of his, even if it's just at the edges.

The shot cracks through the air like a whip, and the recoil hits your palms. It's jarring but real, solid proof that you're actually doing this. That you're becoming whatever it is you need to be to survive in Kkangpae.

Jeon gives you this little nod, like yeah, okay, maybe you're not completely hopeless. But then—oh. Then his mouth does this thing, curling up at the corners into what might be the most dangerous smile you've ever seen.

"Good job."

Two. Words.

Just two fucking words, but the way he says them—all low and pleased—makes heat pool in your stomach.

It's not fair how he can do that, turn a simple phrase into something that feels like innuendo, voice wrapping around you like smoke, seeping into places it has no business being.

You're starting to think weapons training with Jeon might be hazardous to your mental health. And not for the obvious reasons.

Because the fucker is not just hot—though fuck, he absolutely is—he's something else entirely.

The way he handles a weapon, the easy confidence, how he makes everything look so effortless? It's doing things to you. Things that have nothing to do with training and everything to do with how his hands looked wrapped around that gun.

"Let's try again. This time, focus on consistency. You want to be able to replicate that shot every time."

He moves behind you, and suddenly breathing becomes severely underrated.

You try to focus on the target, but your brain's too busy cataloging every tiny detail—how his breath stirs the baby hairs at your nape, the way his chest is just shy of brushing against your back.

You take a deep breath to steady yourself, but that's a mistake because now all you can smell is him.

Pine and wood and leather.

Jeon.

The gun feels heavy in your hands as you line up another shot, and your attention is split between the target downrange and the way Jeon's presence seems to fill up all the space around you.

The shot immediately cracks through the air, perfect center mass.

You should feel proud—and you do—but mostly you're trying not to think about how close he is, how easy it would be to lean back just a little...

Because you know he's all business, laser-focused on getting you ready for the mission. Completely professional. But there are these tiny tells—the way his fingers linger when he adjusts your stance, how his eyes sometimes drift from the target to your face, staying just a second too long.

It's driving you insane.

Like there's this invisible line neither of you is willing to cross first, even though you both know exactly where this tension is heading.

You've been there before, after all. That night in his tent wasn't that long ago.

You lower the gun, trying to ignore how your hands are shaking—partly from adrenaline, mostly from something else.

The way Jeon's looking at you right now.

"Just like that. Keep it up."

You manage a nod because words? Not happening. Your throat's too dry, and honestly, you're afraid of what might come out if you open your mouth.

Another shot rings out, and you can't help wondering if Jeon feels it too. This crackling tension that makes your skin feel too tight. Or maybe you're just losing it, getting all hot and bothered over a man who's literally just teaching you how to shoot people.

"Reload. Keep your focus sharp."

He hands you a fresh magazine, and your fingers brush against his again—and honestly?

This isn't fair.

You're supposed to be learning important gang shit here, not mentally cataloging how good his hands feel.

Your brain keeps replaying every tiny touch, every moment his body was pressed against yours while "correcting your stance."

Which, by the way? Totally unnecessary.

You're pretty sure proper shooting form doesn't require his chest being that close to your back.

Focus, you tell yourself. You're here to learn how to handle a weapon, not daydream about handling... other things.

You need to prove you belong here, that you're more than just another recruit who can't keep it in their pants around the hot Chief.

(Even if said Chief is making it really hard to think straight right now.)

You grip the gun tighter, channeling all that frustrated energy into your next shot. The bang echoes through the range, and you pretend it drowns out the voice in your head that keeps suggesting alternative uses for this private training session.

The magazine clicks into place with maybe more force than necessary, but whatever. You're determined to get through this without embarrassing yourself. More shots follow, each one a desperate attempt to focus on anything except how good Jeon looks when he's in instructor mode.

(It's not working, but at least you're hitting the target.)

You're about to take another shot when something catches your eye.

Jeon looks... off.

There are shadows under his eyes that makeup can't hide, and his movements are slower than usual.

Most people wouldn't notice, but you've been trained to spot weaknesses.

"You look like shit."

The words slip out before your brain can filter them. Because you're such a professional, apparently. But now that you've started digging this hole, might as well keep going.

"When's the last time you actually slept?"

Dark eyes snap to yours, and you swear something raw flutters behind his eyelashes. Doesn't last long-as never anything really does with him. The walls come slamming back up.

"I'm fine."

His tone screams drop it; the voice in your head screams 'don't.'

Good thing you've always been good at hearing yourself first.

Besides, this isn't exclusively about him anymore.

You set the gun down, turning to face him fully. "Look, I get it—we all have our shit. But if you're walking around half-dead, that's not just your problem. That's how people end up getting killed."

He gives you a death stare, and you're pretty sure he's about to pull rank and shut this conversation down. But then he exhales, and something in his posture just... gives.

"Insomnia's an old friend." An admission that comes out rough, like he had to force the words past his defenses. "Been dealing with it for years. It doesn't affect my work."

"Bullshit." You shouldn't push, but your mouth's apparently on autopilot today. "You slept fine in the tent—"

His eyes narrow, and okay, maybe that was too far. But you're not wrong. You remember how peaceful he looked that morning, no trace of the tension that's radiating off him now.

"That was different."

His voice drops low, warning you away from this topic.

But there's something else there too—like maybe he's trying to convince himself more than you.

He doesn't deny it though.

So you nod, letting the subject drop. But you tuck that little piece of information away like a secret—Jeon sleeps better when he's not alone. When he's with you, specifically. You're not sure what to do with that knowledge yet, but it feels important somehow.

Silence falls. You turn back to the range because it's easier than trying to decode whatever's happening here.

The gun in your hands is simple, straightforward. Point, shoot, repeat. No complicated feelings or midnight revelations to deal with.

You cycle through the weapons Jeon's laid out, each one different but serving the same purpose. Pistols feel natural now, like they belong in your grip. Shotguns still kick like a mule, but you're getting better at handling them. Each shot echoes through the room, filling the space where words should be.

It becomes almost meditative after a while. Load, aim, breathe, squeeze. The routine helps quiet your mind, pushes away thoughts of Jeon and sleep and whatever's going on in that cold brain of his.

You're here to learn how to stay alive, not psychoanalyze your Chief's sleeping habits.

When you switch to the rifle, you can't help sneaking a look at him. He's lurking in the shadows like some kind of sexy gargoyle, watching your every move. Even exhausted, he's still intimidating as hell.

But there's something different about him now—like seeing him tired makes him more... real. Less Chief of Tactical Assassinations, more just Jeon.

The rifle's recoil brings you back to reality. You line up another shot, remembering everything he's taught you.

Breathe in, hold, squeeze, exhale. The bullets hit close together, forming a tight group that would definitely ruin someone's day. Jeon gives you this tiny nod that shouldn't make your stomach flip, but it does anyway.

The sun's starting to set, painting the room in long shadows. Empty casings litter the floor around your feet like tiny brass confessions. Neither of you has said much, but somehow it's not uncomfortable.

You've learned two things today: how to shoot better, and that Jeon trusts you enough to show you some of his cracks, even if he doesn't mean to.

You're not sure which lesson is more dangerous.

(Probably the second one.)

You start packing up, going through the familiar motions of cleaning and storing the weapons.

"It's getting late," you say, mostly to break the silence.

When you turn around, Jeon's standing there with his arms crossed, staring at nothing. Or maybe at something only he can see. He doesn't react to your voice, like he's been aware of every move you've made since you started cleaning up.

The lighting in here is shit, but it's not bad enough to hide how exhausted he looks. The shadows under his eyes are getting deeper, more obvious. You think about what J-Hope would say if he saw Jeon like this—probably something cranky and concerned wrapped in medical jargon.

"If it helps," you start carefully, like you're approaching a wild animal, "we can sleep together again. No bullshit—just sleep. Seems like you could use it."

For a second, his face goes completely blank. It's that perfect mask he wears when he's processing something he doesn't want to deal with.

Then—there.

His shoulders drop just a fraction, like someone's loosened a wire.

"I don't need charity."

The words come out defensive, but they're missing that sharp edge he usually uses to keep people at a distance. You recognize deflection when you hear it—you work in the Seduction Division, after all.

"It's not charity." You click the last weapon case shut, buying time to choose your next words carefully. "Consider it... part of our arrangement. We're no good to each other tense or half-awake."

The silence stretches out so long you start to wonder if you've fucked up. Maybe you pushed too far, got too personal. But then he nods, just barely, like he's trying to convince himself he's not giving in to anything.

"I'll think about it."

His voice is gruff, but there's something else there—a hint of relief, maybe. Like you've given him permission to want something he thinks he shouldn't. You pretend not to notice how his eyes linger on you as you finish packing up, like he's already made up his mind but isn't ready to admit it yet.

You glance at the clock, and shit—it's really fucking late. The castle gets quiet around this time, most people already finished with dinner or working night shifts.

Speaking of dinner... you were supposed to meet Yunjin, but someone had to drag you to impromptu target practice.

A thought hits you, and you can't help the little smile that tugs at your lips. It's probably stupid, definitely pushing your luck, but...

"By the way," you say, closing the weapons case with a satisfying click. "Since it's already so late... How about grabbing some dinner together at the cafeteria?"

Jeon looks at you like you've just suggested robbing a bank in your underwear.

There's this tiny flicker of surprise in his eyes that would be funny if it wasn't kind of sad. Like the concept of eating with someone is completely foreign to him.

"Dinner? I eat alone."

His voice is flat, but it's as though he's actually considering it, even if he'd rather die than admit it.

"I know, but it's late." You shrug, going for casual even though your heart's doing this weird skippy thing. "Few people will be there, and I had plans that got... rearranged."

You give him a pointed look because hey, this is technically his fault.

"Don't feel like eating by myself."

He stares at you for what feels like forever, face doing that blank thing he does when he's processing something unexpected. Then his mouth quirks up at the corner.

"I don't usually do dinner dates."

You actually laugh at that. "You wish.Think of it as a tactical debriefing over food. Can't strategize on an empty stomach, can we?"

His smirk gets a fraction wider—the Jeon equivalent of a full grin. It's rare to see him look actually amused, and something warm unfurls in your chest at being the cause.

"Tactical debriefing, huh? That's a new one."

"Come on, Jeon. It's just dinner." You try to sound nonchalant, like you're not weirdly invested in his answer. "Besides, you're probably starving after all that shooting."

He does that thing where he goes all still, like he's running risk assessments in his head.

Finally, he nods. "Alright, but this isn't a habit we're starting."

"Of course not, you have a reputation to maintain, thundercloud."

You can't help the smirk as you head for the door. The nickname slips out before you can catch it, but whatever. You're already in deep.

"Not like anybody would believe you anyway, sunshine." He rolls his eyes, but follows you out.

The way he says sunshine—like it's both an insult and something else—makes your stomach do a little flip. But you're not going to think about that.

This is just dinner. Just two gang members having a totally normal, professional meal together.

The walk to the cafeteria is weirdly peaceful.

Neither of you says anything, but it's not that awkward silence that makes you want to crawl out of your skin.

It's just... quiet. Your brain's still processing everything—the training, the arrangement, the fact that you're actually going to dinner with Jeon of all people.

The cafeteria's practically empty when you walk in. Just a few night owls scattered around, most of them looking like they're running on coffee and spite.

It's nice, though. No curious eyes, no whispers. Just the soft hum of the air conditioning and the distant clink of dishes.

The buffet spread looks like heaven. Your stomach reminds you that you haven't eaten since lunch, growling at the sight of steaming bulgogi and kimchi jjigae. The castle chefs don't mess around—everything looks magazine-worthy, even at this hour.

You load up your tray like you're preparing for hibernation: bulgogi because duh, japchae because the noodles here are actually insane, kimchi fried rice because comfort food is a thing, and those spicy braised potatoes that make your mouth water just looking at them.

Jeon, for his part, goes straight for the protein—galbi ribs, bibimbap loaded with meat, and bossam like he's got something to prove.

You're about to head for a table when you catch him adding even more bulgogi to his already meat-heavy tray.

"Got enough protein there?" You can't help the teasing tone. "Or are you planning to feed a small army?"

Jeon's mouth does that thing where he's trying not to smile but failing.

"I need to keep up my strength." His eyes flick to yours, dark. "Never know when I might need to pin a smartass against a wall."

The laugh that escapes you is only partly nervous. You lead the way to a corner table, far from the few other diners. It feels weirdly intimate, having dinner with someone who usually eats alone.

The food works its magic. You feel the day's tension melting away with each bite, and even Jeon looks more relaxed. That permanent frown he carries around is smoothing out as he tackles his galbi like it's his division's target.

"Holy shit, this is good," you mumble around a mouthful of noodles.

The chefs here could probably work in any five-star restaurant, but instead they're cooking for a bunch of criminals. Life's weird like that.

Jeon makes this little grunt of agreement, cheeks full like a hamster's. He swallows before speaking because apparently assassins have table manners.

"Only decent perk of this place."

You fall into comfortable silence after that, both focused on demolishing your food.

It's strange how normal this feels—just two people sharing dinner, like you don't kill people for a living, like you haven't had your hands all over each other hours ago.

"That rifle technique you used today was solid. Got good instincts."

Coming from Jeon, that's practically a love letter. You hide your smile behind another bite of food, but can't resist poking the bear.

"Well, I have a good teacher. Even if his people skills need work."

He snorts, stabbing another piece of meat with maybe more force than necessary.

"I don't coddle. You get better by doing, not talking."

"True, but positive reinforcement helps too." You gesture with your chopsticks. "I'm only human, thundercloud."

The look he gives you could melt steel. One eyebrow goes up, and there's something dangerous playing at the corners of his mouth.

"Hmmm. Almost sounds like you want to be coddled, sunshine."

The way he says it makes heat pool in your stomach. Because that wasn't about teaching at all, was it?

You laugh to cover the way your breath catches. "In your dreams, Jeon."

You ball up your napkin and throw it at him, which he catches without even looking because of coursehe does.

Show-off.

"Still," he says, ruining the moment like he's allergic to peace, "your reaction time needs work."

"I'll keep practicing." You shrug, aiming for casual. "Can't have you worrying about me in the field."

"Who said anything about worrying?" But his eyes give him away—that split-second flicker before his face goes blank again.

"Oh please." You wave your chopsticks at him. "You were watching me like a hawk in there. Probably counting my breaths or something equally anal-retentive."

He just shakes his head, suddenly very interested in his food. But you're on a roll now, feeling brave or stupid or both.

"Admit it, you care about my progress." You lean forward, grinning. "It's almost sweet."

Jeon looks up then, and oh. His gaze is intense.

"I care about not getting shot because you can't handle your weapon, sunshine."

You can't help yourself. Really, you can't. "Mhm? Thought I was getting better at handling weapons, thundercloud."

His lips twitch, just barely, but you catch it. It's fascinating, really, how you've somehow stumbled into this easy back-and-forth with him. How beneath all his sharp edges and your sass, there's this... thing.

This rhythm that shouldn't work but does.

Dinner's winding down, and you notice something different about Jeon. The tension he usually carries—the one that makes him look like he's ready to snap someone's neck at any moment—has eased up. Even his face looks softer, less murder-y than usual.

"This was... not terrible," he says, like admitting it physically pains him. His eyes meet yours across the table. "The food, the company... both exceeded my low expectations."

"Oh my god." You press a hand to your chest, going for maximum drama. "Was that a compliment? Should I call J-Hope? Are you feeling okay?"

He snorts, and there's this little uptick at the corner of his mouth that you're starting to recognize as his version of a smile.

"Yeah, yeah. Don't get used to it."

"Too late." You stand up, gathering your plates. "I expect this level of praise at every meal now. Maybe we can work up to actual sentences by next week."

"Don't push your luck, sunshine." But he's still got that almost-smile as he gets up too.

"I mean, you already admitted you don't hate my company. That's practically a love confession by your standards."

Jeon shakes his head, but there's something soft in his eyes.

"You're really something else, you know that?"

"So I've been told."

You drop off your dishes, and both head for the elevator, falling into comfortable silence.

You reach for the elevator buttons, aiming for the fourth floor where your room is. But Jeon's arm suddenly appears in your peripheral vision, his chest almost brushing your back as he leans forward. There's this tiny pause—blink and you'd miss it—before he hits the button for the fifth floor instead.

You turn your head just enough to catch his eye, raising an eyebrow. No words needed.

You both know what this is: him taking you up on that offer to help him sleep. Simple as that. Like picking up takeout or scheduling target practice.

The elevator starts moving, and holy shit why is it so slow? The silence should be awkward, but it's not.

Maybe because you both know exactly what this is. No bullshit, no complications. Just sleep. Like you said in the training room—you're no good to each other half-dead from exhaustion.

It's probably stupid, spending the night with your Chief. But you've already crossed that line in his tent, and honestly? If sleeping next to you helps with his insomnia, then whatever.

You're already fuck buddies—might as well be helpful ones.

The doors finally open to the fifth floor, and Jeon steps back. He's giving you space, making it clear this is your call. Which is... weirdly considerate, actually. You step out because why not? This isn't some dramatic decision. It's practical. Logical, even.

The walk to his room feels longer than it should. Your feet are dragging because yeah, you're fucking tired. Today's been a whole thing—training, dinner, and now this weird arrangement that somehow makes perfect sense.

Jeon stops at his door, giving you one last look. Checking if you're sure, probably. You nod because duh. This isn't complicated. You're both adults who sometimes fuck and apparently now sometimes sleep (just sleep) together.

The door clicks shut behind you, and you get your first look at Jeon's private space.

So this is where the Chief of Tactical Assassinations sleeps. You can't help but snoop—it's basically in your job description as a member of Seduction Division.

The room is... exactly what you'd expect from Jeon, honestly. It's like someone took his personality and turned it into interior design.

Everything's black, white, or gray, like he's allergic to color. It matches his whole aesthetic—the guy who sees the world in shades of gray, making calls about who lives and who dies. Maybe the monochrome thing is some kind of metaphor. Or maybe he just really likes black.

There's this massive king-sized bed against one wall, all black sheets and dark gray duvet. The bed's made diligently, but you can see the slight wrinkles that mean he's actually slept in it. Unlike some people who just have fancy beds for show.

Next to it is this super minimal nightstand with just a lamp and—oh. An ashtray. Right. His stress-smoking habit.

The furniture could be from one of those fancy minimalist catalogs. Everything's black wood, clean lines, no fuss. There's a dresser that probably holds his endless supply of black t-shirts, a desk that looks barely used, and a chair that seems more decorative than functional.

What really gets you is how empty it is. No photos, no personal stuff, nothing that says "someone actually lives here."

It's like a really expensive prison cell or one of those model rooms in furniture stores.

You spot a door that has to lead to a private bathroom, and fuck, that's not fair. You're sharing a bathroom with like five other girls while Mr. Chief here gets his own shower? The perks of rank, you guess.

The floor's spotless—like, you could probably eat off it. Not a speck of dust anywhere. The whole place is as buttoned-up as Jeon himself, like maybe if he keeps everything perfectly ordered, the rest of his life will fall into line too.

"Well, it's very... you," you say, because what else can you say about a room that looks like it was decorated by a very organized ghost?

"I don't need anything else." He shrugs.

You hover by the bathroom door, suddenly feeling weirdly out of place. Being in Jeon's private space is... different. Not bad different, just different. Like seeing your teacher at the grocery store, except your teacher is a hot assassin you occasionally fuck.

"Hey," you start, trying to sound casual, "mind if I grab a quick shower first? I always wash up before bed, especially after training." You scrunch your nose. "Pretty sure I don't smell like a spring meadow right now."

Jeon's eyebrow does that thing—that infuriating arch that makes you want to either kiss him or kick him.

"What, you saying I stink, sunshine?"

"We both worked up a sweat today, cloud." You roll your eyes, but you're fighting a smile. "No judgment, just stating facts."

He jerks his head toward the bathroom door. "Go ahead. Towels and shit are in there."

You can't help yourself—really, you can't. As you pass him, you throw out: "Maybe take a page from my book and grab one yourself after. You know, freshen up a bit."

The snort he lets out is almost a laugh. "Watch yourself. I don't take orders in my own quarters."

But his eyes are doing that thing where they get all dark and playful, and you know that look.

Intimately.

"Just a suggestion between... friends."

You draw out the last word, letting it hang there like bait. Because that's what you are now, right? Friends who sometimes sleep together. And sometimes fuck. But tonight's just for sleeping.

(Sure it is.)

"So pushy." His smirk should be illegal. "What, you wanna shower together now? Could've just asked, sunshine."

You roll your eyes because it's easier than admitting how tempting that sounds. "You wish, thundercloud. I can handle washing myself just fine."

You head for the bathroom, but pause at the door because apparently, you hate yourself.

Glancing back over your shoulder, you add: "But you know... my back is kind of hard to reach..."

"Nice try." His voice has dropped lower, rougher. "But we said only sleeping tonight. Go get cleaned up. I'll be here when you're done."

The way he says it—like a promise and a threat wrapped in one—makes you seriously reconsider this whole "just sleeping" thing.

The bathroom is exactly what you expected—black and white everything, minimalist as fuck. It's like the room outside but with more tiles and chrome.

You turn the shower on hot enough to steam up the mirrors and step under the spray, letting it pound against your shoulders.

The water pressure is amazing. Of course it is—Chief privileges and all that. Your shared bathroom on the fourth floor can barely manage a decent drizzle, but this? This is heaven.

You take your sweet time, enjoying the luxury of a private shower where no one's going to bang on the door telling you to hurry up.

When you finally emerge, wrapped in one of Jeon's obscenely fluffy black towels (seriously, where does he get these?), steam billows out behind you like you're making some dramatic entrance. Your hair's twisted up in another towel, water still dripping down your neck.

You feel Jeon's eyes on you before you see him. He's sitting on the edge of the bed, and the weight of his stare makes your skin prickle.

His face is doing that careful blank thing, but his eyes? They're giving him away.

"Shower's free," you say, aiming for casual even though the tension in the room is thick enough to choke on. "You know, if you want it."

He just makes this low humming sound that absolutely does not make heat pool in your stomach.

Instead of moving, he just... looks at you.

His eyes track down your body, slow and deliberate, like he's memorizing every inch.

Like he's thinking about what's under that towel.

You refuse to squirm under his gaze. Two can play this game.

"Like what you see?" You cock an eyebrow, channeling your inner seductress (which is technically your job, so).

His mouth curves into that dangerous almost-smirk. "Maybe I'm just waiting to see if you'll drop that towel."

"You wish."

You turn your back on him (which is definitely not just an excuse to give him a better view) and head for his dresser.

The drawers are organized because of course they are. You find his t-shirts, all neatly folded like some department store display.

"I'm borrowing this," you announce, grabbing a shirt that looks big enough to work as a dress. You glance over your shoulder, catching his eyes again. "Unless you'd prefer me naked?"

His smirk grows, and fuck, that should be illegal.

"Be my guest."

The invitation in his voice makes your skin feel too tight, but you're not giving in that easy. This is a game of chicken now, and you're not about to lose.

Even if losing sounds really, really tempting right now.

You unwind the towel from your hair and toss it at Jeon, aiming for his face but hitting his chest instead.

"Just sleeping, remember? Go shower."

The towel slides down his front, and you catch this tiny twitch at the corner of his mouth—like he wants to smile but his reputation won't let him.

He stands up in that way he does, all fluid grace and barely contained power. Without a word, he heads for the bathroom. The door clicks shut, and soon you hear water running.

You grab his brush (because of course he has one, Mr. Perfect Hair) and start working through your damp hair.

It's weirdly domestic, sitting here in Jeon's room, wearing his shirt, using his stuff. The brush is probably expensive—it glides through your hair like it's made of silk or something.

Speaking of his shirt... You pull it on, and fuck. It smells like him—pine, wood, and smoke.

The fabric drowns you, hanging off one shoulder, falling to mid-thigh. There's something stupidly thrilling about wearing his clothes, like you're getting away with something.

Once your hair's somewhat tamed, you twist it up into a bun. The mirror catches your eye—one of those full-length ones that probably cost more than your monthly salary. You can't help checking yourself out, tugging the shirt down a bit because apparently, you still have modesty or whatever.

That's when you see him in the reflection.

Oh.

Jeon's fresh out of the shower, water still beading on his chest, towel riding low on his hips like it's trying to start something. He's got another towel in his hands, drying his hair as he sits on the bed, but his eyes?

His eyes are locked on your ass like it's his favorite meal.

The mirror gives you a perfect view of his face, and holy shit. The way he's looking at you—it's not subtle. At all. His gaze is heavy, hungry, like he's thinking about all the ways this "just sleeping" arrangement could go very, very wrong.

(Or very, very right, depending on your perspective.)

The temperature in the room spikes, and it's definitely not from the shower steam. You can practically feel the heat of his stare through the mirror.

So much for keeping things platonic tonight. A smirk tugs at your lips as an idea forms. Because if Jeon wants to play this game?

Well, two can definitely play.

You reach up to your bun, pretending to mess with the hair tie.

Oops—it "accidentally" slips through your fingers, falling to the floor with a silent grace that would make your Seduction Division trainers proud.

"Oh no," you say, channeling your best innocent voice. The one that fools absolutely no one but works anyway. "How clumsy of me."

You turn your back to Jeon, and fuck, you can practically feel his eyes burning into you.

Bending down—slowly, because you're nothing if not thorough—you give him a view that you know from experience he can't resist. The borrowed shirt rides up just enough to be interesting.

You take your sweet time "looking" for the hair tie, even though you can see it right there. Your fingers trail across the floor like you're putting on a show, which... yeah, you absolutely are.

When you finally grab it, you throw a look over your shoulder.

Jackpot.

Dark, obscure eyes pin you in place. Absolutely hungry. You'd bet good money that towel isn't hiding much anymore.

"See something you like?" Your voice comes out honey-sweet, but there's nothing innocent about the way you're looking at him.

Before he can compose himself enough to answer, you straighten up and sashay over to the bed. The sway in your hips isn't natural, but who cares about natural when it makes Jeon's breath catch like that?

You slip under the sheets, turning away from him because you're evil like that. The mattress dips as he lies down next to you, and you have to bite back a smile.

"We should get some rest." You keep your voice light, casual, like dismissing every inch of space between you. "Long day tomorrow."

He makes this grunt that could mean anything, but you know him well enough by now to recognize the sound of him wrestling with his self-control.

You can picture his face—brow furrowed, jaw clenched, probably glaring at the ceiling like he wants to shadowbox with it.

You wait, barely breathing.

Maybe you read this wrong.

Maybe he's actually planning to be good tonight.

Maybe he really does just want to sleep.

That's fine. Totally fine. This was his idea anyway, right? Just sleeping.

You're about to give up, admit defeat, when the mattress shifts.

Jeon rolls toward you, and suddenly his chest is pressed against your back, all heat and hard muscle. You fight back a shiver as his hand finds your hip, his thumb drawing lazy circles that make your skin buzz. His breath fans hot against your neck, and fuck, this is so much better than sleeping.

"I need to ease some tension, sunshine."

His voice is pure sin, rough and low right by your ear.

Heat pools in your stomach as you roll onto your back, meeting his gaze. His hand tightens on your waist, pulling you closer, and you can feel how much he wants this.

"Oh?" You hold his stare, watching his control slip. "I thought you'd never ask."

You're definitely not getting much sleep tonight.

But hey, that was kind of the point, wasn't it?

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[dannyriccsystem]

3, 7, 18 for Carlos I'm gonna melt - also congrats!

AND I JUST CAN’T CONTAIN THIS FEELING THAT REMAINS!

1K SPECIAL - CS55

Soft make out session + dancing in the kitchen + comparing hand sizes

SUMMARY: Making pancakes with your boyfriend :)

WORD COUNT: 876

WARNINGS: FLUFF, Reader and Carlos are both parents, Carlos making pancakes deserves a warning

FEATURING: Carlos Sainz x Wife!Reader

NOTE: That picture, why does he look so pretty I love him so… sooo…. soo much

YOU AWOKE TO A KISS. The room had erupted into small giggles and a deep chuckle, no doubt sourced from both your husband and your daughter. You grinned in your sleepy state, eyes still shut as you rolled over onto your side, away from them. Carlos drawled out a quiet laugh, yanking the covers away from you.

You groaned, reaching out with grabby hands for your blanket. When it wasn’t handed to you instantly, you gave up and let your arm fall to your side again. With a deep breath, you sat up, earning a kiss atop your scalp. “Good morning,” He muttered into your hair.

“HAPPY MOTHER’S DAY!” Your daughter cheered, tugging on your hand to drag the attention back to her. You laughed, ruffling her hair affectionately, thanking her softly. “I gotta go work on your gift mama, so papa is gonna take care of you.” She lightly pulled on his index finger.

“Oh thank you baby,” You spoke dramatically. “I’m definitely in good hands then.” Your daughter scampered off, presumably to finish up your gift, whatever that meant exactly. You turned your attention to your husband. “I hope you know I don’t expect you to take care of me,” You teased.

“Nonsense, amor.” He pulled on your hand, dragging you out of bed. “First we have pancakes, and then lunch, and then your mom is paying a visit— Don’t forget that I need to send my mamá a gift as well.” You slid on the slippers that sat by your bed as he pulled you along to the kitchen. He had all his ingredients out, but no product yet. “Just sit while I cook you breakfast.”

“Mmm, no, I want to help.” You insisted. It was a simple recipe, but cooking was always much more fun when two people were involved. He gave you a look that was nearly offended.

“On Mother’s Day?” He asked incredulously, like he couldn’t believe such a suggestion.

“Yes, Carlos.” You giggled, adjusting the robe he had thrown on you. It was fluffy and soft; something you usually only wore for special occasions. “On Mother’s Day. I like cooking with you.”

“Fine.” He rolled his eyes playfully, a strong hand on the small of your back as he guided you into the kitchen. “Pancakes. You know what to do.” You did indeed. It was his signature recipe, you were bound to know.

Soft music played in the background. The TV was set to the station that played music, most of it being slow songs. If you listened closely, you could hear your daughter humming and singing along from the living room, accompanied by the scribbling sounds of crayons on paper.

You both worked deftly in the kitchen, combining your skills to make the journey more efficient. When you had finished whipping the egg yolks, or ‘zzzz-ing’ them, as your husband liked to say, he had subconsciously scooped some up onto his finger and into his mouth. You blinked, staring at him with confusion.

He swallowed, and then you both erupted into a short fit of laughter. “Not sure why you did that,” You teased.

“Ay, mi amor. I have no clue myself.” He slyly placed one hand on your waist as the song transitioned, and you turned in his hold to face him. Your other hands joined in a closed dancing position, causing you to laugh.

“Sneakily dancing with your wife?” He shrugged suspiciously in response. You both swayed to the music, sharing a look of utter love. “Your hands are huge, Carlos.”

He laughed, shaking his head softly. “You had my child and you’re just now realizing that?” Your cheeks grew warm, and this time you were the one dramatically shaking your head. “Maybe your hands are just small.”

“No way. These things are monster-like.” You both shared laughter again, filling your kitchen with temporary mirth. He even twirled you, your slippers sliding against the hardwood flooring. When he tugged you back in, his grip firm, he pressed his lips to yours.

The kissing didn’t stop there, though. You both swayed along to the music still, but this time your lips seemed to join in the rhythm. In between each peck was a soft giggle from either side, or a witty little comment.

It wasn’t until your daughter marched into the kitchen, gasping at the sight of her parents sharing a sneaky kiss, that you broke apart and realized just how long it had been. The half-finished pancake mix was just sitting off to the side, waiting to be finished.

“Gross!” Your daughter squealed, laughing along. “Look mama!” She held up the drawing, which featured the two of you as stick figures, holding hands in a grassy field with a sun peeking out in the corner, adorned with a pair of sunglasses. She even wrote ‘Happy Mother’s Day’ at the top in her messy handwriting.

You broke away from his hold, leaving him to lean against the counter and watch the heart-melting moment from afar. You crouched before your daughter, accepting the gift and pulling her into a hug. “Thank you baby, it’s beautiful! Best gift I’ve ever received.”

“Even better than papa’s kisses?” She grimaced, like just thinking about it grossed her out.

“Way better.”

“Hey!”

[genshingorlsrevengeance]

Can I request Herta with an S/O who's a massive tsundere?

(H:SR) Herta with a tsundere S/O

Oh, what's that? S/O was being stubborn and getting too embarrassed to say what's on their mind?

Funny/Cute as it was, Herta doesn't have time for this.

Do you think such a beautiful, smart, and young genius like her has time to wait for S/O to stop twiddling their thumbs to say they wanna hold hands?!

Hell no! That's a waste of time for her, AND S/O!

That being said, many people ask: "Madam Herta, if you find that part about S/O annoying, why did you even agree to be with them?"

And her response is rather simple.

(Herta) "And that is any of your business, how, exactly?"

The way Herta gets around this little quirk of S/O's: Isn't it obvious? Just directly bring up whatever to where they can't beat around the bush.

(Herta) "I need a test subject and need to spend time with someone who can actually listen, S/O. Dinner will be made on time, probably."

(S/O) "...Shouldn't you ask if I want to be a test subject?"

Herta simply raised an eyebrow at S/O. They opened their mouth to say something else, but it's not like spending time with their (definitely young and attractive) girlfriend was the worst thing.

Even if there was at least a 50% chance of them imploding.

(S/O) sigh "Alright, what are we doing?"

And being fair to S/O, Herta doesn't really mind nor care of their blushy-attitude that they give her.

If anything, it makes them a little more fun to be around. Heavens know that Herta is a handful to be around, the least she could do for her beloved (test subject) was to return the favor.

Alongside Asta, and some of the Genius Society, S/O was also a voice of reason to stop some insane plan or research she had, lest the entire Herta Space Station blinks into some god-forsaken star, or some other freak abomination.

It also puts S/O's social skills to the test! They can't be a tsundere if they need to tell Asta that Herta was harnessing the power of a star to do Aeons knows what.

And that was the least of S/O's concerns. What they really had to worry about was when she was bored and had free time.

(Herta) "Hm...While I'm here on the Station, S/O, we need to get you a new set of clothes!"

(S/O) "You're not going to make me go into your wardrobe again, right?"

(Herta) "Well, I do intend for you to help me sometime in the next three years, so no, obviously. But that being said..."

She snaps her fingers and immediately, several puppets burst into the room.

(S/O) "You didn't need to snap to summon them."

(Herta) "Has it occurred to you that I do things because I like to, S/O?"

(S/O) "I think that's one of the first things I learned about you..."

(Herta) "Exactly! Now, let's have you visited by the Emanator of Beauty!"

About an hour passes and the entire room is devoured by rolling racks of clothes, with even some of the puppets acting as Coat Hangars, with their arms out-stretched into a T-Pose.

All the while, Herta is sitting on a floating key, trying to decide which shade of purple matched S/O the best, researching some other things on the side of a tablet.

With S/O checking themselves in a mirror, also held by a smaller Herta.

Herta appeared busy with the many things occupying her, S/O stealing a glance from the mirrors and quietly smiling to themselves.

(Herta) "...It'll last longer if you take a picture, y'know."

S/O shifted their eyes away and blushed, mumbling something under their breath much to her amusement.

(S/O) "D-Don't tease me!"

(Herta) "Hm? And you are going to do what exactly? If I continue to do so?"

Suddenly, Herta was by S/O's side, giving them the smirk they (loved) were irritated by so much.

(S/O) "I-I..."

(Herta) "Ah, get flustered. Naturally."

Herta chuckles to herself as she hands the outfit to S/O to try on, finally stepping back onto the ground and checking both herself and her lover in the mirror.

(Herta) "Now, chop chop! Try it on!"

(S/O) "Will this even look good on me?"

(Herta) "I'll ignore the doubt you have in my fashion sense, which is a crime against me I'll have you know, and say, obviously! I'm the one who chose it, and you're the one wearing it."

S/O's face heated up from Herta's own flavor of compliment and took the outfit, preparing to change again.

All the while, Herta just smiled to herself, and turned away for them to change.

She was still looking, and S/O knew that, but for the sake of their prideful heart, they chose not to say anything.

But...admittedly, S/O loved the attention, and Herta knew that damn well.

It was nice to have someone that could understand each other in a more intimate way, and it went both ways.

...Most of the time, anyways.

Its kind of hard to view your girlfriend the same way once she harnesses the power of a nearby star with some unfathomably complicated device just to see if she could and prove some random-ass researcher four hundred sectors away wrong.

S/O was prideful in not admitting they liked to kiss her, but holy shit that was kind of a whole other level.

===

A/N: Do you guys tell how much I love writing Herta? She's so damn funny. I always knew I had a taste for insane brunette scientists (See Hange), and DAMN Herta scratches that itch.

[puck-luck]

might i request a chai latte with whipped cream for jack hughes please? (sub jack trope pretty please!)

feeling a little feral over this one. had to end it where i did before i turned into a whole animal.

You have to give it to him– retroactively speaking, Jack has been such a good boy. You wanted to see how far you could push him today and he hasn’t broken yet. 

He’s slinged up, one arm already out of commission. You’d been generous when you decided to leave Jack’s other arm free, often opting for tying it out of the way since he’s so prone to trying to take more than he deserves. Its place is on your thigh, crossed over your body and keeping your legs securely over his lap. 

You’re both fully clothed, joggers and a sweatshirt on Jack since the straps of the sling bother his bare skin, whereas you’re in some booty shorts and a big t-shirt. You’re in the early stages of this, planning to make Jack beg for everything more he needs. His day of edging starts with begging for a kiss.

Your cold fingers have already dipped below his waistband. They’re warming up against the soft, often hidden skin of his abdomen and Jack has relaxed visibly because of their proximity to his cock. He has absolute certainty that you’ll touch him when it’s the proper time. It’s taken a while for Jack to accept that you know what’s best here, that you’re the one who will think through every action, motion, or play. Now that he has, he’s utter putty in your hands.

There’s a hand in his hair, scratching his scalp and playing with his brown waves. He’s breathing steadily, steadily enough that an outsider might think that he’s asleep, but you can tell he isn’t. While his hand remains on your thigh, it has started to mirror your touch. 

You’d be lying if you said the gentle caress wasn’t tempting you to start doing more, but you hold steadfast.

Whenever you stop moving your hand in his hair, Jack nudges you with his head like a cat. He wants you to keep moving and eventually, he’s pulled you close enough that your body is cradled into his side. It’s the perfect set-up, with Jack designing his own infuriating trap to fall into, given that all you have to do to kiss him is tilt your chin up.

You lift your head enough that your lips brush his, a fleeting pass, just enough for Jack to know that it wasn’t the wind interrupting this impromptu cuddle session. Sometimes he just needs you close, especially when he’s freshly injured, but that doesn’t mean that he doesn’t get to have fun with you as well. He needs both in his life. It’s a little twisted, but you want to keep him in this liminal space for as long as you can before he bursts. You love when Jack whines. You love when he needs more. At the same time, you love when Jack is soft like this.

The softness is reflected in his hazy, sleepy eyes when his pretty lashes flutter open and he looks at you. His drunken need for you shines in the curve of his bottom lip, dropping slightly in reaction to your kiss. He looks like he wants to say something, but his tongue is heavy in his mouth, so he settles for looking at you instead.

Drawing a beg from him might be harder than you think, but you’re persistent. You bide your time. You wait for him to relax into your touch again, sliding your hand over his waist as you twirl a strand of hair around your finger. It’s then that you slot your lips with his and give him a taste of something more real.

When you pull away, his head follows yours. His eyes are still closed, lips pursed and head tilted to the side, feeling the phantom touch you left behind. 

His eyes open with a bit more alertness behind them this time. Jack looks at you and licks his bottom lip. His fingers are twitching on your thigh, pads of his digits pressing into your bare skin in an effort to either steel himself or encourage you to come even closer.

Your hand beneath his sweatshirt passes his ribcage and your thumb swipes over his nipple. 

Jack straightens slightly, breathing through his mouth. You ghost your lips over his again, the space between your mouths teeming with wrought energy, but you don’t close it. When Jack attempts to, you shift back.

The first time, he’s confused. 

The second, his eyebrows furrow. 

By the third, he’s full-on frowning and trying to chase you down. 

You remove your hand from beneath his sweatshirt and place your dainty, manicured hand on Jack’s neck. Your thumb is on one side of his Adam’s apple, three fingers on the other, pinkie resting on his clavicle. You tilt your head to the side and watch Jack freeze, feel his throat bob under your fingertips. 

The haze in his eyes is back and his gaze is locked on your lips. As it should be. 

[secret-third-thing]

Eris x Acolyte!Reader | Rated: G | Length: 2.1k

For @sjmxreaderweek Day 3

A/N: I don't normally write xReader so this was a fun little detour in my writing schedule. Minimal Beta-ing. Just wanted to do something different <3.

A young acolyte sworn to silence is visited by the heir to the Autumn Court, whose confession threatens to unravel both her vows and her resolve.

Read Under the Cut

The Temple of the Mother is built an hour’s walk from the edge of the Autumn Court woods. The enclave has been around far before you were ever born, having been built generations ago. Tonight, as rain falls heavily outside, the temple is empty. No parishioners have made the trek to tonight’s service, so it is just you and the High Priestess reciting scripture, praising the earth, meditating on peace and love and loyalty. She’s left you now to clean up and prepare for tomorrow’s morning service. With the promise of good weather, you expect more foot traffic as usual. And as the equinox approaches, you suspect the numbers will only increase.

You place a fresh cloth on the altar, polish each candlestick, each gold-plated bowl. Overhead, the braziers flicker, and the temple feels almost haunted. Some of the other acolytes tried to scare you your first night, whispering of the High Lord’s first wife roaming the pews or the spirits of unburied fae screaming down the corridors. But today, you can only hear the patter of rain against stained glass windows, the steady drip from a leak. The air is fragrant with the sweet smell of incense.

Your footsteps echo as you walk up and down each pew, straightening songbooks. You joined the temple months ago, and the memory of it is still fresh in your mind. As the youngest daughter in your family, there was no need to push you into marriage. Given the choice, you had chosen this life. Let your older sisters enjoy the matrimonial life. Here, you felt more like your own person.

There were parts of your old life you did miss. The laughter, the dancing, the singing. Here, you were sworn to a vow of silence for the first year of your service. Penance for whatever unconfessed transgressions you did not remember or did not bother to confess. You return to the front and tuck the remnants of today’s service under your arm when you hear the familiar gait of a male you once knew well.

You turn and see him there, dressed in a well-tailored coat and linen pants. As he approaches, you see his hair is mussed, and dark shadows sit under his eyes. His expression is neutral, if not stern, and his stance betrays nothing. But you knew him for many years, from when you had roamed the Forest House as a youth, playing with your sisters in the halls and in the gardens. Once, at a ball, he had asked you to dance – more pretense than pleasure, but you had enjoyed it all the same. Your one storybook night. When he reaches the aisle where you stand, you bow, deep as you have been taught.

“Don’t,” he says. His voice is harsh against the silence, and you dare look up to meet his gaze. His amber eyes bore into yours, and you feel the familiar flutter of nerves in your stomach. There are few reasons for the High Lord’s family to visit. Penance is not usually one of them. But tonight, in the flickering shadows of the light, you can tell that a confession may be on the horizon. You turn to fetch the High Priestess, to knock at her chamber doors and rouse her from sleep.

“There’s no need,” he says, knowing already what you are off to do - who to fetch. “I will speak with you.”

Fear blooms in your chest. You are not sure he realizes you are still in your first year, the vow of silence barring you from holding a proper conversation, parishioner or not. And still, he stands there waiting for you until you set down what you are holding and walk to him. Without your heels, he’s two heads taller than you, and you’re reminded that he could kill you. All the Vanserras could. You gesture to one of the booths to hold confession, but he shakes his head and sits on one of the pews at the front. After a beat, you sit next to him and both of you look ahead at the front of the temple, where a statue of the Mother stands, her hand, palm up, reaching down to her children in offering. Your heart thuds in your chest, and you wonder if you should have ignored him and fetched the High Priestess anyway. None of this is proper, and being alone with a lord’s son was asking for trouble. But as you debated getting up again, Eris crosses a boot over his knee and leans back – casual even for him – and sighs. You dare not look at his face and instead study the statue, marveling how the sculptor was able to carve the movement of cloth so perfectly, the folds and creases looking real from a distance.

Magic whooshes over you, and you realize Eris has placed a ward around you. The patter of rain is gone, and the drip feels miles away. A bubble of silence. You should feel more afraid, but you realize this is more for his safety than yours. What loss is it really for an acolyte to die?

“Do you remember me?” he asks, and it’s not at all what you thought he’d ask. You nod, still not looking at him even though from the corner of your eye, you can see him fully face you now, expectant. You realize he’s waiting for you to talk. And you wring your hands. Breaking your vow is not worth this, you think.

“You are a decent dancer,” he comments, returning to look at the Mother. And somehow, that compliment warms you like a fire. “Too many of our courtiers have no sense of rhythm,” he comments. And you’d have to agree. Dancing was a time-honored tradition of Autumn, and yet so many courtiers failed to know much more than the most basic of dances. You may not have been the best in your family, but you could at least keep up with Eris, which was a skill in itself. Nothing too flashy or extravagant, but just detailed enough that you did feel like you were dancing and not shuffling around the floor, back and forth and back and forth in the same waltz rhythm. He then rambles about the ball, all those years ago, rattling off gossip about each courtier, and you wonder what is the point of all this. This is not the Eris that you knew. The male you knew was cold and cruel. Once, you had seen him set a male on fire for treason. Running his hand over the prisoner’s chest, over his heart. The screams had haunted you for nights to come.

Finally, it seems Eris realizes there’s nothing he’s going to say to get you to break your vow of silence, and the warmth he displays is snuffed out like a flame.

“I fear the Night Court will betray me,” he says. He moves closer to you and leans in, his breath tickling your ear.

“They have sworn to lend their forces when I need them.” You know the unspoken here, know to read between the lines. He means his father’s death. “But they have acquired a new weapon,” he says, though the way he says weapon is strained, as though that is not quite the truth. “I have heard rumors too that his court monster is conspiring to make the High Lord a High King.” At this, you start—unheard of. There hadn’t been a High King in thousands of years, centuries of years. It had not ended well. And you presume this would not end well, too.

You cannot imagine your High Lord kneeling to Rhysand. Nor can you imagine his allies acquiescing to such a thing. You wonder if the Spring Court would wage war once more. You know your court would join them regardless of whether Beron or Eris was the High Lord. You fold your hands in your lap. You do not know what to do or say, and perhaps this is why he’s chosen you to tell. The priestesses keep records separate from the ones the court historians keep. Theirs is more honest than the High Lord’s – each failure detailed with the same lack of embellishments as the victories. They may be within the borders of Autumn, but they answered to the Mother and her word. Not the High Lord and his fire.

“There is much work to be done,” Eris continues. “My father conspires with the death god in the continent and the human queens. I suspect he does not fully understand that which he meddles in.” And you agree with this. What is a High Lord to a god? And then you think of the rumors that have been flying around. Not just of the High Lord’s ambitions but of Eris’s disappearance. There was one time the High Lord’s family had come – likely at the Lady’s behest—and had sat in the pew reserved for the family, and Eris had not been there. You knew he was not devout, but he always came. You knew the low timber of his voice as he sang and thought of it many nights before you fell asleep. If you could talk, you’d tell him to sing more.

“While I was there,” he says, and you realize he’s been talking and you weren’t listening, you fool. “I saw many things. A frozen lake, so many swans, a bird of flame.” The other human queen, you surmise. Court politics made its way here as well. There were few secrets that the wind did not carry here.

The magic barrier drops, and Eris shifts in his seat. He holds out his hand, and you study it for a moment. It’s large, of course, but covered in callouses from training, you imagine, and though it’s against your vows, you imagine what it would feel like against your skin. The one time you had danced, he had worn gloves, and that alone had haunted you. But his hand was here now, and you wanted to trace the lines of his palm, to read its futures and revel in secrets. You place your hand in his without thinking. It is warm, and you watch as he turns your hand over to reveal the vow on your wrist. A rune that marked the bargain you had with the Mother: chastity, faith, honesty. He rubs a thumb over the promise, and a shiver runs down your back. The edge of his mouth quirks, and it’s then you feel very much like prey. You should get up, bow, leave, go to your chambers, kneel at your bed, pray for forgiveness. I’m sorry, Mother, for I have let impure thoughts of a male overtake me.

And then, without warning, Eris lifts your wrist to his face and presses a closed-mouth kiss over the mark. His lips are soft, and your brain thinks of nothing else except for his lips kissing you. Somewhere else.

“Eris,” you hiss, and the braziers burn bright. The dancing flames spark and reach for the ceiling, and you realize with dismay that you have broken this vow. Panic seizes you, and you pull your wrist away, rubbing your hand over where he kissed. He gives you a wry smile and stands.

“Be well,” he says, and then walks away, boots clicking against the stone floor.

You do not move until he is gone, and then you spring up. Your feet move of their own accord, and you race for the broom to sweep up ash that has fallen on the floor. You scrub the stone and pray to the Mother for forgiveness for your breach of promise. Your wrist tingles, and you wonder if this is when you’ll be set alight. You feel like it already, body warm from where he kissed you. And when there’s no trace of him there, you let yourself fall to the ground in front of the Mother’s statue. She reaches out her hand to you in forgiveness. And so you indulge just once and press your own lips against the mark.

It’s then when the High Priestess walks in, still dressed in her sleeping gown. She looks at the fires, blazing brighter, and then to you. You watch her watch you and pull your wrist away from your lips. She looks up at the Mother and then back at you. She nods. You’re unsure what she knows or how much she cares, but the fear lingers in your chest.

“Come, child,” she says. “It’s past time for you to sleep. The night watch will wake soon.” You stand, knees screaming from how you had fallen to the ground, and walk to her. She leads you to your room, and after you finish changing for bed and lay on your pillow, you dream of a dance you danced a long time ago and the amber eyes of the heir you will never forget. Maybe one day you will dance again. But for now, you are content to hold him in your dreams and whirl around the sacred space of your mind. This is all you can ask for.

---

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[a99jazzybean]

hi! i was wondering if you could write a spring related fic since it’s spring! i was thinking a picnic, it could be with jayvik x reader or viktor x reader or jayce x reader, or it could be viktor and the reader like each other and jayce and mel plan a picnic to set them up together. can be fluff or smut, i don’t mind! i love your writing <33

Ahhh this request was so cute, I hope you enjoy this anon!

The Spring Set-Up

synop: Viktor meets you when you're running your family bakery and is immediately smitten. With each passing visit you grow closer and closer and have grown deep affections for the man. However, both you and Viktor are too nervous to ask the other out. Jayce and Mel take it upon themselves to get you to finally admit your feelings for each other.

words: 7K

includes: viktorxfem!reader, jaymel, baker!reader, fluff, smut, public sex, exhibitionism, first date, springtime fun

a/n: This contains smut!!! No minors!

Again, love this request. Please send me more ideas you guys have, I love love love them!

Tinkling from the bell on the front door grabs your attention. Wiping your hands off on your apron, you turn to the counter and smile as a familiar face enters the bakery. This time she’s followed by two companions you have never met before. 

“I know you’re going to absolutely love it, Viktor. Remember those tarts I brought you a few weeks ago?” Councilor Medarda speaks over her shoulder to a slim man leaned against a crutch. 

“I do recall the tarts. They were quite delicious.” He seems unamused, as if there is something else on his mind at the moment.

“Oh! Those lemon ones were really good!” A taller man beside her exclaims with a bright smile.

Your smile wavers as you realize that the man is none other than Piltover’s golden boy, Jayce Talis. A celebrity if you’ve ever seen one. While Mel was certainly well known in the city, Jayce was a rising star at the moment. All eyes were on him, and if he was enjoying the treats from your bakery… Well, it wouldn’t hurt to have some more star power influencing the business. Even though the prospect was quite intimidating. 

Mel had noticed you behind the counter and strode up, elegant as ever. A polite smile on her lips as she approached. 

“Councilor Medarda, it’s great to see you!” You greeted her with a cheery smile. 

“Oh please,” she waves you off, “you know you can just call me Mel.”

You blush, and rub the back of your neck, slightly embarrassed. That’s right, Mel had told you to drop the formalities awhile ago. Seeing that she was with others though had made you revert back to your original greeting.

“Sorry, I’m just not used to you bringing guests.” Mel quirked a brow at you, then understood why you were so flustered.

“Oh dear, there’s no need for that. Jayce is very friendly. Not someone to be intimidated by.” Well, you didn’t need to point that out. 

“That obvious, huh?” You chuckled nervously, then cleared your throat. “Anyways… what would you like? The usual for you, I suppose?” You asked Mel and her guests.

With that polite smile, Mel nodded. Amused that you had remembered her order. A medium iced latte with just a dash of vanilla syrup and sugar, along with one of your father’s famous lemon poppy seed muffins. 

“Of course, you and your father know me too well.” Mel turned back to the men behind her. “And for you gentleman?” 

Jayce tapped his fingers on his chin and leaned over the glass display. The interior was filled with various delicacies that had one’s mouth watering upon its sight. Audible grumbling came from the man’s stomach as he gazed over the various pastries. Sheepishly, he turned to you behind the counter with a blush dusting his cheeks. An amused huff came from Mel as she watched the man.

“Um, I guess I’m a bit hungry.” He chuckled.

“Take your pick, I’m not busy.” You smiled softly, as you gestured to the empty shop. 

“Uh, I’ll take the double chocolate muffin then.” He pushed himself up.

“Anything to drink?” 

“Just a regular black coffee. No sugar, or cream.” 

After you took note of his order, you turned to the remaining man. A jolt shot through you as you made eye contact. Dark amber eyes stared right into yours, making your mouth go dry. How had you not noticed him earlier? His presence had sent your mind reeling. Something about him had you deeply intrigued. Your eyes trailed over his face, but kept returning to that golden gaze. Noticing he had raised a brow, you realized that you had been staring without saying anything. 

Clearing your throat again, you spoke.

“Uh, and for you, sir?” You couldn’t recall if had given his name.

“It’s Viktor. And I’ll take a plain black coffee as well.” 

“No treats?” You asked, slightly offended. No one shied away from your bakery’s goodies. Based on Mel’s conversation, he had tried some of the treats before.

“Do I need to?” A coy smirk played on his lips as he noticed the shift in your demeanor.

Taken aback, you stuttered.

“W-well, no, but almost no one leaves without one.” You did your best to return a challenging look.

“Maybe I’m no one.” He said coolly, an unfamiliar accent flowing through the vowels of his speech. 

“I doubt it.” Okay, this was… fun. 

“Is that so?” The question had you almost shivering with the way his tone shifted lower. 

Both Mel and Jayce looked at each other. Mel had a knowing sparkle in her eye, while Jayce was amused at this newfound dynamic. Viktor wasn’t known to hold back his opinions, but he had never been this playful with a stranger before. Though, the man was very good at getting a read on others. Perhaps he had just stumbled upon someone that had piqued his interest. Jayce would take note of that. 

Viktor hadn’t been one to really “put himself out there” so to speak. Maybe, just maybe, you could be the one to change that. Especially considering how amused Viktor appeared to be as he flustered you. 

“Yes,” you puffed out your chest in confidence. No one questioned the quality of your family business. “I think you need to try something. What did Mel give you last time?”

“Hmm, fair enough. I’ll give you a second chance.” He smirked at your offended gasp. “I had some mediocre tarts.” He pointed to where a stack sat in the display case. 

“Second chance? Ridiculous, those are some of our best sellers.” It was just teasing, he had to be.

“Like I said, maybe I’m not like the others.” It was bullshit, Mel and Jayce knew it. 

In fact, it was through Viktor’s praise of the treats that inspired Mel to bring the men to the bakery. 

After a long week of toiling away on new hexgems, Mel decided to pop by to treat the men hard at work. She made quite the large order from you and surprisingly picked it up herself. Though you didn’t mind, chatting with the councilor had become quite an enjoyable pastime as she attended your bakery. The woman had ordered a variety of treats, including your famous tarts. As she set the box of goodies down, the men had swarmed her. Jayce giddily opened the gift, thanking the woman profusely. The two had never been the best at feeding themselves, it was the least she could do. Viktor curiously peeked over Jayce into the box, his eyes landing on a blueberry tart that seemed to be calling his name. 

Quickly, he plucked it from the box and took a large bite out of it. Jayce and Mel practically snapped their necks to look at Viktor after he made the most lewd sounding moan created by man. The dessert was absolute perfection. A beautiful blend of sweet and tart mixed with a lovely crumbly crust. Heaven in a tart. He had finished the treat in no time flat, immediately reaching for another. 

He kept going on and on about how whoever had made the tarts had to have such a vast knowledge on proper baking skills. How the puff pastry was perfectly layered, taking amazing skill. How the tart filling had such balanced flavors. Another tart in his hands, half eaten, as he pointed out to each part that had him in awe. A perfect tart. 

Jayce was surprised at how knowledgeable Viktor was on the ins-and-outs of baking, but didn’t question it. Viktor had quite the vast amount of knowledge, it wasn’t surprising to discover yet another niche subject of his. 

Mel decided she had to take the men to the bakery. Perhaps Viktor would find some other camaraderie outside of Jayce. 

“You must tell me where you found these?” Viktor practically pleaded with Mel.

“It’s a little bakery on the West side, called The Auburn Fox. I’ll take you there sometime.”

Back in the bakery, Mel and Jayce were watching your interaction with Viktor with heightened amusement. It was clear Viktor was just messing with you, but this was the most outgoing the two had ever seen the man before. Clearly, you had quite the unique pull on him..

“I don’t believe you,” you crossed your arms and pouted. The action drawing Viktor’s eyes to your lips. They looked soft… Quickly they flitted back to you. He hoped you hadn’t noticed. 

“You told Mel they were delicious.” You stated bluntly.

“So you were eavesdropping on us?” He hummed with amusement, making you scoff.

“Don’t try to change the subject. I heard what you said.” With that you walked over to the display case. 

Pulling out some tongs, you grabbed a tart from the stack in the case and placed it on a plate. Viktor followed your movements feeling his mouth water. Surely, he would be caught if he tried one of those delicious tarts. Though with how much he was enjoying your smug look, he didn’t think he would mind you winning this faux feud. 

Placing the plate in front of Viktor, you motioned for him to take it.

“On the house. Just so I can prove you wrong.” 

“If you insist,” he picked up the treat, inspecting it. This one had a deep red filling, a lovely fruity smell wafting from it. “What flavor is it?” His gaze returned to yours. Those gold eyes sending a shiver through you.

“Rhubarb. We just picked some from our garden yesterday. It’s one of the most in season produce.” 

He hummed in thought, then brought the tart to his mouth. Tongue licking his lips in anticipation, catching your eye. The movement had you studying his face again, now spotting the mole right on the corner of his lips. He smirked as he caught you staring, then took a bite. 

As soon as the tart’s flavor hit his tongue, he was done for. The beautiful flavor washing over his tastebuds made him give out a content moan. The sound made a large smile grow on your face.

“Aha! I was right! You do like the tarts.” You stood prouder. 

“I suppose I must concede.” He nodded at you after swallowing. “You do make delicious treats.” 

“Oh, you should’ve heard him when he first tried them!” Jayce interjected, fully ready to embarrass his partner.

“T-t-there's no need for that Jayce.” Viktor attempted to stop the man.

“Oh c’mon, V, there’s nothing to be embarrassed about. I’m sure she’d love to hear how loudly you moaned when eating the blueberry tart.” 

Red bloomed on Viktor’s face and neck, making you chuckle.

“Is that true?” You asked, a glimmer in your eye.

“It isn’t not true.” Viktor mumbled.

You gave the man a soft smile. The tender action made his heart jolt. 

“Well I’ll take that as a great compliment. Thank you.” The sincerity in your voice made his chest tighten. 

He didn’t even know your name, yet you already had this effect on him. Beautiful, witty, and clearly talented in your field. Oh, he was smitten. And that revelation had definitely been spotted by his compatriots. The two seemingly plotting something. 

Taking your win, you decided to get the other orders ready. Pouring out the black coffees and making Mel’s latte. You warmed up the muffins and plated them. When you were done, you placed the order on the counter.

“Your order is ready!” You chirped. 

The trio gratefully took their orders. Viktor gave you a nod as he grabbed his coffee. A smirk playing on his lips as his eyes locked with yours. 

“Care to join us?” Mel invited, a glimmer of mischief dancing in her eyes. 

Waving them off, you give another smile. Shrugging off the way she looked at you, you turned back to your work. As you returned to preparing loaves of bread for the afternoon, you felt eyes on your back. Specifically amber eyes, ones that you couldn’t get out of your head. Though you were not alone, Viktor too couldn’t stop thinking about you. 

“So…” Mel brought Viktor out of his thoughts. 

The trio had decided to sit outside taking advantage of the warmer weather. Sunlight streamed through leaves overhead, sending dancing patterns of shadows around the area. A light breeze still kept the weather relatively cool. 

“So?” Viktor questioned Mel.

“What did you think of her?” She asked Viktor, nodding to the inside of the bakery.

Viktor turned his attention inside. Watching your back as you worked. Then he turned back to Mel, his brows raised with curious suspicion. 

“Why do you ask?”

“Because you were flirting with her.” Jayce interjected, taking a swig of his coffee.

Viktor’s mouth dropped in surprise, eyes widening at Jayce’s blatantness. 

“I, what?” He couldn’t come up with a retort. His face blooming red.

“You were flirting, it was obvious. Right?” Jayce turned to an amused Mel.

“It did appear that Viktor was interested in her. So what did you think?” Mel leaned on her hands, cocking her head curiously.

Viktor’s face flushed even more red. 

“She seemed interesting is all.”

“That’s all? It looked like you were more involved than that? Turning your conversation into a challenge and all…” Jayce gave Viktor a cheeky smirk. 

“You can be insufferable, Talis.”  Viktor spat.

To keep himself from speaking further into a hole, Viktor shoved more of his tart into his mouth. The flavor making him hum with content, but he couldn’t help but think of you again. Knowing that you had managed to make something so delicious had him wondering what else you were capable of. From just your conversation alone he could tell you were witty, seemingly able to match his speed. A very refreshing change of pace for the man, one that he would be thinking about for a while. 

Though that wouldn’t be the only thing he thought about when it came to you. In his mind his thoughts trailed to your smile. The bright twinkle in your eyes as he challenged you. Your airy laughter as you had caught him in his lie. The thoughts making him grow more and more fond, despite the fact that he didn’t even know you. So, he decided he would. 

Two days later, Viktor made an appearance in your store again. This time your father happened to be manning the front of house while you were cleaning up after the morning rush. Viktor slowly made his way to the counter, his eyes catching your form bent over a table. You were cleaning off the remnants of crumbs and any rings left by glasses and mugs. He did his best to stare respectfully, but his eyes managed to wander to the lovely curve of your ass. 

Cracking your back, you stood back up. When you turned, you were met with amber eyes that sent another jolt through you. Pushing out a short breath, you straightened up and smiled. 

“Good afternoon Viktor. Back for more mediocre tarts?” You teased.

Your voice caught the attention of your father. He gave a hearty laugh at your comment.

“So this is the guy that called your tarts mediocre?” He clicked his tongue and shook his head at Viktor. “I don’t let anyone disrespect my girl like that, young man.” 

Viktor was taken aback at how friendly your father was. He assumed you had told him about your encounter with him. Hopefully your father wasn’t actually disappointed in him. From the cheery grin on his face, he was obviously teasing him like you had been.

Rubbing his neck in embarrassment, Viktor walked up to the counter to order.

“I suppose it was a bit rude of me. Your desserts are lovely.” He spoke to your father. 

“Oh, don’t tell me. My lovely girl has to take the credit for the tarts, learned it from her mama.” 

“Oh, do you not bake as well?” Viktor thought the shop was an effort for both you and your father. Though he didn’t know all too much about you really.

“Sometimes, though the arthritis causes my fingers to lock up sometimes.” Your father shrugged. 

“I’m sorry to hear that.” 

“Don’t be, my girl takes care of all things baking. I’m just the one who makes sure the lights stay on and the water keeps running.” He gave another hearty chuckle. “Now, enough about our little shop. What can I getcha?”

“Oh. Uh.” He hadn’t even thought about what to order. 

Before your father could interject, you slid in front of him at the register. A coy smile on your lips. One that had Viktor’s heart stuttering. 

“He’ll take a tart and a black coffee, plain. Right?” 

“Right.” Viktor’s throat went dry. 

Here you were again, having this awestriking effect on him. It was something he could get used to. Something that greatly enticed him. 

“Great! We’ve got apricot tarts in this time! I’m sure you’ll love them.”

Your father pet your head before you went to grab his order. Viktor watched you, memorizing how you freely moved around your working space. 

In no time, you had his order ready. A plate with an apricot tart, and a fresh mug of coffee greeting him, along with your bright smile. 

“Thank you.” 

“Of course.” You chirped.

“Would you like to join me?” He hoped this time you would accept the invite.

Your eyes brightened, and smile grew wider. Turning to your father, he nodded with a knowing smile. Waving you off, he spoke.

“Go on, take a break. Don’t recall the last time you’ve done that.” 

“Thanks dad.” You gave him a quick peck on a stubbled cheek, then moved to join Viktor.

From the display case, you pulled a slice of cake out for yourself. On cue, your father handed you a mug of coffee, then you joined Viktor at a table by the front window. 

As he waited, Viktor took in the interior of the bakery. It was rustic with exposed brick walls and wooden accents. Along one wall was a hand painted mural or a fox pouncing around various baked goods. Hanging lights cast a warm glow around the place. It was very cozy, somewhere he could easily find himself spending more time at. Especially if you would be making an appearance. 

You sat in front of him, then looked over the man. While you had taken in his appearance before, you didn’t get this close of a look at him. The mole by his lips that you had noticed before was accompanied by another under his right eye. Brown locks were messily brushed through with what you assumed were his long fingers. Slender appendages that were lazily tapping on the table, slightly stained with ink and oil. Recalling a previous conversation with Mel, you remembered she had mentioned the scientists that she sponsored. Now the pieces were clicking for you.

“So you’re a scientist.” You spoke first.

“I am.” He smiled softly. “What gave it away?” 

“Mel has told me about you, though not by name.” You took a bite of cake, enjoying the sweetness of the frosting. “Hextech, right?”

“Correct.” He wasn’t really sure how to continue the conversation. Though it didn’t seem like he needed to. Your curious nature asking him more.

“So you must be loaded then?” Your question was a joke, but you were still genuinely wondering.

“Already asking a man about his money?” He gave an airy chuckle.

“I like to know what I’m working with.” You teased. 

“That’s quite bold of you,” he sipped on some of his coffee. Letting the pause hang in the air. “I would say I live very comfortably.”

“I would hope so, considering you’ve literally changed the entirety of the world’s commerce.” 

He shrugged nonchalantly. Hextech wasn’t something he had worked on to promote capitalistic ventures, but he and Jayce needed funding. Therefore, it was a bit of a necessary evil. 

“It wasn’t our first choice of invention. But the Hexgates did grant us a great understanding of the arcane.” He hummed in thought. 

“What would be your first choice?” This wasn’t just small talk, you genuinely wished to know. 

“I want to help people. Both Jayce and I do.” Viktor was finding himself greatly enjoying your presence. Outside of Jayce, no one ever really asked about his wants. 

Sure, Mel knew about them, but that was merely pragmatism. The woman was able to act with tact when necessary, and managed to deal with Viktor in such a manner. 

However, there was you. A woman he had barely met, already asking about his wishes with unadulterated sincerity. Refreshing, yes, and something that had him feeling fulfilled. Even if he had yet to reach those goals, you wanted to hear about them.

“That’s a noble cause.” You said, that soft smile playing on your lips. A sight that Viktor could get used to. 

“It’s a necessary cause.” His gaze grew serious.

Briefly, your eyes flitted to the crutch leaning against the wall, then back to Viktor. He caught the minute action, and huffed out. Though, you weren’t looking at him with pity. You sat patiently, waiting for him to continue. Not as though you were afraid of offending him, more so that you were genuinely interested in what he had to say. 

“It is a necessary cause for me personally, yes. However, there are others I wish to help.” He sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose. Eyes scrunched shut as he thought how to continue. Would you take offense to his selfishness? Looking back up at you, he realized you were still waiting for him to speak. Nodding your head, you encouraged him to continue.

“In order for me to help others, I do need to help myself.” 

“I think your cause is both noble and necessary.” You said confidently, smile wider. An infectious one that had Viktor returning a smile back at you. “I don’t think you should worry about whether or not your aspirations are selfish. In the end, they will aid those in need, no?”

He nodded at your query.

“So it’s a win-win in my eyes.” With that, you reached for his now empty plate and mug. 

Before you could walk off with the items, a slender hand lightly reached for your wrist. Shivers crawled up your spine at his touch. From his seat, those amber eyes sent a jolt into your stomach. Sparkling with a sincerity you had the rare pleasure of witnessing. 

“Thank you.” He paused, chewing his tongue as he thought about his next words carefully. “It feels good to talk like that.” 

Again, you gave him a bright smile. 

“Of course, Viktor. I’ll lend an ear any time.” You meant it, and he knew it. 

Viktor had begun to make a regular appearance at your bakery. Now your father knew the man by name and had his order memorized. However, he always had you preparing it for the scientist. Your father also had developed a new habit of making himself scarce and telling you to take a break when Viktor happened to visit. While it was an odd change, you didn’t mind it. Seeing Viktor had now become a highlight of your day. 

When he wasn’t able to make it in, he always apologized the next day. Every time you told him not to worry about it, but it did feel nice knowing he was thinking about you. 

By now the man had managed to try every flavor of tart you offered during the season. You told him new ones would come with summer and fall, but he didn’t mind having the same flavors repeatedly. As long as you joined him, he enjoyed the treats. Plus, admittedly, he seemed to be addicted to the pastries. He didn’t know if he should tell you that though, considering how smug you had been the first time. He didn’t know if his heart would fare another playful fight with you.

Repeatedly, you had tugged away at his heartstrings. Always listening to him so intently and actively participating in conversation. Then there were your own aspirations. Growing your family business and working on a program to help feed those in need. The bakery was fairly well off, but most of what you earned went straight into maintaining the business. Ever so slowly you were working your way to completing your philanthropic goals. 

“I could help, you know.” Viktor said after you had laid out your plan for a soup kitchen on the border of the undercity and Piltover. 

“Viktor, I could never ask you to do that.” You didn’t want him to feel like he had to aid you just because you were friends. 

“I want to help you.” He emphasized, reaching for your hand across the table. “Just as much as you wish for me to accomplish my dreams, I wish the same for you.” 

Your chest tightened at his words. Viktor had found himself opening up more and more to you with each meeting. This tenderness was unnatural for him, yet felt right when it came to you. A person like you deserved this sweetness, and he would smother you in it. That is… if you would have him. 

However, he could never ask that of you. Both of you were so deeply entrenched in your own business. He would feel as if he was distracting you from your aspirations. Even if he so deeply wished that you would look at him the same. 

Little did the man know, you did. It was honestly surprising to you that he hadn’t caught on. You were never good at hiding your true feelings. Something your father would tease you about. 

You felt the same as Viktor though, not wanting to pull him away from his work. Both of you continued to dance around your true feelings. It was much to your friends’ detriment. Jayce and Mel held back their groans as you spoke about each other. Jayce wished to knock some sense into his partner, and Mel wanted to shake your shoulders hoping you would figure it out after some tough love. It seemed that those ways wouldn’t work though. 

Instead, the two began plotting. If they couldn’t get you to that conclusion on your own, then they needed to intervene. It would be simple. Jayce pretending to find an excuse for Viktor to go outside. Mel would nonchalantly order some of your famous tarts to be delivered to a nearby park, with a secret warning to your father that you would be out. Him and Mel shared a knowing wink as she placed the order. 

While you might be his baby girl, your father had hoped you would get out more. Always holed up in the shop was not doing well for your social life. Plus, he was getting older. The fear of aging making him concerned that he wouldn’t be able to take care of you. Yes, you were a confident and independent woman, but what good father wished to see his daughter alone? Viktor was a lovely gentleman, never making your father worry once. His polite first impression made him a major contender in your non-existent line-up of suitors. 

Together, this unlikely trio managed to set up the perfect spring time date. A lovely picnic that Jayce would ditch Viktor on, just for you to show up. An absolutely perfect opportunity for the two of you to confess your affections for each other. 

You didn’t bat an eye when your father sent you off with the basket of goodies. Mel wasn’t a stranger to ordering delivery, so the task was simple enough. Plus, you got to enjoy the wonderful weather outside. 

After a few dreary days of thunderstorms, the clouds had parted into a wonderful sunny day. A cool breeze flowed through your hair as you made your way through town. You were heading to a secluded park next to a little-known pond. A very intimate setting. You wondered if Mel and Jayce were going on a date. Perhaps it would be odd of you to intrude, though you were on the job. You doubted they would mind your brief presence.

Viktor begrudgingly allowed Jayce to drag him to the park. He bribed him with feeding ducks with the old frozen peas pushed deep in the lab freezer. It was a lovely day, and after the amount of work the two had been doing, a break was much needed. With the air pressure back down, Viktor’s leg was feeling significantly better. While dreary weather tended to appeal to his mood most days, the changes in the atmosphere could be quite the bane of his existence. The reprieve from the storms was something he wouldn’t take for granted. 

Jayce had made a big display for their outing. Laying out a large picnic blanket on a slightly shaded hill. It had the perfect view of the pond. Dotting the water were mother ducks with their yellow ducklings. Viktor spotted a swan couple on one end as well, along with their babies. He would be sure to give them a good fill of peas later. 

As Jayce continued to set up the picnic, he paused peering into the basket. With a bit too much force, he slapped his forehead. 

“Oh! I’m sorry V, I forgot something.” He couldn’t help but smile, knowing what was coming next. “I’ll go grab it real quick, gimme like ten minutes.” 

Rolling his eyes, Viktor paid no mind to the man’s over enthusiastic antics. He was just enjoying the short amount of rest he was able to get during this break. Sighing with content, the man laid back on the blanket and closed his eyes. 

After a few minutes he heard the shuffling of grass nearby. Peeking open an eye, he was blinded by the sun. He put his arm over his head, and watched as a figure above him came into view. His heart jolted as he realized you were peering down at him curiously. 

“Good afternoon.” You said cheerily, that sweet smile on your lips. 

“Good afternoon.” He said, suddenly feeling very self conscious.

Viktor sat up and looked around the park. There was no sign of Jayce. A realization dawned on him. Slowly, he turned back to you, eyes wide. 

“Is everything alright?” Your brows were furrowed with concern at the shift in his demeanor. 

He shook off the nerves, and cleared his throat.

“Uh, yes. Of course.” He chuckled awkwardly. “What brings you here?”

“Mel had me deliver some tarts to a picnic at this park. Which I’m assuming is here.” You gazed around the park. “Is she joining you?” 

“Oh, I don’t know.” 

You placed the basket beside him and noticed a letter inside. 

“Oh! There’s a letter for you in here.” 

Viktor’s name was written in cursive on the envelope, unmistakably Mel’s penmanship. Swallowing thickly, he reached for the letter and opened it. Eyes widening as he read through it.

Viktor, 

Since you appear to be inept at making any romantic advances to someone you clearly hold affections for. Jayce and I have taken it upon ourselves to set up a lovely picnic for the two of you. Enjoy the treats and wine! You may thank us at a later date. 

Beneath Mel’s letter, Jayce had written a note as well.

P.S. Tell her how you feel! Seriously, V, it’s getting really irritating that you won’t. If you don’t I will! That is a threat and a promise! Love, Jayce 

A small heart was drawn next to his note. Viktor rolled his eyes and huffed. Looking back at you, he realized you were patiently waiting for him.

“It appears we have been set up, miláčku.” You didn’t understand the petname, but with the soft way he said it, you could tell it was sweet. 

“Set up?” You asked as you sat beside him. 

You couldn’t recall being this close to him before. Sure, he had occasionally reached for your hand, but that was always across a table. Now you were practically shoulder to shoulder, legs sliding against each other. With the closeness you could smell the sweet musk of his cologne along with the remnants of oil and metal from his time in the lab. 

Beside you, Viktor was taking you in as well. The smell of vanilla and butter wafting off you deliciously. How soft your exposed skin looked. The sun sparkling in your windswept hair. Instinctively, he reached for a piece curling around your cheek. Pushing it behind your ear gently, the tender action made your face burn. 

He smirked at the flustered state he had put you in. 

“You didn’t answer me.” You said softly.

“You’re a smart woman, I’m sure you were able to reach the same conclusion I have.” He smirked at you. Enjoying the way your eyes sparkled when you made the realization. 

“Did they set us up on a date?” You asked. 

He nodded, smiling softly. 

“Yes, they have.” 

You could feel your heart thudding in your chest as your face grew redder. Was your attraction to the man that obvious? You thought you had been doing a good job at hiding how you felt. Oh how wrong you were. 

“I think we’ve been dancing around this conversation for quite some time now.” He said, reaching for your hand.

You allowed him to slip his fingers between yours, his touch made you shiver. With shaky fingers, you curled your hand with his. 

“I suppose we have.” You nodded, staring down at your conjoined hands. 

Looking back up, you realized Viktor had been watching you. His gold eyes desperately reading your face, hoping that you felt the same. Worry filled those amber pools. Worry that you wished to dissipate. 

Impulsively, you leaned in. Lightly pressing your lips to him, he gave a shocked huff. His eyes widening, then fluttering shut. Viktor leaned into the kiss, his free hand reaching up to cup your cheek. The other holding your hand tightened, grounding him. Allowing him to recognize this moment as reality and not another one of his dreams. 

Sighing with content, you pulled back. Viktor’s mouth hung open slightly, his breathing grew a bit labored. He wasn’t done yet. With the hand still on your cheek, he pulled you back in. 

Opening his mouth, his tongue prodded at your lips. You parted them, meeting your tongue with his. Your taste had him groaning, just as sweet as your desserts. You gave a soft moan as he pressed against you. Soft hands tangled in his chestnut locks, lightly tugging. The action earning you another groan against your lips. 

He pulled away from you, touching his forehead against yours. His lips kissed all over your face and neck making you giggle. 

“Viktor!” You squeaked, as he pinned you underneath him. 

Looking up at him, you were mesmerized. His amber gaze searched your face for any flicker of doubt. When he didn’t find any he leaned back down to kiss you. His hand caressed down your side, then reached under your dress. You froze up at the movement, placing a hand on his shoulder. 

“Viktor, anyone could see!” You whispered, eyes wide. 

He remained composed, his hand tracing circles on your exposed thigh. He gave you a toothy grin, mischief sparkling in his eyes as he returned back to his previous movement. 

“Let them see.” He said lowly, sending a shiver through you. 

It didn’t matter to him. He needed you now. For so long he had gone without affections from another. Now here you were, so beautiful and willing. Wanting him of all people. It was something fueled by desperation, but he would follow it. Follow whatever would lead him to having you completely. 

His fingers reached your panties and he groaned. The slender appendages traced over the damp fabric.

“Already so wet.” He groaned, hot breath against your ear. “I need to feel you, lásko.” He breathed out. 

Nodding, you gave him permission. 

“Please.” 

His fingers slipped your panties down your legs, then he pushed a long finger inside of your wet heat. A loud moan escaping you, you clamped your hand over your mouth after hearing the sound. Viktor practically growled as he ripped his hand off of your face. Eyes darkening as he stared into yours. 

“No, I want to, I need to hear you.” He lifted himself over you.

A smirk dancing on his lips as he played with your drenched pussy. Fingers tracing over your folds, and circling your clit. Your thighs clenched and lifted up, begging for more from the man. This time he plunged two fingers inside you. The action making you cry out. He licked his lips as he watched you come undone beneath him. Your thighs were shaking with each press to the spongy spot on your inner walls. Each pump of his fingers making a knot form in your belly. Something was getting closer and closer to snapping. He groaned as he watched your eyes roll back. The walls of your pussy tightening around his fingers. Closer, and closer, he took in all of you as his fingers worked you to the edge. 

“Viktor… ah… Vikor…” You were babbling now. Pleasure made tears prick at the corner of your eyes. 

One final thrust into your heat had you convulsing. Your release drenching Viktor’s fingers, making him stare at you in awe. Gold eyes roaming over your spent body, taking in your trembling form. Your mouth letting out soft moans as you came down from the high of your climax.  But he wasn’t done yet. 

Looking around, he didn’t spot any people. Carefully, he slid off his belt and pushed down his pants and boxers to his thighs. Just enough to expose himself to you. With wide eyes, you watched as he gripped his cock. Long, slender, with a delicious curve. It had your legs shaking with anticipation. 

You couldn’t recall the last time you had sex, and now the man you had been harboring affections for was about to take you. In a public park no less. The idea had you buzzing. Your pussy was begging to be filled. 

The head of his cock slid against your folds teasingly. While Viktor would love to take his time with you. There was a desperate need to just thrust into you and fill you. So that’s what he did. His cock sheathing inside quickly, the movement making your hips jolt. You cried out as he began to move inside you. The tip of his cock hitting your sweet spot perfectly. Again, you found yourself babbling. Your hands clawed at Viktor’s back for purchase. Locking your legs around his hips, you found yourself subconsciously meeting each of his thrusts. Your clit rubbing deliciously against his pelvis. 

Your next orgasm was on the horizon. Each press against you building up that intense pressure within you. Viktor wasn’t far behind. 

When your warmth sucked him in, he felt like he could have released in that moment. Tight, wet heat surrounded him, making him groan with each thrust. He was thankful for the cool breeze as he continued to pound into you. 

“Viktor… I-I’m…” You couldn’t finish your sentence. 

Pure pleasure washed over you as you came. Pussy clenching against Viktor making him curse out. More of your release splashed against his pelvis, drenching the picnic blanket beneath you. 

“Fuck, yes. Oh. Fuck.” He cried out as you squeezed him.

Quickly, his release came. Hot ropes of cum flooding inside you, providing a comforting warmth. Your pussy fluttered around him as his cock twitched inside, releasing as much as he could. 

Your hands wrapped around the man’s neck, pulling him down for a kiss. His tongue danced with yours as his hands caressed your body. He watched as he pulled himself out of you with a groan. Enjoying the way his cum slid down your thighs. A sight he could get used to.

After pulling his pants up, Viktor laid down next to you. A content smile on his face. 

“I would love to do that again.” He reached for your hand and pressed it to his lips. “If you will have me.”

“The impromptu date? Or the public sex?” You teased with an airy chuckle, still catching your breath.  

“Hmm… why not both? Though perhaps the sex could be somewhere a bit more private.” He turned to you, eyes glimmering.

You realized you hadn’t actually confessed anything to the man. Your impulsive kiss had led you to making love in public, yet you hadn’t even said how you felt. 

“I really like you Viktor. I like you a lot.” You said as you turned to face him.

“I sure would hope so.” 

“I would like to continue this.” You said.

“As would I.” 

He leaned in placing a soft kiss against your forehead, then nose, then lips. The tender action had you smiling against his mouth as you kissed him back. 

Shuffling from behind you, had you both jolting up. Coming over a hill was Jayce and Mel. The large man was bright red in the face, while the woman had a coy smile playing on her lips. As they approached, you and Viktor attempted to make yourselves presentable. Mel waved you off. 

“I was expecting our little setup to be entertaining… However, I wasn’t expecting a full show like that.” She teased. 

Your face burned red.

“Y-you were watching?” You squeaked. 

“Of course, we set this date up. We wanted to witness the fruits of our labor. Though we might have gotten more than we had bargained for. Isn’t that right Jayce?” Mel hummed, amused at how flustered the man was.

“Mhmm.” Jayce couldn’t make eye contact with you. Your eyes darted to the hand that was attempting to nonchalantly cover a very prominent bulge in his pants. 

“Well as entertaining as that was, I suggest you two leave that in the bedroom next time.”  

“Oh, don’t worry.” Viktor reached for your hand. A teasing smirk played on his lips. “We will.” 

[kurittomat]

The twin colonies -lore!

Some lore I have managed to brainstorm about Ukko's and Naakkatar's home colonies. All of this can still change + I don't know how big part of the story any of this is yet.

Twin colonies:

-Two cat colonies who live on a small island in the middle of a river.

-They absolutely hate each other and have been in war since. Since forever.

-Or they were until a huge battle took place and killed such a big part of both colonies that they decided that it is time for peace.

-To achieve this they married Naakkatar and Ukko. Crown prince of one colony and kitten of a well liked family from another colony.

-Both colonies hate and fear "unnatural" stuff (aka creatures like She from Jumalanpelko) so good that Naakkatar and Ukko dont start doing anything weird like switching bodi-- oh fuck

-The colonies dont have names yet so lets call them The Kingdom and Swans

The Kingdom:

-Lead by king/queen. The role is inherited by the ruling cat's bio kitten (usually oldest but can also be the kitten who fits the role best)

-VERY strict pecking order. King/queen has all the power. (Swans make fun of this since usually cat colonies don't have such dictators as leaders)

-Polygamous (you can also just have one mate but it is rare), pretty fine with queer cats (as long as you are still having babies)

-Having kittens is an honour and cats are encouraged to have litters cause WE NEED SOME CATS TO BEAT UP THE SWANS

-Some cats in The Kingdom have blue eyes! These are mostly in the royal bloodline but have spread

The Swans

-No clear leader. Swans are lead by the most well liked families

-Monogamous. All cats are to get married before they turn one. Some families arrange the marriages, some don't. You don't HAVE TO marry but you will be side-eyed and everyone thinks you will steal their wife/husband and you won't get to make big decisions (The Kingdom makes fun of this since this isnt natural for cats. Swans go "well at least we arent little hoes")

-Marriages are always to have kittens (so they can have more dudes to beat up The Kingdom) so no no for queers

-They have last names! Usually when cats get married they take the last name of what ever family is more popular at the moment.

-Cheating/having mates outside/before marriage is A BIG NO NO, it isnt rare for cats to get killed for that (more often mollies since having kittens can't really be hidden, tom cats can just say "fake news didnt happen")

-Since (even tho it is super forbitten) it isnt rare that cats have kittens with cats from the other colony The Swans also have a few blue eyed cats (and they are side-eyed cause WHERE DID YA GET THOSE EYES HUH) and if you have a blue eyed kitten (even if it was something they inherited from their grandparents ect) you will have to do some explaining.

So yeah wouldnt want to live in either one of these