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januaryembrs · 11 months ago

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YOU'RE TOO SWEET FOR ME | Spencer Reid x Sunshine!Reader

Request: @avis-writeshq says -

HELLO HELLO jumping on your 2k celebration reqs because 2K OMG SO DESERVED ‼️🫶

may i perhaps request a spencer reid x fem!reader fic please 🥹 maybe him post prison w new reader and she follows him around everywhere because she’s just instantly enamoured to him 🤭

thank you so so much lovely and congrats again !!!

Description: thirteen years in the fbi and ten weeks in prison does a number on Spencer, only when he arrives back in the office he meets the sunshine rookie that seems rather taken with him.

word length: 2.6k (this really ran away from me)

warnings: post-prison Reid, slightest age gap, Spencer dealing with coming home from prison, gun shooting?

authors note: hozier’s new song 'Too Sweet' + post-prison reid is a need, not a want.

He smelled her french vanilla perfume before he even knew she was there. But then again, it was all he could smell the minute she waltzed into the office with a tray of coffee, like someone had stuck a sweet dessert in the oven and baked it on full.

“Good morning!” She chirped, winding an arm over his shoulder and setting down a take out cup and a little chocolate donut on his desk, “Pen said you like chocolate, and I mean who doesn’t like chocolate, right?”

She was potent when she was so close to him, and in one single breath he caught a whiff of her shampoo, before she had flitted over to her side of the desk that sat opposite his, where Morgan once sat. Noticing his hesitance, mistaking it for discontent she paused, almost spilling her own beverage over the potted plant she kept by her keyboard, scrambling to set it on the surface.

“Y-you do like chocolate right? I mean they had strawberry too, I can switch yours with JJ’s, I’m sure she wouldn’t mind-” She splurged, and her face was much too worried considering it was a matter of a donut, particularly considering he was already eying up the way the thick chocolate was melting in the pastry bag.

“Chocolate is great, I love…” He held up the bag to read the label with squinting hazel hues, “Cocoa Caramel delight,”

He had never heard of it.

He had never even seen this brand, but he wanted to quell her nerves even in the slightest. The BAU didn’t have the funds for a new keyboard, let alone time to send her to the ER if she ended up spilling her coffee over her hand.

She seemed convinced, and he offered her a small smile, not exactly his most enthusiastic, but then again he hadn’t been much of a morning person since he’d come out of prison. He liked quiet, he liked a moment to himself before Penelope called them into the round table for briefing. But she was sweet, too sweet perhaps for the dark nature of their job.

He could already see it chewing up her perky disposition and spitting her right back out within a year. It happened to the best of them.

But she smiled back at him, a million watt grin that made him think maybe he was being a little cruel. She was still brand new, still trying to make friends and he remembered how hard he tried when it had been his first few weeks on the team. He turned his gaze away from her in shame, reading the way she’d written his name on the cup in a pink sharpie, framing it with two doodle hearts.

She all but skipped away, sensing he didn’t feel like talking much anymore, and he heard Emily exclaiming she was ‘A caffeine angel sent from the heavens,’ as she handed her the drink. He watched her braided hair disappear down the hall as she bounced over to Penelope’s lair.

He picked at the cocoa caramel delight with a kind of self loathing he was familiar with, the french vanilla still a saccharine sugar in his nose.

She caught him again; though this time he felt her bristle past his arm, watching the bullets pierce the target paper with an accuracy that only came from fourteen years of practice.

“Do you reckon you could teach me how to do that?” Her cadence was light and airy, and he had to stop himself from jumping, from slamming the butt of the gun into her nose on reaction, because he knew she meant well, even though she had no idea how damaged he was.

He was still out of sorts from having to look over his shoulder at every second of the day, and he was surprised he was holding it together so far. He supposed shooting the shit out of a target helped.

Because it was just her, looking at him with soft eyes and a smile that could start wars, and he knew she had no idea the effect she had on the walls he’d tried so hard to build in prison.

She must have mistook his look for annoyance, because she was quick to fumble with her own loaded gun, taking a step back in retreat, worried that she crossed some line she didn’t know he’d drawn.

“Or I could get Luke to show me, I didn’t mean to bother you, I just am really a shit shot and I know that’s pretty useless in the field-” It wasn’t until he flicked the safety on and took a step to follow her did she look at him again hopefully.

“No, I’d be more than happy to show you,” He cleared his throat, setting his pistol in its holster and stepping behind her as she lined herself up for the fake body meant to resemble an unsub, “We all have to start somewhere. Show me your form,”

She raised her arms up in front of her, aiming for a few seconds for the spot in the centre of the chest cavity, her finger reaching up for the trigger.

She shot once, her face hardened for the first time he’d ever seen, and they both watched the paper rip about half a foot down the unsub’s leg.

“See, in my head it’s hitting dead centre and then by the time I shoot it’s wiggling all over the place,” She explained, scratching her neck and frowning at the paper body, “I don’t suppose unsubs are willing to stand still and wait while the rookie figures out her shot,”

“Your hips are perfect, wide stance means you get more stability against the ricochet,” She tried not to simper at his words, or the way he sidled up behind her, his hands coming up to her shoulders as if he’d known her for years, as if JJ hadn’t told her how much he hated other people’s germs, “It’s in your shoulders you’re losing balance, try relaxing a little,”

But she couldn’t not when he was breathing down her neck, rubbing those long fingers over her shoulder blades trying to get her to straighten out her posture, hoping he couldn’t feel the way her chest rattled with nerves.

“Relax,” He reminded, trying not to chuckle when he felt her shake her arms out as a means of hiding the way her skin had warmed under his rough touch, “You know, my unit chief taught me how to shoot. I wasn’t at all good at it when I first started,”

“Oh really?” She asked, her breaths feather light as he reached around her and adjusted her grip on the gun, “H-he must have been a good teacher,”

“He was the best,” Spencer agreed, brushing off the fact she was all but putty beneath his hands, “Three steps for the perfect shot; front sight, trigger press, follow through. Always keep your head forward, always keep your dominant finger ready, and wait until you’ve shot to drop your stance,”

She looked up at him in admiration, and her soft smile was back as his own musk of laundry detergent and chamomile soap encompassed her as his arms did.

He brought one of those big hands to the back of her head, moving her with gentle ease to look back at the target, a slight chuckle in his voice as he spoke: “Focus, what’s step number one?”

“Front sight,” She echoed him, fixing her shoulders with determination as he dropped his hands and stepped away from her. Taking a deep breath, she murmured to herself under her breath the next step as her forefinger rested over the trigger. She pulled it after a moment of courage, and froze in spot as she watched it hit where the stomach would sit.

Not a perfect shot, but certainly a lot better than she had been doing.

Her eyes widened behind the thick protective glasses, and her hands became fists above her head as she squealed in delight.

“Did you see that- did you see!” She yelled over the sound proof ear muffs they both wore, and he was quick to grab the gun out of her swinging arms, clicking the safety on for her before she could end up blowing a hole in the ceiling.

“Very good, give it a few months you’ll be a natural,” He complimented with a smile as she clapped her hands in glee, buzzing on the spot as if she’d chugged five energy drinks or doubled up on her coffee for the day.

He tried ignoring the way his chest warmed seeing her so happy because of him, especially when she looked at him like that.

“You said you needed those files, Dr Reid,” She’d appeared again, like she always did, and he had barely enough time to glance up from the paper he was already inspecting before he was hit by the perfume again, and he looked up to see two bright eyes watching him hopefully. Her arms were piled high with easily a box full of folders he had asked Anderson to find for him, and he saw the way she strained slightly to keep them held tight.

“Jesus! Let me help you,” She prayed he couldn’t feel the way her heart thumping against the manilla folders as he leaned over to take them out of her grasp, the way her eyes fell to his light smattering of facial hair as his lips were little more than a few inches from hers. Even when his hands brushed hers, and he seemed to realise she was staring, watching her scramble to look somewhere else other than his amused eyes, embarrassed he’d caught her, “Thankyou. And just call me Spencer,”

“Thankyou,” She echoed, shaking her head with a girlish smile on her face, her cheeks warm with humiliation, “I mean you’re welcome, any time,”

For the sake of her self preservation he waited until she turned around to smile to himself, pretending he didn’t see the way she muttered under her breath, or that she almost walked straight into the filing cabinet on her hasty exit out of the office.

“Seems like you have a shadow,” Emily’s voice met him as he heard her heeled footsteps approach, and they both watched their newest team mate almost bump right into JJ as she kept her head down, stroking her hair nervously, “She was super excited to meet you when you were away, said she went to one of your guest lectures you did with Hotch a couple years ago,”

His brows shot into his hairline, something warm flourishing in his chest when he saw her peek back to see the two of them watching her, and she immediately darted for her seat for an excuse to turn her back to them.

Spencer smiled again, running a hand through his curled locks as if he was trying to think of something else other than the joy that had over come his features.

She certainly was charming, in an incredibly girlish way, and he wasn’t the only one who thought it. He hadn’t heard Penelope giggling so much since Morgan had left, nor did he miss the way Rossi and Emily watched her darting around in the field, chasing after her as if she needed one of those leashes people had for toddlers.

Or the way Luke had had to talk her out of bringing a stray cat back to the BAU just two days ago because ‘it looked sad and lonely’.

She was only eight years his junior, and yet he felt like the job had made him too hard, too mature, too tough against a softness like hers.

Girls had never really been interested in him, at least not for him as Spencer Reid, not as SSA Dr Reid. He had the occasional fling, even Maeve in the grand scheme of things had been a budding romance at best, and just the thought of Cat Adams viper-like eyes had him shuddering.

He barely wanted anything to do with women at the moment, at least that was what he’d told himself every night he’d been fighting for his damn life in prison.

But it was almost too easy to feel this way about her, like he couldn’t drink in her sweet smell or even sweeter voice fast enough, or bathe in her gaze that melted like rich chocolate when he took a glance her way.

He didn’t bring it up with her until they were the last few people filing out of the office.

“I can drive you,” She chirped, almost dropping the contents of her bag everywhere as she rooted for her car keys, and before he could protest, because it was like all he could see now was how eager to be around him she was and he wasn’t too sure he could keep himself from opening pandora’s box, she jingled her keys, that of course had crochet bluebells hanging from them and all but danced past him into the elevator. “Come on, you can have shotgun,”

“I’ll be the only passenger, doesn’t that mean I automatically have shotgun?” He asked, following behind her as she stood in the elevator with a beaming smile, her finger clicking the ground floor button a bunch of times even though it made no difference how fast the doors closed.

“Well, yeah, but it’s going to be the best shotgun you’ve ever had. I’m talking you can be Miss Daisy and I’ll be your Morgan Freeman,” And as if her spirit was infectious, he shook his head with a hidden chuckle.

There was a minute of silence between the two as she played with a loose thread on her cardigan, and it was then he took the chance to ask her the question that had been burning on his lips all day.

“You didn’t by any chance go to University of Pennsylvania, did you?” Spencer asked, noting the way her eyes fell to the floor and how she licked her lips nervously.

“Yeah,” She replied cautiously, fingers clenched tightly around her keyring, “I know it’s not Caltech, but it was pretty good-”

“Didn't you see my lecture with Hotch?” He asked, and his smile widened tenfold when her hands slapped over her cheeks that burned with horror, moving quickly up to cover her eyes, “Little birdy told me you were quite excited to meet me-”

“Oh, Emily,” She groaned, burying her face in her palms, avoiding his teasing expression like the plague, “I knew, I knew she was going to tell you, I’m surprised she didn’t tell JJ first, unless she did and our whole team know I was some crazy girl who liked the FBI agents so much she switched her major,”

“You switched your major for me?” He asked incredulously and he only laughed harder, one of the first times since he’d come home, when she groaned louder, turning away from him entirely.

“Shut up, I did not swap my major for you,” She bit back, and she finally met his gaze, her expression an embarrassed wince, “I just… liked the material. You were very compelling,”

“Did you have a poster of us?” Spencer wanted to stop teasing, knew he was being a little cruel, but how could he resist when she shrieked in between laughter, shoving his shoulder with mortification.

“No,”

“Did you kiss Hotch’s picture before bed like an obsessive fangirl?”

She gestured to him vulgarly as they left the elevator and headed for the car park, and it made a huge difference to the usual adoration she watched him with, but maybe, he thought, it made him like her even more.

“No more shotgun for you, you’re going in the trunk like an old rug,” She snapped, though he could tell she was still horrified by the way she avoided his delighted hazelnut gaze.

“Like an old rug?” He feigned hurt, but when they sat in her car, she finally looked over at him with something vulnerable and yet affectionate, like he’d seen her for all she was worth. He reached over the console to squeeze her hand gently, not missing the way her palm clammed beneath his and she struggled for words, so he continued for her, “That’s really no way to talk to your idol, you know,”

Spencer swore his chest felt lighter than it had in months watching her laugh like that.

#spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid x reader #dr spencer reid #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid fanfiction #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds fic #matthew grey gubler x reader

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i-am-a-living-god · 7 months ago

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WHY WOULD YOU PUT BAKING SODA IN A CAKE???????

Lets bake a cake!

#you need baking powder #the golden rule of baking: baking soda for more dense desserts like cookies and baking *powder* for a light and airy creation like cake

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hellinistical · 2 months ago

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in which 6 months have passed and caleb has come to collect.

part two to Stamen Cluster tw: implied pregnancy. minor character death. dubious consent/non-con. kidnapping. coercion. wc: 13.2k

The summer sun beats down relentlessly, golden rays drenching the village in warmth. The air hums with life—cicadas drone in the trees, the distant chatter of market-goers echoes through the streets, and the chickens in your yard cluck contentedly as they peck at the plump grains you toss their way. They've grown fat and glossy, their feathers shining in the sunlight like polished gold.

The world around you seems to have flourished. The grass is lush and vibrant, swaying lazily in the soft breeze. Wildflowers bloom in riotous colors, dotting the landscape with splashes of red, yellow, and blue. Even the market has transformed—stalls overflow with fresh produce, their owners smiling and calling out to passersby with cheer you hadn’t seen in years.

The market boomed in the village square, its stalls overflowing with fresh produce, colorful fabrics, and trinkets brought in by traveling merchants. The air was filled with laughter and the chatter of bartering voices, the scent of baked bread and spiced meat wafting through the streets. Life had seemingly returned to normal, for everyone but you.

The dreams had stopped. Weeks ago, they had ceased entirely, leaving behind a deafening silence. At first, you were relieved, grateful to sleep through the night without the suffocating presence of Caleb haunting your every thought. But relief turned to unease. The absence of dreams didn’t mean the absence of him.

You didn’t forget. Not the bite, not the basket, and certainly not the promise. Every pomegranate you passed at the market brought it all rushing back. Every glance in the mirror reminded you of the scar on your neck, now faded but still there, a ghost of that winter night.

Josephine had noticed your change, of course. She would mutter about how you’d become quieter, more distant. You’d wave her off with excuses of being busy, of chores piling up- because really, how would you go about explaining to your grandmother that some man had bit you and told you that you had to go to him every six months?

When Josephine had first noticed the bite on your neck, she squinted at you over the rim of her spectacles, her tone sharp with suspicion.

"What's that on your neck?" she asked, gesturing with her knitting needle.

You’d reached up reflexively, your fingers brushing over the faint scar. "A cat bite," you’d replied smoothly, offering her a dismissive shrug. "You know how that stray's been hanging around. Got a little too friendly."

Josephine had frowned, unconvinced, but she didn’t press.

And the pomegranates—oh, she had asked about those too.

"What’s with that basket in my room?" she’d demanded one morning, hands on her hips. "I don’t remember planting any pomegranate trees."

You’d forced a laugh, light and airy, as if her question was absurd. "A gift," you said quickly. "I was meaning to pass them along, but your room has the best sun. Didn’t want them to spoil before I could deliver them."

Her eyes had lingered on you for a beat too long, but eventually, she’d let it go, mumbling about the heat of the season and the wastefulness of letting good fruit sit too long.

The moment she’d shuffled out of the room, you’d wasted no time. Gathering the basket, you’d carried it outside, heart pounding the entire way. The sight of those glossy red fruits had turned your stomach, their weight in your hands far heavier than it should’ve been. You hadn’t even dared to bury them; instead, you hurled them into the thickest part of the woods, where the undergrowth was dense and the sun barely reached.

You’d stayed there for a moment, breathless, staring at where the pomegranates had disappeared into the shadows. Only when the breeze shifted, carrying the faintest scent of earth and fruit back to you, did you turn and walk away, refusing to look back.

But.

The next day, the damned things were back.

You froze in place the moment you entered Josephine’s room, your pulse hammering against your throat. There they were, sitting on her table as though you’d never thrown them into the woods, the basket perfectly arranged, every pomegranate still plump and gleaming with an almost unnatural sheen.

For a moment, you just stared, your breath caught somewhere between disbelief and dread. How? How could they possibly be here? You’d thrown them far—far enough that even wild animals wouldn’t have dragged them back.

"What’s wrong with you?" Josephine’s voice snapped you out of your frozen state. She was knitting by the window, her gaze flicking between you and the basket. "Don’t tell me you’ve lost your mind over a few pieces of fruit."

You shook your head quickly, forcing a shaky laugh. "No, no. Just... surprised they’re still looking so fresh in this heat."

"Hmph. They do look odd, don’t they?" she mused, squinting at them. "Almost like they’ve just been picked. I thought you said they were a gift from someone?"

"Y-Yeah," you stammered, taking a cautious step closer. "Guess they’re hardier than I thought."

She waved a hand dismissively. "Well, they’re wasting space in my room. You’d better do something with them before they rot. Lord knows I don’t want that smell in here."

You nodded, swallowing hard as you grabbed the basket again, its weight unnerving in your hands. They felt heavier than before, almost as if the fruits were mocking you with their persistence.

This time, you carried them even farther, past the woods and into the rocky streams beyond. You hurled them into the water one by one, watching as the current carried them away.

And the next day, they were on your bed.

You froze in the doorway, staring at the basket sitting squarely in the middle of your quilt, pristine and accusing. It was impossible—completely, utterly impossible—but there they were, the pomegranates gleaming as if they had just been plucked.

Your heart thundered in your chest as you stepped inside, the wooden floor creaking beneath your boots. You slammed the door shut behind you and leaned against it, your hands trembling.

You paced your room, back and forth, back and forth, the floorboards groaning under your restless movement.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck," you whispered under your breath, running your hands through your hair. The pomegranates sat there, unbothered by your panic, their bright crimson skin a taunting contrast to the faded, dusty hues of your little room.

"Why won’t you leave me alone!" you hissed, throwing your hands in the air. "It hasn’t been six months! Leave me be!"

Your words echoed in the room, falling flat against the oppressive silence. The only sound was your own ragged breathing and the faint chirping of cicadas outside the window.

You glanced at the basket again, your frustration bubbling over. You stomped over to it, gripping the edge of the woven handle so tightly your knuckles turned white. "What do you want from me?!"

The basket didn’t answer.

But of course, they didn’t answer; they were pomegranates.

You let out a short, bitter laugh, rubbing your temples. "I’m going crazy. I’m actually going crazy," you muttered to yourself, pacing again.

The fruit sat there in perfect silence, unbothered by your spiraling. Their ruby-red skin seemed almost alive in the golden summer light filtering through the window, as though mocking you with their unnatural vibrance.

Bingo. The solution hit you like a lightning bolt—if they wouldn’t leave you alone, then fine. You’d just give them to someone else. Someone could eat them, and that’d be the end of it.

You turned on your heel, marched back to the underbrush, and snatched up the basket. Dirt clung to the edge of one of the fruits, but the rest were still as pristine as ever. You wiped the sweat from your brow, muttering to yourself.

"Granny thought they were a gift for someone, didn’t she? Well, might as well make them a gift. Problem solved."

You held the basket at arm’s length, like it might sprout legs and attack you, and trudged back toward the house. The sun beat down, making you squint as your boots kicked up little clouds of dust.

The market. Yes, the market would be perfect. Someone there would take them off your hands, no questions asked. You just needed to make it quick—drop them, smile, and leave. Nothing to it.

***

The market, alive with the hum of summer prosperity, bustled far busier than usual. Vendors shouted over each other, the mingling scents of fresh bread, herbs, and livestock mingling in the thick, warm air.

Luckily, Tara's stall didn’t have too long of a line. You weaved your way through the crowd, sidestepping an overzealous butcher swinging a cleaver a little too close for comfort.

By the time you reached the wooden counter, Jenna was already sorting through an armful of herbs, her hands swift and precise. She glanced up as you approached, her brows lifting.

"Well, don’t you look like you’ve been running from something," she quipped, tying a neat bundle of rosemary. "What’s in the basket?"

You hesitated, clutching the cursed thing a little tighter. "Pomegranates."

Jenna tilted her head, her curiosity piqued. "Pomegranates? In the middle of summer?"

"Yeah." You glanced down, trying not to sound as uncomfortable as you felt. "Thought Tara might want them. For...you know, preserves or something."

Jenna wiped her hands on her apron, eyeing the fruit. "Bit unusual for you to bring gifts."

"They're not—" You stopped yourself, forcing a smile. "Just...trying to get rid of them before they go bad."

She smirked but didn’t press further. "Tara’s packing up some jams right now, just give her a sec. I’ll let her know you’ve got a little surprise for her."

"Great," you said, setting the basket down on the counter. “Great, great, great.”

Not great.

Definitely not great when Tara finishes up and comes up, all happy and excited that you’ve come to visit her, with a gift no less. She wipes a streak of flour off her cheek. “Oh, hey! What’s this?”

"A gift," you replied, forcing a smile. "Thought you might like some pomegranates. Fresh. Perfectly ripe."

Her eyes lit up as she peeked inside. "Wow, really? These are so expensive in the market right now. Where’d you get them?"

"Friend of a friend," you said quickly, waving a hand as if to dismiss the question. "Figured I’d share the luck."

Tara reached out to pick one up, her fingers grazing the smooth skin of the fruit. For a moment, you almost snatched it back- almost. Instead, you took a deep breath and said, “They’re all yours, enjoy.”

And of course, she didn’t just let you leave. “Why don’t you sit? I can take a break!” “Oh, uh, no, I shouldn’t. You know, Granny is-” “Oh come on, Y/n, we need to catch up!”

You hesitated at the edge of the stall, hands suddenly feeling too warm in the heat of the market. Tara's energy was contagious, and her smile only made it harder to say no.

"No, really, I should get back. Granny's waiting—"

"Granny can wait!" Tara interrupted, her hands on her hips, playful but firm. "We haven't had a proper chat in ages. Come on, just a few minutes, I insist!"

Her insistence was like a gentle pull, urging you to sit, and before you knew it, you found yourself taking the seat she’d pulled out for you.

"Fine," you muttered, crossing your arms as if that might stop the inevitable catching-up that was coming. "Just a few minutes."

Tara beamed, pulling her apron off and hanging it over the edge of the stall. "Great! Now, tell me everything. How's Granny? You? Any guys in your life yet?"

You couldn’t help but chuckle at her eagerness, but it didn’t stop the uncomfortable flutter in your stomach. It was one thing to lie about the pomegranates, but talking about that?

You hesitated, trying to maintain a casual tone. “Granny’s good, really. She’s getting old, but tough as always,” you started, trying to keep it light.

"And me? Well, you know how it is. Just busy with things around the house, the farm..." You shrugged, brushing past the question of you.

Tara's eyes narrowed slightly, sensing the deflection. “Busy with farm stuff? You don’t even look like you’ve got your hands full these days.” She smirked, and for a moment, you could see the playful challenge in her eyes.

"You're dodging the question, Y/n," she teased. "Any guys? Any... interesting ones, maybe?"

You froze for a moment, the question hanging in the air like an unspoken weight.

“Really?” You forced a laugh, trying to ease the tension. "I'm busy with Granny. You know how it is."

But Tara wasn’t letting it slide that easily. She leaned in, a sly smile creeping onto her lips. “Come on, now. You’ve got to at least be talking to someone. There’s gotta be someone who's caught your eye, yeah?”

The words stung a little too much. You barely even remembered the last time someone caught your eye.

But you couldn’t let her see that. You smiled, shaking your head. “Nope, not really. No time for any of that.”

Tara didn’t seem entirely convinced, but she let it drop, leaning back in her seat. “Alright, alright. I’m just saying, you deserve someone who gets you.”

And you would laugh. Really, you would- if not for the hand that suddenly rested on your shoulder,

Tara's voice is bright, almost musical as she greets him, completely oblivious to the cold sweat running down your back. “Well, well, someone knows how to make an entrance!” She beams, her usual warmth easily shifting toward Caleb as if he’s some kind of long-lost acquaintance.

You fight the urge to panic, to back away, but something in the pit of your stomach stops you. His presence is like a shadow draped across the market, and you can feel it weighing down on you even as he greets Tara with smooth, practiced charm.

“Caleb,” he introduces himself with a slight bow, a grin curling at the corner of his lips. “Pleasure to meet you. I’ve heard much about you.” His tone is warm, almost too warm. But what catches you most is the look in his eyes—like he didn’t like that Tara was even talking to you, or someone who’s discovered something interesting. Tara laughs, clearly enamored. “Oh, you have? I hope only good things, then!” She waves it off with a playful flourish, completely buying into his act.

And there you are, standing frozen in the middle of it all, your heart pounding. Caleb looks at you, his eyes briefly meeting yours, and you can feel the pressure building in your chest. It’s not the same as before—not the overwhelming, suffocating grip, but something colder, sharper.

“I see you’ve made yourself at home,” you manage to say, your voice coming out more steady than you feel.

Caleb’s grin widens, an eerie sort of satisfaction curling through his expression. “I couldn’t resist,” he says smoothly, his gaze lingering on you for a fraction too long.

Caleb takes your hand, kissing it. His lips brush against your skin, a shiver runs up your spine, and for a moment, the world feels distant. His touch is deliberate, slow, as if marking his claim. You want to pull your hand away, but his grip is gentle yet firm enough to hold you in place.

Tara’s voice pierces through the tension, her teasing tone rising as she watches the two of you. “Y/n, you sneaky thing! You said you weren’t seeing anyone!” She laughs.

Caleb looks at you, a playful smirk tugging at his lips, as if he’s enjoying this little game. His eyes lock with yours for a moment before he speaks, his voice smooth, seductive, and confident.

“Oh, Tara, you know how it is,” he says, the tone of his voice dripping with something almost dangerous. “Sometimes, it’s best to keep things private.” He glances at you again, his gaze holding a silent promise of something unspoken.

Tara giggles excitedly, taking your free hand in hers, and grasping it tightly. “Wow, how did you guys meet? He’s so…wow, Y/n.” Your stomach churns at her excitement.

“Oh, it’s quite the story,” Caleb says smoothly, his voice laced with charm that immediately captures Tara’s attention. He steps a little closer to you, his hand still firmly holding yours, as if to ensure you don’t slip away. “We met during one of her trips to the market. I was passing through, and, well... she caught my eye.”

Tara gasps, her eyes lighting up with excitement. “No way! That’s so romantic! Love at first sight?” She looks between the two of you, her face brimming with enthusiasm.

Caleb chuckles, the sound low and warm. “Something like that,” he replies, glancing at you with a look that feels far too intense. “She was buying pomegranates. Couldn’t take her eyes off them. I joked about how picky she was being, and she told me—well, you know how sharp she can be.” His grin widens as if he’s remembering something fond, though you know better.

Tara bursts into laughter. “That sounds just like her! She’s got quite the bite sometimes, doesn’t she?” She squeezes your free hand in a playful, affectionate way.

You manage a weak smile, your stomach twisting tighter with each passing second. Caleb’s fabricated story wraps around you like a net, trapping you in the role of a lovestruck partner. “Yeah, it was... memorable,” you mumble, hoping Tara doesn’t pick up on the strain in your voice.

“But the funny part,” Caleb continues, his tone light but his words precise, “was how she refused to accept my help carrying her things. Stubborn, determined—exactly what drew me to her.”

Tara sighs dreamily. “That’s so sweet. Y/n, why didn’t you tell me? I mean, look at him!” She gestures toward Caleb with a grin. “If I were you, I’d be showing him off.”

Your forced smile doesn’t falter, though your nails dig into your palm. You glance at Caleb, silently pleading for him to stop, but his expression is unreadable—pleased, perhaps even smug, as he tightens his grip on your hand just slightly.

Tara’s excitement is palpable, her joy genuine, and it makes you feel even worse.

"Anyway, one thing led to another, and then, as it turns out, I knew her grandmother. Josephine is lovely."

Tara’s eyes widen, her jaw dropping in surprise. “Wait, you know Josephine? Small world! How do you know her?”

Caleb’s smile doesn’t falter, his chin still resting lightly on your shoulder. “Oh, from years ago. She helped me out during a difficult time, and I never forgot her kindness. When I realized the connection…” He trails off, his voice softening. “Well, it felt like fate, you know?” He rests his chin on your shoulder before linking his hand with your other hand. His skin was like cold, calloused. You shiver involuntarily as his icy hand grazes the back of yours. The contrast to the summer heat makes it all the more unsettling. You glance sideways at Caleb, his smile perfectly crafted, as though he were born to charm.

Tara giggles again. She leans in slightly, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial tone. "You better watch out, Y/n. If Granny likes him, then this one’s a keeper."

God, was Tara stupid or something?

You try to laugh, but it comes out more like a strangled cough. "Yeah, Granny... she, uh, she keeps her opinions to herself these days," you manage, your voice tight.

Caleb turns his head slightly, his lips brushing dangerously close to your ear. "You’ve gone quiet, darling," he murmurs softly, just for you. His breath sends a chill down your spine despite the blazing summer sun.

Tara, oblivious to the tension radiating from you, clasps her hands together. “That’s so sweet! It’s like something out of a storybook!” She laughs, nudging your arm. “Y/n, why didn’t you tell me about this? It’s so romantic!”

Your throat feels dry, and your words stick, but Caleb, of course, fills the silence effortlessly. “She’s modest. I think that’s part of her charm.” His hand tightens slightly on your shoulder, the pressure subtle but firm, a silent warning.

Tara beams, completely enchanted. “I love this for you, Y/n. I mean, not just that you’ve found someone, but that he’s clearly so thoughtful and caring.”

You force out a small laugh, the sound strained. “Yeah, it’s… something.”

Caleb’s smile grows as his icy fingers trace idle patterns along your shoulder, sending chills through you. “Something, indeed,” he echoes, his tone smooth yet loaded with a weight only you can feel.

Tara leans in conspiratorially, her excitement barely contained. “So, are there any big plans? I mean, you’ve clearly got a story worth celebrating!” She winks, completely unaware of the storm brewing behind Caleb’s pleasant facade.

Tara’s eyes light up, her smile widening as Caleb speaks, his tone casual but carrying an undercurrent that only you can decipher.

“Yeah, we’ve got a big trip coming up soon,” Caleb says smoothly, his icy hand still resting possessively on your shoulder. “She’ll be staying with me for a while, just to test the waters, you know?”

Your stomach drops, and you whip your head around to glare at him, but Caleb’s expression remains calm, even charming, as if he hasn’t just dropped a bombshell. Tara’s jaw drops, her excitement bubbling over.

“Oh my gods, Y/n! That’s huge! Where are you going? How long are you staying? I can’t believe you didn’t tell me!” She bounces slightly on her feet, her hands clasped together.

You open your mouth to speak, your heart racing, but Caleb answers before you can get a word out.

“It’s still a surprise,” he says with a soft laugh, leaning closer to you, his voice low and intimate. “But I’ll make sure she writes to you.”

Tara practically squeals, completely charmed. “A surprise? That’s so romantic! Y/n, you lucky thing!” She beams at you, clearly convinced that this is the most wonderful news.

You try to force a smile, but it falters under Caleb’s steady gaze, the grip on your shoulder tightening ever so slightly. There’s no escaping the unspoken message in his words: This isn’t up for discussion.

***

The sun hangs high, casting golden light through the trees as the two of you walk the path home. The market’s noise is far behind you now, replaced by the gentle rustle of leaves and the cheerful chirping of birds. But the air feels thick, heavy, as though the world itself can sense the tension simmering just beneath the surface. And the walk home? Suffocating. Caleb’s presence looms over you, his steps too close, too deliberate.

“That Tara,” he says casually, his tone light, as if discussing the weather. “Sweet girl, hmm?”

You glance at him out of the corner of your eye, his figure far too at ease for the storm brewing in your chest. “Please, no—”

“Relax.” His voice sharpens slightly, though the smile doesn’t leave his lips. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d think you take me for a bad guy.” He chuckles, a sound that doesn’t quite match the amusement he pretends to feel.

You clench your fists at your sides, swallowing the sharp retort on the tip of your tongue. The birds chirp on, oblivious, their melody at odds with the undercurrent of dread knotting in your stomach. Instead, you put your focus fixed on the dirt path ahead. Caleb seems to notice your silence, tilting his head slightly to glance at you. “You wound me, truly. After everything I’ve done for you?”

"You said six months," you snap, your voice trembling as you glance at him.

"Six months before I collect you," he corrects, his tone as smooth and unbothered as ever. He steps closer, his presence suffocating. "And I said we have a big trip coming up. I never said I wouldn't visit, dollface."

Your heart pounds in your chest as his words sink in, the casual way he speaks of your future like it’s already set in stone. Like you don’t have a choice.

You stop walking, your fists clenching at your sides. "Stop calling me that," you grit out, the words slipping through your teeth before you can think better of it.

Caleb raises an eyebrow, his lips curling into a lazy smirk. "What, dollface? It suits you."

"It doesn’t," you spit back, turning your glare on him.

His smirk deepens, his eyes gleaming with something you can’t quite place—amusement, or maybe warning. "Feisty today, aren’t we? I like it."

Your stomach twists, but you force yourself to hold his gaze. "You don’t get to just... show up and act like you own my life."

"But I do," he says, his voice dropping into something softer, more dangerous. He takes a deliberate step toward you, and instinctively, you step back. "You signed the contract the moment you took the seeds. Six months, six seeds, till death. We’re bound, sweetheart. Whether you like it or not."

You stop walking. Turning to look at him, you jab a finger into his chest. "What even are you?" you spit, your voice shaking with anger.

"A god, maybe?" he says with a lazy shrug, like the answer doesn’t matter.

"You're no god of mine," you snap back, your fists trembling at your sides.

"And that," he says, his smirk widening, "is just as fine."

It’s disgusting how sure of himself he is, how he carries himself like the world bends to his whim, like even the sun would stop in its path if he commanded it. He watches you with those unnervingly calm eyes, his head tilted like he’s amused by your defiance.

You gasp as he spins you, the sudden motion leaving you breathless and disoriented. His grip is firm as he pulls you against him, his body too close, too strong.

"You gave her the basket," he murmurs, his voice low and dangerous, as his hand slides smoothly to rest against your neck. A cold shiver runs down your spine, a feeling of dread creeping over you as you fear he'll squeeze again, cut off your air like before. But he doesn’t. Instead, his fingers brush against the scar on your neck—the bite, the mark of what you never wanted to remember.

Your pulse quickens, thumping beneath his touch. You feel trapped, helpless under his gaze. His thumb traces the scar, and your body tenses, as if the very memory of that moment will come rushing back. You swallow hard, but your throat feels tight, constricted.

"Of course, I could just take your right hand," he continues, his lips curling slightly in a smirk that sends another spike of terror through you. "But, oh, you didn't seem to like that option. Or taking Josephine. So really, you're stuck with me."

The words sting, sharper than they have any right to be, and you struggle against his hold, the feeling of being caged growing stronger by the second. You try to step back, to pull away, but his grip doesn’t loosen; it only tightens, holding you in place.

"You don't own me," you force out, though your voice trembles more than you'd like to admit.

He tilts his head, as if genuinely amused by your words. "Oh, sweetheart. You gave me a choice. You decided this, not me."

His words pierce through you like a cold dagger, sharp and unrelenting. The memory of what you've done—the seeds, the promise you made, the trap you unknowingly walked into—plays over and over again in your mind. His grip on your face is firm, forcing you to look at him, to meet his gaze.

"You chose this," he repeats, his voice low and sinister. "And it was your fault for stealing the seeds." The way he says it makes your skin crawl, as if he's savoring your guilt, your helplessness.

You try to resist the urge to recoil, but you're trapped. His touch on your face is cold, like the ice of winter, but it's also familiar—too familiar, in a way that makes you want to escape, to break free from the suffocating weight of everything he's saying and doing.

His thumb brushes across your cheek, a mocking tenderness that doesn't match the malice in his eyes. "Luckily for you, I'm already familiar with this. Wouldn't you agree?"

The question hangs in the air, suffocating, and you can't help but feel like there's no way out. No way to undo what you've done, no way to take back the seeds, no way to escape this twisted cycle. The worst part is that you do agree, in a way. He knows you. He knows your weakness, your fear. He’s always been there, watching, waiting for this moment.

You force yourself to breathe, to try to steady your nerves. "You don’t control me," you say through gritted teeth, though your words sound weaker than you intend.

His lips twitch upward, and for a moment, the smile he gives you is almost... fond. "Oh, darling," he murmurs, his breath warm against your skin. "You have no idea how much control I have over you."

Your stomach drops as he leans in closer, his face inches from yours. The air between you feels charged, electric, and you can't tell whether it's fear or something else that makes your heart race.

His kiss lands on your lips with an eerie gentleness, like the touch of a predator feigning affection. It's soft, almost too soft, as if he's savoring the moment—savoring the control he has over you. The cold of his lips contrasts with the heat in your chest, a confusing, disorienting sensation that makes your skin prickle with discomfort.

For a second, you almost want to pull away, to slap him, to scream—anything—but his presence is suffocating. His hand still cups your face, keeping you locked in place, and the pressure of his lips, though gentle, is impossible to ignore.

You don’t respond to it. You refuse to. It feels wrong—so wrong, like he's trying to erase your will with every soft, calculated press of his mouth. But somehow, you can’t break free. It’s like a force you can’t fight, and you hate yourself for not being able to.

When he finally pulls away, it’s not with a sense of victory, but something far more disturbing: a quiet satisfaction, as though this kiss, this small victory over you, is simply one piece of a much larger, more intricate plan. His eyes meet yours, those unsettling, dark eyes that never seem to leave you.

"You're mine, whether you want it or not," he says, his voice a low murmur, lips still close enough that you can feel the brush of his breath. "You always were, Y/n."

You blink again, your heart racing in your chest, trying to make sense of what just happened. One moment, Caleb's lips were on yours, his hand cradling your face, and the next... you're standing in the familiar confines of your own home. The walls, the creaking floors, the smell of old wood and herbs—everything is just as you left it.

But the air feels different. Heavier. The shadows in the corners seem deeper, and your breath feels sharp in your lungs as you slowly process the shift. Caleb is gone, and you have no idea how or when he left. It feels like time skipped ahead, like something changed, but you don’t know how.

Your fingers touch your lips reflexively, still tingling from his kiss. The bite on your neck pulses, a quiet reminder of what he's done, what he's taken from you. You want to scream, to rip the memories out of your mind, but they cling to you like a dark cloud.

You glance around the room. Josephine's door is still shut, the house is eerily quiet, yet you feel... watched. But he’s gone. For now. You have no idea when he’ll return—or what he'll want next.

For now, all you can do is breathe, steady yourself, and pray the walls hold up against the darkness he's brought into your life.

But at least that basket was gone.

***

The dreams returned, but they weren't the same. Not like before, when they had been fragmented, hazy, and fleeting. No, now they were sharp, clear, as if the night itself had become a canvas, and every stroke of it was painted with purpose, with intent.

In the first dream, you were back in the field. The pomegranates stood tall and ripe, their red skin gleaming under the moonlight. The soil beneath your feet was soft, too soft, as if the earth itself had swallowed up everything you once knew. You walked through the rows, reaching out, your fingers grazing the dark fruits, feeling their weight like a burden. And then, you saw him—Caleb. He was standing at the far end, his silhouette stark against the sky, his eyes glinting as if he could see straight through you.

“You’ll learn to love them,” his voice echoed, though his lips never moved. The fruit was delicious. So utterly, maddeningly delicious. Its stain tainted your lips, the color matching his fingertips, bloody.

You tried to turn, to run, but your feet were rooted in place. The pomegranates were all around you now, their roots tangled like vines, pulling you down, pulling you into the earth.

Another dream followed. This time, you stood before a mirror, but it wasn’t your reflection that stared back at you. It was something... wrong. A version of you with darker eyes, wilder hair, a version that had been changed, warped by the seeds, by the bargain you had made. You reached out to touch the mirror, but the reflection didn’t move in sync with you, it was always a moment ahead, always watching, always waiting.

The bite on your neck burned as if it had never healed, the scar still angry and red beneath your skin, even in the dream. And Caleb’s laughter, soft and mocking, rang out in the background, swirling around you like smoke.

The dreams weren’t dreams anymore. They were memories, and they felt like warnings.

And when you woke, your heart hammered in your chest, your breath coming in frantic gasps. For a brief, terrifying moment, you wondered if the line between sleep and reality had blurred completely.

You clutched the covers tightly, as if trying to hold yourself together.

The chickens clucked outside. It was…comforting.

***

The tension in the air was palpable, thick with a sense of desperation, of something dangerous stirring. Lips pressed together in a fierce, bruising kiss—teeth clashing, not out of passion, but out of something more primal. Something almost violent. There was no tenderness here, no softness. Just a raw, chaotic hunger that neither of you could control.

Your hands were everywhere, grasping, pulling, pushing. His fingers dug into your skin, scratching and clawing like they were trying to leave a mark, trying to stake some claim on you, on your very essence. You didn’t know if you wanted to break free or if you wanted to pull him closer, as if the intensity of the moment could somehow swallow both of you whole.

His hands were on your body, your neck, your waist, burning through your clothes as if they weren’t even there. The sharpness of his grip, the way he maneuvered you against him, felt almost like a punishment. He was everywhere, his scent, his touch, his voice. You couldn’t escape him. No matter how much you struggled, you were trapped in this moment.

Your pulse raced in your throat, and his lips trailed down, leaving fire in their wake. But the world around you was blurring, the edges of reality slipping away like water between your fingers. All you knew was him, all you felt was him.

And still, it wasn’t enough.

You didn’t even know how you got here, but it felt like you’d been drowning in this moment for hours, for years—time didn’t seem to matter anymore. All that mattered was the chaos of his presence, the way it shook you, the way it marked you.

When you finally pulled away, gasping for air, your lips swollen and red, your body burning from the heat of it all, Caleb’s eyes were on you—dark, intense, unreadable. His chest heaved as he stared at you, as if trying to decide what to do next. A string of spit connected your lips. He brushed it away with his thumb from the corner of your lips.

“You’ll learn to crave this,” he whispered, his voice a low murmur that sent shivers down your spine.

And for a moment, he looks almost guilty.

Your heart races in your chest, your breath shallow as you gasp for air, the remnants of the dream still clinging to your skin. The sheets are tangled around you, your body slick with sweat. You clutch your pillow tight to your face, muffling the scream that rises in your throat.

It felt so real. Too real. His touch, his words—everything about it lingered like a shadow in your mind. You couldn’t shake the sensation of him, the feeling of his hands, his presence, suffocating you.

You sit up, your legs shaky beneath you, fighting the panic that claws at your chest. The sunlight filtering through your window is harsh, but it does little to clear the fog that clouds your thoughts. The world outside feels like a distant memory, too distant from the nightmare that still echoes in your mind.

As you moved, you paused.

Your underwear felt warm. Warm and wet.

Of course, you rush to the bathroom and tug your waistband and underwear to see.

You stare at the crimson stain, your heart pounding in your chest. This isn’t normal. It’s too soon—weeks too soon. You grip the edge of the sink, your legs trembling as you try to make sense of it.

Your reflection in the mirror looks pale, almost ghostly. Panic rises as your mind races. You’ve never been early before. Never like this. You fumble for the calendar on your phone, quickly scrolling through the dates. It confirms what you already knew: this isn’t right.

“Okay, okay,” you mutter to yourself, trying to calm down. Maybe it’s stress. That’s a thing, right? Stress can mess with your cycle. Or maybe it was something you ate.

But deep down, you know this isn’t just stress.

The dreams, the bite, the pomegranates—it all feels like pieces of a puzzle you’re too afraid to put together. You grab a fresh pair of underwear and a pad, trying to shake off the nagging feeling in the pit of your stomach. The bright light of the bathroom feels too harsh, too exposing.

You take a deep breath, trying to steady yourself. Maybe it’s nothing. Maybe it’s just a fluke.

Yeah. A fluke.

***

The crisp air of fall settles over the village, painting the trees in fiery reds and golden yellows. The scent of earth and fallen leaves lingers, grounding you in a way that summer never could. For the first time in months, your life feels...ordinary.

The pomegranates no longer appear on your bed or at your door. The oppressive weight of Caleb’s presence, real or imagined, seems to have lifted. You can breathe again.

The chickens are still assholes, the market bustles with preparations for the harvest festival, and the days bleed into one another in a blur of chores, conversations, and fleeting smiles. It’s not happiness exactly, but it’s close enough that you don’t question it.

Josephine scolds you for tracking mud into the house, Tara chats with you in the market, and for once, you don’t feel like the shadow of someone else lingers behind you. Nights are quieter now. The dreams are gone, leaving you with nothing but the sound of wind brushing against the windows and the occasional hoot of an owl.

You stop keeping track of the days. It doesn’t feel important anymore. Caleb fades like the last vestiges of summer, distant and unreal.

Josephine hums softly as her fingers work through your hair, weaving seeds and flowers with the kind of care that only she could manage. You sit still, trying not to squirm under her meticulous touch.

"You look lovely," she says, her voice soft, almost reverent. "This shade of pink suits you."

You glance down at the folds of the doric chiton, its fabric catching the golden afternoon light. It feels too delicate, too perfect. A stark contrast to the mud-streaked skirts and work-worn tunics you’ve grown used to.

"Granny really outdid herself," you mutter, trying to muster some semblance of gratitude.

Josephine chuckles. "I just want you to shine at the festival. You know how much this means to me. Besides, it’s not every day you get to dress up for the gods. And the festival only comes once a year. Make sure you give them a proper thanks for all we’ve been given this season.”

Your eyes flicker to the small table by the window, where your offerings sit—a neatly arranged basket of bread, fruit, and herbs, alongside a small clay figure you’d crafted. It feels enough. It has to be enough.

“Do you think they’ll listen?” you ask softly, almost to yourself.

Josephine frowns, her hands coming to rest on your shoulders. “The gods are always listening, child. Whether they answer is another thing entirely. But you must offer with a full heart and trust that they’ll hear.”

You didn’t know if you even believed in the gods after well, that.

It’s been months since...since then. Long enough that you’ve almost convinced yourself it’s behind you. Caleb is gone, the pomegranates stopped appearing, and life has returned to a semblance of normalcy.

But as Josephine ties the final braid and steps back to admire her work, you can’t help but roll your stiff shoulders. The seeds in your hair feel heavier than they should, but maybe that was just the style.

Shaking off the thought, you stand, smoothing the folds of your dress. “I should go finish preparing,” you say, reaching for the basket.

Josephine nods, a faint smile tugging at her lips. “Go, then. And don’t forget to enjoy yourself tonight. The festival isn’t just for the gods, you know- Oh!”

“Hm?”

She goes to your basket, her fingers deftly plucking a single cherry from the offerings. Without hesitation, she bites into it, the juice running faintly down her chin. Then, before you can ask what she’s doing, she takes your face in her hands. “Hold still.”

And you do. You do as she rubs the exposed half of the cherry onto your lips, the sweet, sticky juice staining them a deep red (or as red as they could get).

“Isn’t this a bit much?” “Nonsense. The gods love beauty, and they care for presentation. Now, I want you to be safe- don’t over-do the wine, but mingle. Don’t stay with Tara the whole time, understand?” “Yes, grandmother.” “And if you get hungry and have lost your coin, there’s seeds in your hair.” “Of course, grandmother.”

A gentle smile plays at your lips. She returns it halfway.

“Soon, you’ll have to leave me, you know.” “...I know.” “You’ll have a husband, children- but don’t forget about me,” theres a happy lit to her voice now.

“I’d never!”

“I know.”

It’s quiet for some time. The sun would surely set soon.

Josephine sighs, clapping her hands together.

Well… off you go. And don’t smudge it before anyone gets a good look- enjoy yourself! But go before I find something else to start fussing over.”

You laugh, and with that, she gives you a light push toward the door. The warmth of her hands lingers on your cheeks as you step outside, basket in hand. The cherry’s taste stays with you, its sweetness mingling with the crisp autumn air as you make your way toward the heart of the village. It’s a small thing, but as you catch your reflection in a passing window, you can’t help but admit—Josephine might be onto something.

As you step outside again, the cherry’s sweetness lingers, mingling with the crisp autumn air. You adjust your grip on the basket, glancing down at its carefully arranged contents. The offerings look the same as before, but now, with the touch of Josephine’s flair, they feel... different.

Special.

You shake off the odd sense of unease that creeps up your spine and head toward the square. The distant hum of the festival grows louder with every step, the laughter and music pulling you in like a current.

Let them notice, you think, the faint taste of cherry on your tongue. Let them see.

***

The festival buzzed with life, every sound and sight merging into a symphony of joy. Flutes and lyras trilled high notes, while the deeper, resonant hum of lyres and kitharas anchored the music. The bonfire crackled at the heart of it all, sending sparks spiraling into the night sky like fireflies escaping into freedom.

Your shoes were long forgotten, discarded somewhere along the edge of the square. The cool earth kissed your feet as you spun and swayed, the soft fabric of your chiton billowing with each movement. You held your skirts high, free from the constraints of formality, your laughter blending into the melody of the celebration.

Tara appeared beside you, her cheeks flushed from the heat of the fire and the exhilaration of the dance. She grabbed your hand and twirled you around, both of you stumbling and giggling like children. “Look at you!” Tara shouted over the music, her voice full of laughter. “Who knew you could dance like this?”

“Shut up!” you replied, grinning as you spun her around. “You’re the one showing off!” The two of you laughed, the sound blending with the music and the cheerful chatter of the crowd. Around you, other women joined in, their movements graceful and free, their laughter ringing out like bells. For a moment, the world felt simple, unburdened by the weight of your thoughts or the strange, dark memories that lingered in the back of your mind. The firelight painted everyone in shades of gold and amber, and the music carried you, light as air.

“Come on!” Tara shouted, pulling you closer to the fire. “Let’s see if you can keep up!”

You laughed, following her lead as the music grew faster, your feet moving instinctively to the rhythm. Around the fire, the festival carried on, a celebration of life, of the gods, of the turning seasons.

As the flames illuminated your face even more, more compliments seemed to spill from Tara’s lips. Her cheeks were rosy as if she’d been wined and dined, greedy for more. “You look stunning tonight!” she shouted over the music, her voice brimming with sincerity and joy. “I swear, you’ve outdone yourself!”

“Oh, please,” you replied, laughing as you caught your breath. “It’s the dress! Granny picked it.” She shakes her head, giggling. “Remind me to thank her!” Linking your arms together, the other women link as well, circling and dancing.

Brightly dressed women clapped their hands and twirled, their skirts fanning out like petals in the firelight. Children darted between the adults, their giggles carrying on the wind. Men cheered and clapped from the sidelines, some joining in to pair off with dancers, while others lingered with mugs of spiced wine.

For a moment, everything else melted away. The tension, the strange unease you’d carried with you for weeks—it was all burned away by the fire, drowned out by the music and the easy joy of the festival.

"Come on!" Tara called, pulling you further into the throng. "No holding back tonight, Y/n!"

And for once, you let yourself go. You danced until your feet ached, until the world spun from more than just twirling. The festival carried on, vibrant and alive, as if nothing else mattered but this night and its revelry. And nothing did.

***

The hours blurred together in a haze of laughter, music, and the smoky scent of the bonfire. You barely noticed the passage of time, caught up in the festival’s intoxicating energy.

Jenna, Tara, and you had become an inseparable trio for the night, weaving through the crowd and sharing stories between bites of roasted lamb. The juices ran down your fingers as you tore into the leg, the savory richness melting on your tongue. Each bite was perfection, seasoned just right and charred to smoky deliciousness.

Jenna, however, was in her own world, her cheeks flushed from more than just the firelight.

"I swear," she slurred, her words tumbling over each other as she clung to your arm for balance, "if I see that baker again, I’m—I'm gonna marry him! Just—poof! Right then and there."

Tara snorted, nearly choking on her drink. "Jenna, you said that about the butcher last week."

"I changed my mind," Jenna declared dramatically, swaying as she gestured with her cup. "He gave me free bread, Tara! Bread! What more do you need in life?"

"Steady legs, for starters," you teased, catching her just as she stumbled.

Jenna burst out laughing, her head tipping back as she clung to you tighter. "Oh, Y/n, you’re the best. If this baker thing doesn’t work out, maybe I’ll just marry you instead!"

Jenna hiccups, a sound so sudden and loud it startles both you and Tara. She blinks, swaying slightly as she grins mischievously.

"Let’s—hic—let’s play a game," she announces, slurring just enough to make you nervous about where this might be headed. "Truth or dare!"

Tara groans, shaking her head as she leans back against the bench. "Oh, no. Jenna, you’re terrible at this game when you’re sober. I can’t imagine how this is going to go right now."

Jenna waves her hand dismissively, nearly whacking you in the face. "Nonsense! I’m great at this game." She hiccups again, giggling. "Come on, Y/n, Tara—hic—it’ll be fun! I’ll go first."

You exchange a glance with Tara, her raised eyebrow mirroring your own apprehension. Still, you can’t help but smile at Jenna’s enthusiasm.

"Fine," you sigh, playing along. "Go ahead, Jenna. I’ll go first- uh, hmm…dare.”

And Jenna gets all into your face, and you swear she was pretending to be drunk with how sober she suddenly seemed. “I dare you to go to the temple- not Kore’s temple. The other one. Take a fruit.”

You blink, momentarily taken aback by the sudden shift in Jenna's demeanor. The air feels heavier, and there's an odd intensity in her gaze that makes you hesitate. You swallow, trying to maintain your casual tone.

"Wait, the temple?" You glance at Tara, hoping for some kind of reassurance, but she looks just as confused as you. "Jenna, what are you talking about?"

Her smile widens, almost predatory in its sharpness, though her eyes are clouded with drunkenness again. "You know," she says slowly, as if speaking to a child, "the temple. The one at the edge of town. There's fruit there.”

"Why would I..." you trail off, not sure if you even want to entertain this idea. The thought of taking fruit from there doesn’t sit right with you, especially given everything that’s happened in the past.

Tara looks between you and Jenna, narrowing her eyes. "You really want her to do that, Jenna?" she asks, her tone cautious.

Jenna's grin widens again, though there's a glimmer of something else behind her eyes. "You don’t have to do it," she says in a sing-song voice. "It’s just a dare.” She makes a sound as if to imitate a chicken.

"I—I can’t," you mutter, shaking your head as you try to laugh it off. "That’s... that’s too much."

But Jenna leans in closer, her eyes boring into yours with an intensity that makes your breath catch. "I dare you," she whispers, like it’s a secret only you need to hear. "Go. Take a fruit."

Tara’s laugh is nervous now, her voice dropping lower. "Jenna, what is this really about? What’s going on with you?"

The tension hangs in the air. You feel the weight of Jenna’s dare pulling at you. The temple... What could go wrong, right? Just grab a fruit.

Your feet move before your mind catches up, and you feel the heat of the wine still dancing in your veins. With a strange sense of defiance, you rise to your feet, your voice louder than you intended. "Grandmother didn't raise a coward."

Tara looks at you, her expression a mix of concern and confusion, but you don’t give her the chance to voice her concerns. You begin walking toward the temple, the dare fueling your movements.

You tell yourself it’s a joke, a simple dare. You won’t actually take a fruit. You’ll just go in and out. No harm done. What’s the worst that could happen?

The night air feels cool on your skin, a contrast to the warmth of the wine still swirling in your head. The temple stands ahead, its silhouette looming against the starlit sky, its pillars casting long shadows. Something about it feels...wrong. You try to shake off the feeling, but it lingers.

As you approach the entrance, the heavy wooden doors stand slightly ajar, an invitation or a warning? You can’t decide.

With a deep breath, you step inside. The air shifts as you cross the threshold, and a strange silence envelops you. There are no sounds of night creatures, no rustle of wind—just stillness. The faint glow of candles illuminates the altar ahead, and there, piled with offerings, sits an assortment of fruits, their colors deep and vivid in the dim light.

You freeze for a moment, your pulse quickening. The temptation to grab just one, to complete the dare and return before anyone notices, rises within you.

But you hesitate. The air seems to thicken, and you feel eyes on you, though you see no one. The weight of something ancient presses on your chest.

Just take a fruit. Just one.

***

The marble feels slick beneath your feet as you step further into the temple, the coldness biting into your bare soles. You hadn't expected it to be this cold, this quiet. The usual sounds of the night outside, the rustle of leaves or the calls of distant animals, were replaced by an eerie stillness, as though the air itself had frozen in time.

You glance around, the space stretching before you, each stone gleaming under the faint light of flickering candles placed carefully on the altar. The faint scent of incense lingers in the air, sharp and intoxicating. It's a strange place, a place of both reverence and... something else.

You bow low, instinctively following the rituals your grandmother drilled into you. Your lips whisper the necessary prayers, your fingers curling around the edges of the hem of your chiton, your heart pounding in your chest. You can almost hear your own heartbeat echoing in the silence.

And then you hear it.

Footsteps behind you. Jenna. She had followed you, hadn't she? She didn’t trust you to do it alone, didn’t trust you to carry through with the dare. You don't have to look to know she’s there, watching, waiting.

But you're here now. You’ve come this far. The fruit sits before you, gleaming temptingly in the dim light. You were supposed to take one, weren’t you? It felt like part of some unspoken pact, an offering, a symbol of submission. You glance back briefly and catch the gleam of Jenna’s eyes, expectant and a little too eager.

Should you? Should you take it, just like the dare demanded?

The weight of the moment presses heavily on you.

His voice cuts through the silence, smooth and teasing, and you freeze, your heart skipping a beat. The words, the tone—it's all too familiar. It's Caleb, standing there, his presence like a shadow you can never quite shake off.

You didn't even hear him approach. How long had he been watching? The cold air grows heavier, the weight of his gaze pressing on your back. His footsteps echo as he moves closer, and you can feel the tension building in the space between you.

You don't turn to face him. You can't. But you hear him step forward, his boots clicking softly on the marble floor.

"Don't act so surprised," Caleb continues, his voice low and almost intimate, "I’ve been watching, you know. You think you can just sneak away to the temple and pretend I won’t notice?"

The way he says it makes your skin prickle, like he's always one step ahead, always aware of what you're doing. You grip the hem of your chiton tighter, your pulse quickening.

"Perfect timing," he repeats, almost as if savoring the moment, "And look at you, all dressed up. For me? You shouldn't have."

You try to keep your composure, but the unease crawling along your skin betrays you. It’s the last thing you expected — no, it’s the last thing you wanted. Of course, it’s no coincidence that he’s here now. You shouldn’t have come, shouldn’t have even considered it. His presence, his- Jenna.

That motherfucker.

You swallow, your throat dry, and force yourself to face him. He’s not even hiding now, stepping fully into the dim light, his figure outlined against the shadows. The flickering candlelight casts a soft glow on his features, but his eyes — those eyes — they’re colder than the stone beneath your feet.

You glance down at the fruit on the altar, the one Jenna dared you to take. For a fleeting moment, you wonder if that would make a difference, if taking it would somehow tie you closer to him.

But you know better. You know there’s no way out.

“So,” he continues, his voice lowering, his footsteps slow and deliberate as he approaches, “which fruit will you choose, hmm?”

He waits for an answer for a good 5 minutes before saying anything. “Come on, Kore. Don’t keep me waiting, yeah? After midnight, well- it’s been six months, love. So come on. Pick a fruit.”

The nickname makes your blood run cold. Kore. The name slips from his lips like a promise, laced with meanings you can’t fully grasp but feel all too keenly. It’s mocking and intimate all at once, and it burrows under your skin like a splinter.

“Stop calling me that,” you snap, but your voice wavers.

Caleb only smirks, his head tilting ever so slightly as if amused by your defiance. “Oh, but it suits you so well. Don’t you think?” He gestures to the altar, the fruits glistening under the faint candlelight. “Now, let’s not waste time. Pick one.”

You glance at the altar, then back at him, your chest tightening. The air feels too thick, the weight of his gaze pinning you in place.

“I’m not playing your game,” you say, taking a step back.

His smile doesn’t falter, but there’s something sharper in his eyes now, a warning hidden behind his otherwise relaxed demeanor. “It’s not a game, love. It’s a choice. Your choice. But let me remind you,” he steps closer, the click of his shoes echoing off the temple walls, “I’ve been patient. Six months, patient. And patience, well… it has its limits.”

You shake your head, backing up until the altar presses against your lower back. The cold stone is a stark reminder that you’re cornered. “You said—”

“I said I’d give you six months before I collected you,” Caleb interrupts smoothly, his voice dangerously soft now. “And here I am. But you… you’re still making this difficult. Always so stubborn, aren’t you, Kore?”

Your heart pounds against your ribs as his fingers trail along the edge of the altar, dangerously close to the fruit. “Why are you doing this?” you whisper.

His laugh is low, dark, and it curls around you like smoke. “Because I can,” he says simply, his hand finally stopping above a ripe pomegranate. He picks it up, rolling it in his hand as he inspects it. “Because you invited me in when you took the seeds. And because…”

He leans in, his lips brushing your ear as he finishes, “You’re mine, and you always will be.”

You want to scream, to run, to fight, but your body won’t move. Instead, you stare at the pomegranate in his hand, its dark red skin gleaming like blood.

“Pick a fruit, Y/n,” Caleb murmurs again, his voice a silken command. “Or I’ll pick one for you.”

His breath brushes your neck, and you can feel his gaze on the back of your head, lingering in a way that feels like a predator eyeing its prey. His hand in your hair sends shivers down your spine, an unsettling mix of warmth and danger. The sweetness of his scent is thick now, almost overpowering, making it hard to think clearly.

“Beautiful work,” he repeats, his voice soft and almost teasing as his fingers gently tug at the strands of your hair, weaving through the braids. “Compliments to Josephine.” There’s a bite of something else in his tone, something that makes the compliment feel less genuine and more like a warning.

Your heart races, but it’s not from fear alone—it’s the confusion, the fury, and the helplessness all blending together. You don’t know what you want more: to break free from his grip or to slap the smirk off his face.

You’re so close to him now, his body just a breath away from yours. His warmth spreads across your skin, and it makes you dizzy. You struggle to pull yourself together, your mind desperately searching for something, anything to do.

"You're not playing fair," you manage to choke out, the words tasting like ash in your mouth. "I won't—"

“Won’t what?” His lips brush your ear again, and this time, his words are like poison. “Won’t take the fruit? Won’t accept what you’ve already given me?”

He reaches over to a basket, pucking a fruit. The pomegranate he holds glistens in the dim light, its bright red skin a cruel reminder of the price you’re about to pay. His fingers slide through your hair one last time, his hand holding your head just firmly enough to make sure you don’t look away from the fruit.

"All this time, and you still don’t see the inevitable, do you, Kore?” He chuckles low in his throat. “Six months ago, you ate the seeds. And now… it’s time to collect what’s due."

Your breath catches in your throat. You feel trapped. Stuck. There’s nowhere to run. No way to fight this. And worse, part of you… part of you wants to give in, just to make it stop.

His words hang heavy in the air, the mockery laced with something far darker. The way his gaze roams over you makes your skin crawl, even as heat rises to your cheeks against your will.

"Oh, would you look at that," he says, tilting his head as though examining a prized possession. "If I didn't know any better, I'd say you got all dolled up for someone else. But that couldn't be, could it?"

His smirk widens, sharp and cutting, as his hand trails down to brush the fabric of your chiton, lingering just enough to make your stomach twist in disgust. “No, this was for me, wasn’t it, Y/n? Everything you do always circles back to me.”

You grit your teeth, your pulse pounding so hard it’s a roar in your ears. “I dressed for the gods. Not you.”

He laughs, low and rich, the sound vibrating through the marble halls. "Sweetheart, I am your god now. Whether you like it or not."

You recoil from his touch, jerking away enough to put a sliver of distance between you. His grin doesn't falter; if anything, it grows wider, as though your resistance only amuses him further.

“You don’t have to keep fighting it,” he says, stepping closer, erasing the space you just created. “The sooner you stop pretending, the easier it’ll be. For both of us.”

Your jaw clenches, the fire in your chest sparking again. “I’m not pretending,” you snap. “You don’t own me.”

“Don’t I?” His voice drops, the teasing edge sharpening into something far more menacing. He leans in, his lips so close to your ear that you can feel the chill of his breath. “You gave me your soul the moment you swallowed those seeds. Whether you meant to or not.”

His words send a cold dread creeping through your veins, but you refuse to show it. Instead, you glare at him, your voice trembling but steady. “I didn’t know. That wasn’t a choice.”

“And yet, here we are,” he says smoothly, straightening and gesturing to the temple around you. “All roads lead to me, love. Always have, always will.”

His confidence, his dominance—it’s suffocating, and yet, somewhere deep inside, something stirs. A spark of defiance that refuses to die, no matter how much he tries to smother it.

You take a deep breath, forcing steel into your spine. “You don’t scare me,” you lie, the words falling from your lips like a challenge.

His smirk turns predatory, his eyes glinting with dark amusement. “Oh, Kore,” he murmurs, stepping so close that your breaths mingle. “You should be scared. But that’s what makes this fun.”

His finger presses lightly against your temple, the touch cold and electric. A shiver runs through you, but before you can pull away, the world slips out from under you.

The marble of the temple dissolves, the flickering torches extinguish, and the air grows heavy and still. Darkness consumes everything, as thick and impenetrable as ink.

You try to speak, to move, but your limbs feel weighted, your voice trapped in your throat. Panic flares in your chest, and you struggle against the void, your thoughts scattering like leaves in the wind.

“Shh,” Caleb’s voice whispers, soft and velvety, reverberating all around you. It feels as though it’s coming from inside your head. “Don’t fight it, love. You’ll only make it worse.”

His laughter echoes, sharp and cruel, slicing through the oppressive silence. “Relax. It’s just a little... adjustment.”

You want to scream, to demand what he’s done, but all you can do is drift, weightless and disoriented.

And then, just as abruptly as it began, the darkness recedes.

You’re standing in a field bathed in golden sunlight. The sky above is impossibly blue, the air sweet with the scent of wildflowers. Everything is vivid, dreamlike in its perfection.

But something feels off.

You look down and realize you’re still in the pink chiton, its fabric shimmering unnaturally in the sunlight. A crown of flowers rests on your head, their petals vibrant and freshly bloomed.

And then you hear it—a low hum, melodic and haunting, carrying on the breeze. It sends a chill down your spine despite the warmth of the sun.

Turning, you see him standing at the edge of the field, his figure dark against the brightness. Caleb, watching you with that ever-present smirk, his eyes gleaming with triumph.

“Welcome home,” he says, his voice carrying effortlessly across the distance. “Do you like what I’ve made for you?”

The pomegranates were alive again. Alive and thriving. But just as soon as you saw them you were back, Back in that bed- the one from before, where he had choked you- nearly killed you0 and left that horrible, horrible bite.

Caleb leaned against the door frame as you sat up. There was no smirk on his face, no smile, no frown. His voice is surprisingly gentle and…wanting?

“It’s midnight, You’ve had your wine and dance. Just…just 6 months of your time. Not a year, not forever. I just want you back K-Y/n.”

His steps are soft, and it seems he’s done a 180 in his manners.

His touch is a contradiction—gentle enough to soothe, yet possessive enough to remind you of the control he wields. His fingers trace the curve of your arm, light as a feather, but it sends a jolt down your spine. You hate how your body responds, how his touch lingers like a ghost long after he moves away.

The bed beneath you is a trap, its plush surface too soft, too inviting, pulling you in as though it has a will of its own. You shift uncomfortably, trying to push back against the suffocating comfort, but it only seems to draw you in deeper.

Caleb’s hands slide down to your waist, his grip tightening just enough to make you notice. There’s an aching sort of yearning in the way he touches you, as though he’s memorizing the shape of you, mapping out every curve, every hollow. It’s suffocating, intoxicating, infuriating.

“Relax,” he murmurs, his voice low, a whisper of honeyed command. “I’m not going to hurt you... not unless you make me.”

The threat is veiled in sweetness, his tone so soft it almost feels like a caress in itself. You clench your fists, nails digging into your palms as you fight the overwhelming sensation of helplessness.

And you ask what seems like for the millionth time: “What do you want from me?” you ask, voice trembling despite your effort to sound strong.

His lips curve into a slow, soft smile. “Everything.”

It’s a single word, but it feels like the ground shifting beneath your feet, the air being sucked from your lungs. His hands remain on you, warm and firm, a reminder of the weight of his presence, the inevitability of his claim.

***

His lips are molten against your skin, every kiss igniting a trail of fire that seems to seep straight into your veins. He’s deliberate, moving with the confidence of someone who knows exactly what effect he has on you, and you hate how your body betrays you, arching instinctively to grant him more access.

His hands, strong and unyielding, pin yours on either side of your head, fingers interlocked as if he’s binding you to him. There’s a dangerous intimacy in the way he holds you—gentle, yet unrelenting, as though he’s savoring the moment of your surrender.

You’re disgusted with yourself, with the way your breath hitches when his mouth finds that sensitive spot below your jaw. You can feel his smirk against your skin, a silent acknowledgment of your weakness.

“See?” he murmurs, his voice dripping with smug satisfaction. “Your body knows what it wants, even if you don’t.”

Your teeth clench, and you glare up at him, but your defiance feels hollow when your pulse betrays you, pounding under his touch. “Get off me,” you hiss, though your voice wavers, lacking the strength you want it to have.

He chuckles softly, his breath warm against your ear. “Oh, sweet girl,” he says, his tone both teasing and reverent, “we both know that’s the last thing you want.”

Your heart races, your thoughts a chaotic storm of anger, fear, and something else you refuse to name. You hate how easily he unravels you, how effortlessly he reduces you to this trembling, conflicted mess.

And yet, even as you fight against him, a part of you wonders if he’s right.

A part of you winders if he’s right as he cups your face, kissing your eyes, your cheeks, your nose, your lips.

A part of you winders if he’s right when his lashes brush across your skin, butterfly kisses soft as he promises devotion.

And a part of you winder if he’s right as his hands are so, so genlte that it makes you cry.

The tears come without warning, hot and unbidden, slipping down your cheeks even as his hands continue their soft ministrations, brushing tenderly across your skin. His touch feels like silk, each movement almost reverent, as if he’s cherishing you in a way that feels far too intimate, far too real for you to grasp.

His lips continue everywhere.

Your cheeks, your nose, your lips. Each kiss is so light, so gentle, that it feels like a confession in itself, as if he’s offering something more than just a physical connection.

The soft brush of his lashes against your skin feels like a whisper from some dark, hidden part of yourself, and for a moment, you almost want to believe him. You almost want to surrender to the devotion he promises, even though every fiber of your being screams that it’s a lie, a manipulation, a trap. His kisses, tender and patient, ghosting over your cheeks and lips, seem to slow time, stretching the moment into something agonizingly beautiful. His hands, impossibly gentle, caress your face with such reverence that it stirs something deep inside of you. Something raw and fragile.

You hate how vulnerable you’ve become in his presence, how his careful tenderness is unraveling the walls you’ve spent so long building.

“You don’t have to fight,” he murmurs, his voice like silk, soothing, coaxing. “I can give you what you need. All you have to do is let go.”

Your chest tightens with emotion you can’t name, a surge of dread and longing so tangled together you can't separate them. You want to pull away, to tear yourself from his embrace, but your body betrays you, sinking deeper into the warmth he offers, yearning for something you can’t understand. The contradictions inside you churn.

“Stop it,” you whisper, your voice cracked, but even the words feel weak as they leave your lips. You’re terrified of what might happen if you give in, terrified of what part of yourself you might lose in the process. But you’re equally terrified of what’s left—this part of you, so full of confusion and tears.

He just smiles, a slow, knowing smile. “No, love. You’re too precious to let go now.”

"Such a beautiful, perfect creature," he murmurs, his voice so sweet it feels like honey dripping into your ears. It’s intoxicating. His breath is warm against your skin, and for a moment, you feel like you’re drowning in him, in the sweetness of his devotion, in the promise of something you can’t name but long for anyway.

But the tears—why are there tears? You’re angry, confused, terrified, and yet his gentleness makes you break, makes you lose control in the most vulnerable way possible. Your body is betraying you, responding to him in a way that makes you hate yourself for giving him even the smallest hint of satisfaction.

"Don’t cry," he whispers softly, brushing away the tears with his thumb, as if the mere touch of him could erase your fear, your resistance. "You’re safe here. You’re mine."

The words send a chill down your spine, and part of you wants to push him away, to reject everything he says, every soft caress, every whisper of devotion. But another part, a treacherous, aching part of you, wonders if there’s truth in his words.

If you are his.

***

Clothes had been forgotten long ago. Only the sounds of your gasps for air, moans, and whimpers fill the room, save for the blasphemous squelch of his fingres dragging inside you, curling at that spongey spot that makes your eyes close, the darkness swimming with floating lights.

One calloused hand is working through your sobbing cunt, the other pressing two fingers down on your tongue. His teeth dig into your shoulder as he works you through another orgasm.

Spit pools in your mouth, and you find yourself twitching, shaking drooling when he adds a third finger, working you open.

“Like I said, this is only the beginning. Let’s do good, yeah?”

And Caleb is so sure- so incredibly sure that you’re his that there is simply no room for doubt in his mind. Why would there be, when he takes his fingers out and watches your cunt glisten, connected to his fingers by the strings of your juices. He licks them clean, save for his index. That, he removes his fingers from your mouth, replacing it with that so you taste yourself.

“See? See what I can do for you?”

He’s greedy. He doesn’t wait for any answer- he doesn’t need to hear one. Because he knows. He knows as he lays you on your back, his lips finding your tits, worshipping them for some time, his tongue swirling around the erected, hard nipple, relishing in how your thighs twitch again, as if you’re just not going to get used to this.

He lets them go with a lewd pop before he gets between your legs. You don’t dare look, lest your face burn hotter than it was already, as his cock leaks, a pearl of divinity seeping at its pink tip, just waiting to be of use. The vien is big, and he’s thick- you’re sure that it’s not going to fit.

You try to close your thighs but he just doesn’t let you, kissing away your worries as he lines himself up.

Your breathing quickens, and he pushes himself in.

If you screamed, you didn’t hear it.

Not when you feel yourself being torn open so carelessly, when there’s a wild look in his eyes as he’s finally, finally inside you, finally splitting you open.

When you open a pomegranate carelessly, it’s so messy. You hardly have time to enjoy it. The pomegranate bursts open in your hands, the seeds spilling out with reckless abandon. Juice splatters across your fingers, dripping down your wrists, staining the fabric of your dress. It's sticky and messy, and it leaves behind a trail of crimson marks wherever it touches. The sweet-sour scent fills the air, but it's no longer the delightful fragrance you once associated with the fruit.

You try to clean it up, but the more you do, the messier it becomes. The juice smears across your hands and lips, irreversible.

You don’t miss the gasp he takes as he spills inside, nor the smile of finality.

***

The ring slips on your finger unnoticed, a subtle weight you don’t even feel at first, not when his touch is so consuming, so overwhelming. His presence fills every inch of the space around you, and everything else, every shred of reality, fades into the background.

The soft gleam of the ring feels like an afterthought, an inconsequential detail, as your focus is entirely on him—his voice, his breath, his touch. His promises. His devotion. It’s intoxicating, and for that fleeting moment, you almost forget the consequences of what you’re allowing, the choices you’ve made without truly thinking.

But then your mind snaps back, and the weight of the ring finally registers—your gaze falling to it with a sharp, sinking realization. How did it get there? Was it his doing, was it the culmination of everything he had whispered, everything he had touched you with?

You look up to meet his gaze, and in the depths of his eyes, you see something—too familiar, too sure. His smile is soft, but there’s something possessive, something triumphant in it. He knows. He knows the ring is on your finger, and he doesn’t have to say it out loud to make it clear.

You are his.

And that realization, that truth, sits heavy in your chest.

***

The next morning, as you woke up, you noticed the sunlight streaming in from a window you didn't see yesterday. And beside you, on the nightstand, was a bulbous figure.

A scream tore through your throat.

Jenna's head, with her skin peeled back like the arils of a pomegranate.

#pandoras box writing #hellinistical #x y/n #love and deepspace #afab reader #caleb x reader #lads caleb #love and deep space caleb #caleb x you #caleb x mc #yandere caleb #love and deepspace caleb #lds caleb #lnds caleb #caleb love and deepspace #caleb smut #caleb lads

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airandangels · 3 months ago

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Today I’ve made 16 gingerbread people (which due to their funny-shaped legs can double as seals!), 15 stars, 12 circles (to ice as baubles), eight Eevee (Christmas Eevee) and 11 pine trees.

We’re going to decorate them tomorrow with royal icing and M&Ms.

#airy bakes #food #no shortage of gingerbread here

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vifilms · 7 months ago

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feat. anderson's treats & baker!abby

abby who owns a bakery shop and you have an insatiable sweet tooth that never seems to end, a match made in heaven. your first date being in her shop she closes for the night, anderson’s treats, flour anxiously spread across her cheeks, she’s blushing furiously as you watch her, careful hands kneading the dough as you gaze at her with a certain sparkle in her eye as abby speaks about what got her into baking in the first place.

then, curiosity gets the best of abby and she’s asking you questions about yourself, maybe she gets you to assist her, the butterflies in your stomach swarm as she tells lame jokes no one should really find funny but you do. with skillful hands, she makes you her favorite, one her shop is known for. it crumbles deliciously in her mouth, but the filling comes out as it coats the corner of your mouth, leaving her to use her thumb to wipe the strawberry filling away. with intentful innocence, she brings it to her lips. your deep, curious eyes inquiring at her mouth, full pink lips sucking the strawberry away. it’s only then she’s realized what’s been done.

burning bright and red, the blush noticeable from a mile away. it’s when you notice the scar on her cheek and it makes you wonder how she got it and maybe you’ll ask her at another time but you don’t want to dismiss the moment. abby anderson, looking upon you with a blinding smile, giggles. airy and light, as if her laughter is the dough you’re kneading. the delightful substance infused into your bloodstream, needed as much as the blood pumping through your veins.

as delightful as it is, it’s still a distraction. you think of her instead of the task she’s so cutely assigned you to.

as you visibly struggling to knead the dough correctly. abby thinks it’s cute, but she decides to assist you. “here, let me—” the blonde maneuvers her frame around you, arms practically wrapped around your waist as she places her warm hands on top of your own. her voice sends a sensational shiver down your spine. “oh!”

abby chuckles but offers nothing else to say as she shows how to do it correctly. the feeling comes natural to her and she passes along her natural instinct but all you can think about is how she feels, her words coaching you in your ear as abby’s breath causes goosebumps to soothe every inch of your skin.

“yeah, just like that. you’re a natural baby.�� she kisses your cheek sweetly. she smirks as you lean back to her, finding comfort in the safety of her warmth. a homecoming, a sense of it settled in your heart, one only she could’ve brought to a full bloom.

OKAY BAKER!AU??? I MIGHT NEED TO EXPLORE THIS MORE GAHHHHHDKJF ♡

tags: @plutolovesyou @brackishkittie @nybueckers @only4theweeknd @tlouloser @marvelwomenarehot0 @grey-jedi12 @r3starttt @bittersu1te @pxgeturner @maxinephobia @marsworldd @aouiaa @mytwoseater @cherrybunny @twopeoplee @i-lov3-w0men @lvlymicha @half-of-gay

wanna be tagged?

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sproutoast · 1 year ago

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hi hello i ‘ m back again w/ more art hooray‼️‼️

let ‘ s start off w/ some traditional art

ok now some digital art of some of my characters

(in order: leaf , spru (no way that ‘ s me 🤯🤯) , astronomy book / zodiac)

aaand lastly gifts for 2 incredible artists‼️‼️‼️‼️

1st one is for my friend meowsterion on yt

2nd one is for @akalikestodraw whose dragon art helped me a bit w/ zodiac ‘ s horns & has really cool art in general :DD

and that ‘ s all i go for now :]

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jmkjournalblog · 3 months ago

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Sweet thing (Part 1)

Pairing: Agatha Harkness x Fem!Reader

Word count: 2000+

Summary: A new mysterious girl appears in the Westview, capturing Agatha's attention.

A/n: I couldn't forget this plot that came to me after watching AAA so, here we go. Btw English isn’t my first language, so I apologize for any mistakes.

Agatha Harkness leaned against her kitchen counter, nursing a cup of coffee as the morning sun painted the room in soft, golden hues. The house was quiet, save for the faint buzz of magic beneath her skin. It was always there now, a faint hum that had taken root since Wanda’s Hex wrapped itself around the town of Westview.

Agatha didn’t mind the quiet—she thrived in it. It gave her time to think, to observe, and, most importantly, to plan. The game Wanda was playing fascinated her, the raw chaos magic that maintained this picture-perfect suburban paradise a symphony only she seemed to hear. But Agatha wasn’t content to be a spectator.

Her musings were interrupted by a knock at the door, sharp and deliberate. Agatha frowned, setting down her mug. Few people in Westview came calling without reason. The nosy neighbors usually knocked too loudly, their voices pitched with exaggerated cheer. This knock was… tentative.

Agatha adjusted her cardigan and opened the door, her curiosity immediately piqued by the girl standing on her porch.

She was young, with an almost ethereal quality to her—a soft, doll-like beauty wrapped in a modest sundress and wide-brimmed hat. Her hands were clasped in front of her, clutching a basket of baked goods, and she looked up at Agatha with a shy, hesitant smile.

“Hi,” the girl said, her voice light and airy. “I’m Y/N. Wanda mentioned I should… introduce myself?”

Wanda. Of course.

Agatha smiled, though it didn’t quite reach her eyes. “Well, aren’t you the polite one?” she said, stepping aside to let the girl in. “Come on in, sweetie. Don’t just stand there looking like a lost kitten.”

Y/N giggled softly, the sound almost musical, and stepped inside. She looked around the living room with wide eyes, as though taking in every detail with nervous curiosity. Agatha followed her gaze, watching the way her fingers brushed the edge of a throw pillow, the faint catch in her breath as she noticed the clutter of books and trinkets on the coffee table.

“You’re new in town?” Agatha asked, her voice casual as she gestured for Y/N to sit.

Y/N perched on the edge of the couch, smoothing her dress over her knees. “Oh, yes,” she said quickly. “Very new. Wanda’s been so kind—helping me settle in, introducing me to everyone…”

Her voice trailed off, and she ducked her head, as if embarrassed by her own rambling. Agatha studied her, intrigued by the girl’s bashful demeanor. Wanda had mentioned her in passing—a "sweet little thing who could use a friend." But there was something about Y/N that didn’t quite fit the mold of Wanda’s usual creations.

“Wanda’s good at that,” Agatha said, her tone light. “She loves playing the perfect hostess. But don’t let her fool you—she’s got a bit of a wild side, that one.”

Y/N giggled again, her cheeks turning pink. “I don’t think I’ve seen that side of her yet.”

“Oh, stick around, honey. You will.”

Agatha leaned back in her chair, crossing one leg over the other as she observed the girl with casual interest. There was something almost too perfect about Y/N—the way her smile wavered just enough to seem genuine, the slight tremor in her hands as she picked up the cup of tea Agatha had poured.

“So, what brings you to Westview?” Agatha asked, keeping her tone light.

Y/N hesitated, her gaze dropping to the cup in her hands. “I guess… I wanted a fresh start,” she said softly. “Somewhere quiet, where I could figure things out.”

Agatha raised an eyebrow. “And you picked Westview? Not exactly the first place people think of when they’re looking for a fresh start.”

Y/N’s lips quirked into a shy smile. “Wanda said it was… special. And it is. It feels… safe here.”

Safe. Agatha’s smirk widened, though she quickly hid it behind her cup. If only the girl knew the half of it.

“Well, you’re certainly in good hands with Wanda,” Agatha said, her voice warm and reassuring. “And the neighbors will eat you up. They love a sweet, innocent new face.”

“Thank you,” Y/N said, her voice barely above a whisper. She glanced up, her eyes meeting Agatha’s for the briefest moment before darting away again.

The girl’s shyness was endearing, almost painfully so. But Agatha had spent centuries honing her instincts, and something about Y/N didn’t quite add up. She didn’t press, though. Not yet.

Instead, she leaned forward, resting her chin on her hand as she gave Y/N a conspiratorial smile. “Wanda matchmaking again, huh?”

Y/N’s blush deepened, and she shook her head quickly. “Oh, no! It’s not like that. She just thought I could… learn a thing or two from you.”

Agatha chuckled, her sharp eyes gleaming with amusement. “Is that so? Well, I suppose I can be quite the teacher when I want to be.”

Y/N’s laugh was soft, nervous, and she ducked her head again, hiding her face behind the rim of her teacup. Agatha watched her for a moment longer, the faintest prickle of curiosity tugging at her thoughts.

Whatever Y/N’s story was, it wasn’t as simple as she made it seem. But Agatha could wait.

“Welcome to Westview, sweetheart,” she said finally, her tone warm but laced with subtle intent. “Something tells me you’re going to fit in just fine.”

Y/N smiled, her eyes glinting with a fleeting emotion Agatha couldn’t quite place. For now, the girl was an enigma—a puzzle wrapped in sweetness and blushes. But Agatha would figure her out.

Agatha Harkness prided herself on reading people like open books, but Y/N was proving to be an unexpectedly complex chapter. The girl had a way of weaving herself seamlessly into Wanda’s narrative, her every action a perfect blend of naivety and charm. The neighbors adored her, each interaction reinforcing her role as the sweet newcomer.

Agatha wasn’t fooled, not entirely. There was something there, lurking beneath Y/N’s soft demeanor. Something that kept her watching.

The afternoon sun bathed Wanda’s backyard in golden light as she bustled about, her hands full of gardening tools. The scent of freshly clipped grass mingled with the sweet aroma of cookies baking in the oven. Agatha leaned against the fence, watching as Y/N knelt beside Wanda, carefully arranging a row of daisies in the freshly turned soil.

"You’re a natural at this!" Wanda exclaimed, her bright smile aimed at Y/N.

Y/N laughed softly, brushing a stray lock of hair from her face. "Oh, I don’t know about that," she said, her cheeks tinged with pink. "I’m just following your lead."

Agatha arched an eyebrow, sipping from the thermos of tea she’d brought over. The girl’s humility was textbook charming, her every move designed to blend in perfectly with Wanda’s carefully constructed suburban dream.

But there was more to it. Agatha could feel the faintest ripple in the Hex whenever Y/N was near. It wasn’t enough to break Wanda’s illusion, but it was there—a subtle distortion, like a melody slightly out of tune.

"Don’t sell yourself short, Y/N," Agatha called, her voice light and teasing. "You’ve got a knack for fitting right in, don’t you?"

Y/N looked up, her smile shy as she wiped her hands on her apron. "I just want to do my part," she said.

Wanda beamed at her, clearly pleased. "You’re more than doing your part," she said, placing a hand on Y/N’s shoulder. "You’re already a part of this little family."

Agatha’s smirk softened, though her thoughts remained sharp. Wanda’s maternal instincts were in full swing, and Y/N seemed to thrive under her attention. But was it genuine, or was the girl playing her own game?

Later that evening, Agatha found herself on her front porch, nursing a glass of wine as the stars blinked into view. The hum of the Hex was quieter here, its magic settling into a steady rhythm as the town went to sleep.

She was about to head inside when she heard the soft shuffle of footsteps. Y/N emerged from the shadows, her arms wrapped around herself as if warding off the chill.

"Agnes?" she called softly, her voice tinged with hesitation.

Agatha straightened, her brows lifting in surprise. "Y/N? What are you doing out here so late?"

Y/N hesitated at the foot of the porch steps, her green eyes wide and uncertain. "I… I didn’t want to bother Wanda," she said. "I just… I couldn’t sleep."

Agatha gestured for her to come closer, her curiosity piqued. "Well, come on up, then. No sense standing out there in the cold."

Y/N climbed the steps, her movements careful and deliberate. She perched on the edge of the porch swing, her fingers twisting in her lap.

"Trouble on your mind, sweetie?" Agatha asked, her tone casual as she leaned back in her chair.

Y/N shrugged, her gaze fixed on the ground. "I don’t know. I guess… it’s just a lot, you know? Starting over, trying to fit in…"

Her voice was soft, almost fragile, and Agatha felt a pang of something she couldn’t quite name. She studied the girl in the dim light, the faint shadows under her eyes, the tension in her shoulders.

"Fitting in isn’t all it’s cracked up to be," Agatha said finally, her voice tinged with dry humor. "Trust me, I’ve been trying for centuries."

Y/N looked up at her, a faint smile tugging at her lips. "You make it look easy."

Agatha chuckled, swirling her wine. "Oh, honey, if only you knew."

They sat in companionable silence for a while, the quiet night wrapping around them like a blanket. Agatha found herself relaxing, the usual edge of her thoughts softening as she watched Y/N.

The girl was good—she had to admit that. Whatever she was hiding, she played the innocent act perfectly. But Agatha wasn’t about to let her guard down. Not yet.

"So," Agatha said, breaking the silence. "What are you really running from, Y/N?"

Y/N blinked, her expression startled. "What do you mean?"

Agatha smirked, leaning forward slightly. "Oh, come on, sweetie. Nobody ends up in a place like Westview without a reason. Fresh start, sure, but fresh starts usually mean there’s something you’re leaving behind."

Y/N hesitated, her fingers tightening in her lap. For a moment, Agatha thought she might deflect, but then the girl sighed, her shoulders slumping slightly.

"I guess… I’ve always been looking for somewhere I belong," she said quietly. "Somewhere I can just… be."

Her voice was so earnest, so raw, that for a moment, Agatha believed her. But there was a flicker of something in Y/N’s eyes—a shadow, fleeting and elusive—that reminded Agatha to stay sharp.

"Well," Agatha said finally, her tone softening. "You’ve got a knack for making people like you. That’s half the battle right there."

Y/N smiled, the tension in her shoulders easing. "Thank you," she said, her voice barely above a whisper.

Agatha watched her for a moment longer, her thoughts swirling. The girl was a mystery, no doubt about it. But if there was one thing Agatha loved, it was solving puzzles.

"Goodnight, Y/N," she said, standing and draining the last of her wine.

"Goodnight, Agnes," Y/N replied, her smile shy as she rose to leave.

As Agatha watched her disappear into the night, she couldn’t shake the feeling that she was standing on the edge of something big. Something dangerous.

#agatha harkness x fem!reader #agatha x reader #agatha harkness x reader #agatha x you #agatha harkness x you #kathryn hahn x reader #agatha smut #agatha all along

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dulledtalons · 4 months ago

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after doing a few calculations based on every character’s first 4 commissioned songs…

FIRST PLACE: Yeah it’s Tsukasa

Average Master difficulty: 30!

SECOND PLACE: Airi

Average Master difficulty: 29.5!

Although she has more songs in the 30+ range than Tsukasa, Ice Drop drags her average down.

THIRD PLACE: Minori, Rui, Honami

Average Master difficulty: 29.3

Minori and Rui actually have the same range of chart difficulties (28, 28, 30, 31), while Honami has a more even spread of difficulties (28, 29, 30, 30).

i feel like this makes sense for minori, tsukasa and airi seeing as their upbeat characters almost demand their commissioned songs be just as energetic, and thus difficult to play. rui and honami tying for third place with minori is funny to me though.

has anyone made a tier list of which pjsk character has the hardest commissioned song charts overall

#project sekai #pjsk #rhythm games #i accidentally counted the world hasn’t even started yet as a tsukasa comm #but filament fever has the same master diff as that song so it was fine #honourable mention to my beloved mizuki #their average is 29 #adding bake no hana they currently have the most lvl30+ songs in 25ji #otherwise they’re tied with ena #meanwhile nearly all of airi’s comms have been lvl30 and above #giving her the most 30+ comms in pjsk #journal entry in an indie horror game

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kcrossvine-art · 11 months ago

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Hi fellow adventurers!! Welcome to chapter 2! We're going to be attempting a nice lil fruit-focused quiche/frittata/pie thing. And yes, tomatoes are fruits.

Who says you cant eat totally normal things in a dungeon with definitely no monsters in them?

You know what that means; Man-Eating Plant Tart!

(As always you can find the cooking instructions and full ingredient list under the break-)

MY NAMES CROSS NOW LETS COOK LIKE ANIMALS

SO, “what goes in to a Man-Eating Plant Tart?” YOU MIGHT ASKThe way its prepared in the show is akin to a frittata, but the crust is borrowed from quiche world.

Eggs

Whole milk

Bell peppers

Persimmons

Cherry tomatoes

Pitted green olives

Thinly sliced OR shredded sweet potatos

Salt

Pepper

In the show they use leftover hotpot stock, slime, and mashed up fruit as the batter ingredients. Fruit mush is easy to work with but I couldn't find any stand-in for slime that would cook correctly into what they made in the show, and the hotpot stock is just not thick enough to carry the base. It is too many watery ingredients at once. Needing a thickening agent, both gelatin and agar agar were tried. It was edible but the texture was… gelatinous. Regular egg and milk will serve for our purposes.

The next complication was the crust- so in the show its made with the skins of fruit, straightforward yeah? Well. You see it also has to be 1. Thick enough to bake without burning 2. Harden through cooking to be sliced and held and 3. Inedible. Lotus leaves? Plantain leaves? Really thin gourds? I couldnt find any historical basis for a savory food cooked in this method, or similar method, with an intentionally inedible crust. I could find a few dishes which used leaves as their crust, but none that hardened during cooking and even less that used fruit skin. I chose sweet potato skin for its visual match and texture. It is edible, and it is not a fruit.

I hope youll forgive me for these 2 major deviations as i wanted to keep it looking how it does in the show while also ensuring it tastes good.

AND, “what does a Man-Eating Plant Tart taste like?” YOU MIGHT ASKFluffy, airy, savory, salty.

The density of the eggs is offset by the crisp fruits

And the saltiness doesnt overpower the remnant fruit-sweetness

(If you eat the crust) the sweet potato brings this nice muted, smokey, flavor

Spongecake-esque in consistency

Would pair well with cranberry or strawberry juice

Would also pair well with a mellow hot sauce?

. You can use heavy cream instead of milk for a creamier batter . Roast the fruit longer to remove more liquid if too wet (and vice versa if too dry) . Smoked paprika, pepper flakes, cumin, garlic powder, and onion powder would taste good in the mixture

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"A mixture of mashed up and cut up Man-Eating Plant fruit, slime and scorpion soup is poured into a pan lined with the flattened peel of the fruit and cooked before garnishing with some more fruit. Described as salty by the group."

From start to finish this recipe took 3-ish hours? Shredding the potatoes took the longest, so if you get them bagged itd be cut down. A very filling recipe and a good way to sneak veggies/fruits in if you have a hard time getting enough of those essential nutrients. The best advice i can give is to add salt/seasonings at every stage of the process, to build up layers. It makes a difference flavor-wise (even if its just salt). I advise against reheating if possible. The filling will make the crust soggy over time.

If you want to be closer to the cooking of the show, you could double the fruit amounts and mash them together while halving the amount of egg and milk. I hadnt tried due to budget reasons, but it should work with some finangling. I'll pass the final verdict off to you guys with how todays recipe turned out <333

What would you rate this recipe out of 10? (with 1 being food that makes one physically sick and 10 being food that gives one a lust for life again.) Did you love it, did you hate it? What're your thoughts on what I could do better, and what would you have done instead?

🐁 ORIGINAL RESIPPY TEXT BELOW 🐁

Ingredients:

3 Eggs

13oz whole milk

2 bell peppers

2 small persimmons

140oz cherry tomatoes

12oz pitted green olives

34oz thinly sliced OR shredded sweet potatos

Salt

Pepper

Method:

Heat oven to 420f and grease a 9-inch pie pan.

Thinly slice (or shred) your sweet potatoes and squeeze out any excess moisture. Coat in olive oil, salt and pepper.

Press sweet potato mixture evenly into and up the sides of the pie pan.

Blind bake for roughly 25 minutes or until lightly golden-brown. No worries if the edges get crisp.

Remove pie pan from oven and set aside.

Core and chop up your bell peppers and persimmons. Coat with olive oil, salt, and pepper.

Line out on a baking sheet, evenly spaced, and roast for roughly 20 minutes or until softened. (you can do this at the same time on a separate rack from the pie crust if you have room)

Remove the stems from your cherry tomatoes, and drain/dry your green olives if canned.

Bring a frying pan to medium heat with olive oil. Add the green olives and sautee until their skin texture starts dimpling. Add the cherry tomatoes and continue sauteeing for about 5 minutes or until lightly browned.

Once the bell peppers, persimmons, cherry tomatoes, and green olives are all done, set aside to cool until just above room temp.

Lower the oven temperature to 350f.

In a mixing bowl combine your eggs and milk, add salt to taste. If you want other seasonings nows a good time!

Once uniform in color and texture, add your cooked fruit. Stir until evenly distributed.

Pour mixture into the potato pie crust.

Bake for roughly 40 minutes. The filling should be mostly firm, but wiggle *slightly* when you shake the pan.

Remove from oven and let rest for roughly 15 minutes before serving.

#dungeon meshi #delicious in dungeon #cooking recipes #digital art

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oatmealwrites · 2 months ago

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NSFW Holiday Hoes: [Frat JJK AU] Nanami x F! Reader

Eating Holiday Cookies!

Finance Student! Frat Treasurer! Nanami x F! Reader

Trying to save money in the frat's budget for all the expensive parties Gojo keeps throwing, you offer to help bake cookies for the next function instead of buying them. Though Nanami has something sweeter in mind he'd like to eat…

Tags: porn with plot, friends to lovers, helpless pining?, oral sex (f receiving), p in v, condom, condom breaks, pull out method, hickies, neck kissing, established relationship at end, gojo is a rat, haibara and ieiri are in on it, MDNI, 18+

Holiday Hoes Masterlist

regular masterlist

Word Count: 9.4k

kinda rushed? LMAO

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Mariah Carey plays on the television of your shared apartment while you and Ieiri sit on the wooden floorboards humming along. Rolls of various wrapping paper litter the floor along with colorful bows, scissors, pens, and a few holiday snacks while the light smoke from her cigarette drafts in the air.

“Pass the tape.”

“–Here.”

You seal one side of the box in front of you, tape sticking to each end of your fingertips while Ieiri struggles to tie a golden bow to the strap of a gift bag. Iori had left an additional pile of holiday gifts that needed wrapping beside you on the couch, apologizing while she ran out the door to her part-time job.

“This is going to take forever…”

You don’t bother looking up from your position with tape covering all five fingers on one of your hands and instead remain focused on folding a loose piece of wrapping paper. “Hmmm? At least finals are done so we have the time.”

Ieiri sighs and finishes the small bow before sliding the gift bag near the love seat and looking at the mountain of boxes that remained stacked beside you both. The song shifts to one off of a Micheal Buble album and you hum along absentmindedly, back hunched over in focus despite the uncomfortable position.

Despite the 25th passing several days ago, most of your friends have begun to trickle back to campus from their break, creating the perfect opportunity for your belated holiday parties.

“Well,” Ieiri leans over and slides a small shoebox-sized gift closer to her before placing it on a roll of wrapping paper that was laid flat. “Maybe after this we can–”

Ring!

You both pause and look over to Ieiri’s phone lying on the coffee table and now vibrating against the glass with an incoming call. Placing the last few pieces of tape on the side of the box, you flip it over and look around for a spare marker while Ieiri accepts the call and places it on speaker.

“Haibara? You’re on speaker.”

She resumes her task and slides the blade of the scissors up the roll like a hot knife through butter while you continue your search for a Sharpie.

“Hey! Are you busy at the moment?”

“Mmmm just wrapping some gifts. What’s up?”

Like second nature, Ieiri notices you looking under the couch searching to see if it had rolled underneath and silently reaches for a marker at her side and passes it to you.

“Ah, perfect! So not too busy then…”

“Huh? Get to the point.”

Haibara’s voice is light and airy despite him obviously being frantic as the receiver shuffles against something a few times and Kento can be heard in the background yelling at somebody.

“Well it’s the budget again…”

You refrain a snort and pop the cap off the marker while Ieiri rolls her eyes and begins taping sides of the box. “That idiot Satoru again? Seriously, I don't understand why you guys are even surprised at this point.”

“I mean it’s not surprising but it left Kento and I in a tight spot–”

“–What do you mean you needed the rental to have a hot tub? Satoru–”

You bite your lip at the sound, and you and Ieiri finally let out a few laughs when she mutes the call. This isn’t the first time Satoru had gone over Kento’s head for a party budget, despite him being the treasurer, but it always left a mess of issues for Kento and Haibara to clean up.

“Ok, and why did you think to call me?”

Haibara shuffles a bit on the other end, trying to get Kento out of earshot and avoid any further interruptions. “Satoru is offering to cover the alcohol costs, but that still leaves the function budget empty to cover food and supplies.”

Ieiri hums and flips the gift around to begin taping the other side. “Soooo?”

“So what if you guys helped us? Maybe see if you know anyone with winter lights for the decorations and if you can come by the apartment to plan it?”

“‘Guys’?”

“Hm? I assume you’re with Y/N”

You offer a short ‘hey’ and slide the finished present over to the other pile of completed gifts and stretch the knot forming in your shoulder muscles.

“Please? Just come by and see what you can do to help us with food and decorations. We’ll be in your debt!!”

Ieiri looks up at you, the mountain of boxes yet to be wrapped, and then back at you once more; Micheal Buble continues singing in the background and a harsh wind has picked up outside. You’re beyond comfortable staying in for the day, but the stupid smirk your roommate shoots you is enough to kick her with your foot.

It wasn’t a secret between the both of you that you found the blonde, sleep deprived, and stressed out frat treasurer incredibly hot. A top of his class graduate student getting his master’s in finance, there were rumors he had even dabbled in some education courses in his undergrad years. Also the big to JJK’s newest pledge Yuji and personal mentor to other member Ino, Kento was a well rounded man who was liked by nearly everyone. To top off an intelligent, book loving personality, he was beyond ripped.

Ieiri giggles a bit and you reach to throw a paper bow at her, scoffing when it barely gets a few inches away from your hand before weakly falling to the ground. Kento was adored by nearly everyone, and that also meant there was a limited chance he would actually reciprocate the thoughts you had about him. You had bumped into each other often on campus and grabbed lunch when said events occurred, but besides that and assisting in cleaning up the budget, the man rarely messaged you outside of working hours.

Maybe you had been on a few coffee and study ‘dates’ but the real meaning of the d-word was yet to be determined.

“Yea I think we should be able to swing by~” She ducks as you make a swipe for the phone and kicks you back with her foot pressed against your gut,. “–You’re at your apartment right? We’ll be right over.”

The call ends and you give her a light shove before standing up fully and stretching the soreness from your back. Ieiri giggles slightly and whistles at the mountain of gifts yet to be processed while standing up as well.

“I’ll go–”

“–I already knew you would”

You roll your eyes at her interruption and continue, “if you promise not to do that thing you and Haibara always do when we hang out.”

Ieiri pads over to the kitchen and pours a glass of water while tapping her chin and feigning innocence. “I don’t know what you mean.”

“Yes you do! You and Haibara always fuck off whenever it’s the four of us and leave Kento and I alone.”

“Maybe we just happened to get busy. Besides, it’s doing you a favor.”

You scoff and walk over to the coat closet and flip through your winter jackets before pulling out a puffer and knit scarf. While yes, you had absolutely 0 game when it came to asking Kento out to things, being “conveniently” stranded with him didn’t exactly produce many moments of casual opportunity for an initiative.

If he wanted to make a move wouldn’t he make one during those moments as well?

“Whatever, but we can’t be there long– Iori will kill us if we don’t finish wrapping those in time for the Secret Santa.”

Ieiri shrugs and puts out the last of her cigarette on the ceramic ashtray you got her for Christmas last year before slipping on her own coat.

“Fine, fine… I guess I’m driving too huh?”

~~~~~~~~~~~

Kento and Haibara’s apartment is in a cozy complex near the university’s business building and nestled between a variety of coffee shops, boutiques, and restaurants. Along with the best bakery Kento has ever shown you. You barely ring the buzzer for their unit number before Haibara quickly ushers you inside through the intercom and the front door buzzes indicating it’s unlocked.

“Must be serious.”

Ieiri calls the elevator and pushes the button for the 7th floor while you use the mirrored walls to smooth out your hair which the winter wind has pushed in every direction. Checking your casual outfit of jeans, white t-shirt, and holly red cardigan underneath the parka, the elevator dings and you both step out.

“Can you stop that? You look fine.”

“Fine? I look like I’ve been run over by a snowplow.”

“Yea, well that’s how you always look. So just rela–”

You nudge Ieiri in the ribs and stop in front of the unit number 7-3 for only 5 seconds before Haibara swings it open; your hand still raised to knock against the wood slowly falls down in surprise.

“Thank goodness! Now get in here!”

The man grabs both your and Ieiri’s arms and pulls you through the entryway and into the open kitchen space right by the front door. You barely have time to kick off your winter boots before Kento walks in from his bedroom and gives a pitiful look to all of you.

Some purple bags hang under his eyes from the exhaustion of finals and a certain white-haired man’s antics, and his cheekbones seem more prominent than ever from lack of proper meals.

“Oh, you didn’t have to come.”

“We need backup if this is going to work!”

Haibara marches back around the kitchen island and shakes Kento’s shoulders with a slight panic while Ieiri coasts past them to open a window in their living room; she opens a pack of cigarettes and pulls out a lighter.

“Ok,” you say, leaning against the kitchen island and crossing your arms at the two men. “Why don’t you just fill us in first before we strategize what kind of help you even need.”

Kento mirrors your position and rests against the sink counter directly in front of you. “With Satoru covering the alcohol costs, that leaves us trying to figure out food and decorations.”

“Ask Suguru for decorations. I know for a fact he’s got speakers, holiday lights, and a smoke machine.” Ieiri takes a drag of her cigarette from the windowsill. “He might know someone with strobes…”

You notice a slight twitch in Kento’s eyebrow but ignore it when he continues, “Well, that just leaves food.”

Haibara beams at Ieiri while she flicks the ash out of the window and Kento turns to you thinking deeply, “That idiot said he’s going to be buying 14 handles of liquor… I suppose people will be too drunk to really notice what we serve.”

“Cookies?”

Kento snaps from his thoughts and looks at you. “Cookies? I mean I guess that works…”

“And it’s fitting for the holiday spirit!” Haibara smiles while walking back over from the window.

The two men nod once to each other and begin opening their pantry, taking out basic baking ingredients and placing them on the counter.

You walk beside them and assist in searching for flour. “Any particular flavor in mind? I already know Satoru would be heartbroken if we don’t have frosted sugar cookies.”

Kento scoffs and passes you a sack of all-purpose flour, “I’m not surprised… we can make those and another recipe I know.”

Kento stands up and looks at the ingredients, while you admire the apartment and watch Ieiri walk back into the kitchen after flinging the last of her cigarette out the window. The strung up holiday lights are most likely Yuji and Ino’s doing; getting Haibara’s permission while Kento was in class. Some old ceramic animals sit in several corners of the apartment: on the bookshelves in the living room, on the small end table by the front door, and along the kitchen counter touching the backsplash.

“Swedish..?”

“Danish. They were my grandfather’s.”

You silently hum and back away from the small ceramic goose with a red ribbon around its neck and look back at Kento who holds your gaze with a gentle admiration before turning back to the various foods on his counter. The decoration’s color scheme of red and white now makes more sense; you return to the counter next to the man while Haibara and Ieiri eyeball the ingredients and hover over her cellphone to pull up a recipe for sugar cookies.

“We’ve got enough to make these I think..shall we start?”

Immediately you break into two groups with Haibara and Ieiri making the base of the sugar cookies while you work with Kento to make the dough for the recipe he already knew. You scoffed at your roommate’s wiggling eyebrows when she immediately volunteered to help Haibara, and you now watch Kento intently while he sifts through ingredients deftly without reference.

“Geez honor roll for finance and a master baker? I bet your CV is impressive.”

“Personal hobbies aren’t typically included on resumes.”

You suck in a breath and nod once awkwardly, standing motionless at Kento’s side and silently cursing yourself for lack of better conversation.

“Thanks though,” Kento mumbles quietly, keeping his head down to focus on the mixing bowl beneath him.

Some blonde hair cascades from the swept back look it was currently fixed in and grazes the pink skin of his cheeks. You take a moment to drink in the image of him, dressed in a blue casual wool sweater, the fabric rolled up to his elbows and showing off his veiny forearms, and khaki slacks that stretched around the swell of his thighs.

“Can you pass the cinnamon?”

“Huh?”

“The cinnamon.”

You snap out of your intrusive horny thoughts and look around the counter before passing a small vial of spice to the man. You watch Kento mix together the dry ingredients, not missing the way Ieiri and Haibara chuckle amongst themselves quietly and turn up background holiday music on the bluetooth speaker.

Shooting a glance at your roommate, your eyes only lift when the oven dings to indicate the pre-heat is complete and ready to bake.

“Ah, we’re just short of sugar…”

Haibara and Ieiri stand over their own mixing bowl and look down at the contents below; everything else has already been added to the bowl. Ieiri makes a move for the now empty sugar sack and shakes the last few granules into the mix.

“It’s probably fine.”

“The ratio will be off.” Kento moves over to the two of them and takes Ieiri’s phone to eyeball the recipe. “You need 7 parts flour to 3 parts sugar… 7:2 won’t be good.”

You look between the three of them and raise an eyebrow when Haibara and Ieiri giggle to themselves. Setting the whisk still in your own mixing bowl, you walk over to their batch of loose powder and immediately notice that it seems more than enough sugar has already been added.

“Then we’ll head to the store!”

“Yes! Wouldn’t want the cookies to be botched.”

Immediately Ieiri moves to pick up her coat from the hooks by the front door with Haibara hot on her heels and digs through a small basket for car keys. You put your hands on your hips and shoot her a glare and she makes no effort to wipe the innocent grin from her face while shuffling on a pair of winter boots.

“We’ll head to the market right now! You guys continue.”

“Yes! We won’t be too long.”

Before you can even flip them off from behind Kento’s shoulder, the two slip out the door and can be heard giggling in the halls as they walk to the elevator.

“Those two…”

Kento pays no mind but sighs to himself before getting a large pan out and a rolling pin. “We can at least put this batch into the oven while they’re out.”

Spinning on your heels, you walk back over to the kitchen island and help scoop the dough out of the bowl and onto a cutting board. Without even speaking you both shift seamlessly to place the bowl in the sink while Kento begins to roll the dough flat.

“What recipe is this? You didn’t even need to look it up.”

“Hmm? Oh, I used to make them every year when I was younger.. They’re called brunkager.”

You rinse your fingers off and turn back to the man, now admiring the way he flats the dough with enough force to create a small bulge in the noticeable veins of his arms.

“I don’t think I’ve heard of those.”

He hums and turns to you with a piece of raw dough pinched between his fingers; you silently take it and pop it between your lips while he watches.

“Gingerbread!”

Immediately, a small smile works its way onto his face and he turns back to the flatten dough with a knife, ready to cut shapes.

“Basically. I used to make them with my mother’s side of the family when I was young.”

“Wow.. that’s really sweet.”

A small blush works its way onto his cheeks at your compliment but he ducks his head down to let more blonde hair push further into his face to hide it. He cuts a few more shapes before offering you the knife to create your own.

The entire moment is warm and soft; Last Christmas plays in the background while Kento pushes back the sleeves of your cardigan without asking as you cut a star shape from the dough.

“Now that I know you’re a good baker, I’ll have to ask you for cooking and finance advice.”

He doesn’t laugh while he places each shape onto the pan covered with parchment. “I’m not a personal consultant you know.”

Oh shit. Ok, maybe the conversation is still salvageable.

“--But I suppose I can help you if you really want to hear it. It’s kinda boring.”

“I don’t think so, and besides, you’re really good at it.” You stay looking down at the last few scraps of dough. “Plus, I’m trying to figure out how to save up for a car, ya know.”

Kento lets out an air of chuckle this time and arranges the last few shapes onto the pan. “Still not a consultant but,” he looks at your eyes and briefly your lips before peeling his eyes back to the cookies, “I’d be more than happy to help.”

The proximity is enough to make your cheeks warm, and Kento lifts his eyes to meet yours once more. So close you can smell the woodsy cologne he wears, you swear he’s leaning even closer with each passing second.

Instinctively you lean in and when you’re a breath away from meeting his lips there’s a shrill phone alarm against the counter. Immediately you both backup, as if snapping out of a trance, and Kento reaches over to tap ‘accept’ with a knuckle that wasn’t covered in flour and places it on speaker.

“Heyy~ What’s up, my favorite treasurer?”

Satoru’s voice chirps through the receiver and you stifle a giggle while Kento rolls his eyes. Using the remaining dough scraps, you attempt to forge little shapes beside him.

“Making cookies since you left us with no budget to purchase food.”

“Oooo! Are you making my favorites?”

“Yes we’re making sugar cookies the way the recipe intends, no ‘extra sweet’ ones you seem to demand so much.”

A giggle is heard through the speaker and you show your final shape of an attempted gingerbread man to Kento who smiles gently and nods in indication to add it to the pan. Stepping back, you move to open the oven door.

“Anyways~~ I heard from Ieiri that Y/N’s coming to the party. Either make your move now or I’ll tell Suguru he can ask her out instead.”

Despite holding the tray and standing right in front of the oven, Kento nearly trips forward to shove them inside before pivoting to grab his phone off the counter. Not caring if flour or residual dough gets on the screen, he takes it off speaker and awkwardly rushes over to the living to continue the call.

Huh? ….Ask you out? He wanted to ask you out???

You shut the oven door and make a mental note of the time before turning to watch Kento whisper-yell into his phone while pinching the bridge of his nose. His body refuses to turn around and face the kitchen again; you stand awkwardly after washing your hands and having no imminent task to complete.

“No you idiot… Are you aware that you’re not helping whatsoever?..... Ok fine, fine… just, don’t say anything to him.”

It feels wrong to even hear half the conversation despite needing answers as to what the fuck was currently happening. The conversation lasts maybe another 90 seconds before a long sigh can be heard escaping his lips and you quickly attempt to make yourself look busy. As if you weren’t hanging onto every word.

He slides his phone into his back pocket and approaches the kitchen with an awkward look on his face, not quite making eye contact.

“I won’t pretend like you didn’t hear that idiot on the phone…and I’m sorry if it made you uncomfortable,” he pauses and looks up at you apologetically. “If you would rather go home… I know Ieiri was your ride. I can order you an Uber…”

…huh?

You pause and watch the man in front of you with cheeks so warm they could fry an egg and eyes open so wide they may pop out of your skull.

“What?”

Kento locks eyes with you and moves to stand against the counter, giving several feet of respectful space, and rubbing the back of his neck. “I mean I knew I should’ve never even told Satoru anything to begin with… I understand if you have feelings for Suguru and find this as awkward as I do right now…”

It takes several moments before thoughts can be translated into a coherent and understandable sentence, though it’s not the most articulate: “You like me?”

Despite being a boiled down version of what was actually happening, Kento just raises his eyebrows at your slight forwardness before nodding curtly.

“Yea, I do. I just… haven’t figured out how to come forward with it, until now..”

There’s a steady pause as his words sink in; the moment doesn’t even feel like reality as you stand there processing the gravity of everything before it comes crashing down.

“I feel the same,” you say as you take a careful step forward to close the distance slightly. “Ieiri always clowns me for never making any kind of move.”

“Well that makes two of us.. Haibara isn’t exactly subtle at trying to get me alone with you.”

You take another step forward and laugh at the simplicity of everything, shaking your head and not noticing the way Kento moves to close the space. He leans against the same side of the island with you and hovers inches away while he tugs your hand away from your face with a curious smile on his lips.

“What’s so funny?”

Waving slightly with your free hand, a few more giggles escape your lips while Kento moves to lean his head down towards yours.

“Are you laughing at me?” he questions playfully.

“Mmm maybe.”

You blink slowly at him once, a smile on your lips when he finally nudges his chin closer to connect your lips. Instinctively you shut your eyes and lean into the motion, a small smile on your face at how simple everything seemed.

With a few more pecks Kento backs up slightly, “it’s gonna be hard to kiss you if you keep smiling like that.”

There’s no pause for your response and he leans his head back down to kiss you once more, though not as gently as the first time. The hand that he had used to hold your hand a moment before now rests respectfully on your hips while his other pushes locks of hair away from your face.

The smile falls from your lips as you lean your head in further to match the force and your hands snake up to wrap around his neck and lazily rest on his broad shoulders. Music in the background isn’t enough to deafen the pounding heartbeat in your ears and Kento pushes further into the kiss, his nose occasionally brushing your cheek from the force.

In a drunken haze you pull him in closer, as if it were even physically possible, and your legs pivot to push your ass flush against the counter while Kento stands between your legs. Despite the intoxicating flavor of his lips, you can’t help but notice how PG the whole moment was.

Normally this would be fine… normally. But you’ve been thinking about this man for months on end and the fact he’s keeping his hands so painfully respectful at your hips has you craving something more.

Without disconnecting your lips, your hands snake down his sharp shoulder blades and then forearms before resting on his wrists. Before he can mumble a phrase into your lips, you push his hands down and back to rest against the swell of your ass.

Immediately, he leans back a bit and looks into your eyes. “Are you sure that’s alright?”

He pants lightly with pupils blown so wide they look black instead of hazel. “I don’t want you to get the wrong idea.”

A chill shiver runs down your spine and you instinctively lift your hands off his wrists in slight shock. Fuck. The last thing you wanted to do was pressure him into something he didn’t want.

“O-Oh! I’m sorry… I should’ve–”

“–No.” Kento leans forward and interrupts, “I want to do…that. To touch you and more.. But I didn’t want you to think that’s all I’m actually after.”

You pause and look up at his face, with lids half closed as you drink in the way his usual rational and put-together appearance begins to melt.

“So what are you after?”

Kento sucks in a breath and looks around aimlessly for a moment while shaking his head; this conversation was not something he was expecting to have when Haibara had invited you and Ieiri over.

“I wish I could do this a bit more properly but-” He looks back down at you and admires your eyes before lingering on your lips. “Something serious. Something real. I’m not really a guy who does anything like this casually.”

“Me neither. I don’t usually kiss and grind against the people I cook holiday cookies with.”

Kento actually laughs at this and leans down to peck your lips chastley, his hands still on your ass, but the pressure never increases.

“Good, the idea of anyone else being able to do this pisses me off a bit.”

“Mmmmm like Suguru?”

This causes a scoff to escape his lips and his fingers to dig slightly into the flesh of your ass, “Don’t.”

A coy smile works its way onto your lips while you return to wrap your arms around his neck and pull his mouth to hover just above yours. His lips purse slightly, in both feigned annoyance and eagerness to reconnect your mouths once more.

“Or what?”

That's all it takes for Kento to push his face forward and meet your lips with passion and sink his fingers into the flesh of your ass. It’s light at first, but when your fingers pull on the strands of his blonde hair, the pressure increases and begins to knead.

Tugging his neck down further, you tilt your head to the side and deepen the kiss, parting your lips slightly when his tongue swipes against your own. Kento isn’t sure what he enjoys more in this moment, the taste of the spiced dough on your tongue or the sweet fruity chapstick that lingers on your lips.

Fingers squeeze and tug at the flesh of your ass and after a moment you snake one hand down to rest on his wrist and drag it up to cup your breast. Immediately the both of you groan into the kiss and Kento raises his other hand to now knead at both of your tits.

Fingers cup the underside of your breasts while his thumb pads circle and push against your bra where your nipples harden underneath. Squeezing and palming at your tits while his tongue explores your molars is enough to cause your aching cunt to squeeze pathetically around nothing.

“Fuck,” Kento parts from your lips and pants slightly before delving down to kiss and bite at the flesh on your neck. “Driving me insane right now baby.”

There isn’t time to linger on the pet name before he sinks his canines into your neck and begins sucking the flesh. His hands leave your tits and wrap around to squeeze at your ass while his pelvis finally grinds harder against your hips; his erection begs for some sort of friction.

Kento runs the flat of his tongue over the skin a few more times before kissing it in a weak apology for the bruise and moves on to another section of your neck. He places a few quick kisses to your pulse point right under the jaw before biting once more; his nose tickles the skin just below your ear.

“Ha.. you seem…nnghh.. Excited,” you barely groan out, head tilted back and to the side to allow more room for his ministrations.

Kento places a few more kisses to the spot before trailing his lips down the side of your neck in search of the next place to leave another purple hickey.

“Of course I am.” His lips stop just above your collarbone as he murmurs into the flesh, “I used to get so fucking worried you would see the boner in my jeans whenever we would get lunch together… didn’t want you to think I was some sick pervert.”

You gasp when his lips suck against your flesh before breaking into a slight giggle and tugging at his hair.

“Mmmm I’m beginning to think exactly that.”

He lifts from your collarbone with a pop! from the suction and scoffs before nuzzling into the other side of your neck. Planting chaste kisses while his hands slide down and his thumbs rub circles on your hip bones.

“Well if you knew what I was thinking… you wouldn’t be far off the mark.”

You shiver at the words and tug his hair to tilt his head upright and drag his lips to meet yours. Immediately he tilts into it further and chases after your lips every time you part to take a breath. As if addicted, his lips refuse to leave yours for more than a moment at a time, holding your hips still while he pathetically ruts his throbbing cock against the fabric of your jeans.

With one more grind against your hips that leaves your cunt drenching your panties in a desperate heat, you tug his head back. A whimper nearly escapes his lips at the action of being deprived of your lips and the sting of his hair being pulled when you look into his eyes.

You wrap one hand to cup his cheek which he instinctively leans his head into and places a chaste kiss into your palm. His eyes don’t leave yours while you both pant a few times.

Taking a breath you slide your other hand flat down his chest and take in the softness of his wool sweater and the firmness of his pectorals and abs underneath. You break eye contact and watch your hand trail further down until your fingers trace the hem of his khakis and toy with the belt loops of the fabric.

Before you can even move to the button, his hand leaves your hip and holds your wrist firmly in place. You silently swallow and look back up at him.

Maybe he doesn’t want to go further… maybe he wants to leave it here.

A few more doubts swirl in your mind while you furrow your brows in thought before Kento leans in to kiss your palm against his cheek once more.

“Don’t.” He kisses your hand again. “Let me make you feel good.”

Your breath hitches in your throat and you nod once before he tugs you into him and away from the counter. His hands run under your ass to where the flesh meets your thighs and tilts his head up.

“Jump f’me.”

Immediately you respond to the command and jump up while Kento’s arms grab the underside of your jeans and hoist you up to match your pelvis to his. Your feet don’t have time to wrap around his waist before he walks forward again and places you on the kitchen island.

Stepping back he walks to the oven and dutifully shuts off the heat before eyeing you once again like prey.

“Making cookies can wait,” he walks over and splays your thighs to stand between them. “I’d rather eat one right now…”

The way he looks down at you is enough to make your gut do cartwheels with excitement; the calm and rational man in front of you is now replaced with one desperately oozing carnal desire.

He leans down to capture your lips once more before gently pushing your back flat against the counter; he pushes the mixing bowls and dry ingredients to the side to make room. As soon as the cool marble of the counter top flushes against your warm skin, you can feel him play with the button of your jeans.

“This ok, baby?”

You peer down and admire the way he hunches over and pants lightly against your exposed navel from the way your shirt has ridden up slightly. Swallowing, you nod once more, heartbeat pounding in your ears.

Kento places a light kiss against your navel and pops the button open and slides the zipper of your jeans down.

“Usually, I’d prefer words, but,” he taps your hips to indicate for you to lift them and he drags the fabric down to your ankles and pulls them to the floor, “we can work on that later.”

Immediately you move to shut your thighs in embarrassment but his hands catch your knees and push them apart again. You whimper slightly as he hunches over a bit more to admire the way your lace panties are stained with a dark patch of arousal.

His breath is hot against your inner thighs when he takes his index finger to run up and down the patch in half amusement and half awe.

You make a pathetic attempt to shut your thighs again. “It’s embarrassing…”

Kento stops his finger mid swipe and pushes into the fabric to sop up more of the wetness seeping from your aching cunt. You twitch at the sensation and look up at the ceiling in attempt to cool the heat in your cheeks.

“Not embarrassing,” he says as he releases the pressure and leans down to place a quick kiss to the patch before hooking his fingers around the elastic waistband. “It’s all for me… right?”

He pulls your panties down partially and taps your hips once more to indicate for you to briefly lift up again.

“Nngh..y-yea..”

Your voice is weak in your throat but the silence and lack of touch makes you tilt your head up once again to watch them man. Sitting up on your elbows briefly, you don’t miss the way he palms the fabric of your panties into a smaller bundle and slips them into the pocket of his khakis.

“Hey–”

“Mm?” Kento pushes them further into his pocket before resting his hands on your knees to keep them spread. “I didn’t mean to ruin them…”

He leans down and pants lightly against your cunt, “It’s only fair I wash them and later…promptly return them.”

Before you can make a remark that he is indeed perverted, Kento opens his mouth and licks a long stripe up your pussy. Leaning back against the counter once again at the sensation, the man between your thighs doesn’t hesitate to initiate a disgustingly sloppy french kiss against your cunt.

Lips moving against your cunt, his tongue works its way inside and moves to massage the walls of your pussy. Lifting his hands away from your knees and letting your thighs cup his ears like muffs, one hand goes to splay the opening to your cunt wider while the other rubs circles into your clit.

“Ahhh… fuck!”

Kento’s nose rubs against the flesh where your pussy and inner thigh meet, occasionally tickling you despite the intense pressure of his mouth against you. With one more thrust of his tongue inside, he lifts his face slowly to reattach his lips to your clit.

His chin is covered in a mixture of wetness and saliva but he pays no mind; his index finger slowly inches inside while his tongue ruts against your clit. You throw your head back at the delicious stretch against his finger and twitch your hips at the sensation of his lips suckling on your nerves.

“Fuck baby… you’re pretty tight.” He leans back and looks up at you from your thighs, eyes half closed in drunken pleasure, “gotta make sure you’re warmed up before you can take me.”

The idea of letting the put together and posed Kento have his way with you makes you clench pathetically around his finger.

He leans back once more. “Just got so much wetter.” He adds a second finger and shamelessly watches your face contort with pleasure. “Gonna be the death of me.”

You whimper at his words and grind against his fingers, the familiar knot in your abdomen getting tighter. Kento doesn’t mind the awkward half-hunched position he’s in as he increases the speed of his tongue and continues finger fucking you in attempt to find that particular spot.

“K-Ken… nnngh FUCK..”

You can’t even mumble his whole name, too dizzy from the pleasure coursing through your veins. Feeling the knot get tighter you bite your lip and run a hand through his hair and tug at the scalp lightly before gently pushing his head back.

Immediately, the man stops and looks up at you in worry; your slick and his saliva still coating his chin in a shiny sheen.

“I-Is everything ok?” He stands up fully and searches your face intently. “Did I hurt you?”

The soft and intimate tone of his voice spurs butterflies in your stomach and you sit up fully on the counter to face him. On instinct, Kento steps between your thighs and leans his head down to search your face; his forehead hovers only an inch above yours.

“I’m ok, Kento. Really… I am.”

You tilt your chin upward to peck his lips and he immediately latches his mouth to yours, showing all his worry and attentiveness through the action. When you lean back his lips chase yours for a moment and his eyes search yours; the taste of your own slick now coating your lips.

“I’m ok.”

“Then.. why did you–”

“–I want to come… I want you to make me cum..”

He searches your face in a brief confusion, eyebrows furrowed in a ‘V’ shape before you continue.

“I just…” The admission makes your cheeks burn, but before you can turn your head away he lifts his hand to hold your cheek and face forward. “I just… wanted to cum.. On your cock…”

Despite whispering the words, the man hovering right in front of you hears each one and opens his eyes in a slight shock before grinning.

He leans down and kisses you once again and sighs in relief, “Oh thank goodness… I was worried you were having second thoughts about me, baby.”

You wrap your arms around his neck and pull him into you again and smile up at him, “Never.”

“Good. To be fair I wasn’t sure I would even be able to stop now that we’ve started.”

The contrast of his behavior to his gentlemanly nature makes you grin and connect your lips once more before he backs up and offers a hand. Slipping your fingers in his, you slide off the counter and admire the way he bends down to collect your jeans before leading you to his bedroom.

You take a moment to admire the room while he moves to lock the door and neatly fold your pants. His bed is tidy and neat but the desk by the window is scattered with a variety of papers, coffee mugs, and trail mix containers. There’s a floor lamp that brings a warm glow to the room in addition to the natural light which makes it extremely cozy.

Despite there being maybe one article of clothing on the floor, Kento immediately moves to awkwardly organize things.

Dusting off the tops of his dresser and fixing the high school photo of him, Haibara, Suguru, and Satoru he turns to you. “Sorry for the mess… I wasn’t expecting company here today.”

You chuckle and move to admire the photo next to him, “Woa, your hair! I didn’t know you had an emo phase.”

Kento rolls his eyes and moves to smooth the pale brown comforter flatter while you drink in the rest of his room. A small record player sits on the top of a small bookshelf in the corner while his walls are neatly decorated with a variety of travel posters of places he’s been and wishes to go.

“Malaysia?” You mumble while moving to step next to him again.

“My dream vacation.”

You smile and wrap your arms around his neck and pull him into a kiss, only stopping when he backs up to pull off his sweater and undershirt in one movement. The sight of his toned body is enough to make you clench around nothing. Once the fabric is flung to the floor he reaches forward to cup your jaw and slides his tongue back into your mouth as if it was more comfortable in yours than in his.

Your legs hit the back of the bed from the force and you disconnect your lips to peel off your cardigan and sweater. You let him admire the matching lace fabric of your bra for a moment before you undo the metal clasps and drop it to the floor.

His hands lift to knead your now uncovered tits and you moan into his mouth from the sensation when he takes his fingers to pinch your hardened nipples. Shivers running down your spine, the lack of previous release creates an extra needy whine escaping your lips.

The erection painfully pushing against the fabric of his khakis grinds into the flesh of your pelvis; when your hands move to undo the button and fly, Kento doesn’t stop you this time. Tugging the fabric to his mid thigh, his cock now pushes against the thin fly of his Calvin Klein boxer briefs.

A dark gray patch is stained from the pre cum leaking pathetically from his tip and his hips twitch as soon as your fingers ghost the outline of his cock. Kento’s lips trail your neck while you palm his cock through the underwear; his teeth nibble the flesh behind your ear while light moans escape.

Before you can dip your hands into the waistband, Kento lightly pushes you back onto the bed and captures your lips once more. You scoot back to the pillows at the top of his bed and rest on your elbows when you watch him shimmy the boxer briefs down and free his cock to the air. And he’s definitely well endowed.

Slightly larger than average, the thickness is enough to make your cunt clench around nothing when you imagine the delicious stretch. A noticeable blonde happy trail starts at his navel and goes down to the base of his cock, though everything is neatly trimmed.

Kento notices your stare and awkwardly smiles before giving himself a few pumps and walking back up to the bed. Before you can sit up right and welcome him back to the space with your lips on his, he backs up.

“Ah, condom.”

He pivots and opens his nightstand to dig around for a spare rubber; he nearly gives up the search until his fingers graze a familiar foil texture. Sighing gently in relief, he shuts the drawer and climbs up onto the mattress to meet you.

You meet his lips and lay down further to accommodate the way his body hovers perfectly above yours like a puzzle piece. He reaches down to rub your clit a few times while sucking gently on your neck before pulling back and sitting on his ankles.

He tugs the edge of the foil open and pulls out the lubricated condom; Kento gives a few more pumps to himself before lining his cock the ring of the rubber. Eyebrows furrowed at the motion, you both watch in a shocked horror when the edge of his thumbnail catches on the latex and rips a noticeable hole in the side.

“Fuck.”

Kento tugs it off and tosses it into his bedroom trash before digging through his nightstand again with a frustrated look.

“I don’t think there are any more… shit.”

You sit up and look at the man and gnaw on your lip. Any other time, you would use reasonable sensibility and just offer reciprocating oral between you both. That’s any other time.

“Pull out?”

Kento whips his head around so fast it nearly breaks and mumbles out, “huh?”

The desire coursing through your veins and sight of his cock makes your mind drunk. “Just pull out? Yea?”

Normally Kento would scoff and say how risky that method was in preventing unwanted pregnancies. Normally. Instead he mirrors your drunken gaze and nods slowly, “Yea… I’ll just pull out.”

He walks to the edge of the bed and pulls your ankles so your hips hover in the air in line with his pelvis. For good measure he taps his flushed pink tip to your swollen clit a few times; pearls of pre cum leaking profusely from the tip.

Locking eyes with you for a moment, he sinks in inch by inch, groaning at the sensation of hitting it raw. You lean your head back and wince slightly at the stretch while Kento’s hands immediately move to intertwine with yours.

Kento was expecting you to leave as soon as that idiot Satoru had accidentally aired his pathetic feelings, not for you to reciprocate those same desires and lay beneath him squirming while his cock splits you open. The sight is one he wants to immortalize in his memory: the way your head is thrown back in pleasure from the sting of the stretch, the little nod you make to indicate it’s ‘ok’ to move, and the beautiful way your tits bounce up and down with each thrust.

“F-fuck… Kento..”

Your legs are positioned straight up on his shoulders while he stands and thrusts into your cunt as you lay partially on his bed. There’s a mix of his eucalyptus detergent on the sheets and the raw scent of sex in the air.

His cock pushes in deeper with each thrust, bullying the opening of your cervix despite the facade of a gentleman on his face. Heavy balls slap against the underside of your ass, giving an audible ‘plap’ ‘plap’ ‘plap’ echoing in the room and sweat begins to drip down his temples.

Each stroke has him bottoming out and pushing the stubble of his pubes against your puffy clit for the stimulation you’re craving. The sensation of his cock splitting you open and smack of skin against yours has the familiar sensation building in your abdomen.

Looking up, Kento nearly looks pained from the concentration on his face. You raise an eyebrow but he shakes his head and lets out a shaky breath and places a chaste kiss to your ankle on his shoulder.

“I-I’m… ahhh.. Fine baby… just trying not to cum.. Haaa”

Eyebrows furrowed in deep thought, the sensation of your cunt clenching around him leaves Kento trying to imagine Satoru’s face to avoid cumming too early. He’s supposed to be a gentleman, and well… nice guys finish last right?

Swallowing thickly, Kento moves to hold one of your legs steady on his shoulder while the other rubs circles against your clit. The combination of his cock rutting against your g-spot while the pad of his thumb rubs against your nerves causes a long whine to escape your lips.

“K-kento… fuck!.. G-Gonna cum…”

A gush of arousal seeps from your cunt and your walls clench around his cock while your orgasm washes over you. Head back in pleasure while your nails dig indents into his forearms, your hips twitch to ride your orgasm.

As soon as you regain a steady breath, Kento’s hips stutter and he pulls out with a ring of your cum smudged at the base of his cock. Giving a few extra pumps, hot ropes of cum spill out and over your stomach while your name escapes his lips like prayer.

The warm and sticky sensation coats your abdomen while Kento hovers above you panting; your legs fall from his shoulders and are split around his waist. The moment is raw and vulnerable for a few moments before the post-orgasm clarity washes over both of you.

“I’ll grab a washcloth…hate that I made such a mess of you again.”

You sigh and blink wearily while sitting up on your elbows, smiling at the joke he had made. Watching Kento slip on his boxer briefs and slide out of the room to the bathroom, you exhale and lean further into the comforter of his bed in a sleepy haze.

You don’t even notice when he reopens the door with a warm washcloth in one hand and a tall glass of water in the other. “Don’t tell me you’re asleep already.”

A gentle hum leaves your lips as you sit up and watch the way he gently wipes his cum from your skin and offers you the water.

He stands back up and looks down at you sitting contently. “Though the image of you in my bed is something I can definitely get used to.”

Before you can answer, a light ‘ping!’ rings out from the pants pocket of Kento’s khakis. You can exchange a glance and he leans down to retrieve his phone and stare at his screen in shock.

“What’s wro–”

“They said they’ll be back in 5.”

Your words die in your throat and you both immediately make a break for the bathroom to clean up as fast as possible. After briefly fixing his hair, Kento leaves you to pee after you shoo him out with a, ‘no man is worth a UTI’.

Washing your hands and briefly wiping away any smudged mascara, there’s a short courtesy knock and Kento’s hand pokes out through a crack in the door.

“Sorry there’s no time for a shower….maybe later if you wanna stay, you can take one.”

“Thanks,” you say while grabbing the clothes and changing behind the door as if he didn’t just fuck your brains out. “I’ll be out in a second.”

The door shuts again and you toss the oversized ‘Finance Department’ shirt and JJK sweatpants on while rolling your eyes at the lack of underwear provided. You wander out of the bathroom and stop in the hallway to watch the way Haibara and Ieiri are carrying several bags of groceries into the apartment.

“I thought you went out for sugar? What’s all this?”

Haibara slips past Kento and begins pulling out various bags of chips and snacks from the bag in front of him. “We should watch a movie while the cookies bake! So that means we needed snacks. Plus Satoru called and asked for a few things.”

Ieiri makes no attempt at an excuse and smirks when she sees the way Kento is no longer in his khakis and sweater and instead is wearing a pair of flannel sleep pants and long sleeve frat t-shirt.

She shrugs her shoulders at the man and fishes in her pocket for a lighter. “We just needed something to do in order to stall for a bit longer.”

Your cheeks flush and you finally walk out into the kitchen and avoid the shit-eating grin on your roommate’s face. Haibara doesn’t even notice your change of clothing while Kento looks at you with a warm smile on his lips.

Ieiri lets out a low whistle, “Nice clothes.”

Haibara stops from putting soft drinks in the fridge and now finally notices your attire and raises an eyebrow at it. Both he and Ieiri exchange glances before Kento raises his hand to pause their imminent bombarde of questions. “There’s nothing wrong with my girlfriend wearing my clothes.”

“Girlfriend?!”

GIRLFRIEND?

Ieiri and Haibara mirror your internal confusion while Kento idly walks to the oven to resume the heat needed to finish baking the cookies. He holds himself as if he had just reported the weather and moves to slide a hand around your waist and tug you into him.

“Geez! What did we miss?”

“I don’t think we wanna know.”

Haibara winces at Ieiri’s crude words and shakes his head to avoid imagining his roommate and friend banging in the apartment. Kento rolls his eyes while Ieiri moves to finalize the last of the sugar cookie recipe and prepare a pan.

You seamlessly move to help her cut a few shapes and don’t miss the way Haibara breaks from his mortifying realization to shoot a thumbs up to his roommate. The moment is warm and familial, the group now working as a team of 4 instead of two groups of 2.

By the time you take out the brunkager and put the sugar cookies in the oven, Haibara pads over to the living to flip through a variety of movies. Ieiri follows him to open the window and lean out the edge to light another cigarette and blow the smoke outside.

You sigh comfortably and reach to grab a cookie and blow gently on it, slightly wincing when the delicious flavor burns your tastebuds from the temperature.

“Careful…we’re not trying to make your tongue swollen.”

“Oh, is there something else you want my tongue to do?”

Kento stutters slightly and nudges you in the ribs indicating the risky behavior considering the proximity of your friends while rolling his eyes.

“There are a million things I could think of, and if we had more time, I would’ve loved for a few of them to happen.”

You smile and move to rinse your hands off in the sink, enjoying the background ambience of Ieiri and Haibara arguing over whether to watch ‘How the Grinch Stole Christmas’ or ‘Home Alone’.

Kento remains leaning against the counter while watching you. “I mean it. Both things actually.”

You wipe your hands on the kitchen towel and raise an eyebrow while waiting for him to continue.

“I don’t enjoy quickies or casual flings… I want more time with you,” he puts his arm out to grab you into him, “with you as my girlfriend.”

There’s no response needed when you lift your chin to press a kiss to his lips and giggle when Haibara and Ieiri groan from the couch.

“Ugh! Didn’t you guys already fuck it out of your systems? I’m not ready to be an aunt yet.”

“Not on the kitchen island! What about our deposit if you break it?”

Kento scoffs and moves to walk you to the couch to join your complaining comrades; he sits on the right side against the armrest and pulls you in between his legs to partially lay against his chest.

The moment is cozy and relaxing as the sun begins to dip and brings a warm glow in the apartment while a blistering wind picks up outside. Ieiri reaches for a few chips while Haibara gets comfy on the side love seat and hits ‘play’ on the remote.

“Wait..” he looks up between you and Ieiri. “I already knew Kento grew up making cookies and that’s why he enjoys doing it so much now… but what about you guys?”

Your own roommate shrugs, “I guess I like the parties? Secret Santas are kinda fun once the alcohol is flowing.”

Haibara hums at the answer and turns his attention to you; Kento places a chaste kiss on the back of your neck and traces circles on your hip bones where the waistband of the sweatpants sit. You turn to Kento and smirk, “Well considering Kento likes eating making cookies…. I’d say I like sleigh rides.”

TY for ur patience for this series! I've been busy but still wanna finish this into the mid-january timeline (also why was writing kento lowkey harder than I thot it was gonna be)

[ Next up -> Oncology student! Frat President! Fwb Satoru x Reader

Holiday season is always referred to as 'cuffing season' though he never really saw the point. Why want a real relationship when your casual affair offers everything he wants... or so he thought. Matching sweaters, gift wrapping, and sipping hot cocoa definitely isn't casual.. but it's all he wants for Christmas this year. ]

my other series are still ongoing i promise!

likes/reblogs/comments all appreicated ☆:.｡. o(≧▽≦)o .｡.:☆

-oatmeal

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