#because I feel we need to better understand this decision

[oneinnocentprincess]

She was surprised to hear it was only seven. That was a low number, wasn't it? The only decent comparison she had was herself even though maybe their definitions of partners were slightly different. Eleanor was even more surprised to hear he had no plans of marriage, even if she was currently sitting with the reality that he was currently fifty in his first marriage. "Never? What was the plan then?" Her mind thought more logistically of it all, the expectations of royalty. It was well drilled into her mind that she was expected to carry children for someone, did he never get a similar talk.

"I understand what my father feels about you." Eleanor said as she was not vividly remembering how long those discussions had been when she first was told of her engagement. "I do not hate you." Felt to be a good way to start things off before she begins opening up about what her initial feelings were regarding this all. "I resented my father for awhile, I must admit." She confessed to him, slowly beginning to avoid eye contact. "I told him, and practically everyone, that I was more than fine with the concept of an arranged marriage. When I first was told of this, with minimal details, I was upset that I was set to marry someone I do not know at all. I assumed there would have been more formality behind it all, several meetings before even deciding on the engagement..." Then she trailed off as she knew the next bit would not be as nice.

"When I was upset over all of that and how sudden it felt, one of his advisors slipped your age." She paused, contemplating if she should continue even with his assurances of appreciating her honesty. "So not only did I not know this man I was going to marry, he also turns out to be double my age...I was furious at my father." Her eyes trailed down to her hands in her lap as they fidgeted. "It felt as if he was suddenly shipping me away at the first person who took the offer." That is what had hurt her most.

"I did not talk to him for an entire week, which is something I think we both needed because after then I started to actually listen to him." Eleanor admitted, her eyes slowly beginning to go back to his. "That's when he explained to me how thought out this decision was. That he understood that the difference in age is a lot, but how you're the only eligible man he trusts me with. That he would hate to wait too long that there would no longer be any good options for me."

She took a breath almost losing track of what they were even talking about. "So... if it helps I only ever hated my father in this process." Eleanor attempted to make light of it and end on a better note.

Oscar settled into a calm rhythm as he spoke, his voice measured and sincere. “I’ve had seven partners before you,” he said, eyes locking with Eleanor’s, “but none of those relationships ever ended in marriage. I’ve had my share of disagreements with my advisors—many of them wanted me to marry for politics, for alliances. But that’s never been something I’ve wanted lightly, or just for convenience.” He paused, letting the truth hang between them. “To be honest, I never thought I’d marry at all—not until you.”

He shifted slightly, the vulnerability in his eyes deepening. “I know your father well, and I know how fiercely he wants to protect you from a terrible husband—someone who might hurt you or cause you pain. He trusts me to care for you, and that trust means more to me than I can say.” His voice softened, the weight of his responsibility settling on him. “I may not be everything you imagined, or even wanted, but I’m here because your father believed I could be someone safe for you.”

Oscar’s gaze flickered away for a moment, then returned with an honesty that caught even himself off guard. “I understand that my age might feel like a barrier between us,” he admitted quietly. “Sometimes I worry you might not be drawn to me at all—that you might even resent or hate me because of this arrangement.” He let out a soft sigh, eyes searching hers for any sign of reassurance. “But here I am, fully present. I’m trying to be someone who loves you as you deserve—no less.”

He reached out slowly, brushing a stray lock of hair behind her ear with gentle care. “I don’t expect things to be easy or perfect,” he said softly, “and I don’t expect you to love me right away. But I want us to be honest with each other, from the start. I want to be someone you can trust, someone you can lean on. That’s what I hope we can build, together.”

[jezuschristsuperstar]

this is exactly my problem with sydcarmy's relationship. everyone talks about how she's his peace but is HE that for her? absolutely not. as she stated, he's changing his mind constantly and leaving her with broken promises. he left the restaraunt with its financial issues like his father left the berzatto family and ran for the hills. carmy's not a reliable presence in sydney's life and from her tone and everything else about her reaction, she's beyond sick of dealing with it. whatever admiration she had for his skill, their partnership is tainted by his behavior.

i want better for sydney, and that's not carmy. at this point it's not even a question of whether the show is open to getting them together, it's that carmy isn't good enough for her. he had seasons to grow and he can only take a few steps forward before sabotaging it and stressing out everyone else.

As the saying goes, never meet your hero’s🤷🏽‍♀️ It’s so heartbreaking when you remember where we came from. The hope that she had throughout season one. And the way she defended him and their decision to become partners to everybody who was weary of it in season 2. To her accepting that “okay maybe he’s a flake and not the easiest person to work with, but he’s a part of my world and I care about him enough to work with him in spite of everything” through the past 2 seasons. To this tragic and heartbreaking breach of trust.

And what’s maddening is that she understands where it’s all coming from. How this is both a sick concoction of self sabotage and him being so beaten down by stress, grief, and trauma. But so is she. This is equally not fun for her. It’s equally not easy for her. She’s beginning to have nightmares about it. She has started smoking. She told Jimmy that she cannot remember the last time she has even seen fun outside of a restaurant. She rarely has time to spend time with her actual family, who by what we have seen in episode 4 of this season- genuinely love and care for her and are quite saddened by the fact that they don’t get to see her a lot. She and Carmy are one of the same- however Carmy is healing and she is not. Moreover, this ‘gesture’ can even put her in a worse mental state. But again, she cares enough to let it be even though it’s hearting her severely. She cares enough about him and his family to quickly pivot and extends the offer to Richie (who is now more of a lifeline to her than Carmy ever was).

She cares about Carmy. She wants him in her life because now she is her family- whether it be platonic or romantic (but we all know it’s big platonic lol). However, she cannot trust him and outside of what he is in terms of professionalism, she doesn’t know how to really feel about their relationship. She acknowledges the fact that he is special and he is so good at what he does and that he cares- she admires him because she wants to be him (even though, as Carmy has stated himself that she is way more than he could ever be). But she also feels as if he views her as competition- as someone to smoke and belittle. As someone who doesn’t want to share the creative space, or only does so when convenient. Someone who doesn’t value her input. It doesn’t help that she has been beaten down relentlessly by her previous failures and undercut by previous employers who dismiss her enthusiasm as arrogance and greenness. So much so that while she knows she can do it, there is this lingering fear that she cannot and there needs to be someone holding her hand along the way. And as a result, while these negative feelings still hold space, she still wants his validation. She still wants him to affirm to her that she is doing a good job. She still wants to know that he’ll be there to catch her when she falls- even though he already believes in her so much.

And Carmy wants openness, because to him Sydney is also family. Sydney is his friend. He wants the best for her, he feels she deserves the best, and in a fucked up say he tries to give it to her- but because he doesn’t listen to her and on top of that she isn’t really open, it always fall through. But she doesn’t trust him enough to be open. She doesn’t trust him enough to be vulnerable— because deep down she knows that he is inconsistent and she can lose him at any time. But until their argument it always just meant “he’s here physically but his mind is somewhere far far away”.

The next season shouldn’t even be about the idea of them getting together romantically as their PLATONIC relationship is in the shitter too. What they need is this time apart. And if they are to come together to talk, they need to lay it all on the table and express themselves freely. Carmy his blockages and desire to run from things. And Sydney: her own resentment, and fears, and now feelings of abandonment and rejection. They need to mend the foundation before I feel comfortable seeing anything else take place.

[thiscanbegood]

I'm so mad that this season's end is starting to make sense for me.

Like can we talk about the paralles between Carmy making mickey his whole life and purpose to the point that every decision is either about making him proud or saying "watch how I can do this", and when Mikey is gone and Syd comes in, every decision in his life is about showing her he can be good and doing anything he can to make her need him, plus the "you don't think I can do this" about the star. Syd is everything he has to pull from. And for some people that might be cute, but Carmy saw that doing this didn't help his brother or himself, it just built a wall between them.

And then there's Syd, whose father also lost someone important and then made his life all about her. The idea of making her life about one person is terrifying and familiar for her at the same time. It's a trap for her because she loves taking care of people. If Carmy suddenly decided to turn around and have her as his north and guide and everything, she would have it, and eventually he could feel better and be better but what about her? He's disarming the trap for her by going away. It would be easier to rely on her and only her like he tried to do with Claire, but he's doing the hard thing by going away and looking for it himself.

I hate how they made this so wrecking for her for impact purpose because duh it's a show (and also the blindsidind of it all hits personally to me) and would hate the whole white boy going into a countryside trip to discover himself kind of thing if they use it. It wouldn't even make sense if they did this.

Carmy already learned the importance of relying on other people this season by seeking people around him for help. Hopefully next season he will expand that while finding his purpose (which only exists outside of yourself, I believe, not in a martyr way but in a mutual relationship with the outside where you both feed and is fed).

And for Syd, learning to voice her needs to people around her is key, not feeling like a burden or a babysitter, letting people take care of her for once. And guess who's not gonna be in a position where she can excuse his behavior as his job anymore?

I'm seated to see how they're gonna make her come around, understand why he left and accept his help, see the trap of looking for validation in the industry... Syd has a long way to go, and carmy stepping back might make way for us to see her go through this too.

[lex-the-lesbiann]

my most controversial dndads take is probably that i think code purple was the right decision what who said that?!

[thenexusofsouls]

"Yes. Am... very interested," Xenos said with a shy nod and smile. "Want to know... about... my new friend." A friend who'd shown him immeasurable kindness, tolerance, and understanding and was therefore more than worth him time to get to know better. And by now, Wanda was beginning to stir something in his heart that was far beyond friendship. Xenos wasn't at all familiar with such feelings, though, and so he thought he was merely enamored of his new friend.

Wanda had given him enough warning and hugged him gently enough that he could concentrate on each new sensation individually as they happened, instead of being bombarded all at once with them unexpectedly. Taken one at a time, they weren't actually that bad, the feeling of being touched, the warmth so different from his own temperature, the scent of her, the way she rubbed his back. Actually, they were quite nice. She was nice. Xenos felt all warm and fuzzy inside, but again, he didn't recognize what that meant.

It felt really good, being able to give someone permission to touch him. He'd never gotten to that point with a human before, and it actually felt quite liberating to move past his fears, even if only with one person. Xenos smiled so happily that even his teeth showed a bit, turning it into a grin. Holding Wanda with her leaning against him healed his loneliness in a way he'd never known before. Without thinking, his hand began to gently rub her arm as he held her, just as she had rubbed his back. It just felt right to do. "Okay," he agreed to Wanda's exception of not warning him if she needed to grab his hand to get him to safety. She was looking out for him, and that was so sweet of her, he thought.

Xenos shook his head. "They said... will tell... when the room... is ready," he remembered. "We can stay... until... they come." His smile turned shy again. "I like... hugging you... too," he admitted. And he was slowly becoming used to all the different sensations. His arms moved back to properly hug her again, cradling her gently against him. Yes, this was definitely nice, and he definitely felt things for Wanda, for whatever that meant.

Despite being ancient, Xenos was like a newly create being, still learning about his emotions and body. "You make... my heart... move more... inside... my chest," he said, wondering if maybe she knew what that meant. "In... a good way," he clarified, for sometimes his heart moved a lot and it meant he was scared or panicking.

- - - - -

"I'm less concerned with his moods and feelings and more concerned with keeping the public safe," Stephen said. "Would you never learn how to handle a gun because you were afraid of it randomly going off? If you learn how to properly use it, then you won't have to worry about misfires. Right? Same applies here. If I can learn more about him and how to handle him if the worst happens, we'll be better prepared to stop a catastrophe before it starts," he explained. He didn't expect them to understand, really. They had a much different perspective on people and the world than he did.

After Strange left, Tony definitely felt conflicted. "I dunno, I see it both ways. On the one hand, we can't treat her like she's a child, and we can't say we trust her if we then turn around and never respect any decisions she makes. But... on the other hand... isn't it our job to guide her? Don't we all guide each other? I mean how many times have you told me I was out of line before?" he asked Steve. "I mean, I didn't listen to you, but that's beside the point," he added with a smirk. "If he's powerful but peaceful, that's one thing. But what if... he's not? What if there's somethin' else goin' on and we didn't do anything to stop it?" Tony shrugged. "Not sayin' there is, I just always like to play devil's advocate with myself for maximum anxiety."

With the room almost all set up for Xenos, Tony snapped his fingers at Steve's suggestion of special curtains for the lights. "Oh! Yes! No, I had- They were supposed to be delivered too. I got dimmer switches." He rushed out of the room, looking around in the hallway, finding a package he didn't notice before leaning up against the wall. "Here we go. We replace all the light switches with these." He opened the package and showed Steve. "They're sliders, so he can just move the slide up or down for whatever level of light he wants. It won't take long to install these. Then I guess we can go get Wanda and Xenos and see how this goes."

what are you afraid of? (Xenos)

Xenos should never have come this close to this developed of a human city. Even wandering the suburbs of New York City had been a trial for him, with car horns blaring, people yelling, and a sense of too many things moving around him all at once. But once he'd reached deep into the city, he knew he'd made a mistake. There was a stark lack of awareness from the people walking around him. Some bumped into him without warning while others simply seemed to have no spatial awareness whatsoever. There were even more car horns, and more yelling, and Xenos felt his chest tightening from the stress of it all.

Soon, he couldn't breathe, and try as he might to get out of there, it seemed the more he walked, the deeper into the city he embedded himself. "Back!" Xenos shouted to someone who had bumped into him hard, pushing him away with one of his hands.

"Hey man, screw you!" the human said to him as he kept on walking.

He hadn't realized that he'd wandered into a roadway until he was almost hit by a car. It screeched to a halt and Xenos lifted his hands to cover his ears as the sound of the car's horn blared so loudly he thought he would die. "Get away!" he yelled, and it happened. His magic lashed out, creating a dome of isolation around him, encompassing the entire block. Everything went silent, for he'd removed all the humans from within the dome, leaving them outside its invisible border. Inside, he left the animals and insects for they did not bother him, but the cars, trucks and buses were now uninhabited, turned off, still.

The silence was wonderful, and he felt the tension begin to release him. The dome's barrier kept out the sounds of the surrounding city, as well as those of the angry and confused humans who had been moved from their vehicles, or who could no longer pass down the street because of the invisible barrier. While Xenos paced back and forth in the middle of the street, slowly calming himself, people outside the dome where already calling emergency services and police, angry and scared by what had occurred.

The Avengers were called in.

Xenos moved inside a building, where it was dim and peaceful, taking deep breaths as he slowly wandered around. This was better. Much better. He didn't care or even realize the disruption he'd just caused within a major human city.

Outside, people were telling tales of a strange man who had somehow made invisible walls in the city, not fully understanding what all had happened. When the Avengers arrived, they were met with a large block of New York City that looked... empty, uninhabited. Cars left abandoned, doors to buildings left open. It looked like something out of a zombie apocalypse... but where were the zombies?

Steve couldn't punch through the wall. Tony's repulsors couldn't penetrate it either. They couldn't even see what it was they were trying to knock down. But not all members of the team were as hindered by the magical barrier as the rest...

Xenos knew the moment someone had entered the dome, and he twitched with the sensation of his magic being disturbed. Perplexed, for this had never happened before, he walked to the door of the building and peered out. A human was there... but how? No human should be able to defy his magic. None ever had before. He watched her from afar for a bit, until it seemed that she was, either intentionally or inadvertently, headed right for him. Did she know he was there? No, no, she could not. Humans lacked such senses, he knew, especially in this time. The sorcerers of old were all but gone from the world now, or... or at least Xenos hadn't encountered any for a very long time.

Slowly, he stepped out of the building and onto the sidewalk, his body tilting awkwardly to the right as his head did the same, as though he was trying to size her up and see her better. When she spoke to him, he recoiled suddenly from the sound of her voice. He didn't take steps back from her, but rather only leaned back, his head snapping backward a bit as a dog or cat might do if they were startled while curiously trying to get the scent of something. He thought about her words for some time before responding.

"Not afraid," he said, but his voice was barely there. He couldn't remember the last time he'd spoken to anyone to any real capacity, and his voice suffered from a lack of use. He didn't think it was loud enough for communication purposes, so he tried again. "Not... afraid." Xenos put up his hand almost as if he was making a wait a minute motion with it, but moved it up and down, as though pressing some imaginary buzzer in the air, his fingers outstretched. He was merely thinking of the right word, his head turning this way and that like the word might suddenly be floating in the air somewhere he could see. "Overwhelmed," he finally decided upon. "The city is... too much." His hands found his head and he swayed a bit, as thought he was in pain. "So I have expelled it... from this space." He then made a pushing away motion with both his hands, moving them out from his body.

But then Xenos' head tilted again, his face obscured by the draping hood of his long coat. "How...?" he asked, pointing back in the direction she came. "How... did you enter?"

[kindnessoverperfection]

wild how the more i'm working on recovery. the more i realize how fucking bad i miss her.

[peachesofteal]

Raspberry Girl Previous + masterlist + AO3 Simon Riley/female reader CW: 18+ daddy kink, corruption kink, size kink, talks you through it, spanking.

The fever broke the next day.

You ran hot and cold all night and into the morning, sweating and shivering until the sun came up, pushed him away when your skin was slick with sweat, pulled him back when your fingers turned to ice. 

His poor baby girl. He did everything he could to ease you, settle you, keep you comfortable. You were barely conscious when he gave you water and more meds, hardly aware as he stripped you bare and wrapped you in your duvet, giving up on keeping your shirt dry and clean. 

Dawn came, and he called you out of work for the rest of the week, assured Mara you were fine, promised you’d text her when you were feeling up to it. You need a break, he explained, and she agreed, said she’d handle it. 

He’d take care of the rest. 

Your feet slap against the hard wood floor towards the living room where he’s settled on your couch, laptop open, last email responded to, headache blooming behind his eyes. John mentioned there was a lot of admin work when it came to being a captain, but he undersold it. By a lot. 

Doesn’t matter right now, he has more important things to focus on. “Hi sweet girl.” 

“I- you’re- did you… did you call me out of work?” Your color is healthy, along with your voice, and overall you look a lot better, back to normal, even with your shoulders high and tight, coiled with anxiety. 

“You’re not going back until Monday.” A string is pulled, releasing the tension of your uncertainty, confidence in his decisions, in him, growing a bit more day by day. “Come here baby.” You settle between some cushions and his side, but before you can lay your head on his arm, he shifts to face you. “How are you feeling?” 

“Better.” You’re still only in a shirt and panties, legs exposed from where you slump into the couch. “Thank you,” you whisper, giving him your eyes, a long look, dripping with trust, “for being here… for taking care of me.” He cups your cheek.

“I’m always going to take care of you, sweetheart. I’m always going to be here.” Building the belief you can depend on him or anything, go to him for everything, takes time. Just because he tells you, doesn’t mean it’s automatically instinctive, but the other side of the coin needs to be addressed. “We need to discuss a few things.” You watch him apprehensively.  

“Okay.” 

“You had multiple opportunities to tell you weren’t feeling well on Tuesday, but chose not to. Do you want to tell me why?” Your breath catches, stutters your diaphragm in quick succession. 

“I didn’t want to bother you. I thought… I figured I’d just go home and sleep it off and then I’d feel fine and there’d be no reason to even give it a second thought, I didn't... I wasn't sure if you were busy at work and I didn’t want to be an inconvenience, I-” His hand curves around your skull, fingers at your nape, thumb pressed to your lips, stopping the stream of worry before it builds into a rollercoaster.

“You’re not an inconvenience, you’re mine. You’re mine to take care of, and you don’t make the decisions about what’s bothersome to me. There isn’t a single thing about you that could ever bother me. Do you understand?” You nod, lips warm beneath the pad of his thumb. “Words, baby girl.” 

“Yes daddy, I understand.” 

“I know this is a big transition and a lot to learn, you’re going to make mistakes, and so will I. I’ve already made one by not introducing your rules sooner, and we’re going to fix that now.” A rod of steel supports his words, and you straighten. His little solider at attention.

“Rules…” you trail off, a little perplexed, a little curious, too fucking cute. 

“Rules. You’re my priority, and it’s important you’re safe, happy, and healthy. The rules are easy to follow, but if they’re broken, there will be consequences. Are you ready to hear them?” You nod nervously, and he takes your hand, squeezes it. “You’ll always listen to daddy. You’ll be in bed, at bedtime, unless you’re told otherwise. You’ll eat three meals a day, which includes an actual breakfast and instead of your usual half gallon of coffee, you'll drink water instead.” 

“B-but-” He raises an eyebrow, and you press your lips together. “Sorry daddy.” 

“That’s okay, but you’re just listening now, okay?” 

“Okay.” 

“Good girl. You can have two cups, but no more. When you’re at work, you’ll check in after each meal, even if you don’t get a response. I don't always have my phone, but the rules still apply. If I’m away,” it's acid in his throat, squeezing his windpipe, trying to choke him, but he’ll cross that bridge when he comes to it, “you’ll still send your messages. You will always consider your safety before doing anything, like walking ten blocks home with a fever.” Your face twists up with guilt. “You’ll tell me whenever you're scared, or anxious, or overwhelmed, whether it’s face to face, or through a text or phone call." He gives you a second, waits and watches, analyzes all the flickers and flutters in your expression. The moment it hits, your relief, your realization, a weight lifts from his shoulders. "That’s all we have for now, sweet girl. We're starting pretty basic and will adjust as things change. I’ll write them down so it’s easier to keep track of, but these are your rules, and I’m very serious about them, because I’m very serious about you.” He pulls you into his arms, settles you against his chest and rubs your back. Now for the hard part. "Okay?"

"Okay."

"And if you had known them, would you have walked home on Tuesday?"

"No, I wouldn't have."

“It’s okay baby,” he skims his nose across the top of your head, dots a kiss at your hairline. “You didn’t know, but we’re going to use it as a learning opportunity.” 

“We are?” He tightens his hold. 

“I’m going to give you a punishment, so you have an idea what to expect for the future. Stand up.” You untangle yourself from his arms, rising in front of him, trembling. You're standing on the edge of a cliff, the roof of a building, and the only thing below is him, waiting to catch you. It's a test of trust, of progress, one he believes you won't fail. “It’s okay to be nervous. New things can be scary and there will a lot of them. D'you trust me to take care of you?” 

“Yes daddy.” It eases an ache in his heart, the one that hates seeing you unsettled, and he shifts his legs into a ninety degree angle, patting his thigh. “What… what are we doing?” 

“Daddy’s going to spank you.” Your eyes go wider than saucers. 

“Y-you’re going to spank me?” You squeak, taking a half step away towards the coffee table as he pulls your wrists together and then holds them with one hand, pushing you down over his knees. 

“You’re only getting five spanks, and if you’re very good, you’ll get a reward.” 

“I d-don’t know, can’t I um…” Your shirt comes up over your bottom, but he leaves your underwear in place. “I c-can do something else. Maybe… make my bed? Or do the dishes?” He laughs, enjoying the way you shiver as he rubs his palm over your cheeks, warming the flesh. 

“You’re getting a spanking, little girl. I want you to count after each one, and when we get to five, we’ll stop. Ready?” Five. It's nothing, but not to you. It's alien, it's scary, it's an unknown world you're brand new to.

This place was made for you, this home he built in his heart, this world he crafted with his bare hands, all of it, is for you. Only for you, forever.

But it's still new.

He gives you some time, your needed space, and when your lungs expand with a deep breath, he draws back- 

And swings. 

The sound of his palm making contact with your flesh is music, your little shocked howl combined with the ripple of your cheek, all of it coming together in perfect harmony-

but something is missing. "Are you going to count, or do I need to start over?"

"O-one," you warble, sucking in a big breath.

"Good girl." The second is the same and you clench, even though these are the softest slaps he’s ever dealt. “Relax your bottom baby girl, that’s it.” You groan out your third with your feet kicking, pant your fourth, and on the fifth, you shiver and shriek. 

But you don’t cry. You don’t break.

He didn’t think you would. You have a soft strength to you, one that comes from navigating a world that doesn't understand you.

He kisses your trembling lower lip as he hauls you up, evaluates your expression, checking for true fear, panic, satisfied when he doesn’t find it. 

“My brave girl, I'm so proud of you.” he murmurs, urging you onto your back beside him on the couch, thighs slung over his. You grunt at the contact, raw ass meeting the cushion, but don’t complain. “You took that so well.” 

“I d-did?” 

“You did.” He’s good at this now, giving enough but not too much, honoring your need for slower steps. They’re the only way the mission will result in success. He rubs your feet, presses his thumbs into an arch as you whimper. You’re still slightly tense so he keeps going until you turn boneless, limp, taking his time, indulging in the quiet passing of time, a long moment spent with you. “Feel good?” 

“Mmm, yeah…” 

“Do you remember when I said you’d get a reward?” He keeps going, up your calves to your knees, working slow patterns around to the backside of your thighs before revisiting your feet, up and down, again and again until your relaxation starts to become something else, something that has you squirming. 

“Y-yeah,” your exhale is shaky. You’re so responsive, already on edge just by some simple pressure, a light massage, and there’s a wet spot darkening your light blue panties. 

“Are you a little sensitive?” He skates up toward your hip and across, dragging his fingertips under your shirt across your belly. You giggle. “Ticklish?” 

“Um, y-yes.” He keeps going, squeezing, stroking your skin, dipping below the hem of your underwear carefully, testing your resistance. When there’s none, he goes further, and you buck into his touch, inadvertently sliding his fingers down to your pussy. “Oh.” Slick is seeping out between your folds, sticking to your underwear. You’re not just wet, you’re soaked, to the point where if he spanked your little cunt it’d splash. 

“Oh baby, you’ve made a mess,” he grazes your seam and you grab his wrist, holding on tight, mouth moving with no sound coming out. He wants to see, wants to inspect, wants to memorize every inch of you, but he’s not sure if you’re ready, and you’ve never said it outright, but he knows you’re self conscious. 

Still- 

He splays his hand across your stomach. “Daddy wants to see your pussy sweet girl, can I look?” You shift nervously, but stare up into his eyes with so much trust it nearly kills him, finally nodding with your fingers gripping the couch cushions. “Words, sweetheart.” 

“Yes daddy.” 

“Such a good girl.” He rolls your underwear down to mid-thigh, mouth watering when dewy drops of slick web from the your lips to the cotton, curly hair soaking wet. Christ. Like this, he can’t spread you open, but just the smell of you alone has him leaking in his pants. “You’re so pretty baby, what a perfect, precious pussy.” He could tell you all the things you have to look forward to right now, break your brain a bit if he wanted. How he’s going to inspect you, train you, shave you, stretch you out, fill you up, plug you up, teach you about toys and edging and forced orgasms. Show you how perfect, how beautiful you are every single day, make sure you know it, all the way to your soul. 

He can’t do any of that now, but he needs to go farther, a fiend for a fix. You’re already half laid over his lap, so it’s easy to grab your calves. “I’m going to fold your legs up a bit. Be still for me, there we go,” he bends you at the waist, flexing your knees outward to expose you, your hole, your bottom, cheeks glossy all the way to the couch. “Doin’ so well. Do you touch yourself?” 

“Sometimes b-but I can’t always… finish.” Poor baby. He’s sure you get caught up in your head over it, trip yourself into losing the edge. 

“That’s okay, daddy’s going to make sure you have plenty of orgasms from now on. Can you clench for me? Show daddy what your little hole looks like when it squeezes?” You choke on a breath but your pussy pulses. You’re tight enough he could hurt you, and even with all the prep, he knows the first time won’t be easy. “Has anyone ever been inside you?” 

“Fingers. I’ve h-had two boyfriends, and they’ve… fingered me. And gone down but I didn’t really like it.” You whisper, and the possessive, obsessed monster in his heart comes alive. Fuck. You lock up. “Is that… is that bad?” 

“No, baby, no.” He let the silence linger for too long and it ate at you, twisted your thoughts until they turned sour. His mistake. “I’m just thinking about how my cock is going to be the first one you ever take, and that makes daddy really happy.” First… and last. You suck in a sharp breath.

“Oh.” If he doesn’t put a pin in this immediately, he’s going to end up fucking you right here on the couch, far before you’re ready for him. 

“You’ve been so good for me, are you ready for your reward?” You nod enthusiastically. So fucking cute. “That sounds good, doesn’t it?” He drags your panties back up to your hips and then sits you up as you blink, confused. 

“What-” 

“It’s okay, c’mere.” He leads you over his thigh, planting your knees on either side, encouraging you down until you’re sitting directly on his leg, vibrating. His little leaf in the wind. 

“I d-don’t know… what to do.” He gently places his hands on your hips. 

“I know, but you don’t have to worry, I'm going to teach you. I’m going to take away all that stuff in your head that makes it hard for you to orgasm sometimes.” You jerk, eyes rivaling a full moon, lips parted and panting already. “You’re wet, which means,” he slides you forward and you moan, “your little clit is swollen, your pussy wants to come.” You twitch in his hold, seeking friction. “When you touch yourself at home, do you feel how hard it is?” You nod, sinking down, looking for the relief. “That’s your clit poking its head out from its hood, looking for something to touch it, rub it, but you don’t always have to use your hands.” He leads you into a rhythm, grazing your neck with his teeth at the same time. “All you need to do is ride.” You follow his guidance, gliding against his jeans, wide eyes turning half lidded, picking up speed as sparks fly between your legs. You’re a drug, you’re his drug, a precious, rare, one in a million thing he’d burn the earth for. “Good girl, look at you, rubbing your pussy all over daddy’s thigh. Does it feel good?” 

“Yes- ah,” you whimper, and he shakes his head. 

“Yes who, baby.” 

“Yes d-daddy, it feels so good, fu-” you bump the wide crown of his cock, hard and leaking down his pant leg, and screech to a stop. “I-is that…” He can’t resist taking your hand and spreading your palm over the length, soaking up your shocked expression. 

“Yeah sweet girl. That’s daddy’s cock.” You’re still his little fawn, exploring on trembling legs, staring at him with your mouth hanging open, and he chuckles as he sticks his thumb in it. “Don’t worry. We’ll build up to it.” He pulls out of your mouth and slips his hand under your shirt, pinching your nipple. You hiss. 

“Ow-” Leaning back with an arm behind his head, leg shoving upward, throwing you off balance just enough you have to hold onto his shoulders. 

“Want me to show you what it’ll be like when I bounce you on my cock?” 

“Um, uh... I’ll... I'll fall?” your brow furrows as you try to find a rhythm again.

“I’d never let you fall baby, I promise.” It’s a solemn vow. Wouldn’t let you fall here, or anywhere, ever, something you’ll learn in time. 

He stabilizes you, hands back on your hips, and then picks up a steady pace, your fingernails digging into his forearms, clinging to him for dear life. 

Just the way he likes it. 

It doesn’t take long for your eyes to glaze over, the effort of frantically trying to keep up with being bounced on his leg slowly turning into clumsy, desperate movements, shoving yourself down against him again and again, trying to find that sweet spot, the release you need. 

The only correction you need is when your lashes flutter. “Keep your eyes open when you come for me. Always on me.” You nod, looking up at the last second as you go rigid, thighs trying to snap shut around his, and he keeps you in place as chase your orgasm. “There it is, what a good girl, coming on daddy,” your breath hitches, half moan, half twisted scream and he pets you soothingly, “That's it, ride it baby, ride it out for me.” You do until you’re in tatters, shuddering in his hold, wet cheeks pressed to his neck as he rocks you. “My perfect, sweet girl.” He lays you down, kisses the inside of your wrist when you refuse to let go. Tears are still flowing down your temples and into your hair, but he shoves away the side of him that wants to spread you wide and fuck you until there’s more. 

You need something else now. He suspects this is the first time you've experienced something like this, an emotional release after an orgasm, emotions, tension, all of those things in your head, cut free and running rampant, spilling out of you to him, and it's his job to take them, carry them, life them from your shoulders.

He never gave aftercare a second thought when he was younger. Fuck and leave, that’s all it ever was until he realized how fulfilling it was to take something apart and put it back together, to give someone everything they need, control every aspect to ensure they were safe and happy and warm, comfortable all the way to their bones. He’s glad he discovered it before, all the trial and error long over, a methodical approach and understanding left in its place, just so he can give it all to you. 

There’s a wet spot on his jeans from where you soaked all the way through, and he grabs a blanket over the back of the couch, tucking it in around your sides. When he tries to stand, you track him without breaking focus, still clinging to his shirt. "Shhh, easy. You're alright." he curls around you, blocks out the light, holds you tight to him and murmurs in your ear gently. "My sweet little berry girl, daddy's got you. I'm here."

You settle after a while, your cheeks drying, muscles relaxing, and he's finally able pull away. "I’m going to get you some water, and then when you’re ready, we’ll go get you in a bath and into some clean clothes.” He kisses your temple, breathing in the sex and sweat, tasting your tears. “Stay still, I'll be right back.” You nod sleepily. He’ll need to feed you too, and get some cream on your ass, but it’s one step at a time right now. 

And he’s going to enjoy every single second of it. 

[fleag]

Very sick of doing my job and having caseworkers and parents not want to do the same!! Like do not call 30 minutes before business hours end the day before a holiday and not expect me to be like “since it’s the end of the workday I will have to send this to the on-call supervisor for approval, I will get back to you as soon as possible but it may be tomorrow morning” and then they incredulously go “😦 on thanksgiving?” Yes bro u don’t wanna deal with ur child just bc it’s a holiday????

[theemporium]

[6.1k] most of the league welcome a bye week as all-stars hits the season calendar. with both brothers picked and the rest of the boys on the team flying out somewhere warm for the break, luke has a decision to make. and that decision ends up being a staycation in new jersey with you—not that anyone else in his life really understand why. (smut)

series masterlist

.

“Whoever is in charge of this schedule sounds like a sadist.”

“Yeah?” 

“Yeah!” You repeated with a small huff, staring down at your phone screen where—he presumed—you were looking at the Devils’ game schedule. “Surely there’s a better way than playing, like, three back to backs in such a short time span.” 

“It’s hockey,” Luke shrugged, like that somehow explained everything. “It’s just how it is. How it’s always been, to be honest.” 

“This makes no sense,” you grumbled, your eyes narrowed in distaste. “You literally played four games last week! Four! In the space of six days!” 

Luke snorted. “Yeah, Cherry, I’m fully aware. I was at the games. Playing.” 

You shot him a look before letting your brows furrowed in confusion. “I don’t get it.” 

“The schedule?” Luke asked. 

“No, the hockey player sex god stereotype,” you retorted. “How the hell do they find the time to even have sex? How the hell do they have the energy to even have sex?”

Luke tried—and mostly failed—to bite back his grin. “That’s your big question about hockey players?” 

“Yes,” you deadpanned. “I know you are professionals and all but surely this is a bit ridiculous.”

“Hockey is hockey,” Luke answered, shrugging once again. “It’s just always how it’s been.” 

“So, hockey players are sex gods and sadists,” you muttered to yourself, your focus back on your phone screen. “Good to know.” 

Luke only laughed in response. 

“I don’t get why they don’t just move some of the games to the first week in February,” you pointed out. “You have nothing on then.” 

“Because that’s when All-Stars is,” Luke answered. “They send a bunch of guys from different teams to compete in these challenges and stuff.” 

“Like the Hunger Games?” 

“I—” Luke’s nose scrunched up. “Yeah, but less death and violence. People usually stay nice for it.” 

“Have you been reaped?” You questioned, grinning a little. 

Luke rolled his eyes. “No, I have not. They choose the best.” 

You frowned. “You are the best. You’re the best hockey player I know.” 

Luke shot you a look. “I’m the only hockey player you know.” 

“Semantics,” you waved him off. “My point still stands.” 

“No, I get something better,” he stated. “I get a week off.”

You grinned. “Big plans?” 

Luke shrugged. “Honestly, I was just looking forward to a week without Jack banging on my door for morning skate.”

“So you’re going to spend the week hibernating,” you teased, lightly nudging his thigh with your foot. But before you could pull your foot back, Luke had grabbed your ankle and easily maneuvered your feet onto his lap. “God, I’ll need to find someone else to cook for me for a week then.” 

And the thing is that Luke knew you were just teasing. For all his claims of being a great cook (which he was, just in the few meals he actually knew how to cook), he had grown into a comfortable habit with you. He enjoyed spending time at your place. He enjoyed unwinding after bad games or grueling practices. He just enjoyed being around you, both before and after his recent realisation of his feelings. 

But now he was staring at you from across the couch, watching the way you were lounging in one of his old Michigan sweatshirts and just felt that overwhelming urge to say something stupid. 

Instead, he settled on, “you should come over.” 

You paused, raising your brows. “Come over where?” 

“To my place,” he said, feeling his cheeks heat up. “Jack will be gone and I’ll have the place to myself. We can just—” He paused, his brain going blank at the sight of your amused expression. “Chill.” 

“Chill?” You repeated, grinning.

“Chill,” he nodded, squeezing your ankle. “Just…I feel like…I’m always imposing in your space, you know? You can impose in my space too.” 

“You are a weird guy, Hughes,” you commented, though Luke liked to think you sounded fond when you spoke. 

“Is that a no?” He asked before he could help himself.

You beamed in response. “It’s not a no.” 

He felt something quite like hope spark in his chest. “So, it’s a yes?” 

“Depends,” your eyes glinted. “Are you still Team Stefan? Because if the answer is yes, I will have to decline.” 

Luke groaned. “I said that after we watched, like, three episodes! Stop holding that over my head!” 

…

“This sucks!” 

“Yes, it sucks so much being acknowledged for your skills,” Dawson deadpanned, watching the way Jack wandered around the locker room after practice, whining and complaining about everyone else making their Bye Week plans.

“You know that’s not what I meant,” Jack huffed, narrowing his eyes at the boy before shifting his attention to Nico, eyes wide and hopeful. “Take me with you? I want to go somewhere warm. I want to go somewhere where the chances of freezing my balls off are lower than zero.” 

“Dude,” Nate scrunched his nose, laughing. “We play ice hockey for a living, you can handle a bit of cold.” 

“Suck it up, superstar,” Curtis called out with a huge grin. “Gotta pay up for having the Hughes name on the back of your jersey.” 

“Moose lucked out,” Jack sighed. “I have Quinn and the bajillion Canucks players that are also going. I swear he rigged the thing.”

“Bajillion?” Nico repeated with a disgustingly fond expression.

“Bajillion,” Jack nodded. “There’s too many of them. No one needs that many Canucks in one place. It’s an infestation.”

“I’m surprised you even know what that word means,” Nate snorted. 

Jack glared. 

“You not going up to Toronto to support your brothers?” Dawson asked, turning his head to look over at Luke. However, the boy barely reacted. He repeated the question again, and one more time before finally throwing a ball of rolled up tape at the side of Luke’s head.

Luke tore his eyes away from his phone, snapping his head up to find half the locker room already staring at him. “What? What did I miss?” 

“Jack complaining about All Stars,” Curtis answered.

“Oh,” Luke blinked. “So nothing new then?” 

“You're not going to Toronto?” Nico asked this time, before Curtis could say whatever witty response he had ready to go.

“Uh, no,” Luke shook his head. 

“Scared you’ll steal their thunder?” Nate joked, patting Luke’s shoulder as he walked past to get to his stall. 

Jack snorted. “He thinks he’s too cool for Toronto. Probably following John to wherever the hell he is going.” 

John’s ears perked, turning whilst he was still removing some of his gear. “What? Luke said he didn’t want to come with us.” 

Jack paused, frowning a little before turning to Luke. “You’re not going away for the week?” 

Luke could feel his cheeks burning up. “No?” 

Jack’s eyes narrowed in suspicion. 

“At least he also won’t be somewhere warm,” Nico stepped in, a hand on Jack’s shoulder providing more than enough distraction from Jack asking questions as he turned to look at Nico with the embarrassingly obvious heart eyes he has always had for the captain.

It gave Luke the short reprieve he wanted, avoiding the other curious looks he was getting as he glanced down at his phone screen for a moment, grinning at the messages before he locked it and put it back in his bag so he could finish getting changed.

cherry🍒: i hope you know that i am using this opportunity to steal as many of your hoodies as i can before the week is over 

cherry🍒: consider this your one and only warning

…

It was surprisingly easy to prevent Jack from asking any more questions. 

A little too easy, if Luke was being honest. 

But Luke was also not an idiot so he didn’t question Jack’s silence after he mentioned a friend would be staying with Luke for the week. Jack had just stared blankly for a few moments before laughing, shaking his head and walking out the room, muttering something about needing to stop by Nico’s after he finished packing. Luke took it as the blessing it was and didn’t bring it up again.

Truthfully, it didn’t hit Luke how insane it felt to have you with him the whole week until he was running around the apartment, cleaning up whatever he could before his phone began ringing from the other room.

“Dude, you have shit timing.” 

Ethan laughed on the other side of the phone. “You’ve been ignoring me! I feel abandoned. What happened to the Luke who said he missed me?” 

“I never said that,” Luke retorted.

“Rude,” Ethan huffed. “Why do you sound so out of breath? Were you training or something?” 

“Nah, just tidying the place up,” Luke replied absentmindedly, staring at the hoodie he picked up on the floor with a frown. If he was being honest, he didn’t know if it was his or Jack’s, and usually he didn’t care. But the image of you wearing it thinking it belonged to him when in reality it was Jack’s passed his mind and he quickly shoved it into the washing basket. That would be a problem he dealt with later.

“Ugh, don’t even,” Ethan whined on the other side of the phone. “I’m so jealous, dude. I would kill to be on a beach somewhere right now.” 

“Yeah, yeah,” Luke muttered as he continued to pick up a few empty bottles of gatorade on the coffee table before pausing. “Wait, what? What the fuck are you on about? Who’s going to the beach?” 

Ethan sounded just as confused on the other side. “You?” 

“No, I’m not?” Luke replied, frowning. “I just told you, I’m at my place.” 

“Yeah, because you are tidying up before you fly out somewhere. For Bye Week.”

“Who told you that?”

“I thought it was obvious? Why the fuck would you not be flying out somewhere?” 

And honestly, Luke didn’t have much of a comeback for that one. Because to everyone else, it did seem weird. He knew that. He gathered as much from the rest of the boys’ reactions in the locker room the other day. He gathered it from Jack’s reaction and Quinn’s message (‘wtf rusty’) when he broke the news in the brothers group chat. 

He knew. 

But somehow trying to justify it to one of his best friends over the phone made him realise how fucking dodgy it sounded when none of them really knew about you.

“So, let me get this straight.” 

Luke let out a deep sigh.

“You declined on going up to Toronto with your brothers because you didn’t want to impose, or whatever dumb shit you said, and let them enjoy All-Stars.” 

“Yes.” 

“And then you had the offer to go to Cabo and the Bahamas with teammates, which you also declined.” 

“Mhm.” 

“And then you decided to stay in New Jersey instead of even visiting us up in Michigan with your week off?” 

“Yup.”

“Dude,” Ethan squawked, offended and confused and downright discombobulated. “What the fuck is wrong with you? Do you have a concussion? Is this like a mid-season breakdown? Do I need to call for help?” 

Luke rolled his eyes. “You’re always so dramatic.”

“I think I am being perfectly reasonable here.” 

Luke disagreed—majorly—but he valued his life so he stayed silent.

“You’re gonna get so bored staying in Jersey all week,” Ethan pointed out. “What are you even gonna do?” 

Luke opened his mouth to reply just as the buzzer sounded through the apartment. If anyone asked, he would deny the way his face instantly broke out into a smile. 

“Sleep my ass off. It’s hard being in the NHL,” Luke said in the snobbiest voice he could, letting Ethan cackle on the other side and try to get another word in before he spoke up again. “Look, I gotta run, I’ll call you later. Promise.” 

“He plays in the big leagues and thinks he’s so much better than us.” 

“I am better than you,” Luke grinned. “I remember winning beer pong.” 

“That doesn’t fucking count! Mark was the one who—” 

“Bye, Ethan!” 

Luke couldn’t hang up and rush to open the door fast enough. 

…

Deep down, he knew it was stupid for him to feel nervous about you staying over at his place for the week. 

He had stayed over at yours more times than he could count on one hand. You had become an integral part of his life in New Jersey. You were one of his closest friends. He knew you. He knew you knew him. There should have been nothing that made the week weird. 

But he couldn’t help but feel like it meant more. This was him inviting you to stay over for a few days, to stay at his place whilst his brother was out of town, to spend the week with him when he should be resting and drinking some overpriced cocktail on a beach somewhere warm. 

You were his friend but spending his whole stay-cation with him in his apartment like the two of you were playing house was something far from platonic. 

It was a bit of a mindfuck, but not as much as realising just how fucking easy it all was.

It was different from the various nights he spent at your apartment. It was different seeing you in his space, fitting into his life so easily. It was different seeing you relaxed and laid back, looking like you belonged. 

It was different from the night at his birthday party, where you were one of many faces. It was just you and him, standing in his kitchen or sitting on his couch or lying in his bed. It felt so different but so fucking good. 

Only a few days had passed and yet Luke forgot a time where you weren’t here, where you weren’t by his side throughout the whole day. 

It was dangerous but the warning signs were easy to ignore when his attention was fully focused on you.

“Are you calling me lanky?” 

“It was a compliment!” You insisted, but there was a smile on your face—not that he could see, considering your face was currently pressed against his chest as the two of you laid on the couch to watch the fastest skater skill event. “You would do well in this challenge. It would take you, like, five less strides than the rest of them.”

Luke snorted. “Geez, thanks.” 

“You’ll see,” you murmured, nuzzling your head further into his chest. “You’ll do it one day and win and know that I’m right.”

“And then you’ll tell me ‘I told you so’?” Luke guessed, his eyes now on you rather than the tv screen. 

“Obviously,” you replied, lifting your head so your chin was resting on the spot your cheek was squished against moments ago. “I’m always right, Hughes. The sooner you accept that fact, the easier your life will be.” 

Luke raised his brows in amusement. “So when you very confidently said that you loved that movie where Andrew Garfield played Batman—” 

“Shut up,” you groaned, lightly pinching his side but he quickly caught your hand. “We were watching Twilight! I was thinking about Robert Pattinson! I got confused!” 

“Uh huh,” Luke beamed. “Just always so right—”

“You’re being a dick,” you huffed, even if you were smiling. “Here I was trying to give you a compliment—”

“By calling me lanky.”

“—and this is the thanks I get,” you shook your head. 

Luke’s expression softened, his hand reaching up to tuck some hair behind your ear as he smiled down at you. “Thank you, Cherry. I appreciate the confidence.” 

“Confidence is sexy,” you retorted, your palms warm and comforting against his sides. “Soon you won’t need me to remind you.” 

“But I like when you say it,” Luke retorted.

“Professional athletes and their praise kinks,” you sighed, grinning a little when he reached down to pinch your side this time. 

“I’m the only professional athlete you know,” Luke pointed out, trying to ignore the twist in his stomach at the mere idea that maybe he wasn’t. That maybe you knew more, that maybe you had experience with more, that maybe they were far more experienced than him and—

“And you have a praise kink,” you said, interrupting his spiralling thoughts. “Therefore, my theory has not been disproved. I’m right.”

Luke’s cheeks burned hot. “I do not have a praise kink.”

You snorted, grinning as you lifted a hand to playfully squeeze his cheeks. “Aw, baby, you do and it’s hot. Don’t get all shy about it.”

“Whatever,” Luke murmured, turning his focus back to the tv instead of the growing smirk on your face. 

But the thought lingered in his mind even as the two of you continued to cuddle on the couch, watching whatever movie you had chosen after the All-Stars events ended. It picked at his brain, chipping away at the self-restraint he had to keep his mouth shut for the rest of the night until the two of you were getting ready for bed. 

He was lingering by the doorway, watching you get your side of the bed (because apparently that was also something that came easily to the two of you) ready before you climbed into bed. And before he could stop himself, he was already blurting out the words that were on the tip of his tongue for most of the night.

“Do you really think the praise kink thing is hot?” 

His cheeks were already blushy and pink and hot when you turned your head to look at him.

“How long have you been wanting to ask that?” You asked, something lighthearted and teasing in your voice that was oddly reassuring. You didn’t think he was a freak for asking. Not that he ever assumed you would judge him, you both were far from that point. 

“Does it change your answer?” He asked, not sounding half as confident as he wanted to. 

Your smile softened a little as you walked around the bed and towards him. You tilted your head back once you were in front of him, watching him with a look he couldn’t quite work out. 

Luke swallowed a little.

“It doesn’t change my answer,” you answered honestly. 

Luke could feel something in his chest tighten. “And what’s your answer?” 

“I think it’s hot,” you told him, saying it so casually as though the two of you were discussing the weather. “I think everyone has a praise kink to some extent but…”

Luke could feel his heart pounding in his chest. “But?” 

“But it’s different with you,” you said, your fingers lightly skimming against his stomach before curling around the hem of his shirt. “You’re so…responsive. It’s hot.” 

His body twitched, like his skin was too tight for his body. “Yeah?” 

“Yeah,” you confirmed, smiling a little before using the grasp on his shirt to tug him closer and close the distance between you both. Not that there was much.

Luke was almost embarrassed by the noise he made the second your lips were on his, your hands fisting the fabric of his shirt as you used the leverage against him. He ducked his head down, trying to chase your lips as you continued to tease him and tempt him. He barely realised his feet were moving until the back of your knees hit the bed and you pulled back to look at him. 

“So pretty,” you murmured, close enough to hear the way his breath hitched before you moved down onto the bed, with your grasp on his shirt enough to drag him down with you. 

It was far from sexy, if Luke was being honest. An awkward maneuver of too many limbs and shuffling up the bed that should have ruined the moment, but it didn’t. Because it was you and you were laughing and smiling and snorting when Luke almost decked it on top of you after he got his foot stuck. You made it feel so normal. Like it was all just a part of the charm. 

Maybe it was. Maybe feeling safe enough to be human and imperfect was a part of the charm. 

Because despite the uncoordinated and clumsy scrambling onto the bed, you were still looking at him like you wanted to see how pink his cheeks could turn.

Luke barely put up a fight when you pulled him back down, happily following your movements as he settled between your legs and let you wind your arms around his neck so his nose was brushing against yours before you leaned in to kiss him again. 

Unlike a lot of the other makeout sessions the two of you had, there was no rush. There was no lingering adrenaline from a game he wanted to work off or some bad plays he wanted to forget. There were no teasing messages or risky phone calls that were building up to this moment. There was absolutely nothing but just the two of you lying in his bed, making out because you wanted to. 

Because you wanted to kiss him and he wanted to kiss you. Because you enjoyed the weight of him on top of you and he enjoyed the way your fingers entangled themselves in his curls. Because for reasons that were beyond his understanding, you wanted this as much as he did.

“Fuck,” he muttered against your lips, his tongue lightly skimming over the area of his bottom lip you nipped with your teeth.

You smiled up at him. “See? So responsive. It’s cute.” 

He swallowed. “Cute?”

“Cute, hot, sexy, whatever word you want to use, pretty boy,” you murmured, one hand sliding down to cup his face as your thumb skimmed over the apple of his cheek. “All I know is that I like the noises you make.” 

Luke responded by leaning back down, kissing you because he could, because he wanted to, because he liked the way your laugh vibrated against his lips before you kissed back.

But whatever control Luke thought he had on himself when he was with you quickly dwindled as you pulled him closer, letting his body fall on top of you and let your thighs squeeze his sides until he was rocking his hips against yours, until he was practically panting between kisses.

“Mmm,” you hummed, pressing one, two, three pecks against his lips before your lips traced along his cheek and down his jaw. “That’s it, baby. I can feel how much you like this. S’cute how worked up you get just making out.”

“You’re hot,” he gasped out, like it was self-explanatory. Like it justified why he could feel his dick twitching in his sweatpants, probably already making a mess that he would pretend didn’t embarrass him as much as it did.

Your smile was softer, your hand on his face feeling more intimate as you guided his eyes to meet yours. “I think,” you started, your thumb lightly tracing down his cheek and skimming his bottom lip. “You’re hot too. And that you can come like this. Make a mess f’me.” 

And fuck, he could.

It wouldn’t be the first time he did, helplessly grinding against you whilst you kissed him and praised him and made his head fucking spin before he was coming harder than he really should be able to from a simple act. He could lean down, press his lips against yours and slide his tongue against yours and feel the way you cling onto him as he comes. He could do it. 

But there was a buzzing voice in the back of his head, getting louder and louder until—

“I bought condoms.” 

He could see the initial surprise on your face as you processed the words he just blurted out, the eyes locked on his kiss-swollen lips shifting to look up and watch the way he squirmed under the realisation of his words. He watched the way you tucked your bottom lip between your teeth, eyes narrowing slightly like you were observing him, keeping on edge until he spoke.

“You bought condoms,” you repeated, trying and failing to keep the smile off your face. “Big plans for this week?” 

“I—” Luke’s face burned. “That wasn’t… didn’t mean…I was just—” 

“Luke,” you said in a softer voice, your smile faltering a little into something more sincere. “M’only teasing.” 

“Okay,” he whispered, a knot twisting in his stomach with every passing second. He swore he was moments away from just exploding out of pure embarrassment or something just as humiliating. 

“Breathe for me,” you murmured, smiling a little when he let out a shaky breath. “We don’t have to, if you don’t want to. Just because you bought them, doesn’t mean we have to do anything with them just yet.”

Luke swallowed, his whole body thrumming as he replied. “I…I want to.” 

“Yeah?” 

“Yeah,” he nodded, his brows furrowing slightly. “Only if you want to, too. Because consent is sexy, you know.”

You laughed a little, both hands now cupping his face so your eyes could meet his. “I do, if you want this. If you’re ready.” 

“It is,” he whispered, nodding again. “I trust you, Cherry. I want this. With you.” 

“Okay,” you whispered before kissing him again, slow and sure and content. 

It made him feel a little less like his skin was shrinking all over his body.

And you kept kissing him until his body didn’t feel so tense, until he didn’t feel like a wooden plank on top of you, until he was relaxed and making those little noises between kisses that let you know he wasn’t as nervous as before. 

You kept kissing him as you lightly nudged him back, letting him lean back on his knees until he was straddling your body, giving him enough movement to lean over and scramble through his nightstand until he found the unopened box of condoms.

He tried to tear the plastic covering over the box off, tried to peel it away but his hands were shaking more than he liked and his heart was pounding in his chest and—

“Hey, relax,” you murmured softly, sitting up and taking the box from his hands with little fight from him.

“Sorry,” he mumbled with a sheepish smile. “Nerves, I guess.”

“It’s okay,” you promised. “You know we can stop at any time, just say the word.” 

He swallowed harshly. “No, I do—”

“I know,” you smiled. “But I also want you to know that.” 

“Only if you do too,” Luke responded, looking completely serious as he said it. “If you want to stop at any moment too, you have to say something too. I don’t want you to feel like you have to do this with me because it’s my…first time or whatever.”

“I promise,” you smiled before nudging him back, until he was settled with his back against the headboard and you were on his lap. “Don’t worry about the condoms right now, okay? Just focus on me.” 

And Luke did.

Because, in complete honesty, it was very easy to ignore the box of condoms and the bubbling nerves and the growing realisation of what was about to happen. The voice in the back of his head saying ‘oh fuck, this is it’ was barely a whisper when his focus was on you. 

It was easy to get lost in the familiarity of you. He was used to this. He was used to you sitting on his lap, straddling his thighs and kissing him senseless. He was used to you dragging your shirt over your head and throwing it to the side. He was used to you tugging his sweatpants down and letting your own follow and guiding his hand between your legs whilst you whispered filthy things against his lips. 

He was used to the way you always targeted the spot just behind his ear, blowing cool air until he physically shivered. He was used to the way your eyes fluttered shut when his thumb lightly skimmed across your nipple. He was used to choking out a breathless moan whenever your thumb slid along the slit on the head of his cock. He was used to the way you tugged on his hair when you were close, letting the dull pain throb wonderfully at the base of his skull whilst you pressed your face against his shoulder. 

You were right, all those weeks ago back at the start of the season, when you said he needed to build up to this moment. You were right about the different experiences and experiments the two of you had tried and tested over the last few months. You were right when you said it was just like practicing hockey. 

It felt a bit fucking poetic and pathetic to compare his sex life to hockey right now, but he got it. 

The same nerves that bubbled up before his first NHL game were no different. Because even though he had played hockey his whole life, it still felt nerve-wracking to play in the NHL. And even though he had spent the last few months doing so much with you, it was still kind of daunting to know it was all leading up to this.

But just like his first NHL game, it just felt right. 

You felt right. 

This whole moment felt right. 

Luke knew he was not like his friends or teammates. He had spent years growing up with locker room talk, hearing about random hookups in the backseat of a car or halfhearted blowjobs in a bar bathroom. He heard about one night stands and casual flings and situationships that tended to go sour. He had heard it all and it was unsettling to imagine that was the future waiting for him. 

But it wasn’t. 

And it felt a bit comforting to know that he never had to look back on this experience and regret the person he was with or where he was or whatever stupid risk it could cause his career. All he had to think about was him and you and the way you were looking just as affected and turned on as he was right now.

“You still sure?” You whispered, soft and comforting and so fucking caring, it made his throat feel a little tight. 

“Yeah,” he nodded, smiling a little as he leaned in to kiss you again to emphasise his point. “I trust you. I want this with you.” 

You smiled, still looking so fucking genuine before you leaned over to grab the box of condoms, removing the plastic peel with an ease he was only slightly jealous of. He watched you grab a small foil packet, glancing at him every few seconds like you were waiting for him to jump back on his decision.

“I trust you,” he repeated, confident and sure. 

His hands laid on your legs as you tore open the foil packet. His hands squeezed the fat of your thighs as you rolled the condom on him, stroking him a few times until he was bucking into your touch. His hands were on your waist, supportive and guiding as you slowly sunk down onto his cock. 

“Shit,” Luke breathed out, his breath shaky and gasping. “Shit.”

“I’ve got you,” you whispered, one hand on his shoulder and the other gripping the back of his neck. “I—fuck—I’ve got you.”

The squeeze of your walls around his cock made him want to close his eyes. It made him want to lean back against the headboard, keep his eyes closed and fucking bask in the feeling of you being so warm and tight and intense around him. But the desire to watch the way his cock disappeared into you was stronger, to watch the way your eyes fluttered shut and your lips parted as you settled fully on his lap. 

It was fucking memesiring watching the way you slowly lifted your hips and sunk down again. It made him feel like his head was spinning as he watched you continued to move, to sink up and down on his cock, to fuck yourself on his cock and moan his name and look into his eyes and—

“Can I—” He cut himself off, a pathetic and whiny noise leaving his lips when you squeezed around him. “Can I please—”

“Whatever you want,” you murmured, breathless and panting as you leaned in to kiss him like you needed it.

He let himself enjoy the kiss, to enjoy the feeling of being inside you and the weight of you on his lap and your lips on his before he moved. Before he reminded his brain that he can move, that he didn’t have to feel so boneless and helpless, as he shifted until the two of you had rolled over and you were beneath him and—

“Oh fuck,” you moaned, loud and shameless as he hooked an arm under your knee, lifting your leg out of the way enough for him to thrust back in as your head feel back against the pillow. “Shit, yes, like that.” 

For a second, it was hard to remember he was even in his own body as he watched you. It was fucking mesmerising as he watched you moan and whine beneath him, as he felt your nails digging into his skin and scratching down his back as you demanded him for more, as you muttered his name between pleas and begs and whimpers. 

Luke kind of wished this moment would last forever. 

Unfortunately for him, he was utterly weak when it came to you. Because you were pretty and sweet and you felt fucking unreal around him, and you were looking at him like he fucking meant something and—

It was so much. Too much. Just fucking enough. 

“I can’t—” He gasped out, his whole body feeling like it was buzzing alive as the knot in his stomach twisted tighter and his thrusts became sloppier. “I’m not gonna last long—”

“Come for me,” you breathed out, your hands cupping his cheeks as you wound your legs around his waist. “C’mon, Luke, wanna feel you come in me.” 

And well, he stood no fucking chance lasting after you said that to him.

He could have sworn his ears were ringing when he came. It was intense and overwhelming and disorienting and, fuck, it felt so good. He could feel his muscles tensing, his body rigid and shaking as his orgasm washed over him. He could feel the wave of pleasure rushing through him, leaving every fucking nerve in his body buzzing as he let himself enjoy the way you were squeezing him around him.

He felt like he was on cloud nine when you ran your hands through his curls, your lips against his ear whispering god knows what. But your voice was low and humming and comforting and he could feel his eyes slipping close to enjoy the sound of it. 

He could feel you running your hands over his body, feel the way every inch of skin was pressed against you, feel the way your legs were tightening around him like you didn’t want him to move just yet either. 

After the rush of adrenaline and pleasure, his body felt syrupy. His movements felt slow and unhurried, his thoughts felt like they were floating away. His brain felt fuzzy and pleased and content to just lay on the bed with you, bask in the feeling a little longer before the grossness and desire to clean up took over. 

Luke was more than happy to nuzzle his face into the crook of your neck, to close his eyes and let out a happy sigh and let himself relax after the really intense last few minutes the two of you had just experienced.

And if Luke was more awake, he would have noticed the way you tensed up the second he spoke. The way your eyes widened, the way your body instantly locked up, the way you went a little pale. 

If Luke was more awake, he would have been able to think twice before he spoke. 

But Luke wasn’t awake. He fell asleep after muttering the one thought that had been on his mind since New Years. 

He closed his eyes and slept like a fucking baby and woke up to an empty bed and an empty apartment and not a single sign of proof of the night before except the marks on his skin and the used condom lying on his bedroom floor. 

“I think I’m in love with you,” he had slurred into the crook of your neck, his voice barely louder than a rumble as the sleepiness really hit. 

If Luke was more awake, he would have stopped himself from completely fucking everything up. 

.

[heartyluv]

—Click Here— for Camboy!Caleb Masterlist

Note: ALRIGHT, here’s our favorite coupleeee. You already know; I love them, you love them, we all love them. Enjoy!

Warning: Smut, a lot of cum happening, you cry (but it’s because it feels good), you squirt…#needthat, Caleb begs a little bit

Word Count: 2.8K

Summary: Your husband hasn’t seen you in a while and talking is the last thing he wants to do.

Camboy!Caleb/Reader - Sex Marathon ☆

Caleb has been looking at all the vlogs posted with you included like he’s an abandoned puppy.

It’s been almost two weeks since you went on the brand trip you were invited to with several other influencers for an event dedicated to women. Of course he knew you deserved the opportunity and every single one that would come after it, but he couldn’t help but selfishly wish that you never agreed to go. He desperately craved for you to be sitting in bed with him right now, kissing all over his face like you usually do.

It wouldn’t have been so bad if he never knew that you were originally supposed to be gone for only one week, but the brand offered up extra time in exchange for more content. Obviously, you couldn’t just bail.

He’s been lurking on the channels of all the people who were posting videos, just to get a glimpse of your pretty face when he couldn’t reach you. He felt like you were his own personal celebrity that made him all fuzzy inside the moment you were on screen.

While you aren’t a vlogger, you do post to your social medias that consists of decently large following. The photos and videos you posted on them was your way of giving the brand the traction they asked for. And god, you were perfect.

Every time you laughed, talked, uplifted—it never failed to remind him of how much he loves you. To see you so free and confident in the body he adored was a whole different level of attraction.

That same attraction is why he’s jerked off too many times to count because of all the beachwear you’ve been flaunting. They had you on some tropical island—somewhere he needs to take you for a personal trip since you’ve told him much you like it—and you were radiating.

Without fail, his mind always reminisced on the first night of your honeymoon and how he made you see how beautiful you were in front of that mirror. You’ve been confident in every two piece bathing suit since then, and he loved it.

Regardless of the sexual frustration and the overall desire to have you back, Caleb just missed you so much. It made his heart ache every time he called you to say goodnight and couldn’t wrap his arms around you or kiss your lips after hanging up. It pained him even more when he’d wake up to an empty bed and a quiet house.

He didn’t know he wouldn’t have to feel that pain for long though, as you quietly opened the front door to your shared home.

You were tired of being away from him, too. You shouldn’t have been walking in here until Sunday evening, but you were more than glad to inhale the familiar scent of your house on this lovely Friday afternoon.

The decision to cut the trip short was last minute, but everyday you had without your husband was not only starting to feel like torture, but it was weirdly enraging you. You knew you were too dependent on him, but nothing could convince you to care when you had a man as perfect as Caleb waiting on you.

You lied to the women who had been so sweet to you, telling them you felt sick and it was better just to go back home. Both them and the brand’s ambassadors were understanding and wished you well until they saw you again.

Now that you were back, all you wanted was the love of your life.

You rolled your suitcase onto the hardwood floor gently, cringing when its wheels would clatter. Just as you tried to silently shut the door, Caleb with ears like a damn K-9 was already behind you.

“Baby?” he called to you softly. “Am I going crazy or am I looking at my wife right now?”

You smiled way too hard to yourself before you turned around to see him in his simple underwear that clung to his muscular thighs with no shirt to hide his broad chest. It always made your heart warm to see his necklace that you gave him a year into your marriage around his neck.

“I was trying to surprise you,” you pout.

He doesn’t speak, swiftly taking a few long strides toward you and holding your face in his hands before slamming his lips down against yours. You accept his hungry kisses, matching the same level of need as he licks into your mouth with his tongue.

“Consider me,” he mumbles in between the wet smooches. “Fucking surprised.”

“Caleb,” you chuckle when his hand glides up your neck to press you into him more. “Babe, I can’t breathe.”

With absolute reluctance, he pulls away, but that doesn’t stop him from kissing down your jaw and neck.

“You tired?”

“Not really, to be honest. I took a nap on the plane and planned to shower—”

“Then let’s shower.”

Caleb grabs your hand and drags you to the bathroom, leaving all your belongings on the floor in the living room. He’ll clean it up for you later if he has to, but right now? He needs to be inside of you.

While you turn the water on, he’s pulling your clothes off and kissing all over your body. From your tits, to your stomach, to your thighs, he is covering you in his love.

“I should be asking you how was your flight, how you’re home early…but I can’t even think straight,” he mumbles when he yanks your bra and panties off. “I’ve missed you so fucking much. I can’t do this again.”

You bite your bottom lip when you see how his cock grows with desire. Once you’re in the tub, Caleb immediately presses you to the wall and commands you to lift your leg. As soon as you heed his order, his fingers are working your pussy with precision.

Your back arches off the tile wall when two thick digits take the slick brewing inside your hole and brings it to your clit to start rubbing you just right. Between the hot water pouring down both of your already heated bodies and the way your husband strokes your cunt in the way only he knows, you know you won’t last long.

“How many times have you touched her while you were away from me?” he whispers in your ear as your moans echo off the walls.

“So much…I touched myself almost everyday thinking of you. But it was never enough…” You gasp when he thrusts his fingers inside and does that motion that always makes your knees weak.

“No one can ever please this pussy like I can. Not even you,” he grins into your neck before sucking on your delicate skin. Your hand anchors in his hair that you’ve missed gripping almost daily while your orgasm readily creeps into your gut.

His fingers grow faster in their pursuit to bring you to ecstasy as you tense and your breath grows more erratic. “That’s it, baby,” he purrs. “I missed seeing how pretty my wife looks when she comes.”

At the same instance that your orgasm is right at the precipice, Caleb pulls away at the perfect time and you come without being stimulated all the way to the end. But he’s not giving you a break—he can’t. And you don’t want one.

Effortlessly, he lifts and slides you up the tile wall to force your legs to wrap around his waist. His hard cock presses against your sensitive pussy and still as your orgasm makes your core tingle, he slides inside of you.

“C-Caleb!” you call out his name from the overstimulation that feels so much better than it should as he begins to rut into you eagerly. His cock sends shockwaves through your body with how deep he is in this position and the idea of a shower is long forgotten as the water starts to grow warm the longer he fucks you.

The slapping of wet skin and your whines are what urges him to keep going—besides the aching in his cock that can’t be satiated without you.

“Been too long,” he groans as his balls slap against your ass. “Gonna come already…shit.”

Your walls squeeze him tight when your second orgasm coils inside of you.

“I missed you…I missed you…” you repeat over and over because saying it once would never be enough. That declaration is what makes Caleb squeeze your ass even tighter in his grasp to hold you down to take his heavy load that shoots out of his throbbing length.

You feel the way it floods your cunt and takes ownership of you from the inside. By this point, you’re used to feeling him begin to soften, but when you try to catch your breath and you feel him twitch inside of you like he’s already beginning to stir to life again, you know he’s far from satisfied.

“You’re nuts,” you chuckle thought a wince as he slowly slips out of you. Just as you thought, while his dick is lathered in both you and him, it jumps as blood rushes to it like this is the first time.

“You gotta fix me, pretty. I can’t do this without you.”

You didn’t even get to think about touching a bottle of soap because Caleb is pulling you out of the tub, bodies still wet and tender. He kisses you ardently all the way to your bedroom until you fall into the soft mattress.

On his knees, he climbs in after you and on top of your leg that rests on the bed. You lay on your side with your back partially against the now damp blankets so he can have a flawless view of your tits. Once in between your legs, he takes the one on top to hook around his outer thigh and becomes perfectly aligned with your sweet pussy.

“You still holding my cum inside?” he asks tenderly as he slides his hand down your breast to make your nipple flick when he grazes over it.

“Yes,” you moan. He looks down and watches how you push some of it out. Goosebumps decorate his flushed skin as he uses his tip to smear the sticky spend up and down between your puffy quivering lips.

Taking hold of his length, he lines himself up and shudders at how wet you are when the erotic squelch of all you’ve done, sounds as he splits you open once more. The combination of his cum, your slick, and the way you grip him prevents him from being able to hold back.

His hips are unforgiving against your willing body, making your skin move like water—and he’s absolutely mesmerized. He can’t stop feeling your softness against his palm as he caresses you lovingly. You look up at him with so much devotion while his cock familiarizes itself with you once more.

“You’re so pretty,” he praises as your hand gently holds onto his wrist when he grips your hip. The warm press of your ring against him brings out something that only you’re capable of evoking. “You like this dick don’t you? I can feel how much your pussy needs it.”

“I love it,” you mewl, feeling the stickiness cling to your skin when he pushes and pulls. His other hand clasps around your ankle, naturally grazing up and down your ticklish flesh.

Your breasts jump with each hard thrust and your sensitive pussy feels like it’s in heaven with the way his cock gives you what you never want to go without ever again.

“You squeeze me so good…” He licks his lips, his hair falling into his dreamy eyes. “You can’t leave me like that. Wherever you go, I’m going with you. I don’t care.”

He watches how messy it’s become between you two, feeling another climax make his cock pulse inside of your tender hole. You clench him, sucking him into your body even deeper at the way he tells you that there will never be a time where you’ll be apart again. If you could coherently form a sentence, you’d tell him that you second that agenda.

“Give me another one, baby. I know you can…Please let me have it, please…”

His begging and the way your clit is being rubbed the harder he grinds against you while he chases his high, is enough to make you scream as you become a running faucet around his dick.

Lazily he keeps moving his hips until his cum leaks out of his tip and into your raw cunt.

“One more time,” he pleads. “Fuck, one more time..”

“Caleb, baby, I can’t,” you weakly protest through a cry as he moves your leg to surround his hips, spreading you open all the way. It’s like he unfolds you, ready to rejoice in the delicacy on the inside like he’s never had it before. But despite your words, you’re throbbing and aching to take more.

“If you really want me to stop,” he gathers saliva in his mouth before spitting on your heat and watching the drop slowly fall down your crease to join where you meet. “You know what you have to say.”

You’ll be dammed if you use that safe word. This, right here with this man, is the safest you’ll ever be.

Feeling the warmth of his spit on your cunt makes you whimper as he starts to fuck into you again. All the fluids on and in you, has made you absolutely filthy.

His cum seeps out of your tightness while yours enthralls Caleb the more he watches it saturate his unrelenting cock. With your legs thrown over his forearms, you can’t even fathom his stamina as you watch the sweat trickle down his chest from how hot your exchange has made your bedroom.

While your body rocks, he’s become nothing but a pathetic mess as he puts in all the work.

“I’m so fucking greedy,” he blubbers at the sensitivity. “Taking you like this…But you like it, don’t you, pretty baby? You like when you make me feel like this. You like letting me fill you with my cum over and over until we can’t do it anymore…”

He can’t even hold himself up at how tired and desperate he grows, falling on top of you and caging you in his strong arms. The fatigue means nothing to him, the urge to remain with you forcing him to keep slamming into you harder and harder as your hands grab onto him anywhere they can.

From his shoulders, to his arms, to his back, and his hair, you make sure he can feel how much you yearn for him, too.

You’ve never been this sensitive and sore in your life, but it feels so euphoric. You’ve gotten so wet and full of him that after you come again, if he tried to fuck before letting you rest, you won’t even be able to feel his cock inside of you.

Tears begin to fall down your temple, causing you to sniffle. Panting heavily in your ear, Caleb turns his head to lick the tear away before kissing where it once was.

Skin to skin, you take him and never wish for it to end. You want to stay like this for as long as you can.

“It’s so good…” you cry, your emotions erupting in tandem with the sharps thrusts of his pelvis to yours. He feels how close you are again, making sure he grinds against your bundle of nerves while his dick drags deliciously inside of you.

“Wait…” you tense, a familiar sensation gathering. “Caleb—”

“Let it go, like I taught you,” he grunts breathlessly.

Your moans grow high pitched and you try crawling up and away from him because of the intensity—until you crash.

Uncontrollably, you begin to squirt all over your husband’s cock, thighs, and abdomen. You weep his name the more that escapes you as he continues to ravage your pussy.

“There’s my girl…Look at how good she feels..” he coos tiredly before his hips finally begin to stutter. He sits up enough to kiss you sloppily, spit going absolutely everywhere. For the final time, he comes deep inside you with his tongue down your throat, coming to a halt completely when he physically can’t move any longer.

Your core is throbbing and his dick stays nestled inside of it all, embracing the art you’ve created.

He kisses down your neck with your legs still spread open to accommodate his large body.

“Welcome home, baby.”

“Look at me,” you ask him softly. Both of you are so tired, but more than pleased when his hooded eyes meets your gaze. “You owe me a real shower.”

He snorts at that, kissing the top of your breasts with a nod. “You’re right. I always take care of you, don’t worry.”

Lovingly, you smile and run your finger down the bridge of his nose. “I know you do.”

Creds to @/strangergraphics for the neon star and bubble star dividers!

Tags 🏷️: @innergardentoadpony @teacupwaifu @mcdepressed290 @calebapplepie @xcelfer @honeymoonfleur @obeythebutler @ajyoursgirl @notsurewhattocallthisblog8888 @honeycrispangels @dummiebunny @sucre-princesse @brailsthesmolgurl @klossnite @grlyeetswrld @beesin03 @dramaticalsachan @moonchildjae00 @asiatic-apple @callads7 @caien @stargirlygirl @multisstuff @littledarlingsthings @purpleamethyst25 @lazygelpen @floatinginaer @meadowinthesky @floatinginaer @grackerzzz @nod4mnm3rcyy @loveinorion @ur-l0cal-crypt1d @inutrasha94 @cowaungabungabby @gravity-pilot @nyanahogini @rosiesluv @goochfiddler99 @torturedbabyapple @kiyadeleine @carcelswaifu @blushofeve @whattnanii @asiaticapple @ashirelle @sylvieisoffline

[woso-dreamzzz]

Travel Day IV

Keira Walsh x Kid!Reader

Summary: You get a bit confused with your family

"Do you only have a mummy?" One of the girls in your new class asks.

You frown as you think.

This new school is different. You wanted to go to the same school as Liefje but there weren't any spots available so you're at this one. It's closer to home as well which is easier for your mums.

"I have Mummy," You tell the girl as you reach for the blue crayon," And a Mum..." You think for a moment. "And kind of a Daddy."

The girl nods a few times as she sprays glitter glue all over her picture of a unicorn. "I have a mummy, a step-mummy and a daddy too."

"I don't have a step-mummy," You say decisively," Just Mummy, Mum and kind of Daddy."

Clearly the girl doesn't understand and you don't really feel like explaining it so you don't.

You just go about your day.

You even forget about the conversation entirely as Keira picks you up from school and takes you back to her house.

Dinner with Keira is easy like always just like bath time and bedtime where she reads you your special story about a little girl footballer being better than all of the boys on her team before tucking you.

She dresses you like usual the next day in your uniform and snaps an obligatory picture to send to Lucy once she's dropped you off.

You're both early like you normally are and mill around while you wait for the gates to open.

"Oh, Keira," Another one of the mummies says as she sidles up close and strikes up a conversation.

If Lucy were here, she'd let you run off with some of the other kids and play by the bike shed but Keira's always been a bit more cautious about you.

She likes you to stick to her side so you don't get up to mischief so that's where you stay, swinging your joint hands around as you kick a little rock.

"You put in so much effort getting her to places on time," The other mum continues though you've mostly tuned her out in favour of watching some of the older kids drive their new bikes straight into the shed. "It's such a shame that you don't get any help."

Keira frowns, holding your hand a little tighter. "What do you mean? I have help. Lucy-"

"I meant from her father," The woman cuts her off quickly," It's such a shame that he's never around."

Keira tugs on your hand a little bit until you're pressed up against her leg and she lets go of your hand to lightly run her fingers through your hair.

"She doesn't have a father," Keira says stiffly, drawing you as close as she possible can," It's just me and Lucy."

"Oh." The woman's mouth shuts with an audible click. "But I thought...Mia said that y/n talked about her daddy."

"She doesn't have a daddy," Keira says and you frown at that.

Ordinarily, you would argue about it but the way Keira's holding you makes you stay silent.

This is clearly an adult conversation.

It's short and snappy and Keira guides you away before kneeling down in front of you.

Her voice is soft as she speaks. "What's this about a daddy, huh? You know you don't have a daddy."

"I do," You insist," I do!"

"Peanut, baby, you don't. You have me and Mum. Remember? No daddy."

"Mum is my Daddy!"

"What?"

"We were learning about families," You say as Keira draws you close so you can rest your head against her," And the teacher said about how mummies are the ones that carry the babies. You carried me. I know because there's pictures. And daddies are the ones that look after the mummies what that happens. So Mum must be my Daddy because she looked after you."

"Y/n..."

"And Mum likes being Daddy! She says so!"

Keira closes her eyes briefly, taking a deep breath as she tries to keep a lid on her thoughts. "Families don't always need a daddy," She says softly," A family can be two mummies and a little girl."

"Are you sure? My teacher didn't say that."

"Well that's what our family is like and that's what Liefje's family's like. I don't think having two mummies makes it any less a family, alright? You don't need to have a daddy for our family to be right."

"Promise?"

"I promise."

"Okay, Mummy."

The gates open to let the kids into the playground but Keira keeps you close to her side for a few minutes longer, sucking up the affection and your hug until she finally sets you off.

Your words about Lucy being your daddy play on her mind as she drives to training. It's the thing that's in the forefront of her thoughts the moment she sees Lucy's face.

"Has our daughter told you that she thinks you're her daddy?"

It's not the best thing she's ever led with but Keira can't help herself.

"What?"

"Our daughter. She's under the impression that you are her father."

For a moment, Lucy looks floored - a shocked look on her face and eyes wide. But then, as Keira should have expected, Lucy grins.

"She thinks I'm her daddy?"

"Don't start."

Lucy's grin only widens. "A daddy? This is great!"

"I'm already regretting telling you."

"Do you think the dad will let me into their groupchat now?"

[wheeloffortune-design]

it's not 'AI art has no soul' because soul is subjective and creating art is not necessarily a divine spark of inspiration, sometimes human made art is empty of feeling and meaning and that's okay.

it's not 'AI art is ugly' because human made art doesn't need to be pretty, it's still art, no matter if you're starting or if you intentionally make ugly things. It's still okay.

The problem, with AI art (besides the copyright theft, the environmental issues, the artists losing their jobs..)

The problem is that

AI art lacks INTENT

When a human makes something, every part of the creation is a decision made. Why this line, why this color, why this word, why this stitch, why this note.

They may be good decisions, bad decisions, it doesn't matter. The end result is something with thought, and this is why we appreciate art. There is the surface, and underneath, there is an ocean of decisions made by the artist.

AI art has no intent.

Yes, they will type prompts for a general idea. And they will pick a result.

But there is no thought about poses, colors, lines, backgrounds, details, negative space, lighting, texture, framing, etc.

Becoming a good artist means to understand these decisions and align them to make the result you want.

AI art will pick through millions of those decisions made by other people and will stick them together without meaning or reason, so they lose their intended purpose. This is why people think AI art is empty, that it has no 'soul'. Because there is no thought process behind it.

We should stop comparing human and AI art by using words like "better" or "worse". People will always have different opinions.

But as a human, I am more interested in things made by other humans, because I can observe all those tiny decisions, I can relate to some, be surprised by some, dislike some, it's all good.

Art is people communicating.

AI art has nothing to say.

[hyunebunx]

⋆.˚ ᡣ𐭩 ⏖ ’ skz and the reason you aren't together !

⁺ 𖹭 . genre: angst

⁺ 𖹭 . a/n: i loveee me some angst so i hope you'll enjoy! <3 seungmin's part is slightly longer because i wrote it for my beloved keisy @starlostseungmin <3

𝜗୧ chan 𝜗୧ - he chose work over pursuing his feelings for you.

He knows how you feel about him, and you know how he feels about you. Things couldn’t be simpler.

But in reality, things were more complicated than ever. Yes, Chan did in fact confess, but with the same breath he also told you this could never go any further.

You were devastated, confused and sad, not understanding what was going on through that bright mind of his.

You liked each other, you both wanted this – so, what was the issue?

It wasn’t you, it could never be. It was him, as always.

He was too busy, his job too demanding to leave any room for you and the precious feelings you’ve developed for him.

Chan felt like he didn’t deserve your love, because he could never be there for you in the way you needed a boyfriend to be.

He could never be there every morning when you woke up, kiss you goodbye each time you left the house or greet you with a big hug when you returned. He just couldn’t, too caught up in work to even notice the hours tick by.

You didn’t deserve an absent lover, one that could not put you first.

No matter how much he cared, how much his whole being longed for you, his job would always be his main priority. Then, his seven brothers. While you, would end up being third on his list.

It pained him to admit it, and even more so admit it to you but since he respected you so much, you deserved nothing but the truth.

This information crushed you, every word that left his mouth a stone that contributed to the mountain you were quickly getting buried under.

“But I love you.”

He shook his head, brown curls getting into glossy eyes. “I love you too, but we – I, can’t.”

At the end, just as you were preparing to depart his studio, he stood up. Without thinking, you hugged tightly, aware this would be the last time before things would change forever.

“Please don’t be sad because of me.”

How could you not? How did he expect you to not mourn the beautiful relationship you could have had, if only he wasn’t so against it?

If only he would have chosen you.

𝜗୧ minho 𝜗୧ - because he broke up with you.

Yeah, pro idol Minho ended your relationship on a random Thursday night, taking everyone but most importantly you, by complete surprise.

“Let’s break up.”

You can’t believe your ears, especially since you’re in his house, eating the food he just prepared for the both of you, in his kitchen while wearing one of his shirts.

Nothing was amiss, nothing even prompted it. Things have been going great in your relationship – there was no recent argument or disagreement that could explain his sudden decision.

Blames it on his work and his hectic schedule, trying to appear as detached and unaffected as he possibly could. But you know better; you see it all.

The way his fist clenches over the dish rag, how his eyes won’t meet yours even for a split second. This isn’t something he wants to do, not in the slightest. Yet, here he is, breaking both of your hearts for a reason he doesn’t even bother revealing.

It stings in the worst way possible, even more so when you stand up to hug him and he just puts a hand up, stopping you in your tracks.

“Please, Y/n. Don’t make this harder for me.”

Tears well up in your eyes and that’s when he looks away, slumping against the counter as a sniff reaches his ears. He’s gripping the wood with such force you’re afraid it might actually snap.

“Why are you doing this? What’s going on?”

But Minho doesn’t respond, not even as you start crying and begging him to talk to you, to tear down the wall he suddenly plopped right between you two in your relationship.

He’s so close, mere inches away, but his heart that belonged to you, that always responded to yours, is suddenly grabbed harshly out of your hands and shipped away to an unknown destination.

“Minho.” You sniff, not hiding your tears or the pain that’s slowly ripping your heart to pieces and letting them fall all the way down to your stomach, trying to escape from the torture. Because even the idea of not having him in your life was pure torture.

“I think you should go.”

He walks past you, head hung low as he throws the dish rag on the table without saying anything else, putting an end to the conversation. An end to your relationship. Throwing it all away like the time spent together meant absolutely nothing to him.

Like it was the easiest thing in the world.

But it wasn’t, not like he’d ever let see you the way he broke down as you slammed the front door shut, walking out of his life for good. Even if you didn’t agree, it was better this way.

Your life was better, and happier, without him in it. That’s what he kept murmuring to himself as he slid to the ground, against his bedroom door, crying while clutching his chest, afraid his heart might stop beating.

It was all for the better.

𝜗୧ changbin 𝜗୧ - is already in a relationship.

The most stupid thing you can ever do in this lifetime is fall in love with someone who’s already in love with another.

Not only is he in love, he’s also in relationship that’s been going on for three beautiful years.

The thing is, you haven’t always had feelings for Changbin.

It was weird, really. For the longest time now, he was just your bubbly co-worker who laughed so loud the whole department could hear him. The mood maker of the company.

It happened on the annual Christmas party, where you drunk a little too much as you were nursing a broken heart after your ex dumped you out of the blue.

The whole world was spinning but you were happy – happier than you’ve been in months.

Noticing you could barely stand, Changbin ever the gentleman, offered to drive you home.

You complained and complained but after some more convincing from him, Changbin managed to coax you onto the passenger seat of his sports car.

You were silent the whole ride but as he parked on your driveway, he gasped, worriedly grasping your hands and exclaiming about the tears on your cheeks. You didn’t even notice you were crying.

But that’s when the dam broke and it all came to the surface, tears flowing freely down your face and neck as you sobbed, telling Changbin everything from beginning to end.

And he listened, holding your hands and nodding when appropriate, offering you the occasional sip of water or a tissue to wipe your face, not interrupting once.

His heart broke for you, unaware his mere presence was already working on mending yours.

The next morning, you almost didn’t show up to work as you remembered everything, how you made a fool out of yourself in front of everyone but especially Changbin. But something pushed you to do so.

As you arrived, a care basket was on your desk, accompanied by a little note with a crooked smiley face and then, he appeared, doing the exact same expression.

And you laughed, wholeheartedly. And you continued to do so as you began taking your lunch breaks together, working side by side and even taking turns on driving the other home.

Falling for him was inevitable, but you didn’t mind, all warm and fuzzy on the inside as the heart your ex broke was anew.

That is, until you met her. You and Changbin became so close that he couldn’t help but want to introduce you to his other half, the woman who loved him unconditionally that knew a little too much about you.

And just like that, your heart shattered once again, the pieces so tiny they were easily blown away in the wind, leaving behind a big whole were all of your love once resided. How could you be so stupid to believe someone could ever love you again?

𝜗୧ hyunjin 𝜗୧ - you found out he was in love with someone else.

Plain and simple, as heartbreaking as it sounds.

Let me paint this picture: you two are best friends, each other’s safe places. You always talk about everything and anything with one another, feeling comfortable to share even your darkest secrets.

Because of that, you genuinely thought he might even reciprocate your feelings at some point.

But one day, as you’re both hanging out at your house, watching a movie, all of the hope and daydreams you held in your heart for a happy ending with him just get crushed.

He suddenly dumps this new information on you while he’s casually munching on some popcorn, watching the couple on the screen confess their love for each other like your heart didn’t just stop beating.

You’re so taken aback that you stop breathing for a moment, looking at him with wide eyes.

For some strange reason, Hyunjin doesn’t meet your gaze even as it goes silent between you two and your eyes keep burning holes into the side of his head.

Only when you finally tear your gaze away, eyes glossy as you try to murmur encouraging words does he finally turn to you.

His breath hitches in his throat at the sight but other than that, he doesn’t comment on it.

The whole ordeal feels like a slap in the face, hurting more than any physical injury you’ve ever sustained but, it’s not like you could blame anyone but yourself for it. You’ve missed your chance and now, Hyunjin was going to be in a happy relationship with someone else.

So, as expected from any best friend put in that situation, you say through gritted teeth.

“You should confess.”

Hyunjin searches your face for any sign of discomfort and finds many – but, as expected, doesn’t say anything, just looks away and nods slowly. Like he just can’t maintain eye contact for more than five seconds at a time.

And that’s the end of it. The whole vibe changes, now uncomfortable and cold and it’s clear that neither of you is paying any attention to the movie anymore.

But he still remains till the end, and when the credits start rolling, you stand up first and bid him goodnight without your usual warm smile or departing embrace before sprinting up the stairs to your room.

His heart squeezes painfully in his chest as your door slams shut, the tears in your eyes bringing him unexplainable sorrow.

And as he leaves your apartment that night, down in the dumps, you know things between you have changed forever.

Because that’s the last time you and Hyunjin talk.

𝜗୧ jisung 𝜗୧ - he hasn’t confessed yet.

Jisung has liked you for a while now but for some reason, every time he wanted to take that leap of faith and finally confess, something always came up.

You were interrupted, plans had to be cancelled or you were simply too busy to even talk to each other.

It was driving him insane, especially when he’d spot you at an event surrounded by people he felt he couldn’t push through, missing his chance at your attention every time.

He felt forced to watch you from the sidelines, a background character in your life that would never get his moment to shine.

You were friends, but he often felt he cared about you more than you cared about him and it was tearing him apart.

Each time you smiled or laughed at one of his jokes, everything around him disappeared as time seemed to come to a stop, making you look even more beautiful. Which was a hard thing to do since you were already perfect in his eyes.

His insecurities and crippling fear of rejection were literally ruining his life, preventing him from experiencing the love story he’s been yearning for.

Jisung was good at hiding his feelings from you, but sometimes, he slipped up.

Like that time, he held your waist for a little too long, or guided your hands over the piano keys like it was the most natural thing in the world. Those moments when he wasn’t overly conscious, when he got lost in the moment, were your favorite.

You see, in his mission to prevent you from discovering how insanely in love he was with you, Jisung managed to make you believe the opposite. That he hated you. Okay, maybe not hate, just strongly dislike.

Always avoiding being left alone with you, barely meeting your eyes or pulling away when you got a little too close. He seemed repulsed, and it hurt you.

Where you really that unpleasant in his eyes?

He was nice and bubbly around everyone else, no matter the gender. Why couldn’t he be the same Jisung whose smile made your heart skip several beats around you, too?

This went on for a long while, which solidified the idea he hated you in your head, until you couldn’t take it anymore.

One day, Jisung almost walked in on you and Felix…hugging on the practice room floor? His heart dropped, brows furrowing in confusion. Felix knew how he felt about you, he would never disregard that, right?

Everything clicked when he heard your muffled sobs and pained voice.

“I give up, Felix.” You said, hiding your face in his chest as a loud sob escaped you. “Jisung hates me, it’s official! I tried so, so hard but it was no use.” Felix murmured something back, deep voice uncharacteristically soft as he comforted you, caressing your back.

Jisung couldn’t hear what he said though, eyes filling with tears as the only thing resonating in his ears was the pounding of his own heart. You thought…he hated you?

𝜗୧ felix 𝜗୧ - because your relationship is too…complicated at the moment.

Complicated didn’t even begin to describe your relationship with the ray of sunshine.

He was your ex that somehow slithered his way back into your life again, only this time, as a friend. Not even, just an acquaintance that knew too many of your secrets and biggest aspirations.

There was no denying the feelings you still harbored for him, the flame flickering in your heart each time he was around; each time he spoke, he smiled, he laughed or even as much as looked at you, your heart thumped so loudly in your chest you were afraid he was able to hear it.

It was embarrassing, especially since he didn’t seem as affected.

Your relationship ended on a sour note – arguing, screaming, crying, the whole package.

Yet a few months later, when you happened to be at the same party, Felix accompanied by a friend walked up to you like nothing even happened, greeting you brightly.

It was horrible, and you almost cried right there and then, missing the way his doe eyes took in all of the little details that changed about you ever since you broke up, desperately committing them to memory.

Like he never wanted to forget, because he didn’t. Felix never wanted to forget about you, even if you didn’t love him anymore.

And so, this happened a few more times until the inevitable took place.

You kissed. And never spoke about it.

And then you kissed again, and again, until he was coming over to your house in the middle of the night to do more than kiss.

It messed with your head, the way he was looking at you – like you hung the stars on the night sky for him and him alone. Like he loved you and wasn’t breaking your heart each time those plush lips kissed every inch of your skin, worshipping every part of your body.

“Why do you keep coming back?” You’d whisper one night, resting your head on his naked chest as the moon bare witness to your unspoken feelings.

“You keep calling.”

“And when I’ll stop,” you move to look at him, face mere inches away from his, hands supporting your weight on his chest, “will you still come?”

He hesitates, staring straight into your eyes. “Most likely, yeah.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know.”

Yeah…complicated.

𝜗୧ seungmin 𝜗୧ - because he is your best friend.

For most, the transition from best friends to lovers was as natural as breathing, something inevitable that was bound to happen one way or the other. Not for Seungmin.

He didn’t even allow his mind to go down that road, to think about being more than friends with you, one of the people he held the closest to his heart.

Not because he didn’t have romantic feelings for you, but because he was afraid.

Yes, he was afraid that once that line was crossed, the one that kept you firmly in place in the beautiful friendship that only blossomed and became very special over the years, it would all disappear.

Things would change and shift, which would bring forth your downfall.

In his eyes, the risk of fighting and breaking up was too big for him to even consider taking your relationship to the next level. He didn’t want to lose you, never.

But what he failed to take into account was that you would not stay single forever.

That’s why, the moment you skipped over to him and squealed about having a date, his heart almost stopped beating.

His world was spinning, like an earthquake started in his head which was quickly crumbling down every single wall and boundary, and rational decision he ever made over the years.

“You…have a date?” He gulped, ignoring the alarms going off in his head that were deafening him. “With who?”

“This guy from work.” You shrugged, excitement dimming as your gaze met his, serious. “He isn’t the one I like, but I guess it will have to do for now.”

Seungmin wasn’t stupid but his heart understood your allusion before his mind did, thumping loudly and stealing his breath away.

You were talking about him. You were going out with another guy but were thinking about him – he was the one you liked!

Still, he didn’t vocalize a response, choosing to nod and pat you on the back gently, staring at anything else other than the disappointment that overwhelmed your whole frame, making you appear oh so small.

The day of your date arrived sooner than he’d like, and Seungmin was miserable, especially since you texted him the location ‘just in case’.

Usually, he was more than happy to know where you were, safe and sound, but this time he would have preferred you didn’t let him know you were with another guy at the restaurant you frequented together.

Hours passed, and night was making its presence known, but still no sign from you. Was he worried? No. Because for once, you staying out meant the date was a success and you were having the time of your life with this guy that wasn’t him.

That’s until, a mere half an hour later, loud knocking had him off the couch in a second, opening the door to find you frowning, and with tears in your eyes. Opening his mouth to speak, shocked, thinking something had happened on the date, your finger hitting his chest stopped him.

“Why didn’t you come?” You sniffed. “I thought going out with someone else would finally prompt you to admit that what we have is more than a simple friendship! Do you hate me that much?”

He was speechless, grabbing you by the elbows as you barged in, tears streaming down your face.

“Answer me, Kim Seungmin!” Well, he was fucked.

𝜗୧ jeongin 𝜗୧ - isn’t sure what he feels for you yet.

Or better yet, his commitment issues prevented him from admitting to any feelings he might have.

See, you weren’t just friends. You were a little more than that, spending most of your free time together going to cute cafes and what would be considered dates, acting all lovey dovey.

That is, when you weren’t spending the weekend bound to his bed. That wasn’t fair, sometimes he was the one tied up. A very mutual arrangement.

Jeongin managed to drag you into a situationship you were now too deep into to break off, having developed actual feelings.

But each time you tried to speak to him about said feelings, he’d close off quicker than a frightened snail, impossible to reach.

After each one of these occasions, he wouldn’t contact you for days on end, sometimes even weeks, leaving you wondering if he’d ever come back.

He always did, he couldn’t stay away from you no matter how much he tried.

Even if he messed with other people in that time, he’d still make his way back to you, smiling like nothing even happened and ready to give you all of his attention and affection again.

It was exhausting, and very, very painful.

But you still welcomed him back with open arms, too happy to see him to even care that each time he appeared in your life again, you were not the same.

Every time he disappeared and you didn’t say anything, a piece of your heart was ripped off harshly, stomped on and then thrown in the trash, devoid of any color or life. Like an old toy, forgotten in favor of a new, shiny one.

But Jeongin didn’t care. It’s not like he could be bothered to pick up your scattered pieces – they didn’t interest him, you did.

Not like he ever noticed the light in your eyes dimming each time he stormed back into your life after pretending you didn’t exist for weeks.

To be honest, you don’t think you’ll ever be together.

Not now, or in the future.

No matter how much you hated to admit it, the facts were neatly laid out before you – Jeonging didn’t care about you at all, no matter how sweet, loving or good you were to him.

He thought you couldn’t notice, that your love for him was too blinding for you to see anything else other than him.

But you did. And he also did when one day, for the first time since he met you, as he stumbled out of a bar, giddy and tipsy with his phone to his ear ready to hear your sweet voice, his call didn’t go through.

[sunshine-jesse]

The Painful Realities of Andy and Leyley

Decay gave me a lot to chew on. While there was very little that caught me by surprise, per se (insofar as there’s a difference between shock and surprise), I didn't expect Nemlei to Go There with regards to some of the themes she covered in the newest update. I had a hunch, sure, but it was so (seemingly) out of place compared to the tone of the rest of the game that I didn't explore it as well as I could've. Most writers who cover the things Decay did don't play it dreadfully straight or treat it with so much respect. And even when they do, it often comes off as fetishized, which isn't bad per se, but so little of the rest of the game came off as The Author's Poorly Disguised Fetish that it was hard to take the prospect as seriously as I could've.

Effectively, Nemlei outplayed my media analysis skills by being an even better writer than I anticipated.

And so, I will respond in turn.

...or at least, I can try to.

I don't think I can type an analysis that is purely analytical anymore. Episode 3 hit me so much harder than anything that came before it that it's very difficult to write what I do with any sense of detachment. I can't pretend it didn't get personal. I love these characters. I love this story. I love the themes it covers. And I relate to many of them.

That's why seeing TCAL playing everything so dreadfully straight hurt so much.

(This essay is going to be somewhat narrativized to reflect my playing experience of Decay. This is a writing exercise as much as it is character analysis. But I also didn't have the patience to proofread this, so please be gentle.)

Part 1: The Games We Play With Ourselves

My first route was the Cliffhanger route. I want to pretend that I picked it because I knew it’d be the best outcome due to my unparalleled (insert ashley smug face here) understanding of the characters but I actually wasn’t expecting that one moment to be the big decision that caused the paths to diverge. It was just the only save file I had for Decay because it was the most hopeful outcome to me at the time. Because of that, when playing through Decay, everything felt so… business as usual. Things didn’t even feel as tense as they did in episode 2 when the paths diverged. This is, as a matter of fact, how I reacted for most of my first playthrough of the game. I didn’t see it as weird. It made sense. Nobody was really wrong here or making particularly bad decisions.

The only thing that caught me by surprise for the first half of it was when Andrew slapped Ashley, but I didn’t even feel like it was that shocking of a moment. Ashley has a chronic problem with taking things seriously, so I don’t think Andrew showing her what it means to take a threat of violence seriously is a particularly out of pocket response. However, it’s also not the only way to assert his identity as Andrew, because Burial showed us a better way for him to do the same: quiet dismissal with a confident assertion that ‘Andy’ is dead. Slapping her wasn’t the only way to get the point across, but it was -a- way, and I think it was important for Ashley to internalize it even though the slap was a simultaneous sign of strength AND weakness on Andrew’s end.

He didn’t need to play her game, but he did, and he managed to make it mean something.

The episode in general went through great lengths to show how unseriously Ashley takes her own actions. Which is a mood (she’s literally me, chat), for sure, but we’ve already seen that offhanded remarks by Ashley are enough to deeply sting Andrew.

This whole scene was an example of her not taking her own words seriously, by highlighting a dynamic we took for granted in prior episodes. Their endless back and forth is perceived as a harmless game by her. A lot of people perceived this dynamic as toxic back in prior chapters but it’s fairly common in long-term relationships. As someone who has a tendency of doing that myself- at least with friends- it makes social situations easier to navigate when I know that both of us are aware that the other person isn’t actually trying to hurt the other in a way that sticks. 

(I’m obviously not saying that their dynamic isn’t toxic, just that this one aspect of it is fairly normal and often taken uncharitably)

There are dozens upon dozens more examples than this but I assume that if I need to list them off to you then you haven’t actually played the game. I’m just listing this one because it’s useful for highlighting the way she views their dynamic.

Either way, Andrew isn’t having it this time, because he’s focusing harder on something he wanted from Ashley all along:

Respect.

Respect is a huge running theme in this episode, and the decision to accept being called Andrew or Andy is the make or break point for the route, and by proxy, their relationship. If Andrew decides to demand self-respect by asserting his identity as Andrew, then Ashley takes his request to not roast the camper seriously. But if he doesn’t demand to be called Andrew, then she does roast the camper. The implications of this decision are huge, but if you choose to be called Andy, he’s too much of a doormat at this point to show why it’s so important.

Accepting being called Andy gives Ashley permission to double down on all the worst aspects of their dynamic. There’s a lot to say about how Andrew reacts to this, but most of it is retreading old ground, because he’s made his issues with this and what it means to him abundantly clear already. What’s more interesting- to me- is how Ashley reacts. When Andrew reacts to “Why do you think it’s okay to hurt me?”, Ashley responds with… confusion.

"(It's) fine to stomp over every boundary I've ever set, isn't it?"

"I- uh...... wouldn't know."

She doesn’t get it. She genuinely doesn’t get it. She does not understand boundaries, flat-out. She has very few of her own, and therefore doesn’t see them in other people. Even when Andrew expressed boundaries to her in his past- the few times it actually happened- he quickly lowered them, never teaching her what they actually mean. While we don’t know for absolute certain because of how few flashbacks we’ve seen from her perspective, it seems like she’s never been held to account for transgressing a boundary.

Even when she’s slapped in the face, she doesn’t quite understand that it’s Andrew setting a boundary and showing self-respect. We see this later on with the argument she has with Andrew later in the episode:

"...............I stopped calling you Andy."

"Ooooh! Hallelujah! She hasn't called me by the wrong name for a few days! Mercy me, do I stand corrected! This must be love! And not just any love, but true love of the highest caliber!"

She thinks it’s just doing him a favor. She’s not respecting his boundaries at all. It’s something she’s GIVING to him.

With Ashley’s general inability to take things seriously in mind, and her lack of understanding of boundaries, I think there’s one more piece of the puzzle I need to explore before I can explain why I think things I really went to shit:

HOT

SIBLING

BREEDING!!!

Coffin is, still, even with Decay in mind, not making a statement on whether or not incest is good or bad. I can say that with full confidence. It's going further than that: it's using their incestuous relationship to highlight the ways in which the siblings interface with sexuality. Their more romantic, intimate moments are still portrayed as cute, and something that makes both of them happy. Physical affection stabilizes their relationship, and is something the two of them need to feel like things are okay. It doesn't hurt them.

...to a point.

Because she sure as fuck isn’t showing that it’s good, either.

In the Shoot/Dead End route (I'll be referring to this route as 3B from here on, and the cliffhanger route as 3A), their incestuous tendencies are unambiguously portrayed as a negative thing. Everything they do together makes one or both of them uncomfortable, unlike almost every other instance we see in every other route. But why? What's the difference between 3A and 3B?

Let's compare the scenes of intimacy between 3A and 3B:

In 3A, Andrew was slow, patient, and gentle, resulting in something that both Ashley and him enjoyed. They cracked a laugh, hugged each other, very cute, wholesome, and not at all weird if you don't look at the shared genetics behind the curtain.

But in 3B, he was sudden and forceful, resulting in something Ashley didn't enjoy. She tries to reciprocate but he pulls away shortly after, supposedly because she's not good at kissing, and also because he still feels gross about actually enjoying a sexual encounter with his little sister. Her reaction to this was visible confusion.

I want to establish my takes on these scenes now because I’m going to draw attention to them later on.

So, let’s recap:

Ashley doesn’t take things seriously enough. She doesn’t understand personal boundaries. She attempts to reciprocate affections and act with visible confusion when it’s rejected. What does this mean? I want everyone to hear me out on this before they respond with ‘well, no fucking shit Sherlock’, because this little fact about Ashley’s character goes far deeper and is more wide-reaching than many might think, at least given the kinds of analysis I see on this game:

Ashley treats life like a game. 

And I don’t mean that as a heavy-handed metaphor for her thinking everyone needs to be played and manipulated and that she has very little personal investment in anything that goes on. I mean she actually, literally, treats life like a game. Let me highlight something from the Q&A so I can explain just how important this really is:

“She doesn’t want to grow up”

“her fantasy of Andy and Leyley.”

When she calls Andrew Andy as a teenager:

"It's supposed to be endearing!! It's our secret game! I thought you liked that kind of thing."

You see where I’m going with this? Her whole dynamic with Andrew is part of that ‘secret game’ to her. It’s something she takes seriously, unlike everything else in life. Every deviation from it is merely doing him a favor. She’s allowing him to break the rules, if only temporarily. She doesn’t take many things seriously because she can’t emotionally grasp the significance of it. In her mind, she’s still a child. And for much of the story, no matter the route, she’s still playing that game with Andrew, no matter what’s at stake.

Ribbing at each other? Part of the game.

Their mutual displays of affection? Part of the game.

But boundaries? Those weren’t part of the rules.

This is why Ashley is so confused and distressed when none of ‘her’ games work on Andrew anymore.

The rules have changed. And she doesn’t understand them anymore.

Here lies the core differences between the routes in Decay. In 3A, Andrew is still willing to play that game with her. 

Just like in real life,

Just like with his peers, with his mom, with Julia,

Andrew knows how to pretend to play Ashley’s game.

He’s not quite aware it’s a game in the same ways as her, but he does know the sets of behaviors he can use to calm Ashley down. And as shown with the Entity, he’s extremely good at negotiating rules even when he’s not aware there’s a game at play. But he still doesn’t understand it as a game, and that’s where many of his frustrations come from (not to say Ashley is fully aware it’s a game either, but he’s even less aware than she is). Ashley doesn’t listen to him as often as he’d like because he’s not fully aware of the rules she expects them to operate under. Or perhaps, more accurately, not aware of what he has to do to change the rules rather than just create exceptions.

I don’t exactly know either, but I think it has something to do with how much gifts mean to Ashley. Keep in mind that all it takes is a wedding ring to avert the double suicide ending.

I think this proclivity for engaging with life as if it was a game might be why Ashley is said to be in-tune with the Demon Realm and enjoy their puzzles so much: everything has clear rules and conditions for winning or losing. Agreements are ironclad, and a deal is a deal. It’s a series of easy and somewhat predictable input->output mechanisms, as long as she’s precise with her desires. While the Entity is clearly manipulating her in some way, it’s yet to do so through lies, and she has been shown no reason to believe that it ever lies, outside of when it tells her highly emotionally inconvenient information.

(If your eyebrow rose when reading that, mine rose while typing it too, but I’m not here to diagnose anyone because that makes analysis less interesting and I literally wrote the essay on why people shouldn’t do that)

One detail I want to point out before tying this all back together is that games are something Ashley has appreciated from the absolute youngest we’ve ever seen her, before either of them did anything wrong: The flashback where they visited the grandparents. Andrew turning his pursuit of Ashley into a game was shown to instantly get her to behave better, as it’s given her clear and obvious rules to adhere to, and conditions to get something she wants, no strings attached. I wanted to point this out so I could establish that this is how she’s always been and not a pattern she fell into, because I need to emphasize just how pervasive games are to how Ashley interfaces with the world.

With Andrew, her ‘secret game’ becomes something different. 

Tying back into my first essay, the ‘games’ she plays are the framework with which she uses to feel in control of Andrew. They’re what her entire sense of safety is predicated on, and without the rules and reciprocal ‘play’ that comes with games, she loses any sense of emotional stability and becomes extremely volatile, confrontational, and sometimes violent. She’s not one who can function without an understanding of what’s going on, which is precisely why she lacks foresight and operates on intuition.

It’s not like she’s not trying, right? I’d like to present the scene where Andrew calls Julia with Ashley on the line.

At first, Ashley loses her shit and just barely manages to keep herself together. It really seems like an act of wanton cruelty on Andrew’s part, but it’s important to note that you get a star for this scene. You don’t get stars for scenes where their relationship deteriorates. So why do you get a star? She initially appeared upset, but the moment Andrew reframed it, her expression flipped, and she immediately became happy.

"So she can behave. Somewhat."

"Hmph! You dared to doubt me? Shame on you! Despite your underhanded bullshit, I emerge victorious!"

Andrew had to stop Ashley from yelling, and from hanging up, but Ashley managed to quiet down and stabilize herself enough to not loudly explode and get violent and uncontrollable.

And outside of where they were forced to be separated either to solve a puzzle or at the whims of the Entity, Andrew led her through every challenge they faced and she didn’t spend the whole time questioning his ability.

Why do you think we play as Andrew for the vast majority of the episode, even when they’re together?

She trusts his judgement more, even if she can’t quite understand (or at least vocalize) why. There’s a reason she roasts the camper in every route where this one interaction isn’t possible: Her desire to gain strength from eating people supersedes her trust in Andrew’s ability to handle difficult situations. She has to gain enough power for the both of them, or they’re fucked. But if Andrew has the strength to assert his identity as Andrew, maybe she doesn’t need to do all the heavy lifting.

(This is why I believe the star scenes are what they are. They’re not required to improve their relationship, but they ARE required for the necessary context to show why “the future” (as stated by the Entity in the Vision Room when he mentions them) is what it is.)

For a large part of the rest of the episode, we see a lot of smaller moments like this, where Ashley is at least trying to reach some kind of mutual understanding with Andrew and Andrew is trying to convey his actual feelings to Ashley, but the two of them keep speaking past each other because they simply do not understand the language that the other speaks. But what’s important is that their relationship manages to not deteriorate, and despite the vicious fighting, they still express a desire to understand the other when left to their own devices. By this point, I was feeling vindicated, as a lot of my initial analyses that were incredibly charitable to both siblings seemed to be at least somewhat correct and that I was right to give them the benefit of the d-....

Part 2: The Lies We Tell Ourselves

...-id Andrew just kill a fucking child in cold blood?!

I want to draw attention to the wording I used to describe how Ashley treats life as a game. I said she treats it as a game, not necessarily inexorably understands it as such. This is not a tendency she had no choice but to manifest; outside of being part of the way she manifests the Andy and Leyley fantasy, it’s also an emotional regulation tool that simplifies her interactions with the world. I want to specify this because I feel like, if I don’t, it might paint a picture of her being a helpless victim in a world that treats her poorly. Nor that growing up would solve her problems, and that she has no agency because she had no choice but to be this way. While I would never deny her nor Andrew victimhood of each other and the world around them, I also don’t want to confuse people into thinking that I don’t think they could’ve done better, and that I shouldn’t expect them to. Because the more I played through the game- and after finishing it, the more I thought about it- it became clearer and clearer that they could, because Andrew…

Holy shit, Andrew. Talk about dropping the pretense.

When the parents were sacrificed, Andrew- and his life- could never be normal again. The man realized that too, because nothing Ashley suggested registered as objectionable anymore. He offered so little resistance to killing the campers that it didn’t even sink in what kind of action that was. He was never much of a moral conscience to begin with, but from that point on, he stopped trying.

"Aaah, you know I can't say no to a family value pack."

Oh, Andrew, you wretched little shit. I get it now.

The thing about Andrew that I didn’t quite get last time is just how loose his grasp on the idea of normalcy actually was. It seemed like a central facet of his character and something he desperately wanted to hold on to at all costs, but now it looks much, much different. It wasn’t something he wanted to convince himself was true much past his teenage years, but the moment hormones started setting in, he made almost no effort to come to terms with his sexual desires. He made no attempt to distance himself from Ashley, to not project his fantasy on to Julia, or even to not peep at his sister in the shower.

‘Normal’ wasn’t something he wanted to be. It was a role he wanted to play.

At every chance he got, he fed into his darkest desires like an addict, and projected those fantasies on to Julia. He didn’t even bother trying to make space between him and Ashley; no, she had to do it for him, because she was mad at him. And the best part is, it wasn’t even good for him. 

As much as he tried to lie to himself, what he really wanted is to lie to others. Not once did he try to change himself in accordance with the person he wanted to be, and especially what others wanted him to be. Not once did he self-reflect about what he really wanted, or what would be best for him, or even Ashley, for that matter. He just wanted other people to shut up. Andrew was not a victim of his own impulses and desires. I really feel the need to emphasize just how messed up this man is; Without Ashley taking an active role in his life, he didn’t get better. He filled in the gaps in his heart by choosing to be worse.

Nemlei took subtext, turned it into text, and then turned that text into a baseball bat that she used to crack our skulls over and over again. He was never the ‘good person’ in their relationship, and never once tried to be.

And the worst part is that I fully understand and empathize with why.

There’s a funny thing that sometimes happens when you have impossible standards piled on to you and enforced through abuse and you’re denied a chance to ever be your own person: You fail to develop a coherent sense of identity. You latch on to anything that ‘seems’ right and predicate your whole sense of self on it. You need this sense of identity to navigate the world, so anything that threatens it is a threat to everything you know, and you respond to it in turn. Everything you do outside of that one core idea (or several ideas) becomes an act, a puppet show you play to placate others and serve your own ends. You can’t afford empathy or understanding to ‘threats’, because you’re too busy trying to protect what you ‘know’ you are. A threat to your world is a threat to your life, and so you respond by desperately doing whatever it takes to remove that threat. Sometimes lies, sometimes violence, of varying degrees of intensity depending on the threat.

Sometimes you learn to shut your feelings off.

Sometimes you learn to react too strongly.

Sometimes you learn that nobody else matters, because everyone else will just hurt you anyway.

You devalue people. You overvalue people. 

Anything to feel safe, anything to feel like the outside world is less of a threat. Anything to remove that threat, manage that threat, or protect the only thing in the world that matters to you, whether that thing is yourself, or someone else.

And for Andrew? It’s said to us in the beginning of episode 3:

Andy’s Leyley

Leyley’s Andy

Yeah, Nemlei. I get it. You understand. 

There’s another side to this coin, but I’ll get to that.

Not that this happens to everyone, but it absolutely happened to Andrew. The ‘role’ he was had forced upon him was that of Leyley’s _____. Her protector, teacher, parent, general caretaker. Her emotional regulator. Her brother.

Her everything.

It was all he could be. All he was allowed to be. Because the moment he diverged, he was punished greatly by Renee, and at some point, Ashley herself. He predicated his entire value system on being her ‘Andy’, to the point where every action he took that wasn’t part of the act he put on to attempt to interface with the world normally became for her.

It was all for her, because he was her _____. Anything to keep her under control, anything to keep her safe. 

One of the most notable examples of this is shown when Lord Unknown was attempting to give him therapy. When he started hearing how people spread rumors about how he slept with Ashley, and Douchebag told him that the people in Ashley’s class said that she spread them, he just glossed over this fact. So little attention is drawn to it that I actually missed it on my first playthrough. Instead, the first thing Andrew expressed internally was concern over whether or not she was being bullied; it didn’t even register in his mind that she was responsible for smearing his reputation. 

To him, she was never responsible for anything. She was his responsibility above all else. The incestuous rumors hardly mattered to him, and he kept finding holes in the story and pointing them out, such as how she didn’t have time to spread them early (since we saw them enter school together) in the day because she stood Douchebag up on a Friday, and how there was no way to catch them behind the auditorium ‘yesterday’ given it was a Monday. The presence of those holes is why I’m skeptical of whether or not she actually spread them, but it’s not like it’s something she wouldn’t do. More on that later.

Above all else, Andrew wasn’t concerned about how people saw him; he hardly even cared. He was upset mostly about people thinking that he’d take advantage of Ashley in that way. There was nothing weird to him about how clingy they were to each other, how affectionate they were, how protective he was.

Of course he was all that. Andrew was her brother. It was his job to be all that. It was his job to be her _____.

I’d like to present an alternate theory to the idea that Andrew dated Julia to appear normal. The theory isn’t mutually compatible with that, but it feels woefully incomplete.  Given the focus on bullying, the anger had over the idea that he’d ever hurt her, and the fact that sexual feelings started creeping in his mind thanks to the magical curse of teenage hormones, I believe the primary reason he dated Julia was so that he could prove to others- and himself- that he would never hurt his precious Ashley. Not in that way, not at all. It was everything he predicated his sense of identity on. It was what he had to be, above all else.

So in order to protect his ‘role’, his identity, he chose something he, deep down, knew would hurt her, because nobody could ever be led to believe that he’d take advantage of her like that.

Especially himself.

Appearing normal to others was a pleasant side-effect of this, and if he could convince himself he loved Julia, he’d never have to add ‘boyfriend’ to the list of things he had to be for Ashley.

Hahahaha, whoops. 

Surprise! It was the thing he actually wanted to be for her the most! 

Teenage hormones are an awful thing, aren’t they? In realizing that he had sexual feelings for Ashley, he finally found something he’d actually enjoy being for her! 

And it was something he could never be, lest it risk everything else he thought of himself as being for her!

Oh, the wretched irony of sexual desire. I could never.

Which way, western man? Everything you think you should be, or the one thing you actually want to be?

Andrew tries to have it both ways, but, y’know how that went. No attempt to rein in these desires, projecting his sister on his girlfriend, etc etc. Already been over that. But now I can highlight why I believe he got worse and kept feeding into his desires; the closest thing to a moral conscience he had- his identity as Leyley’s _____- takes a step out of his life for reasons I’ll cover when I cover how much of a fuck up she actually is. 

What, you thought I’d skip over her just because I was- and still am- her number one defender? Oh no no. Now that I know better than to give these losers (that I love very dearly and desire nothing but happiness for) so much charitability, I have a lot to say about her too. But back to Andrew.

Without that sense of personal identity- without his proximity to Ashley- he sees no reason not to give into his desires, watch her while she dresses, and project all of his most sexual fantasies on to Julia. His interactions with Ashley were, as fucked up as it is, grounding to him. They stabilize him, give him a reason to act right that isn’t just a facade. With that, he has nothing. Nothing except his facade of normalcy.

I think the year-long gap between his interactions with Ashley are precisely the reason why ‘normalcy’ became so important to him. It became a second sense of identity that conflicted with what he predicated his identity on before. He could finally emulate being a somewhat normal person, with a somewhat normal attachment to a somewhat normal person. Horray! But the prior identity still existed. It never went away. Ashley was where his heart was, and trying to give it to someone else only hollowed out what was there before.

This one CG speaks louder than any words the man has ever spoken, up to this point.

These are not the eyes of someone who is merely depressed. These are the eyes of someone who is confronting the idea of living a life without the only thing that ever gave him meaning.

He can’t even make eye contact with himself, because there’s nothing there.

Andrew, without Ashley, is a hollow husk of a man who starts to crumble the more he tries to convince himself he could be anything other than her everything.

She is the light of his life. The nightmarish, toxic, corrosive light of his life.

(cont. in next post)

[beautifulpaprika]

A Beast and a Bracelet (m)

pairing: fem!reader x beast!jk

warnings: 18+, unprotected sex, in the forest!

summary: You tried saving someone ... again. However, this group is large and bloodthirsty, and trying to lose them in a forest isn't working. Yet, when you find a cave, it seems to be your saving grace. Not because of what's in it, but who's in it.

word count: 8.7k

Branch after branch hits me in the face- my hair getting caught in the branches more than once as I run from the group of men after me. 

“Stay out of the business of men, Y/N,” my father always told me. Of course, when I spotted the ready-to-beat-a-man in front of his children, I couldn’t sit back and chug a pint. I had nothing better to do. I didn’t think through the part where there were three of them and one of me. 

The plan was running into the forest where the monster stories came from- stories of missing people and blood trails - in hopes they would be too afraid, but by the footfalls following close behind, I can safely determine they are not as fearful as I am of the forest. 

I have no navigation in the pitch black and wood. My lungs feel ready to give up on me, and the noises I hear on my left sound a lot like something ready to pounce on me. But I keep running. 

“Come on, brave one! You wanna jump in to our business? We can do this right now!” One of the men calls from behind me. I’m astounded they have the air to be able to catch up and yell at the same time. 

I attempt a look behind me, my eyes glancing at a small light catching up. Panic rises in me and boils over, tears welling in my eyes, making finding safety even more difficult. 

There’s a dark mass ahead- a cave surrounded by weeds and vines. Pictures of monsters with sharp teeth and blood dribbling down their chin appear in my mind. 

“Get her!” one man calls out. They’re on my tail and I have to make a decision. 

One foot in front of the other until it’s pitch black in the cave. My footsteps echo off of the cave wall and I almost slip in the mud. The sound of splashing water urges me to turn back. Something is in here, and it’s not a bunny. 

I stick close to the wall, unmoving.

Unfortunately for me, a light shines in the cave. 

“There you are,” the one in front says. They all have a hungry look in their eyes that tells me everything I need to know about their intentions.

My eyes sting from the tears welling. I should’ve listened to my father. I should’ve kept to myself. 

The frontman grabs my arm, but I scream when his touch is gone as soon as it’s there. 

Growling mixing with agonizing screams draws my attention. The light is suddenly gone -it’s pitch black and I hear the nervous panting of the other two men. 

The screaming stops and my breath catches, not wanting the creature to hear me. It’s not a second longer when the screams start up and the crunching of bones and ripping and tearing of skin join it. 

The gurgle from the second man doesn’t stop before the third one follows. The screams and noises last for a few moments longer. When it stops, I close my eyes. I’m preparing for the death that is to come, asking any forces out there to grant a quick death and for my father to never have to find me. 

A huff in front of my face pushes my hair from my face. 

I hate the pathetic whimper I give to the creature. 

Its breathing is heavy and similar to that of a dog. 

“I’m sorry I intruded,” I whine, “I didn’t know where else to go,” I whisper. It feels useless to ask for mercy from a creature that most likely can’t understand me. 

However, it doesn’t seem as impossible as I thought when the huffing retreats from me. The hot air is gone, and I’m out of breath when I hear a splashing again- just like the one I heard when I came in.

I squint my eyes, trying to see rather than hear. 

There’s a new panting sound coupled with coughing and spitting, but it sounds human. Nothing like the creature growling deep while it tore men to pieces. 

Feet slap the wet floor, and I continue to hold my breath, not wanting to make any sudden movements. 

“I know you’re there,” a voice calls. It doesn’t sound menacing or annoyed- more matter-of-fact than anything. Rustling sounds move from my right side to across from me. 

A light appears, causing me to cover my eyes with my arm to adjust to the sudden brightness. 

“A ‘thank you’ would have been nice,” the same voice is right in front of me now. I slowly lower my arm, not wanting to be bombarded by light again. 

My eyes glide up to be met with a man’s curious gaze. The light shows off his raised eyebrows and glistening chest. His dark hair sticks to the sides of his face. He must have been the one who was making all the water sounds. I come back down, looking past his legs to the three bodies behind him. I gasp at their state. Torn limbs, popping eyes, frozen faces of shock. 

“Oh, that,” he grimaces. “That is quite the mess I’ll have to clean,” he mumbles. 

“Who are you?” I look back at him. “Did you do that? How-“

”None of these words sound like appreciation,” he crouches down, his head tilting. “Should I have let them have their way with you?” He asks. I look past him again, a rage boiling inside men from the thought of those torn-up hands being on me instead. I shake my head. 

“I’m grateful,” my voice is low. 

“Good enough for now,” he gets up again, moving back to the space across from me. “You can go,” he announces and I’m caught off guard by it. 

That’s it? 

He sets the light down as I stare in amazement. He’s already heaving one body over his shoulder without a struggle.

I slap myself for gawking at his back muscles and the marred skin as he takes one body and starts to carry it out. 

The half-naked man stops in his tracks and slowly turns to me. 

“You can leave at any time, bunny.” I have to stop myself from flinching at the pet name. 

My mind becomes dizzy at the choices of staying or going. This man is new, a mystery, and I can’t help but be curious. He’s the one who saved me and I’m supposed to walk out as if nothing happened? 

“I’d like to help,” before he can reject my offer, I’m picking up a ripped-off arm and a toe tossed away. Nausea rises in my body up to my throat, but I hold it back before I make even more of a mess. 

I’m ready to follow the man out, but his body is fully turned to me now, the body still on his shoulder. I try avoiding his stare by walking past him, but he blocks me. 

His eyes scan me from top to bottom. I shiver under his wandering eyes. 

“What are you doing?”

”It’s the least I could do for intruding your. . . space,” I refer to the cave. “And it’s obvious you saved me from imminent death . . . And worse,” I gulp, and his eyes follow the movement in my throat. 

I wait for him to say anything or reject my offer, but he doesn’t. He turns, the dead expression of the man on his shoulders flinging towards me. I gag at the wounds down his face. 

“If you’re going to do that the whole way, I suggest you go home instead,” he tells me. 

I shake my head, despite the fact that he can’t see me. 

We trek out into the forest, carrying our bodies (and body parts). The lamp attached to his pants lights the way, but I can’t help looking at the way it drags his pants down his hips a tad. His skin is dry now and I notice the scars down his back more easily. 

“You’ll need to clean up afterward,” he says before throwing the body in an empty spot between some trees. “Going home from this forest will have questions thrown at you enough, but coming back with blood? You won’t survive,” he explains. 

I throw the hand and toe on the spot. 

“You sound like you speak from experience,” it’s as if I have a death wish making such a suggestion, but he laughs it off. Maybe I’m not incorrect. After all, there’s a reason he lives in the cave. 

He doesn’t say another word but turns to return to the cave. 

“How long have you been out here?” I try to break the silence. He gives me a look. “You have a made bed and some supplies in that cave of yours, your hair is-” he gives me another look and I stop talking. The hair must be a sensitive topic.

“It's been a few years. . .” 

The shock in my body slows my walking down. Years? 

“Did you run away from home?” 

“Something like that,” he shrugs. 

I don't ask any more questions for fear of seeming more intrusive than I already am.

“Where is your pond of water?” I ask, trying to fling some of the blood on my fingers. 

He freezes at the question. 

“You have one. I heard it,” I walk further into the darkness, hoping to find the small body of water. 

I notice something glistening and take a step towards it. 

But then my feet lose their balance and my back is against the wall. Air leaves my lungs when the man’s face crowds mine, his hands caging me on both sides. 

“Don’t. Touch. That. Water,” he’s panting and I can only see the left side of his face. The anger and anxiety cinching every feature.

I notice the splotch of blood sitting on his eyebrow and lick my finger to rub it off.

He flinches when my finger touches him, but his eyebrow doesn’t relax. 

“I won’t touch it,” I promise. “I apologize,” I plea that he accepts the apology- my life being at risk and whatnot. 

“You don’t owe me anything. Go home,” he breaks away from me turning to gather the next body. 

“How do I know they won’t come for you? That you’ll be okay?” He freezes on the spot again. “I want to help!” I confess. I don’t want to prove my father right. Not about not being able to defend myself and not about being useless to this world. 

He doesn't say a word but looks back at the body left torn on the ground. It's enough to answer my question. 

“I think I'll be alright,” he says. He makes his way out of the cave and I follow after him. 

“There are more guys then where that came from, I can promise you that! They’ll come looking,” I try. I try to convince him tha t we need each other. My hope is that he says yes and lets me figure out the mystery that he is. 

“I handled three and I’ll handle more,” he grunts as he throws the body into the spot. 

“How do you know people won’t find this?” I gesture to the pile of limbs. 

“It’s still night. The monsters will take care of it. Monsters worse than me,” he says with a  low voice, staring directly at me. The words do as he intended. With a shiver running down my spine, I’m officially afraid. 

“I’ll go home,” I tell him, turning away ready to follow the tracks home. 

“You do that,” he makes his way back to the cave. 

“I‘ll be back tomorrow!” I call. 

“No, you won’t!” He calls back before disappearing into the dark. 

***

I keep my promise to return. This time I bring bread and treats with me, hoping something sweet is enough to tame the beast. I’m not sure what kind of beast he really is, but what does it matter if he doesn’t hurt me?

It’s clear I haven’t learned my lesson last night by getting into “men’s business”. This man is only half man, so it counts. I suppose. 

A leaf crunches behind me, and I swivel to confront whoever’s following me, but Im only met with the sight of a misty forest wind moving through grass and dirt. 

“Y-yeah! You better not fuck with me!” I cringe at my voice wavering on the swear word. 

“You really spooked them away, bunny,” a deep chuckle sounds behind me. 

I swirl to look at the scarred man, a smirk spreading across his face. He approaches me casually, like any man on the street would- except he has no shirt, and his hair is still tousled, and his pants are ripped in different areas. 

“Your anxiety is palpable,” he says, tilting his head at me, while tapping a finger top my chin. 

“I’m not scared of anything,” I lie. 

“I know your idea here is to be brave, but you can’t be brave if you have nothing to fear,” his hand taps the sack hanging in my hand. “What’s this?” he asks. 

I hold the bag to him, the smell of fresh bread and cake wafting around us. 

“For you,” I push it towards him as his eyebrow lifts. “I don’t have any money, but my father and I can bake pretty well,” I shove it towards him again, but he continue s to stare at me. “Yes. It’s a bribe, but I’d like to show you that this team,” I point to him and myself, “can work out pretty well.”

“And why do you want to be a team?” he asks, his arms crossing over his chest, his biceps protruding. I gulp at them, then catch myself looking back at the man. The smirk tells me he noticed me checking him out. 

“I’d like to do more in town, but with the risk of being killed, I can’t do it as much as I’d like. I want your help. For protection,” I propose. I realize the more I talk, the more my body caves in. I quickly adjust to lift my chin and he chuckles at me. 

His eyes narrow, then surprise. I try to process the shock on his face.

“You-” his arms uncross and I wait for his words. 

“What?” I ask. His eyes cut deep into mine and I suddenly feel awkward in my spot. 

He relaxes again, back to his normal composure. “You’ve got a deal,” he announces. Before I can ask him what that was, he’s already turning away and heading in the opposite direction. I try to make out some of the shapes in his back.

I quickly avert my eyes when he looks back at me and start to follow him.

“I brought some other things as well,” I show the bag in my other hand. “Another peace offering, but also . . . basic hygiene,” I shake the bag in excitement. The girls in town never let me braid their hair, but it’s alright. There’s someone who needs my services more anyway. 

He doesn’t say much, only continues to walk and even cleans sticks and rocks from the ground. 

“It’s a bit useless to clean the forest isn’t it?” I ask. 

“It’s meant to be a path, so that you can easily find your way back and forth,” his words catch me off guard. It’s a small gesture, but it’s nice to know he’s keeping me in mind when he does. 

I gawk at him for a few moments longer until the noise of running water breaks me out of the trance. We come up on a small creek dug into the ground. This is no cave. 

“I didn’t see this last night,” I whisper. 

“We didn’t come here last night,” he points out. I give him a questioning look, for him to answer in a shrug, “You said you have a few things for hygiene and a couple of treats - let’s have a picnic, bunny,” I shake my head at the nickname. 

“Why do you call me that?”

“I’m big. You're small. I thought that was obvious,” he raises a branch for me and I pass through. 

“It wasn’t that obvi-”

“Where did you say you came from?” he suddenly asks from behind me. 

“I come from the town just outside of here,” I tell him, turning to face him. He hums in answer. “Have you ever been there? It’s right outside of this forest,” his face scrunches, contemplating. 

“I’m from the cave, that’s it. Now that we’ve gotten introductions out of the way-” he pulls the torn-up pants down his legs and I gasp at the muscles on him. He could crush a man’s head with those thighs. “Let’s get to that wash,” he says, a hint of excitement touching his tone. 

He steps down, slowly, into the water.  

I put a fingertip in the water. I hiss at the cold, but he seems entirely unphased. He seems to enjoy it if anything. 

I admire the way he’s able to bask in the cold water. 

“Alright, what’s next, bunny? Where’s the soap at?” he calls. 

“How do you know about soap?” I had assumed he never joined society. I gather my bag, bringing out soap, sponge, a hairbrush, and a pair of nail clippers. I grab the hairbrush first, waving him over.

“I haven’t always been out here,” he explains, slowly making his way towards me. His back faces me, and despite him being taller than me, I still can’t reach him at a comfortable position. 

“Can you just . . . come a little closer?” I reach again, only able to reach so far without falling into the water. 

He leans backwards, not able to step back without slipping on the tilted creek floor. I reach for his hair, and I’m able to brush it, but the angle is uncomfortable. I try to brush the strands lower, by his neck, but my arms quickly tire. 

“Hold on- Just-” I say, trying to fix my posture. 

His head turns to give me a side-eye, and I watch him roll his eyes. 

“I know something that might help,” he gestures to me to lean over just a bit more. I try my best to have my body hover over the water without falling in. 

The man leans over to grab me underneath my arms - my scream muffled by the water rushing into my mouth. My feet are able to reach the ground and thrust me to the surface. 

My ears fill with the sound of his laughter once they clear out. I turn to him slowly, the cold water causing my eyes to twitch and my body to shiver . . . Or is that the anger? 

“What is wrong with you!” I swear the birds get spooked at my yelling. “I am trying to help.”

“You're trying to butter me up. I already said I would do what you asked, there’s no need to cater to me any more,” his arms reach up to brush his hair back, but his fingers catch easily in the knots. “I brush with my fingers,” he says, proudly. 

Despite my anger, I draw closer to him, his breathing slowing as he looks down at me. 

“While brushing with fingers could work . . .” I start. I grab his arm and pull him to where his back is facing me again. I try not to stare at the obvious scars in different sizes and shapes running down his back. “It’s not going to do all the work. Trust me, the brush will make you feel lighter.” The weight of my clothing drags me down a smidge but I ignore it. I start at the bottom of his long, dark strands. I expect to hear a ‘hiss’ or feel a flinch on some of the knots, but he doesn’t. He actually seems relaxed. His head leans back and a hum occasionally sounds from him. 

I pour more water on his head, following the line down his spine until it meets the water at his waist. I admire hsi figure, dragging a finger down the same path as the water, sometimes detouring to some of the scars. 

I kick myself out of the trance, and when I look back up to focus on the hair again, his head is already slightly turned to look at me. 

“Um, I’m sorry. I got curious,” I admit. 

“About?”

“What your skin would feel like. I don’t think I’ve seen so many scars,” I say. His eyebrows pinch. “I don’t mean that as a bad thing. It’s new. And intriguing. And you should tell me about them,” I add a smile, hoping it’s enough to convince him. 

“You ask for a lot. I’ve saved your life, isn’t that enough from me? If anything I should be asking you for more,” his arms cross. I snort at how pouty it makes him look. 

“Well, I’m brushing your hair aren’t I? You know how many other men’s hair I’ve brushed?” 

He turns in genuine interest. 

“No one. No other man’s hair! And!” I reach for the bag sitting on the edge of the creek, ready to fall in. I dig through the bag, revealing another gift - a bar of lavender soap. “How many people have I given soap to? Zero,” I push it towards him, the bar leaving white residue on my fingers. 

He reluctantly takes it, eyeing it, then me, then it. 

“I’m not sure this is the compliment you-”

“Ungratefulness is not very becoming of you,” I interrupt. 

His eyes peer up at me from under his eyelashes. “I’m still a bit sore, you know, from saving your life,” he says. I nod in understanding. “I’ll need help using this,” he hands me the bar. 

I freeze my hands from playing with the water. I scan his face for any sign of joking, but he continues to hold it to me. 

I take it, and he steps closer immediately, his body towering over mine. My attempt at not appearing nervous doesn’t work. 

“I’ll do it if you can answer one question,” I tell him. He rolls his eyes but agrees. “Why is the water in the cave off-limits but the creek isn’t?” He’s initially annoyed by the question, but I watch him relax.

“It changes me. It’s the reason I was able to become the monster that helped you,” he flinches when I start to lather him in soap. Creek water isn’t the cleanest, but it’s all I have to make the soap softer. “The reason I couldn’t let you go in it is because it’s not something you easily come out of,”he explains. My hand trails over his abdomen and up his sides, he inhales sharply, but recovers quickly. 

“What exactly do you turn into?” 

“Half human, half dog, half beast. There are too many ways to describe it. It doesn’t help that at first you aren’t aware that you’re something else. It takes a couple of tries to not lose your mind. Some have succumbed to the madness, and others take it, go into town, cause chaos, and get themselves killed.” His eyes are distant as he talks. There’s something that tells me he is talking from experience. “It doesn’t help that when I take that form of the beast, it drains my energy. My human energy isn’t meant for a big body with that strength. It’s draining.” 

“Are you the only one now, besides me, who knows about it?” I reach his neck, noticing a big difference in cleanliness. 

He nods in answer. 

“You haven’t lost your mind, though. Why are you different?” he shrugs at my question. 

“I had a good mentor, at first,” his eyes turn down, “I also had a lot of motivation, I guess,” he holds his arms forward for me to wash. 

“What was your motivation?” 

He waits - the crickets nearby and the trees still. 

“You’ve asked much more than one question now. The focus should be on getting this dirt off of me,” he wades over to the edge. “You should get my legs too,” he lifts one onto the wall and I screw my eyes shut, squealing- the sound of his laughter a massage to my brain.

***

The next day it’s raining. I cover myself with the sack that I brought for Jungkook (a name I learned while I was soaping his legs - truly a heartwarming moment.) This time it has a few shirts I stole from my father. 

Jungkook told me I shouldn’t come back again at the risk of someone catching onto the fact that I was going into the forest too often. Judging by the trees surrounding me, I didn’t listen. I’ve checked my surroundings a million times before coming in. 

A noise behind me makes me jump, but I start humming to soothe the nerves. I brought Jungkook a small cupcake with a bunny iced on the top. It’s a bit wet now from the rain, but I’m almost certain he’ll still like it. 

After our day at the creek yesterday, I feel like he knows me better than anyone. The only thing I haven’t figured out is why he decides to stay out here instead of joining the rest of society. Well, when I truly think about it, I guess I can understand why he wouldn’t want to. 

I release a breath when I arrive at the cave, grateful that I didn’t forget where it is. 

“Jungkook?” I call as I walk in. My lantern is able to light up the slick walls. There’s running and shuffling until I approach him. He’s sitting criss-cross on the ground on a sheet, wide-eyed and open mouthed. “Jungkook? What are you doing?” I slowly approach him. 

“Nothing. Sitting here,” he says it too quickly to believe him. 

“What do you have behind you?”

“What’s that in your hand?” he nods to the cupcake I’m holding- the picture of the bunny looks a bit sad now. I don’t miss the way he decided to change the subject, but I can’t be bothered to bring it back up. He’ll have to move eventually. 

“It was a cupcake,” I step closer and sit in front of him, he tenses a bit, “but the rain kind of . . .” I show it to him. He looks at it and I think I see a smile spreading across his face. I have to check twice that it’s not a teasing smile, but what I thought was true. He’s looking at it fondly.

He reaches for it, releasing whatever’s behind him. 

“Thanks, Bunny,” he says. He doesn’t eat it but sets it beside him instead. 

“Are you going to tell me what’s behind you now?” I ask. He’s right back to being tense. His mouth opens and closes, resembling a fish, and before he can say anything else, a voice yells out. We freeze and look out the mouth of the cave. 

“Where the fuck did she go?” a man yells out again. Even with the rain, I can hear him clearly, meaning he’s too close. “Keep going! That bitch definitely had something to do with their disappearance!” he announces. 

They know. They must be friends of those men’s whose bodies we dumped - and they followed me here. 

Shit. How many times do I have to tell myself that I should have listened?

“Jungkook . . .” I whisper, but he’s already standing when I turn. 

“Stay here. I’ll take care of it,” he demands. The gentle Jungkook who accepted my soggy cupcake is gone - replaced with a Jungkook who looks ready to drown someone in the very creek water we swam in. 

“I’ll come with you,” I get ready to stand.

“Y/N . . . I appreciate it, but please don’t. It was always me who was supposed to take care of it. I’d feel a lot better if you stayed here,” with that, he jumps in the water. Meanwhile, I’m still caught up in how he knew my name. Jungkook may have fessed up his own, but I never did the same. 

His beast rushes out of the water and I have no time to take a glance at him. His gray skin is the only thing I spot paired with a panting noise as he runs out. 

Waiting in the cave for a mere three seconds is already torture. The waiting is agony especially when I can’t hear anything and not knowing how many followed me into the forest. 

I occupy myself by looking around the cave, not that there’s much to look at. I spot the thing Jungkook was holding behind his back. It looks like a bracelet but made with flowers and grass. I smile at it. Jungkook hiding his soft side makes the bracelet all the more special. 

A roar yanks my attention away. Yelling and screams rise above the rain from multiple people- more than three. I can’t just sit here. I can’t. 

The rain drops are cool against my skin and I pick up a long stick as I run in the direction of the chaos. 

My confidence in being able to help is not high, but my motivation is. There’s a pained whimper this time from Jungkook. My feet move faster now. It doesn’t matter if they can hear me coming to them as long as I’m able to get there- as long as he isn’t alone. 

A choked sound comes from below me. One of the men Jungkook dealt with reaches out with the one arm he has left. His mouth forms the words “Help me,” but I look away before he can say anything else.

Leaves crunching and sounds of a struggle lead me to a clearing. Bodies are scattered in every part of the clearing, unmoving. There are a few bodies beyond the trees as well. This was much more than the three men Jungkook dealt with in the cave. 

The beast himself sits in the middle. His skin is gray and slimy with hair in very few places. This form is indeed much bigger than the Jungkook I know.

 I quickly approach without saying a word and examine his condition. He’s lying on his side, his breathing shallow. There are a few scratches on his sides and a gash down his face. He’s exhausted and I think back to when he said the beast form is not meant for him to stay in for a long time. His body exhausts easily and if he used a majority of it on fighting these men- 

Damn it. I should’ve asked what happens when that energy is spent. Of all the times I have been nosy in my life and I couldn’t do it in such a crucial moment. 

Jungkook’s beast eye peers up at me and huffs. I ignore the scolding and focus on how I’m going to help him. The pond is too big to be brought to him, so I’m going to have to bring him to it. I don’t let the thought of “How?” linger in my mind too long before I’m picking up his legs and dragging him with as much force as I can bear. 

His groan is quiet behind me. 

“Don’t speak! Don’t do anything!” I yell. I avoid one or two bodies. I haven’t made it far and my arms and back are aching. 

“Use your legs, or you’ll do some damage to your back,” Father’s words echo in my mind. He’s told me so many wise things and yet I can never listen. It’s how I’m in this predicament in the first place. It’s the reason Jungkook is dying. 

My throat closes as tears well up in my eyes. 

“I’m not letting you die.” 

***

Jungkook is practically on the brink of death when I dump him in the pool of water. The lantern lights the red stringing through the water and I cross my fingers that he doesn’t drown. 

“Please, please, please,” I whisper, screwing my eyes shut, a tear falling as a result. “You’re my only friend, Jungkook. . .” I whisper. “Don’t leave.” 

As soon as the words escape me, a head surfaces above the water. I’m on my knees in an instance reaching for him. He’s still very heavy when I pull him in, but nothing compared to when he was the beast. 

“You’re okay!” I wrap my arm around his neck and pull him in. He hugs me back for only a second before I feel his body limp and fall. “Jungkook? Jungkook!” I call for him, but his breathing is weak. I pull him to where his sheet is, laying him gently. His eyes close and he enters sleep. I notice a bit of blood dripping down his face and sides from the battle.

I make sure his breathing is okay then leave him to rush back into town on a mission to take anything that could save him.

***

It’s the second day since Jungkook was attacked and it’s raining again. He’s woken up a few times for water, but nothing else. The bandages on his waist glare at me as I sit on the opposite side of the cave, humming a song, playing with the bracelet he has yet to finish. 

“I can’t believe you don’t remember,” his voice pipes up. I rush to him, a cup of water in hand from the creek. “I’d thought at least by now-” I put a finger to his lips- the rasp of his voice anxiety inducing. 

“You need to save your energy. We can talk when you’re back to being normal,” I tip the cup into his mouth, and he takes it. When I’m done, he sits up despite my protests. 

“I thought you liked the fact I wasn’t normal,” he whispers, his eyes off in the distance. I ignore the words seeing as that’s not my priority. “And I’m not talking about now. I’m talking about back then,” he meets my eyes now, then glides down to the bracelet I’m wearing. I’m ready to question what he means when I look at the bracelet. 

It’s like a key now. A key to a memory I put away a long time ago. 

***

11 years ago

“Keep crying. ‘S not like there’s anyone who’s gonna help you,” the blonde kid, nicknamed Jester, hits the boy again and I flinch behind the wall. “Where’s your parents?” Kicks him again and gestures for his friend to join in - and he does. 

I can’t watch this anymore. 

“Stop fucking with me-” before Jester can kick him again, I jump in, putting my body in front of the one who’s on the ground. 

“What is wrong with you two!” I yell out. 

“Mind your business, Y/N!” he tries to push me but I won’t budge. Finally, my height does something other than be the butt of every joke in town. Father always said I was an early bloomer and that my height could be an advantage. I didn’t see that until now. 

“Fuck you!” I spit at him, surprised at my own cursing. If he was angry before, he’s enraged now. His fist reels back, and I see it coming, but the boy behind me rushes him, tackling Jester. His friend looks to me. Before he can make any moves, I rush up to him and swing my leg up to his middle, hitting my target right between the legs. 

“Run!” I yell. With one down we should be okay. 

The boy gets off of the blonde and runs to me, taking my hand and leading me into the forest. I don't know where he's taking me, but if I saved him that means he won't hurt me, right?

We slow to a cave entrance. He turns to me, but doesn’t say anything. 

“Are you okay?” I ask him, noticing the cut under his eye. He nods, still not saying a word. “Those boys are assholes,” I cover my mouth at the bad word. “Sorry, but it’s true,” he laughs at me. I can’t believe he’s laughing at me after I saved his life. Then, I find myself laughing with him and it’s strange. 

He gestures for me to follow him deeper in the forest. 

We find a spot where he finally kneels on the ground and I follow.

“Do they usually pick on you?” I ask. He nods slowly and moves his sleeve to show scars and fresh cuts on his shoulder. I make the note in my mind that next time I’ll bring something to help heal those. 

His hands work and kneed in the grass and  grabs a few flowers that are scattered in different places. I see a bug on the trunk of the tree, my eyes trailing up the tree trunk that it travels. Where is it going to go?

A tap on my shoulder takes my attention away. I look down at the boy holding a small bracelet in his hands. He holds it to me, and I take it, trying not to break it. The little flowers spread throughout it tickle my hand. 

“For me?” I ask and he nods his head. 

“It’s to say ‘Thank You’,”  my heart is surprised when I finally hear his voice. 

“Hey. You wanna be my friend? I don’t have any,” I say.

His head moves so fast up and down. Finally! I found someone who likes me!

***

“You. . .” I whisper to him, his heavy eyelids covering his eyes staring back at me. 

“Me,” he looks at the bracelet sitting in the palm of his hand. I’m grateful he’s distracted while I process the new revelations. 

I push up from the ground and head for the exit, quickly stepping out into the rain.

“Y/N? Y/N!” he calls from behind me. I ignore him and try to keep my tears at bay. “Stop!” he yells. I hate that I do as he says, as if I’m his dog. He steps in front of me, and I turn away. “What’s wrong? Did I say something?” He tries to make eye contact with me and when I refuse, he uses a finger on my chin, the touch heating my face. 

“You can try to remind me of the good memories, Jungkook, but don’t forget those good times lasted for a week and you left,” I try to tame the way my voice is breaking. “You were my first friend and then you disappeared. I thought I was cursed for months!” a tear rolls down my cheek. He blinks. Once. Twice. “I get it. That was a long time ago and maybe it didn’t matter to you, but it does to me,” he shakes his head.

“Of course it matters, Y/N. You were my only friend and-”

“Then why did you leave me? Why didn’t you say anything? I risked so much going into the woods to find you.” Scenes of 10 year-old me play out in my head - screaming for Jungkook to come back until my throat itched, poisoning and rashes running down my legs. 

“It was going to be my first time in the pool,” his voice is low, “I wasn’t ready, but my mother was dying. Your very precious town was sending search parties to hunt us down. She couldn’t protect herself or me anymore, so I had to do it. I didn’t want to scare you,” his hand lowers back to his side and he takes a deep breath. “I was going through weeks of training myself and when my mom died and I got a hold of it, I went to try and find you, but I wasn’t finding you and it was too risky,” he explains. 

My heart cracks at the mention of his mother. I know what it’s like to lose a parent, but he only had her.  

“You should have told me. . .” 

“I wanted to. Trust me, Y/N. I did. But I wanted to figure out everything first before I jumped into it with you. I was also a kid at the time too. I didn’t have someone to guide me. Everyone hated me without being a beast. Could you imagine my fear of what would happen if they found out I am one? Especially with all the rumors and stories going around?” he argues. It’s a solid explanation. This was a long time ago and we were children. “When I saw you again and recognized that it was you, something I wanted more than anything, is for you not to be afraid of me. Your opinion, after a week, was the most important to me.”

Tears start to well up again. 

“Just like your opinion is most important to me now,” he whispers, stepping closer. I swallow the lump in my throat. His hair sticks to the sides of his head, some strands covering his eyes that are looking down at me. Goosebumps spread up and down my arms as heat bubbles in my stomach. 

“If you’re lying-”

“Don’t even think that,” he takes another step closer. I gasp when his hand wraps around my waist and pulls me to him, our chests touching and my hands resting on his arms. My thoughts are a jumbled mess and all I can ask is how this escalated so quickly. “Don’t go this time. I know I always tell you to leave, but I’m telling you to stay now.” 

My eyes blink and I’d like to blame it on the raindrops falling into my eyes, but I’m afraid to admit it’s because of how flustered I am at the stare he’s giving me. 

“And where do you get off on telling me what to do?”

“Can I be honest?”

“I’d like it if you were.”

“I think you like it when I tell you what to do.” It’s not the words I was expecting, but I don’t dislike it either. It’s also not false. “Do you want me, Y/N?” he whispers on my lips. “Tell me.” 

“Yes,” I say it a bit too quickly. 

Just when I think he’s going to plant his lips on mine, he instead asks, “Why?” The question is not hard to answer, but it is one that is difficult to say. 

“You’re the only person who makes me feel wanted in return,” I tell him. It’s honest and a much better answer than ‘You’re really hot’. “I don’t want to lose you, Jungkook,” I admit. “So, if you’re going to leave again you might as well-” 

His soft lips interrupt me - finally! 

A list of things I could be doing right now scrolls through my mind, yet none of them seem as important or as enticing as this is. If I could describe what this kiss is like, I don’t think that I could. No one has kissed me like this in the past. Nothing in the world can compare to the way that he holds me tightly against him, massaging the skin on my waist, while our mouths move in sync and rainwater mixes in with our saliva. 

His hands place pressure on hips and I respond by moving backward until I hit a tree. Now that I have back support, his lips push into me harder and I whimper into his mouth. He responds with a moan that runs straight to my core. 

We separate, breathing into each other. 

“It’s raining,” I say, my clothing completely stuck to me by now. 

“It’s not gonna stop me, but tell me if it’s going to stop you,” he brushes a hair away from my face and that’s when I can’t wait anymore. I want him too much to stop now, so I shake my head in answer. 

“I don’t want anything else to stop us,” I hook my fingers into his loose pants and bring him closer. The corner of his lips tilt up and his fingers crawl on the side of my neck before pulling me closer to him. 

The only thing I can pray for is that there are no more men who have decided to take on Jungkook and are still lurking in the forest, but that seems to be the last thing on his mind when he grinds into me. I moan into his mouth and he swallows it before leaning down to kiss my neck. I arch into him as he gets lower at the same time tickling the skin under my shirt as he lifts it up and over my head.

The rain is cold on me, but it’s worth it when his eyes stay on my perky nipples. 

“I-” he gulps. Not so mouthy now. 

“You can touch me, if you want,” I hate the way I sound so eager. I thought I would be able to play it cool, similar to the time I first lost my virginity (with a complete douchebag), but Jungkook makes me too nervous to ‘play it cool’. The way his eyes darken when he scans every inch of me, and the way he looks ready to devour me does the opposite of calming me down. 

I can only pray to any force out there that I make him feel the way he makes me feel. 

“I’ll do more than touch,” the palm of his hand skims the side of my breast, and he leans in. “I’ll do anything to show you you’re mine,” he whispers into my ear. The adrenaline is almost too much - I’m aching for him. 

“Then show me what it’s like to be yours,” I whisper back. 

He doesn’t look at me, his eyes stay on my lips for a few moments, then he moves down, taking one tit into his mouth leaving me breathless. His fingers tweak the other one, occasionally switching. 

“Jungkook- ah!” I gasp. He presses and gropes, then instant repeats. His skin is touching mine in every spot while his tongue continues its ministrations on my chest. I grab onto his hair in case I faint and lean my head onto the tree. The worry of getting bugs on me disappears when he nibbles on my skin. 

“I can’t wait much longer,” he sighs when coming back up. His fingers slide into my pants, and push into the space between my legs. I don’t expect it and cry into his mouth. “I don’t want to rush, bunny, but I can tell you’re as desperate as I am.”

I want to argue that I’m not, but it would be a lie. And it’s hard to argue with his fingers pumping in and out of me. He starts to kiss on my neck while his thumb joins in rubbing my clit. I feel a tension building in my stomach, then the knot unties and I release onto his hand. 

I’m still on my high when his fingers slip out and he licks them clean. I watch him and I’m prepared to do anything for this man. He already looks fucked out and I haven’t done anything to him. His hair is a mess but it’s a result of the rain mixed with my fingers moving it every which way. 

“Now I know you’re ready,” he pants. His pants fall to the ground, revealing the hard-on standing up. It isn’t fair that even his cock is perfect too. 

His eyes fall to my pants. 

“Can I. . . ?” he asks. I nod, slow. 

His hands are gentle as he peels my pants down my legs. I’m suddenly self-conscious when they come down, afraid of him spotting any hair or any marks but if he notices them, he doesn’t bring them up. 

“I’ve been thinking about this the past few days. How I’ll make you mine, how I’ll make you scream for me, how I’ll take care of you every day after. . .” He rambles before putting his lips on me again, the kiss frantic and wild, our tongues mixing all while pulling me closer, his hands move to my bare ass. “Jump,” he whispers, and I follow his instruction. 

My back hits the tree and our centers touch, bare skin to bare skin. It’s almost overwhelming. I feel as if I’m going to fall, but he makes it look so easy holding me. My heart grows ten times. 

“Why are you looking at me like that?” He draws me out of my head with a curious glance. I shrug, not really knowing how to explain it, but he still doesn’t move, waiting. “Are you regretting this?”

I hit him on the shoulder. “How could you say that when I’m still here and fully naked mind you!” 

“Then what was that look?” 

“I just . . .” I pause. It’s nerve-wracking to be vulnerable in front of him. I’m already naked physically, but to be emotionally naked is different. “I keep thinking about how perfect you are.” There’s a surprise written all over his face. “Don’t think for a second I would regret this, even if we are in the middle of a downpour,” I instruct. 

A small smile appears on his face. 

“You’re perfect for me,” he plants a kiss on my lips before he turns his attention down to adjust himself. He slides into me slowly and a whimper leaves my throat. His hand soothes me, massaging the skin on my butt. 

His head falls onto my shoulder, and we stay like that for a few moments as he inches in. 

When he starts to move, I already feel the tree scratching my bare back, but I don’t mind the pain with pleasure. 

Every part of the front of me slides against him and the rest of my body feels sticky from the humidity. It’s messy, but I can’t imagine this any other way. 

His breathing grows heavy as he thrusts into me. His jaw is clenched as he lifts me up and down. 

“You’re beautiful. I wish you could see what I’m seeing,” he breathes. “Y/N, oh God, Y/N,” he groans. His words set off a spark in me bigger than before. It’s good to know that even when I’m naked, sticky, messy, he can still see me as beautiful. “I should’ve kept those guys alive and let them watch,” his tone is different now. “I should have let them watch what they couldn’t have.” 

“Jungkook, pelase -” 

He balances me on one arm, using the other to hold the side of my head while he kisses me. 

“I’m almost- oh gosh,” I cry, but before I can jump over the edge he slides out of me. “Jungkook? What are you-?”

I hold onto him when he moves and puts me onto the wet dirt. It’s cold and slushy at first, then warms up at the same time Jungkook hovers over me. 

“This is how I always dreamt about you with me,” he says, and slides into me again, my heels locking around his waist and on his back. His body weight rests on me as he moves again and his head falls into my neck. 

It doesn’t take long to get me right back to the edge, and from the way his thrusts are getting messier, he’s going to meet me there. 

“Jungkook!” I cry as I spill onto him and he does the same. 

I notice it’s not raining anymore when all the noise and movement stops.We lay there for a few moments in the quiet after he slides out of me, however, his weight is still resting on me. 

“Is your penis gone when you turn into a beast?” I ask, killing the silence. He laughs into my shoulder then lifts his head. 

“Why? Do you wanna fuck him too?” he suggests. I smack his shoulder. “Thank you, by the way. I know dragging a beast the same weight of a tree was not the easiest. You didn’t have to.”

“Of course I had to,” I argue. “You’ve saved me more than once now. The least I could do was try one time.”

“You helped me twice, actually,” he says. I’m back to when we were kids. 

“And there might be many more times after this,” I put a hand on his cheek. 

“And I’ll save you each,” he plants a kiss on my lips, “and every,” another kiss, “time,” a more passionate one. We stay naked on that floor for hours, looking up into the trees, wondering what life or death situation we’ll have to save each other from tomorrow. 

[odileeclipse]

In the Presence of Truth {"Sage of Truth" (SMC) x Reader} PT 26

<<<Previous Next>>>

You exhaled, frustrated with the careful wording. “But-”

“I understand why you sought certainty elsewhere,” he continued, not quite meeting your eyes. “It is not a crime to desire clarity.” 

Your heart twisted. He was trying to let you off the hook. To take the logical approach, the reasonable stance. But the distance in his words, the way he refused to acknowledge the ache beneath it all that was what stung.

“Okay, but-” You swallowed, shifting from one foot to the other. “That doesn’t mean it didn’t bother you.” 

He was silent for a long moment. His golden eyes were steady, unreadable. But beneath the quiet composure, there was something softer, something unread.

“…I am not immune to such things,” he admitted, so quietly that you almost missed it. Your breath caught. It was subtle. Barely a crack in the mask. But it was real. You took a step forward, hesitant. 

But he had already exhaled, closing his eyes briefly. When he opened them again, the walls were back in place. “We need not dwell on it,” he murmured. “Unless you wish to.”

Your fingers clenched at your sides. He was frustrating. Even now, even when you could feel the tension between you, he still left the decision in your hands. He still gave you the choice. You wanted to push. To demand an answer, to hear him say outright that it did matter to him, that he did feel something more than composed acceptance. 

But part of you, that small, cautious part was afraid of what you’d do if he actually said it. So instead, you sighed, running a hand through your hair. “…No. We don’t have to dwell on it.” 

His expression didn’t change, but you thought you saw something ease in his posture. You chewed the inside of your cheek, suddenly feeling small in the weight of the quiet. “…But if it does bother you, I want you to tell me.”

Shadow Milk Cookie regarded you for a long moment. Then, without a word, he gave a single, slow nod. A promise. You let out a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding. The silence between you stretched taut, thin like thread pulled too tightly. Shadow Milk Cookie hadn’t rejected your words outright, hadn’t turned away or brushed them off with his usual grace. And yet, he wasn’t answering you either. That alone made your stomach twist. You could almost convince yourself to let it go. Almost. If not for the very distinct, very loud voice of Chai Latte Cookie echoing in your head…

"Oh, so you just walked away? Just like that? Gods, you are hopeless…"

And nope, you were not dealing with that tonight. You exhaled sharply through your nose, squaring your shoulders. “You say you’re not mad,” you started, keeping your voice even, “but I know when something’s bothering you.”

A blink. A slow tilt of his head. “I have never concealed the truth from you,” he said calmly.

“That doesn’t mean you tell me everything,” you shot back, quick. A flicker of something passed through his gaze, there and gone before you could name it. “…What is it that you want me to say?”

“I don’t know,” you admitted, throwing your hands up. “I just” You ran a hand through your hair, trying to keep the frustration at bay. “It just feels like something’s wrong. And you’re not saying it.” 

Shadow Milk studied you carefully, fingers laced together in his lap. “Would you feel better if I gave it words?” Yes. No. Maybe. You hesitated. He watched the conflict cross your face, then, softer almost gently he asked,

“…Would naming it change what you already know?” You swallowed. He wasn’t denying it. He wasn’t telling you no. He was just making you work for the truth, again.

“Stars above, you are infuriating,” you groaned, pressing your palms to your face.

“Undoubtedly,” he agreed. You let out a heavy sigh, then, before you could lose the momentum, you asked “…Did it hurt?”

Another silence. This time, it wasn’t because he was thinking of the right words to use. It was because he already knew them. When he finally spoke, it was quiet, measured “…Yes.”

No flourish. No philosophical musings. No metaphor spun from light and knowledge. Just one word. You searched his face for something, anything, but he had already composed himself again, golden eyes steady, patient, waiting. 

“…Okay,” you murmured. You still didn’t know what to do with this. What this changed. If it changed anything at all. But for once, you had the answer you wanted. You let out a breath, your shoulders sagging as the weight of his honesty settled over you.

He had answered you. Had admitted to the hurt but what were you supposed to do with that? You chewed the inside of your cheek, staring at him, feeling the helplessness rise in your chest. You were expecting something cryptic, something layered, something you could untangle later. But he had just… said it. Plain and clear. And you had no idea what to do with it.

“…Okay,” you murmured again, softer this time. You looked away, fingers tightening in your lap. “I” A pause, a slow exhale. “I don’t know what to do with that.”

Shadow Milk Cookie’s expression didn’t change, but you could feel the way he studied you, taking in every flicker of uncertainty, every hesitance in your voice. You huffed, rubbing a hand over your face. “What can I do?” You looked back at him, brows drawn together, frustration tinged with something raw. “So you’re not hurting?” He didn’t answer right away.

It sucked, not knowing what to do, not knowing how to fix this. You were a mess of emotions, but at least you felt them fully, unguarded, reckless in your own way. He was careful, composed, measured, even in this. 

You let out another sigh, shaking your head. “Chai Latte usually knows what to do,” you muttered, more to yourself than him. “But unfortunately, she’s not here.” The words barely left your lips before you huffed out a weak laugh, running a hand through your hair. “Not that she could fix this.” There was another beat of silence before he spoke, voice quiet but steady.

“You are not required to fix everything,” he murmured. “Nor am I asking you to.” You swallowed, but something in his words still made your chest ache. “…Then what are you asking?”

He watched you carefully, his expression unreadable, but his next words were softer than before “For you to understand.” You felt the weight of that settle deep in your ribs. Maybe that was the closest thing to an answer you were going to get. You inhaled sharply, catching yourself before you could default to humor; to deflection.

It was instinct, really, to try and soften the edges of something too sharp, to push aside the weight pressing against your chest with something light, something easier. But this wasn’t easy. And trying to make it so would only cheapen it. So instead, you swallowed the urge to brush it off and met his gaze fully.

“…What do you want me to understand?” you asked, voice steadier than you expected. “Because I do want to understand.”

 Shadow Milk Cookie studied you, his eyes as unreadable as ever. But there was something in them you could almost decipher, not distant, but careful. Like he was measuring his words, measuring you. 

“What did I do?” you pressed, leaning forward slightly. “I mean, I know something upset you. I know that. But I don’t want to assume. I don’t want to sit here and untangle riddles and guesses when I could just…just ask you. So tell me.”

His fingers twitched slightly against his desk, and you didn’t miss the way his jaw tensed for the briefest moment. It was subtle, controlled, but it was there. “You turned to someone else,” he finally said, his voice as measured as ever, but you could feel the weight behind it. “For clarity. For certainty.”

 Your breath caught in your throat. “And you feel like I shouldn’t have?” 

His gaze didn’t waver. “I feel as though you believe I could not provide what you sought.” 

You blinked, your stomach twisting. “That’s not-” You exhaled sharply. “It’s not that I don’t think you could, it’s that you wouldn’t.” 

His brows furrowed slightly, just enough for you to notice. You ran a hand through your hair, frustration bleeding into your voice. “You never give me a straight answer. You always ask me more questions, always make me figure things out myself. And I get it, I do that’s who you are. You guide, you lead people to truth rather than hand it to them.” You swallowed, looking down at your hands. “But sometimes… sometimes I just need something certain. Something I don’t have to search for.”

There was a silence between you, thick and heavy. And then, softer than before “You already have it.” Your head snapped up, eyes wide. “You seek certainty,” he murmured. “But you fail to see that you already possess it.” You opened your mouth, but no words came. His gaze held yours, unwavering.

“I would not remain by your side if I did not wish to.” Your breath stilled. “Nor would I offer my hand if I intended to let go.”

The weight of his words pressed into you, a truth undeniable. Something in your chest ached. Your brows furrowed, confusion knitting its way across your face. 

“That’s” you started, but stopped, shaking your head. “That’s not fair.” Shadow Milk Cookie tilted his head ever so slightly, unreadable as always, but you could feel the weight behind his gaze, the way it pressed into you like a question unspoken. 

You swallowed, exhaling sharply. “Look, I-I hear you. I want to hear you. But I’m only human. And sometimes I don’t see what’s right in front of me.” You gestured vaguely between the two of you, frustration creeping into your tone. “If I knew, if it was so obvious, then I wouldn’t be standing here trying to figure it out, would I?”

The silence that followed was thick, a quiet so full it threatened to suffocate. Your chest tightened as the words tumbled from your lips before you could stop them. “Earl Grey is one of the very few friends that I love-” You froze. The second you said it, you knew. You knew how it sounded. Your breath caught in your throat, and without thinking, you immediately waved your hands as if that could physically push the word back into the void. “I mean, not like that!” you blurted out, scrambling to fix your own mistake. “Not, not in that way! I just I mean, I love him, but not like that, that would be weird”

Shadow Milk Cookie didn’t move, didn’t even blink. But you felt it the shift, the tightening of something just beneath the surface. You swallowed hard, heat crawling up your neck as you kept spiraling. “What I meant is, he’s my friend, like Chai Latte Cookie and Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie, because we grew up together, and he’s-he’s someone I trust someone who always gives me a straight answer”

Your voice trailed off, the weight of the moment crashing down on you. Shadow Milk Cookie was silent. And that made it worse.

You exhaled sharply, running a hand through your hair. “I just… I don’t think it’s fair to assume I should already know where we stand.” 

Your voice wavered, frustration mingling with something raw. “Because I don’t. And if I did, then we wouldn’t be in this predicament in the first place, would we? A-And to top it off all he was doing was supporting me it’s not like I told him hey what do you think me and shadow milk are define it for me in five different languages please” 

Still, he said nothing. You swallowed, something almost desperate threading into your tone. “So if I did something wrong, tell me. If I’m missing something, tell me because I want to understand, I want to fix it, but I can’t do that if you just expect me to figure it out on my own.” 

Your heart pounded, pulse hammering against your ribs. And then, at last, Shadow Milk Cookie exhaled. Slow. Measured. The tension in the air thickened, something shifting in Shadow Milk Cookie’s expression something rare, something sharp. His composure, always so steady, finally wavered.

“You needed someone to say it?” His voice was low, quiet, but lined with something unmistakable. Frustration. “You needed someone to define it for you? So you turned to him?” You flinched at the way he said it him like the word alone was bitter on his tongue.

“I-” Shadow Milk Cookie got up from his chair took a step closer, his golden eyes dark with something you had never seen before. “Tell me, did it feel real then?” His tone wasn’t cruel, not exactly, but it carried an edge that cut all the same. 

“Did holding his hands make you feel certain of what you wanted? Did his words finally name the thing you claim to be so unsure of?” Your throat tightened.

“That’s not-”

“You seek my truths,” he interrupted, voice clipped. “But when it comes to this us you look elsewhere. Why is that?” 

The words hit harder than you expected, and you had to take a breath before responding. “…Okay. Fair.” You exhaled shakily, pressing your fingers against your forehead. “I deserved that.” 

His jaw tightened, but he didn’t say anything. You forced a humorless laugh, rubbing the back of your neck. “I know what it looked like. And I won’t sit here and act like it didn’t look bad. But you need to understand…I wasn’t looking for something better than what you could give me. I was looking for something clear.”

Shadow Milk Cookie remained silent, watching you carefully, his breathing measured but not entirely even. “I didn’t go to him because I wanted him,” you continued, voice steady now. “I went to him because I trust him. Because he knows me, because he’s been around long enough to see me flounder through every uncertainty in my life. And I thought” 

You swallowed. “I thought that maybe, for once, someone else could put it into words instead of me having to reach for something I still don’t know how to hold.”

He exhaled slowly, the tension in his shoulders shifting, but not entirely easing. You met his gaze, unflinching. “You’re right to be mad,” you admitted. “I should have come to you first. But you have to admit you don’t make this easy.”

A pause. A long, heavy one.

Then, finally, Shadow Milk Cookie sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“No,” he said, exasperated. “I suppose I do not.”

You let out a breath, the weight between you shifting just slightly. It wasn’t fixed, not entirely. But at least now, the words were out. You exhaled sharply, raking a hand through your hair, trying to figure out where to even start. 

“Okay context” you said, voice tinged with frustration, mostly at yourself. “Because I feel like you’re imagining something way more dramatic than what actually happened.” Shadow Milk Cookie remained silent, watching you carefully, his expression unreadable but the tension in his posture still firm. 

You inhaled again, steeling yourself. “So, it started because Chai Latte asked me about us. She asked what was going on, what we were…if we were anything at all.”

His expression didn’t change, but you caught the slightest flicker in his golden gaze. You continued, shifting your weight uneasily. “And I didn’t really know what to tell her, because I don’t know. So I said that we’re… close. That we have this understanding, this rhythm. But there’s still this barrier, this thing we don’t talk about, and it’s starting to feel like it’s keeping us from something.” Shadow Milk Cookie’s gaze didn’t waver. He didn’t speak. He just listened.

“And then Earl Grey…” You hesitated, feeling yourself losing your footing again, but forced yourself forward. “He said maybe you were waiting for me to define it. That maybe you were giving me room, instead of putting pressure on it.” 

Still, no response. But you saw something shift subtle, beneath the layers of his composure. You bit your lip. “And then Chai Latte asked me if not knowing still hurt, and yeah. Yeah, it does. Because it’s like we’re pretending the line isn’t there, but we both know it is. And it’s frustrating, and confusing, and I just. I needed someone to tell me I wasn’t making it up in my head.”

Your voice had become quieter, the words trailing off into the space between you. “That’s all I was looking for. I wasn’t asking Earl Grey for something you wouldn’t give me. I wasn’t” You sighed. “I wasn’t choosing him over you.”

Shadow Milk Cookie exhaled slowly, the tension in his shoulders shifting, though not entirely easing. His gaze remained steady, searching yours, as if weighing your words, measuring them against something unspoken. You swallowed, feeling like you were walking on thin ice. “I wasn’t looking for something better than what we have. Just something clear. And maybe that’s unfair to you, but I-” You shook your head. “I didn’t know what else to do.”

A long silence stretched between you.

Then, finally soft, measured, but undeniably firm Shadow Milk Cookie spoke.

“…And do you have your answer now?”

You opened your mouth, then hesitated.  Because what was the answer? That you still didn’t know? That you were still standing at the same threshold, waiting for something, anything, to push you forward? “I don’t know,” you admitted finally, voice almost reluctant. “Not completely.”

His gaze didn’t falter. “Then what will you do with what you do know?” 

You let out a short, almost incredulous laugh. “Gods, this again?” You threw your hands up. “I ask a question, you answer with another question…I swear you do this on purpose.” Something softened in his expression just barely, just enough that the irritation drained from your chest slightly.

You sighed, running a hand down your face. “What do you want me to understand?” you asked finally, your voice quieter. “Because I do want to understand.” Shadow Milk Cookie studied you for a long moment, his golden eyes searching yours in that way that always made you feel like he could see every inch of your soul.

Then, at last, he exhaled a slow, deliberate breath. And he said, “That you were never meant to seek certainty in someone else.” Shadow Milk Cookie remained still, his golden gaze locked onto yours, the weight of his presence heavy yet unreadable. The tension in the room lingered, an unspoken verdict hanging in the air. You shifted, exhaling slowly before speaking again, voice softer now.

"Okay," you murmured, as if sealing something sacred between you both. "Then… when it comes to this whatever we are I won’t seek answers anywhere else." The promise felt heavier than you expected. It settled deep in your chest, final in a way you hadn’t prepared for. No more looking to Earl Grey Cookie, no more second-guessing with Chai Latte Cookie or Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie….just the two of you, stumbling through this uncertainty together.

"But," you continued, voice lilting into something more playful, "please don’t stay mad at Earl Grey. I need him. Sometimes, if I bribe him enough, he does my homework."

For a moment, there was silence. Then, against all odds, Shadow Milk Cookie let out a quiet, breathy exhale not quite a laugh, but something near it. His head tilted slightly, as if amused despite himself. "Does he now?" he mused, voice still measured but laced with something lighter.

You grinned, encouraged by the shift in the air. "Yeah. And I worked really hard to build up my bribery system. I offer him peace and quiet in the library, sometimes I even make him tea" You leaned in just slightly, as if confessing something devious. "One time I even stole a pastry for him."

"A criminal enterprise," Shadow Milk murmured, gaze flickering with something indecipherable.

"Exactly!" You huffed dramatically. "So if you hold this against him, my whole operation collapses. And then who’s going to keep me from failing numerical alchemy?"

He hummed, considering. "A tragic fate indeed."

"You’re telling me."

There was a pause brief but filled with something unspoken, something easier now. The tension between you had not entirely faded, but it had shifted, no longer sharp, no longer an open wound. You weren’t fixed…this wasn’t fixed. But it was something.

Shadow Milk Cookie exhaled slowly, then, after a moment, inclined his head. "I will not hold it against him."

You blinked. "Wait, really?"

"Yes," he said, tilting his head just slightly. "On one condition."

You narrowed your eyes playfully. "What condition?"

He leaned forward just enough that the space between you felt smaller, his gaze steady. "That next time you have questions about us," he said, low and sure, "you ask me first."

Your breath hitched slightly, heart stuttering at the sheer weight of the words.

Slowly, carefully, you nodded. "Deal."

And just like that, the barrier between you both thinned just a little more.

You hesitated for only a moment before stepping forward, wrapping your arms around him in a firm, earnest embrace. It wasn’t hesitant or unsure it was the kind of hug that sought to pull down whatever walls still lingered, the kind that said, I don’t want to be at odds with you.

"I'm sorry," you whispered, voice muffled slightly against the fabric of his clothes. "I don’t want to be upset with you. I never did." For a long moment, he didn’t move. But then, slowly, you felt his arms come around you, careful but firm, as if grounding himself in your presence. His touch was warm, steady like something meant to last. You swallowed, the words pressing against your throat before you could second-guess them.

"But…" You exhaled softly, fingers curling slightly. "I need to know. What are we?" You felt his breath hitch, ever so slightly. "If we’re partners, then say it," you continued, voice quieter now. "Or if you want us to stay undefined, then tell me that too. But I" You swallowed. "I want to know what you want. I want to hear you say it."

Shadow Milk Cookie didn’t answer right away. Instead, he pulled back just enough to look at you properly, golden eyes searching yours with that same quiet intensity that always made your heart feel unsteady. His hands remained on you, warm against your shoulders, holding you there not keeping you, not trapping you, but anchoring you.

And then, finally, he spoke.

"I do not seek mere companionship," he murmured. His voice was soft, but there was an unmistakable weight to it. "I do not walk beside you simply because it is convenient or pleasant."

Your chest tightened.

"I will exist for a long time," he continued, his gaze unwavering. "And yet, I find myself wanting for nothing else but this." 

His thumb brushed absentmindedly against your sleeve, as if mapping the moment into memory. "If you would have me, then I would be yours as a partner, as more, as whatever name you would wish to give it."

Your breath caught.

"But only if it is what you want," he added, voice gentler now, as if afraid to ask too much. Your heart pounded in your chest, the weight of the moment pressing into you, warm and consuming. There were no riddles this time, no half-answers hidden behind layers of philosophy. 

This was just him. Your lips parted, but no words came at first, just breath just the realization of everything he'd just offered. Everything you both had been too afraid to name until now. And then, with a small, quiet laugh one filled with something like relief, like understanding you nodded.

"Yeah," you murmured. "Yeah, I think I’d like that." Shadow Milk Cookie’s fingers tightened, just slightly, against your arms. Maybe the barrier between you truly disappeared. You shifted slightly in his hold, tilting your head up to look at him, trying to ease the weight in the air with something lighter something that made this moment feel less fragile, less like a thread you might snap if you weren’t careful.

"So," you said, a playful lilt creeping into your tone, "on a scale of one to ten, how mad were you? And more importantly who were you mad at?" You waggled your brows for extra effect. 

"Be honest. Was it me? Earl Grey? The concept of human interaction?" Shadow Milk Cookie sighed one of those long, tired ones that felt like it belonged to someone who had lived far too many years and still had yet to understand why mortals acted the way they did. His grip on you didn’t loosen, but his eyes half-lidded with something unreadable.

"You truly wish for me to quantify my frustration?" he mused, arching a delicate brow.

You grinned. "Absolutely."

A pause. Then, with alarming precision, he replied, "Seven."

Your mouth dropped open. "Seven?! That's high! I was expecting, like, a four, maybe a five! Six if you were being dramatic."

Shadow Milk Cookie gave you a slow, pointed look. "Seven."

You groaned, dragging your hands down your face. "Okay, okay, fine. Who was it aimed at? Me? Earl Grey? The entire notion of emotionally repressed scholars trying to navigate their relationships without imploding?" 

He exhaled slowly, and for a moment, you thought he might actually let the joke slide. But instead ever the scholar he answered you plainly. "Four points belong to you."

You gasped. "Excuse me?! I get a four?! For what? Trying to sort out my emotions? For wanting clarity?!"

"You sought clarity," he corrected smoothly, "but you sought it elsewhere." He tilted his head, as if studying you like a particularly challenging text. "That is where the four comes from."

Your lips pressed into a thin line. Okay. Fair. Fair.

You crossed your arms. "And the other three?"

Shadow Milk Cookie's lips curled ever so slightly. "Earl Grey."

You snorted, then immediately clamped a hand over your mouth. "Oh no."

He did not elaborate.

You took a careful step back, watching the unreadable glint in his golden gaze. "Okay, but you’re not going to, like… sabotage his tea leaves or anything, right?"

"I am above such pettiness."

"...You hesitated."

"I did not."

"You did, I heard it!"

He merely hummed, a noise that sounded both knowing and entirely too neutral for your comfort. You sighed dramatically, shaking your head. "Alright, alright. I get it. I deserve my four. But can I earn my way back to a three? Or even a respectable two-point-five? Because I would really like to lower my crimes in the court of Shadow Milk." 

He regarded you for a moment, then, with unnerving smoothness, said, "I accept bribes."

You gaped at him. You huffed, crossing your arms with exaggerated indignation. “Fine,” you drawled, tilting your head with mock exasperation. “If we’re playing this game, then what do you want? Name your price, oh great and wise one. What must I sacrifice to lessen my crimes?”

Shadow Milk Cookie hummed, eyes gleaming as he took his time considering, tapping his fingers idly against his sleeve. He was enjoying this far too much, if you had to guess.

“A proper bribe must be proportional to the severity of the offense,” he mused, tilting his head slightly as if weighing his options. “And yours, I recall, ranked at a seven.”

You groaned. “You’re really sticking to that number, huh?”

“I am nothing if not precise.” You muttered something incoherent under your breath, but Shadow Milk didn’t seem remotely fazed. If anything, he looked downright pleased with himself.

“Alright,” he continued, regarding you with that unreadable yet slightly mischievous expression of his. “If you wish to lower your score… I will accept one of three offerings.”

You squinted suspiciously. “Oh, three offerings? So now I choose my punishment?”

“I am nothing if not generous.”

You rolled your eyes, but gestured for him to go on. “Alright, lay them on me. What are my options?” Shadow Milk Cookie’s lips curled ever so slightly, a whisper of amusement passing through his gaze. “Option one: an essay. Minimum ten pages. On the subject of why seeking truth from unreliable sources is a grave mistake.”

Your mouth fell open in absolute horror. “TEN PAGES?” He inclined his head. “Minimum.”

“Absolutely not,” you said immediately. “What else you got?”

“Option two.” He held up a single, elegant finger. “You may publicly declare that I am always right, in front of all our friends. And,” he added smoothly, “that you were terribly mistaken to ever doubt me.”

You made a scandalized noise. “Oh, you would enjoy that, wouldn’t you?”

He didn’t answer. He didn’t need to.

You sighed, pressing your palms together. “Alright, third option, oh merciful one?” Shadow Milk Cookie leaned forward ever so slightly, a glint of something far too entertained flickering across his features. “A kiss,” he said simply.

You choked. “Excuse me?” He arched a single brow. “A kiss,” he repeated, entirely unaffected by the way your face had surely turned crimson. “One that is freely given, of course. I would never demand an unwilling tribute.”

“Oh, tribute now?” you sputtered, half-wheezing, half-wondering how you ever got yourself into this. “You’re actually serious?”

“I would not have offered it otherwise,” he said smoothly. You gawked at him, heart hammering, mind scrambling for anything to counter with. But he merely leaned back, utterly unbothered, utterly composed as he watched you flounder.

“Well?” he prompted, entirely too pleased with himself. “Which shall it be?” You slipped out of his arms, pacing a small circle around his office like a scholar on the verge of an intellectual breakthrough. 

Hands clasped behind your back, you hummed thoughtfully, nodding to yourself as if the weight of your impending verdict was a matter of utmost importance. Shadow Milk Cookie watched, entirely composed, one brow arched in clear amusement. He didn’t interrupt didn’t press you for an answer just observed with that knowing glint in his eyes, as if he already knew the conclusion you would come to. You, of course, already knew too.

But for the sake of theatrics, you had to pretend to struggle with your options. You rubbed your chin, adopting a dramatically serious expression. 

“Now, let’s analyze this logically.” You began to pace again. “A ten-page essay on why I should never doubt you?” You let out a loud scoff, throwing your hands in the air. “Impossible! An insurmountable task! I’d perish before I reached the third page!”

Shadow Milk Cookie didn’t so much as blink. “Unfortunate.” You ignored him, continuing your performance.

“The second option: a public declaration of your undeniable correctness, and a full admission of my egregious mistake.”

You placed a hand over your heart, as if wounded. “Ah, but alas! To speak such words before witnesses, to willingly feed your ego in front of Chai Latte Cookie, Earl Grey Cookie, and Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie? I would never recover!”

“Fascinating,” he mused. Your pacing slowed. You turned on your heel, finally facing him, your expression shifting from exaggerated suffering to something more calculated. More certain.

“That leaves only one option,” you murmured.

His golden gaze was steady, unshaken. “Indeed.”

A pause. Then, ever so casually “Well, I guess I’ll start drafting that essay-”

Before you could take another step, Shadow Milk Cookie reached out, fingers curling gently around your wrist. Not tight not demanding just enough to halt your retreat, just enough to keep you in place. You stilled, heart stuttering. His touch was warm. Steady. You met his eyes, and suddenly, the theatrics didn’t feel as necessary anymore. There was something in his gaze that made the moment feel weightless. 

As if, beneath all the teasing, beneath all the playful back-and-forth, there was a quiet invitation in the way he held you there. Not a demand. Not an expectation. Just… waiting.

You exhaled slowly, your pulse a restless rhythm against your ribs. Then, with a sigh of faux defeat, you let yourself be pulled back toward him. “Fine,” you murmured, lips curling slightly. “You win.”

“I usually do,” he murmured back.

And before he could say another infuriating word, you leaned in and kissed him. You pulled back just slightly, not far enough to break the warmth between you, but enough to catch the flicker of something unguarded in his eyes. His golden gaze, always so sharp, so knowing, had softened just a little. Like he wasn’t quite sure what to do with the moment you’d handed him. You studied him for a beat, then tilted your head, your voice a quiet tease but carrying a weight beneath it.

“Well?” you asked, lips barely suppressing a smirk. “Are you happy with yourself?” Shadow Milk Cookie blinked once, slow and measured, as if truly considering it. Then, his lips curled not into his usual knowing smirk, not into something grand or theatrical, but into something softer. Something real.

“…Yes,” he murmured. “Immensely.” Your chest ached not in a painful way, but in that annoying, wonderful way that came from realizing just how much you felt for him. Still, you refused to let him have the last word so easily. 

You huffed, rolling your eyes. “Ugh. You’re so smug about it.”

“I believe the proper term is vindicated,” he corrected smoothly. You groaned, dramatically slumping against him like the weight of his self-satisfaction was simply too much to bear. “I take it back. I should have just written the essay.”

He chuckled, a rare, low sound, and it sent a shiver down your spine. “I would have graded it ruthlessly.”

“Of course you would have,” you mumbled, your forehead still resting against his shoulder.

His hand found the small of your back, resting there like a quiet reassurance. “But you chose the wiser path.”

You sighed dramatically. “I suppose.” He hummed, and the sound was almost fond. “You suppose?” You lifted your head just enough to meet his gaze again, feeling warmth creep up your neck. “Yeah, yeah. Don’t get used to it.”

His fingers curled just slightly against your back, his voice dipping to something quieter. “No promises.” You leaned back just enough to take him in, eyes flickering over his features composed, unreadable, yet carrying the smallest flicker of something beneath the surface. Smug, as always. Secure in his victory. Well. That simply wouldn’t do. So, on pure impulse, without warning, without pretense. 

You kissed him again. It was nothing grand, nothing calculated or poetic. Just a soft press of your lips against his, a decision made without hesitation. And this time, it worked. You felt him freeze. The smirk he had been carrying so effortlessly vanished like mist under the sun, his composure breaking in a way you’d never seen before. His breath hitched, his fingers twitched slightly where they rested against you, he looked utterly caught off guard.

His face bloomed in warmth, color rushing to his cheeks in a way that felt almost surreal. Shadow Milk Cookie the Sage of Truth, the Fount of Knowledge, the ever-unshaken scholar was blushing. You pulled back just slightly, blinking at him. And then you grinned.

“Oh,” you mused, utterly delighted. “Oh. You’re flustered.” Shadow Milk Cookie cleared his throat, turning his face slightly, though the betrayal of color on his skin remained. “I-” He exhaled sharply, golden eyes darting away for a brief moment, as if trying to recollect himself. “That was unprompted.”

You laughed, light, full of something almost victorious. “Was it?” His gaze snapped back to you, sharp, narrowed but that warmth hadn’t left him. “You-” He exhaled again, softer this time, and lifted a hand to pinch the bridge of his nose, as if trying to summon some divine patience. 

You merely rocked back slightly, resting your chin on your palm, studying him with all the amusement in the world. “I take it that means I won this round?”

His lips parted likely to counter with something witty, something to salvage his pride but no words came. Instead, after a long pause, he sighed. “You are…” He trailed off, as if searching for the exact right phrase, before shaking his head slightly, voice quieter when he finally spoke.

“…Absolutely impossible.”

You smiled. “So I’m told.” His gaze softened, and though the warmth hadn’t faded from his cheeks, there was something else in his expression now.

Something fond.

“…Indeed,” he murmured.

 That was perhaps the real victory. Your victorious grin lingered for a moment longer before, suddenly, realization struck like a bolt of lightning. Your eyes widened. “Oh!” Shadow Milk Cookie barely had time to react before you grabbed his hands, your excitement surging in an instant. “The Spire!”

He blinked, momentarily caught off guard by your sudden shift in energy. “…What about it?” You nearly bounced in place, your earlier mischief momentarily forgotten. “We got in! All of us! Me, Chai Latte, Earl Grey, Hazelnut Biscotti all of us got into the Spire of Knowledge!” 

“…You did.”

You beamed at him, nodding rapidly. “We did! I mean, I knew the others would get in, but me?” You laughed, somewhere between exhilarated and still slightly stunned. “I honestly thought I’d be scraping by if I got in at all. But then, bam my name was right there on the list.”

You squeezed his hands lightly, eyes shining. “It had to be your recommendation letter. That’s what did it.”

His brow arched slightly. “And here I thought your own merit played a role in it.” 

You scoffed playfully, nudging him with your shoulder. “Oh, please. We both know I was struggling not too long ago. The only reason I didn’t flunk my way straight into academic exile is because you’re a ridiculously good tutor.”

His lips curved ever so slightly, but his tone remained measured. “I recall saying you had potential. You simply needed guidance.”

“And, oh, what guidance it was,” you teased. “Your incredible patience, your endless wisdom your unparalleled ability to confuse me with riddles until I understood the material out of sheer spite” 

He let out a quiet hum, shaking his head in amusement. “I do not recall ‘spite-driven comprehension’ being a recognized academic method.”

“Well, it worked, didn’t it?” He chuckled, and stars, you wished you could capture that sound, tuck it away somewhere safe. 

Your grin softened slightly, your excitement still bubbling beneath the surface but with something else now something grateful. “…Thank you,” you said, quieter this time. “Really. I wouldn’t be here without you.” 

Shadow Milk Cookie regarded you for a long moment, his golden eyes steady, warm. Then, with a voice equally as soft, he murmured,

“I simply illuminated the path. You were the one who walked it.” And damn it, he always had to make things sound poetic, didn’t he? You huffed, but your smile didn’t waver. Instead, you squeezed his hands once more, rocking back on your heels. “Okay, okay, enough of that should we celebrate? Because I personally think this calls for excessive amounts of dessert.”

Shadow Milk Cookie exhaled, though his expression betrayed his amusement. “Excessive, you say?”

“Absolutely excessive,” you confirmed, determined. “We’re talking at least three pastries and a cup of tea so sweet it should be illegal.”

He tilted his head slightly, considering. “…And if I were to decline?”

You gasped, feigning offense. “I’d simply have to make up for your share. A sacrifice, truly, but one I’d be willing to bear.”

A soft chuckle escaped him, and finally he nodded.

“Very well,” he said, a knowing glint in his eyes. “Lead the way, then.” And just like that, your victory tasted even sweeter. 

As you entered the dining hall, the first thing you noticed was complete and utter chaos.

“HAZELNUT BISCUOTTI COOKIE, YOU ABSOLUTE FIEND GET BACK HERE!”

Chai Latte Cookie’s furious voice rang through the air, followed by the thunderous sound of running footsteps. Students instinctively cleared out of the way as Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie sprinted past the tables, a guilty grin stretched across his face and a half-eaten pastry clutched in one hand.

You blinked.

Shadow Milk Cookie, standing beside you, exhaled deeply, already looking regretful about following you here. Your gaze landed on Earl Grey Cookie, who stood completely unfazed near the buffet station, watching the scene unfold with all the emotional investment of someone observing a light drizzle. 

You approached him cautiously. “What’s going on?” Without missing a beat, Earl Grey Cookie, still holding his tray with perfect balance, responded, “Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie took the last almond puff pastry. Chai Latte Cookie was two seconds too late.”

You looked at him incredulously. “So, she’s trying to kill him over a pastry?”

“She’s making a point,” he corrected smoothly.

“I called dibs!” Chai Latte Cookie shouted, narrowly avoiding knocking over an entire stack of plates as she chased Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie in circles around the tables.

“It was a suggestion at best!” Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie called back, absolutely delighted with himself.

“You knew I was going to get it!” she seethed.

Earl Grey Cookie gave a slight shrug. “She did mention it before we got here.” Shadow Milk Cookie, watching this absurd display, muttered under his breath, “I should not have come. I’ll turn a blind eye and walk off.” 

You patted his arm, grinning. “No, no. This is exactly what you needed.” Before he could reply, Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie made the fatal mistake of slowing down just enough for Chai Latte Cookie to pounce. With a dramatic yelp, he toppled forward, and the remains of the pastry flew from his hands, landing unceremoniously on the floor. A collective gasp echoed across the dining hall.

Chai Latte Cookie froze. Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie stared at the ruined pastry, his expression one of deep regret. “No,” he whispered. Earl Grey Cookie sighed. “This is a tragedy.” Chai Latte Cookie slowly turned to Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie, expression unreadable.

“You fool,” she murmured. Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie lifted his hands in surrender. “Okay. Now, before you do anything-” She lunged.

You sighed, shaking your head. 

Shadow Milk looked your way “Are they always like this?” Earl Grey Cookie took a calm sip of tea. “It happens more often than it should.”

Shadow Milk Cookie ignored him  massaging his temples, clearly questioning every decision that had led him to this moment. You nudged him playfully. “See? This is what a real meal looks like. A little food, a little fighting, a little public humiliation.” 

Shadow Milk Cookie exhaled slowly, eyes narrowing at the commotion. “…This is why I take my meals alone.” You grinned. “Not today.” And with one last dramatic wail from Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie as Chai Latte Cookie rattled him by the collar, you led Shadow Milk Cookie forward straight into the madness.

The dining hall was alive, buzzing with the usual lunchtime chaos, but something about it felt warmer like an extension of something familiar. Shadow Milk Cookie, despite his usual air of composure, looked somewhat out of place at first, standing among the whirlwind that was your friends.

But then, the small things settled in the way Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie patted his back in greeting like he was just another one of you, the way Earl Grey Cookie shifted slightly to make room at the table without a second thought, the way Chai Latte Cookie practically threw an extra pastry on his plate as if daring him not to eat it. It was seamless. 

Effortless. Like he belonged. For a moment, you glanced at him just to see if he felt it too. His expression was unreadable, but there was something softer in his posture, in the way his fingers rested lightly against the edge of the table rather than retreating into his sleeves. Then, of course, Chai Latte Cookie ruined the moment.

“So,” she drawled, elbow on the table, chin resting in her hand, eyes twinkling with mischief. “Is the lover’s quarrel over?” Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie choked on his drink. Earl Grey Cookie let out a tired sigh, already looking as if he wished to be anywhere else. 

Your entire body stiffened. Shadow Milk Cookie, to his credit, merely lifted an eyebrow, calm but unimpressed. You, however, absolutely did not have his composure.

“Chai” you hissed, eyes widening in horror.

“What?” She blinked at you innocently, as if she hadn’t just set fire to the table with her words. “I’m just checking in. You stormed off after him. Came back visibly shaken. Left again and now you return together? The narrative is narrating itself, babe.”

Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie, recovering from his near-death experience, grinned. “To be fair, she’s got a point.”

“She does not have a point,” you sputtered. “We-we weren’t even fighting-”

“Oh?” Chai Latte Cookie’s smile widened. “So, you were having a lovers’ moment then?” Shadow Milk Cookie exhaled deeply, reaching for his tea in a way that definitely suggested he was questioning his life choices. You, however, were floundering.

“That’s No That’s not-” 

You turned to Earl Grey Cookie, eyes pleading. “Say something.” Earl Grey Cookie, traitor that he was, simply took a slow sip of tea and said, “I think this is best left between you two.” 

Chai Latte Cookie beamed, satisfied. You groaned, dropping your head against the table. “I hate all of you.”

Shadow Milk Cookie, finally speaking, murmured with mild amusement, “I believe that is untrue.” You peeked up at him, only to find the faintest trace of a smirk at the corner of his lips. Your stomach flipped. Chai Latte Cookie wiggled her eyebrows. “See? That’s exactly what I’m talking about.” Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie nodded sagely. “Undeniable.” You let out the longest sigh of your life.

This was going to be a long lunch. You lifted your head just in time to see Chai Latte Cookie grinning like the embodiment of mischief itself, Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie looking way too entertained, and Earl Grey Cookie sipping his tea with the kind of serene detachment that only came from thinking he was above this nonsense but still enjoying the spectacle. 

Shadow Milk Cookie, however, was the wild card. Because he was looking at you calm, measured but there was something in his gaze. Something knowing.

Something dangerous. “Well,” he mused, setting down his tea with an infuriating amount of elegance. “If we are to entertain the notion of a lover’s quarrel, one must consider the root of the conflict.” 

You froze. Chai Latte Cookie perked up. “Go on.”

“I have merely been waiting,” Shadow Milk Cookie continued smoothly, “for our dear scholar to provide an explanation. After all, there was a rather… passionate pursuit through the corridors earlier. And an equally passionate moment of hesitation.” 

Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie whistled. “Passionate, huh?” Your face burned. “That’s not what happened-”

“Oh, I don’t know,” Earl Grey Cookie finally chimed in, setting his cup down with practiced grace. “I seem to recall you gripping my hands rather fervently last night. Wouldn’t you say so?” Shadow milk cast him a glare.

You snapped toward him. “You are not helping!”

“I’m simply recounting the events as they happened,” Earl Grey Cookie replied, expression entirely neutral except for the slightest twitch of amusement at the corner of his mouth. Chai Latte Cookie gasped dramatically, placing a hand over her chest.

“Wait, wait, wait- so you were caught in a love triangle moment?” Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie leaned in. “Are you telling us we had front-row seats to some academic level romantic tension and nobody informed us?”

“There is no love triangle,” you said frantically, waving your hands in protest. “I just…Earl Grey Cookie is a good friend! I needed guidance! I-I-” You turned to Shadow Milk Cookie, desperate. “Help me out here!”

But he simply tilted his head, expression unreadable. “…I fail to see the problem,” he murmured. You stared at him. “You fail to see the problem?” you repeated, betrayed.

“I fail to see how I have said anything untrue,” he replied smoothly. “After all, it is not I who reached for Earl Grey Cookie’s hands with such desperate longing”

“WHAT” You threw your arms up, half-ready to ascend into the astral plane out of sheer mortification. “YOU’RE SUPPOSED TO BE ON MY SIDE.”

“Oh, I am,” Shadow Milk Cookie said, with the kind of smile that immediately set off alarms in your head. “Which is why I would never deny you your moment of reflection.”

“Oh my god” Chai Latte Cookie cackled. “Betrayal from within! I love it.” 

Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie wiped away a fake tear. “This is the best thing that’s ever happened to me.”

Earl Grey Cookie, traitor supreme, simply sipped his tea again, the very picture of composure. You buried your face in your hands.

“I hate all of you,” you groaned, muffled. Shadow Milk Cookie leaned in, voice as infuriatingly composed as ever. “Untrue,” he murmured, way too close to your ear. Your entire body betrayed you, heat crawling up your neck as you jerked upright and shoved your chair back.

“Absolutely not.”

Chai Latte Cookie gasped again, clutching Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie’s arm. “That! that was blushing. Tell me you saw that.” Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie nodded rapidly. “Oh, absolutely saw that.”

“I don’t blush,” you lied through your teeth.

Earl Grey Cookie raised a brow. “Curious, then, that your face is rather warm-looking at the moment.” 

You pointed an accusatory finger at Shadow Milk Cookie. “You-you are supposed to be wise and dignified and not a menace” He blinked at you, completely unbothered. “And yet, I have never made such a claim.” 

You gaped at him. Chai Latte Cookie laughed so hard she had to wipe tears from her eyes. Shadow Milk Cookie simply picked up his tea again, utterly victorious. And you swore to the gods that one day, somehow, you’d get back at him for this.

You let out a dramatic sigh, slumping back against your chair. “I thought your wrath was over,” you bemoaned, shooting a glance at Shadow Milk Cookie, who was taking an unhurried sip of his tea. 

“But clearly, you still have some lingering feelings.” He lowered his cup, tilting his head slightly, golden eyes watching you with something unreadable but undeniably intentional. “Lingering feelings?” he echoed, voice laced with an infuriating amount of amusement. “A fascinating observation.”

Chai Latte Cookie let out a quiet hmm of delight, already sensing where this was going. “Oh, I love when he gets like this.” 

Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie, who had been mid-bite into his pastry, nudged Chai Latte conspiratorially. “This is definitely payback.” You shot them both a glare before turning back to Shadow Milk Cookie, exasperated. “You can’t seriously still be upset.”

“I can and I am,” he replied smoothly, setting his cup down with a deliberate clink. He turned his gaze to Earl Grey Cookie who, for once, was watching carefully, as if weighing the gravity of what was about to be said. “I would prefer if what I saw between you and my stargazer never happened again.”

The air around the table grew still. Earl Grey Cookie, ever composed, met his gaze levelly. “Duly noted.” 

Your jaw dropped. “Duly noted?!” you spluttered. “That’s it?” 

Earl Grey simply picked up his tea again, utterly unshaken. “Would you rather I start a debate?” Chai Latte Cookie’s eyes widened slightly before she turned her entire attention onto you, a slow, devious grin spreading across her face. “Hold on. Hold on. What did he just call you?”

Your brain stalled. “What?” you blinked.

“What. Did. He. Just. Call. You?” Chai Latte Cookie repeated, leaning forward with the intensity of someone thriving off gossip. You turned to Shadow Milk Cookie, only now realizing what exactly had left his lips.

“My Stargazer.” He repeated relishing in your humiliation. Your stomach dropped.

Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie whooped, clapping his hands together. “Oh, this is fantastic.” Chai Latte Cookie smacked the table, eyes gleaming with glee. “This is the best thing to happen all week.” You, meanwhile, were reeling.

You held up a hand. “What does that even mean?” Shadow Milk Cookie regarded you with a look so smugly composed that it made you want to combust. “I assume you are capable of deciphering meaning from context, Stargazer.”

You gaped. “You’re doing this on purpose.” His lips twitched at the edges, and that was when you knew. Oh, he was enjoying this. He was deliberately making a show of this. And worse? Everyone else was enjoying it too.

“See, this is why he’s terrifying,” Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie laughed. “One moment, you think you’ve got control, and the next? He’s got you spinning in his little mind games.” 

Earl Grey Cookie, sipping his tea with the air of someone distantly entertained, merely hummed. “Impressive, really.”

You buried your face in your hands. “I hate it here.” Shadow Milk Cookie leaned just slightly toward you, voice low, calculated, teasing. “And yet,” he murmured, “you stay.” Your ears burned.

Chai Latte Cookie all but exploded into laughter, while Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie pounded the table in delight.Eventually, the laughter settled, the teasing ebbing into a comfortable hum of conversation. You exhaled, pressing your palms against your cheeks to dispel the lingering warmth of your embarrassment. Shadow Milk Cookie, still composed, still infuriatingly pleased with himself, had returned to sipping his tea as if nothing had happened at all. You cleared your throat, shifting in your seat. “So,” you said, forcing your voice into something normal. “The Spire.”

Chai Latte Cookie hummed, stretching her arms behind her head. “Finally switching to a serious topic?” she teased. 

You shot her a look before turning back to Shadow Milk Cookie. “What’s it going to be like? I mean, being the Fount of Knowledge.” His expression didn’t shift, but something flickered in his golden eyes, something thoughtful. He set his cup down, folding his hands neatly in front of him. “That remains to be seen.”

Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie quirked a brow. “You don’t know?”

“There is no precedent,” Shadow Milk Cookie replied smoothly. “The Spire of Knowledge is newly established. It is an extension of the Academy, but unlike the traditional institutions, it will serve as a hub of research and discourse that reaches beyond these halls across lands, scholars, disciplines.” His fingers traced the rim of his cup absentmindedly. “A place where knowledge is meant to be ever-expanding. And with that, comes the responsibility of guiding it forward.”

Earl Grey Cookie studied him carefully. “That’s… a lot,” he said plainly. Shadow Milk Cookie nodded. “It is.” You leaned forward, resting your chin against your palm. “And the title? Fount of Knowledge…that’s permanent?”

“Presumably.”

You frowned. “That’s kind of a big deal.”

“It is a big deal,” Chai Latte Cookie chimed in. “Your name is going to be tied to an entire institution forever. No pressure.” Shadow Milk Cookie remained unbothered, but his pause was just long enough for you to notice.

“…Do you want that?” you asked softly. A flicker of something unreadable crossed his face. “It is an honor,” he said after a moment.

“That’s not an answer.”

His gaze met yours, steady, unwavering. “Would you rather I embellish the truth?” You opened your mouth, then closed it. Fair point. 

Earl Grey Cookie took a measured sip of his tea before speaking. “Regardless of how you feel about it, you’re still becoming it. That means something.” 

Shadow Milk Cookie let out a quiet breath. “It does.” For a moment, the weight of it settled over the table. The reality of what was coming not just for him, but for all of you. The Spire was new, unknown, a place of possibility and uncertainty. You were entering it as students. 

He was stepping into it as something more. You tapped your fingers against the wood. “…Well,” you said, “at least you’ll have us there to pester you.”

Chai Latte Cookie grinned. “And that’s a promise.” Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie nudged you. “We’ll make sure you don’t get too pretentious with your big fancy title.” 

Shadow Milk Cookie arched a brow. “You assume I am not already pretentious.” 

Earl Grey Cookie smirked faintly. “A fair assumption.” Laughter bubbled at the table again, and for a moment, the weight of everything felt lighter. The future was uncertain, the Spire was uncharted, but at least, in this moment, you were all still together. The conversation ebbed and flowed around the table, shifting between teasing and genuine curiosity, but beneath it all, there was something unspoken.

Shadow Milk Cookie was here. He was sitting here, in a space that was so effortlessly filled with warmth and chaos, with inside jokes and knowing glances, with hands brushing over the last piece of bread as if it were a sacred prize. 

He was here and though he was composed, though he was himself, there was still a subtle distance in the way he carried his presence. Not an unwillingness to be here. No, he had chosen to be here. But a quiet awareness that he was not entirely part of it. 

And your friends knew that. They had always known that. And yet, they tried. Not because he was the Sage of Truth. Not because he held a title that would soon be carved into the foundation of the Spire itself. Not because he was important in the way scholars wrote about in books. But because he was important to you.

It was subtle, the way they met him halfway. Earl Grey Cookie addressed him with the same sharp wit he used on the rest of you, never deferential, never intimidated, just equal, as if daring him to rise to the occasion. Though with some hesitation. 

Chai Latte Cookie, who had no fear of the grand or the dramatic, leaned into their teasing, calling him things like our resident philosopher with an easy kind of humor, even when she watched him with an assessing gaze, as if still deciding how to place him within your orbit. 

And Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie? He was the most obvious nudging your arm, casting you knowing grins, making bold declarations about keeping Shadow Milk humble despite his grand title, never quite treating him as some untouchable figure. 

If anything, he was the most comfortable in pulling him into the ridiculous mess that was your world. And for all that Shadow Milk Cookie carried; the weight of his wisdom. For all that he was; a being of patience and intellect and elegance he was unprepared for this.

For them.

For you.

You could see it in the way he listened, his fingers curled lightly around the edge of his cup, his posture perfectly composed but his eyes thoughtful. He did not interrupt. He did not reject their attempts.

But you could tell he was not used to this. To the way friendship could be as simple as being handed the last piece of bread without asking. To the way people could tease you because they liked you, not because they sought to challenge you. 

To the way belonging was sometimes built not on shared knowledge, but on effort on the way your friends tried to include him, on the way they adjusted the shape of your group, not to fit him in, but to make room for him. For you, this had always been normal. For him this was new.

You studied him for a moment, watching the way he processed it all the small gestures, the familiar touches, the way Chai Latte bumped your shoulder as she spoke, the way Hazelnut Biscotti stole a sip from your cup like it was second nature. And then, without thinking, you reached for Shadow Milk’s hand beneath the table.

It was a simple thing.

A touch. A reassurance.

But it was also a bridge.

His fingers curled around yours after only a moment’s hesitation, as if testing the weight of fit then settling, anchoring. He did not look at you, but he did not need to. The conversation continued. Your friends laughed. The table felt full. And Shadow Milk Cookie, for all his distance, for all his unreadable nature stayed.

A/N as you all can see even when I was studying I was working on this diligently, this really was one of the few things keeping me sane this exam season...I was going to do a summer semester but I'm good without it...

Anyways...

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

<<<Previous Next>>>