#domino notebook

[dominoblues]

It happened only once. A slip of the tongue in a moment of fatigue, which Mokuba quickly corrected addressing Seto the proper way.

"Sorry", he swiftly muttered, his cheeks tinged with red.

They never talked about it again. Mokuba simply turned around, still embarassed, and Seto pretended he didn't hear him. He finished pouring his coffee in the tumbler, his back still turned.

He pretended.

He couldn't hide the heart racing in his chest, the tiny drop of pride and the sudden surge of tenderness. But he restrained himself. Instead, he reached out with the hand that wasn't holding his coffee tumbler, ruffled Mokuba's hair while passing through and walked out of the room.

Seto was sure there were very few things in the world that could make him happier than being called 'dad'.

[captin-azoth]

IIII HAVE BRAINROT~

Doot da doot DOOT DOOT

I HAAAVE BRAINROT~

BA BAM

[dripping-moonlight]

Honey, if you stay I'll be forgiven

[i-cant-sing]

TIME TRAVELER AU PT 2

Original post/idea here. Part 1 is here. Part 3 is here.

Check out my MASTERLIST for more!

I fucked up.

You thought as you sat on the bed, holding your head in your hands.

I fucked up so baaaaaad.

Not only have you healed Baldwin of his leprosy, forever changing history of the LEPER KING, but also managed to somehow be his bride. To make matters EVEN worse, you cant just up and leave right now because you dont know the disastrous effects it'll have on the future now that Baldwin wont die of leprosy, which means that the kingdom of Jerusalem wont fall to Salauddin and his muslim army and after that its just a domino effect.

You tried to view your options here.

I stay here, marry Baldwin and fuck up the fabric of time and space because how can someone from the future marry someone from the past? Wouldnt I cease to exist?

I leave, return to my time where authorities arrest me for fucking around with time- that is, if I even exist in the future now that I've altered history. Who knows if my ancestors survived/were born after this?

No. Neither option is good. I need to stay here and fix this. But in a way that i dont draw too much attention to myself so that im so insignificant that nobody remembers, let alone writes about me in the history books.

You were drawn out of your thoughts with someone knocking on your door. "Come in." You said, straightening yourself.

A couple of servants walked in, all women. "Princess Y/n." They all courtesied. "We've been sent here by his majesty to prepare you for dinner with him."

Princess? Ah yes. Only a couple of hours ago, Baldwin had proposed to you, I guess the concept of asking wasnt a thing here as he just slipped on the big beautiful ring on your finger.

You narrowed your eyes at them. "First of all, Im not a princess. You will address me as Y/n only. And secondly, Im not going to join him for dinner, so there's no need to prepare me" The maids all shared a look of confusion before the head servant spoke.

"But we cant address you as anything else until you wed the king, after which you will be our queen, princess."

"Didnt I just tell you not to call me princess? Just call me Y/n!" The head maid shook her head. "Princess, we can not do that. If we do, then we would be punished. And we must prepare you for dinner with his majesty!" The maids moved ahead to start helping you but you raised a hand, halting them.

"I said, no." You said sternly.

"What... what will we tell the king, princess? He's expecting you-"

"Tell him i cant come because Im sic- no, Im not feeling well and Id like to be alone." You cant say "sick" in this era, because that means "death sentence" here and you dont want to be fretted over and bring attention to yourself as "the king's fiancee got SICK!". Besides, you do need to be away from Baldwin as much as possible and have some time to plot your moves.

-

You had pulled out your notebook and began writing out dates and historic events of this era to plan your escape. You're trying to find some sort of shortcut where Baldwin gets sick again and dies, leaving his kingdom in the hands of his sister and brother in law, who will bring its downfall-

Someone knocked on your door gently. "Princess?" You quickly hid your notebook. "Come in."

Baldwin walked inside and towards you, eyes worried as they scanned you up and down.

"I heard you're not feeling well?" He asked and before you had a chance to back away, he had cupped your cheeks in his hands tenderly. "What's wrong? Shall I fetch the royal physician?"

"No." You replied with your face smushed in his hands. "I'm fine." You pulled your face away his large hands.

Confusion spread through his blue orbs. "Then why did you not join me for dinner?" He asked, using a hand to push your hair over your ear, not taking the hint that you didn't want him touching you.

"I just-" what possible excuse could you come up with that would be both effective and not insulting enough to have your head chopped off. "you- you dont care about me."

Baldwin looked at you in bewilderment. "I dont... care about you? Princess, how can you say that?" He tried to cup your cheek again but you backed away before he could, putting on a face of hurt.

"How can I not? You dont care about what I want, or even ask me what I need?" You feingned pain in your voice, turning away from him for dramatic effect.

He grabbed your shoulders and turned you towards him, his pupils grew wide as if trying to search for what it is that you need. "My love, what do you want? Just say the word, and I'll give it to you."

You looked down, again for the theatrics, and Baldwin lifted your chin. "Go on."

"You never- never asked me to marry you."

"Huh? But I did today-"

"No, you stated it- demanded I marry you." You furrowed your brows and looked down again.

Baldwin smiled. Of course, how could he have not asked you? You were a girl after all, you want to be courted the traditional way. Its not your fault that you dont know that kings do not ask permission for things. They just get it, because who would refuse to marry a king?

He kissed your forehead, lifting your chin again to meet his eyes. "Im sorry, princess. I shouldve asked." He took your hands in his and had that charming smile again. "Will you marry me, Y/n?"

"No." You shook your head. "I... I cant marry you, your majesty." You said, adding tears into your eyes. His brows furrowed in concern.

"What? Why?" You tried pulling your hands away but he didnt let go, tightening his grip ever so slightly.

"I-" well, you could say that youre not catholic and the church would never let you two get married, but you also dont wanna be tortured for being a "heretic". Maybe religious differences could be the last plan. Taking your silence as hesitance, Baldwin spoke. "I can offer you everything and more. Jerusalem would be yours. What is it that I lack that anyone else could offer?"

"I am not a good match for you!" Ah yes, lets do the typical "its not you, its me." You bit your lip as you yanked your hands out of his and walked towards the window, your back to him (theatrics). "You and I are not equals- no we are nowhere close! Youre a king, your father was a king, your family is royalty. I come from nothing, as did my ancestors. There will never be stability in our marriage when we come from such different backgrounds!" You never thought that you would be putting yourself down and call yourself "inferior" to break up with a man.

Silence hung in the air, as you held your breath.

"Youre right." You heard him say behind you. "We are not equals, we never will be." For some reason, instead of being relieved, a chill ran down your spine. Baldwin wrapped his arms around you, resting his head on your shoulder. "I may be a king, but youre far superior to me. You're an angel, sent to me by God, and you saved me. I wouldnt be king anymore if you werent here, princess."

Warmth spread from your cheeks to the tip of your ears, both due to the close proximity and his words. Sensing your bashfulness, he chuckled, kissing your cheek as he turned you around to face him. You could hear your own heart beat at how close he was.

Baldwin tilted his head, half lidded eyes staring at you. "Youre everything and more that I could ask for, princess. Never put yourself down and compare yourself to me, hm?" He said, giving your arms a gentle squeeze before moving away, but not detaching himself completely as he took ahold of your hand and looked back at you.

"Now that this is settled, let us go eat. I've had the servants prepare a feast for us and then we can discuss wedding arrangements-" shit shit shit shit shit fuck it!

"I'm not catholic!" Baldwin halted at that. You've already said it, might as well dig yourself a deeper hole. You let the tears form in your eyes. "Im... Muslim. I didnt tell you because I didnt want you to think I was working for Salauddin and spying on you for him, you know I wasnt! I really did only want to know about you. Please believe me, I wasnt-"

"I believe you."

What? Just like that.

"You- you believe me?" You breathed a sigh of relief. "Thank you. Once again, Im sorry i didnt tell you I was a Muslim, but dont worry, I'll pack my things and leave tonight-"

"Why? We still have to get married."

You blinked slowly. "But... Im Muslim?"

Baldwin shrugged. "So? It doesnt change anything."

You looked at him in bafflement. "It does! It changes everything! We cant get married! Im a Muslim! The church wont allow interfaith marriages, and I dont intend on converting to catholicism either if thats what youre suggesting!"

"I am not suggesting that. You can be a muslim if you want to, but we're still getting married." Baldwin stated matter of factly.

"The church wont allow it-"

"The church will do as I say. I am the head of the church. Besides-" He smiled.

"I dont remember angels having to prove themselves to be a catholic. You saved my life, you cured my incurable disease. As far as the church is concerned, youre a miracle sent to me by God. Youre the Chosen One!"

Is he... is he hearing himself? Can you try to convince him?

"But... but Jerusalem deserves a Catholic Queen-" you tried weakly, but he cupped your cheek and smiled gently at you.

"I am Jerusalem, Y/n. And I deserve you." Was all he said before pecking your forehead.

He tugged you along with him. "Now, we have to eat."

You dont want to eat. You want to stay behind and think of another strategy because clearly you cant talk yourself out of this wedding.

"I'm- I'm not hungry." You said, making him frown.

"How is that possible? You havent had anything since morning. I dont want you getting sick before the wedding." Baldwin continued to pull you along.

Does he not listen?

"I dont want to eat- I- dont feel like it." You said a bit harshly this time, hoping he'd take the hint.

And he did, finally stopping. He sighed and let go of your hand. "Okay. I suppose if you really dont want to, we can skip dinner tonight." Fucking finally. "Its just... I seem to have developed a habit of enjoying meals with you. And now that my leprosy is cured and I have no more diet restrictions, I just- I had the kitchen prepare some of my favourite dishes that I was able to enjoy before my disease disabled me."

You stared at him. Is he- is he trying to guilt trip you? Baldwin once told you that due to leprosy he had ulcers in his mouth, and he couldnt eat different types of food, and was only able to have bland, soft goo.

You looked away from his big sad eyes. He's not getting to you. You need to go back to your room, make yourself scarce, be far away from him as often as possible.

"You can still go and eat dinner alone."

With one hand, he cupped your cheek. "Princess, you know I cant eat until you eat too. But its okay, if you dont want to eat, then I wont too. I guess I'll just have the servants finish the chicken roast and oh-! They even made strawberry cream cake for dessert. But- maybe another day."

You looked into his eyes, those blue orbs that were filled with sadness, resembling a kid who was just told "no candy!"

Sighing, you held his hand. "Maybe I can have a few bites."

His face lit up. Ah, he knew you'd come around. "Lets go!"

-

The next day, youre helped by the maids to get ready for the day. Apparently, Sibylla wanted to meet you and discuss some things, and you suspect she wants to talk about the wedding preprations.

The maids had prepared your bath and were very insistent on washing you themselves but you made them all leave the bath chambers. Finally, they compromised when you told them that they could dress you up if they wait outside.

Setting your old clothes on the bed, you entered the bathroom and settled into the warm water. The essential oils and flower petals soothed your mind and body, and you finally had some desperately needed silence to hear your own thoughts.

Last night at dinner, Baldwin was very- well, "happy" would be an understatement to how he felt near you. And all those forehead kisses and skin contact doesnt go unnoticed by you either. You suppose that since he had leprosy, he never really had or was allowed to touch anyone else. But now that hes cured, all thanks to your dumb ass, he craves the physical intimacy.

You closed your eyes as you sank deeper into the warm water. Gosh, did I really have to give him the water? Had I not done that, he would still be ridden with lepro-

Your eyes snapped open. Thats it. You just have to make sure he never drank your water in the first place! Yes! You can go back in time and sure, its always dangerous to go back in the same time period more than once, but you really dont have any other option now, do you?

After half an hour, you finally exited the bathroom and the maids practically ushered you to sit in the chair as they finally, FINALLY got to dress up the future queen of Jerusalem and after a whole hour, they're finally done. And... well you look good. Your hair has been done nicely, and a delicate golden headpiece, almost like a elegant hair band sits on top of your head. They added some color to your cheeks and lips with crushed berries. As for your clothes, they dressed you in a dark blue tunic with loose, flowing sleeves. The tunic itself was made of silk, probably brought in from the Byzantine empire and was only available to the upperclass of this time.

"I am not wearing those!" You said when they opened the jewellery boxes. There were diamonds and other precious stones adorning the earrings and necklaces.

"But princess, you must wear these. It is royal protocol for the king's bride to be, and the future queen to wear the royal jewels." The head maid said. She doesnt know that you dont plan on sticking around and if you leave wearing these jewels, who knows what havoc would that cause?

"No. I dont want to wear them."

The maids shared a look of concern. "What?" You asked them.

"Its just... his majesty picked these out for you himself. He would be mad at us if you were not wearing these." One of the younger servants spoke as she fumbled with her fingers. Through the mirror, you looked at everyone's worried expression. You doubt that someone as calm and collected as Baldwin would lose his marbles over his fiancee not wearing jewellery.

"I dont think the king would be mad at you if I dont wear some jewellery. He isnt one to get angry that easily, you know?" You said chuckling, but it died when you saw them share the same concerned looks again. This time, you turned away from the mirror to look at them directly. "What? Go on, no secrets."

Another maid mustered up the courage to mumble. "Well- it's just- the king- I mean- his majesty is calm but um-" she paused to look at the other maids for help but they all avoided eye contact. "Out with it." You said a bit sternly.

"His majesty... gets... emotional- yes, emotional! When it comes to matters concerning you."

"Emotional? What do you mean? Speak clearly, no word will get out of this room, I promise." You spoke all while glaring at the other maids to make them silently comply to not tattle on their friend.

The maid bit her lip. "His majesty... gets mad when he thinks that you're not being treated well." You gave her a look to continue. "A few weeks back, while you were strolling out in the garden, his majesty reprimanded some of his knights for not escorting you. He asked them why they weren't guarding you?"

A few weeks back? It may have made some sense for Baldwin to be protective of his bride to be, but you two weren't engaged until yesterday. And before that, his relationship with you was barely platonic, more like a king-servant thing.

"Tell her about the kitchen incident too." Another maid whispered.

"What kitchen incident?"

"Um, 2 months ago, when the kitchen had prepared a feast for his majesty, he almost fired the entire kitchen staff for serving olives with the entree." You gave them a quizzical look. "Well, his majesty had told them that you can't eat olives and had told them not to include it in the palace's food. But it was a feast to celebrate his victory and the staff thought it'd be best to add olives because the king likes them."

Your eyes widened at that. He almost fired the kitchen staff because you said you can't eat olives? I mean, it's not like you're deathly allergic, you just didn't like how tart they were and when Baldwin saw you picking them out on your plate, all you could manage to blurt out was that you can't eat them. Perhaps, he thought you had diet restrictions like him.

You huffed. That still didnt warrant such a reaction from him. "That isn't nice. Don't worry, I'll talk to him."

The maid looked at you in horror. "No! I mean, his majesty would not like that we- um..." she tried to come up with appropriate words that wouldn't be insulting. Her scrunched up face as she thought hard made you giggle.

"Fine, fine. I won't say anything to him. You have my word." You said, smiling at them assuringly.

The head maid then held out the pearl necklace to you. You sighed and nodded, and they all cheered as they started picking out the jewels for you.

Its okay. You told yourself. I can always drop them somewhere before time travelling.

-

As soon as you were dressed, one of Sibylla's lady-in-waiting came to fetch you. She hurried you, saying something along the lines of "you must see princess Sibylla right away!" And you couldn't stop her from pulling you along, so time travelling will have to wait.

"Princess Sibylla needs to see you right away, princess!" The maid said as she pulled you towards a room. Knocking on it, the door swung open and you were met with the sight of different gowns hanging on dummies with maids tending to them, and right in the center of the room was Sibylla, practically jumping on her heels.

"Y/n!" She yelled out as she ran towards you and engulfed you in a hug before her lady in waiting, the same one standing beside you, cleared her throat. It caught Sibylla's attention who gasped softly before backing away and immeadiately giving you a courtesy. "I mean, princess Y/n." You gave a nasty look to the lady in waiting before shaking your head at an embarrassed Sibylla. "You don't need to courtesy to me, princess Sibylla."

She immeadiately beamed. "Of course I do! You're not going to be just my sister in law, you're also going to be Queen of Jerusalem! Of course i bow to you."

Me, a queen? Yeah, we'll see about that.

"Still, I consider us friends before anything else." You offerer her a small smile. "You called for me?"

"Oh? Oh, yes!" She immeadiately grabbed your hand and pulled you further into the room. "I didn't know what colours and material you preferred, so I ordered them to bring everything with the best seamstresses in kingdom!" She pointed at the seamstresses, who bowed to you.

"But... I don't need clothes. I already have a wardrobe." Your statement made Sibylla laugh as did a few of her hand maidens.

"Ahh, you're so naive!" Sibylla giggled. "That wardrobe doesn't exist anymore. You're a princess, soon to be queen, you need a royal wardrobe!" She said as she dragged her hand over one of the gowns, feeling the material. "And! You still have to select your bridal gown!"

For the next 3 hours, Sibylla had the maids show you different gowns and materials, even helping by giving her input as to what would suit you.

"I still like my old clothes, they're quite comfortable." You sighed. Designing your new wardrobe was not something that needed your urgent attention at the moment. You need to return to your room and get the time machine from your old dress and leave this era.

Sibylla nods. "I understand what you're going through. I still remember how they burned away my entire wardrobe when I married Guy. But I suppose its poetic in a way. Since you're starting a new life, so why not start one by getting new clothes!"

Wait.

"They burnt all your old clothes?" Sibylla nods. "Mmhmm! In a way, you're burning away your past! And starting a new-" You didn't stick around as you immeadiately rushed out of the room and made your way towards your own.

You can't- your old clothes has your time machine. If they burn it, you can't ever leave!

You burst into your room, looking at the empty spot on your bed where you'd left your clothes before going in the bath.

"No." The maids, they must've put it in your closet. You searched it, searched your entire room but to no avail.

A maid walked into your room, watching you tear apart the bedroom. "P-princess? May I help-"

"Where are my clothes?!" You walked upto her, the poor maid's fright apparently on her face. "WHERE ARE MY CLOTHES!?"

"They- they're burning it-"

"WHERE?!"

"The gardens!"

You ran out of your room, and made your way towards the royal gardens as fast as you could, but with how huge this palace was, getting there took a while. Not to mention when you did get to the gardens, you didn't spot anyone there, but you did notice the smell of something burning, which lead you to the back of the gardens, that was away from everyone's sight.

There you found them, two maids burning your clothes in a small bonfire.

"PUT IT OUT!" You yelled as you rushed towards them, startling them.

"Princess-" they began bowing.

"Didn't you hear me? PUT THE FIRE OUT!" They scrambled about trying to find some water, but of course, they didn't have it.

"I'll get it from the fountain!" The two maids ran to get a bucket of water for you, but it would be too late by the time they came. So when you spotted your old dress burning, you pulled it out with bare hands, not caring about burning yourself.

The dress was mostly burnt to ashes, while only few bits remained that were still on fire. You managed to wrangle out your time machine out of it, the small metal box that was burning hot and left marks on your skin as you tried to hold it.

But even from here, you could see the damage was done. The area that displayed the year had now completely melted off, as did some of the buttons.

No. No. No. No. No. NO!

You couldn't help but cry as reality began to set in. You're stuck here.... you're stuck here forever.

Heart wrenching sobs wracked your body as you tried to hold the hot metal machine in your hands, your skin burning as you tried. Even when the servants came and poured the water on the fire, you still kept on crying, clutching your machine to your chest, partly to conceal it, partly from helplessness.

The maids looked at each in worry as they tried to console you, tried to pacify you, lest you had them executed. But it didn't matter, you were inconsolable. While one of the maids sat by your side, trying to soothe you, the other one ran in to get help.

Moments later, when you were able to hide the machine in your clothes again, someone came up and touched your shoulder from behind.

"Y/n?" You looked up through your tears. It was Baldwin. For some reason, seeing him only made you cry harder as you finally realised that you were stuck here with him. That you fucked up permanently.

"Oh princess. What's wrong? Don't cry- shhh, I'm here." He pulled your body towards him, letting you sob into his chest heartbreakingly. Exhaustion, frustration and shock must have overtook your body, as you fainted in his arms.

"Princess? Y/n?" He tried waking you up before collecting you in his arms and rushing back into the castle.

-

Hours later, you woke up to find yourself back in your room, lying in your bed. Your eyes looked down at your hands which were now wrapped in bandages. They only served as a reminder of what youd lost- your time machine.

Tears welled up in your eyes again. Am I- am I really stuck here? You sniffled.

A hand came up to caress your cheek, startling you.

It was Baldwin. "Princess? Do you want to tell me what happened?" His soft tone made you even more sad, and you raised your bandaged hands to wipe your tears, but he caught your wrists and lowered them back gently, using his own hands to wipe away the tears.

"No, you cant use your hands for sometime. The burns need to heal." His hand remained on your cheek, thumb caressing the area under your eye. "What happened, Y/n? Why were you so upset?"

You cant avoid the topic for long, and now that your way of escape is gone, you need to be careful of what you say and how you act around the king.

You let out a shaky breath. "They... they burned my clothes."

"Mmhm. Dont worry, I will have them bring in the fanciest clothes for you. Sibylla will make sure of it. Only the best for my princess." You shook your head. "Its not- its not that... They were my clothes... they burned away-"

"I know... but its a tradition. The maids burn away the bride-to-be's old clothes to signify that youre detaching yourself from the past and starting a new life." He explained, watching as you sniffled. Clearly, you were still upset over this.

"But the maids, they still should've informed you of this tradition before doing anything. I know how emotional of a transition this could be for girls." You nodded sadly, heart still sinking at the loss of your machine. "Dont worry though, they will be punished harshly for it. I have them in the dungeons tonight, and tomorrow-"

"What? Punished? No!" You cut him off. You dont want anyone to die because of you, especially when you dont know if anyone these people could potentially be an ancestor of yours.

"But they caused you harm. You burned yourself due to their-"

"No, no. Please, don't punish anyone- I- it was my fault for not knowing about royal traditions! Please, your Majesty, I beg you- don't do this- i- i-" You pleaded.

"Shhh, okay. Okay. I won't punish them for it." He patted your hair. "On one condition."

You looked at him in confusion.

"You call me Baldwin from now on." He grinned. "We are to be husband and wife soon, I don't want us to use royal titles with each other."

Your eyes widened. Is he- is he really giving up titles? You're not that blind to see his attempts at intimacy, but what you don't understand is why or even how you came to be on the receiving end of it.

What exactly is it about you that has made him want to marry you? Surely, Baldwin would've preferred to marry someone of this era, someone who is more compatible with him. Despite you trying to blend in the past months, you allowed Baldwin to see how you're not... as Conservative as most people of this time period are. One could say that he may be impressed by how intelligent you are than others, but it also brings up the factor of being "threatened" or "insulted" by the same intelligence.

Even though you consider beauty to be a "subjective" thing, the whole "beauty is in the eye of the beholder", you're not blind to how attractive others are. So why not them?

Did he only like you because you're intriguing? Does he still think you're a spy? Keep your friends close, and your enemies closer?

Probably. Or maybe he really does believe all that mumbo jumbo about you being "an angel sent to save him."

"As you wish... Baldwin."

-

Last night, after Baldwin had left you to rest, you stayed up and tried to figure out if you can fix your time machine, and if not, then can you built another one?

Fucking hell. You closed your eyes. I made it once, I can build it again. But it's easier said than done.

Back in the present, you had the technology to build it. Now? You have to first make the technology and the tools from scratch before you could even get on making your time machine, all while keeping your science project discrete, which was easier before because you weren't going to be married to a fucking King!

Right now, you're sitting in Baldwin's private dining room (yes, there are more than one dining room. He's royalty, what did you expect) having breakfast- well, being fed breakfast.

"You really don't need to do this." You said as Baldwin fed you another spoonful. He smiled as he wiped your lips with a napkin. "I don't need to, I want to. Besides, I don't want my princess starving."

Involuntary, your face flushed. "I- the maids could've fed me. And im not a princess." He frowned slightly. "Why would you- open wide, princess- why would you want the maids to feed you when you have me?" He pushed the spoon to your face as you parted your lips, but then he pulled it away and brought his face close to yours. "Do I make you nervous?"

You backed away immediately. "I- no- I mean-"

He burst out laughing. "I'm- I'm sorry princess, but you are just too endearing!" Baldwin chuckled as he grabbed the spoon again and fed you.

Your cheeks reddened, this time more out anger than embarrassment. "I don't want to eat anymore." You muttered, turning your face away.

He smiled as he brought the spoon to your lips again. "Ah ah, but you still haven't had enough." However, you rejected again, looking away instead of replying.

He sighed, placing the spoon back on the plate. "I'm sorry, princess. I shouldn't have laughed at you."

"You shouldn't have." You mumbled, face still turned away from him.

His lips quirked up a bit. "You know, for someone who insists that she's not a princess-" He turned your face to him gently. "- you sure have all the blandishment of one."

"Blandishment?"

"Flattering actions of a princess." He nodded.

You frowned. "Are you calling me a spoiled princess? A brat?"

"I would never!" Baldwin gasped. "I enjoy you acting like royalty, demanding respect and attention. You deserve it and more. Besides-" He picked up some food on the spoon again and brought it to your lips. "Even if if you were a spoiled, bratty princess, I wouldn't mind. I would enjoy spoiling you, hm?" He nudged the spoon to your lips softly.

You parted your lips, making him smile. It really is hard to stay mad at him when he looks at you with his baby blue eyes. They just- they draw you in.

"Also, before I forget, I will be leaving the castle today to meet Salauddin. So you can either hand out with Sibylla, who still wants to help you design your wedding gown, or your can-"

Salauddin? "Why are you meeting Salauddin? Isn't he your enemy?"

He chuckled. "Only on the battlefield. He and I have developed a friendship, or a mutual respect over the years. As to why I'm going to meet him, is... well, you."

"Me?" He nodded. "Since you told me that you're a Muslim, I thought that we could perhaps have a discreet Islamic wedding- what is it called? Nikkah? So, I could go and learn more about it from Salauddin."

You opened your mouth to protest. You don't need to be part of history as the "king of Jerusalem's Muslim wife" or "the Muslim-Christian wedding that took place during the Crusades", even if it might make the world more progressive.

But then, you didn't protest. "Can I come?"

Baldwin raised a brow at you. "You want to meet Salauddin?" You shook you're head. "Well, no, not really. I mean, I don't mind meeting him, but I just want to get out of the castle for a bit. It's been months since i left this place, I just want to get some fresh air." This could be the perfect opportunity for you, because if memory serves you right, Muslims of this era had made significant advances in science. Maybe you can use their help to get some tools to make the time machine again.

Baldwin looked unsure. "I don't know if it would be safe for you-" you held his hand with your bandaged ones. "Please, Baldwin? Can't you take me with you? And wouldn't I be the most safe when I'm with you?" Ah yes, stroke the male ego.

Finally, he smiled.

"Alright. I supposed it would be fine, after all, you should see the kingdom you're going to be the queen of."

Thoughts? (Also, I need to go shower rn, so I'll put the read more later. Doing so much effort for u guys, my spoiled greedy children)

Part 3 is here.

[glowettee]

how to recover from chronic procrastination (not just time management tips)

by mindy @glowettee

i wanted to talk about healing your relationship with time and tasks when you're stuck in a deep procrastination cycle. i've been in this cycle for a month now, and just recently got out of it using all of these methods. please just remember to be gentle to yourself, and take small steps.

understanding your procrastination:

identifying emotional triggers: notice what feelings come up right before you avoid tasks. is it fear? overwhelm? sometimes it's as subtle as a tiny flutter of anxiety

recognizing avoidance patterns: maybe you always clean your room when essays are due, or suddenly need to reorganize your pinterest boards before studying

spotting perfectionism links: notice when you're not starting because you're afraid it won't be perfect. this often shows up as "i'll start when i feel more prepared"

understanding fear responses: your body might feel heavy, or you might get suddenly sleepy when facing certain tasks. these are actually fear responses in disguise

mapping procrastination cycles: track how one avoided task creates a domino effect of more procrastination. it's usually a sweet little pattern we can gently break

emotional recovery steps:

healing task-related anxiety: create tiny, sweet rituals that make tasks feel safe. maybe light a candle before starting or use your prettiest pen

building self-trust again: start with promises so small they feel silly. like "i'll work for just two minutes" and actually stop after two minutes

developing completion confidence: collect evidence of times you've finished things, even tiny things like making your bed or sending a text

managing overwhelm spirals: catch yourself before the "i have so much to do" spiral starts. write everything down in your prettiest handwriting

creating safety in starting: make beginning feel cozy. wrap yourself in a soft blanket, make tea, create a gentle environment for work

rebuilding work capacity:

micro-task training: start with tasks so tiny they feel almost meaningless. maybe just open your laptop or take out one book

starting-point exercises: practice just beginning things without the pressure to finish. it's like dipping your toes in a pool

momentum building: string tiny tasks together like beads on a necklace. each small completion leads to another

success spirals: document every tiny win in a pretty journal. watching the pages fill creates its own kind of motivation

confidence restoration: celebrate completing even the smallest tasks. treat each one like a tiny victory worth noting

practical healing methods:

task relationship repair: make peace with tasks that scare you. talk to them like old friends you're getting to know again

emotional safety nets: create comfort zones within your work space. maybe a special corner with fairy lights and soft pillows

anxiety soothing techniques: develop gentle ways to calm your nervous system. perhaps counting flower petals or tracing patterns

overwhelm prevention: break everything down into pieces so small they feel almost silly. like "open notebook" as a complete task

progress preservation: keep a soft, gentle record of all your tiny steps forward. no progress is too small to celebrate

creating new patterns:

gentle accountability: find ways to be accountable that don't feel punishing. maybe share your tiny goals with a friend

achievement recognition: notice and celebrate every small completion, even just getting out your materials

progress celebration: create sweet little rewards for progress. maybe a favorite song or a moment with your comfort book

pattern interruption: catch old patterns with gentleness. "oh, there's my pinterest avoidance. how sweet of me to try to protect myself"

identity rebuilding: slowly start seeing yourself as someone who can start and finish things, one tiny step at a time

maintaining recovery:

preventing relapse: notice early warning signs with kindness. catch yourself before the avoidance cycle starts

managing setbacks: treat setbacks like gentle reminders to return to your healing practices

building resilience: each time you start again, you're building stronger foundations

sustaining progress: keep your momentum gentle and sustainable

adapting strategies: adjust your approaches with tenderness as you learn what works best for you

remember: recovering from chronic procrastination is about healing, not just forcing yourself to work.

tip: small wins create the foundation for bigger changes 🤍

p.s. you're not lazy, you're healing from task trauma.

[mooishbeam]

『♡』 Extra Credit

♡ featuring: gojo & geto x f!reader

♡ summary: class is getting too hard for you, so you seek help. unfortunately, the help you receive is not what you expected. wc: 2.8k+

♡ cw/tw: manipulation, praise, light degradation, throat-fucking, edging, threesome, spit roasting, rough sex, pretty mean gojo, cum play

notes: helloo! a slightly shorter one this time. hope u like :) my first jjk fic!! art by _3aem on twitter <3

You twiddle your sparkly pen with your fingers and eye the blank page. Chemistry-201 started an hour ago, and you’ve got nothing to show for it. Truthfully, you were exhausted thinking about having to attend. College was easy for the most part, even calculus. You couldn’t tell anyone the reality behind your performance block in this specific class. The excuse your friends heard was, “The slides are hard to read.” They were hard to read, but they’d probably be clearer if you actually looked at them. What you did like to look at, were the boys who sat two rows in front of you in lecture hall. The one with frosty hair would whisper through the entirety of class, while the quiet one diligently wrote down organized notes. That’s how you picked up their names: 

“Quiet, Gojo.” he snapped, tapping the paper with his pencil as if Gojo would catch the hint. He smiled and poked his temple. “Chill Geto, the best doesn’t need to study.”  

Geto sighs and waves his hand. “Not everything is about you.”  

“Why not?” 

Geto and Gojo you thought. Their names were sweet on your tongue. You squeezed your thighs together, imagining how their names would sound on your lips. On rare occasions, Geto would face your direction. Even though it wasn’t for you, it felt special, like you were the only person in the room. You wanted someone as hardworking and kind as him to notice you. Sometimes you’d catch yourself sketching the back of his head, promptly shredding the page after the bell. What started to unnerve you was Gojo, who was always aware of your shy glances even when his back was turned. His crystalline azure eyes bore into yours and you’d fumble for anything to look at. Even when you daydreamed dirty scenarios, he reads your mind. It made you feel guilty. When your professor dismissed you, you’d scattered up the steps, bag already packed. This strategy was efficient until the day you dropped your book walking out of class. Pale slender hands grabbed it before you could reach it. “Ah! Thank you-” You met eyes with Gojo, smiling above you like reborn divinity. You almost felt the urge to bow. “Gotta be careful, yeah? This shit's expensive.” You nodded another thank you and took the book, hasting away so he couldn’t see your flustered face.  

All these minor incidents accumulated into the major issue currently surfacing; you are on the cusp of failing. Your parents readily applauded the other classes, perfect A’s. Just visualizing the scenario where you show them a D sends you into grief. You vow to change this outcome today. Your final exam is in a month and a half, enough space to master important subjects. No distractions, no Geto and Gojo. You meet with student resources after Chemistry to inquire about your study options and settle on weekly tutoring. You’re determined and prepared to give your all for this exam. 

Next week arrives and you're full of vigor. You try your best to rationalize each problem, no matter how wrong you are; and you were very wrong, frequently. You’re mentally apologizing in advance to your tutor. You see Geto and Gojo quietly bickering. Gojo has long pretty eyelashes, and you can’t stop glancing at them. They swiftly point to you. Nothing unusual, until—for the first time—Geto turns to you. His eyes are fixated solely on you. You're startled and knock over your water bottle, pouring it all over your notebook. A domino effect ensues. The valuable notes you took smear from the liquid, and it drips from the table onto your mini skirt. You stand to dodge it but your open bag tips over and out the chair, spilling the contents all over the floor. The room is silent, and everyone in your vicinity is staring. Time stops as you gather your stuff and leave the hall to dry yourself. You’re in the bathroom now, dying from embarrassment as your brain recalls the moment repeatedly. The sly smirk on Gojo’s face. I have to get over this you thought. Your session is in an hour, and you don’t want to waste crucial experience. Surely it can’t get worse than this. 

You show up five minutes early and patiently wait for their arrival. Fortunately, you’re afforded a closed off workspace with the tutor. You draw dainty flowers in your book until the door creaks open. To your surprise, you see tidy black hair and chiseled features.  It’s Geto. Your personal tutor is Geto. The stars must’ve aligned to dispatch one horrific cataclysm. You contemplate what you could’ve done to the gods for them to punish you so harshly. He pretends that he’s never seen you. “(Y/N), right? My name is Geto, I’ll be tutoring you for the rest of the semester.” His professionalism makes you breathe easier, and you’re relieved, content with maintaining this attitude. Together you set up your notes and the first 15 minutes go without a hitch, simply reviewing the topics you grapple with.  

“A lot of these are early concepts. They’re used in basically every class. Forgive me if this offends you, but how do you not know these?” 

“Ah, I get a bit distracted.” 

“By what?” 

“Oh… um.” You shift your thighs back and forth, pondering a justifiable answer, oblivious to the way Geto ogles them. "I just have a hard time focusing.” 

He scans your tight fitted shirt, then your lips. “I see.” Suddenly, the door swings open. Bright orbs piercing you, capturing you. You drop your head, hoping he won’t recognize you from the scalp. 

“Yo Geto, look at this game I- oops.” 

“How many times do I have to tell you not to barge in while I’m tutoring?” 

“Haha, sorry ‘bout that…wait, I know you!” He exclaims. Gojo snatches a chair and sits so you’re sandwiched between them. Intently skimming the textbook as if you didn’t hear him, he grabs your cheeks and twists you to him. 

“You’re the girl that wet herself today, right?” He laughs. 

“C’mon, she's dealt with enough already.” Your wishful thinking fell on deaf ears; they clearly didn’t forget that easily. 

“Heh, it’s too funny though. Geto, I told you about her remember? She’s always looking at us in class.” he teases. You felt a shiver go up your spine and your face get hotter. “That isn’t-” 

“Shh” Gojo interrupts you. “Tell me, are we more handsome now that you have a closer look?” Your heart drops to your stomach and you stumble over your words. 

“I-I’m sorry, I don’t mean to look. If I made you uncomfortable, I’m deeply sorry.” 

“Nah, it’s cool. I like the shy type.” 

“I think I should go.” You try to rise, but Geto pulls you from your skirt. If they wanted you, they would have you. "I didn’t permit you to leave. Sit. We'll continue.” 

“I don’t know if I should-” 

“Are you disrespecting the time I’m putting in to ensure you end with a decent grade?” he questioned. You went meek, reconsidering the effort you’d be wasting, and how badly you wanted Geto to acknowledge that effort.  

“No. I’ll do it.” His smile is saccharine and alluring, masking the dark intentions pulling at his conscious. 

“Great. Next chapter.” 

You’re eight paragraphs in, a sheer glistening sweat on your legs. You can barely mouth the words. Gojo’s breath is painfully close to your ear, tickling it as he follows along the page, his thumb running under the hem of your thigh high socks. “You wore these for me, yeah?” he whispers. You clamp your thighs, and a scheming grin creeps up his face. Meanwhile Geto’s fingers are behind your neck, brushing it gently with his other hand steady on top of yours. The bare skin contact is disorienting, so much so that you hadn’t noticed you’ve read the same sentence for the past minutes. 

“(Y/N)?” You snap out of an affectionate trance. “Huh?” 

“Is something troubling you?” His nose is inches away from yours, taunting you. 

“Mm, no.” Your trembling voice exposes the truth. “You seem frustrated. Do you need help alleviating that frustration?” Such a straightforward question is nerve-wracking. You've only imagined this in your dreams, calling out both of their names. The scandal that unfolds if people find out would be reputation-shattering for you. But desire burning in your dampening core blanketed those worries. “I don’t know what to say.”  

“(Y/N), when someone offers you something, you should accept it and say thank you” Gojo adds. His hand slides deeper in your socks, groping the plush fat. 

“Do you want it, yes or no?” The decision tosses in your mind. Until you finally manage a soft-spoken “yes.” Instantly, the air in the room switches, their gaze encapsulating you like prey. You feel smaller.  

“This won’t be easy, though. I’m teaching you concentration. If you get through this quiz with us touching you, I’ll reward you. Understand?” Geto says. You nod at him like a lost puppy, ready to please him. 

The quiz starts with ten entry-level questions. You get to work, and they get to devour you. Gojo parts your legs, salivating from the strings of slick sticking to your underwear and inner thighs. He litters kisses and lustful bruises along your neck, his hands trailing to your chest. Geto’s hands hike your skirt up and move to your underwear, circling the erect nub through the fabric. You’re on question three and can hardly achieve a scribble. He pulls your panties to the side and spreads your folds, toying with the mess. You have a loose hold on his shirt that tightens whenever he presses on the bundle of nerves. His fingers are skillful, knowing the right buttons to push to coax whimpers out of you. Meanwhile, Gojo tugs your shirt up, exposing your nipples to the cool air. He flicks one with his tongue, then envelopes your breast in his warm wet mouth. He sucks and bites the bud, tasting it and fondling the other. He moans, light pops as he comes up, gazing into you for approval. The walls are thin, you can’t get caught, but you need them deeper. They make you fall apart just to punish you, a sharp sting from Geto’s palm directly on your clit.  

“If you can’t keep your voice down, I’m gonna stop. Are you sure you can handle it?” Geto teases. He definitely isn't stopping, but your panicked, yearning expression made his cock twitch. 

“Yes! I’m sorry, I can be quiet.” 

“I don’t know, you seem to be struggling. You wanna make me proud, right?” You nodded frantically. 

He places a gentle, almost manipulative kiss on your lips. “Good girl. Then you’ll take everything I give you.” His digits glide vertically on your vulva until they slip inside, scissoring and massaging your g-spot. You somehow make it to question 6, but your mushy thoughts aren’t sure if they can recover from the rhythmic pumping and juices running down his knuckles. Gojo releases you for air, bite indentations dotting your mounds. “Geto. Switch?”  

“Okay.” He says and begrudgingly drags his fingers out. You whine from the emptiness, but Gojo quickly replaces him. He gets under the table on his knees and forces your legs wider, appreciating the upcoming feast. His pink muscle licks a long harsh strip against you. The new sensation makes your back arch, and your hand cards through his hair.  

“Too sensitive? Aww.” He moves roughly, slurping and lapping up everything he can get his mouth on. His grasp is tight, even with all your strength pushing him off is a challenge. Question nine passed, still shaking and stuttering. Geto pinches and twist your nipples but showers the pain with loving kisses. He pecks the back of your neck. You’re so close you start to involuntarily buck your hips. Gojo stops immediately, grinning at your frustrated cries, your essence covering his jaw and chin. “Don’t come yet, wanna feel you.” 

“One more question, baby.” Geto says, caressing the swollen marks. You put your heart into finishing the last problem, an unintelligible number for your response. You can’t decipher the words; all you want is Geto’s praise. He takes the pencil out of your hand and counts the correct solutions. 

“8 out of 10. I’m so proud of you, angel.” None of your answers were right. But he relished how effortless it was to make you happy, how much you starved for his attention. He searched to lock you away where no one could find you. You’re beaming nevertheless, smothered by his kindness. 

“C’mere. Taste yourself.” Gojo husks before French kissing you, tongues intertwined. He moans into your mouth. “Want your reward now?”  

“Please” you rasped, and he picks you up, pressing your stomach flat on the desk. Geto wraps around in front of you. He pulls his throbbing cock out and lifts your chin, propping it on your lips. “Open.” he coos. You loll your tongue out, looking up at him expectingly. He smiles and drives his length into you until your nose is flush with his pubes. His cockhead is deep in your throat, it burns, but you’re the center of his world in this moment and it makes it worth the ache. You worship it, savor him. Hollowing out your cheeks, you start bobbing your head. You drool on his balls, gently sucking them and tracing his veins with your tongue. His moans are breathy and deep, hand firm on the back of your head to prevent you from bailing. He denies your pleas for air.  

Gojo taps his leaking tip against your clit a few times and slides himself in, whimpering from the soaking grip molding to his shaft. “A-ah, so tight.” he choked. His balls collide with your ass, and your orgasm hits hard. You tremble, eyes rolling to the back of your skull as you try to ride it out. But Gojo doesn’t let you and jerks your arms behind you with one hand. He pounds deep and fast, noisy plaps and squelching fervor pushing your limits; at the same time, Geto is face-fucking you. You were sure students heard the commotion by now. The men ravaging you sent a trail of fire crawling up your body. Tears smear on your face, gagging spit drips from your bottom lip, a mixture of fluids soak your socks, but your fuzzy senses can only drown in their pleasure. The spring coiling in your body is quick. Gojo’s tip kisses your g-spot perfectly and you embrace him. “Hey, you on the pill?” he asks. You're about to answer but he shoves your head down to Geto’s hilt. “Never mind, I don’t care.” 

Geto’s movements quicken. Your disheveled face sends him over the edge. He blesses you with his creamy hot gift, spurting inside your gullet, accompanied by guttural sighs. “Swallow all of it.” You struggle but slowly get it down. You polish off the rest of his twitching length in revere and open your mouth for proof. “That’s my good girl.” He pats your head, and you lean into the warmth. Waiting for his confirmation. 

“You wanna come? I’ll let you come, baby.” 

“Don’t you fucking dare, you do it when I tell you to.” Gojo snaps. Tears prickled your lashes from overstimulation. Your whimpers stream out the room and he laughs through breathy whines. “Little pervert. You want people to hear you getting railed?”  

“It's t’much! Gojo I can’t-” 

Geto cradles your jaw. “(Y/N). Ask him for permission.” He is suddenly stern, and you obey him. 

“Please lemme come!” you babble. His concern is clouded with sin. 

“Yeah? Beg for it.” An orchestra of please’s sing, and you mean it, but Gojo didn’t care. He’d much rather watch your rippling ass and melting figure. Each thrust has you incoherent, and you plead more, enough to satisfy his smug demeanor. 

“That’s better. Now come for me, all over my cock.” His command splinters, and your gushy walls convulse to form a white ring around the base. Gojo’s strokes get desperate as he approaches his release from your slippery heat. He pulls out and holds you in place, a few pumps before he shoots ropes across your ass and paints your vulva. “Yeah- you’re so fucking good.” he moans, mumbling and quivering through his orgasm. 

They get dressed while you lie on the desk. You’re breathless and trembling, but they’re focused on cleaning themselves up. Gojo gets eye level with you. 

“If you tell anyone, you know I’ll ruin your life, right? Keep it hush.” You can’t speak. He grabs your panties off the floor and pockets them. “These are cute. Imma keep it.” Geto reties his hair and smiles at you. “See you later.”  

They abandon you, covered in come and items strewn across the table. You’re left to wonder what you’ve gotten yourself into. One thing was undeniable, however; you were really looking forward to next week. 

[ghostedgwen]

all by design | p.parker [part one]

notes : I am back to writing for peter parker of course because before anyone else - this blog was created originally for him, my originally muse - that somehow fits well into this fic lol - reqs are open <3

warnings : college au - no superpowers, no spider-man, dorky peter parker who's an introvert, reader is a mastermind pulling strings, cute working on project stuff - photography shit I pretend I know things about

You only signed up for photography to dodge a boring science class, but somehow ended up choosing Peter Parker as your muse — soft-spoken, brilliant, and criminally overlooked. He’s awkward, you’re accidentally obvious, and a late-night project might just turn into something a little more.

I laid the groundwork and then, just like clockwork, the dominoes cascaded in a line. . .

Peter Parker always sits in the third row.

Same grey hoodie. Same battered notebook, filled with stickers - so very random. Same cheap black coffee in a reusable Stark Expo travel mug that he never seems to finish.

You notice, of course. You notice everything about him - in a maybe not-so creepy way.

It’s hard not to, when you’ve been quietly, shamelessly harboring a thing - not a crush, you insist, because that feels juvenile - for him since week three of Intro to Photography.

Not that he talks much. He’s the type to melt into the corners of the classroom, to let others raise their hands and perform their answers like auditions. But he listens, scribbles tiny notes in that notebook of his, mouth quirking when something makes him laugh - a soft, rare thing that you’ve started cataloguing like your own private gallery.

Photography, for the record, wasn’t supposed to be your thing. You picked it to duck out of another semester of mandatory econ electives - something about composition sounded better than graphs. But then Peter Parker sat three rows ahead of you, quietly fascinating, and just like that: you had a muse.

Not that he knows. Of course he doesn’t. You’ve only submitted one piece with him in frame - his silhouette against a window, mid-laugh - and titled it “Unnoticed Light.” Langley gave it an A. Said it felt honest. You couldn’t exactly say "thanks, I’m secretly in love with the boy who never finishes his coffee.”

Most people overlook him - they don’t see past the hoodie, the fading bruise on his jaw from god-knows-what, or the way he keeps his head down when he walks. But you do. You see how he flinches at loud noises, how his fingers twitch like they’re always itching to fix something.

You see the careful, considerate way he offers to carry the overhead projector without being asked. You see how he lingers by the windows for better light when photographing portraits - how the shots he turns in are always somehow achingly human.

You wonder if anyone’s ever looked at him that way. You doubt it.

You do, though. From behind your camera lens. From across the quad. From the third seat to the left, where you’ve started sitting every Tuesday morning. Two rows back. Just close enough to hear when he mutters his answers under his breath.

You’ve spoken to him exactly three times. Once during critique week (“I liked your framing”), once at the vending machines (“They’re out of pretzels, by the way”), and once when your professor handed back graded papers and he’d gotten a B. You saw the way his shoulders slumped and told him, softly, “She grades hard. That’s basically an A in Langley-speak.”

He looked at you like he hadn’t expected kindness.

You remember that look too well. It's the reason you’re about to make this project pairing very conveniently work in your favour.

But that comes later.

For now, Peter Parker’s in the third row again, fiddling with the strap of his camera bag like it’s a nervous tic, and you’re trying very hard not to smile at nothing.

You overhear Langley mention the project pairings two weeks before she announces them.

She’s in the hallway, talking to one of the TAs - something about how she “might just let them pick their own partners this time. Less hassle.”

You’re not proud of what happens next. Scratch that - you’re exactly proud of what happens next. Because it’s not cheating if you’re just. . . influencing the environment. Like the weather. Or the Wi-Fi. Or even better - fate.

It starts with small things. Like moving your seat up one row so you’re just behind Peter now - not that anyone noticed as the seats in class were never fully occupied.

Laughing just a little louder at his dry jokes when the professor asks for class discussion.

The first time it happens, you’re not even subtle. Langley makes some sarcastic comment about how half the class probably doesn’t know what ISO stands for, and Peter mutters under his breath, “In Spite Of everything, I’m still here.”

You snort before you can stop yourself.

He glances back, startled, and you catch the flicker of a smile tugging at his mouth like he hadn’t expected anyone to hear. You almost neglect to note how perfectly matching his hair and eyes were, a rich shade of brown - might be worth something later.

“You get this stuff?” you ask him after class, tapping your camera. “Because I’m faking it at an award-winning level.”

Peter shrugs, bashful - hiding his surprise at your approach. “I mean, mostly I just mess around until it looks right. Which. . . I think is technically a method?”

“That’s what I’ve been doing, too,” you grin. “We’re either geniuses or complete frauds.”

He laughs - a low, surprised sound - and runs a hand through his curls like he’s trying to hide behind them. “Honestly? I’ll take either.”

You start leaving class at the same time he does. Linger a beat longer by the vending machines. Let your shoulder brush his once in a while when you lean over to look at a picture he’s editing on his laptop.

And okay - maybe you start timing your exits so you’re walking next to him through the quad. And maybe you offer him a gummy worm from the bag in your pocket one afternoon, and he acts like you handed him a priceless family heirloom.

“Wait - are these sour?” he says reverently.

“The best kind.” you give him a toothy grin.

He grins. “Okay, you’re officially the coolest person in this class. Sorry, Langley.”

When Langley finally announces partner selection, she lets people volunteer first.

Which is when you strike.

You wait exactly four beats after Peter glances around the room, clearly hesitant to make the first move.

You raise your hand, smile easy, and say, “Can I work with Peter?”

Langley nods, scribbles your names down. Peter looks up, slightly surprised, but doesn’t question it.

“Uh - yeah, cool,” he says, blinking behind his glasses. “That works. Definitely works.”

There’s a faint flush on his cheeks. You don’t know if it’s from attention or from you - you enjoy it anyways.

You don’t ask.

You just tuck the moment away like a lucky penny, warm in your pocket, and look forward to what comes next.

“So,” you say, casual as you can manage. “I was thinking. For the project. I want to photograph you.”

Peter blinks. Stares. “Me?”

You nod. “Yeah. You’d be perfect.”

He fumbles with the zipper on his backpack like it just forgot how to function. “Uh - I mean, I thought we were supposed to do something, like, theme-based?”

You lean back on your hands, legs folded on the library carpet, and look up at him with a little grin. “Exactly. And I think you’d be perfect for the concept I’m going for. It’s about presence. Softness. The way someone’s energy fills a space. I want to capture someone who doesn’t realize they’re being seen. Someone. . . quietly magnetic.”

Peter swallows.

“Magnetic?” he echoes, a little too cutely for your poor heart.

You nod again, and oh, you’re really laying it on now, aren’t you?

“Yeah,” you say, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “You have that face people want to look at. Even if they don’t realize it right away.”

Peter’s mouth opens like he wants to argue, but he just sort of… makes a noise. Halfway between a breath and a squeak.

You bite your lip to keep from laughing. It’s not mean-spirited - you’re just so fond. It’s hard not to let it show.

“And your eyes are insane,” you add, like you’re checking off a list. “They catch light like no one else’s in this class. You’ve got that kind of timeless thing going on - a little bit James Dean, a little bit boy-next-door.”

Peter is frozen. Absolutely shellshocked. Like he cannot compute being complimented this much in one sitting.

“. . .You’ve definitely thought about this,” he says eventually, voice a little hoarse.

You shrug, suddenly aware of your own heartbeat. “Maybe. A little.”

There’s a beat of silence.

Peter scratches the back of his neck, and for a terrifying second, you wonder if you’ve ruined everything - if you came on too strong, if the room has tilted a little too far in the direction of intentional.

But then he smiles.

It’s a tiny thing. Just the curve of his lips, shy and secret and so unbearably sweet - so Peter.

“Okay,” he says quietly. “If you’re sure you want to. I mean, I’m not very - photogenic. Or model-y. Or whatever.”

“You’re perfect,” you say before you can stop yourself - nevermind the fact you're still yet to confess the submission you previously made of him.

Peter flushes deeper. Looks at his hands. Smiles harder.

You pretend not to notice - you could almost get a degree for that.

You give him directions to your place later that night.

It’s a short walk from campus - tucked above a trendy cafe and across from a laundromat that always smells like jasmine detergent and cheap cologne.

Your aunt signed the lease for you before you even applied to uni, saying, “Every artist needs a sanctuary.” The space is way too nice for a student. Hardwood floors, big windows, blackout curtains, high ceilings with exposed beams. A dream for any art student, really.

Peter looks around when he arrives, clearly trying not to be impressed.

“This is yours?” he asks, dropping his camera bag by the door.

You nod. “Technically it’s my aunt’s. She travels a lot. But yeah. Mine for now.”

He raises an eyebrow. “You live here alone?”

“Yep.”

“That’s. . .” He spins in a slow circle, taking in the space. “Kind of incredible.”

You flash him a grin. “You’re welcome any time.”

He snorts. “My roommate would kill me if I tried to turn our dorm into a studio. He thinks personal space is sacred. Meanwhile, he clips his toenails without a care for where they end up.”

You laugh, motioning for him to sit. “Okay, yeah. You’re banned from trying this in your own place.”

He sits down on the little velvet couch, awkwardly tucks one leg under the other, and glances around like he’s waiting to be told what to do.

You set up the lighting as naturally as you can, trying not to show how giddy you are about this. About him, here, in your space, letting you see him like this.

When you look through the viewfinder and frame the shot - Peter in profile, warm lamplight brushing his cheekbones, sleeves pushed up to his forearms - you think, Yeah. This was always going to happen.

Even if he doesn’t know it yet.

“Okay,” you murmur, adjusting the tripod slightly. “Just relax. Don’t think about the camera. Think about. . . like, what you’d do if you were alone. Not sad alone. Normal alone. Like. . . chilling.”

Peter raises an eyebrow. “That’s incredibly specific and somehow still not helpful.”

You snort. “You’re doing fine. Just - don’t pose. Or, like . . . do. But make it look like you’re not posing.”

Peter gives you a look. “So. Be naturally unnatural.”

“Exactly.”

He huffs a laugh and leans back against the couch again, arms loosely crossed, head tilted like he’s considering something far off in the distance. It’s candid. Or close enough. His expression softens when he exhales, and you click the shutter without thinking.

“Better?” he asks, eyes flicking toward you.

You glance down at the preview on your camera screen and nod slowly. “That’s a good one. You’ve got a very - contemplative face.”

Peter mock-gasps. “So I do have a face worth photographing?”

“Oh my god, I’ve been saying that for weeks.” you say feigning shock.

He grins, and you snap another shot.

Then he shifts slightly, arms raised to run a hand through his hair - and the motion hikes his pullover up just a little, revealing a sliver of lean stomach, the faint outline of muscle.

You blink.

And, well.

You’re only human.

“Okay, wait,” you say, squinting as you lower the camera. “Why are you, like. . . secretly ripped under there?”

Peter freezes. “What?”

You gesture to him, accusatory. “You look like you code for twelve hours a day and live off granola bars and Red Bull, and then - bam! Surprise abs?”

He splutters, desperate to deny your words. “They’re not - abs. It’s just lighting.”

You tilt your head, smug to have caught him in such a predicament. “Is it?”

He covers his face with his hands. “You can’t just say stuff like that.”

You laugh, unapologetic. “I absolutely can. I’m the artist. I get to be pretentious and weirdly flirty. It’s in the rules.”

Peter peeks at you through his fingers, blushing like crazy. “Okay. But for the record, I am not ripped. I’m. . . jacketed.”

You blink. “What?”

He drops his hands, now grinning. “Like. . .I’m not shredded. I’m cozy. Secretly jacket.”

You laugh so loud it echoes a little off the brick wall.

“God, you’re stupid,” you say fondly - his nose crinkles at that.

“Thank you,” he replies, mock-solemn.

You take three more photos while he’s still laughing.

After that, it’s easy.

You trade the high-watt lights for the soft glow of a desk lamp. The vibe settles - less photoshoot, more afterglow. You both move through the space without talking, cleaning up wires and lenses, folding backdrops, checking batteries. It’s comfortable. Not quite domestic, but something adjacent to it. Something you don’t have a name for yet.

Peter hands you a lens cap without being asked. You unplug the extension cord and wrap it neatly over your arm. Somewhere outside, a car honks, and someone yells about fries.

You stretch your arms over your head, then glance at him over your shoulder.

“Wanna go get burgers?”

He pauses, halfway through packing his camera, and looks at you like you just offered him front-row tickets to a space launch.

“Like. . . now?”

You shrug. “Unless you’ve got somewhere better to be.”

He considers you for a beat too long. Then smiles. It’s a little crooked. A little shy. Unreasonably cute.

“Burgers sound perfect.”

It’s nearing 12:30 by the time you stumble into the diner - one of those charming, grease-stained spots that’s open 24/7 and never quite empty. The fluorescent sign outside flickers with effort, casting pink and blue across the sidewalk like a hazy, nostalgic film scene.

Peter holds the door for you, his camera bag slung over one shoulder, and the warm smell of frying oil and vanilla milkshake syrup hits instantly.

You both slide into a booth, you facing the window, Peter across from you, cheeks still pink from the cold night air.

The waitress doesn’t bother with a menu.

“Two burgers, two fries, two chocolate shakes?” she asks with a raised brow, pen poised.

Peter blinks. “Wait, how did you - ”

“You two look like the type,” she says flatly, then walks off without another word.

You grin, biting back a laughter in the case she takes it the wrong way. “She gets it.”

Peter gives you a mock-scandalized look. “Do we have a type?”

You lean back, stretching lazily in your seat. “Apparently we do. Chocolate-shake-at-midnight type.”

He smiles at that. “Not the worst reputation to have.”

By the time the food comes, you’ve already kicked your shoes off under the booth and Peter’s talking with his hands like he doesn’t realize he’s doing it. The diner’s mostly empty except for a guy asleep by the jukebox and a girl aggressively typing on her laptop in the corner.

The conversation shifts easily once you start asking questions. Like you’re in your own little bubble.

“What made you pick computer science?” you ask, tearing a fry in half, dipping it in your milkshake and eating it. He watched you in mild amusement.

Peter shrugs, sipping from the milkshake. “I’ve always liked puzzles. Logic. Building stuff from scratch. It’s. . . satisfying, I guess.”

You nod. “You seem like someone who enjoys solving things.”

He blushes a little, then grins. “Okay, my turn. Why photography? You’re too cool to be doing this just for credits.”

You laugh, throwing a half fry at him which he barely dodged with a chuckle. “Flatterer.”

Peter raises his milkshake in a silent toast.

You consider your answer. “Honestly? I started it because it got me out of a required science elective. But then it kind of… stuck. I don’t know. Something about freezing a moment - turning it into a story. I liked the control of it. The quiet.”

He looks at you like he understands. Like he really gets it - he studies you for a moment.

“That makes sense,” he says. “You take it seriously. You see stuff other people don’t.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Like what?”

He glances down at his fries, then up at you again, his voice quieter now. “Like me.”

You go still for a second.

But you’re not ready to crack open that door yet, so instead you lean in with a crooked smile and deflect like a pro.

“Back to the game, Parker. Favorite color?”

He laughs and says, “Blue. Like - not sky blue. Like hoodie blue.”

You blink, surprised. “That’s specific.”

He shrugs. “I know what I like.”

You twirl a fry between your fingers. “Okay. Favorite movie?”

Peter looks thoughtful. “I’m gonna say The Iron Giant. It makes me cry every single time and I’m not even sorry.”

Your heart clenches a little. Of course it does, it is so like him - ever the softboy.

You smile. “That’s a solid answer. Top tier sad-boy comfort flick.”

He grins. “Alright, your turn. Most irrational fear?”

You pause dramatically. “Birds.”

Peter blinks. “What?”

“They’re twitchy. Beady-eyed. I don’t trust a creature that can fly and still chooses to steal fries off the sidewalk.”

He’s laughing before you finish the sentence, full-body and warm. You sip your milkshake just to hide how proud you are of that laugh.

The questions keep coming, softer now, more personal.

Siblings? No - just you. Just Peter.

Favorite smell? His is old books. Yours is rain on pavement.

Do you believe in soulmates?

You both pause on that one.

Peter looks at you, eyes darker in the dim light, fingers stilling around his straw - chocolate milkshake all drained from the 50s diner style cup.

“I think. . .I used to,” he says. “Then I stopped. Then I started again. I don’t know. It’s complicated.”

You hum. “That’s fair. I think I believe in . . .finding someone who feels like home. Even if it’s not fate. Even if it’s a choice.”

He nods, like that sits right with him. “That’s a good answer.”

You smile. “I’ve got a lot of those.”

“I know.”

And he says it so soft, so genuine, that you forget how to chew for a second.

It’s past 2AM when you finally wander back out into the night, bellies full, fingertips salty, the streetlights casting halos around you.

“Thanks for tonight,” Peter says, voice warm.

You bump your shoulder against his. “Anytime.”

And you mean it.

You’re not in love. Not yet. But something about tonight feels like the first chapter of something that might be worth writing down.

to be continued. . .

part two | masterlist

[bkglovergirl]

♡𓂃Room 381

Bakugou X Reader

𓏲 ࣪The school tells the students the exciting news! now you gotta deal with the fact you have a new 'husband' who could care less about this whole situation.

Word count; 1.6k

𓏲 ࣪₊♡𓂃

The bell rings. There is tension in the air. Not because of a villain attack, no, there hasn't been one in days, but because all teachers have ordered all students back to the classrooms for an important discussion. No one knows what this is about and in this school, this could be anything. You pick up your bag and look around for any familiar faces hoping you can have a conversation about the situation, the lunch room is almost bare but you catch a familiar redhead and run up to him. “Hey Todoroki!” you smile at him giving him a small wave. He stops his movements and looks at you.

“Hi,” he says. It sounds very bland, you think, but what can you expect? Maybe he’s nervous as well.

“Can I walk with you to class? I’m nervous about this big discussion thing.” Todoroki starts walking but looks at you to continue the conversation so you take that as a yes and follow.

“What’s there to be nervous about?” you give him a face.

“What’s there? Are you for real asking me that right now?!” You turn to walk backward and face him. “I don’t know, let’s think. A Hero retires, A Hero has died, they are shutting down UA, a student has gone missing, the teachers are robots, and they want to recruit us!” It seems Todorokis's blank face has gotten even blanker.

“All those were completely reasonable until the last one. Do you always automatically think of the worst-case scenarios?”

“Well kinda but it’s not my fault.” you cross your arms, “you gotta think of the worse case scenarios when it comes to this line of work-!” you walking backwards didn’t notice how close you were getting to the classroom, which means you didn't notice the blond who was right near the door causing you to bump into him.

“Watch it bitch!” Bakugou pushes you away causing you to fall about into Todoroki. 

“Alright asshole I’m not a freaking domino! You didn't need to push me!” you yell back in defense moving away from Todoroki. All Bakugou can do is give a scowl and walk into the classroom. “I Know I said it but I’m gonna say it again. What an asshole.” Todoroki nods following you into the classroom. 

𓏲 ࣪₊♡𓂃

“Alright class I regret to inform you that the school board has decided that not only is it not enough we teach you hero skills we must now domesticate you. Following your continued hero work you will now be paired with someone who will be your fake married partner. You will have your dorms, each including bedrooms that only you can access with your thumbprint. You will be monitored with a sensor. If you can’t get along and you get no points or even worse, negative points you fail the semester. Which means no work study. No fighting.” Aizawa slips into his sleeping bag unusually quickly. The class is quiet for a moment before yelling commences. Questions are yelled and it isn't until Aizawas face looks annoyed it gets silent. The room is quiet enough you can hear other classrooms having the same reaction you all just had. You can’t help but think you were so far off in your assumptions and at this point you wish a hero was retiring. “I will answer questions but I am not talking over all of you.” Hands are quickly raised.

“What happens if you are paired up with someone insufferable?” Yaoyorozu asks, she’s bold but the majority of the class was thinking about it.

“To help encourage points if a pair can get over a 100 and have an overall ‘A’ Grade, you and your partner have the option to switch pairs with another group who is also in an overall ‘A’ Grade.” You and a couple of people sigh. It’s a relief.

“How does this Sensor work?” Midoriya asks, noting that he already has his notebook out on his desk.

“It looks like a camera, but it’s not. Created by some tech-savvy departments, it can sense and scan emotions and calculate to decide what points a pair shall receive. For example, if the pair gets into an argument, the machine with scan picks up what it needs to and calculates it into the point system. And more Mumbo jumbo.”

“So why exactly is this happening?” You ask.

“The school board wants to show what it’s like to balance the life you all hopefully will have when you graduate while still being a hero… there is more to it but that's neither here nor there. Pairings will be posted in a few. I need a nap.” And that's it. Aizawa closes his sleeping bag and the class is left with dreed until the pairings come out.

𓏲 ࣪₊♡𓂃

A knock is heard at the door and Aizawa slowly unzips his sleeping bag and answers the door, grabbing the paper and walking in front of the class. Everyone is quiet. Aizawa tapes the paper onto the board. “Some of you are paired with people in here and others are paired with others in other classes. I want absolutely no complaints. Next to your name is the room of your dorms.” As you would expect he goes back into his sleeping bag and the room is engulfed in chaos, everyone runs to the board, adrenaline running to see who they got. Gradually pairs start forming some cheers and some blushing tension. You get to the board and scan the paper. Down at the bottom in black ink ‘Y/N L/N and Katsuki Bakugou room 381’ 

“You gotta be fucking joking.” Of course, you two find your names at the same time. Why does he sound so disgusted, you're a fucking treat! You are about to remark him but before you can Aizawa comes out of his sleeping bag.

“It looks like you all found your names. Class is going to start now, so go back to your seats.” Are we just going to act like nothing just happened?! 

𓏲 ࣪₊♡𓂃

The class had ended, and the girls and you were walking to your new dorms with some of your things from your old dorms. You were quiet, way too quiet for someone to notice.

“Girl you okay?” Ochaco hugs your arm, “normally you are leading our conversations.”

“No, duh, she’s quiet! She's got Bakugou as her husband,” you say silently, wondering if Mina could be any louder.

“I’m gonna die. Or my eardrums are gonna die. Either way, something is dying!” You can’t help but complain.

“What’s the deal with you both anyway?” Kyoka questions, “Normally people can have at least one decent conversation with Bakugou, But I’ve never seen you guys even hold a simple conversation. He won’t even communicate in battle with you? And he communicates with Midoriya.”

“I honestly don’t even know.” Truth is you did know and it was an embarrassing story that no one can get out of you. You went to middle school with both Bakugou and Midoriya. Over time and God knows how this happened you gained a crush on him and decided it would be a brilliant idea to confess. When you did it was a total embarrassment not only did he laugh in your face and shut you down, but He told those punk friends of his and they made your middle school life an embarrassment. You swore since that day he was your enemy. Childish yes? But still partly true to this day.

𓏲 ࣪₊♡𓂃

You wave the girls goodbye and look at your new dorm you share with your new ‘Husband.’ You can’t help but think how ironic this is. You take a deep breath and enter the dorm. In the dorm is surprisingly a kitchen to your left and a small living room area in front with a door leading out to a balcony. Bakugou is sitting on the couch in the living room. It’s clear he’s already made himself comfortable with how he's sprawled out he is. You decided it’s just best to wait it out in your room and make yourself dinner once he goes to bed. You look and see two doors one with your name on it and another with Bakugou’s to the right of the living room area, you start walking over to your respective door.

“Don’t expect shit out of me.” 

“I never expect anything out of you.”

“EXCUSE ME?!” Bakugou stands up facing you, “Who do you think you are saying that?!”

“If you aren't gonna put in any effort I’m gonna say whatever I want to you assface!” You both hear a ding. You didn't notice it before but over the TV is a point counter. Negative one. Not even five minutes into the dorm and you have negative points. “Oh now look what you did!”

“I didn't do that!”

“Yeah, you did!”

“Not my fault I don’t wanna do this stupid ass simulation. I just wanna be a Hero. Number one hero at that. A family and wife-” he points at you, “is just a stupid distraction from that and I don’t need this.” you roll your eyes and walk into your room, “DON’T WALK AWAY FROM ME!” and you slam your door. You place your stuff down on your new bed and sit down putting your hands to your face. Your blushing?! Why the fuck are you blushing? Is it because he called you his wife? Which is stupid and just delusional, did you not hear what he said? A million thoughts are running through your head as you question yourself but nothing can deny the feelings in your stomach.

[oval3000]

Chapter 2

Yandere Teacher Nanami x Student Reader

Warning: Abuse, (force) smut. Abduction, violence, rough play, toxic behavior, age gap, everything from all above. Mainly from his point of view...somewhat... modern au- ish idk. College teacher x student.

Chapter 1

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

-------------------------------------------------------

All you can hear is the sound of smooth chalk, taping, and noises against the blackboard. Students type their notes on their computers, some on their notebooks, and a few more on their phones watching videos or going through the latest gossip of celebrities. Nanami talked through while scribbling down the formula of the financial topic they were learning. A few listened, so little didn't. You on the other hand, you were focused, more focused than all the other students. It felt like Nanami was only talking to you as if you were the only one in the classroom. Obviously, to you, it didn't feel that way, but to Nanami, it was. You were the one to actually raise their hand when Nanami asked a question wanting an answer from his students to see if they were even paying attention. Of course, you were paying attention, you answered his question and to his surprise, you got it right.

That is how it was for weeks. You would always show up to class on time. You will always pay attention to him. You would always answer his questions. If he wanted to, you would be the only one in the room. He wanted your attention. He would always stare at you when he was teaching as if you were his only student. You never noticed since your gaze would always be on the board. Call it a domino effect or a chain reaction, either way, your enthusiasm was a huge wave to some of his students. First, it was you now it was three more students who would raise their hands. Nanami should be happy about this. This is something that he complained about, hoping to change. Why is he disappointed? He should be thankful that his troublesome class is changing. So, why is he so...annoyed that other people are getting his attention? It should just be you. Right? Just you.

He would go home, grading their work, and not shocking yours would always be 100%. You were his perfect student.

The joy that he thought he would get for being a teacher finally sparked. He finally realized that this was his award for being the best intellect civilian. Working hard to get good grades. Working hard to be the best teacher he could be. He works hard to care for his students when they don't even care for themselves. This was his award for being good, he thought. You were never trouble for him. You never had him scold you for being on your phone. You were just perfect. For him, of course.

He always wondered if it was just the two of you. How would things go? Would he enjoy it? or would he be annoyed? Would he enjoy it if you leaned over his desk, showing your cleavage? or would he roll his eyes and treat you the same as the others? So many questions lead to one thing and then to the other. Different topics jumping and leaving left and right all about you. Just you. Would you freak out if he told all his curious questions that make him seem like a pervert? Would you like his cock inside your pussy? Would you like it if he covered your eyes with his tie just for him to do all kinds of things to you? He would teach you to love it. After all, you are his perfect little student.

Weeks with all his thoughts that are consuming him. Weeks of seeing you, sitting there, so perfectly, listening. Weeks of him falling so deep in love with you. Weeks of wanting more and more, not just you being a sweet student. More of you and him. He wants you to be him alone. How can he do that? How can he solve this question of his? How can he get you to see him alone so that he can get close to you and get a glimpse of your aura up close? He is the teacher. He does have some sort of power to make this happen. So why not take advantage of it? Is it not like he's doing something wrong? He's the teacher. His job is to lead these students to success. So can you blame him when the testing day arrives and he makes completely new test questions just for you. Questions that are advanced to what he had taught you. Questions that you would get 100% wrong. No, he didn't do anything wrong, in fact, he was challenging you, he realized that you would understand the subject easily so you can't blame him, he was making you better.

When you received the test, you were completely puzzled. You were confused and you didn't really understand all the questions that were in the test. You honestly thought that he gave you the wrong one. but who are you question a teacher. Nanami saw how you were not getting things. He saw the face you made while trying to answer each little question he gave you. He knew how to keep a composed face, but watching you struggle a bit made him smile. You didn't have high hopes for the results so when he handed you the test back with a big fat 0 on it, you weren't shocked. You flipped through the test and saw the bottom of the last page with the words "See me after class" in big red ink.

When the bell rang and all the students left, it was just you and him. You're shy, there is no doubt about that, and is not like you were intimidated by Mr. Nanami. Is just that he was a bit hard for you to read. Very strict with his job. Never made small talk or light jokes in class. Always right to business. You were quite nervous about what he was going to say. Were you the worst in his class? Did everybody else pass the hard test he gave out? You are so in the dark that you are tearing yourself down. He placed the copy of the test in his leather briefcase. You saw the way his muscles moved with small actions. The way his veins would pop a bit on his hands when he shoved papers in the case. The way his blond hair, slowly moved a bit of hair stands to his face. His glasses made it a bit hard for you to read his eyes, but you could tell that they were stoic like they always were. " Mr. Nanami." Man, he loved your voice, he could never get enough of it. He wanted to hear you more.

He moved his glasses closer to his eyes, moving them a bit up from the bridge of his nose, " You failed your test. How are you going to correct it miss (Y/N)?" He was always intrigued with philosophy, always having the usual Plato, Aristotle, and Socrates as the norm.

He walked closer to you, his broad chest getting near your face. His blue, dress, and shirt, barely hid his peck muscles. For a college teacher, he sure knows how to keep his body fit. "To correct my mistakes and learn from them, so that I can retake it and pass."

"Good girl. Lucky for you, I have afternoons free from 4:00pm to 5:00pm. Come by my office so I can show you what you miss. We'll do this until you understand." He gave you a small smirk, which caught you off guard, you had never seen him smile or show any other emotions. He gently caressed your right arm, pulling you a bit closer to him, you were nervous he might hear how loud your heart was beating. "Don't worry, I'll teach you until you get it right." Your smell alone was enough to turn him on. He could feel the hotness going down to his crotch feeling it a bit heavy. "That's all I need to say."

"Okay, I'll see you later. Bye, Mr. Nanami." You waved to him and left his class. Nanami went and shut the door. He sat down on his chair, unbuckling his pants. He dropped them to the floor, hearing the metal cling to the floors. He tugged his briefs to feel his cock harden even more. He slid his hands in and gave it a few light strokes, feeling the precum leaking out. He quickly pulled down his white briefs and felt his cock sprang out, slapping his lower stomach. When he had sexual relations with women, he never doubted himself when it came to performances. He didn't have to make so make movements to please a woman, just his cock itself can make a woman moan like crazy. He never heard any complaints from the women he would sleep with. They would always compliment on how big his cock was and how thick and girthy it is. He would see how women would struggle just to take him in their mouths. The tip of his cock was enough to make them climax.

He can't imagine how you might react. Would you freak out? Would you love it? Would you struggle to take him? Either way, he'll teach you to love it. His hands pumped harder with images of you floating in his mind. His grip kept getting tighter, feeling his precum coating his entire cock, some dripping down his balls. He felt his balls getting heavier, feeling them bounce from how hard and fast he pumped himself. A man like Nanami was never the type to be so perverted. To touch himself, he would just let it pass by taking a cold shower. When he would go to a bar and see a woman staring at him, seductively, he would take them to a hotel room. When he finished, he would put on his close and walk out, leaving the women there, naked. Whenever he would have these one-night stands, which don't happen often, he would never kiss them or talk to them. He would go in and get out when he finished. He never wants to complicate things whenever he does and it annoys him. Which is why he hardly has one-night stands. Nanami is just a simple man who does what he needs to live a normal life with no complications. However, things change.

You changed that for him. He never thought he would be the type of person who would jerk off to one of his students. Yet, he's there, jerking off. He felt his cum ready to squirt out. He knew he would make a mess, but he was so high of you that he didn't care, he wanted to cum and he did. He felt his thick, white, sperm coming out of the top of his penis. With big balls and a thick cock comes with a lot of thick, white, cum. He bit his lips to make him quiet. He felt his cheeks so hot that he was determined that they were flushed with red. His hair moved down almost covering his eyes. He quickly cleaned himself up knowing that he had class in a couple of minutes. He sighed at how things got a bit complicated for him. He knows that he will never get enough of you. He knows that you are on his mind all the time and nothing would change that. He knows that he will never get enough of you. You are driving him crazy. You are corrupting his mind and are starting to piss him off, but it's okay because he will always have a solution to solve his problems. A teacher is always prepared to teach and give lectures, so obviously he has this covered. It's child's play to not think things through. It's also child's play to just 'go with the flow'. If he does, then it will be chaos. He can't have chaos in his life. He just wants you, how hard can that be.

So is not actually crazy if he does a little planning. He's being responsible and solving all of his problems. He's doing the right thing, so it's not crazy that he bought a new house. He's not crazy to make a few 'renovations'. He's not crazy to smell you when he's close to you, pressing his body up against you while he's teaching you all the questions you got wrong. Don't get him started how hard you make him, so don't call him crazy when he has a boner while you're solving the question correctly. How hard he felt when you smiled at how proud you were for getting it correct. How he felt his hard boner almost ripping through his pants. Don't worry though, he makes sure that you don't see it yet. Is it crazy that when you leave, he felt his cum leaking out of his pants? For him, it's not. He's just solving his problems. He's being a good teacher to his good, perfect, student.

You are just so perfect.

For him.

You are perfect for him.

He finally found his light at the end of the tunnel.

He finally found his perfect wife. The perfect mother for his kids. He finally has it all that man dreams of.

Well, he needs to have you first, right?

He needs to make you his. Don't worry, you'll accept. You kinda don't have any other choice. Nanami already solved it for you, that's what a good man does. Solving the problems for his girl, is what they do, right?

eh, who cares he solved it so don't worry he'll teach you all about it soon enough.

@black-swan-blog27

@my-names-angel-but-im-not-one

[spidernuggets]

Hi hope you’re having a good/night can you do a Jason Todd x detective fem reader. She meets Jason , but she meets him when he’s red hood at a crime scene.

Jason Todd x FemDetective!Reader

"So you're the guy that's making my paperwork pile up higher than the Empire State Building."

"Christ, another one?" One of your coworkers said as the limp, dead body was zipped up into a body, and evidence collected and put away.

You shrug a shoulder, writing down in your notepad a list of suspects and witnesses involved in this new murder, which was also linked to other recent killings.

"Adam Matthews." You state the victim's name.

"Drug dealer?" Your coworker asks, looking at the substance that Matthews had on his person being bagged for evidence.

"Mm. He was a cook for a drug dealer who tested on homeless kids or orphans. But Matthews was also known for being an accessory for other murders, kidnappings, and was guilty for sexual assaults," you state, sighing, putting your notebook away.

Your coworker fell shocked. "How the fuck is he not locked up?!" He yells.

"Links with richies," you scoff. "Well, he's dead now. His long, overdue debt it now paid." You always believed these kinds of people never deserved a second chance. All the previous murder victims were similar to Adam Matthews. So, others may call you crazy, but you were thankful for this anonymous killer going out of their way, killing scumbags like Matthews.

"I'm going to scout around the area, Parks," you told your coworker as he nodded and went to discuss with the other officers around the area.

You shone your flashlight around the narrow alleys, searching for any clues or evidence you could use to help solve the crime and catch the murderer. Or in your eyes an anti-hero.

Just as you were about to turn around and return to the scene, you heard grunts and strings of profanity coming from behind one of the dumpsters.

Your hand hovered over your gun in your hip holster, walking towards the sounds.

You swiftly turned to see the source, hand on the handle of the gun, and saw a certain, outlawed vigilante leaning on the dumpster, holding his arm, his body stained with blood.

His helmet lay in between his legs, his domino mask remaining on his face.

"What the fu- Red Hood??" You exclaim.

"You mind?" He groans, holding his hand out, trying to avoid the flash shining in his eyes.

"Shit, sorry," you reoly, turning it off and placing it on your utility belt. Your head tilted to the side, seeing that Red Hood was struggling to wrap his arm up. "It's loose," you say, referring to the bandage- or rag that he was tying around his bicep.

"Wow, really? Didn't- fuck- didn't notice," he says, cursing once more when the bandage fell down.

You roll your eyes, crouching beside his and taking the bandage from his, unwrapping his arm and rewrapping it tighter as it should be.

"So you're the guy that's making my paperwork pile up higher than the Empire State Building." You mutter, tying the bandage to stay in place.

"Sorry, little cop lady. Just doing my job." He hisses.

"It's little detrctice lady to you. And I'd appreciate it if you made your little killing sprees a little more discreet. Eventually, the actual cops are gonna catch your ass," you snicker, getting up.

"As if I let them." He bites back.

"L/n. Where are you?" Parks says through your walkie. "Did you find anything?"

Red Hood gets up, putting his helmet back on, looking down at you, waiting for your response.

You click on the button to reply. "No. Nothing here. Coming back now."

The white glowing eyes pierce through yours as Red Hood chuckles. "Hiding a criminal? Haven't taken a look through the law book in a while, but isn't that illegal?" You couldn't see it, but Red Hood grinned, amised at this new encounter.

You shrugged. "I'm only doing this because I know I can't stop you, even if I wanted to. Besides. If these ass rat criminals kept scurrying around, the papaerwork would be much more than you're making." You smirk.

He laughs. "So you're saying you don't want to stop me?" He crosses his arms.

"Have a good night, Mr. Hood." You bid him goodbye, walking back to the crime scene.

"And to you too, little detective lady," he says, quietly hoping to run into again after he puts lead into the head of his next target.

"Jeez, I thought you died or something. You were gone for a while, are you sure you didn't find anything?" Parks quickly asks you.

You quickly wipe away the blood on your palms from Red Hood's wound onto your black jeans. "Save the interrogation for the suspects, Parks. Nothing there but dead rats and graffiti."

You walk off, almost missing the shine of a red helmet running off on the roof of a building in the distance as you smirk to yourself, also secretly hoping Red Hood would cause another casualty to meet him again.

Parks was about to walk off, too, almost missing the tiniest splotch of red on your white shirt as he raised an eyebrow.

I'M SO SORRY I DIDN'T MEAN TO MAKE IT SO SHORT!!!

I didn't want to leave this ask in my inbox for too long and forget about it 😭😭

BUTTTT if you or anyone else wants!!! I can make a part 2 where Reader and Red Hood begin a constant meetup after every death Red Hood causes (only to those criminals who deserve it, obvi). And Parks becomes suspicious of Reader and threatens her or that Reader's job is put on the line!!!!

I was going to add this idea in, but I'm really bad at making long fics cuz I always wanna get it over and done with and I'm so impatient 😭

HOPE YOU ENJOYED IT ANYWAYS 🙏🙏

[amoudesole]

Extra Thoughts for [ Back to Where We Started ]

-Sypnosis : Reader accidentally aura farms too much /j ( Note : The Butterfly/Domino Effect is underway. )

-This is just a few tidbits into my ( very not original ) idea ( I do not take credit whatsoever :D ) So, if in demand i'll get to making an actual story but yeah,

Your first 'run' ( Influence of reading, and watching a lot of animated, and non-animated franchises with Idia. ) was in short, rather pathetic.

Not in a sense that you were pathetic; but, thinking back on your first run now you miraculously had gotten a second chance- There were times where you could've used your noggin' a bit more efficiently.

Reckless, and careless mistakes created due to on the whim decisions, causing you catastrophic regrets. Although, as of right now you were at a point in time where none of those happened yet. ( And in your opinion, you'd rather avoid. )

Oh, but you weren't no idiot- during your first run you studied chronology for a brief period of time before your fixation moved unto another topic, ( Convenient , really. ) And you do realize that even the slightest change in this reality would change things drastically,

And you also realize that, yes. You already changed a lot of the original timeline- with you altering the events of the Entrance Ceremony.

Which meant, that you were already in a timeline where a plethora of other events could happen with you not having prior knowledge.

And it sucks. Like really sucks, because as of right now you had the advantage of knowing most of the future ( And even then saying most would be an overestimation, your memory was comparable to a goldfish. ) like how the seven overblots- and, oh shit the seven overblots.

You were exhausted, mentally and physically. With the events that transpired- before? In the future? ( You weren't sure how to refer to it. ) Death, your death- was still fresh on your mind, and now- having a sudden epiphany;

Your friends, well 'future' friends— … You knew them, but they didn't know you. All hope seemed to seep away from you in that moment, but you needed to stay resilient- strong if you even wanted a sliver of a chance to at the very least, save them. ( Were you developing a Savior Complex? Ew, gross- that's cringe. )

You'll try remembering most of the events that transpired before — .. err, in the future and jot it down on some notebook you may or may not find.

What you needed to focus on now, is your housing crisis. Ramshackle in your 'first run' was repaired by Idia's parents, ( which, you were immensely greatful for, btw! )

But now it was back in all it's old- dirty- and ancient 'beauty'.

Great, and the ghost's weren't familiar with you yet. Great, did Grim finally sneak back in the dorm? Cool, cool. ( Oh Sevens, please- grant you patience, not strength— who knows what you would do if it was the latter. )

_

But the events that followed after did not match the ones you remember, people- student's you didn't know before you knew them now, you were hailed as magicless, but none of that deterred them in interacting with you and that made you realize that nothing now was concrete,

Riddle inviting you to an unbirthday party personally, ( Before it was Cater who relayed the message to you, ) Kalim inviting you to one of his extravagant parties, meeting people you were sure you didn't interact with as early on as now.

It didn't help at all, it only served to cause you more problems. And at times you made stupid blunders, accidentally talking about details of people without thm even telling you ( yet. ) which, by the way- you had to pretend and play it off as them telling you before and they 'Probably just forgot telling' you.

The one thing that stood out to you most was when Ace and Deuce asked if you 'Guy's met before,' and you tried ( keyword, 'tried' ) to play it cool as "I'm from another world, dude." You'll deadpan, but no- you didn't notice the glimmer of recognition in their eye's,

Man, this is hard.

A/N : AHAHAH, lmfao i would never finish this prolly so why not just add it now :DDDDDDDD I'm actually happy to draw people's suggestions and stuff just yknow know ur boundaries and stuff its fun to draw peoples idea's :D Taglist : @sirairi - idk if i could count this as a next part im srryy :,)))

[dominoblues]

I want to write about Mokuba. I want to write about how precious he is.

I want to write about how he was born on 7 July 2000, on how he is a Cancer and his Chinese Zodiac year is the Dragon. I want to write how confused he was as a child while the world around him was crumbling piece by piece. How he never knew his mom and his dad died when he was three.

How hard it was life at the orphanage but somehow he felt shielded and protected. How happy he was when his brother shared with him his dreams. How hopeful when the chance of being adopted came up. How hard he worked to learn what his brother taught him about chess. To win. To make his brother happy.

I want to write about those five years of despair, of the loneliness of the nights in the big mansion. Of the times he would climb on his brother's bed because only his warmth could soothe him to sleep. Of the helplessness when they would take away his toys. Of the pain of the tortures he witnessed being inflicted on his brother.

On how the hopes and dreams died out to leave space for anger. On how the nights got colder and colder because now his brother would just lock himself in whenever he got to sleep and he would end up curling before the door in the dark of the hall, crying. On how his brother would drift and drift away. No more smiles. No more words.

And then it was just the two of them again. But this time, he didn't feel shielded and protected. His brother wouldn't share his dreams with him anymore. And the anger died out and it was only mistrusts and survive, survive, survive. And rule. And conquer. And kill. Just empty void. Just darkness. Cold. Pain. Why are you hurting me?

I want to write of that light that suddenly appeared, that engulfed him, that freed him. Of the hopes that slowly crawled back. Of a love that he thought had gone but it had always been there with him. But now it is his time to be strong. His time to protect. Because he always knew..

Between the two of them, who suffered the most, who endured the most, who took too many responsabilities upon himself. To protect him. To protect that smile. So this time Mokuba suffers for him. He endures for him. He gets lost. He loses. But the light is now with him and he hopes he will find his brother again.

And they find each other. And the pieces have found their place. And they can talk about dreams again. And they can work together and they can make them a reality. Together?

The light is gone. It came back to its own world 'cause it never belonged to theirs. His brother craves it. He demands it. And Mokuba understands, silently. Should he have said something? Should he have stopped him? He feared to lose him. Again. But he was stronger now. He had said so. You take care of the rest.

I want to write about those 300 days. 298, to be exact. The alcohol, the fights, the job, the tears. The anger that came back, the loneliness, the pain. Fucking stupid dull pain. The friends. The alcohol. The research. The school? The blood. The knife. More blood. The friends. The first birthday without him. The first christmas without him.

The vain hope. The failed efforts. The 298th day, alone in the room, sitting on the floor in the dim light. The blade in his hand. The silent scream. The phone call: I found him. The quantum jump, the fear, the rush to the hospital, the operation, the fear again. He has a brain injury, sir. We'll do everything we can, sir. The hours of agony, the coma. And his brother finally wakes up.

I want to write of what happened next. Of the relief, the comfort, the harbored resentment. The reconnecting, the reconciliation, the acceptance of the different paths they walked. The love that will never fade. The past that can be left behind for a clean slate. The bond that became stronger than ever.

The growing, the teen, the rebel, the nights at the police station. The deep involvement with the company now that he had demonstrated how capable he had been. The school life, the projects, the new friends. The K-pop and Nicki Minaj. The icon he was becoming, the fans multiplying. The KaibaCorp shows. The new tech. The charities. The billions multiplying.

The 1.79m tall. The volleyball, the taekwondo. The power yoga with his brother. The swimming. The dance lessons. The laughs. The alcohol, because old habits die hard. The cigarette every once in a while 'cause it feels good. The LSD trips together. The trips around the world. The rave parties in Europe with Leon. The research projects with Becky.

The pilot license. The Jaguar for his eighteenth birthday. The Bentley, the McLaren, the Ford GT, the Honda NSX. The first yacht. The first private jet. The new fashion choices. The working out. The shaping of his self, how he wants it to be. The freedom.

The questions he didn't want to ask. The questions he didn't want to listen. The questions that popped in his mind whenever a boy would smile at him, but he shrugged them off. The hardest decision of his life: I'm leaving for college.

The day he dragged his brother to the tattoo artist's shop. The half of the compass on his right ribs, the other half on his brother's left ribs: because you are my north. The concealed sadness in his brother's eyes when they waved each other goodbye at the airport. And the secret tears Mokuba will never know about. Even if I'll see you every month.

Berkeley. The campus. The college life. The philosophy classes. The engineering classes. The first three weeks. Him. Three years older. His chocolate eyes. His smile like the sunshine. His kindness. His beautiful mind. His body. Oh god his body. The butterflies in the stomach. The cravings of more and more time spent together. The realization. The panic. The tears of confusion. The trashing of the apartment. The truth shouted to his brother's face. But he knew. I've always known. The comfort of his arms. The shield, the protection. The pride.

Him, again. The homework, the workout together, the awkward silence in the showers. The dinners. The parties. The friends. The afternoon at the bowling alley. The hasty looks, the secretive gaze. The fleeting touch. The day he opened up about himself, his past, of who he was and what he had done. The struggle of being a better person. The love for his brother. The fear of being left behind. The kind eyes that gave him the answers he was looking for. The fall that didn't feel like falling at all. More like a feather cradled by the gentle breeze of spring.

The exploring of uncharted territory. The jacking off in the dark of the room when the desire was too much to handle. The slow acceptance of who he is, of feelings never felt before. The fear for a world that is not that accepting. The subtle annoyed voice of his brother who doesn't really want to let him go.

Him, always. The strolls together, the sailings across the bay. The first dance at the thanksgiving frat party. The date three days later because you know I want you and I know you want me too so let's just stop chasing each other around. The dinner, the walking through the park hand in hand. The gaze that couldn't break away. The first kiss, sweet and simple. The second, the third, the millions more. The heart racing.

The first time at the penthouse that same night, gentle and intimate. The second, the third. The discovery of things he never thought possible he could do. The discovery of things he never thought possible he could receive. The giggling, the moaning, the screams, the groans. The top, the bottom, the switch.

The holding hands, always. The making out throughout campus. The more dates and dinners, the shopping together, the sex in the library, the studying together, the relaxing time on the grass under the trees. The springtime. The first I love you. The first holiday together. The public coming out. The moving in together in a penthouse in downtown Oakland.

Their families' meetings. The vacations around the world. The college graduation. The COO position at the KaibaCorp. The overtaking of duties at the overseas branch. The marriage proposal. The undying happiness that once seemed so distant. The darkness fading away, that now seems only a bad dream.

The struggle of splitting himself between the two most important people of his life until his sulking brother's ready to accept that no matter what, Mokuba will always be there for him. To shield him. To protect him. To love him.

Because their dreams, their promises, their bond will never fade.

[xplicitviewz]

SUCKA 4 LUV 💋

aot au college fanfic

MDNI 18+

*Reader will be referred as Bunnie*

fae’s commentary: I will edit soon this but I just wanted to post this already.

CHAPTER ONE:

********

Y/N {Bunnie} Y/L/N

-insta: @ y/nswrld

- bunnie 💋 / honeybuns🫤

Dominic {Mico} Vincent

-insta @ boyfckboy

- Dominos 😤/ Daddy?

******************************

Daddy? :

bro....

honeybuns🫤 :

wut

Daddy? :

come to class dummy

and bring my fucking charger bitch

honeybuns🫤 :

No and fuck you

Save my seat 🙄

Daddy? :

too late someone took it already

I didn't try to save it either

honeybuns🫤 :

bitch

Now I gotta sit by randos

Nvm

Look at ur phone 😭😭

🚨Fine shyt 🚨

Daddy? :

you embarrassing me from afar😕

geeked as hell you don't even know his name 🤦🏻‍♂️

honeybuns🫤:

got his insta though😜

he asked if I wanna chill after class with his people

I said yes and you are coming too

Daddy? :

NO🤨

you always do this 😭

Fine but we smoking yo shit

***********************************

Constance {Connie} Springer

-insta @ conniesocool

- con🤣

Jean Kirstein

-insta @ jeanboy

-John 😁

Sasha Braus

-insta @ sashab

- Sasha 😘

Outfits :)

****************************

"You got my charger honey?" Mico walked up to where Bunnie was sitting, packing her notebooks in her tote bag. "Don't call me that." Bunnie scrunches her face looking up at Mico, her longtime best friend, "I don't, it's in my room."

Mico leaned against the desk behind him crossing his arms, watching as she finished putting her stuff away. "Who are we meeting up with?" He spoke as she finished, both of them exiting the classroom.

"His name is Connie, I told him we'd meet him at the spot where his friends are because I wanna talk to the professor real quick."

"Also, we gotta stop at robotics classroom right now, I need to check something." Mico sighed running his hand through his hair. "Nerd." Bunnie smirks nudging him on his arm, "You've been working on that robot for months, I see grey hairs already."

Bunnie pulls out a single paper and walks up to the professor while Mico walks behind her.

"Y/n? You finished it already?" Professor Hange asked shockingly, "Yes I was hoping you could look it over and mark down whatever improvements I can do and all that jazz."

"I'm sure it'll be great, I'll email you later this week. Mico, how's the coding going." She looked at the boy standing sluggishly behind Bunnie. "Hange that shit sucks when I'm doing it and sucks when I'm not doing it. I'm about to go check it right now to see if I can get it to download." (Authors note: I don't know shit about robotics or coding so google will be my best friend)

Hange chuckles leaning back in her chair, "I'm sure it'll be amazing. Alright I only have a few moments before my next class, see you guys later."

They waved bye and walk out the classroom talking about random stuff as they headed to the robotics room. Before Mico opened the door he looks at Bunnie, "Remember don't touch shit, and keep-"

"Yea yea yea keep my water away from your robots." Bunnie rolls her eyes playfully as they enter the room. Mico was very much a robotics goof. He has a real passion for robotics, engineering, coding, etc.

The late nights Mico would sleepover at Bunnie's dorm (his excuse, her bed is more comfy, real reason, that's his bestie) and stay up all night working on whatever codings he needed to get done while she would yap or sleep.

Bunnie watched as Mico walked over to a his recent project and typed a few things on the computer. He was very strict about the rules he has for the room. No food or drinks near the robo- well everything really. She looked at her phone after hearing it go off

conniesocool: heyyy you still coming?

y/nswrld: yuuhhh, just with my hb, we finna be there soon

conniesocool: ok, you got classes soon? we gonna get some food when you get here

y/nswrld: nah this was our only class today, we won't be long

"Alright, everything is downloading, ima see if one of the guys can check it out later. That shit finna take at least 6 hours." Mico said sending a quick text and typing back on the computer.

"When's the competition?" Bunnie ask slipping her phone in her pocket watching him finish up on the computer.

"End of the month, so like 15-20 more days." Mico answered taking a picture of the screen. He walked towards Bunnie as they left the classroom.

"Should I make another sign?" Bunnie joked at the first and last time she ever made a sign to show her support for Mico, he immediately shut that shit down since it said 'Go Daddy!'

"Hell no man, and if you do ima tell security to remove your small ass." He laughed as they walked, him mainly following Bunnie to wherever they were going.

"Why would you put go daddy, you got daddy issues fr."

She rolled her eyes, "You should really be thanking me because I was the only loud one there and cheering for your team."

"Shuddddduup."

"Next time I'll bring tomatoes."

"I'll actually catch a charge if you throw tomatoes at my work."

"Yea wha-ohh look that's him." Bunnie hits his arm softly when she saw Connie sitting on the table with two other people, one guy and a girl. Connie noticed Bunnie and smirked, holding his hand up. The both of them approach the table, "Hey." Bunnie says to Connie with a small smile.

"Hey mami." He smiles hopping off the table, "Guys this is Y/N or Bunnie, she prefers to be called and her friend..."

"Mico." Mico finished hearing Connie linger off. "Bunnie, Mico, this is Jean, and Sasha, one is my favorite person in the world and the other is an absolute pain in my ass." Connie laughed.

"I fucking love your hair." Sasha said smiling, "and I'm obviously his favorite person."

"Thank you, your fit is cool shit too." Bunnie smiles, "I've seen you before." Jean comments looking at Mico.

"Yea? Lemme guess, in your mom's phone. " Mico jokes. Bunnie and Sasha laughs while Connie goes on to be an instigator. "Nah I'm kidding," Mico chuckles. "Yeaaa you better be." Jean sends a harmless glare his way.

"I'm still curious where you think you know my friend from." Bunnie asked raising a brow, "you got other friends I don't know about?" She looked at Mico.

"Now you know damn wel-"

"You do computer science?" Jean interrupted asking Mico, "nahh close, robotics but it kinda dabbles in to all of that." Mico answered swaying side to side.

"You know Armin? He's in one of those classes." Jean replied watching him.

"Honestly, no, though I will say I heard of him. I know he comes down to help with the coding for other teams but I pretty much do that stuff for my team so." Mico said.

"Blah blah Let's go get some food, my stomach is so empty." Sasha groans dramatically slumping her body on jeans side. "Sasha you're just big." Connie snickered as the three grabbed their stuff.

"Where are we eating at?" Mico asked following them, "The best pizza place ever, I'll drive." Jean turned his head to look at the two. Bunnie shrugged and followed suit, Mico right beside her.

"Yo?" Sasha answered her ringing phone, "yea we heading there right now...... You know what I want, stop playing dumb.....mkayyy bye see you sexy."

"Annie said they are waiting for us and to hurry up." Sasha announced while they wait for Jean to open his car door.

"There's more people? I should've smoked first." Bunnie sighed. "No way you smoke?" Connie asked looking at her as they got in the car. Jean and Connie in the front and Sasha, Bunnie, and Mico in the back. "Not often." Bunnie responds as she leans on Mico's shoulder

"Your fucking lying." Mico snorts knowing she smokes a lot. It's not too much but it's definitely often. "I'll kill you, and kiss you after shut up." Bunnie pinches his arm.

Mico winces at the kiss part, ew, "I'd probably die twice."

"Anyways, yea we smoke, I actually have a few blunts rolled up in my dorm waiting for me." She smiled remembering. "For me too." Mico adds nodding his head as well causing Bunnie to roll her eyes.

"You guys should come to this kick back later on today. I can text you." Sasha says from beside Bunnie. "Who's all gonna be there and whats your number?" Bunnie pulls out her phone.

New contact: Sasha 😘

"It's just gonna be a few friends of all of us. And a few of their friends. The people you are about to meet are gonna be there. They're all chill people." Connie answers while changing the song that was playing.

"I should make a group chat." Sasha thinks before making the group chat of her Connie, Jean and Bunnie. Bunnie adds Mico to the chat.

New contacts: Con🤣, John😁

"We are here at last." Jean says parking his car and turning it off, "be prepared to be mind blown from this pizza."

"I'm holding you to it, I don't play about my pizza." Mico says.

"Okay dominos." Bunnie teased as everyone laughed softly.

****************************

Bertolt Hoover -insta @ berthoov -beehive 🍯

Anne Leonhardt -insta @ notann1e - Annie🛸

Ymir Hoover -insta @ y.mir.y -ymir 🎭

- Reiner Braun -insta @ Reiner25 -big boy 🫡

Historia Reiss -insta @ historiaxo -historia 🧸

(Pls ik I spelt Big Macs name wrong, not too much on me & also ymir and boogywoogy are siblings)

"Hey over here." Annie yelled as she seen Sasha, Connie, Jean, and two new people. The group made their way to the booth. "Hey girl." Sasha said giving Annie a hug then sitting down. "New people?" Ymir commented sounding closed off.

"Cool people, this is Bunnie and Mico." Connie said sitting down next to sasha. "Hey." Bunnie says, "Whats up bear." Mico says giving him a handshake, "Mico, good to see you." Bear smiled.

Everyone takes their seats, "I see you know bertolt already." Jean says, "that's his sister ymir, then Reiner and Annie."

"Historia should be here soon too." Ymir speaks putting her phone down. "How do you guys know each other though." She looks at Bear and Mico.

"Music class." They both say at the same time then look at each other and laugh. "He's crazy on the bass too." Bear adds. "Ahhh not too much on me." Mico leans back into the chair shaking his head, "I haven't been playing lately."

"What about you, what do you do?" Ymir looks at Bunnie. "Film and screenwriting."

"Ohh you make movies?" Sasha asked her eyes widening. "Soon, right now we are just going through scripting and shit. But we do have a short film assignment coming up." (Authors note: I don't know anything about what they do in those classes so please😅)

"Let us act for you." Connie says. "It's you signing us up for shit." Jean rolls his eyes with a smile.

"Bunnie does that to me all that time," Mico laughs. "I'd be down, the camera loves me." Ymir smirks leaning forward. "Yea no me too, just no crazy shit." Reiner agrees.

"Bet, I'll keep that in mind. You guys got insta?" Bunnie asked. They 4 of them nodded and they swapped instagrams.

New followers: @ berthoov, notann1e, reiner25, y.mir.y

"I only follow back my girl, so I won't follow back if you don't mind that." Ymir tells Mico and Bunnie.

"Need that." Bunnie sighs leaning her head on her hand, "I wish someone would do that for me."

"I can." Connie smirks, "boy I can tell by your page itself you're a whore, no offense." Bunnie and some others laugh.

"You'd be surprised how many bitches try to come up to me thinking I'm fucking with him, that shit is actually disgusting. He's like my twin for real." Sasha laughs.

"Hey guys sorry I'm late." A blonde girl comes up to the table and sits by ymir, "oh hi?" She looks at Bunnie and Mico.

"Hey baby, you're all good." Ymir says wrapping her arm around her waist.

"That's Ymir's girlfriend, Historia. Historia, Mico and Bunnie." Bear says. "Hi, your outfit is so pretty." Bunnie says with a smile.

"Thanks, I like yours too." Historia smiles back and her and Mico.

"The FOOD, finally." Sasha exclaims excitedly. The waitress brings 3 pizzas, 2 pastas, a bowl of deep dish pasta, and a plate of wings and fries. "Looks like I came just in time." Historia smiles.

"This looks good as fuck." Mico looks at Jean, "told ya."

Everyone begins to eat and talk occasionally. Sasha was too busy stuffing her face alongside Connie.

"Dayum girl you can eat for real." Bunnie laughs taking another bite.

"The best way to her heart is food." Jean shrugs as he eats is own plate of food.

"This pizza is so good." Mico groans taking another bite. They continue to eat and talk amongst each other.

*******

"Which side of the dorms you guys stay at?" Jean asked as Mico closed the back door.

"East but towards the back." Bunnie answered leaning her head back as she sat in the middle. "I'm in that area too, we should chill sometimes." Sasha told her then proceeded to drink her soda she got from the pizza place.

"Come over now, we can smoke." Bunnie shrugged. Jean pulled out the parking lot and headed towards the dormitory.

"I'll drop you guys off, I gotta go run some errands." Jean spoke as he turned the corner. "What kinda errands?" Connie questioned in a teasing way. "The kind that's not your damn business." Jean laughed softly. "Sounds like he about to go fuck." Mico commented and sasha snickered, "yea he definitely is."

"My problem is I'm nosey and wanna know who." Bunnie questioned curiously.

"Yea me too, you've been running 'errands' for like two weeks," Connie added poking his arm.

Jean rolled his eyes as he pulled into the east side dorms and drove slower towards the backside, "it's not either if you guy's business....and I never said that."

"I thought we was friends." Mico exclaimed jokingly.

"Bro we literally just met today." Jean laughed.

"Are you saying we aren't cool enough to be friends?" Bunnie raised a brow.

"Nah you guys definitely are," Jean laughed as his car came to a slow stop, "but get the fuck out, I got business to handle."

Connie dapped up Jean and Sasha slapped his head as they said bye. Bunnie and Mico waved bye and they all got out the car watching as he drove away faster.

"He's definitely on the way to go get his dick wet." Bunnie laughed before turning towards the entrance. The other followed suit, Mico walking faster to open the door.

"Thanks daddy." Bunnie winked at him playfully and Mico flinching externally, "please stop."

"Daddy is crazy." Connie said amused, "that's yo man?"

"Hell nah, I do not swing that way," Mico laughed. "Oh my gosh I would've never guessed." Sasha said shockingly, holding a small smile on her face.

"What can I say," Mico shrugged nonchalantly, "that's just me."

"Shut up Dominic." Bunnie snorts as she walks up the stairs, the others following behind.

"Y/n don't full name me." Mico scrunched his face at her.

They eventually make it to the floor Bunnies room is in, "my room may or may not be a mess so bew-"

"Girl open the damn door so I can go use the bathroom." Mico interrupts impatiently waiting. "I'll actually drag you down this hall." Bunnie glares at him while opening the door.

"It's not too bad." Sasha says as they walk inside, "my room is worse trust me, plus i love the decorations. And you don't have a roommate, lucky as fuck."

"Thank you thank you. And unfortunately, I do have a roommate, Mico like to come here all the time." Bunnie laughs taking off her boots.

Mico emerges from the bathroom and sits on the mini sofa, pulling out the ashtray from the small coffee table.

"Damn can I light it?" Bunnie dramatically asked sitting next to him.

"Nah remember what I said, I'm smoking your shit."

Connie and Sasha come sit down as well and Mico lights the blunt. "Music?" Mico asked as he takes a hit.

"Only if you play your newest song." Bunnie says tucking her feet under her.

"No, I need to fix it up still."

"I wanna hear it." Sasha says, "yea me too." Connie agrees.

"Fine." Mico said passing the blunt to Bunnie and pulls out his phone. He hooks it up to the speaker and plays his track.

Bunnie hits the blunt, inhaling the smoke for a few seconds and holding it in for a bit and watches as the smoke leaves her mouth, she takes a few more hits before ashing it and passing it off to sasha.

The music plays through the speaker starting with a soft bass and piano melody. Bunnie hums softly to the beat of the guitar stars playing.

"You play other instruments besides the bass?" Sasha asked passing the blunt to Connie. "I dabble in them but I know the bass more. Bunnie helps with some instruments too." Mico replies kicking his feet up on the coffee table.

"You should play it at this underground club called Edge. They have days where people can come up and sing or do whatever." Connie says blowing the smoke out.

"Bro tell me why we've been trying to go there, but we don't know where it's at." Bunnie shot up looking at Connie.

"Or you don't know the right people. We go there all the time." Connie smirked hitting the blunt once more and passing it back to Mico.

"Next time you go, take us." Bunnie eyeballed Connie as he blew the smoke out, sucking it back in through his nose, "sure."

"So you guys coming to the kickback?" Sasha questions, "also I am hungry, I'm gonna raid your mini fridge."

"It's probably empty, I haven't gone to get food this week." Bunnie says watching as sasha got up and opened the mini fridge, "and yea I guess we can slide. Help me pick out an outfit?"

"Hell yeah." Sasha says pulling out a popsicle and turning back to Bunnie. Mico passes the blunt to Bunnie before she gets up and walks to the side of the room where her clothes were, sasha following.

The boys watch as they look for clothes, making a mess on her bed. "Gosh finding an outfit is the worst, i might just wear sweats." Bunnie sighs handing the blunt to Sasha, "wipe your lips so you don't get my blunt wet."

Sasha did so, taking the blunt and hitting it a few times, "all of your clothes are cute as fuck, we need to go shopping together."

"When I do go shopping, most of the shirts are Mico's. Maybe some pants too." Bunnie admitted, "but I would love to go."

"YOU SHOULD WEAR THIS." Sasha exclaims pulling out a short ass skirt, Bunnie laughed, "Fuck no, I get cold too quick."

"Lying ass." Mico walked up to take the blunt from Sasha.

"Bitch fuck you," Bunnie muttered, "wait lemme wear those pants of yours I like."

"No." Mico flipped her off, "why not, you said I could." Bunnie pouted, "I have a good fit in mind."

"Because I never get my clothes back." Mico shrugged walking back to the couch. "You act like you don't know where my closet is you silly billy......please." Bunnie looks at him with pleading eyes.

"Fuck...fine." Mico shakes his head leaning back into the couch, continuing his conversation with Connie.

"It's gonna be simple but I kinda wanna skate a bit." Bunnie turns back to sasha pulling out a tank top. "You should teach me how to skate, Eren never wants to teach me because I'm too clumsy." Sasha says, "but I've gotten better."

"Eren?" Bunnie asked as she starts putting her clothes away(shoving them back in the drawers) "you'll meet him if he's at the kickback." Sasha answers handing her clothes while she finishes her popsicle. "Okay. And sure, trust me I know how hard it seems at first, Mico hated teaching me how to skate." Bunnie softly laughs remembering those days.

"Ayo sasha, we should head back to get ready." Connie tells her.

"You're right, I'll see you soon and I'll text you the details." Sasha says.

"I'm walking with you, ima go with Mico to his dorm so i can steal his pants." Bunnie says grabbing the shirt and belt she's gonna wear.

"Right." Sasha nods.

Mico puts out the blunt and they all put on their shoes and grab their things. Bunnie locks her dorm after everyone leaves. "We can walk y'all to your dorms, my dorm is the furthest." Mico says placing his hands in his front pockets.

"Which side are you on?" Sasha asked as she walks next to Connie who slings his arm over her shoulders. "West mid area." Mico simply says.

"I'm in the front of the east and Connie is front on the north side." Sasha replies.

"Damn bro you across campus basically."Connie laughs as they walked down the stairs.

"I see why his bitches think you are a couple." Bunnie chuckles holding in the railing. "Ew please don't say that." Sasha cringes pushing his arm off her.

They continue to walk to Sasha's dorm, "bye I'll see you later." Bunnie hugs sasha before she goes inside. "Bye Bunnie, we're gonna have so much fun. Bye Mico, see you soon Connie." She says before disappearing into her dorm.

"One down, one more to go." Bunnie comments as they walk towards Connie's dorm. Connie opens the building to exit the east side premises. Mico and Connie continue their conversation while Bunnie zones out walking next to Mico.

"You good honey?" Mico asked before groaning after receiving a slap in his ribs by her. "Stop calling me that."

"Fuck you honey buns." He spits out rubbing his rib. Connie laughs, "whats wrong with it?"

"He's been calling me that since the first time he watched me kill a while pack of honeybuns the first time we got high." She rolls her eyes, "and he knows I hate that nickname."

"You call me daddy knowing I don't like that shit either." Mico points out.

"How long y'all knew each other?" Connie asked looking between the both of them.

"Our parents are high school friends." Bunnie answers as they crossed the street to enter the north side dormitories. "Damn that's a long ass time. I knew sasha the longest, since like middle school. Everyone else you guys are gonna meet either highschool or from here." Connie responds walking a bit faster to hold open the door.

They walk down the hallway straight to Connie's dorm. "Right in the front." Connie says as they approach his door hearing faint sounds coming from inside.

"Seems like I was right, he is fucking." Connie shakes his head at his roommate Jean.

"Damn," Bunnie's eyes widen, "DAMN." She says louder hearing the banging go louder and faster. Mico laughs and looks at Connie, "how do you do it."

"Very loud music." Connie says before banging on the door to let Jean know he's coming in. The sounds stop shortly and another door slams closed. "coast is clear, see y'all soon." Connie said opening his room door.

"Tell Jean I need that." Bunnie jokes before Connie shakes his head no and closes his door.

"You know what you gonna wear?" Bunnie asked Mico as they exited the building and headed towards the west side dormitories.

"Kinda, you nervous?" Mico looks down at Bunnie.

"A bit but so far they all seem chill, whats the worst that can happen?" Bunnie smiles softly at Mico.

************************

Chapter 2:

[taemcains]

your love is sunlight — cainlane

lane helps cain wash the blood off his wings and gets a thank you in return. ao3

cw: blood mentions

🎧 julia shortreed - broken wings

Pale golden light streams into Lane's shared room, falling on the soft carpet in a mosaic mirroring the elegant swirls on the balcony door. The picture of coziness it creates, along with the spread of reference books spilled like a domino of cards around her, brings her back to high school and days spent cramming for exams with the spring sunshine in North Carolina watching over her like a guardian.

The tremors of a door slamming shut on the ground floor dispel the mirage. Lane blinks hard, bringing herself back to Rotkov's eternal winter and her task, which is considerably more crucial and much more demanding than memorizing chemistry equations.

The Book and her notebook are each balanced precariously on her knees. Reference books lay further down from her, tossed away in rising frustration. Her wrist aches and her back has been steadily cramping from her abysmal posture, but she remains hunched over, picking up her trail of thought and leaving behind unnecessary memories to continue scrawling in her notebook.

Shadows pool on the floor, chasing away the imitation of home and warmth. Lane's head whips up to face the balcony, hair lashing against her back.

White obscures gold. It flashes once, painting the room cold before swerving to the back of the estate.

Real warmth bubbles up in her chest. Cain is back from his night patrol.

Lane spent all of ten minutes in the morning trying to inconspicuously grill the squad about his whereabouts before her mind grew disgusted by her pathetic state. Cain is an immortal. Whatever stalks the forest and whoever hides in the town should be, are, terrified of him. Worrying about someone who can handle himself, when she has a plethora of problems is fatuous. She resolved to put it out of her mind and surrender to the Book instead.

An hour later, huddled under every blanket and comforter looted from her room, the upholstered chair doing little to battle the cold, she muses. Why do you become so irrational when you… have someone? Her hand is unsteady, fingers trembling from the cold, but she makes a valiant effort to jot something down.

Anna shoots her the most judgmental glance she's received in her life. ‘Why are you freezing to death near the balcony when the bed is right there?’

Lane tries to shrug but she doubts the slight movement would be visible under ten layers of wool. ‘The cold will keep my mind awake. I could get a new perspective on the Book.’

Anna almost looks offended at how little thought Lane put into lying to her. She scoffs. ‘Is that what they're calling it now?’ She scowls at a distant spot in the sky, willing the extent of her disdainful glare to reach that angel wherever he is, before turning on her heel and leaving, muttering about ‘beautiful women falling for idiot men’ and ‘why do you never learn, Anna?’

Her mind doesn't linger too long on Anna, but circles him, as always, a whirlpool of memories and longings. She tried to choke down her worry along with mouthfuls of tea earlier, but it spews up with a redoubled vengeance. No matter how many times her exasperated mind reassures her of the angel's strength and safety, her heart refuses to quiet, pacing anxiously with a thump-thump-thump echoing through her very bones.

Are you satisfied? Everyone wants to know whether I even have a heart anymore but you keep it, toss it, and catch it with the dizzying speed of your changing whims. I don't miss that. But I miss you.

Admitting that she missed him was apparently the last straw for her mind, who was jeering at this display of yearning. Lane leapt to her feet, yanked around by the strings of her rational mind that was hard at work to erase this maudlin moment from her day. She climbed into bed, pulled the required materials to herself like a shield and lost herself in the arcane, her mind alight and awake, ready to beat her heart into submission.

Now she allows herself to exhale a shameful ‘I missed you’ to the knowing shadows of her room and let relief unfurl through her bloodstream like a ribbon.

All the romance novels and movies she'd gorged herself on in her teenage years with the relished humiliation of crawling back to an unfaithful lover, had painted love in pink, soft and bloodless. But for Lane, love is a violent intrusion, spinning her mind and heart out of control. If she'd known she would feel so foolish, she would've accumulated more experience, to chart cumulative data and predict the best response in any situation. But Cain's not like anyone she's ever met. He's not like anyone at all.

Plotting Cain would be an impossible task as he shifts a little every time she sees him, a kaleidoscope that never shows the same pattern twice. But won't he let her try? To map his impossibilities across a lifetime like counting stars in the night sky, the only futile task she wants to squander away her time on with the languidness of summer days slipping away.

Contrary to his own impossibility, he seems to have her entirely mapped out, tracing the rivers of her veins with his fingertips and the ridges of her spine with his eyes. She didn't have to ask. Cain understood her, like he once promised, and her working style which he condensed aptly as ‘You wouldn't look up from the Book unless there's a second apocalypse.’ So his wings blinked at her, sending her a sign.

Was he counting on her being able to glimpse the maelstrom of riddles behind every guileless movement of his? Delivered with a susurration of his wings, an order, a request, or the gentle luring of a lover: Come find me.

His wishes are clear, but Lane hesitates, out of her own warring desires. Her heart is almost halfway out the door, straining to settle sleepily against his voice, but her feet remain planted to the floor, roots extending through wood, bypassing time and space, sprouting out of her father's office.

Wood polish. Expensive leather. An angular man leaning over her seven-year-old self. ‘Please do not bother me when I'm working, Lane. Go see to your mother.’ Which was perhaps the greatest condemnation of all, her own father who could not see her mother's umbilical cord strangling her lovingly around her neck, a tie she could never rid of even two decades later.

The memory fractures. Warmth beckons her from the fissure and she follows as if ensorcelled. The press of a thigh to her own. The specter of fingers through her hair. The fracture widens. The tickling of feathers against the small of her back. Her father's office and her younger self preserved in contrition are swallowed into the dark.

The last fragments of the memory are brushed away by an ambrette voice that lifts her and carries her back to the body of her present self, gently setting her down in reality. Tendrils of him and his essence are already curled around her, sweetpea flowers budding around her neck, watching over her when he can't.

Glimpses of him in her memories don't appease her. Lately, even his fleeting touches, light enough to absolve him of intention, do nothing to sate the hunger roiling in her. Come find me.

Guided, or rather, misguided, by the reckless abandon that entangles with desire, Lane crosses the room and doesn't let herself hesitate to wrench the door open. Her eyes hone in on the ornate door at the far end of the hallway, quiet and anodyne.

The estate is still, the history of those hallowed halls, almost a physical presence draped heavy over her shoulders, watching as Lane's hushed footsteps ghost over the floor. She knows her efforts are in vain; he must've heard the click of her door opening, but it felt sacrilegious to stomp over in an estate teeming with revenants.

She comes to a standstill outside his door, heart awake and thrashing. He could probably hear it through the wood, no barrier fortified to the aching of her heart to be a plaything in his hands again. But he waits, lets her settle on going to him or turning away.

She knocks lightly.

‘Come in.’ His voice, smooth and even, with the barest drops of an emotion she couldn't identify, sends a trickle of reassurance down her chest.

Ominous that the creaking of the door is, when Lane peers inside, gingerly stepping past the threshold like an inexperienced thief, Cain is whole and unhurt, lips curving up as salve to her twinging unease. Her heart finally rests.

As relief streams through her blood, her eyes cascade down his figure intently. Silvery fabric molds to his skin, translucent where pearls of water trickle from the damp ends of his hair. Black slacks cling enticingly to his thighs, every slight shift flaunting the statuesque lines of his body. His wings flare, serrated edges silhouetted by daylight, a personal sunset.

Her eyes widen. Cain, who was watching her riveted gaze with a touch of satisfaction pulling up the corner of his mouth, interjected smoothly. ‘It's not mine. A spawn was found close to city lines.’

‘Is that what you were busy with all morning?’ She asks, alarm fading into distraction. Blood lashed against white wings, macabre and ethereal. Offsetting, Lane thinks, no, enhancing temptation, disoriented by her own strange desires.

‘Yes.’ His voice dips, softness melting it. ‘Were you alone for long?’

‘No,’ she answers absentmindedly, eyes transfixed to the startlingly intimate sight of his bare feet. Unarmoured like this, without the chainmail of his condescending sneer and paradoxical words, he seems closer than ever. Like she would only need to reach out for her fingertips to graze soft skin and sculpted muscle, obscured to the rest by shadows and secrets.

Appeased, he turns to the side, pushing back his drenched sleeves around his elbow. Only then does the room start to come together in snatches. Clothes strewn across the carpeted floor, his jacket a bloodied heap by the balcony, transponder thrown on the bedside table. A basin with murky water seated on the dresser, a rag dangling haphazardly from it. Precise to him, messy to others. Not unlike the owner himself, she thinks.

Satisfied with her appraisal, she peeks over at him. Leaning over the basin, rag coiled loosely around his hand, he looks half sunken in a dream. Only the rustling of his wings betray his restlessness.

Her spine is yanked straight by a part of her, a phantom cerebrum spawned to gauge and dissect every shift in his body and every quirk of his mouth. Cain would never allow himself to be so absent. Her heart screeches with alarm, and her mind reluctantly allows the theatrics, admitting the oddness of his behavior.

‘Cain?’ she calls quietly.

Regret follows almost immediately. At the most inopportune moment, she realizes she has no idea how to proceed when he responds. Cain has always taken care of her in his own absurd way, the experience irksome even as the memory fills her empty soul with sunlight. But Lane could hardly care for herself, much less an immortal.

His lashes flutter, moth wings skimming his skin as he blinks out of his daze. ‘Sorry, I was lost in thought.’ His eyes clear, latches clicking shut inside him. ‘I should clean my wings.’ They flick, avouching his words. ‘Not exactly the amorous activity you were envisioning, I'm sure.’

Her eyes narrow but they cannot lance metal. He meets her scouring gaze with calculated repose. His shoulders sink, memories imploding within, then return to their usual assured set, dust settling in the span of a blink.

Only a second, but it's enough for Lane to pry at the chips in his marmoreal mask. She sighs softly as slivers of his bare face come into view. He's… tired. So, so tired. Abandoned by heaven, shunned by earth, untouchable on his altar of divinity. Angel, priest, soldier. Beautiful as a statue, but who dares to touch him? Who can he hold?

Sensing the weight of her thoughts, he straightens imperceptibly, shuttering off any weakness.

Even now, after hurting and helping and licking their wounds, they still hesitate, circling each other like sharks scenting blood, the instinct to hurt before getting hurt honed and layered like second skin, excruciating to rip off. But they can't keep holding onto an infected limb that devours the rest of the body. Years of violent instinct wars with a fragile, blossoming ache.

The words spill out of her lips, noxious blood evanescing, her first breath without her own violence pressing down on her sweet and fresh. ‘Let me help.’

His eyes snap back to hers and lock their gazes. Narrowed, assessing, wary, they're as entrancing as ever. He sighs, the same side emerging victorious in him. ‘I'll give you a chance to back out. I'm warning you now that your arms will ache for the next week.’

‘I won't come complaining to you,’ she says dryly, the secret curve of his mouth sending a flurry of warmth through her.

He follows her lead, effortlessly carrying the basin to an empty spot in the center of the room, sunlight casting the illusion of warmth on the rug. He sets it down and folds himself into a cross-legged posture, somehow elegant even while sitting on the floor.

Lane follows suit, kneeling behind him on the plush carpet. She ties her hair back into a loose knot and pulls back her sleeves, goosebumps arising on her exposed skin immediately. She shivers, body noting the frigidity of his room while she herself is enraptured by the angel.

This close to him, the diaphanous material of his shirt coyly divulges flashes of his body. The slope of his shoulder blade. A channel down his lower back. The sylphlike curve of his waist. Lane exhales slowly, expelling the need to touch him and trace his skin. The intoxicating heat radiating off him doesn't abate the desire to drape herself over his back and see what he'd do.

‘Having second thoughts? Maybe your delicate arms hurt already?’

She rolls her eyes, abruptly breaking through for air. The same person who tenderly drowns her in the thick, languid ocean of desire also hauls her out of it with his infuriating quips.

He slides the basin over to her in reparation.

Experimentally dipping her fingers into the basin, she sighs with relief at the lukewarm water. She dunks the rag in, drenches it, and pauses, water dripping rhythmically onto the floor, lapped up by the carpet. How sensitive are his wings? She remembers the library incident with a quivering in her stomach, the idea of her touch making him still heady more than any wine or pomegranate juice. How hard can she use the rag on them?

His voice is glazed with amusement. ‘This feels familiar. Now is the time to ask me if I'm gloating.’

That settles it. ‘Why should I when I know the answer?’ she replies as she presses the rag to the base of his wing agonizingly gently. He jerks, the beginnings of a low gasp escaping past his teeth before he quiets, wings flaring.

Lane bites her lip to rein in a smirk, throat going dry at the noise and where else she'd like to hear it, again and again.

‘Have it your way, then. Is this payback for that time in the library?’ he retorts, shoulders unnaturally tense.

‘What do you mean?’ she says lightly, carefully moving the rag from the base to the top. His wings rustle and flick, but settle quietly.

A light laugh floats through the air, melding seamlessly with this impossible afternoon.

Cain stays quiet as she works her way through the large expanse, occasionally trembling as she grazes certain spots. She makes mental notes of them, for future reference. Or for leverage.

Her nose wrinkles as she nears the tip of his wing. Spawn gore clumps to the feathers, a sickly sweet smell emanating from the blood.

Cain almost whirls around at her first cough. ‘I'll deal with the rest. You've done enough.’

She waves him off. Before she could think it over again, her hand cups his shoulder, turning him away. A tremor goes through her at her boldness, the heat of his muscle and bone against her fingers warming her entire arm.

‘You reek,’ she says airily, only to douse the incalescence of his gaze, burning her more than his skin as she touched him like she had the right to.

‘Who came to whose room?’

A gradual undoing, Lane watches as her own hands cast magic, turning back time, water swilling blood from his wings, leaching them pure and white.

She retraces her path, returning to the base of his wings where stubborn flecks of blood linger on the feathers. Faltering for just a second, she discards the rag. Her fingers, a gentler heir, glide over the plumage, outsing sanguine settlers.

Cain arches like a cat, allowing himself a muffled moan before rebounding, curving into her. A shuddering breath is the only movement she shows. His back barely brushes her front, the faint contact sparking a riot in her head, one side chanting lean in close, closer, the other pull away I can't breathe anymore.

As the sun drops lower into the sky, in tandem he sinks lower onto her, the silky strands of his hair chilling her chin, the weight of his body warm and comforting. His initial wariness washed away with the blood, he's as cozy and relaxed as a housecat dozing in a patch of sunlight.

Disappointment unfurls petals inside her chest as the last of the blood is wiped away, wings gleaming in the sunlight. Enveloped by him, his body, his scent; sweet and faintly musky, entirely him with the effect it had of wanting to fall headlong into his lies, time has no meaning. The world waiting with ravenous jaws holds no importance when he's quiet and boneless in her arms.

‘Cain?’ she whispers, unsure if he's awake.

‘Hmm?’

Her toes curl into the carpet. His usual liquid smooth voice has been rendered low and thick, drowsiness dipping his tone.

She hesitates. Is it worth jolting him from his place against her—as it should be, her heart croons— for her selfish desire of wanting to look at him?

Ironically, it's her indecision that awakens him, alertness seeping back in. He slips out of her hold, a gentle thief escaping into the night, and turns to face her. ‘What is it?’ he asks, traces of worry playing in his voice.

I wish I could look at you when I want to without searching for an excuse. I wish you would keep being near to me. I want you to keep seeing me.

‘Nothing,’ she bites out, frustrated with herself, eyes catching on an anomaly in the blinding purity of snow. ‘There's dried blood crusted in your hair.’

He sighs, mindlessly patting his hair, completely missing the spot.

‘Let me,’ she interrupts quietly, pieces falling into place, desire breathing her wishes to life.

He eyes her curiously. Whatever he finds makes his mouth twitch and obediently lower his head, submitting to the ministrations of her fingers. A thrill fires through her like an arrow. She quite likes the idea of him bowed and hazy-eyed in front of her.

Her fingers ease into silken strands, white and gold playing on her skin. They trail unwillingly, longing to linger and straighten the wisps hanging over his eyes for him. She flicks the rusty flakes off, careful to not tug at the strands.

Hyperaware of every steady inhale and exhale of his, her own breathing wavers, growing shallow. She attempts to veer her attention back to his hair, instead of the proximity of her chest to his face, when his arm curves around her waist, long fingers splaying out, burning her from rib to hip.

Before she could steady herself to this, him, his thumb traces the jut of her rib. All coherent thought dissipates. Heat whirls up her insides. His fingers trail teasingly over the curve of her waist before stilling on her hip, and she wishes with sudden, fervent clarity that he would play on her skin. Be so familiar to him that he would reach for her to ease his restlessness, her hipbone echoing his music, instead of an undeserving slab of wood.

‘Your knees must hurt. Sit.’ He sounds from below her, words almost breathed into her throat. His voice lowers, a surrender just between them. ‘I can bow down for you.’

She lowers her eyes to his. A misstep. Hazy from sleep, sharp in the corners, sunlight sands down his usual jagged gaze and wicked smirk, turning him into a visage of heaven. Angelic, she thinks for the first time since she awoke to him, both at the rift and at the estate.

Cain has always been inhumanely beautiful from the moment she saw him glowing like an impossible mirage amidst blood and snow, but his beauty is almost unbearable now that she's seen the planes of that same untouchable face contort in anger, slacken in tiredness, soften in fondness. Every feature has been slashed into her mind since their first meeting, but he's a mystery she'll never tire of. She studies each detail with the same fascination as the first time.

Gold clings to every lash with the devotion of the sea returning to sand. Dawn rises in his eyes, the only place where she looks forward to sunrise. Cheekbones like cliffs, sweetpea pink lips. Twin moles wink at her from below his eye and cheek, a taunt mirrored in his eyes: What will you do now?

He tilts his head up, her hand that lay forgotten in his hair sliding down like rain. Brow bone, cheekbone, till the base of her palm curves against his jaw.

She's holding his face in her hand. What will you do now?

Her eyes hesitatingly find his again. The same eyes that speared into her being, trying to unravel her before she could undo him, that held and kept all his secrets, now betray him and look at her with undisguised tenderness. His gaze is the only mirror she can stand to look at herself anymore, her callousness and apathy smoothed over by his affection.

She loops her free arm around his neck, feeling his shoulders tense in surprise. In no reality will she come out of this unscathed. But would it be worth being hurt by these same hands that hold so gently?

Her eyes flit to his lips. Oh, but it would be worth being condemned to hell by this mouth. His lips part, luring her in before the din of doors slamming and a chorus of intermingling voices shatters their retreat.

Lane is off the floor and three feet away from him before he could even blink. His tenderness ripples into a scowl. His eyes glint a lurid red as he rises to his feet.

‘I should go,’ she says hastily, impatient to curse every member of the squad and then pore over every second of this afternoon before it dissipates like a dream.

‘And where are you rushing off to?’ he asks, notes of ire lurking in his voice.

She raises an eyebrow. ‘My room. I don't think the General will be pleased about me spending quality time with you instead of working.’

His mouth curls in derision. ‘If Dmitry's concern is incompetence, you're the least of his problems.’

His tone gives her pause. The second she tilts her head, his cool nonchalance snaps back into place, clicking shut with the finality of a lock.

‘I'll get going,’ she echoes before her heart could rope her into some foolish scheme. ‘Will you go to sleep now?’

‘Yes.’ He pauses, eyes sliding to her, lingering on her exposed collarbone. His voice lowers, softens, a snake coiling around flesh and she feels his words like he whispered them onto her skin. ‘Will you miss this opening?’

Her heart jolts. He can't possibly be…?

‘To watch me sleep again.’ He tilts his head innocuously, the effect offset by his growing smirk. ‘What were you thinking?’

Entirely unhelpfully, her mind bestows her with a visual. She thinks of him asleep, cheek pillowed by his arm, lashes casting needle-thin shadows, his ever-furrowed brows relaxed and a physical burn flares to life under her ribs.

She knits her brow in irritation, saving face too late, hastening to leave. The Cain who curved into her like the moon, who she'd christened angelic had fallen asleep, dreaming in some crevice of his mind. The one who stands in front of her, challenge highlighted in every plane of his face, is familiar, familiar and dangerous, familiar in a sense that she could hardly guess his next thought.

Just as her hand wraps around the door handle, she senses his searing presence behind her. Her body reacts instinctively, gearing up. Cain sends all of her emergency responses into overdrive, fight, flight, and fight speeding and crashing at the junction of her mind. All thoughts come to a screeching halt, leaving only expectant silence, air thrumming with possibilities. A discordant note or a lilting melody?

His fingers curl around her wrist, a gossamer touch. He lowers his head while raising her wrist, night falling as the moon rises to meet as a sunset, as a kiss. His cool breath snakes across her skin, travelling the course set by her veins, the faint brushes of his lips blissful torture.

A marionette in his hands, he angles her wrist to his mouth, setting the stage. The first act: the bite of his teeth against her pulse.

Her shoulders seize and she bites her lip, the blooming pain-pleasure shoving a gasp back inside her mouth. He presses, so gently, an invisible divot to savor and linger over at night, an ephemeral mark of him on her skin.

Can he feel her hand trembling? Her knees will give out if he continues.

In answer, in tender defiance, he scrapes his teeth across her pulse point, shrapnel and velvet, mouth feverishly hot, teeth deliciously sharp. Her spine jerks, pulled by his strings, aching to lean against his body. A low noise escapes her before she could haul it inside.

He halts, knowing when to coax with hardly a look, pulling her along to freefall into desire, another line they can never uncross, and when to let her be. He presses a full kiss to soothe her skin, before the curtain falls with a delicate graze of his lips over the faded cut on her palm.

He pulls back and she blinks as the world rushes in, both the celebrated principal actress and the dazed, breathless audience. He lowers her wrist gently, fingers falling away like the night. ‘Thank you,’ he says quietly with no trace of the smugness she was expecting.

She could hardly remember what she replied or how she stole away into the hallway. Half her mind still trembling in that room with him, the other half lazily waking up from a pleasant dream, she muses as she stumbles to her room.

The weight of the emptiness in her soul is always lurking, always ready to drag her into nothingness. Being around others only seems to chip away the remnants of her soul clinging to her insides; their strained laughter, easy anger and human hope shattered mirror shards reflecting the humanity long gouged out of her. You are not like us. Each irregular mosaic amplified till the message was deafening. You are not like us!

But as she stood in the hallway, vision golden with dust motes swirling around in a lazy waltz in the ballroom of sunlight, her soul is… silent. Not clamoring in its depleted state, begging to find its stolen half and fill it up. Cain's mere presence lifts this particular veil of half death, making her heart pumping in lazy disinterest startle awake, having to work overtime to make up for her lungs slacking.

Though she was the one who wished to lighten his burden today, it seemed he was imbuing her with his own life force with every touch. A thirst for life, and just not survival, gasped for air within her, only to see him again, to touch him again and make him tremble.

The corner of her mouth twitches as she turns the handle.

She has to find a way to get him back for that kiss.

[tuliptired]

hi! could you write anymore little looks at a humanities ta!reader x egon in college?

Do Wah Diddy Diddy

Pairing: Egon Spengler/Gn!Ta!Reader

Warnings: Reader is drunk for most of it

The egon/reader tag is so barren ;( Why nobody else dressed like a slut tonight?

INSANELY better formatting on Ao3!

 Egon left his lab, surprisingly, stressed. His major didn´t often stretch him too thin, he knew what he was doing and how to do it best, but it was just that time of year. Lots of work, and not a lot of time to do it. He always managed, with lots of coffee and little sleep, it was just a fact of academia.

The outside world reflected the inside ecosystem of his fellow students, buzzing with life and blazingly hot. Plagued by the heated air trying to cling to the classroom, you cracked a few windows open as you taught in place of the absent professor. This wasn't out of the ordinary- the man trusted you enough to run a class, and you ran it like a natural, admittedly. But today was a little strained, your daily seminar not getting to the level of intensity it usually did. Egon would’ve made a comment on it as he got the last word in, but he decided against it. While you were a TA, there was more emphasis on the “A” in times like these, evident in how you scoured through notes for other classes when you had a spare minute.

They worked independently, before you lifted your head out of a notebook, one of many fans blowing some of your hair off of your forehead. You glanced at the clock, before quickly setting up a projector and unboxing a handful of identical, thick books.

“Big assignment,” you started, a few complaints sounding from the students, “it wasn’t even me this time, blame Mr. Coulms.” 

He left the lecture room in a worse mood than he entered it, the thick tome under his arm. A play. He was a great reader- he could read each edition of Tobin's Spirit guide cover to cover in an hour if he was looking to cite something. Scientific journals were light entertainment to him. But plays? You actually had to dissect a play. To dissect it, you had to read it- well. 

He leaned against a bookcase, in the not-leaning-but-leaning way that he does, so as not to disturb the books. He would be searching for something like Ray was, crouched on the ground and investigating the bottom shelf, but he wasn’t in the mood, glaring at the text he was given before placing it on an empty shelf beside him. 

They were tucked away in the basement of the Public Library- it was one of the few places that they could ask for books about harnessing pure protonic energy and campfire stories of the 30’s without being looked at weird. Peter messed with the straps of his bag, ready to go and saying so for the 3rd time.

“In a minute, Peter.” Ray placed a few books next to him, searching for the right one that happened to be inconveniently smaller than the one’s surrounding it. He looked up at Egon sympathetically. 

“I’m sorry, Spengs. But I did this one in high school, and it was a lot of fun!” His optimism was cut short as the rest of the books along the wood fall towards the middle like dominos. 

“It won’t be hard, Egon. Do the voices.’ Peter procured a rubix cube from his bag. Egon seriously didn’t know why he carried it around, as it was never once solved.

Ray fumbled with the books as he tried to Dewey-Decimal their placements in his head. “I’ll help. Just, uh…” He looked around at the mess he made. “Can you look around for ‘Ghastly Apparitions of the Appalachian’? We’re gonna need it, too.” Egon only nodded, eager to clear his head a bit. He remembered the author well enough, weaving through aisles to find the proper section. 

He didn’t make it far, there was a reshelving cart in his way, his feet coming to a halt. As he looked up from the roller, you were standing there, hands on your hips. 

“Doesn’t look like you’re studying very hard.”

He sighed a puff of air out his nose, as you peered over his shoulder. You saw two men on the ground, grabbing handfuls of discarded books. “And your friends are messing up my hard work.”

He glanced back at the men, then back at you. “Is there anywhere you don’t work?” He didn’t intend to be in a confrontational mood this afternoon, but a bad class will do that to you.

You pointed to a pin on your chest, which read your name in small print under ‘BOOKKEEPER’.

 “Nope. How many people do you know have a gold plated name tag?”

“Waste collectors and prison guards.”

“Did you need a book? Because you’re in the library?”

He had his hands resting on the handle of the cart, not noticing until you dragged it to the side, taking away the partition between you. “Ghastly Apparitions of the Appalachian by Gregory Lederer.” He expected you to not know what he was talking about, and stand there dumbfounded. But you pushed past him, making your way to the “L” aisle of the General Knowledge section.

Your eyes scanned the spines of various options. “I don’t remember this play taking place in Appalachia,” you moved on to the next row. He followed you like a dog, unsure of what to do while you helped him.

“It’s personal. Scientific.” 

“The title’s a little oxymoronic, then, no?” You finally found it, examining the covers quizzically.

As he reached out for the book, you pulled your hand back. Egon wanted to be annoyed, but it wasn’t in him.

“Actually read the play. Do the voices.” Your own voice had the tone of someone trying to reason with a child. He reached his hand out, again, and you placed the book into his palm, conceding. 

Though you had a modest smile, Egon couldn’t help notice your tired look, under eyes darkening despite your efforts otherwise. He could understand, this was a hard time for everyone, no matter their field. Before he could show you his commiseration, against his better judgment, you let the book go limp in his grasp, passing by him with a small “see you, Mr. Spengler”.

Peter appeared in his line of sight amongst the maze of shelves, as Egon stood dumbly. A voice told him to “clean up my basement” as he passed by.

“It appears we’re not wanted here. Let’s go, Egon.”

When it was officially late, you sat in your dorm, finally having time to sit and work. You had to skip a proper lunch, mindlessly putting a baby carrot in your mouth every 10 minutes as you snuck a binder under your desk at the Public Library. By the time you were on your bed, feverishly taking notes, checking notes, and reading notes, you were barely halfway done with your studying itinerary. This week was sufficiently kicking your butt, to say the least.

The door opened and shut, revealing your roommate, Christine, setting her bag down on the chair nearby. You barely verbally acknowledged her, looking for a specific page in your textbook. She gave you a once over, before making her way to the fridge, but unable to stop taking you in. 

“Did you hear what I said?” Christine asked you, skeptical.

“Don’t think so-” Page 392.

She poured herself a glass of something, eyeing you as she did. “I said, you need to relax a bit.”

That was easy for her to say. As much as you appreciated her and her companionship, all Christine did was relax. Still, your flow was disturbed, and you reluctantly put your materials down.

She continued now that she had your attention. “You don’t hang out anymore. It’s Friday.” She crosses to stand in front of your spot on the bed, effectively tapping you in the conversation.

“There’s some guys in my advertising class throwing-” You can tell what’s coming next, and you shimmy past her as she exclaims in protest.  

“Come on,” she follows you around, nearly pleading with you. You sighed, stopping as she leaned up behind you. It wasn’t that you didn’t like fun, or being with friends- parties just stopped being your scene a few semesters ago. How’s that for maturity?

“I’m telling you like I’ve told you a million times before. That’s just not my domain.” Christine spun you around, intent on not giving up until you caved.

“You guys always get drunk, then you get pissed, then I’m dragging you home and helping you puke it all up.” She rolled her eyes.

“We’ll only have a little- and,” she pointed an accusatory finger to your chest, “to be fair, you wouldn’t have to do all that if you drank a little yourself.”

You pointed the same finger back at her. “So we can all puke together? What a fun night.”

Christine made the sign of the cross then, pointed her fingers to the sky virtuously. “I swear on my life; we’ll know when to stop.” When she opened her eyes, you still weren’t convinced.

“Pleeeease? If it’s lame, we’ll leave and rent a video and get a pizza. But you might have fun.” She looked at you with those big blue eyes, and it took all of your strength to resist. She pleaded with you again, until you finally broke, covering your ears.

You groaned dramatically. “Alright, fine, fine. I’ll go to your stupid frat party and get smashed on cheap beer.” Christine cheered, making her way over to the phone. 

“I’ll call Dean and Lisa and-” you flopped back onto your bed. Staring at your long forgotten work, you wondered if this was the right choice. 

Egon read the line, waiting patiently for Ray to respond from the copy he borrowed himself, as the man read for all other 11 characters of the play. It was about two rulers from warring countries forced to live together in a dungeon, but he just couldn’t grasp what was so special about that. It was late into the night, the dorm only illuminated by a few lamps and the little bit of light pouring in from under the door. After hours of trying to evade it, both men had only made a small dent in the long drama.

Ray pushed his reading glasses up. “You need more conviction, Egon, I don’t feel like your wife right now.” Egon closed his copy, putting his forehead in his hand against his desk.

“I don’t think this is working.”

“Are you doing improv? ‘Of course it’s not working, you-”

“No, Raymond. This book isn’t working.” Egon slid it away from him, the bright red cover hurting his eyes, and his pride.

Ray looked sad for his friend, taking off his glasses. “The only way to do it is to read. I’m sorry.” He tossed his book onto his bed. “But we can take a break. Whaddya wanna do?”

Egon remembered it was Friday, the day most young adults would use to unwind. He reached into the drawer beneath him, emerging with a miniature Tesla coil Ray had fashioned.

“You read my mind, Spenges!”

The two men were engrossed with messing around with it, placing numerous objects on and around the transformer- granted that any other flammable or conducive thing they owned was moved out of the way. As Ray teased the sparks with a pencil, he suddenly recalled something, eyes flashing and wide as he dropped the writing utensil.

“Peter has my car!” He grabbed each side of his head, almost comically as he could picture it- a nice, clean Camaro being trashed by beer and bodily fluids.

Ray was just short of spiraling, stuck on either racing down to the party himself or bawling in the spinny chair. “I’d go there myself- and strangle the life out of him,” he nearly wept, covering his eyes.

Egon let his eyes shut, before willinging himself to his feet. He’d never, ever associate with any sort of party, let alone one at a fraternity. But Ray loved that car, his dad’s graduation gift to him that’s been his pride and joy since freshman year. His friend barely even drove it around, afraid to raise the mileage too much. He didn’t doubt Ray’s conviction, or ability, to show it to Peter for going against his wishes, but the engineer was in hot water with the hosting students. One complicated party trick gone wrong, and the front lawn was ablaze quicker than he could control the little ball of plasma. It was their sophomore year, but he still wasn’t welcome near the block of brownstones he managed to devalue.

“Thank you, Egon, I promise I’ll repay you,” Ray’s eyes were glossy with tears as he pressed his face impossibly close to the glass of the window, trying to spot his baby driving somewhere down the street.

Time lessened the heat, Egon thought to himself. It was dark, but not a long walk off campus and a block or two away from the party. It wasn’t hard to find it, either- the music was loud and the bacchanal activities spilled out onto the street and into neighboring yards. No sign of the car. He wrinkled his nose. In the last stretch of freshman year, Peter tried convincing him and Ray to join a fraternity, rattling off a laundry list of reasons that it’d be a thrilling experience for the trio. He was obviously unsuccessful, and dropped the idea when he realized that it’d be hard to make friends in the already tight knit community. 

Egon didn’t dare touch the doorknob, evading people lounging on the stoop as he entered the large house after someone, using his foot to keep the door open. It smelt strongly of booze in the hot, dimly lit apartment, music still blaring from an unknown source. Not to mention the hazy smoke that was billowing through the air, hard to avoid with his height, much like the sounds of two people making out behind the couch. Infection central. How were all these people still going this late? He had to step over the passed out body of some guy without a shirt to get to the kitchen. 

As he stepped from the carpeted area to the tiled floor, arms quickly wrapped around his middle. His head snapped down, and there you were, head buried in his chest.

“Hi, Egon,” you smiled sweetly up at him, eyes glazed over and voice syrupy, not as precise as you made sure it was. He blinked a few times, noticing not only your shoes standing on his, but the fact you called him by his first name.

“Hi.” He reveled in the confusion, before pulling you away from him, gently. “Have you seen Peter? Peter Venkman?”

You thought about it, before the memory flashed back into your recollection. “Dr. Love? He left with my friend Christine.” Your voice slurred the words “left” and “with”, the same way Ray did when he was so smashed he couldn’t stand. Junior year was a sight to behold. 

He remembered how he handled drunken Ray, noting how warm your shoulders were under his fingers. “You’ve been drinking?” He asked despite himself. Being a gentleman was above personal vendetta. It was odd, seeing you dressed like this, out of the professional attire you took pride in every day. Your ability to pick clothes with an anal retentiveness rivals even him- the only college student in a pressed dress shirt, a sweater vest, and slacks. 

“Like, one or five. Itsfine, I’mfine,” you waved your hands around dismissively, before placing them over Egon’s. “I didn’t know you could party, Egie.” He ignored the heat that stung the muscles in his cheeks.

“I don’t.” He went along with it as you started swaying the two of you back and forth lightly. “Did you come with any other friends?”

You went silent, thinking again. It was evidently hard to think and sway, and you eventually fell back into him, unable to keep your balance. “DeanandLisa went to get…food. And they told me to stay here. So I took’a nap.” You nodded to yourself.

“When?”

You couldn’t answer. He peeked sideways at the clock- 3:19. Wherever your friends went, they weren’t going to be back for a long time. 

Your arms were still around him, head back on his chest as his hands hovered over you, awkwardly. It was barely audible, but you were mumbling along to the song playing throughout the rest of the house. He should’ve felt a smug pride, watching you who were once so confident drool on yourself, stumble over your words, and paw at him, but he couldn’t. Egon felt a lash of guilt at the idea of leaving you behind, telling Ray that Peter was long gone, and going to bed. You were obviously inebriated- with no friends and too juiced to know not to sleep on the floor, he couldn’t just let you stay in this dump. 

That’s how he ended up herding you out the door, but not before you stumbled about the apartment, saying good night to everyone. He was on your heels as you banged on a socked-bedroom door, bidding whoever was on the other side farewell, but he wasn’t quick enough before you were shouting your goodbyes down the stairwell of the basement. For being wasted, you were surprisingly fast. He finally got you outside, the skin under his fingers actually cooling as you left the cramped party.

“I didn’t take you to be a party-person,” he confessed, hand on the small of your back to stop you from running across the street to greet the cat staring you down.

“I’m- wait,” you did in fact run, having to kick off your shoes for efficiency before bending down rather ungracefully to pet the feline like a child would, fingers splayed and pushing its ears back unintentionally. He watched on as you skipped back to the sidewalk, grabbing a street sign for stability when you reached him.

“I’m not,” you resumed as he steered you on. “But- it was Christine! She showed me her’fake eyelash…es and convinced me!” You looked to him to share your disbelief as you told the story, shoes waving around as you moved your hands. “I’couldn’t say no!”

Egon found himself smiling. “I have a roommate very similar.” You were surprisingly easier to talk to when drunk. He wasn’t burning up, or scrambling for his words like he normally did when you teased him, making the scientist detest you more and more for your ability to confuse him. His thoughts ceased, as you got closer to campus, but walking with increasing difficulty.

It was when he had to catch you before tripping over yourself that he swallowed his inhibitions, wrapping a hand under you. He wasn’t the strongest out there, maybe even a little weak, but he could support your weight until you reached home. As you let out a small noise of surprise though, he felt a primitive sense of manliness, your figure pressed to his in a bridal carry.

“Soooo strong.” You praised him, voice trailing off as you let your head hit his shoulder. He had to remind himself that you were drunk, none of this really meant anything. You’d wake up, and decide to torment him after taking an aspirin. His grip weakened as his smile did.

“Don’t drop’me,” your hands clawed at the fabric of his shirt, and he adjusted his hold.

“I won’t,” he watched you close your eyes, face content. “I won’t.”

 You were halfway back to the dormitory. He could feel you stirring, looking down and finding your eyes fixed on the night sky. 

“What’s up there?”

“Ursa Major.” You pointed lazily.

“That’s a plane.”

You stiffened in his arms. “No, it’s’not. I know this. It’s the bear.” You managed to cross your arms over yourself while in his hold. He felt bad, provoking you while inebriated. 

“Then it’s the bear.”

“Put me down,” you hit him on the chest a few times, willing him to reluctantly place you on your own two feet. You shook off his attempts at still holding you, intent on trying to make it home on your own. You stormed off along the path, nearly veering off into the grass.

“Where are you going?” He couldn’t hide the concern behind his voice, trying to keep up with you as you took on a sudden irritation towards him.

“Home.” You kept your pace, before slowing, battling something in behind your eyes in your drunken state. “You think I’m dumb.” Egon stopped in his tracks in a moment, before walking behind you again.

“That’s not true,” he said simply, throwing away his feud with you when sober. He thought of you as one of the smartest people he knew. And you managed to make him look like a mere child while baring your smile at him.

“Maybe I’like being drunk,” you retorted to no one in front of you. As you slowed, so did Egon, watching on as you looked on down the dim, street lamp lit path. When he followed your gaze, he saw nothing but the darkness of night ahead of him. Suddenly, you fell forward, uncaring and weightless. He wasn’t quick enough to catch you, heart dropping to his toes before you simply rolled over onto your back. Your knees were scraped, rapidly drying blood mixing with the gravel and dust of the ground over your lacerated skin. Before he could worry too much about it, you merely laughed, full of glee as your eyes were transfixed on the stars, arms out like you were a star yourself. 

You passed out pretty quick after that, a little heavier in his arms. To say Egon was uneasy was an understatement, but at least you were out for a bit. He struggled to get the door to the building open, and even more so getting up to your dormitory floor, only narrowly avoiding hitting your head against a door frame every so often. Taking a quick look at the plates on each door, he was relieved at finding your surname printed on one. After a few discreet knocks, however, no one opened up, either passed out themselves or simply not home. Searching for solutions, he sighed, again, gently laying you against the baseboards. It wasn’t his most elegant idea, but it’d have to do as he reached in his pocket for a pad and paper. He simply scribbled the words “Passed out, sleeping in 244. Please pick up when you get home.” Pressing it in the space between the room number and the wood, he picked you up for the third time and made the trek back to his own place.

You looked peaceful, as Egon decided on putting you in Ray’s bed, alcohol and cotton pads ready. Ray wasn’t home himself- and it’d be unbecoming of him to put you in his own. He hummed to himself, your current state reminding him of the deuteragonist in the play you gave him. They were affluent and sybaritic, imprisoned while drunk and jovial, to the aggravation of the protagonist, tied to tradition and analytical. He hoped that whoever you were in chains with took the liberty of cleaning your open wounds like he did. 

Apparently, the sting of disinfectant is enough to rouse the unconscious awake, as the liquid being pressed to your skin made you jolt back to the present, sucking in air between your teeth and nearly kneeing him in the nose. You rushed to sit up as properly as you could, bringing your legs to your chest.

“What’re you doing?” The pain must’ve been worse in this state. He suddenly felt very, very bad about not waiting until you were awake to take care of it, but he remembered that you couldn’t make proper decisions for yourself like this. He wet another pad, though warily. Who was Egon to say that he could make proper decisions for you, sober or otherwise?

He approached you gently, showing you his materials. “Sanitizing. It could get infected.” Maybe that was a bit overzealous, but germs love untreated, open flesh.

You calmed, letting your legs dangle over the bedside again, the exaggerated idea of losing a leg scarier than the cleaning agent in his hand. “Oh.” He figured you were sobering up, even by a bit, from the way your words slurred less and you clung Ray’s blanket to yourself, night’s activities catching up with your tired body. You looked around as he worked quickly, taking in the room.

“You’re messy.” Egon raised his eyebrows once at that, prepping another pad.

“We’re scientists. And Peter.” He could hear you laugh weakly above him. It felt nice, to make you feel nice. Egon felt oddly at ease, on his knees, cleaning you up- as dubious as it sounded. He moved on to your other leg, remembering your situation. “Would you like to stay here? Your friends aren’t home.”

Silence as he wiped away the grime. Your voice sounded again. “A sleepover.”

He resisted a yawn, letting it escape through his nose before catching sight of the clock. “Sure.”

You didn’t say anything else. Better for him- he was sure you didn’t have a key and he was a terrible locksmith. You were leaning back on your hands.

“My doctor.”

He bit back the smile and blush that spread over his face with a clench of his jaw. You were still drunk, no matter how coherent. And wrong. “Not yet a doctor.” He was done bandaging both your injuries some time ago.

“Doctor Egon,” you drew out the word, giggling to yourself. He’d let it slide, this time. Misused titles were disdainful in academia. But he supposed being a stickler didn’t matter so much, now.

Eventually, he rose to his feet, eyes honing in to a surface level scratch on your cheek from the fall. He held your jaw lighty, thumb careful to not graze too much over it. It wasn’t severe, but he assumed you’d prefer to not have a deep scar there for the entirety of the summer to come. He thought about summer. He’d be here, on an internship, while you’d be away, probably away with your friends again. You’d get drunk, seemingly trusting the people around you far too much until you’re hurt- worse than you are now. Whatever meathead you’d spent the night with wouldn’t know first aid if it was thrown at him. Egon soaked in his jealousy, eyebrows falling over his eyes, before coming back to his senses, soaking one more piece of cotton and gently tapping it to your face, a small adhesive placed to protect it. 

“Kiss to make it better?” He let go of your face, moving to the kitchen sink to wash his hands as you giggled to yourself again. It was awfully late, now.

“You should get some sleep,” he dried his hands off. He would miss you, but time was the only fool-proof remedy- and daylight was quickly approaching.

“No fun,” you complained, but you still settled into Ray’s bed, pulling the comforter around yourself. He contemplated what to do, get into his own bed or just wait for you to sleep instead. You rolled over to face him.

“Are you sure you don’t want my help with the play? I’m not supposed to, though. But I can do the voices.” Right. The play. He eyed the book, forgotten about in the corner of his desk.

“I’d rather you rest.” 

“You should sleep, too.” He could tell you were fighting your own exhaustion. He pulled out his chair, moving Ray’s coil to the side to make work of his assignment again. 

“I’d rather you did, first.” He opened to the page he left off on.

“Egon.” You sounded scarily sober. He turned in his seat to face you.

You freed yourself from the blanket a bit. “You’re tired. You always look tired.” Another state of inebriation was taking hold of you. Maudlin. You were drunk. It didn’t mean anything.

He chewed at the inner part of his bottom lip before speaking again. “You’re very stressed. And you’re going to wake up feeling like hell.” He searched for the right words to convince you to let yourself go. “I’ll sleep too, and we can talk to each other in our dreams.” A little ridiculous, but it’s not the craziest thing he’s said to a tippler.

The hammered part of you was contemplating it, before you smiled and nodded. Before he went back to his work, you called for him one more time.

“Egon?”

“Yes?”

“I need a lullaby.” You had the same devilish, teasing look in your eye as you did when you were sober. He looked around in confusion as you looked towards him expectantly, before he surrendered, winding up a small snow globe that Peter kept out, even in Spring. As it played, you shook your head.

“No, sing the one by Manfred Mann.” He grabbed the edge of the blanket, pulling it over your head as you laughed uncontrollably to yourself.

“Goodnight.”

Egon had fallen asleep over his book some time later. As he came to, he looked back, hopeful to still see you, sleeping soundly. His hope faltered as he took in the empty space, neither his roommates returned or your spot on Ray’s bed filled in by your shape. There was a strange emptiness in his chest, knowing you were gone in a matter of hours. The only proof of your presence was the used bottle of isopropyl in the corner of his desk.

His breath slowed, light of the early morning burning into his eyes as he slowly rose out of his chair. Walking off, not sure if he was going to shower, or eat, or what, he noticed a small paper on the pillow. He picked it up, wondering if it would disappear in his hands.

“Thank you, Doctor.” He folded it back. You were drunk. It didn’t mean anything. But he still smiled.

[cryingpariah]

Gabriel and Gryphon about to watch their dads lose any and all credibility in a meeting thanks some well-placed woopie cushions and buckets full of feathers.

Technically, they weren’t breaking any rules. There are strict boundaries for any and all April 1st shenanigans and they listened…which is why they set everything up March 31st instead!

The woopie cushions and buckets filled with fluff were the meat and potatoes prank but while rooting around for supplies they stumbled across an old black notebook with the words ‘KEEP OUT SHANKS ☠️’ pierced into the cover. Since neither Gabe nor Gryphon were Shanks they naturally opened it and stumbled across the holy grail: The Prank Bible.

Filled with inspiration they drove right into implementing the book’s favourite tricks, which includes but is not limited to:

- Putting bouillon cubes in the shower head

- Replacing sword wax with lard

- Moving everything in the office 3.5 cms to the left

And the most devious of all including two full sets of dominos, 4 buckets, chocolate sauce, 7 ping pong balls, a shit ton (exact measurement) of rope, a skateboard/pair of roller skates, a tarp, and a fake crown and sash that read ‘Lord of Gullibility’

Safe to say that black book is chucked into the sea before April 2nd.