#I have no idea what that longest tag is for

[toruforuu]

gojo satoru x reader || hogwarts au (18+)

wonderwall chp.8 wings of invisibility and uncertainty

✼pairing: hogwarts au - slytherin!gojo x ravenclaw!reader

✼summary: gojo satoru, the golden boy of a famous family lineage of wizards sets his sights on you, a half blood defying his pureblood morals. he makes it a goal in his life to make yours a living hell. years of endless pestering, teasing and rivalry stretching out. as times goes on, he finds himself thinking about you more than he isn’t. he grows torn between his family’s beliefs and the forbidden ache tickling his chest whenever he sees you

✼meaning: wonderwall - the person you cannot stop thinking about (song by oasis)

✼genre/tags: hogwarts au, female reader, strangers to enemies/sort of academic rivals to forbidden lovers, slow burn, angst, eventual smut, pining and yearning (mostly gojo), built up tension, teasing, bickering and pestering, jealousy, slightly spoiled gojo, obsessed and lovesick gojo, both are pretty oblivious to their feelings

✼warnings: discrimination, death, grief, shitty parents, light bullying, mentions of hook ups, sexual topics, family pressure and trauma, mentions of injuries and violence, degradation, mentions of political views, escalating political situation, lgbtq representation, cheating

✼word count: 13k

✼chapter: 8/?

a/n: was supposed to post yesterday, but i was too tired to edit so here it is now. it’s the longest chapter so far and it’s kinda angsty. lmaooo, hopefully you’ll enjoy it anyway. i was supper busy the past few weeks and i will be till the end of may, monday was also my last day of high-school. shit feels weird:d

based on this // previous chapter // next chapter (pending…)

˚⟡˖ ࣪: link to playlist

˚⟡˖ ࣪: link to vision-board

Hogwarts, the place of your comfort, was never really the same after you returned back from your two week spiralling. It wasn’t something which you took notice of immediately due to your overpowering grief, it was rather a slow process of picking out the changes in your routine. Your schedule became loose as you dropped out of the quidditch team, it cleared out — leaving you with a great amount of free time you always longed for. Months ago it’d sound like dream, however, that impression seems to have perished. Instead, it’s more like a spiteful nightmare. And there you were, drowning in your sorrows, and with so much time on your hands, you had no clue what to do with it nor with yourself. That’s precisely when you started to become aware of the changes in your environment.

A handful of professors were fired along with the headmaster, charged guilty in the same way he was.

For plotting against the government.

Nobody was hundred percent sure of where the evidence for their plotting came from, it remains a mystery till now. It left you curious, because what if the resignation of your mother was the first step towards the worse?

The change of staff was painfully noticeable, your favourites were amongst those who were forced to take their leave. So school work became a chore, rather than something you enjoyed. And with the work pilling up for your graduating, you found yourself falling into your old habits. Into the hole you had managed to dig yourself up from, it feels dehumanising.

And due to all the new rules and assets of the headmaster, it feels good to be send off for personally picked out internship.

You had obviously chosen a two week internship at the ministry, getting easy access to it because of your mother’s position. Perks you’ll miss. It was her idea to have you by her side though, seizing the last opportunity to walk you through what you will be applying for later on, before her term is definitively over and so is her dedication to the ministry.

Plus, you knew being with her would ease the stinging pain you carry with yourself.

With your mother’s resignation, a sense of calmness washed over the usually busy departments of the ministry.

There doesn’t need to be a process of electing anymore with your mother out of the game. The future Head Auror of Magical Enforcement is named already. The paperwork is done, hanging at each corner of the hallway like a painful reminder — printed in all newspapers, the information leaking quicker than spilled ink.

Sato Gojo is to take upon your mother’s place.

The second you were told, your world shattered. It makes sense the head of the Gojo family is up to take upon your-mother’s role, however, you can’t help to not feel betrayed. Gojo’s father always kept to his social circle, refusing to involve himself in politics and rather focus on his family.

So what drove to a shift in his behaviour?

There’s many questions to which you have no answer to, but it certainly doesn’t fail to wake your previous suspicions back to life. All of this simply looks like too much of a coincidence, and no matter how my times you open yourself up to your mother about it, she always finds a way to brush it off, or reassure you it’s all in your head.

Overall, the head of the Gojo family becoming an Auror working for the ministry pleased the conservative community. Bringing them a period of harmony and peace.

For how long before they’re hungry for more power is an unknown fact.

“You’re packing already, huh?” you call out, eyeing the boxes in the corner of your mother’s office. Some of them empty, some half filled up with stacks of folders and trinkets she gathered during her many terms.

“Yes, my love. My term ends in two weeks, I better get the stuff out of here now,” your mother chuckles calmly while she browses through one of her last stacks of forms she has to fill in.

“Can I see?” you carefully point at the cardboard, requesting permission to peak and see what’s inside.

She hums in response, which sparks a wave of joy. You’ve always been fond of her position, admiring her for her strength to withstand such pressures. It’s no easy job, and the fact she as a woman managed to win over countless others candidates left you feeling proud. Making her someone you looked up to since long before you got your letter of acceptance into Hogwarts.

Therefore, it’s no wonder to feel sad as you scan all of the boxes carrying her story.

You kneel before the stack of worn cardboard, the brownish sides of the boxes are labeled in your mother’s tidy handwriting. The air smells faintly of parchment, dust, and something oddly comforting. She only just resigned, and yet this already feels like an artefact of archaeology.

You open the top box and are greeted by layers of folded robes, the fabric scuffed at the edges. Beneath them lies a cracked leather notebook with marks at the corners. Inside it, her handwriting flows steadily across the pages like deliberate poetry. It’s full of case notes, sketches of spell patterns, details of hexes encountered in the field. And so much more, it grips you in amusement. Some bylines are even scattered with personal remarks.

“Don’t trust Proudfoot with back up again,”

“Found the locket. It’s burning stronger this time.”

In another box, you find photos. Some still moving, others faded. There’s one of her where she’s much younger. It must be way before she had you. Her wand is raised mid-battle, hair wild with wind and adrenaline. Her eyes are alive in a way you haven’t seen lately. Another photo shows her, and two colleagues clinking mugs in the Auror Office, grinning in the way people do when they’ve survived something that should have strip them of their life.

A smaller box at the bottom holds her wand cases, a broken Time-Turner and a tiny box with a picture of you. You appear to be around six, perhaps seven. A lock of your hair is attached to the back of it — labeled with your name and birthdate. There's a small scribbled note under it as well, barely readable as it seems to have vanished with passing time.

She carried your picture with her into battles.

You sit back, hands in your lap, surrounded by the cardboard boxes. It’s a strange thing, learning who your mother was through what she gathered over the years. This woman in the photos is one you rarely got to meet, and you silently wish you knew more of her, not just from the pictures.

A hero to society, yes. But also just a woman who wanted to get back to her family the most at the end of each day.

You lift another folder from the depths of the box, thinner and more delicate than the rest. It isn't labeled like the others, just sealed with a faded string tie. Inside, tucked carefully between pieces of parchment, are photographs. Not official ones like the rest, but personal. Private.

The first photo shows two girls in Hogwarts robes standing near the Black Lake, grinning madly as the wind whips at their hair and ruins their photo. You recognize your mother instantly. Her coloured hair is put together into a braid, the slight squint in her eyes radiates a warm atmosphere. Perhaps due to the fact you know it only occurs when she genuinely smiles. Something which you don’t see much of these days.

But it’s the girl beside her that makes you pause.

She’s luminous.

Her hair is gold — like actual sunlight, and her eyes are a vivid emerald green that gleams even in the aging photograph. Comparable to the depths of the Forbidden Forest. There’s a joy in her expression as well, like she was on the verge of laughter. She’s got an arm slung around your mother’s shoulders, wand tucked behind one ear.

You can’t help but question who’s the girl, and why you never heard of her.

You find more photographs of them together: the two of them studying in the common room, caught mid-laugh in the library. There’s even one of them dancing at what looks like the Yule Ball —your mother is in deep blue robes, the other girl in green silk, spinning with such jubilation it blurs the image.

Then you find a letter tucked into the sleeve of one of the albums. The parchment is soft with age, but the ink is crisp and still bold enough to read properly.

You sit with your back facing your mother, afraid she might snap these out of your sight if she sees.

And right now, you’re desperate to get to know the girl she has once been.

You look back at the girl in the photo, this “Y.” Whoever she was, she mattered. Not just to your mother’s school days, but maybe to who she became when she joined the ministry, when she became an Auror, when she became your mother and a wife to your father.

She must matter a great deal to your mother still, for she has kept her letter all these years.

You wonder where she is now.

You wonder if your mother ever contacted her again.

You return the letter from "Y." carefully to its sleeve, your fingers trembling slightly, not from fear but from the heavy tenderness of it all. They’re not your memories, but it doesn’t really matter. Nostalgia welcomes you with open arms anyway. The box has become more than a collection of artefacts — it’s a map of your mother’s life, kept in parchment and photographs.

Looking into the boxes makes you realise that you might never actually get to know your mother in a way you wish you could.

There must be other countless things which remain unsaid.

And will stay that way for evermore.

Near the bottom of the cardboard, under a stack of old Daily Prophets folded, you find another set of photographs. These are different — crisper, more static and completely motionless. Photographs taken in the human world. The magic may not move them, but they hum with a different kind of atmosphere.

Your father is in them.

He stands next to your mother in a bright, sun-washed park, one hand resting over hers on the handle of a stroller. Where you’re presumably hidden under a blanket. His smile is cracked open and unguarded, nothing like the haunted eyes of Aurors in postwar photos. Your mother’s hair is loose in this one, curling over her shoulders and her work attire is traded for a simple trench coat. There’s another of your father lifting your toddler self into the air, while your mother laughs beside him. There are numbers of others as well, dating back to before you were brought into the world.

You sit with those for a while. They make the quiet around you feel significantly louder. Hot and heavy tears prickle the corners of your eyes, streaming down your cheeks. You’re quick to wipe them away, one by one, however, they keep coming back for some strange reason. You swallow the sobs bubbling in your throat, not wanting to alarm your mother of your discovery.

You hide the pictures back into the bottom of the box, away from the world and your eyes.

For a moment you thought about informing your mother of what you’ve stumbled upon and then it hit you. Your father’s no longer amongst the living, and it rips your soul to pieces all over again. As if no time has actually passed, causing you to nearly choke on the sobs you desperately try to push back beneath the surface.

You recall Arabella’s saying, that the time will pass anyway. Trying to comfort yourself, but failing miserably.

You simply miss him. And you can’t phantom how your mother must feel, losing both her best friend and life long partner in one.

And then, as you try to gather the things back into the box, something else falls out.

A letter. Unsent.

The handwriting is your mother’s, unmistakably — sharp, hurried, always pressing forward like she couldn’t write fast enough to keep up with herself.

Somehow, it feels like you’re overstepping the boundaries of her privacy, but you can’t bring yourself to put these memories of her away.

You still sit on the floor with your legs crossed, the letter open in your lap. For a long while, the only sound is the soft ticking of the old clock on the table and the sound of your mother’s scribbling ink-pen. The pieces click into place. The fierce girl in green, perhaps a Slytherin. The woman your mother was. The deep and unfinished friendship she shared.

It all shaped her into the woman sitting at the desk right now.

“Mom, I know you’re strictly against sharing any sort of information with me, but do tell me why you resigned. The people need you more than ever now,” you dare to speak up after cleaning your throat, rotating your body towards her. Your cheeks still wet, fingers brushing the remains away with your sleeve.

“They’d eventually force me out of here one way or another. And it might seem I hold majority of the power here, nonetheless, it’s quite the opposite. Despite my position, I’d be powerless here. Due to the conservative’s power rising,” she explains.

She’s right, you know it. Though you wish she still fought more and didn’t give in as easily, you wanted her to at least try in the elections. Instead, she gave in. She cleared the way for them, gave them easy access.

“And then there’s the petition,” you furrow your brows with confusion, still resting at the floor.

“A petition? For what?” you question, not piecing it together.

“For my resignation, dear. Countless of people working for the ministry signed it, it’s the conservatives doing,” she informs you calmly, as if it’s the most obvious thing in the word and you’re just being dramatic.

“Why though? You’re incredible at your job,” you huff out, empathising the word incredible.

A long pause hangs in between you, your mother waits for you to come to a conclusion on your own.

“Right, dad,” you sigh out, a sting envelopes your chest as you recall the photographs kept in the boxes beside you. And the fact there’s enough hatred in the world to force your mother out of the office for such a stupid reason boils your blood.

“There’s other things involved, things I own,” she adds, her voice dropping a whole octave as her gaze remains focused on the folders. Her statement swirls a weird sensation within your stomach, an instinct begs you to persuade the topic, but you drop it. It’d do no good.

“Mom, if you ever need me, I’ll do anything,” you respond, supporting her instead of prying information out of her. You deem it to be better, given your situation.

“You’re sweet, but this isn’t your battle,” your mother chuckles warmly, lifting her gaze from the paperwork to look down at where you’re sitting — surrounded by cardboard.

“It is, it concerns me and my friends as well,” you plea, maintaining eye contact with her. Trying to be a shoulder for her to lean on once, just as she was always one for you.

“The one thing you should do now is to lay low,”

“Don’t we need to do something though? Stop the corruption, start before it’s too late?” your patience slips, casting out hopeless ideas to encourage the fire which once sparked in your mother, but now only lives in you.

“That’s the opposite of what we need right now, we will let them think they won and when the time’s right, we’ll strike,” she keeps on going with her idea of the situation, one which you’re not so fond of.

“Mom, I don’t know,” you object, looking to the side.

“Trust me, once you finish school, we’ll properly look into it, alright?” her voice isn’t pressuring, neither is her gaze. She’s truly simply trying her best to best to keep you safe and unscathed.

That only leaves you to give into her pleas.

“Okay, I’ll keep to myself,” you vow quietly, even though something’s telling you it’s not right.

Then another silence sets as she goes back to her paperwork.

Shortly after, knock cuts through the quiet lingering in the air like a misfired spell. You continue to sit cross-legged on the office floor, your hands resting on the boxes as you put everything back in place. The letter addressed to “Y.” once again lie at the bottom of the cardboard. Your mother sits by her desk, arms folded with eyes distant as she charms the papers away. She hasn’t said a word since your little promise.

The knock comes again. Three brushes of knuckles. Not urgent, but deliberate. Your mother doesn’t look at you. She doesn’t need to. You can sense the shift in her expression, the air around her goes still with tension. Her voice calls out loud enough for the other person to hear and move inside the office.

Soon enough, there’s three of you in the room.

The man entering is tall, easily over six feet, with a long and lean frame. He’s dressed in navy tailored suit. A black coat hangs open from his shoulders, lined with silk that catches the hallway light. His hair is a familiar shade of white — not the soft, aged kind. But the striking one, like freshly fallen snow on a chilly winter day. It's swept back loosely with gel, a few misbehaving strands falling across his forehead. His skin is pale, almost flawless in the dim light and his cheekbones cut sharp beneath the fall of his hair. You can feel the weight of his gaze, familiar pair of orbs staring down at your sitting form after acknowledging your mother.

He steps further inside before anyone says anything, while you watch him like someone staring at a ghost — the sight of the older man nearly makes you choke on your own saliva.

Your mother did briefly mention that Gojo’s father studied at Hogwarts around the same time as her, and if he was anything like his son — you felt sorry for her. You also stumbled across him multiple times in the newspapers, it’s possible you saw him at the train platform over the years too, and it’s simply been forgotten by you. Seeing him now though, in person, is completely something else. You didn’t expect their appearances to be as similar. It’s like your eyes are taking in the carbon copy of the younger version which pesters you in the castle.

“Ah, Sato. I’ve been expecting you,” your mother is fast to stand up, walking over to him to offer a handshake as a greeting gesture. You’re snapped back to reality and decide that getting on your feet is a better idea than lingering near the floor with such a honourable visit. Your hands brush away the dust from your trousers and then you straighten your back.

“M/N, always such a warm welcome from you,” Gojo’s father returns the offered handshake, adding a small charming smile out of politeness. The motion jabs at your ribs, the voice and the smile — it seems all too familiar. To the point where you wonder if you’re hallucinating.

“My wife will be here shortly, she has some errands to run,” he announces a second later as all three of you stand near the centre of the room, you inches behind your mother. And you swear you almost flinch, when the older man’s piercing blue eyes land on you. It’s a well known fact that those born into the Gojo family carry these extraordinary features, but seeing more than one member of the lineage in your life seems to knock the wind out of your lungs — wondering how it’s possible.

“And you must be Miss Y/N. I don’t believe we had the pleasure to meet officially,” the white haired man’s voice is honey like, welcoming you without any doubts as his hand reaches for yours. Waiting for you to take it. You swallow the lump building in your throat, the resemblance scaring and amusing you at the same time.

“No, sir. We haven’t, the pleasures all mine,” you of course mimic his gesture, lightly shaking his hand. You force out a smile, unsure of what else there’s to do.

“Ravenclaw, is it, young lady?” both of you retrieve your hands by the time he asks you the next question. It grabs you by surprise as you thought he’d simply sway the conversation back to your mother.

The gleam on older man’s face is undistinguishable, one you were convinced you’d see in no one else but his son.

“Indeed, it is,” you chuckle appropriately, nodding your head in agreement.

“Mhm, thought so, taking after your mother,” he responds with a hint of a laugh, sending shivers down your spine. Small part of you was convinced your Gojo the younger version of his father mentioned you, but then again, why would he?

“I presume that’s a compliment,” you hum, glancing at your mother who appears to be in the grasp of tension.

“You’d be right to think that,” Gojo’s father laughs louder this time, a hint of smirk decorating his lips.

And you thought they couldn’t be more alike.

“Y/N, dear, will you excuse us for a moment?” your mother’s voice breaks the trance you’ve been put to by your own wandering of mind.

“Of course,” is all you utter before you bid both of them a proper see you later kind of goodbye, closing the door shut after you.

You’ve been so baffled by the appearance of Gojo’s father, the resemblance he portrays to his son, to even question what it is that he went in there for. And his wife, the Slytherin’s mother, is on her way as well.

Strange.

What could possibly be of such importance for the both of them to come?

Surely, they aren’t here to pat your mother on the back for what a great job she has done.

Other things involved, things your mother owns — you debrief on your earlier conversation, the words settling in the pit of your stomach and creating a wrenching sensation.

You fully step out of your mother’s office, the weight of the conversation still clinging to your shoulders like a heavy burden. The hallway stretching out in front of you is its usual blend of dull marble. You move cautiously as you’re very aware of the fact you’re a mere intern — confident enough to walk without hesitating due to the badge pinned to your shirt, but aware of every polished shoe that echoes louder than it should.

Then, just as you round the corner past the auror division, you collide softly with someone. A breath, a scent like wild jasmine and clean peppermint — scent so expensive it leaves you breathless.

The woman you bumped into has golden hair, not blonde in the common way, but the color of sunlight reflecting against golden jewels. Her eyes stop you, leaving you cold. Green, like the forests in old paintings, full of calculations and surprises as she gazes back at you. There's something unnervingly excellent about her. The curve of her jaw, the tilt of her mouth. The paleness of her skin.

She’s ethereal looking.

It clicks slower than it should’ve.

You've seen her before.

In the photographs nestled in your mother’s boxes. The ones half-forgotten under folders of paperwork, labeled with a name that was no name at all. A nickname at best, perhaps a simple initial.

She smiles slowly and knowingly, as if she recognizes you too.

“An internship, young lady?” her voice is just as soft as you thought it to be, embroidered with a natural sweet tone — regardless of her sharp gaze and the suspicion in her practiced smile. Her appearance is meant to deceive. You sense your chest tightening as there’s something sorrowfully familiar to her as well. Not simply because of the pictures.

“Yes, an internship,” you breathe out unsteadily, like your breath got caught up somewhere on its way.

“I’m very sorry for bumping into you,” your apology is fast to follow as you regain your consciousness.

“I’ve seen you before, you’re in my son’s year if I’m not mistaken,” she chooses to discard your apology, focusing her energy elsewhere. Her expression is just as sweet, just as corrupted with a flash of cunningness. Her words connect your missing dots, the familiarities making sense now.

Right, she must be the wife.

You’re quick to recall your mother’s unsent letter as well — given who you married.

It all comes together like puzzle pieces, and you feel sort of stupid for not putting them together sooner.

“That would be correct,” you confirm her words, lightly nodding your head as you fidget with your fingers, unbeknownst to you. Her presence stirs nervousness within you, and the way her smile widens at your confirmation doesn’t seem to lighten it.

“You look quite awfully lot like your mother,” she hums, lost in deep thought as her globes survey your entire being.

“I get that a lot, thank you,”

“You have that kind of fire in you, I can tell,” she goes on, measuring you and ticking boxes in her head. You’re left unsure of what to do, whether to brush her off and get rid of the pit in your lower abdomen or engage in an interaction with her. To attempt at pulling some information out of her. But with that glint in her eyes, you doubt you’d be able.

Merlin’s beard, it’s as if she sees right through you and what you’re thinking.

That seems to run in their family.

“You know my mother?” you act as if you never heard of her, and you truly haven’t until today, only to see the shocked expression on her face.

It’s quick to flicker away.

“Briefly,” she slightly pouts, something which would go unnoticed by you if it weren’t for the letters and old photographs.

“Well, she’s inside with your husband. They’re waiting for you,” you look over your shoulder, eyeing out the office door you can barely see from around the corner. You offer her a kind smile, despite the fact she terrifies you.

“Thank you, have a nice day, dear,” her voice becomes even more delicate as she brushes past you, hand gently patting your shoulder In gratitude.

“You as well, Miss Gojo,” you manage to mumble out before she completely slips past you.

And what you don’t properly notice is the way she tilts her head to the side, sneaking one last look at you.

✼ •• ┈┈┈┈┈┈๑⋅⋯ ୨˚୧ ⋯⋅๑┈┈┈┈┈┈•• ✼

The greenhouse at Hogwarts in winter feels like a world apart from the cold stone corridors and snow-dusted grounds outside. The thick glass panels are frosted at the edges, softening the outlook winter gives. The patterns are delicate and detailed, unlike anything which could be drawn by hand. Inside, it's surprisingly humid and the air smells earthy. Warmth coming from the enchanted heaters mixes with the scent of soil and leaves. The atmosphere is strange, but nowhere near unpleasant — the magical plants rustle faintly on their own, their leaves twitch and bloom despite the season. Due to all the phenomenal spells of your Herbology professor.

You sit on a low bench near a row of puffapods, their pale purple buds pulsate with a gentle light. Your breath creates fog in the slight chill that still lingers, regardless of the heating, as you tap your fingers anxiously against your robes. The glass creaks faintly as wind blows into it. Every time a shadow passes outside, your heart jumps.

Is she finally coming?

When the door finally opens, the warmth rushes out in a wave, and Arabella steps inside. She pauses, taking in the humid haze to the contrast of the chilly weather outside. She’s enveloped in a thick blue scarf with white stripes and your house’s crest, her hands are set with gloves and a hat sits on top of her. All in the same colours. You’re actually looking the same, wrapped into thick layers of clothing that keep you safe from the creeping cold. Her cheeks and the tip of her nose is red, leaving you to wonder if your pink tint of rushing blood has passed already. And as Arabella’s eyes latch onto yours, the unspoken tension between you speaks louder. Even though it’s quiet enough to hear the subtle muffling of vines above your heads.

You don’t speak right away.

And neither does she.

When she does, her voice sounds smaller than you expected in the vast silence.

“I hate to do this given your… situation, but I’m afraid I have to. Did you tell anyone about me and Margaret?” the second she speaks out, it’s clear to you what this is about. This dates back to that godforsaken party you’ve managed to completely dissociate yourself from. Though she clearly didn’t, and you understand. The secret of her and Margaret’s relationship didn’t plague the school grounds, only selected ones accessed the information, but it’s fatal anyway. Most of the who know are Slytherins, which do shoot disgusted glances. It might have not ruined either of their reputation, nonetheless, their relationship on the other hand seems to be forever doomed. And you do feel somewhat responsible, for both not telling them upright to prepare them and for not correcting Gojo back at the world cup to avoid this miscalculation.

This is why you’re here, after all. To address the situation and put an end to the peculiar behaviour stretching in between you two.

All seems to have crumbled even more by the time you lost to gravity and fell off your broomstick, quitting quidditch.

“Of course not, I’d never do that to neither of you,” you utter, stomach twisting with guilt even though it’s not exactly a lie. But it’s definitely not the truth either. And seeing your best friend stand on the opposite side of the greenhouse, a table with plants separating you, creates an ache in your already hollow chest.

“I’m not entirely sure if I believe you, because Margaret’s brother knows about our relationship,” Arabella doesn’t let it go as easily as she usually would and she’s not to blame, you’d press for answers as well. Part of you wants to come out with the truth, but a bigger part of you is simply too terrified of the thought she could hate you for it.

For how you’ve left the situation to escalate.

“I figured, but it wasn’t me,” you remain seated, eyes glued to hers. Smiling lightly at how couple of her strawberry blonde locks poke out from under her hat, it’s a passing moment. The next second, you’re back to the guilt eating you from inside out.

“You promise?” she whispers, her words hanging above your head like a guillotine.

“I do,” the simple words taste bitter at the tip of your tongue as you speak them.

Outside, winter presses against the glass walls of the greenhouse. The sky is grey, smudged with heavy clouds. Some bare branches tap gently in the wind, ghosting over the greenhouse. Cold light filters through in weak gleams, throwing a gloomy atmosphere to your situation. The warmth in the greenhouse seems to have thinned, like it’s leaving too.

She stands across the table, her breath faintly caressing the air as she leans over the magical plants. They look tired too, their strange glows are dimming, their leaves are a little limp and their colours have dulled. Her hands move with kind and fragile grace, as if she’s going through the motions out of memory, mindlessly.

You don’t speak. You don’t move. You just watch her, this person you’ve known through every season and through all the years here at Hogwarts. And you can sense the distance between you like a blockage that wasn’t there before. The silence isn't gentle now. It lingers like the frost on the foggy windows. It’s heavy and cold, and you can feel it settling into the cracks.

You want to reach out, say something that will pull her back, keep her here. But she doesn’t look at you anymore. She just keeps tending the plants, like this is the last time, like she already knows where this is going.

And you just stand there now, rooted in place like the plants. Afraid that if you move, it will make it all that more real.

“Why have you been so distant, Arabella? I know I’m a wreck, but when we came back from the internships — you ditched me,” you suddenly gather last bits of courage to speak up, not wanting to risk losing her. So you try to communicate it, despite your own sense of heartache.

“It’s not like that, Y/N. You’re my best friend,” her voice is shaky and careful, but she doesn’t gaze up at you. Instead, she continues working and planting. Her tone brings you some sort of ease at least, it’s just as desperate as yours — indicating she doesn’t want to lose you either.

“Lately it doesn’t feel like it,” you voice what you’ve been thinking the whole time.

This makes her lift her eyes to meet yours.

“My head’s a mess too, believe it or not,” she objects, growing more defensive which isn’t at all where you were heading with the conversation.

“What’s bothering you? I’m still here to listen, even if it doesn’t seem like it,” you lean into the windowsill of the greenhouse, taking a second before talking further. This time your voice is softer as you offer, filled with concern. Hoping she’ll see how much she still matters to you.

Partially praying she feels the same way.

“That’s the trouble, I don’t know what or why I’m feeling the way I’m. It just feels like something’s missing and it’s hard to put into words,”

For the first time in a while, you feel like you’re finally acknowledging each other.

Seeing one another, bare and vulnerablez

“I think I understand,” you reassure, and you truly think you have it all figured out until she speaks up again, bringing more stirring conspiracies.

“It’s like there’s this haze clouding my mind ever since the headmaster-“ Arabella stops mid sentence, leaving you at a cliffhanger. Which earns her your blinking of puzzlement, mouth opening to encourage her to keep on with what she was about to say, but the sound of shoes crunching in the snow outside put your motions to a stop.

“Did you invite anyone else?”

“I might’ve told Margaret,” she whispers, nervous and smiling.

“Arabella!” you scold her quietly, reminding her of the fact this was supposed to be a two on two meeting.

Nonetheless, you can’t really be mad at her, can you now?

The greenhouse holds its breath and so do you as you impatiently await the arrival of Margaret. The faint rattle of the heater hums beneath the silence as you and your best friend stand, surrounded by the scent of soil and dirt. Your bodies are still, the warm blur of your intimate moment left behind. You’re close enough to feel each other’s presence, the unspoken suspended tension between you continues to tickle both.

Then, the door slams open like a gunshot.

A burst of icy wind punches through the space, scattering leaves and rattling the glass panels. The temperature drops. Snow swirls in behind Margaret’s frame. She stands in the doorway, silhouetted against the pale storm behind her. Her jaw is lightly clenched and her eyes burn with something unknown, while her chest rises and falls with depict-able fury. Her boots hit the floor hard, scattering melting snow around. The sound slices through the heavy stillness.

She storms forward, her presence cutting through the heat, dragging cold and chaos inside. The plants tremble on their stems along with you. Arabella draws in a soft breath, but doesn’t turn to face her past lover.

You feel Margaret’s anger before she even reaches you — it’s almost electric.

The quiet sacred moment is gone.

Now, it’s a battleground.

“Did you tell Gojo, Y/N?” she circles the point, straightforward. Not putting on any act to soften the blows.

“And don’t even try to lie your way out, my brother told me it was him who spoke of it,” Margaret cuts you off when she takes notice of your lips parting, ready to speak. Her actions shutting them closed again. From the look on her face and her attacking demeanour, it’s clear to you that you’re not walking out of here unscathed. She isn’t going to be as understanding as your redheaded best friend. Your palms become sweaty with anticipation as Margaret continues to burn holes through your figure, tapping her foot against the floor.

“No, listen,” you finally start, lifting your clothed hands in a defensive manner. Sadly, before you get to drag your point across, you’re abruptly put to a stop by the sound of her voice yet again.

“I want a straight and an honest answer,” she demands, your eyes briefly fleeting to Arabella who’s simply watching it unfold. Her gaze avoids yours when you sneak a glance her way, the motion causing a small flicker of pain.

“It’s worth more than just one word,” your voice is a calm contrast to the one of your friend’s beloved.

“Yes or no, it’s that simple,” Margaret doesn’t smooth down her antics, she does the exact opposite. Her words growing more threatening and harsh, on the verge of unleashing an avalanche you might get seriously caught up in.

“I didn’t, he figured on his own,” you admit after a haze of silence, your brows twitching along with the frantic beating of your heart.

This isn’t going to be easy. Telling the truth never is.

“Look, it was at the world cup. While you two were inside the tent, he kind of stumbled my way and he said he noticed,” you remain assertive, which sparks more anger in the Slytherin girl. One whom used to share laughs with you not so long ago.

“And it didn’t tick you to lie?” her sarcastic laugh coming along with her words cuts through you, causing your own irritation to build up.

“He promised he wouldn’t tell,” you respond slowly, eyes flickering between the two of them.

You don’t know why, but you thought Arabella would take your side. At the same time, this must be new information for her, so perhaps she’s learning how to hate you instead.

“And you believed that, could you be more naive? You out of all people should know what he’s capable of. He’s a Gojo,” she raises her voice, half yelling at you. Her labels of you waking up the crackling fire of anger within your chest, matching her own. The rotation of the white haired wizard in this conversation irks you, so much it drives you wild.

“I don’t need for you to remind me, Margaret. And he didn’t blow your cover on purpose, that’s what this is about,” you try to clear out the confusion, because there seems to be a misunderstanding involving her fellow Slytherin starlet.

“Oh, I think you do, because to me, it feels like you’re defending him,”

It’s a jarring moment. And it hits harder than you expect. Not because it’s utterly wrong, but because it might not be. Because deep down, there’s a sliver of truth in it you don’t want to acknowledge. Your instinct is to deflect, maybe even lash out. You tell yourself you’re just being fair. Using logic and objective thinking — anything but sympathising with him. However, it lingers. That uneasy awareness that you’ve might have stated something unnecessary and unrelated. It bothers you, so you double down to convince her and yourself as well.

“Then you clearly must be blind. I don’t know who here ghosted their friends and girlfriend,” you sent a hurtful arrow straight at her, launching with the intention to cause harm.

“Let it go, both of you,” Arabella steps in between you, waving her hands in a desperate attempt to pull you from each other’s necks.

“I was about to tell you all of the things that happened,” you add, looking at Arabella who’s shielding Margaret first. You depict the disappointment in her gaze, along with the hint of understanding.

“Yet you didn’t,” Margaret bites back, pushing past your friend’s body to face you fully.

This makes the swirl of emotions hanging on a thin rope snap, letting them loose.

“Well sorry that I was too busy with my father dying,” the loud declaration seems to put a stop to the whole shift of the planet, silence drumming through the greenhouse — Margaret’s anger easing up.

“Y/N,” is what breaks the silence.

A call out of your name, doused with empathy.

“Don’t Y/N me. What you did was unfair as well, I’m not saying I don’t understand, but you didn’t see the way you hurt all four of us. The way you hurt Arabella,” you continue to shoot, kicking and throwing hands in response to her previous aggression. Your words seem to hit a nerve, regret fleeting past her expression for a fraction of a moment. Meanwhile Arabella steps away, looking to the side.

It makes you feel good.

“What about your brother knowing is so bad if you’re not together anymore anyway? It’s not like he’d go against his own blood,” you go on with your attacks, knowing exactly which words to let out into the open to cut her open.

“This is a low blow, Y/N,” she manages barely, holding her emotions at bay.

“Whatever you did before was just as bad, if not worse,” is the last thing you voice out before you storm in the direction of the door.

You slam the greenhouse door open with a sharp crack, rattling the frame as you burst through it. Behind you, voices still echo — calling out your name in raised voices. The sounds familiar but suddenly distant. You don’t care what they have to say now. The fight had already sunk its teeth too deep.

The moment you step outside, winter hits you like a slap. Frigid cold slicing through the lingering warmth clinging to your robes. Snow drifts down in lazy spirals from the sky, settling in your hair and on your shoulders. The castle looms far ahead of you, dark stones blurred behind the falling duvet of snow, but you don’t head that way at first. You just walk, fast and without a picked out direction — needing distance more than shelter.

The snow crunches under your feet as your boots sink into it with each step. Your chest burns, not from the cold, but from the fight which had just occurred. Every word still rings in your mind, every look of betrayal carved into your memory. Your hands are clenched, nails digging into the flesh of your palms. The only thing grounding you as you head into the unknown, the falling snow disorienting you.

The anger begins to falter.

It always comes like this. Hot at first. Consuming your whole being and forcing you to channel it out, and then suddenly, you become cold. Hollow.

Your footsteps slow down. The fire behind your ribs hesitantly dying out, leaving behind a quiet ache, as if your body experiences something your heart hasn’t caught up to yet. The wind picks up, tugging at your robes, curling around you like another presence — making your now soaked hair a mess.

You stop near the edge of the lake, where the ice stretches out like cracked glass. The world around you is utterly still, the kind of silence that only comes with snow. No footsteps rushing after you. No voices calling your name. Just the soft hush of snow falling and the raw throb of emotion you can’t outrun no matter what you do.

Your shoulders shake with the upcoming tears that come without permission. They well up your eyes. Warm and blinding, streaming silently and staining your cheeks. You hug yourself with your arms, the snow soaking through the fabric of your robes as you stand in the eye of the snow storm. The whiteness in the air bites at your cheeks, numbing them as you spill your overwhelming emotions.

Your fury melts into something far more fragile. The kind of pain that doesn't roar, but lingers.

Needing to be felt.

And it’s not just the fight weighing you down, it’s all at once.

✼ •• ┈┈┈┈┈┈๑⋅⋯ ୨˚୧ ⋯⋅๑┈┈┈┈┈┈•• ✼

The castle is quieter than you’ve heard in a while. It’s right before curfew, and the air in the corridors is heavy, almost syrupy with stillness. You push open the great oak doors of the Hogwarts library, the scent of parchment and ink pushing through your nose for the last time. Your eyes are incredibly heavy with hours of studying for your upcoming graduation exams. Centuries of history still echoing faintly in your head, laced with a dry tone of Professor Binns’ lecture while your consciousness drifts.

You walk with slow, lazy steps — too tired to focus, barely aware of where your feet are taking you. Still too aware of the fight you experienced yesterday evening, the wound raw. Head filled with arguments you could’ve used instead, or the reason behind of Arabella’s behaviour. The sentence she didn’t get to finish. The dim candlelight lines the walls, their flames low and flickering. The halls stretch endlessly in both directions, twisted and familiar, even in the lucent light.

You distantly think to yourself that you must’ve taken a wrong turn somewhere near the staircase in spite of the exhaustion, because you’re out of your usual path.

You take a turn around the corner and pause.

Where there was only bare wall a moment ago, now stands a larger door. It’s tall, framed with a wooden arch. The wood is aged, not as polished. An odd feeling stirs within your insides, for a moment you consider if this is a mere dream or if your mind is playing tricks on you. However, it’s like the hallway itself is holding its breath with you. You notice carvings embroidering the doorframe, shifting ever so slightly as you stare, never settling on one shape. You recognize some of the symbols from your studies — protection symbols, things old and powerful.

You didn’t summon it.

At least, you don’t think you did.

Though something buried in the depths of your being feels drawn towards it. You reach out, fingers grazing the cool metallic handle. The moment you come to contact with it, the door creaks open with a soft whisper, like a sigh escaping into the night. Your breathing hitches with doubt, wand ready at your side as you try to make out a reasonable explanation to this.

It might be The Room Of Requirement which appears when a student is in need pf something — the room providing whatever is fit for the situation.

Why you, out of all people?

The chamber beyond radiates warmth, and is inviting, nearly comforting. The stone floor is gone, replaced by soft rugs that would muffle your footsteps. Cushioned chairs sit in a half-circle around a low crackling fire. The shelves are filled with books. You have to blink to adjust your vision, to convince yourself what you’re seeing is true.

Before you allow yourself to step inside, the heavy entrance falls shut and the wooden door melts back into a stone wall. You stare at the wall with confusion for a few moments, completely baffled by the gesture. Until something alters the air. It’s subtle at first. A sudden gust of breeze that seems to come from nowhere, causing goosebumps to appear all over your body. You straighten, the hairs on the back of your neck rising.

You’re alone when you rotate your body to glance at the laid out hallway, or well not quite. The atmosphere casts a strange glow. The surroundings appear to be heavier and much colder, while your head turns slowly, listening to the looming silence — gut screaming that something’s up.

“Who’s there?” you whisper out, more quietly than you anticipated as your breathing catches in your throat, wave of conspiracy seizing you.

You’re met with no answer, despite your acknowledgment of the gnarling sensation. You begin to consider yourself paranoid.

Just as you’re about to shake everything off, a sound echoes through the space, which puts you back in your spot, freezing you.

“I know someone’s there,” you voice out, loudly this time and with more confidence. You’re prepared to be met with yet another ripple of nothingness. However, you’re mistaken. As the sound of your voice jumps from wall to wall, a mop of white locks emerges from nowhere. Spilling into space, moulding from emptiness. Your jaw hangs ajar at the image, you see Gojo Satoru’s head floating in the air with no other body parts.

No limbs, no torso.

Just his head.

“Caught me redhanded,” he spills out meanwhile snickering, as if this was a normal situation to be caught up in, though his ways don’t really surprise you any longer. Knowing him for as long as you do, it’s not shocking news he’d lower himself to this level. He’s fast to strip himself of the invisibility shielding him, revealing his grand trick to be a piece of clothing.

So that must be what provided him with invisibility.

You wonder how many times he might have lurked along without your knowledge. Hell, he could’ve done anything with that cloak of his. The memory of the conversation you overheard at the party weeks back in time comes flooding back to you, laced with bitting suspicion.

Could this cloak be a part of their plan?

“Were you sneaking up on me?” you place your palm on the swell of your hip, demanding a clear response as you suspiciously look him up and down. A dark burgundy fabric set with tiny constellations and starts resting in his grip.

“I wouldn’t necessarily call it sneaking,” his eyes roll in a playful manner, careless, which isn’t uncommon for him.

“Don’t you know it’s sort of – I don’t know – creepy?” you point out, turning the corners of your lips downward. Pouting faintly at his smugness while you try to piece together the information, thinking of all the times he could’ve been there. And you wouldn’t know.

At least your friend’s accusations of your crazy behaviour weren’t true — you did capture his white hair in the hallway late at night countless of times.

He was there.

“If it makes you feel any better, I didn’t know you were here, so relax,”

“Right, as if that changes anything,” you scoff, your mind racing with conspiracies.

“Were you expecting someone else?” you decide to prob, his expression growing more serious. However, you don’t entirely trust it, nor him.

“Doesn’t concern you,” he objects before you eye him one more time, and with that you turn on your heel — leaving him hanging without any further notice. Though a sense tugs at your heartstrings, an urge to speak out the ideas turmoiling in your mind.

With his cloak, you could slip into the headmaster’s office without being spotted and turn it inside out. Who knows what sort of information you could get your hands on. Perhaps it’d be able to explain Arabella’s strange behaviour, as well as her zoning out. She did mention the headmaster. But for that to happen, you’d have to bite down your pride and ask the Slytherin for his help. You tighten your fist, innerly debating if it’s worth it to you.

“Gojo?” you call out, a tryout — just in case he’s not on his way or draped in his invisibility already.

“Mhmm?” and he isn’t.

“I could use your help,” you breathe out, soft and laced with surrender — wholeheartedly prepared for his acts, and the possibility of being rejected.

“My, I thought I wouldn’t live long enough to see you asking me for help,” his voice seeps out with pure satisfaction, his tone scraping your nerves and skyrocketing your blood pressure. And as you finally turn to face him, his arrogant grin doesn’t ease you.

You decide to bear it instead of lashing out.

“I just need to borrow whatever you’re holding,” your hand points to the cloak thrown over his forearm, eyes scanning it.

“My invisibility cloak? Are you up for some mischief?” his palm slides over to his chest and your gaze follows, watching as his long digits spread across his robes.

As if he’s proud you’re suggesting something so forbidden.

“If so, I certainly am interested,” he adds, nodding his head.

“It doesn’t concern you,” you reply with the same indifference, giving him taste of his own medicine. Which he doesn’t seem be fond of, because the corners of his lips turn into a frown and his brows furrow lightly.

“No cloak for you then,” he huffs, turning his head to the side, keeping his nose high up.

Prideful bastard.

“Seriously?” your voice is full of disbelief while you absorb his words, thinking he surely must be joking.

“Seriously,” he repeats firmly, lips pouting. Eyes half-lidded.

Your blood boils at the action of his behaviour, however, you’re well aware you need his cloak for your plotting to work out. And if you share one simple information, he won’t be able to use it against you. As long as he isn’t aware of all the circumstances, he wouldn’t be able to turn you in, because at the end of the day it’d be his cloak you’d be wearing.

And you’re hundred percent sure things like these aren’t allowed on the school grounds.

“Fine,” you state, resisting the urge to roll your eyes at his pretentious antics, “I need to break into the headmaster’s office,”

As soon as those words fly out your mouth, his smirk is quick to return. And you mentally prepare for another set of his picking.

You remind yourself it’s for the greater good.

“And here I was thinking you’re too goody shoes to even consider such a thing,” the white haired menace teases and you loathe it, beyond explanation. Especially the way he’s slightly hinting at your label of the Head girl. It drives you insane, so much you wonder if what lies in the office is even that important, but you refuse to back down from the conversation now that you’ve actually asked. Though it’s safe to say if nothing new awaits you in there, you’ll be irritated for going such lengths to figure no information out.

“Will you lend me the cloak or not, Gojo?” you demand, not pacing around it and getting straight to the topic.

“Under what condition,” he lifts his point finger in the air, holding it in front of you as he drags his words out — painfully slow.

“Name it,” you declare, pushing down the need to snap.

“I’m coming too,” he cheekily announces, smiling from ear to ear.

It seems to knock the wind out of your sails again.

“What? Absolutely not,” you laugh out, shaking your head in both disagreement and shock at his audacity.

“Shame for you,” he shrugs, waving the cloak in your face to rile you up even more.

And it certainly seems to work on you.

Your heart drums against your ribs, anticipation flows through your veins like a drug intoxicating you. Your inner strength fails to withstand its demand as the need for a douse of what lies within the stone walls of the office devours you. No price seems big enough to not be paid, and you instantly scold yourself for even thinking about submitting to his condition. You take in deep breaths, staring at the young wizard in front you who’s quietly watching you back — not saying anything and waiting, because he can tell from the look on your face that you’re considering his offer.

Oh, you’re so going to regret this later on.

“Alright, alright, I’ll let you come,” you finally exhale, the action takes a lot of effort as there’s nothing you despise more than relying on him out of all people. And shamefully, you find yourself in these types of situations with him quite often.

More than you’d like.

You’re not met with an answer, only a chuckle, which speaks more than anything else at the moment.

Knew you would cave, that’s what it sounds like to you.

Gojo proceeds to spread out the cloak, throwing it over his broad shoulders and leaves his arm stretched out — inviting you to join him. In that moment you realise what you’ve truly gotten yourself into.

“What do you need in the office anyway?” he questions curiously, keeping his globes — the colour of water depths — intently peeled on your frame, which is closing the distance between you. It doesn’t slip your attention, and neither does the way they glow in the dark, the light of the moon casts reflections that are similar to sea foam in his dangerously iridescent eyes.

“Something of Arabella’s,” you mumble and it’s not entirely the truth, though it’s more than he deserves to know and you figured it’d speed things up if you’re somewhat co-working. Your body slides next to his, tucked safely under the blanket granting a power you never knew you needed. His fingers brush against yours as he hands you the end of the cloak for you to hold.

“Sure,” he hums, and you know he doesn’t completely trust you either.

The castle is a maze of silence by this hour. It’s little past curfew, past the hour when even the portraits begin to drift off to sleep. The walls are with no shadow of your reflection as you pass, the floor groaning ever so lightly beneath your careful steps. Each of them feels like small earthquakes due to your overconsuming anxiety. You know no one can see, yet it’s still there.

But that’s only your mind playing tricks on you, you’re safe beneath the thin layer of the cloak that provides you with an advantage.

There's barely any room for the two of beneath it as you clumsily walk, so close that your bodies are practically fitted together. Every shift, every breath, every brush of cloth or skin is shared between you. The closeness is unavoidable. Hip gently pressing into the length of his body, arm brushing against his as you motion forward. His shoulder bumping yours every few steps, but neither of you mention it to one another. It’s intimate and impossible to fight as there’s no space to distance yourself. And even though you know he feels your warmth and breathes the same air, he remains indifferent.

The silence between you is charged with everything that hasn’t been said and everything that perhaps never should be. You shouldn’t be doing this. You shouldn’t even be here, shouldn’t be risking getting yourself expelled.

Nonetheless, here you are. Together. Covered by a cloak that hides you from everyone sights, but not from each other.

Your mind throws non audible insults your way, wondering how you managed to wind yourself up with him once more, when you exactly know what kind of a person he is.

A pretentious jerk who seems to find you annoying just much as you find him.

It’s all worth it in the end if it’s for your best friend, right?

His scent envelopes your senses — something which you’re weirdly familiar with, something that unmistakably screams him — and with every step toward the Headmaster’s office, it becomes harder to focus on why you're going there in the first place. His hand brushes past yours again, this time it lingering for half a heartbeat too long. Your heart rings in your ears, thudding against your ribs like it’s trying to be heard by him, while your senses are clouded with his proximity. You’re not sure if he can feel it, but it wouldn’t surprise you. That’s how close you are.

A stair creaks beneath your feet, urging you to both freeze, instinctively holding your breath. You notice his chest rising and falling back in its place before he leans in, whispering something barely audible

“Left, quickly,” his breath hits your ear, warm and deliberate, sending a shiver down your spine.

You move together, carefully and silently. Your movements seem to be more in synchrony now than when you marched forward for the first step, like dancers who’ve done this before countless of times.

Both of you are okay with taking a risk involving this sort of adrenaline, nonetheless, your closeness is alien. The feeling of being wrapped up in a piece of magic fabric with him, just on the edge of doing something wrong is unlike anything.

And as you near the stone spiral staircase that leads to the Headmaster’s office, your mind should be on the goal, the reason you’re sneaking through the halls. But all you can think about is the weight of his body pressed along yours, the way your knees crash when you pause at the top of the stairs, the way the cloak drapes around you — protecting you like a sacred mystery.

You’re almost there now, part of you can’t wait to arrive. Can’t wait to break the spell thrown at you, can’t wait to forget how the press of his body feels against yours. It’s a forbidden action to be so near him without anyone else’s presence, by you and everyone else due to your backgrounds and oh so many other things.

And tucked under the cloak, hidden from the world, you dare to hope he’s thinking the same thing.

“I’ll take the watch, you do whatever you need inside,” the white haired wizard declares with ease, his breathing a little heavier because of the stairs you had just climbed. You shoot to look up at him, nodding your head in confirmation.

Then you slip from the embrace of the cloak, feeling vulnerable. And when you look over your shoulder, you’re met with a simple image of the stairs. You know he’s still there, at least you hope he’s, nevertheless — it leaves you crippling with adrenaline.

You focus what’s ahead of you, meanwhile the pounding of your primer organ swallows you, it seems like there’s a second heartbeat in your chest as you face the door of the headmaster’s office made out of dark oak. There lies a little nameplate with letters carved into it, in bold letters. Your fingers eagerly raise your wand into the air, prepared to charm your way inside.

“Alohomora,” you faintly mumble, the tip of your wand sparkling with a ripple of silver light. The sound of it is sharp and heavy, meaning the lock gave away smoother than you had expected it’d. You hesitate then, it’s almost too easy.

With taking a last glance at the corridor, you push the door open just enough to sneak inside without letting it scrape. The air inside is dry, the kind that settles in rooms filled with too many books. It smells of old parchment, candle wax, and some burnt herbs. Arabella could surely decipher which herbs, a thought crosses your mind amidst your entrance. You quietly shut the door behind you with a soft thud.

Bookshelves tower along the walls, some overstuffed with dusty grimoires and overused scrolls, others perfectly organised — magical theory, forbidden transfigurations, ancient bloodlines and spells. Sorts of books you don’t get your hands on everyday, but that’s not why you’re here. Behind the desk stands an average sized cabinet of drawers, some hazily hanging half opened. And lastly, a wide desk dominates the center of the room — its surface a battlefield of papers, crystal vials, and half-burned candles.

You trace around the desk quietly, fingers grazing the surface as you search. Notes are scribbled in an unfamiliar handwriting, covered by opened books. Maps of the school grounds lay spread out, marked with strange, shifting ink. You can’t tell what it is for, so your gaze shifts directions, catching something out of place. A sheet of parchment half-buried under a pile of herbology formulas. You slid it free, mapping out the deep crimson wax its sealed in with your fingers. It’s stamped with a sigil you don’t recognise. Its curved lines form a circle, a serpent wrapped around a stylized eye. Not the school crest. Something remotely similar to Death Eaters.

Could it be Gojo’s family crest?

You examine the letter in all possible angles, cursing under your breath, because it’s still sealed and there’s no way you can just rip it open without anyone taking action. With frustrating blooming in your core, you place it where it was. Forcing yourself to browse further, even though seeing the crest already filled you with enough of worries.

We have a plan to follow, Robin’s words play in head once more.

A plan for what?

Your eyes sweep the room again, this time with organisation — steps leading you towards the tall bookshelves that lem the office walls. Looking for any irregularities. Most of the spines reveal expected titles of standard magical texts of history, but one stands out more than the others. A thin book with no title, kept between two enormous grimoires. It slides out due to your force and one flip through the book is enough to figure the pages are blank. Your nostrils are attacked with a sharp tinging.

It’s enchanted.

You tuck it under your arm with care and head back toward the average sized cabinet which is planted with rows of locked drawers. A soft whisper is all it takes to preform the unlocking charm once more, forcing the highest drawer open. This one resisted at first, but it eventually opened with a reluctant sigh.

Inside are documents sorted into neat folders, each labeled with a name. Some you recognise — professors, students, even a few graduates working for the ministry. Handful of the names are marked with a red underlining. You pick these out, browsing throughout them to look for any clues. It wasn’t hard to put together their similarities, all the students come from a muggle family. One of the names decorated with the red underlining belongs to Arabella.

Your heart sinks at the sight, not sure why as there’s no real reason to worry yet.

You flip it open, and the first page instantly has you in a chokehold.

“Caught near The Astronomy tower. First abomination. Memory charm applied to witnesses."

Something is happening at this school and whatever it is, the headmaster is not just aware of it. He’s involved in it. You swallow hard, frantically skimming over the bylines on other pages with your wand in hand — casting a bright light, but there’s no more trace of what occurred.

“Someone’s coming, hurry,” a warming comes from the direction of the door, Gojo’s hushed voice snapping you back to reality.

Panic seeps over you, choking you and pushing you to fly to your feet and close the drawer with all the folders, quickly mumbling a spell to lock it. The thin book tucked under your arm is a painful reminder that you’re nowhere near the finish of your investigation. You’re not stupid enough to keep it, steal it with you. So you place it back between the thick grimoires at the top shelf.

Your wide eyed gaze flickers in between the strange map and Gojo’s figure poking out of the cloak as he holds it high in the air, welcoming you to join him.

Conflict boils within you, take it? Don’t take it?

You can’t wait any longer as the footsteps coming down the stairs dangerously take upon volume, so you swiftly grab it and proceed it to slide into the waistband of your uniform while the Slytherin watches — growing with fear he’ll never let bubble to the surface.

Your mother must be turning in her sleep, because this certainly isn’t what she meant by keeping a low profile.

Both of you now stand by the doorway, wrapped in the protective layer and pressed close against each other’s side. The situation barely under your control.

The two of stand frozen, afraid to let the door fall closed.

You can feel his heartbeat, pounding in rhythm with yours. The gesture soothing you, knowing you’re not the only one affected by this.

“Flinch,” you mouth under the safety of the cloak, judging by the additional four legs tapping against the stairs.

Gojo’s the one to close the door with silent precision, charming the door to lock — you note he works calm, regardless of the pressuring nature of the situation.

The first sliver of lantern light spills from the stairs leading upwards. And you don’t look back as the two of you rush down the other direction. Not a full sprint, not with Flinch so close. Your feet nearly step on the cloak several times, almost tripping. That’s probably why your footsteps echo too much through the staircase. You wince silently with every step, sensing just how loud the two of you are in such a hurry.

Meanwhile behind you, Flinch's muttering turns sharper and more audible.

“Who's there?” he barks out, overflowing with suspicious.

“I heard you,” his raspy voice is followed by a scratching meow of his cat.

As soon as you reach the bottom of the stairs, you head left — pulling your partner in crime with you. Ducking down a narrow corridor which rests off the main hall. It’s one of the older, less-patrolled routes.

“Quick,” you hiss under your breath, the white haired wizard barely making your words out.

You grab his hand out of habit, mindlessly dragging him along with you. And together, you stumble through the side passage, turning randomly at each split hallway. Each turn feels too loud, every breath too sharp. You can basically sense Flinch being not far behind, you hear the wheezing effort of him moving faster than he’s fit for. You round the last corner and threw yourself against a wall — your bodies latching onto to it like lizards, gripping for dear life.

Footsteps close the distance between you, passing by your invisible frames just as quickly.

Flinch grunts while his lantern sways in the air. And then he moves on.

Silence.

Your limbs shake with adrenaline, letting go of his hand without any further up-due. And finally, it feels like you’re able to breathe freely again. The Slytherin looks at you from the corner of his eyes, which are wide. The fabric of the cloak shifts and creates a shimmer shared only between the two of you.

“That,” you whisper “was too close,”

“It was rather fun,” he jokes, breathing out heavily as if in relief. The gesture doesn’t rile you up, instead, you find it amusingly refreshing after what you’ve been through together. Huff of your laugh pierces the loud silence, taking him by a surprise as this is your way of actually agreeing with him on something.

It’s definitely the adrenaline talking out of you.

“Did you find what you were looking for?” the Slytherin draws out, and you’re certain he saw you showing the unknown map into your uniform. You feel it pressed against your skin, the material made you uncomfortable throughout your escape.

“Mostly, yeah,” you confirm, not thinking much about it and simply resting with back leaned into the wall.

You barely register the motion of his movement before he’s right in front of you, close.

Too close.

His hand comes up, resting itself firmly against the wall just beside your head. His fingers splay wide, veins visible beneath the fair shade of his skin. A second later, his other hand joins the other one on the opposite side — locking you in. Your mind ceases to function, the unexpected unfolding situation brings you shock. Not sure whether to push him away or to let it happen.

Your back presses into the wall even further, and you can feel the coolness of it chilling you through your robes. It anchors you in place while his body, just inches from yours, radiates a heat that prickles across your skin. Every breath you take feels shorter, more shallow.

Gojo’s face is close now, close enough that you can count his lashes if you dared to look long enough. His breath ghosts over the swell of your cheek, landing where it sends a racing shiver down your spine. You can’t move — not because of his proximity, but because his presence is so magnetising — it’s as if the very air around you bends to his will.

And his orbs are the worst of all, piercing and merciless. Seeing past your set up walls of protection, leaving you bare under his vision which is the last thing you need him to do.

“You felt it too, didn’t you?” is all he brings himself to speak out loud, baffling you even more as your eyes don’t know where to stop first. At how his strands of hair curl upward — resting near his sides, at how the bridge of his nose beams with the reflection of the moonlight. Or at the way his lashes kiss his cheeks each time he blinks. Perhaps at the slight twitch of his eyebrows due to his fleeting gaze, or at his lips. The way they’re parted while he stares down at you, his tongue sweeping over the bottom part.

So many options, so little time.

“At the party,” he mumbles gently to add precision, which is a rare sight. But you don’t appreciate the subtle reminder of the night, the last night where all felt like it should. Nonetheless, you phantom far too quickly what he means. It’s not something you could easily forget, no matter of your current life could wash away the pit of swirling emotions he caused to rise to life at the party.

And it hits you, this is the boy who swore to make your life a living hell. The one whom your friends loathe. Most of all, he has a girlfriend too.

Just exactly what are you letting him do?

Why?

And suddenly, while waiting for you to speak up, he puts his finger to his lips — signalling for you to be quiet.

A second later you understand what it means.

Flinch strolls the corridor again, your eyes following his movement. Gojo’s alerted frame blocking your full view. As your eyes follow Flinch walking right past you, you meet his iridescent globes which don’t leap away from yours.

“I’ll walk you to your dorm,” he mumbles under his nose when Flinch is at a reasonable distance. Away from where you stand. His hands falling back to his sides, freeing you.

You don’t answer, you chose to not address the awkwardness the question he asked earlier stired.

The journey to your dorm room is quiet, unspoken tension lingering in the air as you guide him to your house’s safe space. As you walk, close to each other as ever, it’s clear you’re both hanging onto what just went on. Busy with recalling the fleeting moment.

And when you part ways, briefly sparing one another a nod of acknowledgement and whispered farewell — you’re feeling even more odd.

You curl up under your bed covers after you slip past Arabella’s bed, knees pulled tight to your chest with heart thumping in your ears. The room is still, occasional snoring coming from Arabella spreads through your shared room. Everything is dark, expect for the glow of your wand which lightens up your space beneath the covers of your bed.

"Lumos,” is all it takes to conjure up light for you.

In your hands lies something old, something curious. The worn piece of parchment, folded so many times the edges are soft. With a breath held in your chest, you spread it open to be met with lines blooming across its surface like spiderwebs made out of ink. It depicts rooms, corridors, and tiny moving footprints. Names scribbled beside them. Flinch walks, pauses, turns and so on and on.

It’s alive, and suddenly the castle isn’t just stone.

You’re not alone in a way. In this small tent of bedsheets and wandlight, feeling like the map chose you because of the strong pull you feel towards it. Like the secrets it holds have waited patiently for your arrival.

You’ve never heard or seen anything of the sort, it’s extraordinary.

Your eyes trace Flinch’s footsteps before scanning the map further. There’s not many people wandering around, and it’s no wonder since the time is close to midnight by now.

Your breath catches just then.

There, just above the Great Hall, a name you never expected to see at this hour as you thought he returned to his room like you did. The tiny inked footsteps of him haunt the corridors you explored together moments ago. You blink once, twice, as if the name might change. Smallest part of you hoping it will, or that he’s taking a longer route to reach his dorm.

But it doesn’t disappear. It stays in place, impossibly real.

Your heart beats louder beneath the covers of your blanket now, closely watching him pause by the staircase leading to the west tower.

What’s he doing there?

You don’t know why you’re still watching, but wonder and dread fuel your curiosity so you keep on observing. Tips of your fingers shaking lightly at the thought of what you might figure out.

The glow from your wand casts long, trembling shadows as you watch the Slytherin’s footsteps finally stop — reaching his destination.

Astronomy tower.

He reachs the top. And he stands there, perhaps waiting. Not moving. Not pacing. Simply waiting.

You don’t know what you’re watching unfolding, but you can’t look away as your heart instantly sinks to the bottom when two other names appear on the map.

Satoru Gojo is at the tower.

In company of his father. And… your mother?

credits for dividers: [@enchanthings-a @cafekitsune]

taglist: [ @k-kkiana @cuffiescariche @sylustoru @hyori2 @ethereal-moonlit @crankyarchives @jjklover365daysayear @cailliz @kaisenkalogathia @urthem00n @katsukiseyebrows @poopooindamouf @heiejdhdh @tessasweet @sa-yuuki @moomoov ]

[lighthouseas]

a comprehensive list of edits that would fix me (i have tried editing. i am so bad at it):

mike wheeler edit to apple by charli xcx. featuring his relationships w/ his family, will, and el

mike/will/el edit to bobby sox by green day (had a wip of this and may or may not go back to it but also it's been quite a while and the edit was Not good)

edit to pink pony club by chappell roan featuring all of the st characters because i think they all fit into it to some extent

once upon a december sung by christy altomare edit that specifically centers on el, will, mike, and henry and everyone's connections to him. listen to the song and you will understand me i swear

nancy wheeler edit to dead girl walking by jensen mcrae. literally no one talk to me ever

st edit to in the woods somewhere by hozier. no explanation needed. it's hozier. also that song played in dark, so.

look ma, no brains! by green day evan buckley edit. DO YOU GET IT.

HOT TO GO! by chappell roan edited over the entire 118 doing weird shenanigans. i truly think this would work

FRANCESCA BRIDGERTON EDIT TO PINK PONY CLUB GOD PLEASE 🙏🙏🙏🙏🙏🙏🙏

[umbreonix]

I forgot I never posted this outside of discord XD but this was a lil secret santa exchange I did for @ponie-cornious <3

[xxplastic-cubexx]

you’re spoiling us so much with this amazing art thank you so much😭❤️❤️

of course my friend !!! thank you all for spoiling me with all the love and support ^^ !

[fungal-rot-creature]

its really funny how a lot of yearning posts on Tumblr are about sex in comparison to the shit i day dream about?

just hugging someone and just enjoying the peace with them

being held and told its okay while i ugly sob

just biting them literally all of the time

getting my wounds bandaged after i seriously get hurt

being taken on a wine date where we gossip and eat cheese

someone listening calmly while i ramble trauma without the intention to fix me

drinking tea and reading together on a couch

baking pastries together

just being held for a long time in silence (i think about this one the most)

[sethdomain]

idk i don't wanna get your hopes up 😔 it's a small plot point in a larger fic. i was able to find the part where kagami just asked him to his face if he was a homo though

This is absolute fire.

[swasdoodles]

When the boss said he was hangin' up his hat, everyone was lousy with speculation. Nobody was expectin' it to actually stay in the family, but Daylight Spring grew up in the business and took to it like marbles on a dish. And while that might seem like a lot for a young filly, that's what help like Gardenia Glow and Pepperdance are for.

New OC. Daylight Spring, a little criminal.

[ninawolv3rina]

Step 1: Make Pretty Man

Step 2: Write a book about him

Step 3: ???

Step 4: Profit

OC: Kennet (He/Him)

[maulfucker]

wait. forgort I was planning on writing but feel indecisive

[darkforestwarriors]

having conniptions at 3am as I realize that my only fully finished and realized fanfics are a one shot warrior cats vampire AU and a long ass one piece self insert shipfic that no one other than me will ever lay eyes on (probably?)

why am I like this help

[nereidprinc3ss]

fixation

in which you love spencer reid's hands so much you could... well, you could practically eat them. or at least let him put his fingers in your mouth.

18+ (fluff, suggestive) warnings/tags: finger sucking...lol....., established relationship, ummmm d/s adjacent dynamics, like softdom spencer but there's no sex, pet names, teasing a/n: this was inspired by @gublersg1rl who said 2 nights ago she would suck spencer's fingers as he was reading a book. my beautiful angel with so many great ideas in her beautiful head. anyway this will not be my magnum opus in terms of quality but its just a fun short little thing I hope u like :D

Spencer is reading. 

He got home forty five minutes ago, and he’d hugged you and he’d kissed you—and they were good hugs and kisses, but as you sit curled on the opposite end of the couch from him, watching him read, it doesn’t feel like enough. Three days isn’t the longest he’s been gone, but you missed him like he was gone longer. And now, he’s not truly ignoring you—but he’s not giving you enough attention. It’s unintentional, but it’s making you feel all kinds of needy and overly-affectionate anyway. 

Especially when he’s so gorgeous. Ankle crossed over knee, lithe fingers skimming over the page to keep track of his place. Those hands are truly distracting. It’s unlike you to be struck by such wildly inappropriate thoughts so out of context, but here you are, having been without him for days, practically feverish on the couch as you imagine all the things they could do. All the things they have done. The way they've traced down your bare spine, up your side, so lovingly in the middle of the night... how they've touched you elsewhere...

And... that's enough.

Despite the whole committed relationship thing, you still feel a bit scandalized picturing him like that. And you know from experience these thoughts will only get worse if you stay over here, staring at him, wanting him, so you crawl across the couch and under his arm, settling your head in his lap and looking up at him expectantly. He chuckles—a quiet, dry thing, that says he’s only partially surprised by your behavior. 

“Well hello,” Spencer says, taking one hand off the book to settle on your leg. 

“Hi.”

For a moment he just studies you, affection seeping into his eyes along with the humor already there. “Can I help you?”

“Mhm.”

His brow darts up. 

“With what, baby?”

Baby. Your whole body tingles. He only calls you that when he’s feeling especially soft toward you and your whims. In turn you soften, and you both become rather mushy. 

Unfortunately your brain is not excluded from melting, and you look up at him helplessly. 

“Um…”

Spencer’s hand falls from your knee, taking an unnecessary but appreciated route down your thigh and up your stomach before settling on your cheek. He brushes away a few baby hairs before two knuckles begin drawing soft lines from the corner of your mouth up toward your ear and back again, and your stomach becomes a hail of butterflies. He’s got this soft smile on his face and you love him so much and he’s so sweet and perfect, you could just—

You’re not thinking very clearly when you tilt your head, angling your chin up until you catch his fingers against your lips. His eyes remain on yours as he traces the shape of your mouth with those same two knuckles—until you’re slowly parting, obstructing his path and offering a very different kind of invitation. Spencer’s eyes narrow fractionally and you watch the way his focus changes, the way he only tests the waters at first, letting the tips of his fingers trace the length of your bottom lip, before barely tugging down just enough to feel the soft warmth of the border of it. They skate over the ridge of your teeth and find the tip of your tongue, at which point you can’t help from closing your lips around his fingers, eyes fluttering contentedly as you draw them deeper into your mouth. His brows draw together, and those pretty pink lips part soundlessly like you’re the eighth wonder of the world in a way that has your thighs clenching. You hear the book shut and fall carelessly to the side table. He doesn’t even bother saving his place—too busy bringing that newly freed hand to your hair and combing gently against your scalp. 

It’s strangely calming to have him like this—he’s undeniably with you, undeniably close, against your lips and tongue. All your worries about his distance dissolve and you feel incredibly comforted. With his other hand, his thumb begins stroking a line from the bridge of your nose up your forehead, and you could pass out. 

“Comfy?” He asks after a long moment, slowly withdrawing his fingers from the heat of your mouth. You pout. 

“I was.”

Spencer hums, eyes soft on you. “I don’t think I should be nurturing your oral fixation, angel.”

“You didn’t like it?” You challenge, turning your head inward to nose at his stomach. He  cups your cheek with damp fingers and pointedly turns your head outward again. If he wasn’t so blushy and flustered and cute you might’ve cared more about the feeling of your own spit on your skin. 

“Don’t make it about me.”

You allow a minute to pass in silence. 

Fine.

“I liked it,” you say shyly. 

Spencer’s response is deeply fond as he smiles down at you. “Did you?”

Like he couldn’t tell. 

“Mhm. You should let me do it all the time.”

His smile flickers wider the way it does when he’s about to tease you. 

“I don’t know if you deserve it. I don’t know if you can be good all the time.”

You make a face. “Shut up.”

“Is that what we say when we want something?” Before he can pull his hand away, you nip at his fingers. He laughs. “You’re off to a terrible start. I think you need to work on your manners. Not bite the hand that… goes in your mouth.”

“Is that the saying?”

“I’m pretty sure,” he nods sarcastically, helping you up until you’re sitting across his lap. He lovingly tucks hair behind your ear, eyes warm as they flit across your face up close. “You know, that was incredibly unhygienic. So much bacteria it boggles the mind.”

“Yeah? That kinda turns me on.”

Spencer leans in to kiss you sweetly, choosing your mouth over his worry about bacterial transmission. “You are so psychologically concerning,” he whispers against your lips. You sling your arms around his neck. 

“Because of the bacteria thing or the oral fixation thing?”

His hands settle on your hips. “Both, lovely. For so many reasons.”

It’s only another tease, but you pull back anyway so he can see the full force of your pout. “Don’t say that. It’s mean.”

“I was kidding! It was a joke. I was joking.”

“It was mean.”

“Okay,” Spencer begins, patient and happy to untangle this ridiculous snag if that’s what it takes to make you content again, “Freud’s psychosexual stages of development are contentious at best. I’m not worried about your oral fixation because I don’t really believe in such a thing. I was just teasing you, but I’m sorry I hurt your feelings.”

“So you’ll let me do it again?”

Spencer pulls you back into another kiss. 

“You’re kind of insatiable, you know that?” 

When you don’t answer, only wait for him to respond, he sighs goodnaturedly. 

“You know you can have any part of me whenever you want it.”

You give him a winning smile and kiss his cheek in reward. 

“You’re so nice, Spence.”

“I thought I was mean.” 

“Now you’re nice.”

“Because you got what you wanted?” You nod enthusiastically. He seems not quite as thrilled, though perhaps distantly amused by his own helplessness when it comes to you. “Yeah, I feel like that happens a lot, doesn’t it?”

But it clearly doesn’t bother him that much. He’s still smiling when you kiss him again. 

[chrollohearttags]

my dress up darling • ony

convincing your friend to go to a convention with you turned out to be the best idea ever!…but it’s what happens before the event even arrives that makes it all the more fun..

blerd!ony, black fem!reader (plus size coded), PWP, finger sucking, thigh riding, fingering, handjob, pet names used (mama, baby, she slips up and calls him daddy), lots of praise, tit/nipple play, nasty hotel sex, tiny mentions of blood + injury, reader is a seamstress/cosplayer, missionary, squirting, friends to lovers, lots of humor and banter, creampie aftercare

word count: 6.3K

this was a lil something I’ve been wanting to write for the longest bc blerd!ony altered my brain chemistry and I miss him tremendously (if you’ve read this before, no u didn’t 🙄 and if it’s ur first time, please enjoy! )

── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ.───── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ.───

“Ow..damn, this hurts already..”

“You good over there, mama? What’s wrong?”

the deep voice belted out in a rather low and calm tone..cool and collected, that’s how he always was. Nonchalant to a fault and that was just one of the many things you loved about him. Hence why you had invited him along to this little venture in the first place. However, at the moment…you quite frankly could not stand his ass! Through gray colored contacts, (y/n) shot the tall male next to you an icy glare..one signifying just how ‘good’ you were!

“Oh, I’m just fine, Ony. Despite the fact that my legs are still shaking and I’m sore as hell.”

a statement that should not have garnered a single chuckle out of anyone had your very handsome homeboy doubling over in laughter. He could tell by the look on your face that you were still a little peeved at him for the previous night and this morning. Honestly, you’d never want to fight a single person in your life but if you thought you could beat him, you’d ask him to spar just one time. “What the hell is so funny?” “Nothing at all, you just seem a lil’ stressed.” Feigning his humor as he pressed the key fob to lock the doors of his 2022 Camaro..a beautiful specimen, much like the man driving it. Honestly, it should’ve been illegal to be this fine but you knew exactly what you were signing up for when you decided to come to this convention with him! Three days full of dressing up, video games and all of the collectible items and rare figurines that one’s nerdy little heart could desire. It was an event that you had been looking forward to for months and it was only the icing on the cake when your favorite cashier turned cosplay buddy decided to tag along! You’d discovered Onyakopon’s, or just Ony as everyone called him; his love for nerdy things after you came into his store on a late night with a random anime shirt on and he was all hyped to see someone else that looked like him, especially a girl..that was into this same stuff. Since that day, the two of you spoke every chance you got to gush over your favorite shows and game series, all but holding up the lines to do so. Soon, that bond carried over outside of his workplace and the two of you began hanging out. Even going to a manga and anime cafe for your first outing. You were so excited to have a friend who shared your similar interests. Eventually, you divulged to Ony that you were a cosplayer and that’s when he stumbled upon your Instagram page. Which was littered with photos of you in beautiful costumes…some very detailed and intricate and others..very revealing and sexy! Make no mistake, he drew an issue with neither one but to see your duality from a girl who walked around in long graphic tees with characters on them and sweatpants to seeing you with your ass out, dressed as one of his fictional crushes, had him very conflicted! But what impressed him even more was the fact that each one of those beautiful outfits you were wearing?

You had hand sewn each one yourself! Spending weeks at a time crafting each one. Hence why your page was so much more bare than other girls he’d seen doing the same craft. It wasn’t that you loved it any less, you just didn’t have the luxury of tossing on any old, run of the mill Amazon ensemble from some third party buyer whose plus sizes looked like they’d fit a middle schooler at best. So instead of giving it up altogether, you took the liberty of learning how to stitch them together yourself to ensure the perfect fit. So naturally, it came as no surprise that when you revealed this secret to him, he wanted you to curate his very first cosplay as well! Ony had long since dreamed of dressing up as characters such as Kratos, Jin Kazuma and all the other badass video game giants he adored. Not only did go out and purchase hundreds of dollars worth of materials for you to make his dream costume come to life, but he offered to cover the costs of everything for the weekend. Just because he was so gracious to you and excited to be going. You made it your mission to ensure that he’d be left in awe when he put it on! The character in question? None other than Shao Kahn from Mortal Kombat and you decided to accompany him as the antagonist’s wife, Sindel. You both looked incredible. But leading up this moment, things had gotten a little out of control, thanks to your companion over there!..who didn’t seem to be phased at all.

“Aye listen, to be fair, you started it. I just finished it.” Prompting you to smack your lips and cut your eyes at the shirtless male. Who was glistening in the sunlight and not making matters any better. “Whatever, I think you were betting on sum’ shit like that to happen.” “Shit, I ain’t mad that it did and I know you not either.”

but just what was Ony referring to? Well…it all began last night in the hotel room…

flashback

── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ.───── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ.───

“Ony! Can you stay still, please? I’m tryna finish this last piece.”

“C’mon, ma. Can’t you do it later on?”

“If it gets any later, imma be sleep so no. You can pause that damn game and wait for me to finish sewing this on.”

it was around eight thirty at night..dark had fallen cast over the skies and faint crackles of thunder resounded throughout the air. Luckily, the two of you were safe from any potential storms in the confines of your spacious hotel room. A luxury, double bed suite at the Best Western; only two blocks away from the convention venue. The last thing either of you wanted to be worried about was having to drive forever to get there and then have no parking or having to wait in a long line. It was a mistake you’d made several times when attending these events alone but Ony wanted his very first time to be absolutely perfect. Not to mention, he didn’t want you having to walk far in your heels. DragonCon was by far one of the largest conventions in the country and people of all kinds came to the illustrious event to have fun, make friends and of course, show off their cosplays. You and Ony had decided on the video game greats, Sindel and Shao Kahn from Mortal Kombat. You had loved Sindel since you first began playing the series and she became your favorite. So a year ago, you decided to craft her iconic purple suit and the staff to go along with it. So you were all set aside. But he wasn’t going to be as easy…because at the moment, while you were trying to put together the final touches on his outfit, he was clicking away at a controller, which made it difficult to get the stitching right. But you knew how it went…when you found yourself gridlocked in an important match or battle and couldn’t stop at the moment.

“Awww, c’mon! You keep blocking, bro. I hate this damn combo—“

it was at that moment when you were bringing the curved needle up through the loin cloth piece and securing the stitch, did he jump and not only cause you to lose balance, but send that needle right through your finger! Poking the index pad and breaking the skin. “OW!” On instinct, you’d jump back and immediately, Ony dropped his controller, finally breaking focus on what he was doing. You were bleeding but nothing too major. Alas though, he felt instantaneously guilty and reached for you. “Oh my God, I’m so sorry. Are you alright?” Making an attempt to check on you. The last thing you wanted was for him to feel bad so you’d downplay your pain and try to brush it off. But he was quick to run to the bathroom to grab some paper and bandages to help clean it up. “Here, you sit down..I got you.” You could tell he was remorseful by the way he flew into action but it was just a part of the craft. You’d lost count of how many times you’d singed yourself with a hot glue gun or poked yourself with a needle. Hell, you still had a giant scar on your arm from the time you sliced it, trying to cut material for a prop. It was certainly on the tamer side of the injuries you’d sustained. But just knowing that he was even remotely responsible for your pain, he couldn’t handle that.

“Ony, I’m fine. Really..I’ll just wrap it up later..”

“Nah, I should’ve stopped like you said. That’s my fault.” There was a sudden shift in his tone and you didn’t like it! There was no need for him to feel guilty. But here he was, sitting next to you on the bed as he gently cusped your hand and began first aid. He was a true sweetheart if you’d ever met one. He’d start by wiping it away and cleaning it thoroughly. You told him that a bandaid would only get in the way and keep snagging so you’d just leave it uncovered.

“You good? How you feel?” A question that elicited a laugh from you. You didn’t understand why he was so worked up over something so trivial. “I told you I’m okay. You ain’t got to worry, I’m a big girl. It’s gon’ take more than a lil’ ass needle to break me.” It was then that the two of you found yourselves face to face on the edge of the bed. Everything else had seemed to fall silent or as menial background noise. You noticed that he couldn’t stop staring at you and that he was still clutching your hand. Those deep set eyes of his remained focused on you as he casually slid his thumb across your own. “Yeah..I know. But I just wanna make you straight, that’s all..you know I care about you.” The sentiment sends flutters throughout your stomach. He was so sweet and attentive..it really shocked you that no woman had snatched him up already. He was incredibly handsome, respectful and always kind. You were happy to have someone like him in your life.

“I appreciate that..I’m just happy you decided to come with me. It means a lot. I usually do this by myself so I feel a lot better with you around.”

by now, the mood had shifted from slightly intense to..something far more sensual. Serene and quiet, as if the two of you were lovers confessing your feelings under moonlight. Truth be told, you’d never pictured yourselves as anything other than friends up until that moment. But you were always each other’s ‘person’. Attached and glued at the hip and loving the sense of happiness you brought one another. This peace and safety that came with knowing you could be your authentic selves. Inching closer, Ony would bridge the gap of space between your bodies and place a hand on your thigh. “Well you know I wouldn’t have missed this for anything..getting to be alone with you? It’s the highlight of my year..dressing up and getting to experience my first con with my fine ass girl? I couldn’t ask for better.” You’d feel your skin run hot and pangs shooting off in your stomach as he uttered the words in that deep drawl. You couldn’t believe he was so infatuated with you. Granted, you were beautiful and there wasn’t a time that you doubted yourself but he was unreal. Those pearly white teeth, that gorgeous dark skin, chiseled physique and that height..he nearly drove you insane when you were measuring him for all the pieces and you caught a glimpse of that v-line! Right now, your minds were on a one track path and there was no chance of it derailing.

“..Ony..”

because of this, neither of you could fight your urges a second longer and he’d pose a question you’d been dying to hear. “..Can I kiss you? Lemme thank you for helping me..” and without hesitation.. “I think you know the answer.” ..you gave him the green light. In a matter of moments, he’d curl a finger underneath your chin before pulling your face closer and pressing your mouths together. His soft lips collided with your own and eventually, you’d begin to make out. Shoving your tongues around inside of each other’s jaws. Your palm would creep up to cup his face and you’d find yourselves locked in a heated moment of passion. You found yourselves tangled up; hands colliding and caressing the opposite frame and by the time you came up for air, yours were roaming underneath his tank top and his were all up your slightly parted thighs.

“Here..sit on my lap.” Commanding with such suaveness, you couldn’t move fast enough as those perfectly manicured fingers waved you towards him. Ony would chew at his lower lip after licking; his signature mannerism when he was feeling a bit aroused by you. He’d done it so many times, that he had to quell it and be on his best behavior. But now, he couldn’t be too vexed to do so. He wanted you and you’d realize just how much before the night was over. You’d follow his command, propping yourself on his muscular thigh. It was decorated by a single tattoo of Shenron from Dragon Ball Z, surrounded by the eight balls. It was such beautiful work but if Ony could be rather frank…he wanted nothing more than to have you grinding yourself on it or watch that ass clap against it! A depraved thought but a real one nonetheless.

“I think you deserve a break, baby..been working so hard tryna’ get me right…lemme take care of you for a lil’ bit.” It was once you were stationed on his lap with those legs slightly parted, did he resume those sloppy yet gentle pecks. Intermittently shoving his tongue into your mouth. He’d slowly trail those fingertips across your covered skin; still sheathed by those tights underneath your skirt that you’d worn at dinner. Rips had plagued the inner corners as they’d always done…it was nearly impossible for you to keep those or a pair of fishnets with how thick your flesh was. That didn’t seem to bother him at all though. To Ony, it was the most attractive shit a woman could have. He loved how soft and supple your skin was..always scented with cocoa butter and that sweet perfume he loved so much. He loved how your features just made everything you wore, cosplay or otherwise..look so accentuated. He couldn’t get enough. Meanwhile, those nimble digits worked their way up your skirt and stopped just a centimeter short of your aching center. Unbeknownst to him, this was the first time you’d been so close to a man and in such an intimate setting. But make no mistake, you weren’t scared. In fact, you invited the idea of having him be the first one to ‘deflower’ you.

“You gon’ let me do that, baby?..Can I play with this pretty pussy?..”

the lewd question sending pangs throughout the pit of your belly. You didn’t even hesitate to provide him an answer and before you knew it, he was ripping out the seat of those tights and peeling your panties back. As he suspected, you were dripping. He just knew you’d be some pressure but this was his first bit of confirmation. As you sat idly on his lap, Ony began to toy around with your cunt. Brushing ever so slightly over that clit and running his finger pads along your folds and lips..it was so sticky and he was certain that it tasted even better. A theory he’d put to the test soon enough. However, at the moment, he just wanted to get you stimulated. He wanted to see those cute little reactions when he rubbed on your aching bud and teased it over your hole. Your arm clenched around the back of his neck as you held on for leverage. You’d watch his every move. Following his pace step for step and it was agonizing to see him going so slowly. You needed him to do his worst already!

“Mmm…I knew this shit was gon’ be wet but damn..look at my fingers already and I ain’t even stuck ‘em in..”

referring to the copious amounts of slick coating the tips as he swiped up and down. Over the sound of the crisp air blowing from the vents, he could hear your stirred up secretions, only growing by the minute. And of course, those cute little moans escaping your throat. “Ony…fuck.” “Oh you like that, huh? Like when I play in this pretty hole, don’t you, mama?” All but rhetorically questioning when he finally decided to plunge his middle and index inside simultaneously; nearly making you come undone right there. You couldn’t even elicit a response until he gained a rhythm and slowly worked you over. A single strand of drool seeped from your lips as he gently thrusted those digits back and forth. He could sense just how tight you were from his digits alone. The anticipation to be inside of you was growing stronger. But for now, he’d hide his time and focus solely on your pleasure. Those gentle brown eyes were fluttering and had even rolled back whilst you rolled your hips in a circular motion to meet his movements while incoherent babble left your mouth. But that wouldn’t suffice..he needed to hear you say it.

“Unt uh..use your words, baby. I need to know I’m making you feel good..” and alas, he’d get his answer when he sped up his pace and clutched a hand around your throat. Squeezing ever so slightly to garner his desired reaction. Ony wouldn’t consider himself to be super dominant by any means but he loved taking control to show his girl she had nothing to worry about.

“Y-yeah, daddy. It feels so fucking good.” The name slipping out casually as you pounced up and down on those two fingers. You’d felt a slight tinge of embarrassment but Ony on the other hand? Felt empowered. He never really cared for the term but hearing you utter it with those mellifluous moans, he was reconsidering! In fact, he needed to hear it again. “That’s my good girl…here, lemme take this off too.” Referencing your tube top that had been housing those ample breasts and concealed under your sweater at the restaurant. For now though, he wanted to see his gifts unwrapped. “Fuck..these big ass titties so pretty, baby. I love the way they sit up..”

it was then that he’d bury his face between them and alternate between each one’s nipple while his fingers remained nestled inside of that warmth. They’d slowly work around, twisting until they prodded your g-spot and his tongue swirled those brown buds, lapping and licking. A combination of the stimulating movements had caused you to make quite the mess of his leg with creamy juices spilling forth. You were squirming, becoming restless and in need of an orgasm already. But Ony was enjoying this far more than he should and couldn’t be vexed to stop right now.

“You so fucking pretty, baby. I swear I be so happy when you’re around..”

doting on you constantly whilst working over your sweet spot. He could tell just how excited you had become, just by the way you writhed and squealed as well. In truth, you’d never been in a situation quite like this one. You look so salacious yet so innocent and it wasn’t something that was lost on Ony. In fact, he wanted to further exploit it..

“Open that mouth..” the command followed by you promptly obeying and him gliding those same digits that were just inside of you onto your tongue. It was such a cute sight..watching you suckle on his fingers with those brown doe eyes fixated on him. This was something that he could never grow tired of..reducing his pretty little best friend to his adorable slut! You’d whimper heavily around those digits, moaning and still rutting yourself against his exposed upper thigh. Meanwhile, he was pushing those digits in and out, even getting you to gag and drool a bit from the movements. “Fuck…there you go. Suck them fingers, baby. Taste that pretty pussy f’r me. Yeah, you know your shit good. Fine ass..” which prompted you to giggle. It wasn’t a compliment you received often and honestly, you never doubted that you were beautiful but it was something about him affirming you that made your heart flutter. Suddenly, his low drawl ascended a half a pitch higher when you’d snake your smaller hand into his shorts. You’d continue to be pacified on his fingers whilst jerking him off. You were inconsolable and when you noticed that very visible tent in his bottoms, you had to move.

“Oh my gosh—shit…keep playing wit’ it, just like that…stroke that fucking dick..” growling as he forced his digits a little more down your throat; depressing your tongue along the way and causing you to keep emitting drool. Which served as the perfect lubricant to his already leaking cock. “Mmmm…Ony. Need you to fuck me..” “..you want this dick, baby?” Neither of you could take much more of this teasing and when he’d utter the fateful question, asking if you wanted to go further, you didn’t even hesitate. Despite never being intimate with a man prior. Your only partners were women or your lovely assortment of toys that you’d stashed away in your dresser. Honestly, with your arsenal..you saw little to no need to even entertain these dudes. Any feeling or sensation they could bring forth, your Rose Toy and Bad Dragon could replicate times ten! However, it was something about Ony and the way he made you feel. Not just in an erotic sense, but an emotional one as well. You felt so safe and comfortable in his presence, that it only felt natural to submit. He brought forth your feminine energy and allowed you to thrive in it.

“Here, lay down f’r me, mama. Just like that..and keep them legs spread.”

upon giving you instructions, he’d long since removed you from his lap and allowed you lie flat against the mattress; just awaiting his next move. Your tits were still sitting up, spilled out of the tube top, shuffled around your belly..and those sheer fishnets were as good as torn. It was such a sexy view, that Ony didn’t even want to undress you. However, he stripped all of his clothing down and immediately joined you back on the bed. He’d hover above you with his shaft in hand, stroking slowly. The expression on your face told it all…and he couldn’t help but to laugh. “What’s wrong, baby? You look nervous.” To which all you could do was swallow the lump in your throat. Granted, you didn’t know what an actual human’s length was supposed to look like but from the girth of his and how nearly reached the end of his thigh, nervous was an understatement. What if you couldn’t handle it? What if you embarrassed yourself?!..

“Well don’t be..you know imma take my time witchu’..I been waiting on this a long time.” Whispering to you as he leaned down and met your gaze with warm eyes and gentle smile. Brushing your cheek with that cock still in his opposite palm, he’d place small kisses atop your forehead and eventually your lips. “You just tell me what I need to do..this is yours now. I wanna make you feel good..” but it was a given, blatantly obvious even at this point. You needed every last part and inch of him..with your reassurance, he asked once more if it were okay to keep going and you’d grant him permission with a palm of your own to the side of his face..whispering to him to put it inside of you. Cooing with sweet nothings and whiny breaths, (y/n) begged Ony to fulfill your wish and it wasn’t long before your eyes went wide and your face went flush..

“Oh God—“ “Fuck…”

in that moment, the sounds of squelching flesh, along with breathy gasps emitted into the room. The two of you clashed and joined as one, right there on the crisp sheets of that king bed. The first few inches of his cock embedded deep between your warm, massaging walls and it was a sensation that could only be described as euphoric. Your legs instinctively coiled his waist, your hands to the sides of his head and his arms on either side of your body. Lying there, awaiting his next move. But alas, he had to regain his composure. Out of fear of sounding a bit too egregious, he’d keep his thoughts to himself but you were most certainly the best pussy he’d ever felt and he hadn’t even made his first thrust! Even so, Ony released a deep grunt and focused his attention back to your pretty face. “You good, baby?..Can I start moving?” This question required a bit more consideration, as you need time to adjust. That initial feeling brought forth a pleasurable yet slightly painful feeling..you didn’t make it a point to disclose to him that you were technically a ‘virgin’..but seeing as how it wasn’t the very first time you’d felt penetration, you didn’t feel it important. Besides, at that very moment. None of the proverbial details really made a difference. All that mattered was that the two of you were comfortably, willing and all ready to take this next step. And after a moment of quick breaths and whimpers, you’d instruct him to keep moving. In which he’d make one full thrust in and out..

“Agghhh…fuck..there we go, baby. In and out..” eventually, you’d fall into a rhythm of kisses that mimicked his thrusts..each one slower than the last but full nonetheless. This was so you could get acclimated with the shape and size of his member. It was a bit much and by the expression on your face, Ony knew he couldn’t start out drilling your shit!..as badly as he wanted to..

“Yeah..you takin’ my dick so good, baby..you feel so warm..” doting on you whilst your tongues swished around one another’s mouths. Sloppy, wet and steamy; an ideal combination. Coupled with that of the slow, deep thrusts in and out of your tight cunt. One thing that you loved about him was that he wasn’t afraid to be vocal. He didn’t shy from the fact that he was feeling good and wanted everyone to know. “Mmmm…Onyyyy…” “I know, mama. I know..” it went without saying, you were certainly enjoying this and he’d do everything he could to make the situation the best he could. Keeping you reigned in close to his chest, Ony persisted with his thrusts, trying to slowly get you to conform to his shape and so far, it was working.

“There you go, baby. Open that shit up..lemme have it.” Soon, the sounds of thumping and smacking began to fill the atmosphere and you’d feel those strokes become a little faster. It was then that you’d feel the swollen tip of that girthy cock not only stretching you out but precisely hitting your spot as well. Once he knew this was your sought after core, he’d hone in on it and pound away with precise thrusts; even rolling his hips and reaching a hand down to massage your clit. You’d have a moment where you’d falter and that, along with those beautiful eyes rolled back. “Fuck!..f-fuck..yes!” However, he thrived off the satisfaction of seeing your expressions and how they shifted, the deeper he got.

“Unt uh..eyes up here. Lemme see that pretty face while I fuck you..gimme that pussy, baby. Yes..”

You found his commands so sexy and soothing. His voice was soft yet stern and you felt comforted by his tone. It was no wonder that you’d become nearly entranced by him. The smacking sounds only grew louder and that was thanks to the fact that you were a dripping puddle between your thighs. Pearly white secretions leaking everywhere, even coating his shaft entirely and making quite the mess. In one fell swoop, Ony shifted from cradling you to his own body, to pinning your legs to the mattress and spreading you wide open. From this angle, he’d have an ideal view of those voluptuous tits bouncing each time he thrusted. Or just how that plump cunt looked swallowing his cock.

“Oooh..you creaming all over my dick, baby…shit’s so fucking sexy. You like the way this shit feels?” “Y-yes, daddy. Thank you, thank you!—“ declaring so with his thumb pad rolling on your clit and a long trail of saliva coating your lips. He didn’t relent, even when you’d squeeze down on him. It was every bit of eight inches and you’d nearly taken all of it at this point..you couldn’t believe it. “I just knew your shit was good..knew this pussy was the best just by looking at you.”

which made the both of you break into a slight giggle. But you certainly had help getting to this point. This was a newfound sensation and your body was reacting accordingly.

“You bring it out of me..fucking me like this—“ the incoherent babble was followed by something that would only further prove his point. When he’d keep gliding back and forth, speeding up his movements..that’s when it happened…

“Oh shit!—“ “AHH!! FUCK!…” as you’d whimper and cry out, even pawing at his abs as those streams of juices began to spill out and hit not only the linen underneath but his torso as well. Marking his decadent skin with splashes of your liquid. He’d never seen and you’d never experienced anything like it!

“..look at you squirting on that dick, baby...” although you were beginning to feel depleted, your body craved more of him. You wanted to keep going until either of you could move another inch. A wish that would soon come to fruition when you felt Ony’s thrusts become a bit more sporadic and off rhythm. He’d begin to falter, falling prey to your sex. Admittedly, it’d been ages since he’d had sex or a proper orgasm to boot but you were on a whole other playing field! The plush of those thighs, the ripple of that pudgy tummy and big tits, not to mention, the warmth of your wet hole…it was simply too much for him to fathom!

“Onyyyy!..” the louder you cried out, clawing into his skin; albeit his back or his abdomen, the more motivated he became to give you the most pleasure he could possibly help you attain. Even so, he’d make certain of your well-being all throughout. Asking if you were okay to keep moving..not doing so without explicit instructions and checking constantly to see if your expressions matched your sounds. He only wanted tears brought forth from joy and ecstasy, not pain. But the smile plastered on your face was pretty indicative of how good you felt! “Haaa..yeah, baby. I’m right here—tell me what you need…”

clinging to the last semblance of dominance he could muster, Ony slowed his pace down back to the original and held you close once more. He needed it..not just your body, but you in your entirety. He needed to hear you say that he was the one that you desired…that he could officially be your special person and never let you go for as long as he lived. It was all he had wanted, since the day he first cast eyes on you. When he first saw you in those shirts and sweats with his favorite series on it and when he first saw you in those cosplays. It was a moment that he not only wanted to remember but keep reliving. He wanted what the two of you had to last for an eternity…“..I love you....” the words sending your heart fluttering like butterflies in a garden. It was all you had been waiting to hear come from his mouth. Ony thought he’d never truly be able to utter the phrase and it has substantial weight behind it but now, he’d found his one and only who made the words come to life.

“I love you too, Ony…” so with a gentle stroke of your fingers to the side of his face, right there in that hotel room…the two of you consummated what had long since been established. The feelings of adoration for one another that could not be contained. It wasn’t long before either of you would reach your peak and before long, he was heaving and holding onto you with the last remnants of his strength.

“..come. Come for me, Ony…come in me..”

With that, you’d answer his earlier question and he’d have no problem fulfilling your request! He’d spotted you taking your birth control pills once you returned from dinner so any qualms he had dissipated. “I’m coming!…imma nut—“ veins bulge from his forehead and hands as he continues rutting into you. Ony’s fingertips grasped the headboard behind you and would serve as his balance as every ounce of his warm seed began to trickle into your inviting womb..you’d both reach that climatic peak together and following your stream of sexual secretions, was a trail of joyous tears shrouding your faces. Heavy gasps and breathless whimpers escaped your throats before you collapsed into one another’s arms. Once you were both back in the realm of reality, lying underneath him, (y/n) didn’t waste another moment before pulling him into a searing, passionate kiss. One that neither of you wanted to break.

but alas, your gazes would meet and you’d break into a fit of light chuckles.

“How you feel? You good?”

“Oh I’m just fine…are you good?”

poking fun at one another’s reactions in that final moment of ecstasy. But you were both feeling quite well after that. And you wanted nothing more than to keep reveling in it but tomorrow the big day awaited and you both needed rest…

“I’m straight…I mean, shit…you put it on me for real..where you learn to do them lil’ tricks at?” Referring to your earlier display of waterworks but you’d have to tease him once. “A lady never reveals her secrets..” you’d tease back, pursing a finger to his lips before he’d slowly began to pull out, dragging a string of pearlescent cum along with him and splattering a bit on your tummy on the way out. “Besides, I gotta finish your outfit before I fall asleep—“ “Unt uh…you ain’t getting up until you drink sum’ and wipe off. I can get you some snacks from downstairs too.” That’s when he’d roll over and crawl out of the bed, going over to the bathroom to retrieve a warm washcloth and some water from the mini fridge adjacent to the foot of the mattress. He wasn’t going to let you up until he made certain you could handle it. That was Ony’s overprotective nature for you. But it came from nothing but the purest intentions.

“That is not necessary. I’ll be fine.” “Yeah, but you my girl…and imma always take care of you. So hush.” Kissing your forehead ever so gently before sitting at your side and running that rag over your skin. It felt quite nice and you were glad he made you rest for a moment because your body had been through a foreign experience and he made every single second of it magical…you knew that you wanted to create more memories like this with him for as long as possible. Albeit a convention, a date or even kicking it at his place as you watched him play video games. You just wanted to remain in his presence and remain his girl forever.

“Aye, you gone let me sleep in the wet spot?..I wanna stay cool tonight.”

“..Ony, get away from me, please.”

even if he did work the last good nerve you had sometimes!

[sincerelyneo]

igloo | h.rj

“i make him lose his cool, yeah i make him go…”

💿now playing: igloo by kiss of life

❯ summary: No Nut November is stupid—so why is your boyfriend making a bet with Hyuck that he can last the longest? Surely he doesn’t want to actually deprive himself from sex with you for a month? Surely he’s not serious…? Oh, he is. That won’t do.

❯ pairings: renjun x fem!reader

❯ genre: established relationship, smut

❯ words: 4.1k

❯ tags: 18+ minors dni!, swearing, petty stupid argument, slight angst, female masturbation, voyeurism, premature ejaculation, begging, slight sub!renjun, lots of teasing, reader uses she/her pronouns, basically just renjun agreeing to a stupid bet and y/n making him regret it

“Personally,” Hyuck says, throwing his hands up confidently, “I think I’d last the longest. Strong willpower and all that, you know?”

Renjun rolls his eyes, swatting him with a light smack on the back of the head. “No, you wouldn’t. You can’t go five minutes without emptying your balls, slut.”

Hyuck growls, winding up to smack him on the back, but he stops short as you stroll into the living room, a few cans of beer balanced in your hands. You drop them onto the coffee table with a loud thud, raising an eyebrow at the two of them.

“What are you idiots arguing about now?”

This was how every Friday night hangout went with your boyfriend and his friends. Laughter, drinks, and memories in the making—until Hyuck and Renjun would start bickering. Hyuck started it every time on purpose, and without fail, your boyfriend would take the bait, falling right into his trap.

And when you say fall right in, you mean it. They’re so wrapped up in each other’s throats that neither even acknowledge your question. You turn to Jisung, who shrugs and mutters something about No Nut November. Your mouth drops open in an “oh.”

“I’m just saying, I’d last the longest out of all you boys,” Hyuck insists, crossing his arms lazily.

“Bullshit!”

Hyuck’s brows knit together. “Oh, so you think you could last longer, Junnie?”

“Without question,” Renjun scoffs. “I’d last longer than you in every single way.”

Hyuck scowls. And perhaps it’s the double meaning in Renjun’s words that has him snapping, or just his overall general competitive streak, but all of a sudden he has no interest in dropping this argument or backing down. 

“Are you challenging me, Huang Renjun?”

Renjun grins, leaning forward. “I mean, if you’re asking…”

You can’t believe Renjun is even entertaining the idea. No Nut November is stupid on a good day, let alone when someone has a girlfriend, you think. But it’s downright laughable when that someone happens to be your boyfriend—and the two of you go at it like rabbits.

Hyuck smirks, his gaze flickering from you to your boyfriend with a glint of mischief. “Oh, I’m definitely asking. Let’s see,” he drawls, leaning back with an exaggerated grin. “Which one of us can last the longest this month, loser owes the other $1000?”

“Done.”

You stare at Renjun, your mouth slightly ajar. “Done?” you echo, your tone fuming. He doesn’t even flinch, too busy locking eyes with Hyuck like it’s some weird standoff: men and their egos. 

“Renjun,” you say, sharper now, catching his attention. His eyes flicker over to you, and for a split second, you think he might come to his senses. “You’re my boyfriend. My boyfriend,” you emphasise. “You just basically agreed to not have sex with me for an entire month.”

“Well technically, you can have sex but he just can’t cum—”

“Not now, Jisung!” You snap. 

Hyuck bursts out laughing, clapping his hands like this is the funniest thing he’s heard all year. “Oh, I sooo have this in the bag,” he cackles. “And Renjun, you can’t take it back now. We shook on it—well, metaphorically. I have witnesses.” 

Renjun pales slightly, glancing between you and Hyuck. “I—uh—” he stammers, but Hyuck cuts him off, wagging a finger mockingly. 

“Nope! Rules are rules, Junnie. You’re in this now…unless you wanna forfeit—”

“No!”

You cross your arms, fixing Renjun with a glare. “So, let me get this straight. You’re really going to prioritise this over your girlfriend?”

“It’s not like that!” Renjun says quickly, looking genuinely panicked now. “It’s just—Hyuck started it!”

“Hyuck started it?” you repeat, raising an eyebrow. “That’s your excuse? Are we in middle school?”

“No–baby–I–” Renjun stutters. “I just—You know what he’s like. He’d never let me hear the end of it if I said no.”

“Oh, I still won’t,” Hyuck chimes in, grinning ear to ear. “Because there’s no way you’re making it through this, Junnie. Not when your girl looks like that.” Hyuck gestures toward you with a smirk, clearly enjoying every second of this.

Renjun glares at him, a growl of anger leaving his lips, but you’re quick to interject. “So you’re risking $1,000 and pausing our entire sex life for a month—because you can’t handle Hyuck’s teasing?”

Renjun winces. “When you say it like that, it sounds bad.”

“That’s because it is bad,” you shoot back. “What are you even trying to prove? That you have more self-control than Hyuck? Congratulations, Renjun. Everyone already knows that.”

Hyuck gasps, feigning offence by clutching his fists to his chest. “Wow, Y/N. You wound me.”

“I’m sure you’ll live,” you retort dryly because he’s pissed you off just as much.

Renjun sighs, running a hand through his hair. “Look, it’s just a month. It’s not a big deal—”

“Not a big deal?” you cut him off. “You do realise this affects me too, right?” You throw your hands up, standing to your feet. “Fine. You know what? Do whatever you want. But if you even think about caving, just remember—you’ll owe Hyuck $1,000 and me an apology.”

With that, you grab your beer and stomp out of the living room, leaving Renjun to stew. Hyuck leans back, grinning smugly before turning to Jisung. “I give him three days.”

Jisung nods thoughtfully. “I’m thinking two.”

Renjun manages to last two weeks without cumming—a new record since the two of you started dating, though it’s hardly an accomplishment. When your girlfriend is mad at you, it’s easy not to cum—mainly because you weren’t offering.

You weren’t outright ignoring him, but your usual affection had taken a sharp nosedive. No lingering kisses, no teasing touches, no late-night “accidental” brushes under the covers. It was like you’d put him on lockdown—and, annoyingly, he was thankful for it.

That pissed you off even more.

Here you were, trying to make a point, and Renjun was treating it like some kind of twisted blessing. He wasn’t sulking, wasn’t apologising profusely like he usually would. Instead, he seemed…relieved, like your passive-aggressive cold shoulder was doing him a favour.

It especially pissed you off one night when Renjun came back from dance practice, his shirt clinging to his torso, sweat beading on his forehead, and his eyes glazed over in exhaustion. Usually, when he came home like that—when it wasn’t No Nut November—you’d order takeout, settle on the sofa, and have lazy couch sex, no effort, no stress.

But not tonight.

No, because it is No Nut November and he agreed to it. So instead of collapsing into your arms, he takes himself upstairs, barely sparing you a glance, getting straight in the shower and tossing on a pair of grey sweatpants—torture, you think—and sits himself down in front of his PC, clicking at the keyboard as he logs online

He. Pisses. You. Off.

“You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?” you snap, arms crossed, eyes fixed on him as he spins his chair around to face you on the bed.

He raises an eyebrow, pulling his headphones off and letting them hang loosely around his neck. “What are you talking about?”

“You don’t miss me touching you, do you?” 

“Baby,” he starts, his voice low and soft, “That’s not true—”

“Really?” You tilt your head. “Because it sure feels true.”

Renjun runs a hand through his hair. “I do miss you. I miss you a lot, okay? But you’re mad at me, and I know I deserve it...so I wanted to give you space.”

You shake your head, “That feels oddly convenient.”

“I promise you it’s not,” he sighs, cautiously sliding closer. “How about this… is there anything I can do to at least try and make it up to you?”

You arched an eyebrow. “That depends. Are you planning on sticking to this ridiculous bet?”

He hesitates, and you can practically see the war waging in his head. “...Hyuck will never let me live it down if I back out,” he admits sheepishly.

You groan, sinking back against the headboard. “You’re actually unbelievable.”

Renjun doesn’t make a move to comfort you, doesn’t try to touch or reach for you. He knows you’re pissed, but for some reason, he can’t bring himself to drop this stupid fucking bet. His eyes flicker to you for a split second, and even though you're giving him nothing but cold, angry silence, he can’t help but think how fucking cute you look when you're this worked up.

You’re absolutely right to be mad. He’s an idiot. He misses you so much, misses your lips, your touch, your smile. 

Fuck, he feels his resolve starting to crack, and so he spins around in his chair, putting all his attention back on his game and not on your pretty little pout. His fingers hit the keyboard aggressively. And although his eyes stay glued to the screen, he can feel the heat of your stare drilling into the back of his head.

Unbelievable, you think.

He’s really doing this. Pretending like he doesn’t care that you're right there, seething and beautiful and willing. You can see the tension in his shoulders, how his jaw tightens whenever he thinks you’re not looking. He needs this, needs you but he won’t let himself because he’s been in a dick swinging competition with Lee Donghyuck since he met him. 

It pisses you off—at first. But then the anger twists into something darker, bolder. Maybe it’s the frustration of going a week without him, or maybe it’s just the pure, unfiltered horniness. Either way, your patience snaps. 

You didn’t agree to this no-orgasms-for-a-month bullshit. You had nothing to lose. You didn’t need to punish yourself. 

If Renjun won’t help you, fine. You’ll just have to take care of it yourself.

The thought is intoxicating, and once it’s in your head, there’s no shaking it. You shift against the headboard, eyes locked on his back. He’s been insufferable, sure, but the memory of him coming home sweaty and dishevelled—so fucking hot—has you pent up.

Your fingers brush your lips, and you can almost feel his again. Wet. Hungry. God, you’ve missed stumbling into bed together, tugging at his clothes and fighting for breath. You’ve missed the warmth of his body, and Renjun was always warm; the way he feels against you—scorching, consuming, addictive. He’s practically a fire hazard for your senses.

Your hand trails down, teasing over your chest, your fingers clutching at the fabric as you imagine it’s his touch. He could be doing this—should be doing this—but he won’t. Because you both know it wouldn’t stop there.

You let out a slow breath, the ache between your thighs growing more unbearable with every passing second. It’s the closest you’ve been to sex for the past two weeks and still, Renjun hasn’t looked at you once, his focus stubbornly locked on his stupid game. 

The memory of him murmuring “Look, it’s just a month,” as he ran a hand through his hair flashes through your mind, and it makes you want to scream. He had no idea how badly you’d need him, how badly you’d miss him, and how much it would hurt when he started pulling away. Or maybe he did and perhaps he was being selfish. 

But that’s okay, because you were about to do your own version of self-indulgence. 

Your hands drift to your thighs, nails raking lightly against your skin as you glare at his back. He hasn’t even flinched, acting like he can’t feel the fire you’re staring into his hair. 

You start slow—fingers brushing against the fabric of your panties, the warmth pooling low in your stomach making you shiver. You bite your lip as you press down harder, a sharp pang of pleasure hitting you as you add a small amount of pressure. The thought of him watching, of him finally snapping and turning around, sends a thrill straight through you. But he doesn’t move. 

You want him to move. 

You try parting your lips with a quiet sigh to get his attention—hands still teasing yourself, slipping under the waistband of your underwear. You know exactly how to touch yourself, how to work your body into a frenzy. But it’s not enough—it’s never enough—not when you know how much better it feels when it’s him.

When he still doesn’t look, your last ounce of patience snaps. Fine, if he wants to ignore you, you’ll make damn sure he can’t.

Your hand moves to the nightstand, yanking open the drawer with just enough force to make it rattle. You grab the vibrator—the vibrator, the one he’d bought you for your birthday with that smug little grin, saying he wanted to “make things interesting.” Well, you plan on making tonight very interesting.

This isn’t for fun. This is revenge, pure and simple.

You lean back against the headboard, spreading your legs just enough to get comfortable, the cool air hitting your heated skin. Your thumb presses the button, and the low buzz fills the room, cutting through the quiet. It’s barely louder than a whisper, but it’s enough to make Renjun’s fingers pause mid-keystroke, his entire body going still.

Good.

You don’t even look at him. Not yet. Instead, you drag the toy against your inner thigh, a soft moan slipping past your lips, breathy and deliberate, as you let your head fall back, eyes fluttering shut.

And then, just like you planned, he turns. And when he sees you—legs spread, vibrator in hand—his eyes go impossibly wide.

“What the fuck are you doing?” he stammers, his voice cracking slightly at the end.

You hum softly, dragging the toy up your thigh with evil slowness. Your lips part with a quiet gasp, and his breath hitches audibly. “I’m watering the plants. What does it look like I’m doing!?”

“Y/N,” he tries again, this time more forceful, his eyes shooting to the ceiling as he takes a long deep breath. His hand clenches the edge of the desk like it’s the only thing keeping him grounded. “I’m serious. Turn that off.”

You finally meet his gaze, expression dripping with mock innocence as you scoff. “Why? I never agreed to No Nut November. I can entertain myself all I like.”

His mouth opens, but no words come out. You can see the panic flickering in his eyes, the video game in the background long abandoned flashing with the ‘respawn’ screen as a flush creeps up his neck. You can tell he is desperately trying to hold onto whatever self-control he has left. So far, No Nut November had been surprisingly easy for him—mostly because you’d been at each other’s throats all week. But now? With you looking like this? He’s fucked.

“Y/N, I mean it,” he warns, his voice shaky. His gaze darts to the vibrator in your hand, then to the way your legs are spread, and then back to your face. You can tell he’s trying not to look, but his resolve is cracking with every passing second.

You shake your head, biting your lip as you trace the toy over your clothed clit. His Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows hard, shifting uncomfortably in his chair. You don’t miss the way his hand twitches like he’s fighting the urge to reach for you as you whimper. 

“You know…you could always just look away,” you say with a shrug, your tone light, teasing. “Unless, of course, you like watching.”

His eyes snap to yours, panic flashing behind them, but there’s no hiding the way his chest is rising and falling faster now. The blush staining his cheeks deepens as he shifts again, and your eyes drop—just for a second—to the bulge straining against his pants.

Like you said, those grey sweatpants are torture and you can see everything. It only spurs you on to pull your panties to the side and run the buzzing toy between your slick wet folds. The first real contact has you gasping, your back arching slightly against the headboard, and Renjun visibly twitches in his chair.

“Y/N, I’m warning you,” he tries again, but his voice is shaky, almost pleading.

“Warning me?” You echo. “What are you gonna do, huh? It’s not like you can do anything. You’re just gonna sit there and play your game while I get myself off because of a stupid dumb bet.”

His hand flexes against the armrest, his breathing ragged now, and you know you’ve got him exactly where you want him.

“Go on,” you taunt, your voice dropping lower, dripping with mockery. “Prove how much self-control you have. Or…” You trail off, letting another soft moan spill from your lips, your eyes locked on his. “You can always give up that stupid bet and come help me.”

Renjun moves before he can stop himself, the chair scraping loudly against the floor as he stands. His body betrays his mind, the bulge in his sweats unmistakable as he strides toward you, breath shallow with desperation. 

Fuck the bet. Fuck Hyuck. He just wants to fuck you. 

“Alright, fine,” he growls, “You’ve made your point. Just—just stop, let me—”

But before he can close the distance, before he can even get a touch of what he’s been missing, you press your foot firmly against his chest, halting him mid-step. His eyes widen, lips parting as he gasps, completely caught off guard by the sudden force of it. For a long moment, he stands frozen, confused.

“Hmmm, I’ve changed my mind,” you say in a low voice. “You don’t get to make the rules and then break them the second you get hard. Sit. Back. Down.”

“Y/N,” he whines, the sound ragged and desperate. His hands hover around you like he doesn’t know whether to push forward or pull back. “I thought—”

You simply smirk, leaning back into the headboard with an air of defiance, your leg still pressed against his chest, keeping him in place and giving him a perfect view of your open-spread legs. The vibrator hums between your thighs, and you can feel his gaze searing into you, his eyes flicking down to where it rests beneath your wet soaked panties.

Fucking torture.

You drag the vibrator over yourself with steady, careful motions, breath hitching as you lean into the sensation (slightly making a show of it to tease him further). “You wanted to prove you could last, didn’t you? Prove it. Watch me.” You purr. 

He groans, his head tilting back as his hands curl into tight fists, helpless and frustrated. “You’re fucking cruel,” he mutters, his voice strained, barely keeping it together.

“Am I?” you tease, your words laced with finger-licking venom. “You’ve been avoiding me for days, Renjun. Ignoring me, turning your back, all for a stupid bet with Hyuck? Now you get to feel exactly how I’ve felt.”

His jaw clenches as his hips shift, the fabric of his sweats doing nothing to hide his need. His eyes lock on yours, pleading, his chest rising and falling with erratic breaths. “Y/N, please.”

“Please what?” you taunt. “Please stop? Please let you touch me?” You press the vibrator harder against yourself, letting out a loud, shaky moan, and his knees nearly buckle as you continue, your smirk growing as you watch him unravel. 

His body trembles, a curse escaping him as he sinks back into the chair, defeated and desperate, fighting the urge to touch you, to do something, anything. Renjun’s never felt a tightness in his body like this before. His muscles are tense, every inch of him on fire, but it’s not the good kind of heat—it’s raw and painful, like his body’s been caught in a vice that won’t let go. His breath comes in sharp, ragged gasps, every shift only intensifying the ache. The throb is relentless. 

"Y/N, please," he whines desperately, the plea barely a whisper, but you hear it. He looks so broken, so beautiful, eyes fluttering closed as he tries to regain some shred of control. 

You smirk at his desperate pleas, the sound making your heart race faster. You’ve never seen him this far gone for you, and knowing you've been the one to drive him to the edge like this—it’s a rush.

You spread your legs even wider, the cool air of the room hitting you and you moan as you pull your panties down and toss them aside. He stares at you—eyes wide, face flushed, lips parted—as you slide your fingers between your slick folds. You’re so wet already, so hot, and all it takes is the combination of cool air and the vibrator on your clit to have you soaring. 

“Fuck,” you whisper, eyes fluttering as you arch against the toy in your hand. “God, I’m so close.”

He groans in response, hips shifting against the chair as he fights the urge to move, his body desperate for friction, for any kind of touch.

“Y/N, please,” he tries again, voice so thick with need. “Let me help. Please. Let me—”

You press harder, your entire body starting to tingle as you drive yourself closer to the edge. His own hips roll desperately, and you wonder how close he is too. He doesn’t even need a hand, it seems. His body’s already learning to react without stimulation—and it would be his own fault for blue balling himself for two weeks. The thought of it almost sends you over the edge, but you want to draw this out a bit longer.

“Nope,” you grunt, breathy moans escaping you as your hand speeds up. “No touching.”

His breath hitches. “Fuck, you’re so fucking cruel,” he pants, his body writhing in the chair. His face is flushed, eyes wild, and you can tell he's not far from losing it completely.

You smirk. “And you’re so fucking desperate,” you reply. “So close, aren’t you? And I haven’t even touched you.”

He nods, his hips rolling desperately as he clutches the edge of the chair, knuckles going white with tension. You can almost feel the ache in his body as he strains against himself, fighting against his own needs.

Your eyes flick to where his sweats are straining and you let out a small whimper at the sight. God, he’s so big, and you can practically imagine him thrusting against you, his cock sliding in deep with a rough, possessive motion. Fuck you’ve missed that. You gasp, your body clenching around nothing, and you swear you can feel his touch on you, all over, everywhere and nowhere at the same time.

“God,” you whisper, your hand moving the toy faster against your clit. “God, fuck—Renjun,” your voice breaks on his name, “Fuck, I’m close.”

His hips snap forward, his back bowing against the chair. “Oh fuck,” he moans, his eyes wide as they stare straight into yours. “Fuck, baby. So pretty—”

You cum with a sharp cry, your hand spasming against yourself as your body trembles through the orgasm. Renjun watches—desperate and hungry—for every second of it, just the sound of your orgasm sending his own body to the edge.

“God, yes,” he groans, eyes closing with a harsh curse. “Fuck, yes. Y/N, fuck, yes.”

You open your eyes to see him bucking in the chair, his body shaking as he stares at you—wide-eyed and panting. You watch his cum spill into his sweatpants, creating a dark, damp stain that makes your chest swell with satisfaction.

Your gaze stays locked on him—your body still twitching as your own orgasm fades—and a slow smile spreads across your face as you realise he came untouched, from just watching.

Your boyfriend sits frozen, completely caught off guard, his eyes staring blankly at his lap, cum stain splattered over his sweats. He blinks rapidly as he struggles to form coherent thoughts, his mind a mess. A long, long moment passes, and then he lets out an awkward cough, eyes darting around the room in search of an escape. There’s none. He’s just cum all over himself and can’t even blame it on someone else.

He looks mortified.

You bite your lip, a mischievous smile tugging on your face. “I’m sure Hyuck’s gonna love this.”

“Hyuck isn’t finding out,” he groans. 

You raise an eyebrow, teasing. “Oh, he will. You made a bet about not cumming for a month, and well…”

Renjun growls low in his throat, rising up and crawling onto the bed. “Exactly. I made a bet with him, and if I’m gonna lose $1,000, I might as well fuck my girlfriend properly, and cum inside her, and tell him that’s how I lost, since you wanna be such a fucking tease.”

You smile as he hovers over you, a challenging gleam in your eyes. “Oh yeah? Is that a threat?”

“No,” he murmurs. “It’s a promise.”

[emmiesoverthemoon]

i’ll make you lose

pairing: lee felix x reader

word count: 10.6k

summary: you wanted to tease your cute nerdy tutor. how could you not? he looked like he short circuited whenever you both made eye contact. well, as it turns out, untouched nerds do it best.

tags: flustered felix. university au. implied friends to lovers. flirting, teasing. unprotected sex, dry humping, oral (f recieving). enjoy

this is my longest work yet. safe to say i got carried away lol.

You sat at the long, rectangular desk in the lecture hall, your fingers lightly tapping against the surface as the professor’s voice floated in the background. Your mind wandered, the jumble of equations and formulas in front of you blurring into abstract shapes. The announcement that your professor had just made, however, cut through the fog in your thoughts, and it was only then that the full meaning of their words sank in.

Felix. Lee Felix.

He was going to be your tutor. You had heard the rumors. Felix was brilliant. His grades were flawless, and his understanding of the material was unparalleled. He had the kind of intellect that earned him respect from professors and peers alike. The kind of intellect that made people expect perfection from him in everything he did.

But as much as Felix was known for his academic prowess, there was another side to him that never failed to catch your attention. He had this nerdy charm that was impossible to ignore. The way his tousled hair always seemed to fall into his eyes no matter how much he tried to push it back, the way his shy smile made him look both endearing and just a little out of place in the sea of confident university students. He was smart, yes, but there was something almost adorably awkward about him that always made you want to push his buttons.

“Felix will meet you in the library after class,” the professor continued, oblivious to the mischief stirring in your mind. “He is more than capable of helping you grasp these concepts, so please do not hesitate to reach out if you need assistance.”

You had to bite back the grin threatening to spread across your face. Felix would be your tutor? Oh, you could already imagine how it would go. You would be sitting there in the quiet, academic setting of the library, surrounded by endless shelves of books, and all you would need to do was drop a few playful comments and watch him squirm. Felix was too polite, too aware of how smart he was, and you knew that his discomfort would only make him more adorable.

He would try so hard to keep the focus on the subject, to make sure you understood every little detail. But you? You would make it impossible for him to stay composed. You could already hear his voice wavering, see the flush creeping up his neck when your teasing got to him.

You were going to enjoy every second of it.

With a sly grin, you gathered your things and headed out of class. Your mind was already turning, plotting exactly how to push his buttons in all the right ways. He was going to be your tutor, but that didn’t mean you were unallowed have a little fun while you learned, right?

The library was, as usual, a quiet sanctuary, with the scent of paper and ink filling the air as students hunched over their textbooks. Your ears were filled with the distant clicking of keyboard keys as other students desperately attempted to finish their assignments on time. You found an empty table by the window, settled into a chair, and waited. Your heart beat a little faster than usual, not from nerves, but from the anticipation of what was about to unfold. You were going to have Felix all to yourself, and the idea was enough to make you smile to yourself, just a little.

Minutes later, Felix entered, his presence immediately drawing your attention. He had a large backpack slung over one shoulder, and his eyes scanned the room, moving quickly over the rows of tables. When his line of sight finally landed on you, he froze, looking just a little startled, like he hadn’t expected you to be so... ready.

“Hi,” he said, his voice soft and careful as he made his way over. “Sorry I’m late, I—uh—had to finish something for another class.”

You nodded slowly, watching him as he set his things down on the table, arranging them with a precision that made you wonder how long he had spent perfecting the art of being neat. “No problem,” you said, your voice light, casual. “I was just looking forward to some... expert tutoring.”

Felix blinked at you, a faint frown tugging at the corner of his lips. He pushed his glasses up his nose, his fingers fumbling with the straps of his bag. “I—I wouldn’t call myself an expert. I just know the material,” he said quickly, glancing down at his notes, avoiding your sharp eyes.

You leaned forward just slightly, watching him. “I’ve heard a lot about you, Felix. They say you have all the answers.”

He shifted uncomfortably in his seat, eyes flickering nervously as he finally looked at you, a little too long this time. “Well... I try to. But, um... math is... you know, it’s not—uh—difficult once you understand it. It’s not subjective.” He trailed off, almost as if he was trying to convince himself more than you.

You tilted your head, your smile widening just a fraction. “Hmm... so you are saying it is easy for you?”

Felix looked like he might crumble under the weight of your gaze. His fingers twitched, reaching for his pencil as if to busy himself, but his hand stopped just shy of it, his posture growing even more tense. “It’s... I mean, it’s not hard. Once you—”

“Once you focus,” you interrupted, your voice casual, but there was an undercurrent of something more. “And make sure your student focuses too, right?”

Felix cleared his throat, visibly flustered now. He nodded rapidly. “Yes, yes, exactly. If we just focus, it’s really easy to get through it.” His voice wavered slightly, but he quickly recovered, trying to mask the nervousness that was slowly creeping in. “So, um... let’s get started with this first problem. It’s all about understanding the process.”

You rested your chin in your hand, leaning slightly forward again. “Of course. But... I'm curious. What do you do in your free time, Felix? When you’re not, you know, tutoring, being cute, and getting perfect grades?”

Felix blinked, caught off guard by the question. “I... uh...” He hesitated, his face turning a deeper shade of pink. “I just... I like to study more. Or... play some video games. Just to relax.”

You grinned, sensing the opportunity for more teasing. “Video games, huh? That’s... interesting. I would have never pegged you as the type.”

Felix opened his mouth, then closed it again, clearly unsure how to respond. His fingers drummed nervously on the desk, and you could see the tiny tremble in his hand. “I—uh—it’s just a hobby,” he said, the words coming out much faster than he intended. “It helps me unwind.”

“Mmm,” you murmured, eyes glinting. “I can imagine. You must get really into it. I bet you lose track of time... just focusing on the game.”

Felix was trying so hard not to react, but it was obvious he was flustered. His shoulders were tight, his cheeks flushed, and he avoided looking at you for a moment. “I mean, yeah... sometimes. But that’s not the point right now,” he mumbled, more to himself than to you.

You leaned back, still smiling. “No, of course not. You’re here to tutor me. I get it.”

But the way his voice cracked slightly when he spoke—that was definitely the point.

Felix took a deep breath, trying to calm his nerves. His fingers slid over his notebook as he adjusted his glasses again, the motion a bit more frantic this time. The uncertainty was still there, evident in the way his shoulders stiffened as he tried to get his thoughts together. He focused on the material, but it was clear that the presence in front of him made it harder to stay on track.

“Alright,” he began, his voice more confident than before, though there was a slight edge to it. “This problem is about differential equations. First, we isolate the variable—”

You interrupted him, your voice light and teasing. “Mm, sure, but are you sure you want to go straight into all that? I mean, you’re looking awfully cute trying to explain this.”

Felix froze mid-sentence, the words catching in his throat. His hand, still gripping his pencil, trembled slightly. He glanced up at you, flustered. “I... I’m just trying to make sure you get it.” His voice was tight, but there was an unmistakable vulnerability to it, like he was unsure whether you were joking or being serious.

You leaned back in your chair, letting your eyes trace over his flustered expression. “I know, I know. You’re just so diligent,” you said with a smirk, your inspective eyes never leaving his face. “It’s kinda adorable, to be honest.”

Felix’s cheeks turned a shade darker. He cleared his throat, awkwardly glancing at the notebook, his focus now split between the problem in front of him and the teasing grin on your face. “Okay, well,” he stammered, his voice faltering. “Let’s just get through this first part, okay? The first thing you do is... uh, you isolate the variable, and then...”

“You know,” you interrupted again, raising an eyebrow, “you’re really good at this. I don’t even need to take notes. I’ll just watch you talk about math. You’re cute when you get all serious.”

Felix’s eyes darted up to meet yours, then quickly flicked back down, his face growing hotter. “I—uh—I think it’s better if you take notes. You’ll remember it better that way.”

You grinned, enjoying how much you were making him squirm. “Oh, but it’s more fun this way. You’re cute when you’re flustered. Besides,” you leaned forward slightly, “I think I’d rather pay attention to you than whatever’s on the page.”

Felix opened his mouth to respond, but nothing came out. He swallowed thickly, his fingers nervously tapping the pencil against the desk. He couldn’t seem to keep his eyes on the equations now, not when you were looking at him like that. “I... I don’t think that’s the best idea,” he finally managed, his voice sounding almost strained. “We need to focus.”

“Focus, huh?” you mused, eyes sparkling. “Well, I’m sure I could focus... if you weren’t so intriguing.”

He was clearly struggling to maintain his composure. His gaze flickered between his notes and you, like he was unable to decide which was more important. “I—I’m trying to stay on track here,” he said, voice a little more forceful this time, though it was still laced with uncertainty. “But, uh... just, just try to take notes. Please?”

You smiled, leaning back in your chair with a teasing glint in your eye. “Alright, alright, Felix. You’re the boss. But I’ll admit, it’s hard to take notes when my tutor is so... distracting.”

Felix’s jaw tightened, his fingers curling around his pencil. “I—uh—I’m not trying to distract you. I just... I want you to understand this,” he said quickly, his tone a little more defensive now.

You nodded slowly, your expression shifting just enough to let him know you were still in control of the situation. “Sure, Felix. Go ahead,” you said, your voice almost too sweet, too calm. “I’ll listen, I promise.”

But there was no mistaking the underlying amusement in your voice, the way you were watching him with that knowing smile, making it almost impossible for him to keep his focus. Felix’s pencil shook slightly as he attempted to continue, but his words came out stilted and unsure. “Okay, so... when you—uh, when you solve for the variable, you—”

You leaned forward just a little, your voice soft but pointed. “You’re so good at this, Felix. Really. But I’ve got to wonder...” You let the words trail off, watching the way he stiffened under your gaze. “Do you get this flustered all the time? Or is it just me?”

Felix froze, his face turning even redder as he quickly tried to look away. “I’m—uh—I’m not flustered,” he muttered, but his voice was weak, lacking the usual certainty.

For the first time, you saw a flicker of something else in his eyes—an edge, maybe, or a challenge. His hand gripped his pencil more firmly as he looked down at the page, his voice quieter but still undeniably more confident. “I can focus,” he said, his tone sharper than before. “Let’s just... finish this.”

“Alright,” you said, your voice softer now, almost intrigued. “Let’s finish it, then.”

“Okay,” he began again, though his voice was steadier than before, still tinged with that edge of determination. “Let’s go over it again. After we’ve isolated the variable, you need to—”

You interrupted him again, this time leaning forward, just slightly. “Felix,” you said, your tone laced with playful mischief, “do you always look this serious when you’re teaching? I mean, you’re making me think you have a secret life as a super serious tutor.”

Felix blinked, clearly thrown off by the sudden shift in your tone. He adjusted his glasses with a nervous gesture, but this time, the flush creeping up his neck wasn’t as obvious. “I—I’m just trying to make sure you understand,” he said, though there was an almost defensive quality in his voice now. “It’s not easy to explain this stuff if you’re distracted.”

You raised an eyebrow, letting a small smirk play on your lips. “Distracted? Me?” you asked, feigning innocence. “I’m completely focused on you, Felix. But you know, your whole ��serious tutor’ vibe is... kinda working for me. It’s almost too cute.”

Felix’s eyes flicked to you, then quickly away, a small breath escaping his lips. His hands clenched around the pencil, a slight tremor running through him. “It’s not cute,” he said quickly, his voice sounding a little more forced now. “This is important. I need you to take this seriously.”

“Of course, Felix,” you purred, leaning back in your chair as you watched the way he shifted in his seat. “I am very serious. I’m just wondering... do you always get this uptight when you talk to girls? Or is it just me that gets under your skin?”

Felix’s eyes widened, a flicker of something almost daring in his eye before he quickly looked back down at his notes. The flush deepened in his cheeks, but there was a shift in his posture—a subtle but noticeable one. “I’m not uptight,” he said firmly, though the force behind his words caught you by surprise. “I’m just focused on making sure you understand the content. That’s all.”

You smiled knowingly, pushing your luck a little further. “Hmm, is that what it is? You’re not uptight at all? Because it sure looks like I’m getting to you, Felix.”

Felix’s jaw clenched, and for a moment, you thought he might snap at you. But then, he took a deep breath and exhaled slowly, his fingers loosening their grip on the pencil. “It’s just that... I know this stuff inside and out,” he said, his tone a little quieter but still confident. “I don’t want you to struggle with it, okay?”

You tilted your head, your smile softer now, though your eyes never left his. “I’m sure you don’t want me to struggle,” you said, your voice low, “but maybe... just maybe... you’re a little more interested in making me struggle in other ways.”

Felix’s face flushed, his expression faltering for a split second before he regained his composure. His gaze flicked to yours again, but this time, it lingered a fraction longer than before. “I... that’s not what I meant,” he stammered, his voice betraying him. “I just... want you to do well. Is that so hard to believe?”

You smirked, enjoying the way he was floundering just a bit. “No, Felix. It’s not hard to believe at all,” you said, your voice dripping with amusement. “I just find it interesting that you’re so focused on me doing well. What about you? You’re doing a great job. I’d say you're pretty good at this whole tutoring thing.”

Felix shifted, clearly flustered. His usual calm demeanor was beginning to crack, and he was no longer avoiding your line of sight. The hesitation was still there, but it was starting to feel like he wasn’t as afraid to face you anymore. “It’s... it’s not about me,” he said, voice still uncertain, but no longer as shy. “It’s about you learning, okay?”

There was a brief moment of silence, and you noticed the change in his posture—how he sat up straighter now, shoulders back, a subtle shift in his body language. His attempt at maintaining composure was no longer about simply getting through the tutoring session—it was about something else, something you couldn’t quite place.

You tilted your head slightly, watching him closely. “Alright, Felix,” you said, your voice softening just a little, “I’ll let you get back to the problem. But I’m starting to think that you’re not just tutoring me anymore. There’s a little something else going on, huh?”

Felix cleared his throat, his staring flicking to his notes for a second before he straightened up, more resolute this time. “Just focus on the material, alright?” His voice had a firmness now, an edge to it that hadn’t been there before. He now carried a commanding energy that you would be lying if you said you hated it.

For the first time, you felt a shift in the dynamic. The shift in the air was palpable—subtle yet undeniable. Felix was no longer just the shy, uncertain tutor, fumbling through every explanation with a nervousness that was, at first, endearing but now seemed out of place. No, there was something different in his demeanor now—something almost challenging. The softness he had shown earlier, the gentle hesitation, was slowly being replaced with a quiet firmness, and you could feel it in the way his eyes met yours. Steady. Calculated. Unwavering.

You couldn’t resist pushing just a little further. It's just so fun!

“So, Felix,” you said, a teasing tone slipping into your voice, “is this how you always talk? All serious, no fun? Because I think you'd be a lot more interesting if you let go a little, you know. Just a thought."

Felix didn't even flinch this time. His gaze held steady, the faintest spark of something deeper hiding behind those eyes. There was an edge to his voice, a subtle, almost imperceptible shift that you had not noticed before. “I can be fun when it matters,” he replied, his tone surprisingly assured. “But I’m not here to entertain you. I’m here to help you get it. If that means I need to stay focused, then so be it.”

You raised an eyebrow, momentarily taken aback by the calm intensity of his words. “Oh, I know,” you said with a feigned innocence, leaning back slightly in your chair. “But it’s funny, don’t you think? How you try so hard to keep it all together. Makes me wonder... if you’re trying to impress someone with all that focus.”

Felix’s posture stiffened, his eyes narrowing ever so slightly. His fingers, still gripping the pencil, twitched as if he was about to speak, but instead, he cleared his throat, and a brief silence settled between you.

“I’m not trying to impress anyone,” he said, the words deliberate, slower this time. “I’m here to do my job. To help you. Nothing more.”

A smirk tugged at the corner of your lips as you studied him. “Mm. Sure. But I can’t help but wonder, Felix,” you said, leaning in just a little closer, “does all this effort to be so... perfect make you feel better? Or is it just the way you think people expect you to be?”

The words hung in the air for a moment, and you could see Felix’s jaw tighten. His eyes, previously avoiding your peering ones, now locked with them. There was something different in the way he held himself now, something new in the way he stood his ground.

“I’m not perfect,” he said, his voice low but strong, a subtle challenge laced in every syllable. “And I don’t need you to think I am. I’m just doing what I have to do.”

Your gaze softened, the teasing edge still present but now tempered with something else. Felix’s composure was beginning to shift, the walls he had built starting to crack, revealing something more—a strength, a quiet assertiveness that had previously been hidden.

“Alright, Felix,” you said, your tone slipping into something more genuine, less playful. “But I have to admit, this... side of you? Didn’t see it coming. I like it.”

Felix inhaled slowly, his eyes still fixed on you, but now there was a quiet confidence in his aura. He set his pencil down, his movements deliberate, and you watched as he leaned forward just slightly.

“I’m not the nervous guy you think I am,” he said, his voice steady, no longer stumbling over his words. “And I’m not here to let you get away with everything, either.”

The change in his tone caught you off guard. There was no hesitation now, no nervous stammering. Felix, the tutor you had been teasing so relentlessly, was looking at you with the kind of quiet authority that made your pulse race.

Your smile faltered for a second, a small surprise flickering in your chest. “Well,” you said, your voice softer now, “guess I’ve been underestimating you.”

Felix’s deep eyes never wavered, and the corner of his lips curled into the faintest of smirks. “Maybe you should stop,” he said, his tone teasing now, but there was an undeniable edge to it. His voice dropped low, firing quick heat straight to your chest, “You might just find out that I’m not so easy to read.”

You swallowed, your heart picking up its pace at the challenge in his voice. There was a new tension in the air now, a quiet storm brewing between the two of you. And for the first time, you wondered just how far this teasing game could go.

The study session had dragged on, the numbers blurring into a haze that you could no longer focus on. Felix’s voice was a calm cadence, his explanations intricate yet smooth, but your mind had long since wandered. The air between you had thickened, a subtle charge building, lingering just below the surface. You stretched your arms overhead, an exaggerated motion that only further fueled the unspoken tension between you.

“Felix,” you drawled, your voice languid as you settled back into your chair, letting your eyes settle on him. “I think I’ve earned a break, don’t you think?”

Felix glanced up, a flicker of hesitation in his eyes before he smoothed it over with a quick smile. “A break?” he repeated, his tone light but the gleam in his eyes betraying the small flicker of interest. “For what exactly?”

You leaned back, the chair creaking beneath you as you tilted your head, assessing him in that way that made him uncomfortable without him even realising it. “I’ve been listening, Felix. Really listening. And you’ve been talking non-stop about equations. It’s only fair I get a little reward for being so studious.”

Felix’s lips twitched at the corner, but he didn’t break. “Reward? I didn’t realise listening was an activity worthy of prizes.” There was a playful bite to his words now, as if he were starting to realise just how much you were enjoying this.

You let your smile linger. “Oh, but it is,” you replied, leaning forward just enough to close the space between you two. “I’m being patient. I’m being good. And that, Felix, deserves something in return.”

The words came out with just enough sweetness that it almost sounded genuine, though the challenge behind them was unmistakable. Felix blinked once, twice, his brow furrowing as he processed it, before he straightened slightly, eyes narrowing in mock suspicion. “And what exactly would you want as a reward? Another lecture on algebra?”

You couldn’t help but laugh at that, rolling your eyes. “Nah, I think I’ve had my fill of that for the evening. Maybe you could entertain me instead?” You let the word entertain hang in the air between you, casual but heavy with implication.

Felix hesitated, a momentary falter before he regained his composure. “Entertain you?” He leaned forward, now more intrigued than flustered. “I think you’re the one who’s been doing the distracting here.”

Your lips quirked at that. “Oh? You think so?” You shifted slightly, your body angling toward him in a way that felt just a touch too close. “I’m just sitting here, Felix. But it seems like you’re the one who can’t quite keep his mind on the equations.”

Felix’s gaze sharpened, though there was a faint flush creeping into his cheeks. He cleared his throat, trying to play it cool. “I’m focused,” he said, his voice even, though the tension in it was palpable. “And I’m not the one who’s been looking at the clock every five minutes.”

You let out a dramatic sigh. “I’m just trying to learn, Felix. I can’t help it if your genius is just... so distracting.”

His eyes flickered at the word genius, a small smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Distracting, huh?” He paused, then leaned forward, lowering his voice just enough to make your heart race. “Maybe you’re the one who’s distracting me. You’ve been distracting me from the very beginning.”

You blinked, caught off guard by the shift in his tone. Felix wasn’t just playing along anymore. He was starting to push back, and it felt different—more deliberate, more confident.

“Oh really?” you murmured, the words slipping from your lips with a mix of amusement and challenge. “How exactly am I distracting you, Felix?”

Felix’s lips quirked into a half-smile, the self-assurance growing in him like a steady wave. “Well, for one, you won’t stop trying to flirt with me. I’ve been trying to focus on these problems,” he gestured to the scattered equations on the table, “but all I can think about is how much you enjoy messing with me.”

The words were out before you could stop them, a laugh escaping you. “Flirting? Me? I’m just being friendly, Felix.”

“Friendly?” he repeated, eyes narrowing as he leaned closer, so close that you could feel the heat from his body. His voice lowered, edged with something darker. “You’ve been pushing me ever since we started. Don’t act like you don’t know what you’re doing.”

You swallowed, but the smile never left your lips. You weren’t expecting him to bite back this hard, but you liked it. “So, what?” you teased. “Am I a little too much for you?”

Felix didn’t flinch, not this time. He matched your gaze, leaning in just enough to close the gap, his voice a low murmur. “Maybe you are. But maybe I like it that way.”

Your breath caught, his words hanging in the air like a promise you were unsure if you wanted to acknowledge it just yet. Felix, the shy, smart tutor, was not so shy anymore. He was unafraid to meet you head-on, and that shift was more intoxicating than you would like to admit.

“Well,” you said, your voice breathy, the teasing edge still there but softer now, “I’m starting to think you might like the distraction, Felix.”

He paused, and for the first time, you saw the flicker of hesitation in his eyes. Then, with a smirk that was all confidence, he leaned back, his posture changing entirely. “Maybe I do,” he said, his voice even, his gaze still holding yours, “but I’m not sure you’re ready for it. You think you've got me all figured out, hm?”

You couldn’t help the subconcious reaction in you—your smile widened, and the challenge grew thicker in your chest. “Oh, I don’t need to figure you out. I already know what buttons to press. It’s just you're a little more... unpredictable than I thought.”

Felix’s eyes narrowed, his expression now a perfect mixture of amusement and something else—something sharper. “Unpredictable?” he repeated, his tone lowering. “I think you’re the unpredictable one here. You’ve been pushing my buttons from the start. But now...”

His voice took on a teasing, almost dangerous edge. “Now I’m starting to wonder how far you’re willing to push before you realise you might’ve gone too far.”

“You think I’ve gone too far?” you asked, your voice soft and mocking, and not doing very well at disguising how your heart skips beats when his voice drops in the way it has. “I’m just getting started, Felix.”

He leaned even closer, his voice now a near-whisper. “Then you’d better be careful,” he said, the words so close to a challenge that you couldn’t quite tell where the game ended and something else began. “Because if you keep pushing me, I might just let you go too far.”

For a moment, you both stared at each other, the air thick with a tension neither of you seemed willing to break.

“Well,” you said, leaning back, your voice back to that teasing edge, “looks like you’re the one distracting me now, huh?”

Felix smirked, leaning back in his own chair, but there was something in his posture now—something that made you realise he hadn’t been flustered at all. “You’ve been distracting me all this time,” he said, his voice steady. “But I think you’re right about one thing—you’re just getting started.”

You blinked, caught by surprise at the intensity in his voice. You were uncertain what had just shifted, but something between you had changed—Felix wasn’t just the shy, nervous tutor anymore. He was playing the game, and he was playing it well.

You barely made it through another page. Felix had resumed his explanation, something about polynomial division, but your thoughts were no longer tethered to the textbook. They wandered—to the way his fingers drummed lightly against the table, to the slight rasp in his voice when he became too focused to notice. He had not looked flustered since that last retort. In fact, it felt as though you were the one squirming now, each shift in his gaze a little too assured, each silence weighted with implication.

“You done spacing out again?” he asked, lifting his eyes just as yours trailed down the slope of his jaw.

You tilted your head, feigning innocence. “Was not spacing out. I was contemplating the deeper meaning of poly-whatever division.”

Felix gave a slow nod, the corners of his mouth twitching. “Right. Deep. Like a spiritual experience.”

You exhaled a light laugh, chin propped in your hand. “You know, for someone who spends his nights talking to himself on Discord, you’re getting real confident.”

He blinked. “Wait—how do you know I—”

“I have ears,” you said simply. “And the guys talk. You all aren't exactly quiet.”

Felix stared at you, momentarily thrown. Then, in a move that felt strangely bold, he leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms. “Okay. If you’re gonna mock the way I unwind, you’ve gotta at least try one of my games.”

“Try one?”

“Yeah. Come to my place. Pick a game. Let’s see if you’re any good.”

You raised a brow, amused by the casual offer—more amused by the confident glint in his eyes. “Is this a trap?”

“No,” he said, standing and stretching, his shirt riding up just slightly to reveal a sliver of pale skin. “But if you lose, you have to stop pretending you’re not interested.”

“And if I win?”

Felix paused at that, considering you with a gaze that lingered too long to be platonic. Then, with a crooked grin: “You won’t.”

You followed him out, the air charged in that low-simmer kind of way, the silence between you growing more alive with each step. His apartment was only a few minutes’ walk off campus, small and cozy, the kind of place that smelled faintly like cologne, old textbooks, and lavender laundry sheets.

“Shoes off,” he called as he moved toward the living room, kicking his own beside the door. “And no cheating.”

You stepped inside, eyes sweeping the space—books stacked on shelves and windowsills, a mess of cables near the desk, and, of course, a massive monitor glowing faintly in the dim light.

You turned toward him slowly, lips curling. “This is... alarmingly nerdy.”

He handed you a controller. “I know. You gonna keep talking or you gonna lose?”

"Put your money where your mouth is, Felix. Try me and find out."

You sat on the edge of his low couch, controller in hand, your knees drawn close and posture too poised for someone allegedly ready to relax. Felix, in contrast, looked perfectly at home—hoodie sleeves shoved up to his elbows, one leg tucked under the other as he navigated the menus with muscle memory. His jaw was set, eyes flicking over the screen, the pale glow catching on his cheekbones, that singular beauty which softened every time he forgot to guard it.

“Alright,” he said, voice casual as though he had not just invited you into his domain. “Simple practice match first. No stakes. You just gotta learn the controls.”

“I know what a joystick is,” you replied, shifting beside him, your shoulder brushing against his lightly. “I’m not a caveman.”

“No,” he said, glancing sidelong at you. “Just an academic liability.”

You made a sound of mock offense, elbow nudging his arm. “Wow. The ego on you.”

“I learned from the best.”

“Oh, so I taught you arrogance?”

Felix smirked, his eyes not tearing from the screen. “You’re an excellent role model.”

You were not entirely paying attention to the tutorial. Your fingers moved, but your thoughts trailed elsewhere—the rise and fall of his breath beside you, how his hands moved on the plastic controller with such nimbleness, the way his voice dipped low when explaining something technical, the subtle rasp that crept in the longer he talked.

“Here—hold A and rotate here. Like this.” He shifted, his hand coming over yours before you could react, guiding your fingers carefully. His touch was light, but deliberate, and far too warm.

You glanced at him.

He didn't move away.

“Okay,” you said slowly. “So... this is your master plan? Lure girls into your apartment and seduce them with thumb placement?”

Felix’s ears flushed red immediately. “What? No—no. That is not—”

“Mmhm,” you hummed, feigning deep thought. “Honestly, it is kind of working. But you should pace yourself, you know? Not every girl likes it rough on the joystick.”

He sputtered. Actually sputtered. “That is not—You—God—”

You grinned, victorious.

“I knew you were a menace,” he muttered, dragging a hand down his face.

You tilted your head toward him, gaze lingering. “Still think you can handle tutoring me twice a week?”

Felix exhaled slowly, his expression unreadable now—focused, perhaps, or maybe just attempting not to combust. He turned his attention back to the screen, but not before murmuring under his breath:

“Barely.”

The practice round ticked down to its final seconds, the countdown flashing across the screen like a warning bell. The room around you was thick with warmth and shadow, your shared laughter from earlier settling into something quieter now—something edged.

Felix sat forward with that same focus as before, fingers loose on the controller, brow furrowed, jaw taut with effort. You watched the light flicker across his features—the soft glow of the monitor catching in his lashes, gilding the curve of his cheekbone. He hadn't even noticed how close you were.

But you had.

You tilted your body just enough that your thigh brushed his. “So intense,” you murmured. “Bet your heart rate goes up when your health bar drops.”

He huffed a soft laugh. “You talk too much when you're losing.”

“You're cute when you pretend this game matters.”

He finally looked at you. Not a glance, not a flicker—looked, head turning toward you fully, slow and unreadable.

“I'm cute?” he asked, tone deceptively mild.

You leaned in, feigning casual, letting your lips hover just near his ear. “Adorably so. Like a sweet little overachiever who's never had anyone play dirty with him before.”

Felix’s breath hitched. You felt it more than heard it.

He turned back to the screen, but his voice had shifted—lower now, smoother, each word curling with quiet intent. “Let's make this interesting.”

You tilted your head, eyeing him. “Go on.”

He pressed a button—your character flailed helplessly on-screen.

“If I win…” he said slowly, “you have to tell me exactly what kind of thoughts you have when you look at me, when you listen to me.”

Your grip on the controller tightened and your heart lurched, were you that obvious?

“What do I get if I win?” you asked, trying not to sound too breathless, too flustered.

Felix’s smirk curved like something dangerous. “Then I want to hear the same thing. Just... slower.”

“Alright, fine. But one more warm-up. Need to level the playing field.”

He answered with a chuckle and a soft shake of his head. The 'rematch' button was selected.

Competitive silence hovered in the air longer than it should have.

Your character lay defeated on the screen, the soft flicker of pixelated flames the only movement in the room. Felix had not moved either—still leaned forward, still watching you, though his gaze had shifted. Less playful now. More precise. Like he had studied the moment, found the crack in your composure, and was waiting to press into it.

You shifted where you sat, suddenly aware of the heat in the room, of how close his knee was to yours, how low his voice had gone and how it still echoed in your skin. His eyes dropped—briefly—to your mouth. Then rose again.

“So,” you said, clearing your throat. “That was a warm-up, right?”

His lips curved, slow and wolfish. Not a smile. A promise.

“Practice,” he corrected. “That was just practice.”

And then—he sat back.

Not away from you. Into himself. Like something in him had settled. His posture eased, but his presence intensified, like the air between you had suddenly thickened.

He resumed the game, eyes still on the screen, voice low and smooth. “Ready to actually play?”

You blinked. “What was I doing before?”

He clicked a button. The screen glowed. “Losing. Distracted. Making it too easy.”

“You're—”

“Still winning,” he cut in, and this time the look he gave you was direct, calculated. “But now… now I want to see what you're like when you stop pretending that you 'don't care'.”

You felt your stomach drop and flutter all at once.

Felix shifted again, closer this time—close enough that you could feel the press of his thigh against yours, the heat of him radiating through the minimal space between you. And then his voice came again—just behind your ear, thick as honey and impossible to block out.

“No more practice,” he murmured, the lowness of his voice shooting heat straight to your gut. “Show me how good you really are.”

You exhaled slowly and reset your grip on the controller, forcing your shoulders to loosen, your jaw to unclench. You had teased him first. This was just payback. You could handle it. It was still just a game.

But Felix was no longer playing the same one.

He didn't fill the silence between rounds with jokes or quips anymore. He didn't glance at your screen. He didn't need to.

He stayed close. Still and aware and quiet—except for that voice.

Not even a full sentence. Just fragments, murmured in that devastating octave, as if they slipped out of him without effort. Too casual. Too effective.

“Focus,” he whispered, as your thumb slipped on the analog stick again.

You swallowed hard.

“You're holding your breath,” he said next, voice lilting downward like a slow descent into something dangerous. “Is it me?”

You turned your head toward him—your mistake.

Because his eyes were already on you. Lazy, unreadable, and far too warm. His gaze flicked to your lips for half a second before he leaned in, so close you could feel the shape of his breath against your cheek when he spoke again.

“Tell me what you hear.”

Your pulse kicked hard against your throat.

“My voice,” he murmured, lips barely moving, “or your thoughts?”

You blinked, rapidly turning to look back at the screen, face burning. He had guessed. Or no—known. Felt it in the way you tensed. The way your thighs pressed together, just slightly, when he got close enough to speak low.

He smiled, soft and dangerous. “Thought so.”

You fumbled a combo. He leaned back, hands never leaving his controller, the heat of him still very much present.

“You keep teasing like you want me to lose,” he said. “But I think you want me to win.”

“I do not,” you said too quickly, too sharply, and he laughed—quiet, deep, the sound dragging along your spine.

“Then concentrate,” he said. “You're about to lose again.”

And that would be right, you did.

He paused the screen.

This time, he did not gloat. He set the controller down and turned toward you with a steady, almost clinical curiosity—like you were a riddle he was determined to solve.

“So,” he said, voice gentled back into a hush, “what exactly is it?”

You blinked. “What?”

He leaned in again, this time letting his mouth hover near your ear, not touching, just close enough that your breath hitched.

“The pitch?” he asked. “The rasp? Or is it just knowing I'm using it on purpose?”

You could not answer. Not right away. He waited.

Still.

Quiet.

Patient.

And then, softly—“Tell me everything. You lost the bet. You owe me that much.”

You hesitated—just a moment, but it was enough. The truth sat heavy in your chest, and you could feel it like a secret you had tried to keep hidden. You knew why he made your breath catch. It wasn’t just the voice. It was how it wrapped around you, how it hit those places you tried not to think about.

But now that he had cornered you—his eyes steady, voice calm, as if he knew—you could hardly breathe without him seeing right through you.

You blinked quickly, trying to steady yourself, but it did not work.

“I think,” you started, your voice a little too tight, “I think it’s the way you speak when you’re not... trying.”

Felix’s lips quirked, like a secret he had not expected you to admit.

“You mean when I’m casual?”

“Not casual,” you forced out, your heartbeat picking up. “When you’re—” You tried to think of the word, but it was impossible. “When you’re barely trying at all. Like you're not even aware of how much you're—" You stopped yourself, eyes narrowing. “You're affecting me. You’re just… too good at it.”

Felix leaned back, lips curling in amusement, eyes locked on you like a challenge. He wasn’t going to let you off easy. You were playing this game now.

“So, you like it, then? My voice?”

You shot him a look, half-rolling your eyes. “That’s what I said, isn’t it?”

“Mm. But I think you can say it louder.”

“You’re pushing it,” you warned, voice low, but Felix knew—he knew exactly what he was doing. You could see the way he leaned closer, just enough to make your pulse spike, his eyes twinkling like he was the cat and you were the mouse.

And then he spoke again, his voice darker this time—sweeter in its low rumble.

“You like it when I’m casual, right? When I don’t even try to make it sound like I’m saying it for you. That’s the part you’re not telling me, isn’t it?”

You swallowed, trying to look away, but you couldn’t. He had you in his grip now—his voice, his words, everything about the way he knew. And he was right. You couldn’t stop yourself from reacting to it.

But he had no plans of letting up.

“Or is it something else, hmm?” Felix’s voice lowered even further, an almost unbearable, husky murmur. “Do you like it when I speak just like this? Like I’m giving you everything you don’t want, but you can’t pull away.”

You sucked in a breath, trying to maintain some sense of control. “You really think you know that much about me?”

He grinned, that teasing flicker in his eyes returning. “I do now.”

And then—he did it again. His voice, barely above a whisper—“Focus. You’re still distracted.”

You flinched, shifting uncomfortably, and then—just to push back—you threw him a glance, daring him.

“You know,” you said, voice dropping in challenge, “I think you like knowing how much it gets to me.”

Felix froze, his gaze sharpening. The edge of something dangerous settled between you both.

“Is that so?”

You didn’t flinch this time. You met him, eye for eye. “You’re not the only one who can play this game.”

“Prove it,” he said, his voice lowering to the kind of hunger that made your breath hitch. “Let me hear it. Let me hear what really gets you worked up.”

And that—that was the final challenge.

You leaned in, close enough that your words came out soft, teasing, barely more than a whisper.

“You really want to know?” You paused just a beat. “I think it’s the way you think you have all the answers, but you’re about to lose.”

Felix laughed, dark and quiet, but there was something heavier in it now. His fingers, light and steady, brushed the edge of your knee. “Is that so? Somehow you still think you’ve got the upper hand. That's bold of you.”

You tried—you really tried—to stay focused, to force your eyes on the controller, the animations of the pause window, anything. But every second, Felix’s voice seeped into your skin, his words curling around your senses like smoke. It was intoxicating, heavy, and too much.

You could feel your pulse quicken, the rhythm of your breath growing shallow. His voice, so warm, so rich, pressed against your ear, vibrating through your bones. Each word he murmured was like a wave, pulling you deeper into his orbit.

"Felix," you whispered, barely able to contain the way your breath hitched in your throat. “Stop... teasing."

A grin tugged at his lips. He knew. God, he knew how much he was getting to you. The bastard knew exactly how his words made you tremble inside, the way his voice curled around you, making it impossible to think about anything else.

“I’m not teasing, sweetheart,” he replied, his voice a lazy drawl, thick with satisfaction. “I’m just making sure you’re paying attention.”

You couldn’t deny it. You weren’t focused on the game anymore—not even close. Every syllable that slipped from his lips was a distraction, a pull, a magnet that made your body feel like it was on fire. It was as if his words had their own gravity, pulling you under, drowning you in the sound of him.

“Focus,” he whispered again, his breath ghosting over your ear, making your skin prickle, your whole body flush. He was so close now, too close, and yet it wasn’t enough. You wanted more. You needed more.

You felt his fingers brush over your wrist, light and teasing, sending jolts of electricity shooting up your arm. He knew exactly how to touch you, knew exactly how to get you to react. His fingers were like fire against your skin—deliberate, slow, dragging out the tension.

“You’ve already lost,” Felix murmured, his voice thick with a kind of wicked amusement. The words sank into your chest, heavy and final, but there was something in his tone—something low and dangerous—that made your stomach flip. “You just don’t want to admit it.”

Your throat went dry as the heat in your body intensified. The screen was just a blur now. Your eyes could barely focus on it. Your whole world was Felix—his presence, his scent, his voice dripping with authority. His words, coated in that delicious, teasing edge, twisted in your mind and made your body react before you could even think about it.

And then—finally—you gave in.

“Okay,” you breathed out, voice barely a whisper, but it was enough. “I lost. You won.”

Felix’s breath shuddered out, a soft exhale of satisfaction. He didn’t move right away, didn’t rush to claim his rightful victory. No, he took his time—because he knew, and you knew, he didn’t need to rush. He had you exactly where he wanted you.

His fingers traced the line of your wrist, slow and deliberate, his touch sending shivers across your skin. You couldn’t tear your gaze away from him. The tension in the room was palpable, a heavy weight pressing down on you, and you could feel the heat between you building, curling in your gut.

Felix’s voice dropped even lower, a velvet murmur that practically slid under your skin. “I knew that was coming, I told you you wouldn't win, remember?” he said, his lips close enough that you could feel the breath against your ear. The words were a command, wrapped in satisfaction and something darker—something you weren’t sure you were ready for.

He leaned in closer, his lips brushing over your ear in the most maddening way, his voice practically dripping into your ear. “But it’s not over yet, sweetheart. You’re still here. Still with me.”

You couldn’t breathe. You couldn’t think. You were lost in the sound of him, the way his voice felt like a touch, like a caress. You wanted him to stop, wanted him to give you space, but the truth was—you didn’t want him to stop. You didn’t want to fight it anymore. Every inch of you screamed for him to keep going, to make you lose again, because losing meant he’d take more, and you’d give him more.

He took his time, waiting. Watching you squirm. Watching the way your chest rose and fell, the flush on your face. He was savoring this—savoring the way he had you wrapped around his finger without even touching you.

Felix’s lips brushed your ear one last time. “Do you want me to stop?” he murmured, his voice laced with that same wicked teasing. “Or do you want me to make you lose all over again?”

Your body was trembling in desire, the answer so close to your lips that it nearly slipped out on its own, but you were still holding back. You still wanted to fight. But when his fingers brushed down your arm again, slow and deliberate, the touch igniting your skin, you knew.

This was no longer a game. This was something else.

And you were far too gone to turn back.

“Yes,” you breathed, unable to hold back any longer, the word slipping out in a breathless rush. “I want you to win.”

Felix let out a low, satisfied chuckle, the sound dripping with so much pleasure you could barely stand it.

“Good, then let’s see just how much you can handle," Felix chuckled darkly, and in that moment, everything changed. The teasing was gone. The games were over. He moved with purpose, his lips crashed against yours, the kiss hungry and desperate, as if he had been waiting for this moment. His hands gripped your hips, lifting you as he pulled you into his lap, not once breaking away from your lips.

His body was firm, hard, and you felt every inch of him pressed against you, his desire unmistakable. It was like electricity crackling between you, sparking the need, the hunger you’d been trying so desperately to control.

Your thighs bracketed his, your hands gripping his shoulders like a lifeline as you subconciously rocked your hips down against him. The thick, hard length of him pressed up between your legs, and even with both of you still clothed, it felt obscene���too good, too much. Every movement dragged your against your aching core, the rough texture of denim making you gasp, tremble.

Felix’s hands gripped your hips tight, fingers digging in like he needed to ground himself. “Fuck,” he groaned, his voice dark and wrecked, like gravel dragged across velvet. “Do you feel what you’re doing to me?”

You nodded, breathless, hips rolling down again just to hear that sound leave him. His head dropped back against the couch for a moment, jaw clenched, lips parted. You could see how hard he was beneath you, how much effort it took to let you keep control.

But you never really had it—not with the way he looked up at you now, eyes dark, mouth curling into something hungry. “Move for me, baby,” he said, voice dropping even lower, like a secret whispered straight to your spine. “Let me feel you.”

You obeyed without thinking, grinding down against him in slow, aching circles, chasing friction, chasing heat. His breath caught, hands tightening as he guided your rhythm—deliberate, delicious. Every roll of your hips dragged a new sound from him, low and broken, and it made you feel powerful—until he growled.

“Enough teasing,” he muttered, and before you could blink, he sat up, chest flush to yours, arms locking around your waist.

Now it was him rocking up into you, grinding hard enough to make your breath stutter, your back arch. You clung to him, whimpering at the new angle, the intensity.

“You’re gonna make me lose it,” he hissed against your throat, voice cracking with restraint. “Keep grinding like that, and I’ll come just like this. With you on top of me, clothes on, moaning my name.”

He buried his face in your neck, teeth grazing your skin, and you could barely hold on. There was no air, no room, nothing but the heat of him, the way his hips met yours again and again, perfectly, mercilessly.

You were soaked. Shaking. Seconds away from shattering.

He whispered in that wrecked, perfect voice—“I don’t know how much longer I can take this.”

You could feel your pulse racing, your body betraying you with each passing second. You wanted more—wanted him to take you, claim you, make you lose all over again. You needed him to show you just how far you could go with him.

“Then take me,” you breathed out, the words slipping from your lips without thought. You wanted him, wanted everything he was offering. “I’m already yours, Felix. Do what you want with me.”

His eyes darkened, a predatory gleam flashing in them as he heard your words. The smirk on his lips deepened, as if he had been waiting for you to finally admit it—to finally give him the green light to take control completely.

Without a word, Felix flipped you both, placing you beneath him with a precision that sent a rush of heat through your body. The world around you seemed to fade into nothingness, leaving only him—his touch, his voice, his body against yours.

He paused, hovering above you for just a moment, his chest rising and falling with each labored breath. His eyes searched yours, a silent question in them—one you didn’t need to answer. You had already given him every word he needed in the moment. He was in control now, and you were more than willing to let him have it.

“Good girl,” he praised, his voice a velvet growl that made your skin prickle. His lips crashed down on yours again, this time with an intensity that stole your breath away, the kiss hard, demanding, as if he needed you just as badly as you needed him. After he had stripped you down to your panties, his hands roamed freely, touching you with a hunger that made you ache.

His lips trailed down your neck, nipping at the soft skin there, then trailing down to your chest, where he focused his mouth on your breast, rolling his tongue around your nipple, and his left hand attending to your other breast, kneading the supple skin.

His right hand moved lower, slipping under the waistband of your panties to trace his fingertips ever so lightly through your folds.

"Look at you, so eager. This wet for me, already?" He murmured against your skin, moving away to stare at your pussy, to which he dragged his tongue across his lip. If you weren't embarassed yet, you certainly were by now. "All I've really done is talk to you. You want this that badly? Where did all that biting confidence from this afternoon go, hm?"

You barely managed to muster a reply before his hands fled their posts to lift your hips, to allow for his teeth to catch the elastic of your panties and drag them down to your ankles and tossed to who knows where. He tossed them with his mouth. That image would be engraved in your brain forever.

Wordlessly, he dove straight in.

His tongue moved with a slow, devastating precision—savoring every inch of you as though you were a delicacy he had waited lifetimes to taste. Each stroke was skillful, hungry, and maddeningly thorough, his mouth worshipping you with an unrelenting hunger that bordered on reverence. His hands gripped your thighs, fingers digging into the softness as he spread you wide for him, holding you open as though he couldn't bear to lose a single moment of access.

When he moaned against you—low, rough, trembling with need—it reverberated straight through your core. The sound alone nearly broke you.

You shamelessly let out moans, huffs, and groans as needed, you were helpless beneath the weight of his mouth, and he only smiled proudly against you—tongue flicking over your clit with wicked precision, then sucking hard enough to make your vision go white. You cried out, hips jolting, thighs beginning to close around his head in a desperate, overwhelmed instinct.

You shattered with a sob, your release tearing through you fast and violent, your body trembling as the orgasm overtook you—but he did not stop.

He held you in place, relentless and devoted, licking you through it with obscene focus, tongue fucking you slowly, deeply, while your body broke apart beneath him. You were unraveling in his hands, and still—he kept going until your twitching had slowed to a stop.

When he finally pulled away, his chin was slick, his lips glistening. “You taste like a fucking dream.”

You moaned, your hands clutching at his hoodie before he leant up so he could strip it off, revealing smooth, pale skin stretched over lean muscle, his chest heaving with restraint. His eyes were molten, locked on yours as he tugged your thighs apart with strong hands, settling between them once again like he belonged there—because he did.

You barely had time to catch your breath before his fingers replaced his tongue—two of them sliding deep inside you, curling just right, hitting that perfect spot that made you cry out. He worked you open with smooth, steady strokes, watching you unravel under his touch, his thumb drawing slow, tight circles around your clit while his free hand pushed your shirt up to bare your chest.

"You’ve been so good for me," he murmured, his voice thick with desire. "But I want to hear you say it again. I want you to beg me."

Your heart raced, your mind spinning with the control he had over you. You could feel the fire building inside you, your breath shallow and fast as you fought to keep yourself from completely losing it.

“Felix, please,” you gasped, eyes glassy with need. “I want your cock inside me. I need it.”

"That's it, who am I to deny such a pretty plea like that?"

He pulled back, his fingers slipping from you, wet and glistening as he reached down to undo his belt. His cock sprang free, flushed and thick, veins prominent along the shaft. You reached for him, but he caught your wrist, pinning it beside your head.

He lined himself up, nudging at your entrance, dragging the head through your slick folds until you were trembling with anticipation. Then, with one slow, merciless thrust, he filled you.

You gasped, nails digging into his back as your walls stretched to accommodate him, the pressure overwhelming in the best way. He paused only a moment, letting you adjust to the size of him, before drawing his hips back and slamming into you again.

“Relax, breathe,” he murmured, pulling back slightly, only to thrust deeper, his breath ragged against your skin. “I’ve got you.”

He groaned as he buried his face in your neck and set a punishing rhythm, each thrust deeper, harder, the sound of skin slapping skin filling the room.

You wrapped your legs around his waist, meeting him thrust for thrust, the angle perfect, the drag of his cock inside you enough to make your vision blur. His hand snaked up to your throat, fingers curling there—not tight, just enough to remind you who was in control.

“You’re mine,” he growled into your ear, biting the lobe. “All of you. Say it.”

“I’m yours,” you gasped. “God, Felix, I’m—”

And when the words finally slipped from your lips, breathless and raw, Felix’s eyes darkened with triumph. “Good girl,” he muttered. “I knew you were mine.”

He shifted, hips grinding against yours as he fucked into you, stroking that sweet, devastating spot again and again until you were sobbing with the need to come. His thumb found your clit again, circling fast and merciless now, pushing you to the brink.

And then you were falling—your body clenching around him, stars exploding behind your eyes as your second orgasm ran through you like fire. Felix didn't stop, chasing his own high, thrusting into you through your climax until his rhythm broke and he spilled inside you with a shudder and a curse.

He collapsed onto you, both of you panting, slick with sweat and trembling from the aftershocks. The tension had finally broken, but you could feel it lingering, the heat between you not quite fading. Felix didn’t seem in a rush to pull away. His gaze lingered on you, and you could see the soft smile tugging at his lips, the same man who had been bold, teasing, and oh so confident moments ago, now softened by the shared intimacy.

“You lost, by the way,” Felix murmured with a playful smile, his fingers tracing over your lips. “And I’m going to make sure you remember that. You were so embarrassed under me.”

“I thought I was supposed to be the one flustering you,” you said softly, voice not quite steady, betraying the remnants of your earlier surrender.

He tilted his head, curls falling over his brow. “You do. Constantly.”

You let out a breathless laugh, shaking your head. “Yeah, but you like it now.”

“I liked it before,” he murmured. Then, quieter, as though it startled even him, “I liked you before.”

The air shifted.

You blinked up at him, smile faltering—not in discomfort, but in the way something deep in your chest tugged, slow and aching. “You… mean that?”

Felix looked at you like he had studied you for days, like you were an answer to something he never wanted to say aloud. “I'm not very good at pretending,” he confessed. “Not with you.”

There was no teasing in that. Just truthful, soft, and raw tenderness.

Your hands found his cheeks, thumbs brushing the warmth of his flushed skin. “You really have the worst timing,” you whispered, trying to smile. “Saying stupid sweet things when I'm still technically trying to beat you.”

Felix smiled back—crooked, lopsided, unfairly boyish. “Then lose. Again. On purpose this time.”

You leaned upward, just close enough to feel his breath catch against your lips. “And if I do?”

His eyes dropped to your mouth. “Then let me make it worth your while.”

You kissed him slowly, like the match had burned down, like the game had ended, and only the wanting remained.

guys pls lmk if the long stuff is too much,,,,, i keep getting carried away LOL thx for reading allat

taglist (ask to be added here): @petersasteria @gdinthehouseee @aizshallnotbefound @burlesquerade @floofeh-purpi @ldydeath @wcnderlnds @ttturnitup @breakmeoff @sherrayyyyy @ricecake9999 @leni111 @scream-queen-25 @spiritualgirly444 @fairyprincesslvr21 @loonybunny1 @uuchii @sherxoo @m-325

[boggsart]

I’ve decided to post all of the progress here as well, not just on instagram. Some people have asked to be tagged once I post some progress, but I can’t remember who they were. So if you wanna see future progress, let me know and I’ll tag you!

This one may not look too different from the previous one, but nothing really turned out the way I intended to.

The colors, the textures, the focus, the sounds, the camera, everything just seems so off, and oh boy the animation… this is the result of rushing and not knowing what I’m doing, just inserting keyframes, tweaking the graph editor and hoping for the best. So maybe signing up for this project wasn’t a great idea after all lol. Plus the datapad’s not even fully textured, you can literally see where I started adding details on the front, then for some reason I just left off lol

One thing I’ll definitely work on in the future is the menu itself, because if this project is for a graphic design thesis, then I might as well try to make the only thing that has something to do with it look more presentable. I’ll definitely be changing up the fonts, and I have some other ideas for the background as well.

But for now, I’ll move on to the remaining 5 character menu animations. Originally there were gonna be 5, not 7. At first I was randomly picking out the characters I wanted to make one for, then I realized, it’d probably be best, if each squad got one animation. The 501st gets Rex, the 212th gets Cody, the CG gets Fox, the 104th gets Wolffe, and the 241st gets Tukk. CF99 got Hunter but I really wanted to make one for Tech as well, since modeling and texturing him took the longest 💀

Once all of that’s done, I can finally move on to animating the trailer video. Which I’m terrified of, but oh well lol

[https-kittyx3]

pls pls pls could you write a poly!odypen x reader? I really loved your Telemachus story!!! :D

we will fall in love with you again

TEEHEE thank you very much, i wasnt so proud of that so i'm glad you loved it!!

also poly odypen request???!?!? YES. UESUESUEUSEUSYESUEYS i really really want more Epic requests aaahh i am obsessed with writing stuff about it. i have multiple hermes fics i started and never finished lmao

btw i swear i've seen you in the tags before, you should totally write epic the musical fics!! i'm curious about the one you said you have based on your self insert >:3

also this is kinda angsty i think? but it leads up to fluff!! i promise i won't break your heart <3

not proofread at all, excuse is in the tags lolol

lowercase intended || art cred

all throughout your life, you would have never expected what kind of relationship you'd have in your adulthood. younger you would imagine settling down with someone you fell in love with, living in a house together and spending the last of your days side by side.

the idea of having two lovers was the last thing you'd think about. it wasn't even something you knew you were capable of — loving two people at the same time? wouldn't it be unfair if you ended up loving one more than the other?

as much as that worry was understandable, it'd never end up becoming a problem; odysseus and penelope both earned your affections equally. they've both been your friends since what felt like the beginning of time - you never kept anything from each other, always made time for one another, and never had trouble speaking your minds... until things became complicated.

you tried so desperately to ignore it—the growing feelings you felt towards both of your best friends. it was anxiety inducing, especially since it was overly clear that the two were interested in each other. no matter the way it went, someone was going to be heartbroken. someone was going to be sad and the three of you could never be the same. it was agonizing to think about, to imagine the outcomes - you adore them both, to lose what you have would be your biggest regret.

ignoring your feelings seemed like the best bet for the longest time, but there was always that pang in your chest every time they'd talk about each other to you that reminded you of your own heart.

˗ˋˏ ♡ ˎˊ˗

"it's endearing how awkward he gets," penelope airily chuckles as she folds strands of her hair over and over in a pattern to create a braid, "sometimes, it's like he can barely form words around me... i wonder if that means he feels the same."

you feel yourself biting the inside of your cheek, carefully braiding the other side of penelope's hair for her. it was a mindless action the two of you fell into as you chatted together. all you manage to give her is a hum, your heart growing a tad heavy once again. penelope shifts, almost as if she senses your hesitation.

"is something the matter?" she questions with concern, tying the ends of her hair together to keep the braid from coming undone. penelope's always been the one who can read your emotions — it's one of the many things that made you fall for her. she's gentle, earnest... there isn't a chance in the underworld that she'd ignore your sadness. as your friend, she's here for you. she always has been.

you gaze at her slowly, almost afraid to look her in the eye - you could break at any moment, admit everything you're feeling, and ruin all you're familiar with. you don't want that, even if it leads to an eternity of heartache.

"of course! i apologize, i'm just distracted..." you sheepishly admit, finishing the other part of her braid. you let your hands fall away and sit in the grass below, a few strands nestling between your fingers. you grip onto them, pulling blades from their roots.

penelope sighs, having heard this time and time again over the course of your friendship. it wasn't uncommon for you to dismiss her concern, just to pop up later needing to vent - she understands it, even. so, she picks at the grass with you, but instead grabbing a flower that grows in the grass beneath you both.

she leans over you, gently placing the flower's stem behind your ear with ease. penelope then places her palm against your cheek, directing your gaze towards her with a soft touch. you feel yourself flush under her eyes and touch, your cheeks warming against her palm — part of you wonders if she notices the way you react to these small touches, and if she knows how you feel underneath your veil.

"you know you can talk to me about anything," penelope whispers with softened eyes. behind that kindness lingers her own conflict, confusion, and fear - but it wasn't known to you in this moment. in hindsight, perhaps it would've been more obvious if you looked deeper. if only you had talked to her then and there, taking up that sincere offer, things would've been more simple.

instead, your lovesick-ridden mind came up with the silliest thing you could have said;

"penelope, you're so sweet i could kiss you." you speak before you're able to think about how that sounds. you mean it as a joke... mostly, but in the moment it was meant as a way to accentuate how kind she is. instead, and with the amount of passion you spoke those words, it came off as a genuine confession.

and it's clear that penelope took it that way, with how quickly her cheeks darken in red. you pull back immediately, throwing in an awkward laugh as you gently push her hand down.

"i'm kidding! you're just... so kind. i don't know what i'd do without you."

inwardly, you sigh in relief as you watch her relax. crisis averted, you think. penelope responds with a laugh — a genuine giggle, a jingle of joy — it warms your heart faster than your face.

"likewise." she speaks with a gorgeous smile.

˗ˋˏ ♡ ˎˊ˗

"i just... i don't know what to say to her!" odysseus rambles on and on about penelope, occasionally asking for your thoughts on what he should do or say, all while swinging a stick at a tree as if he were fighting a massive creature. at the same time, he paces back and forth while looking up at you from where you sit on that same tree. your legs dangle from the lowest branch, hands gripping it tightly so you don't fall. it's a rather sturdy tree - an olive tree, specifically. the one where the three of you tend to spend your spare time together, though these days it's more often just two. becoming too busy is inevitable, after all.

this day was not one of those, however. penelope is to meet the two of you any minute now, though it's becoming apparent that she's been swept away by something or other - leaving you, odysseus, and the complicated feelings within.

even though you have feelings for both of them, having only one or the other around stresses you out. you're so unstable with your feelings and thoughts that you barely trusted yourself to stay quiet about them.

"what would you do?" odysseus tosses the stick to the side, plopping down against the trunk right under the branch you sit on.

"what would i do about what?" you question, not realizing that odysseus had been talking on and on as you zoned out from above. at this point in time, you were being no better than a certain goddess who was hopeless when it came to love advice. odysseus raises a brow up at you, "about... confessing your feelings?"

"oh!" you sit up straight, a panicked look on your face that is almost comical, "what feelings? i don't have any feelings for anyone!"

odysseus snorts, resting his head against the trunk, "i was talking about confessing my feelings for penelope, but... now it sounds like you might fancy someone." odysseus teases you, but it's not so clear in the moment — you feel caught, like all your thoughts had been read and exposed. your heart picks up in pace as you shift awkwardly, trying to think up any excuse to get out of this topic, before you realize that you're leaning on nothing but air.

you fail to catch yourself before you're falling backwards towards the ground, letting out a scream as you brace for impact. you're lucky you're only so far from the ground, because any further would've been death for you.

odysseus catches you swiftly, feeling lucky that he was right below you. he didn't even have to get up to snatch you from the air — all he had to do was lean forwards and pull you against his chest to cushion your fall.

and cushion, it did. your head falls against his collarbone, and your back lands right against his torso. his arms are wrapped securely around your chest, holding you up as you lean your head back to take a look at his face.

"looks like i fell for you, heheh..." what an awful joke for an awkward situation. odysseus does the same as penelope had done — he takes your joke as a poorly veiled confession, and as much as it may be, it's not something you want to admit right after he finished talking about his feelings for someone else. that 'someone else' being your mutual companion, your third member. your best friend.

ugh. what a situation to get yourself into.

odysseus' eyes are wide and cautious, but not for long as you sit yourself up with the dismissal wave of your hands, "no, no... that came out weird! i was doing a joke, but it was bad timing..!"

oddly enough, you see odysseus' face fall into a neutral expression for a faint moment, before glowing up and into a hearty laugh. similarly to penelope, again, it warms you to hear him laugh so sincerely. he finds you funny, and that brings you joy.

˗ˋˏ ♡ ˎˊ˗

despite all the signs of the mutual feelings between the three of you, it'd be a good while before things are finally shared. the next few years are spent pining after each other, battling that inner anxiety, and finally... admitting it to yourselves.

your heart is big enough for both of them, and it's something you have grown to come to terms with. all of that confusion and inner conflict subsided into an understanding, regardless of how anxiety-inducing it all still was. penelope and odysseus were simply just the most open about their feelings for each other at first. it took you a bit more time to finally open up, but once you did, you were surprised at how open the both of them were to you.

it was exciting to finally be able to express your feelings to them, to finally be able to tell them how in love with them you are without being afraid of losing them.

unbeknownst to you, it was an internal battle for the two of them as well. that feeling of loving two people at once, yet not knowing what to do about it for the fear of losing both of them.

the three of you, now together as one, share more love between you than anyone has ever seen. even athena, whose lifespan escapes the confines of time, has never witnessed such an incredible bond as yours. she's also heard endless stories about your romance from odysseus, who can't find it in him to stop talking about you and penelope — but who can blame him? he's blessed with two of the best partners he could have asked for.

even as you three grow older, take over more dire responsibilities, and marry one another, your love never wavers.

even after penelope bears a child, after the dread of a war looms ever closer, and odysseus is swept off to save the lives of many — your bond is true.

it's ever lasting.

he'll come back to his spouses and son, whether the gods want him to or not.