#cut your library meeting short?

[morverenmaybewrites]

Imagine Early Mornings with Bruce Wayne

Mornings in the Wayne Manor, you have found, are always a little disorienting.

You always wake alone, amidst sheets so soft that your bare skin tingles as you stretch against them.

There is a glass of water, drained, on his side of the bed. A bottle of painkillers, unopened.

There would be a note, short and painfully impersonal.

Left early for a meeting, it would sometimes say.

Or more rarely, it might say Library, a shorthand invitation to join him for a day of quiet reading.

More often, the note would simply say, Downstairs.

His codeword for the cave. By the time you wake, he would have been down there for hours.

In the first, few months of your relationship, you had found the notes amusing, if a little bit offensive.

“Those are not love notes,” you had complained to Bruce. “It feels like something my boss would leave me. Meeting this afternoon at three o’clock. Bring donuts.”

And while he had not laughed (indeed, he laughed so rarely that you sometimes wonder if laughter had calcified in his throat), but he had looked up from his notes and smiled.

The next morning, you had woken up to no note, but instead a mug of hot coffee and a brightly-colored box of donuts, the kind you’d see served in a business meeting.

His idea of a joke.

At least that was something you knew that the rest of Gotham didn’t: Batman actually had a sense of humor.

It is months later, when you wake to the sound of shifting cloth, and a sharp intake of breath, so soft it might as well have been silent.

He’s waking, you realize. This is the first time that you have woken up at the same time Bruce did.

Perhaps it’s the journalist in you, unable to be buried even after a year of being out of the business, or perhaps it’s simple curiosity, but you don’t move. You keep your eyes closed, struggling to keep your breathing steady. You pretend to still be asleep.

In all the time you have been together, you had never woken up the same time as him.

The first thing you realize is this: he wakes up in pain.

That should come as no surprise, you think, considering what he does. But this is the first time you’ve actually witnessed it, unchecked. Even in the Batcave, with Alfred, and later you, carefully stitching the muscle and fat and skin closed, he grits his teeth and barely makes a sound.

He does not scream.

(You often wonder if it is for your benefit. If he can read the distress on your face and decide to swallow down his pain rather than let you see it.)

But in the dawn of a new day, where there is no constant humming of his supercomputer, none of Alfred’s cutting banter, there is a nakedness to him.

Bruce lies on the bed for several minutes, so still that he might as well have been carved from stone.

It hurts him to move, you realize.

(And if you close your eyes, you can still see the injuries from last night, with startling clarity: the bruised ribs, the swollen eye, the gash that left his shoulder lay open the muscle and fat to lay bare the bone. You had swallowed down your tears the way he swallowed his screams.)

And then, Bruce does something odd.

He rolls to his side—

(A sharp intake of breath, so soft it might as well have been silent.

He is lying on his injured shoulder.)

And he holds you.

Bruce Wayne holds you.

One arm draped over your waist, squeezing once, so that you can feel the tension in the corded muscles, always so carefully hidden underneath bespoke suits and shirts that cost more than your monthly salary.

His lips find the back of your neck, the pressure so light that you could barely feel it.

The thought comes to you then, unbidden: he is afraid to wake you.

And that his lips are moving.

You wonder if he is whispering sweet nothings, like a lead in a romance film.

You wonder if he is praying.

And then, his arm tightens around you and you realize:

He is saying your name.

(And the way he says it, under his breath, against your skin, is it really so different from prayer?)

When he finally rises, it is just as quiet. The sound of skin against shifting satin.

You hear him drain the glass of water.

He picks up the unopened bottle of painkillers as if contemplating it, then sets it back down..

There’s the sound of a drawer opening, the scratch of pen or paper.

Your note for the day.

It does not take long to write a single word.

And soon, he leaves the note on top of the drawer, and he leaves.

You rise with your heart beating against your throat. You can still feel the ghost of his lips on the back of your neck.

You had never seen him like that. Felt him like that.

Not just loving, but worshipful.

He had spoken your name as if to draw strength from it.

You glance at the bottle of painkillers.

It’s unopened.

You pick up the note, on it is a single word:

Downstairs.

[wizardysseus]

On Friday, the president signed yet another Executive Order, this time directly targeting funds allocated to libraries and museums nationwide. The Institute of Museum and Library Services (IMLS) is a federal agency that distributes fund approved by Congress to state libraries, as well as library, museum, and archival grant programs. IMLS is the only federal agency that provides funds to libraries. The Executive Order states that the functions of the IMLS have to be reduced to “statutory functions” and that in places that are not statutory, expenses must be cut as much as possible. [...] The department has seven days to report back, meaning that as soon as this Friday, March 21, 2025, public libraries–including school and academic libraries–as well as public museums could see their budgets demolished.

Actionable items from the article:

Sign the petition at EveryLibrary to stop Trump’s Executive Order seeking to gut the IMLS then share it with your networks.

Write a letter to each of your Senators and to your Representative at the federal level. You can find your Senators here and your Representative here. All you need to say in this letter is that you, a resident of their district, demand they speak up and defend the budget of IMLS. Include a short statement of where and how you value the library, as well as its importance in your community. This can be as short as “I use the library to find trusted sources of information, and every time I am in there, the public computers are being used by a variety of community members doing everything from applying for jobs to writing school papers. Cutting the funds for libraries will further harm those who lack stable internet, who cannot afford a home library, and who seek the opportunities to engage in programming, learning, enrichment, and entertainment in their own community. Public libraries help strengthen reading and critical thinking skills for all ages.” In those letters, consider noting that the return on investment on libraries is astronomical. You can use data from EveryLibrary.

Call the offices of each of your Senators and Representatives in Congress. Yes, they’ll be busy. Yes, the voice mails will be full. KEEP CALLING. Get your name on the record against IMLS cuts. Do this in addition to writing a letter. If making a call creates anxiety, use a tool like 5 Calls to create a script you can read when you reach a person or voice mail.

Though your state-level representatives will not have the power to impact what happens with IMLS, this is your time to reach out to each of your state representatives to emphasize the importance of your state’s public libraries. Note that in light of potential cuts from the federal government, you advocate for stronger laws protecting libraries and library workers, as well as stronger funding models for these institutions.

Show up at your next public library meeting, either in person at a board meeting or via an email or letter, and tell the library how much it means to you. In an era where information that is not written down and documented simply doesn’t exist, nothing is more crucial than having your name attached to some words about the importance of your public library. This does not need to be genius work–tell the library how you use their services and how much they mean to you as a taxpayer.

Tell everyone you know what is at stake. If you’ve not been speaking up for public institutions over the last several years, despite the red flags and warnings that have been building and building, it is not too late to begin now. EveryLibrary’s primer and petition is an excellent resource to give folks who may be unaware of what’s going on–or who want just the most important information.

[thyme-in-a-bubble]

eyes on the prize

a/n: me writing a fic where rafe is actually wholesome and nice? i didn't see it coming either... this idea just came to me when you were all voting for the kinktober fic a while ago, and i was prepping that it maybe could go in this direction and then ended up falling too much in love with the fantasy, so i simply had to get it out of my system.

summary: “in a week, when we’ve turned in the assignment, and everything is over, I want you to come watch me fight… watch me win…” a cocky smirk twitched at the corner of his lips as he awaited your answer.

warnings: mma!rafe cameron x reader, smut, college au, study buddies to lovers, soft!rafe, autumnal vibes, takes place in the beginning of november, studying, friday the 13th references, scaredy cat!reader, violence, mma fights, kissing, semi-public sex, clothed sex, dirty talk, manhandling, ripping pantyhose, size kink, spit kink, hole inspection, penetrative sex, unprotected sex

word count: 2626

∼ gentle reminder that feedback, but especially reblogs are the way you support writers on here ∽

masterlist | join my taglist

“So,” you hesitantly broke the silence that had fallen over both you and the partner that had been assigned to you on this current project, “did you get up to anything fun on Halloween?” 

Glancing up from the thick book Rafe’s bored gaze was rushing through, it instead lingered on you for but a moment as his mutter reverberated in the quiet corner of the university’s library, “uhm, yeah. I popped by a party for a bit.” 

“The one at delta neu?” a glint flickered in your eye as soon as he offered you a nod, “me too! Though I went home kinda early, so we might have missed each other… what did you going as?” 

“Jason,” he simply uttered. 

“Jason who?” the soft smile didn’t fade from your lips as his short answer hadn’t landed the way he’d hoped. 

“You know,” his brows furrowed slightly at your cluelessness, repeating once again as if the name alone should be enough for you to understand, “Jason.” 

“…Jason Statham? Jason Momoa?” your eyes squinted as you quietly attempted to hit the bullseye, “uhm… I can’t really think of any other famous Jasons right now…” 

“No, Jason from Friday the 13th. You know, the dude with the hockey mask and the machete.” 

“Ah, him… yeah, I haven’t watched those movies,” you shrugged, “but, cool costume.” 

“Wait, you’ve never seen Friday the 13th?” he tilted closer to where you sat across the table from him, “not even the cheesy remake?” 

“Nope,” you simply returned your gaze to the textbook beneath your fingers.  

“Seriously?” his eyebrows didn’t float back down yet, “well, I don’t know if I should be offended that you’ve never watched that masterpiece before or jealous that you get to experience it for the first time, but either way, that’s a problem we need to fix.” 

At first, you thought you’d entered the wrong building. 

That was until you rounded the corner, and your gaze fluttered up from the map still open on your phone, guiding you to the mysterious address your study partner had texted you, asking you to meet up with him there before the rest of your plans could unfold, that you discovered that you hadn’t stumbled into the wrong place. 

Though that wasn’t the only thing you discovered in that moment as the culmination of that enlightenment was spotting Rafe in the middle of the industrial and cold gym, going through the tail end of some drills with his trainer. 

As he went through the combinations and grunted like a guard dog, sweat dripped down from his brow and rolled so low that it cascaded over his already glistening and bare chest. 

You hadn’t really noticed how your feet had stopped or how your pulse had picked up so fiercely that you could feel it between your thighs before his own eyes located you and he flashed you a smile.

“Hey!” his voice cut through your trance as he patted his coach on the shoulder and began to near the edge of the ring. 

“H-hi,” you blinked, shaking your fuzzy head slightly to clear it, “I didn’t know you were into this sort of stuff,” you briefly waved a hand to the gym around you and tried your best to rip your stare away from his heaving chest. 

“Yeah,” he began to loosen a glove, “sorry I asked you to meet me here, I’m just really busy these days cause I’ve got a fight coming up.” 

“Oh, well we don’t have to have a silly movie night if you don’t have the time,” you averted your gaze, recalling how before you’d been paired with him on the assignment for Callahan’s class, you hadn’t even been sure of what his name was. You’d just known him as the hot guy, three rows behind you. 

“No, no, I want to, unless of course you’ve changed your mind.”

Blinking back up into his eyes, you smiled, “definitely not.”

“Well, great,” a grin spread across his lips, “then just give me a second,” he cast a brief glance over his broad shoulder at the locker room, “and then we can head back to my place,” a notion you hadn’t expected would have ended with you up on the back of his motorcycle, a terrifying concept that you’d somehow been unable to deny as the crush that had blossomed and bloomed within your heart for him had made it near impossible for you to say no to a single one of his suggestions. 

“You never told me what you went as,” Rafe hummed beside you, causing your eyes to tear away from the horror movie buzzing on the TV.

Blinking over at him next to you on the leather couch, your fingers began to fiddle with the blanket you’d slumped over yourself, “oh, well I didn’t wanna buy anything new, so I just went through my closet and ended up going as Britney Spears because I found the skirt of my old school uniform. I don’t even remember why I brought it with me the last time I went home, but–, ah!” a shriek suddenly shuttered through your form as your eyes accidentally fluttered back towards the screen just in time to witness the villain sink a large blade into the head of one of the drunk teenagers, “oh my god!” your frame couldn’t help but jump at the fright, nearly tossing the blanket across the room as you instinctively hid your features in the mass of Rafe’s bicep. 

As your heart raced and thumped in your chest, you felt Rafe’s shoulder begin to move before you heard his laughter. 

“Shut up, it’s not funny!” you smacked him lightly in the chest, though kept your vision darkened by his shirt, “so I’m not desensitised to the horrors of scary movies, big whoop!” a mutter then slipped out of your lungs, “fuck, why did I agree to this? I’m probably gonna have nightmares for weeks…”

“Hey, it’s okay, it’s just a movie,” you felt his palm find your arm in a soothing rub as his voice hummed directly above the crown of your head, “and the scene is almost over.” 

“I can’t look…” you felt yourself lean more into his touch. 

“…do you want me to describe it to you?” 

“No…” you lingered in the security of his warmth and felt the terror slowly melt from your bones. Cupping a hand on the side of your face to shield your eyes from the horrors on screen, you carefully plucked your face just shy out of his safety before you uttered, “…just tell me when it’s over…” 

The blaring light from the television reflected against the side of Rafe’s face as he gazed down into your eyes and breathed, “okay,” his stare slowly dipping and fluttering down towards your lips. 

It wasn’t till now that you noticed how close you’d accidentally scooted to him as you weren’t far from just sitting in his lap. 

Sharing his breath, your mind went entirely blank and only switched back on when you’d closed the distance betwixt your lips and now found yourself kissing your study buddy. 

Thankfully, your brain didn’t get a chance to begin spiralling as it only took Rafe half a second to reciprocate the sudden move and kiss you back. 

His strong hands found the small of your waist buried beneath the woollen blanket before he began to drag you closer, pulling you so near that you actually did wind up sitting in his lap, your fingers fluttering against his buzzcut as his own scooped down over the curve of your ass. 

When the movie gently humming from behind you was long forgotten and your soul instead had drifted straight to heaven, you felt Rafe tilt his head back to breathlessly utter, “come watch my fight…” his forehead still pressed against your own. 

Scarcely picking up on the words behind his honied hum, you breathed, “what?” 

Reeling back just enough for his eye to catch your own dazed pair, he said, “in a week, when we’ve turned in the assignment, and everything is over, I want you to come watch me fight… watch me win…” a cocky smirk twitched at the corner of his lips as he awaited your answer.

You’d never seen a fight in real life before. 

Not boxing, not mixed martial arts as this was, not even a juvenile one in a schoolyard. 

At one point, when you thought all hope seemed lost, when Rafe got pinned by his opponent and blood was trickling down from the cut at his brow so clearly that you could make it out from the second row seat you found yourself planted in, he somehow managed to turn the tides and capture the boulder of a man in a lock so fierce it made them nearly melt into one pretzel-like being. 

As he flexed his arm around the other’s throat with the rest of his limbs restricting him as well and rendering an escape near impossible, Rafe’s eyes then flickered up to catch your wide ones in the crowd. A grin appeared on his features as he held your stare a moment longer, watching as you shyly began to mirror his smile, before he tightened his hold and squeezed till the opponent opted not to bruise his pride and tap out, instead going limp in the grasp. 

Once the trophy was in his gloved hand and he’d leapt out of the ring, on his way back towards the locker room, he zigzagged through the cheering crowd and caught onto your arm, dragging you with him as he exited the buzzing hall. 

“That was insane,” you heard yourself babble as he pulled you through the corridors down towards the backroom he’d been in prior to the fight, “I mean, I know I went into it kinda blind, but I had no idea it would be like that,” adrenaline still rushed through your veins as he tugged you over the threshold and closed the door behind you, swiftly dropping his trophy to one of the long benches, “sure, it was as insane as I probably imagined, but the way that you moved, the way you slipped in and out like you were made of water or something, I mean, that was beautiful–,” the fighter then suddenly cut your rambling short as he yanked you to his sweaty form and pressed his lips to your own. However, as his feet shuffled and your spine collided with the back of the door to the small locker room, your fingers fluttered over countless of the spots where he’d been hit, causing you to jerk back and ask, “wait, shouldn’t you have someone check you out?” your eyes flickered from the cut splitting his brow to the various fresh bruises already beginning to blossom and reveal their true colours, “are you okay?”

“I’ve never felt better in my whole life,” he tried to lean back in to capture your lips once more, though you tilted away just in time for him to miss. 

“You sure? Because–”

But your words were quickly snuffed out as his hands then flew up to grasp the sides of your face to force you to notice the glint in his eye and the desire dripping in his tone, “just shut up and kiss me,” he commanded before he practically devoured you whole. 

As Rafe’s tongue danced against your own and made you feel dizzy in his tight embrace, his fingers then blindly fumbled for the lock and twisted it with a click that harmonised with the throbbing that had appeared between your thighs as soon as the fight had commenced. 

A low growl rumbled deep within his chest and melted into your mouth as he then plucked you off of the ground and lifted you into his arms. Broad palms spreading wide below your bottom, he brought you as close as possible, causing the skirt you wore to ride up and crumble at your hips. The thin barrier of your pantyhose and the underwear beneath nearly incinerated from the heat that sparked as his hips greedily rocked against your covered core, lending you to feel just how hard he was in his shorts. 

“I want you so bad,” he groaned between pecks, his fingers digging into your softness.

“Shouldn’t you be out celebrating your victory or something?” a light giggle bubbled out of you. 

“I thought that was what I was doing,” he smirked before dropping you back down onto the ground, making you gasp at his sharp movements as he suddenly spun you around to face the closed door, “unless you have a better idea of how we could celebrate,” he nipped at your neck, making your eyes flutter. 

“I–…” your teeth briefly captured your bottom lip as his front pressed against your back, and your spine instinctively arched back into him, “no, yeah, this one’s g-good…”

“Good,” he murmured in your ear before his fingers found your pantyhose in a pinch and ripped a big hole in them, nearly splitting them in two as he exposed your underwear, “do you want it?” he gripped your hips and titled them for his hard-on to perfectly nudge against the soaked cotton. 

“Y-yes,” you panted, even just that one word haven been a struggle to utter through the fog he’d cast you into. 

“How bad?” 

“So bad–, Rafe, please,” he made you squeak desperately, “I just–, please…”

Cheek smooshed against the door, you glanced over your shoulder and watched as he then kneeled down behind you. Both hands still firmly planted on your hips, keeping you in place for him, they only strayed for a moment in order to shove your skirt the rest of the way up and letting him see the wet spot decorating your panties. 

“Oh, shit…” he groaned as he tugged the gusset of your underwear all the way to the side, a string of your glossy want clung to the fabric till it snapped back against your aching core. Nearly salivating as he inspected your holes, his fingers dented your ass as he pulled you apart, splitting you open that much further and watching intently at the way your drooling cunt throbbed in anticipation for his touch. 

As if your pussy’s embarrassingly leaky state wasn’t enough, a dollop of his spit then roughly landed upon your folds, the lewdness causing you to let out a moan as he swiftly rose back up to his full height without as much as a tickle to your tingly petals.

The next thing you knew, the adrenaline coursing through you both drove Rafe to free his length from its confines and, without as much as another kiss, slammed inside of your weeping pussy in one fell motion. 

Balls nuzzled tightly against you, the very tip of him nudged against a part so deep inside of you that it made you lose your breath as he took a moment to savour the sensation, freezing up within you and huffing against your cheek as you gasped for air through your whimpers. 

“Oh my god!” one of your hands curled back to crawl at his waist, “Rafe!” 

“Now,” his hips slowly drew back, dragging his fat girth back out of you and letting you feel every little detail of him, “you just gotta be a good girl, stand right here for me,” only the bulbous head of his cock remained, keeping you plugged up as he purred in your ear, “and take it like the perfect little prize you are,” he then buried himself once more with such vigour that his heavy sack tapped sloppily against your puffy clit, “can you do that for me? Will you be my reward?” 

© 2024 thyme-in-a-bubble 

[missgraylock]

My Ride or Die

Summary: Late one night, you're attacked outside the library—your bag stolen and safety shattered. But someone saw everything. A mysterious stranger steps in to recover what was lost. What begins as a random rescue soon hints at deeper intentions and unexpected connections.

‿‿‿‿

This one-shot is inspired by biker Wonwoo in the Thunder MV (swoon). It's not proof read, and English is not my first language.

I would love to get feedback, so feel free to leave it in the comments!

pairing: non!idol Wonwoo x fem reader genre: romance, slow burn (kinda), smut word count: 5k rating: 18+ minors dni warnings: soft dom! Wonwoo, unprotected sex (don't do this), oral sex (f receiving), fingering, pet name (babygirl, beautiful), spanking, hair pulling, possessiveness.

divider by: @cafekitsune

Masterlist

“Hey Y/n, I’m about to leave so you’ll be the last one here, take care of yourself ok?” Your friend Emily patted your back softly. 

“Don’t worry,” you stretched your arms groaning “I just have to finish this chapter and then I’m heading home.” You did your best to give her a reassuring smile, even though you’re clearly running out of steam. 

“Alright, text me when you’re home,” Emily swung her backpack over her shoulders and headed for the exit, “stay safe!”.

The library was dead silent now, and dusk was quickly settling outside.

After staring at the screen for 10 more minutes, you capitulated. “Aish, I don’t have another word in me” you whispered to yourself, slamming the laptop cover shut and packing your crossbody bag. 

You exit the university library only to meet a wall of heavy and humid air. It’s so thick you could’ve cut it with a knife. 

The bus stop is gratefully only a short walk down the street, as you can feel your exhaustion setting in. Your mind is buzzing with scientific terms and theories. You’re currently writing an essay about individuals growing up in high-crime environments like organized crime groups, and the barriers they face trying to leave that lifestyle behind. You always found offender rehabilitation fascinating work, and it’s what you’ve set your mind on as your future career. 

A loud growl from an engine revving breaks through the dense air, and you barely manage to turn around before you flinch as a motorbike almost hits your sides. You feel a hard tug as the unidentifiable shape of the rider reaches for your bag strap.

“Hey! Get the fuck off of me!” You yell as his bike comes to a short stop on the sidewalk, he’s clearly surprised that you’re not forfeiting your bag that easily. You can’t see his face through the dark visor of his helmet, and he’s pulling frantically and with a force you just can’t match.

You suddenly tumble over hard on your knees as he snatches the entire bag from you, your skin breaking on the rough concrete, skin poking out through your ripped jeans. 

You’re quickly trying a different strategy, now pleading. “Please, I need my laptop and my keys!”. He’s already fully back on his bike, revving up. You try to get up, but your knees hurt too much. You’re kneeling in a defeated pose as he disappears down the street.

Your whole body is tense, but you can feel the rush of adrenaline subsiding now. Tears well in your eyes, and you can feel the painful sting of your bloodied knees. Your only consolation is that your phone is still in your jeans back pocket, unschated from the whole ordeal.

You scroll through your contacts, finding Emily. It rings for a couple of seconds.

“Y/n? Are you back home?” She asks you casually.

“Actually uhm, I need a place to stay tonight - and I probably have to call the police”. 

—---

Wonwoo’s perspective

Tonight’s heat is taking him by surprise, small droplets of sweat uncomfortable settling underneath the helmet and his leather jacket. 

“Just one more job, and I’m done. Forever” he whispers to himself. 

Traffic has halted in an unusual evening gridlock down the street, and he’s scouting for opportunities to weave his wave through the lines of cars. 

He finds a narrow path along the sidewalk, just wide enough for a motorbike, and elegantly navigates towards it. 

His ears suddenly perk up as an engine is revving loudly further down the street, right outside the university grounds. 

His eyes follow a small motorbike speeding up, dangerously close to the sidewalk. He gasps as the rider abruptly reaches out towards a lone girl, who seems completely unaware of the danger she’s in.

Wonwoo’s mind is racing. “I need to help her”, but the narrow path ahead is suddenly blocked by a car wavering to the side. He’s trapped. 

He quickly straightens his legs to get a bird’s eye view of the rider’s attack against you. He sees that you’re putting up a fight for your bag. “Let go, you’ll get hurt”, he whispers to himself. 

As he sees you fall over, he focuses on the rider now with your bag slung over his own shoulder. “Green and yellow. Black helmet”, he loudly notes.  

The path ahead finally opens as the thieving rider disappears in the dark. It’s time for Wonwoo to rev his engine now, determined to hunt down the thief. 

As he passes your kneeling shape on the sidewalk, he throws you a quick glance. It’s only for a couple of seconds, but he can tell by your expression that you’re devastated. 

He soars through the traffic, until yet another gridlock appears. As he tries to get a better view of the vehicles up ahead, he spots a green and yellow bike. It has to be the thief.

Wonwoo weaves through the cars to get closer, but the rider suddenly steers his bike off the street and into an alleyway. 

Trying to keep a discreet appearance, Wonwoo slowly guides his large bike to a wall close to the alleyway. He slides his helmet off, quickly ruffling his damp, long hair in an attempt to relieve his overheating body. The maroon leather gloves stay on. 

He peeks around the corner into the dark alleyway. Only a couple of meters away, the thief has his back turned against the street, unexpectedly rummaging through several bags on the ground. 

“Leave them”, Wonwoo’s voice is deep and assertive. The thief startles and turns around. 

“And who the fuck are you?” His voice has an aggressive and desperate tone. 

“It doesn’t matter, you’re going to drop the bags and leave before it’s too late” Wonwoo states coolly. The thief is dwarfed by Wonwoo’s height. The alleway is somewhat blocked by his broad back and wide stance. His arms are crossed in front of him, creating a threatening and unrelenting aura. 

“The hell I won’t!” The thief suddenly lunges for Wonwoo. With a lightning move, Wonwoo curls his fingers around his neck. He’s thrown to the ground, face planted on the hard concrete below. 

“I said, leave before it’s too late”. The thief wriggles against Wonwoo’s tightening grip. He’s clearly struggling to get enough air in his lungs in this position. They stay like this for a moment, but the culprit's body suddenly relaxes. 

“Let go of me, I’ll leave the fucking bags. There’s nothing good in there anyway”. Wonwoo loosens his grip, and the thief is fast on his feet, bolting for his green and yellow bike on the sidewalk. Wonwoo sighs, and grabs the bags. He pops the little storage compartment lid on his own bike, storing the bags safely as he makes his way home, the thief long gone with his tail between his legs. 

Back home in the somewhat stuffy two-bedroom apartment, Wonwoo empties one of the bags on the kitchen counter. Its contents are three Burt’s Bees lip balms, a set of keys barely visible around a heavy key chain, featuring a small, purple wolf plushie, a tiny frame around what looks like a male celebrity of some sort (Wonwoo snorts at the overly cute peace sign he’s doing), and an assortment of small trinkets and bows tied to the main chain. There’s also a beat up laptop. This isn’t what he’s looking for though. He sticks his hand back into the bag, finding a small compartment closed with a zipper. “There we go”, he says as he’s unzipping it, finding a small card holder inside. He goes through the stack of cards until he sees your SNU student card. A bright and rather cute face lights up the frame. “This must have been taken at the start of the term,” he smiles faintly, “she looks optimistic”. In the box next to your portrait, it says your full name and which department you study at. “Criminology huh,” he says to himself with a huff of amusement. Wonwoo’s got a new mission now. 

—---

It’s been a few days since the attack, but you’re determined to not let it ruin your momentum in your undergraduate studies. You’re back at campus, with a replacement laptop safely stored in a backpack you’ve borrowed from Emily. She figured it would be harder to steal that way. 

“I can’t believe how useless the police are, are we making a mistake studying criminology?” Emily frowns and chuckles besides you. You don a tight smile, sighing loudly. 

“But someone has to make it better?” Your other friend Yon chimes in enthusiastically.

The three of you are approaching the sidewalk when you spot a large man in front of you, leaning on a black and silver motorbike. You come to a stop, all three of you taking in sharp breaths at his striking appearance. He’s got a sharp jawline, his hair tousled in waves, perfectly framing his long but beautifully defined features. 

His eyes catching yours with an intensity that makes you instantly flustered. 

“Y/n?”. Emily clutches her chest dramatically from the sound of his deep voice. 

“I- yes?” You stutter, heat rising in your cheeks. “I think I’ve found something that belongs to you”, he doesn’t wait for your response before he pops a lid and reaches for something inside. All three of you stand frozen in awe in front of the handsome stranger. 

You cock your head slightly and can see that he’s fishing out your beat up crossbody bag from the compartment. Yon grabs your forearm tightly, her jaw almost fully on the floor now. Wonwoo hands you the bag, with a relaxed and somewhat unreadable expression on his face. You’re stunned. “I can’t believe this! Where did you find it?”, your eyes meet his again. “Just somewhere I parked a couple of blocks from here. It was left on the sidewalk.” Your face turns into a big grin. “I don’t know how to thank you! I don’t think most people would bother returning this to me”. You’re suddenly feeling grateful for the stranger’s kindness. The fact that he’s incredibly attractive doesn’t help. “It’s no big deal, really” he says coolly, reaching for the gloves on his motorbike’s seat. You realize that he’s preparing to leave. Yon starts to tug hard on your sleeve now, and Emily joins in nodding towards you, trying to give you a hint. 

As he’s slipping on his gloves, you go for it. “What’s your name by the way?”. He looks up at you now, hesitating slightly. “It’s Wonwoo”, he says after a pause. You swear you could hear Yon do a low whine next to you. You do a sharp intake of air, preparing yourself for what’s to come next. “I really want to pay you back Wonwoo, can I take you for a drink?”. You can tell he’s surprised now. It’s not that common for a woman to ask a man out like this. “I completely understand if it’s weird and you don’t want to, I-” You’re floundering. He suddenly interrupts you, smirking slightly. “Hmm, why not. Hand me your phone” he says assertively. You unlock your phone, and hand it to him. Emily and Yon are positively bouncing at your sides now, barely able to contain their excitement. He slides his gloves back off, and inputs his number, calling it so he also has yours. As he hands your phone back to you, his fingers slide carefully over yours, sending a shiver down your spine. “I’ll be seeing you then, Y/n”, he casually states as he’s pulling his gloves and his helmet back on. “Yeah, see you soon Wonwoo!” You respond way too enthusiastically, earning a giggle from your two friends. You’re all basically swooning as he pulls out on the street, disappearing among the cars ahead. 

“Holy shit” Emily finally says. You’re still too stunned to speak. “Y/n, I’m so proud of you, where the hell did that confidence come from?”. All you could do was shake your head, as you exhaled and started to laugh. You were all soon hysterically laughing, cheering on the sidewalk. 

—---

You hadn’t had the best luck with men. After a string of disappointments you had decided to decenter it all and just focus on your friends and your studies. Your current feelings therefore surprised you, Wonwoo on your mind 24/7. There was something about his gesture of returning your things to you that spoke so loudly. He’s clearly a selfless guy, doing something like that for a stranger. After such a harrowing experience, his actions healed something in you. You tried telling yourself that you’re nurturing a fantasy about a guy you barely know, but the chemistry between you was undeniable, and the crush was in full swing. 

A few days had passed and you hadn’t heard from him, admitting to yourself that it was you who had invited him out, and that you probably should contact him first. You were lying in your bed late at night, overthinking your next step as your phone lit up. He’s calling you. Your pulse suddenly quickens. 

“Hi it’s Y/n?”, you answer. 

“Hi Y/n, it’s Wonwoo”, he says in a husky voice “is it too late to talk?”. His voice sounds so good, you feel your eyes flutter. 

“Not at all, I’m really awake”, you emphasise. “Oh, is there something on your mind?”. Your cheeks heat up at his question. 

“Maybe… I’m thinking about someone”, you have a coy tone to your voice now, and it’s very deliberate. There’s a little pause between you. 

“Really, tell me about this someone”, he’s playing along. 

“Well, he’s quite tall”, you’re nervously twirling a lock of your hair now “and kinda handsome, I guess” Wonwoo snickers lowly. 

You’re flirting back and forth for a while, and it’s all so effortless. It’s like you’ve known him for ages. There’s no awkwardness in your flowing conversation. You decide to switch it up before you both get carried away. 

“Wonwoo, I feel like it’s a bit unfair that you know more about me than I know about you”. There’s a beat of silence.

“Alright babygirl, ask away”. The nickname throws you for a loop, but you’re set on reeling yourself in and focusing on the task at hand. 

“Well, what do you do for work?”, you try to keep your voice steady. 

“I collect and deliver stuff”, he doesn’t elaborate further. 

“Oh, like for a delivery service?” you ask. 

“Yeah, something like that”. 

Your instincts tell you that there’s more to the story, but you don’t want to press it - yet. There’s something about his secretive aura that tingles your spider senses, and it just makes you even more fascinated by him. A faint alarm goes off in the back of your mind though. You decide to change the subject, and your conversation flows again, talking about music and movies you both like, and how you’re imagining the future. It feels safe and intimate. You can’t help but feel a bond slowly but surely forming between you. You’ve been talking for hours when you’re suddenly yawning. “You need to rest babygirl, can I come pick you up tomorrow evening?”, he asks.

“Sounds good, do I need to bring something?”, you feel the excitement bubbling in your chest now. “A warm jacket, since you’ll be behind me on the bike”. Your jaw drops, imagining how it’s going to feel to wrap your arms around him as you swerve through traffic. “Alright, see you tomorrow Wonwoo”, you smile. “See you soon beautiful”. As he hangs up, you get to your feet and jump around carefully on your bedroom floor, squealing. 

—---

You exit your apartment building excitedly, wearing a skater skirt that ends right above your knees, a loose t-shirt tucked into it and a leather jacket. He’s already waiting for you, leaning against his bike, helmet in hand. He’s wearing long black jeans, a white t-shirt and his signature maroon leather jacket. He’s even more handsome than you remembered, and you bite your lip instinctively. He looks up and smiles as he sees you. As you close in on him, you lean up on your toes and place a quick peck on his cheek. His smile broadens even more.

“I’ve got something for you”, he reaches back and picks up another helmet, slightly smaller than his. 

“You’ll need this”. You reach out to take it, but he’s already placing it carefully on your head, making sure it’s secured properly. 

“I’m a bit worried about your bare legs, but you’ll just have to tuck them close to mine”, he smirks. You’re almost completely made of jelly now from his words and actions, and you haven’t even left yet. 

He puts on his own helmet now, and swings his leg across the seat. You do the same, settling behind him. You make sure to tuck your legs next to his, and you lean forward against his broad back. As your arms reach around his waist and you clasp your fingers at the front, he rolls out on the street. 

You drive for what seems like at least an hour, exiting the city and finding smaller roads. It’s silent and intimate between you, as you find yourself relaxing against his body as if you’d done it a hundred times before. There’s suddenly craggy hills surrounding you, as you roll down a narrow path. You can make out what looks like sand and water ahead, as the tangy smell of the ocean hits your senses. 

A wide beach opens up ahead, with a few buildings scattered along it. 

As you roll up outside one of the larger buildings with a B&B sign outside, Wonwoo stops and sets the motorbike in park. 

You lift yourself slowly off of the bike, feeling a stiffness in your limbs after the long ride. 

He closes in on you, and lifts the helmet off of your head, doing his own next. 

You look around and take in the calm and serene landscape, small waves crashing against the shore. It’s a quiet and warm evening, but the fresh oceanside breeze is a welcome respite from the humid city air. 

“This place is so pretty”, you say, as you feel him reaching for your hand. 

You close your fingers around his. 

“Come, let’s get something to drink”, he says in his usual calm but assertive tone. 

You get a couple of non-alcoholic drinks as Wonwoo’s driving, and you find a secluded bench on the porch outside, overlooking the wide and empty beach in front of you. You sit next to each other, your thighs ghosting each other. The drink is refreshing, the temperature is comfortable and it’s still not cold, even though dusk is settling.  

Wonwoo wraps his arm around your shoulder, pulling you into him lightly.

“Y/n, there’s something you need to know about me”, you look up at him expectedly now. “I want to be completely honest with you, so you can choose to walk away if that’s what you want”. You feel a tinge of anxiety in your chest now. 

“Ok, what is it?”. He hesitates for a bit. He explains how he grew up in a broken home, with a mother who was drinking and a father that was gambling. His father made one of the biggest mistakes you can do, as he took out a loan from an infamous gang to cover his gambling debts. When he couldn’t pay back, loan sharks started showing up at his family’s door and the threats escalated. 

“I figured I had the solution, so I offered to help them collect and deliver drugs and weapons across the city, in exchange for my father’s debt”. This territory is not unfamiliar for you, but you had never really known anyone involved in these kinds of activities. Maybe you were naive to trust him, but he hadn’t given you any reasons to doubt his values and inner motivations. His circumstances weren't his fault. 

His fingers tighten around your shoulder now, pulling you even closer.

“I understand if this is too much for you. I’m almost out now, but I’m fully responsible for what I’ve chosen to involve myself in”.

You look up at him, and your eyes meet tenderly. You can sense sorrow and regret there, buried deep somewhere in him. 

“Wonwoo, I can tell who you are. And I still want you just like you are”. 

The air between you is thick with emotion, and there’s almost a crackle in the air.

You lean into him, catching his lips in a careful kiss, testing the waters. 

He responds immediately, cupping your check with his other hand. He deepens the kiss, both of your eyes fluttering shut from the passion and heat you’re sharing. You can’t help but let out a sigh, the intensity between you igniting a need deep in your body. He notices it, and it just spurs him on. 

He suddenly lifts you into his lap, and you wrap an arm around behind his broad shoulder, and the other one across his chest. 

The rhythmic sound of waves crashing in the otherwise silent night is hypnotic, while you pull each other even closer. 

Wonwoo’s hand slips from your cheek and down towards your thigh, bare under your skirt.

“Can I?” He asks ardently, you whisper yes, and he slides his hand further up your thigh, his fingertips gently scraping your skin. You can feel a heat pooling in your core, as his touches make you increasingly needy. 

He stops just shy of your core, and rubs your inner thigh gently. Your kisses have gone from slow and passionate to borderline animalistic now. 

He suddenly leans back from you slightly.

“We should stop babygirl, I want to make this better for you”. 

You whine slightly at the loss of his lips, but you agree. It’s getting cold and dark outside. 

You expect him to lift you off of his lap, but he’s hoisting you up instead, carrying you bridal style. 

You can’t stop giggling, as his large frame envelops you and he’s carrying you effortlessly towards the lobby. You can’t help but preen at his strength, nuzzling your nose against his neck and taking in his delicious, masculine scent. 

He doesn’t even put you down as he asks for a vacant room, making the clerk rather flustered as he tries to keep a professional tone with the two of you. Wonwoo however seems completely unaffected, clearly a man yet again on a mission. 

As soon as you’re in the spacious room, he slides you down to the floor so you’re standing flush against his chest. You’re immediately on his lips again, and the kisses are deep and desperate.

“Can I undress you babygirl?”, you nod, and he slides his hands underneath your t-shirt, lifting it off of you. His eyes trail down to your pink lace bra, your nipples already visibly stiff under the thin fabric.

He draws in a sharp breath.

“God, you look delicious, I’m going to take my sweet time with you,” he leans forward as his lips ghost your ear, “all night”. 

You can’t hope but moan at the implications of his words. You marvel at your current situation, lost in the countryside with the hottest man you’ve ever seen, and he’s clearly down bad for you as well.

He reaches around your back unclasping your bra, and throws it carefully behind him. He stops for a beat to fully take in your undressed curves.

“So pretty”, he bites his lower lip as his gaze is fixed on your plump and bare chest. 

His hands slide up your sides now, deliberately stroking your hard nipples as he’s softly kissing and sucking a pattern down your neck. You whine slightly as he’s sucking harder on the point where your neck meets your shoulder.

“Just marking you as mine”, he says in a husky voice. He continues to trail kisses down to your breast, creating another small bruise on your soft flesh. 

As you pull him closer, you can feel his hard bulge pressing against your belly. It’s unsurprisingly massive. 

He wraps his hands around your waist now, and lifts you towards the end of the bed, carefully laying you down on your back against the mattress.  

Your face is a light pink flush. You breathe heavily, and you can feel slick pooling in your lacy panties. 

Wonwoo stands before you, pulling his t-shirt off to reveal the most chiseled set of abs you’ve ever seen. He catches your lingering gaze, and smirks. 

The tension in the room is hot and heavy, and your skin feels like it’s on fire as he crawls towards you. He settles his bulge directly on your core, his elbows on each side of your head. 

“Did I tell you that you’re beautiful?”, his lips yet again crashes into yours before you can answer, as you feel the weight of his body on you. 

He suddenly sits back, kneeling between your legs. His large hands find purchase on each of your thighs, slowly sliding downwards to your core.

“Can I take care of you babygirl?”

You whimper and nod, and his fingers reach for your drenched panties, pulling them off completely. He wraps your skirt over your belly, fully exposing your slicked up slit. 

“Look at the state you’re in, did I do this?” He smirks teasingly at you, but you can only whine needily now. 

He puts two fingers close to your wet hole, and slides his fingers slowly upwards your slit. He places his other hand right above your pubic bone, pressing slightly. 

You gasp as his fingertips find your clit, putting pressure against it as he starts a circular motion. 

“I’m going to play with you all night, having this pretty pussy come for me over and over again”, his dirty words make your eyes roll back as you moan. 

He leans further down, and you can feel his hot breath on your inner thighs now. 

His tongue swipes your slit as he removes his fingers from your bud, and puts two of them inside you instead. His mouth soon covers your bud, flicking it and sucking with an increasing intensity. You can’t help but squeeze your eyes shut as your body starts to tense up with pleasure. 

He starts to slide his fingers in and out of you now, continuing his rhythmic licking and sucking.

“Come for me babygirl, I’m going to fuck you so good after this”, the thought of his big cock sliding in and out of you instead of his fingers finally sends you over your edge. Your toes curl and your body convulses in the most intense orgasm you’ve ever had. He keeps the steady rhythm, making sure your orgasm continues for as long as possible. He’s lapping at your juices now, letting out a moan. 

“I can’t believe how wet and tight you are. Just so perfect for me.” Even though you just came, you can already feel a neediness building in your core. 

As he sits up, he’s reaching to unzip your skirt. You stop him and do it yourself.

“You get those pants off please”, you bite your lip expectedly. 

He rises from the bed, unbuckling his belt and pulls down both his jeans and shorts in one go. You inhale sharply as his huge cock slaps against his stomach. It’s hard and slightly red, with a bead of precum on the tip. 

He looks at you with a hungry gaze now, and you instinctively crawl backwards on the bed.

He kneels in front of you again, placing his hands on your hips and turns you around in a quick motion. You find yourself with your face against the pillow. 

“Open up wide for me now babygirl”, he says as his hands spread your thighs to the side. 

You’re trembling with anticipation.

“Wonwoo please”, you whine.

“Please what, beautiful?” you hear from behind you.

“Please, I need your cock in me” you’re begging now, and he snickers.

A loud moan escapes you as you feel his tip against your slit, his large frame heavy against your back. 

His lips meet your ear. “You’re going to be a good girl for me and take everything I give you, alright?”. His tip still lingers at your entrance.

“Yes yes! I promise I’ll be good!” you whine, and he’s pushing in now. 

You moan as you feel his wide cock stretch you out deliciously. He’s slowly sliding it in and out of you, making sure you adjust to his size without any pain. 

“Harder, I need it hard and fast” you cry at him. 

He suddenly pulls you up by the hips so you’re on all fours. 

His hand reaches for your long locks, pulling you back against him, his cock still placed firmly inside you. 

Your back is flush against his chest now, your back arching to make sure he stays in its place.

“Do you know the light system babygirl?”, he whispers in your ear.

“Uhu, I’m really green” you stutter, feeling his hard cock twitch inside you.

“Good”, he leans you forward again, but he keeps a firm grip on your hair. 

He suddenly starts slamming in and out of you again. The pace is punishing but not painful. You can’t help but scream in pleasure.

You suddenly feel a sharp sting on your ass, making you scream even louder. He slaps you again, your skin reddening from the abuse. 

He lets go of your hair now, snaking his hand down underneath your belly to your bud. He starts massaging it in a determined rhythm. 

“Yes, make me cum again Wonwoo”, he moans at your words and applies even more pressure. 

You yet again spill over the edge as he coaxes another orgasm from you, leaving you shaking on his cock, the orgasm still lingering.

“I want you to cum in me, please” you’re pleading again.

“You want me to fill up this pretty pussy? Make you completely mine?” He grunts possessively.

“Please, I want to be yours, want your cum dripping out of me”. At your final plea his cock twitches hard and he cums deep in your pussy. You feel load after load of hot, warm cum fill you up in small thrusts. Wonwoo moans as he empties himself in you fully, sweat trickling down his forehead. 

He collapses beside you, wrapping an arm around your back. He pulls you close, nuzzling his nose against yours. Both of your eyes close as you exhale from the dwindling intensity. Your bodies feel spent and soft from all the pleasure.

After a while, he opens his eyes. 

“Hey, so guess what”, he asks. 

You run your fingers through his damp hair, basking in his naked closeness.

“What?”

“You’re my girl now”. You giggle at his words, suddenly feeling emotional as you snuggle closer to your lover. 

・❥・

Masterlist

[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

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[deminetly]

𓏵 WAYS TO MEET AN S/O

⠂⠁⠈⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠂⠁⠈⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂

at a bands/artists concert that you both like and can bond over

you get detention and start talking to them, soon youre both purposefully getting in trouble to have that time together

in the middle of the night, seeking shelter from heavy rain, suddenly you find yourself having a deep conversation with a stranger at a random bus stop

exploring an abandoned place, it soons becomes your secret hideout together

you both recognice each other from dreams youve had on a random night out

they need to find a beautiful muse to paint for class, they choose you and you soon start meeting up often, talking about life during the painting sessions

you hear your favourite band playing through their headphones and decide to say something (500 days of summer reference)

you get trapped in an elevator together for hours

you see a short film casting flyer and decide to try out acting, you get the main role and they end up playing your romantic interest

you see each other at a random location and notice that youre both wearing the exact same outfit

you describe your perfect partner to your best friend, she realises she has a cousin/friend identical to what you just listed and gives them your number

you meet someone at a small shop, conversation flowing effortlessly, but neither of you ask for a number. later, as you drive home, the radio cuts through the silence: "to the person at [shop] today around [time], someone regrets not asking for your number. here it is...” its them.

youre both reaching for the same book at a library. you soon start talking all about it and even decide to go on a reading date

seeing them in front of your office building on your smoke break becomes a habit. theyre always lending you a lighter until one day you strike up a deeper conversation

you find them enjoying the city view from your secret rooftop hideout. it soon becomes “our secret rooftop hideout”

you find their wallet on a random street

[viperify]

oneshots | ᴛᴏᴍ ʀɪᴅᴅʟᴇ X ɢʀʏꜰꜰɪɴᴅᴏʀ ꜰ!ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ

₊˚. 🂼 Losing Game. | pt 2

Short Summary: Tom tells you to meet him in the Potions classroom—something quite unusual on a Friday evening, especially the day you get to know you lost the second bet as well…

Warnings: 18+ only! impact play, fingering, slight choking, unprotected p in v, praise, cum play, creampie

A/N: I should have studied instead of writing this. I didn’t. I need Tom to make bets with me next.

wordcount: 2,0k

read part 1 before! <3

You should know it is not just another ordinary tutoring lesson. Not at 8pm on a Friday. Not in the potions classroom he claims to have the right to use as a head boy. Especially not on the day you got your exam results back—the one you should have outscored him on—but, again, didn’t.

The truth is, you didn’t intend to. Didn’t even try.

Not because you didn’t want to—by any means, even now that your relationship has improved, you would still gladly take any chance to humble him.

But what he had told you—what he’d want from you in case you lost again—stuck with you. The tone of his voice, the smug expression on his face—the one that, since childhood, has made you want to wrap your hands around his throat—sends your mind spiraling. Keeping you up at night, having you press your thighs together as his words replay in your head.

If I outscore you tomorrow, I get to fuck you—properly.

Thoughts you never expected you’d have played in your mind—not about him. Not about Tom Riddle, the person you are supposed to despise.

So, naturally, when he tells you to meet him that evening, not in the library like usual but in the Potions classroom—you can’t help but think.

Assume.

Expect.

You get ready. Scrambling through your drawer until something catches your attention—a matching set of lace underwear. You contemplate. If this is just another tutoring session, you’ll feel pathetic, but if it’s not…

You decide to put it on.

It’s already dark when you leave your dorm. One hour before curfew means most people are in their respective dormitories, allowing you to reach the classroom without being seen. A flicker of hesitation forms in your chest when your hand touches the cool metal of the door handle, but after a second, you push it down and step inside.

Your eyes scan the place as you walk further into the only faintly illuminated place, but there is no sign of him. Cauldrons and open textbooks on one of the desks are the only things that catch your attention, and you assume it might just be another ordinary tutoring session after all—

“Delusional, you said?”

You shriek as his words cut through the silence, turning around to face him, but you don’t get the chance to respond. His lips are on yours just a split second later, stealing your breath away while his hands make quick work of your robes, carelessly dropping the freshly washed fabric to the floor. You make a low sound of disapproval at that, but he doesn’t stop, fingers now hastily working at the buttons of your blouse—never breaking the kiss.

He wants you bare in front of him, no, needs to finally see what you have been hiding from him until now, feel your gorgeous curves without the barrier of clothes. To mark you as his.

Tonight he would finally get to touch you properly, not like the first time he had you on your knees in here, not like the countless times he had you pressed up against bookshelves in the library during your tutoring lessons since then, kissing down your neck like a man starved.

A cool breeze sends a shiver down your spine as the last piece of fabric falls to the floor, leaving you in nothing but your underwear—and by then he must have realised, because he just stares at you for a short moment, eyes wandering over your exposed skin with the same spark in them as he had at the party.

“You planned this, didn’t you?” Tom muses, his thumb tracing along the waistband of the lace adorning your hips. “You lost on purpose,” he adds, fingers tilting your chin upwards so you are forced to meet his gaze. “so I’d fuck you.”

You feel your cheeks heating up—because deep down you know he is right, and that you shouldn’t have underestimated how quickly he’d find out about it. Still, you refused to admit it, shaking your head.

“No, I—“

Slap.

Before you can even finish your sentence, his palm comes down on the side of your face, not hard enough to hurt, merely leaving a slight sting that feels, if anything, more pleasant than painful. Only when his hand caresses over the spot he has just struck do you look back up at him, darkened eyes staring down into yours.

“Don’t lie to me.”

Before you know it, his hand is wrapped around your upper arm, dragging you towards the middle of the classroom, bending you over one of the desks so your upper body is flush against the cool wood.

Your breath catches as he nudges your legs apart with his knee, fingertips brushing over your inner thighs, slowly travelling up until he reaches the damp fabric of your panties. Tom’s second hand presses down between your shoulder blades, making sure you stay exactly where he wants you as his fingers slip beneath the lace, pushing the material to the side. He huffs at the sight of your cunt, already glistening with arousal, not yet touching you—but thinking of how he will ruin you tonight.

“Tom—“ you whimper weakly, instinctively trying to close your legs at how exposed you feel, bent over in front of him as his palm brushes over your cunt, feeling your need for him. But he doesn’t allow it—his leg stays firmly between yours, keeping you spread open for him.

“Too late to be shy now, sweetheart.” He mocks, fingers slipping between your folds, gathering your arousal as he trails lower, teasingly circling your entrance before he pushes inside, drawing soft moans and gasps from you. He knows just how to curl them to have your back arch, working you open, preparing you for him.

“So wet for me already. Been thinking about this the entire day, haven’t you?” He drawls, withdrawing his fingers before he brings them to your mouth, fingertips pressing against your lips as he asks you to part them for him. “Taste yourself. Taste your shame.”

Reluctantly you obey his command, allowing him inside until you feel him press against your tongue, tasting yourself on his skin. He waits for you to pull back, to tell him he’s ridiculous like you have done so many times—but it never comes, instead, you swirl your tongue around his fingers, cleaning yourself off him just like he told you to.

And that’s when he knows he’s got you wrapped around his finger.

The next thing you hear is his belt dropping to the floor with a thud, and you turn your head to watch him undo the zipper of his trousers, meeting his eyes—eyes that shine with a dark hint of satisfaction. His fingers then travel down your spine with the faintest touch, tugging at the waistband of your panties until they too fall to the ground, left to pool at your ankles.

And then, you feel him. Pressing against you before his tip slips between your folds, coating himself in your slick, faintly brushing over your swollen clit—teasing you, testing your restraint even as you try to buck your hips against him, chasing any friction you can find.

He wants you, needs you just like he knows you need him—but he craves to hear you beg for him, he longs for you to finally shatter and submit to him.

“You think you deserve it yet? Beg for it, beg for me to give you what you want.”

“Fuck you, Riddle.”

A harsh slap on the curve of your ass sends your body jolting forward as far as the wood beneath you allows you to. “And here I thought we were over that name.”

“Tom— fuck, please. Please, I want to feel you,” you whine, too lost in the ecstasy of his touch to complain. His fingers tangle in your hair, yanking your head back as he leans in, his hot breath ghosting over your skin.

“Again.”

You are aware he is toying with you, shamelessly using the position he has you in to prove his point—prove that he is in power. And yet—

“Merlin, Tom— please.”

“Good fucking girl,” he breathes, allowing you to rest your head on the desk as he aligns himself with your slick entrance, hands finding a firm grip on your hips, which you know will leave bruises for you to remind you of him—his touch. You feel him pushing past your resistance then, splitting you apart around him with the most blissful sting.

He doesn’t wait for you to adjust to his size, burying himself to the hilt with one sharp, calculated thrust that has you cry out, knuckles turning white from how hard you are holding onto the edge of the desk.

And when his hips are flush with yours, feeling how tight and warm you feel, wrapped around his length so perfectly, a low groan spills over his lips, grip on your hips tightening as if he wanted to stay there forever.

Only when you manage a soft, desperate “please” does he finally move, torturously slowly pulling out of you, letting you feel every ridge and vein of his cock before snapping his hips forwards, burying himself deep once more.

“So greedy.” Tom growls, giving you one more teasing roll of his hips, enough to make you whimper before he sets a steady rhythm, pulling you back against him with every thrust. “Who would have known.”

Your walls clench tightly around his length as he repeatedly brushes against your most sensitive spot, one of his hands wandering underneath you, finding your puffy clit, rubbing tight circles on the sensitive bud.

Your whimpers and moans only spur him on, seeing how your legs tremble. His hips snap against yours mercilessly—almost as if he had a point to prove.

“Feel you clenching around me,” he rasps, hand leaving your clit to wrap around your throat softly, tilting your head backwards. “Come for me. Make a mess, sweetheart.”

It’s the nickname that has you finally tumble over the edge, his name falling over your lips like a prayer as you do, the coil in your lower stomach finally snapping. Your walls eagerly pulse around his cock, drawing a muffled groan from the brunette behind you, his fingertips digging into your flesh at the added sensation.

He fucks you through your orgasm and its aftershocks, never letting up his pace until your body goes limp on the desk, soon spilling himself deep inside of your cunt, painting your walls white with his warm release.

Tom’s chest rises and falls with every deep breath he takes, leaning over you.

“Okay?” He whispers, wiping a strand of hair from your face, pressing a kiss just below your ear.

“Okay.” You reply weakly, thighs trembling, his cock still buried within you. A satisfied grin tugs at the corner of his mouth, placing another kiss on your shoulder before he gently pulls out of you.

A soft whimper falls over your lips as he leaves you empty, hearing him get dressed as you lay boneless on the rough wooden surface. He returns to your side afterwards, his hand tenderly running up your inner thigh.

“Look at you,” he purrs, “so pretty with my cum dripping down your thighs.”

Normally you’d complain, run your mouth, but now—you just hum in agreement, too exhausted to find a snarky comeback.

He laughs softly at your state, two of his fingers gathering his release, pushing it back inside of your sensitive walls. “Can’t let anything go to waste, can we?”

Tom helps you up then, steadying you when your knees are about to give in. Handing you your clothes, he lets you put them on, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead.

“From now on, no more bets. You are mine.”

And when you wake up in his bed the next day, his arm protectively wrapped around your waist—you know he wasn’t lying.

Thank you for reading!! Feedback is as always appreciated <33

[munsonsmixtapes]

Feral Eddie?

Eddie x nerdy shy reader where reader goes down on Eddie in the stacks of the school library. Best part is reader is the one to initiate it. Reader won’t let Eddie cum if he is too loud.

cw: MDNI (18+) oral (m receiving) Eddie receives a handjob, slight dom!reader, sub!eddie

The library is practically empty as you browse. You're meeting Eddie here and decide to look at the books while you wait. This has been your make out spot for the past few months and you think you're finally ready to take things to the next level.

Eddie has been nothing but sweet, never pressuring you to do anything you don't want to. He always goes at your paces, never asking for more and always eager to do whatever you want.

You feel a tap on your shoulder and you turn around, a smile appearing on your lips as you take in those pretty honey eyes. He smiles back as you grab hold of his shirt, pulling him to you as your lips find his. You're feeling bold today and he loves seeing this side of you. The one you only show him because of how comfortable with him.

His hands stay at your waist like the gentleman he is as his lips move against yours softly. Yours are hungry, tired of the gentle, soft stuff you've been doing for months now. As amazing as it's been, you want to try something new. You want to make him feel as good as he's made you. And you know exactly what to do, but you're not entirely sure how to go about it.

You tongue slides into his mouth as your arms wrap around his neck. He matches your energy, pressing you into the bookcase behind you, his fingers digging into your waist. His body is fully pressing into you and you feel his cock against you.

You feel drool collecting in your mouth as you think about sucking him off. You've never done it before, but you want to so bad. You want to taste him, to lick every single drop of cum from the head.

Eddie pulls away from you and you try to chase his lips, but he pulls you away from him every so slightly. You're confused as to what he's doing, but he reaches up to wipe the corner of your mouth before you can ask.

"You're drooling," he tells you. "Are you okay?"

"Well, I was wondering if I could-I could take care of that for you." Your eyes drop to his crotch and you can see it's gotten up even more since you started kissing.

"Take care of-oh. Baby, you don't have to do that." He really wants you to, but he's not going to pressure you. He wants to go at your pace, but he has to admit that he'd love to have you take care of him so he wouldn't have to cut your make out session short so he can go to the bathroom to get himself off.

"But I want to. You always do so much for me and I want to repay you. Please." You're batting your eyelashes as you pulling him close again, grabbing hold of his cock, giving it a squeeze which causes Eddie to gasp.

"God, please," he whines and you're quick to pull his pants and underwear down. As soon as his cock comes into view, you immediately wonder how it's going to fit in your mouth.

You lower yourself onto your knees, your heart racing in your chest. Even though you've never actually given a blowjob, you know exactly what to do. You spit into your hand then grab hold of the base moving it up and down, slow at first, but then you pick up the pace, your eyes widening as he lets out a loud moan.

Your hand stops and Eddie quickly apologizes, desperate for you to continue and you do, pumping your hand even harder. You stop every time he gets too loud and it gets to the point where he has to bite down on the collar of his t-shirt to prevent himself from making any noise.

He's holding onto the bookcase for hear life as he hold in his moan, cum leaking out of the tip that you're quick to clean up with your tongue before finally taking him into your mouth. His fingers move to your hair as you suck him off, your tongue licking up and down the under side of his cock.

You're awkward about it at first, but you eventually get in a good rhythm, licking and sucking like this is something you do all the time. And this by far the best head Eddie's ever gotten.

You remove your hand and try your best to take all of him even though tears are pricking your eyes. You keep going, though, looking up at Eddie who's got his eyes shut tight, biting down hard on his shirt as he gives your hair a yank in response to the pleasure he's receiving. If you had known you would have gotten this kind of response, you would have done this so much sooner.

His nails dig into your scalp as he comes and he's able to hold back this time, a loud, dirty moan come from his mouth as he cum leaking out into your mouth. You pulling him out of your mouth and make sure he sees you swallow before you get up onto your feet.

He gets his pants on in a flash and the two of you gather your things before racing out of the library before anyone catches you. It's then that you decide that maybe you need a new make out spot, especially since now you're going to be getting up to more than just kissing.

[cevansbrat0007]

Bold Moves

Summary: You decide to slip Ari your panties during an innocent encounter at the public library...

Warnings: Mature Themes, Smut, Ari Being A Menace, Brat!Reader, Brief Discussions of Body Image, Bird Being Brave, Going Commando, Light Roleplaying, Frisking, Manhandling, Spanking, Ass Slapping, P in V Sex, Implied Overstimulation, Cursing, Minors DNI

A/N: Decided to finish this when I came across it in my drafts. Takes place earlier in Ari and Bird's romantic relationship. Part of my Sweet Renegade Series. Semi-proofread, not beta'd. All mistakes are my own. Likes, comments, and reblogs are always appreciated. Thanks for reading!

“I’m so glad you pitched me this idea, Marisol.” You beam as you finish writing in your notebook. “I know it’s still early yet, but I would love to collaborate with you for Halloween.”

“Yes!” The younger woman cheers, throwing her arms up in the air. “I knew I picked the right woman.”

“Just I knew they picked the right woman to run the town library.” You throw her a wink before tucking your pad and pen back into your purse. “Now, I hate to cut this meeting short…” Out of habit you press a hand against your belly, silently wishing you’d opted to throw on a pair of spanx this morning instead of a flimsy pair of panties. 

Frankly, you were tired of sucking it in. But every time you caught a glimpse of yourself in the mirror you looked pretty damn good. Perhaps your confidence was growing after all. 

“But I need to get home and change so I can run by the shop before it gets too late.” You finish, feeling grateful when the sweet librarian sees fit to lead you out of her office.

“Sooo…” The dark-haired woman drags out the word, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper as you both come around the corner. “Word on the street is that you’ve been seeing a lot of Detective Levinson lately. Everything good, I hope?”

 “What do you mean?” You respond, willing your pulse to remain steady. “Everything’s fine. He just…likes for me to call him whenever something new pops up about Martin. That’s all.”

And whenever you lock up in the evening. And when you make it home. And then again to decide if he’s coming to your place for the night. Or, if you’re already on the back roads heading to his. 

It was all so fun and exciting. But at the same time, it was just sex. Amazing sex, mind you. But just sex all the same.    

Instead of responding immediately, Marisol simply chooses to link her arm through yours. “Mm. While I haven’t lived here long, I’ve already learned how much this town loves gossip.” She muses. “Which is why I try to fly under the radar at all times.”

“Uh huh.” You give her a gentle nudge. “Even when it comes to a certain Officer Milton?”

“Shh! We do no not speak that man’s name in this house!”

“Why not?”

“Because I feel like he always goes out of his way to just…be around. He’s like a puppy. I do not have time for puppies, chica. I’m too busy building a career amongst the books.”

“Well sugar, I suppose you might wanna tell him that.”

“Ay, but that would involve making conversation. Something I also do not have time for because–”

“Because he’s standing over there by the door, talking to our favorite resident detective.” You interrupt with a giggle, prompting the other woman to drop your arm in a flourish before racing off back in the direction of her office before squeaking out “you never saw me” - leaving you alone. 

You allow yourself to stand there for another moment, content with watching the two men talk. While both were easy on the eyes, you were only interested in one of them. Glancing down at your outfit, you once again reassure yourself that you’re looking pretty damned good. 

And then – just that fast – an idea strikes you.

Refusing to overthink what it was you were about to do, you discreetly make your way into the ladies room. After checking to make sure you were alone, you slip into a stall. Reaching underneath your skirt, you slide your lacy black panties down your thighs before stepping out of them. 

Biting your lip, you tuck the small scrap of fabric into your pocket. Once you’re finished, you go to leave. But not before stopping long enough to refresh your lip gloss and fluff your curls. And then you’re out the door.

Hopefully you’d be able to catch the handsome bounty hunter before he left.

Thankfully, it doesn’t take you long to find him. He’s right where you saw him last – near the front of the library still talking to Milton. As you near the two, you can’t help but wonder if you’ll be able to pull this off without making an absolute fool of yourself. 

But first you’d have to find a way to get rid of Officer Milton without making your intentions obvious. And then it hits you. While it might be wrong, it was officially time to pawn him off on your favorite new friend.

Marisol.

“Good afternoon, Officer Milton.” You chirp as you sidle forward, politely interrupting their conversation. “Detective Levinson.” Of course you’re immediately met with smiles from both men. 

“Well get a load a’ you.” Milton gives a playful whistle once he gets a good look at your business attire. “Lookin’ sharp, darlin. Goin’ somewhere special?”

“Actually, I just came from a meeting down at the bank.” You tell them, smoothing your hands along your gray pencil skirt. 

“Ahh.” The officer nods. “Fingers crossed all went well.”

“It did. Thank you.” Delicately clearing your throat, you make a show of glancing around before directing your complete attention to the young officer in front of you. “While I hate to interrupt you two when you’re hard at work, I think Marisol might need you.”

“She does?” The man immediately perks up, vaguely reminding you of your neighbor’s golden retriever. 

“Yep.” You wince inwardly, hating yourself for lying. “Not sure what it’s about, but I think she’s somewhere in the back.” 

Just like that, a switch has been flipped and Officer Milton is off on the hunt for a sweet little librarian who most certainly did not need him. Fingers crossed she would catch the hint and just go with it. 

And now you’re alone with the one man with the power to leave you breathless. You were constantly left tied up in knots around this man. But today it was finally time you turned the tables on this guy. 

“How’s the manhunt going, Detective? Any new leads?”

“I’m afraid I can’t discuss this part of my investigation with you, Miss.” He says, flashing you a rather charming smile. “But if you hear from our guy Martin anytime soon, be sure to give me a call.”

“Of course.” You nod, feeling your cheeks heat. “Well, I’d best be goin’ now.”

“Be safe gettin’ home.” 

“Same to you. Detective.”

And then, without sparing him so much as a warning glance, you discreetly remove your panties from their hiding spot and slip them into the back pocket of his jeans. To his credit, Ari doesn’t move a muscle. Instead he continues to stare straight ahead, his gaze never wavering.  

Head held high, you manage to make it all the way to your car before collapsing in a fit of nervous laughter. While you wished you could’ve seen his face, you know deep down that you were better off running off the way you had.  

Maybe he’d call you tonight and maybe he wouldn’t. But all that mattered is that you’d mustered up enough confidence to make some bold moves this afternoon, which by all accounts made you a bad bitch.

Later That Same Evening…

It’s been hours since you pulled that stunt with Ari, but as luck would have it, you still had yet to hear from him. Not that you were worried or anything. In fact, if you had to choose an emotion, you were more disappointed than anything else.

While you’d long since abandoned your high heels by your front door, you were still wearing the outfit you’d worn to the bank. You’d simply been too excited to go by the shop so you’d decided to remain closed for the day.

Heaving a sigh as you rise from the couch, you’re in the middle of debating whether or not it’s worth trying to cobble together something for dinner when you hear the sound of your doorbell. Confused, you go to reach for your phone, only to frown when you see there’s nothing from the one man you wanted to hear from most.

The bell chimes again, prompting you to get a move on. “I’m comin’, I’m comin’!” You mumble, stretching your arms above your head. Opening the door, you’re treated to the sight of a large man standing on your porch with his hands in his pocket, his official badge prominently displayed on his hip. 

Hello, Detective Ari Levinson. 

“Evening, Miss. Apologies for bothering you so late.” 

“Why hello, Detective. Somethin’ I can help you with?” You do your best to keep your tone light while you wait for him to explain himself.

“Sure hope so. Got a report about someone engaging in some inappropriate behavior.” He informs you, barely concealing his smirk as he leans his big body against the porch railing.

“Is that right?”

“Fraid so.” He nods solemnly. “In fact, I actually found a trail of evidence that led me right here to your front door.”

“I…well, there has to be some mistake.” You protest, your hand flying to your chest. 

“Huh.” Ari sucks on his teeth as he reaches into his pocket to retrieve a small scrap of lacy black fabric. “Then you wouldn’t happen to know who these belong to, would you?”

Your eyes go wide at the sight of your panties dangling from one thick index finger. 

“I’m not sure what you’re implying, but they’re certainly not mine.” You sniff haughtily. “I’ve never seen those before in my life.”

“Now, Miss.” He gently chastises, taking another step towards you, invading your space. “Perhaps I should warn you that it’s a crime to lie to a member of law enforcement.” Instead of responding you simply fold your arms across your heaving bosom. 

The nerve of this man, thinking he had the right to question you like this right out in the open. Honestly, what would your neighbors think? The scandal!

“You know what? I’m thinkin’ I’m gonna need to search the premises.” The bounty hunter moves to enter your home, only to growl when your hand stops him short. “It’s also a felony to impede an official investigation.” Ari grunts, his brow furrowing in annoyance.

“And I'm thinkin’ I'm gonna need to see a warrant first, Detective.”

Your breath catches in your throat as you watch his eyes darken - his nostrils flaring ever so slightly. 

“I’m sure a good girl like you ain’t got nothin’ to hide.” Ari rasps, leaning in so that his mouth now hovers a mere inch above your ear. “Unless…”

“Unless what?” You respond, sounding a little more breathless than you’d like.

“Unless there’s something in there you don’t want me to find?”

“I don’t have anything to hide.” Blowing out a breath you decide to give the man what he wants, if only to see what comes next

“Not sure I believe you, sweetheart.”

“Fine.” You concede. “I suppose it wouldn’t hurt to let you come in for a quick look. But you’ve gotta be fast.” You tell him, poking him in the shoulder before turning to lead him into your home. “Because I’m expecting company any minute and we don’t need an audience.”

“We’ll see.”

Your pulse kicks up when you hear Ari shut the door behind you, followed by the quiet snick of the lock. Guess that meant he thought he was staying awhile. Just as you open your mouth to protest, you’re caught off guard when he brushes by you, allowing you to catch a hint of his cologne. 

“I’m not sure what you’re on, Detective.” You say, shooting him your fiercest glare. Meanwhile, this man responds with his most lethal grin. “But I’m giving you five minutes to figure it out before I–” 

“You know, Miss, I didn’t wanna ask you this outside. Especially given the already delicate nature of this investigation. But do you happen to be wearing any panties?”

“Excuse me?!” His question has your mouth falling open, your cheeks burning hot with outrage.

“Answer the question.” His eyes track your every movement as you slowly back away in the direction of the stairs. “Because every good girl I know puts on a pair of panties before leaving the house for the day.”

“Goodnight, Detective Levinson.” You hiss before turning and taking the stairs two by two. “Please see yourself out before I’m forced to call your supervisor.”

Your words are met with silence. And it’s not until you reach the edge of your bedroom that you hear him moving – up the same stairs you’d just scaled only seconds before. You can hardly suppress a shiver as the heady thrum of anticipation courses through you. 

“I hate to break it to you, sweetheart.” Ari growls softly as his impressive form fills your doorway, effectively blocking your only exit. “But I’m not through with my investigation.” It’s a struggle to ignore just how good he looks taking up space in your bedroom like this. 

“I want you to leave.”

“Oh, I will. As soon as I’m finished.” He takes a step towards you, rolling up his sleeves as he does. “But first, I’m gonna need you to turn and place your hands on the wall.”

“I–I will do no such thing!” Comes your almost breathless reply. “I’m not a criminal.”

“Hm.” Ari cocks his head, his magnetic blue eyes leering at your much smaller, curvier frame. “But you are a suspect.” In less than a fraction of a second, this man is now standing in front of you. “And it would be rather reckless of me if I didn’t pat you down.” One large hand curls itself around your bicep before gently leading to a nearby wall. “You should know that I’m a bit of a stickler when it comes to following protocol.” 

Blood roaring in your ears, you place both of your hands on the cool surface. Taking a deep breath, you can’t help but jump when he kicks your feet apart, forcing you to spread your legs even wider, granting him better access.

“I’m gonna report you.” Unfortunately for you, your flimsy threat does nothing to deter him.

Your eyes fall shut when you feel two large, warm hands glide their way up and down your arms. It feels as tempting as it does comforting. He repeats the action twice more, almost as if he’s trying to lull you into a false sense of security. 

Next, those wandering hands are stroking along your sides, greedily following the path of your curves. And then you feel him bury his nose in the crook of your neck. It’s impossible to miss his soft groan as he inhales your sweet scent.

“Now I’ve gotta ask you, little Bird.” He hums, his sharp teeth nipping at your ear. “Do you have anything on you that could stab, stick, or poke me?” 

“N-no.” 

God, you were so fucking wet right now it’s embarrassing. And you can’t stop the moan that catches in your throat when his sensual ministrations move to your breasts – cupping, massaging, and kneading. He lewdly palms them through your blouse, this thumps paying extra attention to your hardened nipples. Your back arches of its own accord as he continues to play with your body.

And there’s a part of you that hates yourself for the way he makes you respond.  

“Hm. So far so good, baby. Proud of you for keeping your hands where I can see ‘em.” Now his hands are skimming down your hips to toy with the hem of your skirt. His warm breath dances along your sensitive skin, making you shiver. “But now it’s time for the big question.” Ari begins inching your skirt higher and higher. “And don’t you dare lie to me. Are you–”

“This ain’t right, Detective!” You protest, protectively clenching your thighs together. However, your words only make him chuckle. “Pretty sure this is an illegal search and seizure.”

“As a member of law enforcement, I would have to respectfully disagree with you.” He says at the same time as he grinds himself against you, his massive erection pressing into your lower back. “It’s my job to keep the community safe. And to deal with naughty girls who go around handing out their unmentionables to strangers.” Your skirt inches even higher now, stopping just short of revealing your dripping cunt. 

“And what do you know?” He purrs, holding you still as his hand dips between your thighs, cupping your most intimate flesh. “Looks like we’ve got a little liar on our hands. Don’t we?”

“Don’t. We.” The renewed authority in his tone makes your pussy quiver.

“Yes, Sir.”

“And how should we handle liars, sweetheart? Hm?” Your knees go weak when you feel two thick fingers spear their way through your messy folds, lightly strumming over your clit. “What should we do with you?”

“....I…don’t know….”

His deep chuckle has you squirming in his hold, your hips bucking as he continues to grind the heel of his palm against your sensitive nub.  

“Tell you what. You and I are about to have a serious conversation about what happens to pretty young ladies who can’t seem to tell the truth. Even when it’s in their best interest. What do ya say?”

“Y–yes, Sir.” You moan as your eyes threaten to roll back in your head, sparks of pleasure dancing behind your eyes. “Whatever you want – I’ll be so, sooo good!”

Thirty Minutes Later…

“Why the fuck you keep runnin’, baby?” Ari growls, smacking your bottom hard. “Yeah, get that juicy ass back here. Love watchin’ those cheeks bounce.”

The rhythmic sound of flesh slapping against flesh fills the room, spilling out into the hall as Ari drives into you over and over again with his impressive cock. 

He’d been hard for hours before he ever showed up on your doorstep. Frankly, he’d lost count of how many times he’d paused throughout the day to bring your panties to his nose. It was like he couldn’t seem to get enough of how good you smelled. But he also knew that wouldn’t be enough.

He needed to taste you. Needed your unique, earthy flavor on his tongue. 

Thankfully, he had no doubt that he’d have time to eat the fuck out of your sweet pussy later. After he was finished fucking you into oblivion for being such bad girl. Who would’ve guessed his little Bird had it in her to be so deliciously naughty?

Meanwhile, you’re too busy sobbing into a pillow to be proud of yourself right now, your hands fisting the sheets while your man exacts his revenge on your body. At this rate, you’d already cum twice. And here you were already roaring along to orgasm number three. 

Fuck, this man was a goddamned menace!

Your desperate cries grow louder as Ari picks up his pace, forcing you to clench around him as you finally resort to begging.

“Please, Ari!” You wail when he lifts your hips higher before adjusting the angle of his strokes. “I–ooh God–M’so close!”

“Oh yeah?” He snarls, the sound rumbling from somewhere deep in his chest. “Then let me see you work for it.” A sharp hiss escapes when his heavy palm comes down on your ass again, this time smacking both cheeks without so much as missing a beat. “This is how bad girls get punished.” You tense when he delivers yet another blow. “They’ve gotta work for their pleasure.”

“I’m sorry–wooh God!” Your voice comes out raw, bordering on hoarse.       

“That’s it, baby. Yeah, there we go.” He gifts you with another slap, earning a sharp yelp from you. “Yeah, throw it back like you love it.”

After an afternoon of being bad, there’s nothing you want more than to be good for this man. You wanted to please him. Make him happy. If only so he never stopped touching you. And you were trying – honest to God, you were.

But it was all too good. Too much. 

“Just know, everytime you run, I’m gonna drag that sweet ass right back.” Ari renews his punishing grip on your hips, holding you up even as your sweat slicked body starts to give out. “Now cum for me one more time so I can finally stop takin’ it easy on you, pretty Bird.”

END

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[novvabee]

"Honey, I Cut My Hair."

so this is totally not inspired by what i did a couple nights ago.... anyways.

poly!marauders x reader where she cuts her hair impulsively

cw: razor and scissors, nerves and anxiety?, suggestive at the end i guess, dont do this.

word count: 1K its really short... like my hair now

Watching the locks of hair fall into the sink. The quiet shhkk sshhhhk the scissors make when you slide them through your hair. The way the razor pulls down, gliding along smoothly.

It had all become too much. The semester was wrapping up, you had to study for your NEWTS, had three papers to write for history of magic, a potions project, and to top it all off, you had the stress of the upcoming holidays. You were relieved that school would be out for the semester, but you were still anxious about the break.

Your parents were going away for the holidays, meaning you were left to stay at Hogwarts for the break. Well, that’s what you were planning, but the second that James heard you would be staying at school, alone for the holidays, he insisted that you come and stay at his parents place along with Sirius and Remus. You told him that you didn’t want to burden his parents by opening their home up to yet another misfit kid, but James wasn’t having it. He said that his mother wanted to meet you anyway, so it was perfect.

That was the final layer of stress, meeting one of your boyfriend’s parents, great. You were panicking now, having to get all three of them a present, and now James’s mom and dad too…

You were stressing a lot. And that is when you felt your hair tickle your neck, touching you in just the wrong way and you kind of just… snapped.

You grabbed some scissors from your desk in your room and a razor from your bathroom and decided it was time to get to it. You mostly just wanted to feel in control for a second, and this was your means of doing that, a small win. You didn’t take off a lot, just enough to make you feel a bit better, a bit lighter. 

That's when you heard the door to your room open and a small “Hello, love!” from James. You forgot that you told them they could come and hang out in your room after they were done studying in the library. You heard all three of them file into your room, dropping their bags and kicking off their shoes. 

“Bathroom!” you called out, letting them know where you were. The door to the bathroom was still open, so James made his way over to see what you were up to.

“We were thinking that we could hang out for a little then head down and meet- Oh Merlin.” he cut himself off, entering the bathroom and seeing what you were doing. You snipped at another section, not sensing his concern. “Love, what are you doing?” he asked, exasperated.

You didn’t have time to answer before Sirius was popping his head in. He let out a gasp, but you caught the amused smile in the mirror. He covered the lower half of his face with both hands, seeing the mess of the discarded hair all along the counter, sink, and floor.

“I uh, got upset.” you explained, not halting your actions for a second. You were raking the razor through segments of your locks, creating layers and volume. For never doing this before, you seemed to know what you were doing. If you would have known it was this easy, you would have done it all the time, not bothering with overpriced hair salons.

It was Remus’s turn to appear in the doorway. He didn’t say a word, just made eye contact with you in the mirror before walking up behind you and gently taking the razor from your hand, setting it on the hair covered counter. He hugged your middle and kissed the top of your head. “Why are you doing this, dove?” he asked softly.

“I just got so… upset. I have so much homework and studying. And I'm nervous about meeting James's parents, and I have yet to get you any presents.” you said rushed, avoiding Remus’s gaze in the mirror.

“That doesn’t explain why we found you chopping your hair off.” he mused.

“Oh well, it brushed me the wrong way.” you explained.

Remus chuckled at that and kissed the top of your head again. “So you had to show it who’s boss?”

You laughed along with him. Admittedly it was a dumb thing to do, a very abrupt and emotion led decision. “Does it look bad?” you asked.

Remus’s brows rose. “Not at all actually, you did a pretty good job. You didn’t take off that much anyway.” He said, running his fingers through your now cut locks.

You smiled and felt yourself melt into his embrace. “I shouldn’t have done it, it was a dumb thing to do. Especially right before I’m supposed to meet my boyfriend’s parents.” you started to stress yourself out again, what if they didn’t like you, why would you cut your hair right before meeting them, what if it looks bad and they think…

All three boys could see the thoughts running behind your eyes. James spoke from where he was leaning on the door frame, “Love, we don’t need presents, you know that. We will be happy just to spend the whole break with you” he said, calming you down.

You nodded, acknowledging what he was saying, but you were definitely going to get them something. Maybe you could rope Mary or Lily into last minute gift shopping with you.

“Maybe next time we feel like this, we channel our emotions into something else?” he suggested. You nodded and he unraveled his arms from around you, making his way back into your bedroom.

“Wait!” you called after your boys. They halted and turned their attention back to you. “Is the back even?” you asked.

James and Remus chuckled, rolling their eyes and kept walking. Sirius turned back and told you to turn around so he could have a look. He took your hair in his hand and used his grip to pull you back into his chest. You giggled and caught that smile yet again in the mirror.

“It looks great baby.” he said, kissing your cheek. “Next time, invite me to hair salon day.”

“Only if I get you to do your hair and makeup too.” you joked

“I’ll think about it…” he said, kissing the top of your head once more before returning to your boyfriends in your room, leaving you to add the finishing touches to your hair, and to clean everything up yourself.

✂️please don't use this as a sign to cut your own hair i am stupid and impulsive. also why can i write so many fics but nothing for school? beats me thats why my hair is gone :)

[novaursa]

Robert Baratheon x Targaryen!reader.

Aerys goes on his "everyone must burn" rant and his daughter tries unsuccessfully to talk him down. Finally, Jaime snaps and kills Aerys while ordering his father's men to hold the Princess back. She's not guilty, so he doesn't want her dead.

Robert claims the throne and dismisses Tywin's attempt to marry him to Cersei. Instead, Robert declares he'll "legitimatizes" his rule by marrying Rhaegar's sister, who is being held as a political prisoner. He's planning on using the smallfolks' love of her to soften the blow of taking the throne; if he kills her, there might be a riot he can't afford.

In the weeks Robert had spent settling into his new role as interim King, she's been depressed and inconsolable, especially after hearing of her mother's death. Not to mention just about everyone she loves has either betrayed her, died, or is out of her reach; Jaime, Rhaegar, Lyanna, Aerys, Rhaella, Arthur, Barristan, Viserys, Dany.

She's no longer speaking, hardly eating, and alternates between crying her eyes raw or staring numbly at nothing. She's barely sleeping. There is talk she'll starve herself. Hearing about Robert's plans doesn't do her fracturing psyche any favors, but it doesn't matter.

She sees memories of their relationship; meeting for the first time after he sees Lyanna and Rhaegar together; how cold he is to her. Running into her coming out of the library with an embarrsing book, which amuses him. Later finding her sketching him- teasing her instead of being embarrassed, finally seeing her instead of her twin. Still doesn't love her, though.

For all her lashing out at him, she still winds up at the alter.

3 three time skip and Targ Princess has given birth to her first child. It's the first hint of happiness she's shown in years and when Robert is let into the room, he's dumbfounded by how attractive her maternal side is to him.

The story ends with him trying to get closer, maybe under the guise of seeing the child and hoping she won't pull away when he finally touches her. Left open ended.

Thank you! Sorry for the original ask. I scrolled down it after you posted yoir response and went "Holy shit, that's a wall of words!"

I hope I shortened it enough. If not, I'll try again or you can cut anything you don't think adds to the story. Again, so sorry. And thank you if you choose to take on my request.

The Crown That Bled

Requests are closed

- Summary: He married you to keep the realm in line. You married him because you had no choice. And happiness is an elusive thing.

- Pairing: targ!reader/Robert Baratheon

- Rating: Explicit 18+ (just to be safe)

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff @oxymakestheworldgoround @idenyimimdenial

- A/N: So, this was still a little too overwhelming for a short story and I've struggled with what to keep and what to discard. This is what I've managed to write with the information provided. I hope this is something you had in mind.

The Sept of Baelor smelled of incense and wilting roses. Smoke curled from brass censers, spiraling toward the high-arched dome where sunlight bled through colored glass, staining the floor in hues of crimson and gold. The bells tolled dully in the distance, sounding more like a funeral dirge than a wedding celebration. The gathered nobles whispered in hushed tones, draped in velvets and silks, eyes darting toward the altar and the lone figure standing beside it—the King, newly crowned and wide-shouldered in his fur-lined cloak of black and gold, Robert Baratheon.

You were not there yet.

You sat in the chambers they'd locked you in, a gilded cage fit for a princess—cold and quiet, except for the caw of a raven outside the window and the steady creak of footsteps as guards paced the hall. Your reflection in the mirror looked like a ghost: hollowed eyes rimmed in red, skin pale and drawn from weeks of mourning and madness. Your silver-gold hair hung in limp strands, unbrushed. You barely remembered the last time you bathed or ate. The food they left was always taken away, untouched or barely picked at. The maids stopped trying to coax you. You no longer spoke to them, or anyone.

They had told you of your mother’s death three nights past, and the sound you made then had not been human. You’d torn the hem of your dress, your nails bloodied your own arms, your sobs had echoed like a broken harp string long after you collapsed onto the stone floor. Rhaella—your mother, the last steady thing in a world of fire and betrayal—was dead, her frail heart giving out after the news of her husband's fate and her son's. You had not wept since then. Not truly. You had simply… leaked tears, as though your soul had cracked and the sorrow slipped through the fissures, silent and endless.

When you first heard Robert intended to marry you, you had laughed. It was a horrible sound, brittle and dry. Then you screamed. Screamed so long your voice disappeared. You spat on the servant who brought the message, shattered a goblet against the wall, and threatened to throw yourself from the tower window. But none of it mattered. You were the last piece left on the board—the only one of value. And Robert, ever the brute, ever the warrior, had turned conqueror and king. He didn’t want Cersei Lannister, despite Tywin’s persistence. He wanted you. Not for love. Not even for desire, though there had once been something hungry in the way he looked at you during court gatherings, long before the war. No, he wanted you to silence the blood in the streets, to win the hearts of those who still whispered your name as they lit candles for the dead dragon prince. Rhaegar's sister. A daughter of the old line. If he couldn’t kill the dragon, he would cage it. Wed it. Breed it.

A knock came at the door. You did not answer.

It creaked open anyway. You didn’t turn.

“Y/N,” a voice said, rough and low and too alive. “It’s time.”

You didn’t move.

He stepped closer, boots scraping the stone. “The realm needs this.”

The realm. You hated that word. The realm had taken everything from you.

Still, you rose. Slowly. Mechanically. The maids came, silent as ghosts, dressing you in the gown that had been ordered. White. As if your innocence could still be claimed. They wove braids into your hair, pinned a small crown of rubies and pearls. One offered you a veil. You shook your head.

And so you walked to the Sept without it, your face bare for the world to see—shattered, exhausted, and empty.

Robert turned when he saw you, and for a moment, something flickered in his blue eyes. Not victory. Not lust. Something quieter. Sadder. He didn’t smile.

You stood beside him, your hand limp in his. His palm was calloused, warm, too large around yours.

The Septon's voice droned on, reading the vows of House and Faith. You barely heard it. Words floated past like wind in a dead garden.

“Do you, Robert of House Baratheon, take Y/N of House Targaryen—”

“I do,” he said before the Septon even finished, the words rasped from his throat like they pained him.

You said nothing. The Septon looked at you, hesitated, then gently prompted: “Princess?”

Your lips parted. The words did not come.

Robert’s hand tightened.

You closed your eyes. You saw Rhaegar on the Trident, dying with Lyanna’s name on his lips. You saw Jaime's haunted face as he watched your father burn the city down in his mind. You saw your mother’s hands, trembling as she held baby Viserys. You saw Dany’s face, too young to understand any of it. All of it gone.

“I do,” you whispered.

The bells rang again.

The crowd clapped politely.

And the man who had helped kill your family leaned forward and kissed your cheek, soft and solemn, as if it made anything better. You did not flinch. You did not cry. You did not breathe.

You were a queen now. But there was no joy in it.

Only ash.

The birthing chamber was quiet now, save for the faint pop and hiss of the brazier in the corner and the distant echo of revelers in the Red Keep, drinking to the health of the new heir. It had been a hard labor, a long one—two days and a night of pain so deep it had splintered your mind, left you delirious with heat and blood and the haunting memories of every Targaryen woman who had died doing this same sacred, monstrous thing. You had not screamed, even when the pain was worst. You had whimpered, sobbed, clenched your teeth until your jaw ached, but never screamed. That part of you had been burned out long ago.

But now, as the sun bled pale gold through the sheer curtains of the tower windows, you lay propped on linen pillows, your hair damp with sweat, skin aglow with the exhaustion of survival. And for the first time in what felt like a lifetime, your arms were full. A child. Your child. A small, warm bundle swaddled in Targaryen red silk, already calm, already curious. He blinked up at you with wide, unfocused eyes—eyes that were not violet like yours, but a deep, rich blue that reminded you too cruelly of the man who sired him.

Still, you did not hate him for it. You did not hate him for anything. You loved him. Already. Utterly.

You traced his downy cheek with a trembling finger, and for a moment, a smile—small, stunned, wondrous—broke across your face like sunlight through a storm. The midwives had seen it. The maester had noticed. They exchanged glances, hushed and wide-eyed. It was the first expression of happiness they’d ever seen on your face since the sack of King’s Landing. The stillness in you had cracked.

“My lady,” one of them said, gently, reverently. “The King is waiting.”

You didn’t answer right away. You only looked down again, studying your son's tiny fists, his slow, sleepy blink. “Let him in,” you said at last, softly.

The door creaked open moments later, and Robert entered.

He was cleaner than usual, though his hair was still a bit unkempt, and the heavy cloak of royal blue slung over his broad shoulders gave him a warlike silhouette. He looked older, wearier than the man who had crushed Rhaegar’s chest with a hammer, older than the roaring brute who had seized your hand and crown in one swift move. But his blue eyes sharpened the moment he saw you—really saw you, sitting there in the sunlight, your hair loose around your shoulders, the silver tangled and darkened with sweat, your gown undone at the breast as you nursed your newborn son.

The sight stopped him cold.

He didn’t speak for a long moment. He simply stared, his mouth parted slightly, his gaze flickering over you not with the drunken lust he usually turned on brothel girls or serving wenches, but with something far more quiet and dangerous. Hunger, yes, but layered over awe. You were radiant, even with the fatigue etched into your face, even with the bruising along your throat where the maids had steadied you in the worst of the pain. There was softness in you now that hadn’t been seen since before the war, before madness and fire took your family from you. A part of you had returned, and it shook him.

You didn’t look up right away. You focused on the baby, adjusting the swaddling gently. “He’s healthy,” you said at last. “Strong. They say he didn’t even cry until he was cleaned.”

Robert cleared his throat. “He’s mine, then,” he said, trying for jest, but the words came out too raw.

You looked at him. There was no bite in your eyes today. Just tiredness. And something else—something soft and distant, like the echo of a dream.

“I named him Baelor,” you murmured. “After the Blessed.”

He blinked, clearly surprised. “Not… not a more fierce dragon name?”

“No.” You kissed the baby's forehead. “He was born in fire, but he deserves peace.”

Robert stepped closer, more slowly than usual, as if he feared startling you. He was so large that his shadow cast over the bed, over you and the boy. “May I…?” he asked, and his voice faltered. “May I hold him?”

You hesitated. You didn’t recoil, but your arms tightened instinctively around the bundle in your arms.

“I won’t hurt him,” he said, quieter this time. “Or you.”

You nodded, slowly, and shifted the child just enough for him to slip his arms underneath. He moved with surprising gentleness, lowering himself to the edge of the bed, cradling his son as if he were holding a cup made of glass. Baelor blinked once at him, then yawned.

“Seven hells,” Robert whispered, a chuckle caught somewhere in his throat. “He’s real.”

You watched him closely, head tilted, your hands still hovering near the baby’s blanket. You didn’t lean away. You didn’t tell him to go.

He glanced at you sideways, unsure, and something flickered again in his expression. Not just pride. Not just male satisfaction. But need.

“You smiled when you looked at him,” he said.

“I did,” you whispered.

He was silent for a beat longer, then dared to reach out. Not for the baby, but for your hand. Just two fingers grazing the edge of yours. Barely touching.

You didn’t pull away.

Not yet.

[prythianpages]

Price of Fate | Azriel x Reader

Azriel x Reader | Azriel confronts your father after your sudden disappearance.

warnings: angst, mentions of violence, reader is not really in this (just mentioned), reader is a priestess (but former citizen of the court of nightmares), there will be no part two i'm sorry

a/n: this was meant to be a drabble inspired by Will Turner from Pirates of the Caribbean but it turned out to be around 1K words. Anyway, I just felt like writing something quick & dramatic.

Azriel never cared much for wealth or materialistic things. He never envied the Night Court nobles draped in silk and silver, the lords who played their political games from the safety of their estates while soldiers and citizens bled for their power.

Wealth and status had their uses. Azriel wouldn’t deny that, not after growing up with nothing. But at the end of the day, none of it truly mattered.

What mattered were the people he loved. His mother. His brothers. His friends. His family.

His mate.

You mattered.

And now you were gone. 

Taken.

Before he could even tell you who he is to you.

**

Azriel had walked through his fair share of mansions like this, where the air reeked of old money and arrogance. His shadows hissed as they slithered ahead of him, taking in the paintings that lined the hallway. Painting of ancestors who had never lifted a blade, never spilled blood for the power they hoarded.

The lord of the estate barely looked up as Azriel entered, or rather, barged in. Keir’s right hand man, your father, remained lounging in his high-backed chair. He swirled a glass of deep red wine but as he looked up to meet the shadowsinger’s eyes, his expression morphed into a scowl.

“Have you no manners, boy?” He sneered, spitting out the last word with scorn.

Azriel’s shadows hissed again, growing more restless by the second. They reached your father before he could, wrapping around his wrists and pinning him to his chair. He jerked against the restraints, but the shadows did not yield. They only tightened, biting into his skin like shackles of living night.

“You sold her off but she wasn't yours to sell.” Azriel said. "Or anyone's. You had no right."

His voice was unnervingly calm but paired with the icy rage simmering in his eyes, something shifted in your father’s expression. His struggling ceased and the anger in his eyes dimmed. Then, he laughed, low and dry, until a shadow slithered around his throat, cutting it short with a warning squeeze.

“Of course I did,” your father managed to choke out. “She is my daughter.”

Azriel’s shadows whispered madly, seething at the possessiveness of your father’s words. They were begging to be let free and do as they pleased. And Azriel would’ve let them feed into their hunger for revenge, if he didn’t need your father for more information.

Your father coughed as the shadow around his throat reluctantly loosened, just enough for him to speak. 

“Where is she?”

Your father’s lips curled in disgust at Azriel’s demanding tone.

“I do not know the customs of your barbaric people nor do I care. But let me remind you that this is the Court of Nightmares, not Illyria. Y/n is a daughter of this house, whether she likes it or not. And this is how things are done here, whether you like it or not.”

 A slow, boiling rage curled in Azriel’s gut. His siphons flared, casting violent blue shadows across the room. You had run from this life, had given everything up. And just when you had thought you were safe, your father came for you.

“Did you really think she would remain in that library forever? Hiding among dusty books, playing the part of a priestess?” Your father paused to let out a scoff. 

Azriel’s fingers twitched toward the dagger at his belt.

“No daughter of mine will waste away in that temple of cowards. She was meant to serve her purpose. A purpose you need not worry yourself over…”

Azriel’s shadows churned, overtaken by their anger. The same anger that surged through his blood. And Azriel didn’t need them to recognize the moment realization struck. The exact second your father pieced it together. His gaze met Azriel’s, the glint of cruel satisfaction flashing in his eyes.

“What difference does it make if she is married to some noble lord or sold to a dreadborn mercenary? Either way, she fulfills her duty to me.”

Azriel moved before he could think. One second, your father was smirking in his chair and the next, he was slammed against the stone wall, Azriel’s hand at his throat. His shadows now swarmed behind him like a storm ready to unfold. It all happened so fast that the wine glass that your father had still been clinging to shattered to the floor a heartbeat later, dark red liquid bleeding across the marble.

“If only I had known that she meant something to you, I would’ve let you have her. For a pretty coin, of course.”

Azriel growled, a sharp pain blooming in Azriel’s jaw from how hard he clenched his teeth. He would kill the male before him. He would rip him apart, consequences be damned and let his shadows carry his pieces to the void. 

He pressed his dagger against your father’s throat. His heartbeat pounded like war drums in his ears, each beat fueling the storm of thoughts racing through his mind. Thoughts of you. Who had your father handed you over to like some piece of property? And how far had they taken you from him?

He didn’t have time to waste.

“You are going to tell me where they took her,” Azriel said, his voice dangerously cool. “Or I will make sure you never speak another word again.”

Your father chuckled, even as the blade bit into his flesh. “You think I fear you?” He scoffed. “You are nothing but a trained beast at Rhysand’s command. I am noble blood. You wouldn’t dare—”

Azriel twisted his wrist. Just enough to pierce skin, just enough to silence him as a bead of blood welled at the tip.  “You’re right,” he said.  “I serve my High Lord. I follow his rules.”

But then Azriel leaned in, his voice dropping to a dangerous whisper. “But I don’t follow them when it comes to her.”

Your father stilled. His arrogance fractured just enough for Azriel to see the flicker of fear in his eyes. “Derrick was his name,” he finally rasped. “Said he worked for Koschei. But it doesn’t matter. The bargain was made. The deal has been sealed.”

Azriel released him, letting the male crumple to the floor, gasping for breath. His shadows curled around his boots, eager and waiting for an order.

“Pray,” Azriel said coldly, “that she is still breathing when I find her.”

Your father let out a ragged laugh, one last attempt at defiance. “Just how far are you willing to go to save her?”

Azriel didn’t hesitate.

“I’d give my life for her.”

His words were forged in steel, unyielding and absolute. A vow so powerful that it wrapped itself around his ribs and settled into the marrow of his bones.

And then, without another word, he vanished into the night.

a/n: Please don't hate me y'all. I have no plans to continue this. (Of course things can change but I really want to focus on my current WIPs before I start anything else. I just got the sudden inspo and given my writer's block, I wanted to write something before it went away. But I am happy to entertain any questions/asks over this little scenario I created.)

General tag list: @scooobies, @kennedy-brooke, @sillysillygoose444 @lilah-asteria @the-sweet-psycho

@daycourtofficial, @milswrites, @stormhearty, @pit-and-the-pen, @mybestfriendmademe

@loving-and-dreaming @azriels-human @mrsjna, @adventure-awaits15, @lorosette

@alwayshave-faith, @xadenswhore

[madschiavelique]

﹒ ✦ 𝐀 𝐂𝐑𝐎𝐖𝐍 𝐎𝐅 𝐈𝐍𝐊 : 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝟏𝟕 — 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐇𝐢𝐠𝐡 𝐏𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐬𝐬

✦﹒ 𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘 : you pay a visit to eris in zaun, crossing unexpected people that lead to more complications than you'd thought and better conversations than expected

✦﹒ 𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒 : fighting, blood, punches (left right left right good night), angst, comfort, lore (insane, i know), idiots content (even more insane, who would have thought), friendly banter - the musical, reader has issues sitting with her own feelings - the opera, child abuse mention, burn injury/scar mentioned

✦﹒ 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐓 : 16,7k

✦﹒ 𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄 : imagine this chapter is longer than the previous one haha... but imagine? jokes aside, it's been more than a month since i updated this fic because holy fuck y'all life got crazy. BUT i am here!! and finally posting a chapter for the fic so that's positive!!! anywho, i hope you'll like the chapter :3

✦﹒ 𝐏𝐑𝐎𝐎𝐅𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐃 𝐁𝐘 : the pretty boy @oneoftheextras

𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓．．𝐃𝐈𝐒𝐂𝐎𝐑𝐃 ．．𝐏𝐋𝐀𝐘𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓．．𝐌𝐘 𝐊𝐎-𝐅𝐈

You'd already been back in Piltover for a week. A week to get back into the swing of things, a week to get used to the rhythm of school again, a week to lay your trip to Demacia on paper under notes, a week to clean each of your dishes every night and miss the buffet from the hotel.

And a week spent avoiding Viktor.

Ever since your realisation on your return, you hadn't been able to find the strength to be near him. 

In class, you would try to find the table furthest away from his, even if it meant leaving early for the Academy to make sure you found a seat among the early-morning students.

When you would go to the library, you'd cut your visits short if you had the misfortune to see him, stuffing books you weren't even planning to borrow originally in your bag to avoid the inconvenience of having to put them back on the shelves and having him come and talk to you.

When lunchtime would come, you'd make sure you found a place away from everyone to eat your packed lunch, even if it meant not eating with Sky to avoid the possibility of running into him.

At least you found a comfort you didn't expect in the idea that now you didn't have to bump into him in the dormitories.

And today, when Saturday had arrived and you would originally have had to work at the café and run into the inevitable possibility of taking his order, you had given your leave as soon as you got back so that you could meet up with Eris.

On the one hand, you were relieved. If Viktor had come to the café that day, the chances of having to take his order would have been greater, and could have led to a confrontation from which you would not have been able to extricate yourself.

On the other hand, well, you were nervous. Firstly, because he would notice, if he hadn't already, your constant evasion of him, and he would be irritated by it. 

And secondly, Eris's letter had been weighing on your stomach like a stone all week. 

Today was a fine day, the temperature gradually rising, and you regretted having to spend your day moving around Zaun in all black in its depths when you had the chance to bask in the warmth. 

Arriving at the bridge just as the sun was at its zenith, a vibrant yolk watching over you like an eye without a lid, you presented your papers to the enforcers present and managed to cross to the other side of the bank without much trouble. 

Putting your bag on the ground, you took a new pair of shoes out of it, as well as another jacket to pass incognito through the town. You'd gone for a black pair of pants, adding a few sets of belts to the look with a loose white t-shirt.

Any Piltovian who found themselves in Zaun in their usual clothes was sure to get into trouble, or at least be noticed. And in Zaun, that was the opposite of what you wanted to aim for.

Once you'd changed, you put your bag back on your shoulder with a grunt and headed for one of the city's lifts. You moved forward, with a determined step and a heavier, more confident gait.

Your stature was different in your Zaunite clothes, which did less to camouflage the reminiscence of your muscles than the careful outfits of Piltover. 

You watched your surroundings as if something or someone were about to appear, every street corner a target for your eyes, every passer-by a possible enemy.

Reaching the lift, you relaxed a little, the prospect of the journey up and down seeming like a relief. Although Piltover had its share of advances, Zaun's technological facilities could not have been more practical.

You began your descent, tightening your grip on the strap of your bag as you surveyed the streets of Zaun. 

Although the architecture criss-crossed the air, the sun's rays filtered through the city and covered its floors with lights. It felt like such a different place when night wasn't set, when the neons didn't crackle and any street deprived of light looked like the end of the earth.

You let out a breath for a moment. At least you weren't expecting to bump into Viktor here.

When the lift came to a stop on the ground, you shoved a hand in your pocket before stepping forward and walking towards Eris' shop.

You recognised some of the shopkeepers’ faces, offering them smiles and nods of the chin, not having the luxury for a moment to stop and strike up a conversation.

The air was a little heavier, you could feel it already, like a deposit of dust scraping the back of your throat, the impression that your uvula was rubbing against the carpet of your tongue causing you to cough once to get rid of the feeling.

Eris' shop was not far away, slightly sheltered from the main shopping streets. Although the alleyways being further apart than the avenues and boulevard in Zaun could have been a factor in making the less accustomed shy away, you were no longer affected.

You tightened your grip on the strap of your satchel. Admittedly, you were used to the architecture and streets of Zaun, but the idea that you could have been ambushed made your stomach churn. 

Your paranoia jumped to the sky as soon as the subject of this business came up again, and coming back to town after Eris' letter at times led you to think that it was all a trap. Your value had changed, however, in terms of the criteria for admission, a fact which made you feel uncomfortably reassured.

As you passed an alleyway to your left, the sun beat down on the façade of Eris' building, pieces of tinted glass and crystal rays ricocheting off the walls in multitudes of clear confetti. The placement was strategic, the shop lit up like a beacon, calling out to you as if to say that the light had decided for you that this was the place to be, whatever your original destination was.

At its window was a meticulously arranged shelf. Decks of classic Tarots, oracles and new packs of cards were placed here and there between fake green moss mimicking a forest bed set with crystals of various colours.

On the rest of the polished metal shelves were spiritual manuals, statuettes of icons and divinities of all kinds, sage and incense grouped together by carefully knotted threads, candles of various colours, small cauldrons, pendulums and other objects you weren't sure you recognised. 

Next to this large glass shelf was her counter, which she unfolded in the spring, when her consultations, which were too important and private, took place indoors, as they did in the autumn and winter.

Eris was outside, adjusting her little notice of the day with small drawings and embellishments. Her neat handwriting was remarkably precise and clean.

"Don't tell me I'm your first customer of the day?" you questioned as you approached her.

She sighed, not even turning to face you. "First of the afternoon," she stood up, dusting the chalk powder from her hands. "If the days only had you as a customer, I'd end up poorer than I started."

"As if you don't benefit from my presence," you smiled.

"You drive away customers like a scarecrow fends off crows," she passed through the interior of her shop and was back at her counter in a few steps. "What card today?"

You huffed, coming to sit on the high stool facing her. ‘’Shouldn't we start with the thornier subject?"

She rested both elbows on the varnished metal. "I prefer to wait until the next customer arrives."

"The next one?" you asked, frowning. "Why?"

She pulled out her own consultation deck, older and yellowed with age. "Renata is coming today. I thought it would be a good idea for you to meet."

Your eyebrows rose then. It made sense, even if you were slightly anxious about the idea of meeting her. She was an important woman in Zaun who could well turn out to play a primary role in the dismantling of this affair.

But you liked the fact that you didn't have to jump in with both feet. You weren't sure whether you'd prefer to give yourself time to discuss it later by constantly pushing back the obvious, or whether you'd prefer to rip it off like a band-aid.

"So, your card?" asked Eris again.

You had read your card that morning without missing it.

The High Priestess.

Its key words were as follows: She is the plane of your soul. The occult secrets, the guardian of inner knowledge. The authentic voice. The deepest part of your being. Self-knowledge. Silence. Intuition.

Without further ado, you read her description.

The veil of the High Priestess hides the invisible world. The book of your life is the parchment in her lap. A triple-moon crown rests on her head, reflecting the cyclical nature of life. The pillars are black and white, reflecting balance and duality. Her dress is made of water, reflecting the emotions and fluid nature of the material world and the feminine principle. This is the right time to tune in with your intuition, to let your high priestess guide you to gain inner wisdom.

Deep down you were hoping that Eris would be your High Priestess, that she would guide you through this thick fog you were exploring, because quite honestly you weren't sure how to get through it.

She hummed, starting to shuffle her cards as she was so used to doing.

"It's good, right?" you couldn't help but ask

She shrugged, tracing a line of cards on the polished metal. "It all depends on what you draw."

You huffed, watching the river of possibilities spread out before you in many regular waves. You couldn't stop your mind from racing back to Viktor, to what the Tarot was going to say. Approve, disapprove, confirm, prevent, all these possibilities ran through your mind and you tried to shake them off as you moved your left hand closer to the cards.

Why had you even considered the idea of approval when you weren't sure you wanted to let anyone love you? It was probably stupid, maybe you weren't even cut out for love, who knows. Maybe the universe had kept you from love all this time because you weren't meant to meet it. 

What were you even supposed to do? Were you supposed to face your feelings and accept them or deny them until eventually they passed?

You placed your finger on one of the cards and chose it, Eris drawing it towards her and turning it over to reveal the seven of swords.

"Huh," Eris remarked with a frown.

"Something wrong?" you asked, your hand frozen in the air.

"We'll see, pick the next one."

Your shoulders tightened with the tension of doubt about this situation, and you chose your second card, the varnish gliding easily over the metal as your friend revealed the two of swords.

Your eyes met Eris', seeming to observe the situation as her hooked index finger pressed under her nose like a moustache, sceptical. She simply jerked her chin at you, signalling you to continue.

Your hand followed its flight until the last card was placed under your fingers, and it slid down the counter like an additional glass ordered at the bar. She turned it over, and it was the three of wands.

She then brought all the cards together in a single pile and revealed the card lying underneath - the seven of wands.

She remained silent for a moment.

"Things haven't been going too well lately, have they?" she finally asked, her forest green eyes shifting from the cards lined up next to each other to yours.

Your shoulders dropped, slumping as you leaned against the counter and rested your chin on the palm of your hand. "Lots to think about."

"Do you want to talk about it?" she offered.

You sighed. "Let's read this spread of doom instead."

She nodded, intrigued all the same by the uncertainty hanging over you. Over the years, she had rarely seen you like this, unprepared, or at least unable to know what to do.

"Right," she said, straightening up. "Let's have a look."

She took the first card between her two fingers.

"Seven means 'go all the way'. Here, in swords and therefore the intellectual, it means that all paths are good to get there." She placed the card in front of you again and turned it so that you could observe it right side up. "Whether it's facts, eloquence, even false logic and stratagems, all means are good. After all, the intellect is also what is used to deceive others."

You leaned towards the card, tilting your head to one side. "I... cheat?" you arch an eyebrow.

"Have you ever cheated on a test or anything?"

You shook your head. "No."

"Then it's probably not that kind of cheating that this implies, even though the key word in the Seven of Swords is deception," she confirmed. "This card proves that rhetoric is a purely intellectual art, the art of convincing, not the art of finding the truth, through others as through ourselves." She tapped the card. "Now, let's have a look at this bugger."

As one of her hands pressed against the counter, the other pointed at the minor arcana.

"The military camp he's in is deserted and the battle in the distance indicates that this deceiver is either taking advantage of everyone's attention being directed elsewhere, or he's missing the most interesting thing. In either case, he's working against the collective interest by looking only to his own."

You were observing these details and interpretations. Were you this mischievous character, or did this represent something else?

Had it been just you at the time, with no little booklet to explain anything to you, you would have thought that this card reminded you of yourself leaving Demacia, carrying those swords in your arms like new lessons learned from both Fiora and Garen in combat and social ties.

"His fez, an oriental garment," she continued, "may even indicate that he is not part of the same community as the soldiers in the camp; perhaps in choosing deception you are cutting yourself off from the trust that binds a community together." 

You would have associated it with you landing in this new, foreign land, with the disastrous attitude you had had to cut yourself off from these situations. But you suspected, the more Eris' words rose to your ears, that this was not exactly the case.

"Of the seven swords, two are still firmly planted in the ground," pointed out Eris, "This thief has to give up something, for example accepting that he has to choose between moral values and his own interests. He thinks he's smarter than the others, and it shows, but he's holding the swords by the blade, hence the ambiguity of meaning between ‘deceiving’ and ‘being deceived’." 

She straightened up with the card pinched between her two fingers, twirling it like a butterfly in the air with disinterest. "In couples, of course, it's synonymous with cheating, one lying out of reflex, not being honest about what they want from the relationship, or lying to themselves by persisting in a relationship that's actually shaky, unequal, or indeterminate."

Your thoughts darted back to Viktor and your efforts to avoid him so assiduously during the week, biting the inside of your cheek as it heated up like its neighbour. Why did you have to be so obsessed with him? That he was always on your mind? That he haunted you wherever you went?

"I don't know if this card applies to you," pondered Eris, her graceful eyebrows furrowed, "perhaps it has more of a divinatory aspect about someone from the past around you that you should pay attention to.’’

You weren't so sure, and preferred not to say anything at the moment. She didn't really go out of her way to be honest out of sympathy, always offering the truth no matter what was asked of her.

"Dishonesty, hidden motives, hiding, sweeping the issue under the rug," she listed, enumerating the characteristics of the card as you saw in her mind the gears of her reasoning and years of tarot readings come into play specifically on your case. "It's pursuing your own self-interest discreetly and malignantly, or without others knowing. It's the card of the smooth talker, of the person who has an idea in the back of their head but doesn't express it..."

You were now convinced that this character was really you, escaping every moment to avoid Viktor and therefore your own feelings. You made yourself small on the high stool, the tarot deck didn't seem to give you the grace or respite to hide what you were feeling.

Eris' eyes landed on yours. "Is there something you're not telling me?" 

You weighed up the pros and cons, assessing how much Eris was going to jump on you about this news and how much you would have to suffer the incessant sound of her ‘I told you so's’. 

But, since she was your high priestess today, the great mistress of secrets, she would know how to keep yours safe from everyone.

"I think..." you began.

"That happens?"

"Shut up," you laughed nervously, relaxing a little more. "I think I'd rather talk about it once we get to the end of the reading."

She was intrigued, no doubt, and although she was certainly dying to know what else you were hiding, she restrained herself and straightened up to continue with the reading.

"After this perpetual deception," her fingers full of rings and tattoos slid to tap her fingernail on the two of swords, "we have a meeting."

You came to press the heels of your palms into the hollows of your eyes, letting your fingers comb your roots. "Not again."

"Relax," reassured Eris, "as far as swords are concerned, it's an encounter with the mind, and therefore of two ideas. Only, if the ideas are two, it's because they're not identical; if they're not identical, it's because they're not going in the same direction; if they're not going in the same direction, it's because they contradict each other."

She took the card in her hands, bringing it to face you so that you confronted her.

"Now you're stuck between two contradictory things with no way of getting past them, and since there's nothing you can do about it, you're going to pretend not to see the contradiction because in any case," she pointed to the previous seven of swords, "you were already lying to yourself."

You bit the inside of your gums, suppressing your own shame at believing you had an ‘allergy’ around Viktor or to Demacia that made you feel that way.

She patted the crescent on the card. "The moon is just present enough to understand that it's night, even if the light of the very first crescent isn't enough to see clearly - you don't yet have the means to find your own way, and so you can't move on, perhaps it's even better that you came to me to untangle all this." Her finger passed over the figure. "Behind it, the sea where reefs outcrop and extend below the surface. It's blind sailing, you could be shipwrecked, and that fear is expressed throughout the card - since you can't see clearly, you freeze."

What were you supposed to do after all? You'd never loved before, you didn't know what to do or how to react, so you were stuck in this constant doubt that was eating away at you bit by bit.

"The blindfold represents the refusal to see that the two ideas are contradictory and therefore impossible to hold together." She crossed her arms over her chest to mimic the posture of the figure on the card. "She has her arms crossed defensively to protect her chest or her heart, but she can't stay like that forever especially when she's carrying those two swords." She relaxed her posture and placed both hands flat on the counter. "Basically, whatever happens, getting out of this position will hurt, so either you get rid of both ideas, which can be painful, or you get rid of both to follow a third path, which can be twice as painful."

You watched the character carefully in this landscape of such cold tones, at this edge where she was in danger of toppling backwards. It was a dangerous and frightening concept to have to let down this guard you had spent so much time building up. For your own good, you thought, but was it honestly the right protection?

"So, the two of swords is a representation of being trapped by contradictory ideas," she continued as a conclusion to the card. "For example, values inculcated by education, and personal values that are opposed to them." She shrugged her shoulders and relaxed them with a sigh. "Whatever it is, it's being stuck between a rock and a hard place and not moving for fear it'll get worse. Which is exactly what the seven of swords was telling us just now."

She took the seven in hand with the two, one card per hand.

"The scoundrel on the seven is facing three different directions, his feet are going to the left, his body is facing us, but his head is looking to the right towards the two of swords who may have picked up the two blades stuck in the ground of the seven and locked herself in this lie that is so addictive."

You watched the two cards side by side, their links complementing each other almost disturbingly well. Eris put down the seven of swords, keeping the two in her hand.

"You avoid conflict at all costs, you avoid responding, committing yourself, making a difficult decision to protect your peace. It's a card that shows you thinking that perhaps if you ignore the problem long enough, it will eventually resolve itself. Is that how you feel?"

You chewed the inside of your lip, nodding. What was the point of hiding this when you were out in the open after all. "In sums, yes."

"Hm," Eris hummed, gazing at you as if trying to work out which issue this feeling was about. "Now, this dilemma of being stuck in a balance of power that neither cracks nor moves forward, where might that lead you?"

Her index and middle fingers together, they hovered over the Two of Wands as her other hand set the Two down. 

"Remember the Two of Wands? From our reading during the holidays," she asked.

You racked your brains, trying to remember things that seemed so long ago. "Something about an encounter, evaluating things, desire, reality... applying my own will to the world?"

She snapped her finger, pointing at you. "Good, we're still a bit in that," she placed the three of wands on the metal. "What happens after evaluation?"

You shook your head thoughtfully, frowning. "... Attack?"

"Conquest," corrected Eris. "As you no doubt know by now, wands are the colour of desire."

She rolled up the sleeves of her long-sleeved t-shirt, revealing her tattoos. 

"Desire is a dynamic. It's not an envy - when you get the object of your envy, your craving, well, that's the end of it. Desire, on the other hand, expands and pushes us further and further ahead." She nodded."‘One-night stands happen because you have an envy that can be satisfied before you move on to something else." 

Her eyes lowered to the card, her fingers brushing against it. "When you really want someone, on the other hand, you want to go further, to conquer them. The same goes for a project in the general sense, since it only makes sense if it allows us to grow, extend our influence or give our creativity room to express itself."

Your cheeks warmed slightly. Conquer Viktor? Put like that, the idea seemed ridiculous. You thought back to your overconfidence during the game of the werewolf where you pressed your knee against his.

Eris' fingers ran over the card. "Ships bring back the idea of a voyage that is launched, they leave initiated by the man who watches over them, unless they arrive to bring back news or food from other countries." They drifted over the varnish, gliding over the colours. "The mountains in the background suggest height, domination, success, ambition: this is the greatness that awaits those who know how to take their desire far." They reached the central element. “As for the man, he wears a red garment made up of several pieces. He is not afraid to confront the world, even if it means losing some of his feathers. He wears the headband of the Magician, a symbol of discipline - his mind is firmly fixed on a goal and he doesn't waver."

Could you be that agent of success? When and how could you get out of this heavy contemplation and achieve its stability?

"This is the card of broadening horizons and conquest," continued Eris on a slightly more positive note than the previous two cards, "of expansion, of development, of great discoveries. It's an undeniable form of progress, whether in the field of study, the field of the mind, the field of romance, in short, it's about thinking big and going for it with confidence."

Part of you was happy to know that in the not too distant future, this situation you were in would be resolved. Another, however, feared that the outcome of this victory would be bitter.

"It's daring, courage, but above all having a vision of the bigger picture and realising that things are moving forward." She nodded. "They also say it's managing remote collaborators in commercial activities, international negotiations, or intervening to make a decision."

You had thought about exchanging a first letter with Garen and Fiora, but you didn't know whether you should wait out of politeness and etiquette for them to be the first to write anything, or whether you could put that pride aside and take the first step.

"Alright," clapped Eris, "now the shadow card." She pointed to the seven of wands. "As before, the seven-"

"It's going all the way, I know."

"Good," Eris smiled, "Good. With the seven, the creative three is supported by the stability of the four, so all the conditions are in place to see things through to the end. But to carry your desire through to the end, you have to endure obstacles," she pointed to the Two of Swords, “and problems,” then to the Seven of Swords. "The key word in this card is endurance, perfect for what you've been facing lately if you ask me."

Endurance, you weren't sure you liked that advice, not when you were enduring all this and would have preferred not to have to.

"Let's have a look," Eris pointed at the figure with the tip of her fingernail. "The man is standing on a high place, his two feet wide apart for maximum balance. Like the mountains on other cards," she redirected your attention to the three of wand for a moment, "this height symbolises a position conquered by the strength of the wrist, an achievement, an accomplishment."

"So," you reasoned aloud, "I'm going to triumph in this situation?"

Eris swung her head from side to side like a metronome. "It all depends on what victory would be for you in this case. He has a firm grip on the wand of his desire," she continued, "but his shoes are mismatched. Concentrating on his defence, he doesn't have time to ask himself whether his position is the right one."

Not even you were sure what would be the deliverance. To embrace your feelings for Viktor and set off down a road you'd never travelled before, letting yourself discover what attraction is all about, or to bury this idea inside you in the graveyard of ideas that will never blossom for safety's sake?"

"Here then," Eris clasps her hands together, "if there's one piece of advice to take away from this, it's that you have to stand your ground, prove yourself over time and don't let yourself give in or weaken. It's a defence card, a defence of your position, your values, your beliefs, your point of view."

"Okay," you nodded, "that I can do."

"But be careful," she raised her finger in the air, "this can also be a card that represents being too defensive, feeling attacked from all sides, taking any criticism or contradiction as a personal attack. It's having the impression that you constantly have to justify yourself, that everyone disapproves of your point of view and believing that the world is against you."

"And isn't that the case?"

She arched an eyebrow. "Decidedly, common sense is not a flower that grows in every garden," she sighed. "It can be, but it doesn't have to be. Here, what is suggested to you, is to remain faithful to your convictions without being aggressive and confrontational."

"So..." you looked at each of the cards, "I've got nothing to do?"

"Apart from some personal work, only time will tell," she picked up the cards, starting to put them away. "What did you want to talk to me about?"

You sighed, playing with your fingers nervously. Why was it so difficult to leave those words out? You'd told Eris about Viktor in the past, you'd confided in her everything and nothing, she was your best friend and you trusted her in every way. So why was your heart starting to race just thinking about Viktor?

"I..." you inhaled heavily. 

When you've got to go, you've got to go. 

"I think," your voice got very small, as if the whole of Zaun was expecting to hear the news in the hollow of your mouth.

Your tongue, your teeth, your lips knew that these words carried great weight, that his name in your mouth had a taste that no sweetness or poison could replicate.

Eris watched you, patient and impatient. 

Your eyes found a scratch in the metal countertop, your chest heaving as you mustered all your strength to push those words from your lips. 

"I think I have feelings for Viktor."

You felt breathless having said those few words, letting them live in the air as you kept them inside you. It was like opening the shutters of a room that had been marinating in the summer heat to the winter air.

You were a frozen steak tossed into a hot pan, your emotions rumbling in your heart and your words sizzling in the wild air. You knew that even the fiercest coals eventually mellowed and eventually died down, but you didn't know if you wanted this fire to fade at any moment.

You were afraid of meeting your friend's gaze again, of what her reaction would be. You'd rarely felt so out in the open, the butterflies that used to flutter in your belly now twirling in the air, destined to fly close to Eris' ears and nobody else's for the moment.

When the silence became too heavy, you finally met her gaze. Her eyes were wide, two emerald beads fixed on you as if a miracle had just happened.

"Wow," she managed to say after what seemed like an eternity.

"I know," you sighed, "it's so bad-"

"I don't think I've ever seen you love anyone or anything before," she cut in.

"I know," you buried your face in your hands, massaging your forehead, "I don't know what to do, or who cursed me with this."

"Only mountains never cross," Eris pointed out, "when did you realise this obvious fact?"

"It was-" you began, frowning, "hey."

"What?" Eris shrugged.

"Obvious? Really?’ you questioned, genuinely puzzled.

She huffed, inhaling gently through her nose as she combed her hair with her fingernails.

"I'm keeping calm and I talk to an adult about it."

"But you are an adult."

She watched you in dismay. ‘’ I remain an adult and I talk about it to a calm one."

You arched an eyebrow. "You're not answering the question."

She crossed her arms, her head tilting forward, eyes watching you through her long black lashes before only raising herself with a sigh. 

"You've never been obsessed with anyone in your life. He comes along, and he becomes your only topic of conversation until you mention him in your letters and you can't ignore him. What's more, if Selene herself had that spark of genius, how could you ignore her intractable instinct? And then there's your looks, and then the cards-’

"Okay, I get it, I'm being prodigiously stupid, as usual, no need to remind me,‘’ you cut short, your head jerking to the side as you watched the street. "What am I even supposed to do about this? It's all so weird and... foreign."

Eris stared at you for a moment, and although you knew she was incapable of doing so, you dreaded the thought of her judging you. She seemed to be observing you as if you were a species miraculously rediscovered and thought to be extinct.

"What do you think you should do about this?" she finally asked.

You looked at her, shrugging your shoulders and raising your eyebrows, testing the waters. "... Ignore the matter?"

She sighed as she turned away from the counter, probably to prepare for Renata's consultation. "This isn't a trick question, y'know."

"It feels like it is," you countered.

"Well," she pulled out two more tarot decks, "maybe you should stop considering that everything coming your way is a trap or that people getting close to you is by means of destroying you." She pointed to the deck in front of you that she'd just used. "Remember what the seven of wands said."

"I know but," you paused in your sentence, sighing as you nervously scratched the back of your neck, "it's hard not to think otherwise."

She laid out a velvet tablecloth on the small table inside for her consultations, grabbed an incense stick and placed it in her censer, lighting it with the lighter hanging from her belt. A blue almond sprouted from the stem, but she didn't even blow on it. 

"Look," she resumed, adjusting her emerald velvet armchairs by the table, "apart from the beginning of the year, do you feel like Viktor's intention towards you have been to destroy you?"

If you had to be honest, it now seemed that, looking back, you were the only one who had constantly tried to outdo him. Viktor was just having fun, you were competing for your life.

Eris noted your silence. "He's Jayce's best friend after all, would the golden boy truly hang with traitors?"

"Jayce is naive," you remarked, "he'd be friends with a sunflower if he thought the seeds formed a smile for him."

"Okay not to burst an ego bubble here," she raised her hands in the air as if to clear herself of what she was about to say, "but do you sincerely think someone like Viktor would willingly put that much effort into becoming a friend to you and putting up with your bullshit to then break all this progress by betraying you?"

There was some truth in what Eris was saying, when was there not after all? Viktor had worked so hard to gain your trust, and for you to give him yours. He was respectful, admirable, patient, and it infuriated you how perfect he could be - no doubt somewhere because you wished you could be all those things but couldn't or didn't get any consideration.

Eris planted her palms on the metal counter in front of you. "How bad is it?" she questioned, raising an eyebrow, the corner of her lips stretching upwards as she did so. "Surely it's not too bad since it's Viktor of all people."

"Everything reminds me of him and it's driving me insane!" you quietly tempered, the feeling of having your head roasted by the heat of his name going down to bake your heart. You buried your face in your hands. "Like," you mumbled through gritted teeth, "I need his face really near mine."

"It's like discovering a completely new you," Eris sneered. "I didn't know you were capable of feelings under all this steel that you call a heart."

"I envy everyone you have never met," you grumbled from her teasing.

“An envy but not a desire I see,” she laughed a bit, and you couldn’t help but smile in return.

From her face, amusement faded to leave place for concern. “Aren’t you tired of running?

You sighed, her question was legitimate. During your entire existence, you had ran away from so many things that you could not remember the last time you had stopped this. You had repressed your feelings, fled conflict, pretended things were alright when they were not. And now, there you were. Still running.

“I’ve raced my entire life,” you pointed out, “it’s all I know and all I’m good at.”

“Your legs need rest,” remarked Eris.

You shrugged. “The fear chasing me has no need for rest.”

“But you do,” her shoulder pointed to you, “they all say you have to face your fear to overcome it, so why not face it?”

“Well, that’s the whole principle of fear, isn’t it?”

“There’s only so many places avoidance can bring you to, but the final destination always brands the title of disappointment.” Her shoulders sagged, visibly tired of having to expand this idea to you. “I can only explain it to you, I can't understand it for you.”

Her smile was understanding as her gaze shifted to her left. Her smile went from friendly to professional, and you followed her glance.

From the main street, a woman with an unmistakable silhouette was approaching the both of you.

She was tall, dressed in a tailored suit with incredibly clean white trousers and jacket, her black vest hugging her waist with grace. Her heels clicked in the echo of the street as she walked with the weight of her confidence, two men following her like her shadow.

When the sun hit her silhouette, the gold and metallic contours of her outfit gleamed. Walking around Zaun in an ensemble like that was risky, but you knew that no one would dare approach her anyway.

Because you definitely recognised her. Her long ebony hair, lined with a strand as grey as cigarette ash, swept back from her freckled face, ensuring that anyone who came into contact with her magenta eyes, rimmed with a black sclera, would never forget her.

And so Renata Glasc walked towards you.

As she reached you, her scent caught your nostrils. Peppery, undoubtedly magnolia, with something warm, like the sun warming the raspberry hedges in summer, a fresh hint of curly mint tying it all together. Bewitching was one of the first words that came to mind to describe her.

"Madame Glasc," greeted Eris. "Lovely day, isn't it?"

Her gracefully lined eyes rested on Eris. "Good sunshine so early in the year can only be appreciated. Your cards will agree, I hope."

Her voice was deep, carrying a more sustained and noble accent than you would have expected, one you'd been more used to meeting and hearing when you'd rarely crossed paths with the Kirammans and Cassandra was chatting off to the side with Jayce.

Her fuchsia eyes shifted from hers to yours, and you felt very small under their weight. Eris wasted no time in keeping the silence.

"Madame Glasc, may I present Mademoiselle Phathe, whom I mentioned to you a short while ago." 

Sticking to surnames was preferable. It's a nasty game, even if you were expecting her to make enquiries about you that would go far beyond simply finding your first name.

She held out her hand, and you didn’t hesitate to shake it , maintaining her gaze with a sober politeness. Her grip was firm, but not so firm as to choke your fingers in a tourniquet.

"She has information that will certainly be useful in the case of... Tytos," Eris added.

Renata's eyes crinkled with interest, the pressure on your hand easing until it finally let go.

"So it is you," she remarked, intrigued, "I didn't expect you to be so...’’

You held your breath, trying to remain impassive. Offending a Chem Baron by your very existence was one of the most important things for anyone to avoid.

"Young."

You breathed out a quiet sigh of relief, the unpleasant tickle of anxiety running down the back of your neck.

"Yeah, that's how he preferred his investments."

The hint of sarcasm drew a breath from Renata's nose of laughter, the remark not seeming to displease her. She tilted her head back slightly, not necessarily looking down on you even though she was at least half a head taller, 

"I think it would be good to have a chat after this reading session, Miss Phathe," she indicated, turning back to Eris, "I would not wish to ruin your schedule for the afternoon by delaying this consultation."

"Of course," Eris nodded, turning to you, "if you'd like to you-"

"Don't worry, I'll wait here," your lips pressed into a thin line.

"Alright,’ she nodded, gripping the string holding a jalousie over the counter which she brought around until it covered the metal of it, crossing to the other side of her interior to invite Renata into her shop.

Renata turned to you before entering. "Forgive this rather hasty introduction, but it's preferable to keep it that way for the time being."

You nodded, hoping the gesture wouldn't seem too forced. "Of course."

She nodded, her and her bodyguards retreating into the mystical interior of Eris' shop while you remained outside, pondering the whole thing.

It was true that you tended to take everything as an attack, that you tended to think that danger was just around the corner to take away the life you had fought so hard to obtain.

And now that you'd managed to put your trust in someone new and so revealing inside, it terrified you.

What if he didn't love you? What if the attraction was only on one side? What if you risked hurting yourself even more by loving him and he didn't share that feeling or care?

It terrified you. You'd never had a friendship like this, so evolved, so strong and honest. Whenever you thought you were taking a step backwards, Viktor would grab the sleeve of your shirt and pull you towards him to stop you falling over a cliff.

No matter how hard you tried to back away, no matter how much you tried to pull away and ignore what you were feeling, he would always be there in the back of your mind, never moving, worrying and reassuring you. You were torn between what you knew, the solitude and security of routine, and the unknown, the possibility of being with someone, of breaking away from what you'd always known.

Your eyes roamed the street, letting the sun beat down on you, until they fell on a group of silhouettes not far away.

Had it been any other day, you would of course have remained on your guard and kept an eye on them, without continuing your observation of the group. But something caught your eye, a body among them that you seemed to recognise.

Your blood ran cold, your body freezing in place as the realization slapped you across the face. 

A man was there, in their midst, his paunch protruding from his trousers and his rolls of fat pressing against the straps of his trousers, dripping down the side like rotten dough. He was wearing a huge jacket, the sleeves rolled up over his limp arms. The sun shone on his bald head, the same bulldog head, the same small pig nose, brow and eyelids encroaching on his small, dark, squinty eyes. One of them was whitish, like a half-cooked egg.

Vome.

He didn't meet your gaze, seemingly taken elsewhere, and you hoped he would never turn to you or have the wit to recognise you. How could he still be alive? How-

Your train of thought came to a halt as three of the guys in his group started to move in your direction. 

Bad.

You quickly repacked your things in your satchel, getting up from the high stool to go the opposite way. You couldn't stay put. Even if it meant a chase, you couldn't afford to have them near you.

You could have simply knocked on Eris’ shop door, but couldn’t risk interrupting a meeting with a person as important as Renata if this turned out to be simple paranoia and not an actual threat.

You started walking, continuing straight on until you took the first street on your left. You didn't walk too fast, hoping that this paranoia would remain what it was and not the truth.

You turned slightly, falsely observing one of the price signs in the street, your peripheral vision finding them as they turned the corner.

Shit.

You kept going, faster this time, your heart pounding in your ears as you forced yourself not to start running straight away. You turned into another street, moving a little faster, sure to lose them if you took another street or two, hoping-

"Ah! A ghost."

You turned on the spot, the unmistakable voice of the man haunting your thoughts day and night calling out to you.

Viktor.

Present at the worst possible moment.

What you did notice at the time was his outfit. He'd put on Zaunite clothes, just like you had.

On top of a cream shirt with rolled-up sleeves was an asymmetrical blood-red waistcoat, little belts with golden buckles criss-crossed over and around it. Black trousers emphasising his long, elegant legs led to badly polished boots. He fit in perfectly with the décor, and was handsome, handsome, handsome.

He walked towards you, his hand clutching his cane next to him, dressed in a mitten mixing leather and wool.

"I barely see you anymore," he explained in the face of your silence, "I didn't even recognise you at first."

You pressed your lips together and frowned, nervous. "Really?"

"No," he cut in, obviously.

Surprisingly, the very idea of Viktor forgetting you made your heart ache - but you didn't have time for this new panic. You turned to see if they were still behind you, and it was when you saw them pass the end of the street in confusion that you turned back to Viktor and grabbed his wrist, much to his surprise.

He said nothing as you pulled him into the first dark alleyway you found just a few metres from you. Once you were bathed in the gloom, you turned your head towards the entrance of the street, waiting for them to arrive at any moment.

"What is-" 

You didn't give Viktor time to finish his sentence, pushing him forward until his back was pressed against the wall and your palm covered his lips. He looked at you with bewildered eyes, and you tried not to concentrate on the feel of his lips against your fingers.

"You gotta stay quiet," you whispered through gritted teeth, your eyes boring into his.

Your gaze drifted across the open street, every silhouette and shadow on the sunlit ground making your heart race. How could you hear anything other than the beating of your heart in your ears as the stress vibrated through you and the feel of Viktor's skin against yours teamed up?

He towered over you, even in his stillness, his shoulders rising and falling in a steady rhythm in your peripheral vision. So close, you could smell him more distinctly. His coffee, or maybe rather coffees of the day permeated his jacket, mingling with that smell of hot stone in the sun and the fresh, sharp point of basil.

You tried to concentrate on the street, not giving him a glance even though you wanted to get away from him as much as you wanted to be close to him.

A shiver ran down your spine as you felt Viktor's wet tongue lick the pads of your fingers, causing you to immediately remove your hand from his mouth and take a step back. You watched in amazement as he moistened his lips with his tongue.

"What is going on?" he asked, his accent categorical as he frowned.

You watched the end of the street, breathing heavily as you turned to face him in panic, the feeling of his saliva still inking your fingers as, for a reason that escaped you, you couldn't get yourself to wipe off.

You moved towards him again, trying to breathe more slowly as you kept your voice low. "They're going to hear us if you don't keep quiet."

"Good," his eyes crinkled for a moment, "what's been going on lately?"

You sighed, your tongue forming a tent against your cheek as you looked away from him, lowering your head to the ground. You couldn't get your mind off the Vome men following you, if that was really the case, and still couldn't let your guard down and your nerves.

Perhaps they had passed by in the meantime, perhaps they had turned back, or changed the street, and were therefore allowing you to relax.

You set your eyes on him again, parting your lips to say-

"Hey, you."

You clenched your jaw as you closed your eyes, hoping the moment would dissipate, that the call had come from somewhere else to someone else in a nearby alley. 

You waited a few seconds, reopening your eyelids to see Viktor, whose head was turned towards the street opening. With a sigh, you followed his gaze to find the three men standing not far from you.

"Yeah, you," resumed the same voice, belonging to the one in the middle who was a pale young man, shaved head with a nasty burn eating half his face, the other half covered in tattoos. "What did you have to say to Renata?"

You breathed in, feeling Viktor's gaze return to you. You hoped at the time that he wouldn't get the wrong idea.

"I don't know what you're talking about," you replied, hoping they'd fall for getting the wrong person.

"Don't try to fool me," sneered the latter, advancing towards you with slow steps, the others following him.

One was stockier and taller, with a blond bowl cut that didn't help his ungainly, pimply physique. He seemed profoundly stupid, his only asset being brute strength. If you were going to get the better of him, you'd have to make sure he didn't catch you.

The other was skinny and smaller, his dark skin looking dull and desaturated as his lime-green locks fell over black eyes whose white had turned yellow. He seemed faster, quicker and ready to throw a lot of punches.

These two no doubt complemented each other in their fighting style, and you'd have to find a way of balancing them out if you had to come to blows.

"We saw you outside the other girl's shop with her cards," continued what appeared to be their mini-boss.

You turned slightly towards Viktor, keeping your eyes on the trio as you placed your satchel to the ground. "What's your tolerance for risk?" you asked him.

You didn't see his reaction, simply heard his reply. "‘Risk' is a four letter word."

Your shoulders slumped in dismay. "Phenomenal."

"The best defence is flight," he remarked, "at worst, I die."

"Let's not get to good news like that too quickly," you muttered nervously, sarcasm taking its place again as your legs shifted slightly to one side, preparing yourself for an attack.

"Just tell me what she said, and I'll leave you and your boyfriend with less bruising than you expected."

The appellation boyfriend that he had attributed to Viktor only served to raise your hands in the air, one at your waist and the other rising to your chest. If only these two swords of uncertainty had given you their weapons, you'd know what choice to make to get out of this situation.

"Miss, what is happening?" questioned Viktor.

Your eyes fell on the other two, who continued to advance on either side, trying to surround you. "Just stay back."

"You could have made this easier for yourself by just telling us," sighed the man, "but at least I'll have some entertainment today."

The air remained static for a moment, the two young men standing motionless. Who would strike first? Who would engage in this fight? You tightened your fists so as not to damage them any more than necessary.

And in a breath of clenched teeth mixed with disinterest, their boss confirmed.

"Get her."

It was the dreadlocked who stepped forward first, moving so quickly that you recoiled in astonishment, managing at the last moment to dodge a blow towards the rib he was trying to send.

You glanced at the mass of the second behind him who was advancing, breathing heavily like a bull seeing red. 

"Get her Stex!" shouted the latter.

Your attention then returned to your opponent, this Stex with eyes betraying advanced alcoholism in a body that shouldn't know such pain so early on in life. He was about your age, if not older, and his sparring partner didn't look far off either.

A horrible idea came to you. But you tried to push it away.

This slight distraction cost you a heavy blow to the jaw, quickly bringing you back to reality as your legs made work on keeping your standing while blood mixed with your saliva.

He was quick, efficient, moving as if his body had no mass and he was made solely of springs. When you tried to send him a left hook, he easily eluded it before expelling the air out of your lungs in two strong, fast punches.

Stex sent another swift blow towards your head which you dodged, taking advantage of the fact that his arm was still close to you to find an opening under it at the rib, delivering a swift blow which made him bend over and grunt. His head snapped up at you, nose wrinkled and ready to bare his teeth as he pushed you back towards the wall.

Your back hit the stone of it, your breath caught and you didn't even have time to lean forward to get your head between your knees as Stex pressed his forearm against your throat and found himself a few centimetres away from you.

His furious, bulging eyes were fixed on yours.

"Last chance to speak," he barked.

And as you gasped for air, your eyes drifted to the shoulder of the arm that was strangling you, roving over its skin and finding a detail you recognised. Hidden beneath the ink of his enormous tattoo was the tender skin of a distinctive burn. Your eyes returned to his, and you found yourself filled with hopes and fears.

‘’You were one of them?" you managed to croak.

His eyes widened, the pressure lessening enough for his grip to weaken on you. 

Now.

Your knee shot up and slammed into his liver, Stex grunting in pain and folding in half as you kneed him in the face before sending your fist against his jaw. He fell to the ground and you came to grab his face with both hands, his bottom lip hanging down lazily as one of his eyes was starting to swell shut and you landed a hard headbutt.

He fell to the ground, stunned. He must have been a formidable foe, relying solely on his speed and power of execution, except that once he was caught, it was all over. But the fight in itself wasn't yet.

Your attention returned to the big guy. You'd eliminated one of them, but the other one was still hanging around, and he seemed to be quite upset that you'd dealt with his friend so quickly.

He was charging towards you, and you tried to dodge him, to move to the side in the hope of tiring him out over time with rapid movements, but he grabbed you around the waist and threw you against some shabby old boxes, their wood cracking under the impact of your body hitting the ground and exploding in a cloud of rotting dust.

You ached like hell, gritting your teeth as you felt that the bruises that would form on your body would not make it any easier to sit in class. You opened your eyes again, the big guy had both of his fists raised in the air ready to flatten you.

You rolled onto your side, the impact not hitting you as your eyes landed on a metal bar. Every street in Zaun had its own waste, and for luck here you must not have been far from a pipe factory.

You caught it, coming back to your feet with some difficulty as you turned to face him. He tried to catch you again, but with a well-tuned leap to the side, you evaded him and managed to hit his thigh.

He let out a cry of pain, turning to you like a disgruntled child. You swung the self-made weapon back to prepare to strike again, but as you brought it down he caught it, a displeased pout on his face as he bent the metal of your weapon in one simple motion of his fist.

He laughed contentedly at your exorbitant eyes, your gaze shifting from him, to the bar twisted like a boomerang, to him again, and you gave him a big smile.

He seemed surprised by the gesture, and you took the opportunity to spit in his eye. He stepped back in disgust and started to whinge. Without missing a beat, you hit him in the face with your now twisted bar, making him turn on his side, joining his two hands full of fingers as big as sausages on his nose, which you had apparently just broken from the repeating ‘my nose! My nose!’ that he blurted, and thus allowing you to hit him in the back of the head.

He fell to the ground, knocked unconscious.

Out of breath, clutching the metal in your hand until your knuckles turned white, you inhaled sharply. 

Viktor.

The name resonated in your mind like an uncontrollable echo.

You turned suddenly towards the wall he'd been against before, but nobody was there.

"Fun little show you gave."

You turned around, it was the voice of the man who had started the fight. You swallowed and your heart nearly stopped as your eyes fell on Viktor, his neck caught in the man's forearm as he kept him in a headlock.

He was holding him there, almost suffocating him. Nostrils flaring with anger, you advanced towards him.

"Ah-ah-ah," he crooned, stopping you in your tracks.

Then you saw it, like a shard of the sun in his hand - the blade of his knife drawn, pointing at Viktor's side. 

Your heart sank instantly, your eyes returning to Viktor's as he watched you. Surprisingly, he didn't seem to be under any stress. Maybe he hadn't seen the blade, you thought.

"Now," said the shaven-headed man, "tell me what you said-"

But he never finished his sentence, because in an instant, Viktor had planted his cane in his feet and the next second, with a speed that escaped you, had struck it on the nose of this kidnapper.

The impact sent him reeling backwards, leaving Viktor to extricate himself from his embrace and turn towards him to grip the wood of his cane with both hands, rest his balance on his good leg and send a blow with the pommel into the man's temple like a baseball bat meeting a ball.

He fell with the shock, and Viktor hopped a couple of steps before bringing his cane back onto the ground and repositioning himself neatly.

He turned to you, and for a moment, relief settled in your chest. He's safe and sound. He's all right. Everything's alright.

"Are you okay, Miss?"

And that nickname, which almost made your head spin, took your breath away for a moment, and reminded you of your situation. Without further ado, you gripped your bag from the ground and grabbed his wrist again to pull him out of the street. You had to get out of here while the three of them were knocked out.

You walked fast, almost running, getting as far away from this scene of stress and adrenaline as you could while you still had the strength. You had to get back to Eris' shop at all costs, you had to find shelter, you had to make sure everything was going to be alright.

"Miss, please, slow down."

Viktor's voice was breathless as his hand pulled from your embrace to grab yours, stopping you in your tracks as your steps had become automatic.

You turned towards him, panting heavily, your gaze falling on your clasped hands, and in an instant you already felt reassured.

You took a heavy breath, keeping it locked between your ribs before very slowly letting it go, the relief of being out of that terrible scene helping your arms and legs to relax.

The feel of Viktor's hand was warm, welcoming despite its callus, and anchored you in the moment more than any breathing exercise.

It was also an anxiety that these feelings brought to you – how could he bring you so much hope, so much comfort, so much warmth?

"I know we said we'd race," he exhaled out of breath, your eyes moving from your hands to his own, "but without a warm-up I can't keep up with you.’’

And he was still able to joke at a time like this, to turn the state of his leg, which you'd probably just pushed to the limit with your stress, into a simple joke.

You realised even more how thoughtless you'd been, how you'd neglected his aches and pains during those seconds of racing out of fear.

You looked behind him, then around to see where you were. Just a street away from Eris' shop.

You felt his thumb caress the top of your palm, bringing your attention back to him.

"Miss," he began, and you prayed that his thumb being so close to your wrist wouldn't notice the heartbeat that had made your pulse race, "what is going on?"

The question was so vast, so heavy, so dangerous for him to know. Dangerous not only because sending him this information might add a name to the list of people aware of the affair, but above all dangerous because you dreaded the reaction he would have towards you.

Would he be disgusted?

The question weighed heavily in your stomach, and you tried to soften the blow by swallowing.

"I," you began, then feeling the burn of your lip. 

Split. 

"I cannot tell you everything yet," you breathed out, "all I can tell you is that..."

You looked around again, as if talking about this fact and opening up about it was going to be the trigger for a second attack.

"Some ill-intentioned people are looking to eradicate evidence, evidence-" you inhaled as you regained his face, "that might bring their business to an end."

He frowned, obviously intrigued by how little information you were giving him.

"Are you..." he began, the grip of his hand on yours already softer, "in trouble?"

Your eyes were locked in his, where curiosity mixed with a pinch of concern and one last ingredient you couldn't quite decipher - and it was making you feel warm.

"Constantly," you confessed.

His eyes never left yours, the feel of his skin against yours reassuring you, cradling your heart, spreading a balm of warm orange light on it. 

Sadly, the realisation that you might not be back in time to discuss things with Renata clenched your gut, and you tensed up.

Your eyes fell on your bound hands, you didn't feel like separating them, but you had to before the urge persisted and consumed you. You withdrew your fingers, not without disappointment, which Viktor surprisingly seemed to share just as much.

"I have to get to Eris' shop," you explained, your fearful eyes again checking every street corner and passing silhouette.

"Our day seems to have that in common," he admitted.

Your eyebrows furrowed. "Really? Why?"

"I won't give you an answer to that when my previous questions have been left hanging," he replied, shrugging both shoulders and eyebrows before frowning again.

There was no need to ask about the nature of his questions. Viktor was intelligent, observant, and in your case he had obviously picked up on this detached behaviour.

But how to tell him? How could you tell him that everything in you was filled with him to the brim, like the wallpaper covering every wall of your house that you could only escape by leaving?

You couldn't, not yet, at least not when you were aching all over after such a sudden scene.

"Let's just... head back there," you regained his eyes, not without difficulty or guilt, "please."

He sighed heavily, seeming to chew the inside of his cheek before nodding. Your lips didn't even have the strength to offer him a smile as you both began to walk in silence towards Eris' shop.

Your back was aching, and you could feel the stabbing pain in your jaw, but you didn't let it show. Despite the pain, you were distracted elsewhere.

How much longer would Viktor put up with your inability to open up? When would he find nothing but tiredness and disappointment in this interminable waiting that was failing to bear fruit? When would he give up his persistence, his seeking?

When would he give up on you?

You glanced at him discreetly from the side, wondering what he was thinking, whether he had already begun the process of abandoning you.

But these troubles were put aside when, on reaching Eris' shop, she opened the door and Renata and your friend came out. You noticed the confusion in the Tarot reader's eyes at your absence on her high stool, and then met her gaze which, in an instant, darkened with concern. Renata followed her glance, frowning.

When you reached them, they joined you, cutting the short space between you, Renata's two guards keeping their distance but remaining attentive.

"What happened?" Eris asked, approaching you, her hands floating up to your face to check the damage.

By reflex, your eyes sought out the place where the group from which these three lunatics had extracted themselves to come to you had previously been located - vacant. There was no-one there, no sign of a group like that in the street, no Vome in sight. Your shoulders dropped at the news, redirecting your gaze to Renata, who seemed just as curious.

"A group of three, they seemed to be under the orders of..." your sentence faded a little, turning your head towards Viktor before regaining Renata's gaze, "someone implicated in the case."

Renata's piercing eyes landed on Viktor, and you repressed the reflex to stand in front of him. He had no business here, in a dark case that would bring him nothing but trouble.

"What were they after?" questioned Eris, moving away from you after observing the damage they'd left behind.

"Me, or, well," you crossed your arms over your chest, "the information I had." You turned your head towards Renata. "They saw us talk, and thought they could extricate something off me."

"And," Renata turned her head slightly to one side, watching you like an eagle, "did you lend them this information?"

Viktor lowered his head, chuckled softly to the side, all three of your stares falling on him.

"Did I say anything funny?" questioned Renata, her calm, serious tone almost sending a chill down your spine if it weren't for the fact that it was burning with pain.

Viktor raised his head, his amber eyes falling into Renata's magenta ones.

"I think you could not have chosen a better person if you intend to keep things secret."

He turned to you, his words a mixture of your usual playful condescension and respectful truth.

"The three of them are knocked out in a street nearby," you continued, turning back to the Chem-Baroness. 

"A bit more than knocked out..." commented Viktor, chin pointing to his chest as his eyes seemed to observe the ground.

Renata's eyes went from yours to Viktor's. She was probably wondering who he was, and whether he could be trusted to be here or not.

"I see," she remarked, not sounding angry, but simply annoyed by the news. "Mademoiselle," she addressed you, "in case a simple interaction with me could put you in danger on these streets, I think it would be a good idea to postpone our discussion to another day. What's more," her eyes flicked to Viktor for a moment before settling back on you and observing your condition, "I think you need to get some rest after all this. I want you to have a clear mind for this conversation."

You nodded, surprised at her professionalism and magnanimity. You shouldn't have been, a woman of her standing could well have ordered you to confess everything on the spot if she so wished, but she hadn't done so.

"Agreed," you accepted.

"Good," she confirmed, turning to Eris, then back to you, then to Viktor. "Given the circumstances, I feel obliged to ensure your safety. Outcoln?"

One of her two guards stepped forward, a stocky, athletic man who must have been in his forties. He was easily a head or two taller than you, his broad shoulders seeming to give no respite to the compressed fabric of his shirt. Outcoln, or so was apparently his name, stood in front of you.

"He will ensure that your return is without further problems," Renata indicated. "And for you, Mademoiselle," she continued, turning to Eris, "I'll make sure you have a bodyguard to keep you safe. If there are going to be any more confrontations of this kind, I think it would be a good idea to take a few safety precautions. Needless to say, it's impossible to haggle over this."

You exchanged a glance with Viktor, already dreading a silent return covered by the tension of an unknown third party spying on you. Eris didn't seem any more delighted than you were, but as Renata had just said, bargaining wasn't an option.

"Well, I am very sorry that this presentation had to be made in such a disastrous manner, but I am expected," Renata greeted, turning to you. "I'll send you a letter with information about the date and place of the appointment."

You found nothing to reply but nodded, and with that, accompanied by her second guard, she left.

Outcoln moved slightly away from you, keeping you in sight but letting you talk in private.

"Seriously," Eris was the one to cut the silence, "bodyguards?" She giggled. "That'll ruin my clientele."

"Not necessarily," Viktor remarked, "I was just coming in to do a little purchase."

You turned towards him, his eyes meeting yours. Eris raised her eyebrows.

"Really?"

"Mhm," he confirmed, nodding, "could we...?" his eyes drifted towards the shop door.

"I don't turn away customers that are my friend's friend," she smiled, moving towards the entrance of the shop, turning to you for a moment, "especially not those of my bruised friends who I'm going to give a few things to."

You rolled your eyes, letting Viktor enter before you, glancing at Outcoln who seemed deeply unperturbed.

The interior of Eris' shop welcomed you like a shawl wrapped around your shoulders after a day out in the cold. You would have liked to grab one of the velvet consultation armchairs, pulling it slightly towards you before sitting down, but instead you headed for the back of the shop you knew so well.

"I'll be back there," you signalled, placing your bag on the floor before disappearing from the room, leaving Viktor and Eris free to discuss what he had come here for.

The back of the shop was reached after passing through a curtain of wooden pearls leading to a room with a ceiling whose colour you could no longer see as hundreds of bouquets of dried plants hung from it. On your right, a whole wall of small drawers rose up until they disappeared among bundles of laurel, thyme and pope's coin.

On each drawer was a label indicating its contents, and in your youth you used to enjoy reading them all and opening them to contemplate these special treasures. You remembered each individual one.

Like the drawers at the very top, almost touching the ceiling, which you had to climb up the little ladder to get to that contained bath salts and volatile salts, grains of anis, cinnamon bark and zapota seeds, dried fruits, bunches of little red berries that you crushed between your fingers and rubbed on your clothes to make them smell good as you said affirmations.

On the lower levels were floral and medicinal oils, decoctions, teas in powder and leaf form, sachets of Ionian pepper, multicoloured scented tablets and ribbons, candles, metalised scented sealing waxes, violet oil ink for lovers' letters, varnished rosewood quill holders, exotic feathers as turquoise as the sea flecked with scarlet and gold freckles that curled like strands of hair, small ebony boxes and chests to hold jewellery, elongated wooden incense holders with hand-painted embellishments and more complex enamel pottery as variegated and crackled as a desert.

In the drawers at waist and hip level were the balms and pommades, the bandolines, the brilliantines, the ointments, the creamy soaps made from cut flowers that children in Ixtal were said to soap their bellies with. You knew, without a doubt, that when Eris came here in a moment, she'd be looking for a pot full of animal fat or resin mixed with comfrey and other medicinal herbs that she knew so well.

On the other wall you turned towards, surrounded by a few cupboards, was Eris' work surface where unfinished products lay. She had placed her sewing pad stuffed with nutmeg flowers on her desk, tying a plum ribbon around a small sachet of lavender and embroidering a sigil with a fine gold thread.

In large glass jars to the side of her lamp, with its shade made of tinted glass joined together to form butterflies and flowers, were pots-pourris and bowls for putting flower petals.

You moved towards the latter, taking your place on the stool with a grunt, clearing any utensils from the cushion before letting your arms hang between your legs as you gently placed the side of your jaw that hadn't been bruised on the pillow.

The little click and slide of the seeds under your skin was pleasant as the weight of your head sank slightly, relaxing the tense muscles in your neck and shoulders.

You breathed out gently, thinking back over the whole scene that had just happened, closing your eyelids. When would you rest? 

It had been years since everything had ended, well, supposedly ended, and yet here you were, facing these ghosts of the past. You thought back to Stex, to his yellow eyes, to the soft skin beneath his scarred tattoo. 

You tried not to get carried away, to rationalise. Everyone here had scars, that was nothing new. You had yours, Eris had hers, Viktor probably had some. It was nothing unusual, although it should have been, but you stopped asking yourself those questions a long time ago.

You thought back to the contact of your fists against his dry skin, the muffled grunts from the blows, your fingers clenched against your palm...

Viktor's saliva on the inside of your fingers.

You turned your face to plunge it into the cushion to find the coolness of the jagged, thick crimson arils, hoping that the mace would ease the heat in your cheeks.

Why did he keep making it harder for you not to fall for him?

How could he make such tiny gestures that naturally wouldn't matter and turn them into an emotional loop for you?

The pearls at the entrance clinked in their usual hollow wooden tinkle, and you didn't need to look up to see who had just entered.

"So," began Eris, "rough day for you isn't it."

You let out a long sigh from your lungs, turning your head to the side to face her.

"What can I say," you growled, "they just can't get enough of me."

"I wonder what it is," she smiled "changed your perfume? Put something in your hair?"

"Slept less than five hours last night, my only meal was a coffee and I don't think I even took care of my hair before going out."

"Irresistible routine," huffed Eris, "you sold it to me so well I might just start using it if it gets me into so many new exciting situations."

You smiled, and your lip reopened in burning discomfort, making the skin on your nose wrinkle.

"Where are you hurt?" she questioned.

You readjusted the position of your head on the cushion. "Apart from a few punches in the jaw, the belly and my entire spine clicking back together thanks to the sweet kiss of a wall, I have a bit of a headache."

You could already see her opening the balm-filled drawers with a sigh, taking one of them between her fingers, closing that drawer with a flick of her hip as her free hand reached for one in front of her head and she stood on tiptoe as she flipped through tea bags like files.

During this frantic search, you replayed the scene in your head as the adrenaline drained from your system, giving way to pain.

You breathed in. "One of them had..." you hesitated in your words, staring into space, "I don't know if what I saw is true, but one of them wore his mark."

Eris turned to you, her searching movements slowing drastically as she paid attention to you. 

"You think the guys that attacked you were...?"

"Might have been," you agreed, "I didn't think that was possible, I thought..."

But you didn't know, to tell the truth. You sometimes thought back to that fateful night, to those events so fully etched in the memory of your skin that every glance in the mirror brought you back to the same situation where you came across that black beast in the reflection and could only lower your eyes to face it.

"I don't know," you admitted, the events had not yet decanted sufficiently for you to be able to draw a satisfactory conclusion.

Eris said nothing, simply nodding as she continued her little research.

"How was the reading with Renata?" you asked all the same.

She giggled, as if impressed. "I feel like I've had the epitome of success in my living room."

"Really?" 

"First card she draws," she began as she retrieved from her hand a few packets from which she checked the ingredients, "the 4 of pentacles, in other words, a little too firm a grip on her finances."

"This isn't starting so well," you commented.

"That was her card from the past," she remarked, pointing to the ceiling with a tea bag pinched between her fingers like a small card. "Then, she drew the seven of pentacles, which is the reward for patience and progress. And after that, the nine of pentacles, the true financial independence that allows you to afford whatever you want." 

She closed her drawer, where she seemed to have found everything she needed, before turning to a cupboard not far from you and opening it. 

"As luck would have it, the shadow card turns out to be the Page of Swords, it's full of new ideas and curiosity, so it's about keeping an open mind if you like."

You huffed. "If she could spare me that chance it wouldn't be refused."

"Don't worry, the tide will turn," she commented as she pulled out a craft bag into which she placed all these little things together. "Everything changes eventually, nothing stays static forever."

Your two hands touched, still hanging in the void, your fingers tracing where you'd felt his tongue.

"And Viktor?" you couldn't help asking.

She gave you a knowing look. "Intrigued, eh?"

"Please don't start. I've had a bad enough day already," you grumbled as you closed your eyelids for a moment, trying to mentally prepare yourself for the fact that you'd have to get up from that chair and walk all the way home.

She giggled. "He came," she began, opening a cupboard above your head and grabbing a deck of cards identical to yours, "for this."

You frowned, your headache not improved by the gesture as your eyes moved from the illustration on the tarot box to Eris.

"For a Tarot deck?"

"Mhm," she confirmed, "believe it or not, he's clearly interested. I showed him various models but he absolutely wanted this one. He even asked for a more comprehensive book on Tarot reading."

"Really?" you questioned, deeply surprised.

"Absolutely," she smiled before closing the cupboard door and crossing her arms as she pressed her hip to the desk counter, "I have my theory as to why but unfortunately I don't think your disillusionment is ready for it."

"Nor my tired body," you breathed heavily, painfully lifting your head from the cushion to take a step towards the immense challenge that was simply standing up. "I have to go, otherwise I might fall asleep right here."

"You? Sleep?" she giggled. "And I thought your superhuman abilities went beyond your physical body."

"I know," you replied in the same tone as you pressed your palms against her work surface and pushed on them with two trembling arms to get up. "So it would seem that miracles have their limits."

You managed to get to your feet, legs wobbling. The adrenalin had finally given way to tiredness, and you followed Eris out of the back of the shop with an undecided step. She passed you the bag she'd filled with lots of little treatments, and you didn't need to ask how to use them, out of habit from years ago.

Near the counter, Viktor seemed to be observing the shelves and his surroundings. Eris returned to the checkout as you came to stand by the entrance. She announced the price, but Viktor made no comment as he took out his wallet and handed what was due to her. He didn't even wait for her to give him the change and tell her to keep it, simply took the bag, wishing her a good day and joining you at the exit.

"I'll write to you," you said to your friend before leaving, Viktor following close behind.

Outside, you found Outcoln, who hadn't moved a particle of dust. You exchanged a look with Viktor.

‘’Did you have nothing else to do here?" you checked with him.

"No, you?"

You shook your head. "No."

Great. Now the situation seemed awkward.

He simply nodded, staring off into the distance before him. "Would you... like to go home together?"

You almost laughed, and he turned his frown-covered gaze back to you. "If you think I'm going to let you walk home alone after what happened, you're wrong."

The ghost of a smile passed over his lips before he started walking, and you exhaled a heavy breath with difficulty. You were afraid of making a false step, of saying something stupid, of making the situation worse. 

You reached his level, walking at his pace until you passed Outcoln and he began to follow you at a sufficient distance for you to be able to hold a conversation without being overheard if, by chance, you started one despite what you thought was a climate of tension and uncertainty.

But Viktor's curiosity won out over the silence. “When I came to the café today, you weren't there,” he turned his head towards you as you walked to what appeared to be the cable car station. "Why did you come here today?"

"Regular Tarot reading with Eris," you replied, looking straight ahead.

He did the same. "Those happen often?"

"Every now and then, when there's time."

"What did it say?"

You earned his gaze as you turned towards him. "Curious?"

"Why would I be asking otherwise."

He had a point. "Personal things."

"Troubling things?"

"Sort of," you sighed.

"Huh," he frowned, his gaze taking in the arrival of the cable car in the distance, descending through the cable linking it to the surface. "You also came to see Renata, didn't you?"

You lowered your head. "Yes."

He glanced back, watching Outcoln, still as inflexible as ever. "I see."

You finally reached the cable car stop, which was deserted at the time and was not carrying anyone in its gondola. Silence returned as you waited for the vehicle to arrive, and its weight pressed down on your shoulders more than you would have preferred.

What was he thinking? He was from Zaun after all and was undoubtedly aware of Glasc's personality, so did he disapprove of you making contact with her? Cogitations can only take you so far, and sometimes you have to act.

So you plucked up your courage, turned to him and stared off into space.

"Does that make you see me otherwise?" you asked.

You felt his eyes on you, and your chest tightened in anticipation. He stayed like that for a while, until the cable car pulled up and its doors opened. Then he turned towards the entrance, and your eyes finally found the strength to rest on him.

"It just adds more to how surprising you are," he conceded before stepping inside. Your shoulders slumped as you climbed in after him.

He moved towards the back of the chamber, taking a seat by the window. "You're not going to desert me from such surprise, right?"

He sat down and watched you, standing hesitantly in front of him. He tilted his head to one side, and the afternoon sun beat down on his cheek.

"Even if you asked me to leave your life yourself," he began without taking his eyes off you, "I think the only thing that would make me desert you would be death."

Your heart skipped a beat, your lips parted in surprise. You hadn't expected such determination, such loyal determination from anyone about you. You didn't know to what you owed this unshakeable conviction and, dazed, since you knew that Viktor didn't bother to lie, you couldn't think of anything to say in reply.

You simply sat down next to him as Outcoln entered the pod and sat down on the exact opposite side from you. You were remarkably surprised by the persistent respect for privacy and private discussion that Renata's men had shown so far, but you had no doubt that secrecy in this kind of business was the key to any good business.

It didn't take long for the cable car to set off, automatically closing its doors before taking off without much ado. You hadn't taken it for a while, avoiding the less popular corners of the city in preference for the hidden lifts, but you had to admit it was a pleasant experience. 

Viktor was looking out, and you were looking at Viktor. The sun bathed his face, his amber eyes under his thick eyebrows fixed on a point on the horizon, the angle of his jaw cutting a straight shadow across his clothes in which you were so unaccustomed to seeing him in. Every beauty spot you'd memorised from the night of the return from Demacia hadn't moved from your memory, even the one on the muscle connecting the back of his jaw to the hollow of his collarbone.

You shifted your gaze, afraid that its unconscious insistence would reveal more than was necessary about the flood of thoughts that was invading you. You bit the inside of your lip, inhaling softly.

"All I can tell you is that-" Viktor immediately abandoned his contemplation to meet your gaze, and you almost lost your breath to see those two suns resting on your eyes, attentive to what you had to say. "We are investigating something that some would rather keep secret."

He seemed intrigued, but didn't seem to be rushing you into your explanation, remaining patient with what you decided to pass on as information or not. You looked away.

"It's part of the reason why I am the way I am, and it might bring some much bigger dangers than what happened back in the street. And," you inhaled heavily, "I don't want to put you in danger because..." 

You felt your heart in your throat, turning towards him for a moment, not holding his gaze that seemed impossible to escape, like some wind was reaching into all the places your clothes couldn't protect every time he looked at you.

"...Because I care for you, and," your eyes fell on Outcoln in the distance, "you don't deserve to be in any of this."

There was silence again, and you could feel Viktor's gaze on you. You were going to have to face him one of these days, weren't you? To be able to look him in the eye without fearing that his stare would be filled with bitterness towards you?

You straightened up, grunting under the pain of your back, before looking up again. In his eyes, you found gentleness mixed with surprise. You weren't in the habit of proclaiming aloud, even if it wasn't so loud at the time, that you cared about someone, and if your eyes didn't betray you, it was also pride that was in Viktor's eyes.

He simply nodded, like a silent thank you for having warned him about this, and you felt reassured.

"I suppose there is no way for me to help you out with this, right?" he asked.

"For now, no. Later..." you thought for a moment about the expertise Viktor could provide. "Maybe. But I don't want to drag you into all of this. It's ugly and terrifying and I don't want to push this onto you-"

"But would it help you?" he cut in.

"What?" you replied, dumbfounded.

"If, somehow, you tell me about it all someday-"

"Not somehow, when I tell you this," you cut in.

This answer made him frown as a smile stretched the corner of his lip. Yes, definitely pride.

"Alright, when you tell me this," he corrected as you nodded in agreement, "and I provide my help, do you genuinely think it would be useful?"

"What do you mean by 'provide' your help?"

He raised an eyebrow, clutching his cane in his hand and raising it a little in the air until the handle was level with his face.

‘Think my cane can't handle more broken toes and noses to its name?" he asked.

You look falsely offended. "I would never insult it that way."

His grin intensified, contagious on your own lips, his eyes settling on the cut they were bearing for a moment before lowering his cane and looking straight ahead.

"You do seem to forget that my previous position was that of the assistant of a councillor," he remarked, turning back to you, "and that my big hearted friend is not only romantically entangled with a councillor but childhood friends with the daughter of another."

"Just make sure your big hearted friend doesn't hear about what you saw me doing today," you nodded. "I can't imagine the freak out he could get."

"Right," he agreed, "what will you tell him tomorrow when you come and that he remarks the state of your lip?"

You shrugged. "Tell him I saw Eris and that her cat got a bit too excited about playing with me."

"Eris has a cat?"

"A little black menace with knives at the end of his paws more than a cat if you ask me, Onyx' the name."

"Like the stone?"

"Yes, something about the virtue of said stone that's all about bringing strength and support in hard times or something like that."

"Is his name fitting to his temper?"

"I don't think a worst decision has ever been made in the history of bad decisions."

Viktor chuckled, and you followed him.

"You got any pets?" you asked.

"Got one at home."

"Really?" you remarked, surprised.

"Yes, a puppy, a lovesick one at that. His name is spelled I-D-I-O-T but it's pronounced Jayce, something to do with language standards that I don't quite get."

You couldn't help but giggle. "It's a brilliant name, very original."

"Thank you," he nodded as if someone was finally acknowledging a debating point he'd been trying to make for ages, "I'm very proud of it, it has such a powerful meaning."

It was when the cable car began to slow down that you realised you had reached your destination. The doors opened and you got up to leave, followed by Viktor. When you both arrived outside, Outcoln called to you from inside the transport. He told you that you were in safe territory and that you no longer needed his services here. You thanked him and started walking with Viktor.

You stopped a moment later to remove the accessories from your outfits that were no longer needed to better fit the Piltovian fashion. As you took off your jacket, Viktor took off his red waist coat, removing the belts that hung over his hips, leaving him wearing just his cream t-shirt with the long sleeves rolled up. 

You changed your shoes, stuffing everything into your bag again. The air was warm enough that, like Viktor, you didn't need to cover up any more than that.

And so you resumed your journey towards the city.

"I take it you won't be working tomorrow as well with your wounds?" he asked.

"I don't think I will," you sighed, already thinking about the fact that you'd have to make a detour before going back to warn them.

"Then," Viktor continued, "what do you say about coming to the apartment?"

You turned towards him, pausing for a moment in your walk, leading Viktor to turn towards you.

"You're finally inviting me there?"

He shrugged. "We finished unpacking most of our boxes," he said as you returned to his level and started walking again, "and we can finally walk without much difficulty. Didn't think the floor was actually duo coloured like that for a while." He raised his eyebrows, as if he'd come a long way. "So, yes, I think it is time for you to come to see it. Plus," he turned to you as you turned a corner, "if you're not working at the café tomorrow and I have to endure anyone else taking my order, I might just do the most dangerous thing."

"Which would be?" 

"Making tea."

You couldn't help but smile, and you realised how much you'd missed this. Those incessant jokes, your shared understanding, that ability he had to effortlessly play the same games as you and always push your sarcasm further.

And you'd deprived yourself of that, robbed yourself of such simple happiness.

"Would tea be worse than Jayce's coffee, though?" you asked.

Viktor seemed sincerely to be weighing up the pros and cons of this question, and in his contemplation on the subject, as unserious as he was but as serious as he made it out to be, he was beautiful.

"No, not worse," he finally concluded.

"That bad?" you giggled in surprise.

"You've never been miserable enough or coerced into drinking it, you wouldn't know."

"And you were?"

"Miserable, yes, coerced? I'd have drawn out what few tea bags we have at the flat by now for a slower poisoning."

"You hate tea that much?"

"I don't hate it," he admitted, "but tea doesn't keep me awake, not for work, and I don't have time to have time, not always at least."

You walked slowly, not only because you did not wish to overwork him with his leg which you had so suddenly abused during the afternoon, but because you savoured the moment.

"Some things I want to take my time with, others I'm indifferent to," he confessed.

"I'll make sure your time is well spent tomorrow by making your coffee then," you suggested.

"Finally, a moment when I can take the time to enjoy something," he smiled.

Far too soon for your liking, you arrived not far from a street adjacent to your café, and you had to cut the conversation short.

"This is where we go our separate ways today," you sighed, arriving at a crossroads.

Viktor looked around, calmer than usual that afternoon, before finding your eyes again.

"I only realise it now, but it seems that for the third time, you've come to my defence, Miss."

"It's not my fault you always end up getting into trouble," you remarked.

"What can I do," he sighed, "I always find my saviour this way."

Your heart warmed in your chest as the prospect of him looking forward to seeing you took hold. It was so strange, so new to see such a feeling shared. The idea of him willingly putting himself in danger to see you, however, was less pleasant.

He looked at you for a moment, a light breeze passing through the branches of the trees under which you were standing, spring having already brought back the flower buds of the fruit trees ready to blossom, letting themselves be lulled for the moment by the waltz of the wind and the leaves.

"For tomorrow, prepare your time," he advised, a gentleness in his eyes. "It's important."

"Alright," you nodded, feeling almost unable to tear yourself away from the moment. 

He nodded. "Come around about ten, Jayce will probably be awake if I'm not already," he frowned for a moment, "you know the flat number, don't you?"

You nodded, and his brows relaxed. 

"Good, then," He took a step to the side. "I'll see you tomorrow, Miss."

"See you tomorrow, Viktor," you greeted back.

He began to walk slowly home. It was a nice day, the sun was warm, he was going to take the time to take his time.

You turned into the street and found yourself pensive, almost forgetting the pain in your back. Part of you wanted to continue this discussion, but another part was worried about how it might have turned out if it had gone on a bit longer.

If he hadn't asked more questions about why you had avoided him so much, it was because he probably thought that this investigation had started as soon as you got back and that your distance was due to the fact that you didn't want to involve him.

You only partly liked this idea, because you didn't want to stick to this lie, but on the other hand, you didn't know if you had the courage to admit anything to him about your feelings for now - you had, after all, still to make a choice about what you were going to do with your feelings.

You had always known that your soul was so hermetically sealed that it seemed almost forbidden to obtain the love you never had, so much so that the prodromes of this incurable obsession had seemed abnormal to you at first.

You had encapsulated so much in your life before throwing it away so you wouldn't have to live with it that you had this fresh, free place for beautiful things that you could supply and fill.

So, perhaps, why not start your life now?

✦﹒ 𝐍𝐄𝐗𝐓 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑

✦﹒ 𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 : @doctorho @6selkie @yunloyal @kryscent @hypocritic-trash-baby @kapitankarate @a-lovers-card @ababanerb @lolixsstuff @forget-me-not-my-dear @smolanchovy @shugar0cone0alt @harrys--ferret-blog @suuummerrr @stillinracooncity @dlbitch @cloufire @csolya @kathyholdsagrudge @furblrwurblr @potatointhedirt @atrocioushaircut @ren-ni @schrodingersraven @urmommt @enoojnij @stilinskisensation @emlovesya @soupsaurus @luvreadingfics @the-valars-sapphire @solbringer @adorabluesposts @pxszels @nerolovesseongjiyuk @cyberwears @cryptidcut @seohaepeachyun @danielsbackupglasses @2hiigh2cry @16novvs @cicadastoner @patchs-curiosity-corneriosity-corner @w41k3r-94290 @minniiv @roku907 @lumilarity @peachy-writings @disturbyn @ddandelionfluff @holymotherfxrkingshirtballs @notyuralycat @glenn-slayer @k07ume @hexb0nes @ravngers @fushirika @glenn-slayer @watergirl13girl @graveyardtrain @theuclid @catspook @mildly-discouraging-future @nataliea @frogbuggy

[demon-at-peace]

DP + DC Danny/Dick P3

Part three of this, which you should read first if you want it to make sense. Anyway it's here! I finally did it, this is the proposal and jazz's explanation in one.

---

Jazz stumbles through the portal and is met with three pairs of blue eyes, and Ellie and Cujo's green ones. "Whoa you all look just like Dick," she comments aloud looking them over. she thinks over what Dick has said about his siblings.

Jason is nerdy, and a cute brother, gets so angry sometimes. Tim is feral, and refuses emotional attachment but is cute. Damian is the youngest, loves animals and art.

But who is who? Damian is the short one hugging Cujo that much is obvious. The boy looking over the old books, who's short and skinny, that's probably Jason, fits the nerdy, and he does look angry. Which means Tim is the taller one, with a calm face, and who looks like he's debating whether he should leave.

"So, Jason, Tim and Damian, why exactly are you here?" she asks primly.

"Did she just call me-" the one she thinks is Tim starts.

"She did! Holy shit, Jay she thinks you're me!" the boy who she thought was Jason cackles. "Dude that's gotta be so upsetting," he giggles.

"You got mistaken too," the real Jason grumbles.

"Yeah for a brick wall, you got mistaken for a nerdy twig!" Tim laughs in his face joyfully.

"Regardless we kinda need answers no?" Jason asks and Tim regains his composure in a second, it's almost scary the way his expression is suddenly blank.

'Yes, first of all how long have they known each other?" Tim asks glaring at her. "And why did they decide to keep it a secret?"

"Five years? maybe longer," Jazz answers, "From what I understood Dick had a rough patch with his ya'll and then just didn't want to tell you?" Jazz shrugs. "They've only been dating for two years though."

"Okay, where did they meet?" Tim asks.

"A library somewhere?" Jazz sighs.

The questions continue, details, ideas, so many questions. They interrogate her fro at least and hour before they pause. "Look um sorry? We just didn't think he'd you know hide it, so we thought it was like a prank, or abusive thing, but I guess not.." Jason sounds so resigned, he looks kinda cute embarrassed Jazz thinks.

"It's fine," Jazz waves it of, "I'd do the same thing for Danny, or Ellie, or Dan really," she stands up gently. "Anyone want tea?"

"Yes please," Damian answers still scratching Cujo's ears. The other bats reply with polite no's.

"Anyway," she says offering Damian his cup, "You'll fit right in, besides I need to catch you up, you won't believe the amount of blackmail photos I have on the two," She grins at them.

"Me too! And Dan!" Ellie adds, we drew mustaches on them!" she declares proudly looking at Jazz with a smug expression.

'Yeah, wanna see?" she offers, the bats exchange glances.

"Gods yes!" Jason agrees. After that the night dissolves into laughter as they see the embarrassing photos of their siblings.

---The Proposal

Danny was nervous, he'd been planning this out for ages. It wasn’t particularly fancy, he knew Dick wouldn’t like that. But he’d found a place to eat at a ski lodge, Dick loved heights and Danny knew he’d get a kick out of being so high up. It was summer too so there wouldn’t be people. he’d also rented a cabin up there, so they could spend the night alone.

He’d gotten a set of rings too, one with a small 3 carat diamond, and then another with little sapphires studding the edges. And then for when he was nightwing Danny made sure they could turn into tattoos or intangible.

he tried to drive carefully, but that he meant near the speed limit. Dick was apologizing, like he cared that his family had seen him. “I don’t care birdy!” He interrupts cutting right rapidly. “Really you wanted me there of course I’d come!” He smiles at him. Dick still looks guilty but is blushing.

“I know, but I mean I kinda just exposed our relationship, you know?” He mumbles.

“Darling it’s your family, I couldn’t care less how I meet them,” Danny chirps. “Anyhow I planned something so I was wondering…” he pauses sheepishly. “Um would ya wear a blindfold Birdy?”

“For you anything!” Dick grins at him. Danny blushes.

“Great!” Danny smiles back at him. “You sure though? I mean I thought you might have bad associations and I didn’t want to make you feel unsafe,” Danny fidgets as they wait for the light to turn red.

“Sweetheart I could never feel unsafe near you,” Dick soothes him.

“Well then I guess that problems solves?” Danny grins at him, ignoring his fluttering heart.

When they get out of the car Danny wraps the blindfold with little birds on it around Dicks head. “Birds really Danny?” He asks fondly.

“oh but of course birdy,” Danny laughs, “you good though?” He asks concerned.

“I’m fine Danny,” Dicn assures him, “I mean unless you took the blindfold of, in that case I can see!”

“Nah it’s still on love,” Danny giggles.

They reach the top quickly, and Danny maneuvers Duck into the lodge. The air smells like food, and the place is decorated with dozens of little wooden birds.

The table is set fancily. “Sit down sweetheart,” he pulls the chair out. “Dick sits down carefully.

“Thank you love,” Dick grins at him with a sappy smile. “Now can I take the blindfold off?”

“Yeah,” Danny replies, and dick unties it behind his head. It slips down, and Danny smiles at him.

“Oh this is gorgeous,” he laughs starting out the window. “Thank you Danny! I’m sorry I didn’t plan something, next year?”

“It doesn’t matter Birdy, anyhow you hungry?” Danny gives him a sappy smile.

“Yeah,” Dick agrees. And Danny practically swoons when he smiles.

“Great,” he blushes. Soon food is brought out, a mix of traditional Romani dishes and Dicks other favorite dishes. when he see the assortment he looks at Danny like he’d hung the stars in the sky.

After the meal they head outside marveling at the stars, and the view. Danny feels akward getting down on one knee as he pulls out the box, he doesn’t think he’s done something more nerve wracking. “Birdy?” He asks and Dick looks at him. “Will you marry me?”

“YES! Dick practically shouts hugging Danny, “I- I can’t believe- that you want to marry me? But yes, a thousand times yes!” He hugs him tighter like trying to squeeze the life out of him. Danny blushes, and tries to hide it.

“Uh yeah,” Danny mumbles, still grinning like an idiot. “Wanna see the ring?”

“Oh uh, yeah?” Dick smiles, and they both laugh.

“Gods we’re like a pair of teens! ” Danny smirks “that was damn awkward. Also why wouldn’t I want to marry you Birdy? I love you!”

“yeah” Dick shrugs “I love you two,” he kisses Danny and Danny kisses him back with everything he has.

---

yay! Finally I did it! fluff is hard to write when you brain is like semi depressed. Also idk what kissing is like when it’s a serious relationship so yeah.. also think I’m gonna do another part when I have time because this is fun! also totally didn't edit this so...

and the people who wanted to be tagged: @georgiefreddie0829 @eldritchgrey wierd-duck678, @dasha022 and @itsbushytailedfox

[bangaveragewhitewine]

so soft like silk chiffon

Eddie Munson x Reader

Word Count: 1.2k

Contents: Sickeningly sweet and cosy domesticity. Female reader. Eddie and reader share clothes, but I see her as curvy. Librarian / Bookstore reader x Record Store Eddie. Food mention. Weed mention if you squint. 

Note: This started as a single line in doc, abandoned for months and months. Looking for anything to focus on and any distractions from life, I present the doc formerly known as ‘Eddie Munson makes you dinner while wearing your silky robe. Send tweet.’ Barely edited, certainly not beta’ed. This is as much a surprise to me as it may be to you!

PS - I like to think of these two as the same couple from The Boy Is Mine, but feel free to imagine otherwise. Enjoy!

The keys in your hand are skin-warmed, digging their teeth into your palm and leaving their tangy metallic bitemarks behind. So eager to get home, you do not feel their weight or their sharp edges. 

Home. 

The thought alone makes you smile. An easy curve of your lips, much more effortless and real than your customer service facade.

Home is more than the hot shower and fresh bedsheets waiting to wash away the day and welcome you home. It is more than the stocked-up cupboards and the cold bottle of wine that calls ‘drink me!’ so sweetly after a long shift. More than the couch that cradles your weight and the records stacked and spinning as you breath in earthy green to unwind a little more, sink a little deeper into the weekend.

All of those things are great, you cannot wait to scrub away the sheen of sweat and the dry feeling that lingers on your hands after hours of stacking returned books and settle yourself into the groove in the couch with a carb-heavy dinner and cold white wine, the perfect remedy for the summer programme planning meeting-induced headache.

Now, home is so much more than simple pleasures and little luxuries. 

It’s the man who kissed you goodbye on the stoop before you turned in opposite directions for work this morning, both sleepy-headed as you set the countdown until you see each other again. Tick tock, tick tock, two whole days together over the weekend.

It is the man who races you back to the apartment, waiting with a triumphant smirk and an invitation to share the hot water, or a smiley face in steam on the bathroom mirror. When you win the race, the sound of his key in the lock and his goofy ‘honey, I’m home’ makes your tummy flutter.

Home is more than four walls and a front door; a small apartment at the top of Lakeview, perfectly poised between the library and the record store, with friends and favourite bars dotted around the Windy City. 

You have been playing house with Eddie since you were both gap-toothed with scraped knees, making up magical lands and adventures from morning until the sun set and only re-entering the real world to raid your fridge or eat the sandwiches Wayne made with cold cuts and crispy salty chips. It made sense that you would always be home for each other. 

The final few steps do not feel so arduous when you know he is home before you; the sound of Black Sabbath already playing from the stereo beckons you back into the cosy confines of your apartment. Smiling to yourself again, you take a final step over the threshold, feeling weightless.

Through the shred of War Pigs, Eddie catches the jangle of keys and the quick click of the closing door. He skids on socked feet from the kitchen to the short hallway, smile wide and eyes sparkling. 

“She’s home!” 

Eddie’s arms span out wide, swathed in wide swishing satin. He’s wearing your robe again, half open over his bare chest and boxers. The check print and his inked-up hairy legs are a wonderful contrast to the delicate swish and sway of painted florals. 

When it’s not wrapped around your bed-warm body in the mornings or draped on your lotioned post-shower skin at night, it hangs on the back of the bedroom door like a silky waterfall. That is until the seasons turn and the printed satin is carefully laundered and folded away, replaced with teddy-soft terrycloth until the weather warms again.

It just smells like you, which justifies how often Eddie wears it when you’re not home, and sometimes when you are. It is not just your lotion and perfume, your shampoo and the coffee you mopped up with the edge of your sleeve the other morning. An indescribable essence of you has been threaded through the thin fabric, sewn through satin like a phantom thread. 

And now it smells like Eddie too; the collar holds a musk that you cannot name, other than it is totally Him. 

You can smell it now as he wraps you up, a gentle blend of his and hers. Eddie’s hug manages to drain every ounce of tension and stress from your body, loosening your clenched jaw and tight shoulders with a simple squeeze. 

“Missed you,” murmured against his neck, your cheek pillowed by satin and a spill of curls that escapes his scrunchie. 

“Bad day?”

The slow pass of his hands along your back melts away the tight ache that had settled just beneath your waistband. 

“No, just better now.”

Even with your eyes closed, you can feel his smile, hear it. 

“Aww, you like me or somethin’?” he murmurs, a wisp of warm breath tickling your neck that cries out to be kissed.

Eddie is a weak man, easily tempted at times, and presses three sweet kisses from the collar of your shirt to the base of your jaw. 

“Or something.” 

He feels your smile too, the curve of your mouth against his shoulder. He has to see it, pulls away just enough to sneak a peek at pure sunshine. Your teasing is taken with a grain of salt, betrayed by how down bad you are for him. 

“Hungry?” he asks, gliding his thumb along your cheek with an almost hypnotic gentleness.

“Yeah, are you cooking for me?”

Beyond the shower clean scent of him, you find notes of garlic and rich tomato. Your stomach rolls ravenously, mouth wet at the thought of his pasta sauce.

His coy shrug makes you smile, proud of himself for predicting that you needed a night off dinner duty and an obscene amount of pasta as your week draws to a close. Eddie had noticed the tightness in your jaw, the way your shoulders had crept higher and higher with each working day.

“Just somethin’ easy, carby. That okay?” 

The way your eyes sparkle - something between thrilled and touched by his kindness - gives you away before you can crush into him again, arms winding around the solid trunk of him to squeeze. 

“I love you.”

Your voice is muffled against his chest, but Eddie can feel it; the way your lips form those three words, the adoration that radiates from you into him. He drinks it up. 

“I love you.”

He kisses the top of your head, crowning you with his love.

You stand there, in the hallway of your home together, a slow rocking sway, foot to foot.

Before you let each other leave - you to the bedroom to strip off your clothes and wash the day away, Eddie to the kitchen - one more kiss, syrup-slow and sweet, is shared amongst the lived-in clutter. A box of books and clothes to donate, a borrowed amp to return, the rescued-from-the-sidewalk side table holding your keys, a vase of flowers and a framed photo of you, Eddie & Wayne at a barbecue in Forrest Hills.

Slowly you part, coming unstuck from each other so that you can come back together again over plates of pasta and plans for your weekend.

When you a shower-damp with hair dripping on the plains of your shoulders, you remember your robe has been stolen by a handsome thief. A wash-worn t-shirt lies folded on the counter with your pyjama shorts, waiting for you beneath the heart traced in steam, oozing with adoration. 

Butter soft beneath your fingertips, you bury your nose in the stretched-out collar and breathe in the scent of him. The scent of home.

Thank you for taking the time to read this! Your comments, reblogs and likes are cherised!

[slytherinsimp12]

♡𝓨𝓸𝓾 𝓪𝓲𝓷’𝓽 𝓶𝔂 𝓫𝓸𝔂𝓯𝓻𝓲𝓮𝓷𝓭 ♡

Pairing : James Potter x fem!reader

Summary: You had a one stand with your long term rival, James potter, before Christmas break.

Now back at Hogwarts, James becomes more annoying than usual ; cock blocking you from seeing any other guy besides him.

Warnings : 18+, !minors dni! ,Jealous James potter , Angst , dramatic confessions, smut, oral (f receiving) , body worship , p in v. First time writing smut.

(Let me know if I missed any!)

A/N: This is the clean version of the same story.

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The snow covered windows blocked any trace of sunlight from entering the dimly lit Potions class room. The smell of powdered sage and fresh wormwood wafted in the air , creating a perfect ambiance for potion brewing. Students were filled with more energy than usual ; having just returned after Christmas break.

You take a seat at the very front of the classroom, excited for professor Slughorn to start the lesson. All the excitement drains from your face when an all too familiar figure plops down on the seat next to you. His messy black hair covered his forehead, making his Hazel eyes appear brighter and larger.

“Psyched to be back, are we?” James Potter said, flashing you that famous grin of his.

You were dreading this moment since last night; having to see James again after what went down before break. How was he acting so normal?

“What do you want, James?” You asked, annoyed, refusing to make eye contact with him.

“It’s lovely to see you too, y/n. My holiday was great, thanks for asking. How was yours?” He said cheekily.

“Piss off , Potter.” You mumbled.

The conversation was cut short, thankfully, after Slughorn entered the classroom.

You didn’t understand why James was being so nice. He was never exactly unpleasant towards you, but you and James were rivals in all the things that mattered. Whether it was Quidditch or the Grades you got, you both always had to be better than the other in everything you did. This lead to you both exchanging snarky remarks now and then , James teasing you whenever he had the chance. Sometimes, he would take it as far as publicly humiliating you in-front of the whole class by playing practical jokes on you. That’s why you hated thinking about what happened before Christmas break.

It was way past curfew, and the library was empty , except for an exhausted James Potter , sitting at the table across yours. You made the awful mistake of joining him for a cup of coffee. One thing lead to another, and the next morning you found yourself tangled in the sheets of the arrogant gryffindor boy. However, you thought that was the end of it, neither of you would acknowledge what happened and go back to usual. But, James clearly had other plans.

A month had passed and you noticed the fact that James had gone back to normal. Back to being your annoying rival. Nothing else. You didn’t understand why it bothered you so much. This is what you wanted.

One morning, during breakfast, you received a box of sweets from honeydukes and a bouquet of enchanted flowers that turned into butterflies at your touch.

“Who are they from!” Lily said, jumping with excitement by your side.

“I don’t know… there’s no note.” You said as you blushed uncontrollably.

“Someone’s got herself a secret admirer! I personally think they’re from that Ravenclaw boy, Marcus, she’s been talking to.” Marlene shouted, too loudly for your liking.

At this comment, James’ head jolted up, his eyes meeting yours and his expression almost… hurt.

That evening after dinner, you made your way back to your dorm, when you were greeted by a distressed Marcus. His face was badly beaten, a large bleeding gash was across his forehead and he had an enormous black eye.

“Oh Merlin! Marcus what happened!!??” You yelled.

“Y/n… just to be clear, I did NOT send you any gifts this morning. I think it’s best if we stayed away from each other.” Marcus said, as he practically ran away from you.

“Wait! Marcus! Atleast tell me who did this to you!” You shouted after him, but he was already 10 feet away.

The day after, in charms, a kind boy from Hufflepuff was teaching you the right way to hold your wand while performing a certain spell.

“So you want to hold it at an angle of 45 degrees, whilst making a ‘S’ motion with your arm.” He explained, guiding your hands with his. You couldn’t help but smirk, because obviously he was flirting with you. From the side of your eye, you caught a very irritated… almost jealous looking James, staring daggers at the Hufflepuff boy.

About an hour later, you went to Madam Pomfery to get some cream for your finger; you nicked it during potions, when you found that kind boy who had just helped you in charms, lying on a bed. His face was swollen ten times the normal size, and his body was shaking uncontrollably.

“Madam Pomfery! What happened to him?” You asked, worried.

“Nasty Hex. He claims one of the Gryffindor boys did it.” She explained.

Weeks went by, but you noticed something extremely unusual. Every single guy from your year was avoiding you. Even the ones you thought were your friends. Something wasn’t right.

“Lily! Wait up!” You called after the red headed girl as she walked to class.

“Hey y/n! How you holding up?” She asked, a pitiful expression plastered across her face.

“How am I holding up? What do you mean?” You sounded almost offended.

“Oh sorry… I thought you noticed by now-“

She countered.

“Noticed what? Noticed the fact that every single boy is avoiding me. Yea. I have bloody noticed that. Do you happen to know why the hell that is? “ you questioned.

“Oh… erm. I really shouldn’t get involved but, James has been beating up and threatening every guy who speaks to you.”

She told.

“What. The. Actual. Fuck?” You hissed through your teeth.

“I’m sorry, love. I thought you already knew. I’ve got to get to class…. I’ll catch you later!” Lily said, as she walked away.

You were furious. Where ever James Potter was, he better watch out, because you were going to END him. You burst into an empty class room to make sense of everything, and thats when you saw him. James was sitting on a desk, with a few books spread open in front of him.

“INCENDIO” you pointed your wand at his books, setting them on fire.

“What the fuck are you doing!?” James shouted, as he jumped up and away from the flames.

“Who the actual fuck do you think you are, potter? You pathetic piece of shit. Beating up guys who talk to me? It was a one night stand. Get over it. You are NOT my boyfriend.” You said, practically up in his face, with your wand poking at his chest.

“How oblivious are you? It may have been a casual thing for you, but it was not bloody casual for me!” He spat back.

“You think you can just exist. Exist being so perfect. Looking so beautiful, that it physically pains to be away from you. I ACHE EVERY MINUTE I AM NOT WITH YOU!” He shouted, pushing your wand aside and getting closer.

Whatever gap there was between your faces was closed by James smashing his lips into yours. You gave in. You finally just gave in, and kissed him back. Oh,with each kiss you were wondering why you resisted for so long. You kissed his jaw then his jaw line and then his ear, leaving hickeys as you went. James trailed a finger down ur spine, giving you shivers.

“James…” you trailed off.

“Oh.. do you not want to?” He asked

“No! No.. I definitely want to , but I don’t have-“ you hoped he’d get the hint.

“I have like an entire pack of condoms in my bag ,over there.”

“wow. Way to make a girl feel special…” you rolled your eyes , but also felt kind of sad , because why did he need so many condoms? Who were they for?. You were spiralling in a train of thought and just then James’ voice snaps you out of it.

“Y/n…. These are the ones i share with the boys… Remus got them from the muggles and this bag here is his.” James said holding up Remus’ bag.

That made you feel so much better.

James picks up where you left it.

James trails kisses from your mouth to you abdomen. You couldn’t help but let out a soft moan, earning a small smirk from him.

“James, what if someone comes in?”

“Colloportus” James said as he pointed his wand towards the slightly open door.

“There. No one is going to be coming inside, but there will be a lot of cumming inside…” He smirked as he made his lewd remark.

“Yuck James! That was corny even for you.” You complained as you threw your cardigan at him. “Unfunny freak” you sniggered.

After kissing for about 10 minutes, James unbuttoned his shirt, and then goes to remove your clothes.

“Is this okay, love?” James asked

You nodded.

“I need a verbal ‘yes’ y/n.”

“Yes.”

Now both of you were in nothing but your underwear. James started kissing you and slowly made his way down. Oh how you’ve missed this! Once he reached your lower abdomen, he gave you a look and removed your panties. He slid his tongue between your slit.

“Oh Merlin! James!” You gasped, clutching a fistful of his hair.

“Does that feel good , love? Wanted to get you a little excited, but it seems to me you’ve got that covered.” James grinned.

You reddened at that comment.

“Don’t be ashamed, love. Let me try something. You just relax and spread your legs. Thank-you.” James instructed as you spread your legs apart.

He stuck one finger, then a second , curling them inside. Oh.my.world. This felt so good, you wanted to scream. He bought his mouth down to your clit and started sucking it.

“Potter… I’m so.. c-c-close” you barely managed to say.

With two more thrusts of his fingers, you finished in his mouth.

“You’re so fucking sweet, darling “

“Ok darling, I need a verbal yes for this part” James said as he slid a condom on.

He aligned his length with you. “Darling?”

“Yes. Please James. I need you.” You begged.

“Oh love, you look so beautiful, begging for me like that.” He said as he pushed himself in.

Your eyes practically rolled to the back of your head due to the intense pleasure you were feeling. This was so much better than the first time. Maybe because both of your feelings are out in the open this time.

“Y/n , you feel so good my love. “ James cooed.

With a few more thrusts you could feel a knot coming undone in your stomach.

“Hold on for just a minute, darling” James said.

“I’m gonna cu- James-“ you pleaded

And just like that, both of you finished at the same time.

James cleaned you up, and you both redressed. As you were leaving the empty classroom, James grabbed you by your wrist. He placed a kiss on your forehead.

“Next time Potter, when you send me flowers, make sure to leave a note on them. Don’t want people to get beaten up for no reason.”

You teased.

“Next time Y/L/N , be better at acknowledging my feelings” James joked.

“Next time , be better at fucking showing them!” You countered.

You both laughed, as James pulled you in for one last kiss before class.