#examing bone markings

[the-unrivalled-pessimist]

im so sick of people who know nothing about a field doing surface level research than trying to make an educational video

like please don’t try to explain to me, a person with a whole ass degree in molecular forensic science, that forensics is a "pseudoscience"

rosalind franklin rolling in her grave right now

[aciddrattboyy]

Wԋҽɳ Yσυ Mҽʂʂ Wιƚԋ Lσʋҽ

┆ꜱʏɴᴏᴘꜱɪꜱ - "your boyfriend arrives late for your study date and things(sex) happen"

ᴍᴏᴠɪᴇ ꜱᴛᴀᴛꜱ: ★ Starring: Mark Grayson x F! Reader ★ Run Time: 3.9k ★ Genre/Warnings: [Rated R: Drama/Rom/Adult Film] smut, both reader and mark lose their virginities, fingering(f!receiving), vanilla sex tbh, there will be eventual angst, set in au where they are in college before... (gulp) chicago incident, two part story ★ soundtrack: karma police, basta ya ★ pls pls pls any invincible fans HIT MY LINE i have no friends in this fandom and i desperately need them ★ 01 . 02 .

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noon. you invited mark over to your dorm at noon. it was three o’clock now, with no text messages or calls from your boyfriend; even after he assured you he’d be there about four hours earlier. mark had been… distant. constantly ditching you, not even showing up to dates or hangouts, or asking for rain checks if he had the decency to do even that. today was supposed to be a typical study date, with exams coming up you thought it would be nice. because even though mark left you hanging seemingly more often than not, the time he was there was, well, amazing. when he did manage to find the time for you he treated you like you were the best thing that ever happened to him, acted as the perfect, doting boyfriend. whether it was picking up your favorite food without asking or buying you a plushie of your favorite animal you didn't even remember telling him about, mark was loving.

but as the minutes ticked by, your phone continued being pathetically dry, and your dorm mark-less, you were starting to think maybe the good no longer outweighed the bad. with a sigh, you push back in your desk chair, slumping in the seat as you tipped your head back. you glanced over at your phone sitting atop a pile of books, almost mocking you with the lack of notifications, and thought about texting mark. again. dragging a hand down your face, you began to spin slowly in your chair, watching the room swirl by out of boredom. 

as you spun lazily, you could see your door slowly opening. and then there was mark, peeking his face through the crack, sporting that same guilty expression you were starting to think you saw more than him smiling. you plant your feet on the ground, coming to a halt as you looked at him with narrowed eyes and a frown. 

“if your excuse is you had to help your dad with work, lost track of time, or ‘had something to take care of’, save your breath,” you turn back to your desk, staring at the open textbook with your jaw clenched and brows pinched together. mark grimaced at your words, his hand twitching hesitantly on the doorknob, not sure if he should even come inside.

“alright no excuses,” he murmured softly, scratching at his nape as he stared at your back. sheepishly, he held up a plastic bag, the contents inside rustling softly. “but… how about an apology? starting with some food from that place you said you wanted to try?” mark’s voice had a hopeful lilt to it, although he knew he couldn’t keep fixing everything with food. he was entirely sure he’s been fixing anything at all, like a bandaid on a broken bone. but he also couldn’t exactly say: “sorry for being late to our study date. i promise i wanted to be here but my alien space dad made me go train with him since i just got super cool powers.”  it wouldn't be a secret identity if he started telling people. and unfortunately, people included you, no matter how much he didn’t want it to be this way. 

your glare aimed at your text book softened at his words, once again he had gone out of his way for you. acting as if he cared for you even as he was constantly blowing you off. a few quiet moments of you contemplating what to do pass by before you speak, turning in your chair slightly to look at him. 

“i guess that’s not a completely bad start.” marks face immediately lit up like an excited puppy as you spoke. it wasn’t a hard get the fuck out of my room and that was as good of a start as any when trying to make up for his major fuck ups. without missing a beat, he steps inside, closing the door behind him before toeing off his shoes, dropping his backpack near the foot of your bed and making his way over to you.  

“i uh got you a little bit of everything- well not everything everything but y’know a reasonable amount of-”

“thank you mark,” you cut him off quietly, not entirely sure how mad at him you still were. you take the bag from him, not able to meet his eyes as you set the bag down on your now limited desk space. mark stood somewhere to the side behind you, shoving his hands in his pockets as he rocked back on his heels.

“yeah, yeah no problem,” his voice cracked slightly and he winced at his own tone, feeling helpless and not at all sure how to really fix this without coming clean about his secret identity; something he could not do. the silence seems to drag on as you looked through the different containers. his eyes trailed over your desk and a fresh wave of guilt washed over him when he the notes scribbled into a notebook. “you.. um you got a lot of work done,” mark said awkwardly, grasping at straws to try to fix what he was rapidly breaking between you two. 

“yeah well it would’ve been easier if you had been here to help.” both of you freeze at your words that came out just a bit more harsh than you intended. mark frowned, not sure what to say. he reached out a hand, hovering it over your shoulder as he slowly opened his mouth. but you sighed before he can get anything out, running a hand through your hair before you turn in your chair to face with a faint frown of your own. “look, i’m sorry for talking to you like that. let’s just eat yeah? i’ve done enough studying for the both of us” you offer mark a small smile, one that he returns hesitantly. he takes a step back when you get up from your chair, grabbing the bed and heading over to your bed. 

“yeah that… sounds good.” mark nods, following you over to the bed. he sits next to you, mirroring your cross legged posture with his back leaning against the wall. he slowly scoots closer as you pull out the various containers until your knees are touching. you didn’t acknowledge it, but you didn't pull away and that was as good of a win as any. his eyes light up with an idea before leaning over the edge of the bed to grab his laptop. “thought we could watch something while we ate.” he offers softly, already turning on youtube and putting on the type of videos he remembered you telling him you watched sometime in the past. you nod at him softly, your smile growing both in size and genuineness just a bit.

“good thinking,” you respond softly, the anger already subsiding just from being with him. mark had a way of making you feel good, even if it wasn't for long, even if he upset you more often than you’d really like. you knew deep down he was still a good guy, and you desperately wanted to see him be better. wanted to see him start living up to his apologies.

the two of you eat in a somewhat comfortable silence, interrupted by laughs or brief commentary on what you were watching. and everything starts to feel normal again. for you, but also for mark. for just right now he wasn’t Invincible. he was mark grayson, a freshman in college with the more amazing girlfriend by his side. it felt nice to feel normal again, even if he had been waiting his whole life to get powers, to be just like his dad. you find yourself curled up against mark’s side, watching random videos with your head on his shoulder and his arm wrapped loosely around your waist. the sun was starting to set, the fading sunlight casting shadows and warm orange light through the blinds. 

when you tilt your head to look up at mark, he meets your gaze. his lips slowly pull into a goofy smile that makes you huff with amusement.

“why’re you looking at me like that?” you murmur playfully while tracing idle shapes over the fabric covering his chest. he pulls you closer, the movement almost imperceptible as his expression turns warm.

“you’re just so pretty,” mark answered just as softly, getting lost in your eyes with a stupid smile. only a second passes before he realizes what he’s said; his eyes widen, face flushing red as he sputters out apologies while trying to pull away. “oh shit that was so stupid- fuck im sorr-” before mark could run away and hide, you grab his face and pull him into a kiss. he lets out a muffled noise of surprise, eyes wide before his brain catches up to what was happening. then he’s humming softly instead, hands finding your waist as he kissed you back gently. “wha… what was that for?” he whispered breathlessly when you pulled away, your faces only inches apart. 

“am i not allowed to kiss my boyfriend?” you ask teasingly, smile only growing as your swipe your thumbs over his cheeks.

“no- i mean yes- uh yeah you can kiss me,” he lets out an almost self deprecating laugh, hands squeezing your waist gently. “i’m fucking this up aren’t i?” you pull him into another kiss, languidly moving your lips against his.

“i think you’re doing just fine,” your fingers tangle in mark’s hair, deepening the kiss, starting it off slow, gentle, but one thing led to another and soon enough you’re pulling him closer as you fall back against the sheets. mark follows you willingly, hovering over you with his hands on either side of your head. one of mark’s legs slot in between yours, involuntarily pressing his knee against the apex of your thighs. you gasp softly against his lips, grip tightening in his hair. when you roll your hips, a shudder runs through both you and mark when he realized what you were doing. the revelation only served to send blood straight to his already semi-hard dick.  

the kissing grows frenzied, the air between you heavy with harsh panting and even messier kissing. your laptop had been precariously moved out of the way and onto the corner of your desk. both of your shirts? thrown god knows where. was this all happening just a bit too fast? maybe… probably… definitely. but slowing down seemed to be the last thing on your mind along with mark’s. who was now practically buzzing with nervous excitement and lust. he’d kissed you before, many times actually. but never like this. never half clothed and making out with you as if you were trying to eat each other’s faces off while you ground your hips against his knee.

shifting slightly, mark props himself up on his elbow, body pressing more firmly on top of yours. he smooths his free hand up your waist, hesitantly thumbing over the hem of your bra as he waited for some sort of signal to stop. but none came, in fact, he could feel your back slightly arch into his touch. he let out a low groan, muffled by your lips, the obvious tent in his sweats pressed snuggly against your thigh. for a brief moment he thought maybe he should be embarrassed. but how could he when you seemed to just as affected. and somehow a lot more confident… with a gasp, and much reluctance, mark pulls his mouth off of yours, panting heavily against your lips.

“have you uh… y’know… before?” his voice was barely a whisper, face feeling hot and eyes slightly widened as he looked down at you.

“no…” you start, your voice equally as quiet as you prop yourself up on your elbows. “is it that obvious?” your brows twitched, just barely pinching together with a hint of worry and newfound self consciousness. 

“no- no no!” mark quickly squeaks out, shaking his head with wide eyes. “i just- you seem so- so…” he trails off, not entirely sure what to say anymore.

“we don’t have to keep going if you don’t want to. do you want to stop?” your voice was soft, a small smile on your face in hopes of making sure mark knew his comfort was important above all. but it only served to make mark feel more… feel more of whatever was making his stomach flip and his cock twitch against your thigh in a way that was getting harder to ignore. he swallowed the lump in his throat when thought about what ‘keep going’ would actually entail. 

“um… no. not really,” he murmured softly, a sheepish smile on his face. he feels his face heat up all over again at the admission. but before he can doubt himself, you’re smiling at him. and then you were kissing him, and it was like you had never even stopped at all. 

the kissing quickly grows heated, hands fumbling to rip each others pants off through breathless giggles and sloppy kisses until mark was seated between your open legs; both of you in nothing but your underwear and your bra long gone. mark smoothed his hands over your inner thighs, chest still somewhat heaving from the rather heavy makeout session just moments ago. he swallowed thickly, thumbs tracing over the lacy edges of your panties. his head snaps up when he hears a small noise leave your lips. the kind of noise that has his body going hot all over again.

“can i…?” mark wasn’t sure what he was exactly asking permission for. but the way you were looking up at him made him pray to any existing god that he was granted the sexual prowess of a veteran pornstar just for tonight. upon seeing you nod your head, he sucks in a deep breath, feeling both a wave of arousal and anxiousness. with shaky hands, he hooks his fingers under the waistband of your underwear and slowly pulls them off of you. looking at your naked body, mark was afraid he’d bust right then and there. but then your voice, soft and playful, cut through his thoughts currently being led by his dick. 

“c’mere,” you reach out, tugging on his hand and pulling him closer until he was hovering over you again. the backs of your thighs resting atop of his, the bulge in his boxers not too far from your pussy. you could tell he was a little nervous. and although you never got verbal confirmation, it was clear to see that mark was a virgin; somehow more a virgin than even you were. you card a hand in the hair at his nape, pulling him into a kiss that seemed to make mark relax just a bit. kissing was good. kissing was familiar territory. and after a small while, you placed your free hand on top of his hand not supporting his weight and slowly inch his palm downwards. 

marks breath hitched in his throat, body temporarily going still. that is until he felt how fucking wet you were as you guided his middle and ring finger through your soaked folds. a guttural groan vibrates through his chest, only barely muffled by your tongue in his mouth. 

you were panting against his lips now, soft mewls escaping you led his fingers to circle your clit. teaching him what you liked, how you wanted to be touched. and to mark’s credit, he was a very fast learner. soon enough he was moving on his own, your hand holding onto his wrist instead as he pumped two fingers inside of you. he ground his palm against your clit, making your hips buck into his hand as the pleasure just kept building. 

“o-oh fuck-” you cry out when he hits that sensitive spot inside you, arms wrapping around his neck as you nuzzle your face against the sensitive skin just below his jaw. if it were not for the string of muffled moans leaving your lips, even mark was able to tell you were getting close almost embarrassingly fast by the way your thighs trembled against his and how your hips snapped up to meet each thrust of his fingers. “fuck- fuck ‘m gonna- hah-” 

mark felt like he was almost there with you; he could feel the damp patch on his boxers growing as his dick continued to throb in it’s confines, leaking a lot of precum. his hips twitched involuntarily, searching for some sort of relief. but he would continue to push his own wants aside, breathing heavily through his nose as he peppered your collarbone with wet kisses and focused solely on making you cum. and that he did. biting back a moan of his own at the feeling of your walls clenching around his fingers, your whole body going taut under him as you held onto him tighter. 

after a few moments filled with only heavy breathing, your body goes limp against the sheets as he pulls his fingers out with a soft squelch. there was a very satisfied smile on your face as you looked up at mark, who somehow looked more fucked out than you. 

“you were… surprisingly good at that.”

“ha, thanks… hey, wait what do you mean surprisingly?” you giggle softly at the small pout on his lips, lifting your head just enough to press a kiss against his lips.

“don’t think about it too much,” you mumble as you pull back, trailing your hands down his sides until your palms met the waistband of his boxers. “uh there’s condoms in the drawer if you…” you trail off, eyes widening when you realized what you had just implicated. “i- i didn’t buy them they were uh- a gift from my roommate a while ago…” you look up at mark with narrowed eyes after seeing the way his lips were pursed, twitching with the force he had to use to keep himself from smiling. for now, mark would bite his tongue, not wanting to face your wrath when his dick was so hard it was starting to hurt. 

“condoms. got it.” the words were strained under the weight of his stifled laughter, but before you could comment on it, he was already leaning over you. rummaging through your night stand, he was able to pull one out, settling between your legs with the gold foil in his hands. “but are you sure you want to do this?” there was a hint of vulnerability in his tone, sounding almost worried that you’d regret being with him, or you were for some reason only doing this out of pity. but then you were giving him that warm smile and nodding your head, and suddenly all doubt jumped out the window. 

through more muted laughter and clumsy, inexperienced hands, the two of you manage to get the condom on without mark blowing his load then and there. placing his hands on your hips, he leans down to kiss your lips, rubbing soft circles on your skin with his thumbs. you hum into his lips, gently holding onto his biceps as you kiss him back just as passionately. but when mark reaches a hand between your bodies to line his tip with your hole, the energy shifts. less playful and more so intense, romantic. like the both of you realize what you were doing, and what it means for the relationship going forward. 

“are you sure?” mark whispers against your lips, eyes fluttering open to gauge your reaction.

“yeah, yeah i am,” you breathe out, eyes shining with something that made mark’s stomach flip in an almost scarily good way. he nods, adams apple bobbing before he presses his lips against yours again. he snakes his free hand up the bed, intertwining his fingers with yours above your head as his hips slowly push forward. it takes a little while of patience and whispering sweet nothings to each other before the two of you are comfortable enough for mark to start moving, the whole situation intense for both of you in a way that was both exciting and a little nerve wracking. 

“h-holy fuck-” mark’s voice comes out as a shaky pant, head hanging as he looked down at where your bodies met. his hand in your squeezes gently, the other holding onto your hip as he slowly rolls his hips; pulling out until only the tip was inside before slowly pushing back. “feel s’good,” he groans softly, nuzzling his face into the crook of your neck as he continued to slowly fuck into your wet heat. his hand leaves your hips, entwining his with yours and pinning you to the mattress. you bite your lip, muffling the whimpers and moans spilling from your mouth. squeezing his hands tightly, you tilt your head when you feel mark starting to suck and nip at the skin of your neck

“y-you can- nngh- go faster,” your breathy words do not fall on deaf ears. mark’s whole body stills for just a second before slightly readjusts on top of you. the moment he quickens his pace, both of you are turning into moaning messes. kissing sloppily and exchanging spit as the cheap bedframe rocks slowly with mark’s movement. he lets go of one of your hands, reaching down to rub messy circles on your clit with the pad of his thumb.

it didn’t take long for mark to get close, hips already stuttering as he teetered on the edge as your cunt fluttered and clenched around him. he buries his face in the crook of your neck, muffling any and all embarrassing noises that leaves his lips. your hips buck up to meet his with each thrust, thighs shaking with your own impending orgasm. your nails rake down his back in a way that has mark groaning against your skin.

intense orgasms hit you both at the same time; mark’s thighs trembling right along yours as his hips jerkily buck his dick inside you until he spilled every last drop into the condom. collapsing on top of you, the room is silent save for heavy breaths and the smell of sex. after a few moments, mark presses a soft kiss to your jaw before slowly pulling out and flopping onto his back next to you with a content sigh after tossing the condom into the trash bin under your desk. 

“that was…”  mark turns on his side, wrapping an arm around your waist and pulling your back flush against his warm chest. nuzzling his face against your hair. “was… amazing,”  he murmured softly, voice full of bliss as he held you tight. you giggle softly, letting your body melt into his warm embrace. at some point, you both clean up; with shrugging on a shirt and underwear and mark slipping back into his sweatpants. cuddling up under your sheets, it was easy to fall asleep in his arms, perfectly content and feeling loved.

i hope you enjoyed !! reblogs/comments are very appreciated <3 ʟᴏʙʙʏ ﹕ꜰɪʟᴍᴏɢʀᴀᴘʜʏ 𝄃𝄃𝄂𝄀𝄁𝄃𝄂𝄂𝄃

[torusdove]

Med-student!Satoru who comes home late after spending the entire day cramming for his upcoming exam.

Don't get me wrong; he is insanely smart, and he doesn't need a lot of time to progress and understand the given material. He does, however, want to get to the bottom of things, understanding them beyond whatever the professor had taught them.

He took pleasure into understanding and getting down to a t about the different concepts. It's no surprise that he loves the complexity of neurology, neoplasia and the immune system.

However, something as simple as anatomy has had his heart ever since the beginning of his degree. Especially because it was something he could share with you.

—

"Nd this," he had whispered out, index finger softly pushing down on the little slope that was right between your collarbones, "this is what we call the manubrium. It's the first part of your sternum."

Satoru had learnt this in his first year, remembering the very few classes he had gotten about anatomy in the first quarter. How he had practiced on Suguru's chest to find the manubriosternal joint.

Now, he was trying to find it on you.

His finger trailed a little more downwards, just above the cleavage of your breasts, "then there is a thin line in between the first part, the manubrium, and the middle part, which we call the corpus of the sternum."

This wasn't the first time Satoru had laid in your sheets, hand resting in the palm of his hand, which he held up by leaning on his elbow in bed, half his body turned to you. You had loved it from the very first time he had started doing it. It felt intimate, and yet so meaningful.

Satoru chose your body to describe something he had an interest in, something he wanted to pursue a career in. He explained it in simple terms, making sure you could always follow along and understand what he was saying or illustrating.

"The thin line is known as the manubriosternal joint, an identification mark for doctors to find the second costa, which is latin for rib, as it is immediately attached to the manubriosternal joint." You could feel how his finger would move a little more tot the right, in search of your second rib. Once he could feel the bone underneath his fingertip, he smiled softly before going back to the very middle, trailing downwards in between your breasts.

When it fell right underneath your costal arch, you felt your breath hitch in your throat, eying his face, only to find his eyes completely focused on his fingertip, "The xiphoid process is the last part of your sternum, divided from the corpus by the xiphisternal joint."

You knew exactly what would happen next, already opening your arms widely to let him settle his head on top of your chest, right on the apex of your heart.

"To listen to your heartbeat," he had admitted once, after a very long day at his univeristy.

So, without keeping him up any longer to make sure he'd be rested for tomorrow, you had placed your lips against his temple, murmuring his favourite sentence against his soft skin, "I love you, 'toru."

[dolcettamagica]

𐙚˙⋆.˚ 𝐏𝐢𝐜𝐜𝐨𝐥𝐚

gangleader!sukuna x reader, modern au

tags: daddy kink, dirty talk, blowjob, sukuna speaks italian, petnames in italien translations: piccola - little one/baby principessa – princess che brava – (what a) good girl sei carina, lo sai? – you're cute, you know? ti piace, piccola? – you like it, little one? notes: minors dni wc: 3.6k

Life was tough. At least your life was.

Living alone in this day and age was expensive and to pay your student loans was almost impossible. Yes, you could go the easy route and just sell your body or some pictures but that really wasn’t your style. You weren’t going to turn your body into a product. So, when a man called Toji came up to you, asking how much you were worth for the night, you rejected him and asked if you could do something else that would earn you just as much money. The handsome man simply smirked before your criminal life started. Ever since then your job was to “exchange fake money with real money”. Money laundering.

And you did just that. Asking your friends to lend you money and giving them back fake money, returning products you bought with the fake money, asking people if they could change one bill for another. It worked. The last few months worked without any problems at all. This month however was an absolute nightmare. Not only did Toji give you way more money than usual, you were in the middle of exam season. You were running behind and Toji warned you that his boss, Sukuna, was not pleased with your current status. Well, it’s not like you could do anything about it anyway.

As the heavy front door creaked open, a wave of exhaustion washed over you, burdened with the weight of deadlines, exams and Toji’s constant warnings. Your footsteps echoed in the dimly lit hallway, each one a testament to the fatigue that settled deep within your bones. With heavy shoulders and a weary sigh, you dragged yourself through the threshold of your home, longing for the solace of your own space. The weight of your backpack seemed to increase with every step, a physical manifestation of the mental strain you had endured throughout the day. As you entered your room, the soft glow of your desk lamp provided a faint comfort, but even its warmth couldn't dispel the overwhelming sense of stress that enveloped you. Toji kept sending you messages, telling you to hurry up and wash the money. Another sigh fell from your lips as you let your backpack and jacket fall to the ground. The moment you turned around you started to scream – a stranger was sitting on your bed.

Sukuna, the embodiment of wrath and power, sat on the edge of the bed, his presence casting a palpable aura of danger in the room. Clad in a white shirt and black pants that hugged his form with menacing elegance, his usually composed demeanor was shattered by a seething anger that simmered just beneath the surface. The fabric strained against his muscles as if unable to contain the sheer force of his rage. With a clenched jaw and eyes ablaze with fury, he exuded an aura of dominance that commanded attention. His fingers curled into fists, nails digging into his palms as he fought to contain the tempest within him. Every breath he took seemed to echo with the promise of destruction, a silent warning to those who dared to cross him. Despite the veneer of sophistication his attire provided, there was no mistaking the primal wrath that pulsed through his veins, ready to unleash chaos upon any who dared provoke him.

“Who the hell are you?!”

“Ain’t no way you’re talking to your leader like this, stupida.”

Realization hit instantly. This was what Toji was warning you from the whole time. It was Sukuna – the gang leader. You heard a lot of terrifying things about him. The name of Sukuna Ryomen struck terror into the hearts of all who dared to utter it. A gang leader with a penchant for unspeakable cruelty, his reign of terror was marked by a litany of horrifying deeds that stained the streets with blood and despair. From the depths of his depravity, tales whispered of Sukuna's penchant for gruesome displays of power — from the grisly dismemberment of rivals left as warnings, their mutilated remains strewn across the city like macabre ornaments, to the innocent lives snuffed out in acts of ruthless vengeance. His depraved appetite for control knew no bounds, his twisted machinations orchestrating a symphony of fear that echoed through the alleys and corridors of the urban labyrinth he ruled with an iron fist. Behind the facade of opulence and influence, Sukuna's true legacy lay in the shattered lives and haunted souls that bore witness to his reign of terror, forever scarred by the horrifying specter of his atrocities.

It was the first time that you actually saw him and it was the first time that you instantly got on your knees for a man. You knew you had to show your utmost respect to this man. “I am so sorry. I–I didn’t know. Please forgive me, Sukuna.”

A grin graced his face as he saw you submit to him so quickly. He loved that fear struck anyone who laid eyes upon him. On top of that: You were a beauty. However he could not just look over your lack of achievements. At first he was impressed by your work. You managed to wash all the money and not have a single cop suspicious of you, you were smart and didn’t tell a living soul about your connection to Sukuna’s gang. So, he decided to give you some more money, he was sure that you were able to handle it. You weren’t and you took none of Toji’s – his right hand – warnings seriously.

“You look good begging on your knees, piccola. You would have made way more money on the streets, you know?”, he snickered, Toji told him about your decision to never sell yourself. Sukuna respected that as long as you still somehow benefited him. “Toji warned you, didn’t he? You’re behind. Why are you fucking up my business, y/n?”

The flicker of a lighter cast an eerie glow upon his features, accentuating the cold calculation that lurked behind his piercing gaze. With practiced nonchalance, he retrieved a cigarette from its pack, his fingers deftly manipulating the slender cylinder with an air of arrogance. Ignoring the palpable tension that hung in the air like a shroud, he brought the flame to the tip of the cigarette, a small ember igniting amidst the darkness. The sharp inhale of smoke filled the room, intertwining with your fear, a sinister dance that mirrored the power dynamics at play. In that moment, as the tendrils of smoke curled around him like malevolent serpents, Sukuna asserted his dominance with a single, calculated gesture, cementing his control over both the room and its trembling inhabitant.

“I–It’s just exam season…and I was given more than usual…I am really, from the bottom of my heart, sorry for everything.” You were frozen in the oppressive atmosphere of Sukuna's presence, your heart hammering in your chest like a caged bird desperate for escape. As he lit up a cigarette with an effortless display of power, you couldn't suppress the shiver that ran down your spine, your nerves alight with a cocktail of fear and anticipation. Your breath caught in your throat, caught between the instinct to flee and the inexplicable pull of his dominating presence. Despite the terror that coiled in the pit of your stomach, there was an undeniable undercurrent of arousal that stirred within you, a primal response to the sheer force of his authority. The way he commanded the room with effortless control sent a shiver of excitement coursing through your veins, igniting a fire of desire that burned beneath the surface of fear. In the face of his overwhelming dominance, you found yourself teetering on the edge of submission, your body betraying you with each racing heartbeat as you struggled to navigate the complex interplay of fear and desire that pulsed between you two.

Sukuna's gaze, sharp as a blade, pierced through your facade of fear with unnerving precision. In the flickering light of the room, his eyes seemed to strip away your defenses, laying bare the tangled web of emotions that churned within you. He could sense the trembling of your limbs, the rapid rise and fall of your chest betraying the fear that gripped you. But beneath that fear, there simmered something else — a raw, primal desire that pulsed with a rhythm all its own. With a predatory grin, Sukuna leaned in closer to your kneeling form, his voice a low, husky murmur that seemed to caress the very air around. "I can see right through you, piccola," he murmured, his words laden with a dangerous allure that sent a thrill coursing through your veins. "You can't hide that hunger from me." And in that moment, as the tension crackled between you like electricity, you realized that you were completely at his mercy, your desires laid bare for him to see.

As Sukuna's penetrating gaze lingered on you, you felt a flush of embarrassment spread across your cheeks like wildfire. Caught in the crosshairs of his scrutiny, you wished you could disappear into the shadows, away from the intensity of his knowing stare. The revelation of your hidden desire left you feeling exposed, vulnerable in a way you had never experienced before. Each beat of your heart seemed to echo the rhythm of your mortification, the weight of his gaze bearing down on you like a heavy burden. Unable to meet his eyes, you lowered your gaze to the ground, willing yourself to shrink away from the searing intensity of his presence. In that moment, you felt small and insignificant, your embarrassment a stark reminder of your own vulnerability in the face of his commanding dominance “Excuse me…?”

Sukuna leaned back again, a smug grin on his face “Come closer, principessa, kneel right in front of me.”

Every word was your command. Slowly you got closer. Sukuna lounged on the edge of the bed with an air of undeniable authority, his legs spread wide in a display of dominance that seemed to fill the room. Clad in sleek black pants, he exuded an aura of raw masculinity that was impossible to ignore. Before him, you knelt with a mixture of trepidation and submission, your eyes downcast as you awaited his next command. The tension between you crackled in the air like electricity, the space between you charged with unspoken desires and untamed passions. The balance of power shifted palpably, with Sukuna reigning supreme over his willing captive, your fates intertwined in the complex dance of dominance and submission.

With a gesture both possessive and tender, Sukuna's hand descended upon your head, his touch gentle yet commanding as he stroked your hair like a prized possession. His fingers traced the curve of your skull with an almost possessive reverence, eliciting a shiver of submission that coursed through your veins. In the silent exchange between you each caress was a silent affirmation of his dominance. With a soft, whispered command, he guided your head to rest upon his thigh, the weight of your submission a tangible presence that settled between. In this intimate tableau, you surrendered yourself completely to his will, your breath mingling with the fabric of his pants as you lay vulnerable and exposed before him, a willing captive to his every whim.

“Sei carina, lo sai? Look up at me with those big innocent eyes. Wanna seduce me, piccola?” As Sukuna's hand firmly grasped your head, a jolt of arousal surged through you, your pulse quickening with an intensity that matched the grip of his fingers. The sensation of his touch, commanding yet possessive, sent a thrill through, igniting a fire of desire that burned hotter with each passing moment. Caught in the vice-like grip of his hand, you felt a surge of excitement welling up within you, your breath hitching in your throat as you succumbed to the intoxicating power of his dominance. The boundaries between fear and desire blurred into nothingness, your body responding instinctively to his commanding presence with a hunger that you could scarcely contain.

“D–Did you just call me cute?”

“Is that all you have to say about it?”, With a deft motion, Sukuna's thumb traced the line of your cheek, his touch both possessive and tender as he caressed your skin with a commanding intimacy. As his thumb lingered at the corner of your lips, a surge of anticipation rippled through you, your breath catching in your throat at the tantalizing prospect of what was to come. With a boldness born of desire, you parted your lips ever so slightly, inviting him to delve deeper into the depths of your surrender. Without hesitation, Sukuna's thumb slipped past your lips, his touch igniting a symphony of sensations that danced upon your tongue. The taste of him was intoxicating, a heady blend of power and desire that left you dizzy with need. You surrendered yourself completely to his touch, you felt a primal connection forming between you, binding you together in a web of desire that defied all logic and reason. And as you savored the taste of him upon your lips, you knew that you belonged to him utterly and completely, your surrender a testament to the irresistible pull of his dominance.

With an air of unwavering confidence, Sukuna basked in your submission, relishing in the power he wielded over you. His gaze, smoldering with desire and dominance, held you captive, each glance a silent command that you willingly obeyed. As he felt you yield to his touch, a predatory smirk tugged at the corners of his lips, his satisfaction evident in the way he savored your surrender. With a voice that dripped with authority, he leaned in close, his breath warm against your ear as he posed the question that hung between you like a tantalizing promise. “Che brava. Wanna make me feel good, piccola? Wanna taste something else?” he murmured, his words laced with a potent blend of desire and challenge.

With a silent nod, you affirmed your desire to delve deeper into the intoxicating dance of submission and dominance that bound you to Sukuna. Your breath hitched in anticipation as you watched him lean back with a self-assured grace, his movements deliberate as he reached for the buckle of his pants. The sound of leather against metal echoed in the hushed room, each click and slide a symphony of anticipation. With each movement, the air seemed to crackle with an electrifying tension, the promise of what was to come hanging heavy between you like a veil of desire. As he freed himself from the confines of his pants, a thrill of excitement surged through you. As you watched him bare himself before you, you knew that there was no turning back — you were his, body and soul, bound to him in a fiery embrace of passion and submission.

He was big. Bigger than you were used to. It was veiny, long, thick and circumcised. “Ti piace, piccola?” Him speaking Italian turned you on even more. It suited him – his aura, his appearance, his dominance.

With a mixture of trepidation and eagerness, you lowered yourself before Sukuna, your heart pounding in your chest with a heady mixture of anticipation and desire. As you met his gaze, you found yourself ensnared by the raw intensity of his eyes, their smoldering depths fueling the flames of your arousal. With trembling hands, you traced the contours of his thighs, your touch a silent prayer for permission as you inched closer to your purpose. And when you felt the heat of him against your lips, a thrill surged through you, your mouth watering with a hunger that mirrored the primal need that pulsed within your veins.

“Brava piccola.” With a commanding yet tender touch, Sukuna threaded his fingers through your hair, guiding your movements with a firm guidance that left you breathless with desire. As you wrapped your lips around his cock, you savored the taste of him upon your tongue. With each eager suck and swirl of your tongue, you sought to please him, your own pleasure intertwined with the intoxicating thrill of his approval. 

As the heat of passion consumed you, Sukuna's dominance surged to the forefront, his grip on your hair tightening with a commanding force as he pushed your head down onto him with an urgency that bordered on ferocity. He started fucking your face, with each rough thrust, he plunged deeper into the depths of your mouth, his movements guided by an insatiable hunger. The air was thick with the heady scent of your shared arousal, the sound of your ragged breaths mingling with the wet, slick sounds of his cock going deep into your throat. In the depths of your submission your senses were overwhelmed by the dizzying whirlwind of pleasure and pain.

“Hmm…fuck, you feel perfect, piccola. Was made to suck my cock. Look at you, taking it in so good.”

With each forceful thrust, Sukuna primal desire surged forth, his movements a testament to the raw intensity of his need. As he plunged deeper into your mouth, you felt yourself teetering on the edge of oblivion, your senses drowning in the overwhelming tide of sensation. The taste of him upon your tongue was intoxicating, a heady blend of power and passion that left you trembling with desire. Suddenly he pulled you off his cock, leaving you out of breath, your cheeks soaked with your tears.

You lowered your head, licking and sucking his balls as you started to jerk him off simultaneously. As you lavished attention upon him, your mouth and hands working in tandem to pleasure him, he unleashed a torrent of dirty whispers that sent shivers cascading down your spine.

“My good little girl.”

“You’ll make daddy cum, piccola.”

“Fuck, makes me want to make you mine, principessa.”

His voice, low and husky with desire, filled the air with a symphony of erotic promises, each word a tantalizing invitation to delve deeper into the depths of the shared ecstasy. Your own desire surged to dizzying heights, your arousal palpable in the slick heat that pooled between your thighs.

As the crescendo of pleasure reached its peak, Sukuna's primal instincts surged forth, his release imminent and inevitable. With a guttural groan of satisfaction, he surrendered himself to the relentless tide of ecstasy, his body tensing with the force of his climax. In a torrent of raw passion, he came, his hot seed spilling forth, coating your face with its warmth. You gasped in surprise and ecstasy as you felt him release, your skin bathed in the sticky warmth of his essence. And as you looked up at him with eyes glazed with desire, you knew that in that moment, you had become a vessel for his pleasure, your own desires subservient to the intoxicating power of his dominance.

As Sukuna beheld the aftermath of his release, a smug grin spread across his lips, his satisfaction evident in the arrogant tilt of his chin. With a sense of ownership that bordered on arrogance, he surveyed you before him, your face adorned with the evidence of his dominance. His gaze lingered on the trails of his cum that glistened upon your skin, a testament to the primal power he wielded over you. With a low chuckle that reverberated through the room, he voiced his approval, relishing in the sight of his essence decorating your face like a badge of honor.

“Suits you, piccola. You look pretty with my cum all over your slutty face. Should take a picture as blackmail material.” For Sukuna, there was no greater pleasure than seeing his cum adorning your face, a physical manifestation of his power and control over you. He gazed upon you with a possessive gleam in his eyes, he knew that he had claimed you completely, body and soul, in a fiery embrace of dominance and submission.

With a swift and fluid motion, Sukuna straightened himself, the clink of his belt buckle punctuating the air as he secured it with a confident flick of his wrist. His movements were calculated and precise, every gesture a testament to the unwavering confidence that defined his persona. As he stood before you, your gaze lingered on him, your breath catching in your throat at the sight of his commanding presence. With a final glance, he bestowed upon you a smug smirk, a silent acknowledgment of the power he held over you.

“Would love to fuck your sweet lil’ pussy right now but I still have some business to attend to, piccola. By the way, you have two more weeks for that money. Next time around it won’t end this way.”

Without another word, Sukuna turned on his heel and made his way toward the door, his steps echoing in the quiet room with a sense of finality. His departure left a palpable void in his wake, a reminder of the fleeting nature of their passionate encounter. And as he disappeared into the shadows, you left alone with your thoughts, your body still humming with the remnants of the pleasure you gave him. You knew that you would forever be under his spell, your desires forever entwined with his in a web of lust and submission. Though you did wish that he would have did something to you.

Just when you decided to play with yourself you heard your phone ring – a message from an unknown number.

Ciao piccola, wait for daddy. I’ll be back in two hours. I want your pussy to be soaking wet.

[vorfreudevortex]

the bites cut deep

a megumi x reader one-shot inspired by this smau // masterlist

cw // mentions of injury (dog bite), blood (minor), dead body (used as a simile). mentions of hospital/clinic, medical care. angst, no comfort, cussing. 1.2k words.

the bites cut deep in more ways than one.

megumi stands awkwardly before you now in a small room within shoko’s office. its familiar to him, but not to you. the room is uneasier than usual. the fluorescent lights make the white of the gauze around your leg glow and the red of your blood even harsher. they buzz too loudly in the silence between you. he wishes he could turn them off, he wishes they didn’t glare across your face so brightly.

“i didn’t tell them to attack you,” megumi finally says, stepping closer to you, just inches away. his words are cold though, unattached. his arms hang limply at his sides, he doesn’t quite meet your eyes. you don’t quite meet his, either.

“so why did they?” you respond, soft and confused. you can’t help but shift in your seat, the paper beneath you on the exam table crinkling through the tension. megumi swallows hard, his gaze flickering away to the linoleum ground beneath his shoes. his hands flex and release, wanting to reach out to you but unable to bring himself to do so through the lie that's about to boil over.

“i don’t know.”

“you don’t know?” this time you look right into his unreadable face. “it’s… that’s not good enough for me.”

megumi clenches his jaw, the tension coiling like a tight spring. “it’s not about you.”

“what are you talking about?” your voice is still quiet, dismayed. “your dogs bit me. how is this not about me?”

“you’re taking this too personally,” you can see his eyes spark with anger, just for a moment.

your heart starts to pound in your chest, the fresh bite marks throbbing in sync with the rhythm. “how am i supposed to take it, then? you told me that your divine dogs respond only to you, to your thoughts and feelings. do you expect me not to feel anything with puncture wounds in my leg?”

“it’s not like i meant for it to happen,” megumi snaps, expression hardening as he finally meets your eyes. “you just don’t understand.”

“then tell me.”

“i don’t know how,” his voice starts to rise. “i don’t know how to explain how dangerous this all is! i don’t know how to make you understand that it’s not safe for you to be around here. or me.”

“i’m not asking for safety, i’m asking for the truth!” your voice cracks with your frustration finally spilling over. “just tell me.”

megumi’s breath hitches. just for a moment, something painful, raw, and unguarded comes across his face. but it's gone after a split second, replaced by the cold, stoic mask he always wears. “you don’t know what you’re asking for.”

“i think i already know, so just tell me,” your voice trembles. for what seems like an eternity, the two of you just stare at each other. to megumi, you're staring into his soul; picking apart and analyzing every possible atom that creates him. to you, megumi's eyes are simply sharp and angry; deep-blue eyes swirling with hurricanes of regret and resentment.

megumi opens his mouth to speak, then hesitates with a small gasp. the words begin to fall, tight and strained, like you were wrenching them out of his throat by force.

"i don't know how to love you."

you don't respond. your heart twists violently, sending a surge of rushing blood and fear through your bones. it's exponentially more powerful than the adrenaline that ripped through you after the dogs' jaws clamped into your leg.

"i tell myself i don't love you. it's easier than admitting that i'm the one who makes... us... difficult."

"you tell yourself you don't love me?" you whisper, hot tears brimming in your eyes. "since when?"

megumi looks away. "since the beginning."

"the beginning?" the rushing blood in your veins turns hot, your anger growing uncontrollably. "so, what? y-you don't love me? never have? you've just been pretending- no, lying to me all this time?

"no!" he shoots back, voice piercing and defensive. "i wasn't pretending! i just-"

"-you just what?" it's another staring match again. you and the boy you've loved for so long now, bitterly daring the other to speak first.

"it's not that simple."

you don't say anything at first, blinking blankly, attempting to process the muddling emotions in your head. "then explain it. because from what i understand, you've been stringing me along this entire relationship. you've been telling yourself that you don't give a fuck about me while manipulating me to believe you did."

"i care," megumi's voice cracks.

"how?"

"i-that's the problem! i care too much. can't you see that?" he's flipped a switch, almost desperate through the anger to make you understand now. "if i keep loving you, i'm just going to hurt us. i'll just hurt you."

"like you just did?" with wild eyes, you gesture towards the gauze around your leg, still pulsing with pain.

"yeah..." megumi swallows. "...like i just did."

"...i don't get it, megumi," the tears are slipping down your cheeks now. "you just... convinced yourself i wasn't real? and the dogs came after me because of that? i don't get it."

"i don't know," his chest heaves. "i let myself feel what i want when i'm with you. and when i leave, i just... tell myself how fucking stupid i am for letting myself do that. it's better than hurting you."

"you've already hurt me, megumi!" you sob. "and you've been doing it this entire time we've been together, it's just that neither of us even knew it!"

his face completely falls now, eyes wide with disbelief. he doesn't even feel the pain of his fisted nails digging into his palms, knuckles bright white. "i thought it was better this way," he whispers hoarsely.

"maybe for you," you wipe at your tears, the aching in your chest growing stronger with each heartbeat. "i never wanted you to protect me from whatever feelings you were hiding. i just wanted you."

"i-i don't know how to do that," he stammers. "i'm sorry. i... don't know how to give myself to you."

"i just don't think you want to."

silence falls like a dead body between you. megumi is forlorn, grasping desperately for words, the right words, to say to you. he wants to tell you 'i do! i do want to! that's what i've wanted all along!' but it doesn't come. he tries to tell you 'i love you, please... i always have. please, teach me how to let me love you?' but he's frozen with a compulsing heart.

megumi watches your wet, wounded eyes rise from the floor and directly into his own. he watches you search hopelessly for something, anything, in his face. something to save you, something to save him. but it just isn't there.

in that exact moment, megumi realizes that he cares too much. he loves you too much. and no matter the extent his care for you goes, he will never be able to truly let you in.

"leave, megumi."

and without another word, he finds his body moving against his thoughts. megumi doesn't look back. the door latches loudly behind him, leaving you completely alone. the buzzing of the sickening flourescent lights returns in full force, making bile rise in your throat.

the bites cut deep in more ways than one.

© vorfreudevortex | all rights reserved. do not copy, translate, repost, or otherwise share my work.

[amourane]

smitten

pairing: yoon jeonghan x fem!reader

genre: fluff

w/c: 0.7k

summary: jeonghan is completely smitten for you and he refuses to admit it.

warnings: noneee

a/n: aaa i hope you guys like this <3 i wasn't gonna post two fics in a row but i whipped this one up in about half an hour so i hope you guys enjoy it! not sure if i should make it a mini series, lmk!

Jeonghan found it hard to breathe with you around. He found it hard to focus, to concentrate. He had always been one to keep his cool, to stay calm and collected but ever since he met you all logical thinking had been thrown out of the window. He wasn’t a type of guy that would get nervous and he certainly wasn’t the type of guy that would get distracted. Jeonghan prided himself in being the stoic and very attractive star student at Seoul National University. 

So why did he find himself completely befuddled in front of you?

You who were so beautiful, so pretty, so gorgeous yet so annoying. He had never met another girl who would claw at his bones more than you. Your tinkling laugh and bright shiny eyes. It all made him go positively crazy and he couldn’t do anything to help that. You had this magnetic pull that would drag Jeonghan along despite his protests. 

His friends had all teased him for it. They had seen the way his cheeks would flush whenever you stared at him or the way he would look at you with the most lovesick eyes. Nevertheless, he continued to deny his affections. 

It didn’t matter anyway. You were too dense to notice how everyone seemed to snicker whenever you went up to Jeonghan or the way everyone would peer over their textbooks whenever you asked to partner up with the infamous student. You, who’s smile was so bright, failed to see how everyone could tell how smitten Yoon Jeonghan was for you even if he denied it. 

“Hannie!” Your voice echoed through the hallway and Jeonghan winced at the loud sound. His expression remained neutral as you came bounding up towards him with the most adorable grin on your face. “Guess who just got full marks on her test? Me!”

The test paper you shoved in his face made Jeonghan go cross eyes as he struggled to decipher your scrawled answers and the red pen the professor had marked with. The biggest thing that caught his eyes was the 100 in the top right hand corner. 

“That’s good Y/n.”

“Is that all you have to say?” You pouted as you removed the test paper from his face. “I worked so hard for that Hannie, I pulled all nighters and everything! I didn’t even ask you for any help, isn’t that impressive?”

“Yeah.” Jeonghan felt the cage of butterflies fly open in his stomach and he gulped. “That’s amazing Y/n but you really shouldn’t stay up revising, it actually decreases the chance of taking information in. You can enter sleep deprivation and it has a really high chance of simply going blank in exams and that’s not good at all you know.”

Your smile remained on your face as Jeonghan continued to rattle off the side effects of lack of sleep. You stepped closer towards him, only inches away. Jeonghan’s breath hitched as he stared at your pretty face. His eyes flickered to your lips and then your eyes. The eyes he could stare into forever and not get bored with. 

“Then you help me revise. I could use help from that brain of yours. I actually did go blank in my exam but it wasn’t because of sleep deprivation.”

Jeonghan knew better than to ask what but he couldn’t help the curiosity that was gnawing at his mind like a beast begging to be set free. He stared at you, your bright expression rendering him speechless as he tried to come up with words to say.

“What was it then?” He croaked out, voice trembling at the close proximity. “Why did you get distracted?”

You giggled leaning in closer so that your lips were brushing his ear. “You.”

Jeonghan froze, his whole body stood still like ice and you continued to giggle and he saw the way your smile seemed to grow bigger. His heart pounded in his chest as he watched you step back, the test paper still clutched in your hands. He felt his cheeks burst into flames as his jaw hung open in shock at your words. 

“See you later Hannie! I’ll pop over so we can exchange notes.” 

You waved him goodbye before skipping away as if you hadn’t just caused the poor guy to melt in his shoes. Jeonghan gripped his textbooks tightly and he tried to breathe in through his nose and out through his mouth. The beating of his heart could be heard in his ears and he tried desperately to calm himself down.

You were the only one capable of making Yoon Jeonghan grow completely flustered and he hated it.

[zerosbubble]

hey lovely! it's @nevereclipse (on anon cause side blog). I'm absolutely obsessed with your like father, like rookie series (anything you write with Tim is just chefs kiss). would you mind writing a story where Tim's rookie is really stressed about their six months exam? like perfectionism, either superrr stressed before hand or not happy with their mark afterwards, and Tim helps them/comforts them? love your work sm!

What You Don’t See Yet.

Tim Bradford x Rookie!reader [PLATONIC] — Ongoing series: Like Father, Like Rookie.

POV: Overwhelmed by the pressure to be perfect for your six-month evaluation, Tim Bradford sees through the cracks—and he won’t let you spiral. Through quiet guidance, firm words, and on-the-job moments, he helps you realize you’re more ready than you think.

A/N: Always a pleasure to hear from you, Eclipse! Thank you for the sweet message and request, this is adorable and I definitely enjoyed writing it! 💕

You hadn’t stopped moving since the start of shift. Not really.

Your nerves were like a second heartbeat—fast, insistent, relentless. Hands fidgeting with your vest straps. Pacing while waiting on call sheets. Tapping your pen against the desk during report writing until Tim’s eyes cut over with a sharp look that made your hand freeze mid-air.

But now, seated in the passenger seat of the shop, you couldn’t fake stillness anymore. Your knee bounced, leg jittering with a mind of its own like you were wired straight into a live socket.

Tim noticed. Of course he noticed.

“You gonna shake the whole damn shop apart, or what?” he asked, his voice even, calm—eyes still on the road.

You startled like you’d been caught stealing. “Sorry,” you muttered, forcing your leg to still. “Just… tired.”

Liar.

You could feel the word in his silence before he even said it.

“Bull.”

Your eyes flicked to him. “What?”

“I said bull,” he repeated, tone clipped. “You’ve been on edge all day. Don’t tell me it’s nothing.”

You tried to swallow the lump crawling up your throat. Looked out the window like the lights passing by might drown out your thoughts.

“It’s—it’s the six-month eval,” you finally said. Quiet.

Tim didn’t respond right away. Just flicked the turn signal, calm and composed, merging into a slower lane like he was waiting for you to keep going.

“And?”

You shifted in your seat, feeling every buckle and seam in your vest. “And, I need to crush it.”

He finally glanced at you—one of those looks. The kind that felt like floodlights cracking you open. Like he wasn’t just hearing you—he was reading between every damn word.

“Crush it,” he echoed, tone unreadable. “Why?”

You picked at a loose thread on your sleeve. “Because if I don’t, it proves everyone right. That I’m too young. That I’m not ready. That I don’t belong out here.”

Tim didn’t say anything.

Instead, he turned on his blinker and pulled the shop smoothly into a parking lot—quiet, mostly empty, lit by a flickering overhead light and the orange glow bleeding from a liquor store window.

The shop rolled to a stop. He put it in park. Killed the engine.

Silence.

You sat there, hands twisted in your lap.

Then Tim turned toward you fully, the weight of his posture shifting—shoulders squared, arms crossing in that solid, grounded way of his.

“You listen to me, and you listen good,” he said, tone hard but not harsh. “This job doesn’t give a damn how old you are. What it cares about is how you show up. And you? You show up. Every single day.”

You parted your lips, some excuse or protest waiting on your tongue, but he cut you off with a look.

“Do you make mistakes? Sure. So does everybody else. You think your eval needs to be perfect? It won’t be. Because you’re not perfect. And you don’t need to be.”

His words echoed in your chest like they were being carved into bone.

“Easy for you to say,” you muttered. “You’ve already proven yourself.”

Tim’s eyes narrowed slightly. His voice dropped an octave—deeper, more pointed.

“You think I didn’t bomb parts of my eval? You think I haven’t sat where you are, thinking if I messed it up, I’d never get taken seriously?”

You didn’t answer.

“You’re not here to be flawless,” he continued. “You’re here to learn. To grow. To take hits and keep moving. That’s what makes a good cop. That’s what makes you worth the badge.”

Your fingers curled around the hem of your shirt. They were trembling. Just a little. But enough.

Tim saw it.

He sighed, quieter this time. “You’re good, kid. Better than you think. And yeah, I’m hard on you. You know why?”

You nodded, voice small. “Because you want me to be ready?”

“No,” he said firmly. “Because you are ready. You just don’t see it yet.”

The words landed with a thud—solid and final. Like the earth settling beneath your feet.

You blinked, jaw clenched against the sudden sting behind your eyes.

Tim didn’t soften. Not visibly. But his hand reached over and patted your shoulder—firm, grounding, real. It wasn’t tender. It was steady.

“Now take a breath. Straighten up. We’re not done with shift, and I need you clearheaded.”

You nodded once. Shaky. Then again, stronger. “Yes, sir.”

His voice was gentler then, but just as sure. “Good. Let’s go.”

He started the engine again, shifting it into gear without fanfare. Just Bradford, making damn sure you knew your worth—even if he had to drill it into your head himself.

And the world kept turning—but slower now. Calmer.

You weren’t okay yet. Not fully.

But you believed him.

And that was enough to keep going.

Post-exam, though? Hit you like a brick with malicious intent.

The fluorescent lights of the precinct buzzed overhead, casting a sterile glow across the bullpen. It was late—too late for how long you’d been sitting in front of your locker, still in uniform, still frozen.

You stared at the evaluation sheet in your hands. It had crumpled slightly from your grip, edges damp where your fingers had trembled. You read the feedback for what had to be the tenth time, the words blurring around the edges. Your chest was tight. Too tight.

“Satisfactory in judgment. Needs improvement under pressure.”

That line echoed over and over in your head, louder than the rustling papers, louder than the clacking keyboard a few desks away. It was all you could hear.

You blinked hard, throat aching. The scent of old coffee grounds lingered in the air. Someone had microwaved leftover pasta—again—but it didn’t even register.

You should’ve done better. You needed to do better.

Footsteps approached from behind—heavy, measured, and familiar. You didn’t need to turn around to know who it was.

“Kid,” Tim’s voice was gruff, cutting through the spiral. “You planning on camping out here, or…?”

You didn’t answer.

Tim sighed, and the bench beside you creaked under his weight as he sat down. You kept your eyes on the paper, willing it to disappear, or change, or both.

“Talk to me,” he said.

Your throat closed up.

“I messed it up,” you murmured. “I should’ve scored higher. I knew the scenarios. I just—” You broke off, shaking your head. “Didn’t respond fast enough. Froze when it mattered.”

The paper in your hand felt heavier than it should’ve. The words were smudged a little near the corner from how tightly you’d been holding it—creased, sweat-softened, like it had been through war and back. You couldn’t bring yourself to look up just yet.

Tim’s gaze remained unreadable but steady. You felt it on you, the way you always did. Sharp. Grounding. Impossible to shake.

He glanced at the paper, then back at your face.

“You passed,” he said, voice calm, slow and deliberate—like it needed to be heard through the static in your head.

You scoffed before you could stop yourself. “I barely passed,” you bit out. “That’s not good enough. Not for this job.”

The words came fast, bitter, too familiar. You’d been saying them in your head all day. This was just the first time they slipped out loud.

A pause stretched between you. Not long. Just long enough to feel like the air had thickened.

Then Tim’s voice came, low but sharp—like the snap of a taut rope.

“Good enough for who?” he asked. “For Grey? For me?”

He remained sat next to you, his stance firm but not aggressive. “Because neither of us put barely on your report. You did that.”

Your mouth opened, then closed again. No words came. Just that lump in your throat—the same one that had been there since you got your results. It burned behind your ribs, a quiet kind of shame you couldn’t shake.

You looked down. Couldn’t meet his eyes.

He shifted slightly, not backing down.

“You want to be perfect. I get it. But that’s not the job. The job is making the call, learning from it, and staying alive to make the next one.”

The words scraped against the wall you’d built up all day. Slowly, brick by brick, they chipped it.

Your fingers clenched the paper again, crumpling it tighter in your grip.

“I just…” You swallowed hard. “I don’t want to mess up out there. I don’t want to get someone hurt. Or get you hurt.”

The admission cracked something open—soft, exposed. You hadn’t even realized it until it came out. But it was the truth.

The room went quiet. Not the awkward kind. The kind that settled around you like a pause before impact.

Tim didn’t move for a long second. Then his expression shifted—subtle, but real. The edge in his eyes softened. His voice lowered, not losing strength, but gaining something steadier. Warmer.

“You’re not going to,” he said. “Because you don’t quit. And because I’ve got your back.”

The words hit hard. Not loud. Not dramatic. Just… honest.

And that made them worse.

You blinked fast, vision blurring slightly.

A memory flashed—uninvited but vivid. Your first week on the job. Nervous energy riding high. You trailing too close behind him on a call, trying to prove you were sharp, fast, useful. And Tim yanking you back by your vest a second before a suspect swung wide with a pipe.

No shouting. No panic. Just that laser-focused look he’d fixed on you as you stood there stunned.

“You’re here to survive. Do that first.”

Back in the present, your breath hitched. The locker room blurred again at the edges.

Tim hadn’t looked away. He never did, not when it counted.

“Take the win, kid,” he said, voice a little softer now. “You passed. Not because you got lucky, but because you’re learning. Every damn day.”

You gave a slow nod, jaw tight, voice caught somewhere in your chest. You couldn’t speak—not yet. You weren’t sure if it’d come out steady if you tried.

Tim didn’t push. Just gave you a moment, then added, businesslike but not cold:

“I want you rested for tomorrow.”

You looked up, confused for a beat.

“Because I’m putting you behind the wheel for most of the shift,” he continued. “And I expect you to call the shots when it’s your turn.”

That made you blink. “Wait. Me? All day? You never let me drive—”

He gave a short nod, like the decision had already been made and he didn’t see the point in debating it.

“Best way to prove to yourself what I already know.” He got up, already facing toward the doorway, but his words lingered. “You can do this,” he said. “Even when your head says otherwise.”

Then he was gone—out the door and down the hall, leaving you in the low hum of fluorescent lights and the echo of his belief in you.

And for the first time all day, the paper in your hand didn’t feel so heavy.

The next morning started early—before the sun even had a chance to warm the streets of Los Angeles. A low fog lingered above the pavement, curling between squad cars in the lot like smoke that hadn’t cleared. You stood by your locker, already dressed, boots laced, vest snug. But your hands were trembling.

You could still feel yesterday in your bones.

That exam. The feedback. The way it made your stomach twist. And worst of all, the expression on Tim’s face when he told you “You passed”—firm, serious, but not the kind of praise you felt you deserved. He said you did well. Your brain told you he was just being nice. He wasn’t. He never was.

But logic and feelings never played fair.

You were zoning out again—thinking too hard—until a paper coffee cup appeared in your peripheral vision.

“Drink it,” Tim said, not waiting for a thanks as he walked past, heading for roll call.

You stared at the coffee for a second, then followed, hands finally steadying with the warmth of the cup in your grip.

The first call was routine—at first.

Dispute in a strip mall parking lot. You followed Tim’s lead, clipboard tucked under your arm as you approached the two arguing men. One was pacing, the other red-faced and shouting. You kept your tone calm, your posture open, repeating everything you’d been trained to do.

You were halfway through separating them when one of them threw a punch.

You didn’t freeze this time. Your reflexes were faster than your thoughts.

You ducked. Moved in. Grabbed his wrist, pivoted your body like you’d practiced in defensive tactics, and forced him back against the hood of a car, cuffing him with clean, practiced motions.

When it was over, your heart was pounding—but you weren’t spiraling.

You looked up and Tim was already watching you from across the lot, one hand on his belt, expression unreadable.

Back in the shop, after turning the guy over to another officer, Tim gave you a nod.

“Clean,” he said.

You blinked. “Clean?”

“Your takedown. No hesitation. No overcorrection.” He glanced over his shoulder at the commotion dying down. “That’s what I mean when I say you’re growing. You didn’t let your nerves get in the way of your instincts.”

Something about hearing it now, in the field, after doing it right—meant more than the score on your evaluation ever could.

You nodded slowly, your chest feeling lighter.

“Thanks, sir.”

Tim shrugged. “Don’t thank me. You’re the one who put in the work.”

The shift moved on. You responded to a stolen vehicle, a shoplifting call, and a welfare check. Each scene came with moments of doubt—split-second flashes of memory from your early weeks, moments you’d stumbled, fumbled, froze.

But you didn’t now.

You kept moving. You remembered Tim’s voice, his corrections, his dry sarcasm and steady calm.

And at every stop, he was just… there. Quietly guiding, standing just far enough to give you space, but close enough that if anything happened, he’d be in your corner in half a second flat.

It wasn’t until the last call—almost at end of shift—that the day gave you one final test.

A teenager had been reported missing, last seen leaving school.

You and Tim canvassed the area, checking alleyways and bus stops, when you spotted someone curled behind a dumpster. Thin frame, hoodie pulled low. You crouched, gentle voice easing the kid out, while your heart pounded in fear of what you might find.

She was okay. Scared, cold, but okay.

You offered her your jacket, spoke softly while you waited for her parents to arrive. Your words were careful, calm. Reassuring.

And Tim? He stood back and let you handle it.

You didn’t notice he was watching you like a hawk until it was all over.

Back in the shop, you slumped into the passenger seat, the door clicking shut behind you with a dull thunk. Your vest felt heavier than usual—like your body had only just remembered how tired it was now that the adrenaline was gone.

You rubbed your hands together, then dragged one down your face, the skin clammy with sweat and tension. Your chest rose and fell in shallow, uneven breaths, like your lungs were still catching up from the last call.

Tim didn’t speak at first. Just adjusted the rearview mirror with a practiced hand, his movements calm, deliberate. The cruiser’s engine hummed under you, warm air filtering through the vents, soft against your chilled skin.

Then, without looking over, he said, “I remember when that would’ve wrecked you.”

His voice wasn’t teasing. It wasn’t smug. Just matter-of-fact, grounded in something that felt like pride.

“When you would’ve stumbled over every sentence trying to talk to her.”

You let out a slow exhale, head tipping back against the seat. The hum of street noise outside dulled to a low murmur through the glass. “Yeah,” you said quietly.

You remembered too.

You remembered that first call with a DV victim—how your voice had caught in your throat, how your hands had trembled when you tried to take a statement, how you’d looked to Tim for backup not because the scene was dangerous, but because you didn’t trust yourself to get it right.

But today, it had been different. You’d moved with purpose. Spoken with clarity. You had looked her in the eyes and told her she wasn’t alone—and meant it. You’d navigated the entire scene without a single glance toward your T.O.

Tim didn’t say anything else. But his silence wasn’t heavy. It wasn’t the kind that made you second-guess yourself or fill the air with nervous chatter.

It was solid.

Like brick and mortar.

The silence of someone who had seen your worst days and never once backed away from them. The kind that said you did good, without needing to spell it out.

You turned your head slightly and caught his profile—jaw set, gaze steady on the windshield, one hand resting lightly on the gearshift. He didn’t look at you, but he didn’t need to.

It wasn’t just about passing the eval anymore.

It wasn’t even about the numbers on the report or the comments scribbled in the margins.

It was about every rough shift that came before this one. Every moment you thought you couldn’t keep up, every time you’d failed and come back anyway. It was about how you showed up today—not perfect, but prepared. Capable.

For the first time in a long time, you weren’t trying to convince anyone that you belonged.

You weren’t trying to convince him.

You were trying to convince yourself.

And in that quiet space between shift calls, in the warmth of the shop’s late afternoon light filtering through the windshield, something in you finally settled.

You believed it.

You belonged out here.

The precinct had thinned out by the time you returned. Most officers were already gone, the last rays of sun bleeding over the city like the world had exhaled a little. The bullpen was quiet, low-lit, with the hum of vending machines and distant radio chatter the only background noise.

You were at your locker, peeling off your vest, when Tim reappeared with two bottled waters and a couple of granola bars.

You stared at them, one brow arched. “This your version of a steak dinner?”

Tim leaned against the row of lockers beside you. “If you wanted a steak, you should’ve tackled a better suspect.”

A small, tired laugh left you before you could stop it. He cracked the faintest smile in return.

“Seriously though,” he said, tone dipping into something lower, more even, “you did good today.”

You swallowed the lump in your throat. “Felt different. Like… I wasn’t constantly second-guessing every move.”

“That’s because you weren’t,” Tim said. “That wasn’t luck out there. That was training. Control. You let your instincts kick in because you trusted yourself.”

You looked down at your hands, flexed them once. “I think… part of me still doesn’t believe I passed.”

Tim’s voice was quiet but firm. “Then believe me.”

You looked at him.

He nodded once. “You’ve come farther than you realize. And I’m not gonna let you burn yourself out chasing some imaginary finish line.”

You blinked hard. “You really suck at pep talks.”

“Yeah, well,” he muttered, crossing his arms again, “you suck at eating lunch without being told.”

You smiled, warm and lopsided. “Touché.”

Tim reached out and ruffled your hair—not playfully, but with a certain worn fondness. Like someone used to watching over something fragile until it found its strength.

“Go home,” he said. “Get some rest. You earned it.”

You hesitated for a second. Then, softer: “Thanks, sir.”

He gave a single nod, eyes steady. “Anytime, Kid.”

And as you stepped out into the fading sun, boots heavy from the day but heart a little lighter, you realized something important:

You weren’t just surviving out here anymore.

You were growing.

And Tim had seen it before you ever could.

Taglist: @its-ares @nevereclipse @chezze-its @mcckunty @graciereads @gublerstylesobrien1238

[ruershrimo]

no because imagine pining for fushiguro megumi. like, that would be the most frustratingly confusing thing ever omg.

you’re trying to get closer to him; close enough to know his favourite colour, the music that’s playing in his earbuds and the dishes he loves to eat.

so you text him and this boy is DRY. hella dry. you text as casually as you can even though you know that a) your crippling social awkwardness hinders you from acting ‘cool’ with anything and b) how are you supposed to keep calm when he’s your crush and you’re that down bad? (and you really are. just one glance from him has your knees buckling and nobara facepalming.) yet each time you text him, he doesn’t like any of your messages, and seems to love leaving you on read. not that he’d be doing it on purpose— megumi is, in fact, not chronically online and is probably busy whenever he isn’t replying to you. but why wouldn’t he be prioritising you if he did like you?

so does he not like you? is there any way to change his mind?

yet this is what makes it so furstrating and confusing— he gives you hope. Because why is he sharing exam notes he made for you just so he could share them with you? and yet when you’re jumping around in your room like a loon and kicking your feet up in the air, he sends another text:

‘thought you might want them, since you’re the only person who wants them.’ which is true— so would he have sent it to yuji and nobara if they cared more about their grades? is he just sending it to you since you’re the only option? would he give them to anyone else if he had a choice?

it’s so confusing!

and when you thank him and give your notes to him as an ‘exchange’ (you’re just so deep in your delusions that you think sending him your notes will impress him somehow) he just writes, ‘thanks’. no capitals, no exclamation marks, no emojis whatsoever— just BONE DRY TEXTING.

then when you say goodnight to him, and he says goodnight to you, telling you to have sweet dreams and a good rest with the blandest of emojis ever: classic ‘😀’ and that goofy ‘👍’. ugh! does he like you or not?

it’s so bad that it’s reached the point you’re texting him without any hope left. full-on check-ups every day on him even though you know he doesn’t like you back. even if nobara and yuji say that he barely replies to either of them daily and never wishes them so much as a ‘good luck’ before a test, a ‘good job’ for a mission well-completed, or a ‘goodnight’, much less a ‘sweet dreams’, you’re not king to have that hope. you’re not going to believe that he likes you— you chalk it up to him just being nice, as much as you’d like to be wrong.

so you’re surprised and absolutely elated when he says that he likes you over text, and then again face-to-face.

you swallow your sense of embarrassment as best as you can, trying to level your head with his outside your classroom.

“you’re so confusing…” you tell him before kissing his flushed cheek.

bye this is so stupid help. can you tell that the confusing part is based on real life events. why is he like this

[dearmini]

𐔌 필릭스 .ᐟ ꒱ ─ the forecast said forever.. ౨ৎ

LEE FELIX! ⓘ frog umbrellas. goofing around in the unexpected rain. but it's okay, because you're with him!

⌣ ﹒ ✿ ﹕ 𝑏f!lixie ₊ ‎ ‎ 𝑓em!reader ˙ . ꒷ g. fluff ! 2700wc. ⎯⎯ ᒪIᗷᖇᗩᖇY ⟢ cw. pure love, intimacy, kissing, unfunny jokes, cheesy, rain. ┆ ☆ ⋮ drabble .ᐟ

𝑦𝑎𝑛𝑖'𝑠 𝑚𝑎𝑖𝑙 𓈒 𓈒 ⭑ trying to consistently post while also studying for 10 hours a day.. anyway!! again, a super short drabble. enjoy !!!! >< happy reading!

you knew the sky had been lying to you all morning.

it had that syrupy sort of brightness that doesn’t feel warm, just suspicious—like the sun was peeking out of cotton clouds only to lull you into a false sense of security. and you, like a fool, believed it. even as the air got denser, heavier, humid like a held breath. even as the wind picked up and whispered, “you forgot your umbrella again.”

but you didn't really listen. you had earbuds in and a boyfriend who always said, "you'll be fine, baby, the sun is out," and when felix says things, they sound like promises. even when they’re just hopeful guesses.

now, as you stand at the edge of campus with your arms hugged tight around your tote bag, staring down a wall of rain like it personally betrayed you, you regret everything.

it’s not a drizzle. no, it’s biblical. thunder is laughing at you somewhere in the distance while your canvas shoes soak through in record time, squelching gently with each annoyed shift of weight.

and then— you hear it. the slapping of fast footsteps. the squish-squish of someone absolutely booking it across campus pavement.

you barely turn before a blur of yellow and frogs barrels toward you.

“baby!” he’s yelling before he’s even halfway across the street, voice bright and sunny and too cheerful for someone getting soaked to the bone. you blink. “why are you running-” and then he’s there.

felix skids to a stop in front of you, panting dramatically, holding the world’s tiniest, most offensively adorable umbrella. it’s lime green. with little frog eyes popping out on top. the handle is curved like a question mark and definitely designed for someone under the age of seven.

he beams. water drips from his golden bangs, his hoodie is soaked through, and his jeans are sticking to his legs like wet napkins. he smells like rain and vanilla lip balm and that weird artificial grape gum he chews when he’s anxious.

you can’t help it. you burst out laughing.

“lixie—” you wheeze, covering your mouth, “what is that?”

“what?” he gasps, scandalized, holding the tiny umbrella above you like it’s sacred. “you don’t like freddie the frog? he’s saved me three times this week.”

“that umbrella is the size of a dinner plate.”

he shifts closer, tucking the umbrella lower, trying to fit you both beneath it, which… barely works. your heads are nearly touching. raindrops slip down your exposed shoulders and trail along the curve of your arm, cold as melted ice.

“you forgot yours again,” he sing-songs, nudging your cheek with his shoulder. “didn’t i tell you it was gonna rain?”

“you also told me i’d pass my stats exam. and that chick-fil-a was open on sundays.”

“i never said that last one,” he grins, eyes creasing like sunshine through rainclouds. “that was wishful thinking. big difference.”

you roll your eyes, still half-laughing, and tilt your face upward to look at him. he’s beautiful in the most inconvenient way—wet hair curled over his forehead, lips pink from the cold, long lashes glinting with raindrops, and still smiling like he just saw a puppy in a window. you adore him. unfortunately.

“i’m freezing,” you mutter, pressing your nose into the sleeve of his drenched hoodie.

“then let’s run.”

“we’ll slip.”

“then let’s slip together.”

you give him the flattest look you can manage through chattering teeth. “you’re insane.”

he grins and shifts the frog umbrella so it’s directly over you, exposing more of his own shoulder to the rain. he leans in close enough that you smell his fabric softener—the honey almond one you picked—and bumps his nose against yours, affectionately.

you feel it in your chest. that achey-sweet sort of i’m so in love with you it hurts to be mad feeling. it crawls up your throat and makes your words softer.

“you didn’t have to come all the way from your apartment, lix.”

he shrugs. “you looked like a sad sock in the group chat. i had to save you.”

you frown. “i didn’t even say anything in the chat.”

“i could tell from your three read receipts.”

you blink. “you track my read receipts?”

he tilts his head, innocent. “i have my ways.”

you squint. “i love you, but you’re terrifying.”

he gasps, pressing a hand to his heart, mock-offended. “that’s not what you said last night when i made you grilled cheese at 1 a.m. and gave you foot rubs.”

“that was love,” you murmur dramatically, “not logic.”

felix giggles—a full, sweet, nose-scrunching sound that feels like fireworks under your ribs. he tucks your damp hair behind your ear and kisses your temple, then your cheek, then your forehead. you swear the rain pauses just for that.

“i love you,” he says simply.

not in a loud way. not like before. this one’s softer. quieter. like it’s meant to curl around your bones and stay there.

you close your eyes. you feel the way his hand slides down your arm, lacing fingers with yours, squeezing just enough to say hey, i’m here, still here, always.

and you smile.

“you’re such a frog,” you murmur.

“you love it.”

you press your face into his chest and sigh. “unfortunately.”

you don’t remember who let go first.

maybe it was you. maybe your fingers slipped from felix’s just slightly when your laughter bubbled up and spilled out of your mouth too fast for you to breathe properly. or maybe it was him—eyes twinkling under frog eyes, hair dripping into his lashes, body humming with too much joy to stay still.

either way, the umbrella falls.

it lands with a dramatic, soggy fwump between you both, tipping on its side like a defeated warrior. a puddle swallows it whole.

and then—

you look up.

and felix is grinning at you like he knows something you don’t.

"don’t even think about it," you say, backing up a step.

"think about what?" he says, all innocent sunshine and soaked denim.

"felix," you warn, lips twitching.

and then he bolts.

straight into the rain, arms out like he’s about to take flight, mouth open in a laughing whoop, kicking water into the air like a chaotic golden retriever.

“oh my god, you’re such a gremlin—” you start, but you’re laughing too hard to finish.

he twirls.

literally twirls. like he's in a musical. a very wet, very frog-themed musical.

“c’mon!” he shouts over the rain, already drenched, hair sticking to his forehead in fluffy strands. “live a little!”

“i am living!” you shout back, clinging to your tote like it’ll save you.

“live more!”

and then he’s running at you again—barefoot now, of course, because felix has no concept of weather-appropriate behavior—and you shriek, trying to dodge, but he catches your wrist like a kid on a playground.

“dance with me,” he says, eyes so wide and happy you swear the sky softens for him.

“i don’t dance in the rain!”

“you do now.”

and before you can argue, he tugs you into him.

you stumble, slip a little—your shoe skids on wet stone and your whole body collides into his chest—but he’s solid and warm despite the rain, and he’s already swaying you side to side like this is a slow song playing in his head.

it’s stupid.

it’s romantic.

it’s the most fun you’ve had all week.

"you're insane," you mutter into his soaked hoodie, your fingers curling instinctively into the soft, damp fabric.

"i'm your insane," he says, and he says it like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

the rain drums all around you, cool and constant, pattering on your shoulders, your arms, the top of your head. the sound fills every space between you, but felix still hums a melody low in his throat—some old r&b tune he always sings when he’s doing the dishes.

you smile against his shoulder. you can feel his heartbeat like a rhythm beneath your palm.

he spins you. like a doofus. like you’re at a ball. you’re soaked. you’re laughing. he steps on your foot and you yelp, but neither of you stop.

you twirl until you're dizzy. until the campus is a blur of grey and green and rain-slick bricks. until your cheeks hurt from grinning and your knees feel like noodles.

and then—he pulls you back in.

not like before.

not goofy this time.

his hands slide down your arms, water trailing after his fingertips like liquid ribbon, and when his fingers lace with yours again, it’s slower. like the moment caught up with him, too.

he steps close.

you tilt your face up.

your lashes are wet, your lips chilled, your clothes soaked through and clinging like second skin. but you don’t feel cold. not when his eyes look at you like that.

“hi,” he whispers.

“hi,” you whisper back.

he leans in and kisses you—soft, slow, full of rain and sweetness. it tastes like everything you missed about summer. like warm air and sidewalk puddles and first crushes. his lips are plush, careful, his nose bumping yours, your bodies curved like commas into each other.

you kiss him again.

because once isn’t enough.

because nothing with felix ever is.

when you pull back, he rests his forehead against yours. your breath mingles in the tiny space between you, warm and foggy and close.

“did you know,” he murmurs, “that frogs can’t swallow without blinking?”

you blink. “what?”

“it’s true.” he grins. “they push food down their throat by using their eyeballs.”

“that’s disgusting.”

“i’m just saying, freddie the frog is a survivor.”

you laugh again, the sound bubbling out uncontrollably, and felix looks so proud of himself, you swat his chest.

“we are going to get sick,” you groan.

“we’ll get soup,” he says cheerfully.

“you don’t know how to make soup.”

“i’ll learn. for you.”

“soup is boiled water, felix.”

“still counts.”

you’re still holding him when thunder rolls again, rumbling like a sleepy lion in the sky. he hugs you tighter, resting his chin on top of your head, his body all soft warmth and heartbeat.

the world feels far away. like you’re tucked into a pocket of time too gentle to last forever.

but for now—you let it.

you close your eyes.

and just exist. with him. in this puddle. with frog umbrellas. and frogs. and love.

so, by the time you both make it to felix’s apartment, everything you’re wearing is holding onto the rain like a secret.

your shoes squish. your jeans cling. your bag drips a steady rhythm against your thigh. and your boyfriend—golden-haired, sun-souled, walking puddle that he is—has been humming the same tune under his breath for two blocks straight.

he opens the door like a gentleman. then leans against the frame like a flirt. one brow arched. one dimple out.

"you come here often?" he asks, voice low and syrupy.

you pause.

dripping. exhausted. dripping on the doormat.

and you say nothing. just blink at him. slowly.

then.. "only when a frog prince drags me here in the rain."

felix clutches his chest. “eugh.. that one had bite.”

“and yet,” you say, stepping past him into the apartment, shedding your soaked tote bag, “here i am.”

“you just couldn’t resist me.”

“or the frog umbrella.”

he makes a scandalized noise behind you, already tossing his hoodie onto a nearby hook with dramatic flair. the door closes with a soft thud, sealing you both inside a little world of foggy windows and warm lamplight.

the rain outside hasn’t stopped. you can hear it still—soft and constant, pattering against the balcony like applause. but inside? it’s all golden. cozy. safe.

home.

you pad toward the kitchen, shoes squeaking, socks cold and squishy.

felix follows close behind, undoing the buttons of his shirt with one hand. it peels off with a damp shhhhk, revealing the skin beneath—golden, smooth, lightly flushed from the cold. he’s not showing off. he never does. but you notice anyway.

you always do.

he catches your eyes lingering and smirks.

“like what you see?” he teases, towel-slapping his hair dry.

you give him a once-over, dramatic and slow, then sigh exaggeratedly. “you’ll do.”

“wow.”

“i have standards, lix.”

he tosses the towel at you. you catch it just before it smacks your face.

the next twenty minutes are an adorable circus.

you change into one of his soft tees, while he rummages around the kitchen with vague plans of “soup or something?” you curl into the couch, legs tucked under you, towel over your head like a ghost, just watching.

and giggling.

because felix in the kitchen is like a baby deer learning to walk—enthusiastic, slightly reckless, charmingly unaware that the stove is on the wrong setting.

“what are you doing now?” you ask, watching him squint at the microwave.

“defrosting the peas,” he says with the intensity of a bomb technician.

“that’s… not what you think it is.”

“i can cook, y’know.”

you snort. “you heated up leftovers last week and called it gourmet.”

“because i sprinkled parsley. gourmet.”

he makes two mugs of cocoa in the meantime—using oat milk because he knows it’s your favorite—and brings one over to you like it’s an offering to a deity.

you take it. hold it in both hands. let the heat bloom through your fingers like tiny fireworks.

felix plops beside you, a blanket in one hand and his smile in the other. he throws both over you and tugs you closer. your cold toes immediately tangle with his warmer ones, and your nose buries into his collarbone like it belongs there.

“hi,” you murmur.

“hi,” he echoes.

the cocoa is warm. the couch is softer than it has any right to be. his body is even softer. the blanket slides over your shoulders, and he rubs small circles into your arm, slow and lazy, like there’s nowhere else to be but here.

and maybe there isn’t.

maybe the world outside doesn’t exist anymore. maybe this tiny apartment is all that matters. a little pocket of light and heat and you and him and the smell of chocolate and rain.

your mug rests half-finished on the coffee table now. he’s not drinking his either.

you both just sit there. sinking.

his thumb brushes your jaw.

you glance up.

and he’s already looking.

eyes lidded. half-laughing. half something else. that look. that soft, liquid honey gaze that only he gives you when it’s late and the world’s quiet and you’re close like this.

he doesn’t say anything. he leans in instead.

and kisses you.

longer this time.

it’s not rushed. not even playful. it’s the kind of kiss that feels like a story you’ve read a thousand times but still want to hear again. his lips are warm. slightly chapped. he tastes like cocoa and rain and everything familiar. his hand finds your waist, gentle, slow, resting there like he’s afraid of pulling you too close, too fast.

but you lean in anyway.

you kiss back like you mean it.

because you do.

you shift into his lap, blanket falling halfway to the floor. your fingers curl into his hair, still damp at the roots. he breathes your name against your mouth and it feels like poetry.

then: “your nose is cold,” he mumbles, laughing.

“yours too,” you whisper.

he presses his forehead to yours, noses bumping, your cheeks flushed and glowing.

“i think i’m in love with you,” he says, like it’s the easiest thing in the world.

your heart softens.

melts.

“i think i already knew,” you say.

he grins. that dimpled, sunshine, heartbreaker grin.

then whispers, “i also think i burnt the soup.”

you blink.

sniff the air.

“oh my god.”

he scrambles off the couch like a cartoon character—slipping, tripping, darting into the kitchen with dramatic gasps and yelps.

you follow, giggling, and catch him trying to save a charred pot that smells suspiciously like betrayal.

there’s a moment of chaos. of smoke and waving towels and the fire alarm chirping once in confusion. and then—

you both end up on the kitchen floor. still laughing. still glowing. still in love.

later.

the rain slows.

you’re back on the couch. wrapped in each other. your cocoa is cold. the soup is ruined. your hair’s a mess. but his hands are warm around yours, and your laughter is echoing in the walls like music.

and when he kisses your forehead one last time, whispering, “thanks for coming over,” with a wink—

you know it’s true.

you’d come here a thousand times. every day. if it means him. if it means this.

𝑝𝑒𝑟𝑚𝑎𝑛𝑒𝑛𝘵 𝘵𝑎𝑔𝑙𝑖𝑠𝘵 ୨ৎ @cosmicalily @hyunjiiza @modesttiger @woozarts @katsukis1wife @shotngun @reignessance @peskybirdysya @honeyybbuubblleess @ellemir2404 @4ng3l-ch1ld @urlocalmultigroupfan @its-stayville-forever @ashtxrie @minlixyaoi @shuuporanglinos @bobaluvzz @inlovewithstraykids @yourfavoriteakutagawakinnie @mhluvie @channieschocco @m-325 @my-neurodivergent-world @unbel1ve4ble @cowboylikemalika — fill out this form to be added !!

comments, likes, asks and reblogs are always appreciated !! req. are officially closed till the month of june. thank you for reading, hope you liked it <3 © heartsbyani, dearmini '25 ★

[callsign-rogueone]

bruised, but not broken

Sawyer Henrick x reader (peach!) words: 2.0k 🏷: pt5 for sawyer and peach, very mild iron flame spoilers, mild descriptions of injury, soft sleepy sawyer <3 (he's concussed and needs to be held, okay), second squad makes another appearance, peach has a mouth on her, peach getting distracted by his muscles, more will-they-won't-they (they will eventually, I promise), two updates in two days! that's a record for me. ok byeee

Tomorrow comes and goes with no sight of Sawyer or his friends. 

He wouldn’t have forgotten about you, especially not after all that ordeal yesterday with that piece of parchment that’s still burning a hole in your bookbag. Maybe they’re just busy training.

Yeah. Extra flight time, or something. Or they’re out in the woods again. But wouldn’t they have a healer with them, then? None of the third years are unaccounted for. Maybe the second time they send them without a healer, to make it more difficult — not that you really did anything for them when you were there, besides figure out that the two maps were different. 

You probably weren’t supposed to do that, but after passing by the same tree four times, it became abundantly clear to you that most of these city kids had never spent any time in the woods, and you just couldn’t help yourself.

You bring a hand up to hold the little flower charm between your fingers, taking a breath. He’s fine. He has to be fine. Just crack your knuckles and say a prayer, and he’ll be fine. 

The infirmary being full really isn’t helping you relax right now, either. Not when half of the patients are infantry cadets who have just returned from four days of camping in the woods, and James and his twin idiots could walk in at any time. You’ve had it up to here with one of them in particular, who has been mouthing off about how long he’s been waiting to be checked out for a tiny cut on his arm that would need one stitch, if any.

“They’ll get to you when they get to you, but keep whining like that and I will personally make sure you’re the last one to be seen today.” He starts to protest, but you cut him off. “Do I make myself clear?” you ask more firmly. He nods, looking sufficiently embarrassed. “Good. Now sit your ass down, and treat me and my classmates with some respect.”

The squad exchanges a look. “Has she always been like that?” Ridoc asks in a whisper.

“Only when I did something really stupid,” Sawyer replies, his eyes not leaving you. “I haven't seen her that mad since I pretended to drown in the river when we were sixteen.”

“That wasn’t funny then and it still isn’t now,” you chide, turning to face them. Your jaw drops at the sight of the two boys — and Rhiannon, too — all looking battered and bruised. 

“It’s worse than it looks,” Ridoc reassures, giving you a smile that stretches the purpling bruise on his left cheek.

“He means that it looks worse than it is,” Violet corrects from his side. She appears unscathed, but looks exhausted to the bone.

“Isn’t that what I said?”

You point down the hallway. “All of you, exam room, now.” The infantry cadet opens his mouth, but you silence him with your stare. “I don’t want to hear a fucking word out of you, kid.”

You exhale deeply as soon as the door is closed behind the five of you. “Sorry. It’s been a day.”

“All good,” Ridoc supplies. 

“Her first,” both of the boys say in unison, looking at Rhiannon. She doesn’t protest, sitting down in front of you and stripping off her flight jacket so you can take a proper look. 

The first thing you notice is that both of her wrists are circled with patches of raw, irritated skin. “What did they do to you, tie you up?” you ask, incredulous.

“Yeah,” she answers. “Handcuffs.”

“For what purpose?”

“Top secret rider stuff,” Ridoc answers around a yawn, and you see an identical mark on him as he lifts his hand to cover his mouth. “Torture training. But we broke ourselves out, ‘cause we’re the best.”

“Gods above,” you swear. “I don’t know how half of what they do to you guys is legal.”

“It really isn’t,” Violet answers tiredly, “but we signed up for it.”

It still doesn’t sit right with you, but you can’t do anything to change it. All you can do is keep patching them up the best you can.

“Ridoc, can you…”

“Gotcha.” He takes the small bowl from you, holding it under the tap, and the flow of water turns into several small chunks of ice.

“Thanks.”

He hums in response, taking one for himself and holding it to the split on his cheekbone.

“What’s your date of birth?” Violet asks quietly, pen in hand. She’d managed to swipe a handful of intake sheets off the counter without you noticing, and is sitting in the corner, dutifully filling them in for you. Scribe habits die hard, you suppose. Nobody will care as long as it’s your signature at the bottom certifying everything, especially when you’re so short-handed and the leadership has a dozen more important things to do than check it.

Ridoc looks deeply offended. “Ow, dude. You don’t know my birthday?” 

“April 23rd,” Sawyer answers for him, not looking up. He’s definitely got some sort of concussion — the unfocused look in his eyes and his unusually quiet, slow-blinking demeanor give it away.

“See? Somebody knows.”

“Only because you made a ginormous deal about it.”

“Excuse me for wanting to celebrate still being alive!”

The room falls silent. You’ve only heard a few things about their squadmates that had passed, but it’s obvious that they were all deeply affected by the losses.

“I didn't mean…” 

“We know,” Violet says gently, laying a hand on his arm. “It’s okay.”

There’s another moment of quiet before you pull back, assessing your work. “I think that’s about all I can do.”

“Thank you. It feels a lot better already.”

The squad sits quietly, not saying anything as you patch up Ridoc, then turn to Sawyer. “You guys can head back without me,” he says quietly. There’s a moment of hesitation from the others, but they exchange a look and silently decide it’s okay. 

“For the road,” you say, handing them each a tin of bruise salve and a small bottle of pain tonic — and some more stretchy bandages for Violet. “Get some rest if you can.”

They take their leave quietly, thanking you, and shut the door behind them, leaving just you, Sawyer, half a bowl of ice, and the pile of neatly written paperwork. He slowly gets up, moving to sit on the edge of the table — almost at eye level with you now. “Hi,” you say softly.

“Hi.” He’s struggling to keep his eyes open, blinking at you slowly.

You cradle his jaw in one hand, tilting his head up so you can look at his pupils — they’re equal and reactive, with no signs of permanent damage. The few days worth of stubble covering his jaw tickles your palm as he leans into your touch, closing his eyes. “M’ sorry for bailing on you,” he murmurs. “I really was going to come get you, I promise.”

“I know, sweet boy,” you soothe. “Don’t worry about it.”

He reaches out, pulling you closer and resting his head over your heart — and whining like a sad puppy when you don’t return the hug.

“I don’t want to hurt you,” you say gently. 

“I’ll be fine,” he mumbles. “C’mere.”

You wrap your arms around him loosely, resting a hand on his back and stroking up and down gently while you work the other into the hair at the back of his neck, gently massaging away some of the tension. He hums in contentment, settling against you and closing his eyes.

You’ve only seen him like this once, this clingy and sleepy, when he’d caught the world’s worst cold during harvest season and you were tasked with taking care of him while everyone else was out working. Of course you’d gotten the same cold from him, and then the roles were reversed. He would actually have made a decent healer. If only he were safe here with you all the time instead of risking his life every day doing gods-know-what in the name of preparing for war. 

“I worry about you, y’know. All of you,” you admit. 

“Don’t. We managed to escape a literal dungeon together.”

“I wish you hadn’t been there in the first place.”

“I know,” he says quietly. “Me too.”

You feel your stress slowly start to drain away, replaced with the reassuring steadiness of his breathing and the soft tick of the clock. You can finally stop worrying about his name being on the death roll tomorrow.

He pulls back, looking up at you. “Can you check if one of my ribs is broken?”

Your eyes widen. “You really just let me — asked me to hug you, when you thought you had a broken rib?” He winces at your volume, and you apologize immediately. “Sorry, sorry. Take your jacket off?”

He complies, setting it on the table, then tugs his shirt over his head, and your jaw drops — both at the yellow-purple bruises across his chest and ribs, and the definition there. He’s always been lean, but the last year has really toned him. All the muscles you had to memorize the names of are on clear display. You pick them out one by one as your eyes rake over the exposed skin.

“Is it that bad?” he asks after a moment.

Busted. “No,” you stammer. “It’s not the worst I’ve seen. Can I…?”

“Go ahead.”

You lay your palm against his side, feeling for an obvious point of discomfort. His skin is warm to the touch, and the muscle has just the right amount of give to it. He’d be nice to cuddle with, among other things.

He inhales sharply, distracting you from your thoughts. “There?” you ask, prodding gently. “I think it’s just bruised. There’s no swelling or evidence of displacement.”

“Ah. And the other side?” he asks hoarsely, his cheeks flushed pink.

There’s no bruises or cuts on his other side, but you humor him anyway, moving your hand down his ribs. Five… six, seven, eight… nine, ten… “Turn a bit?” you prompt. 

You’re very grateful that he can’t see your face right now. You’d admired his chest, but his back… the expanse of his shoulders and the relic stretched across them, the thick lines of muscle there… Focus. Stop being a creep. He’s injured, for Amari's sake.

You smooth your hand over his side, finding the floating ribs… there. Eleven, twelve. “Nothing broken,” you manage. “Anything else to report?”

He shakes his head no. “Just sore.” He pulls his shirt back on, and it takes you every ounce of self control not to look disappointed as his skin is covered in the tattered black fabric. He looks you over like he’s assessing you for injury. “How are you doing? Any creepiness I missed out on when I was chained up?”

You wince at the mental image, but shake your head no. “I haven’t seen him in a few days. Are you going to be okay to get back on your own?”

“I thought I told you to stop worrying about me.”

“You did,” you answer. “But I’m not going to stop.”

He sighs. “You’ve always been stubborn like that.”

“I should probably get back out there, but if you want to lay down for a while, I can keep the door locked.”

He shakes his head, standing. “I’m gonna go shower, n’ probably sleep for the rest of the day.”

“Sounds like a plan.”

Why are goodbyes with him always so awkward? You never know what to do, where you stand. You definitely aren’t in kiss territory. Maybe a cheek kiss, but that’s pushing it. You’ve settled for long hugs a few times, never knowing if it would be the last one you ever get.

“Thank you,” he says quietly. “For patching me up.”

“Always,” you answer softly, looking up at him. “I’ll always be here for you. Just keep coming back to me, okay?”

“Always.”

[klarolinexluv]

Jock/secret-not-so-secret nerd James and Jock/nerd Regulus.

In the way where James is natural smart, he can read something once or twice and then understand the subject. He has never gotten anything below an E on his assignments/exams. James doesn’t need to study but he does because he gets a little panicky before exams thinking he has forgotten everything (which isn’t true) the moment he sits his exams, he flies through it and finishes early (just after Sirius every time)

James is constantly doing some sort of physical activity, he goes for runs in the early morning, he pushes himself at quidditch training, he does extra training whenever the pitch is free. James is constantly moving. When he is standing around waiting, he isn’t just standing still, he’s stretching, moving around on the spot. He just has so much energy that he has to expel it somehow.

James definitely has ADHD and Quidditch is one of his hyperfixations but that’s not necessarily good all the time, seeing as he works himself to the bone and forgets to take breaks. He is in constant need of reminders to look after himself on some days. (Despite this, he does have a routine for meals he just sometimes forgets them because he is so zoned in to what he is doing that the thought of feeding himself doesn’t pass his mind until he is exhausted and half dead on his feet).

He writes little notes and leaves them around for himself to remind him of things. If he is really struggling to find focus and stay on task, he writes lists. They aren’t overly detailed, just simple checklists to keep himself on task and he takes satisfaction when he can cross things off and mark them complete. Further than that, if the list doesn’t give him that sense of achievement he also gives himself rewards and/or goals that he can aim for.

I just know that James made an extensive detailed plan on how to befriend Regulus to the point that he is so oblivious to his feelings for him until after they are friends and then he has to make ANOTHER plan to woo Regulus. Little does James know that Regulus is already half head over heels for him.

Now Regulus is also natural smart. Problem is he is very worried about his academics and succeeding that he is ALWAYS seen with a book in hand. From fictional novels to large tomes on a topic that is not even related to anything they are studying.

Regulus spends ALOT of time in the Library. Usually alone because studying around other people frustrates him and distracts him to the point that he can get overwhelmed and annoyed.

Regulus studies hard, he studies until he has mastered the topic. He doesn’t mind how long it takes him just so long as he can master it. However, this can lead to frustration for himself and self hatred for he feels he is continuously failing and that leads to thinking he is a disappointment and further a lot of very bad thoughts that aren’t true but he believes them anyway.

Regulus is the type of person to NEED academic validation. Praise for his work. If he gets an E, he will beat himself up over it and push himself harder to the point, where like James, he forgets to look after himself. (His friends would argue that he sometimes forgets on purpose and that would also be true but 50% of the time, he has actually forgotten)

Flying for Regulus is an escape. Frustrated? Flying will fix it. Annoyed? Flying. Overwhelmed? Flying. Tired? Flying. A letter from home? Flying.

If Regulus isn’t in the library then he is on the pitch, and if the pitch is taken then he is sitting under a tree closer to the forbidden forest by the Black Lake.

Regulus owns a practice snitch and he carries it with him absolutely every where. Sometimes you will catch him fidgeting with it in his pocket but that is rare (he is only doing it in private and alone because he is so conscious of his image/reputation).

When he is on the pitch, there are a few things he could be doing. Flying around the pitch in circles, speeding up and slowing down, just flying lazily or at break neck speed. He will practice certain seeker moves, pulling off risky plays that few attempt and even fewer pull off. Or he is seeking the practice snitch.

Regulus doesn’t have an extensive work out routine like James does but he is passionate about Quidditch to the point where he thinks about it a lot of the time, things he wants to try, ways he can improve. He is also very good at analysing the play. I can see him going on to bring the youngest captain Slytherin have had for a long time in 5th year, I can also see him declining the position if Dorcas wanted it (and if he does give the position to Dorcas, that does not mean Dorcas isn’t talking with him about everything. Dorcas would ask his opinion on plays and shit and Regulus would break it down so throughly and Dorcas is quite proud that Regulus agrees with what she is doing).

Regulus with ASD (or Autism as it’s more known name) is so special to me. Like James, Quidditch is also a hyper fixation for Regulus. Regulus is also hyperfixated in a way on his perfect pureblood persona. He is ALWAYS masking. Always. The only time he is not is when he feels safe and comfortable. Of course he has little tells in his mask but they are very hard to notice unless you are looking for them. (Sirius is probably one of the only people who can read Regulus even when he is masking… but he has to be looking and sometimes Sirius doesn’t look).

Regulus also uses lists. Constantly. All the time. He doesn’t usually need to give himself further rewards after the satisfaction of crossing something off a list unless it’s an assignment of exam. If Pandora is with him and sees him cross something off a the list, she makes a small comment of praise that Regulus allows because it’s Pandora (I say allow but really Regulus is so happy about the praise that he hoards it. When Barty, Evan and Dorcas notice Regulus needs praise to feel yay! Yk they also start doing it but not like excessively because that would just piss him off but like smiling at him or messing up his hair, things that show that they noticed him and are proud of him without saying it).

When James starts coming around him, Regulus LOATHES it at first. It’s not part of his daily routine. (Because yes, Regulus has a daily routine that he sticks to religiously as best as he can. Regulus is the type to despise change, especially big change).

However, Regulus never tells James to leave him alone. Yes, he is mean and rude and not open minded about James and his presence at first. But James learns what makes Regulus tick very quickly and notices that Regulus prefers quiet when he is studying (James also needs quiet when studying) so one day, James just asks to study with Regulus after having sat quietly with him in the library for a few days.

Regulus agrees and this is how their tentative friendship starts. It evolves to practicing Quidditch at the same time. To helping eachother practice (giving eachother observations and then ways to improve) which both of them adore. James is praising Regulus subconsciously the entire time and eventually Regulus also praises James (and insults him at the same time but James likes that so)

It gets to the point where they just hang out with eachother for no reason. It started with James being the one to ramble and ramble and Regulus just listened to Regulus allowing himself to ramble and James listening.

Then of course, James realises his feelings and then the wooing starts (but Regulus is already half in love with him) and Regulus does not stand a chance. By the end of the year, the two of them have started dating.

Sirius is low-key relieved about it because James has been none stop talking about Regulus the entire year and Sirius is happy that they are happy.

Barty is also relieved because Regulus kept having minor crisis about it to him (Barty also threatens James with Evan and Dorcas which James is both terrified about and amused. Then Pandora threatens him and James is actually shitting himself and mental reminds himself to never piss off Pandora).

ANYWAY

Jock/secret-not-so-secret nerd James and Jock/Nerd Regulus.

[m00nkissedlover]

・｡Painful Dreams 🩹

You've ordered: dark chocolate blackberry ice cream! enjoy!

"The cut that always bleeds..."

ex-death eater! post Hogwarts! Regulus Black x spouse! reader | word count: 1,855 words

Summary: plagued with nightmares three nights in a row, Regulus feels as though he can't outrun his past 🩹

Warnings: angst, hurt/ comfort, mentions of death, blood, and self-harm, Regulus has PTSD (also disclaimer: some of this might be inaccurate. feel free to correct me on anything)

Note: wrote this on a whim cause exams are killing me and i missed writing for reg :( (and i missed reg in general-) he's been through so much, he deserves a big smooch and an even bigger hug 🫂

The satisfying crunch of fresh snow under Regulus's boots made his skin crawl as he approached what once was one of the best wizarding schools in the world. The formerly famous school now reduced to nothing but rubble, a shell of its former self.

This wouldn't have happened if you were by his side. You...just where were you? A blood curdling scream pierced the Slytherin's ears, his heart pounding in his chest. Picking up the pace, he began to jog, then full on sprint to the pile of bricks and stone. He didn't stop. He didn't stop as he gasped for breath, his lungs burning. He didn't stop as he watched the pillowy white snow beneath his feet become a bone chilling crimson color.

Once Regulus reached his destination, only then did he stop and fall to his knees. Slumped over a table was your cold and unmoving body, blood pooling onto the pristine marble. He couldn't say anything, his body in such a state of shock as he slowly made his way over to you. His hands shook as he reached over to cradle your face, your eyes closed and lips slightly parted.

"No...no, you can't...you can't leave me yet. You're supposed to stay by my side!" he murmured in a panicked voice, tapping your cheeks as if to wake you from slumber. "Come on, wake up dammit!" Regulus hissed, shaking your lifeless body, not caring about the blood staining his hands.

"They're dead, Mr. Black." An ominous voice made Regulus feeeze in his place, his head slowly turning to see a tall, pale skinned figure, cloaked in black. He twirled his wand, a sadistic smile on his lips.

As Regulus moved to pull out his own wand, the figure tilted his head, his smirk widening. "Are you really planning on killing me with the same wand you used...to kill your beloved?"

The question sent Regulus's entire mind into a sudden state of confusion. The figure gestured towards his hands and when Regulus looked down, he felt like he'd puke right then and there.

His hands were covered in thick, crimson blood...your blood. His wand sat in his lap, stained red. The Dark Mark on his forearm burned and he let out a hiss. Then, a hand reached out and wrapped around his wrist in a gentle manner.

What Regulus saw next shook him to his very core. You, who was so much as dead just a moment ago, were looking him dead in the eyes, your lips twisted into a frown.

"Why'd you do it, Regulus?" you murmured, moving to lean in closer to him. "Why'd you kill me?"

"I....I didn't. I swear by my love for you, I didn't do it." But even in his state of denial, you kept repeating the same question.

"Why'd you kill me, Reggie? All I ever did was love you." you said, your voice getting louder and your grip on his wrist getting tighter."

Along with your voice, more voices began to ask the same question: "Why'd you kill them, Regulus?" Some voices he recognized: James, Lily, Remus...Sirius. Others seemed like jumbled versions of voices he'd heard in passing.

"I didn't kill them! It wasn't me!"

"Why'd you kill them, Regulus?"

"Stop-"

"Why'd you kill them?"

"No!"

"WHY?"

"STOP!"

Regulus woke up in a cold sweat, his breathing rapid and ragged as he gasped for breath. This was the third night in a row that he'd had that exact same dream. His hands trembled as he reached for a glass of water from the bedside table, his eyes unintentionally landing on that wretched Dark Mark scar. The thing that had polluted his mind and made him do unspeakable things in the past. Even though it was reduced to a nasty, snake shaped scar, he wanted it gone. Forever.

Regulus began to scratch at the mark, digging his fingernails into his skin. He didn't care about the pain or the fact that his skin was getting tender and red. "Get off....Why is this...stupid mark still here if he's dead?" he muttered to himself, scratching faster and harder.

Regulus's muttering woke you up, your eyes slowly cracking open as you turned on the bedside lamp. "Reggie? What's wrong?" you murmured, sitting up and rubbing your sleepy eyes.

He didn't answer, still muttering to himself like a madman, his nails digging deeper into his porcelain like skin.

You scooted up behind him, looking over his shoulder to see just what was going on.

"Regulus? Are you alr-?" That's when you saw it. The red and tender skin, the small dots of blood dripping from the shallow wounds on his forearm.

"Regulus! What are you doing? You're hurting yourself!" you exclaimed, grabbing his wrist and examining the damage.

"I need to get it off." He grunted, pulling his wrist away again.

His agitated expression sent a wave of something between sadness and anger through you. You grabbed his face and forced him to look at you, your voice a lot less gentle and a lot more stern.

"Regulus Arcturus Black. You will tell me what the hell is going on right now, do you understand me?"

Regulus opened his mouth to protest, but that look in your eyes made him stop. He blinked at you a few times, his trance like state diminishing as he swallowed the lump in his throat.

"I had another nightmare." he admitted, your gaze softening. You'd been helping him get back to sleep for the past two nights after he'd had these nightmares. You'd never pressed him about what their contents was, but now, after tonight, you needed to know what was plaguing his slumber.

"Come on. Let's go get you cleaned up."

The two of you now stood in your bathroom, Regulus leaning against the sink as you cleaned his wound. He'd really done a number on himself: the skin was still red and raw, the shallow wounds making it look like the snake shaped scar had been chopped into pieces. You carefully began to bandage the wound, stopping for a second.

In that moment, you lifted his arm up to your face, leaning forward and pressing a feather light kiss to the scared skin. Regulus felt his heart clench at the display of affection, his eyes beginning to water. Once you'd finished bandaging his wound, you moved to stand in front of him, gently cupping his face in your hands.

"I'm sorry I snapped at you like that. You can tell me what happened when you're ready. I won't pressure you to tell me right now..." you whispered, leaning up and pressing a soft kiss to his forehead.

"It's fine. You were worried about me."

The dark haired male swallowed, his eyes fluttering shut as he shook his head. He'd kept silent about it for too long and it was eating him up inside. "....I'll tell you."

You could see his eyes start to water again, his voice getting a bit shaky.

"You....you died."

Your warm expression dropped, your hands pausing from caressing his face. But you didn't say anything, letting him continue.

"You died in my arms, your body cold and lifeless. Then...he appeared."

Regulus's grip on your hips tightened a bit as he recalled the horrible, evil man who dared to call himself a wizard. Lord Voldemort.

"He told me that...that I killed you. Then, there was so much blood and, I looked over and...you were staring at me. You grabbed my wrist-"

Regulus's breath hitched momentarily. He swallowed down the faint metallic taste in the back of his throat, his eyes closing as tears spilled from them.

"You agreed with him. You told me I killed you. And the voices, they just got louder. James, Lily, Barty, everyone was pointing accusatory fingers at me. Even Sirius-"

"Shhh. Reg, it was all just a dream. Your conscience is trying to mess with you. To blame you for a past your had no control over." you murmured, pulling him closer to you.

"See? I'm here. I'm alive. You would never so much as lay a hand on me, much less....take my life."

Regulus looked at you through watery eyes, leaning in to bury his face into your neck. You ran your fingers through his hair in a soothing manner, trying to hush his silent sobbing.

"It's all over but, I'm still reminded of what I've done. This stupid Dark Mark-"

"This Dark Mark means nothing, okay? You weren't yourself when you did those things. Voldemort's dead and gone, and this mark means nothing now. If anything, this mark shows that you overcame all the difficulties he put you through." Your eyes shone with a look of sorrow, your free hand rubbing his back.

"It hurts...it hurts so much..." he whispered, drawing in a shaky breath as he tried not to cry again.

You knew he wasn't referring to his self inflicted wounds. He was referring to his heart.

The lump of tissue in his chest that had been poked and prodded at and messed with countless times before. The organ that, along with his brain, had been caged in the clutches of one of the most vile wizards to ever exist.

His heart, which he had guarded with his life from the horrors of the wizarding world for so long. His heart, which he had absentmindedly given to you; to hold, to heal, to care for.

"I know...trust me, I know." Your fingers knotted into his dark tufts of hair, wanting to know that you were here. That you were alive and well. That you would cling to him like a plague and never let go.

Regulus pulled away after a while, now gripping your hand and intertwined your fingers, looking into your eyes as if looking into your soul.

"I...don't deserve this...I don't deserve you-" he whispered, resting his forehead against yours.

"Yes, you do, Reg. You deserve all of the love and warmth and comfort this world has to offer. Don't look at yourself like that. You're a human with the needs to be safe and loved and happy, just like everyone else." you told him, caressing the backs of his hands with your thumbs.

"Please...don't hurt yourself anymore. Physically or mentally. You know I can't bare seeing you like this." Regulus nodded, pulling you in for a hug and resting his head on your shoulder.

"I won't...I promise." he whispered, gently rubbing your back. A moment of silence passed between you two before he pulled away and held your face again, leaning in to kiss you.

The kiss was slow and soft, filled with raw emotion and the feelings you felt for each other. You leaned against him, a soft sigh escaping your lips and entering his. Both of you could feel the crushing weight of each other's love and devotion coursing through your bodies.

"I love you so much..." Regulus murmured after pulling away, gently nuzzling his nose against yours.

"I love you too...so very much." you whispered back, your thumb now carefully caressing his bandaged wound.

That scar may stay with Regulus forever, but so would you. 🩹

© m00nkissedlover, 2025

[thenerdykneazle]

To Hold

A Sequel to "Her Touch"

Summary: Ominis's wedding night with his new wife.

Ominis Gaunt x F!MC

Warnings: the mildest of hand kinks, kissing, a surprising amount of schoolwork, stressing about exams, failure to communicate

Word count: 6463

Ominis never got to see you walk down the aisle. He will never know just how radiant you looked in your dress or the expression that was on your face as you stood opposite him. He had never loathed his blindness more. He wanted to take in the sight of you and tell you how beautiful you looked and have it mean something – even if you assured him that it meant the world to you whenever he said you were beautiful.

Ominis would, however, always remember the feeling of your hands in his as you both said your vows. They were warm, soft, and sure as your fingers entwined with his. Kissing you for the first time as his wife had been dizzying – even though he had been unable to stop smiling long enough to do it properly. He remedied that when he finally brought you home, though.

He carried you across the threshold and down a well-memorised path to his bedroom – well, your shared bedroom now. In the preceding weeks, he had practised walking the route from the door to the bed hundreds of times without his wand guiding him. Sebastian had caught him at it once, and Ominis’s face was positively flaming as he tried to explain himself. It was worth it, though, because carrying you to the bed went flawlessly.

Ominis had got a good feel for your dress at the reception. He had been utterly incapable of keeping his hands off of you. He had felt how the gown lay tight to your waist before blooming into full skirts that fanned out into him as you danced together. He had played with the layers of ruffles on your elbow-length sleeves as you two made the rounds greeting your guests. He had even discovered the way the low neckline left your collar bones exposed. You ended up having to heal a mark he had left just above one of them after sneaking you away from the festivities for a few minutes.

After all that, Ominis felt he had fully appreciated the garment. Now he was eager to get it off you. First, though, he slipped off his shoes and sat behind you on the bed as he carefully helped you undo the intricate plaited chignon Natty had styled for you. When your hair finally fell loose around your shoulders, Ominis buried his fingers in the roots, massaging the tips of his fingers along your scalp.

You hummed with pleasure as you let your head fall back on his shoulder. “That feels exquisite, love,” you said.

Ominis kept one hand tangled in your hair while the other swept your locks back from your neck. He lowered his lips to the delicate skin and kissed a path from up near your jaw down to where your dress began on your shoulder.

“I assure you that you feel even better, darling,” he muttered against your skin before placing an open-mouthed kiss to your shoulder. “So soft.” He nuzzled into you. “So delicious.” He licked a slow line out until the sleeve of your dress stopped him.

You moaned softly, twisting your head to give him more space as he traced up the length of your neck with his tongue. Your skin was salty from the hours you had spent dancing and celebrating with your friends and family. Ominis felt like he could devour you as he sucked a mark into the skin behind your ear. He was determined to savour you, though.

You reached back to curl your fingers in his hair as Ominis nuzzled your jaw, trailing up and down it with the flat of his nose as he breathed you in. Another hum rumbled through your chest. Ominis wished he could capture the sound and replay it each night, letting the echo of your contentment lull him to sleep.

Bringing his free hand up to your jaw, Ominis turned your face to bring your lips to his. He moaned into your mouth as your lips interlocked. He continued to massage your scalp with the other hand before tugging the silky locks into his fist as he nipped hungrily at your bottom lip.

Ominis was confident about this part. He had done it with you often. Too often, probably, and it was only by some mercy of Merlin that he had made it to your wedding night without taking things too far.

You rested your hand on his thigh, and Ominis became keenly aware of how hard his heart was beating. You two had, as a rule, generally kept hands above the waist on each other – especially when kissing. Ominis had an additional pair of rather prominent restricted zones on you, whereas you had the benefit of being able to rest your hands on his chest whenever you liked.

Ominis had to be diligent about not letting his hands stray where they should not. Even resting one on your knee had become too tempting the stronger his affections for you had grown. That did not mean the odd slip never happened – though, not nearly as often as Ominis had wanted them to. Still, he was far from used to having the warmth of your hand so close to his more intimate parts. Your hand ran up and down the inside of his thigh, making more and more heat pool low in his abdomen with every upward stroke. His anticipation at feeling your hand on his length built to bursting.

He got so worked up he had to pull back to gasp in more oxygen before he fell faint. He rested his forehead on yours.

“I love you,” he said, breathing the words out onto your lips.

“I love you, too,” you confessed. Ominis could hear the earnestness in your voice, and it made his heart sing.

A smile broke out on his face. “I can’t believe you’re really my wife,” he said, damn near giddy. It was an odd feeling juxtaposed with the extent of his arousal, but it also felt right. You made him incomprehensibly happy. You also stoked desire in him until he teetered on the brink of madness. Your engagement – the longest months of his life to date – had him rapidly oscillating between both states. It was fitting that they should merge in this moment.

You lifted your hand to stroke your thumb over his cheek. “From now until forever,” you replied. Then, you teasingly added, “So, I hope you’re not having second thoughts.”

“Never,” he vowed earnestly before reconnecting your lips to seal it.

You shifted on the bed, twisting around to face Ominis until you suddenly fell into him with a yelp, knocking him back on the bed as his hands flew up to hold your arms steady.

“Are you all right?” he asked, both worried and confused.

“Yes, sorry. I just got a bit tangled up in these skirts,” you said, chuckling. “Could you, um, maybe help me out of my dress?”

Ominis felt his cheeks warm. For as excited as he was to get you out of your clothes, actually doing it somewhat terrified him. All of that was completely new for him. He had no experience to go off of, and he could not exactly learn from pictures. There was no one he would rather figure things out with, but he worried about being….well, bad at things.

You two had discussed things a few times after your engagement. Ominis had received a general education about sexual matters in his latter teens, but it had been more confusing than anything. After your engagement, you had taken the time to explain your anatomy to him: how it was structured and how it responded when you were aroused. It made a lot more sense than his previous instruction had.

He had gone into the talk rather mortified. He felt he ought to have already known more than he did – after all, you already knew the basics about him without needing him to elaborate. But you were patient with him, and he quickly discovered that discussing your body was rather erotic. You two broke the discussion up into several brief conversations to avoid them getting too heated.

Ominis had additionally been rather nervous about being physically disappointing. Again, he had no frame of reference for what was normal. He feared damning you to a life of dissatisfaction. You assured him that would not be a problem, but he was unconvinced. It culminated in him, with your consent, showing himself to you after you had been snogging in his – now your – living room.

“Oh,” you had gasped.

His whole face, neck, and chest had burst into flaming heat. You had not sounded disappointed, exactly, but it was far from the reaction he had expected. “What? What’s wrong?” he asked, panicked.

“Nothing!” you insisted quickly. “It’s just…much prettier than I’d expected.”

He fought the urge to roll his eyes. “I want your honest opinion,” he said.

“I am being honest!” you replied defensively. “People talk about male anatomy rather disparagingly, and the illustrations aren’t exactly flattering. I just didn’t expect to find you so…aesthetic.”

Ominis felt on top of the world.

“I…” You cleared your throat. “You should probably put it away now.”

Ominis might have been embarrassed all over again if not for the fact that he could hear your arousal in your voice. He was very glad you knew what he looked like. Still, he had the good sense not to ask to feel you in return. There would have been no chance he kept control of his passions if he had.

Now, on your wedding night, he would finally get to feel you. Every inch of you.

Ominis stood from the bed and held a hand out to help you up, as well. He unlaced your gown, and he heard the rustle of the fabric as you stepped out of it. You stepped back in front of him in just a chemise. He could tell as his hands came to rest on your hips.

You helped him out of his robes in return. Then, you carefully removed his braces from the front of his trousers. Your hands grazed his lower abdomen as you unfastened the straps, sending heat pulsing through him. He had to fight the urge to abandon restraint as you began slowly, maddeningly unbuttoning his shirt.

Ominis let his hands roam up to your waist and over your ribs. He slid his left arm around your back while his right hand skated forward in a familiar path under your breasts. Then, it deviated from the usual course, instead traveling upward into previously forbidden terrain. His hand grazed the underside of your breast before gliding up the valley between them. He bit back a groan. Just your barest contours made him feverish. Your hands fisted into his unbuttoned shirt, signalling that he was not the only one affected by his exploration.

“Ominis,” you keened as his fingers stretched out across the centre of your chest and up toward your collar bones before dragging back down the plane of your sternum.

He needed to get you out of that chemise.

Ominis gripped the garment at your thighs, and you let him pull it over your head. His heart was pumping adrenaline through him now, burning desire coursing alongside it.

He shrugged off his shirt before pulling you to him, your bare chests pressed together as he kissed you breathless. He had never felt the heat of your skin sinking so deeply into him before. He felt like the two of you might very well melt into one at any moment. In a way, he supposed you already had when you vowed your lives – yourselves – to each other.

Ominis could not stand being apart from you any longer.

He walked you back toward the bed, laying you back properly before climbing in after you.

He hovered over you with his hands on either side of your head and one knee between your legs before he leant down to reconnect your lips.

His tongue teased yours as it surged desperately into his mouth. Your hands tangled in his hair, wrapping locks around your fingers, stinging his scalp once more as you scrambled for purchase. It was a pleasant sensation, heightened by your passion for him. You were arching up towards him, eager for every extra bit of connection you could gain. He found your desire for him addictive. He had never imagined someone would want him so fervently – and he had certain never thought it would be someone he so ardently yearned for himself.

You pulled back suddenly, and for a horrible moment Ominis feared he had hurt you.

“Wait. I want to see you,” you said, gripping the waistband of his trousers.

Ominis hesitated. “You can see me all at once, but it takes me time to feel things out. Let me catch up,” he said before nuzzling the tip of his nose against yours.

“I suppose that's fair,” you replied, though you did not seem wholly enthused by the idea.

Ominis chuckled. “Patience, love,” he said, shifting his weight onto one arm so he could run his free hand down your arm until he laced his fingers with yours. He brought your hand up to his lips and pressed a kiss against the back of it. “I’ll make it worth it.”

He was not sure where his sudden boldness had come from to make such promises. It had his desired effect, though, as you let out a soft, needy whimper.

Ominis raised your hand to his lips and kissed each of your knuckles in turn before opening your hand to kiss the pads of your fingers as well. He wanted to feel every part of you on his lips. When he reached your thumb, he took the whole of it into his mouth, pressing his tongue flat against it to taste you.

You let out a moan that made arousal jolt through him as your free hand reached up and grasped onto his other forearm as if to steady yourself. The muscles were already taught as it bared his weight, but he found himself tensing them further in response to your touch. Flexing, if he were honest with himself.

Sliding your thumb out slowly from his mouth, Ominis hummed in approval. Every part of you was so utterly perfect to him, down to the smallest of details. He kissed your wrist next before meticulously making his way up your arm, pouring his adoration into every reverent press of his lips on your silken skin. Again, he felt a spike of need urging him to ravish you. But, again, he resisted. He had implored you for patience, and he would exercise his own in kind.

As he continued his path upward, one of your hands gripped his shoulder, while the other tangled in his hair. You began to squirm as Ominis kissed across your collar bone. When he reached your throat, he switched tack and licked up it to your pulse underneath your jaw. You clung to him as he sucked against the delicate skin there.

“Oh,” you breathed out in a needy whine. It made Ominis throb with arousal, and he regretted not divesting himself of his trousers earlier.

Ignoring the constricting fabric, he began teasing his hand just under the swell of your breasts. He allowed himself to graze their edges as he passed beneath and between them. It was even more maddening to feel their curves without the fabric separating him from you. He was testing his own patience, trying to ease into things. Trying to make it good for you.

“Touch me, Ominis,” you begged, voice cracking and desperate as you continued to writhe under his attentions.

He groaned at the sound – at how much you needed him. He slid his hand up over the mound of your breast, filling his palm with the soft flesh. He squeezed, massaging his fingers into you as he felt the weight in his hand. So full. So supple. And now his.

Ominis withdrew his hand partially to allow the tips of his fingers tease your nipple, circling over it lightly until it stiffened under his touch. Ominis licked his lips before dipping his head on instinct, anchoring his hand on your waist as he leant down. He took the bud between his lips, letting his tongue flick out to meet it.

He moaned as he tasted you. Your breaths turned to quick pants, and your hand gripped tighter in his hair, making his scalp burn at the roots. But Ominis only grew more fervent as he suckled at your breast. He could have easily spent the whole night mapping each one out with his tongue.

Or he might have, anyway, until he caught the scent of your arousal. It was heady and sweet. He had caught hints of it on a few rare occasions after particularly heated snogging sessions. He had to fight hard in those moments to resist seeking out its source. It was intoxicating – arousing. Downright mesmerising. He would probably smell it in his amortentia.

The tension in Ominis’s neck strained as he forced himself not to immediately bury himself between your thighs. He rested his forehead on your breastbone as he panted from the effort of restraining himself. He groaned as your nails dragged across his scalp.

Your fist closed tight in his hair as his hand slid down your stomach to your core, his middle and ring fingers gently parting your folds. Your tender flesh was hot and slick on his fingers, and he could not help but think of how incredible you would feel on his cock. You moaned as he stoked languidly along your slit. Ominis pressed a kiss to your sternum in gratitude – he loved the noises you made for him. Only for him. He did not get to see you naked, but there were other aspects of you that would be his alone – the feeling of your breasts, your core, your skin; the scent and taste of your arousal; and the sounds of your pleasure.

“Gods, that feels so good!” you groaned.

“Yeah?” Ominis asked before he could stop himself. He cursed his insecurity. He should be confident. Assertive.

“Mhmm,” you assured him. Even that sounded needy, and it barely counted as a word.

“You feel divine, darling,” he told you. “You’re so wet for me. You’ve been as anxious for tonight as I have, haven’t you?”

You just whimpered in response.

Ominis shifted so he could lie pressed beside you as he continued his ministrations, mapping out your sex with each stroke. He felt along each of the soft inner lips you had described to him. He found your entrance, letting just the tip of his middle finger dip inside. It made your breath hitch, though Ominis was not totally sure if it was a good reaction or a bad one. Either way, he pulled back and continued up to the bundle of nerves at the apex of your centre. He rubbed light circles over it, gliding easily with the slick of your arousal.

Your hips arched up into his hand.

“Is this right?” he asked, wanting to ensure he was properly following the guidance you had given him in your discussions.

“Just a little to my left,” you replied breathily.

Ominis shifted his hand, and you gasped. Before he could ask if it was in pain or pleasure, you let out a wanton moan.

“Merlin,” you said, the word slipping out on your exhale.

Ominis could feel your body growing tense. He would have assumed he had done something wrong if he had not learnt from some of his own research that it was common as a woman’s body was increasingly stimulated. It made sense to him. His own body had done similarly on the occasions when he had touched himself, and Ominis felt a deep satisfaction that he was able to build the pleasure within you that way.

His own senses were being overwhelmed. The scent of your arousal was heavy in the air as he coaxed more of it from you with each pass over your swollen little bud. Your flesh was slick and velvety on his fingers. Your breathing had turned to panting, interrupted only by the whimpers and moans that escaped your lips, as your body wound tight with pleasure. He pressed his aching length against your thigh in a bid for some relief.

“I want you so badly, darling,” he admitted. “I want to be inside you. Fill you up with me.”

Your hips began to cant against his hand as your breaths became rapid. He wondered if you were imagining meeting his thrusts as he slid into you. He was certainly imagining it as he rutted against your thigh.

Ominis tried to kiss you, suddenly desperate for the contact, but his lips landed on your jaw becuase your head was turned aside. You quickly turned back to meet his lips, moaning into the kiss as he kept rubbing your clit – rather urgently now, in fact.

“Ominis! Oh! Don’t stop!” you panted as your thighs trembled. “S-so good! Gods, I love you! I–”

Your body began to spasm as the sound of your moans filled the room. Ominis’s desire hit a new peak as he both heard and felt your orgasm – one he had given you. Your body practically convulsed, down to the little muscles spasming under his fingers. He kissed you hard as he did his best to keep up his ministrations. He moaned as your tongue slid desperately into his mouth. Harsh puffs of air from your nostrils hit his cheek until you had to break the kiss to drag in deeper breaths, panting as you came down from your high.

“That was so beautiful, love,” Ominis said, nuzzling into the crook of your neck. He could feel your pulse racing.

“That was…You are…” you tried between gasps. “I love you.”

Ominis smiled against your collar bone. “I love you, too.”

Having caught your breath, you pulled him into a kiss. Your lips locked with his before beginning to wander across his face to every spot you knew he loved.

His ears were especially sensitive. Aside from his wand, they were his best way to take in information about the world beyond his immediate reach. He was protective of them, too. His governess had boxed his ears once, and he had collapsed to the ground in a sobbing heap. His mother had frequently dragged him around by them, unperturbed by his wails of pain. Ominis tensed up whenever someone else touched his ears. But you were always so gentle with them – with all of him, really. You trailed your tongue from the angle of his jaw up to lightly trace the edge of his earlobe. You grasped it delicately between your lips, and Ominis moaned out as you tugged it ever-so-slightly, sending a wave of pleasure through him like a burst of magic.

“I love when you moan for me, Ominis,” you said in a low voice.

The feeling was decidedly mutual. And hearing you say his name in that sultry tone – gods.

Your hand dragged down Ominis’s chest and over his abdomen, and his pulse quickened the lower you went. The light scratch of your nails against his skin sent gooseflesh pricking up across his torso and down his arms. All the while, your hand kept moving down toward the painfully tight bulge in his trousers. Ominis felt feverish with the need for you to touch him – and to touch you again.

You stilled just as the heel of your hand reached the top of his trousers. On the verge of combusting, his breaths came out in rough pants. He could not hold back his moan as your hand twisted around and down to cup over his erection. His own hand immediately found its way back to your centre, returning the favour.

Your palm was hot against him as you massaged him over his trousers, greatly relieving the ache that had been building as his body strained eagerly towards you. Even warmer was the heat of your folds as they moulded around his fingers. A cold sweat broke out on his neck as he imagined that warmth wrapped around his length. As he slid his middle finger into you, the fantasy became all the more vivid. You were hot and tight and–

“So wet for me,” Ominis muttered aloud.

You moaned in agreement as he pumped his finger languidly in and out of you. Your hand came up to clamp his shoulder as you rocked your hips in sync with his movements. Soon, your other hand began massaging him again. It was almost overwhelming to think of being inside you. He quickly began to have a very real fear that he was going to climax before he was even naked let alone making love to you.

It had happened once before, shortly after you had gotten engaged. He had walked you home after an evening at the Sallows’. He had gone inside for just a moment to bid you goodnight. He had placed a sweet, chaste kiss to your lips.

He could hear the smile in your voice as you said, “I can’t wait until we don’t have to say goodbye at night anymore.”

Ominis’s heart had filled to bursting. “Soon, darling,” he had promised.

You had stepped forwards and wrapped your arms around his middle as you rested your head on his shoulder. In a soft, sweet voice you said, “I’ll miss you.”

Ominis held you tight against him, savouring the fleeting moments of contact before he would have to leave. You nuzzled into his neck, the tip of your nose grazing the sensitive spot under his ear. His blood had begun to heat, having your body pressed to his and your breath fanning over his neck as you clung to him. He tilted his head down and found your lips, just brushing his against them as he knew stealing another kiss would be asking for trouble. His resolve crumbled almost instantly when you tilted up to meet him, and he captured your lips in a heated kiss.

The kiss quickly turned to snogging, which resulted in pinning you back against the door he should have long-since left through. One of your hands tangled in his hair as the other traced along his collar bones, which made him realise you had undone the top button of his shirt somehow. Only your shoulder blades touched the door as you arched into him. One of Ominis’s hands wandered down from your hip to grasp your bum and pull your hips further into his own.

He felt feral – utterly out of control – as he rutted against you while snogging you against a door. The pressure and friction clouded his mind in a haze of lust. It was ecstasy. He knew it was wrong. Gods, he knew your parents were sleeping a floor away and liable to catch the two of you. But he could not stop. Not when you seemed just as eager as he was. Not when you held him close and moaned and rocked against him in equal measure. Not when sparks of pleasure zipped up with spine at every thrust, every moan, every tug of his hair.

Keeping his grip on your round bum, his other hand had wandered up your ribs until his thumb could swipe along them just under your bust. Your breath hitched at the contact. When he – probably accidentally – grazed the underside of your breast, another moan escaped your lips. Ominis took the liberty of sliding his hand up to grasp you fully, and he was rewarded with your increased fervour as you canted your hips against him. He could feel through the scant layers of your casual dress, that his length was at your centre. You were utterly lost in the pleasure of him, and Ominis was in you, as well.

Declarations began to spill from your lips.

“I love you.”

“You feel so good.”

“Gods, I love to feel you against me.”

In turn, Ominis professed his own love, praised your curves, and revelled in the feeling of you. Hearing your words of praise made his actions all the more desperate. He knew he would be touching himself to the thought of them as soon as he got home. Or, he would have, if you had not said what you did next.

“Merlin, Ominis! I want to feel you inside me. I want to make love to you.”

Having already been teetering close to the edge, your words pushed him over. His orgasm crashed into him like running into a brick wall, knocking the air from his lungs as it caught him off guard. His muscles grew rigid as he continued thrusting against you, pulse after pulse releasing from him in vain within the confines of his trousers.

When the blinding pleasure faded, the shame and mortification quickly replaced it. He immediately started stammering an apology. You assured him that you were not upset. Further, you claimed to find it arousing. Though, with the haze of lust sufficiently broken, you both agreed it would be for the best that you did not carry on any further. Ominis was still embarrassed, but a shred of his dignity was retained with your gracious response to the situation.

He went on to recall your words every occasion he touched himself, and he found them no less effective than they had been that night. Having you want him was a high better than he could imagine any potion giving him.

Now, on your wedding night and with his desire for you overwhelming him, he worried the same might happen again.

“I think I’ve been very patient,” you said, voice husky, as your fingers traced the outline of him straining against his placket. “Gods, I want to see you. I want to lie with my husband.”

Even if Ominis would have had objections, they would not have stood a chance against that. He could not stop the groan that ripped from his chest. Though, fortunately, he was able to hold off his climax.

He kissed you firmly before agreeing that he was ready. After, rather regretfully, sliding his finger back out of you, he stood up to rip down his trousers and undergarments. Quickly rejoining you in bed, he covered your body with his own, kissing your neck as your heat sank into his skin. He relished the feeling of your body on his, free of barriers. It felt intimate even without the upcoming union of your bodies. It felt right being together, uninhibited. Like you both were made for it.

Ominis’s breath hitch when you reached between your bodies to take hold of him. He was flooded with desire as you slid your hand up and down his length. He already felt like he would die if you ever stopped touching him, and then you whispered a lubrication charm that multiplied his pleasure. That sent him into a state of utter bliss that had your name tumbling from his lips.

“Ready, love?” you asked.

That was a loaded question. Ominis was beyond ready. He had wanted you so badly for so long, and it only got worse each day he fell more in love with you. But he was also terrified – of hurting you, of disappointing you, of embarrassing himself. In that sense, he would never be ready. But with his wife underneath him, stroking him into delirium, there was nothing he wanted more than to make love to you.

“As long as you are, darling,” Ominis replied, trying to keep the nerves out of his voice.

“Gods, yes!” you groaned out in a breathy tone. “Ominis, please…”

He did not need further encouragement. After replacing your hold on him, he lined himself up at your entrance with only a slight readjustment needed. He edged forward cautiously, feeling the strain of his control. A part of him desperately wanted to ravage you – a part ruled by carnal desire that had long whispered in his ear to toss propriety aside and throw you into his bed. In truth, he was fairly certain he would give in to his baser instincts one day, but not this day. It would be a future day when both of you had the experience to experiment safely. Right now, he needed restraint. He wanted to be close and make love to you and make you feel good.

Ominis shuddered as his head sank into the warmth of your core. Slowly, he pressed deeper and deeper until he was fully sheathed within you.

It was better than he had expected. Better than he had imagined. He felt your muscles contract around him, squeezing with a maddening pressure that made him want to promise you anything as long as you let him stay inside you.

You let out a sharp breath.

A bolt of panic shot up Ominis’s spine. “Are you all right?”

“Yes,” you assured him, seeming sincere. “I just…I feel so full.”

“Sorry,” he replied reflexively.

“No,” you said. “It’s good, but…I…could you move?”

Ominis was about to ask where you wanted him to move to when he caught your meaning. He had been motionless, just buried inside you – you needed him to move. He withdrew carefully before sliding back inside.

A truly obscene moan left your lips, and sweat began to bead on Ominis’s back as he held himself steady. He repeated the motions, setting a gentle rhythm pumping into you. Every press inside brought the sweet embrace of your walls around him. Every pull back created a glorious friction as your body clung to him like it was fighting to keep you two joined together.

Ominis rested his forehead on yours. “You feel incredible, darling.”

You whimpered at his words before capturing his lips in a kiss.

Gods, he wanted to come. The thought of spilling inside you was doing nothing to help him avoid doing so prematurely.

You began to meet his thrusts, and Ominis increased his pace incrementally. You were panting and moaning underneath him while your centre pulsed once around him. He thought of the spasm of your muscles under his fingertips and was filled with a sudden urge to feel you orgasm around him. It had always been his goal, however lofty it seemed, to have you climax first. He wanted this to be good for you. He wanted to pleasure you. But now he was doubly motivated as he craved the sensation of your muscles pulsing around him over and over.

Shifting his weight onto his left arm, Ominis freed his right hand to stimulate you. He made steady circles around your clitoris with his thumb. You lost sync with his thrusts as your legs trembled in response. Ominis’s teeth sank into his lip as he tried to stem his own arousal at making you lose control that way. You were a fearsome warrior – able to command a whole battlefield with ease – and yet under his touch you ceded authority over yourself.

You were practically writhing. “Fuck, j-just like that!”

The smell of sex was heavy in the air, a mix of sweat and arousal. Ominis could taste the salt on your skin as he trailed open-mouthed kisses across your collar bone. Your nails scraped down his back as you clung to him. He could feel your muscles drawing tight as you edged closer and closer to your breaking point. He felt his own pressure within, building higher and higher until he felt like he was trying to hold back an explosion. His bollocks felt heavy even as they drew tight to his body. His length throbbed with need, too swollen to be sustainable for long.

He moaned out your name. He was losing coherence with every thrust as he fought to hold back. His face was buried in the crook of your neck, his heavy breaths panting across your sweat-slicked skin. The muscles in his neck were strained tight and threatened to snap. “Please,” he begged. “Please, come for me. I need to feel it, darling. Please. You feel so good. Want you to feel good. I can’t–I’m so close. Please.”

Somewhere on the edge of his consciousness, Ominis realised you had stopped breathing. You had drawn so tight it was difficult to keep thrusting back inside. The vice-grip as he buried into you was a siren coaxing his release. Blinding pleasure was just a moment away if he let himself succumb. But he held on. And it was well worth it.

Your breaths came out in rapid, staccato puffs as Ominis felt you contract around him. Waves seemed to pulse down your whole body as shudders wracked through you. Your cries of ecstasy, even more than being buried in you, shattered the mental dam he had built to contain his own release. You were falling apart under his touch. You were in rapture because of him, and you were so beautiful when you hit your peak. Your pleasure seemed to multiply his own, and it overwhelmed him as each of his thrusts was paired with a throb of his length that spilled more of him inside of you.

He rode out both of your highs until the fog of his mind began to clear and the exhaustion set in. He kissed you passionately – in love, in thanks, in reverence – before peppering kisses across your cheeks, nose, eyelids, shoulders – wherever he could reach. Your hands stroked lightly up and down the length of his back, soothing the abrasions your nails had left. Only after his body had calmed down enough for his length to go soft, he finally pulled out.

Ominis collapsed to his side before wrapping you up in his arms. You wiggled to fit your back against his chest, aligning your bodies until there was not even an inch of space left between you. He pressed kisses into your shoulder as he held you tighter to him. With his arm wedged underneath you, his hand slid down until his palm rested flush to you, low on your abdomen. His other hand slid down your arm until his fingers laced with yours as he entwined your legs too, seeking to unite your bodies in as close an approximation of the intimacy he had just experienced with you as he could manage. You exchanged whispers of your love for each other, and it was not long before sleep claimed Ominis as he lay entangled with his wife – the woman who had stolen his heart with just a simple touch, and who he now got to hold for the rest of his days.

[hypnobeauty]

a chance encounter - a cho hyun-ju x reader fic (part 13)

summary: a story about how you and hyun-ju met and the following years of your relationship. masterlist cw: no use of y/n, reader is afab, squid games, blood, violence, gunshots, hurt/comfort, dtr. a/n: hello lovelies! don't have much to say today lol day 2/game 2, their silly little group getting together. i hope you like it! might be a loooong while before i post again. i’ve started teaching in a new school and im still getting the grip of how things work there, and also am preparing for a big exam - aiming for my mandarin hsk 2 certificate pls wish me luck—alsooo my inspiration has been running thin tbh—if you have any ideas or suggestions, do tell me. i fear the story might have gotten too long :B enjoy xx taglist: @strayteez3staner @dekiruxxx @jeongteen @sunnysurvives @3leni @etta-huracan @honeyhyunju @basoressia @antisocial-aina @googie-jeon @christinamadsen @deernat @vvlwvvy @psychobitchsthings @dikeu-yoiz

part 13. team up

the night had been a brutal, merciless torment, your mind trapped in an endless cycle of terror, the same nightmare replaying over and over again like a cruel loop from which you couldn't escape. no matter how many times your body twisted, no matter how much sweat broke out along your brow despite the cold air of the sleeping quarters, your subconscious refused to let go of the horrors you had witnessed. 

the first game had left its mark, burrowed deep into your bones, into your senses, into the fragile space between sleep and waking. the gunshots rang in your ears, the dull, wet thud of bodies collapsing onto the ground reverberated through your skull, the thick, metallic scent of blood suffocated you. the fear, the helplessness—it all clung to you, poisoning even your rest.

hyun-ju barely slept either. the weight of the situation alone was enough to keep her mind alert, her body poised for anything, but it was you who kept her from slipping into even a moment of true rest. every time she closed her eyes, your soft whimpers, the restless shifting of your body, the way your fingers clenched and unclenched in distress, pulled her from the edge of sleep. she had tried waking you gently at first, brushing the back of her hand against your cheek, whispering your name—but you were trapped, too deep inside the nightmare’s grip to hear her. and so, instead, she did what she could—watching over you, wiping the dampness from your forehead with careful fingers, whispering reassurances even though you couldn’t hear them. at some point, she had simply pulled you closer into her arms, holding you against her chest, hoping her presence alone could tether you back to safety.

but in your mind, there was no safety—only darkness at first, suffocating and endless, before the nightmare bled into clarity, forcing you back into the sandy field of the first game. it was exactly as it had happened. hyun-ju, breaking away from you, rushing back into danger to help 456 carry the injured man. your screams, the raw desperation in your voice as you tried to break free from the arms restraining you, the feeling of your own body betraying you, held back while she risked everything. then, the relief when they made it across, the frantic way you had scrambled to the ground, to her, pulling her close—just like before.

but this time, the nightmare twisted the memory into something worse, something unbearable.

the gunshot rang out, a sound that rattled through your very being, and you felt the warm splatter of blood against your face. but when you looked, it wasn’t the injured player who had been executed—it was hyun-ju. the breath in your lungs vanished, replaced by a piercing, soul-crushing scream as her body slumped against you, her weight suddenly unbearably heavy. her head lolled, eyes glassy and unfocused, and the hole in her temple wept crimson, the blood trickling down her cheek, pooling onto you. you shook her, screamed her name until your throat burned, but she was already gone.

and then, a voice—cold, detached, uncaring.

"yes. one less to compete for the money."

your mind shattered.

the world went black.

and then it started again.

over and over, an unrelenting cycle of horror, the moment replaying itself without mercy. each time, you tried to stop it, to change something, to move faster, scream louder, but the ending never changed. hyun-ju always died, and you were always left holding her lifeless body in your arms, drowning in grief, in rage, in helplessness. it could have lasted minutes, hours—you had no sense of time, only the suffocating repetition of loss.

and then, suddenly, you were ripped from its grip, gasping, a silent scream dying on your lips as your eyes flew open. the room was dark except for the dim yellow glow of the piggy bank overhead. your heart pounded violently against your ribs, your entire body rigid with the lingering echoes of the nightmare. for a brief, disorienting moment, you weren’t sure what was real—if you were still trapped in that hellscape or if you had finally broken free.

but then you felt her.

hyun-ju’s arms were wrapped securely around you, her steady breathing warm against your skin, her chest rising and falling in the rhythm of sleep. she was here. she was alive. the relief hit you so hard it nearly crushed you, and before you could stop them, silent tears slipped from your eyes, dampening the fabric of her shirt as you buried your face against her. you inhaled deeply, grounding yourself in her scent, her warmth, forcing yourself to believe it. she was okay. she was here. she was breathing.

everything would be fine.

at least, that’s what you tried to convince yourself of as sleep slowly pulled you under again, this time free from the nightmare’s grasp—though peace was still far from reach.

when morning came, hyun-ju stirred before the lights even turned on. even after everything, after the exhaustion weighing her limbs, her body remained tethered to its strict routine. her eyes opened at precisely 5:50 a.m., her mind instantly alert despite the haze of weariness still clinging to her. but as she turned slightly, what she saw made her pause.

at some point during the night, after she had finally drifted into sleep herself, you had shifted closer, curling into her warmth as if seeking safety in the unconscious state. the tension that had lingered between you since the vote seemed to have melted away, at least for now.

hyun-ju exhaled softly, adjusting her hold on you, her fingertips brushing lightly over your back. and though she didn’t say it out loud, she was grateful. grateful that, for the first time since this nightmare began, you had finally found even a sliver of rest.

you woke up the same way as before—blinding lights flashing on without warning, classical music swelling through the speakers, and the ominous glow of the enormous piggy bank above, now even heavier with stacks of money.

the only difference was that hyun-ju was beside you today.

she lay on her side, facing you, one arm draped protectively over your waist. her eyes were already open, alert. it was definitely past six—hyun-ju never slept past that. her internal clock was annoyingly precise, honed by years of routine. most mornings, she was up even earlier, quietly stretching beside the bed or watching you with that small, knowing smile as you clung to the last remnants of sleep.

you shifted slightly, intending to murmur a groggy good morning, but a yawn hijacked your sentence midway, stretching your mouth wide. hyun-ju chuckled at the familiar sight—this happened every morning. you were not a morning person.

“morning,” she murmured, her voice soft as she ran gentle fingers across your cheek. “how did you sleep?”

you let out a small, tired sigh. “as well as anyone can sleep in a goddamn death trap.”

she gave you a soft smile, though something in her expression tightened ever so slightly at your words. she shifted, propping herself up on one elbow as her fingers trailed absently along your arm. “i’m sorry about yesterday,” she said after a beat. “for the vote.”

there was a sincerity in her voice, a gentleness, but you only sighed, stretching your arms above your head. “there’s nothing to do about it now,” you said, keeping your tone neutral. then, attempting levity—albeit bitter—you added, “let’s just hope the next game isn’t russian roulette.”

it was meant to be a joke, dark humor to cope with the horror of it all, but the moment the words left your lips, you saw something in hyun-ju’s expression shift. it was brief, a flicker of something wounded in her eyes before she masked it, her lips parting slightly as if she wanted to respond but thought better of it. instead, she simply nodded, sitting up fully and stretching her arms over her head.

you almost said something—almost acknowledged that look, that pause—but instead, you shoved it aside, dismissing it as nothing. you were both on edge. it didn’t mean anything.

the sound of doors unlocking snapped you both out of it. pink guards marched in, their presence swift and efficient as they wheeled in carts filled with neatly arranged bento boxes and water bottles. “let’s grab some food,” hyun-ju said, standing and offering you a hand. you took it, squeezing briefly before letting go, and followed her down the stairs, standing in line among the other players.

as you made your way down the stairs, hyun-ju naturally fell into step behind you, assuming her usual “bodyguard” position. it wasn’t anything new—this was just how she was in crowded spaces. at concerts, city festivals, even at the grocery store on a busy weekend, she always positioned herself slightly behind you, her presence solid and reassuring, ready to shield you from a pushy crowd. you loved when she did that. it was dominant, protective, and entirely her. once, you had joked about it, singing a bit of "i will always love you," and it had been the funniest thing when the reference went right over her head.

you smiled faintly at the memory as you grabbed the food, hyun-ju picking up hers right after. together, you settled on the bottom stairs, bento boxes balanced on your laps. the food was surprisingly... fine. it wasn’t home, but it was edible. you hadn’t realized how thirsty you were until you downed the entire water bottle in one go, the cool liquid soothing the dryness in your throat.

you were halfway through your meal, idly scanning the room, when movement caught your eye—a small crowd was gathering around player 456.

you swallowed your last bite and stood, curiosity overriding caution. hyun-ju noticed immediately. “where are you going?” she asked, her voice low but firm.

you waved a hand behind your back dismissively. “just listening,” you murmured, weaving through the players toward the group.

“you know what’s next, don’t you?” player 001’s voice cut through the murmurs. his tone was almost… teasing. oh, you hated him. “oh, yeah. you won this whole thing before, so you must know what game two is.” murmurs of agreement rippled through the players. 

your gaze flickered to 001, taking him in—his presence, his unreadable expression. he had pressed o last, single-handedly making sure you all stayed. you hadn’t liked him since the moment you saw him. there was something off about him, something cold.

and yet, you found yourself staring. and as if he felt your eyes, he turned to look at you. his gaze was empty, unyielding. you tried to hold it, tried to match his stare for a few seconds, but it was too much—or maybe it was too little. he wasn’t challenging you, wasn’t engaging with you. he was simply watching.

it sent a shiver down your spine. you looked away first, back to 456 as he finally spoke.

“the second game last time,” he said carefully, “was dalgona.”

you didn’t waste another second. you spun on your heel and made a beeline back to hyun-ju, weaving through the crowd until you reached her side.

“the game,” you murmured under your breath. “it’s dalgona.”

hyun-ju, who had been watching you with a mixture of mild amusement and worry, immediately straightened. “are you sure?”

you nodded. “i heard it myself. and the easiest shape is the triangle.”

she exhaled through her nose, nodding slowly. you hesitated, glancing down at her. 

“are you any good at it?” you asked.

she hesitated for a fraction of a second before replying, “not really, but i’ll try my best.”

you exhaled, standing in front of her, your hands on your hips. “me neither,” you admitted. “i was never patient enough for it, always broke the candy.”

she listened carefully, her gaze unwavering, absorbing every word, then, without a word, she set her empty food box aside and gently tugged you forward by the hands, guiding you so that you stood between her legs as she sat. automatically, your arms came to rest on her shoulders.

her soft brown eyes gazed up at you, the remnants of her makeup from yesterday completely gone, leaving behind nothing but the bare, unfiltered warmth of her expression. she exhaled softly.

“i’m sorry,” she murmured.

you sighed, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. “don’t start that again,” you warned, trying to keep your voice amused but the way she kept bringing it up was starting to make you feel annoyed. “otherwise, i’ll remember i’m supposed to be mad at you.”

she smiled—small, but genuine, then she rested her head against your stomach, letting out a deep, quiet breath as you ran your fingers through her hair. her shoulders relaxed slightly, some of the tension draining from her frame. she tilted her head up to look at you again.

“i love you.” the words came soft, steady. a quiet confession and your heart squeezed.

you bent down, pressing a gentle kiss to her lips. “i love you too,” it was brief and tender.

you sat back down beside hyun-ju, the warmth of her lingering touch still humming against your skin. without a word, she reached for your hand again, lifting it to her lips, pressing a soft kiss to your palm, then another to your wrist. a quiet reassurance. you sighed, leaning into her shoulder, letting your body relax against hers. the room was still too cold, the air too heavy, the fluorescent lights too harsh—but in this moment, pressed against hyun-ju, it was bearable.

but… you needed to talk.

“yesterday,” you started, voice barely above a whisper. “when we played red light, green light… i—” you hesitated, exhaling shakily. hyun-ju didn’t rush you, simply shifted closer, thumb rubbing soothing circles over your knuckles.

“i was terrified,” you admitted. “not just because of the game, but because…” your throat tightened. “because i thought i was going to watch you die. i had nightmares through the night, i… i spent the whole night watching you die.”

hyun-ju tensed beside you, but she didn’t interrupt.

“i know you’ve seen worse,” you continued, voice raw. “you were in the military. you’ve held a gun, you’ve probably—” you stopped yourself, shaking your head. “but i haven’t. i don’t know what it’s like to see someone get shot right in front of me. i’ve only been to a handful of funerals in my life, and every single one felt unreal. like grief was something distant, something i could keep at arm’s length.”

hyun-ju remained still, though her grip on your hand tightened.

“but yesterday,” you murmured, “there was no distance. it was right in front of me. the blood, the bodies, the gunfire. the way people screamed.” you swallowed hard. “i’m afraid, hyun-ju. i don’t want to go through that again. i don’t want the next body to be yours.”

or maybe, it would be yours. the thought settled in your chest like a stone, heavy and suffocating. you turned your head, searching her expression. “does it even make sense? you winning all this money, only for me to—”

“stop.”

her voice was firm. she didn’t look at you, instead staring down at her hands, fingers curled into tight fists.

“hyun-ju—”

“i said stop,” she repeated, sharper, a little louder this time. “don’t say things like that.” her reaction was immediate, instinctual. a kind of raw, unfiltered denial.

you exhaled softly, reaching for her, placing your left hand over hers, your right gently cupping her cheek. “i’m not being pessimistic,” you whispered, coaxing her to look at you. “i’m being real.”

her gaze finally lifted, meeting yours. and for a moment, there was nothing but silence. a quiet, trembling kind of understanding. then, her jaw clenched, and her dark eyes hardened with something fierce. “i will protect you,” she said, voice unwavering. “we’re leaving this place together.”

you wanted to believe her. god, you wanted to believe her.

so, you nodded. “let’s hope so, but… you know you can’t guarantee that.”

she looked away, shaking her head slightly, and you two stayed like that for minutes, just looking ahead, in silence. after a while, hyun-ju spoke.

“you know,” she began, her voice steady, but with an edge of something careful beneath it, “i understand why you’re upset. and i understand that you’re scared. but…” she exhaled, shifting her body so she was turned slightly toward you. “the way you talk about it sometimes—it hurts.”

you froze, caught off guard. she hesitated for only a second before continuing. “i don’t want us to tear each other apart in here. i don’t want to hijack what we have so easily.” her brows furrowed slightly, voice dipping softer, more vulnerable. “i don’t want this place to do that to us.”

a wave of guilt coiled in your stomach. you hadn’t thought much of your words before, hadn’t considered how she might interpret them, how they might sound coming from you—the one person she had always relied on, just as much as she was your anchor. you had been so wrapped up in your fear, your exhaustion, your anger, that you hadn’t realized you were taking it out on her.

you turned to fully face her. you opened her mouth to reply, but she shook her head, offering you a small, tired smile.

“i get it,” she said. “i do. but just… don’t push me away while we’re here. please.”

she wasn’t looking at you. her eyes were on her hands, fingers wringing together in her lap, restless and anxious. "i don’t know how to say this without sounding selfish," she admitted, barely above a whisper, "but i need you. i need you to believe we’re going to make it. because if you stop believing, then i don’t know how i’m supposed to keep believing either."

your throat tightened, a sharp sting burning behind your eyes.

"hyun-ju..." you murmured, guilt swelling in your chest.

she gave a small, breathless laugh, one that didn’t hold any amusement. "i don’t want this place to take everything from us," she said, voice raw now, unguarded. "i don’t want it to turn us against each other. i don’t want to be scared of losing you and scared that you’re already slipping away from me."

your breath hitched and reached for her hands, stilling them with your own.

"i’m sorry," you whispered, and your voice cracked under the weight of it. "i didn’t realize… i didn’t mean to make you feel like that." you swallowed hard, gripping her fingers a little tighter. "i’m not giving up. i swear. i’m just... scared. and i know you are too, even if you don’t want to say it."

hyun-ju exhaled shakily, finally meeting your eyes.

"i am," she admitted. "but i can’t—" she broke off, shaking her head. "i won’t let this place take you from me. i can’t even think about that. and when you make those jokes, when you talk like it’s inevitable, like we won’t make it out together, it feels like you’ve already made peace with leaving me behind."

the words crushed you.

you reached up, cupping her face, feeling the warmth of her skin beneath your palm. "i could never make peace with that," you said, your voice firm even as your throat tightened. "i don’t know what’s going to happen, hyun-ju, but i do know that if something ever happened to you... i don’t think i could survive it."

hyun-ju's breath caught, her eyes shining with something unspeakably fragile.

"i need you too," you continued, thumb brushing over her cheekbone. "i need us. and i need you to know that even if i’m scared, even if i don’t always know how to handle this, i’m not giving up on us. i’m sorry for making you feel like i was."

hyun-ju let out a breath that sounded almost like a sob, her fingers trembling as they cupped your face. "i’m sorry," she whispered, her voice breaking. "i’m so, so sorry."

you shook your head, placing your hands over hers. "i know," you murmured, closing your eyes for a moment, letting yourself feel her. "i know." you exhaled, pressing a kiss to the inside of her wrist before looking at her again. "just… no more decisions without me. no more trying to carry this alone. we do this together, okay?"

she nodded, her thumb brushing over your cheek as if memorizing the feeling of you. "together," she promised, her voice trembling but sure.

you let out a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding, then pulled her into you, wrapping your arms tightly around her. she held you just as fiercely, her face buried against your shoulder, breathing you in.

for the first time since this nightmare began, you felt something close to peace settle over you. whatever came next—whatever horrors this place threw your way—you would face it together. and that was the only thing that mattered.

but before either of you could say anything else, the fragile moment shattered. a sudden commotion erupted from the center of the room, sharp and violent, the unmistakable sound of fists colliding, bodies hitting the ground.

you jerked your head up just in time to see two men throwing wild punches at another, their movements fast and aggressive. hyun-ju’s arm shot out in front of you instinctively, a barrier between you and the scene unfolding. it wasn’t necessary—the fight was contained, the men too caught up in their rage to pay anyone else any mind—but still, her protective instincts kicked in.

your eyes darted across the struggling bodies, catching a flash of bright purple hair. you recognized him instantly—player 069, the rapper thanos, as he called himself. you had always thought he looked like an asshole, and clearly, he was proving you right.

the scuffle intensified, the two men ganging up on the third, fists landing hard, breathless grunts filling the air. the violence of it made your stomach churn. but then, just as suddenly as it started, it stopped as player 001 stepped in.

one moment, the fight was wild, uncontrolled—the next, it was over. 001 moved with precision, stepping between them, intercepting blows, disarming the situation quickly. actually, he didn’t just step in. he moved like someone who had done this before, someone who had calculated the perfect moment to strike. his technique was sharp, efficient. he wasn’t just breaking up the fight—he was winning it.

you watched uneasy, however hyun-ju looked impressed. she had always been drawn to skill, to discipline, to technique, it was part of her nature. she murmured something under her breath, something about his form, speed or strength, but you weren’t paying attention anymore, because something about him unsettled you.

you didn’t like him, you never had. from the moment you saw him, from the moment he pressed the o button, keeping all of you trapped in this nightmare—you hadn’t trusted him. and now, watching him, seeing the ease with which he dismantled the fight, the way his gaze remained cold, empty, unaffected—a chill ran down your spine. you didn’t say any of this to hyun-ju.

*

the heavy main doors creaked open, and a flood of pink-clad guards entered the room in perfect formation. their faceless black masks made them look inhuman, mechanical, as they stood in eerie silence, waiting for the players to fall in line. a tense hush settled over the room as everyone understood what was coming next.

you felt hyun-ju’s fingers tighten around yours as she pulled you up with her, her grip firm but comforting. without a word, the two of you fell into step with the others, joining the slow-moving crowd heading toward the exit. the same winding staircase loomed ahead, leading you through a maze of pastel corridors—bright, almost playful, but suffocating in their endless turns.

when you finally emerged into the game area, it was different from before. the same sandy floor stretched beneath your feet, but this time, the center of the vast space held two circular, colorful tracks painted onto the ground. it almost looked like an oversized children’s play area. the tension in the air, however, was anything but playful.

a woman’s voice echoed through the space, cool and detached.

"welcome to your second game. this game will be played in teams. please divide into teams of five in the next ten minutes."

you turned to hyun-ju immediately, brow furrowing. “dalgona isn’t played in teams.”

she shook her head, her expression serious. “it’s not dalgona, then.”

hyun-ju straightened, her hand squeezing yours just briefly before she shifted into something more focused, more determined. “we need to find people,” she said firmly. “three more.”

you both turned toward the rest of the players, scanning the crowd, trying to find anyone who wasn’t already locked into an unspoken alliance. people were moving fast, pulling each other into small groups, securing their chances before time ran out.

but as you and hyun-ju approached different clusters, the reaction was the same. some people had already formed their teams and dismissed you quickly, barely sparing a glance. others looked you both up and down—eyes lingering too long on hyun-ju’s appearance, or your joined hands—and turned away without a word.

you gritted your teeth, frustration curling in your stomach. you weren’t surprised, but that didn’t make it any less infuriating. i hope you all fucking lose.

hyun-ju, ever composed, let out a slow breath beside you, the only sign of her own frustration being the tightening of her grip on your hand. “we’ll find someone,” she murmured, and you could tell she was saying it more for you than for herself.

you were about to turn to hyun-ju, to suggest splitting up just to form a team faster, when a small weight bumped into you, snapping you out of your thoughts. you turned, expecting to see someone pushing past in a hurry, but instead, you found yourself looking down at a girl.

petite, wiry, her frame smaller than yours—she looked no older than a teenager. she had wide, almost too-big eyes, framed by unruly curls of frizzy hair. her uniform bore the number 095, with a large x printed on the front.

she hesitated before speaking, her voice soft, almost hesitant. “excuse me…” she murmured, fidgeting slightly under your gaze. “would you like to team up with me?”

something in your chest eased.

you didn’t think twice before offering her a reassuring smile, the warmth genuine even in the middle of all this chaos. “of course,” you said, looping your arm through hers like it was the most natural thing in the world. the tension in her shoulders melted slightly, and you could tell that she hadn’t expected kindness here.

with her, now you were three.

"team selection will end momentarily." the pa voice jolted you into urgency. time was running out.

“we need two more,” hyun-ju reminded you, her voice low but firm.

“i know,” you murmured, scanning the dispersing players. most people had already formed their teams, clumping together in tight circles, talking in hushed voices, some sizing up their teammates with open skepticism. others had their backs turned, purposefully ignoring the stragglers still searching for a group.

hyun-ju was taller than you, giving her the advantage of a better view, so you turned to her. “aein, do you see anyone alone?”

she was already looking, eyes narrowing as she swept the field with practiced precision. “no… there’s no one i can s—oh wait, there.”

she lifted her chin, subtly gesturing toward two figures standing near the edge of the group. you followed her gaze, and the moment your eyes landed on them, your breath hitched.

your eyes followed her direction and landed on the old woman from the first day, the one whose voice had cut through the murmurs like a blade, asking why people like hyun-ju existed. standing next to her was her son, player 007. you had never told hyun-ju about what the woman had said. it hadn’t felt necessary; you had long since learned to bear the weight of ignorance in silence, sparing her when you could. if hyun-ju had heard it herself, she hadn't let it show. but now, faced with the decision of approaching them, your stomach twisted slightly.

for a split second, you hesitated, fingers twitching against 095’s arm. still, it wasn’t time for that. “do you think they’ll want to team up with us?” you asked, voice hushed.

“only one way to find out,” hyun-ju said, already moving toward them. you followed, with 095 close behind.

“excuse us,” hyun-ju said smoothly, her voice polite but firm as she stopped before them. “we need two more for our team. would you like to join us?”

007 barely hesitated before responding. “of course!” he said, a note of relief in his voice, as if he had been waiting for someone to extend a hand. he seemed eager, cooperative. you almost sighed with relief—it was done, your team was complete.

but you didn’t miss the way his mother’s brows furrowed, the way she exhaled sharply, her mouth barely parting as if she wanted to object but thought better of it. nor did you miss the way 007’s gaze lingered just a fraction too long on hyun-ju, his eyes flickering with something you couldn’t quite place. it made your spine straighten involuntarily. but right now, it didn’t matter. what mattered was that you had a team, a real chance at winning whatever this was.

you turned to hyun-ju and let out a slow breath, offering her a small, relieved smile which she returned without hesitation, just as the pa system came to life again, its impassive voice cutting through the last murmurs of team selection.

“team selection has ended. all players, please sit in a line inside the designated circles.”

with a final glance at each other, your newly-formed team made their way toward the marked area. you took a seat between hyun-ju and 095, your body still thrumming with leftover adrenaline. the others settled in around you, and silence fell as anticipation weighed heavy in the air.

“the game you will be playing is six-legged pentathlon,” the pa voice continued. “you will start with your legs tied together. each member will take turns playing a minigame at every ten-meter mark, and if you win, the team can move on to the next one. here are the minigames: number one, ddakji. number two, flying stone. number three, gonggi. number four, spinning top. number five, jjegi. your goal is to win all the minigames and cross the finish line in five minutes. please decide players for each minigame.”

a low murmur spread among the teams as everyone quickly assessed their skills.

“what are you good at?” 007 asked, eyes flicking between you all, his tone eager, as if he thrived on strategizing.

you exchanged glances.

“i’m good at jjegi,” hyun-ju offered. “i used to be able to kick more than twenty times.” there was a faint note of pride in her voice, but it was laced with humility.

“more than twenty?” 007 sounded impressed. “that’s solid. you should definitely take jjegi.”

you nodded in agreement. “then i can do ddakji,” you said. “i won more times than the man who recruited us. is that okay with everyone?”

095 nodded immediately, eyes shining slightly. she had been quiet so far, observing you closely, hanging onto your words like you knew more than you really did. there was something about the way she looked at you—not just trust, but admiration. it made your chest feel strangely tight.

the old woman, 149, spoke next, adjusting her posture. “i grew up playing gonggi,” she said with a quiet confidence, her voice carrying the wisdom of years. “i’m really good… though i haven’t played in a long time.”

“you’ll be great, mom,” 007 reassured her, placing a firm hand on her shoulder. his words were encouraging, but there was something else underneath them—something personal.

“i can do flying stone,” 007 added. he seemed sure of himself, and no one objected.

that left one game. you turned to 095, who had been sitting quietly beside you. “are you okay with spinning top?”

her big eyes flicked up to yours, hesitant. “…yes,” she said, though the lack of conviction in her tone didn’t go unnoticed.

you lowered your voice slightly. “we can switch if you want,” you offered.

she hesitated for a split second before shaking her head. “no, it’s fine,” she said, forcing a tight-lipped smile. “i can do it.”

you studied her for a moment, sensing the nerves beneath her resolve, but you decided to trust her. you nodded. “alright. then it’s settled.”

“let’s do this!” 007 pumped his fist in the air, grinning. you all gave a small but determined cheer, sealing your fates together.

the pa crackled again. “all players, remain seated as game instructions are finalized.”

you took a deep breath, feeling the weight of the moment settle over you. there was no turning back now.

*

shortly after, the game began. the first two teams had their legs strapped together, their bodies swaying slightly as they adjusted to the restraints before they found their rhythm. in unison, they started chanting, "one, two, one, two, one, two," their steps carefully synchronized, the sand beneath them shifting as they moved forward.

you watched intently, eyes locked on the team competing on your track. the first challenge—ddakji—was completed flawlessly, and they advanced to the flying stone segment. the player assigned to the task picked up the stone, throwing it towards the target. it missed. groaning in frustration, he hurried to retrieve it, but with every second lost, so was their hope of finishing in time. his second throw connected, but his foot was over the line, disqualifying the attempt. he hesitated, hands shaking, sweat glistening on his forehead under the artificial lighting. you leaned toward 007, voice low but urgent.

"you need to watch the line when you throw," you murmured, keeping your gaze on the struggling player.

007 nodded quickly, eyes wide with understanding. "got it," he whispered back, determination settling into his expression.

the man continued to try, each failed attempt making his movements more frantic, more desperate. and then—humiliation. his body trembled, his breath hitched, and you saw the dark stain bloom across his pants as he pissed himself, sheer terror taking hold. your stomach twisted. you could feel the team unraveling, frustration and panic taking over, sealing their fate.

the room buzzed with nervous energy. only ten seconds remained. in a last-ditch effort, the man hurled the stone with every ounce of strength left in him, and this time, it hit. his voice cracked as he stammered, "i did it, i did it!" the relief in his voice was unmistakable. but it wasn’t enough.

the buzzer sounded, and the tension in the room snapped, replaced with something much, much worse. you saw the pink-masked guards approaching before you fully registered what was about to happen. they moved with eerie precision, their guns cradled against their chests. dread pooled deep in your stomach. "oh no," you whispered, fingers digging into hyun-ju’s arm. "they're gonna shoot them."

hyun-ju said nothing, but the solemn nod she gave you confirmed the unspoken truth. you turned away before you could see it unfold, eyes snapping toward 095 instead. she looked paralyzed, her small frame shaking. instinctively, you reached for her, pulling her close, shielding her from the horror that neither of you could escape. and then, hyun-ju’s arm wrapped around both of you, solid and unwavering, her presence, as always, anchoring you in the storm.

but nothing could muffle the gunshots.

the sound ripped through the air, sharp and unrelenting. you squeezed your eyes shut, hands clamping over your ears, but it was useless. the echo rang inside your skull, each shot landing like a blow to your already frayed nerves. how many times did they fire? it felt endless, a merciless execution stretched into eternity.

when silence finally fell, you forced yourself to look.

bodies lay sprawled on the track, twisted together, their lifeless forms unnervingly still. blood seeped into the sand, staining it dark. the guards moved mechanically, untying the cuffs from the corpses with the same indifference they’d show clearing an obstacle on a course. and then, as if that wasn’t enough, a guard stepped forward, lifted his gun, and fired twice into one of the black coffins with a large pink bow.

each shot made you flinch violently.

a man nearby broke first. "we should have left!" he screamed, his voice raw with grief and fury. "now we're all gonna die! we're gonna die because half of you said you wanted to keep doing this!"

you agreed with him. oh, how you agreed with him. but it was too late for regrets. too late for rebellion. you could only move forward.

the voice on the pa rang out again, calm and unwavering. "will the next two teams please rise?"

you felt the weight of it settle over you, the moment sinking in as you stood up on unsteady legs. your hands moved automatically to help 007 pull his mother up, your fingers gripping the sleeve of her tracksuit as you steadied her. keep a clear head. no panic. no animosity. if you let emotions take over, you’d lose.

hyun-ju turned to 095, crouching slightly to meet her gaze. "hey, look at me." her voice was firm but gentle, a quiet command rather than a question. "my name’s cho hyun-ju." she motioned toward you. "this is my girlfriend."  you introduced yourself with a smile. then, softer, she asked, "what’s yours?"

095 hesitated for a fraction of a second before finally murmuring, "young-mi. kim young-mi." her voice was small, but it didn’t waver.

hyun-ju held onto young-mi’s hands, her grip steady and sure. "listen, from the moment you asked to play together, we believed in you. i could feel how brave you were, young-mi." her voice was warm, reassuring. "now i need you to believe in yourself the same way we do. can you do that?"

young-mi glanced at you, her eyes flickering with something vulnerable, searching. you nodded, rubbing a comforting hand up and down her arm.

"i’ll try," she finally whispered.

you smiled. "that’s good enough."

the old woman, 145, let out a breath that sounded close to a chuckle before straightening her spine, her voice cutting through the tension. “that’s right. i’m jang geum-ja, and i lived through the korean war. so i know a few playground games won’t kill me.” a wry smile followed before she turned to all of you, her dark eyes filled with an intensity that almost startled you. “all right, come on. let’s do this. together, we can win this.”

there was a quiet but unanimous nod from the group.

007, standing straighter now, adjusted his glasses with a little too much force, as if trying to anchor himself in the moment. “yeah,” he added quickly. “and i’m the son of jang geum-ja, who is a survivor. park yong-sik.” his voice carried a strange mix of pride and apprehension, as if he wasn’t sure whether to honor his mother’s strength or fear for her all the same.

hyun-ju took a deep breath, and just like that, her posture shifted. her shoulders squared, her chin lifted just a fraction higher. the transformation was subtle, but it was there—the sergeant in her stepping forward, taking command. “team, listen up.” her voice, rich and unwavering, drew all of you in immediately. was she like this in the military? the thought flickered through your mind as you instinctively leaned in, drawn by her certainty.

“we can get through this together. okay? let’s show all the other players here that these games are nothing to us. i know we can do it.”

she extended her hand into the center of the huddle, thumb pointed upward, and one by one, you all followed, gripping onto each other’s thumbs in a chain of silent agreement. a moment of quiet passed before, in unison, you all bounced once, raising your hands in a cheer—not loud, not overconfident, but filled with determination.

then, just as you were moving toward the track, assuming your places, young-mi’s voice cut through the air, sharp and unexpected.

“wait, wait! i need to change.”

you froze, turning to see her shifting nervously on her feet, her fingers twisting into the fabric of her sleeves.

“what?” hyun-ju frowned, concern flashing across her face.

young-mi swallowed hard. “i won’t do well at spinning top,” she admitted, her voice trembling as she turned to you. her eyes, wide and pleading, locked onto yours. “change with me, please.”

shit. shit. you pressed your lips together tightly, forcing yourself to suppress the immediate curse words threatening to escape. the weight of your team’s gazes burned into you, waiting for a response, for a decision.

you exhaled slowly through your mouth, your heart pounding against your ribs. “all right,” you finally said, nodding stiffly. “let’s change.”

it was the right call, the only call, but still, doubt curled at the edges of your mind. ddakji was supposed to be your game—the one you knew you could win. but now? now you were going into something uncertain. you have to be good at this. you can’t afford to fail.

the switch happened quickly, young-mi moving to the front while you took her place, wedged between geum-ja and hyun-ju. hyun-ju reached for your hand immediately, squeezing it tightly. “are you okay with this?” she asked, voice low, only for you to hear.

you hesitated, swallowing back the lump in your throat. “i—i have to be,” you admitted, the words barely above a whisper. her fingers tightened around yours for a brief second before letting go.

“i can do spinning top,” you continued, as if saying it aloud would make it more real. “yes. i can.” you breathed out slowly, steadying yourself.

the guards moved in then, their boots heavy against the ground as they began securing the cuffs around your legs, locking them into place. you flexed your fingers, willing yourself to stay calm. your left leg was tethered to hyun-ju’s right, your right leg bound to geum-ja’s left. it was real now. no more planning, no more adjusting. this was it.

a gunshot rang through the air—the signal to begin, and just like that, your team surged forward, a tangled collection of bodies and determination, pushing toward the only thing that mattered now: victory.

[meowingbackatcats]

31 march 2025

long time no see :)

i haven’t been able to do a lot, i’ve just been super exhausted and unmotivated and i feel like that shouldn’t be an excuse for me to not study, considering my exam is so close but i can feel the exhaustion and burn out in my bones.

well regardless, i’ve been tryna finish a 12 hour organic chemistry lecture and ill finish it today, marking the end of my organic revision.

i also have to start a kinematics / class 11 physics part 1 lecture and that’s also 12 hours 😭 but let’s see, i’m hoping to start it off today me finish it by tomorrow or maximum, day after.

eh anyway, let’s just hope this one month goes by quickly.

goodluck to all of you and have an amazing day and stay hydrated my loves 🌼

💌

[bookyeom]

pairing: hoshi x reader word count: 3k warnings: kissing, reader is a bad dancer?

Author’s Note: this fic is part of the Thirteen Valentines event, but can be read as a standalone! also, i would suggest listening to the song listed below to get a feel for the vibe of the fic, but it’s not necessary.

dance with me by sarah kang ft. cody dear

'cause boy when i'm alone with you you make me wanna sway, wanna move

dance with me 나랑 춤출래? i don't care about where or when pick a song that never ends

You and Soonyoung have been stuck in some weird, uncharted territory for months now. 

He’s your friend, but he’s also so much more than that. You know it, and you’re pretty sure he knows it, too.  

You’d do anything for him, really. So when he asks you to meet him at the studio before you head home so that he can show you something new he’s working on, you don’t hesitate. Even though it’s midnight, and you’re exhausted from hours spent studying in the library – because Soonyoung is calling.

You can hear music as you approach the practice room, recognizing it as the song for the dance he’s been rehearsing for his final exam, so you’re surprised when you don’t see him through the windows at all. You turn the handle on the door to the room tentatively, opening it just enough to peek inside. And you smile.

Soonyoung is lying flat on his back near the wall closest to you, his chest heaving as he stares up at the ceiling. You watch as he marks the movements in small gestures from his spot on the floor, bobbing his head to the beat, as if he’s taking only half a break. You’ve been friends for quite some time now, and you know him well enough to know that his mind won’t settle until he’s perfected what he’s practicing. He’ll rest his body if he has to, if it makes him, but even then, you know he’s always going over choreo in his head. Like right now. 

You wait until the song is finished, until there’s quiet, and then you speak. “I was invited here to see some dancing, but it looks like I’m in the wrong place.”

Soonyoung’s head falls back onto the floor as he looks over, a grin spreading across his lips when he meets your eyes. He’s looking at you upside down, and it makes you laugh. Then you’re suddenly not laughing anymore, because within seconds he’s pushed to his feet and is bounding over to wrap you in a warm, sweaty hug. Now, your heart is racing.

“Hi!” He beams, moving back to squeeze you by the biceps. 

“Hey, Soonyoung,” you manage. 

“I was just taking a break,” he explains, and you nod. “Don’t worry, that’s the first one I’ve taken all evening–”

You narrow your eyes at him. “I wasn’t worried before, but now I am, if you're telling me that’s the only break you’ve taken from dancing in the last four hours.”

He just laughs, letting go of you, and you roll your eyes. “Go sit over there, I’ll run it again. I don’t need you to help with much… There’s just this one part in the chorus where it feels a little stiff. Just tell me if anything feels,” he gestures into the air vaguely, “off.”

You nod, mock saluting him as you take your place on one of the chairs scattered along the wall on the other side of the room.

You watch as he sets up the song again, your cheeks warming when he begins shrugging off his hoodie. He’s turned away, his back and shoulders now on full display for you in the tank he’s wearing, and you can’t help but stare. You abruptly look down at your feet when he turns back towards you, the first beats of the song beginning to play. You look at him again as he zones in, squaring his shoulders and getting into position as he watches himself in the mirror. 

You don’t have a single rhythmic bone in your body. Watching anyone dance is mind blowing to you, but especially Soonyoung. He’s incredible. Why he wants your advice on his dancing is beyond you, but he always insists, and you’ve never been good at denying him anything.

And why would you even want to deny this? This — a front row seat to one of the most beautiful works of art you’ve ever seen. Soonyoung takes your breath away all the time, but especially like this. 

You’re so caught up in his movements that you don’t even recognize when the chorus hits, when it gets to the part you’re supposed to pay extra attention to. You’re in a trance, only snapping out of it when he makes one final turn, and the song ends. You blink, watching as Soonyoung returns to himself, the performer in him calming with every breath he takes. He lets his shoulders drop, lets his body relax, and then he lets out a loud sigh of relief. He crosses the room and joins you, falling into the chair next to yours, and drops his head onto your shoulder. 

You remind yourself to breathe.

“So?” He’s still breathless. You suddenly remember why you’re there, why he asked you to come and what he asked you to do, and you flush when you realize that you were too dazed to really notice if anything was amiss. 

“This is your best one yet,” you tell him honestly. Which is the truth, because despite your ogling, you would have noticed if anything was glaringly wrong.

“Really?”

You nod. “You’re amazing, Soonyoung.”

The words come out much softer than you intended, much more honest, and you can only hope he doesn’t read into any of it. He doesn’t say anything for a while, and you’re running out of reasons not to panic when he says, “Dance with me?”

Your eyes widen as he lifts his head and turns to you with a smile. 

“What?”

He lifts his head from your shoulder and stands up, holding out a hand for you to take. “Come on,” he grins, wiggling his outstretched fingers when you don't move. “I’ll teach you some of the easier moves.”

You let him pull you up, even as you continue to protest. “Soonyoung, you know—“

“Come on,” he insists, “you can do it!”

You groan. “I really can’t, you know this! I can’t dance, Soonyoung, I—”

“You can’t dance well,” he corrects, and you level him with a glare. He just grins wider as he adds, “but I know you like to! I’ve seen you on our nights out.”

You willfully ignore how his last comment makes you feel, trying desperately not to flush crimson red at his observation. At the fact that he’s noticed these things. “Yeah, so you already know I look like an idiot.”

“You look,” Soonyoung counters, “like you’re having a lot of fun. I’ve seen the way you smile when you’re dancing with your friends.”

You try once more. “No one is judging me there.”

“No one is judging you here, either.”

You open your mouth but nothing comes out, because you can’t argue with that. You know he would never judge you – for anything. You huff, narrowing your brows as you give him a mock glare, but your shoulders fall in defeat. Soonyoung giggles – your favourite sound – and leads you into the middle of the room.

He doesn’t waste any time as he begins to guide you through what he claims is one of the easier steps to master, and to your surprise, you actually kind of get the hang of it. He’s a good teacher, you note, because of course he is, and you feel a bit less anxious with every “good job!” and cheer he sends your way. 

You continue to practice the same small sequence for a bit. When Soonyoung places both arms on your shoulders and stares you directly in the eyes, you stop breathing for a second.

“Okay,” he says, “this is the last move of this part, but it’s a bit hard.” He draws his lip between his teeth, and you watch it happen, because what else are you supposed to do? You think he notices, because his mouth quirks up at the side, but he doesn’t say anything except for, “You up for it?”

You don’t think you say yes, but he begins to teach you, anyway. And he’s right – this last move is hard. He continues to encourage you, and you continue to try and try and try, and –

You let out an ungodly squeal when you finally land in the right spot, pumping a fist into the air. “Yes! I nailed that!” 

You try one more time, two more times, and it’s not perfect — but you do it. 

You don’t even notice the way Soonyoung is looking at you until after you do the move for the third time. When you do, your heart leaps into your throat. He’s got his arms crossed as he smiles over at you, soft, and you think there’s a pink flush on his cheeks that wasn’t there before. You try and tell yourself it’s from the dancing, even though you know it’s you that’s been exerting yourself for the last half hour, not him. He looks so fond, and happy, and there’s something else you can’t quite put a finger on. All you know is that it’s making your entire body warm. 

“What?” You ask as steadily as you can manage.

He just shakes his head. Then he abruptly looks down as if shaking himself out of a stupor, a hand lifting to scratch at the back of his neck, and you’re frozen in place. What was that all about?

“High five,” he offers, cutting of your train of thought, and it takes you a second to register what he’s asking for. 

And when your hand lifts to meet his, he doesn’t let go. 

It all happens at once. His fingers intertwine with yours, his other hand finds your waist, and suddenly he’s so close to you that you forget how to think. You know there’s no mistaking the shakiness in the exhale that leaves you. 

“Is this part of the choreo?” You finally manage, voice barely a whisper, and Soonyoung lets out a soft breath.

“No,” he admits, his voice low.

His hand slides around to your lower back, testing the waters further. His other hand falls from yours, his eyes searching for any sign of discomfort before he pulls you in even closer, like he can’t stop himself.

“What about this?” Your voice is so, so quiet.

“No.”

His voice is soft in the emptiness of the practice room around you. Your bodies are flush now, chest to chest, and you think that if he wasn’t holding you up, your knees would buckle. His eyes still haven’t left yours, waiting, though you don’t know for what. His gaze only breaks from yours to wander across your face; your eyes, your nose, your mouth. You can’t help the soft exhale that leaves you when his eyes find your lips, and you know he notices because you can feel his fingers tighten their grip on the back of your shirt. 

Moments pass like that, and when you still don’t move away, Soonyoung lets out a soft breath of air that you didn’t realize he’d been holding. His next movements are slow and calculated, leaning forward to rest his forehead against yours, his eyes falling shut. Your hand lifts to his chest, and you’re surprised when you feel just how fast his heart is beating. 

“Soonyoung?” You question softly after a moment, impressed that your voice even makes it out at all. He responds with an almost imperceptible shake of his head, his eyes still closed.

“I just… Just give me a second,” he murmurs, and your heart is racing so fast you’re sure he can hear it in the quiet of the practice room.

“Okay.” 

You have no idea what’s going on. All you know is that you trust Soonyoung with your life, and if he needs a minute — you’ll give him ten. You think that maybe you’re the one who needs a minute, though, because you’re not sure how you’re still breathing, let alone standing upright with him this close. 

So close that your breaths are mingling together in the small space that’s left between you, so close that you can count every single one of those beautiful eyelashes as they flutter against his cheek.

“I’m sorry,” he finally says, and your eyebrows furrow. 

“For what?” Your hand moves of its own accord, moving from his chest to find his bicep and squeezing gently to remind him that he’s okay. He lets out a hum, but he still doesn’t open his eyes, and you’re almost worried now.

“I’m sorry if this is weird. If I’m being weird,” he elaborates. “It’s just that — well, honestly, ah,” he seems to attempt to squeeze his eyes shut even more, if that were possible. “I’ve really been wanting to kiss you lately — like, more than usual, which is already a lot — fuck, sorry.” He inhales sharply. “You just looked so cute watching me before, and dancing with me now, so I thought that I… and then you didn’t move away, so I thought that maybe you…” He trails off again, and you’re sure your ears are playing tricks on you. 

You move your forehead away from his, and his eyes finally open at the loss of contact. When your gaze meets his, your breath is nearly stolen away from you. He looks terrified as he searches your face, his eyebrows furrowed, and you know him so well that you swear you can hear him overthinking everything. His grip loosens on the back of your shirt but he doesn’t let go, and you can tell he wants to speak again based on the way his mouth opens and closes, but he doesn’t. You haven’t moved, and he doesn’t either, and you know he’s letting you decide how to respond. He would give you all the space in the world if you asked for it, you know that.

You don’t want space, though.

“It’s not weird,” you finally say, a blush spreading across your cheeks as you speak. “I’ve been feeling like that, too.”

Soonyoung’s eyes widen, and he blinks slowly. He takes a moment, processing, and then he starts, “You—”

“I swear all I think about these days is kissing you,” you blurt out, and you’re not sure who’s blushing harder now, you or him. 

Before you even know what’s happening, Soonyoung is surging forward to close the whisper of distance that remains between the two of you. Then his lips are pressed to yours, hot and slow and lingering, his hand lifting to your jaw to angle your face so that he can kiss you even deeper. You let out an almost pathetic sounding whimper at the intensity of the kiss, at how warm and soft and good his mouth feels against yours, and he hums in return.

When he pulls away, it takes a second for your own eyes to flutter back open. He’s smiling so wide that his eyes have turned into crescent moons. 

“Holy fuck, Soonyoung.” You’re breathless, and you can tell he’s pleased with your comment as his thumb caresses the side of your jaw.

“So much better than I could have ever imagined,” he returns, and you flush. “And trust me, I’ve thought about it a lot.”

You move to bury your face in the space between his neck and shoulder, not caring at all that he’s sweaty and warm. His arms pull you in, holding you close to his chest, and you hum as he gently sways the two of you. 

“Now neither of us has to wonder what it’s like anymore,” you say softly.

“You’re right,” he agrees, pulling you back so he can look down at you again. His hands clasp together at the small of your back as he leans forward to teasingly brush his nose against yours. “Now that I know what it feels like to kiss you, though, I’m definitely going to be thinking about it even more than I already was.”

Your arms wind your way around his neck. “Me, too.” 

“I mean…” Soonyoung is grinning, smile so bright it could outshine the sun, as he says, “We could just… keep doing it.” 

You pull him into you so abruptly that it makes you stumble, falling in a tangle of limbs down to the practice room floor. You wince as you land on Soonyoung, but he’s laughing as you roll off and onto your back beside him. You throw a hand over your eyes, and you can feel it as Soonyoung lifts onto his side next to you. A hand moves to trace patterns on your arm, and you can’t help the shiver that courses through you.

“You didn’t hurt me,” he murmurs, and you can still hear the smile in his voice.

“I know. I’m just… Embarrassed.”

Soonyoung’s fingers halt their motions as he finds your hand and brings your arm away from your face, entwining his fingers with yours. He continues to play with your fingers, his body firm against your side as he leans against you. “Why are you embarrassed?”

“I was trying to be sexy and I literally tripped us, Soonyoung. This is why you’re the dancer and I’m not.”

Soonyoung’s mouth moves slowly, almost painstakingly slow, as a smile takes over his face. 

He doesn’t say anything, and you’re about to let out a whine because you’re even more embarrassed with him looking at you like that. But he sits up, bringing you with him. The soft smile on his mouth grows, and grows, and grows, until his grin has widened so much that it’s taken over his entire face. 

“You like me,” he whispers, and you can’t help the giggle that tumbles past your lips. You flush, giddy over how giddy he is, and you nod. 

“Yeah,” you whisper. “I really, really do.”

A/N: thank you so much to everyone for all the love on the other fics so far :) Sorry a new fic took so long, there's been a lot going on in my life that I did not foresee lol. Thanks for waiting xx

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