#get a better understanding of touching people's hearts

[16ferrari]

release and escape | M.R

pairing: Michael “Dr Robby” robinavitch x fem!reader

Summary: Robby’s escape when he’s home from work is you

Warnings: oral (f!male and male receiving), fingering, marking, crying, cum eating if you squint. Edited but maybe some errors!

Exhausted, sore, back pain, headache, hungry, feet hurting.

is all Robby felt as he opened the door and walked into the beautiful home whom he shared with his wife. He stopped at the door when he walked in, to just let out a deep and exhausted breath. He felt right at home but his brain was still at work, which is a habit he can’t seem to control his brain to understand when to shut down when he’s at home.

as he wandered farther into the house he took in the familiar scent and feel. Feet touching the soft fluffy carpet, instead of the hard white concrete floor that he wished everyday he wouldn’t have to face when he walked through those doors

His Nose filled with your signature scent of a coffee candle you always left running, even if he’s told you multiple times not to leave things that could catch on fire while you slept. he chuckled to himself in an almost dark, barely lit room, thankful for once you actually left it on so he could smell something other than the horrific scent the hospital gave him.

He walked into the kitchen, placed his backpack on the barstool and opened the microwave, to see the plate you had left him, now normally he be very would hungry, hungry like he hadn’t eaten in days or weeks, but tonight he shut the microwave door and just opted for a huge glass of water and made his way upstairs into your bedroom.

He quietly pushed open the door, not wanting to wake you up, but the creaking sound the door made, which he swore he was going to fix, creaked extra loud tonight and woke you up. “Robby?’’ Your voice was low and soft, with a Hint of excitement that he was finally home after a long night’s shift.

He walked over to your side of the and sat down in front of your legs, “sorry honey, stupid door couldn’t hide my secret entrance” he raised a gentle hand and moved the hair from your eyes, a smile appearing on his face once he saw the face he’d been thinking about all shift.

you light chuckled, “the door you said you would fix?, wow it came in handy tonight” you jokingly kicked his back with your foot.

“I’m gonna fix it soon, sweetheart” he pitched your thigh, and got up to take off the god awful blue sweater he usually wore to the hospital. Taking it off felt like a reward, like he was taking off a cape after working all night, saving people, losing people and getting them better. He threw the sweater to the floor, not wanting to care about it for a night. Next he took off his shirt which he took off groaning, arms and shoulders hunting as he lifted them to take off the shirt.

he heard movement from the bed and then the sound of your drawer opening, he looked at you and saw you pulling out the bottle you always pulled out when you saw any sort of body part of his hurting, muscle relaxer written on the front like it was going to work on his poorly worm out back, but he didn’t have the heart to tell you no, that it wasn’t going to work. Instead he sat on the edge of the bed, like he usually did, so you could apply the relaxer on his back.

he felt the tips of your knees hit his back softly as you filled the palm of your hand with the relaxer to rub into his shoulder blades. He groaned as he felt the small of your hands start rubbing against the parts that ached so badly. You continued like that for the next few minutes, pressing your hands and fingers into his back, drawing motions with your fingers to hopefully relieve his pain.

However you hit that one particular point that had Robby’s head falling backwards to meet yours. “Fuck right there, honey” you jabbed your thumb deeper into the point that hurt him the most, and continued on from there.

he could only groan and grasp, the relaxer actually helping him just for the night and just so right.

you pressed a kiss to his forehead, making your way down to his neck. He let out a deep breath of a laugh. “What are you doing?, honey” his hand found the back of your head, fingers getting lost in your locks.

You hummed, biting gently on his exposed neck. Your hand creeped up from behind him to run all over his toned stomach, you felt him suck in a deep breath. “Relaxing you?’’ You giggled, turning his head around so you kiss him. you felt him escape into the kiss, it was soft and gentle. Something he needed to heal his wounds that his line of work opened up, he missed your lips on his. He turned his whole body around so he was chest-to-chest with you. His palm came up to cradle your face, the kiss deepening, turning rough and passionate.

He wrapped an arm around your waist to lay you down on the bed. It felt right, so right. Having you there beneath him, the light from the opened window shining into the room, landing on your face creating a blue and beautiful silhouette to focus on your face.

You moaned into the kiss as he opened your legs and brushed his knee against your core hidden beneath your panties. He broke the kiss to follow a trail down to your neck, painting kisses and bites that surely left marks and colored lines that would be visible to the public eye, also hard to cover up. But you couldn’t care, robby didn’t either.

Your hands scratched down his back, head falling back into the pillows, the now intense pleasure getting the very best of you. “Supposed to be taking care of you” you groaned feeling the palm of his hand ceasing your breast through the pink silk nightgown you wore to bed.

he hummed tugging down one of the straps on the dress, he dropped his head to mouth at the exposed bud. “You are’’ his hand slipped under the dress, tips of his fingers messing with the seams of your panties, “by letting me use you” he pushed them aside, inserting his ring and middle finger in your now wet and pulsating cunt.

you cried out, back arching off the bed to meet his exposed hairy chest. ‘’ fuck robby” is what only could fall from your lips as he kept hitting that particular spot that had you seeing stars. The sounds that filled each corner of the room were nasty, and loud, something that Robby would rather listen to than the stupid sounds the hospital made.

Without removing his fingers Robby pushed your legs further apart and scooted down the bed so he could come in contact with your pussy face to face. You screamed into your hand as you felt his wet tongue make contact with your clit, sucking and licking, making circles with his tongue. He was getting nasty, drool falling down his chin, soaking his beard.

“Needed this” he replaced his fingers with his tongue, “needed you, needed your sweet pussy, honey” he spread your pussy lips more open with his fingers so he could make room for his tongue to go dig deeper into your extremely wet pussy.

You couldn’t speak. Tears started to fill your waterline as you felt your stomach start to tighten up, and legs began to shake impulsively from where they laid around on Robby’s shoulders. “Fuck, I’m close’’ he sped up his movements which made you cum faster and harder. You screamed in silence, back arching far off the bed. “fuck!, fuck! Fuck!” You tried to push Robby’s head away, but he refused to leave his spot from between your legs, he continued to lick your cunt clean, soaking up whatever you left behind.

‘’Robby please” your fingers ran through his hair, hoping he’ll stop, but he didn’t. He continued mouthing at your cunt, tongue slipping in and out of your cunt, before mouthing at your clit. “Fuck, am gonna cum again” your legs were shaking again uncontrollably, feeling his hand move up and down your leg was your final straw as your vision went white, you had came hard again.

Robby crawled over to hover above you, his hand laying against your cheek to soothe your cheek, which was stained with tears. “Did great sweetheart’’ he leaned down and kissed those tear stains, washing them away with his kisses.

You played with hairs on the back of his head. “I wanna take care of you now” he hummed, letting out a breathy laugh.

”you did take care of me?” You shook your head.

”yeah, but” you wrapped your leg around his waist, flopping him over so he was on his back, and you on his waist. “I wanna take care of you in my own way” he placed his hand on the small of your back drawing soft circles with his fingers.

”really how so?” You giggled, he really was clueless. Instead of saying, you decided to just show him. You moved down a bit to unzip his pants, freeing his cock which you immediately got your mouth around.

Robby’s head fell into the pillows, chest heaving up and down. Little murmurs of cuss words leaving his mouth. You bobbed your head up and down his thick cock, taking him the furthest down your throat, swallowing up those gags and tears that threatened to break from your eyes. You felt him grip the back of your head, helping you, moving your head at the speed he wanted you to.

”fuckk, sweetheart” Robby looked down at you, only to see you already looking at him. “You’re an angel” he took a photo in his head, your batted soft eyes looking up at him, cheeks hollowed, sucking on his dick like your life depended on it. Robby's hand tightened on your hair as he got closer and closer to his end, he couldn’t warn you to stop, was too caught up in his own pleasure to say anything. But, he came with a loud groan and that was enough for you to know that he clearly needed that.

you pulled your head off his cock with a pop and a sting of saliva falling from down your chin onto your chest. Robby sat up and pulled the back of your head towards him to crash his lips onto yours, he could taste a mixture of himself and you. The kiss like earlier was messy, needy, and nasty. You both fought for dominance, deepening the kiss, tongues fighting their way into each other’s mouths.

you pulled away from the kiss breathless and wanting more, “want more, robby. Way more” you whispered into his ear, hands clawing at his skin, neediness and desperation setting in.

His hand twitched against his thigh, he nodded his head agreeing in silence. He forced you onto your back, spread open your legs and lined his cock up with your wet folds. “Can’t hold back dear’’ he warned you. you didn’t want him to, you wanted him to let loose. Release all his stress and worries into you.

”don’t hold back, robby’’

[glassbxttless]

I'd like chicken and swiss on white, please.

That's all I need, but if the sandwich artist thinks it needs more, I'm willing to try it. 🥰

Since We Were 13

billy knight x fem!reader

word count: 2.3k+

summary: Sandwich Shop Request from wheels-of-despair | You and Billy are best friends going on Holiday— the room you check into isn’t the double bed you booked.

warnings: Doesn’t mention any of the neglect and abuse Billy’s gone through, but that doesn’t mean it hasn’t happened. They kiss but that’s about it.

notes: First sandwich order, served hot just for Wheels! This was a lot of fun to write and it’s my first Billy fic! I hope yall love it as much as I do. Big thanks to @prettycalla for reading it over! and more thanks to @peachyproserpina as always for editing!

Hauling your suitcase up the stairs, you’re cursing under your breath about charming old inns and their complete disregard for elevators. Billy’s just a few steps behind you, breathing a little heavier than usual but he’s still smiling, wearing his duffel bag over his shoulder like it’s nothing.

“You want me to get that too?” he offers, reaching out towards your bag without even really thinking about it.

You wave him off, with a huff. He knows you’re more stubborn than an ox, so he pulls back his hand, settling to holding the duffel strap. “Nah. ‘M stronger than I look.”

Billy just chuckles under his breath, that low, warm sound that rumbles out from his chest that you’ve known your whole life. He wants to argue with you— he wants to scoop your bag up like he could carry the burdensome weight— but he also knows better than to push you. You’d probably hit him with it if he tried. So instead, he hovers close enough that the back of his hand brushes your arm every few steps. Each touch makes him dizzy in a way he doesn’t really understand, not after all this time. Not after knowing you for so long. Since childhood. Shouldn’t he be used to you by now? The way you touch, the way you smile, the way you laugh. But he’s not. He doesn’t think he ever will be. When you finally reach Room 6, you jiggle the key in the lock, muttering about sticky doors and good old-fashioned charm. Billy fidgets behind you, as he takes a look about the hall. He’s rocking on his heels, the strap of his bag feeling heavier and heavier every moment, until it felt like it was cutting into his shoulder. He doesn’t know why he’s so nervous all of a sudden. It’s you. It’s always just you. And maybe it had something to do with the 7 days you were about to spend together, alone. Usually a group of your mates would split accommodations, but this time— it’s just you and Billy. 

You swing the door open, and then you both step inside. The room is tiny. A shoebox with a door, really— there’s a cracked dresser, a rickety old nightstand, and one bed. One. Only big enough for two people who wouldn’t be trying very hard to keep their distance. A bed made for those not afraid to declare their love to their best friend. Billy freezes when he sees it. His brain short-circuited at the same time as yours. He’s quiet for a second, registering the bed before anything else. He can feel his heart jump straight up into his throat. “I thought you booked a double,” he chooses his words carefully, his voice a little higher than it normally is.

“I did book a double,” you say and sigh, your eyes wide as you scan the room like maybe there’s a second bed tucked behind the dresser. And for a second, neither of you moves from the doorway as you just take in the scene in front of you. Billy’s not stupid. He knows what this looks like. Knows how dangerous this is for him, how much harder it’s gonna be to keep his heart where it belongs— hidden deep in his chest, where it’s quiet and safe. But he also sees the way your mouth twitches, trying to hold back a shaky laugh, and it wrecks him just a little. “It’s fine,” you say finally, tossing your suitcase down with a thud. You two had been driving too long and had climbed too many stairs to go back and fight with the front desk now. “We’ve shared worse.”

Billy nods, a little too fast. He’s glad you’re not looking at him. “Yeah. ‘S fine. Totally fine.” He places his duffel down on the opposite side of your suitcase. And he busies himself with it, pretending he’s looking for something important. A shoe, underwear, t-shirt, anything really. Because in reality, he’s trying his hardest not to look at you— he’s failing, really. But he knows what’ll happen deep inside him if he looks at the way you stretch, your arms over your head, that shirt riding up just enough to show a sliver of skin. God, he’s fucking hopeless. You start changing without much ceremony, turning your back to him. You shimmy out of your jeans and into a pair of flannel sleep shorts. Billy’s brain tries to shut down the thoughts he’s having entirely. Just one look. So he sneaks a glance, just once— he tells himself it’s purely by accident, but somewhere in that brain of his he feels guilty. Perving on his best friend— but the sight of you, casual and soft, in your panties and just so close nearly undoes him. He yanks his gaze away from you finally, his cheeks burning bright. He can feel his neck running hot and the tips of his ears have to be giving him away. He’s fiddling with the hem of his t-shirt like it’s going to save him whatever embarrassment is going to come as soon as you catch him.

But when you turn back around, you don’t tease him. You’re just pulling your sweatshirt on, catching him mid-fidget. His eyes flick up guiltily to yours. “Sorry,” he mutters, throat dry as he pushes his hand through his hair. “Wasn’t… I wasn’t tryin’ to stare.”

You just laugh, a relaxed grin spreading across your face. “Relax, Bill. It’s… It’s just me. Yeah?” You’re the only one that calls him that anymore.

That’s the problem, he thinks. It’s you. The you he’s been in love with since you were thirteen and dumb. Taking on the world on your walks to school, lunchboxes in hand. The you, who was his first kiss because, “It’s good practice, Bill.” The you who let him touch you under your shirt when he talked about wanting to lose his virginity. You’re his dream girl. Always have been. And he’s kept it on lock down for so long, and it’s all threatening to crumble right now. But now you’re both climbing awkwardly onto the bed, staying near the edges like you might catch fire if you get too close. Billy’s wearing a white t-shirt, his sweatpants clinging to his legs. He keeps his hands folded on his chest, eyes trained firmly on the water stained ceiling.

He really can’t remember the last time he felt this nervous around a girl— around you. Sure he’s been through worse, objectively he’s survived worse— his head has been worse than it has been— but nothing makes him feel more like he’s balancing on a high wire with no netting than lying next to you, pretending he’s not head-over-heels in love. A silence stretches between you. It’s heavy and humming, and he feels like he’s about to combust. So he risks a glance sideways at you. You’re already facing him, one hand tucked under your cheek, eyes half-lidded but still awake. He should stay quiet. Keep his mouth closed. He knows he should. But the words slip out before he can even register he’s talking, like they’ve been sitting just under his tongue for far too long. “Y’remember that fair we went to? Two summers back?”

You hum, soft and sleepy, eyes blinking shut before opening them again. “Yeah. We got caught in the rain right outside the funhouse. You gave me that grey hoodie with the hole in the sleeve. S’your favorite.”

Billy smiles, the memory swirling happily in his brain. “You looked ridiculous. Thing was so big on you, felt like it came down past your knees.”

“You looked worse than I did,” you tease gently, reaching out to tuck a loose strand of his hair behind his ear. “You were shivering like you had a chill in your bones.”

Billy chuckles, heat blooming in his chest at your touch. He remembers— he remembers everything about that night. How cold his hands had been when he shoved them in his jeans pockets, how he’d pretended he was just fine in a t-shirt that had been soaked through just because you’d curled up against his side without thinking twice about it. How he’d spent the whole train ride home, dripping wet and telling himself not to fall for you any harder than he already had. “I think—” His voice catches and he sighs. He clears his throat, tries again, it’s now of never. “Think that’s when I realized I was… properly fucked.” 

You turn your head a little against the pillow, peeking at him. The moonlight glimmering over his face and settling over those pretty brown eyes. “Fucked how?”

Billy exhales shakily, turning his head away from you again. He stares up at the ceiling, like the water stains might save him. “Fucked like… in love with you,” he says, his voice so quiet you weren’t sure you would’ve heard it if you hadn’t been listening closely.

The words hang there between you, fragile, huge, and life changing. He braces himself for you to laugh. He expects you to brush it off and say something like we’re best friends, that’s all, because it’s safer that way. Just friends. But you don’t say that and you don’t laugh, instead, after a long— aching pause, you reach across the tiny gap between you and find his hand still pressed against his chest. And you slip your fingers between his.

“I love you too, Billy,” That same sleepy smile toying at your lips as you speak. Your voice sounds a little wobbly, like you can’t believe what you had confessed to either. Billy turns his head, eyes wide and glassy. For a moment, neither of you really dare to breathe. Afraid that you may be dreaming. Then he carefully squeezes your hand and lets out a shaky breath that sounds half like a laugh.

“Can I…” He trails off for a moment, face burning in the moonlight pouring through the window. “Can I kiss you?”

You nod, a bit faster than you’d like to admit. Billy leans in slowly, like he’s afraid this is all some cruel joke. Like if he moves too fast, you’ll come to your senses and he’ll definitely wake up back in his own lonely little bed with nothing but the echo of your words in his head. Your hand tightens a little in his, still pressed against his chest. That tiny, desperate squeeze gives him the courage to close the distance. His nose bumps yours first. He’s clumsy. Too eager. Much like the first time he kissed you all those years ago. He pulls back, heart lurching up into his throat. God he’s gone and fucked this up. But then he hears it, you’re laughing— this soft, breathless little sound— it’s sleepy and lovely and suddenly it’s not embarrassing, it’s just you. He tries again, a smile on his own lips this time. Maybe a giggle of his own slipping between them as he tilts his head more carefully this time. Your mouth brushes against his— a whisper of a kiss, it’s barely even there. Billy’s never really been good at first moves. His hands always tremble too much, his heart stutters, his brain second-guesses every goddamn thing. But with you… even the awkward parts feel okay. Like you know exactly what he’s gonna do before he even does it. And somehow that makes it less awkward.

Your lips are warm against his. They’re a little dry from the cool air. The kiss still feels a little unsure, like you’re both waiting for the other to pull away. But you stay there, your body scooting closer to him. Close enough that he can feel your shaky breath mingle with his. Billy tilts his head just a little more, nudging your nose aside. He fits his mouth more solidly against yours as his hand slips away from yours to cup your cheek in his palm. His lips move against yours slowly, reveling in the way that this may be the best kiss he’s ever shared with anyone. 

And you kiss him back just as slowly— The hand laying at his chest, stroking small circles against the fabric of his t-shirt. You’re learning him, what he likes and what feels nice, one soft touch at a time. And it’s messy in the way that (second) first kisses usually are: your teeth click lightly when you both move at the same time, your noses bump again, and again, and again, and you both pull back for half a second, eyes gleaming at each other in the moonlight as you laugh quietly. You’re breathless, too caught up in one another to care. And then Billy’s forehead presses against yours. He lets out a breath full of relief as his nerves finally begin to calm. He sucks in another breath, holding it in before finally letting out a quiet laugh. He had so much damn love for you in his chest, he doesn’t really know where to put it all.

“Sorry,” he whispers, even though he doesn’t really know what he’s apologizing for. For bumping you? Knocking your teeth? For wanting this so fucking badly he could scream? For being Billy Knight and not someone smoother, better? But you just smile, your eyes are closed now as your foreheads relax together. You lift your hand to place it over the one of his cradling your cheek. Your fingers brush over the back of his hand, turning your head to press a kiss against his palm.

“Don’t be,” you whisper back.

Billy lets out another shaky little laugh. He doesn’t know if he’s ever been happier before, and ducking his head down against your neck, and then he feels you pull him a little closer. Your hands sliding down from his to wrap around his middle. When he lifts his head and he kisses you again, it’s slower. He’s more sure of it. This isn’t a joke. Sure, it’s still awkward— God, he’s still so awkward— but it’s sweet and real and you’re his, even if you haven’t said it. And that’s all he’s ever wanted, ever since he was thirteen.

You.

tags ;; @meetmeatyourworst @getaapologist

[noideawherethatcamefrom]

Personally for me it was absolutely not about favoring mlm vs. wlw. This is not simply about representation, it's about the stories. I loved CaitVi in S1 but for me in S2 they completely lacked chemistry and their ending felt unearned.

In Season 1 CaitVi told a beautiful story about two kind-hearted women overcoming their prejudice and seeing the person that was in front of them. I cherished every heartfelt glance between them, especially Vi being touched every time Cait proved to be so much better than most Piltovians and showing compassion towards the people of Zaun.

But then Season 2 came along and I lost all respect for Cait the moment she said "animals" in S2E1. AND THEN she gassed Zaun and became the Fuhrer. Her redemption scenepack (because I'm not calling that an arc) didn't really do it for me. I get what they were going for but I never regained my appreciation for Caityn after everything she's done in S2.

Vi also became way less compelling in S2. She went from being an awesome big sister and one of the main characters in S1 to being basically a device for other characters (Jinx, Cait, Warwick) to have their moments, with a montage of getting drunk in goth makeup and an underdeveloped friendship with Loris sprinkled in for good measure. She also made many out of character choices, the biggest ones being joining the Enforcers and giving up on Jinx and Zaun.

Cait and Vi's first kiss had no chemistry for me. I feel like they weren't really seeing each other in that scene. Vi asked Cait to promise she wouldn't change but Cait has already started to change by then. Cait kissed Vi as a confirmation of that promise even though you can't realistically promise someone that you won't change because it's near impossible.

Their reconcilliation in S2E6 was rushed. We've all seen the jokes that all it took for Cait to do a 180 was to hear Vi say the word "cupcake". And then the sex scene in S2E8 felt unearned and had a very awkward timing. There was so much misunderstanding that they should've addressed first but I guess they just really wanted to boink already. Or rather, the writers wanted them to boink. Even if it was in a prison cell right after Jinx pretty much implied to Vi that she's going to kill herself.

I have many problems with Arcane Season 2's writing and Cait and Vi's storylines are among them. Meanwhile the best thing that happened in that season was Jayce and Viktor's stories. They were very compelling separately (Viktor becoming Jesus and finally being able to help people in Zaun like he always wanted to, only to become lost and possessed by the Hexcore and crossing the line. Jayce seeing the unforseen tragic consequences of his idealism and ambition and coming out on the other side more mature and wanting to amend for the damage he's caused) as well as in relation to each other (Their perspectives clashing in the divorce scene. Them basically switching places and gaining understanding of each other's POV. Every time they hurt each other in any capacity in Episodes 6, 8 and 9 you could see how much pain it brought them. And then their final scene which was just poetic and tied their story perfectly, them sacrificing their lives in each other's arms to save the world from their shared dream that started it all.)

Enjoying a good story and disregarding a poorly-written one has nothing to do with biases.

im a huge jayvik fan and loved their gay ass ending but the way they get SO MUCH MORE TRACTION than the CANONICAL LESBIAN COUPLE at the center of the show is sooooo telling of everyone's biases. it's all talking about how there's not enough lesbian rep until you actually get lesbian rep and fully fucking ignore it to hype up the not even canonical gay ship. like ok !!!

[chiscaralight]

cw: shy!choso x reader, prone boning, college au. sukuna and gojo ver linked at the bottom!

college athlete!choso who’s an absolute beast on the field. everyone loves to watch him play, it’s almost like a movie every time he’s out for the game! he’s always ready to charge headfirst when it comes to his sport, and he won’t let anyone take it away from him.

college athlete!choso who doesn’t talk to anyone outside his teammates and a select few. it’s fair anyway, a lot of people only want to speak to him bc he’s deemed important, not like they want to know him.

college athlete!choso who’s also known for his aloof personality. but when you’re partnered up for an essay, you soon realize everyone is painfully wrong.

college athlete!choso who’s the most shy thing ever! it almost breaks your heart how he starts to stutter and avoid your eyes while you work out the details, just humming in agreement and you swear he almost passes out when you ask for his number.

college athlete!choso who’s practically about to fall off the edge of your bed, trying to sit as far away from you as possible. it’s like trying to coax a hostile cat to eat food you brought it, but with the way you’re looking at him, choso is sure he wouldn’t mind you putting him in your mouth just a bit.

college athlete!choso who finally warms up to you after a couple of evenings together. there’s still significant distance between the two of you, both physically and emotionally, but he’s more open now. he can actually hold a conversation with you now, and he thinks you’re the coolest! he can’t get you off his mind at all, whether he’s walking to the field hoping to spot you on his path, or secretly searching for you in this shared class.

college athlete!choso who jerks himself off to the thought of you after practice, making sure the locker room is empty as he moans out your name, wishing it was your hand wrapped around his cock instead.

college athlete!choso who forgets he’s supposed to meet up with you, cussing himself out when he sees your texts and missed calls. you’re super understanding though, and you tell him to take his time or you can reschedule if it’s better. but he assures you he can be there in less than ten minutes.

college athlete!choso who’s at your door in three minutes, panting and soaked. you can’t tell whether it’s from the shower water or if it’s sweat, but your eyes are more focused on the outline of his exposed arms and damp shirt clinging to his frame. he’s babbling, saying sorry for wasting your time, he ran because he couldn’t find his keys! but his apologies are hitting deaf ears, your mind is definitely on something else. and he notices.

college athlete!choso who’s eyes widen when you pout, shyly asking him to kiss you. this is something you’ve been trying to avoid since the first day he sat in your room, but it’s so hard to hold yourself back when he looks like this!

college athlete!choso who presses his back to the door, holding you in his arms while your tongues tangle. he’s moaning around your tongue, shamelessly feeling you up while you grind your front against his hardening bulge. he’s almost embarrassingly loud, but each sound he makes sends vibrations straight between your legs.

and you’d have to say the same for yourself, fingers dragging down his arms, around his neck, across his chest. but the real kicker is when you softly place your hand against his abs. he’s unconsciously flexing beneath your touch and it draws you in like magic. maybe he’d have good core strength? you’re the one who’s going to put college athlete!choso to the test.

college athlete!choso who passes your test in flying colors, prone boning you with an ease that has you seeing stars. you’re face first in the sheets, cries muffled by the pillow your head rests on while he slams into you like he hates you, much different from the way he asks if you’re okay after a couple of thrusts. you can’t even get your head up! and he’s getting worried but you guide his hand towards your neck, struggling to place your head in the crook of his elbow before telling him to squeeze.

college athlete!choso who gets off on the way your eyes roll back and your voice gets whinier. his hips falter just a bit when you call out his name in that voice, and if not for how good you felt, you would’ve teased him for the way his cock just twitched.

college athlete!choso who can’t face you in class the next day. you’re a little sad when you don’t see him, so you decide to check the field later in the day.

college athlete!choso who freezes up when he sees you waving from the stands. his teammates don’t miss his change in demeanor, and they start to laugh and nudge him in the side, teasing him about the cutie cheering him on from the bleachers.

college athlete!choso who comes up to you during their break, face still blazing hot from the exercise and the memories of you from last night. he says he would have hugged you but he’s insanely sweaty right now. not like you would’ve minded, that sweaty body was all up on yours last night like it was nothing!

college athlete!choso who gives you a nice long kiss before he leaves. trying to drown out the sounds of his team hollering at the two of you from a distance. you break the kiss with a laugh and tell him he can come over later if he wants.

college athlete!choso who forgets his keys and runs all the way to your place for the fourth time this week. he doesn’t mind though, he just thinks of it as prep for the calories he’s about to burn with you in a couple of minutes.

sukuna ver here!

gojo ver here!

geto ver here!

choso pt2 here!

[cinnamorollcrybaby]

cw - yandere behavior, choso doing perverted stuff, bondage, problematic behaviors, smut, mdni, not proofread

imagining you and sick pervert!choso being roommates in an apartment together.

sick pervert!choso doesn’t like when you leave the apartment. he has some form of separation anxiety when it comes to you, but actually, he just loathes the idea that other people are getting to see you when he can’t.

sick pervert!choso who sets a curfew for you to help “ease his worries”. you agree because you like the fact that someone is watching out for you.

sick pervert!choso who ties you up to his bed when you break curfew one night. he doesn’t even touch you inappropriately. he just keeps you right where you belong: in his room.

sick pervert!choso who coos sweet condescending words to you while you’re tied up in his bed. “you know why i had to tie you up, don’t you?” you swallow thickly and nod your head. your eyes are glassed over from tears and the alcohol you had consumed earlier in the night.

sick pervert!choso who assures you that he forgives you for staying out past curfew. “it’s okay, baby. don’t cry. i just needed you to stay here with me for a little while, okay?”

sick pervert!choso who keeps you tied up until the next morning. he only unties you to lead you to the bathroom. he cares for you so tenderly as you shower and brush your teeth, but it’s right back to being tied down to the bed after your little break.

sick pervert!choso who admires you while you sleep. he loves how soft and vulnerable you look. it makes his dick twitch in his boxers, and he doesn’t understand why. he just knows he has to take his own bathroom break now.

sick pervert!choso who finally lets you go after a full day of being tied up, but he gives you big puppy dog eyes the moment you try to go to your own room, so of course, you sit with him and let him kiss the rope burns on your wrists.

sick pervert!choso who has a love/hate relationship with your job. he hates the fact that he has to share you with your job, and he hates that other men get to look at you while you work. what if they start getting the idea that they actually have a chance with you? then, choso will have to kick their teeth in :(

sick pervert!choso who also loves the time you’re gone sometimes because that’s when he gets to go shopping in your room! he breaks in, and he only steals a few things… like your used panties.

sick pervert!choso who will spray your perfume against his pillows while your gone. he will have a pillow with your perfume shoved against his nose while he chokes his throbbing cock with your panties.

sick pervert!choso who makes it a mission to fuck all of your used panties, leaving behind globs of cum in the crotch portion as he cries out your name however loud he wants to because you’re at your stupid job.

sick pervert!choso who noticed you’re taking far too long at work one evening. he’s blown up your phone with texts, and he finally checks the apple tag on your car that he accidentally left behind between the seats. you’re at a bar… without notifying him first.

sick pervert!choso who paces around the apartment all night, debating on just showing up at the bar, but he knows you’ll be upset with him for stalking you. his heart leaps into his throat as he hears the door open up.

sick pervert!choso has your back pressed against the door in record time. his nose is buried in your neck and shoulder as he’s trying to smell for anyone else’s scent on you. “where were you, baby? i was worried…”

“my boss brought us all out for drinks since we hit a big deadline, chocho. i’m sorry. my phone died.” you say as you rub his back, trying to soothe him from how tore up he was.

sick pervert!choso who leads you up to his room anyways to tie you up. you should’ve known better than to keep him worried and waiting like this! now he’s all pent up with too much possessive energy… he needs to see you bound to his bed to ease his anxiety.

sick pervert!choso forgot to hide the evidence of his activities all day. a few pairs of your panties are scattered around the floor, and he immediately tries to do damage control, but it’s too late. you already saw them.

“chocho, is this why my panties always go missing?” you ask as you pick up your favorite white cotton pair. you hold up the pair for him to stare at it with guilt in his eyes.

“i try to always return them!” he says with a small pout. “they smell like you. it helps me…”

sick pervert!choso who’s terrified that you’re going to give him a look of disgust. he knows that you’re going to hate him forever for being so sick and demented. he doesn’t want to have to, but he will drug you to keep you here with him. he loves that you stay willingly, but he’ll do whatever he has to do to keep you by his side.

“you do this while i’m at work?” you ask slowly. choso can’t see an ounce of disgust in your face.. only curiosity and something he can’t quite put his finger on.

after gathering his confidence, he finally nods his head, “and sometimes while you’re asleep…”

sick pervert!choso who’s awe struck when he watches you slide your panties out from underneath that sinful pencil skirt you wear to work. he’s nearly drooling out of his mouth as he looks at the pink lacy fabric.

“you want them?” you coax, and he’s quick to nod. the thought of being able to feel and smell them while they’re still fresh and warm… he’s about to cum in his pants from the thought.

“i’ll give them to you if you agree not to tie me up tonight,” you bargain with a knowing smile. “i also want to watch,”

holy shit. sick pervert!choso’s heart is hammering through his chest. this is like a fantasy come true. he reaches out and takes the panties from you, and he’s quick to hold them over his nose.

he groans and palms his throbbing dick through his pants as your scent fills his nose. he takes another deep breath, committing the scent of your pussy to his memory. he’s never experienced anything this divine in his life.

you sit on his computer chair as you watch your roommate fall apart over a simple pair of your panties.

you cross your legs together, watching as choso’s eyes are resting on you. he pulls out his massive cock, and be strangles the lacy pink fabric over it. he then slowly wraps his hand around the pace, and he fucks himself into your panties.

it’s truly a sight for sore eyes. choso’s leaned against his bed, whining and whimpering pathetically as he claims your panties again and again. he wishes he could shove the pillow over his nose, but then, that would block his perfect view of you.

sick pervert!choso would’ve never expected for his sweet roommate to react the way you do to the sight of him fisting his cock with your panties.

“fuck,” he growls, and he pumps his dick faster. the fabric is becoming slick with his own pre-cum. “you want me to mark your panties like this, baby?” he asks, managing to dirty talk you without stuttering or whimpering.

“yes,” you barely whisper. you’re so caught up in the sight of him — you almost forgot to reply to him.

his hips start to raise with each pump, and he feels himself getting close. he grips his cock tighter, imagining it was you gripping him like a vice while he fucks your tight pussy until you forget your own name.

a moment later, he groans as he quickly aims his cock, and he cums all over the crotch of your panties. rope after rope of his cum cover the pink fabric until it’s a sticky mess.

he pants as he looks over at you, and his heart is elated by the fact that you look just as desperate as he feels.

sick pervert!choso knows he could he making a mistake, but he takes a leap of faith based off your facial expression. “put them on,” he roughly demands, holding out your freshly ruined panties to you.

your eyes widen, and you look up at him with a little bit of uncertainty. however, you know you two are on a path of depravity now that you watched him claim your panties. you slowly take the panties from him, and you carefully slide them up your legs.

a moan escapes your lips as you feel his warm arousal press against you. it’s sticky and wet. it’s slightly uncomfortable, yet you’ve never been more turned on in your life. it was like a raw act of deprivation as you wore your panties that he had soiled.

“you like that, baby?” he asks, and he can’t help the small tremble in his voice. he desperately wants you to like it as much as he likes it. he’s enamored by the sight of your thighs clenching together. he might just make you wear the panties for the rest of the night.

you nod shyly with a small hum.

sick pervert!choso who never knew his roommate was a secret deviant freak until he watched you sit in panties filled with his cum all night long.

sick pervert!choso who falls even more in love with you after feeling so raw and close to you, and he has no idea that you have plans to ask him to use your panties while you’re wearing them next time <3

[backinmyphase]

You didn't even know how this happened and if you were in your right mind, you would be embarrassed to no end, but somehow you ended up laying in fratboy! Satoru's bed with him on top of you making out, and god who knew what would happen after a few drinks at one of his parties?

But even now you still were wondering why his kisses felt so passionate, why his hand on your waist held you so securely and steady and why were you imagining a faint blush on his cheeks?

What a few drinks do to you, huh?

"Fuck, you are so hot..." he was mumbling into your lips while his other hand explored your body. You felt yourself burning up at his words and after a small whine escaped your lips, he chuckled while creating a small gap between you two.

"Says you..." a poor attempt to flirt really, but it did draw a small laugh from him.

"Soooooo..." he started to lightly pull at your shirt and a bit of panic ignited through your body. "Is this okay?"

He stopped in his tracks and looked at you through his dazed eyes. Blue eyes. Really, really pretty eyes.

Fuck, why were people always judging other girls for spending the night with him? You would do it for the rest of your life if you could...

"Hey, if you don't want to, it's alright-" after your lack of response, the famous fratboy! Satoru really got nervous and looked at you with no of his usual confidence.

"No no, I want this but..." you cleared your throat while looking away. "Could you please turn off the light?"

He blinked at you two times. Then three times. His mouth slowly opening and closing again, making you feel smaller under his gaze and almost clutch onto your clothes. He then sat up while shaking his head. "Why?"

"Oh you know..." you followed him and sat up yourself, while letting out a nervous laugh. "Don't want you to be turned off."

...

That wasn't what Satoru wanted to hear, no never. He looked at you with so much confusion he genuinely thought you were joking at first. But when he saw your awkward smile he couldn't believe you really meant it.

"Me? Turned off? By you?"

"Oh I know how it is, sometimes the imagination is better than reality, I don't want to ruin the fun-" you let out another nervous laugh. You already ruined this didn't you?

"Me? Turned off? By you??" he groaned as he saw the genuine confusion on your face.

"I don't understand..." you muttered while he studied your face with a critical look.

"Listen to me sweetheart." he pulled you close again and you could just barely surpress the little sigh that was about to leave you.

"You're literally the most gorgeous woman I have ever laid my eyes on. And I won't be turned off by any part of you, okay?"

Now it was your turn to blink at him. And it was probably just the lightning, but he seemed even more red.

"You are telling that every girl." you accidentally muttered what was supposed to stay in the safe and deadly space of your head, but he heard it and now almost seemed to glare at you.

"Jesus we need to work on your self esteem." he started to hide his face in the crook of your neck, nibbling at the skin. "And I won't fuck you, if I can't admire you, just to be clear. I waited to long for this moment to not see you moaning my name."

Now you were really burning up, what the hell?

"Please, I just don't want this to be ruined by my not so great loc-"

"I waited to long, seeing you every day at campus, admiring you, listening to your sweet voice, to only get a dark room for my first time worshipping you."

"Gojo, stop it-" you felt like dying from his words, feeling him touching you everywhere wasn't helping you in any way. Even if you will dream of this.

"Satoru. You know the name." he groaned into the crook of your neck. "Sweetheart, I think we have to just cuddle for today."

It was stupid but your heart sank at his words because, fuck, you really did ruin it. "Is that so?"

"Yeah. I have to take you out at first so you get that I'm serious."

What a few drinks do to you, huh? If only you knew fratboy! Satoru wanted to ask you out since last year.

Listened to bed chem while writing this hehehe

[mickandmusings]

third times the charm

pairing: tyler owens x f!reader

word count: 3.8k

summary: life has a funny way of putting people in your path, and ultimately making them part of your life. but what happens when the one person you never want to see stumbles in over and over again, a disastrous tornado tearing up your path of moving on?

aka: the two times tyler owens enters and, consequently, leaves, your life at the wrong time, and the one time he comes at the perfect moment and finally stays.

warnings: reader is described in a feminine manner; why are we ignoring his bull rider trope? cause i'm not babes xx; angsty mainly, but fluff too; lovers to enemies back to lovers (sorry); this author knows nothing about tornadoes or weather so sorry

shoutout to megan moroney and her banger new album where this title and idea come from :)

-

i.

"What do you mean you're leaving?!"

Tyler shuts the tailgate of his red pick-up with a loud slam, the cowboy hat on his head nearly flying off with the force. Y/N stood just a few feet away, her arms crossed over her torso as her chest heaved in short, shaking breaths. The sunlight hits her just right, and the gold chain around her neck glimmers in the sunlight. It catches Tyler's attention from the corner of his eye-it had been burned into his mind from the moment he'd bought it with a chunk of his earnings from last year's rodeo. The chain was delicate, simple, but the charm had been the main appeal: it was gold, the same shade as the chain, but in the center of the small heart shaped pendant sat a capital 'T'. She'd worn it since he'd given it to her for a birthday present, and it had been the center piece of even their most intimate moments-her bare beneath him with only the glittering jewelry adorning her as he had her unraveling under his touch. Even the thought of it had heat traveling up Tyler's neck, and he swallowed down the feeling, along with all of the guilt bubbling to the surface.

"I'm leavin', simple as that."

"Ty, I-I don't understand. You get bucked off one time and you're giving up?! You've been riding since we were kids, I-"

He turns to her, emerald eyes blazing with an emotion he couldn't put a label on.

"I didn't just get 'bucked off', I almost got my head trampled in case you forgot!" His voice is laced with anger. He's not angry with her, he's angry with himself. After a series of unfortunate injuries in last month's local rodeo, Tyler knew he couldn't ride again, it would kill him. He'd spent the last few weeks in physical therapy and doctor's offices just to make sure the damn bull hadn't left behind more than scars.

It was better this way, he could leave his town behind, and forget about the deep, gut-twisting feeling of failure that sat like acid in his stomach. But leaving his hometown also meant leaving her.

Tyler had fallen for Y/N their junior year of high school, and they'd rarely been seen without one another ever since then. She was sweet and shy to his brash and confident, his biggest supporter-always sitting in the stands for all of his rides-whether he was the talk of the town or stumbling home, his shotgun rider, and the girl who wore his heart (literally and figuratively) on a chain around her neck. Looking at her now, with tears lining under her gorgeous eyes, he wanted to just forget all of his plans and pull her into his arms. He wanted to reassure her that he'd stay here, that he'd give her the life that he'd promised her-apple pie and babies, the perfect picket-fence life she deserved.

"Tyler, you-you can't be serious! W-What about your parents, your plans, hell, Tyler, what about me?!" Her shoulders now moved as she let out shuddering breaths, eyebrows furrowed as she grew frustrated. "Tyler Owens you promised me, you promised me a farmhouse, and a wrap-around porch, a-and babies! And now you're just gonna take off to God-knows-where to what? Storm chase?"

She stops and lets out a dry chuckle. She'd been 'chasing' with him before, vivid memories of him scaring her shitless chasing tornadoes in his truck, only to 'apologize' to her by making love in the backseat after the storm had passed. Through their time together, she, too, had grown to love the storms. Y/N took her camera into the storms with them, more than ready to capture the freakishly beautiful moments of pure disaster before it struck. She'd stand in the pouring rain next to him, laughing as wind whipped hair around her face. He'd snap a picture of her with her own camera that she'd set aside and she'd roll her eyes. They'd been happy, bonded by a mutual love of mother nature's chaos and one another. Now, she turns her back to face him, shaking her head as her bottom lip trembles.

"Ya know, I should've listened to everyone who told me to stay away from you in high school, that you'd just hurt me. I didn't believe them, not one bit, because I know you. You're running because you're scared. You don't have to run, Ty. You've never run from your fears, for God's sake you ride them! What the hell are you thinking?!"

Tears stream down her face, and Tyler feels his resolve slipping. He hadn't thought it through, not really, and now as she stands in front of him, he realizes he's only hurting her more and more. He needed an out, he needed to skip town, no matter who it hurt.

"I'm thinking that I'm a fuckin' failure at everything, no matter what I try! The only thing I'm good at is storms, chasin' them, getting close enough to see something! I fail at everything, Y/N/N, and if I stay, I'll just fail you, too. Over and over."

"Tyler, you've never failed me," she brings her hands to either side of his face, her thumb brushing a cut that still hadn't scarred over from his fall. Her eyes were blurry and her hands trembled. "Please, stay." Her voice was hardly a whisper, pleading desperately.

"You know I can't."

She nodded solemnly, wiping tears so she could take a final look into his eyes. She gave no warning when she launched her arms around his neck, all but hanging onto him like a child. He hugged her tighter than he ever had, and when she let go, he placed a final heated goodbye kiss on her lips. Y/N looks at him, her brain screaming pleas to make him stay, but she simply kisses his cheek before speaking.

"C-call me when you get there?"

He takes one last glance at her, taking her in completely, as if trying to memorize her. His eyes land on the jewelry adorning the spot just below her collarbone, the gold shining in the sunset, knowing he'd never see it on her again-if he ever even saw her again.

"You'll be the first person I call, baby."

Y/N's call never came.

She spent the summer miserable, but refused to take off the gold chain she hid under shirts. It burned her skin in a metaphorical sense, but she ignored it, just like the heartbreak that had festered into deep resentment for Tyler Owens. She'd decided to take off to the local university for a clean start, somewhere new, somewhere his ghost wouldn't haunt her. Things had begun to look up, and she found herself smiling again. The morning before her first day of classes, she almost took the chain off, but couldn't bring herself to do so.

When she spotted his tall figure sitting a row ahead of her in her Intro to Meteorology class, she pretended not to know who he was. It was only fair, he'd done the same to her. For a reason that neither of them could vocalize, they begin to hate one another. Without knowing it, Tyler had become the storm that had sparked her into chasing after danger forever, the one that had left destruction so fatal she wasn't sure if she'd ever recover.

-

ii.

"You've got to be kidding me."

Y/N rolls her eyes and nearly throws her laptop across her dorm room when she looks down at her field partner pairing. The name in bold stares back at her like some sick joke.

Tyler Owens.

She shuts her laptop with a force that could shatter glass and slams her face into her pillow to let out a scream that could have easily been heard four counties over. The universe had to hate her.

With one glance at her watch, she hops from her bed and packs her duffel, her camera slung around her other shoulder. After silently praying that this storm takes her away in one quick swoop, she opens the door to her room and stumbles down the stairs to the lobby, where he was waiting for her outside the double doors. She can already feel her skin flaming with anger when she catches sight of his towering frame, baseball cap thrown backwards over his head.

"'Bout fuckin' time sweetheart, thought the storm would pass before we even got out there!"

"Oh, kiss my ass, Owens."

She rolls her eyes and climbs into the red truck she had once been a permanent fixture in, feeling almost like nothing had changed since the last time she'd crawled into the passenger side. She had half a mind to let down the driver's side visor to see if her picture still sat inside it, but Tyler climbs in the second she thinks about it. The half hour drive is uncomfortable, silent, and laced with tension so thick both halves of the couple begin to wonder if the air supply is getting thin. But as the storm approaches, both of their eyes are locked on the massive twisting figure just ahead of them. Y/N reaches for her camera, focusing the lens as best as she can through the windshield of the truck. She sighs when the view is less than satisfactory. Without much thought, she begins to move the window crank on the door to let down the window.

"What the hell are you doin'?" Tyler's voice breaks their silence.

"What does it look like, Owens? Getting a better shot." Her body hangs halfway out the window, camera leaning out the window as she moves the lens and clicks.

"Get your ass in the truck, I'm not payin' your hospital bills when you fall out and I run over you."

She rolls her eyes and ignores him, almost her entire body hanging out the window.

"Okay, okay, get in the truck, I'll get you closer, Jesus."

She pulls herself back into the truck and rolls the window back up as Tyler moves forward down the muddy path, closer to the storm now building ahead. The wind and rain grow more intense, shaking even the bulky vehicle that could easily withstand even the most treacherous of conditions. The spiraling tunnel only moves at a more pummeling speed, and Y/N's sharp shout fills the air.

"Stop the truck!"

He hits the brake and before the truck even stops, Y/N's rolling out of the passenger side, camera raised as she captures a monster of a storm. Tyler finds himself silent, momentarily distracted-her hair blowing with the force of the wind, the smile drawn across her face, and the long sleeve button down she'd been wearing was slipping down her shoulders, exposing her tank top and-wait-he raises an eyebrow, his heart stopping. Against her neck sat a gold chain he knew too well. It stops him completely in his tracks, shocked that she still wore his initial around her neck. The sound of a roaring train pulls him from his thoughts and sends him leaning out his own door.

"Y/N," he's shouting over the loud winds. "GET YOUR ASS IN THE TRUCK!"

The barrel of wind only gets closer, the fierceness of wind making Tyler's heart race. The girl outside his truck, however, only smiles wider, raising her camera for another shot of the approaching storm.

"I'M FINE, TYLER. WIND'S NOT EVEN THAT BAD!"

Tyler huffs as his voice, raspy from yelling, shouts again.

"THAT WASN'T A REQUEST, SWEETHEART. GET YOUR ASS IN THIS TRUCK!"

She ignores his shouts, only squinting her eyes at the horizon as the wind picks up another notch, making the shirt now halfway down on her arms blow like a flag in the wind. Tyler gives her a minute to comply, hoping this was just a momentary phase of her being stubborn. After five minutes, Tyler cursed and stomped out of the truck over to her. He says nothing, picking her up over his shoulder.

"TYLER! WHAT THE FUCK?! PUT ME DOWN, ASSHOLE!"

He doesn't give in to her retorts, simply swinging her door open and shoving her into the passenger seat. He gets into his driver's side and slings his arm on her headrest, turning to back the truck around.

"What the hell is wrong with you?! Do you have some sort of sick kink where you get off on ruining my life? I had a perfect shot, it-"

"You had a perfect shot of getting sucked into a tornado is what you had, Y/N. You're gonna get yourself killed gettin' that fuckin' close!"

"Like you would care." Her voice isn't even a mumble, and Tyler hardly hears her over the sounds of the storm.

It sends a jab of pain through his heart he doesn't expect, and instead of saying anything, he lets her stew in anger in his passenger seat. When he drops her off at her dorm, she agrees to email him her half of the project, and a week later he receives it.

He opens the email to find exactly what he imagines, the most spectacular shots of a storm he's ever seen. After the report and photos are submitted, the two never speak to one another again. They both graduate under the same Arkansas sun, but lead different lives in the same area of the country. Y/N swears she sees his truck pass her every time she goes out to shoot, and he sees her in every girl that stands in a field with a camera.

Y/N would never admit that she has a burner account subscribed to his livestreams, or that she laughed and smiled as she watched him hoop and holler with his ragtag group of friends, memories of the chases they once went on filling her mind more fondly than painfully these days. And if she had one of the red and white shirts with his stupid cartoon face plastered against it, well, no one would ever know.

When Boone and the rest of his crew would stop for food and rest breaks, if Tyler saw her name plastered in a newspaper or magazine, he'd put it on the counter next to his plethora of snacks. He'd never admit he'd cut her articles out of them and kept them in a small scrapbook that lived in his glovebox, right next to the picture of her that once lived in his visor-only because a magazine cut-out clip of her lived there now, her smiling with a massive twin barrel storm behind her, the gold chain peeking from the shirt was wearing.

-

iii.

"Ty, man, this one's a beaut! She's unreal!"

Boone's voice filled Tyler's ears from the passenger seat, but as Tyler looked out at the horizon, his attention was far from the brunette that sat next to him. He saw her car before he saw her-the same rink-dink, decked out, black Subaru she'd had in college, meaning she was here on her own, not for business.

His green eyes darted to the field across from where it was parked, spotting her instantly as she stood in the tall grass, hair blowing as she brought her camera to her face, crouching down to get the perfect shot. She shook her head when she pulled back from it, enjoying the sight in front of her.

Tyler puts the truck in park and all but barrels out of the door, his boots taking him towards her, but not nearly fast enough.

"Jesus, who's that? And why's she got Ty all in a tizzy?" Boone leans over to Lilly, who gives him an incredulous look.

"That's Y/N Y/L/N, she's a storm photographer, apparently he's got some fan girl crush on her or somethin', he keeps her work in a binder."

"Holy shit! Tyler knows the Y/N Y/L/N?"

Tyler would've blushed and denied Lilly's statement vehemently, but he was too far away to hear. Instead, the whipping winds and the sound of Y/N's delightful laughter filled his ears.

"She's a beaut, huh?" Tyler's voice carries over the noise, falling on Y/N's ears. She takes a breath and turns to face him for the first time in years. She nods slowly.

"Yeah, she's gorgeous. Got some great shots."

Her throat feels dry as his eyes peer down at her. She finally braves a look up at him.

"Um, I'm not studying it or anything, just bored, really. I'll let you and your crew have her."

She gives him a small smile, but he notes it's genuine as she caps the lens on her camera.

"It was good to see you, Ty. Good luck."

"Y/N, wait. I-I need to ask you somethin'."

She pauses her steps, turning back to face the man in front of her. For a split second, he looks just like the younger version that had left her all those years ago-the hat, the belt buckle, but none of that same all consuming fear.

"Sure, go ahead."

"Why do you still wear it? I saw you, that time in college, and when you did that shoot outside of Kansas City, the picture they published of you, it-you can see it real clear."

Y/N stills, pushing back hair that's blowing in the wind as she looks at him. She could say a multitude of things-how she wore it because she'd gotten so used to always wearing it. That she wore it because she wanted to hold onto him the only way she could. She could lie and say that she used it as a good luck charm. None of them would be the truth, and she was sick of lying to him, so she simply told the truth.

"Well, all the best chasers, they carry their first storm with them, right?"

She pauses, realizing how vague that was.

"What I mean is, without you taking me through my first storm I never would've done this. I was terrified of them, and you and that stupid red truck of yours showed me how beautiful they can be, and now I capture their beauty for a living. I never would've had any of this without you, so-"

She shrugs, giving him a small chuckle. The silence suffocates as he looks at her.

"Tyler listen-"

"If you're gonna apologize, don't. I'm the one that should apologize, I left you all those years ago. That was real shitty of me, and I didn't give you a warnin' or a reason why. So, I'm sorry, for all of it."

She nods, giving him a smile. The quiet floods between them again, and she pushes back her hair again before she speaks.

"I-I watch your videos, y-your livestreams. You're still crazy, but it reminds me of when we used to chase, and you'd scare me to death, and then you'd, uh, 'apologize' for it and, sometimes it's like I'm there with you."

He laughs with her.

"I-I've got every newspaper and magazine clippin' you've ever been in. You're pictures they're-breathtakin', it feels like you're standin' in the field right there next to you. I guess that's just because I used to be and memories, ya know?"

She nodded, giving him a sweet smile, one that sends his heart racing. They both turn their attention to the horizon where the storm seems relatively calm, at least by their standards.

"Uh, Y/N? I'm sorry, I promised you somethin' all those years ago, and I never made good on it. I think about that a lot, and-just-I'm sorry."

"I forgave you a long time ago, Ty, we were kids." She pauses, tilting her head as she looks at the storm brewing. "Besides, I don't think I'm cut out for that life anymore, I like life on the road. I mean, where else do you get moments like this? The storms back home are wonders, but nothing like this."

"I agree with you there," he chuckles. His heart pounds, and the words slip out of his mouth before he can stop them. "I miss you though."

She cuts her eyes to his own, as if waiting for him to explain himself.

"You were my original chasin' partner, ya know? Plus, when things got scary, you never flinched, not really. This reporter I've got now? God help us all, can't stand much more than a strong wind."

Y/N laughs loudly before she shakes her head.

"Well, you might be in luck. I hate working for that magazine, I really, really do." She turns to face him, camera pulled close to her chest. "The Tornado Wranglers hiring? I'm looking for a job. I have a portfolio if you need it, references too."

Her statement is laced with sarcasm.

Tyler finds himself laughing now, a wide smile plastered across his face.

"I'm familiar with your work, have it on good graces that you're just what we're lookin' for. Lucky for you, we've always got room for one more, that is, if you'll have us. I gotta warn you, those over there are a handful."

"If they're anything like you, I'm likely to fall in love with them instantly."

Y/N doesn't register the words stumbling out of her mouth until they'd already filled the air between them. Without a word, Tyler grabs her hand, pulling her in closer than people who have a history like theirs should. His calloused fingers reach out to the gold pendant lying on her neck, moving it back and forth between its fingers. It had withstood their time apart-it was scratched and a little weather-worn, but, then again, so were they.

"The clasp broke about a year ago, the rest is all original. Pure gold, willing to sell it for a good offer. The guy at the pawn tried to undersell me, I know what I've got."

Tyler's chest warms, that sarcastic, witty humor he'd missed back in full force.

"Do you take alternate forms of payment?" He pulls her in by her waist with a cocky grin.

"Depends, Owens, what did you have in mind?"

He cocks his eyebrow, giving her a sort of contemplative look as his hands rest on the small of her back, hers around his neck.

"Well, I still owe you about-," He lifts his hand from around her and pretends to count on his fingers. "A billion apologies, we could chase this stunner of a storm, drop these characters back off at the motel, find us an empty field, and I could apologize like I used to...maybe?"

She shakes her head and pulls him in for a heated kiss. They're both smiling so hard its hardly a kiss, but the feelings are there.

"You've got yourself a deal, but I'm keeping the necklace."

"Wouldn't have it any other way, baby." He kisses her head, pulling her back towards his group of friends, who were now whistling at the pair, obviously catching the interaction. "Fair warning, after he finds out just who you are, Boone's likely to fall in love with you."

She raises her eyebrow, pulling away and heading towards the motley crew ahead of her.

"Guess you'll just have to chase me next."

-

taglist:

@fraaaaankiiiiieee

[suiana]

yandere! childhood friend who still reminisces about your childhood together. yeah, the two of you may be grown now but he's been your day 1 and he just can't help but think about how you used to cling to him and adore him so much! he wishes you'd still do that but it is what it is. no matter how much he wishes otherwise.

yandere! childhood friend who did everything with you. yeah, that also includes practicing kisses. he's your first kiss, and he's never gonna let you forget that. you said you wanted to get better and who is he to refuse? he can't pass up such a prime opportunity! and it's not like he wants anyone else to take it. god no. that would be a tragedy.

"yeah, remember our kissing practices? hah, we were such kids back then!" he watches as you snicker, feeling a warm flush creep up his spine. god, of course he remembers. young and immature as you both were, you both learned together. that's all that really matters to him. "thanks to you, i can now makeout with my partners with ease. you're the best man." and has he told you how muchit infuriates him that you're using your experience to get with others? to please them with the mouth that once touched his? nah, he really can't stand for it. but he isn't allowed to say anything. he's just a childhood friend after all. not for long though.

yandere! childhood friend who wishes he would've accepted your offer to learn how to fuck as well. but no, he just had to be way too delusional back then and tell you to wait for the right one. he must've thought that you'd feel the same and confess then he'd court you slowly before getting to that stage... that never happened unfortunately. not yet at least. he'll make it happen.

yandere! childhood friend who's still a hopeless romantic at heart. a delusional one but a romantic nonetheless. he brings you out on "platonic dates" or whatever the fuck you like to call it, comfort you after your shitty excuse of a partner dumps you, and treats you like the deity that you are. you only deserve the best and he'll be there to provide. none of these losers can't treat you well. he can. he really hopes it'll help you see him as a potential boyfriend!

"i just," you blow your nose, tears streaming down your cheeks as your childhood friend rubs at your back tenderly. "don't know why he'd want to dumo me! we've been going strong for a year already! it's so out of the blue!" yeah, out of the blue huh... not really out of the blue for someone who's been actively theeatening that poor excuse of a man. that menas him, obviously. why he's been threatening him, you ask? because he's not treating you the way you should be treated, duh! sure you look happy but are you really? probably not, he's sure of it. "hey hey, don't worry... I'm here now, aren't i?" he always is, and he always will. you just need to understand that fact and you'll start seeing him in a different light too. don't worry, he has lots of patience. just... don't go sleeping with other people again.

yandere! childhood friend who may or may not be totally super duper mega in love with you. yeah, definitely not in love with you. that would be weird, right? come on, he's your childhood friend! sure you two might've kissed when you were kids and promised to marry one another but those were kiddy promises! that's all they are! he... totally doesn't believe you actually wanna marry him and be his forever and ever.

"so have you started thinking about your future?" he pauses at your question, rubbing at his empty ring finger. future, huh? funny how you ask that when you two are destined to be together at the end of it all. i mean, the two of your promised it as kids, didn't you? sure you're exploring now but at the end if the day, it's him that you come back to, don't you? even if just as a friend. but that's the present, not the future. "nah, not really. just wanna focus on the current moment, y'know?" bullshit, and he knows it. but he doesn't wanna scare you away. not yet at least. you're still out lookign for others which means you haven't come round to the idea of you two together. not to worry, he'll give you a little more time to see how good he is. how good things could be between you two if you just gave him the chance. "i mean, you're here with me." he chuckles, taking your hand in his before placing it on his cheek. you're warm. he likes your warmth, it's so soothing. "that's more than enough for me." half lidded eyes gaze at you, full of emotion and hidden longing before he hums softly. the teo fo you sit in the park in silence, enjoying each other's presence. in the moonlight, everything seems to slow and engulf the two of you in a quiet embrace. he only wishes you would just love him back already. "yeah, I'm glad to be by your side too, best friend." ...he really hates those words. don't worry, good things come to those who wait. and you will be his in due time. you've already had his heart, now all he needs is yours.

[msmysticfail]

astrology notes

Generational planets such as Pluto, Uranus and Neptune in the 1st house can indicate great fame, since these planets have to do with large crowds of people, causing the native to attract or exert great influence.

Mercury in Aquarius/11th house be careful not to become what you most fear becoming: dogmatic. No matter how formed your opinion is, don't let it become fixed to the point of being your greatest truth.

The 3rd house is very elastic, the one who will define its energy most precisely is the sign in it.

Moon/Venus/Mars in Scorpio/8th house, go practice the Law of Attraction, you have a very powerful aura, you are wasting time if you don't use all this magnitude to get what you want.

You know that Mercury in Scorpio/8th house person you teased? Good luck trying to hide anything from them, in love or hate they will discover your secrets and, if hurt, they will use it against you.

12th house placements, please stay more in touch with the people you love, they miss you. If the distance you maintain is self-imposed, don't forget that the people in your life love you, that they want to have a little more of your physical presence.

My dear Leo, be careful with who you spend your affection with, you give so generously, be careful not to give it to the wrong people, the ones who are secretly jealous of you, who talk about you behind your back. Your heart of gold can "rust" in the wrong hands.

Aquarius placements, get ready, because the definitive entry of Pluto in Aquarius on November 19th of this year until 2044 will be the craziest years of your life. Get ready, there are a lot of big profound changes coming.

Mars in Pisces would do very well if they worked with their mediumship, whether in tarot or astrology or in art.

10th house placements always attract 2nd house placements people, it's incredible. They generally get along very well, they understand each other, they can be very good friends. The 2nd house supports the ambition of the 10th house, the 10th house values ​​and pampers the 2nd house.

Taurus, stop crying for that man/woman, you are so beautiful, independent, attractive, don't let him have that power over your heart, woman. You deserve more. Let go, even if it hurts, something better won't take long to appear, don't lower your level, raise it.

[folkwhoreberry]

Hiii!!!! Can you do a Charles Leclerc x reader fic maybe during F1 75 Charles and reader who’s maybe a public figure were sitting at the same table. Either as a wag or ambassador (or both?) and when the host (i forgot his name) makes that joke about his fiancée and him thinking about Charles when they’re together but what if instead of him saying he thinks about Charles, he says he thinks about reader and Charles does something about it?

Not really sure about this but I’m interested in however you’d write it if you do!

Get Your Hands Off My Woman

charles leclerc x reader

or... the one where everyone had to keep their eyes off you

word count : 812

warning : jealous charles, prick jack, english is not my first language!!!

on the radio : miss possesive by tate mcrae

🍹🎹

sitting at the f1 75 gala, you’re trying your best to keep a low profile, though it’s proving difficult given the company at your table. between the bright lights of the cameras and the chatter of the other guests, you’re grateful to be here as a plus one, supporting charles, rather than for your own public persona. you glance at him beside you, the corners of his mouth lifting into a soft smile when he notices you looking. his hand rests on your knee under the table, a small gesture of affection that helps ground you in the chaos.

the night has been flowing smoothly, until jack whitehall, the evening’s host, takes the stage. his jokes have been light and funny so far, poking fun at drivers and their teams, and everyone is enjoying themselves. but then, jack’s attention shifts toward your table, and a mischievous smile creeps onto his face.

“ah, the beautiful people,” jack begins, eyes flicking over you and charles. “and speaking of beauty, charles, mate, you’re one of the lucky ones, aren’t you?”

charles laughs softly, though you notice a slight shift in his posture, his grip tightening ever so slightly on your knee. you smile politely, trying to prepare yourself for whatever jack might say next.

“but I have to be honest, every time my fiancée and I are, you know, in bed, I can’t help but think about someone else. someone much, much better looking.”

the crowd titters with laughter, charles raises an eyebrow, and you feel your cheeks flush. surely he’s not going where you think he is.

“yeah, charles,” jack continues, smirking, “I’m talking about your girl.”

the room bursts into laughter, but all you can hear is the ringing in your ears. you tense up, unsure whether to laugh it off or let your irritation show. charles’ jaw tightens next to you, his hand now gripping your knee firmly, a sign that he’s not as amused as everyone else seems to be.

jack is still laughing when charles shifts beside you, and before you know it, he’s standing up, speaking into the microphone that’s connected to the camera which is filing his reaction closely.

“you know,” charles says, his voice calm but firm, “I’d appreciate it if you didn’t talk about her like that.”

the room falls quiet almost instantly, the air thick with tension. your heart is racing now, the attention of the entire room shifting toward your table. you glance at charles, surprised but touched by his protective tone.

jack stammers, clearly caught off guard. “oh, uh, no harm meant, mate. just a joke.”

“I understand,” charles replies, still composed, though there’s an edge to his voice now, “but she’s not part of the joke.”

there’s an awkward pause as the tension lingers in the room, and you can feel eyes on you from all directions. but charles doesn’t back down, his hand still resting protectively on your knee, thumb stroking gently now as if to reassure you.

jack tries to recover, offering a sheepish grin. “right, right. my bad, my bad. lovely couple, by the way. very jealous.”

the crowd chuckles, the atmosphere starting to ease back into something more relaxed, though you can still feel the weight of the moment pressing down on you. you glance at charles, and he gives you a small smile, his eyes softening as they meet yours.

when the attention finally shifts away from your table, you let out a breath you didn’t realize you’d been holding. charles leans in closer, his lips brushing your ear as he murmurs, “are you okay?”

you nod, though you can’t help but feel a little flustered by the whole exchange. “yeah,” you whisper back, “I’m fine.”

charles’ fingers gently squeeze your knee, his expression still serious as he looks at you. “I don’t like when people talk about you like that.”

“I know,” you say softly, touched by his protectiveness, “but you didn’t have to say anything.”

“of course I did,” he replies, his voice low but firm. “you deserve respect.”

his words send a warmth spreading through your chest, and you feel yourself relax a little, leaning into his side. he presses a soft kiss to your temple, the gesture both sweet and reassuring.

“thank you,” you murmur, resting your hand on his thigh under the table.

he doesn’t say anything, but the way he looks at you, the way his hand remains steady and comforting on your knee, says enough. he may be a world-class driver, someone who thrives under pressure on the track, but moments like this remind you just how deeply he cares - about you, about protecting you, even from a simple joke.

as the night continues, the buzz of conversation and laughter resumes around you, but in the quiet space between you and charles, everything feels just a little bit lighter.

————————————————————————————

© all rights reserved to folkwhoreberry. no stealing or copying will be tolerated.

a/n : jack whitehall slander is slandering and I’m HERE for it. proud hater since he made that joke about one direction in f1 75!!!

[babyleostuff]

── OLYMPICS MASTERLIST

[🌊] DISCIPLINE: SWIMMING

PAIRING: swimmer!mingyu x swimmer!fem reader GENRE: fluff, friends to lovers(ish), idiots that doesn't realise the other one is in love with them too, mingyu is a tease but also down bad WARNINGS: the reader gets hurt (hits her head, nothing too descriptive), mingyu is a hottie WORD COUNT: 3k

SYNOPSIS: what will it take for you and mingyu to finally understand that you're literally meant to be?

natalia's note: @wonijinjin the broad back and bulging biceps are for you

“i can’t do this anymore.” 

mingyu's words hit you like a speeding train. 

you quickly lifted your head from where you were looking at your fingers splashing the water, facing your best friend. 

“w-what?” you asked, horrified. “what do you mean?” 

his shoulders dropped, causing the water to ripple around your bodies, and you couldn’t shake off the feeling that you wouldn’t like what he was about to say next. 

“i can’t do this anymore. i can’t watch you lose again and again,” he sighed, and dived under the red lane line, emerging a second later right next to you. “it’s,” he took a breath, “heartbreaking.” 

with how close he was to you now you didn’t have a choice but to look up, which was stupid because come on - you were in the water. a wole ass swimming pool. like, he could literally submerge himself a little bit more and you’d be eye level, but no. kim mingyu had to flash everyone in the damn room with his godly sculptured chest and shoulders. 

you mentally scolded yourself for losing the last ounces of your dignity over a man, because why was it so hard for you to peel your eyes off his pecs? and a quiet voice inside your head was telling you that mingyu didn’t do this by accident - he knew how it affected you. but it shouldn’t. you were best friends after all. 

and best friends didn’t look at each other’s chests. and wide shoulders. and bulging biceps. 

“then stop being such a bitch, kim mingyu,” you cleared your throat, suddenly very interested in the purple “paris 2024” banners over his head. “if it’s breaking your heart then that’s your problem, not mine.”  

mingyu rolled his eyes, and quickly lifted his hand to splash water at you, making you shriek. what a shame god didn’t bless you with quicker reflexes, so you could cover your eyes at least. it was funny how people used to tell your coach that it would be for the best to split your training sessions because you didn’t get on well with each other, while in reality you got on well a bit too much. 

“uh, excuse moi?” you cringed at his horrible attempt to speak french, “you’re calling the three time world champion and two time olympic gold medalist a bitch?” he put his hand over his heart. 

“then why don’t you want to race with me anymore?” you practically whined. “are you afraid of getting beaten by a girl? would that do damage to your reputation in the olympic village?” you giggled at his unamused stare. “i’m sure the gymnasts would be very disappointed to find out you’re not as big and strong as they thought,” you pouted at him, mockingly. 

“i told you baby, i don’t want to see you lose again, simple as that” mingyu put his hand on your shoulder. “can’t you race against ava or liv?” 

you weren’t sure if it was better to go underwater or to call for the medics at this point. this infuriatingly hot man just called you baby for god’s sake and he had his hand placed so close to your neck it felt as if he was cradling it. luckly you could blame the cold water for your shivering. the worst part - you were 99% sure you saw him make out with alexa before going to paris, so all of the sweet words and gentle touches were platonic. 

they meant nothing. 

which… were you even surprised? the hottest guy making out with the hottest girl on the team. both multiple champions. both insanely talented. 

still, you wouldn’t give up, and that definitely wasn’t because of your delusions that you could pull the hottest and the best swimmer on the continent, but because you didn’t want to lose your best friend.

“you’re not fooling me, kim mingyu. i think you’re just scared of me beating you.” 

he scoffed, and finally lowered himself into the water. thank heavens. “okay then. what do you say about one last race to finish this training off?” mingyu said, and sent you a challenging look, which he knew would rile you up even more. 

“deal,” you shook his extended hand. “but don’t come crying to me when you lose.” 

“as you wish, my queen,” he bowed his head, and snickered. “but-,” 

“no buts,” you cut him off. 

“ah, ah,” he pointed a finger at you. “if you lose you have to take a bath in the seine.” 

sometimes you wondered why exactly you had a crush on him because stuff like these reminded you he was only a man. more like a man-child, but that was if you wanted to be nitpicky. 

“that’s illegal, you moron.” 

you swore you’d drown him one of these days.

with the goggles over your eyes you swam under the lane line to have a whole lane for yourself, because there was no way you’d fit in one lane with mingyu. 

“okay champ, let’s see-,” suddenly you felt a tap on your shoulder. 

“je suis désolé, mais tu dois sortir de l'eau. les préparatifs pour la course vont bientôt commencer,” one of the volunteers was crouching by the edge of the pool with his hand outstretched in your direction. 

“uh,” you shot mingyu a quick look, “i’m sorry, je ne comprends pas.” i don’t understand. the only french you managed to learn before coming to paris, which you figured would come in handy, and as it turned out - it did. a point for you. 

“the competition,” the guy scratched the back of his neck, clearly trying to find the right words. “begin soon.” 

“do you want us to get out of the pool?” mingyu asked, pointing at him and you and then the outside of the pool. 

“yes, yes,” the volunteer nodded quickly. 

well, you could wave your race bye bye. 

maybe the universe didn’t want you and mingyu together, maybe all you were destined to be was friends? besides, one silly race wouldn’t make a difference, if anything, it would probably lead to you pulling a muscle, which would mean a big disaster with your eliminations right around the corner. 

your fate was to end up alone for the rest of your life, crying over a guy you could never have. typical. 

“shit,” mingyu sighed, taking off his goggles. “i really wanted to race you.” 

you sent him a quick smile, dismissing his teasing tone. the quicker you’d realise this wouldn’t work out the better for your poor heart. 

“yeah, that’s a bummer,” you said, grabbing onto the edge of the pool to pull yourself up. 

mingyu grinded his teeth and side eyed the volunteer. if it weren't for the dozens of people around you who were clearly starting to prepare for the race, he would have thrown the guy into the water with his own bare hands. 

“thanks for being a cockblock, dude.”

well, not literally, but this had to be the first time mingyu managed to talk to you without stuttering every other word and not acting that embarrassing. but no. someone had to sweep in and take this away from him. 

“be careful,” mingyu ran a hand over his face, and looked over to you, “the tiles might be slippery.” 

“you don’t say,” you said, and shot him a glare. “im not that-.” 

but before you could finish your sentence one of your hands slipped and you lost the grip, splashing back into the pool. 

“hey, hey,” mingyu immediately swam up to you, closing the gap between your bodies in seconds. “are you okay?” he put his arm around your waist, turning you around in his grip so you’d face him. 

shit.

“did you hit your head?” he asked quickly, taking off your cap. fuck, mingyu felt his lunch creeping back into his throat. if anything happened to you… 

“mhm, i think so,” you answered, disoriented. your vision was clearly unsteady and you were shaking in his embrace, though he didn’t know if that was due to the cold water or the hit. 

“fuck,” he muttered, running his hand gently over your head to look for any cuts or bruises. “we need to get you out of the water.” 

you nodded your head slowly, but that was a bad call, because it only made you more nauseous and made your vision even worse. 

“hey, don’t move. put your other arm around my neck and hold onto me,” mingyu said. 

“but i’m heavy.” 

“shut it or i’ll leave you here,” mingyu grumbled, and tightened his hold around you. 

with ease, as if he was born in the water, mingyu managed to get you to the edge of the pool with ladders, and called for help.

“i’m such a loser,” you mumbled, resting your head against his shoulder. “almost passing out in the middle of an olympic swimming pool,” you let out a bitter laugh, before whimpering. maybe making bad jokes right after almost cracking your skull open wasn’t a good idea. 

mingyu didn’t say anything but you could feel his body tense. 

“she hit her head on the tiles,” he said once the medics made their way over to you. 

they quickly helped him get you out of the water without causing you more pain and laid you on the stretcher. the medics whispered something between them, or maybe you were just so out of it that you couldn’t understand what they were saying, but you could clearly make out mingyu’s voice in between. 

suddenly, you felt as if you were being lifted off the ground, but your blurry vision made it impossible for you to see what exactly was going on. 

“min-mingyu?” you called out. 

“i’m here baby, don’t worry,” mingyu said, and reached for your hand, grasping it tightly so you’d know he was really right there next to you. 

“stop calling me that,” you said, your tone bossy as usual. 

“stop calling you what?” mingyu couldn’t help but giggle when he heard you scoff. good, that meant you weren’t that badly hurt. 

“baby.” 

“what if i don’t want to?” he asked, and ran a thumb over the back of your hand, smiling to himself when he felt your fingers wrap tighter around his.  

you shook your head, or at least you tried to. “then i’ll race you and if i win you’ll stop.” 

“you know i won’t let that happen,” he said softly. 

“stop messing with my heart, kim mingyu.” 

a champion, an olympics medalist, a man made of steel, and still, mingyu felt like he was melting under your gaze. your big eyes looking up at him, your soft lips parted in a slight gasp, your gentle fingers holding onto him for dear life…  

“i won’t,” he shook his head. “not until you stop messing with mine.” 

as it turned out, luckily for you, the impact didn’t cause much damage. “it caused panic more than anything else,” the doctor said. 

“so i’ll be able to race on monday, right?” you asked, twisting the rings around your fingers nervously. the olympics were something you sacrificed your whole life for - you couldn’t remember the last time you slept in, the last time you ate dinner with your family, the last time you had time for yourself, and if all of that would go to waste because of a stupid mistake… you didn’t know what you’d do. 

“don’t worry, you’ll be just fine for the race. i think your boyfriend overreacted a bit out there,” the doctor laughed. “maybe more than a bit.” 

you almost choked on the pills you were swallowing, your face burning with heat. the doctor feeding into your delusions was a big no no, and you definitely did not need that right now. 

“you might want to text him though, he was sitting outside the whole time we were running tests. had to send him back to the village,” he sighed, “he looked like a kicked puppy.” 

that was dangerous, and you needed to get out of there quickly. 

mingyu, on the other hand, couldn’t stop worrying. after the doctor sent him off, he didn’t really know what to do with himself, and he definitely didn’t know how he ended up sitting in front of the door to your room. 

god, he was being so pathetic. instead of telling you how and what he felt, he was acting like a lame highschooler trying to impress you with what? being a faster swimmer? mingyu was never good at flirting but this had to be his lowest low. 

„gyu? what are you doing here?” his head shot up, and there you were - safe and sound. no bandages, nothing. for the first time since he got out of that damn swimming pool he took in a deep, proper breath. 

“the doctor he, um…,” 

“i know.” 

“you know?”

“i know,” you nodded. why did he look so nervous all of a sudden? “shouldn’t you be at the gym? preparing for tomorrow?” 

right. the race. 

“i probably should,” more than “probably” to be honest. your trainer would most likely have killed him already if not for the fact that he was the best swimmer on the team. “but i needed to know that you were okay.” 

“you could’ve just texted, you know,” you said. why was he being so… un-mingyu?

he shook his head, and stood up to his full 6 feet 2. “let me put it this way,” he took a step towards you, “i needed to see if you were okay.”

was he really about to risk your whole friendship? all this time spent on getting to know you, your likes and dislikes, what annoyed you and how he could push your buttons to see that bright smile on your face that always made his day a bit better. he didn’t want to lose all of that. 

but… mingyu felt his hands reaching out for you on their own to make sure that you weren’t in pain anymore, to kiss any bump or scratch to make it better, to hold you close to his chest this evening and keep you safe from all the wet tiles. 

“listen,” he scratched the back of his neck. he needed to do something with his hands. “i have to tell you one thing, and please just let me say it because i don’t think i’ll have enough courage to say it ever again.” 

you nodded your head, your gaze slightly confused. 

it was now or never. 

“okay, so i know we’re technically only friends from work, but not really since we hang out otherwise, and we’ve known each other for how long now? three years? and that’s great, i love training with you, and going to competitions with you, and hanging out with you, but lately… or not lately, really. for a long time-,” 

„mingyu,” you sighed, but the boy kept on rambling. „min,” you tried again, to no avail. „gyu!” 

finally, the man in front of you fell silent, looking at you with eyes wide and mouth agape. 

“i,” you took a deep breath. you knew exactly where this was going. „i can’t do this right now,” you said, and watched the spark in mingyu’s eyes die out. “with what happened today, and the eliminations tomorrow… i just can’t deal with this right now,” god, this broke your heart. “i need some rest, and i need some sleep,” you added. “besides, i also have the relay tomorrow, so i need to focus. this is not only about me, but about the girls. i can’t let them down.”   

mingyu’s heart dropped. if he knew this would end like this, then why was he feeling so disappointed? but he couldn’t be mad at you, no. it wasn’t your fault you weren’t feeling the same, and it definitely wasn’t your fault for wanting some rest. the olympics meant so much to you, and he knew how excited you were for them - he wouldn’t take that happiness away from you. 

„of-of course,” mingyu said, though his voice, his body language, his gaze - his everything, screamed anything but „of course”. he nodded his head and shrugged. „i’ll see you later then.”

you quickly grabbed his arm before he could turn around. „gyu,” you said. „i can’t deal with this now, but i never said i couldn’t deal with this ever.” 

he was so cute, you couldn’t help but hide your smile behind your hand. with slightly dishevelled hair (probably from running his fingers through them too much), un-matching shirt and pants, which you were sure were from last season, and his mingyu smile that showed off his canines… you’d have to be stupid and blind not to have a massive crush on this man. 

„r-really?” 

you nodded your head.

“maybe we can talk about this tomorrow?” you said, and slid your hand down his arm to his hand. “after the eliminations?” 

mingyu looked down wide-eyed at your hand holding his. was this really happening? maybe he was the one to hit his head? his poor heart and fuzzy brain couldn’t actually believe that the girl he had been pining after for god knows how long was actually saying that… that she liked him back? huh, if this was a dream he hoped he’d never wake up. 

“yes,” he breathed. “we can do that.” 

“great,” you smiled, and mingyu felt his heart skip a beat. “you’ll be watching me tomorrow, right?”

“you know i will,” mingyu said, squeezing your hand, and this - your hand in his - this felt right. this was right, and this was how it was always supposed to be. “i always do.” 

and then he did something that almost knocked you off your feet. 

he quickly closed the gap between you, pushing your body gently against the door behind you, and placed a soft peck on your cheek. you almost didn’t notice how his strong arm had snuck around you, holding your waist in a featherlight touch that didn’t quite match his strong hands and big biceps, or how the other one cradled the side of your face, and how his thumb stroked your cheek. almost.

and it was only a kiss on the cheek. 

“good luck, baby.”

[yanderenightmare]

♡ TW: nsfw, noncon, yandere, kidnapped reader, murder of nameless side characters

♡ fem reader

Thinking about that moment of violent change you’re forced to go through when your loving boyfriend becomes the terrifying man you don’t recognize—and how it completely eradicates the reality you’d grown so comfortable in, realizing it was all some perfectly orchestrated lie.

Rope burns on your wrists and ankles, tears streaking your chunky cheeks, and a poor soul’s blood on your pretty face belonging to some guy who’d gotten a little too close for comfort.

He’d cut him down like it was nothing.

The knife is held still by his side, a shining red murder weapon, dripping on the floor in the growing pond by his feet. He sighs heavily, casts his head back then looks behind him, beholding you through slim eyes, clicking his tongue, “Look what you made me do…”

He wouldn’t be the only one… several victims followed in his bloody path—witnesses who’d seen him struggle with you, kicking and screaming for all your worth, trying anything to get away. You were all too easily manhandled into the car, and could only watch behind the locked door, banging with bound fists on the glass while he gutted other passersby who’d threatened to call the police.

Driving off, he growls at you, first to shut up and then, “That was your fault—if only you’d been a good girl, none of those innocent people would have had to die.” His knuckles whiten on the wheel, wringing it in his stained grip—scarlet on ivory. “If you don’t want any more blood on your hands, you better sit pretty and not cause me any more trouble.”

You sob uncontrollably and inconsolably despite the threat—you can’t stop yourself—you can’t even comprehend his words. None of it makes any sense. You’d seen it all, and yet you can’t understand it—any of it. You’d watched the sweet guy you knew shed his skin and become a monster right before your eyes. It must be some bad dream, some terrible, awful, horrible nightmare.

But even if it is, you don’t want him touching you ever again. It makes you physically sick to your stomach to think you’d ever shared a bed with him—exchanged sweet nothings in the damp heat of each other. No, no, no, it’s not the same person—it can’t be. It can’t be true. What about the smiles you’d shared over breakfast, those times you’d surprised each other at lunch, all the dates, all the gifts, all the kisses, the future you’d talked about?

You’d fallen in love. But you’ve fallen in love with someone who doesn’t even exist.

He makes sure the door to the bedroom’s under lock and a key he stores somewhere you won’t find it. You squirm in your bonds on the bed when he approaches, shivering with whimpers under his hands, flinching at his touch while he unties you, then cringing as he angles your face to look at him—wanting to pry free, anything not to look into those changed eyes.

You hadn’t thought his build was imposing before, it hadn’t struck you as lethal. Naively, you’d thought him cozy—a big chest and a warm embrace he would scoop you up in, a safe place you could live. He’s cold now, menacing and filthy from his crimes—the body of a killer, a cold-blooded murderer. He’s so big it makes the room feel too small for the both of you. Claustrophobic.

He forces your gaze to him, and it’s all you see, those eyes, those unrecognizable eyes, with that look within you can’t understand, beholding you with burden.

“I still love you,” he states, though it angers him. “Even though you broke my heart. I still love you.”

You shake your head, or you try to, but it results in only tiny tremors caught in his hand where he keeps your chin, bloody fingers buried in your plump cheeks, squeezing so hard you wince.

“But it doesn’t come for free,” he seethes with an awful sneer. A type of grimace you’d never thought him capable of, overfilled with disdain. “My love is earned. And after all you did today, you’re in deep debt.”

He lets go of your face with a nasty shove, taking a mean grip on your shirt instead, using both fists to tear it down the middle. You yelp and cover yourself, but that only angers him further—causing him to grab your wrists and pin them to your side. You think you feel your joints popping.

“Test me, and I’ll hurt you,” he growls, his teeth bared at your ear where your face curls to hide itself in the pillow. “I don’t want to, but if that’s what it takes to make you sorry, then so be it. Be good, and I won’t have to take it that far.”

You lie as still as you can muster while he removes the rest—roughly as he goes—your bra, your skirt, your underwear. You only snivel and toil with the sheets in weak little fists, making your joints cramp up—feeling raw under him, at the mercy of those blood-dried hands.

You understand what he’s about to do, and yet it doesn’t really dawn on you before you hear the sharp ringing of his belt buckle being undone. You don’t look, but you don’t close your eyes either—the room is already dark enough that closing your eyes would make you feel too close to death. So, you keep your gaze fixed to the side, to the stale wall.

The bed bounces you as he shuffles. The urge to run bubbles within, but you know it wouldn’t be to your advantage. So your mind spins, thinking of other possibilities, growing ever more panicked when coming up empty.

He spits on your slit, then rears it with his spitefully erect shaft—pushing in without further prep. And you lose all sense of control.

Twisting at the attack, you scream again, “No! Stop—”

Your hands barely touch him before he’s answered the protest with a tightening grip on your neck. Unrelenting, your throat instantly snares, and you choke on any further outburst.

“I told you,” he chastises. “Why do you have to force my hand, huh?”

You gasp for any sliver worth of air, sipping through the cracks of his chokehold, but it’s very nearly sealed completely shut. You try lifting his grip with your own, both hands holding onto his wrist, wanting to pull loose but achieving nothing.

It’s so pitiful that he ignores the effort. Using his remaining hand to continue what he’d set out to do. Planting his tip at your unprepped entrance, he wasted no time before surging forward.

Your vision starts to spot, and your hands grow weak, barely hanging on.

“That’s good. Lie still and take it,” he groans—his lips on your cheek as he bullies through your dry walls, only aided by his spit. “And I might consider once’ enough.”  

You don’t have a choice, feeling your body go numb. He picks your thigh up over his hip and drives deeper—starting a steady pace without letting go of your throat, squeezing the life out of you. Your hands finally drop, lying limp, and still, you feel it deep within—the thrusting as he beats your sorry cunt into an aching mess, then fills you up with awful warmth.

♡ BNHA – Deku, Kirishima, Hawks ♡ JJK – Nanami, Geto, Naoya

♡ FEM x M INSERT masterlist ♡ GN x M INSERT masterlist

[ur-local-wizard]

Ruin You

Mattheo Riddle, an incubus, is used to getting his way. But when he falls for you --the one girl immune to his charms -- and learns of your innocence, he's overcome with the want to ruin you for anyone else.

MDNI! characters are adults, corruption kink, praise, fingering, unprotected piv, semi-public sex, creampie, loss of virginity, friends to lovers, incubus!mattheo x fem!reader, I am not responsible for your media consumption

w/c: 1.6k

in response to this request!

masterlist au list

a/n: first smut ever!! I hope this lives up to all the expectations! <3

Seduction came to Mattheo Riddle as if it was his mother tongue – natural, unhurried. He knew exactly what to say, how to say it, and the way to angle his smirk just right to make people weak in the knees. His smile was devastating, his voice rich and deep, his touch always featherlight yet never failing to leave a scorching heat behind. He thrived off sexual innuendos, his existence woven into every fantasy and every intimate thought that flitted through every mind.

But you seemed to be immune to his charms.

Remaining blissfully ignorant to his attempts, you somehow escaped every interaction with the demon entirely untouched by the sin that dripped from his lips. It was confusing, infuriating, yet somehow intoxicating; only serving to make him thirst for more. 

“You know,” he purred, leaning closer to where you sat in the common room. “If you ever need help with anything, I’m here. You only have to ask.” 

You blinked up at him, and a wholesome smile spread across your lips. “That’s so sweet of you, Matty. You’re such a good friend.” 

He nearly choked on his own spit at your response. Friend? He was a literal demon of temptation and desire, and yet you thought his actions were friendly? 

His flirtations only escalated after that. Every smirk, wink, lingering touch, was only met with a beaming smile or polite nod. You were a puzzle, a challenge. He wanted to figure you out – to understand how to get his message across. And yet he found himself drawn to you in other ways; ones that weren’t driven solely by physical need.

Then he heard the rumors.

He hadn’t meant to eavesdrop. He was just drinking at a party like usual, when he heard Pansy’s voice. “Y/n’s a virgin? Makes sense I guess. But with a face like that, I expected more,” he heard her say. 

He felt the world tilt for a moment, and not from the alcohol he was drinking. Everything in him was screaming, the depraved part of him clawing at the edges of his restraint. A virgin. Pure. Untouched.

His body ached at the thought, and the demonic part of him longed to find you and corrupt you, defile you. But the last thing he wanted was for you to see him as he was – a monster, a predator, a creature of hunger and lust. He wanted you desperately, needed you even, but he would never force anything on you.

For the first time in his life, Mattheo Riddle was at a complete loss for what to do.

Although it was difficult, Mattheo tried to distance himself after that revelation. He told himself that it was for your own good, that you were better off without him, that he would ruin you if he got too close. 

But the more he resisted, the more unbearable the distance from you became. He still heard your laugh echoing throughout the corridors, still caught glimpses of you in the Great Hall, still felt the echo of your innocent touches that lingered, their memory like a brand seared into his skin. 

However, you noticed the change in his behavior almost instantly, and began to wonder if you’d done something wrong.

“Matty?” You asked one day, your voice soft and uncertain. You’d caught him just after curfew, when everyone was meant to be heading to their dorms. “Are you mad at me? Have I done something?” 

Mattheo’s fists clenched at his sides, not able to stand the way your doe eyes were filled with guilt and concern. No fear, no anger, no suspicion, just pure and genuine worry. It broke his heart, and he had to look away. “No angel, you didn’t do anything.” 

You tilted your head in confusion, and your brows furrowing. “Then why have you been avoiding me?” 

His mouth floundered as he searched for something to say. What could he possibly say that wouldn’t scare you? That wouldn’t hurt you? Yet he couldn’t bring himself to lie either. “You wouldn’t understand,” he muttered, giving a non-answer while shoving his hands into his pockets.

“Then explain it to me,” you said, looking up at him expectantly.

Finally, his eyes meet yours. You stood firm, gaze unwavering, arms crossed over your chest. The sight of you, so determined, so concerned, made him snap. 

“You drive me mad, you know that? Every time you smile at me, every goddamn touch, makes me go absolutely insane. I want you so bad… I wanna ruin you for anyone else.

“So? Who said I didn’t feel the same way, Matty?”

He stared at you in utter disbelief. “But all the hints I threw-” 

“Yeah, I get those now,” you grumble. “After I realize you share the same feelings. I just… didn’t want to assume.” 

He scoffs and takes a step closer. “So you want this too?” 

As soon as you nod, he’s on you. His lips crashed against yours, desperate and hungry, his fingers tangling in your hair, tugging lightly, as he backed you against the wall. One hand slid to the small of your back, pressing you flush against him, and you could feel his desire pressing against you. The kiss was fervent, full of pent-up desire, yet beneath the urgency there was tenderness. 

“You don’t know what you do to me,” he whispered between kisses, his breath hot on your skin. “I’ve wanted this for so long. You’re so fucking perfect.” 

His hands were warm as they slid under your shirt, pushing it up and over your head. Your bra was next, falling away to meet your shirt, and you should have been mortified of being so exposed in the common room. But you couldn't find it in yourself to care. Not when his touch ignited something within you that you never knew was there, not when his lips brushed against your ear, whispering sweet praises that made your stomach tighten with need.

His own shirt was next, falling into the growing pile of clothes forgotten on the floor. Hands finding your hips, he spun you around, and you immediately braced yourself against the wall. The stone was hard and cold against your hands, and the cold air of the common room caused your nipples to pebble. His touch drifted down your back, before slipping under your skirt to rub against your core. Letting out a gasp of surprise, your hips jolted towards his touch, earning a soothing hum from the man behind you.

“I’ll be gentle, okay? So fucking gentle,” he murmured as he moved your panties to the side. Two fingers slipped inside your cunt with ease, earning a whine from you. 

“Fuck. You're so tight. So wet,” he groaned as he curled his fingers, hitting that spongy spot that made you see stars. “I really am the only one to touch you like this? Gonna be the first and last, yeah?” 

“Yeah,” you moaned, head falling forward as a knot started to form in your belly.

His fingers picked up their pace, pumping and curling just right, just enough to drive you dangerously close to the edge. “I want you to promise, angel. Promise me I’ll be the only one to ever see this beautiful pussy of yours.” 

You nodded enthusiastically, but that didn't satisfy him. Right as you were about to finish, he tore his hand away from you, leaving you teetering on the brink. The loss and emptiness made you whimper, but when you heard him unbuckling his belt, anticipation replaced the frustration. The suspense made you tense, your thighs pressing together in search of relief.

The head of his cock brushed against your entrance, teasing, but he didn't move. “I want to hear you say it. Promise me, angel.”

“I promise,” you whined, growing impatient from the loss of sensation. You wanted him desperately.

That was all he needed to hear, his hips surging forward, thrusting into you with one swift motion. A choked gasp escaped your lips, the stretch making you wince. He stilled, letting you adjust, though his grip on your hips tightened like he was barely holding himself back.

“So fucking perfect,” he groaned, pressing a soft kiss to your shoulder. Your fingers curled against the wall, and when you started to squirm, he took that as a hint to move. His first thrust was slow, gentle. It was your first time after all. But eventually his restraint snapped. His rhythm was deep and deliberate, fucking into you as if this was the last thing he'd ever do.

One hand snaked around your body to rub tight circles on your clit that made your knees buckle. He caught you, keeping you upright as his pace never faltered. 

“Feel so good. Like you were made for me,” he moans, his voice raw. 

His continued ministrations made pressure build once again, white-hot pleasure beginning to curl insistently in your stomach. You could feel it, the inevitable, and his increasingly erratic movements were a tell-tale sign that he was close too. 

“Come for me,” he whispered, coaxing you. “Prove to me how perfectly you were made for me.”

Pleasure crashed over you, blinding and all-consuming. You tightened and fluttered around him, eliciting a guttural moan from deep within his throat. He followed soon after, burying himself deep with a groan. 

For a moment, neither of you moved, lost in the shock of what had just happened. Then he pulled out and turned you around, pressing a gentle kiss to your lips. 

“You did perfect, just like I knew you would.”

©ur-local-wizard translating, republishing, copying, or claiming my work as yours is not permitted. all my work belongs to me and me only. thank you!

tag list: @mattyriddlesbitch @sturniolover13 @thereeallink @voidangxls @riddleswhcre @riddleshire

[jane-the-good]

SYLUS: hide and seek

WORD COUNT: 3.7K

SUMMARY: Sylus decides to help you learn how to understand and handle him ◡̈

NOTE: I love playful Sylus!!!!!! he deserves to playyyy

WARNINGS: 60% smut, 30% play, Sylus likes to give up his control and lord knows he craves that, oral sex, unsafe sex (please don’t be like them)

AO3 sylus masterlist

I’m also a bleach artist!! I made a hoodie for Sylus (obvi) and it’s my fave to paint!! It’s HERE if you want oneee!!!

love youuuuuu ♡

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

You burst into the room, breath ragged, the echo of pursuing footsteps closing in. A distant door slams—loud, jarring. There’s no time to think. You lunge for cover, heart pounding, slipping behind Sylus’ chair as instinct takes over.

You crouch low, trying to make yourself smaller, pressing against the heavy fabric of the armchair. Your fingers curl into the edge of the rug for grounding. Every second could split open into violence. You can hear them—boots pounding, floorboards groaning, the occasional clatter of something knocked over in haste.

They’re getting closer.

But Sylus?

He doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t tense. He only reaches lazily for a pen, twirling it between his fingers as if the room isn’t seconds from invasion. His attention flickers briefly, not to the sound outside—but to the disruption of your presence. A soft, amused breath escapes him. He lowers his pen, lets his glasses slide a little further down the bridge of his nose.

Then—without even turning his head—he speaks.

“Why are you hiding behind me?”

His voice is maddeningly calm, touched with dry amusement. You feel it rumble in the space as a slow-moving storm. You peek up at him from behind the chair—at the sharp lines of his shoulders, the way the lamplight throws shadows across the papers he’s annotating in precise, immaculate script.

“I—I had to,” you stammer. You can’t quite steady your voice. “They’re coming. I didn’t know where else to go.”

“You came here.” He tilts his head just slightly. “Of all the doors you could’ve thrown open, you chose mine.”

You open your mouth, but he raises a finger—almost absentmindedly—as if to hush a student mid-interruption.

“I’m not saying I mind,” he says smoothly. “It’s just interesting. People tend to seek me out when they’re desperate.”

He shifts in the chair, the worn leather creaking beneath him as he leans back. His legs cross slowly, elegantly, and he returns to his notes without a trace of concern. The silence outside is deceptive— the eye of a storm. Your heart drums too loud in your ears.

Then, quietly, you whisper: “You don’t see me.”

He pauses.

Just for a second.

The pen stills in his hand.

A knowing smile curls at the edge of his mouth.

“Oh, sweetheart…” His voice is a drawl now, velvety and dangerous. “I see you better than anyone ever has.”

You freeze.

He doesn't look up from his papers, and for a moment, you're unsure if he’s completely aware of the danger drawing near. But then you hear it—the faintest shift in the air, a barely perceptible tension.

"I’m surprised you’re afraid of them," Sylus continues, his tone casual, but with that unmistakable underlying smugness. “You’re losing your edge, kitten." He leans back in his chair, still not fully turned toward you, his voice dripping with mock casualness. "I suppose you’ll have to protect yourself, won’t you?"

You can't help but roll your eyes. The man is infuriating, always two moves ahead, always expecting everyone around him to follow suit. But... he does care. In his own twisted, strategic way, he does. And for all his arrogance, it's that caring, that soft spot for you, that keeps you close. He knows you can handle yourself, that you’re capable.

"You don't need to worry about me," you say, standing up slowly, ready to face whatever’s coming. You feel the adrenaline coursing through your veins, your instincts sharp and ready for anything. You trust yourself—and him, even when he's impossible.

"Of course I don’t," he replies, still not looking at you, but there's an unmistakable glint in his eyes now. "But do try to avoid getting yourself killed. I’d prefer not to clean up the mess."

The smug grin on his face never wavers, but there’s a dangerous edge behind it—one that speaks to his true nature. He’s ruthless, a man who never hesitates to go to any lengths for what he wants, even if it means taking lives. Yet, when it comes to you... there's something softer beneath it all.

You take a step forward, the confidence he’s instilled in you propelling you. You don’t need him to shield you. You don’t need anyone to do that. But you can feel his gaze on you now, watching, waiting. Encouraging. His words might be mocking, but his eyes say otherwise—he’s eager to see how far you’ll go.

And you’ll show him. You’ll show him that you don’t need protection. You’ll prove to him, and to yourself, that you’re not the one to hide anymore.

You step toward the door strategizing your next move, with haste. You will figure it out, you always do.

In a quick, desperate motion, you yank open the door.

“Sylus made me do it!”

Your voice cuts through the hallway, sharp and shaking. The twins—already mid-argument—freeze. They gasp in unison, wide-eyed, clutching each other as the weight of your words sinks in.

“Boss! No way!”
“He threatened you?!”

You nod gravely, committing to the drama with the weight of someone preparing for trial. “He said he’d take out Mephisto’s batteries if I didn’t comply. I had no choice. It was life or death.”

Gasps. Real gasps.

“Boss! That’s low!”
“You know Mephisto gets cranky without his charge!”

Behind you, Sylus doesn’t even look up. He exhales—barely—and flips a page in his notebook with the nonchalance of someone utterly bored by your slander.

“And what if I did do it?” he murmurs without inflection, he’s entertaining the idea just to see how far they’ll take it.

The twins freeze. Slowly turn to look at each other, the internal gears visibly turning as they try to figure out how serious he might be.

“Well…”
“I mean…”

Sylus tilts his head, finally looking up from his papers with a predator’s patience. “Would you… punish me?”

That shuts them both up fast.

“Boss! How could you say that!”
“Don’t make it weird!”

He sighs and turns back to his papers, completely unfazed.

“Apologies, Miss Hunter,” Luke and Kieran say together but not in unison.

“You did technically threaten my life,” you mutter, stepping back in and pulling the door shut, “but… it’s literally fine.”

“You’re super chill for someone whose life was just endangered,” one twin calls out.

“Thanks for being cool about it!” the other adds, sheepishly.

“Yeah, anywho, see you later!”

“Bye! Sorry again!”

You lean back against the door once it closes, exhaling all the nonsense in one long, exhausted breath.

Sylus doesn’t even pause his writing.

“What happened to not needing protection?” he drawls, bleeding smug ink into every watered down syllable.

“I panicked,” you admit, too tired to fake confidence. At least you’re honest.

He hums in amusement, tapping the end of his pen against his chin. “It seems your personal growth will just have to wait.”

“Sylus. It was serious.”

Now he glances up, finally meeting your eyes—brows raised, that half-smile toying with the edge of his mouth.

“You accused me of blackmail.”

“And they believed it!”

“That’s not the win you think it is.”

You cross your arms. “I saved Mephisto.”

“I see.” He says as he flips through Onychinus special top secret papers that could effect the lives of countless people in positive and negative ways all according to his choices.

“Sylus, I-“ you don’t even want to say it. “I caught their book on fire.”

“I wasn’t aware arson was something you enjoy.”

You drag your feet on the way back to his desk, each step heavier than the last, the guilt pulls at your ankles. When you finally reach him, you don’t sit—you just plant your hands on the front edge of his desk and lean all your weight into it, letting your head drop forward, collapsing under your shame.

Sylus doesn’t say anything right away. You can feel his eyes on you, hear the slow scratch of his pen as it comes to a halt.

“I lied to them,” you mutter, voice muffled by your own despair. “I threw you under the bus. A very large, twin-powered bus.”

Still, no response.

You sigh, lifting your head just enough to glare at the surface of his desk. “They have this book,” you say, finally unraveling, “like an actual book, handwritten and everything, with rules and tips and ‘how to handle Sylus without being emotionally mauled.’ It’s their pride. They treat it like scripture.”

That earns a faint twitch of his brow, but nothing more.

“And it’s not entirely my fault,” you continue, defensively now, straightening a little. “They lit a candle next to it. I told them that was a terrible idea, and they ignored me. And then I sneezed. And the pages caught. And I may have… panicked and flailed.”

Sylus raises a brow slowly. “You flailed?”

“I didn’t mean to! But once the corner was on fire, I was trying to smack it out and then it just… accelerated.”

He leans back in his chair, folding his hands in front of him with maddening calm. “So to be clear, you lied, framed me, and burned their holy text.”

You nod grimly. “In my defense, it was an accident. All of it.”

He stares at you in silence for a moment longer, then finally—finally—smirks. “You’re lucky they didn’t exile you.”

“I panicked!”

“And in the spirit of panic, you offered me up as the sacrificial lamb.”

You grimace. “Yes.”

He tilts his head, amused. “And how do you intend to make amends?”

You think for a moment, then sigh. “I was hoping you'd help me rewrite the book.”

Now he laughs—soft and low, but unmistakable. “This book about how to handle me?”

“yeah”

He finally stands up and with such ease walks around his desk and over to you.

“You know about this, because you’ve used it?” He is so confident

“it didn’t work.” you admit

“but you tried.” He crosses his arms.

“we’d just met, I didn’t understand you.”

“but now you know how to handle me.”

“no.”

“do you want me to tell you how?”

He actually wants to help?

“Is this something I can teach the twins? I feel like I owe them something.”

“No,” He stands infront of you making you lean back against his desk. “this is just for you.” He’s so close you have to look up to him.

“ok, teach me then.”

Sylus' smile is slow and full of wicked amusement, a storm forming just behind calm eyes. He doesn't speak at first—he just watches you, a soft hum rumbling in his chest warning an awaiting impact.

“Alright,” he says finally, his voice lower now, a little rougher. “Lesson one, kitten—concessions aren’t given. They’re earned.”

He leans in, his hands bracing on either side of you, caging you against the desk without touching you. The tension between you crackles, electric and thick, your breath catching in your throat as his gaze drags over your face in a slow, deliberate caress.

“You want to know how to make me concede?” His words are a whisper now, almost reverent. “You make me want to give in.”

Your heart pounds. You’re caught—by his voice, by his presence, by the way he makes something as dangerous as surrender feel like a privilege. You nod slowly, lips parted.

His hand lifts, fingertips tracing along your jaw, your neck, your collarbone, as though memorizing you for the hundredth time. “You're already doing it,” he murmurs. “But don’t think you can stop there.”

He leans in, brushing his lips just barely across yours. It’s not a kiss—it’s a threat of one, a promise, a game.

You rise up into it, eyes slipping closed as you press your mouth to his—soft, then deeper, until the kiss spirals into something breathless and consuming. Your fingers thread into his hair, tugging, pulling him closer. He groans against your mouth, the sound deep and low, and for a flicker of a moment, he loses control.

You feel him shift—no longer the teacher, the strategist, but just a man who wants you, who can’t stop himself.

You gasp between kisses, breathless, “I need you to help me—please, Sylus—”

That’s what does it. The moment you say it, soft and trembling against his lips, he breaks.

“Oh, kitten…” His voice is strained now, eyes dark as he pulls you up onto the desk with a strength and urgency that doesn’t startle you—it thrills you. “You’re a quick learner,” he breathes, mouth finding yours again. “I’m so proud of you.”

Every movement is deliberate, a worship in motion. He touches you as if you’re something sacred—the moment you reached for him, he stopped being a man and became something softer, something devoted. His hands aren’t rushed or greedy. They’re reverent. Slow. Exploring the outline of your waist, mapping a territory he’s dreamed of claiming.

His fingers brush beneath your shirt, tracing heat along your skin, and you shiver—in the way his touch asks, never demands. His lips follow, pressing soft, open-mouthed kisses to the curve of your neck, your shoulder, your chest—pausing to breathe you in, eyes fluttering closed in prayer.

And yet, as much as he gives, you take. You unbutton his shirt with a patience that drives him mad, fingertips dancing over each newly exposed inch of skin. You kiss the hollow of his throat, the center of his chest, the places no one sees but you. He’s undone by the way you look at him—not as the calculating strategist, not as the sharp-tongued manipulator—but as a man. Your man.

You whisper his name, kneeling at his waist, making his breath stutter.

The feel of him so hard in his pants sending shivers up your spine. You look up to him as you unbutton his pants, the tension thick as you reach for him. His breath hitches, eyes closing in the quiet surrender to the moment. You watch his jaw loose , eyes fluttering closed, the warmth pooling in his cheeks and the edges of his ears. You move slowly, savoring the intimacy, your own breath ragged, unsteady.

“Kitten,” he purrs as you lower yourself, your lips replacing your hand, flattening your tounge around the underside of his shaft. His fingers thread through your hair as you take him in, his grip tightening when you hollow your cheeks.

The way he moans your name turns you into his mirror, making your own skin flush. His voice is slow and warm with his truth. He is so honest and accepting of his actions and it’s contagious.

His eyes flutter shut, lashes kissing flushed cheeks, and you can feel how close he is to falling apart.
Every muscle in his body tightens, straining under the weight of restraint.
His hands grip the edge of the desk behind you, not to steady himself—but to keep from collapsing completely.

“Sweetie, please” his head tips back in a groan as your tounge swirls his tip.

You hum your approval and his hips jolt in response at the vibration. Slowing your pace, you let your lips linger as they trail back up his stomach, the heat of his skin beneath your mouth causing your chest to tighten with the growing desire.

You tug him back to you by the collar, and he follows without hesitation, lips finding yours again in a kiss that’s deeper, needier. It’s less polished now—less than worship, more than surrender.

Your hands slip into his hair, tugging lightly, and he groans into your mouth. That sound—raw and honest—ignites something in you. You guide him back with a push, your thighs parting around his hips, his weight settling against you. It feels right—the way your bodies puzzle piece into the places that were always meant to fit.

He kisses you, memorizing this—if the world were to burn, this is the memory he’d hold onto. And when you pull his shirt off fully, dragging your hands down his back, exhaling your name.

“You’re killing me,” he whispers into your skin, voice ragged, eyes dark. “And I’d let you.”

And still—you don’t stop.
You don’t rush.
You don’t need to, because every kiss, every breath, every press of your body against his is a quiet unraveling. He’s never been taken apart like this—by kindness, by softness.

He lets you strip him of his walls, of his pride, of every defense he’s ever built.
He lets you see him raw and human and yours.

Your fingers trail across his skin with reverence, brushing along the line of his jaw, down the curve of his chest, leaving goosebumps in your wake. He leans into your touch as a man starved—greedy for affection but never allotted the ability to ever ask.
But now, with you, there is no pride. Only need.

The way your lips find his again—slow, deep, devastating—makes his breath hitch.

He’s trembling beneath the softness of your touch, undone by the tenderness no enemy could ever touch him with.
No one’s ever made him feel this safe, this wanted—this unguarded.

But you don’t let him go just yet.
You hold him there.
Right on the edge.
Your mouth hovers above his skin, your breath brushing hot and slow, driving him further into the tension.
His fingers twitch at your waist, desperate, aching to pull you closer—but he doesn’t.
He won’t.
Not without your permission.

You whisper against his ear, “Is this the control you want me to have?”

He shudders. The breath he exhales is sharp, caught between a groan and a plea.
His voice is nearly broken. “You’re going to destroy me.”
There’s no venom in it—only awe. Only wonder.
Because even at the edge of his undoing, Sylus still can't believe you’re real.

He lets out the faintest laugh—breathless, breath-catching. It’s not amusement—it’s disbelief, reverence, the sound of someone on the verge of breaking open in the most beautiful way.

Then his forehead drops to your shoulder, lips brushing your skin as he exhales, shaky and hot. You feel the tension in his body—every muscle pulled tight, trembling from restraint and need.

He exhales sharply, almost a laugh, but there’s nothing light about it. It’s desperate, aching.
“Please,” he says—barely a whisper, it costs him something. “Let me… I need to be inside you.”
His voice breaks open, vulnerable in a way only you have ever witnessed. “Let me ride it out with you. Let me finish this with you.”

You run your fingers through his hair, cradle the back of his neck, and guide him to you with a soft, wordless nod. He lifts his head slowly, eyes burning into yours—dark with longing, glassy with emotion. You’re the only thing keeping him tethered to the earth.

And when you finally give in—when you guide him where he’s aching to be—his hands find your hips, but there’s no urgency in the way he touches you. Just awe. Just care.

His movements are slow but intentional— he’s savoring every second with you. You cling to him, pulling him even closer, keep him yours, to make this moment stretch.

He looks at you breaking him open—but not to hurt him.

To free him.

He’s never known softness could hold so much power. His lips find your throat, your jaw, your collarbone—not with hunger, but reverence. Kissing you is a prayer.

His forehead presses to yours, his breath fanning across your skin. “You know I’m yours,” his voice a rugged whisper. His belief wrapped in certainty. You hum in agreement, your body trembling against your will to keep the power he wants for you.

He grits his teeth, his fingers gripping your waist, trying not to lose himself too soon. “Kitten—” His voice is hoarse, tight with restraint. “You're going to ruin me.”
You smile softly,

“Maybe that’s what you need.”

His hand slides in your hair gently honoring you. The room is warm with the scent of sweat and his fireplace. You can feel a bead of moisture slide down your chin as he cages you in his arms. Each thrust sends you spiraling closer, your fingers clawing at his back as your body tightens around him. Each breath in your ear twinkling down your spine.

He doesn’t take.

He gives.

A groan of genuine pleasure slips from his lips, raw and true, the sound of relief. The way his chest rises and falls, the way his breath catches, it’s not just the culmination of desire, but the release of a weight that’s been pressure he has to hold.

Your breath catches as he moves—fluid, rhythmic, a quiet worship in motion. He groans against your skin when you clutch at him, and you feel it vibrate through your chest. Every sound he makes is yours, pulled from him by the way you hold him, the way you meet him with every pulse, every breath.

The pleasure builds, hot and all-consuming, and then—blinding, shattering—you break into millions of pieces and float through space. Sylus follows, his grip on you tightening almost desperately, the pressure of his hands grounding you as his body shudders with the force of his release.

No war. No danger.

you both finally let go—
falling together.


Only the sound of your bodies finding stillness in the after, wrapped in the quiet echo of peace.

You meet his eyes—dark, glassy, and sincere.
And you nod.
Because this isn’t about power.
It’s about surrender.

And tonight, the only battle worth fighting,
is the one you lose together.

When the storm has quieted and the desk is no longer a battlefield but a quiet place of afterglow and breathless laughter, he holds you in his lap, cheek resting on your shoulder.

“That,” he says, lips brushing your skin, “is how you make me concede.”

You hum—grateful to know, but aching all the same. His return to the Big Bad Boss was never yours to stop. Never his to escape.

“I think I want more lessons.”

He chuckles against your throat, wrapping his arms tighter around you. “Then you’ll have to stay close. This curriculum’s private.”

[colouredbyd]

Soleil

Regulus Black x fem!reader

summary:  When Regulus overhears a whispered confession never meant for him—soft words tucked between laughter and loyalty, unraveling the quiet truth beneath your friendship. In the hush that follows, the line between almost and everything begins to blur.

warnings: the most fluffiest fluff to ever fluff in any au, friends in love but in denial, childhood friends to lovers, lowkey grumpy x sunshine trope, reg being insecure, love confessions, self doubt, swearing. i love this sm.

word count: 7.3k ( im sorry ☹️)

authors note: reggie is quite literally the loml so here u go guys 🌷 

masterlist

“I just don’t get it. You two are close, sure, but how can someone like you stand someone so… frostbitten?”

Regulus Black had never been fond of listening in.

Not because he held some high regard for personal boundaries—though he might feign such principles if questioned—but because idle whispers had always struck him as painfully dull. His ears had never itched for gossip, nor had curiosity ever coaxed him into shadowed corners. If people had something to say, they’d say it. And if they didn’t, he preferred the quiet.

In truth, silence had always been kinder to him than most people ever were.

It was a habit he’d mastered long before Hogwarts—back when the walls of Grimmauld Place echoed with slurred legacies and scornful lectures. In those days, slipping away unnoticed had been a form of survival. At school, it was simply routine.

But tonight… something felt different.

Maybe it was the fact that his name had slipped past someone else’s lips.

Maybe it was the company—James Potter, Marlene McKinnon, and you—tucked just around the corridor outside the Gryffindor common room.

Or maybe it was something subtler, something aching and ancient, when Marlene’s voice laced his name with ice.

He hadn’t meant to linger. He’d only returned to fetch the worn book he’d abandoned on the windowsill that morning. He hadn’t expected anyone to be there—let alone you, laughter softening your voice like candlelight.

He could’ve kept walking. He should have.

But then—

“I think there’s kindness in him,” James said, uncertain. His voice faltered like a lantern in fog.

“I mean… we’ve barely spoken, really.” He rubbed the back of his neck—nervous, boyish. Always more heart than caution.

“Maybe he’s just not great with people?”

(Y/n) hummed softly, nodding in agreement, though her gaze had grown distant, pulled by the threads of memory. She understood him far better than the others did—better, perhaps, than anyone else dared to try. That’s why Marlene and Dorcas had turned to her, curious about the boy who walked the castle halls like a ghost no one could quite touch.

She’d known Regulus Black long before they shared the same classes at Hogwarts. Growing up among pureblood circles had made their paths cross more than once, though back then, he’d barely acknowledged her presence. It wasn’t until their fifth year that a quiet camaraderie started to bloom—quiet, not because it was secret, but because it had no need for loud declarations. A glance. A shared silence. A wordless understanding. All of it wove together like a private constellation only they could see.

She smiled faintly at the memory, a soft huff of laughter escaping her. It was absurd, really, to think she’d somehow become the unofficial Regulus Black Expert of Gryffindor Tower. The idea would’ve made her younger self laugh out loud.

Because back then—when she’d first been introduced to him by a smug Sirius Black with a wicked grin and a mischievous, “Reggie, this one won’t bite unless you ask”—she never would’ve imagined this strange little bond forming.

“Regulus has always been… closed off,” she murmured at last, agreeing with Marlene’s earlier observation, though her tone had drifted somewhere far away. Her words were less a reply and more a wandering thought, drifting like parchment on wind.

It hadn’t been easy, not at first. Regulus had no interest in friendship—especially not the kind that came packaged with Sirius’s teasing introductions. He’d been all cold stares and clipped replies, a boy carved from silence and family pressure. And she? She’d simply been the unfortunate soul swept into the current of Black family drama, doomed to be one more casualty in Go-to-hell, Sirius’s grand matchmaking schemes.

Time after time she found herself at 12 Grimmauld Place under the excuse of “study sessions” or “family dinners” orchestrated by Sirius’s sheer willpower. And time after time, Regulus kept his distance, each glance sharpened like a dagger, each word a carefully measured offering. He didn’t need friends. He didn’t want them. And she? She was just a name on a list he hadn’t asked for.

And truthfully, (Y/n) never quite knew when it shifted—or why. When, between wary glances and measured silences, something real began to stir between them. She chewed gently at her bottom lip as the thought unfurled, trying to follow the winding trail back to the precise moment when their distant acquaintance melted into something gentler, more sincere. Something she could, without hesitation, call a friendship now.

“Do you think he ever lets anyone in?” Marlene asked, a touch of disbelief in her voice—not meant to wound, only to confess her own discomfort. She never knew how to fill the silences Regulus left behind, not the way Dorcas or (Y/n) somehow managed to. “It just doesn’t add up to me.”

Unseen just around the corner, Regulus leaned his weight against the stone wall, the cold of it pressing into his back as he stood completely still. This was the part where he should have left. Disengaged. Forgotten he’d heard anything at all. He should have reminded himself that he didn’t care what people thought—because he didn’t. Or at least, he hadn’t.

But something invisible tethered him to that moment. Curiosity, perhaps. Or the soft echo of his own name on (Y/n)’s lips.

“I get that you’re close,” Marlene went on, “but how does someone like you end up friends with someone so…”

He didn’t want to hear the rest of the sentence. And yet, he couldn’t stop listening.

Her voice faltered for a second, and Regulus felt it like a fist around his ribs. He could guess what came next.

“So… cold?”

The word landed like frost beneath his skin.

Cold?

His mind latched onto it, dissecting it like a puzzle he didn’t ask to solve. Is that truly how they saw him? Was that what he looked like through other people’s eyes? He supposed he wasn’t the easiest person to read. He wasn’t known for kindness or warmth—but cold? The word clung to the back of his throat, sharp and stinging.

He should’ve walked away. Brushed it off like he had with everything else. He’d built his world out of walls for a reason. He didn’t let himself care. He never had.

So why, then, did his chest feel like it had been split open?

He was turning to leave, to forget the book he came for and the crack this moment left behind—

Until he heard (Y/n)’s voice.

“Cold?” she echoed, and Regulus froze mid-step. There was something in her voice—an edge he couldn’t quite name. Anger? Disbelief? Something that made his heart stutter painfully in his chest.

He found himself leaning into the shadows again, listening, caught in her words like a boy drowning in a storm.

“Regulus Black is anything but cold,” she said, her voice like silk woven through fire. A laugh escaped her next, quiet and bitter. “He’s the warmest person I’ve ever known.”

His breath caught. He almost laughed—almost—but stopped himself. He was supposed to be hidden, after all.

Still, that one sentence echoed louder than the rest.

“Truly?” Marlene blinked at her, surprise tugging at her brows like she hadn’t expected the warmth in (Y/n)’s voice.

(Y/n) nodded with the kind of certainty that didn’t waver.

“Absolutely,” she said, her voice soft but steady, like morning light through a window. “There’s no one quite like him. He’s… kind. Deeply so. He just doesn’t wear it on his sleeve like most do. You have to look closer to see it.”

Around the corner, hidden behind the curve of ancient stone, Regulus stood still as the marble beneath his feet. Her voice was like a tether, pulling him back every time he considered walking away.

“Regulus doesn’t move like everyone else,” she continued gently, a smile curling at the corners of her lips. “He’s quiet, sure. Always has been. But cold?” She let out the softest laugh, the kind that sounded like wind through lavender fields. “No… not cold. Never that. He’s warm in ways most people don’t know how to be.”

Warm? Regulus nearly scoffed, but the heat that rushed to his face betrayed him. If only she knew the darkness he buried his heart beneath. If only she saw the shadows he called home. And still—still—her voice made him believe, just for a second, that maybe she did see. And maybe… she didn’t mind.

“He wouldn’t believe me if I told him,” (Y/n) said with a small laugh, like she could hear his thoughts. “But it’s true. He cares in ways that matter—in quiet gestures and steady presence, in showing up without ever announcing that he’s there.”

“Ohhh…” Dorcas and Marlene echoed, their tones laced with newfound understanding.

(Y/n) giggled then, all bright and unbothered, and it struck Regulus like starlight—sudden and impossible to ignore.

“He grows on you,” she promised, her voice turning soft again. “Little by little. And when he does… you realise just how lucky you are to be close to someone like him.”

Regulus ducked his head, hiding the sudden flush crawling up his neck, thankful there were no mirrors nearby to betray him. He’d never been lucky a day in his life—but if she thought being near him was some kind of gift, then maybe, just maybe…

“Merlin’s beard, (Y/n), that was kind of adorable,” Dorcas teased. “How long have you known him, then? You two sound like old souls.”

“A while,” (Y/n) said, tilting her head as she thought it over. “Slughorn once invited us to the same dinner—years ago. Said we were both too serious for our own good. I don’t think either of us said more than three words that night,” she laughed softly. “But… over time, I think we just started understanding each other. Quietly. Comfortably. And now… he’s someone I look up to. A lot.”

A good person? Regulus nearly rolled his eyes. She always saw the best in him—even the parts he tried hardest to bury.

“He’s always helping me,” she added, a smile blooming on her lips. “Especially when I’m struggling with Dueling, or studying late into the night. He says he does it because I ask too many questions—but I know he stays because he wants me to do well.”

Well. He couldn’t exactly argue with that one.

“And he’s a bit of a secret gentleman,” you said, your voice dipping low, like a delicate confession passed between old stone walls. A soft smile ghosted your lips. “Even when we weren’t close, he’d carry my books without asking, hold open the doors with barely a glance, pull out my chair in the Great Hall like it was second nature…”

Your words trailed off as the memories rose like stardust behind your eyes—small, quiet gestures that had once seemed incidental, but now shimmered with meaning.

Just around the corner, half-shrouded by flickering torchlight, Regulus leaned back against the cold stone, eyes half-lidded, breath caught. He’d forgotten about some of those moments—at least on the surface—but hearing them from your lips made them pulse to life again. You noticed. Merlin, you noticed.

He’d never thought of himself as kind. His mother had taught him manners, not softness. His brother had taught him rebellion, not care. But you… You brought something different out of him. With you, gentleness had become instinct. And now, hearing you speak of it with such warmth, he found himself wondering if you saw something in him he hadn’t dared to believe existed.

Your smile deepened. “There was one time, years ago…” You laughed under your breath, as if it were still a secret. “We’d snuck into the kitchens when the elves weren’t looking—he nabbed a chocolate biscuit from the tin. Broke it in half.” You looked toward Marlene and Dorcas, your voice softening like candlelight. “And he gave me the bigger piece.”

The girls exchanged a glance, both catching the distant look in your eyes—the way your gaze flickered not to the past, but to a version of it you carried close, cherished. You hadn’t even been friends yet. Just two children on opposite sides of a too-large world, momentarily brought together in the dim glow of the kitchen hearth. You’d spent the rest of that evening curled beside Tilly Toke’s Magical Mishaps, Regulus sat across the table, not saying much. But the half-cookie had meant something, hadn’t it?

The memory wrapped around you like a charm.

And somewhere behind the wall, Regulus closed his eyes for a moment, pressing his thumb into his palm—grounding himself. Because yes. He remembered it exactly that way.

“Aww!” Marlene let out a dramatic gasp, pressing her hands to her heart as if the memory had physically struck her. “He must’ve had a tiny little crush on you, darling,” she teased, her voice lilting like a melody as she batted her lashes.

(Y/n) laughed under her breath, but Regulus, hidden just around the stone corner of the corridor, felt like his heart had been flung into a freezing lake.

A crush?

Was that how he came across?

His pulse thundered in his ears as panic curled tight in his chest. Surely not. All the little things he’d done—carrying her books when she complained about the weight, offering her his scarf on cold mornings, brewing tea when she stayed up too late studying—all of that was just… friendship. Wasn’t it? Politeness. Chivalry, even. Raised by Walburga or not, he did have some decency.

He tried to believe that.

But the longer he stood there, the more tangled his thoughts became.

None of it was just about kindness. Not really.

She was the only one who made the castle feel less like a cage and more like a dream. The way she laughed when he muttered sarcastic remarks under his breath. The way she hummed when concentrating. The warmth she gave off without even trying. She was sunlight—unapologetic and golden. And him? He was the boy who lived in the shadows of dark family tapestries and colder expectations.

He didn’t mean to care for her the way he did.

But he thought of her constantly. In between potions ingredients, in the flutter of owl wings across the morning sky, in every flower she ever paused to admire. Even the Black family crest seemed to dim in her presence. His own reflection was easier to face when he imagined her smiling at him.

Gods, he was utterly doomed.

fuck. 

Regulus pressed the heel of his hand to his temple, trying to steady himself—anchor his mind back to the cold stone floor beneath his shoes and not the warmth blooming beneath his ribs. None of that meant anything, did it? All those quiet favors, the lingering glances, the moments where his hand brushed hers without needing to—none of it had to suggest something deeper.

He could care for her platonically. Couldn’t he?

He nearly scoffed at himself.

How utterly cliché. The proud, brooding boy spiraling the second he felt something tender for the girl who glowed like she’d been carved from starlight. Maybe he was just being ridiculous. Maybe they really were just friends. Friends could look after each other. Friends could think the other was breathtaking and luminous and—

Merlin help him.

Because if she were to lean in one day, maybe on the edge of a courtyard or under a soft-spoken sky, and confess she wanted something more—he wouldn’t push her away, would he?

His chest tightened. No. He wouldn’t. And that answer, so simple, nearly unravelled him. His thoughts tangled like spellwork gone wrong, and for a moment he swore the castle spun slightly beneath his feet.

“I don’t know about that…” your voice broke through the air, softer than parchment under fingertips.

And Regulus felt it—something unfamiliar and ferocious rising in his chest. Like swallowing honey and fire at the same time. It bubbled with sweetness, with something terrifyingly hopeful. His fingertips tingled, his lips twitched with the start of a smile he didn’t know he could make. He wasn’t sure whether to dread it or chase it.

“Well, you should ask him out!” Marlene said cheerfully, breaking the moment like glass on stone.

“Wh-what?” you stammered, blinking rapidly.

“I’m serious!” she grinned, nudging Dorcas playfully. “He’d say yes. You’re definitely his favorite, and have you seen the way he stares at you?”

I do? Regulus froze where he stood, blood rushing in his ears.

“He does?” your voice slipped out, barely more than a breath, tinged with disbelief and the faintest hope.

Regulus could feel it now—magic surging beneath his skin like it wanted to rise just for you.

Was she surprised? Mortified? Regulus couldn’t tell. From his shadowed post behind the half-open door, he was practically vibrating with the urge to peek out, to catch even a flicker of her expression. If he could just see her face, he’d know exactly how she was processing all of this—whether she was laughing him off or secretly hoping it might be true.

“Oh yeah, I’ve seen him looking at you loads of times,” James said casually, like he was stating the weather.

“Same,” chimed in Marlene, lounging across the common room couch. “Honestly, I thought you two were already together when I first transferred.”

He did?

“You did?” your voice fluttered out, laced with disbelief—and something else Regulus couldn’t name, something soft and glowing.

“Yeah,” James shrugged like it was obvious. “He always sits close to you. And when he speaks—which isn’t often—it’s usually just to you. I thought it was some kind of intense, brooding flirting.”

No, you imbecile, I just don’t want anyone overhearing—

Regulus dragged a palm down his face, lips twitching with frustration. This was disastrous. He rolled his eyes and tugged slightly at the skin under them, as if it might yank him back into reality. But no—there it was, pulsing like an inconvenient truth just behind his ribs.

Of course he fancied her. Merlin, how hadn’t he seen it?

Or maybe… maybe it had always been there. Dormant. Waiting. Quietly thriving in shared glances, in the way she beamed when he walked into the room, in how his mornings never felt quite right until he heard her laugh.

That laugh drifted out now, pulling him violently from his spiraling thoughts. Light and bright, it danced in the air like the flicker of fairy lights during winter.

“No, no—you’ve got it all wrong,” you said, laughing again as you tried to dismiss the idea, but there was something dangerous in your tone. Something syrupy sweet and hesitant, like you weren’t entirely sure if you wanted it to be wrong. “We’ve known each other forever. If something was going to happen, it probably would’ve by now.”

The pause that followed was heavy. Not uncomfortable—but thick. Charged. Like the castle itself was holding its breath.

Regulus swallowed hard. His heartbeat roared in his ears like crashing waves, deafening and all-consuming. He knew he should walk away, that eavesdropping this long was borderline shameful.

But he couldn’t. 

“You say that like you want something to happen,” Marlene teased, her voice laced with playful suspicion. “Are you the one with the crush?”

Regulus felt the breath knock out of him. Every passing second that she didn’t answer made his head spin, made the walls feel closer. If he didn’t move soon, he was going to collapse right here in this hidden corridor, fully exposed in the most humiliating way possible.

“I…” your voice broke through the silence, soft and unsteady.

Regulus clenched his jaw, fighting every instinct not to lean just a little farther around the corner. If he could just see you—if he could catch the twitch of your fingers or the tilt of your lips—he might finally have his answer.

If you were fidgeting, surely it meant you did like him.

If you stood still, frozen in disbelief, then the idea of the two of you must’ve been laughable to you. An impossibility.

“I haven’t thought about it,” you murmured at last, so quietly he barely caught it.

There was a shuffle of feet. Marlene let out a thoughtful hmm, unreadable in tone, and James called out his goodbyes as he bounded off toward the courtyard to meet Sirius and Peter. Marlene followed not long after, muttering something about borrowing Lily’s notes or charming Professor Slughorn into letting her redo a potion.

You gave a breathy laugh and waved them off with a smile in your voice. And then, once their footsteps faded into silence, you exhaled.

It trembled at the edges.

“Merlin,” you whispered to yourself, pressing a hand to your chest as you dropped onto the worn couch in front of the common room fire. “That was way too close.”

Regulus, hidden in the shadows just beyond the entrance, let his back fall against the cold stone wall.

He’d never known it was possible to be both relieved and utterly destroyed in the same moment.

Her heart was still rattling in her chest, refusing to slow after the teasing from James and Marlene. She needed to get away—away from their knowing eyes, their smug grins, their pointed little looks that made her feel like her thoughts were written across her forehead. She was certain they knew. Certain they’d seen through every flimsy deflection and quiet denial she’d offered.

Just as she was about to flop onto the couch and sink into a well-earned nap by the fire, something caught her eye: a thick hardcover left resting on the arm of the chair beside her. A neat, velvet-green ribbon was caught between the pages, and all the sections before it were practically bursting with parchment scraps and scribbled notes.

She recognized it instantly. If she didn’t already know Regulus had been buried in that book all week, the sheer intensity of the annotations would’ve given it away. No one else read like that. Not in her year, at least.

A smile tugged at her lips as she picked it up. He must’ve left it behind in a hurry. Knowing him, he’d want it back the moment he realized it was gone. She figured he had the afternoon free, so it wouldn’t take long to find him. Besides, her nap could wait.

Cracking it open to the first page marked by a slim pink tab, she let her eyes flit across the topmost note stuck inside—only to immediately become absorbed, not in the book itself, but in the way his handwriting crawled into the margins like vines. She didn’t even notice him until she was practically on top of him.

“Oh—sorry!” she gasped, stepping back from the broad figure she’d nearly barreled into. When her gaze lifted and locked onto familiar grey eyes, her surprise dissolved into a gentle smile. “Reg! I was just coming to find you,” she added, brightening with a soft laugh. She held up the book like a prize. “This is yours, right?”

He nodded, slowly, almost as if startled into silence. His hand brushed against hers as he took the book, and for a second he couldn’t seem to find his voice.

“…Thanks soleil,” he managed finally, quieter than he intended.

“No problem,” she replied easily. “It was in my nap spot,” she added with a sheepish little shrug.

That made Regulus laugh, low and amused. The sound startled even him, but the grin it brought to his face was unstoppable. She tilted her head slightly at the sudden warmth in his expression, her fingers twisting together, the flutter in her chest growing louder by the second.

“Hey, I was wondering…” she began, brows knitting slightly as her courage wrestled with uncertainty.

Regulus, ever so composed, tucked the book under his arm and gave her his full attention.

“Yes amour?” he asked, voice soft and clear, like he was ready to listen to anything—anything at all—from her.

He watched her fingers begin to fidget again—an old habit of hers—and his heart thudded heavily in his chest. That small, familiar gesture pulled at something deep inside him, something tender and terrifying all at once. She was fidgeting. She was nervous.

“Uh, ah—it’s silly—” she began, voice hitching as she almost backed out of it. But Regulus shook his head quickly, the usual cool in his features melting into a rare softness. He didn’t want her to stop. Not now. Not when it felt like her words might change something between them.

“I’m sure it’s not,” he said, more firmly than he expected. She glanced up at him in surprise, caught off guard by the seriousness in his voice. “What is it?” he asked again, quieter this time. Earnest.

She blushed.

Actually blushed.

And Regulus felt something in him collapse at the sight. How had he not realized sooner? The way he cared about her—it was more than careful friendship. More than routine familiarity. It was this. That look. That moment. This feeling swelling in his chest like an uncontrollable storm.

“D’you remember when we were little, and your mum always made us have those awkward little tea visits?” she asked, laughing under her breath. The sound was light but edged with nerves. “She’d dress you up like a little heir to the empire.”

Regulus chuckled, his eyes crinkling at the memory. “How could I forget soleil? You were the only thing making them bearable.”

She opened her mouth as if to explain herself further, then stopped short. Her gaze dropped to her hands again, which were still twisting in her lap, and her smile grew quiet.

“I dunno, I guess I…” she stumbled, her words catching on emotion she hadn’t quite figured out yet. Merlin, she hated how her voice trembled. How silly it made her feel. “Do you remember when we became friends?”

She rushed the question out, afraid of losing the courage altogether.

Regulus nodded, his expression unreadable—but not cold. There was something still behind his eyes. Watching her closely. Listening like he always did, but with his heart too, now.

“I do,” he said gently. “You spilled ink on my essay, and I didn’t hex you for it.”

She laughed at that, eyes glinting. “That was the moment, huh?”

“I think it always had been,” he replied, voice almost too quiet to catch.

“I do,” he replied without hesitation.

“Like, actual friends,” you clarified, raising a brow, not convinced he’d thought that through. “Not just two kids being dropped off at some posh tea party and expected to get along. I mean—real friends.”

Regulus nodded again, a little smile tugging at his lips.

“I do,” he repeated, softer this time, a hint of amusement in his tone. “You don’t?”

You pressed your lips together thoughtfully, chewing at the corner of one as you shook your head slowly. Your brow furrowed as you tried to remember, and Regulus gave a low chuckle at the sight, eyes glinting with fondness.

“Well?” you asked, voice tinged with impatience. “What changed?”

“I can’t believe you don’t remember,” he said with mock hurt, tilting his head and placing a dramatic hand on his chest. “That wounds me amour, you know.”

“I didn’t think you had feelings, Black,” you shot back playfully, a teasing lilt to your voice. “But come on, tell me.”

You looked at him expectantly, eyes wide and gleaming with curiosity. Regulus found himself caught in your gaze, helpless to look away. You always did that—held his attention like no one else ever had. But this time, there was something different. Something unspoken between the words, resting in the stillness of the air between you.

He swallowed thickly. If you asked anything of him like this, he would give it without pause. It hit him like a charm straight to the chest. That soft glint in your eyes—he wondered if he’d always missed it, or if it had only just begun to appear.

“It was right before we came to Hogwarts,” he said finally, voice quieter now, like he was unearthing something sacred. “The weekend before the train. Do you remember?”

You nodded, the memory vague but there. You’d spent a late summer afternoon at Grimmauld Place while your parents caught up with his. You vaguely recalled teasing him for organizing his trunk with meticulous precision and muttering something about the Weird Sisters under his breath.

“I remember you sorting your books by spine colour like some cursed Ravenclaw,” you teased, grinning.

Regulus huffed a laugh. “You were sitting on the floor in my room,” he continued, tone suddenly gentler. “You brought every sweet from Honeydukes you could carry and made me try all the ones I said I hated.”

Your grin softened into a warm smile.

“And then you told me,” he said, eyes flicking to yours, “that if Hogwarts was awful, and I hated every second of it, at least I’d have someone to sit with on the train ride back.”

The memory bloomed in your chest like an old Polaroid, blurry around the edges but warm all the same.

“You meant it,” he added. “And I think… that’s when I knew.”

“When we became friends?” you asked.

He looked at you for a long moment, then gave a slight nod, lips curling into a smile that didn’t reach his eyes—not out of sadness, but because there was more to it than he could say.

“Yeah,” he murmured. “That’s when everything changed.”

“Professor McGonagall let us move in a night early,” Regulus recalled, a small smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Probably so the castle staff could have one last evening of peace before the school year started.”

You laughed under your breath at the realization, nodding. “At the time it felt like freedom. Our own space for the first time.”

“Exactly,” he agreed, eyes soft with the memory. “Feels strange thinking back now. It was just you and me in this massive castle… for a while at least.”

“I almost forgot that,” you admitted, the corners of your mouth curling up as you thought of it. The quiet corridors. The chill of stone floors under your socks. The thrill of choosing your own bedtime, your own space. “It feels like it’s always been this way.”

“But you don’t remember the first night?” he asked, tilting his head.

You squinted, trying to trace the memory like it was hidden in fog. There were flashes—wandering the halls, fiddling with enchanted portraits, a failed attempt at brewing hot cocoa with a half-working kettle you’d found in one of the old kitchens…

“You woke me up,” Regulus said, chuckling softly.

Your eyes lit up in recognition. “Oh—Merlin. Right. I couldn’t sleep and—”

“You were bored,” he supplied, shaking his head fondly. “You dragged me out of bed and made me sit with you in the common room. And then you made me watch that ridiculous enchanted Muggle film projection your dad enchanted for you.”

You snorted. “The Princess Bride is a classic, I don’t care what you say Reggie.”

“It’s too long,” he shot back without missing a beat. “And you didn’t even stay awake. I sat there like an idiot while you snored on my shoulder.”

You covered your face with your hands, laughing with secondhand embarrassment. “Okay, okay—”

“You talked through half of it,” he went on, grinning. “You said you were scared.”

The laughter softened on your lips, surprise flickering in your gaze.

“I did?” you asked, quieter now.

Regulus nodded, watching you intently.

“You said you didn’t know what Hogwarts would be like,” he continued, voice gentler. “You were afraid you’d mess everything up. But then you said as long as I was around, maybe it’d be alright.”

Your breath caught in your throat. The memory settled over you like a forgotten charm being reawakened.

“And it was,” he added softly. “Alright, I mean.”

Your eyes met his again, and there was something about the way he looked at you then—like you were the only thing anchoring him to this moment. Like he’d never forgotten that night for a reason.

“You said you were scared of failing,” Regulus’ voice dipped low again, quieter than before—almost reverent. “That… you were afraid of never becoming powerful enough to protect the people you cared about.”

Despite the memory being so old, embarrassment flickered through you now like a lit match to dry parchment. You couldn’t believe this was the moment he’d held onto all this time. Of all things, this one?

“I almost wish I hadn’t asked,” you muttered, cheeks burning, “I can’t believe I said that to you.”

But Regulus didn’t tease. In fact, his smile turned almost fond.

“Then you told me you thought I was strong,” he continued, and for the first time, there was the faintest trace of pink brushing the tops of his cheeks. “You asked if I’d help you… get strong too. Like me.”

Your eyes widened slightly. The image of little you, curled in a blanket in the Slytherin common room, whispering fears into the dim glow of floating candles, was something hazy and far away. But Regulus? He remembered it like it had just happened.

“And then,” he added with a snort, “you passed out mid-sentence, head on my shoulder. I was stuck watching the rest of that bloody Muggle film just so you wouldn’t wake up and yell at me for skipping to the end.”

“You watched the rest of the movie?” you asked, your voice soft with wonder.

He laughed. “Every last minute.”

You blinked, stunned. “I can’t believe I don’t remember any of that.”

“You were exhausted,” Regulus shrugged like it didn’t matter, even though it clearly had. “And it was a long time ago. I never expected you to remember it… I just never forgot.”

You chewed on your lip, falling quiet as warmth coiled in your chest. That kind of memory… someone keeping it for you when you hadn’t even known to treasure it—it meant more than you could say.

But then he stepped forward.

Just a single pace, barely anything. And yet your whole body felt it—the sudden closeness, the silence that wrapped around you both like a breath held too long.

“And by the way…” he murmured, pulling your gaze up to his with ease. “I do kind of stare at you. A lot.”

Your face went red so fast you thought your ears might start steaming.

“You—you heard that?” you squeaked, mortified.

“And then some,” Regulus replied smoothly, and despite the flush still tinting his cheekbones, he was smiling. Really smiling. No smirk. No mask. Just him.

For once, he didn’t feel like hiding.

“Did you mean all of that belle fille?” he asked.

And this time, the air between you was electric.

Her mouth opened once. Closed. Opened again.

The conversation from earlier came crashing down on her all at once, each word echoing in her head with horrifying clarity. He’d heard it. All of it. Her rambling. Her clumsy affection disguised as hypothetical questions. And—Merlin—had he heard that last part?

“I mean, y—yeah. Yeah,” she stammered, nodding just a little too fast. “Of course I did.”

But her voice had gone breathless, barely even sound.

Regulus tilted his head slightly, gaze fixed so firmly on her she thought he might see through her completely.

“Even that last part?” he asked, stepping forward again. The hem of his robes brushed hers now, but she didn’t move back. She couldn’t.

“Last part?” she echoed stupidly, throat dry.

“Yeah,” he nodded, and this time his hand lifted—not hesitantly, but reverently—as though she might vanish if he rushed the moment. His thumb ghosted beneath her jaw, the faintest brush of contact that left her aching for more.

“You know,” he murmured, voice deep and velvet-smooth, “that bit where you said you hadn’t really thought about me like that.”

She remembered. Of course she did. It was the one part of the conversation that had clanged in her mind like a bell since it left her lips.

“You meant that too?”

She swallowed hard. His fingers were still at her chin, gently anchoring her in place, and the look in his eyes—

She couldn’t look away if she tried.

“No,” she breathed, and it was so soft it nearly disappeared into the silence between them. But Regulus heard it. He saw it form on her lips, caught the tremble behind it.

“No, I didn’t mean that.”

A smile tugged at the corner of his mouth—small, private, and impossibly warm. She watched it unfold, saw the way his eyes softened as he noticed her hands fidgeting again.

He knew.

She felt it too.

“And what did you mean to say?” he asked, and there was a raw sort of need in the question, like it had lived in him for ages, waiting to be unburdened.

Like if she said the words now, it might change everything.

Her gaze lingered on his lips.

She hadn’t meant to stare, but he was close now—closer than she ever imagined he’d dare to be. And yet he was still waiting. Still asking for the truth with a calm so controlled it nearly masked the ache in his eyes.

He wanted to hear it. And she wanted to say it. But wanting and doing were not the same.

“I meant…” she began, eyes flicking up to meet his when she realized how long she’d been caught staring. “I meant I have thought about… something more…”

The words came out in pieces, light and thin like cobwebs, hardly brave or poetic. Nothing like the declarations she’d imagined in her head a hundred times. But it was real. And hers. And when she cleared her throat and added, “But they didn’t need to know that,” with a sheepish little laugh, something cracked wide open in his chest.

“No, I suppose not,” Regulus murmured, and the faintest smile tugged at his lips—one of those rare, real ones that reached his eyes and made them glow softer than moonlight.

She didn’t feel so nervous anymore. Not around him.

“So…” she tilted her head, teasing gently. “Spying on your friends these days, is that your new hobby Black?” Her voice was quiet, but there was laughter behind it, light and fluttering. “Bit off-brand for you, Regulus.”

He chuckled lowly, and her heart stumbled at the sound—low, smooth, and entirely unguarded.

“When else was I going to hear you say all those nice things about me?” he replied, his voice rich with warmth and something sweeter. His thumb still rested beneath her chin, brushing idly along her skin like he hadn’t even realized he was doing it.

Regulus Black had never been the touchy type. He was all self-restraint and deliberate space. But now? His touch was gentle, steady, and intentional. Like he had finally decided not to pull away anymore.

“I quite liked the part where you said I was a gentleman,” he added, the corners of his mouth quirking with quiet amusement.

She bit the inside of her cheek to keep from grinning too wildly.

And then he leaned in. Not rushed, not hesitant—just certain. Her eyes widened, nearly burning from how long she kept them fixed on his. Everything about him in this moment—his steady breath, the warmth of his hand, the tender curve of his mouth—made the world shrink until it was just him and her in this quiet corridor that smelled faintly of old parchment and lavender.

“But for the record,” he whispered, and she swore she could feel every word land against her lips, “I’m lucky to have you, too.”

Her chest swelled, and her smile came freely now, radiant and soft as her fingers curled slightly in the fabric of his sleeve.

Yes. Just as she thought.

He was the warmest person she knew.

Regulus Black was the warmest person in this wide universe. 

“And,” he continued, his voice a shade softer, more reverent now, “you are my favorite.”

She let out a breath of laughter, quiet and a little stunned, before she rolled her eyes at him—though there was no real exasperation behind it. Only a fondness so deep it practically glowed from her.

“I know,” she murmured, narrowing her eyes with playful suspicion. The smile she wore, though—that was sincere. Sweet and sincere and so unguarded it made Regulus feel like she’d just handed him her entire heart without even realizing it. “Must be a side effect of your staring problem.”

He tilted his head slightly, guiding her chin up with the faintest tug of his thumb. His nose brushed hers. She could feel the warmth of his breath as it mingled with hers, and just as she leaned into it—just as the world started to tilt—he paused. Of course he did. Always the gentleman, no matter how undone he felt inside.

“May I?” he murmured. His lashes dipped as his gaze flicked between her eyes and her lips, every syllable spoken like a secret. “Kiss you amour?”

She almost laughed from how impossibly soft he could be. She wanted to throw caution to the wind, wrap her fingers in the collar of his uniform and pull him in like they were in the climax of a dramatic novel. But her voice was trapped in her throat, and her limbs wouldn’t obey her.

So she closed her eyes.

And nodded.

Just barely.

It was enough.

His lips found hers with a grace that felt practiced, like he’d been dreaming of this for far too long. And he kissed her like he was afraid she might slip through his fingers. Gentle, tentative—almost reverent.

Her body softened completely. Every piece of tension unraveled in his arms. Her hands, which had been stiff by her sides, slowly lifted and curled gently over his shoulders. His lips deepened against hers in return, not forcefully, just sure, like he’d found something precious and had finally been allowed to hold it.

His free hand—no longer gripping the book he always carried like armor—settled against her cheek, fingers trembling ever so slightly before the tip of his index ghosted along the shell of her ear, down the line of her jaw, and back up again. Slow, slow, slow. Like he wanted to memorize her.

She felt like she might float away. Her heart swelled so high in her chest she was almost afraid of what would happen if they stopped.

And when they did part, it wasn’t with loss—but with a quiet sort of awe.

Her lips still tingled, her fingers still trembled slightly on his shoulders, and yet all she could do was smile. A real one. Warm and quiet and deeply content. And Regulus? He wore the same smile, mirrored and soft, as if kissing her had rewired something inside him.

She didn’t even open her eyes for a moment, basking in it. And that made him chuckle.

“Next time,” she murmured, dazed and dreamy, “I’ll let them know you’re a good kisser, too.”

He smiled—genuinely, boyishly, almost bashfully—and leaned in to press a featherlight kiss to the corner of her mouth.

“Don’t,” he whispered. “I like that being just yours.”

“Will you?” he murmured with a tease laced beneath the softness of his voice.

She nodded, leaning her cheek into his hand like it was the most natural thing in the world. The warmth of his palm made her glow, even as a blush crept up her cheeks and her nose crinkled with hesitation.

“Well, maybe not right away,” she mumbled, her tone sheepish now.

Regulus laughed—actually laughed—and it was the kind that made her feel like she’d just discovered a hidden treasure. His smile was wide, unguarded, and it lit up every inch of his face. The pink hue blooming across his cheeks was proof enough that whatever mask he usually wore had fallen completely away for her.

“Maybe not right away,” he echoed, voice dipping low again, softer now, more tender. His thumb stroked along the curve of her cheekbone, so carefully, like she was something fragile and precious that only he got to hold.

The sound of his voice—husky and warm against her lips—was enough to pull her under. Her eyes fluttered closed instinctively. And when his lips brushed over hers once again, it was with all the careful affection of a boy who’d never believed himself worthy of softness—until now.

She kissed him back just as sweetly. Her fingers traced along the sharp edge of his jaw, hesitating for only a second before settling there. She wanted to pull him closer, wanted to let passion take over, but she didn’t. Not yet. There’d be time for that. She could feel it.

He’d make time for her.

And for the first time in a very long while, Regulus believed in what she saw in him. He believed he could be kind. Gentle. Even loved. But only because she had seen it first—had named it, had handed it to him freely, without condition.

He thought he should tell her, one day. That everything good he was becoming had started with her. But that could wait.

They had time now.

Time enough for him to return the favor. Time enough to tell her again and again just how extraordinary she was, until his lungs gave out and her cheeks stayed permanently pink.

Because that was the kind of future he wanted.

One where he never stopped reminding her that she was his favorite, too.

The words leave his lips in a breath, a quiet confession. “Tu es le soleil qui me réchauffe.”

 You are the sun that warms me up.

[hoshifighting]

Could we get a reaction where the members make the reader cry?

seungcheol would freeze the moment he sees the tears in your eyes. he’s not used to seeing you like this, and it hits him harder than any argument ever could. “fuck, i’m sorry, i didn’t mean—” he’d start, reaching out but stopping himself, his voice would drop, softer, “please, just... i’m an idiot, okay? i’ll fix it, i swear.” unsure if he should touch you yet. “hey, i’m sorry… i didn’t mean to… please, don’t cry.” he’s not good with his words when he’s panicking, but he’ll do anything to fix this, to make you smile again.

jeonghan prides himself on being the calm in the storm but when you start to cry... “are you seriously crying right now?” he’d say, but his voice would crack just a bit, backstabbing his own emotions. when he realizes that he’s the reason for your tears, the smirk would drop from his face, and he’d feel a pang of guilt deep in his chest. “shit, i didn’t want to make you cry,” he’d mutter, suddenly feeling helpless.

joshua’s heart would break at the sight of your tears. he’s always been the one to comfort you, not the one to cause your pain. “hey, hey, don’t cry,” he’d say softly, his hand reaching out to gently wipe your tears away. the guilt would eat at him as he realizes just how much he’s hurt you.

junhui would panic a little when he sees you crying. seeing you like this would make him feel lost. “wait, don’t cry, please,” he’d say, his voice almost pleading. he’d step closer, unsure of how to comfort you but desperate to try.

soonyoung would be devastated, immediately regretting whatever he said or did to make you cry. “shit, no, don’t cry,” he’d blurt out, his own eyes starting to water just at the sight of you. he’d pull you into his arms without a second thought, holding you close. “no, no, no… please don’t cry, i’m so sorry.” he’ the type of dude who doesn’t knows how to react when people are crying. especially if he’s the cause.

wonwoo would be stunned, when he sees your tears. he’s not good with words, but he’d try his best. “i’m so sorry… i didn’t mean to hurt you, you know that...” he’d say quietly. he’d reach out, hesitating for a moment before gently touching your shoulder. “i’m sorry. let’s talk, okay? i want to make this right.” he’ll do his best to express how much he cares, how much he didn’t want this to happen. he’ll sit with you, offering his hand, hoping you’ll take it. if you do, he’ll hold on tight, silently vowing to never let this happen again.

woozi would be hit with a wave of guilt that he couldn’t quite hide, even with his regular stoic expression. “you’re crying? jagi please let me—” “you’re so mean jihoon!” he’d feel a tightness in his chest, hating himself for being the cause of your pain. “i’m sorry… i shouldn’t have said that. i don’t want to see you like this.” he might not know what to say at first, standing there, feeling like the worst person in the world. he’ll gently take your hand, rubbing small circles on the back of it, his way of comforting you. he’ll sit with you in silence if that’s what you need.

minghao hates the idea of making you cry. he really likes balance and harmony, so seeing your tears feels like a personal failure. minghao will gently guide you to sit down, offering you a tissue and giving you the space to express how you’re feeling. he’s good at listening, at understanding what’s beneath the surface, and he’ll do everything he can to reassure you, to make sure you know that he cares deeply. his touch is gentle, comforting, as he promises to do better.

mingyu + seeing you cry because of him would completely wreck him. he’d instantly feel like the worst boyfriend in the world, his heart breaking at the sight of your tears. “oh no… don’t cry because of me, I don’t deserve it...” mingyu would pull you into a tight hug, burying his face in your shoulder, whispering apologies and trying to comfort you as best as he can. he’d probably end up crying a little himself, unable to stand the thought of hurting you. he’ll do anything to make things right, to bring back your smile.

seokmin is always careful with his words, so when he sees you crying because of something he said, it feels like a knife to the chest, hands reaching out to cup your face, gently wiping away the tears. he’s the type to immediately feel guilty, replaying every word he said in his head, wondering where he went wrong. he’s desperate to make it right, holding you close and whispering apologies until you both calm down.

seungkwan will do anything—make silly faces, tell stupid jokes, even sing your favorite song—just to see you smile again, when that doesn’t work, he’ll just sit beside you, his heart breaking a little more every time he hears you sniffle. deep down, he’s scared, scared that he’s hurt you too much this time.

vernon feels like the ground’s been pulled out from under him. “shit, i—i’m sorry.” he’ll try his best, awkwardly pulling you into a hug, he’ll stay quiet, holding you until your breathing evens out.

chan seeing you cry because of him would completely break his heart. “shit, babe, i didn’t mean it like that.” his eyes loaded with worry as he reaches out to you. chan would pull you into a tight hug, holding you close as if he could shield you from any more pain, his heart breaking a little more every time he sees another tear fall.