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riddleriddles · 4 months ago

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ಇ do i wanna know, hozier cover.

pairing. mattheo riddle x hufflepuff!quiet!reader

summary. sometimes, pansy knows exactly how to bring couples together. when mattheo, known for his grumpy mood, finds himself growing closer to a quiet, introspective girl, he must come to terms with feelings he never expected to have.

warnings. a bit of suggestive scene, but nothing explicit

add notes. I feel like my dialogues would never be said in real life.

visit my masterlist :)

ಇ

It was Pansy Parkinson’s birthday. The Parkinson Manor was a spectacle—a grand, ancient, and imposing structure, surrounded by meticulously tended trees. Its tall stone towers stood in stark contrast to the ethereal silver of the moon on that autumnal night, while the crisp air carried the fresh, melancholy scent of fallen leaves. The entrance hall sparkled with the glow of greenish lights that reflected off the polished marble floor. Music flowed through the vast corridors of the manor, mingling with the voices and laughter of the guests. Pansy never did anything halfway, and her seventeenth birthday party was no exception.

The main hall was teeming with Hogwarts students, predominantly Slytherins, although a few figures from other houses stood out, strategically placed. Groups gathered around enchanted tables laden with exquisite appetisers, while others chatted or danced in the centre of the hall beneath the enchanting glow of chandeliers and floating magical candles.

Mattheo Riddle leaned against a wall near the fireplace. His spot had been carefully chosen, allowing him to observe the entire room without drawing attention to himself. A glass of some drink—nearly forgotten in his hand—served more as a distraction than a necessity. His eyes scanned the scene with the detached air of someone watching a mediocre play, clearly indifferent to the excitement around him. He despised parties, but Pansy had been emphatic: “If you don’t show up, I’ll never invite you to anything again, and you’ll have to live with that.”

And so, here he was, enduring the loud music, empty chatter, and the unbearable feeling of being out of place.

The room buzzed with familiar faces: Blaise was chatting with Daphne near the makeshift bar, Draco was laughing at something Theodore had said in a secluded corner, and at the centre of it all, Pansy shone like a star, greeting her guests with a smile that was as rehearsed as it was charming.

Mattheo let out a deep sigh, raising the glass to his lips and sipping half-heartedly, merely to occupy himself. His thoughts drifted to the garden, which promised a quiet, solitary escape—perfect for smoking a cigarette far from the noise and frivolity of the hall.

You entered the party hesitantly, your measured steps and reserved posture betraying your unease. Your eyes scanned the room cautiously, taking in every detail before allowing yourself to fully step in. You clutched a small, delicately wrapped gift in your hands, your arms tucked close to your body as if forming a barrier against the chaos around you.

This wasn’t your kind of place—not in a bad way, just different from what you were used to. Your hair, styled in a carefully crafted half-updo, fell in soft waves over your shoulders, catching the golden light of the chandeliers and the greenish glow of the magical candles scattered around the room. Your pastel yellow dress, a nod to your Hufflepuff identity, was graceful and perfectly suited to the occasion, modest yet elegant without being over the top.

Stepping inside, you carefully shut the door behind you with a soft thud, masked by the music filling the air. You looked around attentively, moving with the grace of someone trying to avoid drawing attention. Your eyes landed on Pansy, who, upon noticing your arrival, quickly made her way over, a radiant smile lighting up her face.

“I’m so glad you came! I’ve been waiting for you,” Pansy exclaimed excitedly, and you smiled shyly, offering her the neatly wrapped gift. She took it with equal enthusiasm and, without missing a beat, guided you with a gentle touch on your arm, introducing you to her closest friends, most of whom you didn’t know—predominantly Slytherins. To anyone watching from afar, you might have seemed out of place, but you nodded politely, feeling quietly pleased to be surrounded by the friends of your close companion.

You tried to adjust to the atmosphere. The party was loud and full of people, but you knew this was exactly the kind of event Pansy loved, and it had been hard to turn down her insistence—especially on such an important occasion as her seventeenth birthday. What you hadn’t anticipated, however, was the intensity of it all: the loud laughter, the conversations about topics you barely understood or didn’t care about, and the overwhelmingly high volume of the music.

“Relax,” Pansy whispered in your ear, giving your shoulder a light squeeze as she noticed your discomfort. “You’re going to have fun, I promise.”

Her words carried a hint of something unspoken, though you didn’t catch it immediately. She continued introducing you to her friends, eventually steering you toward a more secluded corner near the fireplace, where Mattheo Riddle stood leaning against the wall, his expression bored, as though he were merely fulfilling an obligation. Holding a half-filled glass in one hand, his grey eyes scanned the room with disinterest.

“Mattheo!” Pansy’s voice interrupted his reverie, casual but still confident. “I want you to meet someone. This is my friend [Name]. [Name], this is Mattheo.”

Pansy smiled, looking far too pleased with the situation. “I’m sure you two will get along wonderfully!”

“Uh… hi,” you said softly, offering a timid smile as you tucked a strand of hair behind your ear, revealing a delicate gold moon-shaped earring that Mattheo noticed with mild indifference.

“Hi,” he replied curtly, his tone brief and aloof.

Pansy watched the exchange, clearly unimpressed by the lack of enthusiasm. “Did you know that [Name] loves taking care of magical creatures? And Mattheo, you have an impressive tolerance for people who talk too much—aren’t you two a perfect match?”

“Funny, Pansy,” Mattheo remarked, narrowing his eyes and tilting his head with a trace of amusement in his otherwise dry tone.

“Thanks, it was sincere,” Pansy quipped with a playful grin before stepping away with a conspiratorial air. “Enjoy yourselves!”

With one last smile, she left you both alone, disappearing into the crowd.

For a moment, the sound of the music and the chatter around you filled the silence as you, uneasy with the quiet, fidgeted with the star-shaped pendant on your necklace.

“So…” you began cautiously, looking at Mattheo. “Do you not like parties in general, or just the people who talk too much?”

The question caught him off guard, and he raised an eyebrow, taking a moment to think before answering. “Depends on the party. And the people.”

You let out a soft, almost inaudible laugh, but it was genuine. “I get that. This isn’t really my kind of place either.”

“Then why’d you come?” Mattheo asked, his tone casual but curious, as if waiting for your answer without much urgency.

“Pansy insisted,” you admitted with a small shrug. “And you?”

“Same.”

At that, you felt a little more at ease, tilting your head slightly towards him. “Well, at least we’ve got that in common.”

“Besides Pansy,” he added, a faint smirk tugging at his lips as he warmed to the idea that the conversation wasn’t as tedious as he’d expected.

The silence returned, but this time it felt less strained. You leaned against the wall beside him, gazing up at the ceiling, where floating candles with green flames illuminated the room alongside the warm, golden glow of the grand chandelier, while Mattheo’s eyes followed the movement of the partygoers.

Feeling slightly overwhelmed by the commotion, you noticed the atmosphere beginning to feel heavier. The grand and magical hall, while impressive, didn’t make you feel at ease. Mattheo, seemingly indifferent to the pressure of the space, appeared entirely unbothered. So, you decided to suggest something.

“How about we head out to the garden?” you asked timidly, looking up at him. “It’s… quieter, maybe?”

Mattheo, still leaning against the wall with his usual impassive expression, raised an eyebrow. “You really think the garden will be quiet, considering how many people are here?”

You smiled, slightly embarrassed. “It’s worth a try, I guess.”

With a sigh, he slipped a hand into his pocket and pushed himself off the wall, nodding. “Fine. Let’s go.”

The Parkinson mansion’s garden was undeniably stunning, but you barely noticed the perfectly trimmed hedges shaped into geometric designs or the softly glowing magical flowers. Your attention was more on the refreshing coolness of the night air and the silence—a welcome contrast to the chaos inside the hall.

The two of you walked in silence for a while. Mattheo observed you discreetly, noticing how your fingers gently brushed against the petals of the flowers along the path, as if you were connecting with their textures and details. There was no urgency in your steps, and eventually, you reached a secluded corner near an ornate fountain illuminated by floating candles casting dancing reflections on the water. He stopped by a tree, crossing his arms and tilting his head back to look at the starry sky.

“Do you always go to Pansy’s parties?” you asked, finally breaking the silence as you strolled slowly, examining the plants with more interest.

“Not a chance,” he replied with a short laugh, as if the idea were absurd. “I try to avoid them, but she’s always got these… oddly persuasive arguments.”

“Like what?” you pressed, curious.

“Like, ‘if you don’t come, I’ll tell everyone you sketch people in your notebook like a frustrated artist,’” he said, smirking slightly.

You blinked, surprised at the confession, then let out a soft laugh. “You draw?”

Mattheo shrugged, almost defensive. “Sometimes. It’s not a big deal.”

“It doesn’t sound like something to be embarrassed about,” you said simply, your tone free of judgment. Kneeling beside a bush of blueberries that seemed particularly enchanting, their tiny fruits shimmering under the magical light, you added, “Actually, it sounds pretty interesting.”

He frowned slightly, as if unsure how to respond, before muttering, “You haven’t seen it.”

“Maybe,” you replied with a small smile, still studying the delicate berries. “But it’s good to have a hobby. Everyone should have one.”

He remained quiet, thoughtful, as he watched you. There was something about you that felt disconnected from the party—yet perfectly at home here in the garden. The calmness in your movements, even when you seemed shy or slightly flustered, struck him as unusual.

“So, what’s your hobby?” he asked, breaking the silence this time.

You took a moment before answering, as if reflecting. “I suppose it’s taking care of magical creatures… They don’t need explanations. You just feel and understand them.”

He raised an eyebrow, surprised by the clarity in your answer, but didn’t comment straight away. It was rare for someone to talk about something so simple with such genuine passion.

“Fair enough,” he finally said, his voice free of sarcasm but still lacking much emotion, as though he were processing your words.

The silence returned, though it was comfortable now—almost natural. Yet, your curiosity about him grew too strong to ignore.

“Do you go to these parties often?”

“Not at all,” he replied, his tone carrying a faint hint of amusement. “Just every now and then. Pansy’s good at twisting my arm. If I don’t show up, she starts predicting my social death.”

You chuckled lightly, your gaze shifting to him rather than the garden around you. “And you always give in?”

“I’m not great at resisting emotional blackmail,” he admitted with a short, slightly insincere smile. There was a coldness in his comment, as though he didn’t place much value on his presence here. “Pansy has a way of turning invitations into ultimatums.”

The floating candles swayed gently around the fountain, their light casting dancing shadows on the stone. You took a step aside, feeling the cool night breeze against your skin. After a few moments of light-hearted conversation, you realised the dialogue had run its course.

“Maybe we should head back,” you suggested, breaking the silence. “Before Pansy comes looking for us.”

He remained silent for a moment, his gaze fixed on you. His expression still carried a hint of seriousness, but his eyes had softened somewhat.

“Maybe you’re right,” he finally said, the faintest trace of a smile on his lips. “But you decide when to go back, not me.”

You chuckled softly, shyly, as though the conversation had taken an unexpected turn, though it didn’t bother you. “Alright then. Let’s go.”

ಇ

The Slytherin common room was bathed in a cosy silence, broken only by the gentle crackle of the fire. The flames cast flickering shadows across the stone walls, creating an atmosphere that felt entirely separate from the rest of the castle. Mattheo was sprawled across one of the black leather sofas, his posture completely at ease, as though he belonged to the room itself. He twirled his wand idly between his fingers, his sharp gaze lazily drifting over the surroundings, disinterested.

The peace was interrupted by the unmistakable sound of firm, purposeful footsteps echoing off the cold floor. Mattheo didn’t look up—he didn’t need to. Pansy Parkinson always made her presence known. She strode into the room with the kind of authority that promised trouble, her eyes glinting with determination.

“Riddle,” she started, stopping in front of him with her hands firmly planted on her hips. “Saturday. Hogsmeade. You’re coming with me. Theo, Blaise, Luna, and [Name] will be there too.”

Mattheo didn’t even glance up, continuing to spin his wand between his fingers. His lips curved into a faint smirk. “No.”

“No?” Pansy echoed, raising an eyebrow, her expression morphing into one of incredulity. The set of her jaw only made her look more stubborn. “Come on, you haven’t even heard what I—”

“I’ve heard enough,” he cut her off, finally lifting his gaze to meet hers. His voice was dry, laced with boredom. “And the answer is still no. I’m not going, I don’t want to, and I’m not changing my mind.”

Pansy let out a heavy sigh, though the self-satisfied smile creeping onto her lips only deepened Mattheo’s irritation. “You say that now, but come Saturday, you’ll be there.”

Mattheo let out a short, humourless laugh. “Pansy, I’d love to see you try. I’m not Theo, who does everything you say just because he thinks you’re ‘cute.’”

“Thanks for the compliment,” Pansy shot back, her tone dripping with sarcasm as she crossed her arms. “Is this about [Name]? I saw you talking to her in the garden. You actually looked… sociable.”

“And? We exchanged a few words. That doesn’t mean anything.” His tone hardened as he narrowed his eyes, clearly irritated. Leaning back into the sofa, he added flatly, “If this is some attempt to set me up with someone, just give up now. You know I hate that.”

“Merlin, you’re dramatic,” Pansy scoffed, rolling her eyes. “No one’s setting you up. [Name] doesn’t even care if you’re there, to be honest.”

“Brilliant,” he replied, sarcasm dripping from his voice. “All the more reason for me not to go.”

Pansy let out a long-suffering sigh, though a mischievous smile tugged at her lips. “I know you, Mattheo. You say you won’t go, but come Saturday, you’ll end up tagging along with Blaise and Theo anyway. You need to connect with the world once in a while, you know.”

“I’m perfectly connected right here, thanks,” he shot back, gesturing around the room before rolling his eyes again. “I’d rather stay here than deal with people who think I owe them the courtesy of being interesting.”

Pansy tilted her head slightly, as though considering his words. “You’re so full of yourself. She’s not even thinking about you like that. And you know what? Maybe you should try acting normal around people who don’t fear you because of your surname.”

Mattheo huffed, but before he could muster a retort, Pansy was already making her way up the stairs to the girls’ dormitory. She threw a parting remark over her shoulder, her voice bright with smug amusement. “Saturday, Mattheo. Be there, or I’ll add this to my list of lifelong grudges!”

He stayed where he was, his gaze falling back to the wand in his fingers. It spun faster now, less smoothly than before. Pansy was wrong. He wasn’t going. And if [Name] didn’t care whether he came or not, that was fine by him. A relief, really. A big relief.

ಇ

The streets of Hogsmeade buzzed with chatter and laughter, the crunch of footsteps in the snow, and the sweet smell of warm drinks wafting out of nearby shops. Despite the lively atmosphere, Mattheo would still take this over the castle any day—at least here he wasn’t constantly followed by stares and whispers. He walked with his hands stuffed deep into the pockets of his black overcoat, his expression bored, though his sharp eyes missed nothing.

“So,” Blaise started, nudging Theo with his elbow. “Whose brilliant idea was it to drag him out here? Thought Mattheo was allergic to socialising.”

“Don’t start,” Mattheo muttered without even glancing at them. “I’m only here because someone wouldn’t shut up about how this was going to be ‘fun.’”

Theo laughed, unbothered. “It is fun. You should be thanking me.”

Mattheo opened his mouth to fire back but was cut off as the three of them rounded a corner and found themselves face-to-face with Pansy, Luna, and [Name] standing outside the Three Broomsticks.

“Oh, what are you lot doing here?” Pansy exclaimed, her voice dripping with faux surprise. Only Mattheo caught the teasing glint in her eye.

“Pansy,” he began, narrowing his eyes. “Don’t even try it.”

“Try what?” She blinked at him innocently. “This is pure coincidence.”

Mattheo was about to argue when his attention was pulled to Blaise and Luna. The moment they spotted each other, Luna lit up with a bright smile, and Blaise… Well, he looked like someone had hit him with a softening charm. It was rare to see him like that—genuinely smitten.

Luna stepped closer immediately, lightly tugging Blaise by the arm as she spoke. Whatever she said made him laugh, low and almost shy, a side of him Mattheo hardly ever saw. Blaise was usually so composed, but with Luna, he seemed… different.

That’s when it hit Mattheo. This wasn’t some trap for him. It was for them.

He glanced at Theo, who was watching the scene with a smug smile. Theo shrugged in response, as if to say, Don’t look at me, this wasn’t my idea.

Pansy, however, wasn’t even trying to hide her satisfaction, though she kept her focus firmly on Luna and Blaise.

Mattheo sighed quietly. Right. Maybe he’d been wrong. Maybe this whole outing really was just about those two.

But then his eyes landed on you. You stood a little behind Pansy, a small, almost shy smile playing on your lips as you watched Blaise and Luna. You didn’t seem out of place, exactly—just quiet, like someone unsure where they fit into the group dynamic.

He looked away before you noticed, but Pansy, ever observant, caught the movement.

“Well,” she said, a sly smile tugging at her lips. “Since we’re all here, why don’t we do something together?”

Mattheo was already preparing to decline, but something stopped him. Maybe it was the way you, distracted, reached out to catch the falling snowflakes in your hand, that soft, almost enchanted smile still on your face.

He frowned. What was so special about snow, anyway?

“Relax, Riddle,” Pansy said, pulling him back to reality. “I didn’t plan this.”

“You planned this,” he replied flatly.

“And if I did?” She held her hands up, her smile infuriatingly casual. “It’s not the end of the world. Try being social for once.”

Before he could respond, Theo slung an arm casually around his shoulders, as if to stop him from bolting. “Not every day we hang out with such a… diverse group.”

Mattheo rolled his eyes but didn’t bother arguing. Judging by how glued Blaise and Luna were to each other, it was pointless. Still, the way Pansy kept glancing at you before whispering something to Theo made him suspicious.

You, meanwhile, seemed completely oblivious to it all. You adjusted your scarf, your attention caught by a nearby shop window where tiny enchanted ice figurines were dancing.

“Alright,” Theo said, breaking the moment of silence. “So, what’s first on the agenda?”

Mattheo let out a heavy sigh and glanced over at you. You were standing a bit apart from the group, but somehow, your eyes met his. A small, tentative smile crossed your face, the kind that seemed unsure of its place, before you quickly looked away.

He considered walking away, but something made him stay. Maybe it was the sense that Pansy would never let him hear the end of it if he left.

“The Three Broomsticks?” he suggested, his voice laced with reluctance. “If we’re doing this, might as well get it over with.”

Pansy’s smile widened, like she knew exactly what he was thinking, but to his annoyance, she said nothing.

ಇ

The Three Broomsticks was as crowded as Mattheo had expected. The buzz of conversations and laughter mingled with the clatter of mugs and the sweet smell of butterbeer, creating a lively, almost chaotic atmosphere. For most, it was a place to forget about the pressures of school, but for Mattheo, it felt suffocating. He stood near the entrance, hands shoved deep into the pockets of his coat, ready to leave at any moment.

“See? Told you this would be fun,” Theo said, flashing a carefree grin as he dropped into a chair beside Pansy.

“If this is your idea of fun, I’d rather be back at the castle,” Mattheo replied flatly, choosing the chair furthest from the table.

Pansy, ever the orchestrator, settled in beside Theo and shot a smug look at Mattheo. “Oh, stop being dramatic. You’ll survive.”

Luna and Blaise took their seats next, the pair seemingly lost in their own little world. Blaise leaned in to whisper something, and Luna let out a soft, musical laugh. Mattheo rolled his eyes.

“They’ve already forgotten we’re here,” he muttered, tapping a keyring against the table in an almost absentminded rhythm.

Pansy smirked. “Leave them be. They’re cute.”

Mattheo huffed but didn’t bother replying. His eyes drifted across the room, eventually landing on you. You had chosen a seat near the window, detached from the group’s chatter. The soft glow of candlelight reflected in the glass as you gazed out at the falling snow, your expression calm and contemplative, as though soaking in every detail of the world outside.

For a moment, Mattheo found himself wondering what was so fascinating about the snow. It was just snow—falling endlessly, especially this time of year. But to you, it seemed to hold some deeper meaning, something he couldn’t quite grasp. You watched the flurries with a quiet intensity he found… puzzling.

“Paying attention, or has the snow got you too?” Theo teased, nudging Mattheo as he caught him staring.

Mattheo shot him a sharp look. “Shut up.”

Glancing at you again, he lowered his voice. “Why’s she so quiet?”

Pansy, ever observant, turned her gaze from you to the two whispering boys. “Because that’s how she is. Maybe you should try it sometime.”

“Very funny,” Mattheo shot back, narrowing his eyes at her.

Theo chuckled. “She just doesn’t like all the noise. Makes me wonder, though… why’s she here with us?”

“Because you invited her,” Mattheo said dryly, his tone clipped. Theo shrugged, unbothered.

“She’s here for Pansy. And maybe because sometimes people like to shake things up a bit,” Theo replied, as if it were obvious.

Mattheo didn’t respond, his attention drawn back to you. You were still lost in the view outside, but you must have felt the weight of their stares because, after a moment, you turned to face the group. Your smile was small and uncertain, a touch of embarrassment in your eyes. “What?” you asked quietly, your voice soft and cautious.

“Mattheo thinks you’re mysterious,” Theo said boldly, grinning as he leaned back lazily in his chair.

You frowned, your gaze shifting to Mattheo, who let out an irritated scoff. “That’s not what I said.”

“No need to explain yourself, Riddle,” Pansy chimed in with a sly grin, hiding behind the menu.

You gave a shy smile, clearly flustered, and buried yourself in the menu as if it were a shield. Mattheo caught the faint blush creeping across your cheeks, and for some inexplicable reason, it made him glance away, feeling oddly unsettled.

“What’re we ordering?” Blaise asked suddenly, breaking the tension and redirecting the group’s focus.

While the others debated their orders, Mattheo remained silent, his fingers tapping against the table. He didn’t want to admit it, but there was something about you that left him uneasy—not in a bad way, but in a way that made him feel restless, like he couldn’t quite figure out what to do with himself.

The waiter arrived, looking a little tired but polite, his quill poised to take orders. Theo and Blaise rattled off their choices with ease, but when it was your turn, you hesitated, your voice so soft that the waiter leaned in.

“Sorry, could you repeat that?” the waiter asked, his tone patient.

Mattheo noticed the discomfort on your face as you tried again, your cheeks flushing with self-consciousness. It was such a simple moment, but something about it made Mattheo feel compelled to step in.

“She’ll have a butterbeer,” he said abruptly, leaning back in his chair as if it were no big deal. “And I’ll have the same.”

The waiter blinked, then nodded. “Right, and the rest of you?”

You glanced at Mattheo, your surprise evident. For a moment, he wondered if he’d made things worse. But then you murmured, “Thanks,” so quietly it was almost inaudible. Your smile was small and a little shy, but there was something about it—something genuine—that made Mattheo’s chest tighten unexpectedly.

Their eyes met for a brief moment, and while it wasn’t much, it was enough to make Mattheo look away, feeling a strange heat rising in his neck. What the hell was that?

He focused on the table instead, letting his gaze fall on Pansy. She was watching him with her usual smirk, the kind that screamed, I know something you don’t. That look alone was enough to irritate him further.

He clenched his jaw, determined to brush it off. Whatever Pansy thought she saw, it didn’t matter. It wasn’t like him to get caught up in whatever game she might be playing. And yet, he couldn’t shake the thought of that small, genuine smile you’d given him—or the way it had made him feel completely out of his depth.

Later, the group had finished their meal and was now strolling leisurely through the softly lit streets of Hogsmeade. Snow fell in delicate flakes, blanketing the rooftops with a fine layer, creating a scene that was ordinary but, in your eyes, uniquely enchanting.

Mattheo walked in silence, his hands casually shoved into his pockets, while you stayed a little ahead with Luna, Blaise, and Pansy. The latter seemed particularly alert, as if she were plotting something in her mind.

“Let’s stop by Honeydukes,” Pansy announced suddenly, pausing beside Blaise and Luna. “I’m absolutely craving those ginger caramels.”

“Now? is probably a nightmare,” Theo grumbled, though his protest was pointless as Pansy was already dragging him firmly towards the shop’s entrance.

Before you could say a word, she turned to you and Mattheo with a sly, self-assured grin.

“How about you two check out the bookshop? We’ll catch up in a bit!”

You hesitated for a moment, glancing uncertainly in the direction of the bookshop and then back at Pansy. But she didn’t wait for a reply. Without giving you a chance to argue, she disappeared into Honeydukes with Theo in tow.

Mattheo let out a quiet sigh, his expression laced with a knowing irritation at Pansy’s obvious intentions. But he didn’t comment. Instead, he gave a small nod towards the bookshop.

“Fancy it?” he asked, his tone straightforward.

You nodded slightly, not trusting your voice to come out steady, and followed him towards the shop.

The interior of the bookshop was warm and serene. Tall shelves were crammed with books, from old, worn-out tomes to pristine, freshly bound editions. The air was filled with the unmistakable scent of aged paper, and the soft glow of strategically placed lamps added to the cosy atmosphere.

Walking slowly down the aisles, you trailed your fingers over the spines of books, savouring the texture of each one. Mattheo had wandered to a quieter section, where he pulled an old, dark-covered book from the shelf and examined it with mild curiosity.

“I’ve read that one,” you remarked casually, stepping closer.

Mattheo looked up at you, his expression faintly surprised. “Have you?”

You nodded, your eyes lighting up shyly but genuinely. “It’s really good, though a bit sad.”

He shrugged, placing the book back and reaching for another.

“That one too,” you said, glancing at the new book in his hand.

He raised an eyebrow, holding the book for a moment before putting it back and selecting yet another.

“Oh, that one’s brilliant!” you exclaimed, a spark of enthusiasm slipping through. “A bit heavy in parts, but it’s one of my favourites.”

Mattheo paused, studying the book in his hand before looking back at you.

“Have you read all of these?” he asked, disbelief evident in his tone.

You hesitated, your gaze flickering away briefly before meeting his again, your cheeks warming under his scrutiny.

“Almost all of them,” you admitted softly. “I just… really like reading.”

A faint, genuine smile tugged at Mattheo’s lips as he shook his head slightly.

“All right,” he said, holding up another book. “How about this one? Have you read it?” He revealed the title: The Great Gatsby.

Your eyes lit up instantly as you nodded. “Yes. It’s a classic. Sad, but so good.”

Mattheo let out a short sigh, glancing at the book with more interest. “Do you cry at all of them, or just the ones I pick because I like the cover?”

Your timid but sincere smile answered before your words. “Only the good ones.”

For a moment, he just watched you, his eyes lingering as you studied the shelves around you with quiet fascination.

“So,” he said, breaking the silence. “Think I’ll like this one?”

You tilted your head thoughtfully. “Depends. Do you like happy endings?”

Mattheo chuckled lowly, a hint of dry humour in his voice. “Wouldn’t know what that’s like.”

Your expression softened at his response, but you didn’t say anything right away. Instead, you looked up at him, as though trying to understand him better. He shifted uncomfortably under your gaze and glanced away.

“I’ll take it,” he muttered, holding the book firmly. “If it makes me cry, it’s your fault.”

You laughed quietly, the sound lighter this time, as he tucked the book under his arm.

“Do you read much?” you asked, your voice still a little shy as your eyes lifted to meet his.

“Not really.”

The moment was abruptly interrupted by Pansy’s familiar voice cutting through the quiet. She appeared suddenly beside Mattheo, a smug smile on her face.

“You two are taking ages,” she teased, throwing a loaded glance between the two of you. “Buying a book or writing one?”

Mattheo rolled his eyes, refusing to dignify her with an answer, while you glanced away, feeling slightly flustered. Pansy’s satisfied grin made it clear she’d gotten exactly what she wanted. Without ceremony, she tugged Mattheo towards the counter to pay for his book. You followed quietly as they left the shop, snow beginning to fall again outside.

ಇ

Once again, the group had gathered, this time in a more comfortable setting, as if they had already gotten used to the rhythm of their regular outings. The Slytherin common room felt cosy and calm, bathed in the soft light of the fire crackling in the hearth, casting a warm, golden glow across the space. Theo and Pansy were chatting animatedly about something trivial, while Blaise and Luna stayed, as usual, wrapped up in their own bubble, oblivious to the world around them.

You and Mattheo, however, were more on the edge of the group, tucked away in a quiet corner where silence hung comfortably in the air. He was staring into the flames, his mind distant, while you flicked through a book, your eyes quickly scanning the shelves of volumes in the common room.

It was you who broke the silence, your voice soft, laced with your usual curiosity.

“Have you finished that book, Mattheo?”

He gave you a look after a brief pause, responding casually.

“Yeah, it was quick to read, just like Cat’s Cradle.”

“You’ve read Cat’s Cradle?” you asked, surprised, your eyes lighting up instantly at the thought that he might be interested in such a quirky book.

Mattheo nodded with a relaxed gesture.

“Mm-hm.”

“I love that book,” you said enthusiastically. “I thought you said you didn’t read much.”

He laughed and shrugged, not giving it much thought.

“Well, what’s ‘much’?”

You laughed, satisfied with the answer, before diving back into your love for the book.

“Cat’s Cradle is just so chaotic, so human, you know? Like a distorted mirror of ourselves.”

Mattheo furrowed his brow, now visibly more interested.

“Human?”

“Yeah,” you continued, gesturing lightly. “The way Vonnegut portrays people, with all their confusing flaws—it’s so real. It’s a bit uncomfortable, but still, it’s genius.”

Mattheo watched you for a moment, trying to understand your perspective before replying in a teasing tone.

“I’m not sure ‘genius’ is the right word.”

You let out a soft laugh, not offended.

“No? And how would you describe it?”

He shrugged, his eyes drifting to the window beside him, watching the snow fall gently outside.

“It’s more like… a bunch of people getting into trouble because they’re too thick to see what’s right in front of them.”

You tilted your head slightly, amused by the simplicity of his argument.

“Exactly. That’s what makes it genius.”

Mattheo blinked, clearly impressed by your response. He wasn’t sure if you were joking or if you really believed it.

“You think stupidity is genius?”

“Nooo,” you said with a sideways smile. “But it makes us reflect on that human stupidity, like a portrait of our own contradictions, in a raw way. It’s uncomfortable, but in a weird way, it’s beautiful.”

Mattheo fell silent for a moment, processing your words.

“Beautiful?” He raised an eyebrow, as if trying to decide whether the comment was fascinating or just plain weird.

“Yes, beautiful,” you insisted, your tone calm but firm. “I think there’s beauty in accepting that we’re flawed, that we’re always trying, even when we know we might fail.”

He let out a low, almost incredulous laugh.

“You’ve got a peculiar way of looking at things.”

“Peculiar?” You laughed back, not losing the lightness of the moment. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

Before he could respond, you leaned forward slightly, without thinking too much, and with a gentle gesture, you brushed a stray curl of hair from his face. Your touch was so natural that he barely had time to process it. Your fingers slid smoothly through his dark hair, pushing the curl away, and you did it with such ease that it felt completely normal to you. But for Mattheo, the action was enough to freeze him for a moment.

Mattheo froze. His mind instantly went on alert. The touch, though brief, had triggered a cascade of disconnected thoughts that he had no idea how to sort or deal with at that moment.

You, completely unaware of the inner battle Mattheo was facing, turned your attention back to the book you were skimming through, still intrigued by the shelves in the Slytherin common room. They were filled with delicate details, snakes and symbols, which gave the place a peculiar touch.

Mattheo, on the other hand, remained silent, lost in his own thoughts. He tried to push the moment’s impact aside, but it seemed impossible. The touch was still fresh on his skin, and the echo of your words about the book lingered in his mind.

ಇ

The night was quiet and peaceful at Hogwarts Castle. Mattheo lay in his dormitory, the soft light of the moon streaming through the window, casting a subtle glow over the room. His mind, however, was restless, filled with thoughts that were hard to sort. Almost mechanically, he reached for his wand, and with a subtle motion, began to move it, calling the music.

The first notes of “Crash Into Me” began to fill the room, softly, as Dave Matthews’ voice echoed through the space, enveloping him in a familiar melody. The song seeped into him like a comforting whisper, and something in it gripped him almost viscerally. He closed his eyes, allowing himself to be consumed by the music, and, without knowing why, raised his wand again to put the track on repeat.

The words of the song began to take on more meaning, subtly echoing within him, much like the thoughts swirling in his mind that he couldn’t quite organise. It was as if the song spoke directly to him, not in a clear and direct way, but through its rhymes and melody, something in between the lines made him think of you. Your calm presence, yet shrouded in mystery, took shape in his mind.

He turned over in bed, still immersed in confusing thoughts, trying to understand the nameless feeling that overtook him. What was this unease? The music seemed to break something inside him, as if it were unveiling parts of himself he didn’t know existed.

As the chords of the song filled the space around him, a quiet exhaustion began to settle in. He surrendered to the melody, letting himself drift, without haste or resistance. The last thing he thought of before falling asleep was your face.

In his dream, you were beneath the Astronomy Tower. The stars watched silently as you leaned against the balustrade, your hair softly shimmering, floating with the night’s breeze. They saw when you approached him, and the world around seemed to shrink, as if everything became insignificant. You kissed him, a simple, gentle kiss, incredibly soft, full of sincerity. When you pulled away, his eyes opened.

The song “Crash Into Me” still played in his ears, but the sensation of the kiss, the soft touch of your lips, lingered with him, even though the dream dissipated as quickly as it had come. He lay there, motionless, not knowing exactly when he had been struck. The confusion that had once dominated his thoughts now seemed entwined with that fleeting memory, and he allowed himself to feel.

ಇ

Theo’s dormitory was as cosy as ever, lit only by the bedside lamp, casting a soft yellow glow that created an intimate atmosphere. The lazy tendrils of cigarette smoke drifted in the air, mixing with the low hum of music playing from a small gramophone in the corner. Lorenzo was slouched on the sofa, his feet carelessly propped up on the coffee table, while Theo, seated on the floor with his back against the bed, took long drags from his cigarette, releasing the smoke in the air as if following a ritual.

Pansy, meanwhile, leaned against an armchair, distractedly fiddling with her wand. Mattheo remained on the outskirts, leaning against the wall, arms crossed, and visibly more distant than usual.

“So,” Pansy began, breaking the silence with a mischievous smile playing on her lips, though her tone remained casual, “I’m thinking of organising another group trip to Hogsmeade next Saturday. You coming?”

Mattheo raised an eyebrow, sceptical. “Who’s going?”

Pansy shrugged nonchalantly. “Me, obviously, Theo, Blaise, Lorenzo, Daphne… if she’s not busy.”

He gave a small nod, considering the idea. Maybe getting out a bit wouldn’t be so bad, even if he wasn’t exactly in the mood.

“And [Name],” Pansy added casually, throwing him a sly sidelong glance.

The effect was immediate. Mattheo froze, quickly averting his gaze. “Ah… no, I don’t think I’ll be going, then.”

Pansy stared at him, taken aback. “You’re not?”

“I’m just not in the mood,” he replied flatly, still avoiding her gaze.

“Not in the mood or running from her?” Pansy pressed, her tone sharp. She uncrossed her arms and stepped away from the armchair, facing him head-on.

He let out a humourless laugh, pushing away from the wall. “Oh, spare me, Pansy. This is just one of your dumb ideas to try and push me onto one of your friends. I’ve told you, it’s not going to work.”

“Push you onto my friends?” she repeated, incredulous, the disbelief clear in her voice. “Merlin’s beard, do you even hear what you’re saying? I’m just organising a trip, it’s not your bloody wedding!”

“Oh, right,” he shot back, his voice rising slightly. “You think I don’t notice? You’re always trying to set people up, like it’s some kind of game. But this isn’t some stupid romance novel. And honestly? She’s none of that, not worth the hassle.”

The silence that followed was thick, almost tangible. Even Lorenzo, who had seemed absorbed in his own thoughts, lifted his gaze, surprised by the bitterness in Mattheo’s voice. Pansy stood still for a moment before letting out a bitter laugh.

“Not worth the hassle?” she repeated, each word laced with icy venom, as she stepped right up to him. “Do you have any idea what utter rubbish you’ve just said?”

Mattheo tried to hold her stare, but there was something in her stance that unsettled him.

“You don’t even believe that,” she continued, her voice firm now. “You’re so terrified of the idea of liking her that you’d rather say something vile like that than admit it to yourself. But guess what, Mattheo? It doesn’t change a thing.”

He crossed his arms, frustration clearly etched on his face. “I’m not scared of anything. You’re the one harassing me with this ridiculous conversation.”

“Ridiculous?” Pansy raised her voice, frustration seeping through every word. “You’re the one acting ridiculous! As if liking someone is some kind of weakness. It’s pathetic, actually—it’s so sad, it’s almost funny.”

“Oh, fuck off, Pansy,” he snapped, his anger boiling over.

She laughed, a sarcastic chuckle escaping her. “I’m just trying to stop you from being an idiot. But, then again, maybe you don’t deserve someone like her. Maybe she’s too good for you, yeah?”

Mattheo clenched his jaw, irritation flashing across his face before he stormed out of the room, slamming the door behind him.

In the stillness of his own dormitory, he threw himself onto the bed, his chest still heaving from the argument. He ran a hand through his hair, trying to organise his thoughts, but Pansy’s words continued to echo in his mind like an unshakable spell.

“Maybe she’s too good for you.”

He knew he shouldn’t have said that. It wasn’t true, and he knew it. She was worth the effort, without a doubt. He remembered the way she spoke about books, how her eyes lit up with passion for things he didn’t even bother to notice. She was kind, funny, incredibly genuine, and, above all, special.

With a heavy sigh, he closed his eyes and stared at the ceiling. Pansy was right. He was an idiot. And, worse yet, an idiot in love.

ಇ

The pub in Hogsmeade was packed, but the noise around Jasmine felt distant as she watched the group of friends play pool with curiosity. The soft lighting gave the place a warm, inviting atmosphere, while the low music in the background punctuated the occasional laughter of Theo and Lorenzo, who were arguing about who the better player was.

Mattheo kept his gaze fixed on you, knowing there was no escaping this. He was already falling, and he knew it. Rather than resist, he decided to enjoy the moment. There was something about your cautious yet charming manner that stirred him in a way he couldn’t quite understand. But soon he realised there was no need to comprehend it. It was as if the fall was inevitable, and somehow, the view would be worth it. All that was left for him to do was relax and let it happen. Maybe it was time to be bolder. Let the fall happen. He was ready for whatever came next and wanted to see how far it could go.

“Go on, who’s next?” Theo asked, twirling the cue stick with a teasing smile, aiming it at you.

“Definitely not me,” you muttered instantly, shrugging behind your butterbeer.

“Oh, come on,” Pansy teased, smiling. “You’ve never played?”

You shook your head, feeling a little out of place. “No idea how to play.”

Before Pansy could insist, Mattheo pushed off from the wall where he had been leaning, arms casually crossed, and approached. “I’ll teach you.”

You looked up at him, surprised. “You don’t have to, I—”

“Come here,” he interrupted, leaving no room for protest. He reached out and, before you could object, gently took hold of your wrist, guiding you to the right spot at the table.

Frozen, you watched him as if he’d just cast a spell. There was something so natural about the gesture – as though you’d shared this kind of proximity for years – that it left you speechless.

“Grab the cue,” he instructed, his voice low and slightly husky. You obeyed, holding the cue with clear hesitation.

Mattheo took a step back, so close that you could feel the warmth radiating from his body. “Like this,” he said, adjusting his hands over yours. His fingers were firm but didn’t squeeze; the touch felt casual, yet it carried an intimacy that made you blush instantly.

He tilted his head, his voice close to your ear. “You need to align with the ball.”

His breath seemed to brush against your skin, and your heart raced. “Right… okay.”

He chuckled softly. “Relax, you’re all tense.”

“I’m not tense!” you protested, though the nervousness in your voice gave you away.

“Of course not,” he teased, shifting his hands slightly to adjust the position. “Now aim here.”

Biting your lip, you tried to focus, even though the closeness made it nearly impossible. The sound of his voice, the way he leaned in, his firm yet careful touch – it was all making your mind spin.

“Ready?” he asked, and you nodded, feeling your face heat up.

With his help, you moved the cue forward, striking the ball harder than you expected. It rolled across the table, hitting a few others before dropping into one of the pockets.

“See?” he said, stepping back slightly but keeping his hand near yours. “That wasn’t so hard.”

You laughed nervously, too shy to meet his eyes. “I think it was more you than me.”

“Maybe,” he replied casually, but his gaze was now locked on yours.

You noticed he was still holding your hand, even though it wasn’t necessary anymore, and for a moment, you were completely speechless. When he finally let go, the touch seemed to linger.

“Next,” he said, handing the cue to Theo, who was already laughing.

You stepped away from the table, trying to regain your composure, but your heart was still racing. Pansy watched you with a mischievous smile, but said nothing – which, in some way, was even more embarrassing.

Mattheo, now leaning back against the wall again, looked relaxed, though a subtle smile played on his lips. He knew exactly what he’d done – and he seemed to be enjoying it.

The night was light, filled with laughter and pool shots. You still felt a bit embarrassed about the last shot, about Mattheo’s unexpected touch, and the way he seemed so at ease. The way he approached so naturally, as if there was an intimacy between you two that you didn’t know how to handle, made you nervous, but also… curious.

At one point, you stepped away to grab the drink you’d left on the table, and Mattheo was right behind you, not wasting a second before taking the empty glass from your hand.

“I’ll get you another,” he said, flashing a casual smile.

You raised an eyebrow, glancing at him and then at the empty glass he’d taken from your hand. “Hey, I can do it myself.”

He shrugged as he walked away. “So what? Let me do it for you.”

You stared at him as he made his way to the bar, wanting to protest, but knowing he probably wouldn’t care. He was back quickly, drink in hand, placing it gently in front of you.

“Here,” he said, smiling tranquilly.

Still unsure how to react, you responded, “You really don’t listen, do you?”

He laughed easily and sat beside you. “I listen, I just don’t care. And let’s be honest,” he chuckled softly, “you’re not exactly good at hiding that you like it when I do things for you.”

Your face flushed, but you weren’t sure whether you were more surprised by the comment or by how comfortable he seemed with the situation. You tried to change the subject, though your voice still sounded hesitant. “I really could’ve filled my own glass.”

“Sure,” he interrupted with a sly grin, “but I wanted to do it.”

Not knowing how to respond, you looked down, crossing your legs and resting the drink on your thigh, unsure of how to act when Mattheo was messing with your composure. But secretly, you were enjoying this new side of him – unsure of how to react, but liking it all the same.

“I know what I’m doing,” you whispered, more to yourself.

“I know, princess,” he replied with an easy grin, “but I like doing it.”

ಇ

As time passed, your meetings became more frequent. The group hangouts gradually gave way to moments alone, and the relationship between you two became more comfortable and intimate. Being in each other’s company felt natural, easy, almost like an extension of everyday life. Mattheo’s behaviour grew more spontaneous, with fewer of the usual walls he built up when you were around. And it wasn’t just you who noticed; the entire group of friends could see it too.

One night, you were in Mattheo’s dorm. The atmosphere was calm and welcoming, with the scent of scented candles he’d started using now permanently filling the room. They were burning all around, three on the dresser and others on the bedside table. Meanwhile, Mattheo was rummaging through the wardrobe shelves and found a few hidden bottles. It was cheap wine that Theo had bought to settle a silly bet, but had forgotten there. Mattheo remembered it like it had happened yesterday. He looked at the bottle with a smile, laughing to himself. You raised an eyebrow, suspicious.

“I can’t believe you’re going to drink that,” you said, laughing lightly while lying on the black carpet in the middle of the room, fiddling with the radio.

Mattheo shrugged, flashing a carefree smile. “Of course I am, it’s here, right?”

You gave him a sceptical look, but couldn’t help but laugh at his audacity. “That’s a bit weird.”

“It’s nothing,” he replied, walking over and sitting beside you, holding the bottle out. “Try it, go on.”

Hesitant, but tempted, you sat next to him, smiling nervously. You took the bottle from his hand, laughing before bringing it to your lips, keeping your eyes fixed on his.

After a bottle and a half shared between you, the effects of the wine were already clear. The conversation flowed easily, words coming out freely, and you both laughed at anything, letting yourselves enjoy the sense of freedom the moment brought.

Then Mattheo stood up, walked over to the radio, and adjusted the music. Fleetwood Mac, one of his favourite bands, and he knew it well. The soft notes filled the room, creating a relaxing and warm atmosphere. He smiled at you, stood up from the carpet, and waited for you to follow. “Don’t you want to dance?”

You looked at him hesitantly, but he was watching you as if daring you. It didn’t take long before you got up, still a bit loose from the alcohol, and started dancing awkwardly, singing along with Stevie Nicks, a silly grin on your face. Mattheo held your hands and settled on the bed, watching your dance. There was no pretension; it was a spontaneous dance, a bit off-beat, but genuine.

Mattheo watched you with a satisfied smile, but his gaze revealed something more. He saw you differently. You moved with clumsy grace, not caring about the rhythm, and he was completely captivated by the way you threw yourself into the moment, without a hint of self-consciousness. Your movements, though not sensual, were, in that instant, the most captivating thing he’d ever seen. You were so at ease, as if you were dancing just for him. And, in a way, you were.

You laughed, unaware of the effect you had, how your hair shone and moved perfectly with the rhythm of your motions. That sight, so natural, only drew him in more. When the music finally ended, you stopped, out of breath, and looked at him with a mischievous grin, holding onto his shoulders while he watched you from below, his expression one of admiration.

“See? Was this what you wanted?” you asked, regaining your composure, but with a faint blush on your cheeks.

“More than I expected.”

The music still filled the room, but slowly, it became a distant echo, overshadowed by the tension that now dominated the space. The air felt heavier, each heartbeat ringing in your ears as you locked eyes with him. Your hands still rested on his shoulders, and despite the relaxed smile that appeared on his face, there was something in Mattheo’s gaze that made the lightness of the moment take on a new weight.

His eyes were fixed on yours, serious, intense, filled with an emotion you couldn’t quite decipher. Something in that look seemed ready to spill over, and before you could even question it, the space between you two was vanishing. Mattheo moved, his strong hands reaching up to cradle your face, holding it with a gentleness that contrasted with the fervour in his expression. The world around you faded in the blink of an eye. No more cheap wine, no more candles, no more Stevie Nicks in the background. It was just the two of you.

“I’ve been wanting to do this for a while,” he murmured, his voice low and rough, filling the silence between you. His gaze didn’t waver, and the proximity made each word feel even more intimate, almost like a confession. A shiver ran down your spine, but you didn’t respond. There were no words that could capture what was going through your mind.

When he finally closed the remaining space between you, his lips found yours, and everything seemed to fall into place. The kiss began firm but soon softened, as if he was exploring each detail, testing, savouring the moment with an almost palpable intensity.

His hands didn’t stay still. One slid to your waist, fingers slipping beneath your shirt, touching your warm skin with a mixture of firmness and care. The other moved up to your neck, fingers light as a caress, but determined, keeping you close, as if he wanted to make sure you wouldn’t slip away.

When his lips left yours, it was only to trace a deliberate path along your jawline, down to the delicate spot on your neck, where he could feel your pulse quicken. Each kiss was meticulous, almost reverent, as you closed your eyes, surrendering to the sensation. The softness of his touch seemed to contradict the intensity he maintained with every movement, and it made the moment all the more overwhelming.

Then, unexpectedly, Mattheo made a quick movement, pulling you onto the bed.

He was firm, but careful, lying you down with precision and security, as if guiding you through a dance he had already mentally rehearsed. Your bodies moulded into the surroundings, as if the moment had been waiting for you both.

Mattheo pulled back slightly, his hands slowly lifting your shirt, with a near ceremonial slowness. There was no rush, just a clear intention in every gesture, as though he was absorbing the significance of what was happening. His eyes scanned your body, but not with haste or crude desire. There was something almost devotional in that gaze, something that made your breath quicken and slow at the same time.

His lips descended to your stomach, touching it with the lightness of a promise. Each kiss seemed to hold something unspoken, something long-kept. Mattheo's fingers traced slow paths along your skin, as though he wanted to memorise every detail, while you let out a sigh that seemed to echo in the intimacy of the room.

For a brief moment, he lifted his head, meeting your gaze. His eyes sparkled with a mix of desire and playfulness, and a light smile curved his lips before he leaned in again, the kisses resuming their course, now with even more care, as if each touch was a silent vow of adoration.

#harry potter #riddleriddles #slytherin x hufflepuff #slytherpuff #mattheo fluff #mattheo imagine #mattheo riddle imagine #mattheo riddle fluff #mattheo x you #mattheoxreader #mattheo riddle x reader #mattheo riddle

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the-mortuary-witch · 6 months ago

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GRIMORE IDEAS

INTRODUCTION:

A book blessing.

Table of contents.

ABOUT ME:

Your current path.

Your personal beliefs.

Your spiritual journey.

Superstitions.

Past lives.

Favourite herbs/crystals/animals/etc.

Natal chart.

Craft name.

Astrology signs and their meanings.

Birthday correspondences (birth tarot card, birth stone, etc.)

Goals.

SAFETY:

Fire safety.

What not to burn.

Toxic plants and oils (to humans, plants, and animals.)

Crystals that shouldn’t be put… (in sunlight, in water, etc.)

Things that shouldn’t be In nature (glass, salt, etc.)

Potion safety.

How to incorporate blood in spells.

Smoke safety.

Wound care.

Biohazards.

Spirit work safety guide.

CORE CONCEPTS:

Intention and how it works.

Directing energy.

Protection.

Banishing.

Cleansing.

Binding.

Charging.

Shielding.

Grounding.

Centering.

Visualization.

Consecration/blessing.

Warding.

Enchanting.

Manifestation.

Meditation.

What makes a spell work.

Basic spell structure.

What not to do in spells.

Disposing spell ingredients.

Revitalizing long term spells.

How to cast spells.

What to put in spells.

Spell mediums (jars, spoken, candle, and sigils.)

Spell timing.

Potion bases.

Differentiating between magick and mundane.

Common terms.

Common symbols.

Intuition.

Elements.

Basic alchemy and symbols.

Ways to break spells.

Laws and philosophies.

CORRESPONDENCES:

Herbs and spices and their uses and/or properties.

Crystals and their uses and/or properties.

Colours.

Liquids and drinks.

Metals.

Salt and their properties.

Numbers.

Tarot cards and their meanings.

Elements.

Trees and woods.

Flowers.

Days.

Months.

Seasons.

Moon names, phases, and their meanings.

Zodiacs.

Planets.

Incense.

Teas.

Essential oils.

Directions.

Candle colours and their meanings.

Animals.

Symbology.

Bone correspondences.

Different types of water.

Common plants.

ENTITIES:

Deities you worship.

Pantheons.

Pantheons and deities closed to you.

Common offerings.

Epithets.

Mythos.

Family.

Worship vs work.

Prayers and prayer template.

Deity comms.

Devotional acts.

Angels.

Demons.

Ancestors.

Fae.

Familiars.

House, animal, plant, etc. spirits.

Folklore entities.

Spirit etiquette.

Graveyard etiquette.

Boundaries.

Communication guide and etiquette.

Spirit work safety guide.

How entities appear to you.

Circle casting.

Servitors.

Mythological creatures (dragons, gorgons, unicorns, etc.)

UTILITY PAGES:

Gazing pages.

Sigil charging station.

Altar pages.

Intent pages.

Getaway pages.

Vision boards.

Dream pages.

Binding page.

Pendulum board.

Throwing bones page.

Divination pages.

Mirror gazing page.

Invocation pages.

Affirmation/manifestation pages.

Spirit board page.

OTHER PRACTICES:

Practices that are closed to you (Voodoo, Hoodoo, Santeria, Brujeria, Shamanism, Native practices.)

Wicca and Wiccan paths.

Satanism, both theistic and non-theistic.

Deity/entity work.

Religious paths (Hellenism, Christianity, Kemeticism, etc.)

Animism.

TYPES OF MAGICK:

Pop culture Paganism/magick.

Tech magick.

Chaos magick.

Green magick.

Lunar magick.

Solar magick.

Sea magick.

Kitchen magick.

Ceremonial magick.

Hedge magick

Death magick.

Gray magick.

Eclectic magick.

Elemental magick.

Fae magick.

Spirit magick.

Candle magick.

Crystal magick.

Herbalism.

Glamours.

Hexes.

Jinxes.

Curses.

Weather magick.

Astral magick.

Shadow work.

Energy work.

Sigils.

Runes.

Art magick.

Knot magick.

Music magick.

Blood magick.

Bath magic/rituals.

Affirmations.

DIVINATION:

Tarot cards.

Oracle cards.

Playing cards.

Card spreads.

Pendulum/how to use one.

Numerology.

Scrying.

Palmistry.

Tasseography.

Runes.

Shufflemancy

Dice.

Bibliomancy.

Carromancy.

Pyromancy.

Psychic abilities.

Astrology.

Auras.

Lenormand.

Sacred geometry.

Angel numbers.

Ornithomancy.

Aeromancy.

Aleuromancy.

Axinomancy.

Belomancy.

Hydromancy.

Lecanomancy.

Necromancy.

Oneiromancy.

Onomancy.

Oomancy.

Phyllomancy.

Psephomancy.

Rhabdomancy.

Xylomancy.

TOOLS:

Crystal grid.

Candle grid.

Charms.

Talismans.

Amulets.

Taglocks.

Wand.

Broom.

Athame.

Boline.

Cingulum.

Stang.

Bells.

Drums.

Staffs.

Chalices.

Cauldrons.

Witches ladder.

Poppets.

HOLIDAYS:

Imbolc.

Ostara.

Beltane.

Litha.

Lammas.

Mabon.

Samhain.

Yule.

How to celebrate the Sabbats.

Esbats.

Deity specific holidays.

Religious holidays (Christmas, Easter, Dionysia, etc.)

Celestial events.

ALTARS:

Basics of altars.

Travel altars.

Deity altars.

Spirit altars.

Familiar altars.

Ancestor altars.

Self altars.

Working altars.

Sabbat altars.

SELF-CARE:

Burnout prevention.

Aromatherapy.

Stress management.

Coping mechanisms.

Meditation techniques.

THEORIES AND HISTORY:

Witchcraft history.

Paganism.

New age spirituality.

Cultural appropriation.

Thelema.

Conspiracy theories.

Cults.

Satanic Panic.

KJV.

Witches in history.

Cats in history.

Transphobia in witchcraft circles.

Queerness in witchcraft circles.

OTHER:

Recipes.

How to get herbs.

Foraging.

Drying herbs and flowers.

Chakras.

Reiki.

Witches alphabet.

Runic alphabet.

Guide to gardening

Your witch tips.

Resources.

Other tips.

List of spells.

Cryptids and their lore.

What is a liminal space?

How to start a dream diary.

Recording/writing rituals.

Wheel of the Year.

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starsandsuch · 8 months ago

Text

The “Dollface” Placements Of The Zodiac 👱‍♀️🎀🍭

The following are astrology placements that make one appear “doll like”. Typically girls seen as “flawless”, cutesy, adorable, sweet and “dollish “ or Barbie-like. Especially as it pertains to one’s facial features and physical appearance overall.

*the examples pictured are celebrities who have at least one or multiple of these placements*

P L A C E M E N T S

PISCES ASCENDANT🐟

They have a petite, delicate frame and tend to be smaller than average. They have doll-like features, emphasizing large wide set eyes that seem glassy and ethereal. They look dreamy and otherworldly, mimicking something you’d see in movie or cartoon. Their gaze seems distantly hollow, enhancing the impression of big empty innocent eyes dolls have.

They prefer doll-like hairstyles: sporting bangs, bows in their hair, ponytails etc

Sabrina Carpenter (Pisces asc), Jenna Ortega (Pisces asc), Barbara Palvin (Pisces Asc)

CANCER ASCENDANT 💐

These natives have the ultimate feminine appearance. They have round, softened features, devoid of harsh lines or angles. Their face is perfectly structured, having definition but remaining soft looking. Their skin is luminous and glowy, often with cool undertones , similar to the moon itself. They are delicate looking with graceful demeanor.

Twiggy (cancer asc), Angelina Jolie (cancer asc), Margot Robbie (cancer asc)

⭐️ JUPITER INFUENCE ⭐️

Jupiter was the most common pattern amongst the charts of women with this energy and physical expression. Especially Jupiter conjunct the luminaries or the ascendant. Jupiter Ruled signs: Sagittarius and Pisces were very prominent as well. Especially Sag/Pisces in the big 3 (Vedic placements) as well as Jupiter Atmakaraka.

Jupiter’s influence on a person makes them seem honorable, wholesome, trustworthy. Much how you’d perceive a doll to be innocent and child-friendly. They have features that are pleasant to look at and others often idealize them and what they represent. These natives become symbols for representing different aspects of femininity.

Jupiter Conjunct Ascendant / In The 1st House

Jupiter’s influence creates features that are prominent and well defined. Yet it also softens one appearance’s giving its natives a “dreamy” look about them. They look confident , healthy and picturesque.

Jupiter conjunct moon

This placement makes one seem innocent, wholesome and trustworthy. These natives have a sweetness to them, emphasizing and pleasant voice, speech and demeanor. It gives smooth and glowy skin that is glass-like.

Mercury in the 1st house

This placement makes one seems cutesy and adorable. Giving a demeanor that one is innocent and harmless. Physically they are petite and delicate. They have a youthful beauty about them, where people automatically see them as a girly girl.

VEDIC ASTRO PLACEMENTS

*this applies to Sun, Moon, Ascendant or Atamakaraka placement”

REVATI 🎀

Revati is THEE face of the “Dollface” aesthetic. From their fashion to the facial features, most of these natives have been compared to a Barbie doll or bratz doll at some point in their life. Claire Nakti posted about how Revati natives naturally look like bratz dolls.

Their nose is soft/rounded and blends in well with the rest of their face, where it’s natives seemingly don’t have nose bridge. They have wide set bright eyes that look innocent and curious. They have a natural pout to the lips and a pronounced Cupid’s bow.

Their skin appears glowy and radiant, giving them this unreal, fantasy-like aura. They seem naturally perfect like a doll.

Rihanna (Revati Moon & Ascendant)

PURVABHADRAPADA 💄

Purvabhadrapada women embody the Barbie girl look both physically and philosophically. Physically, they have well defined, sculpted features. They’re are usually proportionate head to toe and have natural symmetry to their face and body. They tend to look unique and dream-like, where people identify them with having the desirable feminine physical features.

Philosophically they align with what Barbie represents: being empowered, doing things on your own and looking good while doing it.

They are the idealized modern woman where they are very “girlboss” , but still remain s3xy and desirable to many. Hottie-girlboss-s3xy-angelic-independent-femme fatale is their multi hyphenate description. They are the girl’s girl that empower other women.

Lori Harvey (PBP moon) Jhene Aiko (PBP Moon) Latto (PBP Jupiter Atmakaraka)

PUNARVASU 🌻

These natives have large wide set eyes and overall feminine appearance. Their features are defined yet softened. They have clear smooth skin that is naturally luminescent. They appear distant and dreamlike, possessing otherworldly beauty. They seem to embody the ideal of what a “wife” looks like. (See examples: Margot robbie, Sharon Tate, Keke Palmer.)

PURVA ASHADA 🌊

Women with this Nakshatra have emphasized feminine features: curvy bodies, soft skin, and dainty disposition. They have a soothing demeanor , when others are around them they feel at ease and child like, much like how a girl would feel around her dolls.

Ariana Grande (Purva Ashadha ascendent, Jupiter conjunct moon)

PURVA PHALGUNI 💋

These natives have smooth skin and well sculpted features. They have practically perfect facial symmetry where the distance between their eyes-nose-brows-mouth is perfectly spaced. They oftentimes don’t wear much makeup and have a fresh faced doll like beauty and girly appearance.

People perceive them to have no physical flaws much like a doll would. They remain girly and youthful looking most of their lives.

Zendaya (Purva phalguni Sun), Beyonce (Purvaphalguni Sun), Sharon Tate (Purvaphalguni moon)

ROHINI 🍭

These natives embody the “babydoll” aesthetic. With large curious eyes and puckered lips, they’re usually described as adorable by others. Their voice is soft and babyish, enhancing their aura of femininity. They often appear helpless and delicate, people feel protective over them.

Lily rose depp (rohini sun), Brigitte Bardot (Rohini moon), Lauren London (rohini asc)

ASHLESHA 🐈‍⬛

Ashlesha features are known to be catlike and feminine. They tend to look “hyper-feminine” having lush thick shiny hair, curvy body, full lips, upturned eyes. Their nose is naturally sculpted and pointed, with high cheek bones and full cheek apples.

It’s thought that Barbie is the most idealized symbol of what a women looks like, and these women embody “Barbie” without trying. People tend to reference them when discussing what the ideal woman looks like.

The main theme of this Nakshatra is going from girl-hood to women-hood and being aligned with feminine energy. This essence is captured in trendy movements like “coquette” and “dollette”.

With the Mercury rulership, their overall appearance is delicate, and is often perceived as dainty and soft. They are petite and have small/pinched facial features. They seem innocent or angelic to others.

Alexa Demie (ashlesha asc), Brit Ekland (ashlesha moon and asc), Marilyn Monroe (Ashlesha Asc)

Ciao for now, dolls 💋

-starsandsuch ✌️💕

1K notes · View notes

astrologged · 4 months ago

Text

Astro Notes [1]

A prominent Chiron placement (especially in conjunction with the Sun or Moon) indicates a person who is especially gifted in healing fields, whether physical, emotional, or spiritual.

A North Node in Leo can point to the need to move away from self-sacrifice or shyness (South Node in Aquarius or the 11th house) toward embracing self-expression, creativity, and leadership.

Saturn in the 5th house shows as a person who is very serious about creativity, love, or children. Despite being traditionally linked to structure, they find joy or fulfillment through disciplined creative pursuits or romantic relationships.

People with Mercury retrograde in their natal chart process information inwardly and express themselves more thoughtfully or introspectively. To others, they'll appear vague in their way of speaking. They'll experience communication challenges less frequently than others during actual Mercury retrogrades. This placement is similar to having Chiron in Gemini or the third house.

People who have Uranus in the 7th house will attract sudden or unexpected partners(ships) and/or need personal freedom and independence in their relationships. They usually thrive in relationships that allow them to express their individuality, even within the context of a relationship.

People with their Moon in the 6th house have difficulty expressing their emotions outwardly, and their emotional needs might remain hidden, even to themselves... They often feel a profound need for solitude or time spent in private, reflecting. This placement also enhances psychic intuition or empathy, like Moon in the 1st house.

Venus in Aries makes someone highly enthusiastic about romance but also prone to impulsivity or impatience. The challenge is to balance excitement with patience in relationships.

People with Pluto Conjunct the Sun have a magnetic presence, as Pluto amplifies the Sun’s energy, but they'll also experience a lifelong journey of self-discovery, having to let go of their former selves as they evolve.

Having Neptune Square Mercury can make you prone to misunderstanding facts or seeing things through rose-colored glasses, but it can also indicate a strong imagination or psychic ability. People with this aspect benefit from grounding exercises to improve clarity.

The Vertex points to crucial events, meeting important people, or relationships that seem destined or have a deep sense of purpose. Some associate the Vertex with "soulmate" experiences or life-altering encounters.

737 notes · View notes

tainsan · 2 years ago

Text

opposites attract.

↳synopsis: you are on the verge of being expelled, so your teacher helps you find a tutor, yet what you weren't expecting was much more than just tutoring sessions.

↳ word count: 14.3k

↳ a/n: i know this isnt misfits or misfits related but i wanted to give you guys something whilst you wait for the next chapter. i havent been active due to a majot burnout, but im getting into the swing of it again. I hope you enjoy this one shot whilst you wait for the next chapter <3

↳ warnings: fem bodied reader, mentions of alcohol, explicit smut, fingering, oral (f rec), unprotected sex (wrap it pls), gn pronouns but Yunho calls reader a good girl.

MINORS DNI 18+ CONTENT AHEAD

"Expelled, what do you mean?" you exclaim, the words of your professor hitting you like a sudden, unwelcome storm.

Your professor leans forward, her expression grave. "If you don’t make a change," she replies, her tone weighted with concern. "Your recent academic performance has been far from ideal, and it's no secret that you'd rather be out partying and socialising than studying. I've tried to advocate for you for the past few months, but even the student council is beginning to lose faith. You need to make a change, or else they will remove you from this program."

The news leaves you feeling torn. You have always been drawn to the vibrant social scene on campus, and it was no secret that you enjoy a good party. Balancing your studies with your social life has been a constant struggle, and it has finally caught up with you in the form of this dire warning.

Taking a deep breath, you try to gather your thoughts, your mind a whirlwind of confusion. "I don't know what to do, though," you admit, your voice tinged with both desperation and uncertainty.

Professor Turner fixes her gaze on you, her expression stern yet caring. Her half-moon glasses perch on the edge of her nose lends an air of wisdom to her appearance. She had always been one of the few teachers who genuinely believed in your potential, even if you hadn't quite lived up to it yet.

She leans forward slightly, her eyes locked on yours. "You can start by addressing that persistent partying issue," she says, her tone deadpan but not without a hint of exasperation. "I've always seen your talent, but it's time for you to believe in it too. My patience for you is wearing thin, and the threat of expulsion is very real. You need to get your studies together, and fast."

Her words strike a chord, and bow your head down, tears starting to form in your eyes. The urgency of the situation finally sinks in, and you know it is time to make a change.

Professor Turner's expression softens, and she leans back in her chair, understanding the turmoil in your eyes. "I know it can be challenging to balance both, but it's essential. Perhaps you can establish a more structured study schedule and limit your social activities during the week.”

Looking up at her, you notice the warmth and unwavering belief in her eyes, which provides a glimmer of hope amidst your uncertainty.

She continues, "In fact, I found a tutor for you. Someone had to cancel on him at the last minute, and he's willing to take you on until your grades improve. He’s an incredibly sweet person, his grades are the best in my class."

Although you would rather avoid any study sessions or anything to do with your university academics, you reluctantly take the paper showcasing the number of the tutor your professor found for you. The paper displays the name "Jeong Yunho" along with his contact number. You have never heard of him before, which was unusual considering you considered yourself as a social butterfly who knew nearly everyone on campus. It occurred to you that there truly was a first time for everything.

As you held the paper, a sense of curiosity overcame your reluctance. You pondered the mystery behind this unknown tutor and wondered what kind of person Jeong Yunho was.

—

Clutching your bag tightly under your arm, you reluctantly made your way towards the library on a Friday evening. With every step, you grumbled to yourself, yearning to be at a lively party instead, drowning your sorrows about the looming threat of expulsion. The future seemed bleak, and hope was a distant memory. When you left Professor Turner's office earlier, you almost crumpled the paper she had given you, fully intent on disregarding any contact with whoever the hell Yunho is.

The journey to the library is slow, partly because you have never set foot in the place before, and partly due to your resistance against the impending academic endeavour. You had never planned on being a library regular; it wasn't part of your college vision. Yet, the harsh reality of the potential consequences weigh heavily on your mind. Losing your education at this point would not only set you back years but also jeopardise all the hard work you have invested to even make it to this esteemed school in the first place.

With every reluctant step, you can’t help but reflect on the choices that have led you here. It was time to face the music, find this enigmatic Yunho, and see if, against all odds, he held the key to salvaging your academic future.

Pushing open the heavy wooden doors of the university library, you're immediately greeted by the familiar scent of aged books and hushed whispers. The soft lighting casts a warm glow over the rows of shelves filled with knowledge, and you can't help but feel out of place in this quiet atmosphere. You've rarely ventured into this sanctuary of academia, and your lack of familiarity is evident as you scan the cavernous space, unsure of where to start

Stepping further into the library, your frustration and reluctance grow. You have little idea of who you're even looking for. The notion that Yunho might be some stereotypical "nerd-looking" guy briefly crosses your mind, and you can't help but feel a twinge of guilt for the shallow assumption.

After several minutes of wandering the labyrinthine aisles, you find yourself standing in the centre of the library, defeated and ready to give up on this wild goose chase. You can't even muster the energy to be disappointed; you're too focused on your own internal battle between academic responsibilities and your desire for the social scene.

Just as you turn to head for the exit, your hasty retreat is halted by an unexpected and rather forceful collision. You practically bump into a broad, solid chest that seemingly appears out of nowhere. Startled, you stagger back a step, nearly dropping the papers that you have clenched in your hand.

Looking up, you're met with the sight of a tall man, much taller than you. The first thing you notice is his thick black-framed glasses perched on his nose, giving him a rather studious appearance. However, his eyes sparkle with warmth and curiosity, and his friendly, wide smile catches you off guard.

"I'm sorry," you stammer, feeling flustered by the unexpected encounter.

The man's voice is deep and soothing and light-hearted as he replies, "No need to apologise. Are you looking for someone, or can I help you find a book or something?"

You hesitate for a moment, unsure if you should reveal your purpose in the library. But the kindness in his eyes and the genuine desire to assist make you decide to share. "Actually, I'm trying to find someone named Yunho. I was told he could help me with my studies."

His smile widens, his eyes scrunching in the process, and he extends a hand in greeting. "Yunho, at your service. It's nice to meet you."

You shake his hand, feeling a mix of surprise and relief. Yunho is not what you had expected, and the moment you assumed he'd be a stereotypical "nerd" is now a distant memory. As you look into his friendly eyes, a sense of hope and optimism begins to replace the frustration and doubt that had plagued you earlier.

"You're Yunho?" you ask, a hint of surprise in your voice, as he begins to lead you towards where it appears he was sitting.

"Yes, is it hard to believe?" Yunho responds, a slight nervousness in his tone. "I can get my ID out if you're sceptical." He quickly reaches into his pocket, his ears turning a shade of red as he rushes to grab his ID.

Hastily, you halt him, not wanting to put him through the trouble of proving his identity. Silently, you smile to yourself, he is sweet.

You and Yunho take a seat at a quiet corner table within the library, and you find yourself fidgeting with unease in your chair. Yunho, observant of your discomfort, wisely refrains from commenting, valuing your need for privacy.

"Alright," Yunho began, adjusting his glasses with a hint of nervousness in his demeanour. He reaches into his bag, carefully pulling out two well-worn textbooks and a stack of papers, placing them on the table in front of you.

"I wasn't entirely sure which topics you needed help with, so I brought materials for all five modules you're studying this semester."

You examine the books, their covers showing the marks of countless readers who had delved into their pages.

"Are these your books?" you inquire, surprised by the thoughtfulness he has put into his preparation.

Yunho shakes his head, his cheeks flushing slightly as he admits, "No, I borrowed them from the library. Microbiology isn't my field of study."

Your disbelief is evident as you fix your gaze on him. The rosy hue on his cheeks deepens as he fiddles with the sleeves of his oversized sweater and adjusts his glasses nervously. "You don't study microbiology?" you ask, genuinely surprised.

"No," Yunho confesses, his embarrassment now fully on display. "I just study it as a hobby."

You can’t help but be impressed by his dedication and the sheer audacity of teaching a subject purely out of passion.

"That's impressive," you state. You were well aware that to tutor a subject officially, one typically needed to pass a test administered by the school, certifying one's proficiency. The fact that Yunho was willing to help without any formal obligation was both admirable and unexpected.

Curiosity gets the better of you, you inquire, "What else do you tutor?"

Yunho hesitates for a moment, his fingers still absently adjusting his glasses. "Um, history, algebra, and applied sciences," he finally reveals, his modesty and shyness contrasting with his evident knowledge.

As you listened to him speak, you found yourself captivated not only by his academic prowess but also by the way he wore his thick glasses and his endearing shyness. Yunho was turning out to be a surprising and impressive individual, and you couldn't help but feel a growing fascination with the person who had just entered your academic world.

“So how much do you know about Microbiology?” Yunho questions, thinning through some of the papers in front of him.

“Uh, the basics I guess.” you mumble, your knowledge not the best seeing as you have missed many lectures the past few months.

Yunho's gaze meets yours, and you sense him observing your unease as his eyes traverse your form.

With a soft tone, he reassures you, "it’s okay, you can be honest. I'm here to help you, so you have to be honest. Then I can help you in the best way possible.”

For a fleeting moment, his words touch your heart, a warmth spreading within. Yet, you quickly suppress the feeling, reminding yourself that there is no time for such emotions in your busy life.

“I’ve forgotten a lot, to be honest.”

“That’s okay, we will start with the basics today, to refresh your memory.”

Under the soft glow of the study lamps in your cosy corner of the library, Yunho begins to unravel the basics. The excitement in his eyes was unmistakable, his passion for the subject evident with every word he spoke.

"Alright," he begins, tracing his finger along the pages filled with complex diagrams and scientific jargon. "As you likely already know, microbiology is the study of tiny organisms, like bacteria, viruses, and fungi. These microorganisms are everywhere, and they play a crucial role in our lives, from the food we eat to the diseases we encounter."

Yunho's explanation is clear and concise, making sure to break down complex ideas into easily digestible pieces.

He continues, "Uhh, the basics: the three main types of microorganisms. First, there are bacteria. They're single-celled organisms that can be both good and bad. Some bacteria help with digestion in your gut, while others can cause diseases."

You nod along, your memory starting to be refreshed. Yunho's enthusiasm is contagious, and you find yourself getting more and more interested in the subject.

He flips to a page with colourful illustrations of various microorganisms. "Then there are viruses, which are even smaller than bacteria. They're not considered living because they can't reproduce on their own. Instead, they need a host cell to replicate. Viruses are responsible for many illnesses, like the flu or COVID."

You absorb the information, appreciating how Yunho made the complex concept of viruses relatable. "And the third type?" you prompt.

"Ah, fungi," Yunho smiles. "Fungi are more complex microorganisms. They can be beneficial, like the yeast used in baking bread, or harmful, causing infections like athlete's foot. They're known for their unique cell structure and reproduction methods."

Whilst he explains, he encourages you to ask questions, making sure you are following along. The library's serene ambiance, coupled with Yunho's patient teaching, created a comfortable learning atmosphere. He didn't rush, taking his time to make sure you grasped each concept before moving on.

He continued to cover the basics of microbiology, including the significance of studying these microorganisms, their role in medicine, agriculture, and environmental science. Yunho's passion for the subject was evident in the way he animatedly discussed the various branches of microbiology, from medical microbiology to environmental microbiology, each with its unique focus and importance.

In the quiet of the library, during this unexpected first study session, you find yourself lost in thought. This wasn't how you had imagined it would go, and you can’t help but be impressed and thankful for Yunho's extraordinary patience and intelligence.

You had initially expected a conventional tutoring experience, but Yunho has proven to be so much more. His explanations were crystal clear, his passion for the subject contagious, and his willingness to help you with genuine enthusiasm is striking. He isn’t just a smart individual; he is a rare combination of intelligence and empathy.

You marvel at the fact that he wasn't the stereotypical snobby, know-it-all type who might look down on your abilities. Instead, Yunho is an embodiment of understanding and non-judgment. As he continues to make the complex subject of microbiology comprehensible, you can’t help but feel immense gratitude.

The study session with Yunho nears its end and you find yourself in a much different frame of mind than when you had started. Initially apprehensive about having a tutor, you have been pleasantly surprised by the experience. Your worries have somewhat melted away, replaced by a growing sense of confidence and gratitude.

Yunho, having covered a significant portion of the microbiology basics, closes the textbook with a satisfied smile. "I think we've made some good progress today," he says. "But there is still a lot we have to cover before exams next month. I expect to see you every Wednesday and Friday until then." Yunho attempts a stern voice, jokingly pointing his finger at you.

You chuckle, rolling your eyes. “Yes sir.” you salute him, acting back on his funny actions.

Gathering your belongings, you prepare to leave the library, yet Yunho surprises you with a genuine offer.

"If you ever have questions or need further assistance, don't hesitate to reach out. I'm here to help, and I enjoy teaching. We can meet on more days if you need."

You smile at the sincerity in his voice, “that’s okay, Yunho.” you say before turning towards the exit.

Walking out of the library, a lightness seems to settle upon your chest, replacing the initial apprehension with a sense of accomplishment. Glancing at your phone, you note that it is only ten in the evening. This realisation fills you with a newfound sense of freedom and opportunity.

With a contented smile, you contemplate the evening unfolding before you. The memory of the house party, just a short walk down the road, initially seemed distant due to your earlier commitment to the study session with Yunho. Despite knowing that you should be heading home to review your notes, a mischievous thought crept into your mind – what Yunho didn't know wouldn't hurt him.

A sly smirk plays on your lips as you begin to make your way toward the house party. You can’t deny the allure of a night filled with fun and perhaps a little indulgence. Yet, as you take your first steps, a fleeting moment of hesitation overcomes you. You pause, reflecting on the considerable effort Yunho had put into helping you today.

It is a big realisation. Few, if any, have ever invested so much time and effort in your growth and success. Your heart warms for a brief second at the thought, but just as quickly, you push aside those emotions. You have your reasons – a past that still haunted you, and the fear of getting your heart broken once more. You can’t afford to be vulnerable.

Despite your better judgement, you continue your journey to the house party, determined to enjoy the night to the fullest.

Unbeknownst to you, though, Yunho's presence would linger in your thoughts throughout the night.

—

Several weeks have passed since the start of your study sessions with Yunho, and it has been quite the transformative period. Initially, you had been reluctant to engage in any additional study outside of your scheduled sessions with him. But over time, Yunho's presence had become a reassuring constant in your life, offering a sense of peace and support that you couldn't quite admit to yourself.

During the past couple of weeks, you found yourself increasingly immersed in your books and studies, even sometimes choosing academic pursuits over the lively parties that your large, party-loving friend group frequented.

The shift in your priorities had not gone unnoticed by your friends, who seemed disheartened by your withdrawal from their activities. A residue of guilt clings to you every time you opted to hit the books rather than attend a party. Your ‘friends’ have grown vocal about it, casting you as a bore and a waste of time, berating you for supposedly losing your popularity.

Amid this turmoil, your study sessions with Yunho had become a sanctuary, a refuge from the social pressure and expectations. What you didn't fully realise was the profound positive impact these sessions were having on you, not just academically but also in terms of your personal growth.

Just a few days ago, you faced your first exam since you had started your sessions with Yunho and today you are receiving the results. You are well aware that if you do not pass this, it is not a huge deal seeing as it is not a final exam. Yet you do need to prove yourself to the student council by at least getting a D.

The anticipation is palpable in Professor Turner's classroom, the air thick with nervous energy. She stands at the front of the room, clutching a stack of papers that hold the results of the previous week's exam. Your heart races as you sit there, your anxiety mounting with each passing moment.

Whilst Professor Turner begins to distribute the grades, your palms grow clammy, and your heart races even faster.

As Professor Turner finally reaches your desk, she hands you the paper with a warm smile that holds an underlying pride. In the corner of the sheet, a vibrant red 'C' was marked. It isn’t the highest grade in the class, but at this moment, it feels like a monumental achievement.

A sense of accomplishment washes over you like a warm wave, as you realise that all the effort, Yunho's unwavering support, and Professor Turner's belief in you is beginning to pay off.

You cannot wait to let Yunho know about the news.

The campus courtyard was alive with activity as students milled about, enjoying the pleasant weather and the break from their studies. Among the various clusters of friends, you spot Yunho, standing with a small group of his own. His friends seem to be engaged in an animated conversation, their voices and laughter filling the air.

You observe Yunho for a brief moment, his expression appearing neutral as he attentively listens to his friend's conversation. Your gaze then drifts down to the sight of Yunho pulling up the sleeves of his knitted sweater, revealing his unexpectedly well-defined forearms. The contrast between his baggy clothing and his toned physique momentarily catches you off guard.

But as you approach, your excitement is impossible to contain, the momentary thought of how toned Yunho is elsewhere leaves your mind. Your heart races, and you feel a surge of joy within you. The sense of accomplishment overwhelms you, and you can’t wait to share the news with Yunho, regardless of the audience.

Without hesitation, you stride purposefully toward him, determination etched across your face. The moment you reach him, you suddenly feel a little small under the eyes of his friends who seem to have noticed you approaching.

“Yunho,” you say gently, attempting to get his attention.

Yunho turns around, surprised to see you talking to him outside of your study sessions.

“Hey, what’s up?” Yunho questions, his attention fully on you as he forgets his friends existence.

“I passed the exam,” you beam, “well barely it was only a C.”

Yunho’s eyes widen as his face breaks into a bright, genuine smile. His eyes, behind his thick glasses, now sparkle with delight.

"That's amazing! I knew you could do it!" he exclaims, his enthusiasm matching yours.

His friends can’t resist exchanging glances among themselves, finding it rather peculiar to witness your conversation with Yunho. After all, you are a highly popular figure in their school, while Yunho remains a reserved and relatively unknown individual.

The smile of pride that graces Yunho's face stirs a flurry of butterflies in your stomach, a sensation that has become increasingly common in recent times. Yet, you can't quite bring yourself to acknowledge the feeling, even to yourself.

Yunho's hand rises with a touch of hesitation before gently resting on the top of your head, playfully ruffling your hair to convey a silent 'good job.' Your entire face warms at the simple gesture, a blush creeping across your cheeks.

"Now, it's time to focus on those major tests, okay?" Yunho exclaims, his voice brimming with enthusiasm as he makes an effort to infuse you with the same excitement.

"Yes, sir," you respond with a playful salute, evoking a chuckle from his lips. Saluting Yunho has become somewhat of a habit, and he finds it endearing every time you do it.

“I’ll see you tomorrow then?”

You offer a nod, a warm smile gracing your face as you wave and bid farewell to Yunho and his friends.

Walking away, you feel a deep sense of gratitude for Yunho's unwavering support, not just as a tutor but as a friend who is being a great help in your journey toward success.

His encouragement had been a driving force in your recent accomplishments, and you couldn't have been happier to share this victory with him and his friends in the vibrant courtyard, a testament to the bonds forged through your academic pursuits.

As you depart, Yunho's gaze lingers on your retreating figure, a faint smile gracing his lips as he replays the conversation in his mind. The moment you vanish from his sight, his friends swivel toward him, their faces etched with bewilderment and curiosity.

"When you mentioned you were tutoring someone, you didn't say it was them?" Wooyoung exclaims, genuine confusion stemming from the exchange they just witnessed.

Yunho, momentarily caught off guard by their reactions, inquires, "What do you mean?" He shifts his attention toward the group, ready to address their inquiries.

"Dude, she's the most popular person in this school; you don't just get to talk to them," San chimes in, his astonishment mirroring Wooyoung's.

Yunho, however, didn't buy into the notion of social hierarchies. He pokes San in the forehead, responding, "We're not in high school anymore, and there's no such thing as popular girls and guys."

Wooyoung's expression softens as he mulls over your interaction. "And they were so nice," he continues, noting Yunho's reaction. "I didn't expect someone with their status to be so nice."

Yunho's annoyance flares at the stereotype implied in Wooyoung's words, his brow furrowing. "Don't hold such stereotypes," he chastises his friend. "They... they are the sweetest person I know."

San's eyes widen as he glances at Yunho, connecting the dots. "Holy moly," he exclaims. "You like them, don't you?"

Yunho scrambles to hush him up, his cheeks flushing. "Shut up," he grumbles, though the embarrassment in his voice hints at a deeper truth.

—

“Ugh, I’m never going to pass this test,” you groan as you throw your head into your hands, frustration emitting from your every fibre.

"Come on, don't be so pessimistic. You've got this, and I believe in you," Yunho exclaims, his warm smile casting a ray of encouragement over the room. He watches as you succumb to a hissy fit, a mix of frustration and self-doubt, a smile covering his features at your actions.

"You always say that, but this time I am doomed," you groan, your voice muffled by your hands as you bury your face in them.

Gently, Yunho reaches out and takes your hands, coaxing them away from your face. The contact sends a brief tremor through your heart, and you can’t help but notice the warmth of his touch.

"You can do it; you're the smartest person I know," Yunho says softly, locking his eyes with yours. His words catch you off guard, and you look at him, a puzzled expression furrowing your brow.

"I'm not smart; if I were, I wouldn't need a tutor," you state flatly, a hint of self-deprecation in your tone, which elicits a chuckle from Yunho.

"I'd be an idiot not to see your potential. I just think you had your priorities muddled when you first came here," he remarks.

Curious, you probe further. "What do you mean?"

"I mean it's no secret you enjoy a party," Yunho replies.

"No, before that."

"Oh," Yunho responds, and he continues, seemingly on a roll, "Well, I'd have to be blind not to see how smart you actually are. You're very capable of applying knowledge and solving problems. You have an excellent memory; most of the time, I only have to explain something once, and you've already processed it and applied it. It's very impressive. You're incredibly talented too. I see all the drawings you do in your book when you’re bored."

Yunho continues his praise, yet he is unaware of the emotions that well up within you. When he eventually glances in your direction, he is taken aback to find your eyes glistening with tears and a smile gracing your face.

"Did I say something wrong? I'm so sorry if it wasn't my intention," he inquires quickly, a sense of concern crossing his features as he worries he may have inadvertently hurt your feelings.

You shake your head and wipe away a tear, still smiling. "No, Yunho. It's just... no one really sees me like that anymore."

Now Yunho is confused for a different reason. "What do you mean?"

"I mean, most people see me as the 'popular girl' or 'the life of the party.' I don't know. It's nice to be seen as something other than the stereotype.”

"I know what you mean," Yunho says, his hand ruffling his hair as his cheeks turn a faint shade of red.

"What do you mean?" you ask, intrigued by his response.

"Well, I'm usually seen as a nerd or a loner. People only talk to me when they need help with assignments or answers for exams. It was nice at first, feeling needed, but now it just feels like I'm being used in a way. I only have two friends, and they spend more time with each other than they do with me." Yunho admits, his gaze drifting down to his fingers, where he idly picks at a piece of dead skin on his nail.

"I know it's weird coming from me since you're literally my tutor, but I don't think your intelligence defines you," You begin, causing Yunho to look up at you with a puzzled expression, waiting for you to elaborate.

You continue, your words flowing with sincerity, "You're a sweetheart, Yunho. I see you helping people, not because you have to, but because you genuinely enjoy it. You're kind, a gentleman, and incredibly thoughtful. Your sense of humour is beyond anyone I've ever met before; it's refreshing to talk to someone whose humour isn't just 'your momma' jokes or making others look bad to get a laugh."

Yunho furrows his eyebrows, taking in your words, his expression almost studying them.

"Plus," you add, a warm smile gracing your face, "whether you like it or not, I consider you my friend."

—

The evening sun casts a warm glow over the campus as you join your friend group in the bustling cafeteria. Laughter and chatter filled the air as you settled in with them at your usual table. The topic of conversation quickly turns to the party happening later in the night, an event that has become increasingly rare for you to attend. The thought of partying when there was a crucial final exam on the horizon weighs heavily on your mind.

"Hey, you are coming to the party tonight, right?" your friend asks, a glimmer of anticipation in their eyes.

You hesitate for a moment, knowing what your priorities were. "I wish I could, but I really need to study for the final exam," you explain.

Immediately, your friends' expressions grow sour, and they exchange incredulous glances. "Again? You're always studying or making excuses. It's like you're avoiding us," one of them remarks, frustration creeping into their tone.

Their words sting, and you feel the pressure of their expectations bearing down on you. "I'm not avoiding anyone; I just have to prioritise my studies, you guys know I might get expelled." you insist, your voice wavering slightly as you try to maintain your composure.

But your friends aren’t satisfied with your explanation.

"You never come to parties anymore. You're turning into a loser nerd, just like that loner Yunho," another friend declares with a snide tone, and the others chime in agreement, chuckles leaving their mouths.

The words strike a nerve, and you can’t hold back any longer. How dare they insult Yunho, who has been there for you during your toughest times of studying? The anger that has been building up inside you erupts.

"Yunho is not a loser," you snap, your voice filled with indignation. "He's been more of a friend to me than any of you. If you can't understand the importance of my studies and support me, then I don't need ‘friends’ like you."

At that moment, you make a decision. These friends are just immature individuals who only care about getting drunk and partying. They value popularity and shallow connections over your well-being and academic success. You have had enough of pretending to be something you weren't just to fit in.

"I don't care about popularity if it means I have to be fake and have fake-ass friends," you exclaim. With that, you push your chair back and leave the table, leaving your former friends behind, realising that true friendship means understanding and respecting your priorities, not forcing you to compromise your goals.

Walking away from the cafeteria, you feel a mix of anger, relief, and sadness. It was painful to let go of friendships that had once meant so much to you, but you knew that your academic journey is more important than trying to fit into a mould that didn't truly represent who you were.

Tears well up in your eyes, and you can’t prevent them from spilling over as you stand just outside the school gates. You pay no mind to the curious glances of onlookers, for your emotions are too overwhelming to be hidden. You aren’t entirely certain if these tears are born of sadness, frustration, or a turbulent mix of both.

Without even thinking, you pull out your phone and dial Yunho’s number. You are not sure if you want to be alone tonight, yet you definitely do not want to go to a party. The only person you know will be available is Yunho. Maybe you can have an extra study session tonight.

It takes the phone only five seconds before Yunho picks up, his voice bright as he greets you.

"Hey, Yunho," you begin, attempting to maintain a sense of composure, but the tremor in your voice reveals your unease.

Yunho's keen ear picks up on the shakiness in your tone, and concern washes over him as he responds with a soft, soothing voice, "What's wrong?"

You sniffle, trying to brush off the emotions threatening to overcome you. "Nothing, it's nothing," you reply, your voice still carrying the traces of distress. "Are you free to study? I don't have anything to do, and I need to go over a few things."

Yunho is aware that a big party is scheduled for tonight, information he had gathered from Wooyoung, who also enjoys such gatherings. He finds it puzzling that you, too, had initially expressed an interest in attending the event, but he refrained from voicing his curiosity.

"I am free, but the library is closed today, and the school is closing soon too," Yunho explains, an idea begins to take root in his mind, and he hesitates before asking, "You could come to my place?"

The offer hangs in the air for a moment, full of unspoken implications. Yunho's excitement about the prospect of having you over is palpable, yet he tries to maintain his composure. He knows that his place will offer a quiet environment for studying.

The offer hangs in the air, and for a brief moment, you hesitate. You are well aware that accepting Yunho's invitation would signify a slight shift in your academic tutor relationship. The unspoken implications dance in the silence between you.

Yunho, on the other hand, finds his nervousness manifesting in the way he chews the inside of his cheek. His heart races as he awaits your response, unsure of how you would react to his proposition.

Despite your initial reservations, you can’t seem to bring yourself to decline his offer. The warmth and genuine concern that Yunho has consistently shown makes you feel safe and comfortable around him, and you find it difficult to resist the idea of studying in his presence, even if it means stepping slightly outside the boundaries of your tutor-student dynamic.

“What’s your address?”

Making your way to Yunho's apartment, the anticipation of seeing him outside the usual academic setting adds an extra layer of excitement to your steps. The prospect of stepping into his personal space, even for a study session, feels like a small adventure.

You reach his apartment door and take a moment to collect yourself, your heart beating just a bit faster with each passing second. When you knock, the immediate rustling sounds from the other side of the door indicate that Yunho is indeed home.

The door opens, revealing a sight that takes your breath away. You are accustomed to seeing Yunho in smart attire, his hair always neatly styled, and he consistently looks presentable. However, the man who stands before you now is quite different.

Yunho is dressed in a loose grey T-shirt that hangs comfortably on his frame, and he wears a pair of black sweatpants that appear as cosy as they are casual. His hair is fluffy and untamed, in stark contrast to his usually well-groomed appearance. Yet, for some reason, this version of Yunho is just as captivating.

He still wears his thick glasses, but the way he looks now, so relaxed and approachable, makes your heart flutter. You can’t help but notice the subtle differences that render him all the more appealing. Your eyes linger on his toned arms, a part of him that was typically concealed beneath his attire. The sight of them, revealed in the simple T-shirt, is enough to send a rush of warmth throughout your body.

Yunho's appearance today is a stark departure from his usual academic demeanour, and it leaves you both pleasantly surprised and, admittedly, a little flustered.

"Hey, uh, you can come in," Yunho stammers, a faint blush covering his cheeks.

You step inside, casting a brief but appreciative glance around Yunho's apartment. The space is on the smaller side, but it exudes a cosy charm that instantly puts you at ease. The apartment is immaculately clean and well-organised with a sense of tranquillity that contrasts with the bustling student life outside.

The living room is adorned with shelves, and the shelves are full of an impressive array of books, neatly arranged in rows. The sight of so many books gives you a glimpse into the depth of his knowledge and his passion for education.

As you look around, you notice a comfortable-looking sofa with a warm throw blanket tossed over it, a sign of a space that was both functional and inviting. The soft glow of a desk lamp illuminated a study area with a well-kept desk, hinting at countless hours of diligent work.

Yunho's apartment is not large, but it feels like a haven for anyone seeking a peaceful refuge from the outside world. It reminds you of Yunho.

"Do you want something to drink or eat?" Yunho asks, his voice tinged with a touch of nervousness as he observes your exploration of his apartment.

You take a moment to absorb the cosy ambiance of his living space before replying, "Have you had dinner?"

Yunho's cheeks flush a deeper shade of red, and a small, endearing smile graced his lips. “I haven't yet, I was going to order something later.”

“Can we eat together? I haven't eaten since this morning.”

Yunho grumbles your name, reprimanding you, "I told you, you need to eat regularly; it helps with..."

You finish his sentence with a soft chuckle, "Concentration, I know, Yu."

The use of the affectionate nickname "Yu" slips easily from your lips, and you are unaware of the profound impact it has on Yunho. His heart races at the sound of it, though he tries to hide his reaction with a smile.

You continue, "We can eat while studying, right?" Your suggestion seems to lighten the mood, and Yunho is more than willing to accommodate your request.

“Of course.”

Yunho and you sit on the floor of his living room, your books and notes spread out on his coffee table, which also hold the remnants of an empty pizza box from your meal earlier. This makeshift study space is cosy, and the atmosphere is filled with the shared pursuit of knowledge.

Yunho is positioned in front of you, as he often is during your study sessions, carefully watching you as you diligently take notes. He couldn't help but admire your dedication and determination, and his heart swelled with pride as he saw your progress.

As you write, a strand of hair slips from behind your ear and falls in front of your face. It is a simple, everyday occurrence, but to Yunho, it is a moment of subtle beauty. He feels a strong urge to reach out and tuck that strand of hair behind your ear, to be close to you in that small, intimate way. However, he holds back, not wanting to push any boundaries that existed between you.

He watches with fascination as you decide to tie your hair up, using a hairband that was on your wrist. The act of gathering your hair and securing it in a ponytail seems almost magical to him. Yunho can’t deny the allure of how you look with your hair up, a sense of casual elegance that tugs at his heart.

In this moment, his thoughts stray to less innocent territories, but he quickly redirects his focus to the task at hand. He can’t afford to let his mind wander too far, not when the two of you are deep in a study session and he is fairly certain you would never harbour feelings for him in that way.

However, the image of you with your hair tied up stays with him, etched into his memory, a reminder of the many facets of your charm that make it increasingly difficult for him to keep his feelings at bay.

You furrow your brows, attempting to decipher a particularly complex passage about pathogens. It is a subject that has always managed to baffle you, and tonight was no exception.

Glancing up, you are caught off guard by the intense gaze of Yunho. He was already intently staring at you, an indescribable emotion in his eyes. Clearing your throat, you shift your focus back to the book, feeling the weight of his attention. Yunho immediately averts his gaze, pretending to be engrossed in his own book.

Taking a deep breath, you decide to take a chance and ask the question that has been bothering you about the microorganism. "Yunho, can you help me with this? I don't quite understand this."

Yunho's attention snaps back to you, his eyes focusing on the book. However, as he leans in to get a better look, the words on the page seem to blur. Determined to help you, he moves closer, sitting next to you on the floor. His arm brushing against yours, his thigh lightly touching yours, creates a subtle yet undeniable physical connection.

Yunho looks down at your bare thighs and he mentally curses you for wearing a skirt, he isn't sure how to pay attention when you are so close to him.

Yunho begins to explain the terminology and you find it increasingly challenging to concentrate on the subject. Your eyes are locked on his face, drawn to the way his lips move and the subtle changes in his expression as he explains the concepts. His proximity was both distracting and comforting, and you can’t help but feel a flutter of excitement in your chest.

You cannot deny the allure of Yunho's presence. His crisp scent, a mix of a rich, woody sweetness and a hint of cologne, fills your senses and sends your mind racing. It is an intoxicating aroma that evokes a sense of freshness and warmth, creating an almost magnetic pull.

Listening to Yunho's explanations, you struggle to keep your focus on the topic at hand. Your eyes remain fixed on his face, capturing the play of emotions and the genuine care he puts into helping you understand. In this moment, the connection between you is undeniable, and the unspoken tension in the air seems to grow with each passing second. Little did you both know the profound effect you are having on each other as you lean against one another, on the verge of something unspoken. The second Yunho moves back to his seat, you suddenly feel awfully cold and empty, yet once again you push the feelings away.

The two of you continue your study session, when Yunho suddenly removes his glasses and rubs his eyes in a gesture of weariness. His actions catch your attention, and your gaze remains locked on his face, momentarily entranced by the change in his appearance.

In all the time you have spent with Yunho, you have never really taken into consideration how handsome he might be without his glasses. Now, as you observe his bare face, you are struck by his natural beauty. His features are chiselled and symmetrical, and there is a timeless quality to his face that make him incredibly appealing.

Yunho's clear eyes, framed by long, dark lashes, hold a depth that you haven't fully appreciated before. His skin was smooth and unblemished, and his lips had a natural rosy hue. It was as if a veil had been lifted, revealing a different charm to him that you have never taken the time to notice.

For a moment, you find yourself in awe of how genuinely handsome he is, and you can’t help but appreciate the sight of him with his glasses off.

The study session is coming to a close, and as you gather your books and notes, you notice a curious look on Yunho's face. It is evident that he has something on his mind, and your curiosity gets the best of you.

"Is there something??" you inquire, your voice soft and inquisitive.

Yunho hesitates for a moment, as if choosing his words carefully. "When you called, you seemed upset. You don't have to tell me if you don't want to, but I was just worried."

You look at him with a touch of surprise at his perceptiveness.

The fight with your friends wasn’t something you had planned to discuss, but you can sense the genuine concern in Yunho's expression, and you feel compelled to share.

Taking a deep breath, you begin to explain the situation, recounting the immaturity and unfair accusations that had led to the fallout. Yunho's shock and disbelief at their behaviour is palpable, and his expression reveals a mix of sympathy and frustration on your behalf.

"I can't believe they'd act like that," Yunho exclaims, his voice laced with sympathy. "It's their loss, you know. You're an incredible person, and they're the ones who are missing out."

Yunho's words are comforting, and the warmth of his understanding makes you feel as if a weight has been lifted from your shoulders. It is a rare and welcome feeling to have someone truly empathise with your situation, and you find yourself grateful for his support.

Yunho watches you with a tender look when suddenly his curiosity gets the best of him, and he asks, "What does your boyfriend think of you coming to my house and spending so much time with me?"

You let out a sigh, the question touching a nerve you are not quite ready to address. "I don't have a boyfriend," you confess, and for a moment, there is a hint of vulnerability in your voice.

Yunho, genuinely surprised, raises an eyebrow, trying to hide his excitement as he peers at you. "Why not?"

You sigh again, your gaze dropping to the floor. "Most of the boys I'm around aren't ready for a relationship. They just want something casual, and I don't want to get my heart broken."

Yunho's brow furrows as he considers your response. "I didn't expect that," he admits, his voice tinged with surprise.

"What do you mean?" you ask, genuinely curious about his reaction.

Yunho sets a piece of paper he had been studying in front of him, "I mean, you have guys falling at your feet. Don't you have one person you enjoy spending time with?"

You ponder on his words, your eyes lingering on Yunho, who is now fully engaged in the paper. He isn't looking at you; instead, his gaze is focused on the words before him.

After a moment of contemplation, you respond, "I enjoy spending time with you."

The second the words leave your lips, Yunho looks up from his reading, and the world seems to momentarily stand still around you. His heart skips a beat, and for a fraction of a second, everything else fades into the background. Your words hang in the air, and Yunho lets them sink in.

In this suspended moment, it is as if the universe conspired to create a connection that went beyond friendship and tutoring. Yunho's heart pounds in his chest, and he can’t help but meet your gaze with a mixture of surprise and affection.

Yunho cannot deny the impact of your confession. It is a sentiment he has quietly harboured but never dared to voice. Now, as the reality of your words settle in, he can’t help but feel a sense of joy and gratitude for the special bond that has grown between you, transcending the boundaries of tutor and student.

—

The night is alive with the promise of revelry as you arrive at a party, a whirlwind of colour and sound. It has been some time since you'd attended such an event, focusing intensely on your studies. But tonight is different. Hongjoong, an old friend who had no knowledge of falling out with your other friends, had invited you. You trusted him not to judge your academic priorities, and the prospect of enjoying yourself was too tempting to resist.

You had chosen to let loose for the evening. After an intense study session last night, you felt you deserved a break. You wear a stunning deep purple dress that hugs your curves, accentuating your figure in all the right places. The fabric clings to you like a second skin, and its elegance draws the admiring gazes of many in attendance. Though you are well aware of the attention, you can’t help but feel indifferent to it now. Your priorities have shifted, and the superficial desires of others hold little sway over you.

Entering the party, the vibrant atmosphere envelopes you. The music throbs with an infectious beat, and the dance floor pulses with people lost in the rhythm. Laughter and conversations fill the air, and the warm glow of colourful lights creates a dazzling backdrop for the night's festivities.

Spotting Hongjoong in the kitchen, you make your way through the bustling crowd. He is deeply engrossed in a lively conversation with some of his friends, a characteristic grin lighting up his face. A sense of nostalgia and anticipation welled up within you as you drew closer.

You approach Hongjoong, who is mingling near the drinks table, a welcoming smile on his face as he spots you.

“Do you want a drink?” He offers, but you decline, stating that you have an early lecture the next morning.

Hongjoong nods understandingly, knowing you are dedicated to your studies. You are grateful for his response, as he does not press the issue but simply smiles and continues with the conversation.

“So you’ve gone back to your nerd roots,” Hongjoong jokes as he hands you a cup of cola.

You laugh as you take the cup, “it’s been a while since I've studied this hard,”

“You were always stuck in a book in highschool,”

“It’s nice to feel like my brain isn't rotting anymore,” you exclaim laughing.

“I’ll cheers to that,”

As you chat with Hongjoong, you enjoy catching up and the lively atmosphere of the party. When all of a sudden you see a familiar figure from the corner of your eye. At first, you thought your mind might be playing tricks on you, but as you turn your head, you realise it was indeed who you thought it was.

Quickly, you bid a quick goodbye to Hongjoong and make your way through the crowd, heading straight for the person, who seems to be stumbling around slightly.

Concern etched on your face, you approach him and ask, "Yunho, what on earth are you doing here?"

Yunho's expression is a mix of surprise and embarrassment as he struggles to regain his composure. "Uh… I’m not really sure," he admits, his voice tinged with nervousness.

You can’t help but feel a combination of amusement and warmth at his unexpected presence. Yunho, who usually exudes an air of composed intelligence, seems to be a bit out of his element in the party scene. Nonetheless, you appreciated the effort he made to be there.

"Are you okay?" You question, his anxious eyes dart around the crowded room, taking in the chaotic atmosphere of the party.

Yunho hesitates for a moment before admitting, "Would it be weird if I said I don't like it here?"

A warm smile graces your face, understanding his unease in this unfamiliar setting. Without hesitation, you reach out and gently grab his hand, your fingers interlocking boldly. Yunho is taken aback by the physical contact, feeling the warmth of your hand in his, and his heart flutters in response.

You lead him to a more secluded area of the house where the music is not as deafening, and the crowd is much thinner. The change of scenery provides a welcome respite from the overwhelming chaos of the main party area. Yunho can’t ignore the way your small hands feel in his large ones, the sensation sending a shiver down his spine. It is a simple gesture, but it makes him feel closer to you, dispelling some of his unease.

In the quieter, more secluded area of the house, you and Yunho find a temporary refuge from the bustling party.

"What are you really doing here?" you ask, curiosity in your eyes.

Yunho's expression shifts, and he admits, "Wooyoung dragged me here. I didn't really want to come, and I already don't like it." His eyes scan the room, taking in the scene around him.

For a moment, Yunho's gaze settles on you, and he notices your choice of attire, a short, form-fitting dress that accentuates your curves. It is a striking sight that leaves an indelible impression on him. His mind wanders to non-innocent places, etching the image of you in this dress into his memory. He can’t deny that you look stunning, and his thoughts momentarily venture into uncharted territory.

Although his initial discomfort at the party has faded, the sight of you in that dress stirs something within him, something he has only thought of late at night. It is an unexpected sight that leaves Yunho in a state of internal turmoil, struggling to keep his thoughts in check as he tries to focus on the conversation at hand.

The pulsating music and the chaotic atmosphere of the party seems to close in around you. Suddenly a thought crosses your mind, and you turn to Yunho, considering your options.

"Do you want to get out of here?" you ask, your voice barely audible over the party noise.

Your question snaps Yunho out of his thoughts, and he looks back up at you as if he had been caught taking in your form. His gaze meets yours, and for a brief moment, you can see the vulnerability in his eyes. It is a rare sight, and it makes you feel even more connected to him.

It takes less than a second for Yunho to answer, "Yes."

Without further hesitation, he intertwines your fingers with his, and you both rush towards the exit of the house. Yunho's larger frame shields you from the reckless partiers who are going strong, ensuring you don't get caught in the chaos of the crowd. The touch of his hand is both reassuring and electrifying, and it feels like an unspoken agreement between the two of you; an escape from the madness into a more tranquil and intimate setting.

You are not sure how you ended up at Yunho’s apartment, yet you cannot quite complain. Since the study session at his house you have desired to be back at his, it was so comforting and peaceful in his house and you love it there.

"You can make yourself at home, I'm going to grab us some food," Yunho explains as he opens the door to his cosy apartment. He moves to grab his wallet from the coffee table, ready to head out to pick up the food.

However, as he attempts to pass you and make his way to the door, you stand in front of him, blocking his path. The look on your face reveals your disappointment, and it is clear that you don’t want him to leave so soon.

"Can we order it?" you ask, your voice filled with a longing for his company.

Yunho hesitates for a moment, weighing the options, but he ultimately replies, "It'll be quicker for me to get it now."

Despite his practical reasoning, you insisted, "Please stay with me Yunho."

Yunho can’t help but be touched by your plea. The vulnerability in your voice causes a flutter in his chest, and he is acutely aware of the genuine connection that has developed between you. He smiles and relents, realising that he doesn’t want to leave you either.

"Okay," he speaks softly, "I'll order it."

Your gratitude was evident in your eyes, and you knew you had made the right decision. Yunho's presence is something you cherished, and you are both beginning to understand just how much the other means to you.

You settle onto his couch, and soon enough the Chinese takeout that you had ordered arrives, the delightful aroma filling the room. It is a welcomed comfort that you both enjoy as you unwrap the containers and share the delicious meal.

You watch as Yunho picks a movie that he recommends, and you were intrigued to see his choice.

As you and Yunho start to watch the movie, you can’t help but feel a chill in the room. The soft glow from the TV illuminated your silhouette, the short dress you are wearing now seems impractical in the cosy setting.

Yunho, ever attentive, notices your discomfort and decides to speak up. "Are you cold?" he inquires, a hint of concern in his voice.

You hesitate for a moment but soon admit, "Yeah, a little."

Without further ado, Yunho offers a solution. "I have some warmer clothes you can borrow if you want. I could grab them for you."

His thoughtful gesture leaves you flustered, but you manage to stammer out a grateful "Yes, please." Your heart warms at the consideration he shows, and you appreciate his willingness to make you more comfortable.

Yunho quickly gets up and disappears into his bedroom. He returns with a hoodie and a pair of sweatpants, both of which were his own. His choice of clothing was deliberate, as he handed you his favourite hoodie. He has often wondered what you would look like wearing it, and now he has the perfect excuse to find out. The hoodie is warm and smells like him, making you feel closer to him in a way you hadn't anticipated.

Yunho can’t help but watch you with a warm smile as you accept the clothes. However, the smile quickly fades as he realises his mistake, and he feels his cheeks heat up in embarrassment.

"Oh, sorry," he quickly stutters out, chuckling nervously as he ruffles the back of his hair, "You can change in my bedroom."

You laugh gently at him, he is so cute.

“Thank you,” you smile before walking into his bedroom.

Entering Yunho's bedroom, you can’t help but take in the clean and organised space. His room is a testament to his meticulous nature, and you appreciate the attention to detail. But what truly catches your eye are the posters of various games adorning the walls. You admired the artwork and can’t help but think that they add a personal touch to the room.

Shaking off the distraction, you proceed to change into Yunho's clothes. The hoodie he has given you is larger than you expected, enveloping you in warmth and reaching down to your mid-thigh. The realisation of just how big Yunho begins to dawn on you.

His hoodie seems to swallow you in its comfort, and you can’t help but feel a little bit smaller. His physical presence is undeniable; he is taller than you, his shoulders are broad, and his hands are significantly larger than yours. The contrast is alluring, and you can’t deny that the thought of him towering over you, his sheer size and strength, stirs something within you.

You feel arousal pooling in between your legs, but you push aside the feeling, not sure if Yunho would feel the same way.

The hoodie is so long, you make a bold choice to not wear the sweatpants, seeing as the hoodie covers everything. Plus, there's no harm in seeing Yunho’s reaction.

You step out of the room, and Yunho is skimming between channels, trying to find a different movie to watch.

When Yunho hears your footsteps approaching the living room, he turns around to look at you, expecting to see you in his clothes. However, what he sees leaves his heart nearly stopping. There you stand, wearing nothing but his hoodie, your legs exposed and on full display.

Yunho's breath catches in his throat, and he swallows deeply, trying to suppress the flood of sensations and indecent thoughts that surge through his mind. His cheeks flush a deep shade of red, and he is unable to tear his eyes away from you, his gaze inadvertently lingering on your enticing figure.

In this moment, he finds himself captivated by your beauty and the unexpected intimacy of the situation, struggling to maintain his composure. The sight of you in his hoodie was something he had never expected, and it sends his heart and mind into a whirlwind of emotions and desires.

"What's wrong?" you inquire, noticing the wide-eyed and bright red expression on Yunho's face as he gazes at you with an intensity you haven't seen before.

It is as if a switch has flipped in Yunho's mind, and suddenly, confidence takes over his being. You watch in amazement as he stands up from the couch and moves with a determined purpose towards you.

With each step, it is evident that he is almost out of breath, his chest heaving with a mixture of excitement and nervousness. He stops in front of you, his eyes locking onto yours with an intensity that sends shivers down your spine. For a moment, you feel like you are the only person in the world for him, and the possessiveness in his gaze doesn’t go unnoticed.

Yunho's large hands land gently on your shoulders, and they slowly trail down to clasp yours. His touch is electrifying, and as he guides you backward, you soon find yourself pressed against the wall, pinned there by his presence. The air seems charged with an unspoken desire, and you can’t help but be captivated by this new side of Yunho.

Yunho murmurs your name, his voice thick with desire and uncertainty. He continues, "You can tell me to stop if you want..."

You don’t hesitate for a moment. In a hushed, eager tone, you reply, "Yunho, just kiss me for fuck's sake."

Yunho gently cups your cheek, his dark eyes locked onto yours with a mixture of tenderness and desire. Leaning closer, his lips press against your cheek, leaving a trail of fire in their wake as they venture down toward your mouth. He pauses for a moment, watching you closely, his breath brushing across your face, sending shivers down your spine.

With careful consideration, he presses his lips to the corner of your mouth, testing the waters, and eliciting a soft gasp from you. Feeling the tightening grip of your hand on his shirt, he gains the reassurance he needs to continue. Slowly, he deepens the kiss, his lips melding with yours, the softness and warmth sending a wave of astonishment through your body. His lips move against yours and all the feelings of the past few months pour into the kiss.

Yunho delicately probes his tongue into your mouth, you can’t help but respond. Your fingers tighten their hold on his shirt, and a surge of electric sensations course through your body, leaving you breathless and eager for more.

Yunho's kiss tastes like pure indulgence, a blend of desire and longing that leaves you yearning for more. The feeling is exquisite, and you can’t help but moan softly in response to the intensity of the moment.

His lips leave yours, trailing down your neck from the curve of your jaw. Soft gasps escape your lips as he explores the sensitive skin of your throat, sending shivers down your spine as he presses you harder against the wall, the heat of the kiss overcoming the two of you. The pleasure is overwhelming, and you instinctively threw your head back, granting him better access to your neck.

Yunho breaks away from the kiss, a hint of frustration in his eyes as he tosses his glasses aside, irritated by their intrusion. His dark and intense gaze is now fully revealed, making you realise the depth of his desire. Without delay, he reconnects your lips with a hungry passion that leaves you breathless.

His hands begin a journey down your waist, their touch igniting sparks of pleasure. With astonishing ease, he lifts you off your feet, his strength both surprising and exciting. Instinctively, you wrap your legs around his waist, and that is when you feel his hardness prodding you through your underwear. You suddenly feel extremely thankful for not wearing the sweatpants as he now has easier access to where you want him most.

Yunho carries you toward his bedroom with an air of urgency, his strides confident and determined. With a swift, well-placed kick, he sends the bedroom door wide open.

He gently sits on the edge of the mattress, you find yourself in his lap, the warmth of his body enveloping you. The world outside fades into insignificance, and you are left with a sense of anticipation that sends shivers down your spine. The connection between you and Yunho grew stronger, and the intensity of the moment only heightened your desire for one another.

Yunho’s hands travel to your hips, where he kneads the flesh appreciatively. With a calculated move, he pushes you down onto himself, grinding you against his hardness. This causes the both of you to moan into the kiss, the both of you addicted to the sound.

“Yunho, please,” you mutter into the kiss, needing relief that you know Yunho will provide.

“What do you want, beautiful?” Yunho groans back against your lips when he feels you grinding yourself onto him.

“You.” you say with confidence, “always been you.” you declare and it has Yunho’s heart racing even faster in his chest.

Yunho realises the fun he can have in this situation, and he feels addicted to the control he has over you. You bury your face into Yunho’s neck, your embarrassment becoming apparent.

“How badly?” Yunho teases as he places long hot kisses on the side of your neck.

“Please Yunho, please.” usually you would feel humiliated, yet you have no time to feel any form of embarrassment, your desire is too strong. With a swift yet tender movement, Yunho deftly flips the two of you over, your back now resting on the plush comfort of his bed. He settles between your open legs, the space between you filled with electrifying anticipation as the world around you blurred into obscurity.

“Since you’re such a good girl, I have to take care of you, don’t I?”

Yunho's transformation is nothing short of mesmerising. The once innocent aura that surrounded him has gone, replaced by a commanding presence that leaves your head spinning. It is as if he has unlocked a hidden side of himself, and the intensity of his actions and words leave you completely captivated and yearning for more.

With a gentle motion, Yunho pulls the hoodie off, revealing your bare chest to his hungry eyes. He takes in the sight of your naked top half and your panties and it is better than all the times he has imagined it. Your nipples immediately harden in the chilly air and you hastily rush to cover yourself.

“Do not,” Yunho's gentle yet commanding voice holds you in its sway, preventing you from covering yourself. He takes hold of your wrists, his words alone enough to convey his desire, and you obediently nod in agreement, unable to resist his irresistible influence.

“Gorgeous,” he whispers as he scans over your body.

Yunho begins to leave soft kisses across your collar bones, reaching your shoulders and neck as he simultaneously massages the flesh of your breast. He leaves open mouthed kisses on your skin, suckling and biting marks into your skin that only he gets to see.

Slowly, he takes one nipple into his mouth, swirling his tongue around it, sucking it, and biting the sensitive nub, an action that has you arching and moaning into his touch.

“You sound so beautiful moaning for me.” Yunho growls before moving to your other nipple and giving it the same attention, making sure to watch your every reaction.

In an agonising pace, Yunho trails his kisses down and you can almost feel yourself shaking from excitement as he nears where you need him the most.

You almost explode the second you feel Yunho’s mouth trailing along your thighs, his teeth nipping at the sensitive flesh.

Yunho chuckles darkly when he hears your excited gasps and moans, the sounds are like a beautiful melody to him, causing him to want more.

Yunho's sudden act of sitting up to remove his jumper catches your attention, and your eyes remain fixated on him. What you see beneath his clothes surprises you. His toned, well-defined upper body, his waist is slender, his shoulders are broad, giving him a somewhat hourglass-like figure. While he isn’t overly muscular, his physique was indeed a captivating sight. Chiselled abs adorn his stomach, and an irresistible desire wells up within you, compelling you to kiss every inch of his flawless skin.

Yunho's chest swells with pride as he observes your intense gaze on his body. He can hardly believe the turn of events and the desire he sees in your eyes.

Yunho smirks as your hands fumble towards his belt, desperately wanting his pants off.

"Patience, doll," Yunho asserts, his voice exuding confidence as he helps you remove his belt.

Left in only his boxers, you can see his length outlined through his black boxers and your breath is momentarily taken away. He is big, very big. You cannot help but let out a whimper of desperation as you look back up Yunho, who has a cocky grin on his features.

Leaning down, he starts placing light kisses on your stomach and thighs, getting close, but not quite close enough for your liking.

Instinctively, you run your fingers through his locks, trying to push him closer to where you need him. You hear Yunho chuckle at your eagerness, his heart racing knowing you want him as much as he wants you.

You watch Yunho’s every move, wanting to imprint every moment deep into your memory.

Yunho presses a gentle kiss against your clothed core, eliciting a soft mewl from your lips and Yunho hums in appreciation. You feel your whole body heat up in embarrassment as Yunho pulls your panties down, tossing them to the side of the room. You attempt to close your legs, feeling extremely exposed. Yunho feels himself losing self control as he looks at your soaking core, yet he tells himself to control his urges, wanting to make this last for much longer.

Yunho isn’t pleased with this and he lets out a growl as he speaks, “open those legs and let me see that pretty pussy.”

He grips your thighs, forcing them open and you can't help feel another rush of arousal course through you from his strength. It annoys you how slow he is, taking his time to get where you need him, he is too busy enjoying every small reaction, your desperation and eye fucking you, gauging every one of your gasps and twitches.

Yet the second his lips are on your core, the loud moan you let out is close to a scream and you feel him raviging you. His mouth works expertly against you, his tongue alternating between flicking your clit to lapping at your soaking hole has you seeing stars.

Your body squirms with pleasure under Yunho's skilled touch, your fingers instinctively weaving into his hair as he eats you like you are his last meal.

“Yunho, please…” your voice is hoarse as you look down at him.

Yunho gazes up at you, a teasing smirk playing on his lips, making your thoughts hazy.

“Please what, pretty?” Yunho questions, yet as you are about to answer, he slips in one of his long fingers into your core. The second he feels your warm walls around him, he feels himself fighting the urge to destroy you right there and then. You jolt at the sensation, tears lining your eyes because of how desperate you are to be filled by him.

“Want you…need you…” you say, your voice shaky as you throw your head back against the pillow.

“Oh baby,” Yunho tuts, his voice almost condescending as he stares up at your fucked out state, “your pussy is so tight, I need to prep you before, don’t want you to get hurt.”

Yunho's words send another wave of desire coursing through your veins. The contrast between his stern tone and his evident care for your well-being leaves you feeling both dizzy and achingly needy.

“You don't want to get hurt, do you now?” Yunho questions, gently slapping your thigh to get your attention back on him.

“No, I don’t,” you exclaim, doing anything to please the man in front of you.

“Good girl,”

He's ruthless, entering another finger into your wet hole, his tongue alternating sucks and nips on your clit. With ease, he manages to find the spot inside you that sets fireworks through you and you feel the coil in your belly starting to tighten in pleasure.

"So fucking good, doll." He groans, his face pressed against your core has your cunt throbbing. “Can you even take my dick? I don’t want to hurt you when you’re being so good for me.”

You feel yourself on the edge of an orgasm, desperate to topple over the edge. All you need is a little encouragement, and you're extremely glad Yunho is so good at reading you.

“Let loose, baby. Be a good girl and cum on my fingers.”

You let out a loud moan, almost a scream as your orgasm hits you and Yunho holds your shaking body down, licking your clit softly as you finish.

Before you can finish riding through your high, Yunho continues to kiss your pussy gently while adding a finger, the sudden stretch in your hole has you whining and writhing around from the sensitivity, his rough movements from his long fingers has you shaking even more. You beg for him to slow down and, thankfully he leans back, a satisfied smirk on his face as he watches you twitch beneath him.

Before you can comment on anything, Yunho leans down and captures you in another heated kiss, and you moan when you can taste yourself on his lips, a new rush of arousal flooding through your body.

“Do you want to keep going? We can stop if you want to.” Yunho's voice, filled with concern, warms your heart, but you can't help the groan that escapes your lips.

"I’d love to continue," you rush on your words, your enthusiasm unabated. Chuckling at your eagerness, Yunho moves back slightly, running a hand through his hair as he gazes down at you, a mix of pride and desire evident in his eyes as he looks at your fucked out state.

“Wait shit, I don't know if i have a condom,” Yunho says, worried as he ruffles through his bedside table, not able to find any.

“Wait really?” you question, not even the slightest bit worried about him not having a condom, in fact you almost try to hide your excitement, “it’s okay.”

“What?”

“We don't need it, I'm on the pill.” You exclaim, pulling him by his hand closer to you, so he sits on the bed next to you.

Yunho is taken aback by your boldness, yet he finds it extremely hard to hide his excitement. The low groan that escapes his lips doesn't go unnoticed by you, further fueling the growing intensity of the moment. Yunho looks up at you, his eyes dark as he studies your face for any form of discomfort. When he doesn't see any, he almost moans at the thought of finishing inside of you. “Fuck, baby. You're going to be the death of me.”

The second Yunho removes his boxers, your mouth is almost watering at the sight of his length. Not only is he long, but he is girthy, standing tall. Your mouth hangs slightly open as you take in the sight. You can feel your pussy throbbing at the thought of how well he is going to stretch you out.

“Like what you see?” Just like that, the caring Yunho is once again replaced with the cocky Yunho that you just love.

Instead of firing the bratty comment that is on the tip of your tongue, you simply nod your head, too overcome with the need for him to just destroy you.

Yunho leans over you again, spreading your legs wide to fit right between them, he takes his time rubbing up and down your slit, gathering your arousal to lube himself up. Your whines and whimpers are like music to his ears, and he doesn't know if he can ever get enough of you like this.

Lining up with your entrance, he takes his time to gently slide just the tip in, causing you to gasp lightly. Yunho buries his head into your neck, biting his lip as he attempts to maintain his composure. He knows he needs to take it slow in order to not hurt you, but the way you are clenching around him has his mind spinning with arousal.

He gets back up, his intense gaze watching your every expression as he eases himself in, going at a steady pace. The sting is definitely present and you squint at the light pain.

“Deep breaths, beautiful. You’re doing so well.”

You grab his toned arms as he pushes himself further in, his own breaths getting shallow as he feels your warm walls envelop his length.

‘Stay focused, Yunho,’ he thinks to himself, over and over, desperately trying to keep his composure, yet it proves more difficult by every passing second that your tight pussy sucks him in.

Pleasure surges through you but the only thing you are able to focus on is how full you feel. Your breath catches in your throat and you tense up as he gradually bottoms out, groaning, "So big."

“Yeah, does it feel good?” Yunho’s voice is raspy as he cages you in his arms, his eyes scanning your face.

“So good… please move.” is all you manage to say.

Yunho starts with some slow, teasing thrusts dragging his cock out before pushing it back in and it has you mewling out in pleasure.

“Fuck you’re so tight,” Yunho chokes out, his sanity practically gone as he feels your tight walls hugging his cock so nicely.

The beautiful sight of him on top of you, sweaty and lust ridden has you moaning and clenching around his cock. Wrapping your arms tightly around his strong back, your nails dig into his skin as he increases his pace.

"Does this feel good, pretty?"

You are only able to manage out a moan of approval, letting him know, yes, he is doing good. Yunho chuckles against your skin as you let out noises of pleasure, every one spurring him on and making him desperate to make you finish again. In a purposeful movement, Yunho leans his hips back slightly, so his cock is angled in a way where it hits your g spot perfectly with every thrust. Yunho knows he has found it the second your words and moan become a mixed blabbing mess, with this he smirks. He almost doesn't want to stop, he is having too much fun with you.

Yunho grunts as he starts thrusting even faster, his hand coming down to flick your clit, needing you to come on his cock. He needs you to finish before him.

You feel your orgasm approaching fast, and Yunho can tell by the way you clench and claw at his arms, pulling him down to lock him in a heated kiss, he swallows your moans and whimpers happily.

Yunho pulls away from your swollen lips to bury his face in your neck, whispering praise into your ear.

“Who is making you feel this good, doll?” he whispers in his deep voice, “do you want to cumm, pretty girl? Be a good girl and cum on my big dick, I know you want to.”

The coil in your belly tightens even more, your legs starting to shake around him as you moan out his name pathetically.

“That’s it, beautiful, milk my cock dry.”

“Need to cum,”

Yunho’s chest tightens at the desperate tone in your voice and for a moment, he knows he is definitely able to get used to your desperate whines.

“Go ahead, baby cum for me, let the whole neighbourhood know how good I’m making you feel.”

That's all it takes for the coil in your stomach to snap, and your orgasm hits you hard. Intense pleasure ripples through you like tsunami waves, shaking your whole body and making your toes curl as your fingernails dig into his arms. The sensation overwhelms you as your world narrows down to the electrifying connection you share with Yunho.

Yunho follows in suit, his hips stuttering as he cums deep inside of you, his choked swears and moans in your ear as he wraps his strong arms around you, securing you in a tight embrace as the two of you ride out your orgasms.

After a few moments of silence, the only sounds to be heard in the room are the deep inhales and exhales of you and Yunho, the two of you lost in the aftermath of your passionate encounter. The intimacy lingers in the air, wrapping around you like a warm, comfortable blanket.

Yunho gently sits up, his arms shaky as he tries to regain his composure. A layer of sweat covers his face, and even in the low light of his room, you think he looks absolutely handsome. His dishevelled hair and flushed cheeks only add to his charm, and you can't help but admire him as he catches his breath.

Slowly, he pulls out, his seed spilling out of your swollen hole, a sight which has Yunho getting hard once again, yet he pushes the thoughts to the side and quickly rushes to the bathroom to grab a washcloth for you.

You can't help but feel a wave of insecurity and vulnerability as Yunho steps away to fetch the washcloth. The moment he disappears from your sight, a rush of unease washes over you, and tears begin to pool in your eyes. You never expected this level of intimacy, and now, seeing him leave even briefly, you fear he might be having second thoughts.

When he returns with the washcloth, he immediately notices the glistening tears in your eyes. Panic sets in, and he rushes to your side, cradling you in his arms.

"What's wrong?" he asks, his voice filled with genuine concern. "Did I do something to upset you?"

You sniffle and shake your head. "I'm sorry. I thought you disappeared for good, and I got scared."

Yunho's expression softens as he caresses your cheek, his thumb gently wiping away a tear. "Oh, baby, I would never do that. I promise you, I'm here for you. I'm so sorry for putting that thought in your mind."

He holds you close, offering the warmth and comfort you desperately need, reassuring you that he's not going anywhere.

“Yunho?” You look towards Yunho, whose gaze is already set on you with an affectionate gaze. Tenderly, he pushes a stray hair behind your ear, and a sense of comfort washes over you.

Leaning down, he places a soft kiss on your forehead, murmuring, "Yes, baby?"

Your heart flutters at the endearment as you continue, "What are we?"

Yunho raises an eyebrow, his lips quirking into a warm smile. He knew this question was coming, and he's more than prepared to answer. "Well, if you'll have me, I'd love to be your nerdy boyfriend."

A surge of happiness fills you, and you can't hold back your grin. "Only if you'll have me as your 'not so nerdy' girlfriend?"

Yunho chuckles and cups your face with his hands, sealing the moment with a sweet kiss. "Deal," he whispers against your lips, his arms wrapping even harder around you, securing you in a warm embrace.

“Let’s clean you up, pretty.”

—

“Sitting in Professor Turner's office, you're feeling a mixture of excitement and nervousness. Yunho is right beside you, his presence giving you comfort and assurance. Professor Turner, the mentor you deeply respect, and her opinion matters greatly to you. You've been working tirelessly to improve your grades, and this is the moment of reckoning. To tell whether you are going to be expelled or not.

Professor Turner reviews your recent exam results, and you can't help but glance at Yunho. He's been your constant support, helping you study, explaining complex concepts, and motivating you to push your limits. There's a fond smile on his face, his warm eyes reflecting his pride in your accomplishments.

Finally, Professor Turner finishes her review and looks up at you with an encouraging smile. "I don't know how you did it, but your grades have not only improved, they have excelled. You are somehow one of the best in my class right now."

Your heart swells with pride as you realise the significance of her words. Tears fill your eyes and you feel the heavy weight that has been on your heart for months finally lift.

Yunho's proud smile widens, and the love in his eyes grows even more apparent. You feel a deep sense of accomplishment and happiness, knowing that with his help and your dedication, you've managed to exceed your own expectations and impress one of your most respected professors.

You look over at Yunho, gratitude shining in your eyes, and say,

"Well, I had an amazing tutor."

{i didnt proof read this, so if you see mistakes i apologise, im very tired}

#ateez smut #ateez #ateez x reader #ateez imagines #ateez reactions #ateez fanfic #ateez fic #yunho #yunho smut #yunho ateez #yunho x reader #yunho au

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sixeyesonathiel · 1 day ago

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03 | kill switch

pairing — target!satoru x assasin!reader

synopsis : a professional assassin accepts a job to eliminate an ordinary high school teacher—only to find her target is gojo satoru, a man who eats gas station sushi with religious devotion and nearly dies walking to work. as days pass, she finds herself less concerned with completing the job and more preoccupied with why someone would want this disastrous man dead. or: when your target's worst enemy is himself and your professional detachment keeps slipping every time he almost gets hit by a bus.

tags — no curses au, crack treated seriously, dark humor, fluff for all the wrong reasons, assassin & target dynamic, self-destructive disaster man, implied nerdjo, satoru is a great teacher, moral ambiguity, reluctant caretaking, food aggression (affectionate), chaotic neighbors, near-death hijinks, emotional constipation, eventual smut, happy ending. art by @Leimiruu.

previous. | series masterlist. | next.

satoru wakes before his alarm.

not because of nightmares. not out of necessity. just—awake. it’s new. the apartment’s dim, quiet, the light from the blinds splitting the room into pale stripes across the floor. the hush feels wrong, like the world’s holding its breath, but today his chest isn’t caving in. his thoughts aren’t clawing at him. he lies still, watching dust spiral in the soft morning light, blinking slowly, like the world’s decided to be gentle for once.

so he moves.

he tries. brushes his teeth, the mint stinging his tongue awake. lingers at the mirror, splashing cold water on his face—it wakes his skin, doesn’t shock it. finds a shirt that matches his pants, no faint whiff of regret. throws on a dark, structured jacket he forgot he owned, its clean lines surprising him.

he stares at his reflection. white hair tamed with damp fingers, not a complete disaster. his skin’s less ghostly. he skips the glasses, pops in contacts—an echo of vanity he hasn’t touched in weeks. the guy staring back feels unfamiliar, like he’s borrowed someone else’s face.

he listens at the door. catches the faint click of yours. keys jangle. shoes scuff lightly. he waits. five heartbeats. six.

then he opens the door.

you step out just as he does. the timing’s suspicious, but you don’t call it out. you blink once, eyes dragging over him—shirt, jacket, hair that’s not a total mess. a flicker of alarm crosses your face, so quick it’s barely there, swallowed by your usual mask. your mouth flattens, like you’re locking the reaction away.

he pretends not to notice. his grin creeps up, slow and boyish.

“morning,” he says, stretching the word like he’s tasting it, his voice calm in a way that feels rehearsed.

“…morning,” you reply, clipped and quiet. your arms cross, not against the cold but like you’re holding something in. your eyes flick to your door, then the floor. your fingers twitch around your bag’s strap, then still.

at the bus stop, the wind carries the promise of rain, though the sky’s dry. satoru digs in his jacket pocket, producing two candy bars with a crooked smile, like he’s unveiling a treasure.

“breakfast of champions?”

you raise an eyebrow, unimpressed, your scowl sharp enough to cut. instead, you reach into your tote and pull out a compact lunchbox—rice with seasoning, tamagoyaki, vegetables sliced with surgical precision, fruit arranged like art. you don’t offer it right away, just start eating, chopsticks moving with quiet efficiency.

his eyes track every bite, wide and hungry, like a dog eyeing a steak.

“seriously?” he says, the candy bar drooping in his hand, forgotten.

you sigh, long and suffering, like he’s a stray you’ve reluctantly adopted. you shift a portion of the meal into a separate section and shove it toward him, eyes avoiding his. “eat before you collapse and make me do actual nurse work.”

he lights up like you’ve handed him the moon. takes the container with both hands, reverent, and plops onto the bench beside you. he eats slower than usual, savoring each bite, the tamagoyaki melting on his tongue. it’s more than food—it’s care, sharp-edged and hidden, and his chest hums with it.

on the bus, the crowd presses you shoulder to shoulder. he leans a little too much with each turn, his jacket brushing yours. his fingers graze your coat once, twice, like he’s testing something. your posture’s ramrod straight, your scowl fixed on the window.

“so, where’d you learn to cook like that?” he asks, voice light, teasing.

your reflection in the glass barely moves. “does it matter?”

“curiosity’s not a crime.”

“depends who you ask.”

your voice is flat, a door slammed shut. he doesn’t push, just hums softly, eyes drifting to the window. your reflections sit side by side, blurred in the morning haze.

at school, his walk’s different—spine straight, shoulders back. he stands taller, like he’s shrugging off a weight. a pair of second-years whisper as he passes, one nudging the other, wide-eyed. he tucks his hands into his jacket pockets, chin up, like he’s someone new today.

in the classroom, he’s sharper, more present. the chalk squeaks as he scribbles equations, his hands moving with a rhythm that pulls the students in. he cracks a joke about digimon evolving into calculus, and the class laughs, real and unforced. a girl raises her hand, hesitant, and he kneels beside her desk, explaining with a patience that surprises even him.

“it’s just patterns playing tag,” satoru says, drawing a star on her notebook. she smiles, small but real, and he feels it—a flicker of something worth saving.

during lunch, he’s halfway to the convenience store when you appear, cutting him off like a shadow with a mission. you thrust a fresh bento into his hands, your movements sharp, like you’re delivering a court summons. “figured you’d eat trash again,” you say, voice flat, like you’re commenting on the weather, not admitting you packed it yourself.

he stares, then breaks into a grin, all teeth and boyish charm, holding the bento like it’s glass. “you’re gonna spoil me,” he says, voice warm, teasing.

“don’t get used to it,” you snap, fast and sharp, eyes flicking to his shoes, avoiding his face. your fingers twitch, like you’re fighting the urge to yank the bento back.

they eat in the nurse’s office, the overhead light humming faintly. the window’s cracked, letting in the rustle of leaves and a damp breeze. your desk is a model of order—pens aligned, papers stacked. his side of the table’s a warzone: crumbs, a tipped-over water bottle, chopsticks askew.

he talks through a mouthful of rice, waving his hands, recounting a faculty room fiasco involving nanami and a jammed copier. your scowl deepens, but you don’t stop him, just poke at your food with a chopstick.

“you ever think about quitting?” he asks suddenly, mid-bite, rice clinging to his lip.

you look at him like he’s asked if the sky’s made of knives. you blink once. “every day.”

he snorts, a quick, bright sound. “same.”

“but you’re still here.”

“so are you.”

you go quiet, picking at a slice of tamagoyaki. a stray grain of rice sticks to your chopstick; you flick it away with a sharp twist. he watches, waiting, then leans forward, voice softer. “they’re not just names on a roster. my students. they’re messy. terrified. but honest. they remind me what’s worth saving.”

your mouth tightens, but you don’t speak, just glance at him, quick and sharp, like you’re measuring something.

he adds, almost to himself, “i don’t know if that’s hope. but it’s something.”

the air’s heavy, dense with unspoken things. not uncomfortable, just charged.

“what, you think i’m just a pretty face?” he says, grinning, trying to lighten it.

“i think you talk too much when it’s quiet,” you reply, flat but without venom.

he laughs, a bubble of sound that lingers a beat too long, tasting strange—pleasant, unfamiliar. then the guilt hits, a ripple across his face. his smile falters, jaw tightening, eyes flicking to the bento. you see it, your chopsticks pausing, but you don’t comment, just stab your food harder.

the bell rings. he lingers, fingers tracing the bento’s edge. “thanks. for this. really.”

“don’t make it a habit,” you mutter, but your voice wavers, just a hair.

in class, a student trips over a backpack, scraping their arm. it’s minor, but satoru jumps at the chance, offering to walk them to the nurse’s office with a grin that’s anything but subtle. he’s not even pretending to be casual, his steps too eager, jacket swinging.

you meet his eyes when the door opens, your expression flattening, suspicious, like you smell a scheme. you don’t ask questions, just motion the student to a chair. your hands move with steady precision, cleaning the scrape, pressing gauze with a focus that’s almost surgical.

satoru leans against the doorframe, head tilted, watching the way your brow furrows, the way your fingers hesitate before snapping the first-aid kit shut.

“you’re good at this,” he murmurs, voice soft, like he’s stumbled on a secret.

“it’s not complicated,” you say, brushing him off.

“seems like more than basics,” he presses, a teasing lilt creeping in.

you pivot fast, changing the subject. “you like teaching? really?”

he nods, exhaling slowly. “yeah. even when it sucks. some of them light up in these small ways. like the world hasn’t crushed them yet. makes me think… maybe it’s not too late.”

your jaw clenches faintly, but you don’t respond, just busy yourself with the kit, fingers flexing against the desk. he looks softer in this light, too real, and you pause, just for a second, before turning away.

by sunset, the school grounds glow with soft orange light, gentler than the world deserves. they walk home together again, no decision made, just habit. their pace syncs without effort, bags swinging in tired rhythm. they slow near the convenience store, the neon sign buzzing faintly.

satoru drifts toward the entrance, a bounce in his step, like he’s already tasting sugar. “relax,” he says, hands raised in mock surrender as you stop, arms folded, scowl locked in place. “just grabbing ice cream. want some?”

you eye him, skeptical, your mouth twitching like you’re fighting a traitor smile. “no. i’m making dinner,” you say, voice flat but edged with something that sounds like a challenge.

he pauses, one foot in the store, head turning back. “you sure? it’s the good kind. mochi bits and everything.”

you sigh, long and theatrical, like he’s personally testing your patience. “fine,” you mutter, eyes narrowing. “you can come over for real food. but don’t touch anything.”

his eyes light up like a kid handed a sparkler. “really? you’re a lifesaver. literally. i was gonna try cooking tonight.”

your face twists in genuine horror, eyes wide, like he’s threatened arson. “definitely don’t do that,” you snap, voice sharp enough to stop him mid-step.

he laughs, a bright, unfiltered sound, trailing you all the way to your door, his jacket flapping with each step.

inside your apartment, he looks around like he’s wandered into a forbidden temple. takes in the layout, the faint spice in the air, the spotless counters. his eyes land on your knife collection, mounted on the wall, blades glinting under the light. “oh?” he whistles, stepping closer. “fancy.”

before you can stop him, he lifts one, balancing it in his palm with an ease that’s unnerving, flipping it with casual dexterity. “nice blade,” he says, grinning, all teeth.

you snatch it back, your scowl lethal. “careful with that,” you snap, fingers brushing his, the contact sharp and electric.

he raises his hands, still grinning. “i know my way around sharp objects.”

you don’t reply, just point to the kitchen, your eyes daring him to try something. he follows like an eager puppy, watching you move—precise, measured, no wasted motion. you dice onions with a rhythm that’s almost musical, the knife’s click against the board steady as a metronome.

“want to help?” you ask, more out of habit than expectation.

“yes,” he says, too fast, practically bouncing.

you hand him a bell pepper and a knife—duller, safer than the rest. he fumbles it, somehow turning the pepper into a mangled mess of uneven chunks, wrong sizes, weird angles. you stare, then take the knife from him without a word, pointing to a stool. “sit. stay. don’t touch anything.”

he surrenders, hands up, plopping onto the stool with a dramatic sigh. “understood, chef.”

he watches, chin propped on his hand, as you move like you’ve done this forever. “where’d they find a nurse who cuts vegetables like a benihana chef?” he mutters, half to himself.

you don’t answer, but the corner of your mouth lifts for a split second, a flicker he catches and clings to.

dinner smells like a dream—soy, ginger, something warm and grounding. he eats like he’s been starved for years, praising every bite with the enthusiasm of a game show host. “this is art,” he says, mouth full, pointing at the plate. you snap at him to stop talking with food in his mouth. he doesn’t, just grins wider, a grain of rice stuck to his cheek.

when it’s done, he insists on helping with the dishes. “i break it, i wash it,” he declares, rolling up his sleeves like he’s about to perform surgery.

“you haven’t broken—”

crash.

a plate hits the floor, shattering into jagged pieces. he stares at it, betrayed, like the plate had a personal vendetta. “i swear it slipped,” he says, voice cracking, eyes wide with horror.

you exhale through your nose, but his twisted expression—genuine, comical panic—makes it hard to stay mad. you clean it up in silence, your scowl softer than it should be.

at the door, he hesitates, hand on the knob. “thanks for… everything. not just the food. it’s been a while since…” he trails off, lips pressing together, the weight of what he doesn’t say hanging heavy.

you wait, silent, your eyes steady but not pushing.

he smiles, small, a little crooked, a little sad. “see you tomorrow,” he says, slipping into his apartment.

he leans against his door, heart still thudding, and thinks about the egg he cracked into his ramen last night. the bento you shoved at him today. the dinner you didn’t have to share. his stomach’s full, his chest warmer, and he wonders if this is what it feels like to want to stick around.

it’s friday and satoru wakes to the sound of rain.

no alarm. no nightmares. just the soft patter against his window, pulling him from sleep like a gentle nudge. his eyes open to a room bathed in gray, the kind of light that makes everything feel hushed, like the world’s still half-asleep. his body feels lighter, like the weight on his chest has shifted, not gone but quieter. he stretches, joints popping, and catches the faint scent of damp earth through a cracked window.

it’s new, this waking without a fight, and he lets it linger, rolling onto his side to watch the rain streak down the glass, each drop chasing the last.

he drags himself up, feet brushing the rug, its frayed edges tickling his toes. brushes his teeth, the mint sharp, almost too much. splashes water on his face, cold enough to make him hiss, but it sharpens his edges, pulls him into the day. digs out a blue shirt, crisp, no stains, and pants that don’t clash.

slips on that dark jacket again, its clean lines giving him a borrowed sense of purpose. runs a hand through his white hair, damp from the sink, taming it into something less chaotic. skips the glasses, pops in contacts, his blue eyes too bright, like they’re daring the world to look back. he glances at the mirror. the guy staring at him feels like a stranger, but not a bad one.

he steps to the door, ready to sync with your rhythm, but freezes. there, on his doorstep, sits a breakfast container, small and precise, like it’s been placed with intent. a note’s taped to it, your handwriting sharp as a blade: “eat this, not sugar.”

satoru’s grin blooms, wide and stupid, a warmth spreading in his chest like someone’s lit a match. he cradles the container, its weight a quiet promise, and takes it inside. pops it open—rice with furikake, tamagoyaki folded just right, cucumber slices carved with surgical care. it smells like your kitchen, like care wrapped in a scowl, and he thinks, she’s gonna kill me with kindness first.

he’s yanking on his shoes, container under his arm, when he realizes his keys are still on the counter. “shit,” he mutters, doubling back, nearly tripping over a stray sock. he fumbles the lock, heart ticking like a countdown, and bolts out, hoping to catch you. the hallway’s empty, your door shut tight, a silent taunt. he curses, long legs eating up the stairs as he sprints to the bus stop, rain speckling his jacket.

he spots you through the bus window, seated, arms crossed like you’re guarding a fortress. he scrambles aboard, sliding into the seat next to you with a huff, the container bouncing in his lap. your eyes flick to him, then the food, your scowl twitching like he’s a problem you didn’t sign up for.

“morning,” he says, voice bright, already digging into the breakfast, chopsticks clumsy but eager. rice sticks to his fingers, and he shoves tamagoyaki in his mouth, chewing with a grin that’s half food, half joy. “thanks for this. you’re saving my soul here.”

“don’t choke,” you snap, eyes on the window, your tone sharp but fraying at the edges, like you’re fighting something soft. your fingers twitch against your bag, knuckles white, and he wonders if you’re strangling your own nerves.

he laughs, cheeks puffed, nearly dropping a cucumber slice on his jacket. “no promises,” he says, winking, his contacts catching the light, making his eyes glow like a neon sign.

the bus lurches, and he steadies the container, still eating, savoring the tamagoyaki’s warmth, the way it tastes like your hands—steady, precise, a little too perfect. he glances at you, your stride flashing in his mind, the way you diced that pepper, your medical know-how, the knife collection that could arm a small militia. a wild thought sparks—could you be the assassin he hired? you, with your lethal glare, your surgical cuts, your knack for showing up exactly when he’s about to crash?

he freezes, chopsticks hovering, rice falling onto his lap. then he snorts, loud and obnoxious, shaking his head like he’s trying to dislodge the idea. no way. you? the assassin?

he laughs again, muffled by tamagoyaki, his eyes crinkling as he looks at you, your scowl now a full-on frown. you’re out here feeding him breakfast, fussing over his bruises, leaving notes like a grumpy mom. an assassin wouldn’t do that. they’d, what, poison the rice? stab him with the chopsticks? he’s so far gone for you—those sharp eyes, that twitchy mouth—that he can’t even see the red flags waving like parade banners.

“nah,” he mutters to himself, grinning as he mumbles to himself, “you’re just too cute to be a hitman.” he thinks it’s the funniest thing, his heart doing a stupid flip, oblivious to the irony.

“what’s so funny?” you ask, voice flat, eyes narrowing like you’re ready to dissect him.

“just… wild imagination,” he says, too fast, shoving more rice in to dodge the question. “thought you might be a secret ninja or something.” he winks, leaning closer, like he’s sharing a joke, and your huff is so sharp it could cut glass.

“idiot,” you mutter, turning back to the window, but he catches the faintest flush on your cheeks, and his grin widens, rice stuck to his chin.

at school, he’s a pest, popping into the nurse’s office between classes with excuses flimsier than tissue paper. first, it’s a “splinter” that’s just a speck of lint. you roll your eyes, flicking it off with a scowl that’s more amused than you’ll admit. “stop wasting my bandages,” you snap, but your fingers linger when you press a band-aid on his finger, and he beams like he’s won the lottery.

next, he’s “checking the thermometer” for no reason, leaning on your desk, chattering about a student who drew a digimon on their homework. he tests you, dropping bait like breadcrumbs. “y’know, i sometimes leave my apartment door unlocked,” he says, watching your face.

your head snaps up, eyes blazing. “are you brain-dead?” you bark, voice sharp enough to slice. “lock your damn door. anyone could walk in and—” you cut off, jaw tight, like you’ve said too much.

he laughs, bright and unhinged, hands up in surrender. “okay, okay, i’ll lock it! promise!” his heart’s racing, not from fear but from the way you care, like his survival’s your personal vendetta. no assassin here, he thinks, just a nurse who’d probably kill him herself if he got hurt.

satoru gojo is a little too smitten, ultimately blind to the dots connecting—your knives, your timing, your strength.

he tries again during lunch, lounging in your office, bento in hand, mentioning how he “sometimes jaywalks like it’s mario kart.” your death glare could vaporize him, and he cackles, nearly choking on rice. “crosswalks, got it! you’re gonna save me from myself!” he’s teasing, but there’s a flicker of disappointment—he wanted a mystery, but you’re too busy keeping him alive to be his killer.

relief washes over him, warm and confusing, because he’s enjoying this—you, your scowls, your food—more than anything in months. guilt creeps in, cold and sharp, as he remembers the hit. the real assassin’s out there, and what if you get caught in the mess? his grin falters, eyes drifting to your desk, where your pens are lined up like soldiers.

satoru tries to pushes it down, but it lingers. in afternoon classes, he’s off, quieter, the chalk squeaking too loud, his jokes landing flat. a student asks about integrals, and he explains, but his eyes keep slipping to the window, rain now falling in sheets. his students whisper, noticing, and he tosses a star on a notebook to distract them, but it feels hollow.

he’s thinking about suguru’s laugh, shoko’s voice, the blood on his hands, the hit he ordered. you, with your breakfast note and lethal glare, stuck in the crossfire.

he’s so distracted he doesn’t notice a student’s pencil roll off a desk until it hits his shoe. he picks it up, handing it back with a forced grin, but his fingers shake. the bell rings, and he lingers, pretending to organize papers that are already a mess, rain drumming against the windows. he drifts to the nurse’s office, not with an excuse this time, just a need to see you. you’re restocking gauze, your movements precise, and you glance up, scowl ready.

“no injuries?” you say, suspicious, like he’s here to waste your time.

“just visiting,” he says, leaning on the doorframe, jacket damp from the rain. “you’re stuck with me.”

you huff, but your eyes soften, just a flicker, and he clings to it, his heart doing that stupid flip again. he wants to ask about the knives, the cooking, the way you move like you’ve got secrets, but he doesn’t. instead, he watches you work, the rain outside a steady rhythm, and thinks, i’m in so much trouble.

on the bus home, he’s silent, staring at the floor, thoughts a tangled mess. rain streaks the windows, blurring the world, and his jacket’s soaked, clinging to his shoulders. you notice, your scowl softer, almost hesitant. “you okay?” you ask, voice low, like you’re not sure you should care.

he forces a smile, crooked and thin. “just tired. brain working overtime,” he says, rubbing his neck, the lie heavy on his tongue. your fingers twitch, like you want to reach out, but you don’t, just nod, your eyes flicking back to the window.

the bus hums, rain loud, and he feels it all—suguru’s ghost, shoko’s static, the hit he ordered, you, your shoulder brushing his, the breakfast still warm in his stomach. he wants to tell you, to spill it all, but the words stick, caught in his throat like a bone.

at the apartment building, he hesitates outside your door, rain dripping from his hair, pooling on the floor. the hallway’s dim, the bulb flickering like it’s mocking him. “can i ask you something weird?” he says, voice softer, his contacts making his eyes too raw, too open.

you cross your arms, wary, but nod, your scowl tight. “go ahead.”

he shifts, hair flopping, damp and messy. “if you knew someone who was… not in a great place. who maybe didn’t want to be around anymore. what would you tell them?”

your eyes narrow, searching his face like it’s a wound you need to stitch. something shifts, a flicker you bury fast. “i’d tell them whatever they’re going through isn’t permanent,” you say, voice steady but sharp, like you’re daring him to argue.

he looks away, swallowing hard, throat tight. “what if it is, though? what if some things you just can’t come back from?”

you’re quiet, your fingers twitching against your bag, rain loud in the silence. then, “i’d tell them to wait anyway. just to see. because sometimes good things happen when you least expect them.”

satoru meets your eyes, vulnerable, raw, like he’s letting you see too much. the moment stretches, heavy, the rain a steady drum. he breaks it with a laugh, shaky and forced. “deep talk for a friday. sorry about that.”

he retreats to his apartment, door clicking shut, and leans against it, heart pounding. the breakfast container sits on his counter, empty but warm, like the egg he cracked into his ramen, the bento you keep shoving at him.

he thinks about dinner at your place, the knife you snatched back, the way you scowled when he broke the plate. he lies awake, rain loud against the windows, thoughts spiraling—you, the hit, suguru’s laugh, shoko’s voice, the blood he can’t wash off. he wonders if he’s made a mistake—hiring the assassin or letting you in. he doesn’t know which one’s worse, but your note’s still on his counter, and he’s starting to want to stick around.

day twelve is a saturday, and satoru wakes to a battering ram on his door, like someone’s trying to storm his apartment.

he lurches off the couch, where he crashed in yesterday’s clothes, jeans crumpled, shirt half-untucked, a pizza box yawning open on the coffee table, grease stains like a map of bad decisions. his place is a disaster—socks slung over a lamp, a digimon mug wobbling on ungraded papers, a lone chopstick under the couch. the knocking’s merciless, each thud a spike in his skull.

he stumbles to the door, tripping over a game controller, pale strands a fluffy catastrophe, spiking like he’s been zapped. he yanks it open, squinting into the hallway’s glare, and there you are, grocery bags bulging, eyeing him like he’s a walking health violation.

“put some pants on,” you say, gaze scraping over his mess—creased shirt, bare legs, a single sock dangling from his ankle. your scowl’s sharp, but your lips twitch, like you’re wrestling a laugh. “we’re teaching you to cook something that won’t torch your place.”

satoru blinks, lips curling into a sleepy grin, slow and crooked, like he’s just been handed a golden ticket. “a cooking date?” he drawls, leaning against the doorframe, voice gravelly, one eyebrow waggling like he’s starring in a cheesy drama.

your face flushes, a quick burst of red you try to smother with a snap. “it’s not a date,” you hiss, gripping the bags until the plastic groans. “it’s survival training. you’re a one-man fire hazard.”

he laughs, bright and wild, the sound ricocheting off the walls. “two minutes,” he says, shutting the door, still grinning like you’ve dared him to a cage match. he rummages through his closet, tossing aside a stained hoodie and a pair of neon shorts, and pulls out a black tee, tight enough to flex his frame, and jeans that don’t scream neglect. runs a hand through his hair, taming it into something less apocalyptic, and pops in contacts, his blue eyes flashing with mischief.

he catches his reflection—damn, he looks good, like he’s ready to charm you into forgetting his kitchen sins, even on three hours of sleep.

he steps into your apartment, and it’s like crossing a border—counters spotless, air laced with ginger and sesame, your knife collection gleaming on the wall like a silent threat. you’re unpacking groceries, movements sharp, like you’re dismantling a trap. he leans against the counter, arms crossed, smirking. “ever been told you’re kinda bossy?”

you don’t look up, just shove a cutting board at him. “chop these,” you say, pointing to carrots, onions, a bell pepper. “and don’t make me regret it.”

he salutes, mock-serious, and grabs a knife, holding it like he’s about to carve a turkey with a chainsaw. “this good?” he asks, voice thick with fake innocence, watching you sidelong.

you freeze, eyes narrowing to deadly slits. “are you trying to bleed out?” you snap, stepping close, and before he can blink, you grab his hand, adjusting his grip with a precision that stops his breath. your fingers are warm, steady, and he feels the contact like a jolt, his grin softening, eyes locked on yours, contacts making them too bright, too open.

“you really care if i lose a finger, huh?” he murmurs, voice low, leaning closer, testing the space you’ll allow.

you yank your hand back, muttering, “blood’s a pain to clean,” but your cheeks are pink, and you turn fast, fussing with a bag of rice like it’s your new religion. he laughs, warm and real, the sound filling the kitchen, catching you both off guard.

the cooking lesson’s a circus, but it pulls through. his carrot slices are a massacre, chunks instead of cuts, and he burns the rice, the bottom a charred confession.

you sigh like he’s personally betrayed you, but the stir-fry’s edible, steaming with soy, garlic, ginger, peppers still crisp. he spills soy sauce, swearing it “ambushed” him, and you scowl, wiping the counter with a rag, your movements so precise he can’t help but stare, a dreamy sigh slipping out.

you’re slicing scallions for garnish, knife a blur, each cut perfect, and he thinks, that’s wifey material right there—look at her, running my kitchen like a queen. he’s too smitten to clock the lethal speed, the way you wield the blade like it’s part of you.

“stop staring,” you snap, not looking up, but your lips twitch, and he grins, rice sticking to his cheek as he shovels a bite. you don’t tell him to wipe it, and he counts it as a win, eating like it’s his last meal.

afternoon hits, and the sun’s a gift, cherry blossoms drifting like pink confetti, air sweet with spring and cut grass. satoru suggests a park nearby, voice light but eyes hopeful, like he’s sneaking in a date without the label. you pause, then nod, grabbing a light jacket, your scowl softer, almost a smile.

you walk side by side, steps syncing, the path dusted with petals, grass brushing your ankles. the silence is warm, easy, but he’s buzzing with questions, curiosity sharp as a blade.

“so, what’s your deal?” he asks, hands in his pockets, jacket flapping. “life before you landed here. spill something.”

you stiffen, just a flicker, fingers tightening on your jacket’s hem. “not much,” you say, voice clipped, eyes on the path. “moved a lot. worked. ended up here.”

he tilts his head, grinning. “that’s it? c’mon, give me a vibe. international spy? professional assassin? runaway princess?”

you choke, a sharp gasp you mask with a dry laugh, eyes darting away. “yeah, i kill people for money on weekends,” you say, sarcasm dripping, but your fingers twitch, a tell he’s too charmed to catch.

satoru laughs, loud and bright, blind to the red flags waving like parade banners. “knew it,” he says, eyes sparkling. “those knives? total assassin vibes. bet you’ve got a secret vault under your place, full of ninja stars.” he’s teasing, but he’s half-serious, staring like you’re a mystery he’s dying to crack. to him, your deadly precision’s just wifey material—who else could keep his life in line with that kind of skill?

you pivot fast, voice sharp. “your turn. why teaching? you don’t strike me as the ‘inspire kids’ type.”

he lights up, hands waving, petals catching in his hair. “my students are chaos,” he says, voice warm, “half-terrified, half-too-honest, but when they get it—when some kid lights up over a dumb equation—it’s like proof the world’s not all shit.” he shrugs, eyes soft, and you watch, your scowl easing, like you’re seeing something worth saving.

a soccer ball rockets from nowhere, kids shouting across the park. you snatch it mid-air, one-handed, without flinching, reflexes sharp enough to cut glass. satoru’s jaw drops, a dreamy sigh escaping as he leans on a tree, practically swooning. who catches like that? he thinks, heart skipping. she’s gonna keep our kids alive, running the house like a pro. he’s too gone to clock the assassin-level skill, just marveling like you’re his future.

“nice catch,” he says, voice awed. “were you, like, a ninja in a past life?”

you shrug, tossing the ball back, its arc perfect, landing with a soft thud. “don’t gawk,” you mutter, walking faster, but your lips twitch, fighting a smile. he jogs to catch up, grinning, petals stuck to his sleeve.

a kid, freckled and gap-toothed, tugs satoru’s jacket. “mister, play with us!” he begs, and satoru’s eyes light up like he’s been offered a crown. he glances at you, winking. “watch me dominate,” he says, diving into the soccer game, all long limbs and surprising grace. he’s good, weaving through kids, passing with a spin that makes them cheer.

you sit on a bench, cherry blossoms drifting onto your jacket, your expression softening as you watch, his laughter bright, shedding years with every kick.

he catches you looking, showing off now, aiming a dramatic shot that’s all flair, no aim. he glances mid-spin, and you wave, a small flick of your hand. it’s his downfall—he trips over the ball, faceplanting with a spectacular thud, limbs sprawling like a cartoon starfish.

the kids lose it, laughing so hard they’re gasping, and satoru lies there, clutching his chest, playing dead like he’s in a greek tragedy. “tell my story,” he croaks, one hand flopping.

you rush over, scowl half-hearted, kneeling, grass and petals sticking to your jeans. “you’re an idiot,” you mutter, but your hands are gentle, brushing petals from his hair, fingers grazing his cheek with a softness that stops his heart. he peeks one eye open, grinning. “if i die, tell my students… math homework’s canceled,” he whispers, milking it, kids giggling around you.

you roll your eyes, grabbing his arm to haul him up, your touch careful but firm. he feels it like a spark, his smile fading as he stands, blossoms clinging to his shirt. he brushes them off, but the hit creeps in—the assassin he hired, waiting somewhere, ready to end this. these moments—you, the kids, the petals—could be his last. his jaw tightens, a shadow crossing his face.

he wonders if he can cancel it, if there’s a way to claw it back. you notice, eyes narrowing, about to ask, but he cuts you off, voice too loud. “ice cream! we need ice cream!” he grabs your wrist, pulling you toward a cart, its bells jingling, his grin forced but bright.

the vendor scoops mochi ice cream, vanilla for him, matcha for you, scoops soft and glistening. you walk away, petals crunching underfoot, kids’ shouts fading. he bites too fast, brain freeze slamming him like a truck. “fuck, my brain!” he whines, staggering, clutching his forehead like he’s been shot.

you lecture him, voice sharp but warm, “eat slower, moron,” and he laughs through the pain, ice cream smearing his lip.

he catches you staring, your scowl soft, and winks, licking the smear with exaggerated flair. “like what you see?” he teases, dodging your swat, your flush giving you away.

you pause by a pond, ducks gliding, quacks soft in the breeze. he tosses a pebble, watching it skip once, twice, before sinking. “bet i could beat you,” he says, grinning, and you raise an eyebrow, picking a stone. your throw’s perfect, skipping four times, each plop precise, like you’ve mapped the water’s surface.

he stares, leaning on a railing, a soft “whoa” slipping out, eyes starry. she’s teaching our kids to skip stones like champs, he thinks, heart fluttering, too smitten to see the calculated precision, the way you scan the park like you’re clocking threats.

“show-off,” he mutters, grinning, tossing a stone that sinks like a brick. you snort, and he laughs, petals catching in his hair. he points to a takoyaki stall, the vendor flipping octopus balls, air thick with soy and seaweed. he orders, paying with crumpled bills, and hands you a skewer, fingers brushing yours. you eat by a tree, the park glowing gold, and he burns his tongue, yelping.

you sigh, offering your water bottle, and he takes it, your hahafingers brushing again. he thinks, this is it—this is what it’s supposed to feel like, the hit a distant hum, drowned by you, your presence, the way you’re keeping him alive.

evening settles, the sky bruising purple, streetlights flickering on. you walk back, takoyaki gone, ice cream wrappers crumpled in your pockets. the apartment building looms, its windows glinting, and you linger outside your doors, the air thick with something neither of you names.

satoru’s jacket’s creased, petals still stuck to his jeans, and he scratches his neck, awkward, his contacts catching the dusk’s glow. “this was… nice. really nice,” he says, voice soft, almost shy, like he’s admitting something dangerous.

you smile, small but real, and nod. “yeah,” you say, quiet, your scowl gone, eyes steady, reflecting the fading light.

satoru steps closer, gaze dropping to your lips, heart hammering like he’s a kid with a crush. the moment stretches, charged, petals drifting between you, until a neighbor clomps past, muttering about rent. satoru jumps back, laughing nervously, rubbing his neck. “well, goodnight then,” he says, too fast, and bolts into his apartment, door slamming like a gunshot.

he slides to the floor, back against the door, head in his hands, petals falling from his jeans. “what the hell am i doing?” he whispers, voice cracking, his chest tight with something he can’t name—want, fear, hope, all tangled.

he scrambles to his feet, digging through the mess for his phone, finding it under a pile of socks and a ramen packet. he opens the anonymous message board where he hired the hit, fingers shaking as he scrolls, searching for a way out. there’s nothing—no contact, no cancel button, just a void, the post swallowed into the dark web’s belly. he clicks frantically, refreshing, typing “cancel” in the reply field, but it’s locked, the board read-only, mocking him with its silence.

“c’mon, c’mon,” he mutters, pacing, hair flopping, his reflection wild in a cracked mirror. he tries again, opening a new thread—“how to cancel a hit?”—but the site’s a ghost town, no replies, just bots and cryptic ads.

he slams his phone on the counter, the digimon mug rattling, and grips his hair, a laugh bubbling up, half-hysterical. “great, i’m begging the internet to save my life,” he says, voice loud in the empty apartment, the irony biting.

he thinks of you—your knife work, your stone skips, the way you brushed grass from his hair—and his stomach twists. he can’t die now, not when you’re making him want to stay, your stir-fry still warm in his gut, like the egg he cracked, the bento you shoved at him.

he tries one last time, digging into the board’s code, copy-pasting urls into a sketchy tor browser, but it’s a dead end, 404 errors and broken links. “fuck!” he yells, throwing the phone again, it skids under the couch, and he drops to his knees, fishing it out, dust bunnies clinging to his fingers. he’s panting, heart racing, and he sits back, staring at the ceiling, a crack snaking across it like a warning.

he imagines texting you, spilling it all—“hey, funny story, i hired someone to kill me, but now i’m kinda into you, so help?”—and laughs, a choked, desperate sound, because he knows he can’t.

he drags himself to the couch, still in his clothes, and pulls a blanket over his head, petals scattering on the floor. he alternates between grinning at the day—you, the soccer, your hands, the takoyaki—and panicking, the hit a cold weight in his chest. he sees suguru’s laugh, shoko’s static, the blood he can’t wash off, and you, your scowl, your matcha ice cream, your knives.

he wants to cancel it, to claw it back, but the board’s a black hole, and he’s stuck, no way to reach the assassin, no way to stop what’s coming. he falls asleep, curled on the couch, dreaming of you, your blade, a ball he can’t catch, and petals falling endless, burying him.

satoru oversleeps, sprawled across his couch like a discarded ragdoll, one leg dangling, a sock half-off, his phone buried under a pile of takeout menus.

his apartment’s a warzone—pizza boxes stacked like a fortress, a digimon mug teetering on a leaning tower of ungraded quizzes, a lone chopstick wedged in the couch cushions. he’s dreaming of you, your matcha ice cream, petals falling, when his phone buzzes, yanking him awake.

he fumbles for it, knocking over a can of soda, the fizz hissing on the floor. it’s a text from you:

still alive, or did you finally choke on a candy bar?

satoru’s grin splits wide, sleepy but bright, and he types back, fingers clumsy:

dying of starvation. send help or i haunt you.

he watches the message send, flopping back, hair a white mess spiking like a porcupine.

your reply pings:

one hour. brunch supplies. don’t die yet.

his heart does a stupid flip, and he bolts upright, eyes wide, scanning the chaos. “shit,” he mutters, scrambling to his feet, sock flapping.

the apartment’s a disaster, and you’re coming here. he launches into a frantic cleaning montage, shoving trash under the bed, cramming dishes into the sink, stuffing socks and stray ramen packets into the closet. he brushes his teeth while making the bed, toothpaste dripping on the sheets, swearing under his breath as he wrestles a pillowcase. he’s mid-tug when the doorbell chimes, sharp and accusing.

he sprints to the door, yanking on a clean shirt, buttons half-done, chest exposed. he swings it open, and there you are, grocery bags in hand, your scowl ready but faltering as your eyes drop to his open shirt, the glimpse of skin. you look away fast, cheeks pink, and he notices, a smirk curling slow and wicked. “morning,” he drawls, deliberately slowing his buttoning, fingers lingering, like he’s putting on a show.

“move,” you mutter, pushing past, your voice sharp but fraying, muttering about his “insufferable ego.” you set the bags on the counter, ignoring the faint whiff of old takeout, and he trails you, still smirking, his apartment slightly less apocalyptic but still a mess.

brunch prep starts, and it’s smoother than yesterday’s chaos. you’re in his kitchen now, a foreign territory of sticky counters and mismatched plates, but you move like you own it, unpacking eggs, bacon, scallions with surgical precision.

he’s competent, thanks to your lessons, chopping onions without maiming himself, cracking eggs with only one shell mishap. you raise an eyebrow, impressed but refusing to admit it, and he catches it, grinning. “look at me, basically a chef,” he says, tossing a scallion slice in the air and missing it completely.

“don’t push it,” you say, but your lips twitch, and he feels the warmth, the ease of moving around you, like you’ve been doing this forever. he reaches past you for a spatula, his arm brushing yours, bodies close in the cramped kitchen.

you both freeze, eyes locking, his hand hovering mid-air, contacts making his blue eyes too sharp, too real. your breath catches, and he feels it, the air thick, until your phone alarm blares, a shrill reminder of the bacon sizzling. you step back fast, turning to the stove, muttering about timing, and he exhales, heart thudding, spatula forgotten.

the meal’s comfortable, despite the tension humming underneath. you sit at his wobbly table, plates piled with scrambled eggs, bacon crisp, toast only slightly charred. he eats like a man starved, shoveling food, pausing to say, “this is unreal, you’re a genius,” between bites, egg flecking his chin.

you roll your eyes, pointing out, “you helped make it this time.”

he pauses, fork mid-air, staring at the non-burned toast like it’s a trophy. “look at me, becoming a functional adult,” he says, voice proud, puffing his chest.

you mutter, “that’s debatable,” and he clutches his heart, mock-wounded, toppling back in his chair with a dramatic groan. your laugh slips out, quick and unguarded, and he freezes, savoring it, the sound better than any meal.

afternoon settles, dishes done, the kitchen less a crime scene. satoru suggests a marathon, “something that isn’t digimon,” he says, winking, and you look relieved, pulling out a series you’ve been itching to watch, some gritty crime drama.

you settle on his couch, a lumpy relic with a mystery stain, initially with a safe gap between you. he’s got a blanket tossed over his lap, hiding a stray ramen wrapper, and you’re curled into the corner, arms crossed like you’re guarding yourself.

by the first episode, he’s inching closer, testing, a casual stretch here, a lean there. by the third, your shoulders touch, the blanket half-draped over you both, neither acknowledging it. he’s painfully aware of every contact point—your arm against his, the warmth of your shoulder, the way your knee brushes his when you shift.

satoru keeps sneaking glances, not at the screen but at your profile, the curve of your jaw, the way your eyes narrow at a plot twist. you catch him once, head turning, and he doesn’t look away, just smiles, soft and unashamed. your lips part, like you might say something, but your phone rings, shattering the moment, a harsh buzz from the coffee table.

you answer, voice clipped, and he hears “school” and “emergency” through the static. a student’s hurt, weekend sports practice gone wrong, and you need to go in. you’re already standing, grabbing your jacket, and he’s on his feet, too, saying, “i’ll come. keep you company. plus, i need to grab some papers anyway.”

it’s a flimsy excuse, and he’s got an inkling that you know it, but you don’t call it out, just nod, your scowl softer, like you’re glad he’s there.

at school, you bolt to the nurse’s office, your steps quick, bag swinging. satoru wanders to his classroom, the halls empty, fluorescent lights humming, the air smelling of chalk and old books. he grabs a stack of papers—quizzes he forgot to grade, corners dog-eared—and finishes fast, his handwriting a scrawl as he rushes. he heads to the nurse’s office, drawn to you, but pauses outside, peering through the window.

you’re treating a student, an athlete who probably got injured during his practice with a scraped knee and a wince, your hands gentle but efficient, cleaning the wound with steady precision, like you’re stitching a life back together.

you murmur something, soft, and the kid smiles, relaxing under your touch. satoru’s expression softens, a pang in his chest, something raw and aching. “why couldn’t i have met you before…” he whispers, the words trailing off, heavy with what he doesn’t say—before suguru, before shoko, before the blood, before the hit.

sadness floods him, sharp and sudden, and he imagines you finding him after the hit, your hands on a body gone cold, your face crumpling. his stomach churns, guilt clawing, and he runs a hand through his hair, tugging hard, like he can pull the thought out.

you look up, catching him watching, and smile, waving him in, your scowl nowhere in sight. he masks it fast, shoving the guilt down, and strides in, voice casual. “kid okay?” he asks, leaning against the doorframe, papers tucked under his arm.

“fine,” you say, bandaging the kid’s knee, your movements practiced, like you’ve done this a thousand times. the student limps out, thanking you, and you start cleaning, supplies clicking into place, your hands never faltering.

satoru perches on the examination table, legs swinging, the paper crinkling under him. “you’re really good at this, you know,” he says, voice softer. “the whole caring thing.”

you shrug, dismissing it, wiping the counter with a rag. “it’s my job,” you mutter, but he shakes his head, persistent.

“no, seriously,” he says, leaning forward, elbows on his knees. “it’s… nice. seeing someone who’s good at taking care of others.” his voice drops, almost to himself, “makes me wish i was better at it.” the words slip out, raw, and he freezes, like he’s said too much.

you turn, rag pausing, surprised by the vulnerability, your eyes searching his face. “what do you mean?” you ask, voice quiet, like you’re giving him space to answer.

he backpedals, mask sliding back, a grin flashing. “just saying, i’d probably bandage someone’s head to their foot,” he says, laughing too loud, swinging his legs faster.

you’re not fooled, your eyes narrowing, but you don’t push, just nod, turning back to the counter. he watches you, the way you stack bandages, precise and steady, and thinks, she’d fix me up, keep me together, the thought fleeting but warm, less about wifey fantasies and more about trust, something he hasn’t felt in years.

he hops off the table, papers crinkling, and says, “ready to head back?”

you nod, grabbing your bag, and he follows, the school quiet, your steps echoing. he wants to say something, to keep you here, but the hit lingers, a cold shadow, and he shoves it down, focusing on your shoulder brushing his as you walk, the warmth of you beside him.

evening slinks in, the sun bleeding a bruised orange across the sky as satoru walks back to the apartments with you, his steps heavy, like he’s hauling a coffin he can’t bury.

he’s quiet, a rare cage around his usual chaos, hands jammed in his jacket pockets, the cherry blossoms from this afternoon gone but their weight crushing his chest. when he thinks you’re not looking, his face cracks—brows knotted, jaw tight, eyes lost in some private hell, wrestling suguru’s laugh, shoko’s static, the hit he can’t undo, and you, you, you, a lifeline he’s not allowed to grab.

you glance at him, your scowl sharp but softened by the sunset’s glow, and mutter, “you’re creeping me out, staring at nothing like that.” your voice is barbed, but your eyes flicker, a tell he’s too tangled to catch, and he tries to grin, but it’s flimsy, fraying at the seams.

at the building entrance, you pause, keys jangling like a warning bell, and say, “come over for dinner. nothing fancy, just yesterday’s leftovers.” your tone’s clipped, like you’re annoyed at yourself for offering, and you look away fast, cheeks pink, fingers tightening on the keys.

his heart stumbles, a dumb, hopeful thing, and his grin breaks free, shaky but bright. “leftovers? you trying to make me propose or what?” he teases, voice raw, following you like a dog chasing a bone.

you scoff, loud and sharp, “don’t flatter yourself,” but your lips twitch, fighting a smile, and you march ahead, leaving him to scramble after, his jacket brushing your arm, the hallway’s flickering bulb casting jagged shadows, like it’s laughing at his fractured head.

your apartment’s a sanctuary, warm with ginger and soy, a slap to his pizza-box chaos—counters gleaming, a lone knife on the rack like a silent threat, the fridge’s hum a steady pulse.

you slip into a routine, effortless, like you’ve been dancing this dance forever. he sets the table, grabbing mismatched plates from your cupboard, lining them up with a care he didn’t know he could muster, chopsticks placed like he’s defusing a bomb. you heat the stir-fry, the sizzle of soy and garlic curling through the air, steam twisting like a ghost.

“don’t break my plates,” you snap, not looking up, but your fingers twitch on the spatula, and he catches it, grinning.

“me? i’m a plate-setting pro,” he says, tossing a napkin in the air and missing it spectacularly.

you roll your eyes, muttering, “you’re a walking disaster,” but your voice softens, and he feels it, the warmth of you cutting through his storm.

satoru watches you stir, your hair catching the kitchen light, tucked behind your ear, and thinks, this is home, a fleeting pulse, not wifey but about belonging, fitting somewhere he’s never belonged.

it’s a thought he shouldn’t have, not when his days are numbered, but it sticks, a burr in his chest, because you’re here, making his world less jagged.

dinner’s close, the table tiny, your knees brushing under it, a spark that jolts his spine. you talk about students—his kids’ latest chaos, a girl who drew a skull on her algebra test, a boy who offered him a half-eaten lollipop as a bribe—and he laughs, loud and unhinged, the sound untangling the knot in his chest. “they’re gonna bury me in sticky notes and bad graphs,” he says, chopsticks flailing, a piece of bell pepper flying onto the table.

you snort, flicking it back with a snap of your wrist, and he catches it in his mouth, winking like he’s auditioning for a rom-com. “show-off,” you mutter, but your laugh is sharp, unguarded, slicing through the air, and he freezes, savoring it, better than any meal.

he leans forward, chin on his hand, watching you talk, your hands waving, your scowl gone, replaced by a fire he can’t look away from. your cheeks flush when you catch him staring, and you snap,

“what? got food on my face or something?” your tone’s prickly, but your eyes dart away, fingers tightening on your chopsticks, and he grins, his eyes trace your face—the curve of your jaw, the spark in your eyes—and it hits him, a sledgehammer to the chest: he’s in deep, too deep, attached in a way that wasn’t supposed to happen.

panic hits, a cold blade in his gut. he’s supposed to die soon, a ghost by next week, maybe, and you’re here, laughing, breathing, alive. this wasn’t the plan—falling, needing, wanting you like air. his stomach churns, guilt flooding like a tidal wave. suguru’s gone, shoko’s gone, and he’s daring to be happy, to crave you, when they’re just bloodstains he can’t scrub clean. his chopsticks freeze, hovering over a carrot, and you notice, eyes narrowing.

“food’s not poisoned, you know,” you say, voice dry but edged, like you’re poking at his silence.

he forces a grin, too wide, teeth flashing like a spotlight. “it’s perfect. you’re perfect,” he says, voice too bright, shoving the carrot in, chewing to choke the lie. the stir-fry’s warm, like the egg he cracked, the bento you shoved at him, but it’s ash in his mouth, the hit’s shadow slinking closer, the assassin out there, faceless, a clock ticking down.

he wants to cancel it, to rip it out of the world, but the board’s a black hole, and he’s trapped, offering you scraps—a night, a laugh—when you deserve forever.

after dinner, he helps clean, unprompted, snatching a dish towel like it’s his calling, standing so close his hip grazes yours at the sink. you wash, he dries, water splashing, plates clinking, the air thick with something heavy, unspoken.

satoru finds excuses to touch—handing you a bowl, his fingers brushing yours, steadying a glass, his palm grazing your shoulder, each contact a spark he chases, a tether he can’t cut.

you stiffen, just a flicker, muttering, “personal space, ever heard of it?” but you don’t pull away, your hands slowing, your scowl twitching, cheeks pink as you scrub a plate too hard.

he dries a fork, staring at your hands, steady and lethal, and thinks, i can’t leave her alone, i don’t want to, but the hit’s a steel trap, and all he can give is this—tonight, maybe tomorrow, a stolen moment before it’s ash.

you move to the couch, picking up the crime drama from this afternoon, the tv’s blue glow casting jagged shadows, the room dim, too small for the storm in his head. he sinks beside you, closer than before, the lumpy cushion sagging, your thighs brushing, a heat that sears through his jeans.

you toss a blanket over your laps, soft, smelling faintly of you, and he feels every contact point—your thigh, your shoulder, the edge of your wrist when you shift. “don’t hog the blanket,” you mutter, tugging it, your voice sharp but your fingers lingering, grazing his knee, and he dies inside just a little.

halfway through the episode, the detective’s voice is static, the plot a blur, because he’s drowning in you, your breath steady, your presence a gravity he can’t fight. his mind’s a warzone—wanting you, needing you, but the hit’s a noose, tightening with every heartbeat.

he sees suguru’s grin, shoko’s cigarette, the blood on his hands, and you, after, finding him cold, your hands shaking, your voice gone. guilt crashes, a boulder in his chest, because he’s happy, here, with you, when they’re just ghosts. panic spikes, a knife in his ribs, because any day could be his last, and you’ll be left, alone, carrying a grief he can’t let you bear.

he can’t do this.

he can’t pretend it’s fine.

this—giving you fragments when you deserve the world. but he can’t walk away, can’t leave you alone, not when every second with you is stolen gold. he wants to cancel the hit, to burn it down, but the board’s locked, the assassin’s coming, and all he has is now, this temporary flicker, a taste of what he’ll never hold.

his hands clench, knuckles white, nails biting his palms, and he mutes the tv, the silence a gunshot, the room too tight, too heavy. he turns to you, his face a mask splintering, eyes raw, contacts catching the tv’s glow like they’re on fire.

you look at him, questioning, your eyes steady but guarded, your scowl back, softened by the dim light. “what’s your problem?” you ask, voice sharp, like you’re bracing for a fight, but your fingers twitch on the blanket, a tell he clings to.

he stares, too long, his internal battle spilling out—want, fear, guilt, hope, a storm he can’t tame. the hit’s a noose, tightening, and he can’t leave you, not when you’re here, breathing, real. suguru’s gone, shoko’s gone, and he’s stealing happiness he doesn’t deserve, but he’s greedy, desperate, and you’re the only thing keeping him tethered.

i can’t give her forever, he realizes, stomach twisting, but i can give her something. tonight. now. his mind snags on it—his v-card, untouched, a piece of him no one else has. why not? he thinks, half-laughing in his head, i’m dying anyway. might as well go out with a bang.

the idea’s absurd, reckless, but it roots, a weird determination settling in his what used to be hollow chest.

he shifts, leaning closer, testing the air. she’s gotta want me, right? he thinks, heart hammering, replaying your flushes, your twitches, the way you didn’t pull away at the sink. those chopstick flicks weren’t just dinner banter.

he’s grinning now, convincing himself it’s mutual, that you’re as tangled as he is. i’m charming, right? tall, hot, great hair. he runs a hand through it, fluffing it for effect, and catches your eye, your scowl deepening.

shit, she’s cute when she’s mad, he thinks, and his resolve hardens. i’m doing this. for her. for me. one night, no regrets.

he shifts, leaning closer, the cushion creaking, testing the air like a general before a charge. his heart’s a jackhammer, but he’s focused, eyes locked on yours, mapping every twitch.

step one: set the vibe, he thinks, muting the tv with a dramatic jab, the silence hitting like a slammed door. step two: don’t fuck this up. he runs a hand through his hair, fluffing it, trying to look suave, but a strand flops back, and he curses inwardly, c’mon, satoru gojo, you’re a goddamn legend.

he leans in more, thigh brushing yours, the blanket slipping, and your eyes narrow, like you’re sizing up a threat. she’s not running, he thinks, a spark of hope, that’s a green light, right?

“okay, listen,” he starts, voice low, steady, like he’s pitching a life-or-death plan, “i’m not good at this deep shit, but i’m putting it out there.” here we go, he thinks, stomach lurching, no turning back.

“i’m kinda on borrowed time, y’know? so i’m thinking…” he pauses, eyes boring into yours, determination burning like a fever, “i want you to have something real from me. like, all of me.”

he leans closer, voice dropping, intense, weirdly solemn, like he’s swearing an oath. she’s gotta get it, he thinks, this is my grand gesture. your scowl falters, confusion creeping in, cheeks burning crimson as his gaze pins you in place and he pushes forward, resolute, “so, what i’m saying is—do you want to fuck me or something?”

tag list : @raendarkfaerie @inoluvrr @miizuzu @lolightrealm @whytfisgojosohot @bearchermer @writtenapoiogy @itsinherited @mits-vi @poopooindamouf @cosmic-har @chalametet @levimaids @uwuitzerimpact @fushiguroooozzz @scaraslover @kouyoumarryme @itsssyagurll @risagichi @luvleixo @ssetsuka @pickledsoda @igatfmwao @kkataleena @tears4angel @blueemochii @imightgoinsane @sorainoo @surgikull @ikeoksan @synapsis @saitamaswifey @tojisslxtt @iluvbeinagirl @mysuperrainbow @propan-3-ol @sakuya98 @chubbymarshies @waterfal-ling @dickktektive @sunootzrose @asimpinamillion @heyl820 @pickuptruck01 @k0z3me @lostmembrane @ffaeriee @luluminati @777pluto

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astrologydray · 1 day ago

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Astrology indicators 5: The good & the bad 🫠🫠

Astrology indicators of a liar 🤥

🤥 Mercury in Hard Aspect to Neptune (square/opposite): Classic indicator of lying or mental fog. Can also show storytelling skills—they can weave fiction so well it sounds real.

🤥 Neptune in the 3rd House or Conjunct Mercury.

• Neptune in the 3rd = blurred thinking, communication that’s vague, slippery, or deceitful.

• May speak in half-truths, avoid clarity, or shift narratives to suit them.

🤥 Mercury in Mutable Signs (especially Gemini or Pisces)

• Gemini Mercury: Can be clever, mentally agile, and good at spinning. If poorly aspected, it can be slick, gossipy, or say what you want to hear.

• Pisces Mercury: Prone to white lies, omissions, or fantasy over fact—especially with Neptune influence.

🤥Strong 12th House or Neptune Dominance

• Planets in the 12th house, especially Mercury, Moon, or Mars, may signal hidden motives or secretive thinking.

• Neptune dominance = master of illusions. They might lie more to protect feelings or hide uncomfortable truths than to deceive maliciously.

🤥Mercury Square Jupiter

• Tends to exaggerate, boast, or bend the truth—especially for approval, attention

🤥 Gemini or Pisces Stelliums

• Gemini = quick-witted, often walking the line between truth and fiction. Might talk themselves in circles or contradict themselves.

• Pisces = dreamy, fluid with boundaries, may lie out of emotional discomfort or escapism.

🤥 Moon Square or Opposite Neptune

• Can indicate emotional dishonesty—even with themselves. They may lie because they feel overwhelmed, ashamed, or confused about their feelings. Often not malicious; they just can’t always tell truth from feeling.

🤥 Venus Square Neptune

• Especially in relationships, this is the “rose-colored glasses” liar—or the one who lies to keep love, attention, or fantasy alive.

• May misrepresent intentions or fall for people who do.

🤥 Mars in Pisces (or badly aspected Neptune Mars)

• This Mars fights indirectly, and can lie by omission, mislead, or manipulate to avoid confrontation.

Astrology indicators of a trustworthy person😇

😇 Mercury in Earth Signs (Taurus, Virgo, Capricorn)

• Grounded, clear, and straightforward communication. Especially Mercury in Capricorn: Doesn’t sugarcoat, values integrity.

• Mercury in Virgo: Precise with details—usually too honest.

😇 Saturn-Mercury Aspects (Especially Trine or Sextile)

• Saturn gives Mercury discipline and structure. These people take responsibility for their words. Rarely speak impulsively; prefer facts over fluff.

😇 Strong 6th House / Virgo Energy

• Loyal, dependable, service-oriented. These people tend to show their trust through actions, not just words. Can be your rock during chaos because they take responsibility seriously.

😇 Moon in Earth or Fixed Signs (Taurus, Capricorn, Scorpio, Aquarius)

• Emotionally stable and don’t switch up often. Scorpio Moon may be secretive but not disloyal—they take loyalty very seriously.

• Taurus and Capricorn Moons = emotionally reliable, don’t play with people’s feelings.

😇 Sun or Ascendant in Fixed Signs (Taurus, Leo, Scorpio, Aquarius)

• Fixed signs = consistent, not easily swayed.

• What they say, they usually mean. If they commit, it’s for the long haul.

😇 Venus in Capricorn or Taurus

• Loyal in love and partnerships.

• These people value long-term bonds, tradition, and accountability.

😇 Saturn in Angular Houses (1st, 4th, 7th, 10th)

• Saturn here gives someone a strong sense of duty and grounded presence. May take time to open up, but when they do, they mean it.

😇 Jupiter in Libra, Cancer, or Sagittarius

• These Jupiters uphold morality, fairness, and care for others.

• Jupiter in Libra especially seeks harmony through honesty.

😇 Mercury Trine or Sextile Jupiter

• Honest, big-picture thinkers who dislike lies or petty manipulation. They’re often generous with info and try to uplift with truth.

Astrology indicators of someone who is a first responder (firefighter, EMT, paramedic, or emergency worker) ⛑️

⛑️ Strong Mars – Action, Courage, Physical Response

• Mars is the planet of fight, drive, adrenaline, and quick reaction.

• Especially powerful in: Aries: Fearless and fast. Capricorn: Controlled, professional, goal-oriented. Scorpio: Focused in life-or-death moments.

• Mars conjunct or trine Saturn: Disciplined action, professional under pressure.

• Mars conjunct Pluto: Handles crisis like a boss. Power, survival, control.

⛑️ Strong 6th House or Virgo Energy – Service & Health

• The 6th house rules day-to-day work, routines, health, and service. Planets here often indicate someone who’s drawn to serving others through skill or labor.

• Especially Mars, Saturn, Pluto, or the Sun in the 6th.

⛑️ Saturn – Discipline, Endurance, Authority

• Saturn shows where you carry responsibility and long-term effort. Saturn in 1st, 6th, or 10th: Serious about work, dependable under pressure.

• Saturn in Capricorn or Virgo adds extra structure and focus.

⛑️ Pluto – Intensity, Crisis Management

• People with strong Pluto influence (especially in aspect to personal planets or the MC) are often:

⛑️ Drawn to high-stakes environments.

⛑️ Good at staying calm in chaos.

⛑️ Emotionally resilient or intense.

⛑️ Uranus – Emergency Work, Sudden Change

• Uranus rules things that happen suddenly—like accidents and crises.

• In the 6th or 10th house, it can show someone who works in emergency settings or unpredictable environments.

• Mars-Uranus aspects: Fast reflexes, thrives in chaotic or high-adrenaline scenarios.

⛑️ MC (Midheaven) or 10th House in Aries, Scorpio, or Capricorn

• Midheaven shows your public role or calling.

• Aries = protector, responder, fighter energy.

• Scorpio = life and death service, often drawn to high-pressure environments.

• Capricorn = reliable and leadership-driven, ideal for structured emergency roles.

⛑️ Aspects Between the Moon and Saturn or Mars

• Moon rules instincts, Saturn brings composure.

• Moon-Mars: Fast emotional reactions, often gutsy and reactive.

• Moon-Saturn: Controlled emotional responses; solid under pressure.

⛑️ North Node in the 6th or 10th House

• A life purpose centered around service, duty, and practical contribution. They’re here to show up and help in tangible ways—often through jobs others couldn’t handle.

⛑️ Fire Element Dominance (Aries, Leo, Sagittarius)

• Fire signs are naturally bold, energetic, and action-oriented.

• Aries especially has a “rush in to help” instinct.

Astrology indicators of someone who is in the army or military 🪖

🪖 Strong Mars – The Warrior Planet

• Mars in Aries, Capricorn, Scorpio, or Leo = natural leaders or fighters.

• Mars in the 6th or 10th house = work that’s physically demanding, strategic, or structured.

🪖 Mars conjunct or trine Saturn = discipline + endurance = soldier energy.

• Mars square Pluto or Uranus = explosive strength, intensity, risk-taking, or sudden action.

🪖 Saturn – Discipline, Structure, Authority

• Strong Saturn = commitment, following rules, respecting hierarchy. Saturn in 1st, 6th, or 10th house = thrives in environments with strict order.

• Capricorn placements (Saturn-ruled) = born for command and strategy.

• Saturn-Mars combo = disciplined action—a military classic.

🪖 Pluto – Power, Survival, Transformation

• Indicates a comfort with intense, high-stakes situations. Pluto in aspect to Mars or the Ascendant = extreme focus, mental toughness, fearlessness.

• Pluto in 6th or 10th = power and control through one’s job or service.

🪖 Aries or Scorpio Dominance

• Aries = bold, combative, head-on energy. Will take the first hit if it means protecting others.

• Scorpio = strategist, thrives in tactical, high-pressure environments. Deep loyalty and emotional intensity.

🪖 Military Houses: 6th, 10th, and 8th

• 6th House: Daily work + service. Mars, Saturn, or Pluto here = service through strength or hardship.

• 10th House: Career + status. Planets here (especially Mars or Saturn) = public identity shaped by duty or control.

• 8th House: Crisis, control, and survival. Those with personal planets here may be drawn to dangerous or transformative careers.

🪖 Ascendant in Fire or Earth Signs

• Fire Risings (Aries, Leo, Sag): Brave, direct, and ready to lead or defend.

• Earth Risings (Taurus, Virgo, Cap): Grounded, reliable, and slow to break under pressure.

🪖 North Node in Aries, Capricorn, or 6th/10th House

• Their life path involves stepping into authority, service, or leadership roles. They grow by becoming stronger, more self-directed, or more focused on order and duty.

🪖 Uranus + Mars or Saturn – Technology and Sudden Action

• Uranus aspects (especially to Mars/Saturn) can suggest military careers in tech, aviation, communications, or cyber-intelligence.

🪖 Moon in Capricorn, Scorpio, or Aries

• Emotionally tough. These Moons hold steady in chaos and have no issue with strict conditions or hardship. May not show emotion under pressure—good for combat environments.

#astro notes #astrology #birth chart #astro observations #astro community #astrology observations #astrology community #astrology degrees #astro #astroblr #astrologyposts #astrology content #astrology insights #astrology aspects

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black-lake · 1 year ago

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astro observations 11

your astro granny is back, I've been doing this for so long omg. some of it is venting, like always, so ignore that, but maybe don't you may find words of wisdom there. anyway, enjoy. also warning, it escalates to heavier subjects fast 🪐 🔭

——

🕰️ Virgo and gemini risings can pull off any type of glasses, sunglasses, bug-eye glasses, cat-eye, mirrored ray-bans, you name it. They even look cute with goggles no joke. They also make the smart and academia aesthetics look so cool and elegant in a chaotic way, not in a taurus capricorn way but in a- 'I spilled coffee on my boss's laptop this morning and I'm still talking about it way- because omfg- did you see the way they looked at me? it's like I've done it on purpose or smth but I didn't, not sure if they have a crush on me or they fucking hate me, what do you think? I'm pretty sure they don't hate me tho, but I can't tell, do you think I should quit?' 🎙️🎬

🕰️ I recently looked up George Clooney's chart and omggg, it all makes sense. The moon conj saturn in capricorn, giving him that nostalgic wise aura along his taurus sun, uranus and pluto opp ascendant kind of indicating finding his perfect partner later on in life, venus in aries and mars in leo, he's fiery but that fire so damn well contained with all the earth. His asc and jupiter in aquarius, yeah only an aquarius women with so much air and intelligence can maintain his attention and lock him in lmao. His synastry with Amal Clooney reminds of that of Ryan Reynolds and Blake Lively. Manifesting a relationship like this for everyone reading 🧘🏼‍♂️✨

🕰️ Personal planets in scorpio 10° or 22° is a sexy mf combo, esp moon, venus, mars and asc, it gives bedroom eyes and seductive domineer, also godmade bone structures. 🗿

🕰️ Pluto opposite or square ascendant, a very classic aspect for friends/coworkers/admirers/people in general turning enemies and talking shit behind your back. This aspect can easily make people speculate, overanalyze your actions, assume things, spread rumors and lies about you out of jealousy and intimidation.

🕰️ Any planet conjunct the desc can bring the physical manifestation to that planet's shadow side, up to 10°. It can conceal traits of that planet in the sign it’s in, as it’s descending and escaping the sun’s light. Pluto on the desc brings a few shadow traits out of people and conceals their true intentions from the native. So the native has to face those traits, learn to see them from miles away, to discern what people’s intentions are and whether it's that or their own perception and fears. In other words, they start from naive to paranoid to bs detectors, and it takes a long painful journey to get there.

🕰️ Even tho personal planets on the desc are much easier to see and handle, venus on the descendant can bring shallow traits and empty promises out of people, mars on the descendant, not as easy, can bring out anger, toxic masculinity and aggression. Saturn on the desc can bring immaturity, irresponsibility, immoral and disloyal behaviors out of people, stagnation, delays in connection and loneliness, pushing the native to learn patience and endurance. The native will meet people with such traits over and over again until they learn to spot and discern them faster and take the right action. ☔️

🕰️ I’ll keep talking about it in this blog cuz it’s always been one of my biggest challenges. What I learned with pluto on the desc is that you will keep attracting the same kind of enemies to challenge you if you don’t own your power and stop diluting yourself for someone else's fragile power hungry ego, because people will have a problem with you anyway. Also don’t hold too tight to anyone, never be afraid to lose people, because trust me you will. Almost no one is meant to stay in your life, they’re meant to transform you and leave. The only thing you’re meant to rely on is your power and independence. The moment you see it the easier cutting ppl off becomes.

🕰️ I have venus in aries and I find myself always having a girl crush on celebs with this placement, Rihanna, Marilyn Monroe, Audrey Hepburn, Elizabeth Taylor, Jennifer Aniston. They all seem to share that fiery independence mixed with a childlike but fierce demeanor which I admire, plus they never age. 🐈‍⬛

🕰️ I have mercury in aries and mars in scorpio, but for some reason I’m fascinated by people with mercury in aquarius and mars in sagittarius, with mercury in aqua I always expect something fascinating about their minds but I can't guess it cuz it's always different, but females with mars in sag omggg the sass is hilarious, I can’t help but laugh when they get blunt, loud and shady out of nowhere lmfao.

🕰️ Speaking of placements I’m fascinated by, what’s the deal with moon in taurus? I keep thinking it must be… nice.. to have? people that have it are so grounded and serene it makes me think it’s the best moon sign. If you have it please share the emotional difficulties you experience, because I can speak of every moon sign emotional traumas in detail but for some reason I be romanticizing this one. ☕️

🕰️ Another placement I really admire is moon conjunct saturn, there’s just something unspeakable, that isn’t tangible (even tho they have timeless mesmerizing eyes) but on a soul level I can sense their wisdom and nostalgic aura. It’s like there’s a balance of feminine and masculine qualities which come out in their mannerisms. People that have it, Timothée Chalamet, George Clooney, River Phoenix, and every hot man ever.

🕰️ Have you ever asked yourself why Morgan Freeman has such deep unique and easily recognizable voice? It's his mercury conj uranus in taurus. Who else has an easily recognizable voice, Kim Kardashian, mercury conj uranus in scorpio.

🕰️ Having the axis of virgo-pisces over your sun-moon, like virgo sun opposite pisces moon, or mercury-moon can give someone a soft voice, their voice can even be therapeutic and healing. Think of Michael Jackson's speaking voice.

🕰️ The hardest aspect in any chart for me are oppositions or squares to pluto, saturn and chiron. These are easily the most challenging aspects you can find in a chart.

🕰️ Those that have lilith/pluto in the 1st, 6th, 7th, 10th, 11th tend to have haters in their workplace, in groups or wherever they go often. It’s saddening but I’ve seen it a lot. Can also make ppl copy your style or attitude then hate on it, and never admit they got inspired by you.

-- potential triggers in the following one, pls skip if necessary.

🕰️ Difficult planets on the angles, saturn, pluto and chiron mainly can truly mess with someone's mental health to the point of them wanting to- yeah that. The most drastic effect is when they sit on the descendant and MC, since it deals with connections, groups of people and the public, a lot of it is outside of the native's control, and at times more than what they can handle. Their usually painful past experiences and memories has shaped their perception of the world to a dark and despairing one where they don't see a better future for themselves. A few examples, Kurt Cobain (chiron and saturn conj desc and pluto conj asc all tightly opposing), Mac Miller (chiron conj desc, saturn conj asc and pluto conj MC). Marilyn Monroe (chiron conj MC and saturn close to the IC, pluto conj nn).

🕰️ I see every major astrological transit as a collective test, lesson and preparation for the next transit. It made sense that corona happened when pluto was in capricorn, a pandemic that restricted our freedom and made us prisoners in our own homes. There was a stellium of mars, jupiter, saturn and pluto all in cap the moment quarantine started in march. It was all about teaching us to respect societal rules and structures that keep us safe, whether it had to do with the government or the medical system, whether it was real or fake or real fake. Yes you have to give up some freedom for safety, that’s how surveillance and security cameras everywhere you go work, for your safety.

🕰️ It taught us to care for the health of humanity, to live responsibly and respectfully when in crisis, even if that means compromising our freedom and limiting our movement. Trusting that the structure built over the past decades is somewhat reliable and helpful. We saw how some people put their own freedom above anything and anyone out of superiority, that's the selfishness we collectively needed to face before pluto moves to aquarius and we are given freedom we didn't learn how to appreciate or use responsibly. We had to learn the value of personal freedom vs discipline and structure.

🕰️ There are two planets I’ve seen repeatedly in people that manifest like magic, saturn and neptune. To add a third it would be uranus. Conjunctions and oppositions to these planets are like superpowers in manifesting your desired reality. All work in different ways.

🕰️ For example people that have personal planets conjunct saturn (esp sun and moon) are easily attuned with the physical world and have some sort of control over time, turning it backwards or forwards, making themselves look younger and older at the same time, knowing the actions to take to bring anything into the three-dimensional world.

🕰️ Now this leads me to an astrology book I recently came across, the Alien Constructs the work of Edwin Steinbrecher and Stephanie Jourdan, discovering aspects that constitute an alien chart. The alien construct occurs when one of the outer planets, that is saturn, uranus, neptune or pluto, is conjunct or opposite the sun, moon, ascendant or the chart ruler. An individual that has one or few of these is different from other humans, they possess supernatural abilities, and typically have rough childhoods and adolescence.

🕰️ Every aspect with each of the outer planets has a unique ability, for example when the sun conjoins an outer planet it's called Power Alien Construct, the moon conjoining an outer planet is a Vessel Alien Construct, an outer planet conjoining the ascendant is an Instrument Alien Construct, an outer planet conjoining the descendant is a Shadow Alien Construct. Saturnian aliens are able to manifest things in the physical realm, plutonian aliens are masters of metamorphosis and irreversible change, uranian aliens are able to see the future and raise energetic frequencies.

🕰️ Sun conjunct pluto is Plutonian Power, aliens are able to destroy that which is not built upon truth, understand the true nature of birth, sex, death and power, generate energy and power, integrate polarities, perform psychic surgery, see beneath solid surfaces, shape-shift into animals, minerals or plants, heal utilizing sex, magnets or lasers.. etc. Moon conjunct uranus is a Uranian Vessel, aliens are able to comprehend the cycles and trends of the futures, safely corral erratic energy or electricity, channel high-frequency beings, telepath to imprisoned or trapped individuals or animals, sense the formation of inventions and innovations. Look it up, it's fun and tell me what alien construct are you and how you relate to it. oh it reminds me of a post I did a while back of aspects as superpowers.

Happy pluto in aquarius 🛰️✨ (will come back in years and see how this aged)

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slippinninque · 15 days ago

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🎙️Wings and Two-Steppin'💐

Elias "Stack" Moore x supernatural!blackfemreader

warning: MINORS DNI, 18+, cursing, sensual themes, mentions of sex, mentions of desire, drinking/alcohol, supernatural!black!femreader!(Think earth/forest elemental) , long-fic, vibe fic didn't watch the movie but I have been moved 😅

The night was beautiful and you were finally able to find some good music.

You were somewhere between the moon and stars, the winds beneath your wings playful and thick as it carried you from state-wind to state-wind. When the sound of happy breathing, heavy shoes, and string picking got up to you–you looked for a place to land.

Feeling more and more solid as you traded your wings for paws, you searched amongst the warm little homes for what you needed. There were mothers and children gathered around rocking chairs, reading from a thick book made up of pages that reminded you of butterfly wings. In the yard with the tasty yams, you nipped at the clothes on the line for whichever felt like leaving with you.

Trotting with your prize, you tried to think of how to fit it again. It took a while since you’ve been anything but wild, but you knew some times were better had when you had thumbs. The dress fit good enough and you shook out the bramble shocking cloud and downpour that was your locs and coils.

The whole time that lively music followed you. You’d reckon you were a few miles off but now that you had feet–you couldn’t keep them from dancing either way. The only time you paused was when you caught sight of your skin, deep and brown as healthy soil and mahogany.

It wasn’t long before you saw the joint, standing and vibrating with all the good time that was going on inside. You lingered at the treeline, mostly behind the leaves as you watched folk flow in and out of its doors.

The excitement made your tongue tight, you whispered a few of the words you knew by heart to loosen your voice. You've speaking wild for so long, you weren't sure what words were People anymore.

There was a gleam that caught your eye followed by a smooth laugh that made your skin goose. You caught a sweet-husky scent of liquor and honey, caught the edge of maroon vanishing through the side door of the proud structure.

There. That’s where you wanted to be.

Peering around first, you shadowed yourself along the ground. Leaping and hopping to those who lingered outside to enjoy a smoke with the cool air. The last fella was a bit wobbly but luckily he used the wall to steady yourself so you could step off into the dark side of the juke joint.

It wasn’t very much seeing that got you around, but feeling. You felt along the edges until you were able to bleed beneath the same door your good time went through.

The only problem was that now you didn’t know where you were. Things were put up on shelves and boxes, jars and jars of some stuff made your nose twitch. Looking around, you wondered if there was anything tasty enough to tempt you but all you could find was more of that river-clear stuff in pretty bottles of glass.

You were running your fingers along the raised lettering, turning to find your prize when you knocked into the softest tree you’ve ever met.

“Whatchu doin’ in here, girl?”

An unsmiling man looked down at you, plumes blowing from his nose like an angry bull. HIs eyes were like twin obsidian as they skipped over your form. Watching him back, he reminded you of one of those smooth river stones with how pretty brown and blue he was.

You tilted your head and considered his exciting smell. Close, but not quite. Almost-right.

He raised his brows, waiting for an answer, “Where you comin’ from?”

“Above…”

The man reared back as if you shouted but you only smiled sheepishly at your garbled voice. So maybe you should have practiced a little longer before speaking to anyone.

The man’s head tilted back at you, he stepped closer to look down at you more closely. When his eyes got stuck on the mess of flowers and moss that was curling up your ankles from where you stood, you wiggled your toes.

Liking the attention, you preened as surely he was taking in the pretty flowers that had begun to bloom along your hairline.

“Move aside, Smoke.”

“Annie…”

“Move, go’on.”

A beautiful woman came from the corner shadows, eyes kind and fixed on you. The man lingered but stepped aside as she said, Annie. She glowed from her center, familiar in the way that the moon was. Turning to her and taking her offered hand, you no longer cared for the almost-right beside you.

This woman smelled like the almost-right but there was the ocean beneath her skin, the yawning night sky beneath her tongue. She reminded you of where you came from.

“What’s it that you need?” Annie asked warmly. Relief washed over you once you realized there was someone who understood. You buried yourself into her, Annie chuckling in surprise as you sighed at the warmth of her. She wrapped her arms around you in a solid hug and it felt like your hearts were doing the same in greeting.

You looked to the man who watched you more carefully now that you were in Annie’s arms and pointed to his face. Then you pointed out the door, blinking insistently.

“Ah, I see.” Annie looked over to the Smoke man, “Y’know who she wants.”

“What she gonna do to him?”

Annie gave your cheek a soft pinch, and raised her brows high as she looked in your eyes. She spoke in a tone that was both kind and stern.

“She’s gonna take it easy on ‘em and bring him back home like the lady she is.”

Laughing, you reached up and tapped her nose in agreement. Annie Ocean was right, of course, you only wanted to make good use of this form and chase this age old itch of yours.

There was a whoop of applause from the other side of the door you saw beyond Annie. Sounds like the music was changing from the jovial, upbeat twang to something that made your hips swim. Smoke Man and Annie Ocean exchanged a few more words you didn’t care to hear as you heard the beating hearts and lungs of the crowd on the other side. When you went to take a step, Smoke Man took one as well to block you.

“Hol’ on now.” He held up a hand then took away a pair of old boots that Annie Ocean found in the corner. She came to take your hands as Smoke Man knelt down to help your feet into the boots. Your nose wrinkled but it was clearly a stipulation, but when Annie wrinkled hers back in jest–you laughed.

Smoke Man muttered about something being fucking wild as he stood from doing up your laces.

“Should hold for now.” He tipped his hat to you then looked to his woman. Annie took your hand into her arm, like a sister in wings, and escorted you towards the door. Before she opened it, she leaned in to steal a bloom from your hair and say,

“Have a good time y’hear me?”

You gave her a wide grin, a kiss on the cheek, then set out into the joint.

In there, apparently it didn't matter that you weren't dressed so smartly or didn’t speak. You found yourself being held and spun, shot up and thrown over backwards. There were big wide hands that held onto your hips, full lips brushing against your ear. Slender, pretty hands holding onto your shoulders to show you how to watch their feet.

You had a sip of something from someone’s cup and it lit you up. Lightening water, you called it.

Inside the deep river of bodies that waved and lapped at each other, you lost yourself. Black and Brown, beautiful, so full of joy and of life. The scene settled like good supper in your stomach. It wasn’t long before blooms were bursting from between your toes and soles, stuffing until your boots were a perfect fit.

After being away from a body like this for so long, trading your wings for feet, dancing was like discovering how to laugh all over again. You felt the eyes you wanted on you from different corners of the room. Getting closer and closer still, remaining just out of reach just to admire you.

That gleam, though. Settled in between a winning crew of teeth, you couldn’t ever shake your interest in the things that shone. There he was, right there and all wrapped up in that want that you could smell from beneath the canopy of desire and lust blanket over the juke joint.

It’s funny how he looked just like the Smoke Man but in the way that the hot, clay sands meet cool blue waters. This man smiled like he didn’t care if you said his name or not, he walked towards you like he only wanted to know yours, this man was just right.

A hand took yours, leading you to the shore of the back wall. You still saw a kaleidoscope of smiles and felt the cascade of the crowd's previous caresses. A big hand took hold of your jaw. You gasped as you looked into familiar, smoldering eyes.

Finally...

“Now, I see every face that come up in here–why didn’t I see yours 'til now?”

Shrugging, you looked into his mouth at those pearly whites and gold caps. It was tantalizing to see, you’ve never seen a smile like that before. Mr. Just Right dipped his head to catch your gaze again, chuckling and offering his name as Stack.

“What can I call you, honey?”

You batted your eyes at him and looked down the fine line of him until you took that hand of his. He watched you, working the toothpick settled in the corner of his mouth, as you raised his hand to the column of your throat.

You sighed as your eyes closed briefly at the feeling of his stuttering heartbeat. When you opened your eyes again, you pouted slightly and whispered as softly as you could,

“Can’t…riGht…”

Stack’s expression straightened in understanding, “Can’t talk right?”

“Hm!”

Stack returned your affirming nod and stepped a little closer as he took a good look at you. He seemed to shrug himself, thumbing through the bits and pieces of buds “A’ight then, hone–shieet, or should I call ya’ flower?”

He could call you anything. Stack seemed to get that’s what the smile that dawned across your face meant. Unashamed, you leaned up to get a whiff from the source. Praise be. If it weren’t for Stack’s hands on you, surely you’d have melted around the soles of his fancy shoes.

Where Smoke man and Annie smelled like each other and ray-warmed clouds and deep underwater songs– this man smelled like something else.

Promises and butterscotch. Deep, hums and humid yearning.

You gave him a warm hug and then you found yourself being swept off your feet as he spun in a slow circle. The bristle of his beards scratched at your skin as he nuzzled and you had to bite your lip to keep from kissing him.

“We ever met befo’?” he whispered in your ear once he put you down.

Again, you gave him a shrug. It’s possible but you haven’t found all your memories yet. Stack swapped that toothpick to the other side of his mouth, tongue rolling it there real slow and taking your attention with it. Your fingers twitched.

Stack took one of your hands, his other kept on your waist as he led you in a lazy semi-circle. In the cradle of his arms, you made a noise you didn’t know he could hear beneath the music. While you had your land legs now, you still watched your feet.

“Why does it feel like you’re talkin’ to me?”

Because you wanted to so badly. You don’t know how well Stack man could smell, but he had to have a way of knowing you wanted him too…right?

You reached up with your free hand, to run the tip of your finger across Stack’s bottom lip. Shivering when the tip of his tongue brushed your skin as he carried the pick away from your touch–your eyes widened when he folded the pick into his mouth fully.

Stack chuckled, showing the pick again before reaching up to flick it away. Your eyes followed, tempted and amazed by the little magic trick, and Stack took the chance to glance over to where he knew his twin was watching.

Smoke was pouring something into Annie’s glass, sparing a single nod towards the door before turning back to his woman.

“Hey lil’ flower, I gotta say I’ma bit peckish,” Stack surprised you by pressing kisses to your cheek the spot beneath your ear, “You, uh, gonna share some nectar with me?”

“Hmm…”

You leaned up and returned a kiss to his cheek, the both of you nuzzling for a moment more before Stack cleared his throat and asked if you ever rode in a motorcar before.

It looked like morning time, Stack didn’t know from the strange way light came through his motor’s windows.

He went over to press a kiss to your cheek, wanting to wake you up with another sweet, when his lips met looseness..

Reality hit him fully as Stacks opened his eyes to the sea of flower petals and downy feathers he was submerged in. Digging through them in a stupor, Stacks could only find your dress and one of the too-big shoes that you wore the night before.

He brought the dress up to his nose, the dove-white fabric now a cascade of hues that matched what you left him.

Stacks looked out to the windshield of his motor, he was still parked outside. The two of you never made it inside? No, that’s right. He remembered your kisses and the strange, intoxicating noises you made when Stack had his hands on you. When he put the car into a standstill, you crooned his name and parted for him so eagerly…

In the back of his mind when Stack was still staring down at the crown of flowers bobbing in his lap, Stack thought he should have brought you to bed. You were the type that was too good for the back seat of the motorcar but holy did you make good due with what you had.

His eyes closed as heat seeped into his belly. You wrung him dry, all of that softness meaning anything but coyness as you rode him with a syrupy smile on your face. Stack got you back, giving it to you as kept a hold on your face to keep those pretty eyes on him as they rolled.

Pretty, peculiar noises spilled from your bitten lips and it really felt like you were seeping nectar into his lap. How you looked at him reverently and ran your fingertips and tongue over the gold and silver in his mouth.

Stack picked up handfuls of the petals and watched as they fluttered back into the mass. He…didn’t dream of peeling roses from your skin and the dewy sweat beneath. You must have really untangled a vine of the finest tasting green grapes from the curtain of locs from the nape of your neck.

Stack didn’t know what the fuck you were saying between his name but it felt like…promises. You were so sticky, so sweet–

What were you?

His vision focused some more and he saw who was sitting on the porch. Stack cursed, sitting back in the floral bath and tried to get his head together.

It didn’t sit well that he didn’t get to wake up with you, that he didn’t get to say goodbye, that he cared to…

The sun crawled a bit higher and the sudden company didn’t leave long enough aside to get some coffee. The second mug caught his attention and finally Stack got out of his motor. As best he could without letting the petals out, Stack closed the door up behind himself to be dealt with later. He fixed clothes up and ran a hand over his face to chase away the left-over sleep then set forward.

If she was here, then his brother was probably inside cooking up something and to tell Stack how thick his skull was. He grumbled a bit to himself at the thought of his brother and his wife just waltzing past him as he slumbered away as pretty as a princess.

Lord...

Annie sat on the last porch stair, setting that second mug down beside her in invitation. Smoke sat down, gingerly, once he felt the ache in his legs and lower back. He huffed a little at her knowing side-eye.

They sat in silence for a moment. Stack looking at the trailing and dancing petals, following a feather until it flew high enough up into the air to vanish into the awakening blue of the sky.

“She ever gonna come back?”

“I reckon she will.”

Stack gave Annie his own look and she only shrugged a shoulder, “I don’t know when but she will. I’ve seen her before, once or twice. Goes all over, I think, but she lives here.”

“You even know for sure? Met anythin’ like her befo’?”

“She's a joy. She’s in every part of life, every bit of the world.” Annie put a hand on his shoulder and used the other hand to gesture to the petals that had not blown away yet, “You’ll see her again soon. Knowing how you are, especially. You might end up being her favorite.”

Hope quickened his heart. Stack took a sip and before he could ask his next question, the call of a bird overhead caught his gaze.

The sound was familiar enough to loose the incredulousness feeling in his chest, shifting it to wonder and anticipation as he watched that bird settle high within the cover of a nearby willow tree.

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

✨ending notes✨: I....don't even know exactly what this is but I'm happy it's here! 🤣I haven't seen the movie yet but I've been seeing nothing but good things and this is what the vibes left me with. It's a bit long so thank you so much for reading until the end! 🥰This ended up sweeter than what I thought it would be though lmao! tell me what you think and give it a reblog! ✨💓✨💓✨💓

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