#not quite there yet but its heading that way

[femmeroll]

hiii, could you write something about sevika corrupting a sweet church girl?

your blog is really cute btw <3

omg omg omg !!! i’ve been dying to write something like this, thank you for the request!!

sevika x fem reader

cw: religion, corruption, implied age gap, fingering, semi-public.

you’re a good girl. made good grades in school, good daughter, good sister, kind person. you never miss a sunday service. and if you must, you’ll be at the church for service on monday afternoon. you spend your life being pure, avoiding sin wherever it may rear its devilish head.

no pride or greed or lust. just simple, sweet purity.

that is, until you meet that lady.

every day on your walk home from mass you see her. maybe mid forties, dark hair, and easily six feet tall. she stands outside the deli every morning at 11:45 on the dot for her smoke break.

and every sunday morning she says hello, or good morning, or asks how ‘sunday school’ is going. it’s strange. you always give her a smile, say hello back, but she seems so condescending. like every word she says to you is secretly making fun of you.

you don’t really know her either, which is weird. it’s a small town, everyone knows each other. not…her thought. she’s just an impossibly rude person you see on sundays that causes you to remember the jesus was always kind to strangers.

it’s a cold january morning, sidewalks slick with ice. like clockwork, that woman is standing outside the deli with her cigar.

“careful, virgin mary. don’t want you slippin’ out here.”

okay, rude.

“i’m okay, no need to worry,” you respond, stopping in your tracks in front of her. the gaze she holds on you is almost uncomfortable. she’s staring down at you like she’ll burst out laughing at any moment. like the mere idea of you is just hilarious to her.

“sevika, by the way. my name.”

oh. sevika. okay.

“y/n. it’s nice to properly meet you. i’ve never seen you around outside of…this.”

“i’m not very social” she responds.

you smile. you certainly know the best way for people to find community in town.

“well, there’s a service on mon-”

she cuts you off with a scoff. “not interested. not the place for me.”

“why not?”

sevika leans closer, letting her lips fall near your ears.

“i like smoking, drinking, cursing, fucking. it’s not the place for me, princess.”

you clutch the cross around your neck with a gasp. this is wrong on so many levels. sinful, disgusting, unnatural…and yet you feel your face getting impossibly redder.

sevika stomps out her cigarette. “see you next sunday, princess.”

whether you like it or not, sevika evokes quite a bit of lust in you. her smirk, her piercing grey eyes, her muscles that stretch the fabric of her impossibly tight tshirt…you can’t help it. the forbidden fruit is strong. you suppose it’s all a part of the lord’s plan. send you a taste of homosexual temptation and watch you be a true follower.

you aren’t though.

you entertain her flirting, all her lustful stares, and your church dresses start to come above the knee just to give her something to look at. you don’t know why you like this so much. it’s gross. it’s wrong. it’s against god’s wishes.

but jesus christ, one look from sevika and that all goes out the window. every good christian moral, everything you’ve known to be true disappears the second sevika locks eyes with you.

after a monday evening service, you take your weekly stroll home. it’s dinner time, and sevika is working.

you open the door to the deli, seeing sevika behind the counter. you watch silently as she meticulously rearranges the meats on display.

“i could use some dinner, sevika” you say and she perks up, brief shock replaced with her signature smirk.

“princess. c’mon back, i’ll make you whatever sandwich you want.”

and she does. you’re sitting on a wooden stool in the back of the deli, making small talk. sevika’s presence feels strangely right, like these little moments were made to happen. maybe this was the lord’s plan after all.

sevika steps closer, towering over you.

“you have sauce on your lips. messy eater, huh princess?”

she takes her calloused thumb and wipes the sauce away, eyes never leaving yours. the air feels thicker and your face feels hotter. and without skipping a beat, your lips on on sevika’s.

she stammers a bit in shock, then immediately gaining back control. she wraps her hand around the back of your neck to pull you in deeper. you can feel her smirking against you, prying your lips apart and exploring the inside of your mouth with her tongue.

her lips feel like the missing piece of a puzzle, perfectly slotting against yours in a dance of passion and affection. she’s calculated with the way she kisses, making sure you feel every bit of her tongue gliding against your mouth.

“sevika-” you pant, pulling away. “we shouldn’t, i-it’s not right.”

“shush, princess,” she growls, “gods not watching right now.”

and maybe he’s not. so fuck it. you nod and let sevika pull your blouse off, pushing her head into your chest. she litters your chest in bites, reveling in the sweet moans you let out.

her hands make their way under your skirt, silently asking for permission to pull your slick panties down.

all you can do is nod, desperate and utterly dumb for her touch.

“so soft, princess…” she moans, “so wet. is that all for me?”

another nod.

“you gonna be a good girl?”

another nod.

sevika pulls hand away with an evil grin. “words. or you aren’t getting shit from me.”

“yes, it’s all for you. yes, i’ll be good. please hurry before i remember that i’m a woman of god and stop,” you groan.

her ring finger circles your swollen clit, spreading your folds and rubbing you down to your needy hole. one of her thick fingers is enough to stretch you out, walls tightening around her as she slowly moves in and out of your cunt.

“tight fuckin’ pussy…so pure and innocent, huh? just a good little church girl who likes other women fucking her greedy cunt?”

she chuckles darkly at herself, and at the way you get even tighter at her mean words. so humiliating, so blasphemous, so unholy. and yet every deep, deliberate thrust has you closer and closer to cumming.

“sevika,” you whimper, “i can’t hold it, please.”

“is that right?” she teases.

“you can cum, baby. but make sure to repent after.”

[catchastarorten]

—One more game.

Pairing: the salesman (gong yoo) x winner!fem!reader

Summary: a year after winning your games, an unexpected guest shows up at your door, offering to play one more game of ddakji with you, just for the fun of it, and because you're his favorite winner.

Warnings: mentions of trauma, mentions of blood and gore, violence (basically just you smacking him a lot lol), masochism (<- on him, if you squint really hard?), English isn’t my first language, mistakes should be present, sorry!

Word count: ~ 1k

You almost didn’t answer the door.

It was late—the kind of late where the silence pressed in too close and left you too alone for your thoughts. The rain tapped against the windows felt louder than it should. You hadn’t been expecting anyone. Not anymore, anyways.

Your thoughts drifted to that moment. When you stood on that playground that reflected a childish innocence, yet your hands were trembling, blood drying beneath your nails and painted across your teal uniform, the sound of the final breath and the plea that the other player let out before you swung down the knife with a cold precision that pierced him right through the head. It was over. You won. But it never felt like you were the winner.

The knock had been deliberate, sharp. Three steady raps, not the kind delivered by accident or from someone who might go away if ignored, it broke you out of your haze.

You told yourself you weren’t afraid as you approached, but your heartbeat felt too loud in your ears. Your fingers curled around the lock, hesitating for just a second. Then, you opened it.

And there he was.

The salesman.

You hadn’t seen him since the same rainy day where he found you in the subway station, drenched and cold, in debt—out of money, when he offered to play a simple game of ddakji with you. Not since he handed you a card with a number on the back and disappeared without a trace.

Yet here he stood, wearing the same tailored suit, sharp as ever. His face was unchanged—calm, composed, as if this was just another evening, another game. But it wasn’t.

You could tell by the way his eyes softened the moment they met yours.

He didn’t speak right away. His gaze swept over your face, tracing every detail, as if cataloging how you’d changed. Or maybe searching for the cracks left behind.

Then, his hand lifted.

The red and blue ddakji were already there, pinched between his fingers as though they’d never left. Worn slightly at the edges, but still bold in color. Waiting.

“Care for another game?” His voice was smooth, calm. Too calm.

Your stomach twisted.

The paper. The slap. The start of everything that seemed to haunt you.

It all came back too easily—how the game had started with that simple challenge, the humiliating sting of his palm every time you lost. Until you hadn’t. Until you’d proven you could be a winner, until he handed you that card as a congratulations.

“No.” Your voice came out flat. You started to close the door.

His foot shifted forward, not blocking but close enough that the message was clear: not yet.

“You don’t seem so sure.” His gaze lingered, voice quieter now. More dangerous in its softness. “You’ve played before.”

You swallowed, hating how he made it sound like a compliment. Like something to be proud of.

“I don’t play anymore,” you said, sharper this time.

His lips parted like he might argue, but then—he smiled. It wasn’t smug. Not mocking. Something else entirely. You hated how it made your skin prickle.

His head tilted slightly, fingers flexing around the ddakji. “You won, though. You survived. Out of all of them… you were quite ruthless.”

You shouldn’t have let him say that. But it was too late. Something inside you cracked.

Your hand shot out before you fully registered the movement. A sharp, stinging crack as your palm met his cheek, the impact louder than you expected in the quiet.

He barely moved.

He just stood there, lips parted slightly in surprise. And then—he smiled again, slower this time, his head tipping back, exposing the faint pink blooming across his cheekbone in the dim lights.

It felt less satisfying that he just let the pain settle there.

“There’s that fire,” he said, his voice taunting. “The same fire that got you through the games, that made you kill all those people, hm? I always knew you had it.”

Another slap, harder this time. His head jerked slightly with the force of it, his cheek flushing a deeper red. He exhaled softly, just a breath, but it sounded too much like a gasp, like something he’d been holding back.

And when his eyes met yours again— no smile. Not this time. Just a flicker of something you couldn't understand.

His hand shifted between you, lifting the ddakji slightly as if to remind you why he was here.

“You’ll have to win first,” he said, voice hoarse but playful. “Before you keep doing that.”

The tension was so thick you could cut it with a knife, the air too still.

You snatched the red ddakji from his hand, the paper crinkling slightly as your fingers curled around it.

The game began like it had before. The slap of paper against the floor. The silence between rounds, broken only by breath and the occasional hiss when a piece landed just wrong.

But it wasn’t like before, not really.

Because you felt his presence too closely now—the way he watched you, not just your hands but your face, your mouth, your eyes. As if he was searching for cracks in your mask.

So you played harder. Sharper.

And then you won.

The blue ddakji flipped with a sharp slap, the smooth side landing face up, and you felt the victory surge in your chest—not just from the game, but because of him.

Your eyes met his, he didn’t speak, didn’t flinch when your palm connected with his face a third time, but this time—his breath hitched. A subtle, almost imperceptible sound, but it was there.

And his gaze? It was the same as before. The same as that first night when he watched you fight for your life with nothing but paper and desperation.

He took a step back, finally breaking the moment. Rain whispered against the window, the only sound in the room now.

He bent down and picked up the red and blue ddakji, stuffing them into his pockets as his smile returned, and you could've sworn you saw a hint of pride in his eyes.

“Still a fighter,” he hummed.

[dark-and-kawaii]

Yuji stood just outside Nanami's and your home… his knuckles hovering over the wooden door, hesitant to knock. Each breath he took formed clouds of fog that hung in the air. He could feel it as he stood, felt the weight of his body and the chill that enveloped it. It felt heavy... Everything felt so impossibly heavy...

The silence that greeted his knock felt different, more final. Peeking through the window, he could see how still everything was, how quiet the house was for once, your usual playlist was absent, leaving an emptiness that seemed to echo… 

“Ohh~ Why hello there young man~!” 

A fragile voice had startled him from his thoughts. It was an elderly woman that emerged from behind the large rose bushes you and Nanami had planted together just last spring. She was small, barely reaching Yuji’s chest, her weathered hands trembling slightly on her cane as she shuffled closer. Her eyes held so much warmth- so much kindness and excitement that made Yuji’s chest tighten. 

“If you’re looking for Mrs. Nanami, she left in quite a hurry this morning~!” her voice quavered with joy, unaware of how each word drove daggers into Yuji’s grieving heart. “I’m not certain where Mr. Nanani is, but oh i do hope he made it in tim-”

“Please!” Yuji’s voice cracked, panic clawing its way up his throat, “Is she alright!?” His hands shook as images of curses and blood filled his mind of the worst possible outcome, “Where is she!?-” 

“Hush now, dear child,” The old woman's face softened into a gentle smile, “She’s at the hospital just down the way. The baby decided to come early!~” She clasped her hands together in delight, “I can hardly wait to see them come home- all three of them together! If it’s a boy, he’ll surely have his father’s handsome features!”

Yuji felt the world tilt beneath his feet. He bowed his head, shoulders hunched as if to shield his face from the truth he carried… Every word this woman spoke was another weight added to the crushing truth of what he knew- of what he had to tell you… His fingernails bit crescents into his palms, drawing blood he couldn’t feel though the numbness.

“Kento’s always been so quick to be by her side you know? it’s strange he wasn't there this morning, but ohhh~ I’m sure he was already at the hospital waiting for her~” The woman's voice continued, distant now, as if coming through water, “It must be nice having such a man like that, heavens sake, just last week when she was struggling with groceries he help-” 

Her voice faded into the background as memories flooded Yuji’s mind… How Nanami would adjust your scarf while the three of you were out on cold mornings, the way his usual stoic expression softened at the edges when glancing your way… The way his hand would absentmindedly touch your growing belly, as if to reassure himself you and his unborn child were still there… And now, because of one moment, one curse… he would never meet his child. Never know if they had his eyes, his smile, his quiet strength or your features and kind heart… 

At the hospital, through the crack in the door, Yuji saw how you were curled around your newborn daughter, your finger caught in her tiny grasp. The golden sunset painted you in a warm light, and despite your exhaustion, you were absolutely glowing…

“We did it, Kento,” your whisper carried through the door, “we have a beautiful baby girl.” Your smile, so pure and unaware, shattered what remained of his composure. “Hurry back from your mission so you can meet her… We’re waiting ♡.”

Outside your hospital room, Yuji stumbled back, tears burning trails down his cheeks as he bit his lip until it bled, trying to stifle the sobs threatening to break free. How could he tell you? How could he destroy this perfect moment with the truth that Nanami- your Kento, your daughter’s father- had been torn apart by a curse… How could he explain that your “waiting” would be eternal…?

He couldn’t. Not yet…

As he wandered the hospital halls, he noted all the beautiful details Nanami had ensured would surround you during this moment. The butterfly sanctuary, the library, the gardens. Even when it came to you birthing his child, Nanami had thought of everything- had wanted everything to be perfect for you.  

When Yuji finally entered your room, you were sleeping, your daughter nestled against your chest- a mother and child portrait of serenity. He noticed how your daughter’s wisps of hair caught the moonlight, the same shade as Nanami’s… The sight drove the air from his lungs. His body finally giving in and collapsing into the chair beside your bed, Nanami’s final moments- final words replaying in his mind… “You’ve got it from here, right? And please, watch over them.” followed by the visceral memory of blood spraying across the walls, of flesh tearing, of a good man’s last breath given to the thoughts of the family he’d never see again.

“Mmn’ Y-Yuji?” Your voice, still heavy with sleep, froze him in place, his heart stopping as your eyes fluttered open. “M’where’s Kento?” 

The silence that followed was deafening, broken only by your daughter’s first cry- as if she somehow knew, somehow felt the weight of what was about to destroy her mother’s word forever… Yuji’s throat closed around the words he couldn’t say, tears spilling over as he faced the impossible task of telling you that Nanami Kento would never come home again… And then he saw it- watched how realization dawned in your eyes as the blood stained necklace with Nanami’s wedding band slipped from his pocket… 

[tiyawnyana]

Heyy! I'd like to request Viktor x f!reader, an academic rivals sort of thing. Lots of bickering, teasing and all that. I really love the concept, and I've read every fic I found like this, but I'd love to see it in your style!

So the reader is really frustrated, and they are arguing, lots of tension yk, then she accidentally confesses to liking him/finding him really attractive, so she turns all flustered and tries to deny it, aaand I'll leave the rest to you, maybe it could be smut? With a bit of dom Viktor, hehee

Thank you so much<33

Thank you for your request and patience!!! Loved envisioning Viktor in this 🥴

A/N: i had the woooorst hangover new years day oh my goodness

Characters: Viktor x Fem!Reader

Warnings: rivals to 'lovers', tension, dom!Viktor, teasing, praise (use of good girl), fingering, slight oral (f receiving), maybe a little ooc but I picture Viktor as a teaser

MINORS DNI

—-—-—-—-—-—-—-—-—-—-—-—-—-—-—-—-—

In Piltover's esteemed engineering college, there were always self-proclaimed rivals in academics.

You stand in the entry hall, glaring up at the scoreboard for the most recent exams.

Your name was placed second.

Second to Viktor. An honorary student from the lower streets of Zaun. To be fair- he had clawed his way to where he was now. That much you could respect.

But come on. Really?

You were practically born reading, studying, bleeding engineering. This was your calling.

How was he able to score better than you? There's no way.

The sound of a metallic cane hitting the ground echoes in the hallway before stopping beside you.

You sigh, gritting your teeth.

A low chuckle can be heard,”Nice score,” the voice speaks smoothly, rolling the ‘r’ and looking your way.

You exhale angrily through your nose,”Oh, shut up.”

A mock look of surrender crosses his face as he raises his hands, cane hooked on his forearm as you cast a scathing look his way.

“Hostile, hm?” He smirks at you and you shove down the fester of butterflies swarming your belly.

With a scowl and a scoff, you turn and stalk off.

His pleased snicker can be heard, sending a jolt of anger up your spine.

The annual engineering designs contest was creeping up.

You were practically vibrating from excitement, having finally finished your own project weeks in advance.

In between that time there were seemingly countless exams that you had to cram study sessions in for.

As usual, it was a back and forth with a certain Zaunite for who claimed first place.

Frustration brewed in your belly, festering over time into something more aggressive.

The day of the Engineering contest was a huge success.

You had cleared your mind of all unease and submitted your invention, pleased with the professor's reactions along with your peers.

“Quite impressive, I will admit,” that accented voice sends a chill up your spine, and you turn to see Victor smirking at you and your invention.

”Sarcasm, how delightful,” you scoff.

“Not sarcasm,” he clicks his tongue, moving past you to peer down at your entry,”Interesting design- can’t help but notice its similarities to the early engineering of Piltover creations.”

You tense slightly, surprised,”What of it?”

He shrugs, a playful smirk on his lips,”Have you seen my invention yet?”

You narrow your gaze,”No, I have not-“

He keeps his smirk on his lips as he tilts his head towards where his invention is being admired. By many, you should add.

Even the Dean.

Hot, boiling jealousy brews in your gut.

You ended up storming out of the halls, needing to calm down.

You find solace in one of your favorite classes, Professor Daughtry’s room. Pacing back and forth, you attempt to calm down; looking at chemical compounds written on the chalkboard to formula’s on posters to distract yourself.

You’d worked so hard, going over seemingly countless versions of your invention in hopes to get the Dean’s approval and favor. With your parents breathing down your neck and now this overwhelming pressure to be the best- you couldn’t seem to calm down.

You hear someone approaching the room, door ajar.

“Sorry, can I please be left alone?” You mutter the most respectful way you can.

“This is a common area,” of course, it’s him and his stupid accent.

The hairs on your arm bristle up as you turn to glare at him.

He mockingly raises his hands in surrender, a small smirk on his lips. He walks in, allowing the door to slide closed behind him.

“Viktor- the door!” You yell but it’s too late. The automatic lock can be heard.

Professor Daughtry had it installed when one too many students snuck into his class to fool around.

“You- you imbecile!” You groan, crossing the room to try to pry the door open.

“Wiggling the doorknob isn’t going to unlock it,” he teases.

You whip around to glare, finding him already lounging against one of the tables by the front of the classroom.

“Oh- will you just- just shut up!” You scowl, glaring at him.

“Feisty,” he smirks, raising his hands again in mock surrender,”What did I do to get on your bad side, hm?”

You roll your eyes, huffing in annoyance. Your forehead comes to rest on the door, willing it to unlock.

Of course Professor Daughtry has an automatic lock, you think silently with an eye roll.

“Well?” Viktor hums, sitting against one of the desks.

You scoff,”What haven't you done?”

“Oh? There's more than one?” He smirks and you find annoyance in the butterflies that swarm everywhere inside you.

You narrow your gaze as you look at him fully, taking in his relaxed state.

Curse him to look so good in the Zaun colors. Curse him to have such a gorgeous set of golden brown eyes.

Curse him to be blessed with such a face.

Curse him, Curse him, Curse him.

“I was born to be a top engineer,” you scowl,”And you just come waltzing in being a know it all-”

“Sorry that I too, was born to be an engineer-” he looks bewildered, rolling his eyes.

“Shut up! This is my entire life-”

“It's my entire life, too! What are you going to do- sell off new inventions to the highest bidder?”

You glare at him,”What of it? Profit gets more creations made, all in the name of progress for-”

“For Piltover, right?” He huffs out a sarcastic laugh,”None of it for Zaun?”

You look at him in surprise, eyebrows shot up.

He smirks at you, but it's not the one you've found yourself liking,”Of course not. I am here in the name of Zaun, princess. Everything I do and create is in hopes that Topside will see that Zaun is capable of great things.”

“I never said-”

“You didn't have to, it's written on your face!” He shouts, pointing his cane towards you,”I see the way you glare, your judgement is based solely on the fact that I am from Zaun.”

“I'm not- glaring because of that!” You huff angrily, taking one step closer.

“Then why, huh? I’m scum to you? Filth from the undercity?” He steps closer too, cane hitting the marble flooring with a clack.

“You’re hot- you stupid-“ You cover your mouth instantly, face warming in embarrassment.

He stands still, eyes wide as he looks down at you in surprise before his mouth lifts in a smirk, an exhaled laugh leaving his now parted lips.

“That’s not- I-“ You stammer, backing up to the door and turning to tug on the knob while simultaneously hoping the floor beneath you would swallow you whole, saving you from this mess.

You rest your forehead against the door again, the cool varnish on the wood a contrast against the warmth in your face.

You hear his cane clacking against the floor as he steps closer before you feel him lightly hit the back of your ankle.

“Stop it-“

He huffs out a laugh that sends a shiver down your spine. You lift your head from the door, side eyeing him and that stupid smirk.

“So.. if I heard this correctly-“

”Ugh.. shut up,” you groan, clenching your eyes shut in pure mortified fashion.

He hits the back of your ankle again, taking delight in your embarrassment.

”You’ve been glaring and being a sour princess because you..” He takes a step closer,”Find me attractive?”

His cane is used to box you in against the door and you warily turn around to face him and the stupidity of your unfiltered mouth.

“No- that’s not-“ You try to deny but you’re shut up when he just smirks down at you, stepping closer.

“Oh? Well.. if that’s not the case, that’s too bad, then..” his voice is now bordering a sultry, seductive tone.

Your eyebrows scrunch, your confusion obvious on your face,”How- how so?”

He quirks a brow at your curiosity, a grin overtaking the smirk. He takes a moment, seemingly deciding if he wants to keep teasing you or just be out with it.

He deliberately lets his gaze trail down your front, tracing every detail, taking in every ripple of the university's uniform. He brings his gaze back up to your face, lingering over your lips.

He quirks up an eyebrow, waiting.

You inhale sharply, cheeks warming even more so, coming to the blatantly obvious realization that he was openly checking you out.

There’s a long pause, followed by him taking a few steps back to lean against the teachers desk. He rests his cane against the side, looking back at you before beckoning you with a quirk of his fingers.

It’s like a command you’d been praying for- you step forward so quick, hands coming up to cup his gorgeously sculpted face before you’re tugging him down to meet your kiss, clumsy at first but desperation obvious.

He’s just as desperate, hands pawing down the back of your vest, cupping around your waist firmly.

You release a shaky moan against his lips, leaning into him as he takes charge of the kiss, licking at the seam of your lips and invading your mouth. One of his hands come back up to cup the side of your jaw, tilting your head back.

You brace yourself, palms pressing down on either side of him on the desk, only to jump and pull back at the loud clang of his cane hitting the floor.

He huffs out a soft laugh, cupping your cheek again and tugging you back in, tongue pressing into your mouth.

“Mmph-“ You moan against him, pawing down his front before carefully unbuttoning the top buttons of his vest.

“Eager, are we?” He says once he pulls back from the kiss, lips now slightly red.

“Shut up-“ You huff in annoyance, but you’re stopped when he grabs your wrists.

“That’s not very nice.. is it?” He hums, eyes darkened with lust as he gazes down at you.

Your cheeks flush, swallowing thickly before rasping a soft,”Sorry-“

”Sorry for what?”

You’re surprised even more so, mouth agape in confusion.

“You must be so used to always getting what you wanted, hm?” He gently but firmly cups your chin, tugging you closer, teasingly brushing his lips against yours,”What are you sorry for, Princess?”

You chase, but he holds you firmly, ensuring you’re not able to get what you want. You whine softly, pleadingly looking up at him but he remains stoic, now, a disappointed look in his eyes.

You swallow thickly,”I’m- uh.. I’m sorry for telling you to shut up-“

”Very good,” He praises, and your thighs clench beneath the long skirt of your uniform.

He grabs your chin, tugging you back in for another heated kiss before pulling back to unbutton your vest. You get the message, unbuttoning his as well and helping him out of it before shrugging yours off.

“Gorgeous,” he murmurs in praise as he helps unbutton your shirt, sliding it down your shoulders, his hands gently tracing down your arms, goosebumps following soon after.

You shake it off, cheeks flushed as you undo his tie and unbutton the first few buttons of his dress shirt, but leaving it on to admire his disheveled look.

“Enjoying the view?” He teases, beckoning you back in.

You roll your eyes but follow his call, sighing with bliss when he cups the side of your neck, fingers lacing into your hair to tilt your head to press kisses down your throat.

His touch sends heat through your body, your thighs tense beneath your skirt. You inhale sharply as his fingers unhook the back of your bra, carefully slipping the straps down your shoulders- your nipples harden in the cool air and it's almost like you can see his gaze darken.

His touch is careful, moving his hand from your hip up, up over your ribs to cup the underside of your breast and thumb over your hardened nipple.

He huffs softly,”To think- all this strife and annoyance could've been avoided..” He smirks and pinches your nipple, reveling in your soft yelp,”If we would’ve talked sooner..”

“Please,” you rasp softly, hands fumbling as you grip over his ribs, pawing at lean muscle and soft skin.

“Oh? Begging sounds so nice coming from your lips,” he praises softly.

You huff, leaning in to chase his mouth but he just chuckles at your eagerness, burrowing his fingers into your hair and tugging just right, a whimper escaping your throat.

“Please, what, princess?” He coos, tilting his head and giving you a lust filled look in his honey brown eyes.

You struggle to form words, licking your lips before finally managing to beg,”Touch me-“

“You’ve got to be specific, gorgeous, how am I supposed to know where?” He firmly cups your tit, nipple hard in his palm,”Here? Or..”

His knee suddenly presses between your legs, grinding into your clothed cunt.

“Mmmph- Oh, ahh-“ you whine, eyes fluttering.

“I’m almost tempted to make you get off like this, Princess,” He smirks, kissing your temple almost fondly, feeling immensely intimate,”But.. I’m not cruel.”

He disconnects from you, sliding over to the teachers chair as he uses the desk for stability, before beckoning you over and again, under his spell, you follow without hesitation.

He grips your hips, pushing you back against the desk and guiding one leg up onto the arm of the chair he sits in. He kisses the inside of your knee and you inhale shakily, stabilizing yourself against the desk with a white knuckled grip over the edge. His hands bring your skirt up, bunching up around your waist as he ushers you to lay against the desk.

He whistles teasingly, eyes lighting up as he sees the mess of wetness between your legs,”I haven’t even started, princess..”

“Don’t- don’t tease me,” you murmur in embarrassment, averting your gaze as warmth covers your cheeks.

“But you’re so fun to tease,” he coos, bringing the chair closer to kiss your inner thigh,”Take them off for me?”

You narrow your gaze, only to stop when he raises his eyebrow. Despite the embarrassment, it seems your need for him outweighs it, so you carefully shimmy your underwear off, not missing that he grabs them and stuffs them into his pocket- when you also spot his tented trousers.

“Spread them,” he taps your thighs.

You listen. Of course you do, almost like you were hypnotized by his voice and he can’t help the smirk almost permanently etched into his lips.

“Good girl,” he praises, petting your outer thighs and pressing a soft kiss to the soft skin inside, lingering as he groans from your scent.

He trails his hand up your other thigh, spreading you further before his thumb brushes over your swollen clit.

You squeak, releasing a shaky moan when he grins and rubs his thumb over it softly, not enough to get you off but enough to have you needy and whimpering for more.

“So greedy,” he murmurs against the skin of your inner thigh.

“Viktor- please,” you beg, gripping the edge of the desk with a pleading look in your eyes.

He chuckles, but decides to not tease, instead choosing to spread your folds with a pleased groan at the slick glistening on your cunt. He prods, allowing your slick to wet his fingers before looking up at you.

“Tell me to stop whenever, ok, Princess?”

You nod shakily, warmth gathering in your chest.

“Use your words, now..”

”Yes- I will, Viktor,” you stammer softly, chest heaving at his command.

He nods his approval, carefully pressing his pointer finger into your heat, groaning at the vice-like grip he’s greeted with. You open up so beautifully for him, gummy walls welcoming him almost greedily.

You huff, whining softly before slumping against the desk with a squirm of your hips, almost trying to pull him in more.

He pulls his finger back, then presses back in more, up to his knuckle, getting you used to the stretch. He listens to your soft, airy moans with a satisfied grin.

He presses another finger in, curling both upwards and gently pulling back just to press in harder, other hand holding you down flat against your stomach, thumb rubbing over your clit with precision.

Of course he’s a natural, you think to yourself with a huff before a moan is almost punched out of you as the pads of his fingers press something inside of you. You lift your head, dazed, as you peer at him only to groan at the self satisfied smirk on his mouth.

He sucks a mark into your thigh, speeding up his fingers and thumb, listening to you moan louder and longer, babbling nonsense and repeated pleads.

“Please- oh, don’t stop-“ You beg, head shaking back and forth against the desk.

“You sound so good, all desperate,” he coos, thrusting his fingers into you faster gradually,”Makes me wonder how you’ll feel riding me.”

You moan out loud at the imagery, your walls tighten up around his fingers and he groans, nipping into your thigh.

He keeps at it, grinding his fingers into you faster and harder as you gasp, whine and squirm against the desk. You babble, tears of pleasure pricking your eyes as you feel yourself getting closer and closer to that crest.

“Please- please, oh-“ you moan, back arching into his hands.

“You’ve been so good for me,” he praises,”I think you deserve a treat.”

He removes his thumb from your clit and you almost groan angrily only to yelp in pleasure as his mouth seals over the sensitive bud. He flicks his tongue over it, circling and sucking until you shriek out a moan, sure to have echoed around the empty class as you find your release.

After the mind numbing orgasm, followed by him licking your slick from your folds and his fingers, he pats the outside of your thigh to get your attention.

“C’mon, princess,” he coos.

You tiredly sit up from the desk, peering down at him as he sits back with a cocky smirk.

He points to a button on the inside of the desk,”Did you know that I was the one that installed the new locks to Professor Daughtry’s class? He requested that a secret button be placed on his desk that only he should know about- to unlock it, of course,” He tilts his head,”Sure, there’s a key that he carries, but there are perks to being one of the students he likes.."

He lifts a lone key after grabbing it from his pocket.

You raise your brow in confusion.

“We won’t be bothered at all,” he smirks, a lustful glint in his gaze as he scoots that chair back with his good leg before unbuckling his belt. He taps the floor with his foot,”Show me what else your mouth is good for.”

—-—-—-—-—-—-—-—-—-—-—-—-—-—-—-—-—

A/N: got some more im working on!!

[liveyun]

no escape | k.th

title. no escape

pairing. kim taehyung x fem reader/oc

genre. squid game au, thriller, pwp, smut

warnings. 😵‍💫. guard!taehyung, player!oc, consensual sexual acts in forms of power play, bandage, orgasm denial, face fucking, spanking, taehyung is. . . arrogant and cocky (pun intended) , his hands, taeconda wbk lmao, edging, finger sucking, some softness

wc. ~3k

a/n : i haven’t watched the drama yet, so please forgive me if there are any factual mistakes (shouldn’t be lol, there’s barely any plot) and this is my second time writing smut/first time writing fellatio so please let it slide if it sounds bad because i was way too impatient to wait and the rumors and or the theories (unlikely) of him appearing in the third season are making me delusional fr 😈

The corridor is suffocatingly quiet, save for the faint whir of crusty old machinery.

Dim overhead lights flicker intermittently, casting dark shadows that stretch and contract like phantom limbs.

You shouldn’t be here. The thought screams louder with every step you take, but it’s drowned out by the pounding of your heart. A part of you relishes because of your rebellion; full of zeal, while the other part is shrinking with fear. Yet, you don’t know which one is responsible for your heart to go hayware.

Either way, you keep on walking.

You grip the edge of the wall tighter, your fingertips brushing against the cold metal, as if the steel could tether you to sanity.

The restricted zone feels different — emptier, darker. As if even the quiet of this lobby is asking you, no, demanding you to leave — but rebellion is so sweet to taste, that perhaps even death cannot make you step back. The air smells off, tinged with the faint metallic tang of something you don’t want to name. The kind of place where secrets go to die.

You force your breath to slow, ears straining for any sign of movement, any hint that someone else might be lurking. But there’s nothing. Just the silence pressing in on you from all sides.

“You’re not supposed to be here.”

You flinch.

The voice is low. Dulcet — so smooth it feels like liquid heat is being poured into your ears. You’ve never heard this voice before, and yet it crashes into you with the force of a thunderclap. That calm, quiet power, threaded with something dangerous, coils down your spine and settles deep in your stomach.

The serenity of the voice scares you.

Your entire body goes rigid, blood freezing. Slowly, so painfully slowly, you turn your head. He’s standing at the other end of the corridor, blocking the entrance, and perhaps, the only escape.

Red jumpsuit, square mask. The highest rank among the guards. The ones who don’t ask questions.

For a moment, neither of you move. The fluorescent light above him buzzes faintly, casting an uneven glow over his figure. The mask stares back at you, empty and unyielding, a void you can’t read.

But you feel his eyes. You feel them trailing over you, assessing, dissecting, pinning you where you stand. You feel naked under his gaze despite being fully dressed, and you feel an odd feeling in your insides..

“Lost?” he asks, and the way his voice dips at the end makes your breath hitch. Fuck, oh god.

It’s not just the sound of it—it’s the way it slides under your skin, makes your insides tingle. And he knows. This bastard knows. You can’t see his face, but the slight tilt of his head, the way he lingers just long enough to watch your reaction—it’s deliberate, calculated.

You swallow hard, but your throat feels like sandpaper. “I… I—”

He takes a step forward. You take one back. The air shifts, heavier now, charged with something you can’t quite name.

Your pulse races, each beat like a drum in your ears.

You don’t know if you’re exicted or scared.

“You know what happens to rule breakers, don’t you?” His gloved hand flexes at his side, the movement deliberate, almost lazy. A predator sizing up its prey.

“I—I wasn’t—”

“Save it.” Another step, and he’s close enough for you to catch the faintest trace of his cologne beneath the sterile scent of the suit. It’s woodsy, faintly spiced, and it lingers in the back of your throat like a memory you didn’t know you had. “You don’t belong here. And yet…” He tilts his head slightly, the square on his mask glinting in the dim light.

“Here you are.”

You hate the way your knees threaten to buckle, the way your breathing hitches despite your best efforts to keep it steady. You feel absolutely mortified to feel heat pooling in your lower abdomen like slow fire. There’s no telling what he’ll do. Report you? Drag you back? Or worse — handle the punishment himself.

And God help you, but a part of you is equally as thrilled as terrified to find out.

He’s close now — so close that the full, metallic scent of the corridor is drowned out by something else entirely. Something warm, woodsy, and faintly spiced, like cedarwood and smoke. It lingers in the air between you, curling around your senses, filling your brain up with fog.

The mask tilts, as though he’s watching you with a predator’s curiosity, drinking in every nervous shift of your weight, every shallow breath. You feel overwhelmed and squirmish, hyper aware of him observing your each move.

“What’s the matter?” he murmurs, voice low and unhurried. “Cat got your tongue?”

Your throat feels dry, words caught somewhere between your lungs and lips. You shift back, but the wall at your spine reminds you there’s nowhere left to go.

It’s just you and him.

He leans in just enough to make the hairs on your neck rise, his gloved hand brushing the wall beside your head — close, too close. It’s then you notice his hands: large, impossibly large, even beneath the thin sheen of the gloves. His fingers are long and deft, curling lazily into a fist before releasing, a movement so absentminded it shouldn’t make your stomach flip.

Shouldn’t fill your head with images which practically threatens to take away the little sanity left in you.

“You’re scared,” he muses, more to himself than to you. “But not of what you should be.”

His head tilts again, the mask’s material catching the overhead light. Slowly, his hand rises, not toward you—but toward his own face. His gloved hand rises to the edge of his mask, fingers brushing the seam. He hooks a single finger beneath the edge of his mask.

You barely notice that you’ve stopped breathing.

“You want to see who’s really watching you?”

You can’t stop your eyes from widening. “You want to see who you’re really dealing with?” The words are laced with danger, meant to come about as a taunt. But they dont, they instead spread a fire inside you, like how the veins of a leaf spreads across its surface area.

Slowly, almost languidly, he pulls the mask away, revealing the face beneath.

Oh.

Oh.

Dark, sweat-dampened hair clings to his temples, framing a face that seems carved from shadow and starlight. His eyes are sharp, but, but they hold a soft glimmer — hooded, which gleam with cruel amusement framed underneath thick, strong brows. His lips are slightly parted, as if he knows you’re looking and wants you to keep doing just that.

He is breathtaking. He is gorgeous. And he knows that.

It’s the small things that undo you. The faint sheen of sweat along his sharp jawline. The curve of his smirk, too soft to be mocking but too dangerous to be kind. And that scent —closer now, filling your lungs and making you lightheaded.

“Well?” he asks, voice silkier than before. “Do I live up to the mystery?”

Your mouth moves, but no sound comes out. Your gaze drops despite yourself—past his throat, past the open collar of his jumpsuit, to the slender column of his neck and the way his Adam’s apple bobs when he swallows.

Fuck this man.

But it’s his hands that do you in. Bare now, he tugs the gloves free, one finger at a time. His skin is warm-toned, his fingers long and lean, the kind of hands that could either cradle or crush without hesitation. He flexes them casually, like he knows you’re watching.

They are clean. Beautiful. Neatly manicured. . .

“Lost for words?” His voice is teasing, but his eyes are sharp, drinking in every flush of heat that creeps up your neck.

You can’t look at him, but you can’t look away, either.

An image flashes up in your mind. His fingers, the same fingers, rubbing your clit with smooth, slow circles as his other hand restricts the airflow from your throat.

Oh fuck.

You grit your teeth, not trusting yourself enough to conceal any noises that may spill out. However, you fail to supress yourself from squirming, your thighs rubbing themselves together unconsciously as the erotic image flares up your brain.

And he notices that too.

His eyes narrow, and a dry laugh escapes his lips — something similar to a mock, but closer to amusement. You feel your throat dry on the realisation as you try looking away, but the next thing you feel are his hands on your chin.

“You dirty little thing,” his hands are warm — but the tips of his digits cold as they squeeze your cheeks, puckering your lips out, his face inching closer till you can see your own reflection in his pupils.

You feel like closing your eyes, but you can’t.

His breath is warm. Minty. Sweet on your cheeks as he draws each word out like rich honey. “You could be killed here for breaking the rules, but you are thinking of something else. Isn’t that right, doll?”

You feel your clit throb at the nickname.

You shake your head, or atleast you try to. Could there be anything more humiliating than fantasizing about someone as him? Probably. But right now, you feel like not giving him the satisfaction of submission.

His tongue darts out to lick his lips, the plush muscle coating his lips in a sheen layer of saliva.

He shakes his head, and a dry, unamused laugh leaves his throat.

“Filthy little liar,” he coaxes. “Do you know what do liars deserve?”

Your eyes widen, but somehow you feel that it’s not going to be the end of you.

Your eyes burn with tears.

And so do your wrists — they are tied behind you with a rag, and your knees actually feel like they’ve been scraped. But oh, sweet heavens, you feel like you could die after this. His cock rams into your mouth — not even half-way through, and hits the back of your throat. Your instincts have your throat constricting, eyes watering, and body squirming.

It’s nearly been 20 minutes, or so you think, since you’ve been kneeling down, getting fucked in your mouth by none other than the arrogant, handsome guard whose cock is so impossibly thick, you feel your jaws hurt. Suit hunched down to thick thighs and cock fished out of black boxers, you feel like this man actually is going to be the death of you.

Your pussy convulses, gushing out another stream of viscous fluid as his hips snap towards your face once more. He moans, a sweet, honeyed sound which makes your insides churn, a smooth beat which has your ego inflating. Your arms feel numb and your wrists hurt at the loss of circulation, but you remember how cruelly he’d tied your arms after your own fingers had reached down to releive the ache of your weeping pussy after the first thrusts of his cock into the wet cavern of your mouth.

He sneers, and grabs your hair — but his touch is surprisingly gentle, unlike his thrusts. Twists your hair into a makeshift ponytail, and forces your head on his length.

“Your mouth feels so good, ahh~”

He likes edging himself — or you. He’s been impossibly close thrice, throbbing and pulsing in your mouth, hissing at your tongue licking a particular angry vein on his cock, but he pulled away each time with a harsh grunt.

His eyes are sharp — glimmering under the dull lights of the lobby. He holds the back of my head and pushes himself down your throat, and you feel yourself gag, your mouth dripping with drool, his cock impossibly closer to your throat, still not down the base. “Y-yeah, you dirty liar, choke.”

It wasn’t definitely your first time with a man — but this man? You had no words. You felt your cheeks warm up, your cunt clench and gush out. You moan, the sound muffled by his cock, and looked up into his dark eyes, wordlessly begging for more. . .

What had gotten into you?

Your senses were overwhelmed ; the taste of his cock, its hardness prying your throat open, the smell of his sweat, the glimpses of his golden skin under his suit and impossibly silky hair sticking to his forehead — and each thrust sending you to a gateway of primal lust.

His hands leave your hair.

And what he does catches you off guard. You were busy eyeing his form, and he takes the advantage of that. His hips buck back to your mouth, freely thrusting as if you were a toy — nudging your throat open as he moaned in victory, his hands on his hips, teeth tugging his lower lips as he presses his cock closer.

“Look at you,” he lets out a small laugh. “Such a good girl. Taking cock so well.”

Your insides feel mushy with the praise. He fucks you through as you willed your throat to relax, knowing that each spasm tightened your throat around his cock, turned him on even more — you could already feel his cock throb back again.

He grits his teeth, and then your mouth is empty.

He’s pulled back — his wrapping around his length, and good heavens, even his enormous hands dont make up to the size of his cock as he lazily strokes his shaft. Red, so red it’s nearly a shade of purple — enlarged and throbbing. Your tongue flicks out as you whine at the loss of cock and he smirks ; as his thumb swipes the pearling pre come over his sapping tip, twisting his strokes as they get frantic, rushed, and more desparate.

“So eager for cum, are you?”

He tries sounding tough, but his voice wavers, ending off in an airy note. Fuck, he is close. His lips part and his head is tossed back as he fucks his fist, jerking off you resist the urge to squirm. The sight is so unbelievably hot — the arrogant guard is about to come.

He looks down at you as the first rope of his seed hits your agape mouth.

Warm, salty, and slightly bitter.

He fills up most of your mouth with his come as he keeps on jerking, and you must say that his aim is pretty accurate. Although some of it dribbles to your cheeks and chin as he groans, a sound so primal you feel your cunt clench and throb, knowing that you made him come so hard that you can see his eyes rolled to the back of his head as the last splurt of come hits your tongue.

You eagerly gulp down his release, surprised at how pleasant he tastes, and how easily you agreed to shallow down.

He, however, doesnt stop.

He leans down to you, close, impossibly close till you can feel the warmth of his face radiating to you. His hand cradles your face as one of his fingers swipe at the come on your cheeks and brings it to your lips.

“You don’t wanna waste it, do you?”

You happily oblige.

But you don’t stop either — you swirl your tongue around the digit, long and slender, similiar to how you’d done to his cock. You see his nostrils flare, and another arrogant smirk tugging up his lips as he narrows his eyes at you, pulling his finger away with a pop.

His hands reaches down to straighten up your shoulders — as your tits perk up, still clothed, but the outline of your pebbled nipples are prominent.

Your cheeks burn at the intensity of his gaze on your chest.

He squats down to your height — and before you realise, your arms are bound free. They feel numb and cold, and you flex them around a bit as blood rushes back to your wrists. You feel slightly awkward and blue balled, still feeling your wetness cling to your folds and your abdomen swirl with heat, but —

His arms slide underneath your thighs as he throws you over his shoulders.

“Wha. . . !! ” your throat feels sore, but you hope he gets the surprise you feel being over his shoulders, limbs held down by him, ass in the air and arms holding onto their dear life on his suit as he carries you both forward. Anyone could see you like this — your bare cunt and ass on display, but you don’t think it bothers him.

Or you. If anything, you feel your heart pick its rate at the idea of being caught.

One of his hands lands a slap on your cheeks and your body jolts forward as you yelp, feeling the sting on the muscle as his huge arm caresses the area, your body carried away by him with long, huge and hurried strides. To somewhere you possibly don’t know. . . .

But you aren’t scared, as ironic as that sounds.

“Did you think we were done already, doll?”

a/n : how did we like it? 😈 your feedback is always appreciated! thanks for reading 💜

[manmuncher777]

Roommate!Gojo who sends you off on your date with a pang of jealousy ripping its way through his body. Why couldn’t you be dressing up like that to spend the night with him. He knew you were excited, this was the most you’d dressed up in a long time, your hair sitting do perfect after the hours he watched you spend on it. The outfit you chose showing your figure in a way that had him clenching a fist, trying not to reach out and let his fingers dance over your exposed skin. That intoxicating perfume filling his nose as he stood so close, wishing you a good night before the door finally shut, and the only trace left behind was the small waves of your sweet scent still lingering in the air

Roommate!Gojo who is confused when he hears your keys in the door just 2 hours later, he wasnt even expecting you back tonight.

Roommate!Gojo rushing to your side when he sees your pretty face puffed up with tears, concern lacing his tone. Utter joy racing through him in reality, but he was still sad to see you so upset

Roommate!Gojo who listened to youn blubber and rant about how this was your first date in a long time and how you just wanted a nice night. He listened to you rant about how much an asshole the guy was all while stoking your hair and kissing your head as you sat wrapped up in his arms

Roommate!Gojo who almost died then and there when he heard you complain how men were shit and you “just wanted to get laid”

“that might be something I can help with gorgeous” he whispered before anything could stop him, His reaction basically automatic

Roommate!Gojo who had your crying for a nothing reason a few moment later as he was burying himself between heaven you thighs. Hot tears streamed down your face as the mans thick tongue worked his way through your folds, playing with your little bundle of nerves. Small whimpers leaving his throat as your taste made him rock hard. His hands gripping your thighs, keeping them spread wide for him so he could see you in all your glory “Pretty girl, if you were needing to cum all you had to do was ask me” his syrupy voice rang out in your fucked out head in between his vulgar licks of your dripping cunt “That asshole didnt deserve to see you so pretty” he whispered into your cunt. “I had half a mind to drag you back in a fuck you against the door seeing you dressed like that”

His words rippling over your, breaking you more and more. You had no choice but to listen to him as he teased and taunted you.

You couldn’t even bother yourself to respond, not after his gingers slid into your cunt so easily, the squelch of your wetness echoing in the room.

Roommate!Gojo who couldn’t wait to get his throbbing cock inside that needy little pussy of yours. He’d thought of this moment for months and he wasn’t quite sure how it was actually happening.

Roommate!Gojo who had you naked and spread over his bed right now, looking at your fucked out features. Your skin laced with sweat, your hair still beautifully framing face, those tits hed spent so many night imagining while he fucked his fist now open for him to see, all marked from his touch. That beautiful cunt of yours dripping from the orgasms he had already pulled out of it, and yet you were still begging him for more

“please Satoru, I need you” you whined so sweetly beneath him and he teased his red leaking tip through your folds, coating himself I your slick. He soothed you, kissing your head gently “It’s okay pretty girl, ill give you whatever you need” he promised before lining himself up with your fluttering entrance and sinking himself deep inside.

The moan that left him was sinful as he bottomed out inside of you, you felt amazing wrapped around his cock, even better then he imagined.

Roommate!Gojo who couldn’t hold himself back for long, soon he was pistoning himself in and out of your sopping pussy, moaning incoherently abut how good you felt. You were more then happy to lay there and take every inch, every thrust he was giving you. Your mind so far gone you couldn’t do much more then whimper and moan and every move he made, his thick cock hitting that delicious part of your velvety walls with every stroke. Your eyes rolling back as your nails dragged red lines down his back

“There she is, theres my pretty girl” “cant believe all you needed was a good fucking sweetheart, all you had to do was ask” “been thinking about this tight little pussy for ages” “come on baby, take it, this is what you where begging for” “such a good girl for me, taking it so well” “awh, you like this don’t you? filthy girl”

Roommate!Gojo who was a stuttering mess, his head falling into your shoulders as his hips never stopped their brutal pace, his balls slapping against you with each thrust. It wasnt long before he had you cumming again that night. Your wall squeezing him tight as you flooded his perfect skin with you juices. You could do nothing but moan his name, so sweetly in his ear that his orgasm hit him as well. His balls tightening as he fucked him cum deep into you. His pushing himself deeper with each finishing thrust. A deep groan coming from his chest as his hips faultered and finally stopped. Both of you lying there, panting.

“next time you need a good fuck princess, let me know” he whispered into you ear

You wouldve hit the smug bastard if you werent so sure that you would be taking him up on his offer again the next day

[winnisblur]

“Cracks In Our Hearts.”

pairing ❤︎‬: gender neutral reader x sunghoon. w.c ‪‪❤︎‬: 4.5 - 5k (it’s word vomit at its finest) synopsis ‪‪❤︎‬: you’re a player in squid game, and thanks to a certain square guard, you’ve managed to survive (and get fucked).

this fic includes ‪‪❤︎‬: smut so mdni, death(s?), blood, sunghoon is a guard and is hot with a mask and pistol, he’s also cold(i think that’s the word), reader just trying to survive, ends up dying tho lol, bathroom sex, choking, pain and gun kink, degradation, sunghoon is actually a jerk beneath the mask, so is reader, unprotected sex, readers skin colour nor private parts are mentioned and etc.

warnings ‪‪❤︎‬: english isn’t my first language, not really proofread so srry about that, and i’m nervous af cus this is my first time writing T-T, this is based off of s1 so spoilers ahead (for those who haven’t watched both seasons”.

…..I shouldn't have survived the first game.

The thought clings to me like a stain as I sit cross-legged on the cold gray floor of the dormitory. Around me, everyone's faces wear that same haunted look-eyes sunken, shoulders hunched-but it does nothing to erase this truth: I'm still here, and a hundred others aren't.

My hands shake as I clutch the bottle of water they gave us, the only comfort in this nightmare. “Red Light, Green Light” was supposed to be simple. A childish game, nothing more. But then, when the first shot went off, the simplicity was in pieces. I kept my head down, my steps calculated. An act of luck rather than any skill saved me. Halfway, my legs had locked, but the chaos around saved me. I was too scared even to breathe, let alone blink while that giant, doll-like machine scanned the field. The screams. The silence. They cling to me as much as the relief of being alive.

But that leaves me with just one question: how long will I last?

Dalgona Game

As the guards herd us into the grounds, that feeling of luck is not there.

The sun knocks heavily upon the earthy ground, and a whispering wave curls through the players. In front of us stood a table piled high with tins, each containing the next nightmare: “Dalgona candy.” The guard with the square mask appears to be in charge; he steps forward. His voice rumbles from behind his mask. "You will each choose a tin. Inside is a shape. Your task is to extract the shape from the candy without breaking it. You will have ten minutes."

That's it? A shape?

But then I look at the examples on the display-circle, triangle, star…and an umbrella. My stomach does a flip. Not just precision, but luck too. A wrongly picked tin means my death. The queue moved fast; shaking hands reached for tins, people picking as if their lives depended on it. Because they do.

When it's my turn, I force myself to breathe and reach for the one closest to me. The metal feels cool and heavy in my hands. I don't even open it right away, afraid to see what fate I've chosen. Finally, I lift the lid.

The umbrella stares back at me.

"Great," I mutter under my breath. I look around, and there are a few groaning in despair as they unveil their shapes. Most got stars or circles—luckies. The timer starts, and the courtyard almost becomes a battlefield of concentration. People start licking their candies, tapping needles at them, and quite a few try to bite them. I take the given needle and gently press it against the candy. The sound of cracking candy nearby makes my heart run. I start shaking and tracing the thin, delicate lines of the umbrella. "Steady," I say to myself. Halfway through, it happened.

Snap.

The handle of the umbrella broke off clean. My blood ran cold.

It was over.

Instantly, my head jerks up to find the nearest guard. They are already converging on other players who busted their candies. I heard shots ring out and immediately froze. That is when I see him.

One of the square-guards, taller than the others, stops a few feet away. I cannot see his face, yet there is something different in the way he looks at me. His head tilts slightly, studying me, and for that one fleeting instant, the noise falls away. Then he takes another step closer.

"No," I whisper. Shivering, my heartbeat surges as I hold the shattered candy tightly against my body, to hide it from view. But instead of brandishing his weapon, he leans in and whispers, "Pretend you're still working." I stare up at him, appalled. "Do it," he says sharply in a low voice, and I automatically comply. I push the broken pieces together, my hands shaking so severely it's a wonder they don't break into a hundred more pieces. The guard-he-stands close enough that I can sense his presence. He occasionally looks around, subtly blocking the other guards' view of me. “Why?" I dare to whisper. He says nothing.

Minutes tick by-although by some miracle, no one notices my snapped candy. When the buzzer goes off, I hold my breath for the worst to happen. Instead, the square-guard advances, feigning that he's inspecting the other players. Somehow, I get away.

The dormitory is noisier tonight. Some are cheering, others crying, but I do not think of anything besides him. Why did he save me? Was this some sort of mistake? A test? My head runs with the different connotations, but no sensible fact makes sense. Guards are not supposed to show mercy.

When the lights dim for night, I am awake. I play that moment in my head over and over-the quiet authority in his voice, the way he lingered just long enough to save me. There's just no getting answers, yet I couldn't help my mind from running over and over with thoughts of him.

Sunghoon’s POV

This was reckless.

I lean against the wall of the guard quarters, helmet in my hands, and let my breath out slowly. My heart hasn't stopped racing since I saw them-their trembling hands, the way they froze when their candy broke. I should've ignored it. I should've done my job. But something about the way their eyes widened, filled with fear and determination, stopped me. I don't know why I helped them. It wasn't out of pity. It wasn't out of guilt.

It was them.

I have seen hundreds of players, most of them desperate enough or selfish enough to catch nothing but their own survival. But they're different. I shouldn't be feeling this way. Guards aren't supposed to feel anything. Yet every time I think about their face, my resolve cracks just that little bit more.

If anyone finds out, I'm as good as dead.

But somehow, I just can't seem to care. Tomorrow's another game, another chance to see them. I just hope I can keep my distance.

For both our sakes.

The Next Day

I wake up to this gnawing feeling in my chest. It isn't the ache in my limbs or the exhaustion of staying up all night, reliving the events of the Dalgona game in my head; it's the dread of what comes next.

Another game, another chance to die.

They walk us to the next arena as effectively, coldly, with all the same efficiency of people used to doing a day's labor. My head was down, letting myself just become part of a whole, not standing out too much. The cold-faced, geometric-mask-covered guard statues line the wall opposite. My eyes fly toward each square mask.

Grievously stupid. Insane even-but what did it matter? Had he watched me just then? Was he going to try to save me?

A small part of me wants him to, but the larger part is reminding me of one crucial thing: here, I am on my own. Completely and utterly. Not even him.

Sunghoon’s POV

There they are.

Perched atop the arena above, my eyes find them in a heartbeat. They scan the guards again, their shoulders tense, eyes keen despite the exhaustion clinging to every player out there. I shouldn't watch them. Shouldn't give a damn.

Yet I can't peel my eyes away, though. Still alive, that's what matters.

My grip tightens on the rifle in my hands as the Robotic Female’s voice booms across the arena, announcing the rules for today’s game. I already know what’s coming. Another trial, another bloody mess.

And I’ll do whatever it takes to make sure they survive. Even if it means breaking every rule I’ve sworn to follow.

The Tug-of-War Twist

We are brought to a very large outdoors arena, with several platforms towering up to the sky. Ropes traverse atop thick, and beneath these? A fall so long I could hardly see the bottom.

Tug-of-war.

The explanation is simple: teams of ten; whoever wins lives. Losers. well, the fall does the talking. I'm pushed towards a group, and panic bursts in my chest as I realize the dynamics are uneven. None of them appear to be very strong. A few even shake so hard that I don't think they can hold the rope.

This is bad.

The guards line the edges, rifles in place to take out anyone showing even a millisecond of hesitation. My eyes flicker to them out of instinct, and there he is-square guard. His posture is stiff, but his helmet angles toward me as I step on the platform. Is he looking at me?

The thought's cut off by a buzz. And with that, the first match begins. I am horrified as the opposing team pulls with ruthless precision. Losing is being dragged, inch by inch, toward the edge. Their screams echo when the rope jerks once more, sending them plunging into the void.

This isn't just about strength. It's strategy.

When it's our turn, I reach for the rope, my palms already slick with sweat. My team looks hopeless, all whispering prayers and clutching at whatever scraps of courage they can muster. The opposing team, however, is all muscle.

"Pull!" someone yells as the buzzer sounds, and I dig my heels into the platform. The rope's abraded heat against my palms sears the skin as we're yanked forward. Arms scream, legs wobble-it feels like we are seconds away from catastrophe. "Lean back! Use your weight!" someone yells, but it's futile. We're losing so much ground. That's when I saw him.

The square-guard stood near the edge, his head cocked as he watched me. For what feels like an eternity he doesn't move, before finally he moves a step closer and leans on his rifle at his shoulder. I'm stuck until his hand moves after all, and it does really slowly.

It was the signal.

I watch transfixed as his gloved hand takes direction toward the other guys on the opposition side of this platform, then he tap-dances his foot quickly yet small - almost in a blur-close around anchor point holding their ropes steady. My eyes widen.

Is he telling me their side is rigged?

I have no time to think. I lean back with all my strength and yell to my team, "Pull to the left! They're off balance!" The others hesitate but follow my lead, shifting our weight. The opposing team stumbles, losing their footing, and in the chaos, I catch something flicker in the corner of my vision-a quick, subtle motion from his side.

The anchor point snaps.

The opposing team barely has time to act before they're pulled forward, screaming as they tumble into the abyss. We collapse onto the platform, gasping for air. Relief washes through me, tainted with disbelief.

I should be dead.

I glance toward him again but he's already gone, sucked back into the sea of guards. Tonight, I cannot get him out of my mind. The square-guard. The one who has saved me over and over again. No one else is paying any attention to anything but celebration or mourning as I slip into the shadows near the edge of the dormitory. The guards patrol the perimeter, their masks gleaming under the dim lights. And then I see him.

He leans against the wall, a little apart from the others. As I approach him, my heart pounds, and every step sounds louder than it should. "What are you doing?" I whisper. His head snaps toward me, and for a second, I think I have made a mistake. But then he steps forward, his voice low and sharp. "You shouldn't be here."

"Neither should you," I shoot back, emboldened by adrenaline. "You've been helping me. Why?” He hesitates, glancing around before tugging me further into the darkness. "You shouldn't ask questions you don't want answers to," he says. "I think I deserve an answer," I say, crossing my arms over my chest despite the tremble in my hands. "You've saved my life twice. Don't act like that's normal." For a moment, he says nothing. Then, with a sigh, he lifts his mask just enough for me to see his face.

He's younger than I expected. Sharp jawline, intense eyes that seem to pierce right through me. "You stood out," he admits, his voice softer now. "Most people here…they're just trying to survive. But you-" He catches himself, as if he's said too much. "But what?" I press.

“You fight," he says so simply. "Even when you're scared. Even when you shouldn't." The words dangle in the air, between us like a challenge. Heavy, electric. "I don't know why I do these things," he continues more irritably. "But if you wanna stay alive, don't trust me. Don't trust no one." His words shouldn't assure me, and yet suddenly, for the first time since I have been here, I do feel one thing: hope.

"Thanks," I say under my breath. He doesn't answer, but pulls his mask back down and steps away, leaving me in the shadows.

I trudge up the stairs, the fluorescent lights above me flickering with every labored step my legs take. It was mountainous, but I had survived another game, another step closer to whatever hellish end this place had in store. The other players say nothing. Their faces are hollow, their skin pale. No one dares speak anymore. Silence is safer.

I stop on the last step as a guard blocks my path. Square mask. My heart catches. "What's this?" I say, sharper than I mean to. Exhaustion has sucked any tolerance from me. "You're flagged," he says bluntly. "There's suspicion you might be carrying something you shouldn't be. You'll have to be searched." My blood turns cold. Suspicion? Prohibited? “That's crazy," I say, my panic rising into my chest. "I don't have anything-"

"Follow me." There's no request about it. The other players glance my way, their eyes wide and wary, but they don't get involved. They're too frightened to risk drawing attention to themselves. I hesitate, my mind racing. If this is a setup, if they think I've broken a rule, this could be it. This could be my end.

But I have no choice. Taking a deep breath, I follow the guard down a dimly lit corridor and into a bathroom. The sound of the door locking behind me makes me shiver. “Turn around," the guard instructs in a cold, emotionless voice. I do so, my heart racing. "Look," I begin, "I don't know what you think I've done, but-"

"Stop talking.” It cuts through my protest, and there's something about it-something familiar. I turn to face them, my brow furrowing. “What is this?" I ask. "Who are you?" For a moment, they don't respond. Then, with a slow, deliberate motion, the guard lifts their mask. My breath catches.

It's him.

The square-guard who's been helping me. The one I thought was gone, fired, or worse-killed for breaking the rules. "You-" I stutter, my voice barely above a whisper. "I had to see you," he says, his voice soft, yet urgent. "I couldn't stay away any longer." I blink, trying to process the rush of emotions-relief, confusion, anger. "I thought you were-what happened to you? Why did you stop-" "I had to lay low," he interrupts. "They were watching me. But I'm still here. I don't know what to say. My mind is racing, torn between gratitude and frustration. “Why did you bring me here?" I ask finally.

His eyes lock with mine, intense and unyielding. “Because I couldn't take it anymore," he says, his voice low, stepping closer. "Watching you risk your life, knowing I couldn't do anything to stop it-it's been driving me insane." I swallow hard, my heart racing as he closes the gap between us. "You shouldn't be doing this," I whisper. "If they find out—"

"I don't care," he says with finality. "I've already broken the rules for you. What's one more?" And before I can say another word, his hands frame my face, and he kisses me. It's not soft or tentative-it's desperate, raw, like he's pouring every ounce of fear and longing into the moment. I'm stuck in a freeze-frame moment for a second, mind whipping. Then I yield and cling to his uniform while kissing him back with every ounce of fierce intensity of my own. The world falls away, and I feel something other than fear for the first time since this nightmare kicked off.

But not for long.

He pulls away, forehead resting against mine, hard breaths mingling between our lips. "I can't protect you anymore," he says, his voice cracking. "Not with what's coming." I search his face, my chest tightening at the pain in his eyes. "You've already done more than enough," I whisper. He shakes his head. "It's not enough. It'll never be enough."

A heavy silence falls between us, and I know this is goodbye. Expect it wasn’t actually, his lips captured mine again, his lips….almost saying they wanted me, needed me. That is until he broke the kiss again, and pinned my back against the cold, colorful tiled wall of the bathroom. His body language seemed like he has longed for the dramatic (sort of) crash of holding me against the wall, kissing me like he was dreaming about this every single minute of the day.

He winced as my nails raked across his back through his pink suit, he probably felt like his outfit was being torn by my nails, which could get us both in trouble if that was actually to happen. He winced again as he took ahold of my wrists and slammed them to the wall in retaliation, wedging his knee between my thighs, which made a gasp leave my lips at the slightest bit of friction I was getting from his thigh.

“Didn’t know you were this desperate for me,” he teased after breaking the heated kiss for the nth time, leaving him and me breathless, panting with saliva connecting us. His low chuckle echoed through the empty, now suffocating bathroom, and making his vampire teeth pop out. “it’s laughable, really. Does the games make you horny?” he teased yet again, raising his thick eyebrows in a way that seemed mockingly, his thigh moving back and forth slightly, earning a whine from my lips as he chuckled like he was enjoying me being teased. “Does your life being on the line make you horny? You sadist bit-“ Pain blistered across Sunghoon’s cheek, he couldn’t help but grin as it sent shockwaves of sensation tearing across his body. Adrenaline hummed through his veins as he hungrily kissed me again, choking me with his gloved hands. I thrashed, ripping at the back of his head by a fistful of hair and biting down hard on his lower lip. Both of our lips were bleeding now, but the metallic tang only made him deepen the kiss even more, greedily trying to taste much of it as possible, masochist much?

“Fucking slut,” He hissed, licking blood and spit from my chin. “You’re a cunt and a dick, a motherfucking cunt and dick sucker.” I hissed back, he chuckled. He fucking chuckled this was all a fucking a circus show for him. “Damn right,” he teased. “But only good girls or boys get their cunts and dicks sucked by me, which isn’t you unfortunately.” he grinned, his hips rolling against my privates, yet again another chuckle slipped from his lips like he enjoyed watching me being frustrated sexually, and I could confirm it just by looking at his eyes that had a glint, a glint of giddiness everytime pain was inflicted upon me.

I hooked my foot behind his knee, forcibly collapsing it. First, he tries making me shit in my pants from coming out of nowhere and telling me that I had to be pat down, makeouts with me, choked me and almost knocked out all of the air in me, calls me names and now his hand is reaching up to my knee to bring me down with him…great. He smirked as he yanked me down onto him, flipping me onto my back and pinning me to the cold floor now instead. He gave just one slow, merciless grind of his hips against mine, and I’m only just realising but…he’s fucking big.

“Who said that…I want you to fucking suck me off or eat me out?” I bit out, nursing my injured lip to keep from moaning as he set out a torturously slow pace through our clothes. “It seems pretty eager to me,” Sunghoon teased, gloved fingertips dipping beneath the waistband of my pants. “I bet I could make you cum in- shit-!” His head smacked harder against the tiles than it should have as I tossed him onto his back, thighs clenched tightly around his hips. The throbbing pain only added to the throbbing pleasure as I rolled my hips. “Just who do you think fucking I am? Just- fuck- just because I’m trying to survive and win doesn’t mean I’m gonna be your fucking bitch.” Sunghoon grinned up at me, I was already flushed bright red and riding his hips with rough, desperate japs of my hips. “Big talk for someone who’s riding me like their life depends on it, ironically.” he snickers. “I can feel you, asshole. You’re in the same situation as I am!” Sunghoon smirked, and in one quick move, he snatched my wrist and rocketed back to his feet, spinning me back around and leaving me face-first against the wall. “You might not be able to kill people like me, and neither I could survive the games you’re playing but god…you’re right, I do want you.” I shuddered at his deep voice. I shifted, legs spreading to support myself better and Sunghoon slotted his knee right between them once more, hands settling on my waist as I got my one free hand between me and the wall, trying to push and give myself some space. I only succeeded in pushing our bodies closer than before, his cock nestled firmly against my ass.

“Let me have you,” Sunghoon purred, squeezing my waist and slowly moving up my sides the way that turned me into putty. I moaned, shuddering again. “Fuck you! If you want me so badly, then come and take it, take me!” well, that is an invitation that Sunghoon hasn’t heard before, even before doing this whole crazy guard thing at a unknown island. He growled, jerking my pants down in a hurry, like he actually couldn’t believe that his dreams are about to come true. I threw my elbow back, but Sunghoon just pinned my wrist back to the wall. “Stop being a fucking brat,” he hissed. I struggled and choking back a moan, feeling the material of his pink suit against my bare ass. “Get your shitty ass outfit outta the way,” I demanded. “Shit feels like sandpaper!” I hissed. “So sensitive and demanding,” he cooed, even as he let me have both hands back to brace myself against the wall. Sunghoon didn’t dare to move back and give me an opening to escape, only reaching up to unzip his suit and free himself, mostly his cock that was strained against the fabric and begging for friction as it twitched in his underwear. I adjusted, leaning away long enough for Sunghoon to free himself. “If you were me, you’d complain too!” I hissed. “Yeah, yeah, stop running your big mouth. You want it or not?” he rolled his eyes, his suit and underwear failing to his ankles as he leaned forward, completely trapping me between him and the cold wall, his bare cock resting just on my ass, just right where I needed him, so far yet so close. “I told you you fucking idiot, just take it-“ Sunghoon couldn’t help but thrust all of his cock in one go. Making me moan out loud at the blissful pain from the thrust.

For Sunghoon, you were a wet dream come true to life; Sunghoon’s cock glided through you without resistance, soft and slick, tightening only as he rutted against a known sweet spot along your walls. I moaned, arching my back, wrapping tightly around him. He groaned in response, leaning over me, his hands covering mine, fingers almost interlocked. The sweat on my neck left a layer of salt on Sunghoon’s tongue, but beneath it was nothing but you. Sunghoon muffled his own moans against my throat, sucking and biting his way down to my shoulders. I turned my head, covering my mouth with the inside of my elbow as he fucked me against the wall. Sunghoon hiked me up onto my tiptoes, leaning back to appreciate the view, your skin glistened with sweat under the fluorescent lights. “…Please, I’m close da- fuck-!” your words and moans rang loud in his ears, in the bathroom, the silence sharpening your cries. They acted as pokers to the hot coals of fire in the pit of Sunghoon’s stomach, making him embarrassed over how loud you were, neither was the wet and loud sound of skin smacking was making it any better. If any of his fellow guards were outside or just a tad bit close to the bathroom, he’s fucked and killed to death alongside with you.

That is when Sunghoon got an idea, an idea that satisfies his other personality, the one that was created whilst being here for a very long time that he has lost sense of time, and that is fear. He lives off of the idea of goosebumps appearing on the player’s skins just before he kills them, and in this case, while he’s fucking them and practically making them cock-drunk from his stroke game. Sunghoon leaned down and grabbed his long forgotten, abandoned pistol on the floor, aiming the barrel at your forehead, and with that his thrusts became harder, sloppier but you…you were terrified. Terrified on why there’s a gun to your head suddenly, is he going to kill you after using you like a worthless, lifeless sexdoll? Is that what’s going to happen? You couldn’t lie to yourself because the thought kinda turned you on and made you wetter even more, because you wouldn’t mind being his sexdoll if his cock was constantly inside you and making you go brainless. “Stop moaning like a whore unless you want me to pull the trigger right now, and kill you before they find us.” he threatened lowly in my ear, licking and bitting as he tried to muffle his own sounds. By now, you knew you looked pathetic with your eyes red, red and snotty nose as tears stained and wet your flushed cheeks as you began to bite onto your ragged and bloody jacket, trying to keep quiet because as much as it turned you on at the thought of dying on his dick, but you valued your life at the moment because, living longer equals bouncing on his dick for even more before you die.

Sunghoon barely managed to pull out on time, painting his pleasure all over your ass. He grinned at the realisation that you were still haven’t even came yet, still hanging on the edge as he lowered his pistol and patted his gloved hand on your ass, watching it jiggle with the motion of his hand, giggling to himself as he brought his head up and was met with the sight of you, eyebrows furrowed and eyes narrowed at him. “Get your own self off, brat.” he teased, putting on his suit back and mask, giving you one last cocky glance before he makes sure he looks presentable in the mirror and walks out on you, leaving you frustrated at him, at not being pleasured enough, at the games, and yourself because behind his handsome looks, he’s actually just like the other guards, ruthless and cold.

The Final Game

The days blur all together.

The games are getting more brutal, and the players, myself included, are growing desperate. Every moment feels like a race against time, against fate. The tension among the remaining participants is palpable. We’ve all become numbers now, not people—just pawns in a game that doesn’t care about our lives. The final game is announced, and my heart skips a beat.

It's the one everybody's afraid of: the glass bridge.

We line up in a row, one behind the other, in front of the two routes laid out before us, each comprising several glass panels, some strong and some weak. We had to walk over them and choose appropriate ones to cross or plunge to death. A shiver runs down my spine as the first few players go up front, and what happened was inevitable. One after another, they fall. Screams pierce the cold air, but clear had been the instruction from the guard that no one was to move unless his turn came upon him. Just as I'm about to take my first step, I suddenly feel. something.

It's him.

The square-guard above watches on, his eyes tracking my every movement, and for a split second, our gazes meet. The connection is brief, but it's enough. I don't know what to make of it, but something in the way he watches me is different. There's something in his eyes-something almost…regretful.

It's my turn.

I step onto the bridge, my legs trembling as creaks come from within the glass as my body weight presses down upon it. The first few steps are just fine. My luck has to turn sometime. The crack starts to give under me and I freeze. I looked back, and that is when I see it-something shifting in Sunghoon's posture. Moving.

Too late.

Balance is lost.

I heard him scream my name-my real name, not a number-and did not care. I fell. This was a never-ending fall. The world spun and the only thing I was aware of was air rushing in as I dropped with the pretty firm knowledge I'd not live to cry out.

And then, there was nothing.

Sunghoon's POV

The world is silent.

I stand in stock-stillness, my heartbeat the only sound of the drumbeat as their body disappears into the void below, and with every shattered piece of me. I should have. I should have—

My fist slams against the metal wall. Its echo rings out into that space. Why didn't I act sooner? Why couldn't I pull them back? Why couldn't I protect?

I close my eyes, the guilt suffocating me. This wasn't supposed to happen. I wasn't supposed to feel this way. But here I am, crushed under the weight of it, the weight of my failure. I should never have gotten involved. I should never have helped them.

But I couldn't stop myself.

And now…

I failed.

I failed them.

The game goes on, but Sunghoon's mind is a maelstrom.

The rest of the players are like shadows, their faces hollow with fear and exhaustion. To Sunghoon, however, time has stopped. He stares at the rest of the players, his eyes searching among them for any sign of the one he couldn't protect. Every step weighs too much to be taken. Every decision he makes feels like a mistake. And when the final buzzer goes off, he barely hears it.

It's the end of the day now, and it doesn't matter anymore.

The only thing filling Sunghoon's head is the weight of his own guilt. The others are rejoicing, but his mind is consumed by you-your face, your eyes, and the time you spent together. He had never gotten the chance to say goodbye.

And he never will.

[ikkyfics]

hi im so in love with your writing! I was wondering if I could request an angsty remus fic? maybe with an unrequited love theme where reader has a massive crush on him but he notices and rejects reader before they can even confess? its not that’s ok! mwah tyy <33

Unrequited Love

Remus Lupin x f!reader

Summary: It wasn’t just a crush. It was deeper, more desperate. Every day beside him was a mix of silent happiness and growing pain because, deep down, you knew he didn’t see you the same way. And yet, you clung to any shred of attention. A smile in the hallway or the sound of his name on your lips, which he always responded to with that infallible kindness. You knew you were drowning, but you couldn’t help it.

Warnings: angst

A/N: hi love, you are so kind, thank you so much for the sweet words. I hope I did something that meets your expectations - and gosh, maybe, just maybe I am a little devastated, it's two angsts in a row with my boy Remus (that said, of course I loved doing it)

Masterlist

You couldn’t quite remember exactly when it all started, but at some point between shared classes and comfortable silences in the library, Remus Lupin started occupying every thought of yours. Maybe it was that afternoon, weeks ago, when he noticed you were struggling to understand the theory behind a complicated spell. He approached, gentle but not invading your space, and said: "Can I help? I think I have an easier way to explain this."

You accepted, of course, your face warm and words stuck in your throat. He sat beside you, his voice low and firm as he pointed to the lines of the book with a slender finger. Every time he explained something, he’d end it with a quick glance, as if he wanted to confirm you were following along. You were so captivated by the sound of his voice that the actual understanding of the spell came later, when you were alone.

That’s when you started noticing the details. The way he furrowed his brow when reading something particularly complicated, or how he smiled to the side, a subtle smile, but enough to light up your whole day. He was different. He didn’t draw attention like his friends, who were usually the center of any room, but there was something in the restrained gestures, the care in his words, that made him seem more... real.

You began seeking opportunities to be near him. Not that it was intentional at first, but you always seemed to end up at the table next to him in the library or choosing the same time to study in the empty classroom. He never seemed to mind. In fact, he always nodded or gave a polite "good afternoon" before returning to what he was doing.

There was that day, though, that stayed engraved in your mind with almost painful clarity. It was an ordinary afternoon, and you were in the library. You had mentioned, without thinking, that you loved chamomile tea because your mother used to say it had a "comforting taste." He chuckled softly, a sound that made your heart stumble in your chest. A few weeks later, while you were sitting in a class, he casually leaned in and murmured: "Did you know chamomile tea was used in Ancient Greece as medicine? Seems fitting, doesn’t it?"

Your head spun to him, surprised. He remembered. It was just a silly sentence you had said, but he remembered. The rest of the class passed in a blur as you replayed each word, each glance.

It wasn’t just a crush. It was deeper, more desperate. He seemed to carry the weight of the world on his shoulders, but you wanted so much to be the one who could ease some of that. Every day beside him was a mix of silent happiness and growing pain because, deep down, you knew he didn’t see you the same way.

And yet, you clung to any shred of attention. A smile in the hallway, a "Are you okay?" after a tough test, or the sound of his name on your lips, which he always responded to with that infallible kindness.

You knew you were drowning, but you couldn’t help it.

The weeks dragged on like a dream, but a dream that never became reality. With every encounter with Remus, you felt like you were floating, but there was always an invisible weight pulling you back to the ground. He was kind, considerate, but never crossed the line. Every gesture, every word, was filled with a cordiality that you desperately wanted to interpret as something more, but you couldn’t ignore the voice in your head whispering, "He's just being polite. It doesn’t mean anything."

It was in this tension that an idea formed. A letter. If you couldn’t say everything you felt to him in words, maybe you could put it on paper. You had already rehearsed so many times, in your mind, the perfect phrases, the declarations that could, perhaps, make him see you differently. But every time you opened your mouth, the words died before they took shape.

That night, sitting on your bed with the curtains closed around you, you held a piece of parchment. The quill trembled in your hand as you stared at the blank page. Your heart was pounding, a mix of anticipation and fear. What could you write that would capture everything you felt? How could you translate in words the impact he had on you, the way he made the world seem lighter just by being in it?

After minutes that felt like hours, you began:

"Remus, I know this might seem strange or unexpected, but I need to say something that I’ve kept to myself for so long that I can’t keep it in anymore. Since I met you, something inside me has changed. I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but there’s something in your gestures, in the way you look at the world, that makes me want to be a part of it. You’re more than kind; you’re someone who makes everything seem... possible. I don’t know how to put it any other way, so I’ll be direct: I like you. More than as a friend. And I needed to tell you. Because holding this in is starting to hurt more than having the courage to say it."

You stopped, looking at the words you had just written. Your breath was heavy, and silent tears threatened to fall. It was a relief, in a way, to see it all there on paper. But the weight of what could happen next was almost unbearable.

For a moment, you considered handing him the letter. Not that night, of course, but maybe the next morning, or during the next class. The idea gave you a spark of hope, but also brought an overwhelming fear.

What if he didn’t feel the same?

That question echoed in your mind, over and over, as you carefully folded the letter and hid it in the pocket of your coat. Your hand stayed there, feeling the weight of the parchment like a bomb about to explode.

Remus knew. He had known for some time. There was no way he couldn’t notice.

There was something in the way you looked at him, a hesitant and hopeful gleam, that didn’t go unnoticed. He noticed the moments when you got closer than necessary, like when you sat beside him in the library even when there were empty tables. He noticed how you seemed to hold your breath whenever he leaned in to explain something, or how your words sometimes faltered, as if the weight of something unspoken was too much.

He wasn’t a fool. The subtleties of the heart, however, were a territory he preferred to avoid. Especially when he knew he couldn’t return the feelings.

You were smart, dedicated, kind in a way that made people want to be near you, and you were beautiful. He genuinely liked your company, but not in that way. Not the way you seemed to desire. Remus felt a tightness in his chest every time this reality pressed upon him, because he knew what needed to be done. He knew that the longer he let things drag on, the worse it would be for you.

That’s why, after Potions class that afternoon, he waited for you to finish gathering your things. He didn’t know exactly what he would say, but the words had been weighing on his throat for days.

“Do you have a minute?” His voice was calm, but there was something in his expression, the way he avoided eye contact for a second longer than usual, that made your heart stop.

“Of course.” Your response was automatic, but the nervousness crept into your voice. He was serious, more serious than you’d ever seen him before, and that sent a chill through your stomach.

As you walked beside him, the hallways seemed longer, quieter. You noticed he didn’t look directly at you, and that only made the nervousness grow.

He stopped next to an empty window, where the late afternoon light fell in soft angles. You held your books to your chest, as if they were armor, while he finally turned to face you.

“I... I think we need to talk.”

Your heart seemed to beat too fast, as if trying to prepare itself for whatever might come out of his mouth. You knew he wouldn’t say this lightly. “We need to talk” was never a casual introduction, it never preceded something good. Still, you tried to hold on to the faint hope, that quiet voice in the back of your mind whispering: Maybe he feels something too. Maybe he wants to say he noticed...

“I... I need to be honest with you,” Remus began, his voice low and serious, his words carefully chosen, but they still fell like stones upon you. “I don’t think it would be fair to let this continue without saying anything.”

Your fingers tightened around your books against your chest. Without saying what? Anxiety ran like fire through your veins, and you couldn’t look away from him, even though part of you wanted to run.

“I’ve noticed that...” He paused, biting his lower lip slightly, as if the words were hard to form. He ran a hand through his hair nervously, looking away for a brief moment before meeting your eyes again. “You’ve been... very kind to me, and I appreciate that. Truly. But I... I don’t want you to think that... there’s something here that isn’t.”

The world seemed to silence around you. Only his words echoed in your mind: “Something that isn’t.” It was as if he had ripped the ground out from under you with a single sentence.

“I don’t understand.” Your voice came out quieter than you expected, almost a whisper. You knew what he was trying to say, but at the same time, you refused to believe it. It couldn’t be this. It couldn’t end like this.

“I don’t want to hurt you.” He took a step closer, his gaze filled with something that seemed like guilt. “But I think you feel something for me. Something more than friendship.”

You felt your face burn, your chest tightening as if being compressed by an impossible weight. He knew. All this time, he knew.

“I...” You tried to deny it, tried to find some word that could save you from the abyss opening up, but your voice failed.

“You don’t have to say anything,” he interrupted, his voice softer now, but somehow, that only made it hurt more. “I just... I don’t want you to get hurt. You’re amazing. You’re kind, you’re smart, and anyone would be lucky to have your attention.” He sighed, his shoulders dropping slightly, as if the weight of the situation affected him too. “But I’m not that person. I can’t... see you that way.”

It was as if he had pulled the air from your lungs. Every word felt like a blade, cutting slowly but deeply. You felt tears burning in your eyes, but you refused to let them fall. Not in front of him.

“You’re saying that...” You stopped, swallowing hard, your throat too tight to continue.

“I don’t want you to have hopes where there’s no space for them,” he said softly, as if trying to minimize the impact, but the pain was already there, overwhelming and absolute.

You didn’t know what to say, how to respond. All you could feel was the crushing rejection, the weight of knowing he would never look at you the same way. It was worse than you had imagined, because he wasn’t being cruel. He was being honest, and his honesty hurt more than any cruelty ever could.

“I’m so sorry,” he said, almost in a whisper, and those three words were the final stone that fell upon your heart already in ruins.

You nodded quickly, unable to trust your own voice, and took a step back. You wanted to say something, wanted to pretend you were fine, but there was nothing that could be said. So, you just turned and left, feeling his eyes on your back but not looking back.

The first tear fell before you even turned the corner.

Each step echoed like a drum in your ears, blending with the disordered sound of your thoughts. You pressed the books to your chest so tightly that your fingers began to ache, but it was better to focus on the physical pain than the agony that was boiling inside you.

The students around you laughed, talked, ran. The castle was alive, pulsing with the energy of carefree teenagers, but everything felt muffled, distant, as if you were walking through a bad dream.

You turned down a random hallway, not even knowing where you were going, just needing to get away from everything and everyone. Your heart pounded in your chest, and the knot in your throat seemed to tighten with every passing moment, as if it were impossible to swallow the weight that kept building there.

Finally, you found an empty corner, behind a worn tapestry that no one seemed to notice. It was a temporary hiding spot, but it was all you needed. You threw yourself against the cold wall, sliding to the floor, the books falling from your hands as the tears you had held back for so long finally overflowed.

They came hot and relentless, streaming down your face mercilessly. You tried to stifle the sobs, biting your fist, but it was useless. The pain felt like its own entity, growing and spreading inside you.

Your chest ached, a physical sensation of emptiness and tightness that almost made you gasp for air. Your hands trembled, gripping your knees as if they were your only anchor. He knew. Those words echoed repeatedly in your mind. He had known all along.

Worse yet, not only did he know, but he had decided to tell you in such a careful, gentle way that the rejection became even more painful. He hadn't looked down on you, hadn't mocked you, but that only made it crueler. He had looked directly at you and said, without hesitation, that there was no space for you in his heart.

You closed your eyes, trying to breathe deeply, but all you could see was his face. The calm expression, the soft tone. The contrast between his kindness and the brutality of what he was saying was unbearable.

What had you done wrong? The question burned like fire, consuming everything around you. You replayed every interaction, every glance, every word spoken. There was no way to erase the moments when your heart raced for something he said or did. There was no way to turn back time and rip the feelings from yourself that you knew he would never return.

In the distance, you could hear other students passing by, carefree voices, laughter filling the hallways. Life continued as if nothing had happened, as if your world hadn't ended in that moment. The contrast was suffocating, a reminder that your pain was yours alone.

You hugged your knees, trying to diminish the feeling of falling apart. All you wanted was to disappear, to become invisible. Maybe, if no one saw you, no one would know how broken you were.

Time seemed to drag on, but it also slipped through your fingers like sand. You couldn’t tell how much time had passed since that conversation. Days? Weeks? Every unavoidable encounter with him felt like tearing the scab off a wound that hadn't even started to heal.

Classes became a kind of silent torture. He was always there, just a few meters away, and you could feel his presence like an electric current pulsing in the air. Sometimes, your eyes would meet for a brief moment, and he’d smile hesitantly, almost as if he were trying to offer some form of comfort.

But there was no comfort to be found.

You started changing seats in classes, picking places farther away. You walked through the hallways with your eyes on the floor, avoiding any chance of crossing paths with him. When he was with James or Sirius, laughing and talking loudly, you found some excuse to leave. Seeing that smile, hearing that laugh, felt like a cruel reminder that his life was going on without interruption while yours was in ruins.

You knew he noticed. Remus Lupin was perceptive, perhaps more than anyone you knew. And that’s why, on an ordinary afternoon, he came over.

The hallway was empty, and you were organizing the books in your bag with slightly trembling hands. When his shadow fell over you, your stomach tightened instinctively.

“Hey,” he began, his voice low and cautious, as if he were walking on glass. “Can I talk to you?”

You didn’t want to. You wanted to turn and run, wanted to scream for him to leave you alone. But instead, you just nodded, because running now seemed useless.

He hesitated for a moment before continuing. “I... noticed you’ve been avoiding me.” He ran a hand through his hair, a habit you knew all too well. “I don’t want things to be like this between us.”

The bitter laugh almost escaped your lips, but you swallowed it. “Like what?” Your voice came out harsher than you intended, but your heart was pounding so hard that it was hard to control.

“Distant.” He took a step closer, but stopped when he saw you recoil, even if it was just a little. “I... hope we’re still friends.”

The word pierced like a sharp blade. Friends. Of course. That was what he wanted from you. What he always wanted. And hearing it, said so gently and sincerely, made it hurt even more.

You wrapped your arms around your body as if that could contain the emptiness spreading inside you. “Friends,” you repeated, testing the word on your lips. It felt strange, bitter, as if it didn’t belong there.

“Yes.” He gave a small, hopeful smile. “I really... I’m so sorry, you know? For everything. I never meant for you to feel like this.”

“I know.” Your response was barely audible. You knew he didn’t want to hurt you. That made it all worse.

There was an uncomfortable silence between you. He seemed to be waiting for something, maybe a confirmation that everything was okay. But you couldn’t give him that. Not now.

“I... I need to go,” you finally said, your voice trembling as you slung the bag over your shoulder.

“Of course,” he replied, a little hurriedly. “But... we’re okay, right? I just want you to know, if you need me, I’m here.”

You closed your eyes for a brief moment, trying to breathe, trying to stop the pain from overflowing once more. When you opened them, you forced a small smile that didn’t reach your eyes. “I’m fine, Remus. Thank you.”

Before he could respond, you turned and walked quickly, feeling the tears threatening to fall.

As you turned the corner, you leaned against the wall for a moment, your eyes burning and your breath heavy. He wasn’t cruel. He would never be. And maybe that was exactly what made it all so unbearable.

Night had fallen over Hogwarts, and the castle was immersed in a heavy silence. You were in the farthest corner of the common room, where no one seemed to notice your presence. The only company was the fireplace, its flames flickering irregularly, casting shadows that danced across the walls.

In your hands, the letter you wrote weeks ago trembled slightly. The parchment was crumpled and worn at the edges, as if it had been handled countless times but never read by anyone other than you.

You remembered exactly the moment when you wrote it, the words flowing like a confession from your heart. It was everything you wanted to say to him. All the feelings that had been growing, gaining strength and life of their own. You had poured out every thought, every heartbeat, with the naive hope that he might feel the same.

But now, all that remained was a useless piece of paper.

You smoothed the parchment carefully, your fingers tracing the words written in your hesitant handwriting. Each sentence seemed to mock you now, like a cruel reminder of everything you felt and everything that would never be returned.

The flame of the fireplace seemed to call to you, its warmth offering a final solution to the weight you carried. With a trembling sigh, you stood up, feeling your heart tighten in your chest.

You hesitated for a moment, the letter still firmly held in your hands. Part of you wanted to keep it, hold onto it as a reminder of something that once mattered. But another part of you knew you needed to let go, even if it meant releasing something you never truly had.

"I could never be enough for you, could I?" you whispered to no one, your voice barely above a thread.

Finally, you brought the parchment closer to the flame, and it began to burn slowly. The edges darkened and curled, the fire consuming the words that once seemed so important. You watched each line disappear, one after another, until all that remained was ash and embers.

The pain in your chest was unbearable, but you stood there, motionless, watching as the last particles of the letter were carried away by the wind from the fire. It felt like watching the end of something that never had the chance to begin.

You sat on the floor, pulling your knees to your chest, the tears finally falling freely. They burned, hot and relentless, as you wondered how it was possible to feel so much for someone who would never look at you the same way.

Despite everything, you knew you still loved him. That was the cruelest part of all. Even after all the pain, all the rejection, you couldn’t simply turn off your feelings. He was still the one who made your heart race, who inhabited your dreams, who carried the weight of your hopes and fears.

But he would never be yours.

[lanadelreyscokewhor3]

I CAN FIX HIM- P.B PARKER

Pairing- Jock! Peter x Nerd! Reader (enemies to lovers)

Word Count: 1.7k

Summary: You and Peter become closer after your successful final project is finished, and you realize perhaps Peter isn't as bad as you've made him out to be. A night out at the bar with him leads to... a date in the near future?

Warnings: swearing, sexual tension, alcohol and drug use

come close, i'll show you heaven/ if you'll be an angel all night / trust me, i can handle me a dangerous man / no really i can …

- i can fix him (no really i can), taylor swift

part one... part two

You could barely see him from the haze that seemed to linger over the crowd of people in the bar, its presence almost suffocating.

But you could hear him.

Even over the steady thud of music and peoples bustling conversations, his laugh rang loud and true in your ears, as if he had been talking about you behind your back.

Your ears seemed to ring as you let your head loll against the cool brick wall, gripping your glass of wine to try and stay cool.

It was stuffy and hot in this cheaply lit, dimmed rundown college bar, and yet it was completely packed- nonetheless.

And yes, you ordered wine at a college bar. You would be damned if you’d be influenced to try some foamy, warm beer- or a gross shot of liquor that would burn the back of your throat like wildfire.

No, you were quite content with your lukewarm glass of red, the same deep red as the lipstick you had boldly applied tonight.

You hoped it functioned as a fluorescent traffic cone in the sea of white shirts and blue jeans- an eyesore to anyone who bothered to glance your way. Your scowl steered everyone in the other direction anyways.

This was not your scene, and you had no plans of blending into it.

A bead of sweat trickled between your breasts, skin seeming dewy and sticky to the touch.

You had to get out here. You were drunk, and hot, and needy.

The longer you stuck by yourself, the more you got in your head about things. Peter had invited you out with some friends to celebrate the praise you received on your presentation, and the good grade that came with it.

Not that you were surprised by any means, you had worked your ass off- and you had worked it off whilst being partners with the most insufferable man alive.

Or so you thought.

Your once conflicting feelings about the man had turned for the worst- and you actually… liked him. Like really, really liked him. And it wasn't just the sex that had sold it.

He was a genuinely funny, charming and smart man. Behind all the jokes and the sass, he had real intelligent ideas.

You hated the fact you liked him.

It was a classic trope, the whole enemies to lovers, the one night stand and then acting like nothing had happened, that no feelings were shared, or had even been felt in the first place.

It was pathetic actually, the way you had let yourself go.

He was the reason you were on the opposite side of the bar. You were afraid if you were near him for too long, you wouldn't be able to stop talking to him- and that wasn't good. Because then he would entrance you, with his charming- boyish grin, and you'd melt into his arms like cotton candy.

Trying to pretend you still hated Parker was impossible though, to anyone who had eyes. You had given up on that act after the presentation- the raised eyebrows and smirks from Peter's friends telling you everything you needed to know.

They knew your little facade of hate was over. The mask had slipped clean off and shattered on the ground, your heart on your sleeve like a lovesick puppy.

You wanted to stay home with your roommates- as none of them would come to this, much preferring a movie night instead. You didn't blame them. You’d be snuggled right alongside them if it wasn't for your little crush, that didn't seem so little anymore.

So here you were, longing for a man you wanted to loathe, on the opposite side of the bar- despite him inviting you. Your head was thudding so loud it felt like a snare drum was directly inside your skull, the endless buzz of people making you woozy.

You gripped your wine glass, shoving past people as polite as you possibly could, making a beeline for the smokers pit. You couldn't take it any longer. It was too much.

The end was in sight, the door just in front of you, so close you could practically feel your fingers brush the crinkled old posters taped all over it.

“Excuse me ma’am- you can’t take that outside.” a man, presumably a worker called to you, and you slipped from his grip, swinging the door open.

“I’m just taking a smoke.” you called, doubting he could hear you over the loud music. The cool night breeze washed over you like a salty ocean wave, and you let out a sigh of relief.

The bouncer eyed you suspiciously as you clenched the wine glass tighter, slipping over to the side of the building, where there was a group of guys huddled, puff like train smoke, a cloud in their wake.

It was too dimly lit to tell who was who. You sighed, pulling a joint and lighter from your purse. You leaned against the brick, perching the joint between your lips, groaning in frustration as you flicked your lighter- nothing but a small spark emerging from it.

“Hey lady, I told you you can’t bring that out here.” that same man yelled, and you just about drunkenly lost your shit.

“Listen man, I’m not gonna steal your four dollar wine glass okay?! I’m just trying to have a joint and a girl cant even get a light!” you stretched, loud enough to alert the group next to you, feeling five sets of eyes on your frame, some shaking with laughter.

The man's face flushed as red as your wine, and you knew you wouldn't be allowed back here again. You couldn't give less of a shit.

“You need help with that?” a familiar voice sounded beside you, making you jump. Peter leaned against the wall next to you, holding a lit lighter to your face, motioning towards your joint.

“Thanks.” you nodded, leaning in and covering it from the wind. You let out a sigh of relief as you inhaled the smoke, the burn in your lungs leaving you fuzzy as you coughed.

“I’ll take care of her man, don’t worry.” he called to the owner, waving him away. His gaze turned back to you, full of charm and sass.

“Well I’ll be damned. Y/L/N smoking a joint? Who would've thought?” he asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Yeah, yeah whatever. I’m drunk and stressed. Big whoop.” you rolled your eyes, taking another inhale.

“I can see that, from the sass you gave the owner. Or maybe thats just normal, I’m not too sure since thats how you always talk to me.” he shrugged.

“Its called flirting, asshole. I was securing a second date at the establishment.”

“Flirting by taking his glasses? I’m not sure I’ve heard of that one before.”

You snorted. “Yeah, I’m in need of souvenirs of this place. Its so beautiful, I just had to take something back with me so I wouldnt forget it.”

He laughed, the sound echoing through the air, interminling with the smoke from your half smoked joint.

“You’re lucky I know him sweetheart. Or you’d never be allowed back tothis beautiful bar.”

You rolled your eyes again, fighting the urge not to let your cheeks heat up. Before you could make a snarky comeback- a voice interrupted your thoughts.

“Hey Y/L/N. Funny seeing you here, without your little school girl getup.” Bucky smirked, peering alongside Peter, patting his shoulder.

“Harty har. Its vintage Chanel, I’ll have you know.”

“You look good.” he commented, both him and Peter checking you out, and you couldnt help but scoff.

“You should see whats under the dress.”

Bucky laughed and Peters eyes widened, stuck like a deer in headlights between you and Bucky. “Shes feisty when shes drunk, eh Parker? I like her. Good choice.”

He saluted you, him and the rest of Peters group heading back inside the bar, probably off to get more shitty tasting beers. You glared at him as he walked off before sharply turning your gaze to Peters, eyes narrowed like a hawks.

You were bold when you drank. Too bold.

“If you’re gonna look at me like that, ask me on a date at least.” you said, tossing the butt to the side and taking a sip of wine.

You felt buzzed. You felt as free as a bird. Anything could happen. You could say anything, and forget it ever happened in the morning.

So why not play him up a little?

“Would you like me to ask you on a date? Cause I will.” he stated.

“No.”

“So no, don’t ask you on a date?”

“No.” you replied again, shrugging your shoulders.

“I’m gonna ask you on a date now.”

You raised your eyebrow, pursing your lips. “And what if I say no?”

“Well I hope you don't since I’ve been meaning to ask you for a while now, but if you did we’d just pretend it never happened.”

Your heart fluttered at his words. He had wanted to ask you out?

“And what, just do this? Have sex once and then act like we aren't interested when we are?”

“Whose we? You are interested then?”

You silently stared at him, glint in your eye as you took another long, drawn out sip. It was nice to have the upper hand and annoy him for once. Suddenly, this whole dynamic wasn't so bad afterall.

“Not sure yet. I’d have to go on a date to find out.”

“Then go out with me, next Saturday. Please.” His voice turned to begging, eyes pleading at you- as if he wasnt the one who played you like a fucking fiddle, teasing you and getting you so riled up youd have to take breaks just from talking to him so you wouldn't lose your mind and kiss him.

He was staring at you, as if you were worth begging over. Like you were above him.

“Please?”

“Please.”

You smiled, hand reaching up to tuck a loose strand of hair back behind his ear, watching as it just fell forward again. Maybe that was too intimate. But he didn't seem to mind.

Encouraged it- actually.

You noticed every little move he made, inching closer and closer towards you- as if your red lips were a magnet.

“Fine. But don't make me wait. Pick me up at 6 o'clock sharp. And I don't like rocks being tossed at my window. A handkerchief wave will do just fine.”

“Just a wave?”

“Just a wave."

[ur-local-wizard]

Eye of the Storm (Part 3)

Your desk partner leaves his notebook after class, and you’re struck by the beauty of its contents.

Eeek the last part of this story! Had a blast writing it, and I hope everyone enjoyed reading it!

characters are college age, mattheo riddle x fem!reader, whipped!mattheo, use of y/n, FLUFFFFFFFFF, kissing, pretty sure that's it

w/c: 1.2k

masterlist part 1 part 2

a/n: ty to my lovely editor, @pikaglow

As you passed him, the sketchbook gripped tightly in your hands, you noticed something foreign on his face. His expression was stripped of his usual confidence and sarcasm. He looked almost panicked as he closed the door behind you.

The room was in utter disarray. Drawers were thrown open, clothes and papers were scattered across the floor. It didn’t take a genius to figure out he’d been searching for something.

So, avoiding his gaze, you thrusted the book in front of you, practically ripping your hands away when he took it. “You left it in Divination,” was your only explanation. His eyes darted between your face and the object in his hands, surprise clear in his eyes. The tension in his room was so palpable, you felt you could hardly breathe. He seemed to flounder around for a second, his mouth opening and closing repeatedly. 

“Did you look at it?” His voice was eerily calm, but the discomfort his body carried was clear as day. He set the book down on his desk, falling back into the chair beside it, and his eyes failed to meet your gaze. 

“I didn’t mean to,” you say awkwardly, standing in front of him. You felt guilty when his face fell, but there was no point in lying. “It fell out of my hands,” the words were tumbling from your mouth quickly as you tried to explain yourself. “When it landed on the ground, it was open. And I just got curious. I’m sorry.”

“Fuck.” He carded a hand through his already messy hair, and finally he looked up at you. 

You sighed, sitting down on the edge of his bed. “You’re so talented, Mattheo. But I don’t understand. Why me? And how the hell do you know all that about me-” The words slipped out before you could stop them, disjointed and fast. But they conveyed the confusion and fear warring inside you; something that you couldn’t have said out loud.

He cut you off, his gaze softening. “I can’t help it. You confuse me. And God, you’re everywhere, in every fucking corner of my brain. The way you smile, your laugh. I’m reminded of you by almost everything I see.” His voice trailed off, and you stayed silent. You didn’t know what to say to that. “I tried ignoring it, I really did. But eventually, I just couldn’t. So I drew; it was the only way I knew how to deal with all these emotions.” His voice broke, and it was like a tangible thing – the rare moment of vulnerability he allowed you to see. You wanted to scoop it up and put it in your pocket. You wanted to be able to save it for later, to be able to pull it out and see it whenever you wanted.

“You know I’m not good with emotions. I’ve never felt these types of things before. But now that I do with you, I don’t understand it,” he whispered, head falling down to look at his lap. “It’s terrifying.”

Your breath caught in your throat, and you stared at him wide-eyed and flushed as his words settled over you like a heavy blanket. Perhaps the blanket was made of fire, you didn’t quite know yet. Nor did you know what to say, or how to respond to something that raw and unexpected. All you could do was sit there, trying to connect the personified chaos known as Mattheo Riddle with the boy sitting before you now, one who was vulnerable, honest, and so very human. 

“I don’t know what to say. I mean, I’m flattered, Mattheo. But it’s all just so overwhelming,” you confessed, voice hushed. His head snapped up, his dark eyes searching yours, disbelief swimming in them. “It’s just—you're so unpredictable. There’s such a disconnect from what you say you feel and what you do. You act like you don’t care about anything, but then you do something like this,” you nodded to the sketchbook. “You notice things that I didn’t think anyone could. I don’t know how to handle that.” 

His lips parted slightly, as if about to say something, but ultimately he decided against it. He stood up and made his way to you, sitting down beside you on the bed. His movements were cautious and measured, as if he was worried he would scare you off. 

“I know I’m not good at this kind of stuff,” he started, his voice low and gentle. “At feelings. At being vulnerable with people who actually matter to me.” He stopped, taking a deep breath. He reached out, gently taking your hand in his. “But you matter to me, Y/n. More than you’ll ever know.”

His words made your breath catch in your throat, the sincerity in his voice making you feel things it would be impossible to name. You liked this side of him, you wanted to know this side of him more ,and you  just wished it weren’t so confusing. 

So when you voiced that out loud, he nodded. “Of course. And I’m sorry. It was overwhelming for me, but I want you to know that side of me too. Here,” He said, grabbing the sketchbook from his desk and placing it in your hands. “You don’t have to give it back. If this is too much, you can keep it. Burn it if you want, even. I’ll understand.”

You closed your hands around the book, but blinked at him in confusion. “Why would I burn it?”

“You know… cause it’s weird,” he explained, a wry smile tugging at his lips. “I mean, who spends hours drawing a girl he doesn’t have the guts to talk to properly?”

“Mattheo…” His name fell from your lips like a sweet prayer as you chuckled. His eyes snapped to yours, filled with a mix of hope and fear. “It’s okay. It’s overwhelming, sure, but not weird.” You paused and smiled at him. “And honestly? It’s kind of endearing.”

“Really?” He asked you, and you nodded in response. 

“You’re incredibly talented, Mattheo. The way you paint the world in this sketchbook of yours,” you placed it in his lap, “the way you paint me, is breathtaking.” With a flushed face, you offered him a smile. 

He didn’t say anything for a long while. But eventually, he cupped your face in his hands, and kissed you. It was gentle, reverent almost, but fleeting – gone before you could process what was happening. 

“Keep it,” he whispered, his breath brushing against your lips. “I want you to have it. You deserve to see yourself as beautiful as I see you .”

The tension in the air seemed to lift then, the weighted blanket from before dissipating. The air was now filled with something warmer, something quieter, more serene. You felt peaceful now, and the look in his eyes said he felt the same. 

You grabbed the notebook from his lap and flipped to a specific page, showing it to him. “This was my favorite of the ones I saw. You even put my favorite flowers in the vase,” you said. He nodded in response, a wide smile on his lips. “I know. That’s why I included them.”

Hope you enjoyed! Feedback is always appreciated, and thank you to everyone for all the wonderful support! It truly means the absolute world to me. And as always, let me know if you want to be added to my taglist!

taglist: @ilovejamespottersomuch @mattyriddlesbitch @valenftcrush @sturniolover13 @paankhaleyaaar @thereeallink @voidangxls

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

[sugarplumkneecaps]

Memories (Shadow x Reader)

Pairing: Shadow the Hedgehog x Reader (gender neutral) → Can be read as platonic or romantic Word Count: 3.4k T/W: loss, mentions of death (previous to story) Summary: It's New Year's Eve and life has been quite peaceful for the last few months following Dr. Eggman's defeat (again). You work up the courage to invite Shadow over, but he seems to be a bit distracted...

SQUEEE- the marker squealed as another day was crossed off the paper calendar hung on the wall in the hallway. The end of the year had come much sooner than Shadow expected. It felt as though most of his days blurred together, the mundane routine turning his concept of time on its head. At one point in his life, he had longed for the same sense of normalcy that Rouge had mentioned long ago. But this? This was torturous. He replaced the cap of the pen and hung it back up with the calendar before moving into the kitchen of his apartment with a great deal of reluctance. He had yet to go grocery shopping, making his usual routine of finding breakfast somewhat more adventurous than he had the energy for this morning.

Rouge had urged for him to rent the apartment and get his current job following their efforts to put a stop to Robotnik’s world ending plans. “I think you are long overdue for a taste of normal life Shadow,” Rouge had cooed at him.

He scoffed at the memory, taking in the view of his living space as he exited the kitchen with a sad bagel topped with cream cheese (making a mental note to stop by the corner store to grab something to fill him up a bit). His apartment wasn’t terrible, but it wasn’t anything grand either. His living room could fit a single, plush couch across from a TV, record player, and his plant. The walls were lined with records that were regularly rotated out every week. He had direct access to his small breakfast nook and kitchen due to the open layout, which he enjoyed. It allowed for him to sit and enjoy his music as he ate or cooked. The hallway led to his room, office, and bathroom, all neat and tidy in their own respective manners. It was comfortable for him, mostly due to never expecting any real company over.

The size of it also meant that rent was cheap, which was good as all of his paycheck from the cafe only had to go towards every day living expenses (at the behest of a certain bat, once again, advising him to save his payout from their more intensive work). Shadow couldn’t deny the merit of her words; the higher paying work had slowed down significantly. Preventing world domination for the upteenth time seemed to discourage others from another attempt too soon.

Shadow finished his breakfast and headed toward the front door, slipping on his shoes before starting his commute to work which was only a short walk from his place. He let out a long sigh as he locked the front door behind him, nearly running into you as he turned toward the stairwell.

“Oh! Uh- Sorry, Shadow. I didn’t see you there,” you stuttered, embarrassment dripping from each word. You had been neighbors for a few months now, excited and yet intimidated by the proximity you had with him. It was simply chance that you two had even met in the first place, what with Infinite sparing you and the events that followed; you had somehow become an integral part of Sonic and his cohorts’ plan to bring Dr. Eggman to a halt. But the fact that Shadow not only worked with you at the local cafe but had also moved in next door to you so soon after felt too good to be true.

“All good. See you at work,” his voice somewhat hushed and low before he continued on his way. Burying his hands in his pockets, his steps covered an impressive distance in only a few minutes, Shadow’s mind wandering. He had also taken note of you - your impressive feats to aid them in their world saving efforts all the way down to your also somewhat mundane ritualistic activities. You both worked behind the counter at the cafe; him focusing more on brewing orders while you handled customers. He was always curious how you managed it with a smile on your face most days; the idea of switching spots with you was enough to make him shudder, shaking his head in effort to rid himself of the idea.

“Oh Shadow, people aren’t all bad!” Maria’s voice echoed. Shadow stopped dead in his tracks, the sudden flashback startling him. Why would he remember that now, of all times and places?

You weren’t too far behind Shadow, but you swore he glided to work effortlessly even without his air shoes. It wasn’t until he paused that you were able to catch up with him, letting out a small chuckle as you bumped shoulders with him lightly. This seemed to pull him out of his daze.

“C’mon, spacey, we don’t want to be late. I still owe you a breakfast sandwich for yesterday!”

“Wait- what? What are you talking about?”

You turned to look at the dark hedgehog, a smile creeping on your lips, “you saved me from that older gentleman, remember? He was making all sorts of comments-“

Shadow let out a “tch-“ sound before furrowing his eyebrows further, “Oh. You don’t owe me anything for that. You seemed uncomfortable.” His pace picked up a bit, causing you to need to start into a light jog to keep pace with him.

“I mean- yeah. He was being a bit creepy.” You huffed out a breath, once again embarrassed only this time by how winded keeping up with Shadow made you. “Hey, could you slow down a bit? We aren’t running that late or anything.”

Shadow eyed you from the side, smirking slightly before slowing his pace, “well, lucky for you, we’re here.” He motioned toward the building in front of you both, windows lining the outside to reveal the dark seating area of the cafe. You let out an exaggerated huff in an effort to make light of your winded state before digging in your bag for the keys to the front door. After wrestling with the key for a moment, you were able to unlock the building and begin setting up to open.

“Hey Shadow, I’ve been meaning to ask, how do you like your coffee?”

Shadow paused for a moment while he removed the chairs from atop their respective tables, pushing them in and moving on to the next methodically, “black, which I’m sure you probably could’ve guessed.”

“Ah- right. My bad. That does seem too fitting to not be obvious, huh?” you laughed shyly, starting the brew and selecting a breakfast sandwich to heat up for your counterpart. Man, you’re really going 3 for 3 this morning, huh? Your head hung low before rolling your shoulders back. This is your last chance to invite him, don’t screw it up!

The oven chimed as an indicator that Shadow’s sandwich was done, encouraging you to work up a bit of courage to not only present the seemingly unnecessary gesture but to also address him. You plated the sandwich and placed it on the table Shadow had just cleared off.

“Your breakfast, my good sir!” you bowed dramatically, getting a strained chuckle in response from Shadow. Clearing your throat, you figured now was as good a time as any, “I wanted to ask you something.”

Shadow sat in the chair in front of the sandwich, thankful that he wouldn’t have to resort to the corner store option, “hmm?”

You waited a moment to see if his gaze would meet yours, only to realize after a few bites in that your gesture maybe wasn’t as unwanted as he made it seem. “Well, see, I am going to be having a few people over later tonight to celebrate New Years. Rouge, Silver, maybe a few others, and uhm-“ you gulped, your mouth dry as your original, short invitation started to take a turn for the worse. “And... you? If you’d like to come?” Your ears drooped a tiny bit, your body subconsciously preparing for the inevitable rejection you were sure you would face.

Much to your surprise though, Shadow paused his chewing to look at you, “Yeah. I could stop by.” He continued to eat, completely unfazed by your shock at his response.

“Really?? That’s great! I mean- that’s, uhm, yeah! The party starts at 8PM!”

Shadow said nothing, which you took in stride, practically twirling as you went to grab him a coffee.

The work day somehow dragged on and yet also was over before either of you knew it. Shadow was appreciative of the routine of brewing the coffee, cleaning the machine, collecting dishware, and starting over as it allowed him to shut his brain off. It seemed to be determined to pull the rug out from under him today considering his flashback earlier. Memories of Maria weren’t unwelcome by any means, but Shadow recognized his emotional responses to them weren’t necessarily appropriate at work. He could have contemplated the reason behind their resurgence, but he simply chalked it up to his recent living situation changes, unwilling to dig deeper than that. Although, he might not have been too far off.

Rouge wasn’t the only one Shadow had heard speak of normalcy longingly; Maria’s illness was better managed whilst in the care of her grandfather, but that didn’t mean she got to experience much of a normal childhood as other kids her age did. She was at the mercy of her grandfather’s schedule and her small living quarters. “I know it seems silly,” she would say softly, “but sometimes I miss going to school. I miss riding the bus. I miss running through flower fields and my parents yelling for me when the street lights came on.” These concepts had meant very little to Shadow at the time, but as life had settled around him, he couldn’t help but wish he could show Maria that he was trying to live each day with her in mind.

The New Year creeping up on him was maybe too much of a reminder that he hadn’t done that great of a job to really appreciate the peace he had recently found. All he could hope for is that the party tonight would not be something he would regret agreeing to. I’ll make a promise to Maria that I will do better in the coming year.

You stared at your reflection for far too long. Clothes were strewn about your bed, all rejected options for tonight’s celebration. “You don’t need to overdo it!” you said to yourself, gripping the jeans in your hands. “Just wear the stupid jeans and find a comfy sweater. This isn’t meant to be some crazy thing.”

A knock on your door indicated that you didn’t have time to continue to bemoan over your lackluster wardrobe any longer. Throwing on the clothes in hand and quickly fluffing your hair, you made your way to the front door to greet your first guest. To your surprise, Shadow greeted you with a bottle of champaign.

“Hope this is okay,” he said, looking you over subtly. He was dressed in a pair of dark slacks, a turtleneck sweater, and a nice blazer. You could feel the dread set in once again before mentally shaking yourself out of it, “yes! This is fine! Thank you, you really didn’t have to bring anything.” You welcomed him inside and placed the champaign on the kitchen counter before turning to pull refreshments from the pantry and fridge.

Shadow stood next to the door as he watched you move about your apartment, removing his blazer and placing it in the crook of his arm. Your own apartment wasn’t much different than his, the layout the same, but flipped. It seemed much more suitable to host guests than his own, he noted, as he moved across the living room to where you were at in the kitchen. He hung his blazer along the back of one of the dining room chairs before holding his hands out to you. By this point, you were struggling to move the punch bowl, having filled it prematurely and realizing you would have to move the full thing to its proper place. Shadow’s outstretched arms took you by surprise but you did not refuse the help. You gingerly placed the bowl into Shadow’s arms, “thanks- uhm, you can set it on the bar counter next to the cups.”

He nodded and placed the bowl with ease, something you were quite jealous of. His otherworldly strength was quite useful while you two worked together, as he did a majority of the heavy lifting when food shipments arrived. Of course the simple task of moving the punch bowl would be easy for him. You laughed at yourself quietly at the thought and quickly turned away to continue setup.

It did not take long for the other fantastic mobians to join you both, the space of your apartment quickly filling with sounds of chatter and laughter. As the festivities kicked off, you began to notice that Shadow wasn’t really interacting with anyone (except for Rouge every now and again when she would seek him out). You had made a mental note to check in with him, but were quickly swept away to host.

You had never quite pulled something like this off, and the constant interaction was quickly draining your own social battery. Chaos, if I’m feeling this way I can only imagine how Shadow is doing. The thought prompted a quick scan of the apartment, but Shadow was nowhere to be seen. Your brows creased with concern, hoping he hadn’t left without saying anything. However, your search would need to wait as you felt an intense need to step outside for a bit of fresh air. You checked in with Tails, asking for him to keep an eye on things while you stepped out, to which he smiled at you and told you not to worry.

One of your favorite parts about this apartment was access to a private balcony. It wasn’t anything impressive but it made for a nice getaway when you needed it. You pulled on the door, struggling as it stuck to the doorway before prying it open and prompting Shadow to turn around to face you.

“Oh- sorry! I didn’t mean to, uhm-“ you gulped, startled by his presence. Why was talking to him always so nerve-wracking? “I just needed some fresh air.”

You watched as Shadow shifted over to allow some space to join him, “be my guest.”

Struggling again to close the door behind you, you moved next to him to rest your arms on the railing. Your eyes gravitated toward the sky, catching sporadic flashes of light from fireworks far off in the distance. The cool night air was a refreshing contrast from the sudden stuffiness in your small apartment and almost immediately your body relaxed. It was only at that point that you were able to take a deep breath and really released the subconscious tension you held in your shoulders since everyone arrived.

“Quite the turnout, huh?” you offered, shifting your gaze to Shadow.

He stood unmoving, his eyes now fixated on the sky above him. The stars lit up their dark backdrop, competing only with the bursts of fireworks every now and again. Shadow hadn’t seen the night sky like this in what felt like a lifetime. He had his own balcony but rarely ever used it, having forgotten it was there for the most part. In his solitude, he had very little reason to occupy the space.

The silence between you two and his unbroken focus on the sky brought you to look up again. This moment was not unwelcome nor awkward like you feared it might be. You felt a wave of comfort wash over you as you listened to the muffled sounds of your friends indoors alongside the chirping of crickets and popping of fireworks.

Shadow finally acknowledged his lack of a response to you, shifting slightly and clearing his throat, “I wonder if Maria had gotten to experience a New Years like this.” Taken aback by this vulnerability, you turned to Shadow again.

Maria. That was a familiar name in regards to the dark hedgehog. You knew she was the only friend he had before he was captured by GUN, having suffered a horrendous fate at the organization’s hand. You contemplated if she was the reason for his more prominent standoffish behavior tonight.

“This place reminds you of her, doesn’t it?” The words came out as hardly anything more than whisper, your effort to come across as tender shining through.

You watched as Shadow winced, moving his hands to interlock his fingers. “Not just this place.” He took a deep breath, as if calculating how much he wanted to divulge to you. “Everything and everywhere does...”

His voice was low and barely audible in comparison to the world around you. Shadow had been carrying the weight of Maria’s death with him through life, a feeling you could only imagine. His ears drooped slightly as his gaze shifted downward to his hands. He studied their shape, taking note of his inhibitor rings and the creases along his fingers, trying to remember what Maria’s felt like. With another small breath, he continued, “memories of her are in everything.”

To say you were stunned would be the understatement of the century. You took in the scene of Shadow, arms resting on the railing in front of him, the fingers of one of his hands tracing the other, his demeanor sad and sincere. You placed your hand on his shoulder, giving it a light squeeze. His eyes lifted to meet your own, his gaze years away as tears pooled and fell along his cheek. You smiled at him, pulling him gently toward you.

He hesitated at first before accepting your embrace. You held each other there for a moment, searching for the right words to say in response to his. Everything seemed to come up short, in your mind, sounding way too cheesy and cliche to truly convey your desire to comfort Shadow. Against your better judgment, you pulled away to look at him.

“I think... that’s how you help keep their memory alive. You carry them with you in some capacity. You associate certain things in life to them, and you cherish those things more than you would have otherwise.”

You paused, searching his expression in an effort to ensure you weren’t overstepping. He stared back at you, his usual scowl nowhere to be seen, his expression softer than you had seen before.

“Maybe it also helps us live life to the fullest and not take things for granted.”

He nodded slowly, your words sinking in as he stepped out of your arms to look at the sky again.

“She would have wanted me to enjoy life,” he said thoughtfully. Shadow took a deep breath before looking at you once again, a timid smile playing on his lips. “Thank you.”

You returned his smile in kind, imprinting this moment to memory for you to cherish always. After a brief pause, you offered your hand to him, “what do you say we go back in?”

He looked down at your hand and nodded, wiping the tears from his face and giving the night sky another glance. Shadow would have to remember to spruce up his own balcony to enjoy the stars.

Your fingers intertwined with his as you started to head back inside; the backdoor being of no issue for Shadow (of course) to pull open and close shut with ease. He let go of your hand after giving it a light squeeze and moved through the group to find Rouge of his own accord, smiling back at you. Sonic approached you, taking note of the interaction, “wow, never thought that guy could actually smile! You sure we don’t have a SUPER faker among us?”

Your elbow jabbed into Sonic’s arm playfully as you laughed and shook your head.

As midnight approached, you all gathered around the TV in the living room and counted down the New Year. Shadow closed his eyes, allowing Rouge to shake him as she joined the others in celebrating. His eyes opened and rested their gaze on you, watching as you cheered alongside everyone. It was then that he decided; he was going to make sure he did everything he could to appreciate his newfound friends and peaceful existence, just the way he hoped Maria would have wanted him to.

[jaggedamethyst]

circuit breaker 🔬🌌 (part one)

tutor!jayce talis x reader, modern college au

content: reader is forced to take gen ed classes in order to graduate college. this unfortunately includes physics for which you desperately need a tutor for...jayce talis happens to need community service and is available to help. (references to adhd/neurodivergence in this chapter, that’s all)

notes: hiii. as i am on my indefinite break from golden boy, i wanted to start something else bc the yearn for jayce content can only be filled as long as i work to preserve him myself... so here’s my first official series!! double note, while this is modern, i still want to keep hints and references to the show/characters so they’re believable! so if you see viktor talking in a way that seems unnatural with dialogue, its just my smarty pants bf being his smart self with vast vocabulary. 🤍

word count: 1.5k

series masterlist here

。·:*:·ﾟ★,。·:*:·ﾟ☆　　 。·:*:·ﾟ★,。·:*:·ﾟ☆

The absolute worst part of college is being forced to take the general education classes simply to graduate. You were an arts major, there was no reason for you to be cramming your brain with math equations so many years after high school—and yet here you were. Unfortunately, you waited until later in your university career to take on the required course load, and now you were stuck in one of the only classes with availability that worked with your schedule—physics. The thought of the class alone made your head hurt. The only upside was having it with a friend, albeit much more skilled at the subject, Viktor was always welcome company. 

“I hate these weekly quizzes, I genuinely cannot afford to fail another one.” 

Viktor chuckled, “The subject matter isn’t that difficult…” 

“We can’t all be geniuses, Viktor.” 

“Yes, some of us are more skilled than others, I’d say.” He moved to gather his books, the class having ended. 

You mirrored his action, packing your bag as you spoke to him. “Natural skill or not, this shit is actually dumb…makes me feel dumb.” 

“You are not dumb,” he reassured you, “It can be a lot to comprehend.” 

You shuffled through the aisle, following behind Viktor as he moved toward the exit. “It’s these gen ed classes…why do I need to understand physics for liberal arts. Granted, I know the school is more tech based…but I changed my major! I should be free of the shackles of math by now.” You wiped a hand over your face, clearly exasperated. 

You matched Viktor’s steps, picking up a bit to open the door for him. The slight breeze of the outside air brushed over you—cooling the heat that you didn’t realize was there. A breath left you, exhaling the bubbling rage in you. 

Viktor reached a hand toward your shoulder, grasping it with a firm encouragement. “You will conquer physics. Natural skill…or not.” He smiled again, a teasing tone on his voice. 

“Viktor!” You swatted his hand away, “I hate you! Could you at least offer a solution? These quizzes are literally every week. What’s the point of checking my comprehension if I know I’m gonna fail-“ 

“Listen, you will not fail. In fact,” he paused, “I have a solution for this little conflict.” 

“The solution being?” 

He stopped walking, an obvious look on his face, “Get a tutor.” 

A scoff, “Yeah right. I’m not in middle school. I don’t need a tutor, Viktor.” You started walking again, “Besides, why can’t you just help me—you’re all the tutor I need!” 

“I have quite a bit on my plate this term already. I have two labs, recitations, and work-“ 

“Which is just code for find time to see Sky, got it.” 

He didn’t reply to that, not directly. But the way he blushed and looked away was indication enough. Viktor explained before that he and Sky have known each other practically their whole lives. They always saw each other around; the fact that they ended up at the same school was purely by fate, or chance, Viktor would say. That was, despite the relatively high probability with there being so few state schools. 

He changed the subject, leading you across the street. “I know someone who would be willing to help. He mentioned needing community service.” 

“Fine, I guess…” 

“Good, because we’re here.” 

You looked up, the student resource center labeled clearly in front of you. The prospect of walking in was already daunting. You loved independence and it often came at the expense of feeling incompetent when you had to ask for help. You confided in Viktor about that before. He figured the best way was to just show up, not giving you the opportunity to get yourself worked up and find an excuse to not go. 

He opened the door, tilting his head towards the inside. “You got this.” 

You shook your head, the idea making you nauseous. He returned the motion, this time shaking his head. You can do this. 

It took a second, but you finally walked in, Viktor slightly on your trail. “He should be here, he told me he would be.” He continued as you nodded silently, “Oh, there he is.” 

His back was to you, speaking to a woman he seemed to be friendly with. His shoulders were wide, making her barely visible to you from this angle—but she was undoubtedly stunning. You couldn’t help but acknowledge the way they so enthusiastically spoke. You didn’t want to interrupt, that would be embarrassing, torturous, even. Instead, you turned to the desk, eyeing the receptionist. She seemed to be close to your age…which somehow made you even more nervous—gosh. 

“Hi…” You cleared your throat, “Hi, I wanted to ask about tutoring? Like for physics?” 

Viktor nodded behind you, proud of the seemingly small gesture. He knew this was actually an immense step for you. 

The receptionist greeted you back, “We do have physics tutoring available! There are a few student volunteers, but we usually assign according to those with a more free schedule…” She looked to her left, pointing to the QR code that faced toward you. “You can register here, it’s fairly quick and someone…” she locked onto the man across from her, still mid conversation. “Someone should be able to help you get started today actually…Jayce!” 

You turned to see the man pause his conversation, a brow raising at his name being called. Recognition flashed in your direction as well, “Oh hey, Viktor.” 

“Hello, Jayce.” 

The man walked up to the counter, a more annoyed tone and body language accompanied him, then. It wasn’t genuine, but rather one out of familiarity, like he and the receptionist had known each other a while. It was quite jovial, actually. “What do you want, Cait?” 

She rolled her eyes at that, “Someone needs a tutor,” she smiled at you before looking to him with a grimace, “You’re a tutor, correct?” 

He shrugged, “I need community service.” 

“Great, so you two are a match, then.” 

Your phone suddenly became rather interesting—the simple intake form immediately became numerous pages long and excessively tedious. You felt his eyes on you, though, and saw a hand out towards you in your peripheral. “Nice to meet you…Jayce.” 

You looked up finally, reaching to shake his outstretched hand. The only thing that came to you was your name—first and last, simple. 

He half smiled, echoing your reply, “Jayce Talis. I like the formality.” He chuckled, dropping your hand. 

You looked back silently at Viktor, a sort of terror on your face. He spoke then, “I should be going. Shouldn’t these two have their introductory meeting now?” He observed your twisted facial expression, looking towards the desk for a reply. 

She nodded, “Great idea! It’s a short one, just getting to know one another and scheduling for later. You can use that room right there,” she looked at the computer in front of her for confirmation, “It should be empty for a few more minutes!” She motioned her hands for you two to hurry along. The man, Jayce…Jayce Talis…walked over and spoke to the woman he’d been talking to before. You couldn’t hear them, but observed the way he rubbed her arm before reaching for a hug. You tried not to stare, but you weren’t entirely familiar with the resource center and he was supposed to be leading you, you thought. 

You trailed behind Jayce, turning back to see Viktor. He stood with a hand on his cane, the other with a thumbs up to you. You nodded, rubbing your hands awkwardly at your sides. You watched as Jayce opened the door, stepping back to let you in first. That was nice. You held a tight smile, a pleasantry you’d grown accustomed to displaying in uncomfortable situations such as this one. 

Both of you sat down, a brief silence filling the room. Jayce spoke first, “So what brings you to tutoring?” 

You swallowed, “I am not great at physics…I’m pretty bad at it actually…and Viktor said you could help.” 

He nodded, “You two are friends?” 

“Yeah, we met a while back. How do you know each other?” 

“Lab partners, same major, rest is history.” 

“Right…” A huff from you and the shuffle of Jayce reaching in his pocket were the only sounds in the room. 

“So,” he scrolled on his phone, “You noted you have a hard time focusing. Is it just this class?” 

“Not just physics, no. I have a hard time paying attention in general. Bad memory, disorganized brain, the works. Makes retaining the information really hard as you can imagine.”

“I get that, but we can work on that…find things that help you remember a bit better…make it more interesting.” 

You could only blink as a response. This was the first time you could recall, besides with close friends, that someone didn’t make you feel extremely weird for not being able to stay focused. You often skipped from one topic to the next, forgetting your starting point. Conversations would float away from you, or you’d get too emotionally invested. People would call you loud, random, even. You appreciated that Jayce replied simply, concisely, offering a solution. Sure, it was his job…kind of…but it felt pretty good. 

“Thank you.” 

“Sure.” 

He went over a few more questions with you—referring to the intake form you’d filled out on your phone. In no time, you had set a meeting time for the following day. 

Both of you stood, collecting your bags. 

“See you tomorrow?” 

“Tomorrow.” 

[astrcmoni]

ᨒ* ⊹rhythm of the rain⊹ *ᨒ

MASTERLIST

synopsis: on a quiet night wrapped in rain and reflection, you and billie navigate the tender spaces between love and stillness, finding solace in each other’s presence. in the gentle hum of the storm, her touch becomes your anchor, and the world narrows to just the two of you, infinite and enough.

genre: comfort

pairing: fem!reader x billie eilish

wc: 1.5k

warnings: none

authors note: just something light 🦋

rain patters against the glass, each droplet sliding down in delicate, meandering trails, weaving like veins on a leaf. each drop carves its own path, tracing fleeting silver ribbons that dissolve into the frame. the world outside swirls in muted tones, blurred and smudged as if by a painter’s careless thumb. the rhythm is unsteady yet soothing, a fragmented melody humming a lullaby only nature could compose. it filters through the quiet of the room, wrapping you in its gentle embrace, tender and unassuming.

thunder murmurs low and distant, a growl softened by the rain’s steady cadence. lightning cleaves through the clouds, a brief, silver scar across the sky before vanishing into the velvet dark. the storm is restless—caught between a lullaby and a roar, threading the air with tension that never quite resolves. it spills into the room, mingling with your thoughts, becoming part of the silence you’ve surrounded yourself with.

you lie sprawled across the bed, one hand resting on your stomach, the other buried in your hair. your eyes trace the faint cracks in the ceiling, following them as if they might lead you somewhere new. your mind wanders untethered, drifting through memories like pages of a book you can’t stop thumbing through. there’s no urgency, only the slow pull of reflection, the weight of the past pressing into the present. the what-ifs circle you, quiet but persistent, tugging at the edges of your thoughts.

what if you’d chosen differently? spoken differently? would you still be here now, in this moment, staring at a ceiling that holds no answers?

the front door opens with a soft creak, barely audible over the rain. keys jingle, their sharp clink grounding you in the present. billie’s footsteps follow—light, deliberate—each one a quiet promise that she’s home. you hear the faint rustle of her jacket as it’s shrugged off, the dull thud of her shoes landing near the door. her presence seeps into the house, familiar and warm, like the scent of rain-soaked earth clinging to her skin.

“baby?” her voice cuts softly through the hum of the storm, low and tender.

you don’t answer, not right away. your lips curl into the barest hint of a smile as you listen to her move through the house. her footsteps pause in the living room, then the kitchen, before making their way toward the bedroom. the door creaks open, and her silhouette appears, framed by the dim light pooling in the hallway. her eyes find you instantly, softening as she takes you in.

“hey,” she murmurs, her voice a balm against the stillness.

“hey,” you whisper back, your voice almost swallowed by the rain.

she lingers for a moment, her head tilting slightly, as though trying to read the unspoken in your expression. “mind if i join you?”

you nod, a small motion that feels heavier than it should. she peels off her damp hoodie, hanging it on the back of the door, before crossing the room. the bed dips under her weight as she settles beside you, her movements careful, as if not to disturb the fragile quiet surrounding you both.

silence stretches between you, filled only by the rain and the steady rhythm of your breaths. her hand brushes yours, the touch featherlight, almost uncertain. you answer by threading your fingers through hers, intertwining them in a gesture that feels timeless, as if your hands have always known each other. her skin is cool, her thumb tracing idle, soothing patterns over the back of your hand—a silent reassurance you hadn’t realized you needed.

slowly, you turn to face her, your body curling slightly as you shift onto your side. her hair clings damply to her forehead, framing her face in uneven strands, and her blue eyes catch the faint glow of the streetlights outside. her lips curve into a soft, knowing smile that tugs at something deep inside you.

“hi.” she breathes, her voice delicate as a thread in the still air.

“hi.” you reply, your voice carrying the same quiet intimacy, like the word is a shared secret.

her hand moves, brushing a stray curl from your face, her touch lingering against your skin. “you’ve been quiet,” she murmurs, her thumb tracing gentle circles over your cheek. “what’s on your mind?”

you hesitate, the words tangled somewhere between thought and speech. “just thinking.”

“about what?” her voice remains soft, inviting.

“life,” you admit after a pause, your words slow, deliberate. “and us.”

“us?” she echoes, the faintest curiosity flickering in her tone.

you nod, your eyes falling shut briefly as her hand cradles your face. “yeah. how we got here. how it feels… unreal sometimes. like, out of everyone in the world, we found each other.”

her smile deepens, and the warmth in her expression seeps into you, quieting the restless hum of your thoughts. “i think about that all the time,” she confesses, her voice steady, sure.

her words settle around you like a blanket, grounding you. she takes your hand, pressing it briefly to her lips before resting it against her chest. “do you ever wonder what it would’ve been like if we hadn’t met?” you ask, your voice softer now, almost afraid of the answer.

she shakes her head, her hair brushing against the pillow. “no. nope, don’t even wanna imagine it.”

your laugh is soft, breaking the quiet. “good.”

she leans closer, her forehead pressing against yours, her nose brushing against your own. “you’re stuck with me, you know?” her voice is teasing, but there’s a weight beneath it, an unspoken truth you feel in your bones.

“i’m okay with that,” you whisper, the words falling between you like a vow.

her lips graze your forehead in a kiss that lingers, soft and unhurried. “me too.”

outside, the storm begins to quiet, the rain a gentle murmur now, its rhythm matching the rise and fall of your breaths. the world beyond the two of you fades, leaving only her touch, her presence, her love. and in this moment, it is everything.

astrc’s tag list: @zendayasredbottoms @bilsdillldough @billiesrighthand @watercolorskyy @bilssturns ; hit my asks saying “add to taglist” if you want to be on my regular taglist for all billie content!

[astoryofsiren]

new world | chapter 6

Pairing: Ot8 Ateez x reader AU: fantasy AU | stranger -> mates Summary: A tragic accident left you unable to use your wings and, with that, claimed your father's life, leaving you in the care of your noble uncle. In Hala, a house of eight kingdoms, each boasting its own wonders, you never imagined that amidst the pain, you would also fall—this time, in love. Word Count: 2.2k | 10 minutes A/n: SOOO...a TMI! I am actually a pretty chill person. but when it comes to work and writing i need at least 5 chapter planned before uploading a chapter. That is why i currently have about chapter 11 drafted already. Also this is quite amusing but I LIKE WORKING. It gives me a sense of purpose hihi, sometimes its stressful but it gives me joy. Anyways, i hope you enjoy this! Warning: JUST YUNHO AND MC BEING CUTE BYE.

Your breath caught, the weight of his words settling over you like the last rays of the sun clinging to the earth. The sincerity in his tone left no room for teasing or denial—just the quiet truth of what he’d said.

He looked ahead again, his expression gentler than before, as if he was choosing every word carefully.

“I just… hope you’ll always come back to me.”

The words were quiet but unwavering, heavy with an honesty that made your chest tighten. Yunho wasn’t a man prone to insecurity or doubt. It wasn’t possessiveness in his voice—there was only sincerity, a calm and unshakable certainty that you had come to associate with him.

You swallowed, your throat suddenly tight. “Where else would I go?”

“You could go anywhere,” Yunho replied softly, his gaze flickering toward you once more. “You could leave the outskirts for Caius’s capital, where they’d call you a healer fit for kings. Or maybe even Reed, where your name would carry across the mountains.” He paused then, his voice dropping lower. “And yet, here you are.”

Your lips parted, but for a moment, you couldn’t find the words. Yunho had a way of saying things—of weaving meaning into the quiet spaces between sentences—that left you feeling caught in something deeper than you had realized.

“I like it here,” you said softly, finally. “The quiet. The fields. I don’t need more than that.”

His gaze lingered on you, soft and unspoken thoughts swirling in the gold of his eyes. “Good,” he murmured, his voice a touch quieter. “Because I’ll keep coming back, as long as you’ll have me.”

A breath you didn’t realize you were holding escaped, something warm curling in your chest. “And where else would you go, Yunho?”

He tilted his head slightly, a faint smile tugging at the corner of his lips, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes.

“I think you know the answer to that.”

The wind picked up, carrying a chill, but you hardly noticed. The rest of the ride passed in silence, but this time, it wasn’t heavy—it was warm, lingering like the last rays of sunlight stretching across the hills. Every time Yunho’s gaze flickered toward you, lingering just a moment too long, your heart stumbled over itself, and the world felt quieter—easier—because he was there. When you finally spoke, your voice was softer than before. “You don’t need to worry about them.” Yunho exhaled quietly, as though those words had loosened some invisible knot within him. “Good”

The rest of the ride unfolded in silence, but it was a different kind of quiet now—warm, lingering, and filled with all the things neither of you had said. The golden light softened as the sun melted into the horizon, casting long shadows across the hills, and you couldn’t help but feel that Yunho’s words, too, would linger well after the light had faded.

Yunho suddenly pulled his horse to a stop, the movement so abrupt it startled you. You turned to look at him, brow furrowed. “What’s wrong?”

He didn’t answer immediately. Instead, he glanced toward the horizon, where the sun was beginning its slow descent. “Let’s enjoy the sunset together,” he said softly, his voice carrying an almost wistful note. His gaze flicked to the saddlebag. “I have blankets—and a some bread the hospital gave us.”

You blinked in surprise, but a smile crept onto your face before you could stop it. “You planned this?”

“Not entirely.” He shrugged, dismounting with ease before turning to help you down. “I’m just good at making use of what’s given to me.”

The teasing tone in his voice brought a laugh to your lips, and you allowed him to lift you gently off your horse. Together, you walked a short distance to a familiar hilltop where the world seemed to open up before you.

The sky was painted in hues of gold, violet, and deepening blue, the light spilling like liquid fire across the valley below. It was beautiful, the kind of quiet that settled deep into your bones, where even the soft rustling of the wind felt reverent.

Yunho laid out the blanket as you unpacked the bread and a small cloth-wrapped bundle of fruit. The hospital nurses had been generous, as if they’d known you’d need this moment.

You sat down beside Yunho, the edges of the blanket soft beneath your fingers as the cool evening air brushed against your cheeks. He sat close, one knee bent, his long frame relaxed though his expression remained contemplative. The silence stretched comfortably between you until he broke it, his voice soft.

“I’m sorry,” he said suddenly, the words quiet but certain.

You turned to him, brows furrowing. “For what?”

“For not coming as often.” Yunho’s gaze remained on the horizon, where the last edge of the sun kissed the earth. “Things in Hala are… complicated. Someone is stirring trouble.”

Your smile faded. “And you’re involved in it?”

He exhaled quietly, his shoulders shifting. “I’m trying not to be,” he said. “But it’s hard to avoid.”

you had to ask him.

You turned toward him then, your voice soft but deliberate. “Would you answer me the truth, my lord?”

Yunho’s gaze flickered to you, his brows lifting faintly at the sudden question. “What is it you wish to know?”

You hesitated, watching him closely. “I couldn’t help but pry after your injury…” You exhaled carefully, choosing your words. “Are you really just a messenger, Yunho?”

At that, his face shifted, his expression turning carefully stoic—too still, too composed. “Yes,” he said simply, his voice steady, though the edge of it sounded practiced.

But you weren’t convinced.

“You’re certain?” you pressed, narrowing your eyes slightly. “Because if you were just a mere messenger, my lord…” You paused, holding his gaze. “Dare I ask why you would be struck by a Goretherion bloom?”

For the faintest moment, something flickered across Yunho’s features—an emotion too quick to catch before it disappeared behind his mask of calm. He looked ahead then, his jaw tight.

“It doesn’t matter,” he replied quietly, though there was tension in the words. “It’s difficult to explain.”

“Difficult?” you repeated, leaning toward him slightly. “You speak in riddles, my lord.”

Yunho’s gaze snapped back to you, sharp yet softened by the way the gold in his eyes seemed to melt under the twilight. For a beat, he said nothing. Then, with a slowness that made your heart stutter, his hand came to your cheek, his thumb brushing softly against your skin. The all familiar sparks seem to sweep through your skin like ice.

“It doesn’t matter,” he murmured, his voice low and steady, as if trying to anchor the moment between you. “I’ll keep you safe. You have my word.”

The weight of his touch, the quiet resolve in his voice—it stilled you completely. You stared at him, searching his expression, but Yunho’s gaze held yours without wavering. There was something unshakable about him in that moment, something that felt like both a shield and a promise.

“But Yunho…” you whispered, your voice barely audible.

“Trust me,” he said softly, cutting you off before you could question further. His hand lingered on your cheek a moment longer, warm and sure, before he let it fall back to his side.

You exhaled slowly, the air heavy between you, full of things unsaid and unanswered. The Goretherion bloom—the trouble in Hala—none of it made sense, and yet, when Yunho looked at you like that, it was impossible not to believe him.

You murmured at last, your voice just above a whisper.

“I trust you.”

Yunho nodded as he teared his gaze from you. He turned to you then, his expression softening. Reaching into his muted gray cloak, he withdrew a small, velvet-wrapped box.

“What’s this?” you asked, blinking in surprise.

Yunho’s expression remained unreadable as he said simply, “Take it.”

The weight of his words made you pause before you carefully reached out, fingers brushing against the fine box. The bundle was small, its weight firm but reassuring, and when you pulled back the edges, the world seemed to slow.

Resting inside was an ornate pendant—elegant and intricate. Its delicate gold framework curved in swirling, nature-inspired motifs, adorned with clusters of sparkling diamonds that caught the light like scattered stardust. Suspended at the center of the design sat a striking blue sapphire, deep and mesmerizing, its facets gleaming like the heart of a midnight sea. Below, a teardrop-shaped sapphire hung gracefully, encased in a halo of smaller diamonds, its rich indigo hue streaked with faint glimmers of lighter blue, as though it held the reflection of a tranquil night sky.

Your breath caught, the beauty of it leaving you momentarily speechless. “It’s beautiful,” you whispered, your fingers brushing the smooth surface of the stone.

But even as you admired it, something stirred in the back of your mind—a quiet, undeniable realization. You knew what this meant. In Reed, courtships were steeped in tradition, subtle but significant gestures woven into every action. Gifting family jewels was one of the most profound gestures of all, especially when the jewels were as rare as this. A pendant like this, one polished to perfection and set with a stone this flawless, was not something given lightly.

You glanced up at Yunho, the weight of the pendant suddenly far heavier in your palm. “This looks…” You paused, searching for the right word.

Personal.

Yunho tilted his head slightly, watching you with a faint smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “It caught my eye in the capital.”

A beat of silence. You heard the lie in his voice as clearly as if he’d spoken it aloud—the softness of his tone, the way his gaze lingered just a moment too long.

Carefully, you reached out, taking the pendant fully into your hands. It was cool to the touch, the weight of it pressing gently against your skin, but its significance—what it represented—settled even deeper.

You looked up at him, your voice quiet but certain. “You’re lying.”

Yunho’s brows lifted in faint surprise, but the teasing smirk you had come to know so well returned, soft and unreadable. “Lying?”

“Yes.” You turned the pendant carefully, letting the fading light catch on its surface. “This isn’t just something you found in the capital.”

Yunho’s smirk faded slightly, though his pride held steady in the stubborn line of his jaw. He looked at the pendant, then back at you, his voice quieter this time. “It belonged to my mother.”

Your fingers stilled against the stone, your chest tightening as the words registered. “Your mother?”

Yunho nodded, his expression calm but his eyes betraying something deeper—something unspoken. “It was hers. She kept it close. And now I want you to have it.”

You stared at him, stunned, the air between you suddenly too heavy with meaning. You knew what this pendant symbolized. It wasn’t just a trinket or a gesture—it was a promise, a silent question that waited patiently for an answer.

“I can’t accept this,” you said softly, though your voice wavered with uncertainty.

“You can, please” Yunho countered firmly, his tone brooking no argument.

He stepped closer then, the space between you shrinking, his presence both grounding and overwhelming. Yunho held the pendant between his fingers, his touch brushing against yours as he took it, lingering just long enough to send heat curling through you.

“May I?” His voice was low, a quiet murmur that hung in the air, reverent and steady.

You swallowed, your heart hammering in your chest. “Yes,” you breathed, the word slipping past your lips before you could stop it.

Yunho moved behind you, each step deliberate, as though afraid the moment might break. You sat perfectly still, breath caught in your chest, your entire body attuned to the faint rustle of his cloak and the warmth radiating off him.

Gently, his hands swept your hair to the side, calloused fingertips brushing against the bare skin at the nape of your neck. The touch was fleeting—innocent, almost—but it was enough to make you shiver. And then you felt it: his breath.

Warm and soft, it ghosted across your skin as he lingered, clasping the chain with steady hands. It sent a ripple of shivers coursing through you, pooling at the base of your spine as your fingers curled into the fabric of your skirt.

Yunho was quiet, focused, but the closeness—the deliberate slowness of his movements—was impossibly intimate. The pendant’s chain was cool where it brushed against your collarbone, a contrast to the heat rising up your neck and settling in your cheeks.

You inhaled shakily, the sound embarrassingly loud in the silence, just as his knuckles grazed your neck again—soft and unintentional, yet devastating all the same.

The click of the clasp finally broke the stillness, but Yunho lingered for a moment longer, his breath still there, stirring goosebumps across your skin. When he pulled back, you released a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding.

Yunho returned to his seat, his golden-brown gaze lingering on you as the pendant settled against your chest. His voice was low, the words soft but steady.

“It suits you.”

Your fingers brushed against the pendant again, the smooth surface cool against your skin. But before you could respond, Yunho's voice broke through the quiet once more, softer this time, as though he were speaking a truth he’d kept hidden.

“With this,” he murmured, his gaze unwavering,

“I’ll always come back. No matter where I am, no matter what happens… I will find my way back to you. And I will always protect you.”

Masterlist

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[nothanksjohnny]

Dear prefect

I've always been a strong believer that with time the students and staff come to being quite protective and defensive for their prefect. It is no question that they can handle their own. Having dealt with harsh and malice driven actions due to simply being on campus non the less dealing with multiple overblots early into their arrival. Having fought savanaclaw Students and retaliated against strict order from heartslabyul.The prefect was strong willed.By personal moral or constant hunger to live the prefect found a way to thrive.If only to stress bloom in these extreme conditions.

They challenged and accepted few answers without further questioning of why. It was irritating in the beginning. The magicless human seemed so frail and easy to snap. Such a naive human a easy catch in the harsh seas that was NRC.So when they found bared teeth and and a harsh bite when pushed the college as a whole seemed to bristle in return. Some barked back with insults to their lack of magical ability's. Others tripped the new students steps as a form of passive aggression. A harsh statement of how they viewed the ramshakle prefect as below them. And then the first overblot seemed to slightly tilt the table. While they hadn't fought alone they were the main cause of victory. Allowing clashing students to intertwine strength and weakness to cause reward instead of punishment.

As more followed suit it became more apparent to not only the student Body but to the staff they this freshly dropped student was more than they expected. And soon this prefect that had originally felt like a parasite to them became a symbiote. A gentle high for students that would catch a smile in the hallway. Done in politeness and educated in common manners and yet it felt like warmth all the same to the students. The housewardens and vice-housewardns found themselves growing fond of this parasite. So defenseless yet always the first the be their shield. Who knew a parasite could care if you ate. If you slept and didn't overwork. Never was it written that a parasite could cause you to warmth run down your veins with a addicting high, perhaps it was a new poison made by this parasite alone. And great sevens were they addicted.

Such a caring child. Always questioning how they could aid their professors. Such the obedient and praise driven pup. Such a "good puppy, now run along now I'll find you a treat later" hummed out crewel often.Trien enjoyed thw prefects curiosity for their world. Often visiting during a free period to indulge in a constant flow of questions.Who started what? Why did this city fall?How did the lands gain their name? And Trien would answer to the best of his ability. You reminded him of his daughters when they were young. Always so curious of what was around them. Such delights. Was it so wrong if he found himself thinking of how grand this child could be.Such a smart student and starving to know more. A blank page ready to have a quill glide on its flesh.

They weren't the most athletic of the student body. They could do a good amount of physical tasks but often fell a bit behind the others. Coach Vargas didn't necessarily have favorites in the student body. He did prefer when these young students would start to grow and push just enough of their physical endurance and such but that was normal praise. Maybe it was the fact the prefect lacked magic. Maybe it was that they quickly offered to help him with equipment. It took quite a bit of strength to choke down the laugh that wanted to escape him the day he jokingly told then to move some weights. Determined youngster they were quietly huffing due to the weight being to heavy. It's only normal that he offered to teach them how fight

Such the busy imp the new addition to this school was. Though at times their horns would be displayed proudly polished with their own wrath and envy of veing trapped in this world. At other times though they were almost curled around their head like a halo giving the illusion of a angelic descendants although perhaps that wasn't to far fetched given their shown mercy to the students of NRC. This imp however didn't hide their horns. No they were smarter than that always tilting their head almost when hurt or frustrated. Like a ram or a deer swaying it's horns in warning of aggression. A merciful creature giving a chance for one to think before being striked. Sam often found himself showing the prefect some tricks simply to amuse them. Such a tired thing always forced to trip over their devilish tale due to the crow. Perhaps he'll send a few of his friends to do a quick check up on the strange Imp.

Ah the Beast Tamer such a quick witted thing. Showing deviance from the momment the carrage arrived for them. Fleeing the enchanted carrage instead of taking step into it like many of the students chosen before them have. Offering partnership to the cyan flamed beast. He wasn't without heart. He was a gracious headmaster. Offering them simple work in return for shelter and now a opportunity given to none other. A quick acceptance as a Night Raven College student. Such a generous man he was. Afterall Crowley didn't often give such big help even to unfortunate souls. It was amusing watching then scurry to please. It was prideful watching them take the reins of the two heartsbul students in the beginning to create a solution. Such a deviant soul indeed perhaps one that could further flourish this campus and it's prodigies.

The Ramshakle Prefect was a unusual addition to the student body. Originally aiming to blur between waves of student now always catching catching a glance. It wasn't a unusual sight to see the magicless human to be near a student or dormleader. Nor was it unheard of them gaining more leniency from professors. The prefect was agitating to the campus. Unknown and often unreadable. Body bearing scars and aches. Mind always racing to the goal of survival. A merciful soul at NRC was one that should have been eaten by the gluttonous nature of NRC. Yet mercy isn't bearing one's stomach and allowing themselves to be gutted. It was the patience of allowing warning before striking. The Ramshackle Prefect may seem alone often unaware of how many souls promised their protection to them. May it never be unknown of how a villian would burn the world for the ones they care for. And unfortunate for those who crossed the prefect many where willing to light a match and pour gasoline for one of their own.

[melitherion]

Learning that foxes groom each other to show affection, and knowing that Fox/Ren enjoys bathes, I had to write a bathtub scene. Polite critiques always appreciated.

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🔞18+ minors do not interact🔞

TPOF Fox x MC/Reader

Fox and MC bathe together. Bonding ensues.

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The first few weeks of your life you spent adjusting to your new schedule, which meant adjusting to Fox's schedule. Greet him politely at the door on his arrival home, he'd go off to bathe and then return to cook dinner for the two of you. Dinnertime and a few hours of binge watching whatever anime currently held his interest. Extracurricular activites, cleaning you up, and then sleep. See him off in the morning and repeat later, with some variation.

Today had been no different. You met him at the door on his arrival, "such a good pet", he'd once praised you, before heading back to the couch while Fox went down the hall to wash the day away.

Sitting in the living room, not particularly paying attention to whatever was currently playing on the tv, you heard the water start running down the hall, the sound continuing on for a few minutes as was normal. Then, you heard the water shut off and the bathroom door open. The beastkin's footsteps were silent however, his gruff voice startling you from the doorway.

"Bathroom. Now."

Shock collar heavy on your shoulders, you swiftly stood and made your way down the hall, and into the bathroom, already humid from the steam rolling off the water. Fox stayed close behind you, shutting the door, the click of the lock echoing across the room. You turned to him, hesitant, but expectedly.

"Undress.". Fox commanded pointedly.

"Absolutely not." You protested, perhaps against your better judgement. You noticed the glint of the remote in his hand, the remote to the shock collar that currently sat around your neck.

He'd seen every part of you, hell he'd been inside of you, and yet something about the act of bathing together was almost too normal in its intimacy, something casual between lovers and something that you had no desire to share with him.

You'd seen his hentai collection. A vast selection of DVDs not even the slightest bit out of sight on the shelf in the living room, testament to either Fox's profound lack of shame, or an obvious lack of visitors. You suspected a bit of both. How clean would you be getting in the water with that dirty old man?

"If you won't undress yourself, I'll do it for you." Fox said sharply, arms crossed as his eyes stared right through you.

Considering the remote in his clawed hand and your preference to keep some sort of autonomy in this new life, you hurriedly began to strip, no time to even feel embarrassed or attempt to cover yourself, before letting your clothing fall into a pile on the cold tile floor. Fox did the same, before raising the remote in his hand. You stiffened, waiting for the shock collar to deliver its familiar sting, only to jolt in surprise at the sudden click that emanated from the back of the metal contraption around your neck. The beastkin stepped forward and removed the collar from around your neck, setting both it and the remote atop the counter.

"Don't even think about trying anything funny," he warned. "You won't like the consequences."

Fox eyed you with distrust as you stepped into the water first, gritting your teeth as you slowly lowered yourself into the bath, adjusting to the heat of the water. only after you had situated yourself all the way to one end of the tub did he finally slip into the water himself. Right. Next. To. You.

With the kind of money that Fox had, the bathtub was quite large in size, leaving ample room for more than one person to fit comfortably and still maintain their own personal bubble. Naturally, however, the beastkin settled himself closely to his pet. You wondered if he might do you the favor of drowning you.

So began your new routine with the beastkin. It was a rare occasion that you bathed without him, and even on days where you didn't particularly feel the need to bathe you often found Fox dragging you with him into the tub regardless. The two of you would ease into the warm water, he would always wash your hair first and then his own. After thouroughly scrubbing yourselves down the two of you would sit in a silence that was slowly growing more comfortable in nature.

The scent of raspberry enveloped you as Fox drizzled his favorite shampoo onto your hair. It was some fancy brand you weren't sure you'd ever heard of, likely some luxury cosmetic you could only dream of being able to afford yourself, and it made your hair incredibly silky. A matching bottle of conditioner sat on the edge of the tub. Fox began languidly lathering the suds into your hair, always taking his sweet time running his fingers through your tresses. His touches while he did so were always surprisingly soft, massaging your scalp with care. Despite the claws at the end of each fingertip, he'd not once yet scratched your head. You would have hated to admit it before, but it felt nice.

Once he'd finished rinsing and conditioning your hair, he was ready to start on his own. However, you'd been thinking about something the past few days.

Your hands collided as you both simultaneously reached for the shampoo bottle.

"Can I....do yours?" You asked with hesitation, feeling your cheeks heat up slightly with the intense eye contact between the two of you. You weren't sure why it felt like such a big deal. It was just shampoo.

The stare-off between the two of you lasted several incredibly long moments, and you almost committed to failure, when, with his gaze still sharp and his demeanor unreadable, Fox pulled his hand back, allowing you to grab the shampoo bottle instead. Giving you a wary glance, the beastkin slowly turned his back to you to allow you to touch his head.

"Don't get soap in my eyes." He quipped.

You nodded, though he couldn't see you with his back turned, and raised the open bottle to pour just enough shampoo onto the crown of his head. Gently, almost as if you were afraid of being bit, you began to work the shampoo into his hair, surprised at just how soft it was. Your fingertips brushed against his scalp as they worked through his gray-streaked hair. As you did so, you caressed the base of his ears, almost in awe as you felt him lean into the touch. Beneath the water you felt Fox's tail jerkily slap your thigh a few times, the beastkin trying and failing to restrain its wagging motions. As you finished with the task at hand, you realized there was a soft sound permeating the silence around you.

Was he...purring?

Feeling a bit more courageous now, you reached into the water and slowly pulled his long red tail into your lap, repeating the process. Fox made no move to stop you, and you noticed his relaxed body shift ever so slightly towards you.

You found yourself feeling strangely emotional, something perhaps about fullfiling the desire to be touched, and to touch back freely. You found yourself leaning forward, wrapping your arms around Fox's waist as you pressed yourself against his back. He stiffened in surprise for just a moment, before relaxing once more as you settled your head on his shoulder. You were both warm, skin softened by the humidity of the bath. Fox's body shuddered lightly as your breath tickled his neck. You felt his tail brush against your hips as it wrapped snuggly around your body. You would have been content to rest like that for a long while.

"The water is getting cold." Fox's voice broke the silence, gruff, but lacking it's usual bite. Strangely reluctant, you disentangled yourself from him so the two of you could finish bathing and dry off before the water chilled completely. Fox stepped out of the tub first, wrapping a towel around his body before helping you with yours. You shivered as he pulled you close and wrapped you up snuggly, taking just a moment longer than he usually would. Finally, he pulled away, reaching up to gently brush a strand of hair from your face.

"Get dressed and come down for dinner." He demanded, almost softly, before exiting the bathroom, shutting the door quietly behind him. As you slipped into clean dry clothing, a metallic glint caught the corner of your vision. Your collar, resting unattended on the bathroom counter. You stared at it for a few seconds, before picking it up and fastening around your neck once again. Such a good pet. The words echoed in your head.

~