#taglist survey

[cumulo-stratus]

Taglist!!

guess who’s doing a taglist!! if you could take the time pls pls pls fill out the form below bc it helps make things so much easier for both of us!

(credit to @strawbeerossi for being the bestest at helping me w/ this!)

[duckduckgoose-surveys]

Dungeons and Daddies fansurvey results (2024)

After way too long, the results are out! I'm so sorry I'm so late, I got hit with the 'Ao3 writer curse' (PC broke twice, laptop stopped working, travelled to another country, started a new dnd campaign, quit another dnd campaign, fostered a dog- etc.ectc.)

Anyways, thank you to everyone who took this survey and helped spread the post <3

[duckduckngoose]

Considering a new survey hhhhhhh

[gyuuberryy]

right next door!

pairing: enemy!sunghoon x reader

synopsis: you and park sunghoon have been tangled in hogwarts' most explosive rivalry since fifth year—all duels in corridors and sabotaged potions and lingering stares across the great hall. now in your last year, you're forced to share prefect duties, and between his infuriating teasing and surprisingly caring moments, you can't decide if you want to hex him or kiss him. but when old wounds resurface and the line between rivalry and something else blurs, you'll have to confront why his attention still makes your pulse race—and whether some bridges are better left burned.

genre: hogwarts au, ex friends to enemies to lovers, forced proximity

warnings: highly suggestive content!!, a steamy pool scene, sunghoon gets called an exhibtionist as a joke, mentions of blood status, jealousy, swearing, lots of hogwarts lore references, angst

note: lowkey got inspired to write this after reading deadly education but ended up making it spicy lol. also i haven't specifically mentioned which hogwarts houses the reader and hoon are in since you guys must be different houses so yeah. enjoyyy

word count: 8.1k

If you liked it please reblog or comment to give me your feedback! <3 | taglist

the parchment trembled slightly in your grip, the edges crinkling under your fingertips as you stared at the freshly inked letters spelling out your name beside the words girl prefect. your breath caught—just for a second—before a giddy warmth spread through your chest. you could’ve sworn your feet barely grazed the stone floor as you made your way to the front of the classroom.

this was it.

all those late nights hunched over textbooks in the library until your eyes burned. every extra credit assignment you’d taken on, every house point you’d fought for. the way you’d practiced spells until your wrists ached, all for this moment—the recognition you’d craved, the proof that your effort hadn’t gone unnoticed.

then the head of house cleared their throat.

“—and your fellow prefect will be park sunghoon.”

the air left your lungs in one sharp exhale.

your head whipped toward him instinctively, muscle memory from years of tracking his movements, and just like always—just like always—he was already looking at you. his lips twitched, not quite a smirk but something dangerously close, his dark eyes alight with amusement.

of course.

of course it had to be him. the universe had a cruel sense of humor.

the head of house folded their hands atop the desk, surveying the two of you with the weary patience of someone who had long since grown tired of your antics. “i trust,” they said slowly, “that this appointment will encourage you both to set aside your… differences and act with the decorum expected of prefects.” their gaze flicked between you, pointed. “no duels in the corridors. no jinxes in the common room. and for merlin’s sake, no more sabotaging each other’s potions.”

sunghoon’s expression was the picture of innocence. “i would never.”

you barely suppressed a scoff. liar.

the moment you were dismissed, you spun on your heel, determined to escape before he could so much as open his mouth. but sunghoon, with his long legs caught up and fell into step beside you with infuriating ease, his shoulder brushing yours just enough to make you stiffen.

“looks like we’re stuck with each other, sweetheart,” he mused, voice dripping with false sweetness.

you clenched your jaw. “don’t call me that.”

“what, would you prefer partner?” he grinned when you shot him a glare, the torchlight catching the sharp curve of his cheekbones. 

“oh, come on. admit it—you’re thrilled. all those patrols together, just you and me.” he leaned in just slightly, and you hated the way your pulse jumped. “bet you’ve been dreaming about it.”

“dreaming of hexing you into next week, maybe.”

he laughed, low and taunting, and you hated the way it sent a prickle down your spine—the way it still did, even after all this time. “you’d miss me too much.”

“in your dreams, park.”

“already there.” he winked.

you stopped short, turning to face him fully. the corridor was empty save for the two of you, the flickering torchlight casting shadows across his sharp features that made him look almost otherworldly. 

“listen,” you hissed, “just because we’re prefects now doesn’t mean i’ve forgotten what you did last term. or the term before that. or—”

“you’re really holding onto that?” he tilted his head, feigning thoughtfulness, but you didn’t miss the way his fingers twitched at his side—like he was stopping himself from reaching for something. 

“i’d say it’s flattering, but it’s starting to sound like an obsession.”

your fingers twitched toward your wand. “i swear, if you don’t—”

“ah-ah.” he tutted, nodding pointedly to the enchanted portraits lining the walls—several of whom had paused their conversations to watch the spectacle. “decorum, remember?” his voice dropped, just for you. “wouldn’t want to disappoint the head of house on our first day.”

you forced your hand to relax, but the fire in your chest refused to die. this wasn’t just about rivalry. this was about the way he’d looked right through you fifth year, like you were nothing. like you’d never been anything.

“this isn’t over,” you muttered.

sunghoon’s smile widened, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “oh, i’m counting on it.”

and with that, he strolled past you, robes swishing behind him like a victory banner. you stared after him, torn between the urge to scream and the sinking realisation that this year was going to be very long.

but if he thought for one second you’d let him win?

he had another thing coming.

you should’ve known it wouldn’t be that easy.

the moment you stepped into the prefects’ wing, the air itself seemed to thicken, pressing against your skin like a warning. this part of the common room was unnervingly quiet—separated from the usual chaos by an ornate archway woven with enchanted ivy that shivered as you passed. two doors faced each other in the dim torchlight, close enough that you could’ve stretched out your arms and touched both at once.

yours. and—

“no.”

sunghoon’s voice curled around you from behind, rich with amusement. “yes.”

you didn’t need to turn to see his expression—you knew it by heart. that lazy, lopsided grin, the way his eyes would crinkle at the corners just before he delivered some infuriating remark. your fingers twitched toward your wand, but you clenched them into fists instead, nails biting crescents into your palms.

the door in front of you seemed to taunt you with its very existence.

“this is a joke,” you muttered.

“a hilarious one,” he agreed, brushing past so close his sleeve whispered against yours. he leaned against his doorframe with practiced ease, the flickering torchlight carving shadows under his cheekbones, gilding the curve of his smirk. 

“aw, don’t look so heartbroken, princess. could’ve been worse,” his voice dropped to a conspiratorial whisper, “you could’ve been stuck next to someone boring.”

you shot him a look that could’ve melted steel. “right. because you’re a delight.”

he pressed a hand to his chest—the same way he used to when you’d accuse him of cheating at exploding snap—and the familiarity of the gesture lodged like a splinter in your throat. “i’m wounded. after all these years, you still don’t appreciate my charm?”

“your charm,” you spat, the words tumbling out raw and unfiltered, “is what got us here in the first place.”

the silence that followed was deafening.

for one fractured second, his mask slipped—just enough for you to catch the flicker in his eyes, the barely-there tightening of his jaw. but it was gone before you could name it, smoothed over with a careless shrug that didn’t match the sudden tension in his shoulders.

you remembered when those shoulders had carried your unconscious first-year self to the hospital wing after your disastrous attempt at flying. remembered how they'd shaken with silent laughter during history of magic when you'd charmed his quill to draw rude pictures on his parchment. remembered most painfully how they'd turned away from you in fifth year, when he'd started sitting with them—the polished, pureblooded group who whispered about blood status in the corridors.

it had started small. skipped study sessions. forgotten inside jokes. then one day you'd walked into the great hall to find your usual seat by the window—your seat, the one he'd saved for you every morning since first year—occupied by some simpering girl from his new circle.

when you'd cornered him after potions, demanding to know what his problem was, he'd just shrugged. "people change." like it was that simple. like four years of friendship meant nothing.

so you'd made sure he remembered.

if he wanted to pretend you didn't exist, you'd force him to notice you. you charmed his robes neon pink during presentations. swapped his pumpkin juice with vinegar. turned all his quills into snakes during arithmancy. each prank was a scream into the void: look at me, see me, remember what you threw away.

now, standing in the dimly lit corridor, the weight of those memories pressed between you like a third presence. sunghoon recovered faster than you did, his smirk sliding back into place with practiced ease.

"still holding onto ancient history, i see," he mused, pushing off the doorframe to take a step closer. the movement brought him into your space, close enough that you caught the faint scent of cedar and ink that still haunted your dreams. "what's next? you gonna charm my shoes to stick to the floor like third year? or—"

"that was you," you interrupted, your voice sharper than you intended. the accusation hung between you, trembling with the weight of everything unsaid. you did this first. you started this war.

his eyebrow quirked. "and you turned all my quills into snakes during arithmancy."

"after you vanished my potions textbook the week before NEWTs!"

"allegedly."

"you left my handwriting on a fake love note to flitwick in the margins!"

he grinned, wide and unrepentant, and it was so familiar that your chest ached. "allegedly."

you turned back to your door before he could see how his smile still affected you, how your traitorous heart still stuttered at the sight. but sunghoon, ever relentless, wasn't finished.

"you know," he said, his voice dropping into something softer, more intimate—the tone he used to reserve for midnight confessions and hidden corners, "if you wanted my attention this badly, you could've just asked."

your hand froze on the doorknob.

for one suspended heartbeat, the air between you crackled with the ghost of what you'd once been—two halves of a reckless, unbreakable whole. you could almost feel the warmth of his shoulder pressed against yours in the library, the way he'd whisper jokes into your ear until you had to bite your lip to keep from laughing.

then reality came crashing back.

"keep dreaming, park," you scoffed, shoving the door open with more force than necessary.

his laughter followed you inside, warm and melodic and wrong—because it wasn't yours to keep anymore. "already do," he called after you.

you slammed the door behind you, pressing your back against it as if it could shield you from the way your pulse raced, from the way your eyes burned with something dangerously close to tears. outside, you heard his footsteps pause, followed by the sound of his door gently slamming shut

your chest ached.

this year was going to be hell.

it becomes a thing after that.

you start bumping into sunghoon at the worst possible times—as if the universe has decided your suffering is its favourite spectator sport. like when you drag yourself into the hallway at 2 am, bleary-eyed and half-dead from studying, your vision swimming from hours of staring at ancient runes, only to collide with something warm and solid.

"oof—"

the scent hits you first—cedar and something faintly sweet, like the peppermint candies he always used to sneak during classes. your sleep-addled brain recognizes it before your eyes do, and your stomach does a traitorous little flip.

sunghoon steadies you with hands on your shoulders, his own hair sticking up in three different directions, dark strands falling into his eyes. he's wearing what might be the most ridiculous sleepwear you've ever seen—flannel pants with little animated broomsticks that actually move, hanging low on his hips, and a threadbare quidditch jersey that's definitely two sizes too big, slipping off one shoulder to reveal a sliver of collarbone.

you blink.

he blinks back.

for one horrifying second, you're both frozen there in the dim torchlight, his fingers warm through the thin fabric of your oversized hoodie (the one with the cartoon snitch that says "catch me if you can"—a gift from your friend jungwon that you'd never admit to owning).

then his gaze drops to your feet.

and he snorts.

"please tell me those were a gift," he says, pointing at your slippers—fluffy monstrosities shaped like kneazles, complete with little ears that flop when you shift your weight. one ear has started to curl inward from wear. "tell me you didn't willingly purchase those."

you flip him off, shuffling past with as much dignity as you can muster when your slippers make a soft mrrp noise against the stone floor.

"they're warm," you mutter.

"they're embarrassing."

"says the guy wearing pyjamas with his dancing broomsticks on them."

you don't even have to look back to know he's grinning. you can hear it in his voice. "you noticed? i'm flattered."

your cheeks burn. damn him.

he starts stealing your favourite study spot, too.

the one by the window in the common room—the table with the perfect view of the lake, where the afternoon light turns the water to liquid gold and the old oak table bears the carved initials you'd put there fourth year (SH + Y/N, hidden under the edge where only you'd know to look). you've claimed it for years, and everyone knows it.

which is exactly why sunghoon's sitting there when you walk in one evening, already sprawled across the bench like he owns it, twirling his wand between his fingers with lazy precision. the dying sunlight catches on the silver rings he always wears, making them gleam.

you stop dead.

"wow," you deadpan. "you work fast."

he doesn't even glance up from his parchment, but you see the way his lips quirk. "what can i say? early bird gets the view." he finally looks up, and the smirk he gives you is all sharp edges and challenge. "maybe you should try being less predictable."

you consider setting his notes on fire.

instead, you take the table next to his—the wobbly one that always tilts your inkwell—and pointedly ignore the way his knee brushes yours under the table when he stretches.

(he definitely does it on purpose.)

(you definitely don't think about how his legs have gotten longer since fifth year.)

but the worst is the patrols.

being forced to walk the castle's quiet, echoing corridors together—where every footstep sounds too loud, every breath feels too close. 

tonight, he's holding his wand aloft like some kind of dramatic victorian ghost hunter, the lumos glow casting long shadows across his sharp cheekbones, catching on the silver hoop in his left ear.

you roll your eyes. "bit dramatic, don't you think?"

"sorry for not having bat vision like you."

"maybe if you didn't spend all your time preening in mirrors—"

you don't even see the uneven step.

one second, you're scoffing at him—the next, your foot catches on a raised stone, and you're lurching forward with a startled gasp, your wand flying from your grip.

but before you can faceplant into the cold stone floor, his hand shoots out, gripping your elbow and yanking you back upright with surprising gentleness. your chest collides with his, and for one terrifying, electric second, you're right there—close enough to see the flecks of silver in his dark eyes, close enough to count his eyelashes, close enough to feel his breath hitch against your lips.

neither of you moves.

his fingers are still wrapped around your arm, warm and firm, and you hate how familiar it feels. how right. how easy it would be to lean in, to—

then he clears his throat and lets go like you've burned him, taking a deliberate step back.

"watch your step," he mutters, already turning away to gather your scattered notes.

you don't miss the way his jaw clenches, the way his fingers tremble just slightly as he hands your wand back.

the rest of the patrol is silent, but everything left unsaid makes the air between you suffocating.

you pushed open the heavy oak door to the prefects’ bathroom, steam curling around your ankles as you stepped inside. the massive sunken tub glimmered under floating enchanted candles, their reflections dancing across the marble walls. and it seems that no other prefect from the other houses were here.

perfect—just what you needed after a gruelling day of school.

then you heard the water splash.

sunghoon stood waist-deep in the pool, his back to you as he peeled off his soaked white t-shirt. water sluiced down the defined muscles of his shoulders, tracing the elegant dip of his spine before disappearing beneath the waterline. the dim candlelight gilded every curve of his toned arms as he tossed the shirt aside with a wet smack against the tiles.

your brain short-circuited.

he turned at the sound of your choked gasp, water dripping from his dark hair. for one horrifying second, his eyes locked onto yours—wide, startled—before his lips curled into that infuriating smirk.

"enjoying the view, sweetheart?"

you whirled around so fast you nearly tripped over your own robes. "this is a shared space, you—you exhibitionist!"

his laugh echoed off the marble. "shared, yes. which means knocking is customary." you could hear the grin in his voice. "unless you were hoping to catch me like this?"

"i'd rather catch dragon pox!" you fumbled for the door handle, cheeks burning.

"liar," he called after you. the splash of water told you he'd leaned back, completely at ease. "you stared for a solid five seconds."

you slammed the door hard enough to rattle the torches in their sconces.

…

"five seconds?" sunoo nearly spat out his pumpkin juice, eyes sparkling with mischief. across the table, jungwon choked on a laugh, thumping his chest.

you stabbed your fork into a roasted potato with unnecessary force. "i did not stare."

"sure," jungwon drawled, stealing a roll from your plate. "and i'm the minister of magic."

sunoo leaned in, lowering his voice conspiratorially. "you two need to either fuck or duel already. the sexual tension is giving me hives."

"sunoo!" you kicked him under the table, but your traitorous gaze flickered across the hall before you could stop it.

sunghoon sat with his usual group, idly stirring his soup. as if sensing your stare, he glanced up—and winked. the bastard had the audacity to mouth "five seconds" before his friends noticed and started elbowing him.

you dropped your forehead onto the table with a groan.

you should’ve known the universe had it out for you.

the thought pounded in time with your footsteps as you stomped toward the forbidden forest, the cold night air biting at your exposed skin. 

of course this would happen on the one night you actually planned to sleep before dawn. 

of course it was a group of reckless first-years from your house who decided to wander off here. 

and of course—because fate had never once been kind to you—sunghoon was the one marching beside you, his shoulder brushing yours every few steps like some cruel reminder of how things used to be.

"this is your fault," you muttered, more out of habit than anything else.

his sigh was barely audible over the crunch of leaves underfoot. "how, exactly?"

"you gave them detention for the dungbomb incident. this is clearly revenge."

"ah yes, because children are famously logical creatures who plan elaborate revenge schemes." his voice dripped with sarcasm, but there was no real heat behind it. just exhaustion. it threw you off—this version of sunghoon who didn't rise to your bait like he used to.

you risked a glance at his profile in the moonlight. the sharp line of his jaw was tense, his brows drawn together in that way they always got when he was thinking too hard. you hated that you still noticed these things. hated that after all this time, you could still read him like a book you'd memorised but pretended not to care about.

the forest loomed ahead, darker than the sky around it. a shiver ran down your spine that had nothing to do with the cold.

"we'll split up," you said abruptly. "cover more ground."

"no." the word came out sharp, surprising you both. he cleared his throat. "it's... not safe. we stick together."

there was something in his voice you couldn't place—something that made your chest ache in a way you refused to examine. so you just nodded, stepping into the treeline beside him, close enough that your sleeves brushed. neither of you moved away.

the forest was wrong tonight.

usually alive with rustling leaves and distant animal calls, now it was eerily silent, like the trees themselves were holding their breath. your own breathing sounded too loud in your ears, your heartbeat pounding a frantic rhythm against your ribs.

"this is stupid," you muttered, just to break the silence. "what kind of idiots think wandering into the murder forest at midnight is a good idea?"

next to you, sunghoon huffed a quiet laugh. "the same kind that think turning their rival's hair pink right before a quidditch match is a solid life choice."

the unexpected callback to simpler times caught you off guard. warmth bloomed in your chest before you could stop it, quickly smothered by years of built-up resentment.

"that was one time—"

"and the time you swapped my pumpkin juice with vinegar—"

"you deserved that—"

"and the time you definitely stared at me in the prefect's bathroom for five full seconds—"

something inside you snapped.

"oh my god, are you serious right now?" you whirled on him so fast he actually took a step back. your wandlight threw wild shadows across his face, illuminating the startled widening of his eyes. "you're really gonna act like i started all this? like you weren't the one who—"

your voice cracked traitorously. you hated it. hated the way his expression shifted from amused to concerned in an instant. hated how your eyes suddenly burned with unshed tears.

sunghoon went completely still. "who what?" he asked quietly.

the words tore out of you like a dam breaking:

"who ditched me the second you found a shinier group of friends!"

the silence that followed was deafening.

sunghoon looked like you'd struck him. his mouth opened, closed. for the first time since you'd known him, park sunghoon seemed at a complete loss for words.

you didn't wait for him to find them. turning on your heel, you stormed deeper into the forest, your pulse roaring in your ears. you made it three steps before you heard him move behind you—quick, urgent footsteps—and then his hand was wrapping around your wrist, pulling you to a stop.

"wait—"

a shrill voice cut through the trees before he could continue.

"oh thank merlin!"

the first-years.

sunghoon's grip loosened immediately, but his fingers lingered for half a second longer than necessary before falling away. the ghost of his touch burned long after he'd turned toward the sound.

the walk back was torture.

the kids shuffled ahead of you, sniffling and covered in mud and leaves, while you and sunghoon trailed behind in suffocating silence. your mind raced, replaying the moment over and over—the look on his face when you said those words, the way his hand felt around your wrist.

at one point, he moved closer, his shoulder brushing yours. "we should—" he started, voice low.

you sped up, pretending to adjust the scarf of a trembling first-year. you didn’t wand to do this now.

by the time you reached the common room, your jaw ached from clenching it. you handed out detentions on autopilot ("no, you cannot serve it together, yes, you're lucky we're not telling the head of house"), your voice sounding distant even to your own ears.

the second the kids scurried off, you bolted for your room, desperate for space to breathe, to think—

—only for a hand to catch the door before you could slam it shut.

suddenly, you were being yanked into his room.

"what the hell—"

"i didn't ditch you."

his voice was rough, raw in a way you'd never heard before. his grip on your wrist was tight enough that you could feel his pulse racing against your skin—or maybe that was yours. you were too overwhelmed to tell.

you glared up at him, chest heaving. "oh, really? because i remember you ghosting me for months—"

"my parents made me."

the words burst out of him like he'd been holding them in for years. he released your wrist to rake a hand through his hair, pacing the small space between his bed and the door like a caged animal.

"they—merlin, they lost it when they found out i was friends with a muggle-born," he continued, voice cracking on the last word. "threatened to pull me out of hogwarts. i had to—" he stopped, swallowed hard. "i had to pretend. until i could figure something out."

the confession hit you like a bludger to the chest. all the air left your lungs at once.

memories flooded back—sunghoon's sudden distance fifth year, the way he'd flinch whenever his new friends made comments about blood status, the times you'd caught him looking at you across the great hall with an expression you couldn't decipher.

"you could've told me," you whispered, your voice barely audible.

he shook his head, eyes shining in the dim light. "I couldn't. you would've tried to fix it. you would've—" his voice broke. "you would've gotten yourself hurt."

the raw honesty in his words stole your breath. for years, you'd assumed the worst; that he'd outgrown you, that you weren't enough. but this... this was something else entirely.

the air between you was heavy with everything unsaid. you could see the exact moment he realised how close you were standing, because his breath hitched, his throat bobbed as he swallowed hard.

"...i'm sorry," he murmured, so quiet you almost missed it.

the words settled over you like a warm cloak. not perfect. not a complete fix. but a start.

"me too," you whispered back.

when you slipped out of his room and back into yours, the weight on your chest felt a little lighter.

neither of you slept that night. you lay awake staring at the ceiling, replaying every word, every look. wondering if this changed everything—or nothing at all.

you woke with a start, your cheek pressed against a half-open textbook. sunlight streamed through the common room windows—you’d fallen asleep at your usual table with the view ofthe lake, the one sunghoon had stolen so often. your neck ached, and there was drool on your parchment.

a shadow fell across your notes.

"rough night?"

sunghoon stood over you, holding two steaming mugs. he looked unfairly put-together for someone who’d also presumably gotten no sleep—his hair slightly damp from a shower, his prefect badge already pinned neatly to his robes.

you sat up too fast, your elbow knocking into an inkwell. "what are you—"

"coffee." he set one mug down in front of you, black with three sugars, just how you liked it. "figured you’d need it."

you stared at the mug like it might transform into a dungbomb. this was new. this was terrifying.

across the room, a group of fourth-years whispered behind their hands.

sunghoon cleared his throat. "patrols tonight. meet at eight?"

"yeah," you managed. "eight."

he nodded, already turning away—then paused. "oh, and y/n?"

"what?"

"you’ve got…" he gestured to his own cheek, mirroring where your face had been smushed against your notes. "ink."

you swiped at your face furiously as he walked off, but not before catching the way his shoulders shook with silent laughter.

the whispers started the moment you walked in together to the dining hall.

it wasn’t intentional—you’d just happened to leave the common room at the same time, and sunghoon had held the door open for you like some kind of gentleman, and now the your entire table was gaping.

"what the hell happened last night?" sunoo demanded as you slid onto the bench. next to him, jungwon’s eyebrows were in his hairline.

"nothing," you muttered, reaching for the toast.

"nothing?" jungwon leaned in. "he’s been staring at you since you sat down."

your head snapped up. sure enough, sunghoon was watching you from across the hall, chin propped on his hand. when he caught your eye, he smirked and took an exaggerated sip from his mug—the same one he’d brought you earlier.

you kicked sunoo under the table when he opened his mouth. "don’t."

meanwhile, at the slytherin table, sunghoon’s so-called friends weren’t even pretending not to stare. one of them—a tall guy with a permanent sneer—said something under his breath. sunghoon’s response was too quiet to hear, but the way his friend’s face paled was very satisfying.

you found out what he’d said to them later, when you passed them in the corridor.

"—thought you were done with that," sneer-boy was hissing, just around the corner from where you’d frozen mid-step.

"changed my mind," sunghoon’s voice was calm, but there was steel underneath. "got a problem with it?"

"she’s a muggle-born—"

"finish that sentence," sunghoon said, so quietly it was almost a whisper, "and i’ll hex you into next week."

silence.

you ducked into an alcove before they could see you, your heart pounding. when sunghoon walked past minutes later, alone, he paused—like he could sense you there.

"you can come out now," he called, amused. "unless you’re planning to ambush me again. which, fair."

you stepped out, cheeks burning. "i wasn’t eavesdropping—"

"liar." he fell into step beside you like it was the most natural thing in the world. "but since you heard all that…" he bumped your shoulder with his. "you’re welcome."

you bumped him back, harder. "idiot."

he grinned.

things changed after that.

sunghoon stopped stealing your study spot—instead, he’d join you there, sprawling across the bench like he owned it. you stopped hexing his belongings—mostly. (some traditions had to stay alive.)

his old friends glowered at you in the halls. yours teased you mercilessly.

and when you had patrols together, the silence wasn’t suffocating anymore—just quiet, comfortable.

(though he did still tease you about the bathroom incident. some things would never change.)

the moment the first raindrop hit your nose, you knew this trip was doomed. 

you'd been assigned to chaperone a group of first-years on their first hogsmeade visit, with sunghoon as your unfortunate co-supervisor—because apparently the universe still hadn't finished laughing at you. the kids had dragged you from honeydukes to zonko's, their excitement barely contained as they pressed against every shop window. 

sunghoon lingered at the back of the group, hands in his pockets, occasionally shooting you glances you couldn't quite decipher.

then the sky opened up without warning. one second you were counting heads near the post office, the next icy rain was pelting down in sheets, sending students scattering in every direction. 

"in here!" sunghoon's voice cut through the chaos as his fingers closed around your wrist. you didn't process where he was pulling you until the bell above the door tinkled and the overwhelming scent of floral perfume hit you.

madam puddifoot's. the most notoriously romantic tea shop in the village, all lace doilies and floating cherubs and couples canoodling in heart-shaped booths. 

"we are not—" you began, already backpedalling, but it was too late. the first-years had already stampeded inside, their squeals of delight echoing off the pink walls.

sunghoon stepped in behind you, his chest brushing your shoulder as he shook rainwater from his hair. "well. this is cozy." 

you shot him a glare that could melt steel. 

"i'd rather swim back to the castle." 

the elderly witch behind the counter beamed at your bedraggled group. "young love! how precious!" 

"we're not—" 

"just chaperones," sunghoon finished smoothly, though the smirk playing at his lips ruined any attempt at innocence.

the next twenty minutes passed in a haze of humiliation. the first-years were seated at a large table near the back, leaving you and sunghoon wedged into a tiny booth for two—one adorned with actual cupid statues that periodically blew glitter into the air. your face burned as a cherub floated by dumping rose petals on unsuspecting patrons. 

across from you, sunghoon looked unbearably amused, stirring his tea with infuriating calm.

"you're enjoying this," you accused, watching as he added a third sugar cube to his cup. 

he raised an eyebrow. "the tea's decent." 

"i meant the utter humiliation of this situation." 

the corner of his mouth twitched. "that too."

a sudden commotion at the first-years' table saved you from responding. one of the girls was pointing between you two with alarming enthusiasm. "are you going to kiss?" 

your teacup clattered against its saucer. sunghoon choked on his sip. 

"we are not—" 

"not in front of you lot," sunghoon interrupted solemnly, sending the table into giggles. 

you kicked him under the table hard enough to make him wince. "you're dead to me."

the rain showed no signs of letting up, trapping you in this pastel nightmare. as minutes ticked by, you became increasingly aware of every accidental brush of sunghoon's knee against yours, every time his fingers grazed yours reaching for the sugar bowl. the shop's enchanted ceiling—currently mimicking a sunset—cast warm light across his features, softening the sharp angles of his face in a way that made your chest feel oddly tight.

at one point, you caught him staring at you with an expression you couldn't quite place—something between amusement and that same unreadable look he'd worn in the forest after your argument. 

"what?" you muttered, self-consciously wiping at your face. 

he leaned forward slightly, voice dropping so only you could hear. "just wondering how long it'll take you to admit this isn't so bad."

before you could retort, a chorus of "ooooooh!" erupted from the first-years' table. you looked down to realise sunghoon's hand was still covering yours on the tabletop—when had that happened? 

you jerked back as if burned, sending a saucer clattering to the floor. the resulting cheers from the children made you want to disappear into the upholstery.

by the time the rain eased, your dignity was beyond salvage. the walk back to hogwarts was a parade of giggles and not-so-subtle whispers from your charges. sunghoon walked beside you, his shoulder bumping yours every few steps like he couldn't quite help himself. 

"you realise we're never living this down," you groaned as the castle gates came into view. 

he grinned, that infuriating, lopsided grin that used to make your stomach flip in fourth year and—annoyingly—still did now. 

"where's your sense of adventure?" 

"back in that tea shop, buried under approximately two hundred rose petals."

his laughter followed you all the way up the path, warm and familiar, and despite yourself, you found your steps falling into sync with his. (and if you didn't protest when one of the first-years snapped another photo of you two walking shoulder-to-shoulder—well. some things were better left unexamined.)

things between you and sunghoon had become dangerously comfortable. what started as reluctant co-prefect duties had slowly melted into late-night study sessions where your head would end up on his shoulder, patrols where his fingers lingered a second too long when helping you up, and inside jokes whispered too close to each other’s ears in the great hall. 

it wasn’t a relationship, not really—just stolen moments and unspoken tension that made your stomach flip whenever he smirked at you across a crowded room.

that’s why it stung so much when you walked into the library and saw him laughing with eunji, a bright-eyed ravenclaw a year younger than you both who had newly joined. logically, you knew there was nothing romantic about it—he was leaning back in his chair, arms crossed as she enthusiastically explained some arithmancy concept, his expression more amused than affectionate. but the way his eyes crinkled at her enthusiasm, the easy way he nodded along—it reminded you too much of how he used to look at you before everything got complicated.

"y/n!" sunghoon called when he spotted you hovering by the shelves, waving you over with that same warm smile that always made your pulse skip. "come join us. eunji’s explaining this ridiculous theory about using arithmancy to predict quidditch outcomes."

you forced your feet to move, your grip tightening on your book bag. eunji greeted you with a cheerful wave, her braids swinging. "sunghoon said you’re brilliant at charms! maybe you can help me understand this part about wand movement harmonics?"

the next hour passed in a blur of half-hearted contributions from you and increasingly animated discussion between the two of them. every time you tried to interject, the conversation would circle back to some inside joke or advanced magical theory that left you feeling like an outsider in your own friendship. when eunji reached over to adjust sunghoon’s grip on her notes, demonstrating some wand technique, you suddenly couldn’t breathe properly.

"i should go," you muttered, gathering your things before either could protest. "forgot i promised to meet sunoo for... something."

sunghoon’s brow furrowed as you stood. "you okay?"

"fine." you forced a smile that didn’t reach your eyes. "just tired."

the walk back to your dorm felt infinitely longer than usual, each step weighed down by memories of fifth year—of sunghoon slowly slipping away from you, of empty promises to study together, of eventually finding him surrounded by new friends who looked at you like you didn’t belong.

hogsmeade weekend only made it worse. you’d been hoping to bump into sunghoon accidentally-on-purpose near honeydukes, maybe share a chocolate frog like old times. instead, you found him outside the three broomsticks deep in conversation with eunji again, their heads bent together over some parchment. when he laughed at something she said, that familiar loud, unguarded laugh that used to be yours, something sharp twisted in your chest.

you turned on your heel so fast you nearly collided with a group of third-years.

"there you are!" sunoo’s voice cut through your spiralling thoughts as he and jungwon appeared beside you, their arms laden with zonko’s purchases. "we’ve been looking everywhere—oh." 

sunoo followed your gaze to where sunghoon was now helping eunji adjust her scarf. "that again?"

you let them steer you into the three broomsticks, where jungwon immediately ordered three butterbeers. 

"you’re being ridiculous," sunoo said bluntly as you slumped into a chair. "he looks at you like you invented sunlight. that’s just some kid he’s tutoring."

"but what if—"

"what if nothing," jungwon interrupted, pushing a frothy mug toward you. "remember when you turned his hair pink before the gryffindor match last year? he still smiles when someone mentions that."

the memory should have comforted you. instead, it just made you think of how easily things could change—how sunghoon had drifted away once before, how his parents’ disapproval still hung over whatever this was between you.

by monday, you’d started taking deliberate detours to avoid him. patrols were reassigned, library visits carefully timed, and when you couldn’t avoid crossing paths, you kept conversations painfully polite. sunghoon’s confused frowns and hesitant "hey, wait—"s as you hurried away only made your chest ache more.

"are you trying to break his heart or yours?" sunoo demanded one evening after you ducked into an empty classroom to avoid sunghoon in the corridor.

you pressed your back against the cold stone wall. "it’s not like that. i just... need space."

"from him? or from whatever’s happening between you two?"

you didn’t have an answer.

the tension came to a head in charms class. with flitwick delayed by some mishap in the staff room, the classroom had dissolved into chaos. 

you’d gotten pulled into helping jay, a handsome gryffindor, untangle some particularly stubborn enchanted yarn. his dramatic retelling of his disastrous attempt to knit a scarf for his gran had you laughing so hard your sides hurt.

then you felt it—that unmistakable prickle of being watched.

sunghoon sat three rows back, his usually expressive face unreadable as he stared at you. his quill had stopped moving entirely, fingers clenched so tightly around it you could see the whites of his knuckles from across the room. when jay leaned in to whisper another joke, sunghoon’s jaw tightened visibly, his dark eyes flashing with something that sent heat crawling up your neck.

you forced yourself to look away, suddenly fascinated by the grain of your desk. but like a compass needle finding north, your gaze kept drifting back. minutes passed, and he was still watching you with that same intensity, as if trying to communicate something words couldn’t capture.

when flitwick finally arrived and class ended, you were out of your seat before the dismissal fully left his mouth. you didn’t look back, even when you heard sunghoon call your name in the corridor. your heart pounded as you took the stairs two at a time, your mind racing with questions you weren’t ready to face.

why did his attention still affect you like this? why did part of you still want to turn around and walk straight into that stormy gaze?

and most terrifying of all—what if you’d been wrong about everything?

the uncertainty settled heavy in your chest as you disappeared around the corner, leaving sunghoon and all your unanswered questions behind.

you should've known better than to think you'd have the prefect's bathroom to yourself. the universe had a cruel sense of humour when it came to you and sunghoon.

the massive, pool-like tub was empty when you arrived, steam curling off the water's surface in lazy tendrils. you'd changed into your bathing suit—a modest but pretty thing—before stepping in, sighing as the warm water lapped at your skin.

the golden taps lining the walls gleamed, each set with a different jewel that dispensed everything from rose-scented bubbles to vanilla-infused oils. you'd chosen a mix of both, the sweet floral scent wrapping around you as you leaned back, eyes closed, finally relaxing for the first time in days.

then the door slammed open.

your eyes flew open just in time to see sunghoon stride in, already shirtless, a towel slung low over his hips. your breath caught. he looked unfairly good, water droplets clinging to his skin from the humid air, his dark hair slightly damp like he'd just showered.

his gaze locked onto yours immediately.

"you," he said, voice rough, "have been avoiding me." 

you swallowed, sinking a little deeper into the water. "i wasn't-"

"don't lie." he dropped the towel (thank merlin, he was wearing swim trunks) and stepped into the pool, not breaking eye contact for a second. the water rippled around him as he moved closer, and you instinctively backed toward the far edge, your pulse thundering in your ears.

he stopped you with a hand on your wrist. "where are you going?"

"the-the soap." you gestured weakly to the rose-and-vanilla tap across the pool. "i wanted to.."

sunghoon's grip tightened just slightly. "then go."

you didn't move. neither did he.

the silence stretched, thick with tension, until he finally let out a frustrated breath and tugged you closer. "you're really going to pretend nothing's wrong?"

you bit your lip, glancing away. "i don't know what you're talking about."

"bullshit." his thumb brushed over your wrist, sending a shiver down your spine. "you've been dodging me for days. skipping patrols. running away every time i get near you." his voice dropped, low and dangerous. "was it because of him?"

you blinked. "who?"

"that gryffindor. the one you were laughing with in class." his jaw clenched. "are you into him? is that why—"

"what? no!" you gaped at him. "i was just helping him with—"

"then why?" sunghoon's fingers slid up your arm, his touch burning even through the water. "why avoid me?"

you hesitated, then muttered, "you were the one always with that ravenclaw girl."

sunghoon stilled. then, slowly, a smirk tugged at his lips. "eunji?"

you scowled. "don't act like you don't know who i'm talking about."

he laughed, low and amused, his other hand coming up to cradle your face. "she's my friend's little sister, and, for the record, very much into girls."

your cheeks burned as he leaned in, his breath warm against your ear. "were you jealous?"

"no!"

"liar." his nose brushed along your neck, and you shivered.

"you've been driving me crazy, you know that? watching you laugh with someone else, then running every time i tried to talk to you—" his hands slid down to your waist, gripping tight. "i couldn't take it"

your breath hitched. "sunghoon—"

"let me help you with that soap," he murmured, already reaching for the bottle floating nearby. 

you didn't protest as he poured a generous amount into his palms, his hands smoothing over your shoulders, down your arms, his touch deliberate and slow. when he reached your back, you tensed, but his fingers were careful, kneading the tension from your muscles as he worked the lather into your skin.

"you're so fucking pretty," he muttered, his lips brushing your shoulder. "it's unfair."

you leaned into him without thinking, your head tipping back against his chest. his hands stilled, then slid around to your front, tracing the dip of your collarbones, the curve of your waist. you could feel his heartbeat against your back, rapid and unsteady.

"sunghoon," you whispered, "your parents wouldn't approve of this. of us."

he stilled, then huffed a laugh. "who cares what they think?"

"they pulled you out of my life once already—"

"and i regret letting that happen every day." his thumb brushed your wrist. "they'll give in once they meet you."

your breath hitched. "you're going to make me meet them?"

"yeah," he said simply, pulling you flush against him. "you're gonna be my girlfriend after all."

the word sent heat rushing to your cheeks. "i never agreed to that."

sunghoon's hands slid to your waist. "then say no." when you didn't, his smirk returned. "that's what i thought."

he turned you to face him, his eyes dark with something that made your stomach flip. "tell me you feel it too."

you didn't have to ask what he meant. "i do."

his breath left him in a rush, and then his mouth was on yours, hot and desperate.

the kiss stole the air from your lungs, a messy clash of teeth and tongue and aching want. his hands gripped your hips like he was afraid you might slip away, fingertips digging into your skin through the thin fabric of your swimsuit. you whimpered against his mouth, your fingers tangling in his damp hair, tugging just enough to make him groan—a low, broken sound that sent a fresh bolt of heat straight to you.

"fuck," he muttered against your lips, voice hoarse, "i missed you. you have no idea—"

he cut himself off by kissing you again, deeper this time, his tongue sweeping into your mouth with a hunger that made your knees weak. you barely realised you were moving until your back hit the slick marble edge of the pool, trapping you between the cool stone and the hard, burning press of sunghoon’s body.

he kissed like he was trying to memorise you—long, unhurried drags of his mouth against yours, punctuated by little nips to your bottom lip that had you gasping. one of his hands slid up your side, tracing the curve of your waist, the dip beneath your ribs, until his thumb brushed just under the swell of your breast, featherlight.

you broke the kiss with a gasp, your head falling back against the marble. "sunghoon—"

"tell me to stop," he said, voice wrecked, forehead pressed to yours. his hand stayed where it was, trembling slightly.

you opened your mouth—but no protest came out. instead, your hands slid down his chest, mapping the planes of muscle, the slick heat of his skin, until you were clutching at him helplessly.

"that's what i thought," he breathed, almost a laugh, before his mouth found your throat.

you choked on a moan as he kissed down the column of your neck, teeth scraping lightly, tongue soothing the sting. his hands, bolder now, roamed freely over your body, mapping every inch like it was his right. the thin straps of your bathing suit slipped down your shoulders under his touch, and you shivered, equal parts from the chill of the air and the heat building inside you.

"someone could walk in," you gasped, barely coherent as his teeth grazed your pulse point.

he cursed under his breath, dragging himself back enough to look at you. his eyes were black with heat, pupils blown wide, chest heaving.

"then come to my room," he said roughly, his voice pure sin. "please."

you hesitated—but then he kissed you again, slow this time, coaxing, like a promise of everything he wasn’t saying out loud. his thumb rubbed slow circles into your hip, grounding you.

"unless," he said against your mouth, smirking wickedly, "you'd rather stay here and risk getting caught."

you swatted his chest, but the fight had long since gone out of you. your body was already leaning into his, your mouth chasing his kiss. "fine," you whispered. "but only because—"

he didn't let you finish, with a grin, he lifted you out of the water in one smooth motion, making you squeal as he carried you toward the door, his lips finding yours again before you could protest.

“your room is right next door after all, so we don’t have to worry about disturbing anyone else.”

𝗰𝗼𝗽𝘆𝗿𝗶𝗴𝗵𝘁 ©𝗴𝘆𝘂𝘂𝗯𝗲𝗿𝗿𝘆𝘆 on Tumblr

˚ · .𝗮𝗹𝗹 𝗿𝗶𝗴𝗵𝘁𝘀 𝗿𝗲𝘀𝗲𝗿𝘃𝗲𝗱

[sknyuz]

hello!! I want to make a request ; is it alright if you can write about how seong je would be with a mute!reader? i just think it’d be an interesting dynamic ..! hmm other details i’d add is the reader often giving affection in a form of gifting (letters mayb?), cooking him a meal or quality time :) you may write this in whatever format you want!! thank youu and have a nice week (ps love your writing)

synopsis — seongje is a whirlwind of noise and chaos, but he finds unexpected peace in your silence.

now playing — sweet - cigarettes after sex pairing — geum seongje x gn!reader (hard of hearing, selectively mute) genre — hurt/comfort, slowburn, angst with soft moments, unconventional romance (nothing is conventional with seongje) cw — ableism/mocking of hearing disability, bullying, violence (including implied offscreen physical assault), power imbalance, toxic behavior, minor blood/bruising, strong language wc — ~2.1k

note: this was a pleasure to write <3 i hope i did ur request justice, anon. and please do not hesitate to tell me if i wrote something wrong or inaccurate to the experiences of hoh individuals.

masterlist | join the taglist | 400 follower event

seongje doesn’t do “quiet.” he doesn’t do subtlety, either. his entire existence is loud—his presence is a storm that makes everything feel tense and unpredictable. that’s how he’s known: the unpredictable, impulsive force, the mad dog. so, when he sees you for the first time, it’s almost like a challenge.

you’re sitting there, silently, in the bowling alley, a forced audience to the bullying happening around you. the union’s delinquents have gathered, sneering as they taunt you. they wave your hearing aids in front of you like a sick joke, expecting you to react. but you don’t. you’re quiet, your face unreadable, eyes glued to the floor, trying to stay as small as possible, like you’ve done countless times before. it’s a game for them, nothing more than a way to make you feel like an outsider.

“hey, freak, what’s wrong? can’t hear us?” one of them mocks, swinging your hearing aids back and forth with a smirk.

the noise is deafening to you in a different way—a slow, rising pressure in your chest. you want to speak, to make them stop. but your voice won’t come, and the words you want to say die in your throat, replaced by that quiet ache of helplessness.

that’s when seongje steps in.

he’s not supposed to be there. he’s supposed to be in baekjin’s office, probably arguing or being a general pain in the ass—but the noise coming from the alleyway catches his attention. he comes striding out, a curse on his lips as he surveys the scene, his eyes lighting up with the familiar flash of anger.

“what’s with all the fucking noise, fuckers?!,” seongje shouts, his voice dripping with disdain as he eyes the delinquents, but his gaze lands on the one holding your hearing aids, who freezes up as soon as he realizes who’s standing in front of him.

“aww, you guys are really fucking pathetic,” seongje steps forward, his mood shifting from bored to dangerous in an instant. he slaps the delinquent’s face, knocking the hearing aids out of his grip, and catches them before they hit the floor.

the delinquent stumbles back, startled, and seongje doesn’t miss the way his bravado slips. “hey, if you want to get your ass kicked, i’ll be happy to oblige. otherwise, get the fuck out of here,” seongje growls, and his voice carries an unmistakable warning.

the delinquents scatter quickly, realizing they’re not really looking forward to get beat up by the wolf himself. seongje watches them leave with a bored smirk, but his eyes return to you, where you’re still sitting silently, your gaze downcast. his anger bubbles under the surface, but it doesn’t seem to be directed at you—it’s more frustration at how they treated you. and, maybe… it’s confusion. because why would he be frustrated?

he despises those who put on a front, acting all tough and dominant when they're around someone they know is weaker, but turn into cowards the moment they face someone like seongje. the hypocrisy makes him sick—they don’t even have the balls to face him.

you look up at him then, your lips parting as if to say something, but the words stay locked inside. seongje stares back, a little too long, before he gestures to the now-empty bowling alley with a roll of his eyes.

“shit, it’s way too quiet in here now,” seongje mutters, half to himself. “i need a fucking drink. you coming?” his fist reaching out to you, making you flinch, but he simply turns and opens his palm to reveal your hearings aids, offering it back to you, his gaze not even meeting yours.

you hesitate, a flicker of uncertainty crossing your face. seongje doesn’t wait for a reply. he knows how this works—he doesn’t need words from you to tell if you’re okay. you’ve already said more than enough with that silence of yours.

it’s a few weeks later when seongje starts to notice something he wasn’t expecting—something soft. you’re not the type to speak, but you show him things. you leave him little letters. they’re simple at first, just words on paper—carefully written, neat and soft. but each one has meaning. you might leave him a note after a chaotic day, telling him, thank you for helping me today—a gesture he’s not used to.

seongje can’t stop himself from reading them over and over, even if he pretends they don’t matter. he tosses the first one aside in an exaggerated motion, but later, when he’s alone, he pulls it out again, trying to make sense of it. there’s something oddly comforting in your words. something real. his usual sharpness dulls just a little when he reads them.

it’s a typical night, and you don’t expect anything to go wrong. seongje has always been unpredictable, but you can’t stop yourself from trusting him. there’s a strange sort of understanding between the two of you now. he doesn’t need you to speak, and you don’t need him to be anything but… himself. still, you don’t expect what happens when he calls you to meet him in a parking lot late one evening.

the dim light from the streetlamps makes the whole place feel cold and detached. you spot him standing there, leaning against the hood of a car, his eyes narrowing slightly when he sees you approach. but there’s something different tonight—something unsettling in his stance.

"come here," seongje says, his voice almost too casual for the tense atmosphere.

your breath catches in your throat as the boy on his knees comes into focus. you've seen him around before—he’s one of the delinquents from the union. the same one who’d been taunting you in the bowling alley, waving your hearing aids like some cruel joke. that memory hits you sharply, and your stomach churns with discomfort as you recognize him now, his face bruised and bloodied, a lip split open, looking like he’s been through hell.

but why is he here? why is he on his knees, shaking in front of seongje? what happened to him?

seongje stands over him, his posture casual, his grin wide and wicked as he watches the boy with almost bored amusement. he kicks the delinquent’s side lightly, like it’s a game, and the boy flinches.

"come on, kid," seongje says, his voice teasing but edged with something darker, something almost amused by the kid’s fear. "just like we practiced."

the delinquent on his knees doesn’t speak, his eyes downcast, probably too terrified to even look up at seongje, but his shaky hand lifts. you watch as he tries to make the "a" handshape, his fingers clumsy as he attempts to sign. seongje looks down at the boy, his grin stretching wider as he watches him fumble.

the delinquent hurriedly completes the sign, his hands shaking, his breath coming in short bursts as he struggles to perform it correctly. he spins his hand in a half-hearted clockwise motion, and you can tell how hard it is for him to even try. he looks humiliated, and maybe that’s what seongje wants—to make him feel small, to show that he’s the one in control now. like how the boy probably felt back in the bowling alley with you.

“sorry.” he signed.

as the boy finishes, seongje pats his shoulder with an almost affectionate thud, a grin still plastered on his face. “good job,” he mutters, voice dripping with mock praise. but his eyes flick to you, then back to the delinquent, as if waiting for some kind of reaction.

the delinquent scrambles to his feet, not daring to say a word, but you can see the fear still fresh in his eyes. without another glance, he stumbles off into the shadows of the parking lot, and seongje doesn’t follow him, not bothering with any more theatrics. “now that’s how you apologize,” he sighs contentedly, glancing at you from the corner of his eye as he walks back to where you two came from.

you don’t respond, but you follow him. because, despite everything—despite how messed up all of this is—he’s still the one who, somehow, happened to feel like the safest person to be around. despite his… unique antics.

despite the way he does things no one else would dare to. because even if he’s rough around the edges, unpredictable and loud, seongje never made you feel small. and that, weirdly enough, was enough.

seongje’s desk at the bowling alley becomes a quiet sort of shrine to you—littered with your letters and notes, half-crumpled from him rereading them over and over. he never bothers to clean it up. they’re scattered across the surface like leaves in a storm, but he knows exactly where each one is. it’s an organized mess, chaotic in the same way he is. but if anyone even looks at them too long—tries to pick one up, makes a joke about the handwriting, even breathes too close to the edge of his desk—they’re basically asking for a death wish.

“touch it and you die,” he’ll mutter without even looking up, one foot kicked up on the desk, cigarette dangling from his lips. it’s not even a threat—it’s a promise.

somewhere in between the late night meetups—where the world is quiet and it’s just the two of you—and the stolen moments in back rooms lit by vending machine glow, seongje softens. not in a way that’s obvious to most, but in ways you catch. like when he plays bowling with you late at night at the union headquarters, just the sound of pins crashing echoing through the empty lanes. he’s terrible at it, but he doesn’t care. he would fair better hitting someone at the back of the head with these bowling balls. he only really lights up when it’s your turn.

you roll the ball, knock down every pin, and before you can even react, he’s throwing his hands in the air, exaggeratedly signing applause, a wide grin stretching across his face.

“that’s what i’m fucking talking about!” he shouts, clapping loudly on top of the sign for applause he just made, just because he’s still him—loud, obnoxious, impossible—but now he’s loud for you.

yeah… to seongje, you’re like a stray puppy at first. small, quiet, following him around without saying a word, eyes always wide and watching. at first, he thinks it’s kinda funny—endearing, even. you don’t talk back, don’t flinch when he’s loud, and you’ve got this habit of showing up with little notes or food like some soft, strange ritual he doesn’t understand. he starts calling you “puppy” just to mess with you, ruffling your hair whenever you come around.

but somewhere along the way, that fondness stops being just a game. no, you’re not a pet to seongje. but maybe, you became an equal.

he starts waiting for your notes. starts leaving his office door slightly cracked, just in case you come by. he catches himself watching you instead of his phone. gets weirdly pissed off when other people so much as look at you wrong.

and the night he realizes it’s different—that it’s not just him babysitting some quiet kid—it’s when you sign “stay” with soft hands after a long night, and he does. no grumbling, no jokes, just settles next to you and doesn’t leave.

after that, it’s not a question. you’re not a puppy. you’re his person.

and yeah, maybe he never said you were dating. but everyone knows. you leave your food in the union’s fridge, your letters in his desk, your comfort in the chaos of his life. and he protects you, respects you, listens to your silence more than he’s ever listened to anyone’s voice. and no one in the union dares to bring it up or even question your soft presence in the nitty gritty bowling alley.

seongje is loud. like, really fucking loud. he talks with his whole body, yells when he's annoyed, laughs like he owns the air around him, and never knows when to shut up. he's noise and motion and chaos wrapped in one, dangerously sharp-edged boy. but you—you're quiet. not just in voice, but in presence. you move gently, offer kindness without demanding attention, speak in ways that don’t need sound.

and somehow, in all the noise of his world, your silence is the only thing that ever made sense. he used to think silence was empty, but now it’s where he finds comfort. he’s still loud, still volatile, still the type to throw a punch first and maybe ask questions never. but now there’s this... softness around the edges. a space he carves out just for you. like you’re the eye of the storm, and he’s always, always circling back to you.

in your quiet, he feels understood. and maybe that's the wildest thing about this whole mess—that a boy made of sound found peace in someone who never had to say a word.

note: aaa i feel like this so short >><< i wanted to give them more of a backstory but for now this is what i’m going with. if you’d like to see more of them that’d be nice 🫶 this is such a different take from collarless tho, and it’s nice to also write a softer character to contrast our tough collarless!reader to explore more dynamics with seongje.

i don’t aim to reform or soften seongje, but have the peaceful presence of the reader be incorporated into his life without changing his ideals and personality.

𐔌 . ⋮ taglist .ᐟ weak hero class ֹ ₊ ꒱ @kstrucknet | @loserlvrss @nanamiswifesatorusgf @hateateez @slytherinshua @winnie-bunnie @rexxiiia @mrgzzarella @ilyhachii @youmeshii @actuallynarii @midnight--raine @d4ily-s-nsh1ne @trasshy-artist @crowneve @juicyjam @xh01bri @onyourlisa345 @triciawritesstuff @prettywhenicry4 @dripoftheseus @rosieparkk @gacktsa @sopitadearvejas @satorustorm @d4ily-s-nsh1ne @mirwors @sqacewalkr @l5byrinth @vovoloyo @keumbaku @sarcastic-cookie @v3n0m35 @vitaminbtob @armani78 (ask to be tagged or removed)

[lazy-ahh]

Oooooh superhero gn reader x Viltrumite mark, please! During the Invincible War, Mark goes to take reader back to his universe, saying he’s missed them and their life together. Reader rejects him, and makes a deal: if reader wins, Mark has to stop wrecking chaos on the planet. If mark wins, reader will go back with him and whatever ‘life’ they created. And reader ends up losing. :)))

THE WRONG UNIVERSE TO LOVE YOU IN

pairing viltrum! mark grayson x (superhero) gender neutral reader

this one wants you back. the problem? you don't belong to him. you belong to the mark who loves eve, the mark who will never know you loved him first, the mark whose laugh still echoes in your dreams. now, as his fingers wipe blood from your face with terrifying gentleness, reality splits open: stay and die for a love that was never yours, or let him steal you away to a world where you were his—where you'll always be second to a ghost of yourself. (he promises to be better. you almost believe him.)

taglist @hhoneylemon , @queermaeda , @yujensstuff

the sky is bleeding red when he finds you—a sickly crimson streaked with smoke, the air thick with the scent of burning metal and charred flesh. the distant wails of sirens blend into the chaos, a symphony of destruction that never seems to end.

you’re panting, your bruised knuckles pressed into the cracked pavement as you push yourself up, every muscle screaming in protest. the city around you is a graveyard—skyscrapers reduced to skeletal husks, streets littered with bodies, some still twitching, others long gone. the invincible war has turned your world into a slaughterhouse, and standing in the middle of it all, untouched by the ruin, is him.

mark grayson.

but not your mark.

this one is different—sharp where your best friend is soft, his jaw set in a hard line, his eyes dark with something unreadable. there’s a cruel twist to his lips, a coldness in his stare that makes your stomach knot. he wears the viltrumite empire’s uniform, the sleek, lighter armor a stark contrast to the torn superhero costumes scattered around you. a few blood stains littered the fabric, some of it still fresh, glistening under the firelight. it’s not just from battle—no, this mark wears it like a trophy.

you had just finished killing other variants of him, their lifeless eyes staring up at you, their faces so familiar it made your hands shake. you mourned them, grieved for the versions of you in their worlds who must have loved them as fiercely as you love yours. your breath still comes in ragged gasps, your heart pounding not just from exhaustion, but from the weight of what you’ve done.

and then he arrived.

this mark moves with a predator’s grace, his steps measured, his shoulders squared with the confidence of someone who’s never lost. there’s a quiet intensity in the way he surveys the wreckage—like a king surveying his domain. but when his eyes land on you, something shifts. the cold superiority in his gaze softens, just for a second, before he schools his expression back into something unreadable.

"there you are," he says, voice low, almost reverent, like he’s been searching through a thousand broken worlds just to find you. the way his eyes trace over you—lingering on the blood smeared across your cheek, the way your chest heaves with exhaustion—makes your skin prickle. it’s not relief in his tone. it’s claiming.

and you realize, with a sinking dread that coils like ice in your gut, that this isn’t over. it’s only beginning.

"missed you," he murmurs, the words rough, scraped raw from his throat. his voice is different from your mark’s—deeper, edged with a hunger that makes your pulse stutter. he says it like he’s been holding it in for years, like he’s carved the words into his ribs just to keep them close.

your chest tightens, heart hammering against your sternum. you’ve heard the stories—whispers of alternate marks, warped by viltrum’s cruelty, ripping through dimensions to drag back what they think belongs to them. and now he’s here, standing in the wreckage of your city, looking at you like you’re a ghost he’s been chasing. like you’re already his.

"you don’t even know me," you spit, swiping the back of your hand across your split lip. the metallic tang of blood coats your tongue, bitter and familiar.

he tilts his head, considering you with a gaze that feels like a physical touch. "i know enough," he says, voice dropping into something dangerously soft. "in my world, you were mine." his thumb brushes over a streak of dirt on your jaw, possessive and tender all at once. "we had a life. a future." his eyes darken, something feral flickering behind them. "i’m taking you back."

your fists clench, nails biting into your palms hard enough to draw blood. you think of your mark—the boy who scraped his knees racing you down suburban streets, whose laughter was always a little too loud, a little too bright. the one who looks at eve like she hung the stars, while you’ve spent years swallowing down words that taste like rust and regret.

"what happened to me?" you choke out, the question tearing from you like a wound ripped open. "in your world. did i—" your voice fractures. "did i love you too? or did you just force me to?"

his pupils dilate, just slightly, the only crack in his controlled facade. for a heartbeat, he looks almost human. "you begged me to stay," he says, low and rough, like the memory is a blade twisting in his gut. "the night before the viltrumite fleet came. you held onto me like you knew." his jaw tightens. "then they burned our world to ash. but you—" his thumb presses against your pulse point, a mockery of tenderness. "you were always meant to survive."

the air leaves your lungs. you can see it—some other version of you, screaming as the sky split open, clinging to a monster because they didn’t know he’d become one.

"no."

his expression darkens—not like a storm rolling in, but like a door slamming shut. the brief vulnerability in his eyes snuffs out, pupils contracting into something cold and calculating. his jaw tightens, the muscle flexing as his teeth grind together, like he’s biting back words he’ll never say. the softness that had flickered across his face for just a second hardens into something unreadable, the lines of his face sharpening into a mask of imperial discipline.

but his eyes—oh, his eyes. they’re not just empty. they’re hungry.

the way he looks at you isn’t just possessive. it’s devouring. his gaze drags over you like he’s memorizing the shape of your defiance, like he can’t wait to break it apart and remake you into something that fits in the hollow of his hands. his lips twitch, not into a smirk, but into something far more dangerous—a smile that doesn’t reach his eyes, a smile that says, you think you have a choice?

and then, just like that—it’s gone. his face smooths back into viltrumite indifference, as if that momentary crack in his armor had never existed. but you saw it. you felt it. and that’s what terrifies you the most. "you don’t get a choice."

"then fight me for it," you snap, surging forward until your forehead hovers a breath away from his, close enough to feel the heat of his skin, close enough to count the flecks of gold in his darkened eyes. the scent of smoke and iron and something uniquely him clings to the space between you, thick enough to choke on. he doesn’t flinch—doesn’t even breathe—just holds your gaze with a half-lidded, almost lazy intensity, like you’re a puzzle he’s already solved.

then his eyes drag downward, slow and deliberate, lingering on the part of your lips, the quickened rise and fall of your chest. there’s no shame in it, no pretense—just hunger, plain and unapologetic. your pulse stutters. for one terrifying second, you almost falter, because this isn’t the look of a conqueror assessing his enemy.

it’s the look of a man remembering how you taste.

"if i win, you leave this planet alone. if you win…" your voice wavers as a memory blindsides you—your mark’s face, soft in the moonlight on his rooftop, his fingers brushing yours as he smiled at you with something warm and unreadable. you’d let yourself imagine, just for a second, that it was love. that it could be you.

now, you’re bargaining with a ghost of him.

"i’ll go with you," you whisper.

he grins finally, all teeth, but still disciplined—like he’s savoring the way your breath hitches when he leans in. "deal."

(≧∇≦)ﾉ☆

the battle is brutal.

you’re strong—strong enough to have shattered the ribs of other marks, strong enough to have left their bodies broken in the rubble of this war. but him? he’s something else entirely. every hit he lands cracks through your bones like fault lines, every impact vibrating through your teeth until your jaw aches. you dodge, but you’re always a half-second too slow, his fist grazing your cheekbone hard enough to send stars exploding across your vision.

and the worst part? he’s smiling. small and private just for you, but still there.

not the sharp, cruel grin of a conqueror—no, this is lazy, almost playful, like he’s savoring the way your breath comes in ragged gasps, the way your muscles scream as you push yourself beyond limits that should have broken you already. he’s toying with you, you realize with a sickening lurch. not because he needs to, but because he wants to see how long you’ll last.

"you took down six of them," he muses, catching your fist mid-swing like it’s nothing, his fingers tightening until your knuckles creak in protest. "six of me." his voice drops, something almost like pride curling through it. "that’s not nothing."

then his knee slams into your gut, and the world blurs.

you don’t even feel the moment his fist collides with your ribs—just the sickening crunch, the way your body folds around the impact before you’re hurled backward, crashing through concrete and steel like paper. debris hails down around you, dust choking your lungs as you gasp, vision swimming in and out of black.

when the ringing in your ears fades, he’s already there, crouched beside you with all the casual grace of a predator who’s never known fear. his fingers brush the hair from your face, smearing blood across your temple in a mockery of tenderness.

"you put up a good fight," he murmurs, thumb dragging over your split lip. his voice is almost fond, like he’s praising a well-trained weapon. "stronger than most. smarter, too." his grip tightens, just slightly, forcing your gaze up to his. "but you were never gonna win."

your body screams—muscles torn, bones fractured, blood pooling beneath you like a second shadow. but the pain in your chest is worse, a hollowed-out wound no advanced viltrumite healing could ever fix. you think of your mark—his stupid, lopsided smile, the way his voice softened when he said your name, the light in his eyes when he looked at eve—a light that was never, ever for you.

and now you’ll never tell him.

"promise me," you whisper, the words slick with blood, metallic and bitter on your tongue. there’s so much more you want to say—begging, pleading things that claw at your throat like trapped birds. promise me you’ll love me. promise me i won’t just be another trophy. promise me you won’t get bored and break me when i’m no longer new. promise me you won't throw me aside like he did. but all that comes out is: "promise you’ll leave this world alone."

mark’s thumb drags across your cheekbone, smearing dirt and blood in a mockery of gentleness. his touch is warm, almost reverent, like you’re something precious instead of something stolen. "i promise," he says, and for a heartbeat, his voice is so soft it almost sounds like the boy you knew.

then his arms lock around you, lifting you against his chest like you weigh nothing. the sky splinters above you—crimson and gold and burning, the last beautiful thing you’ll ever see.

(and somewhere, in another life, your mark screams your name, raw and shattered, as the rubble of your city collapses around him. but you’re already gone, and the universe does not care.)

1.9k words full of my number one favourite invincible variant!! thank you so much to the anon who requested this one-shot heheheh <33

[peacheeeliz]

COMMUNITY

SYNOPSIS ⤏ mark, desperate to talk to the cute girl in his japanese class, forms a study group. who knew that other struggling college students might want to join a study group?

PARING ⤏ nonidol!mark x nonidol!fem reader

GENRE ⤏ smau, written, rom-com, fluff, college au, slowburn, mark is so down bad, but so is y/n eventually

FEATURING ⤏ mark, donghyuck, jaehyun, jungwoo, and johnny from nct 127, julie from kiof, kim jiwoong from zb1, minnie from idle, and allen from cravity (+ mentions of a TON of other idols)

FACECLAIM ⤏ faceclaim for y/n purely for picture purposes!! (@ 0ki0h on ig)

WARNINGS ⤏ swearing, sexual and kys/kms jokes, pls ignore timestamps 💔, mentions of jaehyun being a stoner, a bit of bullying, more to come

PLAYLIST ⤏ at least it was here, the 88 | 200, mark | red wine supernova, chappell roan | i wanna be yours, artic monkeys | dandelion, jaehyun | just for me, pinkpantheress | snap out of it, artic monkeys | urs, niki | right here, keshi | falling in love, cigarettes after sex

STARTED ⤏ 9/21/2024

STATUS ⤏ complete ♡

NOTE ⤏ community is literally my favorite sitcom, so when their tiktoks started popping up on my fyp, i couldn't resist making a smau inspired by it 🥴

PROFILES & CHAPTERS

STUDY GROUP | MEAN GORLS | BIBLE STUDY

prologue. try it bite it lick it spit it

episode 1. community

001. i could literally kiss u

002. i love ur brother too (469 wc)

003. they're not soundproof (1046 wc)

004. what the fuck am i chopped liver (653 wc)

episode 2. fundamentals of accounting

005. seize the day

006. DAY SEIZED (821 wc)

episode 3. psychology of personality

007. the apple of my eye

008. thanks soso much

009. alpha i need you......

episode 4. problems in history

010. WHY NTO

011. GYATT DAMN

012. u told me u kissed him

013. she's so crazzzzzzzy

episode 5. self defense & combatives

014. hyuck :((

015. old barbie movies??

016. friday. three o'clock. right here. (539 wc)

017. the what on friday?

018. beat his ass mark (1039 wc)

episode 6. heating laboratory

019. concrete jungle

020. love at frost sight

021. OHHHH WHAT THE FUCK

episode 7. survey of characteristics

022. FREAKISHLY YOUNG??

023. except ur both stupid

024. (not stupid ☝️)

episode 8. intro to media communication

025. uu feel lile home

026. i wish i waa qith u

027. why does my heart still feel heavy

episode 9. critical thinking

028. we need to talk

029. am i stupid (639 wc)

030. snap out of it

031. my favorite study buddy

episode 10. team sports

032. fuckass burger

033. i gotta piss (1107 wc)

034. zombie by the cranberries (1497 wc)

035. my jellies are tingling... (1073 wc)

036. these kids are so weird,,, (1474 wc)

episode 11. human relations

037. stupid ass friends

038. FYM SADLY??

039. i love you man (1925 wc)

040. meet me at the apateu, apateu

041. my favorite part of the year 🩷

☆©peacheeeliz, 2024

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ taglist is closed!

[sixpennydame]

𝐌𝐢𝐧𝐞.

𝑳𝒆𝒗𝒊 𝑨𝒄𝒌𝒆𝒓𝒎𝒂𝒏 𝒙 𝒇𝒆𝒎!𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒅𝒆𝒓 // .6k words

𝐂𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭: Possessive!Levi. Sexually explicit content - minors do not interact.

𝐀/𝐍: Written for this anon ask. Based on the song, R U Mine? by Arctic Monkeys

Captain Levi pisses you off.

How can he be sitting across the table from you, listening to Erwin go on and on about Survey Corps funding.

As if he hadn’t been fucking your brains out last night in this very room.

His eyes haven’t even glanced your way since you sat down. Had it all been just an elaborate dream?

No, you know for a fact it wasn’t. You have the kiss marks on your breasts to prove it.

Your mind wanders to the moments Levi had you spread out on this table, his tongue - walls, his magnificent tongue - drawing slow, lethargic circles around your throbbing clit. When you came the first time, he’d looked at you smugly.

“Such a dirty girl, letting me have my way with you here. Aren’t you afraid somebody will catch us?” He asked, undoing the belt of his pants.

“Aren’t you?”

“Not really.” He settled himself between your thighs. “And you’re not going anywhere until I’m completely satisfied.”

Now, sitting amongst your fellow Survey Corps members, that satisfaction feels like a distant memory.

“…Captain Levi, your report.” Erwin’s voice bellows through the meeting hall.

Levi’s chair scrapes across the floor and he stands. You allow your line of sight to flit towards him. His body weight shifts from one leg to the other and your eyes can’t help but move down the contours of his shirt to the waistband of his pants. Your mouth starts to water as you think about how it felt to have his cock in your mouth, his hand in your hair as he thrust a little deeper, seeing how much of him you could take.

“The thrust formation seemed to be effective—“

Wait…

What is Levi talking about?

“—during our last expedition. It allowed my squad and I to move in easily.”

You blink and take a breath. Now everything Levi says in that beautiful baritone voice of his is turning you on.

Get yourself together.

You spend the rest of the meeting looking everywhere but in Levi’s direction. The time drags on as each Squad Leader gives their report, and you begin to wish you could be anywhere else but this room with this man. When the meeting ends and the room is empty, you breathe a sigh of relief.

Until you hear the door close behind you.

“Are you trying to avoid me all day?” a familiar baritone voice asks.

You stand, determined to give him your most nonchalant face. “I should ask you that question. You didn’t look at me once during that meeting.”

Levi quickly closes the distance between you until you bump against the edge of the table. “What? Did you want me to take you again on this table in front of everyone? Such an exhibitionist.”

Just being this close to him again has your core throbbing. His hands land on either side of you, caging you between him and the table as he moves even closer, his lips brushing your earlobe.

“No…” you weakly answer, quickly turning to putty in his hands, “it’s just…”

All coherent thoughts leave you as he begins to pepper kisses along your neck, leaving you speechless.

“Do you want me to tell you that I haven’t stopped thinking about you since last night? That the meeting was torture because all I could see was you?” His hands move up the curves of your waist and he lets out a sigh. “I want to see the marks I made on you.”

Buttons and straps come undone as he releases your breasts. His eyes flash when he sees the purple bruises.

“Tell me, y/n,” his voice is a low growl that sends electricity through your whole body, “tell me you’re mine.”

Do you dare tell him that you’ve been his since the moment you first laid eyes on him? Do you confess that you’d given your body to him before his hands and lips had even claimed you?

Instead, you look deep into those silvery blue eyes and whisper -

“Yes…yes, Levi. I’m yours.”

Join my taglist.

[whowrotethenote]

𝐁𝐢𝐠𝐠𝐞𝐬𝐭 𝐅𝐚𝐧

Rating: 18+ minors DNI

Summary: What starts off as a regular Spring Break attending Wrestlemania for Alana, takes an unexpected turn, landing her in a fantasy come to life. The Tribal Chief is in need of unwinding after his victory and he chose her.

Pairing: Roman Reigns x Black Fem OC

Warnings: NSFW // Smut // Age gap // Profanity // Adultery

Word count: 8.9k (sorry lol)

Inspo: Biggest Fan by Chris Brown

A/N: This took way longer than it should've, but I'm actually proud of myself for finishing. Y'all don't know how many times I've started writing something in the past and never finish. There's drafts of unfinished everything on my laptop.

This is my first time posting my writing on any platform. I hope y'all like it. I tried to proofread as much as I can, but I'm honestly tired of reading it lol. I feel like I'm going to realize its shit and delete it all.

Disclaimer // Part Two // Biggest Fan Masterlist // Roman Reigns Masterlist // Join My Taglist // Main Masterlist

“I wonder if the Usos will come out.”

“Yeah, probably,” I respond to my roommate Demi, only half as concerned as she is. The Usos are the last thing on my mind. They’re her choice of poison. I’m here for one man and one man only.

I survey the crowd of strangers surrounding us. All in Bloodline gear waiting for the same thing. The Main Event. They all probably spent a fortune months ago just to be in the very same spot she and I stole tickets for.

It wasn’t on purpose. We originally had nosebleeds. We were lucky to even have those, seeing as we snagged them just days ago. The frail older man outside the doors waving a chunk of tickets in his hand, was an angel in disguise. He waved and waved until two tickets went flying into the thick crowd of people all pushing to just get into the main doors of the building. 

Demi and I searched on hands and feet for those tickets that no one else seemed to be looking for. Imagine our disbelief seeing them all dirtied and stepped on by the door and they read floor seats. Not just any floor seats. The ones located directly next to the entrance ramp with a clear shot of the ring. Fucking jackpot.

don’t be acting all fanned out when he walks by either

I smirk reading the text my brother sent. Yeah, right. Maybe three years ago, a young Alana would’ve woke up tomorrow morning with no voice from losing my shit, watching the Roman Reigns walk by me. But it's not five years ago. I’m not a teenager in my room waiting at the TV with my golden glove on, throwing my one’s up and giving an acknowledgment he couldn’t even see. 

Who am I fooling? That teenage girl, although buried deep, still lives within me. Otherwise I wouldn’t even be here. I wouldn’t have spent the two thousand my dad gave me to enjoy my spring break on a plane ticket to LA, a hotel and tickets to Wrestle-mania 39. I’d be like the rest of the Juniors at my university. Bar hopping in Mexico or in Miami half naked strutting down Collins Ave.

I go back and forth between scrolling on my phone, daydreaming, and loosely watching the matches that come. Before I know it, the moment I’ve been waiting for all night and damn near all my life rises to the forefront.

The lights dim and the first beats of the drums ring loud throughout the stadium, matching the acceleration of my heartbeat. This is really happening. He’s about to come out and walk right past me. Everyone around me pulls their phones out on the ready, accompanied by a roar of screams just as loud as the orchestra performing his music. 

Too concentred on the entry way anticipating his figure, I forget I even have a phone. No, I need to feel this thoroughly. No middle man between me and this unforgettable experience.

We all wait in collaborative angst until his tall figure emerges and my breath gets caught in my throat. The aura and the energy he carries is all consuming, demanding the attention of every person present, even his haters. Solo and Paul flank behind him following his slow and steady pace until he comes to a hard stop. 

The cameraman is dangerously close as he kneels to catch him from an angle down below. This is so surreal. On cue his pyro lights fire, upping the excitement from the crowd if even possible. Everyone is already losing their minds. Even Demi’s screams threatened to take out my right eardrum despite her main infatuation resting with the Usos.

His mesmerizing eyes scan the crowd with a slight nod of approval and then they land on…me? Time stills and I can’t hear the noise around me. Was he staring at me? 

As much as I want to look around for confirmation that his eyes are indeed locked on me, I’m hypnotized. The slight scrunch of his brows and his dark pupils paralyze me in place. Jesus, Lana. Move. Smile. Wave. Shit, do something.

He’s fucking beautiful. Carved from stone. Kissed by the sun. Hair wet and hanging. Ula Fala draping perfectly around his neck. Full beard with a hint of greying. And his chest. God, his chest. His abs rippled perfectly. I’m scared to even blink, at the risk that I’ll miss something.

A thick pink tongue slithers out over his lips and I heat up from the inside out. My god.

In a flash he looks onward to the ring on the move again and the world returns to its original state. 

I turn to face Demi whose eyes are wide like a saucer. “Biiiitch,” she drags out and we break into a fit of laughter.

“Okay, so I’m not bugging?” My brows dent. 

“No. No, I saw it too,” she assures me. “That man was definitely eye fucking you.” My face heats replaying the scene back in my head. “That was so surreal. He’s so much bigger in person…” Her voice trails off once I get lost in my thoughts watching him hold his titles up in the center of the ring. He moves like a king. Like everywhere he goes he expects everyone to bow gracefully and fall at his feet. It makes him even more attractive than just what the eyes can reach. Fuck me. This is going to be a long night.

Demi got her wish. The Usos came out but their stunt didn’t last too long due to an appearance from Sami and Kevin. Somehow, Roman still took home the win. Still the champion. Still on top. Still the man.

The whole match, I could only half way focus on him and his god-like figure moving about in the ring. The other half of me was still stuck in the moment we shared during his entrance. Was he really staring at me?

Call me delusional, but I swear he looked at me two more times. Once during the match, when he kicked out at the last second of Cody’s pin. He struggled to his knees and rested back on his heels to scan the crowd. He stumbled to his feet, but not before those eyes bore a hole into mine for a quick second. Then again, when he won. He held up his titles, chest heaving up and down, then he looked my way with a squint.

“I can’t believe he still won,” Demi practically has to yell as we ease our way through the crowd to leave. “I was sure it was game over when Sami gave him the boot.”

Simultaneously we push through the back entrance doors and let them slam behind us. The slightly chilly night air of April hitting. No more screams. No more crowds. But the rush and aura of the night still lingers on us.

“My man doesn’t take L’s,” I tell her matter-of-factly with my chin up.

“I see,” she laughs.

We were smart. We took an Uber and told him to let us out from almost three blocks away. We follow that same pattern now to avoid the rush and traffic of everybody trying to leave at once. Towards the opposite way of the parking lot, away from the crowds, we start our journey to a quiet block to call the Uber. 

“Wanna hit it?” Demi extends her hand that holds a lit blunt in between her fingers. I shake my head.

“How the hell did you even get that thing in?”

“Tampon,” she informs before pulling from it. Of course. She’s been sneaking weed into parties that way since we were freshmen.

“Excuse me! Ladies!” An authoritative calls from behind causing us both to stop in our tracks. I know that voice. “Excuse me!”

Demi and I lock eyes and at once we do a complete one-eighty to find him practically chasing us down.

“What the fuck?” I hear Demi murmur before he stops in front of us winded.

“Ladies,” he offers one firm nod. “My name is—’’

“Paul Heyman,” we finish for him in unison. 

A smug smile adorns his chubby face. “That’s right.” He holds a hand out and we both just stare at it for a while. After several seconds of an awkward and shocking silence, Demi abruptly shakes his hand and I follow her lead, still trying to make sense of this moment.

“I’ve been sent to relay a message. The Tribal Chief has requested your services for tonight.”

“Services?” The line between Demi’s thoughts and what comes out of her mouth has always been very blurred.

“Yes,” he confirms. In unison we turn just our heads to each other with equal expressions of confusion and disbelief. “You see, The Tribal Chief likes the comfort of company while he’s on the road from time to time.”

“Company, huh?” I catch Demi’s smirk.

“Especially on nights like tonight. You know?” I raise a brow. “All the adrenaline, excitement, and energy from tonight’s match. It's good for him to uh… blow off some steam and unwind.”

I lose count of how many times Demi and I have to exchange looks tonight. Since I’ve met her we’ve always spoke a nonverbal language only we understand. A subtle head nod in the direction of a cute boy in the room, an eye roll when somebody says something problematic, or wide eyes when someone spills tea that we know we’ll have to debrief about later. Tonight, our eyes dance in a mutual agreement that can’t be any clearer. “Hell yeah,” I speak for the first time. 

Demi tosses the lit blunt and we both advance to follow him. “Oh no, I’m sorry. Just you.”

“Me?” I ask with a finger to my chest. He grins slyly nodding.

“I— I don't know.”

“You don’t know?” Demi slaps my arm.

“I’ll need an answer now. Gotta get you to his bus before the real crowd emerges. There’s a few things you need to sign.” Sign? Oh god. This is getting serious.

“M—maybe this is a mix up. Are you sure he asked for me—”

“Bitch.” I’m interrupted by a firm push from Demi toward Paul. My eyes meet her wide ones that scream, “go.”

I look between the both of them. “You’ll be fine getting to the hotel?” I’m not all the way certain how tonight will go, but I have a feeling I won’t be seeing her until tomorrow.

“Girl, don’t worry about me. I’ll always get where I’m going. I should be the last thing on your mind.”

“We can wait until her Uber comes?” I eye Paul who eyes his watch briefly.

“Sure.”

So we wait in silence. The whole time, I bounce the idea of just saying never mind and pussying out, back and forth like tennis. Reading my mind, Demi would eye me and mouth “don’t you dare.” So many things can go wrong. I’m not even entirely sure I know what the hell Paul is talking about. Company? Services? It could mean so many things. Does he want to talk? A massage? Am I going to just sit there on his lap while he watches TV? What if he’s one of those foot guys? Is he going to touch himself while I sit there barefoot? Oh god, please don’t have a foot fetish.

With the exception of tonight, I’ve only ever seen him through a screen. Playing a character. I don’t know him. That’s the reality of it. Am I really about to follow a stranger, Paul Heyman, to accompany another strange man?

After checking that she has the right Uber and sensing she will be safe alone with him, I let her hand go. She gives me one final look before I let her shut the car door. “Make him remember you, bitch.”

Like a farmer leading its cattle to slaughter, I follow him as he leads me up the steep steps of the bus. A pit of something stirs in my stomach the deeper we walk. Equal parts angst and doom. Like the end of something and the beginning at the same time. We pass the driver’s seat. The floors are a shiny mahogany wood, matching the cabinets of the kitchen area we end up in. Although small, it feels grand. Definitely doesn’t seem like a space this chic belongs in a bus trailer. I guess only the best for the best.

In the midst of admiring the space, I look over to see Paul shuffling some papers around.

“Alright! So I’ll need you to sign this.” He separates one stack from the main one and slides a pen out for me. “Just something that says we’re not responsible for any items lost, damaged, or anything like that.” Everything in me screams to read the thick stack thoroughly before I dare sign my name on the dotted line. I do it anyway, because who even has time for that? Paul is already moving about like he has somewhere to be.

“And this here,” he pushes the signed paper out the way and slides another stack in its place. This one much thicker than the former. I raise a brow. “Don’t worry. It's just a non-disclosure. Nothing discussed, seen, or heard after you sign can be shared with any other persons.”

I look for the expiration date of the legal document and don’t find one. I search and my eyes land on the word indefinitely.

“Indefinitely, huh?” I think deeply about what I am about to agree to. I would only even want to tell Demi and a few other girls from our bookclub maybe that watch WWE. My eyes land on the seven figure lawsuit terms if the NDA is breached. I weigh my options. Spill tea and get fined or secretly get intimate with the man of my dreams…

The pen is smooth as it glides along the dotted line and I cap it before handing it back over to Paul. “Perfect.” He takes it and reorganizes the papers. I blow out a breath looking around again. There’s a grey curtain blocking off the rest of the bus, which I assume holds a bedroom of some sort and a bathroom.

“Is he already here?” I lean to try and get a peak of whats beyond the curtain.

“Nope. He’s doing a bit of press and wrapping some things up backstage. You’ll wait for him here. The driver is inside the building. Probably won’t be back until late tonight. Roman should be back soon.”

“I’m expected to stay here overnight?”

“Totally up to you. I’m sure you and him will figure it out. It’s not like him to spend the night alone though.”

In that moment it becomes clear what I am here to do. My heart lurches at the thought of just sharing a bed and possibly cuddling with him. His big muscular arms wrapped around me. The heat of his breath on the back of my neck and the hardness of his di—

“This wasn’t on the NDA you just signed, but,” he held his hand out between us. “I’m gonna need that phone before I leave.” Of course. I almost change my mind. “Don’t worry. You’ll get it back as soon as it's all over. Definitely before you leave.”

Fuck it. I retrieve my phone from the back pocket of my jeans and he gladly takes it. I don’t need it anyhow. I can’t imagine being in the presence of him anyway and my phone stealing the show. I would forget I even had one.

It's not long before he’s packing everything up, preparing to leave me. A small part doesn’t want him to go. He served as sort of a comfort. Truth be told, my heart is in my ass.

He pulls the curtain back to reveal a chic bedroom set up. If I didn't know any better, I would think we are in a five star hotel and not a bus trailer. 

Everything is a sleek grey with undertones of black. Glossy black wood dresser chest and a matching nightstand. Black wood bed frame and headboard. I run my hand along the dark grey duvet thats just as soft as it looks. 

“I’ll be on my way. You’ll probably see me tomorrow or later tonight. If not someone else will give the phone back.” He waves my phone and turns, but not before pulling the curtain back to close.

I’m all alone now. Theres a flat screen mounted opposite the bed, but the noise won’t do anything but make me more anxious. I want to be able to hear everything going on.

I have the weird urge to go through his suitcase I see sitting upright by the wall. I shake the thought away knowing it's an invasion of privacy. I opt to go through the dresser chest instead. Its empty. I guess he didn’t get a chance to  unpack.

I turn and rest my butt on it, crossing my arms. Minutes go by, and what seems like an hour passes before I hear movement outside the bus. Deep voices talking and then I hear heavy steps heading my way. I straighten up. No, too formal. I sit on the bed legs crossed. No, what am I? An escort?

I stand again and take my original place leaning on the edge of the dresser, just in time for the curtain to pull back. The sight of his large stature so much closer to me than he was in the arena takes my breath away.

He doesn’t say a word. Just looks at me and walks right by me to his suitcase. Then he’s in the bathroom. The sound of him peeing is loud followed by water running. 

Big, tan and burly, he emerges again. He moves with power just oozing off of him, with an authority that just screamed, “I’m in charge.” It's not just a ring persona. Thats just him.

My eyes never leave his tall frame maneuvering around the small space as if I’m not even standing here. He kicks the Jordans off his feet to slip into his slides. His Nike hoodie comes off next and he tosses it on the small loveseat in the corner. His big and cut arms now in full view.

He relieves himself of the contents in his pants pockets. Wallet, keys, some loose change, and a small folded paper all fall on the dresser. He stops for a moment holding out his left hand. He twists the black band off his ring finger and places it in the drawer instead of on top of the dresser with the rest of his things.

Our eyes snag and I immediately shift my attention to my fingers. Twisting and untwisting. Picking at the acrylic on my nails. Anything but looking him in the eye after witnessing that. It's not too late to change my mind. I can stop this. I should, but do I really want to?

The sound of his slides lets me know he’s on the move again. I find him by a minibar area I hadn’t noticed earlier. 

“Is it cold in here?” His deep voice cuts through the silence. It's then I notice I was holding and rubbing my arms as if I was cold. So, he is paying me some kind of attention. Truth is, I’m just trying to keep the goosebumps from a slight panic attack at bay.

“No, it's fine.”

“You feeling alright?” He twists slightly with a raised brow. Probably trying to figure out why I haven’t moved an inch since he walked in here. He’s so calm and cool. I don’t know what I was expecting, but the calmer he is, the more anxious I grow.

“Yeah. Y—yeah, no I’m fine.”

“You spoke to Paul already?”

“Yeah—yes,” I correct myself and clear my throat. I don’t know when it became so damn dry.

I was speaking to his back. The muscles still making themselves known even through the fabric of his black tee. Hair sleeked back into his signature bun. My eyes trail down to his ass. For a man, he has a nice one. I image how he’d look with nothing. The intimacy of him walking around with absolutely nothing on. The afterglow of sex on him. Rock hard abs and tribal tattoo as his only decoration. His manhood swinging freely, semi-hard even after just laying serious wood—

“Then I assume you know why you’re here,” his deep voice cuts my nasty daydream short. 

I can hear him maneuvering glass, but I couldn’t see exactly what he was doing over his big frame. I was too shell shocked to move too much, afraid I might wake up from this fever dream.

“I do,” I answer him. 

If my father knew when he gave his only daughter, his princess, money to enjoy her spring break, that she’d end up alone in the bus of a man who was over ten years her senior, the money would’ve never made it into my hand in the first place. I’m sure this isn’t what he had in mind, but truly this was the best way a young girl could enjoy spring break. An unexpected encounter with an older and wealthier man. My idol. I watched him on TV for years. Gawked at the screen. Liked thousands of edits on Tiktok and Instagram. Dreams of this very moment knowing it couldn’t possibly ever come true. And now here he was. Big in stature and energy right here in front of me. Talking to me. 

Hell yeah, I know what I’m here to do. Even if he didn’t utter a single word and just stripped and nodded to the bed, I’d still get the job done with no shame. What girl in her right mind wouldn’t?

I can hear them now. But he’s married. He has a family. He’s old enough to be your father. They just won’t understand. Demi would. Demi would get it. She always gets it and she always gets me. Having lost her father and sister in a car crash just weeks before moving into the dorms for college, taught her that life was indeed too short. Live freely and take risk, because you don’t know when you won’t be able to. Shit, we’re all gonna die anyway. That’s the mantra she lives by. She’s different and that’s why I attached myself to her. She’s not like everybody else who lives like they’ve already walked the steps to heaven.

This was a more than seldom, once in a lifetime opportunity. I’d think about this night when I’m grey and depleting on my deathbed. I won’t let my head play tricks on me with the opinions of anyone who would do the same thing put in my position. 

It's silent again. I hear liquid being poured for a second. I wonder if Demi made it back to the hotel okay. She’s probably blowing up my phone with a thousand texts trying to figure out whats going on.

So deep in my thoughts I don’t realize he’s making his way to me until he’s right here already. I have to look up to meet his gaze as he stares down at me over the bridge of his nose. He’s so big. He smells divine. It's a masculine type of musk with a cleanliness to it. My breath gets caught in my throat, realizing exactly how close we are. Our shoes were just shy of an inch from touching. My chest rises and falls in anticipation of his next move. 

Without any words, he holds a glass filled with brown liquid out closer to me. I look down at it with just my eyes. I’ve only been twenty-one for two weeks. Didn’t even get the opportunity to sit at a bar so a man could offer me a drink before trying to sleep with me. Who would’ve thought the first offering would come from him. Roman Reigns. Just at that thought, something in me ignited.

I took it, with the intention meaning more than just accepting the drink. I’m accepting the situation. Drawing a line in the sand and disposing of any doubt if there even was any left. I’m doing this. All complications pushed to the back. Tonight he’s not Joe Anoa’i, the married man with five kids. He’s Roman Reigns, undisputed WWE Universal Champion, The Tribal Chief, Main Eventer, Head of the Table…And I’m his biggest fan.

I throw the contents of the glass back, trying my hardest not to make a face from the burning sensation. He gets it down in one big gulp, putting me to shame, as I can’t help watching his Adam’s apple bob up and then down. He’s still just inches from me. I can see every hair on his beard. The slight greying ones are my favorite.

It's so weird seeing him in this state. So lax in his own space. No ring gear. No mean scowl. No Ula Fala around his neck. No championship belt around his waist. Just him. Black tee and sweats to match.

He takes the glass back and places them both behind me on the dresser top. Without warning, he’s on me. His tongue shoves past my lips saying to hell with formalities. No warm up. Straight to business.

“Mm,” I groan from shock. My natural instinct from being so caught off guard is to create some space, but a firm hand gripping the base of my neck keeps me in place.

He immediately asserts dominance, caressing every part of my body his hands can reach like he owns it. My neck, my shoulders, my back, and all the way down to my ass with a firm squeeze that separates my pussy lips. All the while still assaulting my mouth with his warm tongue. The tang of the alcohol still lingering. I fight for some control in the kiss but it's no use. He’s too much for me.

Everywhere his strong hands make contact, it leaves a spark until my whole body feels like it's on fire. Damn, that drink was strong. He pulls away from the kiss completely after one last soft, open mouthed peck. Like a magnet, my eyes find the thick bulge in his black sweats and I grow even more excited. 

He drops to his knees in front of me and my breath hitches when his cold fingertips find their way up my shirt. A trail of kisses with a slight tickle from his beard follow up and up until I raise my arms for him to take the shirt off completely.

He’s back on his feet, turning me so my back is facing him. My breathing grows erratic. This is really happening. 

“Lights,” his voice rumbles behind me. The bright lights turn off but there's little lamps set up in the small space allowing a cast bright enough to see still.

The black lace bra I wear is unhooked in a matter of seconds. Who knew when I put it on this morning, that Roman Reigns himself would be taking it off come night. With a firm grip on my hips he turns me back to face him. 

Being well endowed up top from such a young age, my natural instinct is to cover myself. I always thought they were a bit big for my body. Standing at five foot seven, I was only one hundred and fifty pounds. A lot of my weight being carried up top from these double D’s. When all the girls in middle school were just filling in, I was a full D cup. I noticed how boys would stare. Older men too. It would make me uncomfortable. Always thinking of ways to cover them or make them appear smaller.

Avoiding eye contact is useless. His eyes are like magnets. Like the sun. Just beaming down on me, making them impossible to evade. So I stare back at him. We stay like this for a while. Just watching one another in silence. The air is smoky with lust and pure ecstasy. 

His hands cover mine and slowly drag them down to reveal my breast. Round, surprisingly perky, with fully erect chocolate nipples, creating a contrast to my caramel complexion. They steal the show as his eyes shoot to them immediately while he breathes deep from his nose. 

I can feel his energy shift from passionate to pure animalistic. When his entire mouth covers one nipple, I lose all my sense. My head rolls back and instinctively I bring a hand to the back of his head. A rough hand cups and caresses my breast while he’s still latched on. I watch in awe as his thick tongue sticks out to flick and play with it before sucking again.

He’s expertly unbuttoning my jeans with his other hand as I feel the snag of him trying to pull them down. I step out of my shoes to help him and reveal the black thong I am not even accustomed to wearing. I’m more of a a boy shorts or Walmart pack panties kind of girl. I just so happen to have forgotten to pack them and had to borrow a pair from Demi. 

Bending down must be uncomfortable, since he grips the back of my knees to hike me up like I  weigh absolutely nothing. He gives more attention to my chest, sucking until my nipples are sore, before his tongue is in my mouth exploring again. We’re moving now, I assume towards the bed. With every step, his erection rubs against me leaving me clenching and needy.

My back meets the unbelievably soft bed. I practically sink into it, watching him rear back to remove his shirt and show off that god-like body. Mountains and valleys of muscle in his abdomen placed perfectly like someone sculpted him with their bare hands. His bun hangs a little looser now.

His long fingers loop the waistband of my panties and we lock eyes. His stare is intense saying what his lips didn’t. I nod once. I’m doing this.

Almost in slow motion he pulls them down my legs, his eyes not leaving mine until the very last second. His attention is stolen by the sight of me down there.

“You’re soaking.” He uses the butt of his thumb to circle my clit. I jump slightly at the sudden contact. “That’s all for me?” He locks eyes with me again, expecting an answer and all I can do is nod frantically while biting down hard on my bottom lip. I can’t keep still. My body is on fire under his touch and his gaze. Eyes dark with passion, he squints watching me squirm every time he speeds the rhythm of his thumb up or down.

“Fuck,” I move my hips to the rhythm of his hand and grab one of my breast.

His thick tongue snakes out to lick his pink lips like he did earlier in the arena and I almost cum on sight. I look on in shock watching how he licks his thumb clean like he just ate Doritos and he’s discarding the remnants of them. A small groan of pleasure leaves his throat. I must be dreaming.

Climbing off the bed hastily, he tugs his pants and red briefs down at once and his dick pops up on recoil. My pussy clenches around nothing in anticipation for her next guest. Long, thick and tanned just like the rest of him. Mouthwatering. I never had the urge to taste something so bad in my life.

I can tell there’s no time for that though. He’s anxious now. I can feel the heat and need radiating off his body as if his stiff, vein-filled dick didn’t already tell on him.

With a tight grip on my ankle, he flips me over abruptly. Of course. Missionary would’ve been way too intimate for the circumstances.

On instinct I get up on all fours, deepening the arch to an almost painful degree so the view is nice for him. A smack so hard I jerk forward a bit, lets me know he’s satisfied with what he sees.

“All this ass,” he mumbles rubbing my behind in circles and even giving it a little shake. 

He runs his long fingers up and down the slickness with ease. A groan leaves my throat as I grow impatient. I know I should want this to last as long as humanly possible, but I can’t fight this storm inside of me. I’ve wondered too long about it, daydreamed about it, and even touched myself in imagination before at the thought of this man I only knew through a TV screen.

I sway back and forth slightly waiting and listening to the sound of a wrapper and a slight pop. I have no time to prepare. The bed dips with the weight of him back on it. His thick head is at my opening, rubbing from my clit to almost my asshole. He only does this three good times before I’m practically ripped apart.

“Ouu!” A mix of a moan and something I’ve never heard from myself fills the room. He roughly takes the hand I thought I would use to push him and pins it behind me.

My throat goes dry. God damn. He’s fucking huge and unforgiving. Even with the slow pace he’s pushing into me combined with my wetness, it still feels like he’s breaking me apart from the inside out. 

“Breathe,” he coaches. If possible a gush of wetness rushes out from the sound of his voice, bringing me back to the situation at hand. I have to make it work for him. 

I bite down on the expensive grey covers as he pulls completely out and then back in. “Mm!” 

He finds his rhythm, as he’s able to glide in and out. I try to match him once the pain subsides. I glance back to catch his full bottom lip caught between his teeth. The muscles in his chest working as a sheen of sweat starts to form.

I work harder now. The sight of him turning me on more than ever, opening me up like a wildflower. 

“Let me hear you. I wanna hear you,” he grunts out almost desperately. The vulnerability in his rough voice drawing more heat and wetness from my core. I moan louder than I intended and shock myself. I’m not usually verbal in bed. Maybe a little cry or whimper here and there. This shit feels too good to be demure and delicate about. 

I obey his order and release the moan that I didn’t even know I’m suppressing. It's not forced or fabricated. I genuinely feel so good in this moment I can only moan in response. 

His strokes are primal. Animalistic like a lion in the wild taking whats his. And he’s so fucking big. In aura and size. The ways his body envelopes mine makes me feel smaller than I really am. His thickness stretching me in a way I didn’t think was possible.

“Oh, fuck!” I yell out. His hand tangles in my hair and stretches my gaze up, giving him full view of my desperate face.

“Tell me how good it feels,” he demands. 

“Oh my god,” I pant. “It's so fucking good,” I struggle to get out. Every thrust steals my breath. He aims for the perfect spot every time and doesn’t miss. The smack of our bodies colliding ring loud in the silent space.

“Louder, baby,” he grunts diving deeper.

“I can feel you everywhere. You feel so good! Unh!”

“Atta girl.” The rumble of his voice sends a vibration straight to my core. My pussy clenches down from his words. To add insult to injury, a large and slightly calloused hand finds its way up my stomach to cup my breast. He pinches, twists and rolls my nipple around like he’s playing with a toy. As if my pussy isn’t becoming dangerously wetter already.

He removes the hold in my hair, trailing to my hip. His thumb presses down hard while guiding me back and forth on him. He gives me his all and I return the favor, using the unstable grip I have on the duvet to leverage me as I throw my ass back on him to catch.

The friction of his balls slapping sloppily against my clit built up enough pressure for a pending orgasm. With one strong hand still on my hip, he uses his free one to shove my face down to the bed making me lose any power I had in this fight.

His front collides with my ass, causing a consistent slapping. Anyone walking on the bus could easily tell whats going on now. His grunts, my pants, the consistent slapping. These were sounds of fucking. 

“Fuck me! Yesss!” I don’t recognize myself. He’s awakening something in me. A familiar tinging stirs in the pit of my stomach. If he keeps on, it won’t be long until I explode all over his thick dick.

“Yeah?” He whispers.

“Yeah,” I whimper in response.

He goes harder than ever before, his strokes less uniform and more wild. My mouth falls wide open at the intensity and perfect mix of pain and pleasure.

His hips continue to snap against me and if possible I feel him grow harder inside me. His fingertips dig into me so hard I know there’ll be bruises tomorrow. 

“Urghh!” A guttural moan erupts from him, urging me to fuck him through his release even as his movements slow. I study his facial expressions and record them in my brain to take home with me as a souvenir. He stretches his neck with eyes shut tightly. That fucking tongue. Whisking out to flatten over his top lip before he bites down on his bottom one. Chest heaving up and down with the muscles in his abdomen flexing with every breath. 

“So fucking good,” he says more to himself. He delivers another hard spank to my ass before I feel him ease out of me, hissing slightly at the sudden disconnect and absence of him. The pit of my stomach heavy still with the lingering orgasm that was cut short. 

I’ve had sex with guys before and never got to finish. I’d leave unsatisfied and almost regretting the encounter completely. This is different. I’m here for him. I’d fulfill his needs and drain him even if it meant I left with nothing but a wet ass. 

The bed creaks a little, letting me know he got up completely. Just when I think the night is over, my mouth falls open at the sensation of his hot mouth covering my entire pussy. His tongue slithers out to graze my distended clit.

“Mm, shit,” I cry out, shaking. I’m so sensitive. Any little sensation sends my body into overdrive. Every lick draws a mini release. When I finally get to the edge I know I’ll fall completely apart. The hair from his beard tickles me, only heightening the sensations. I feel nothing but pure pleasure.

A strong hand comes down on my left ass cheek and I whimper on impact. He squeezes it in a firm gip to move me up and down in a steady rhythm on his flattened tongue.

“Oh, fuck yeah,” I cry. I let my head hang down unable to keep it up any longer. All I can do, feel, and think about in this moments is how good he feels to me. Guys my age always need a crash course on how to eat pussy. Always too much spit, they couldn’t find my clit, or the torturous shaking of the head like a rabid dog.

Roman is eating me like I’m his last meal. Touching spots I didn’t even know a tongue could reach. With the way he’s grabbing me and rocking me on his stiff tongue, he’s damn near fucking me with it. We’re two complete strangers. The power dynamic is completely off. He’s the billionaire WWE superstar and I’m the underpaid and overworked fan in college. Somehow he’s still taking the time to worship my body and give me his all as if he’s the one who has something to prove. 

The dick was mind-blowing. Oh, but the head will be the death of me. That same tongue he wags and flicks on live television, exploring me. Tonight is an absolute fairytale. If I didn’t know any better, I would think he could read my mind. He knows exactly what I want and how I want it.

In only a matter of seconds a tornado of heat swirls in my core. I rock back and forth on his mouth before he sucks relentlessly on my sensitive bud nonstop.

“Unnhh!” An uncontrollable shake erupts from me as I see stars. The world goes completely blank for a while as I relish in the ecstasy of my orgasm granted by the Tribal Chief himself. Tonight, I acknowledge him and his mouth.

“Oh my god,” I whisper in between pants coming to my senses. A small laugh leaves my throat at the way I just lost myself in front of him.

I turn to find him in the middle of snatching the cream covered condom off. His big dick bobs up and down from the snatch, fully erect again. 

We got one night only.

Like a lioness on the prowl in the jungle, I eye him, crawling to the edge of the king bed where he stands. I stop just in front where my mouth aligns to his thickness, still eyeing him, making sure it's okay. He nods giving me the green light and even holds the base in his strong hand to bring it closer to my lips.

I let a glob of spit form and fall freely on his thick mushroom tip. Before it can drip, I catch it on the underside and lick from tip to base, to the tip again. His hips push forward impatiently. 

“Open.” It's not a question so I don’t test him. His face is hard, but his eyes are desperate. As soon as my lips part he shoves himself all the way in like he owns my entire mouth. He draws out and I hallow my cheeks to keep it in as long as possible until I release him with a pop. 

“Stick your tongue out for me.” I oblige and he slides his heavy dick across it gathering spit before pushing back down my mouth. A pulse grows in my clit again. A revival from seeing the remains of the mess I made in his thick beard.

“It's so good,” I tell him while slapping it on my tongue for him, earning a groan. The skin of him is soft as he stretches my mouth. I can taste the salty precum and I cant wait for the rest of it. I never trusted a man to release his bodily fluids in me in any way. It kind of grossed me out. Oh, but not tonight. He can release wherever he chooses.

Using one hand to twist in tandem with sucking him, I study every change in his expression, every pattern of his breath to record what feels the best to him.

“Go ‘head,” he urges in a low guttural tone. “Just like that. Take it all the way down. Don’t stop, babygirl.” That’s all I need to hear. 

The eye contact is so deep it puts me in a trance. In a constant and fluid motion I take him in and out, making sure he reaches the back of my throat every time. In and out. In and out. In and out. The sounds of spit and his heavy breathing take charge of the room.

His body stiffens a bit and I can feel him get harder on my tongue. Deliberately I take him as far as possible and stay there until I make myself choke. The contracting of my throat around his thick head sends him completely off the rails. He breaks our bubble, throwing his head back to the ceiling.

“Mmm. Aw fuck!” A strong hand grabs a fistful of my hair, making it impossible for me to move.  Thick ropes of his warm cum shoot down my throat and all around my mouth. “Ahh,” he groans out with a hiss jerking his hips forward a few good times. “Oh my god,” he blows out a heavy breath and lets his hands rest on his hips. 

I’ve made dean’s list, honor roll all throughout high school, medals of all kind from track decorate the walls of my bedroom in my parents’ house. None of those accomplishments compare to the sight I just witnessed. The Roman Reign’s spent and sexually exhausted because of little ole me.

“Let me see,” he whispers while watching me suck the last of it out. I open wide and stick my tongue out so he can see his cum on it. His massive dick jumps at the sight. I feel the warmth of some of it seeping out and running down my chin.

“Don’t move,” he instructs. Like his obedient soldier I stay put, only looking around with one good eye. The other shut tight so none of his cum could invade it.

When he emerges again, he has a wet cloth in hand. Gently but still firm he wipes my face clean of him and my tears that slipped from the intensity of choking. Who knew the Tribal Chief is into aftercare?

A squeal escapes me from being lifted into the air and over his broad shoulder. I’m hanging as he moves us about. There’s no way that any of this is happening. 

The shower starts to run. Even upside down I can see the marble walls and waterfall shower head raining down.

“You care about your hair getting wet?”

“No,” I strain to get out with his shoulder digging into my stomach. He chuckles so softly, I would’ve missed it if I couldn’t feel it from being on him. 

He fucks me for hours in the shower. My back against the wall. In the air. Face against the tiles. On all fours again. I guess older men carry more stamina. The water cascaded from up top on us both while we locked tongues passionately, breathing in each other’s air. 

He was in control the whole time. He flipped me every way he wanted me to go. Told me what to do, never asking. I’m left a wet, quivering mess at the end of it all.

I don’t realize how exhausted I am until he asks if I want to stay the night. I think about getting dressed and leaving, but the bed is impossibly plush and the sight of him naked still is impossibly sexy. Even better than I imagined.

I threw cuddling out the window once I seen his stoic nature and how he moved about earlier like this was just a business deal. He lays in the bed, still naked on his back with muscular arms slightly stretched. I lay on my stomach beside him trying to get comfortable. My heart thumps out my chest knowing he’s still here with me and so accessible. We literally just violated each other in the nastiest way possible and now we lay in bed not even touching.

His heavy breaths and light snore fill the room in no time creating a sort of white noise for me to descend to. 

Some time in the middle of the night, I don know how, but those light snores ended up right in my ear. His breath hot on top of my head, accompanied by a very heavy arm over my hip. 

My heart smiled and my face caught fire. It was so intimate. Undeniably my favorite part of the night. I shifted as quietly as I possibly could, inch by inch, until I was facing him. His bun fell completely apart, leaving his dried and fluffy curls cascading over his shoulders and the plush pillows. I make out what I can in the dark of his sharp features. I never seen him so relaxed. In the ring he’s always tense, always painted with tyranny and stress, but not right now. He almost looked like an angel.

I make a mental image of him. This is exactly how I want to remember him— how I want to remember this unpredictable night. This is the part that even if I could tell it, I don’t think anyone would even believe me. Burying my face into his chest, I breathe deep, trying to imprint his smell into my brain like ink on the skin. 

The loud voices of men I don’t recognize, serve as my alarm clock. Eyes still shut, flashes of the night before and the soreness of my body, warp me back to reality. Oh, shit.

I shoot up from the pillow to scan the room, keeping the covers close to my naked chest. His suitcase still stood in the corner, but there’s no trace of him. No water running. His slides are gone. The thick curtain shields me from the rest of the bus.

6:07 AM flashes on the digital clock of the now cleared nightstand. 

It's not like I was expecting this grand goodbye. The man didn’t even say hello to begin with. I thought I could at least see him one last good time before I leave LA for good.

I attempt to rise up, but something crinkling under my palm stops me. I grab the sheet of notepad paper and rub my eyes before reading the contents of it.

Thanks for last night. Joe. 

Short and simple. In the corner, two cursive R’s as a signature. I neatly fold the paper and drop it into the pocket of my jeans I find folded on the chest dresser. I want that paper with me everywhere I go. A small piece of the whole experience. A subtle reminder of the best night of my life.

Every part of me wants to feel bad. How could I let him just use me for his needs for a night and then discard me like it was nothing? I should feel low. Cheap. But thats not even the kind of girl I am. The glass is always half full to me. Last night was arguably the best night of my young life. I’ve never known such adventure. I never felt more free—more like a woman.

I flop down in my bed still in a daze from the events of last weekend. Demi had a million and one questions. The NDA kept me from spilling. Even if I could’ve given her a play by play of how the night went, I don’t think I would’ve. Demi and I have the kind of bond thats void of any secrets. But that night with him was so special to me, I want to keep it for myself. Something for just me and him. It makes it more magical when only we know what happened. I just want to soak and bathe in it all. 

Light as a feather I stare at my ceiling, letting the flashbacks corrupt me. The feel of his soft skin. The smell of him. His grunts and pants. His hands caressing and gripping my ass. The warmth of his tongue filling my mouth. I blow out a breath getting worked up again. I’ve touched myself countless times since that night to the memory of his voice and his energy. He was just so damn good. So much man and dominance, but still gentle and cautious. 

After we touched back down in New York, it was back to reality. But that didn’t stop me from walking on a cloud. You can’t tell me shit. I fucked the Roman Reigns. Drained him and swallowed the aftermath. How’s that for a spring break?

It's currently Thursday. Almost a week has passed since the greatest night of my young life. I just got back from the gym with Demi. She’s pressed me every single day since that night, but I won’t budge. The confines of the NDA keeping me stronger than I normally would be. 

Tomorrow is Smackdown at the Garden, but it's unclear if Roman will even be in attendance. He takes so many hiatuses it's really a hit or miss with him. Demi asked if we should go, but I declined not wanting to spend the money I didn’t have just for him not to even show.

A sudden dread came over me knowing that he couldn’t possibly be thinking of me even half as much as I’ve thought of him. He’s overridden my mind. I’ve obsessed over every little detail and played it back a thousand times, while he doesn’t even know my name. 

Paul said it himself. He likes the comfort of company while he’s on the road. All the times he has to travel for work, cameras in his face nonstop, and body aching from all the physical exhaustion, I’m sure he always has to release the tension somehow. I’m just one of many. 

I knew that going into it. I know I’m not special, but I tried my hardest to be. I did what I could to make him remember me. Constant eye contact, carrying out his every command, throwing this ass back as hard as I could and sucking the soul out of him.

A violent buzz of my phone snaps me out of my daze. I feel for it on the covers. My eyebrows dent at the message notification from a number I don’t recognize, causing me to unlock it.

Your Tribal Chief has requested your services again. 

Sorry for that long ass disclaimer lol. It’s a shame I even have to include that, but I literally watched a girl argue with an author on here about promoting adultery and cheating simply because a character was cheating. Like, it’s a story?? It’s a fictional character?? Don't read it??

If you read it or even just parts of it, I really am appreciative. Pls like or reblog. Feedback is greatly appreciated. Please remember I am an artist…and I’m sensitive about my shit lol 💋

banner credit:  @animatedglittergraphics-n-more

[covenofagatha]

Sex Ed (Part 2)

Agatha has a few more things to teach you

Word count: 3.3k

Warnings: oral sex, inexperienced reader, only slightly manipulative Agatha

Taglist: @lostbutlovely33 @diorrxckstar @whoreforolderfictionalwomen  @katekathry @onemansdreamisanothermansdeath @tayasmellsapples @natashashill @mybraininblood @mysticalmoonlight7  @cactuslover2600 @loveem0mo @readysteddiero-nance @lonelyhalfwitch @lesbiantortilla @crescendoofstars @sol-in-wonderland @ahsfan05 @gbab09 @sasheemo @agathaharness @live-laugh-love-lupone @chiar4anna @fuckedupforkhahn @lowlyjelly

The next day when you have Agatha’s class, you don’t really know how you’re supposed to react to seeing her, to being that close to her. 

Every time you’ve thought of her since you took the make-up exam, your stomach has grown hot and that same slickness between your legs comes back. 

You tried to deal with it yourself last night, but you couldn’t. Your fingers just don't feel the same as hers do. 

And now you have to go sit through another one of her lectures. You can only hope that since you already took the test on anatomy and sexual intercourse, she’ll be moving onto a new topic so she won’t drive you crazy. 

Except you can’t get her teaching you about sex like she did out of your head. Was it a one-time thing? Are you supposed to pretend like it didn’t happen? How are you supposed to look her in the eyes after her fingers were inside you? 

How will she act? You know she’s your professor and realistically won’t behave any differently, but you can’t help but want her to. 

You get to the classroom about ten minutes early, hoping to talk to her a bit. She hadn’t said much once you resumed taking the exam yesterday and had only given you a “Thanks, honey. See you tomorrow.” when you turned it in. It was a little jarring, but you suppose it was just her being professional. 

Agatha isn’t there yet so you take your normal seat, foot bouncing on the floor, and wait. The door behind you opens a few minutes later and you whirl around, expecting to see your teacher, but it’s just another kid in your class. You offer him a tight smile and turn back to the front. 

It gets closer and closer to the start of class, and with two minutes to spare, Agatha finally strolls in. She’s wearing a long yellow skirt that brushes against the floor when she walks and a long-sleeve black top. Her hair is loose and falls to her mid-back, wavy and a bit frizzy, and the mascara she’s wearing makes her blue eyes look icy. 

Your mouth runs dry and your stomach twists and starts to grow warm, the feeling that has now become familiar whenever you’re near her flooding through you. 

She drops her bag on her chair and surveys the room. You try not to squirm when she finally looks right into you and you swear you can see the hint of a smirk on her face. And then she starts to rummage through her bag and slams a stack of papers on the desk, making everyone jump. 

“Some of you did well on the test while some of you did not. It seems like we might need to go over some things.” 

You gulp. Did you not do well? You wrote down everything she said — everything she did — to you. 

“First things first,” Agatha says, grabbing one of the exams and flipping to the second page. “What are the benefits of oral sex?” 

A wave of relief crashes over you. You didn’t have that question. 

But it makes your brows furrow. You don’t remember her saying anything about oral sex in the lessons. Do people really use their mouths…

Agatha must see you looking confused because she gives you a wink and it makes your stomach heat up. How is it that just a single look from her can make you feel this way? 

It would be almost frustrating if it didn’t make you feel so good. 

“Oral sex can lead to higher orgasm rates, alternatives to penetrative sex, enhanced intimacy, and improved sexual satisfaction,” Agatha answers after no one raises their hand. “Some people like oral sex more than penetrative sex, actually.”

You can feel your cheeks flushing. Her fingers felt so good inside you — would her mouth on you feel even better? 

And what would it be like to taste her? 

The image of you between her legs, mouth on her and making her moan, runs through your mind and it’s all you can think about now. Do you just…lick? And would you be able to make her feel as good as she made you feel? Since yesterday, you’ve found yourself wishing you had a little more experience. 

Some people like oral sex more…is she one of those people?

You have to swallow hard and force yourself to pay attention to her lesson, but it’s so hard when you can still feel her skin against yours as she taught you about sex. It was a lesson, nothing more, but you can’t help but want to do it again. 

Agatha keeps going over some other commonly missed questions — none of them were on your test, thank goodness — and then she starts a new topic: contraception and sexually transmitted diseases. You find yourself zoning out and watching the way her fingers curl around the dry-erase marker rather than actually paying attention and taking notes. 

Before you know it, she finishes her lecture — you’re not sure you actually comprehended any of it — and she sits down in the chair before addressing everyone. “If you want to see your test, come see me after class. Otherwise, I’ll see you on Thursday.” 

Practically everyone jumps out of their seats and speeds out the door. It’s only you and another student that stay behind and you let the other girl look at her test first while you pick at your fingernails nervously. You can overhear them softly talking about something the girl messed up on and Agatha starts walking her through the question. 

You have to make an effort not to clench your thighs together. Why is your professor’s voice having this much effect on you? What has she done to you? 

And then the student leaves and it’s just the two of you. Your heart starts to race and you can feel excitement pulse under your skin. 

Agatha smiles at you while you walk towards her desk, feeling like you’re moving through molasses. 

“Um, can I —” You take a deep breath when your voice comes out as a croak, “Can I see my test?” 

You’ll look at it and then go. 

Look at it and then go. Look at it and then go. 

It becomes your new mantra. You’re not going to say anything stupid, and you’re especially not going to bring up the fact that she’s awakened something inside you and you have no way of dealing with it. 

“Of course, hon,” she says warmly and sifts through the exams until she finds yours. You do notice that the test on top, the one she read off the question about oral sex from, is blank. Maybe it’s an answer key? She sees you looking and chuckles like she knows something you don’t. 

Agatha isn’t sure you’d understand that no one had that question; it was just a way to get the idea in your head. She knew none of her students would think twice about it — except for you. 

She finally finds yours and hands it to you and an immense feeling of relief crashes over you when you look at it. 

You got a one-hundred. 

“Great job, honey. Glad to see my little lesson paid off,” she jokes, winking when you look back up at her, and heat floods through you and settles in the pit of your stomach. 

You flip through the test and note her little scribbles of feedback about how well you explained something or how detailed you were. “Thank you,” you whisper hoarsely. If she hadn’t helped, you surely would’ve failed. 

Now would be the time to hand the paper back to Agatha and then go back to your dorm. But you can’t move. You shift your weight between your legs and chew on your bottom lip. 

What are you doing? 

“Everything okay?” she asks and you nod immediately. 

“Yeah,” you answer, still staring at her. She slouches back in her chair and spreads her legs and the vision of kneeling between them hits you like a train. You let out a little sound involuntarily. 

It’s like she can see right through you and she smirks. “Is there something else?” 

I can’t stop thinking about oral sex is what you almost say. It’s taken up almost all of your thoughts the entire class after Agatha planted the seed. “Um,” you start, pleading with your eyes for her to understand. 

She glances back down to the paper with that question on it and then back up to you, realization dawning on her face. “You want to know what having someone go down on you feels like?” she asks matter-of-factly like that doesn’t just shake your entire world to the core as you sharply inhale.

“Yes —” you breathe before even thinking about it. Your ability to think coherently is rapidly decreasing by the second. “Well, I, um — you said that some people like it better than penetrative sex. Do you?” You can’t stop your voice from wavering when you say it and she looks absolutely delighted. 

Agatha leans forward and rests an elbow on her desk while she rakes her eyes over your body. “It depends. Good oral sex? Fuck, yes. Having a pretty girl’s tongue in my pussy is better than anything else.” 

Your knees almost buckle and the ache inside you becomes almost unbearable. Can she see how flushed you’ve become? “Oh,” you squeak out and she laughs. Would you be good at it? 

Better yet, could you make her feel good?

“What’s wrong, honey?” She simpers. “Do you want me to show you how it feels?” 

You almost say yes immediately, but something stops you, and she raises an eyebrow at her hesitation. “Could you, um — could you teach me?” you ask timidly and she beams like she just got everything she’s ever wanted. 

“Of course, darling. You’re such a good girl for wanting to learn,” she gushes and the praise makes your mind go foggy. 

Agatha slides her chair back and tilts it so she’s facing you before slowly pulling up her long skirt. When it gets above her knees, it’s as if you become entranced and you drop to the floor in front of her and put your hands on top of hers. She pauses, studying you, waiting for you to do something. 

Your heartbeat throbs in your throat and you lean forward and press your mouth against her kneecap, suddenly just needing to feel her skin. She lets out a small gasp and her hands grip onto her dress. 

Both of you guide the fabric up even more until it’s around her waist, your lips trailing open-mouth kisses against her thighs in the wake. 

“God, baby,” she sighs and it makes you melt. “Your mouth feels so good.” 

Purple lace comes into your view and your brain short-circuits. The crotch of them is damp and dark and you forget how to breathe. Lubrication. Part of the excitement stage. 

Agatha wants you. 

The thought drives you absolutely wild and you feel your own core get even wetter. 

She shifts so she can bunch her skirt all the way up under her and you press your mouth against her underwear, making her jump. You can smell her through the fabric and you can’t stop yourself from running your tongue over it. She lets out a small gasp and you do it again. You can taste her, too — a somewhat sweet, musky taste — and you moan. 

Her hand gently pushes your head back and then she reaches down to pull her underwear off and you help her slide them down her legs. 

When she settles back into her chair, you get your first look at her and it almost overwhelms you. 

She is so wet. 

“God,” you whisper under your breath and then look back up at her, doubt creeping into the edges of your mind. What if you don’t do a good job? 

Agatha must see your anxiety and she cups your face. “Don’t worry, honey. I’m going to tell you exactly what to do. Just follow my instructions and you’ll be fine, okay?” 

You nod and she smiles reassuringly before sliding a finger through her folds to part them, revealing her entrance. You don’t think you could look away if you tried. 

“Why don’t you start by licking?” she suggests and you take a deep breath before following the same path her finger just took with your tongue. At the first touch, Agatha whimpers and it spurs you on. “Just like that, baby.” 

Starting to feel more confident, you start to explore by dragging your tongue up and down through her folds, just taking her in. You find that she really likes it when you stroke the inside of her folds with your tongue and you do that a few times, feeling her get even wetter. 

“Find my clit at the top,” she says and you locate it a moment later, a swollen little nub, and lick it, maybe a little too roughly. She hisses. “Gently — circle around it at first.” 

You do as you’re told and she moans. Her hips have started moving slightly, like she’s trying to get more, and you want to give it to her. Your eyes flick to her face just to make sure she’s enjoying herself, and you find her already watching you, pupils blown out, hungry. Her bottom lip is between her teeth and her chest is rapidly rising and falling. 

She must be the hottest woman on the planet. 

“Perfect, now thrust your tongue inside me,” she says, except her voice is uncharacteristically high and it makes you even more desperate to please. 

Her walls clench around your tongue the moment it enters her and it makes you moan. Her wetness is smeared around your face now, but it just makes you want to get even more messy. Something about having the proof that you’re getting her close to an orgasm is really doing something to you. 

Agatha’s hand slides into your hair and tugs on it gently, directing your mouth back to her clit. “Suck on my clit, honey,” she rasps so you envelope it with your lips and suck and her back arches off the chair. “Fuck — you’re a natural, baby, you’re such a quick learner.” Your clit pulses. 

You feel emboldened now, knowing that she likes it, that she really likes it, and you flick your tongue against her clit a few times, back and forth, side to side, and then you lick through her folds again while she starts to rut against your face. 

You try to think back and remember the stages of the orgasm that she talked and fucked you through yesterday, but you can’t remember a thing — all you know is that you’re tasting Professor Harkness and you’re making her feel good. 

Her hand tightens in your hair and you groan into her. Your entire body is on fire, heat coursing through your veins and making you ache for her and you wonder if you touched yourself now, if you could get yourself to an orgasm. 

“Baby, right there — god, your mouth feels so good,” Agatha babbles, her hips moving furiously. Your own hips start to make short, frantic motions to get any stimulation that you can. “Open up and hold out your tongue,” she orders gruffly, sounding urgent. 

Whimpering, you stick your tongue out as far as you can and flatten it and she pushes herself out of her chair and stands over you so that your head is tilted up. You have to hold her dress up so you can still see her. 

With one hand in your hair to keep you in place and her other hand firmly grabbed onto her desk, she rolls her hips against your tongue, grinding her clit down over and over while she grunts with the effort. You can feel her throbbing. 

Her wetness coats your tongue and drips out down your cheeks while you let her use you and she starts to get sloppy. 

“Yes, angel, you’re gonna make me cum,” she whines. “Look at you, so pure and innocent, that pretty mouth full of my cunt. Should just keep you under my desk at all times so you can eat me out whenever I want.” 

Her words spark something inside you and you moan loudly, the vibrations against her making her rhythm falter. Agatha tries to say something else but fails and she completely falls apart all over your tongue, liquid gushing all over you. 

She slows down her movements until she finally steps back and falls into her chair, running a hand through her hair and fluffing it. 

You swipe a hand over your mouth and it glistens in the light of the classroom. “Did I do a good job?” you ask and Agatha tosses her head back with a laugh. 

“Yeah, honey, you did a really good job. Why don’t you get up on the desk and I’ll show you how it feels?” 

It takes you less than five seconds to sit on the desk and spread your legs, your short skirt riding up. You can feel how absolutely drenched your underwear is and you wonder if you’re making a mess below you. 

But then Agatha scoots over in her chair and her hands dive under your skirt to take your panties off and you couldn’t care less. She spreads your legs and gently blows against you and it makes you keen. 

Her arms reach around you and land on your ass to pull you closer to the edge of the desk and you put your feet on the armrests of her chair so she can get better access. Your heart is pounding as she leans down and at her first lick, you have to hold onto the desk. Her tongue slides inside you and curls. 

God. 

This is so much better than her fingers. 

The sound that tears itself out of your mouth is somewhere between a strangled moan and a gasp and she huffs out a laugh which only makes the pleasure intensify. 

You’re already so worked up — you’ve been excited since you came to class and it only got worse when you made her orgasm, and you can already feel yours building. 

Agatha says something, muffled by you, and then she sucks on your clit and pleasure skyrockets through you, making you gasp loudly. The tension that you felt for the first time yesterday grows, wounds tight in your stomach, and it’s going to snap at any minute. 

“Agatha, I’m going to —” you moan but you’re cut off by her taking your clit between her lips and thrashing her tongue against it and the dam inside you breaks, relief to the ache you’ve had for so long finally flooding through you. 

She keeps lapping at you like she’s not letting a drop of wetness go to waste and you eventually have to pull her away because you’ve gotten too sensitive. 

Her chair rolls back before Agatha gets up and helps you off her desk onto shaky legs. “So?” she prompts and you heavily exhale. 

“That was…really good,” you say, and you know you’re never going to get the feeling of her hot tongue against you out of your head. Especially when you’re sitting in her class, staring at her mouth and fingers that have both been inside you. 

Agatha smirks and licks her lips in a poor attempt to clean her face. Her cheeks are still shiny, and you can still feel her wetness on your own cheeks, slightly hardened. “Well, anytime you want to learn anything else, just let me know,” she says with a wink. 

The dying embers in your stomach flicker back to life. 

You certainly will. 

[nineteenninety-six]

── ⟢ ・⸝⸝ Chocolate Bars and Injuries [3.5]

Pairings: Jack Abbot x Reader

AN: This was just meant to be a little fic that was I planned to post on wednesday but lol, it kinda spiraled but it's been a while since I posted anything from this little family.

Synopsis: Jack and Caspian 'camp' in the backyard.

TAGLIST: @darksparklesficrecs @flyinglama @antisocialfiore @lonelyloomis @impossibleblizzard

PART THREE

After almost a month of begging and waiting, Caspian's backyard camping weekend finally came into fruition, though to his dismay, you were not participating.

You had been invited to a girls night out and after much encouragement and an offer to look after Caspian from Jack, you had agreed to go. You hadn't spent more than just a day away from Caspian since your parents died almost and so this was something new for the both of you.  You were nervous but more than that, you were excited. You needed a day where you could have fun, relax and not have to worry about your brother. Caspian on the other hand, was not taking it well, he glued himself to your side every chance he got, as if to prevent you from leaving and despite your many reminders of how much he liked Jack and loved spending time with him, Caspian didn't budge.

You had just finished packing your overnight bag with Caspian sitting firmly in your lap as you did so. You half expected him to beg you to stay but he remained silent during the whole process to your surprise. Apparently he was giving you the silent treatment for now.

"C'mon bug, let's get a lil snack before Jack arrives" You push Caspian up from your lap, shifting him to his feet before you stand yourself and follow him into the kitchen.

"Are you not looking forward to camping with Jack? I know he is. He can't stop talking about it." You ask Caspian, watching as he nibbles on his apple slices.

"I want you there'' Caspian shrugs and mumbles.

"I know but I'm going out with my friends."

"Why?"

“Because I haven't seen them in a long time and I miss them" You explain.

"You don' wanna have fun with me?" Caspian pouts.

"I have fun with you all the time don't I?" You raised a knowing brow, "You have fun with your friends like Tanner, at school and I want to have fun with my friends too."

"You'll be back tomorrow?"

You nod, "Yes, I'll be back for lunch tomorrow."

Caspian lets out a long sigh before he nods, "Okay…"

"Trust me Cas, you're going to have so much fun with Jack you won't even realise I've been gone."

Caspian didn't look like he believed you but he didn't  have much time to pout on it as the doorbell went off shortly afterwards, signalling Jack's arrival.

You open the door with the usual smile you reserved for him but your smile quickly twitches into a laugh at the sight of him laden with camping supplies.

"Oh…wow" You laugh, "I guess someone is excited for tonight."

Jack gives you a quick nod with a grin, "Uh-huh. Brought everything we need."

You push up onto your tiptoes to press a kiss to his cheek before you take the cooler and what you could only assume was a sleeping bag from his hands to ease his load.

"Is there more in your truck?" You ask as you lead the way through the house and into the spacious backyard, smiling as a curious Caspian trotted after you.

"Yeah, I've got the tent and camping chairs in there." Jack grunts as he rests his hands on his hips as he surveys the area, mentally planning where to set up the tent, "I got a sleeping bag for Cas as well."

"How much was it? I'll pay you back."

Jack ignores your offer, turning to Caspian instead "I picked up one of those disposable barbeques, how do burgers sound for tonight?"

"Burgers?" Caspian perks up.

"And hotdogs." Jack nods," You excited?"

"What about s'mores?"

Jack laughs at his question, "It was meant to be a surprise for tonight but yeah kid, I got the supplies for s'mores too."

Caspian cheers, mood taking a 180° spin. He claps excitedly as he jumps over to Jack, "We start now?"

"You're gonna help me build the tent?" Jack asks.

"Yea!" Caspian nods.

You decide to leave soon after, figuring the more time Caspian spent the time distracted and with Jack, the less time he spent missing her.

Jack looks almost as excited as Caspian does as he darts off to get the last of the things he brought from the truck.

"You'll be good for Jack okay?" You say as you pull Caspian into a hug and press a kiss to his cheek, "You can ask Jack to call me whenever you want but I'll call you at bedtime."

Caspian's hug is tight and you remained in the hug until he felt ready enough to pull away, "I miss you."

"I'll miss you too," you give him a comforting smile, "I love you lots too."

"I love you more!" Caspian shakes his head making you laugh.

"Hmm, I' m still sure I love you more... especially since I'm letting you make s'mores with Jack"

Caspian pauses for a moment before nodding in agreement, "Okay, you love me more."

Jack chuckles as he watches the both of you say goodbye. You send Caspian off before you make your way over to him, arms wrapping around his neck whilst his arms wrapped around your waist.

"Thank you again for all of this" You tell him, your hand drifting to the back of his head where your fingers play with his curls.

"S'alright, I'm looking forward to it." Jack gives you a small smile.

"I was worried y'know about him not having a good male role model after my dad passed but you're so good with him." You stare into his eyes, finding comfort in his usual unrelenting gaze, "You're so good to both of us."

Jack's eyes flicker away from yours, breaking eye contact as he becomes flustered at your admiration and compliment.

"You're good for me too." Jack confesses, "Robby most definitely believes so."

"Are you ever going to properly introduce us?" You ask pulling away.

"Robby hosts a barbeque every summer, it's in a couple of weeks…he's extended an invitation if you'd like to go."

You grin at him, "I'd love to go."

Caspian had the very important job of holding the pegs as he helped Jack set up the tent in the backyard. You had left not that long ago and Jack was quick to distract Caspian with work before he got too sad about your departure.

"Alright kid, that's the last one." Jack sighed as he hammered the last peg into the ground, "Next we set a few mats on the floor and then blow up the mattresses."

Together they set up the mats and mattresses in the tent, throwing their sleeping bags and the extra blankets you had brought down since you worried about them getting cold over night, in the tent haphazardly and when they had finished, Jack sat into the camping chair with a relieved sigh and smirking when Caspian copied him.

It was only mid afternoon so they had a lot of time to spare but there were loads of benefits of camping in your backyard, including going inside to watch a couple of movies until it was time to cook dinner, which is exactly what they did. Jack flicked on a kid friendly movie that easily captured Caspian's attention while he relaxed on the couch with a beer in his hand as he responded to your messages.

The film captures Jack's attention too, to his surprise the animated movie about the adventures of a young girl and seabeast entertaining him fully until it ends. Now two hours later, it was time to start the barbeque much to Caspian's delight as they were getting closer to night which meant s'mores.

Caspian sat happily in his little camping chair, blanket wrapped around him as he held a skewer with a marshmallow pierced through the top. It was going to take a while since it wasn't a proper grill but Caspian didn't seem to mind. 

Jack took a picture of him, sending off to you and smiling when you instantly responded with a series of emojis. You were always quick to respond to the messages despite being out but Jack knew that stemmed from your anxiety, you were scared of something happening and you were not aware until it was too late so you always read and responded to messages quickly.

'Send me one of both of you' 

You send him a text and instructions on how to set a timer for the photo since you know the older man only used his phone only for text, calls and emails. Jack sets it up so it rests on his chair before he steps back and kneels next to Caspain and they both smile into the camera as the countdown finishes. Jack then lets Caspian take a series of low-angled, blurry pictures of him which you love as much as the good quality ones and he knows it's only a matter of time before you get them printed and add them to the photo album.

Jack can't remember the last time he had a s'more, probably when he was younger but as he bit into Caspian's hard work, he wondered why he waited so long to have them again, they were glorious things.

"These are great Cas" Jack complimented the boy, "Your sister is going to be jealous."

Caspian hummed, chocolate smeared all over his mouth, "We can have more tomorrow."

Jack nods as his phone rings from an incoming facetime call from you and he quickly answers, smiling as your face appears on the screen.

"Hey!" You beam, "Are you two having fun?"

Caspian scampers over, climbing into Jack's lap so that can speak to you too.

Caspian nods, "We had s'mores! And burgers!"

"I know!" You laugh, "Did you help Jack with the tent?"

"Yeah!"

"He was my very important peg handler," Jack adds, "And he helped with blowing up the mattresses."

"See I told you, you'd be having too much fun to miss me." You tease.

"I like Jack," Caspian shrugged, "He's fun."

"Yeah he is" You agree, your eyes on Jack behind him "I like him too. A lot."

"See you soon?" Caspian asks.

"Yeah bug, tomorrow. I'll bring you and Jack something from a restaurant, how does that sound?"

Caspian happily nods before you and Jack continue to talk and before you know it, you have to go back to your friends so you blow kisses across the screen, wish them goodnight before you hang up.

As the night furthered on and the moon rose into the sky, Caspian quickly drifted off to sleep, curled up in his little camping chair, swaddled in at least three blankets that Jack wrapped around him. Jack tucks Caspian into his sleeping bag in the tent and reapplies the blankets on top of him, making sure he's warm before he steps back out of the tent and returns to his chair where he relaxes back and stares up at the sky.

He sighs and takes a sip of his beer as he looks back on his day. It wasn't long, it wasn't stressful, it was fun and fulfilling. He usually felt like this after a busy, extensive day at the pitt, it scratched an itch that settles his nerves and thoughts and so did today in a different way. Spending time with you and Caspian was always great and he was doing things he never expected he would ever do but he enjoyed it immensely. Spending time with you brought out a side he thought he had lost a long time ago and he can't imagine going back to how he once was.

As Jack sipped his beer and stared up at the night sky he wondered if it was too early to ask you about moving in with each other, especially since you hadn't even been dating for a year. 

[duckduckgoose-surveys]

The Magnus protocol 2024 Survey Results

And after a few weeks, the results are out! Thank you so much to everyone who took this survey!

[simplygojo]

Friend-Of-A-Friend ⸺ Chapter Five

author's note ⸺ HEY FRIENDS!!! Chapter 5 is finally up!!. My apologies for the delay my laptop simply just hates me, LOL. I hope you are all doing well, and thank you so much for all of your comments/feedback on this series, it means the world <3 pairing ⸺ Suguru Geto x Reader content ⸺ corporate-worker!reader, emotional tension, alcohol use, modern au, the good-ole-days trope, sexual themes mentioned, reader uses female pronouns, taglist at end, 3.4k, this is an 18+ series - mdni

divider credit: @/toastray ୨୧ art credit: @/juziluohai

previous chapter ୨୧ series masterlist ୨୧ next chapter

*3 Years Prior: Business Association Ball*

The hotel lobby shimmered with that brand of over-polished elegance reserved for galas and business formals—too many chandeliers, too much marble, and the kind of ambient jazz that made your heels sound louder than they should. 

The three of you stepped in together—Gojo in a navy suit already half-unbuttoned, Geto head to toe in charcoal black, all clean lines and quiet confidence, and you in a dress you weren’t totally convinced wasn’t a little too short.

Geto’s gaze flicked toward your legs for less than a second, then up—never lingering, but not hurried either. His expression stayed neutral, but he straightened beside you like something about the sight had realigned him. 

He adjusted the lapel of his jacket, one thumb brushing down the fabric as if smoothing a crease that wasn’t there.

“Remind me why we’re here again?” you muttered, clutching the tiny purse that barely fit your phone.

“Because I’m charming and persuasive,” Gojo said, flashing a grin that had gotten you both into trouble more than once. “And because they’re giving out free drinks.”

“He means because our professor bullied him into coming,” Geto added, deadpan, adjusting the cuffs of his shirt as he eyed the already-forming crowd inside the ballroom.

The doors stood open, gold trim gleaming, and beyond them, the event buzzed with early arrivals—small clusters of students, faculty, and alumni already sipping from stemware and circling the charcuterie like moths around cheese. 

Gojo beelined to the bar the moment you stepped in, dragging Geto behind him with a dramatic sigh. You followed, the smooth glide of Geto’s shoulder brushing yours in the slow push of the crowd.

The bartender barely blinked when Gojo leaned on the counter. 

“Three of your finest cocktails,” he said. “Make 'em strong enough to make our internships feel fake.”

He tapped the edge of the counter twice for dramatic flair, then added, “And nothing pink, please. I’m trying to look like I pay rent on time.”

The bartender, a man in a crisp black vest who looked like he’d heard every variation of that line, raised a single brow before turning away. 

Gojo leaned back on his elbows, surveying the room like a self-appointed social director.

“You ever think we peaked in first year?” He asked absolutely no one in particular.

“I think you peaked when you printed business cards that said ‘Idea Man…’” Geto replied, rolling his cuff once, then folding it again with careful precision.

You nodded in solemn agreement. “And misspelled ‘consulting.’”

“I stand by that branding,” Gojo said, unfazed. “It was bold. Disruptive.”

Before he could launch into a TED Talk, the bartender slid three martinis across the counter—crystal clear, elegantly brutal, each with a gleaming olive skewered on a thin silver pick.

Gojo grabbed it with both hands like it was a cursed object. “Oh god,” he said. “They’re… classic martinis?”

“Congratulations,” Geto said. “You’ve been served like an adult.”

Gojo held it up suspiciously. “I thought they’d at least taste like citrus or joy.”

You lifted your glass more carefully, giving it a cautious swirl before taking the smallest sip. The gin hit sharp and cold, like chewing ice through a fog of pine. Not your favourite. But manageable. 

You could totally stomach this and pretend you had big opinions on the ethics of insurance companies.

Your eyes drifted over to Geto, who didn’t flinch when he took a sip. 

A faint ripple moved through the line of his throat as he swallowed it, and when he lowered his glass, his eyes met yours across the rim—steady, dark, and unexpectedly close in the space between words. 

Heat bloomed low in your cheeks before you could stop it, and your gaze darted away, sudden and sharp, like the snap of a rubber band. You busied yourself with your glass, fingers adjusting your grip on the stem as though it might anchor you from—whatever that was.

Gojo took one sip, coughed, then recoiled like he’d been personally insulted. 

“This tastes like regret in a stemmed glass,” he sputtered. “Why would anyone willingly drink this? I feel like I’m being punished by the British Empire.”

You snorted, nearly spilling yours. “You asked for this.”

“No, I asked for charisma in a cup. This is… anti-charisma. This is what spies drink when they’ve lost the will to live.”

Geto, unfazed, clinked his glass against yours. “To second year.”

“And to surviving third year...” you muttered, bumping his glass gently.

Gojo, still scowling, gave in and raised his reluctantly. “Annndddd to the poor choices of the past, and the even worse ones to come.”

You all drank to that—well, sipped slowly. 

Gojo winced again. “There’s something else in here. Is that… despair?”

“Olive brine,” Geto said.

“Same thing,” Gojo muttered.

୨୧ ୨୧ ୨୧

Time slid by in a blur of clinking glasses and half-remembered names. You saw classmates drift in and out—some lingering for polite conversation, others waving on their way to the buffet or vanishing into alumni circles that orbited the room like planets with more polished resumes. 

The air had warmed with bodies and soft chatter, jazz fading into a slightly more modern lounge mix that still made your heels echo like punctuation. 

Gojo, despite the occasional impulse to flirt or flit, had stubbornly claimed a post near the bar. “Best view in the house,” he insisted, gesturing vaguely at the room like it was all part of his domain. 

He wasn’t wrong—the bar sat just high enough above the ballroom floor to make people-watching an art form.

You set your glass down with a soft clink, the olive tilting in the swirl of clear gin. 

The buzz of conversation around the ballroom had risen—laughter bouncing off marble, the clink of glass against glass. 

Someone passed behind you a little too close, and Geto’s hand briefly touched the small of your back. Just a gentle, steadying thing—gone almost as quickly as it had come. 

You didn’t say anything, didn’t look at him. But you felt it.

Gojo made a face, eyeing the crowd like he was above this all. “God. Everyone here just gets tipsy and talks about themselves.”

“Well,” you said, taking another sip, “you should fit right in.”

Geto laughed—quiet but sudden, like you’d caught him off guard. The sound of it sent a little pulse of satisfaction through your chest before you could stop it. 

Not because it was loud or dramatic, but because it was him.

You didn’t say anything about it. Just tucked the moment away somewhere small and stupid and yours.

Gojo narrowed his eyes at you both. 

“I’m feeling very attacked, and I haven’t even started talking about my brand yet.”

“Please don’t,” Geto said mildly, but you could see the curve at the corner of his mouth—lazy, amused.

Gojo had already tuned you both out, eyes scanning the room like a periscope. 

Then he straightened, too fast to be casual. “Wait. Redhead. Nine o’clock.”

You followed his gaze. There she was—sleek hair, red lipstick, the kind of neckline that made Gojo’s eyebrows do that cartoon-arched thing.

“Oh nooo,” you muttered.

“Oh yes,” he said. “I know her. I think she once offered me an internship and then took it back when I made a dumb joke about crypto.”

Geto gave him a flat look. “I’d take it back too.”

“She laughed,” Gojo said defensively. “It just... wasn’t the right demographic.”

“Human?” You offered.

“She’s here with the Ryker crowd,” Geto said, scanning the name badges. “Probably recruiting.”

Gojo straightened his already crooked tie. “Well, I’m here to be recruited as long as she's the one doin’ it. Don’t wait up for me!”

Then he was gone, already halfway across the ballroom, weaving between groups like he was born to navigate cocktail politics and ambient jazz.

You shook your head, turning back to the bar—and found Geto already looking at you, one brow lifted, the faintest smile lingering like he’d never been surprised by Gojo in his life.

“Should we start a Gojo survival fund? Or just bet on how fast it’ll take that girl to realize he’s a total loser?” You said with a teasing smile spread across your lips

Geto chuckled, low and warm. “Depends. Is the over-under set before or after he forgets her name?”

You laughed, feeling the buzz of the martini finally catch up to you—just enough to soften the edges of the room, just enough to make the look he was giving you feel closer, somehow.

A pause settled between you, not awkward, but full. 

The kind of quiet that didn’t ask to be filled. Geto’s eyes didn’t wander the way Gojo’s always did in a crowd. 

Your hand tightened slightly around the stem of your glass. “You’re not gonna go network or charm alumni into funding your mysterious nonprofit dreams?”

His smile curved a little deeper, but his steady gaze never left yours. “And give up premium seats at the bar?”

You huffed a soft laugh, glancing down at your glass like it might offer a clever reply. “Big sacrifice.”

Geto leaned a little closer, elbow grazing the bar, eyes still on you as his face became a few inches closer. 

“Besides,” he added, voice quieter now, “I think Gojo’s covering enough social ground for all of us.”

You followed his gaze for a second—just long enough to see Gojo doing finger guns at that beautiful redheaded woman—and shook your head. “God help her.”

Geto hummed, something like agreement, then lapsed back into that comfortable silence that had begun to feel oddly intimate. 

You weren’t often left alone with Geto. It wasn’t something you were particularly used to. 

Usually, if Gojo stepped away, you followed—or you went home—partly out of habit, partly because Gojo had a way of taking the center of gravity with him. 

But this wasn’t the kind of event where slipping out was easy. Name tags, assigned tables, and too many professors watching. 

So you stayed. And so did Geto.

It wasn’t awkward, exactly—just unfamiliar. You didn’t have a blueprint for how to pass time with him one-on-one. 

With Gojo around, there was always noise, a buffer of jokes and movement. Without it, everything just… settled. A little quieter. A little slower. You could hear the hum of the room more clearly now—silverware clinking, muffled laughter, the velvety scrape of heels across marble.

Then the bartender reappeared, wiping his hands on a bar towel, eyes flicking between the two of you like he was interrupting something.

“Another round?” He asked, already reaching for your empty glasses.

You glanced at Geto. “Feel like a change?”

“I’ll just take whatever she’s having,” Geto added, nodding toward you with the smallest lift of his chin.

“You don’t even know what I’m ordering.”

“Don’t need to,” he said, the corner of his mouth tilting up. “You’ve got good taste.”

You gave a half-laugh, shaking your head as you turned back to the bartender. “Two espresso martinis. Shaken with Baileys, please.”

“Of course,” he said, already moving like he’d expected that answer.

As he turned away, you caught the way Geto’s gaze lingered a second longer than necessary—on the back of the bartender’s hands, on the movement of bottles behind the bar, then back to you. Not with any urgency. Just that same steady, quiet presence he carried like second nature.

“You always this decisive with drinks?” He asked.

“Only the important ones,” you replied, nudging your elbow lightly against the bar. “Coffee and alcohol. Life essentials.”

“Makes sense,” he murmured. “You always did show up to morning lectures more awake than the rest of us. I thought you were just naturally energetic.”

You gave a dramatic shudder. “God, no. Caffeine and fear. That’s what is getting me through undergrad.”

He chuckled again, and the sound—dry and warm and just a little private—settled between you like the start of a shared secret.

***Present Day***

“Oh god yeah, I remember that night…” Your smile curved slow, amused. “Wait… wasn’t that when Gojo tried to charm that redhead girl from Ryker?”

Geto let out a short laugh, already shaking his head. “Yup, and I don’t remember either of us being surprised.”

You grinned. “She looked like she ate interns for breakfast.”

“She probably does,” he said. “And I’m sure Gojo thought he was volunteering.”

You laughed. “He really straightened his tie like he was walking into a date and not a corporate slaughter.”

Geto smirked. “He didn’t even have his own tie. He borrowed mine.”

“Oh my god, you’re right.” You leaned forward, the memory coming back in full detail. “He didn’t come back the rest of the night.”

“Nope.” Geto took a sip of his drink, watching you over the rim. “And when we asked the next morning, he said, and I quote, ‘She had recruiting energy, but not the kind I was hoping for.’”

You burst out laughing, covering your mouth. “He totally thought he had a shot.”

“He always thinks he has a shot.”

You tilted your glass in his direction. “And honestly? I respect the delusion.”

A smile tugged at your lips as you sipped, the old rhythm between you falling back into place like no time had passed.

He looked over again, a little more curious this time. “So… what about you? Anything new? It’s been a while—catch me up.”

You gave a casual shrug, though your fingers tapped once against the glass. “Honestly? Nothing too thrilling.”

Geto didn’t say anything—just nodded, giving you space to speak.

“I ended up at that insurance company,” you said. “Kind of by default, really. It was the only offer I got after graduation.”

He raised his eyebrows, not surprised, just listening.

“And I don’t hate it,” you added quickly. “I like some of the people there. One of the analysts bakes bread every Sunday and brings it in on Monday mornings. That alone is keeping morale up on our whole floor.”

He grinned. “Bread-based workplace cohesion. Very modern.”

You pointed at him with your martini glass. “Exactly. That’s the real culture fit.”

He chuckled softly, leaning back in his seat, letting the glow of your laughter settle between you.

“But…” you went on, letting your voice trail slightly, “my contract’s up in a few months. So I’ve been poking around. Checking out other jobs. Nothing’s really grabbed me yet.”

“Are you looking for the same kind of thing?”

You hesitated. “I don’t know. I guess I thought I was. But every time I scroll through a job board I just feel… tired.”

His gaze didn’t waver. “That’s not nothing.”

You let out a breath, your thumb tracing the rim of your glass as your eyes instinctively avoided his. “Yeah. I mean, it’s not bad. I’m just not sure it’s meant for me, you know?”

Geto’s glass tilted slightly in his hand, the chocolate-coloured liquid catching a bit of the candlelight and flickering like something alive. Around you, the bar buzzed with a low hum—ice rattling in shakers, someone’s laugh punctuating the air too loudly, a spoon clinking against a ceramic mug.

“I think you always knew what didn’t feel right,” he said, voice warm and laced with a familiar sense of reassurance.

Your lips curved faintly, but the muscles around your mouth stayed still for a second longer. Then you exhaled through your nose, barely audible.

“I guess I just thought I’d have it figured out by now,” you said, setting your glass down with the kind of precision that didn’t match your words. The condensation left a faint ring on the napkin below, perfectly round.

His eyes followed the motion, then flicked back to yours.

A beat passed. Then another.

“And yet,” he said, mouth tugging slightly, “here you are. Still here, doing alright.”

You let out a dry laugh. “What a glowing review.”

He shrugged with one shoulder, the movement easy. “Surviving in this economy? That’s not easy work y’know. You’re a smart girl, you’ll figure it out.”

The words landed heavier than they should have, a prickle started at the base of your neck, low and slow, blooming upward until the heat kissed the tops of your cheeks. 

You shifted in your seat, brushed a knuckle under your nose—trying your best to hide it, and dropped your gaze for a half-second to the condensation sliding lazily down the stem of your glass. 

The feeling clung stubbornly, but you pushed through it, lifting your head again with a small, practiced smile—like wiping steam off a mirror and pretending you hadn’t noticed it clouding over in the first place.

You leaned forward a little, elbow propped on the table, fingers curled around the stem of your glass. 

“What about you?” You asked, not quite letting the question linger. “You said you were doing like, charity outreach? Tell me about that, sounds just like something you’d do?”

You waited, but didn’t push—just like he would do

Geto glanced down and adjusted the watch on his wrist, as if it suddenly needed attention. 

“Sort of,” he said. “I’m with a philanthropic division now. Private company. They fund youth programs—stuff like financial literacy workshops, math clubs in elementary schools, mentorship programs for kids who are good with numbers but don’t have a lot of support.”

His voice carried an unassuming fulfillment, shaped by something older than ambition. Across the small table, his hands moved gently as he spoke—one resting on the base of his glass, the other making the faintest, unconscious gesture you've always noticed he does when talking.

“I’m on the financial operations side of things,” he went on. 

“Budgets, project proposals, making sure the funding actually gets to the right schools. It’s a lot of board meetings and a lot of spreadsheets, but... It’s good. It feels real.”

The bar lights shifted overhead as someone passed by, throwing a warm flicker across his face. It caught in the quiet focus in his eyes, the steadiness in his posture. His gaze didn’t move, but something softened in it—a flicker, almost imperceptible, like the last edge of a candle flame before it settles.

You watched him a second longer than you meant to, struck—maybe not by what he said, but by how he said it with that quiet conviction that never needed to be declared to feel present.

“It suits you,” you said, lightly—but not flippantly.

His eyes flicked to you, steady. Then down again. “You think so?”

“Mhm.” You swirled your glass, the condensation leaving a faint ring on the table. “Helping the next generation reach their potential. Making sure the math checks out. It’s a very selfless thing to do ya’ know…That’s very you.”

That earned you a subtle shift in his mouth—too brief to be a smile, too sincere to be anything else.

“You say that like you mean it,” he murmured.

You blinked, a little thrown—not by the words, but by how softly he said them.

“I do,” you replied, after a second. “I wouldn’t say it if I didn’t mean it.”

He nodded—slow, thoughtful. The kind of nod people do when they’re not just hearing you, but tucking the words away. You watched his jaw shift slightly, his gaze dipping for a second toward his glass, like the weight of your honesty had to be set down somewhere.

Then, quieter still: “Still. Nice to hear.”

You studied him—the deliberate calm of him, the way he filled silence like it was a language he’d grown fluent in. And for a second, the noise of the bar fell away. Just the warm light, the low clink of glasses, and him—sitting across from you like no time had passed at all.

“Yeah, well.” You reached for your glass again, fingertips brushing the wet ring it left behind. “You’re not that hard to root for.”

He let out a breath—one of those faint exhalations that lived somewhere between a laugh and a sigh. But his eyes stayed on you.

“You used to say I was annoying.”

You leaned back slightly, arching a brow. “I said you were cocky.” Your voice was playful, edged just lightly with something warmer. “Different thing.”

“Hm.” He tilted his head, like he was pretending to consider it, but there was a pull at the corner of his mouth again—more a flicker than a grin. The kind of expression that made you wonder what memory he’d just stepped into.

Your knees bumped beneath the table, a small, almost accidental thing. But neither of you pulled away.

The touch lingered, as quiet and steady as the rest of him.

Neither of you spoke. The silence stretched, comfortable—not heavy, but full, like something unfolding slowly between sips and glances and the warmth shared beneath the table.

Outside, the night went on.

But here, in the hush between words, something had shifted.

Just enough for you both to feel it.

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[noirscript]

the lion's claim, pt. 1

PAIRING: King Callixto x Servant Reader

Description: After a fleeting taste of freedom, you were traded between kings—claimed, but never freed.

Warning/s: Yandere. Nothing else. 🫠

Note: This has around 10k words in it. Will divide it into parts. Also, released an ebook yesterday (which you can grab here). Might also release Callixto's story as an ebook once it's done. Also, the ebook is also written in 2nd person's PoV (reader-insert). Another thing, I've opened my membership on ko-fi. Just one tier though. And the complete version of this is already posted there. Will post more about this. Another thing! You can fill up the form to be added to my taglist. Kindly fill-up the form linked on my pinned post. Also, I'll be creating a masterlist for this series. Enjoy!

Masterlist | Series Masterlist | Commission | Tip Jar

The journey to Aurelian’s capital was not a mere transport—it was a statement.

The carriage you rode in was built for royalty, lined with deep blue silk, its dark mahogany polished to a perfect sheen. The golden embroidery of a snarling wolf stretched across its panels, the emblem of Aurelian’s rule. Everything about it was meant to exude power, to remind you that you were being displayed, not simply transported.

Outside, the rhythmic pounding of hooves never faltered. The knights surrounding your carriage moved like an extension of Aurelian’s will—silent, unwavering, absolute. The sigil of the wolf gleamed on their banners, catching the light as they rode through villages lined with spectators. Some villagers craned their necks to see inside the grand procession, while others whispered behind raised hands.

You did not need to hear them to know what they were saying.

You kept your gaze low, unwilling to meet their stares. To them, you were not a person—you were an offering, a prize, something won and traded between men who ruled kingdoms.

A subtle shift in movement pulled your attention from the passing scenery. The carriage tilted slightly, aligning with another on the road. The creak of wheels grinding against dirt, the faint rustle of silk behind a partially drawn curtain. A presence, one that coils deep in your gut before your mind fully places it.

Slowly, cautiously, you press two fingers against the edge of the fabric, parting it just enough.

The second carriage is as grand as yours, though its gold embellishments glint differently, catching the late afternoon sun like molten fire. The crest of Aurelian’s royal family—his wolf, poised mid-snarl—is carved into the door. And through the narrow slit of the window, you see them.

Aurelian sits with the ease of a man who has never known restraint. He looks entirely at home, one arm draped lazily against the open window, golden eyes half-lidded as he surveys the landscape. The wind shifts dark strands of hair across his forehead, but he makes no move to fix them. His expression is unreadable—apathetic, indulgent.

Until he turns toward you.

Your breath catches.

It isn’t a look of curiosity. Not even of interest.

It is certainty.

Like a man admiring something that already belongs to him.

Your fingers clench slightly against the fabric, but before you can look away, his lips curve—not quite a smirk, but something close. Something deliberate.

And then you see her.

She sits beside him, partially obscured by the dim light of the carriage. Unlike Aurelian, she does not lounge. Her posture is composed, her hands resting lightly in her lap. She wears no heavy silks, no golden adornments, yet there is something unmistakably regal about her presence.

Your stomach twists.

She does not look at you at first. But Aurelian’s gaze lingers long enough that she feels it. That she knows.

Her head turns, slowly, carefully, and your heart stills.

Recognition flickers across her face, as brief as a shadow passing over water.

You have seen her before.

She had once stood in the doorway of your shack, breathless and desperate, her clothes damp from the rain. She had clutched the steaming mug you had given her as if it were the only thing tethering her to the earth.

And now, she is here.

Beside him.

She does not look frightened now.

She does not look relieved.

She simply is.

The moment stretches, thick with unspoken words. Then, as if nothing has passed between you, she turns away.

You let the curtain fall.

The golden spires of the capital come into view as the sun dips lower, casting long shadows across the city streets. The moment the carriage doors open, the scent of burning incense and crushed roses fills the air.

Aurelian steps out first.

Then his darling.

And finally, you.

The shift in atmosphere is immediate.

Aurelian’s darling does not acknowledge you as you stand beside her. She does not speak. She moves with quiet grace, her expression unreadable. But the weight of her presence, of everything that has been left unsaid, presses against your skin.

The gilded cage has been locked.

And both of you are inside.

⋅ ─ ✧ ─ ⋅

The palace is a labyrinth of towering pillars and endless halls. The scent of polished wood and candle smoke fills the air, mingling with the ever-present perfume of lavender and chamomile. Every step you take is swallowed by thick carpets, the silence unnatural.

Aurelian has not confined you to a single room. That would be too crude. Instead, he allows you to roam. The grand library, where tomes of ink and parchment line the walls. The gardens, where roses climb stone archways, their scent thick and sweet. Even the kitchen, where the warmth of the ovens and the scent of fresh bread wrap around you like something almost safe.

It is there that you meet him.

The head chef.

The first person in this palace who looks at you without caution, without reverence—without fear.

The kitchen is alive with movement, the sound of knives against cutting boards, the bubbling hiss of oil in hot pans. The scent of roasting meat and fresh herbs wraps around you, something familiar, something grounding.

You hesitate near the doorway, absorbing the scene.

Then—

“You’re standing in my damned way.”

The voice is gruff, unimpressed. A broad-shouldered man with a graying beard and a stained leather apron scowls in your direction, a wooden spoon clutched like a weapon. He does not bow. He does not avert his gaze.

For the first time since arriving, someone looks at you not as a possession, but as an inconvenience.

You step aside. “Apologies.”

He huffs, striding past toward a counter where a young cook kneads dough too aggressively. Without missing a beat, he smacks the back of the boy’s hand with the spoon.

“Too rough, you little idiot. You’re murdering it.”

The boy flinches, nodding.

You hesitate. “You need to let the butter chill before folding it again,” you say. “The layers will hold better.”

The old man turns sharply.

The kitchen stills slightly, a few servants glancing up from their work.

The chef’s gaze flicks over you, assessing.

Then, to your surprise, he snorts.

“Hah. A woman who knows her dough.” He crosses his arms. “Where’d you learn that, royal pet?”

You ignore the name. “I used to sell bread at the plaza.”

His brow lifts. “You?”

You fold your arms. “Not all of us were born into castles.”

A beat of silence.

Then, to your utter shock, he grins.

“Well, at least you weren’t raised useless.” He waves a hand at the counter. “Let’s see if you’re all talk.”

The flour is soft against your fingers, familiar. You lift the edge of the dough carefully, folding it over itself, pressing just enough to keep the layers intact.

The chef watches, arms crossed. When you step back, he nods.

“Decent.” A pause. “Not bad for someone who’s spent the last few months getting dragged between kings.”

You tense, but he only laughs. “Relax, girl. This place has more gossip than rats.” He gestures toward a wooden spice box. “Come here. I’ll show you the trick that won his favor.”

Your stomach twists.

“His?”

The chef doesn’t elaborate.

But you know exactly who he means.

And still, you listen.

⋅ ─ ✧ ─ ⋅

The scent of roasted spices and slow-cooked meat clung to your skin, the warmth of the ovens lingering even as you stepped away from the kitchen’s glow. Despite yourself, you had stayed longer than intended. Perhaps it was the familiarity of it—the scent of fresh herbs, the feel of flour beneath your nails, the rhythmic sounds of knives chopping against wooden boards.

Or perhaps it was because, for the first time since arriving, someone had spoken to you like a person rather than a prize.

The head chef wiped his hands on a rag, giving you a sharp look from beneath bushy brows. “So, what’s the verdict?”

You blinked. “The verdict?”

He motioned toward the dough you had just finished folding, the softened butter sealed between each layer. “On whether you’re completely useless or just mostly useless.”

A flicker of something close to amusement crossed your face. “I suppose that depends on your standards.”

“Hah. You say that now. Let’s see if you still have that smugness when you taste what I make next.” He turned, reaching for a bundle of dried herbs hanging from a hook near the hearth. With a practiced motion, he plucked a few leaves, rubbing them between his fingers before dropping them into a simmering pot. The fragrant aroma curled into the air, rich and earthy.

You stepped closer, inhaling deeply. “That’s not a local herb.”

The old man cast you a glance, something flickering in his gaze. Approval, perhaps, or simple curiosity. “No, it’s not.” He gestured toward the spice rack near the stone wall. “Most of what’s in there was brought in from other kingdoms. Some of it from His Majesty Callixto’s lands.”

Your stomach tightened.

The chef continued as if he hadn’t just peeled open an old wound. “His Majesty Aurelian doesn’t like heavy flavors. He likes control.” He tapped the edge of the pot with his spoon. “Most cooks drown a dish trying to impress him. But the trick is knowing when to stop. When to hold back.”

You watched the slow swirl of broth, the way the colors deepened as the herbs steeped. “You think food is enough to keep his interest?”

The old man huffed a laugh. “Not food. Restraint. You ever notice how people come back for something they can’t quite get enough of?” He smirked, raising a bushy brow. “That’s what keeps a man like His Majesty Aurelian eating. Give him too much, and he’ll lose interest. Give him just enough, and he’ll make sure no one else gets a taste.”

Your frown deepened slightly. You weren’t sure if you were still discussing food.

The chef studied you for a moment before shaking his head. “You’ve been in the hands of too many men who take whatever they want, haven’t you?”

The unexpected directness of the statement knocked the air from your lungs.

Your fingers curled slightly against the wooden counter. “Is that supposed to be a question?”

His expression darkened, though not with pity. Pity was a useless thing, and he didn’t seem the type for it. Instead, there was something colder in his gaze—acknowledgment.

“No,” he said simply. “Just an observation.”

You forced yourself to hold his stare. It was a rare thing in this palace—to be seen. Truly seen.

A beat of silence. Then, he turned back to the stove. “You want to be useful in my kitchen? Watch.”

You did.

For the next hour, you listened, you watched. You learned how to layer spices rather than smother a dish. How heat could be both a tool and a weapon. How patience—restraint—was the difference between something indulgent and something irresistible.

At some point, a presence flickered at the edges of the kitchen. You felt it before you saw her.

Aurelian’s darling stood by the far side of the room, speaking in hushed tones with one of the maids. She did not look at you directly, but she had seen you. There was no doubt.

And still, she said nothing.

The weight of her presence settled between you like a shadow cast by a flame, stretching long and thin across the marble floors.

When the final dish was left to cool, the chef exhaled sharply, stretching his back. “Not bad,” he muttered. “You pick things up quick. Better than most of the green-eared idiots they send me.”

You arched a brow. “More high praise.”

He smirked. “Don’t get used to it.” Then, after a pause, his voice dropped just slightly, edged with something unreadable. “But a word of advice, girl.”

Your fingers tightened against the edge of the counter. “What?”

The old man leaned in just enough that his voice wouldn’t carry beyond the two of you.

“You’re playing a dangerous game, thinking you can hold back a wolf once he’s tasted something he likes.”

A prickle of unease crawled up your spine, but you forced your expression to remain neutral.

The chef watched you for a moment longer, then straightened, his usual gruffness returning. “Now get out of my kitchen. I’ve got real work to do.”

You didn’t argue.

As you stepped back into the cold stone hallways, the scent of herbs and fire still clinging to your skin, you felt the weight of his words settle deep in your bones.

Not as useless as I expected.

You’re playing a dangerous game.

And just before the door swung shut behind you, you heard a soft voice—Aurelian’s darling, speaking to the chef.

“She’s learning quickly.”

The chef huffed. “Let’s hope she learns fast enough.”

You did not linger to hear more.

⋅ ─ ✧ ─ ⋅

The scent of fire and spices still clung to your skin as you stepped into the dimly lit corridor, the warmth of the kitchen fading behind you. The cool, perfumed air of the palace wrapped around you once more, but it did little to erase the lingering weight of the chef’s words.

You’re playing a dangerous game, thinking you can hold back a wolf once he’s tasted something he likes.

The implication was clear, but it was not just one wolf that lurked in these halls.

Your fingers brushed absently against the fabric of your sleeve as you walked, your mind still caught in the steady rhythm of kneading dough, of layering spices just enough to keep a man wanting. The lesson was more than just culinary. It was a glimpse into the kind of power that existed within the confines of this palace—power that did not come from brute force, but from patience. From knowing when to yield and when to withhold.

But would that knowledge ever be enough?

The palace was a labyrinth of endless corridors, gilded and vast, but never truly free. Every turn, every shadow, carried the weight of unseen eyes, of carefully veiled whispers that never quite reached your ears. It was a place built on indulgence, yet one step out of place would remind you that you were only permitted to exist within its walls—not beyond them.

Your feet carried you past towering windows that overlooked the vast gardens, where the last remnants of sunlight stretched long across the manicured hedges and climbing roses. The air smelled of evening rain, of damp earth cooling beneath the night sky.

And there, standing against the stone balustrade, was her.

Aurelian’s darling.

She had been waiting.

She did not turn immediately. Her gaze remained fixed on the horizon, where the last golden sliver of daylight was swallowed by the creeping dusk. The wind lifted the loose strands of her hair, catching against her cheek, but she made no move to fix them.

You hesitated, your pulse steady but slow, as if your body already knew that this conversation—this moment—was inevitable.

Finally, she spoke.

“So.” Her voice was soft, but there was an edge beneath it. Not unkind, but measured. “You stayed in the kitchen longer than I expected.”

Your fingers curled loosely at your sides. “And you knew I’d be there?”

A faint, knowing smile. “There aren’t many places in this palace that still feel real.”

The admission settled between you, heavy in its simplicity.

She turned then, her expression unreadable. The dim light cast long shadows across her face, sharpening the delicate angles of her features. There was no hostility in her gaze, no resentment—only quiet acknowledgment.

How long had it been since that night? Since she had stood at your doorstep, drenched from the rain, her voice raw with desperation? She had been running then, fleeing something unseen, something she had not spoken of.

And now, she was here.

Beside him.

Aurelian had taken her first. And he had kept her.

The realization did not bring relief.

It only solidified the truth you had been unwilling to face.

There was no saving either of you now.

Her gaze flickered briefly toward your hands, still dusted faintly with flour, before returning to your face. “The staff will listen if you ask for something.” A pause. “To a certain extent.”

A warning. A quiet offering of understanding.

Your throat tightened, but you did not let it show.

Before you could decide what to say, she turned away, her steps silent against the polished floor as she disappeared into the halls.

Even after she was gone, the weight of her presence lingered.

And the unspoken truth settled between you.

You had once saved her.

And now, neither of you could save yourselves.

TBC.

noirscript © 2025

Taglist: @hopingtoclearmedschool @violetvase @zanzie @neuvilletteswife4ever @kthehoeforfictionalmen @yamekocatt @fandangoballs @mel-vaz

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[milksnake-tea]

━━ to walk amongst the living .

Jade's last words continue to haunt Sunday as he is cast from the heaven of Penacony and goes from a Family Head to a mere traveler. On his journey to fully understand the struggles of mortals, he ends up becoming companions with you, a fellow wanderer.

sunday x gn!reader

contains: post 2.3, written before 2.7, sunday is hinted to have asthma, sunday is trying his best but bro hasn't touched grass in years so he's struggling, hardcore yearning from sunday

word count: 3.1k

a/n: SUNDAY TRAVEL SUNDAY TRAVEL SUNDAY TRAVEL SUNDAY TRAVEL BARKSI RIYGHGUGHU if hyv doesnt give us any crumbs on what he was doing before he runs into us again. EXPLODES

taglist: @sh0jun , @themoderatelyawesomeninja , @xphantasmagoriax , @rainswept , @lucensei , @akutasoda , @naraven , @scribs-dibs , @apathicace , @flurrina , @tragedy-of-commons , @cakechase , @kiiyoooo , @moineauz

“Achoo!“

The cold was starting to get annoying.

Sunday sighed, biting back his frustration as he wiped his nose with a handkerchief and tugged his scarf to better shield his face. It was a good thing he’d decided to bundle up before leaving Penacony; otherwise, he would’ve already died of pneumonia.

The Planet of Dreams and Festivities was the very definition of a paradise. Everything, from the colors, the sounds, and the temperature was carefully maintained to never be too much or too little.

Sunday did not have such privileges here.

He didn’t remember when the last time he saw snow was. Back home, the closest he’d seen to a natural landscape was the Moment of Oasis, where tourists lounged about on the spectacular beaches - and even then, Sunday hadn’t exactly had time to indulge in such luxuries.

His nose was no doubt red from the cold, and his thighs burned from the long hike he’d decided to torture himself with. Wind battered his hood against his face, occasionally blocking his vision or smacking him. Sunday’s wings instinctively shielded him from the incoming snow that somehow made its way past his hood. He grimaced at the feeling of the ice catching and melting on his feathers, already dreading having to clean them out.

Upon reaching a somewhat flat piece of terrain, he gave himself mercy and allowed himself to stop for a break. His halo, his main weapon against frostbite, glowed gently with a heat not unlike a fireplace as he surveyed just how far he’d traveled.

Mountains upon mountains greeted his gaze, all jagged and covered with the same multi-colored snow that was the staple of this planet. He stood among fallen aurora, and down below, he spied a cluster of bright, warm lights that stood apart from the greens, blues, and purples of the snow: the cities, where he’d first arrived here.

Zastrugi was a planet infamous for its harsh conditions, rivaled only by the recently reintroduced Jarilo-VI. Even so, the people here prided themselves on their resilience, and gladly welcomed those seeking a challenge or a death-defying thrill.

In other words, it was a cemetery of the arrogant and the ambitious, and a perfect fit for Sunday’s current goals. After all, what better way to live a mortal’s life than to endure their struggles?

Sunday looked down at himself. His legs were weak, shaking and trembling from the hike, and no doubt were only kept standing due to adrenaline. His chest burned from haggard breaths, cut again and again from each frosty inhale. His head felt light. He wanted to die.

If this wasn’t suffering, he didn’t know what was.

It was invigorating.

Never before had he felt more alive, with the frost biting at his cheeks and the pain that ransacked his body. He could hear his heart beating in his ears, fighting yet strong and resilient and surviving. A soft smile graced his pale lips as his breath fogged in the air.

How strange, he mused. To find such joy in his own suffering… Was he always this twisted?

“I was wondering when you’d catch up.”

Sunday turned to see you sitting on a rock nearby, snow brushed off of stone so that you could sit without wetting your pants. One of your legs is propped up as you look out at the view, your bored expression proof enough that you’d been sitting there for a while.

You were a fellow traveler he’d met sometime on his travels. Sunday still groaned whenever he remembered your first encounter; he’d gotten swept up in a sudden storm and remembered too late that 1.) he didn’t know how to swim and 2.) his wings were not waterproof. Had you not dove into the raging tide and pulled him out, he would’ve drowned for sure.

Ever since then, you’d accompanied him on his travels - or, rather, he accompanied you on yours. Sunday, with what little he knew of the world outside of Penacony, knew not what his destination was, nor where he should head off to. Your goal was a little more simple - you wanted to see all that was beautiful in the universe.

Even if that meant climbing to the tops of unreasonably steep mountains or camping out in unbearingly hot deserts.

Thankfully, you weren’t opposed to his offer (begging) to join you - on the contrary, you were thankful that he had been the one to say it because in your words, you didn’t know if he would survive if you left him alone by his lonesome.

He still didn’t know what to make of that. For his own pride, he chose to ignore it for the time being.

“Were you waiting long?” he asked, gloved fingers holding the edge of his hood as to keep both it and the snow out of his face. You shook your head, your own hooded cloak flapping in the wind as you looked back out at the view.

“Not as long as I might’ve in the past,” you joked lightly. Sunday breathed a laugh.

Back when he’d first walked alongside you, he’d fought a long and hard battle with his own stamina. It was embarrassing when he thought back on it, how many times he’d have to ask you to stop for a break or even had to be carried by you to the nearest rest stop. Sometimes he wondered why you kept him around, but of course, he never asked.

But he’d grown stronger and more resilient since then, at least, he hoped he did - if not for you, then for his pride.

“It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” Your voice was rather wistful as you spoke, a little breathless and hushed, yet clear in the crisp, scarce air. “What do you think? Was it worth it?”

“I’m not so sure,” Sunday tried for a joke of his own - although, he wasn’t all joking. No matter how much he traveled, he could never get used to the feeling of his own breath scraping against his lungs as he heaved for air.

You, intuitive as ever, sighed knowingly. “Sit down. You look as if you’re going to pass out.”

Brushing aside some snow on the rock, you shifted over to make room for him. Gratefully, Sunday fought demons in order to stop his trembling legs from collapsing in from under him as he lowered himself onto the rock. That would’ve been mortifying.

His breath fogged in the air as he sighed, thankful for some rest. Around him, the snowfall was gentle and slow, and as the moonlight from Zastrugi’s two moons caught on each individual flake, ribbons of light came and passed like wisps of smoke.

An echoing click of metal caught his attention. He looked to his side and was greeted with a cloud of steam warming his face. In your hand was a small metal thermos that held what he assumed is either tea or hot water. You gestured for him to take it.

“Drink; you need to warm up before we continue. I wouldn’t be able to live with myself if you died of hypothermia.”

Sunday breathed his gratitude as he took the thermos. Your fingers brushed slightly, but with the cold, he registered it only after it was gone, and by then it was too late to respond. Still, his heart skipped regardless, and he turned away before he dwaddled too long, thankful for the cold that had already reddened his cheeks.

He blew gently on the liquid within, and took small, careful sips as to not burn his tongue (it’d happened before, and it was humiliating). He was delightfully surprised with the subtle floral tastes of white tea, his favorite. It was obvious that it had been sweetened, and the honey added was just enough so that it satisfied his cravings.

But, as Sunday drank away, the tea warming him from the inside, he thought to himself - he never told you he liked white tea specifically, nor did he ever tell you how much sugar he preferred. How did you know?

Had you, every time you’d taken him to a local cafe or restaurant, watched and observed? Had you remembered, from the few times you’d seen him order or make a drink for himself?

His hold on the thermos faltered as fire rushed to his cheeks. In his chest, under all those layers of cloth and cloaks, a dance unfolded, his heart tip-tapping away, a steady rhythm that was both nerve-wrecking and comforting.

Sunday inhaled deeply, wings fluttering ever-so slightly, and pushed his thoughts away to focus on the tea, nearly burning his tongue in the process. You only raised a brow before returning your sight to the distant city. A comfortable silence enveloped the two of you.

As Sunday gazed down upon the scene, a sharp ache in his sides and a stiffness in his legs, he wondered - was this how Robin felt, when she performed from that grand stage of hers. Sure, the aurora couldn’t compare to the lightshow that accompanied his sister’s concerts, but still - there must be some similarities. Here, at the top of this world, he felt light, as if nothing could ever touch him.

“O chosen one, who dared to exceed his bounds. Sever your wings, descend to the mortal realm, and walk their lands. See what this world is truly like.”

Lady Bonajade’s words rang in his head. Instantly a scowl twisted his features.

He’d never liked the IPC, and he wasn’t going to start now - especially not with a snake like her. He could still hear her taunting voice, that indifferent condescention presented as good-natured pity dampening his mood. There wasn’t much that could truly anger him, but it only seemed natural that it was yet another IPC Stoneheart that managed the feat.

But still, she had been right… much to his chagrin. As much as he hated to admit it, he had flown too high from the people he wished to protect. Even the Astral Express - whom he respected far more than Jade - had made it clear: Know your people before you decide what was right for them.

“What’s on your mind?”

Sunday flinched. You peered at him from behind your hood, face gentle yet your brows were furrowed ever so slightly.

“Ah, I apologize.” He lowered the thermos to his lap. “I was… thinking.”

“I know,” you replied. Shifting slightly so that you could lean back on your hands, you stretched your legs out into the snow. “You do that a lot.”

With a kick, you sent the snow flying into an arch off the cliffside, creating another ripple in the aurora.

“Thinking too much in a place like this… seems like a waste, doesn’t it? Try and take a break from your brain, and just- see. Look at where you are.”

Sunday raised an abdominal wing to block the multi-colored snow from falling into his thermos. Shaking the snow off the twilight feathers, he sighed, staring into what remains of the tea.

You clicked your tongue. Snow crunched, and cloth shuffled, before the cap of the thermos blocked his view. Screwing it closed, you took the thermos from him, a twinge of annoyance tugging at Sunday as he mourned the last bits of tea still left in there.

Before Sunday could complain, however, you beat him to it.

“Don’t give me that look,” you teased lightly. “We’re almost to the top - you can finish your tea there.”

The beginnings of a pout tugged his lip, but with a reluctant sigh, Sunday abided. Pushing off of his knees, he brushed himself off.

“Very well,” he relented, but not without fixing you with a flat stare first. If you saw it, you didn’t say anything, for you had already begun your trek to the mountain’s peak.

The higher you climbed, the harsher the snow became. No matter how beautiful something was, Sunday found that he didn’t care if it was pelting him in the face with as much punch as a bullet. His hood became his shield, and he hurried to keep in pace with you.

Because unlike him, who specialized in Imaginary and Quantum manipulation, you were a master of fire. Your footprints lasted longer than his for the mere fact that you seemed to melt through the snow, and as long as Sunday kept close to you, he wouldn’t be at risk into becoming a popsicle.

But that was easier said than done. Again, you were far more traveled than he was, and as such you moved at a much faster pace despite the melting snow’s attempts at slowing you down. Sunday was already dreading the next morning - he’d have to do a full-body stretch for at least half an hour after this was all done if he wanted his legs to be functionable tomorrow.

Every now and then, you would glance back at him, as if making sure he hadn’t been swept up in an avalanche - which, if it weren’t unfortunately a valid concern, would’ve damaged his already ruined ego. And each time, Sunday would meet your gaze, and offer the tiniest of smiles before returning to his suffering.

By the time you had reached the summit, Sunday was well about to pass out. The air was thinner up here, making it hard to breathe, and his exhaustion did not make things easier. But he had done it, and surprisingly, he had kept in pace with you.

He breathed as much as he could, swallowing what little oxygen he could grasp from the top of the world. A wheeze or two ripped through his lungs. Wordlessly, you pressed his inhaler into his hand, a pat on his back to congratulate him. Sunday nodded his thanks.

Once his medication had done its magic and he no longer had to focus on the struggles of breathing properly, he realized that the world had gone silent. Snow no longer pelted at his face, and the aurora had gone dark.

And then he swept his gaze, and saw the clouds below him. Somehow, without noticing, he’d passed through them, and entered an entirely different plane of Zastrugi. Here, there was nothing but sky, and the stars - real, actual stars, not the false ones created by the snow, danced in nebulae above him.

And there was you, your cloak flapping in the wind as you gazed up at the cosmos. With so little light, he could only see your silhouette, but he has the impression that your back is turned towards him.

You are silent, as you always are when you see new sights. In moments like these, it was as if your breath had been stolen, and it is all you could do to absorb the picturesque scene before you, engraving it into your mind to store for all eternity.

Once, Sunday had expected you to take photos of your journeys, as a memento. But you never did. No, rather, you would stand there, memorizing every little detail, and then return to your temporary home to paint it instead.

And he swore, those paintings were almost always more magnificent than the places they were based on.

Sunday took one last look towards the everlasting cosmos before coming up to your side. Rather than the sky, the image he drank in was you. Your expression was soft, yet awe-struck, much like a child seeing the world for the first time. There was always a sort of melancholy in your eyes, but also a love for everything that he could drown in if you allowed him to.

You loved the world, and it was that love that he adored.

You turned to him, noticing his gaze, and for a moment, it was if time itself had stopped. His breath caught in his throat, and words died on his tongue. All he could do was look into your star-speckled gaze, all the colors of the universe casting their light onto the two of you.

What expression was he wearing, he wondered? A smile, or perhaps… something else?

But then you raised your hand, brushing it against his cheek ever so slightly, and all of those thoughts disappeared.

A smile wove onto your lips. “You had some snow left on you.”

Sunday tried not to miss your hand as it left him. His fingers trace what you had left, his gaze becoming lidded.

“Ah,” he breathed.

The corner of yours eyes crinkle, and you turned to the cliffside. Leaning over slightly, you peered over the edge, the clouds obscuring the true height of the fall. Sunday blinked.

“What are you planning…” he sighed, crossing his arms. You chuckled, turning slightly to meet his eyes.

“One way or another, we have to get down,” you pointed out. Sunday’s expression fell flat.

“Don’t even think about it.”

Your feet toed the edge, sending rocks and snow tumbling down. “You said you wanted to experience life as a mortal to the fullest, didn’t you?”

“I wasn’t aware that included throwing oneself off a mountain.”

You shook your head, a grin surfacing. “You’re no fun, Sunday. Don’t you have those wings of yours? What do you have to worry about?”

Sunday’s answer was immediate. “You.”

“How sweet of you,” you commented as he came to besides you. “Well, then, you’ll just have to catch me, won’t you?”

Sunday squeezed his eyes shut, pinching the bridge of his nose. “[Name], I swear upon all that is good in this world-”

He opened his eyes. You were already gone.

Sunday swore.

Midnight unfolded behind his back, clashing with his white cloak. Without so much as a second thought, he dove into the clouds headfirst, shooting through the sky like a meteor as he searched for you.

The second the fog of the clouds leave, however, he was thrust into a world of color. He fell alongside the snow, and unlike when he was on the mountain itself, he became a part of the aurora. The colors nearly blinded him, if not for the fact that he had his sights set on one thing - your falling figure, so close yet so far.

He tucked his wings as to fall faster. The second he reached you, he grabbed you, arms locking around your waist and pulling you into him, where it was safe.

“You’re a fool,” he scolded as your chest met his. You laughed, throwing your head back to return to the aurora.

“And yet, you saved me all the less.”

Sunday rolled his eyes as your legs wrapped around his waist. His wings returned to their full wingspan, catching the wind and ensuring that your fall didn’t end in a tragedy. He swerved and turned and glided, dodging peaks and keeping his sights on the city.

And all the same, you laughed, nothing short of pure glee in your voice.

And he sighed, fondness squeezing him regardless.

Yes, you were a fool.

But you were a fool he couldn’t help but love.

reblogs w comments are appreciated !!

[goldfades]

𝐁𝐋𝐄𝐒𝐒𝐈𝐍𝐆 ─ PB⁵

౨ৎ ─ summary | request -> "STOP IM SO HAPPY UR MAKING PAIGE X WBB MEDIA MANAGER A SERIES BC I SENT IN THE FIRST REQUEST 😽😽😽 fic with paige and reader being out and a little wasted and getting interviewed by fellow college student about their relationship and working together etc. (could end in smut if u like ;)) // inspo: https://www.tiktok.com/t/ZTL9fH1p1/" (love you nonnie thank you for giving me the idea to make this series, ur the best mwahhhh hope you enjoyed)

─ word count | 1k

─ warnings | so much sexual tension its bad, paige being possessive (in a cutesy way!), interviewer being kinda weird/suggestive, mentions of drinking/getting high, some language, nothing else?

─ taglist | @xocherishxo @iienstein @yazmunson @euphternal @uraesthete @hello-nah817 @wanderlusturous and here's a link to my taglist if anyone would like to join!!

─ ev's notes | okay so this is kinda part of the manager series (if u guys want it to be) or if u have no idea what it is, thats fine!!!! i wanted to make it a standalone cus it felt better to me that way but whichever you'd like to read it, read it!! idk why that specific tiktok is my roman empire, it's just the way she talks and EVERYTHING makes me physically so like..... obsessed i don't even know, like GODDDDD im so attracted to her

YOUR FEET HAD begun to hurt an hour ago and your entire body felt sore, though you didn't feel very tired though.

You were two and half redbull vodkas in and let's just say you were tipsy; you weren't quite drunk yet but you were definitely on the way. As you stumbled slightly through the sidewalks of the UConn campus, your only guide was Paige's hand on your waist. The combination of the alcohol and Paige's presence made everything seem surreal, like you were walking through a really good dream.

You felt giddy, that was the only way you could describe it. You were drunk, sure but mostly off of Paige's lingering touch. You were excited by it, as if every brush of her fingers against your skin sent a jolt of electricity through your body. The night air was crisp, but you hardly noticed as you leaned into her warmth, reveling in the sensation of her warmth.

Paige's laughter bubbled up beside you was infectious, pulling you deeper. You found yourself laughing along, not entirely sure what was so funny but not exactly caring either. The world seemed to shrink to just the two of you in a bubble of tipsy euphoria.

You and Paige leaned against the railing, a cup in her hand as she gazed at you while you spoke about god-knows-what, she wasn't really sure anymore. She was zoned out until she felt a tap on her shoulder, to be met with a pair of new eyes.

Her face contorted into confusion as she sat up, glancing at you then back at the stranger. "Are you Paige and Y/N?"

"Yeah, what's up?" She replied quickly as she straightened up, a forced smile on her face.

He returned the smile gratefully, "I'm a big fan, uh... can we interview you two?" The guy spoke quickly as he glanced back at his friend, who was waving awkwardly.

Paige glanced back at you with a smile of her own as she waited for your approval. You nodded slowly as you glanced back at the guys as you surveyed the surroundings. "Just be chill, okay?"

He nodded as his friend pulled out his phone as he took out his phone and began using it as a microphone. He cleared his throat as he smiled, looking at his friend to start recording.

"Who are here with today?" He spoke as he brought it up to Paige's lips, then yours.

"Paige Bueckers,"

"And uh, Y/N L/N. By the way, she's not drinking alcohol," you added with a smile as Paige laughed.

Paige nodded and gestured to her drink. "I'm drinking a shirley temple, no alcohol."

"Yeah, we don't do that around here." The guy added with a laugh as the two of you glanced at each other, holding in your laughter.

Paige grinned, her tone amused as she played. "Y/N's here to keep in check though,"

"So you guys are actually close, like outside all the sports stuff?" He glanced in between you guys, noticing the close proximity between you.

You shared a knowing look with Paige. "Oh yeah, Paige and I are practically inseparable," you replied with a grin, your voice laced with fondness.

Paige nodded as she gazed at you, a smirk playing on her lips. "Yeah, Y/N's my girl, on and off the court."

You couldn't help but feel warm under her unwavering gaze as you laughed and averted your gaze back to the guy who was watching you two closely.

"As in like, best friend?" He clarified as he looked back at the camera with a laugh.

"What else?" Paige replied with amusement and slight agitation as she finally broke her gaze, a small laugh leaving her lips. "Obviously,"

"How is it like working together though, if you guys are really close? If I had to spend all that time with my best friend, not sure I would make it." The interviewer joked as he glanced back at the camera.

Paige furrowed her eyebrows as she laughed. "It's not bad at all, it's really fun. We hang out a lot, we get to go on trips together and share hotel rooms, it's a blessing."

She glanced back at you with a smile as you nodded slowly, feeling yourself draw closer to her. "Yeah, it is a blessing," that was all you could get out as you watched Paige wet her lips and laugh, turning away slightly.

You were pretty sure that the interviewer had caught on to the obvious tension but you didn't care at this point, you were lost in the moment, captivated by Paige. The interviewer's words seemed to fade into the background as you found yourself drawn closer to her, your heart pounding with a mixture of excitement.

"Why do you wear Paige's jersey rather than anyone else's?" He asked, his tone laced with amusement as he watched you zone back in.

Paige's eyebrows furrowed as she looked at the guy, clearly getting annoyed by his stupid question. But before she could respond with a less polite answer, you did with a laugh. "I don't only wear her jersey, it was one time and it was because it was her first game back after her injury."

Paige's expression softened as she nodded in agreement, her irritation dissipating. "Yeah, it meant a lot to me to see her wearing my jersey that day."

The interviewer nodded before he glanced back at the camera before to you two again. "Okay, okay. Last question, do you think you could beat me in a 1v1?"

"Absolutely," Paige replied with a laugh as she grabbed your arm and pulled you away, beginning to walk off before the interviewer kept talking.

"Okay bet, whoever wins gets to take Y/N out," he called out, his tone playful as he flashed a smirk toward the camera.

Paige turned around to give him the nastiest glare of all time as she kept walking forward. "I already do that, bro."

You stifled a laugh at Paige's quick retort, her playful possessiveness bringing a warmth to your cheeks. The interviewer's eyes widened in surprise at Paige's response, clearly caught off guard by her boldness as he laughed, turning back to the camera.

You two just walked off as Paige's hand moved down back to your waist as you continued on your way. Despite the slightly heated exchange, you couldn't help but feel a flutter of warmth in your chest at Paige's possessiveness.

──── COMMENTS

cam 🎀 | this has to be their hard launch or something cus DAMN😭 ♡ 792

↳ user893492948493 | ngl i can't even deny it anymore and i was the biggest anti paige and y/n person OUT THERE

↳ lily :p | "my girl" 🦋🦋🦋🦋🦋🦋

Jake | is it just me or does paige like girls? ♡ 701

↳ ella :) | ????? yeah????

↳ Jake | this is news to me uhh

lovergirl <3 | okay what about sharin hotel rooms now... ♡ 432

ZM | bro why would u say that 😭😭😭 in front of PAIGE BUECKERS 😭😭 ♡ 1.1k

✌🏼💥💁🏻‍♀️ | am i interrupting something... 😰 ♡ 994

cailey ☀️ | okay who is y/n whats her instagram where does she go who is she is she dating anyone wow shes beautiful ♡ 2k

↳ 💯💯 | everyones collective reaction when they first see y/n

↳ cailey ☀️ | going through a rabbit hole rn brb, she's so pretty what 😭

↳ #1 swiftie 💍 | cailey watch out girl ur on paige's watchlist now....

🤗🤗 | the damn tension in air damn im not even y/n and i feel hot ♡ 118

Thomas W | they are both drunk as hell bro what is up with the laughing 😭 ♡ 1.2k

user83948928932 | bro met y/n l/n and paige bueckers and continued to ask the worst questions of all time ♡ 591

↳ uconn luvr | and paige was good with the comebacks like okayyy baee protect ur girl!!

↳ 💥 bow | they are not dating, can two girls just be friends anymore?

↳ uconn luvr | she literally calls her "my girl" in like the first 2 seconds of the video

Isabelle Reece ✨ | paige was too quick w that reply to just be "best friends" with her 💀 ♡ 903

↳ ur fav aries | bro i know she was smooth with it too like💁🏻‍♀️

y/n's bitch 💙 | idk who i wanna be more y/n or paige ♡ 252

↳ mikey 🤑 | theyre both so hot

↳ 🧚‍♀️ | mike ima have sit you down for this...

↳ taylor! | ohh... thats not...

Chris | shes cooking you respectfully ♡ 1k

i 💙 uconn wbb | if this doesn't prove y/n and paige are together idk what will

♡ 853

────

part 2?? cus i lowk wanna write smut for this now... lmk

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↳ thank you for reading all the way through, as always ♡