#you didn't know you were going to be reading a book when you asked

[airybcby]

જ⁀♡⊹｡° guess second best is all i will know

( reo mikage x fem! reader )

♡ a/n — really wanted to write for reo again so enjoy!

♡ word count — 2.7k

♡ content — reo mikage x fem! reader, arranged marriage, loveless marriage, angst, kind of fluff towards the end, reader is a rich heiress, secret letters, switch of pov ( once it goes to reo's pov ), miscommunication, not proofread!

♡ synopsis — Being given away at your wedding was supposed to be joyous, something every little girl wished for at least once. But how were you supposed to be excited when Reo Mikage couldn't even write his own vows?

You didn't expect love.

Not when the marriage contract was signed before either of you had a chance to say no.

But you had hoped for kindness.

Maybe something gentle in the spaces between you. Maybe a hand held during dinner. Maybe someone who looked at you like they saw more than your family name.

But Reo Mikage never looked at you. Not really.

Not when you met him for the first time—his phone lighting up every thirty seconds, a small laugh under his breath as his thumbs flew across the screen. 

He’d nodded when you introduced yourself. Smiled, even. Said something like, “Nice to meet you,” with perfect manners and perfect teeth.

But his eyes were somewhere else.

You remember your father asking you afterward what you thought of him.

And you said, “He’s nice.”

Because it was easier than saying, “He didn’t really talk to me.”

On your wedding day, the gown fit perfectly.

It was made for you. Custom-stitched to flatter and shine.

Too bad it wasn’t meant to be admired by your husband.

You stood before hundreds of guests, a vision in silk and diamonds. He looked at you like you were a stranger.

He read his vows off a notecard.

Not his handwriting.

One of his father’s assistants had written it, because Reo had been “too busy.”

Training, press, a last-minute flight to Barcelona. You’d heard every excuse in the book.

You said “I do” anyway.

Because it was already done.

That night, when the guests were gone and the champagne had dried to sticky rings on glass tables, Reo leaned against the black car outside the venue and said,

“You can go back to your apartment. I won’t be offended.”

You blinked. “What?”

“I just figured you wouldn’t want to spend the night with someone you barely know,” he said, tone so casual it made your stomach twist. “And I’ve got practice early tomorrow, so…”

You nodded. What else was there to do?

So you went home.

You sat on your couch in a gown that took four months to design.

In shoes that made your ankles ache.

Mascara clinging to your lashes as the weight of it all finally cracked your spine.

And you cried.

Not the loud kind. The kind that sits behind your teeth, swallowing itself, curling in the pit of your stomach until it becomes something quiet and unbearable.

You didn’t see Reo again for a few days.

But your things arrived at his house. Not because he helped you move.

He’d hired a moving company. “The best and the fastest,” they’d said proudly at the door.

How kind.

The house was beautiful. Cold. Quiet.

Your name wasn’t anywhere on the mailbox, but it was in the contract.

You cooked that night. It was something stupidly domestic—a way to feel like maybe, maybe this could be something human if you just tried hard enough.

He walked in at 7:46PM.

Phone glued to his ear. “Yeah, no, I told him that—mm. Yeah. Nagi, you’re not listening—bro, listen—”

He breezed past you in his hoodie and soccer bag, smelling like turf and cologne, like a life you weren’t invited into.

Still, you tried.

You waited until he hung up.

You smiled. Weak, but there.

“I made dinner,” you said softly. “And, um… how was practice?”

He looked up like he forgot you were there. Eyes blank, like you’d grown another head.

“Fine,” he said. “I’m gonna eat in my office. Thanks.”

He took the plate.

He walked away.

And you sat back down at the table you’d set for two, with candles flickering, wine starting to taste like metal on your tongue.

You told yourself it didn’t matter.

You’d been alone your whole life. Raised by nannies who barely knew your middle name, in houses too big and too quiet.

You could survive this.

But you hadn’t wanted to survive your marriage.

You’d wanted to live in it. Grow into it.

Find something of your own in this world where everything had always been chosen for you.

Now, your name was on a ring. A contract. A marriage certificate.

But you weren’t sure if it was on his mind at all.

And maybe it was stupid. But part of you still wished he would look at you. Just once. Not like a stranger.

Not like a burden.

Just… like someone he might’ve chosen, if the world had let him choose at all.

You lost track of how many dinners you spent alone.

The days bled into one another—quiet mornings in a home that wasn’t yours, not really, and late nights where the only conversation was the low hum of Reo’s voice through the walls as he talked to someone who wasn’t you.

Always someone who wasn’t you.

Sometimes it was Nagi, like always.

Sometimes it was a teammate.

Sometimes you didn’t know.

You never asked.

You told yourself it was better this way. 

You wouldn’t fall apart over a man who’d never even taken off his shoes at the door you both supposedly shared. 

You wouldn’t crumble just because he didn’t notice the new books you lined on the empty shelves, or the way you started sleeping on the far edge of the bed—just in case he ever came to find you.

He didn’t.

Your presence was an afterthought in the story of his life.

Reo’s house was made of clean lines and expensive taste.

You decorated one room. Just one. 

A sunlit sitting area with cream curtains and deep green plants you watered every Tuesday.

It was the only room that felt like it belonged to someone who lived.

You started writing there—little letters you never sent.

Some to him.

Some to no one.

Letters like:

I wore the earrings my mother gave me today. You didn’t notice. No one ever does.

I think I’d love you if you’d let me.

I know I’m just the deal your father made to keep you in line.

I still made you dinner.

You kept them in a velvet box tucked in under the arm chair. 

Not because you wanted him to read them, but because writing them down helped you feel like less of a ghost in your own marriage.

The first real conversation you had came by accident.

You were in the kitchen late one night, padding across the tile floors in bare feet and his too-big hoodie—because everything else was in the laundry and you were cold.

You didn’t expect him to come home early.

He blinked when he saw you by the stove, pouring hot water into a teacup.

“…You’re up?” he asked, like it was strange. Like you weren’t someone who lived here.

You nodded, unsure of what to say, “uh…wanted to make sure you got home okay.” you mumbled, not looking at him.

You were pathetic, sitting here far too late into the night waiting for a man who didn’t love you to come home.

He looked like he wanted to say something else—but the words never came.

Instead, his gaze drifted to your clothes.

“That’s mine.”

You looked down at the hoodie. “Oh. Yeah. Sorry. I was just—”

“You can wear it. I don’t care.”

He said it so fast you nearly missed the small curl in his voice. Like maybe he did care. 

Like maybe something in his chest tugged at the sight of you in it.

Either that or he never wanted you to wear it again. You weren’t sure yet.

You sat in silence after that. He didn’t leave right away. 

He stayed—leaning against the doorframe like someone watching a stranger through glass.

The moment passed.

And then he said, “Night,” and disappeared into the hall.

It was a crack in the wall.

But a crack wasn’t enough to let the light in.

So the days went on.

He kept his distance.

You kept trying.

You made dinner every night. You never asked if he’d be there. But sometimes—sometimes—he ate what you left in the fridge.

That counted for something, didn’t it?

The house was quiet.

It’s the kind of silence that used to comfort Reo—back when it meant peace, stillness, something earned. But lately, it clings too tight. It echoes. Reo isn’t sure when the walls started feeling too wide, like the rooms were built for a version of him that no longer fits.

You’re not home. You left a note on the fridge, something about grabbing groceries and a coffee with your sister. 

He could have gone with you. 

You didn’t ask.

He wanders without meaning to. First to the kitchen, then to the hallway, and finally to the sitting room—the only room that still feels like it holds something real.

The afternoon sun filters through sheer curtains. It paints long shadows over the rug you picked out last spring. Reo crouches by the armchair. Something shifts beneath the hem of the fabric—a corner of a dark velvet box barely visible under the chair.

He pulls it out, curious.

It’s heavier than it looks.

The lid creaks when he opens it. Inside: envelopes. Dozens. All the same size. Some newer, some worn around the edges like they’ve been held more than once.

He pulls one out at random. There’s no date. Just his name on the front in your handwriting.

He hesitates.

And then he reads.

One day, he came home early.

So early it startled you.

You were in the sitting room, writing. Not one of your usual letters. Just thoughts. Scribbles in the margins of a notebook, where you were trying to remember what your voice sounded like when it wasn’t filtered through sadness and expectation.

You didn’t hear him walk in.

But you heard the door open. And then a pause.

And then: the sound of paper shifting.

Your heart dropped.

By the time you looked up, he was holding one of the letters.

Not one of the silly ones.

Not one of the harmless little diary pages.

No—this one was raw. This one hurt.

It was the one you wrote after your anniversary last week, when he didn’t come home until 2AM and never said a word about what day it was.

The one that said:

I sat in a dress for three hours waiting for someone who didn’t ask me to marry him and still doesn’t want to be here. 

Happy anniversary to me.

Reo’s eyes flicked over the page. His jaw clenched.

He didn’t look at you.

“Why didn’t you say anything?” he asked, voice tight.

You blinked at him. “I tried. For months.”

“No—you wrote things and left them in a box.”

You stood. “You were never home. You never asked.”

“I didn’t think you cared.”

Your laugh cracked in the middle. “I didn’t have to care. I was given to you.”

He finally looked at you then.

Really looked. Like maybe—maybe—he was starting to see past the marble mask of this perfect life.

“…I didn’t want it to be like this,” he said, softer now. “I didn’t want to be that guy.”

You crossed your arms, every part of you aching. “Then why were you?”

Silence.

He ran a hand through his hair. Frustrated. Lost.

And then, almost too quiet:

“Because I didn’t know what to do with someone who might’ve actually… wanted to know me.”

“I don’t…want to know you. Not now. Not ever.” You were a bad liar, always had been. You bit on your thumb, not looking him in the eyes. You weren’t sure your heart could handle it if you did - that stupid traitorous organ.

Reo didn’t put up a fight, instead he put the note on the table and walked back to the room he’d all but taken over- the guest room.

While you retreated back to the room that was once his- that was meant for the both of you. The one you’d been sleeping alone in for these past few months. The one where you had to change the sheets weekly because of your tears.

The letter stayed on the kitchen table.

He didn’t put it back in the box.

Didn’t throw it away either.

He just left it there, like a wound in plain sight.

You avoided it for three days.

You didn’t talk to him. Not because you were angry—but because you didn’t know what else to say. There were no rules for this kind of marriage. There were only long silences, and carefully avoided glances, and the quiet weight of too many things unsaid.

You still made dinner.

You still watered the plants.

You still took off your jewelry at night and set it in the velvet-lined case your father gifted you as a wedding present.

“It’ll match your husband’s name,” he had said.

But what good was a name if the man behind it wouldn’t even sit across from you at the table?

The night it changed, the sky was gray and heavy. Rain smeared the windows, soft and constant like background noise to the ache in your chest.

You made pasta.

You weren’t expecting him to come home early again. You didn’t even hear the door. Just the sound of footsteps across hardwood, steady and real.

And then his voice—quiet, behind you.

“…That smells good.”

You turned. He was soaked through, jacket clinging to his frame like it was too tired to hang on anymore.

You grabbed a towel from the counter and handed it to him without thinking.

He took it, fingers brushing yours.

And for the first time since your wedding day, Reo looked at you like you were something real. Not a responsibility. Not a deal. Not a ghost in his hallway.

Just you.

He didn’t go to his office that night.

He sat at the table.

Ate the pasta.

Said thank you.

Not a lot. 

Not a flood of words or some grand apology. 

But his presence—the fact that he stayed—was louder than anything he could’ve said.

Halfway through the meal, you asked him again, “How was practice?”

You were prepared for a repeat of the last time you asked, him shutting you out and running away to his office. 

You’d be okay if it happened, after all, you’d grown used to the silence in this house.

He paused. Looked down. Took a breath like it was heavier than the air allowed.

“…Rough,” he admitted. “My legs felt like concrete.”

You smiled, just barely. “Then you’re human after all.”

That got a small laugh out of him. Soft. Surprised. Like he didn’t know he still had it in him.

“I guess so.”

He helped you clear the dishes. Put the leftovers away. Stood beside you at the sink like someone trying to remember what domesticity looked like.

The silence between you wasn’t cold anymore.

It was just quiet.

And maybe—maybe—hopeful.

He didn’t go to the guest room that night.

He sat at the edge of the bed, damp hair falling into his eyes, and asked you something that knocked the breath from your lungs.

“Do you hate me?”

You blinked. “What?”

Reo looked down at his hands. The same ones that held world-class trophies and training weights and the pressure of being perfect since he was a boy.

“…I didn’t know how to be a husband,” he said. “Didn’t want to be one, at first. Not like that. Not like a pawn in some game our dads made.”

You stayed silent.

He kept going, voice cracking just enough to feel real. 

“But then I saw that letter. And I realized—shit, I made you feel disposable. Like you were just…second best. And that’s not fair.”

You could barely breathe.

“I didn’t want to fall in love with someone just because I was supposed to,” he said, voice low now. “But that wasn’t your fault. And I’ve been an asshole. I know that.”

You swallowed the knot in your throat. “…And now?”

Reo turned toward you then, expression open in a way you’d never seen before. No charm. No smirk. No shield of distance.

Just him.

“Now I think I already did,” he said. “Fall in love with you.”

You didn’t kiss him that night.

But you let him hold your hand.

And when you fell asleep beside him, his heartbeat was steady against your back. Like he was trying, for the first time, to match your rhythm instead of walk ahead.

The next morning, there were flowers in the kitchen.

Real ones. Your favorite kind. A little handwritten note tucked between the stems.

Let me make it right. Dinner tonight?

You read it twice.

You smiled.

And then you made breakfast for two.

reader is far more forgiving than me but i didn't want this to get too long.

likes, comments, and reblogs are appreciated!

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⋆.˚✮ 2025 ©airybcby ✮˚.⋆

[hivemuthur]

a lil request, for freaktor friday or not

soo

what if vik found out the reader comes easily and is a visual learner so he would make them come just by making them watch him suck strap buckled to their hips and giving them a lil show

I feel like this should have a new day of the week invented, but I say it's Freakday since I lack better options :v

Oral Fixation

viktorxfem!reader explicit! blow jobs (?) + fingering (fem receiving since it just came out this way), established relationship, disgusting love, Reader is a complete simp, but Viktor likes it.

word count: 3,3K

author’s note: I feel like this belongs in the pegging universe, so I just kinda nodded to myself in this one, you can treat it as a part two -> here's the pegging fic. @rennethen beta read! RIP all of us cockles. Also, i hope you didn't mind the ask spam people and happy Freakday :v

—

It’s impolite to stare—you were always told. But whether out of sheer defiance or overwhelming curiosity, you’ve never paid much attention to what’s polite and what isn’t. You were right, of course, and the world was wrong. Your long ogling sessions have earned you a partner with equal levels of fixation and a mind as brilliant as it is open—keeping up has only ever been a thrill.

What started as one tiny indulgence on your part—a glance toward his hands—soon bloomed into full-blown obsession. The fruits of which would betray you to anyone who opened your notebook, now full of sketches. Every knuckle, every wrinkle rendered with the kind of care that screams affection.

And it betrays you, as you feared, when those same hands—immortalised in ink—leaf through the pages. Heart plummeting, you watch him carefully. See if he’s noticed. But the moment Viktor holds the book at arm’s length and compares one of your sketches to his open palm—you know it’s over.

He teases you for weeks after. “Is it just my hands that interest you?” he asks, all innocent and smug. “Or are you curious about other people’s hands too?” You swat him for it, ignoring the ‘cripple’ card he pretends to pull, but you’re still smiling as you walk away. You can’t help it.

And what turns out to be true—despite everything—is that it was never just his hands. Nor anyone else’s. It’s the whole of him. The strange, perfect sum of all his parts.

The next fixation is his eyes, though you don’t linger long. He’s too quick, too perceptive, and your stares never go unnoticed. So you move on. His nose comes next. Here you stay for a while, long enough for him to finally clock your silent advances. And Viktor—mercifully—makes the first move.

This, of course, opens up a whole new range of possibilities. All those parts hidden under layers of clothing that you’d only been able to imagine are now granted to you—completely denuded. Pure skin, and sinew, and bone, laid bare only for you to worship. Falling asleep with your ear to his stomach is bliss. Kissing over the bruises left by the brace—a privilege. Pressing your mouth to where his underbelly hollows, trying not to let your breath tickle him—pure joy.

There is one part, however, that managed to escape your attention—until recently. Viktor’s lips.

They are not the kind of mouth you’d notice at first glance. Not full, not plump. But you’ve watched them closely now, and they are a wonder in their own right. The way they purse when he chews absently on a pencil, softening when the pressure eases. How his fingertip comes to rest at the corner of his mouth whenever he’s deep in thought, tapping once, twice, then stilling. You’ve seen him lick his lips after a sip of too-hot coffee, tongue darting out to chase the steam before it vanishes. Watched how they part around a spoon or the edge of a fork, cheeks rounding slightly as he eats, the motion making his whole face look softer—almost unfamiliar.

And when he smiles—genuinely, openly, without irony—his whole face pulls taut with it. The corners of his lips lift first, then the skin around his eyes creases in that way that makes your heart ache. His mouth was never just a mouth. It was a thousand quiet gestures stitched together into a portrait you hadn’t even realised you were memorising.

Viktor, the ever present hawk eye, notices. Mid-sentence, no less, pencil resting slack against the paper while you fixate on the way he mouths the words, vowels rounding tenderly, adding new meaning to the phrase soft-spoken. He doesn’t call you out this time—not exactly. Just tilts his head and smiles in that way that means he’s caught you again. You fail miserably in looking away.

Later, when the work is packed and the clock tells you it's much too late to be lingering, Viktor rises and holds out a hand with purpose.

"Come," he says, voice low with something just shy of caballing. "I’ve thought of something that might make you happy."

You quirk a brow. "You're awfully confident for someone who still insists on instant coffee."

He hums, not rising to the bait, just draws your hand into his and begins walking. The halls are quiet. His cane clicks softly against the stone. "You’ve been looking at my mouth like it holds all the secrets of the universe," he says. "I figured… maybe it should offer a few answers."

You stumble a little, less from the pace and more from the way heat curls in your stomach at the implication. “And you’re not going to tell me what you mean by that?” you ask.

“I think you’ll understand soon enough,” he says, glancing at you sidelong. “If I’m right—and I usually am.”

Viktor doesn’t lead, not in the traditional sense. He doesn’t drag you behind him or push you to move faster. Instead, he floats ideas, opens doors—metaphorical and literal—and lets you choose whether to walk through. He is an eager and generous lover, yes, but also a careful one. He has never once assumed. He doesn’t chase power, he invites trust.

Even when he first offered you his most tender parts, baring himself not to surrender but to be seen. That night had been many things—electric, cathartic, almost embarrassingly emotional—but what lingered most was the way Viktor had looked up at you afterward. Like you’d cracked open something in him he hadn’t known was closed. Like he wanted more.

And now, this. Another door. Another idea. Wild, hushed for now, but clearly mapped out in that labyrinthine mind of his.

The lock clicks behind you as he shuts the dorm door. Viktor turns to face you properly, smile curved like he’s hiding something behind his back. "Will you let me show you?" he asks. His voice is quiet, but sure.

You nod, cheeks blooming into that lovely vermillion he likes so much. He watches the colour spread like paint in water—utterly taken. “Good,” he says simply, and nods toward the chair near his desk. “Get undressed. Sit there.”

You raise an eyebrow at that, already pulling at your shirt hem. “Are you getting undressed too, or am I the only one baring all tonight?”

Viktor’s smile curves sharp, wicked. “There will be no need. Not yet.”

The way he says it—not yet—twists in your belly like silk pulled tight. You settle into the chair, shifting as your skin meets the cool seat, but Viktor is already moving, reaching to the drawer by his bed. He returns not with flourish, but with quiet certainty, cradling the harness like it’s something precious.

“Is your attitude in need of… maintenance again?” you tease, though your voice comes a little thinner than intended.

Viktor glances up, bemused. “Not particularly,” he says. Then sits—gingerly, carefully—onto the pillow he’s placed at your feet. One leg at a time, he slides the straps up your calves, his hands as gentle as they are precise.

“Not tonight,” he repeats, fastening the harness into place on your hips after you lift for him obediently. His thumbs skim the edges where leather meets skin, slow and certain. “But I do have another gift for you.”

You glance down, and your chest flutters with a shaky laugh that barely makes it out.

He’s loosening his cravat now, slow enough to watch your eyes track every movement. The silk slips through his fingers, down his chest and off to the side. The top buttons of his shirt follow, granting you a view of the elegant dip of his collarbones, the pale skin of his throat. He’s flushed—not just the dusting across his cheeks, but his ears, the tips of them going pink like they always do when he’s on the verge of something exciting. His pupils are near-black, and his lips curl into a smile that might’ve passed for shy, had you not known him as intimately as you do. He’s so distractingly pretty you almost overlook the cock hanging between your legs.

“I’ve noticed,” he begins, voice low, “that the full-body scan you’ve been giving me lately seems to halt on my mouth for quite some time.”

You start to object, or maybe laugh, or deny it outright—but Viktor continues, silencing you with little more than a look. “I don’t think anyone’s ever taken me apart so lovingly before,” he murmurs, and you feel the weight of that confession settle in your chest, curling into a warm ball like a cat that has finally found its place. “So allow me to indulge you.”

He shifts between your legs, pressing a kiss to the inside of your knee. Then another, higher. His breath is warm, his lips scalding. But he doesn’t rush. Instead, he reaches up for your hand and brings it to his mouth.

The first kiss lands at your wrist, soft and gentle. Then he begins to drag his mouth over each finger, tongue flicking along the pads like he’s trying to ruin you right there. His lips close over your index, drawing it in with slow suction, warm and slick, and your breath grows heavy and burdened with need.

But Viktor takes his time. Tongue curling underneath, tracing the crease where knuckle meets palm. Then he shifts to your middle finger, sucking deeper, until the wet sound of it becomes a pulse between your legs. His eyes remain fixed on you, half-lidded, patient and unhurried. You can feel the way his tongue presses up against your skin—how he lets the pad of it slide along your body with intention, tasting you.

He nips, briefly, at the base of your thumb, then soothes the mark with a kiss so gentle it barely registers. There is no part of this that is idle. He worships, he savours. He learns.

Your eyes have not closed for a while. Even when you blink you make sure you can still see him, utterly beguiled by the trace of shiny spit his mouth produces around your fingers. The slide of it, the pout he makes to suck around you until your own hand burns with all the hot blood circulating through it. You are certain Viktor can feel your pulse on his tongue.

He releases your hand with a quiet pop, a fine thread of slick still connecting the two of you. For a moment, he simply looks at you—then his gaze drops.

One hand steadies your thigh, fingers splayed and gentle. The other slips between your legs. First, to check something very important. Whether he was right.

He teases your entrance, clever hand searching, and when he finds the answer, he gasps softly. The quiet sound that follows is unmistakable—confirmation, and proof, and reward. Your eyes flutter closed, unthinking.

“Eyes on me at all times, love,” he says. A small, firm correction. Not harsh, never. But enough. You open them again, immediately.

He’s already looking up at you, chin tilted, lips parted like he might lean in and take a bite. The light catches in his eyes—hungry, but so focused, so careful. His fingers stroke through you again, slower now, like he’s waiting to see every reaction he can draw from your face with just the tiniest movement.

When he speaks next, his voice is lower. Intimate. Pleased. “Good. That’s very good.”

And then, oh—a kiss. Nowhere near your skin. On the tip, sweet and teasing, it pries at the hinges of your jaw, makes your eyes go wide. It is as if you can feel whatever Viktor presents. Your mind, drunk already, soaks in the sight of him at your feet—but mostly, his mouth. Wrapping solemnly around the length nestled between your thighs. With the slide of his lips, two fingers ease inside you.

They curl, slow and steady, knuckles grazing soft where you’re most sensitive. But even that stretch is a distant hum compared to the way your brain short-circuits watching him.

What Viktor is doing is maddening enough with the phantom feeling between your legs, and you cannot stand the idea of what it would actually feel like. He’s not rushing. No frantic bobbing, no mess—yet. Just the steady, measured pressure of his lips gliding down, then pulling back.

And though you don’t feel the warmth of his mouth there, the sight of it—him—at your feet, eyes half-lidded, cheeks hollowing—is enough to have your body tensing up and toes curling.

Whenever your eyes fall closed, he stops. “Watch me,” he says firmly, pulling back just enough to speak, lips brushing the tip in a mockery of a kiss.

The pace he sets when you obey is punishing in reverse—the slowness of it, tormenting. His fingers inside you only add to this feast of teasing, but it strikes you that you can endure it, so long as Viktor never rises from his spot.

Innocence is not your virtue—you’ve thought about it. But now you're convinced that vivid imagination isn’t your virtue either, since the fantasy has absolutely nothing on the reality of Viktor’s mouth caressing the underside, lips shining. Gorgeous, you think.

He moans, pleased, as if to perplex you, a glint of joy dances in his eye when his tongue flattens out and the inanimate head slaps against it. Drool wells around your cock, and you imagine how warm it is, how smooth the slide must feel in Viktor’s mouth—how it would feel to you if it were actually attached to your body.

And as if all of that is not maddening enough, Viktor pushes back down. Lower, further, past the barrier of throat, where his vein is faintly risen, where you can see his quickened pulse painted in pale blue. He doesn’t stop when he gags—just squeezes his eyes shut for a beat, breathes through his nose, and steadies himself. The sound it makes is so vulgar, and it only seems to spur him on. He pulls back, lips stretched glossy around you, then lets it rest heavy on his tongue. Holds it there, looks up, eyes dazed but daring.

You gulp, and he doesn’t. Not until he needs to, and even then, he does it dramatically—lets it fall from his mouth with a slick gasp and a trail of spit, only to drag his tongue along the underside as he catches his breath.

All the while, his fingers are moving with studied intent inside you, curled perfectly, just shy of unbearable. And then—

He takes it again. This time deeper. Swallows it down. At the same moment, he thrusts his fingers to the hilt and presses his thumb firm against your clit. You cry out, reflexive and raw, will your eyes to stay open through the blur of tears, desperate to not miss anything.

It’s not enough to come, but nearly. Nearly is worse. So you move, slow at first, unsure, rocking your hips in shallow thrusts—meeting the wet heat of his mouth, and pressing his fingers deeper in return.

He hums around it, and the phantom vibration flutters straight through you, your brain somehow wills it into existence. You watch the lines of strain on his face, the determination behind his eyes.

It’s odd, in a way. Viktor is always speaking—explaining, coaxing, teasing. But now, his mouth is busy, and the absence of his voice only makes you crave it more.

You hear it anyway, conjured from memory. How he sounds when he praises you. How he groans when you ride him. How he whispers your name like a confession. But the sounds he’s making now—wet, guttural, wanting—are nearly enough.

Before you know it, your ass slides to the edge of the chair, wood creasing the skin of your cheeks, hips spilling over. Your hands come up to cup his face, and it’s the first time Viktor closes his eyes—calm smoothing over his features, as if your fingers have ironed out the tension.

And then—oh God—you’re certain Viktor plots to ruin you eternally, when his jaw slackens, and he offers you a gift. Control. Messy, and glistening with his spit.

He brings your hands to his throat, one at a time, guiding them. Your thumbs prop his chin, and he waits—mouth provocatively open, trusting—waiting for you to move your hips into his palm, between his lips.

It’s surreal, the way he opens for you—so patient, so steady. The way he makes himself available without ever surrendering power. You can see it in the set of his brows, in the calculated push of his fingers inside you, the press of his thumb against your clit timed with every breath he takes around the length in his mouth.

You move, slowly at first. Testing the tension in your thighs, the wet glide of his lips. He doesn’t flinch, doesn’t falter. His hand stays on your hip, just placed there, letting you do the rest. And whatever you do is yours to decide.

So you fuck his mouth tenderly, a rhythm born of instinct and awe. Not for the cock, not for the illusion—but for him. For Viktor, who has always known how to give. For Viktor, who never rushes but always sees you.

He moans again—low, almost a hum, the vibration somehow finding a way of seeping straight into your gut. You want to tell him he’s beautiful. That he’s undoing you. That no one’s ever looked so good sat on their ass with a cock between their lips. But your mouth won’t cooperate—your mind, already fraying, can't hold language when he curls his fingers just right and presses the flat of his tongue along the length.

The chair creaks beneath you when your hips stutter. His lips are wet, stretched, cheeks hollowing with every pass.

It comes faster than you expect. Your hand finds his hair and you pull— just enough. His eyes flick up to yours, dark and unblinking. Your mouth falls open, your thighs tremble. He groans around the base, and it tips you over—hot and high and breaking against the inside of your chest.

Your body curls forward. His hand, warm on your belly, holds you through it. Hazy, you gasp and breathe heavily, the rise and fall of your stomach made real by Viktor’s touch. When you step beyond the other side of climax, the side of warmth and pliancy, you slip down from the chair, knees finding the floor, and Viktor’s arms open instantly. The harness shifts between you—warm and slick with his spit, now nudging his stomach awkwardly. It makes you both laugh, breathless and low. Still, you clamber into his lap, careless of grace, needing only to be close.

Your arms go around his neck. His hands bracket your hips. You wrap yourself around him like you might fall through the floor otherwise, pressing your face into the crook of his neck and breathing deep. The scent of him, the sweat on his collar, the faint ghost of whatever soap he used this morning—all of it hits like safety. Like home.

“God,” you sigh, voice threadbare. “How do you know me so well?”

He hums. You feel it in his throat before you hear the answer. “I am very observant,” he murmurs. A kiss to your temple. “And curious.” His hands shift at your back, stroking slow. Then, softer still: “And I love you an insane amount as well.”

The words crack something open inside you. You hold him tighter, and mumble quietly into his shoulder. “There is no other way to love you than an insane amount, Viktor. You are my biggest fixation.”

“My fixation,” he repeats, tasting the word like it belongs to him now. “Come to bed.”

[legendofmorons]

Written in the stars (forever on loop) chapter seven - so much for star dust

Pairing: Pre poly! Chain x reader, Wind & reader

Rating: T

Summary: While you spend some time examining everything that has come up since you fell out of the sky the boys face their own emotions, Epona throws a fit, and the pair that is Dark and Onyx scheme.

(Aka: reader breaks down, Legend is sad and has a shitty joke to cheer up Wars and Hyrule, Dink and dreader are in love and making problems, Wind proves a point, you soulmate with Twi and Wild so hard you have the same reaction about two different things, and some lady spills the "secret" that the chain has Feelings About you)

Warnings: cursing, grief, guilt, breakdowns

Other: If I missed anything, please let me know

Previous Masterlist Next

-------

Three days after the chain leaves, you find yourself fairing about as well as you can hope. With your inexplicable ability to read hylian, you're able to read the odd jobs papers on the town bulletin board, and you earn some rupees through that.

Spooky seems inclined to hang around you, following you through the market or the town. They even tried to follow you into the inn!

(That didn't work. The inn keeper wasn't a fan. Spooky did, however, find your room window and sleep under it.)

The good news is you get great prices when shopping with a panther at your side! Also, creeps stay further away, which is definitely a bonus.

You are fairly confident Spooky has adopted you. Because they've brought you a few birds and also like to nap across your legs. So... yeah.

But you aren't complaining. They're self-sufficient enough to hunt their own food, and you don't have to clean a panther litter box.

Researching at the library dosen’t turn up any new information on the soulmate thing. This isn't a surprise but a disappointment.

The dreams have been getting more vivid, and the only hint you've found there was in a book called 'The Magic of Dreams', but that book was poorly written and had no sources. The book claims that dreams that frequent and vivid that truly feel like memories are often from 'past lives'.

Which is ridiculous because you live on Earth, not in Hyrule. How could your past lives be in a different universe?

What are you, Hylia's favorite character or something? Are you an anime protagonist?

The biggest concern for you right now is just trying to get used to this new way of life. It's strange to be in a place where there's no light pollution, no public transport, no cameras everywhere, and no headphones.

Today, you find your afternoon spent helping a heavily pregnant woman with her laundry. Washing it in the river before wringing it our and hanging it to dry.

Her son runs around to the side with Spooky, though she has the sense to look over frequently.

"May I ask about your... panther?" The woman - Alice - asks you.

You hum, rinsing out a tunic. "Spooky is sweet. They just came up to me a few days ago. I'm not sure why, though."

You wring the garment out before setting it on the rock beside you.

"How strange. You're sure they aren't dangerous?"

You smile, "Not to your son. But to birds? Maybe."

Alice gives a nervous giggle. "If you're sure."

"I am." You say.

And really, regardless of your personal views on children who would ever knowingly let a child so close to a bloodthirsty animal? You wouldn't.

"Where did the lovely young men you came with go off to?" Alice asks as she wrings out a blanket.

You ignore the immediate and strange urge to flinch at the reminder of the boys. "I'm not too sure. They have a quest they're on."

The words strike a strange resignment within you, as if this is something you've had to say many times. (You've never said it before that you recall.)

"I see. That's a shame they were lovely."

"They are," You manage to smile.

You both return to the laundry, allowing the silence to linger in a mostly comforting way.

There's a cool breeze, and the birds sing in the trees. It's nice here.

You would still like to get back to Earth, but there are much worse places to be.

You could be stuck in a zombie apocalypse or something else, not fun and even more dangerous.

You let yourself exist here for a moment, safe and in a world you've always longed to truly see.

The air is crisp, and the grass is sift where you touch it. The river rushes easily with little forms darting about the shallows.

Spooky brushes by you, rumbling happily as they bound away again.

"Do you think you'll see those men again?" Alice asks you.

There's an instinctive 'yes' that wells up in your throat, but you bite it back anyway. You can't know that for sure.

There is no guarantee of such things.

"I'm not sure."

"Do you want to?" She asks, giving you a little smile.

Again, the instinctive agreement is something you bite back. You settle on "I don't know..."

"Oh, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to poke if they've been rude."

You crack a half smile, "They're good guys... I think I just make them uncomfortable for the most part."

"Really? They kept staring at you like you hold the key to their hearts, and they think they've lost you," Alice muses as she wrings out a dress.

"I'm sorry, what?" You ask breathlessly and thoroughly caught off gaurd.

What is she talking about? Every time you catch them looking at you, they look sad, angry, calculating, or comcerningly polite. How is she saying they looked at you any other way?

Is she imagining things? Is she lying?

"Those boys couldn't keep their eyes off you, you'd look away, and they'd stare at you like they're lost." She laughs a little, sounding as if she believes herself.

"Oh..."

If that's the case, it is probably just because you're a sore reminder of their soulmate. That... explains a lot, actually.

Hopefully, Wind hasn't lost that soulmate yet and never will. That kid has already done so much.

As you and Alice finish the laundry, you find yourself facing the pile of things you keep putting off in your mind.

Once the laundry is done, you accept the two blue rupees with a 'thank you' before leading Spooky across the little foot bridge to go sit on the stone bench with the bird bath beside it.

The bench sits in a park area of sorts, but it's empty for now, so you will use it to let your mind process... everything.

First of all, you are in Hyrule! A place that less than two weeks ago was no more than a setting for a popular video game franchise!

You fell out of the sky! Miraculously didn't have a bunch of injuries from that, and you met nine different Links.

Who falls out of the sky (unharmed!) and meets nine different people from their favorite video game franchise?

You apparently...but you also have some sort of Disney princess thing going on because you have a panther that has picked you as it's person.

None of this makes sense. It feels a lot more like a fever dream than reality.

If you're going to be honest, it feels a lot more like a fanfiction written by someone who has a fixation on hurt / comfort media.

But...

It is real.

You can't place why, but you know that this is real against all logic.

Against all odds, this is reality.

How the fuck are you even here though?!

Why you?

Why now?

Who brought you here?

Why can you read everything? It's in a fictional language! Except... it isn't fictional.

If Hyrule is real... are all the other fictional worlds real too?

Okay- nope! You can't think about that right now.

One crisis at a time, two max. Your crisis docket is chock full today, we can try again tomorrow.

Fuck... Hyrule is real, you've met nine different Links, magic is real, and you have no idea what's going on.

Maybe this fits in with the multiverse theory. Your brain woukd like it to.

Okay...

Multiverse... We can say that's real here maybe? You are in the world of Zelda

But... there's also those dreams and half memories that have been taunting and confusing you to no end.

Those fucking dreams and half memories!

Oh!

You want answers for that!

Why in the name of literally any and every deity are you experiencing half memories and dreams of men who can barely stand you?!

Even as creative as your brain gets that dosen’t account for how vivid and achingly real they feel.

The way you hear their voices speak in your mind as if they hold you as the most important person to them... hurts.

It hurts a lot.

You want someone to love you the way they love you in your weird half memories. It would be wonderful!

But that's not reality.

Sure, you definitely had a crush on the Links growing up, you aren't the only one. You have always thought them good looking, strong, honorable, and maybe a little mischievous depending on the source material.

You can admit that the real deal is also crush worthy, but it's hard to feel that way when everyone keeps you at arm's length.

The dreams make it harder than anything though. Living through scenarios where you are romantically involved, even the bad dreams, make it hard to remember the truth when you wake up.

You swear Hyrule called you Honeybee when he healed you...

Legend called you Trinket when he gave you that potion...

What do those even mean?

What are you supposed to do?

All you want is to go find them.

There's a soul deep ache to be with them but you can't place why.

Are you horrible?

Is your brain making up strange dreams?

Or worse... are you somehow reliving memories of the soulmate they always lose? Have you somehow been cursed to do that?

Did you do something to make that happen?

Is it like a ghost situation?

You groan, putting your face in your hands.

"Fuck."

The sentiment isn't nearly strong enough, but you don't know what else you can say. (Double fuck?)

Spooky comes over and nudges your arm with their nose, making an inquisitive sound.

You look over and give a straining smile. "Hey, pumpkin... I don't suppose you know what's happening?"

Spooky dosen’t answer, but they do push your arms away so they can put their head on your knee.

They stare up at you with bright eyes.

You huff a little but scratch behind their ear. "I don't guess you could tell me anyway."

Spooky just purrs, leaning into your fingers.

You laugh a little, only half fragile.

Out of the corner of your eye, you swear you see a dark figure move, but when you turn your head to check, no one is there. How odd.

No stranger than the rest of your life lately, maybe it's that shadow that took on those lizafos for you? Which...

Honestly that experience is another thing you don't understand but you can't find the energy to spiral about it.

Maybe it was Four's shadow? Or is his shadow still dead?

Oh shit- the heroes are not only real people, but you played through their trauma like it was a game to entertain you! You know so much more about their lives than you should, and it feels sick.

Knowing what you know makes your skin crawl and your throat feel thick.

What will they even say if they ever find out?

Spooky nudges you again to get your attention. They seem to be trying to cheer you up, which is sweet.

"Thank you, pumpkin..."

-------

"Epona, I have had about enough of your sass," Twilight grits as he tries yet again to lead his mare to cross the bridge, pronouncing ever word in a slow, steady pace that is engineered so he can't possibly be misunderstood.

Epona stands firm, refusing to move for the seventh time. She gives him her best 'unimpressed horse' whinny.

Wind snorts, "Do you want a hand?"

"I doubt anyone could get her to move," Twilight manages before he grits his teeth again.

Wild sighs, "What's going on with her anyway?"

"She's been like this since we left town." Four muses, "Did she want more rest?"

"You broke her horsey heart making her leave (Y/n)," Wind rolls his eyes, "She's just upset."

"Sailor, if you know so much how about you get her across the bridge?" Twilight asks in the same slow and clear manner.

Wind, just snorts, holding his hand out for the reigns. "Maybe I will."

Twilight passes the youngest hero the reigns and crosses his arms. The rancher is willing to bet money that this fails.

After all, the kid grew up by the sea, horses aren't his specialty.

Wind takes the reigns before bending down and ripping some grass out of the ground. The teen offers the grass to Epona, roots and all.

Epona takes the grass and begins to chew it, seemingly accepting the bribe.

Wind starts walking, gently pulling at the reigns. "Come on, Epona. We're just going to cross the bridge okay?"

Epona chews her grass, not moving but not fighting either.

Twilight smirks.

"Come on, pretty girl. Help me prove rancher wrong." Wind coaxes gently before he clicks his tongue twice.

Epona does move this time, slow and obviously unhappy, but she moves.

Wind leads Epona across the bridge while Twilight clenches his jaw.

The rancher is facing the fact that his mare is apparently a traitor.

"That's a good girl," Wind praises, patting Epona's neck. "Good job, sweetheart."

The pirate is not above stealing the name you use for the horse, and it seems to please the mare so he won't stop anytime soon. He likes proving a point after all.

Legend snickers, "She must be mad at you, cowboy."

"Shut up," Twilight hisses.

Time snorts and Wild just laughs.

Sky pats Twilight's shoulder.

Four and Hyrule share a look, biting back smiles.

"All you did was bribe her, sailor," Twilight says as he crosses the bridge with Wild and Legend on his heels.

The rancher crosses his arms as he moves, only a little sore about being proven wrong.

Warriors, already across the bridge, laughs as he pets Epona. "You could have bribed her too."

"Shut it, city boy." Twilight huffs.

Wild - the traitor - laughs at that, snapping a picture on his slate.

There's a distinct sense of fear that crawls up the spine if every hero followed by a ground shaking roar.

"Fuck." Wild hisses, whipping around.

Twilight looks up and sees two gleeocks and promptly thinks 'fuck ain't enough of a sentiment'.

"Do we have to fight?" Wind groans.

Time shoots the pirate a deadpan look. "Yes, we do."

"That shadow is getting more vicious," Twilight draws lowly as he grips his sword hilt.

Wild and Legend both start sending arrows at the beasts and the fight commences.

Twilight dodges out of the way of lightning and hears an explosion in the sky. He supposes Wild found the bomb arrows.

Probably good.

But then black blood drips from the sky.

"Double fuck!" Wild hisses.

"Shiver me timbers!" Wind shrieks, choosing the moment to be obnoxious while not cursing becomes he's mad at Time.

Twilight takes a second to be grateful you aren't here for this before he knocks Legend out of the way and deflects a lightning ball with a wooden shield.

The fight descends into adrenaline fueled instincts.

The boys lose track of their own movements, they can't see keep track if others.

By the time it's over, they're all half dead and grateful for potions.

-------

Dark sighs heavily where he sits, crossing his arms as he glares at the wall from within the shadows.

"Are you seriously pouting right now?" Onyx chuckles as they look over from where they are currently rearranging your things to be easier to find.

They aren't doing that because they like you or anything, the chaos was just pissing them off.

"I do not pout, I am made of evil," Dark pouts harder.

Onyx snorts, "That is absolutely bullshit, viper. Knock it off."

"It is not bullshit."

"You know how I feel about being lied to," Onyx warns sweetly as they finish tidying your things.

They set the little seagull figurine in the back, unsure why you like it to much.

Dark gives a slow, heavy sigh. "It should not be so difficult to end nine lives. You understand that, don't you, darling lamb?"

Onyx rolls their eyes and turns to look their lover over. "Can't you focus on the challenge instead of a short term disappointment? Where's my vicious man?"

"My darling lamb, am I not allowed to be frustrated?"

"You can be frustrated, but you have a habit of wallowing in it." Onyx points out, awars of the way their lover gets.

"I do not wallow."

"Dark."

"I only wallow the acceptable amount."

Onyx gives a thoroughly unimpressed look.

Dark opens his arms, "I am mourning a great plan, I demand you comfort me."

They roll their eyes, but they go over anyway. They always will. They will always go to home when he asks.

Onyx collapses into Dark's arms carelessly, more than trusting that he will keep them both upright. It's his job anyway as the one demanding this.

They press their face against his chest, listening to his heart. "You'll get them next time, viper."

Dark pulls them close, one hand on the back of their thigh and the other on their shoulder. "I will eviscerate them."

"It was a good plan," Onyx says softly. "It would have taken one or two of them alone out."

"They're still alive."

"I know. But with (Y/n) out of the way you can attack without fear."

"That's true..."

"Why don't I make a plan? You need a break and I'm bored." Onyx muses, ideas already half spinning through their mind.

Dark grins sharper, half smitten and half cruel. "I do love your twisted mind."

Onyx hums, pressing a kiss to his throat. "You flatter me."

"I do not. I just adore your plans."

Onyx grins. "Good. I am amazing."

"You are. My darling lamb."

"What can we do about getting (Y/n) out of this time and somewhere else?"

"Whatever you want, I will make happen." He promises them easily, without thought or deceit.

-------

Legend sits away from the group but is careful to make sure he's close enough to Hyrule and Warriors to watch them after the disaster that the Gleeocks wrought. He is incredibly grateful that you are not with them right now, it means you are safe.

That's what matters anyway.

He misses you.

By the Golden Three, he misses you so much.

You are safe though, in a town with nice people and away from all the tense behaviors his brothers exhibit to you.

Legend could kick himself for letting his grief cloud his judgments and treating anyonethe way he was treating you before. It's only made worse knowing he took his grief for his soulmate... out on his soulmate.

He is such an asshole.

Fuck.

"I still don't understand why their magic has to be identical," Hyrule says to Warriors.

Legend swallows and turns his attention to the conversation between the traveler and the captain.

Warriors sighs, "Does it matter?"

"You don't get it. Their magic was a perfect copy. Magic is always unique to an individual. Even similar magic signatures have some variation."

Warriors rubs his temples. "Hyrule, you know as well as I do that the goddesses aren't that kind."

Hyrule sighs, rubbing his arm absently. "I guess..."

"You're looking for our soulmate, and you probably always will. I understand, I do it too, but you'll run yourself into the grave if you aren't careful," the captain warns with a heavy tone as he looks up to the stars.

Legend bites the inside of his cheek. It's just one more secret he holds, and it's to save his brothers the same grief he faces.

You don't even seem to know.

It takes everything he has to keep from spilling the truth. If he tells them, after the momentary joy, they too will have to know they lost you. Again.

Legend can't do that to them.

"Isn't there anything that (Y/n) did that made you think they were really our soulmate?" Hyrule asks with a weak voice as he stares into the fire.

Warriors lets out a bitter chuckle. "Almost everything. The day they saw the lizafos before we did? They shoved Wind behind them without a shield or sword to their name. It was a reflex."

"Oh."

"That's how I lost them, to an ambush... their reactions are identical, Rulie... But (Y/n) isn't Dove."

Hyrule looks to the captain with a look that is all but a shattering heart. "How do you know?"

"Because we aren't that lucky, and they've never said anything about knowing a Link."

Hyrule swallows hard, hugging himself tightly. "You're probably right..."

Legend sighs, shoving down the words that want to come out. He stands and walks to the traveler's side before he sits back down.

Warriors just raises a brow.

Legend wraps an arm around Hyrule's shoulders, pulling the other into his side.

Hyrule leans into Legend.

"Finally joining the fun?" Warriors challenges.

Legend scoffs, "You weren't having fun, pretty boy. You were having a wake."

The captain rolls his eyes. "Like you can be more cheerful."

Legend snorts, "Is that a challenge?"

"Yes."

"Fine. Knock knock."

Hyrule stifles a laugh, side eyeing his predecessor.

"You're fucking kidding me," Warriors huffs incredulously.

"I said 'knock knock'," Legend raises a brow.

The captain lets out a theatrical sigh, "Who's there?"

Legend gives a grin, "Boo."

"Boo who?" Warriors asks as he crosses his arms.

"Aw, don't cry pretty boy," Legend coos in a sarcastic tone, "It's just a joke."

Hyrule laughs, swatting at Legend playfully. "That was horrible! Jesus Christ, Ledge."

"How did you manage to be a prick through a knock knock joke?" Warriors asks, sounding rather impressed.

"I'm just that great," Legend smirks.

What he dosen’t tell them is that the joke is one he used on you back when you were kids whenever you were down. Back then, when you were both still children, the joke always got at least a little amusement from you.

He finds that as much as he avoids the joke because of the memory it holds... Legend dosen’t mind sharing it now with his brothers.

You would certainly approve.

"That was ridiculous," Warriors informs him.

Legend shrugs, "You just have bad taste."

"I do not!" Warriors scoffs.

Hyrule snickers, "You so do.'

Legend lets the two argue as they hop from topic to topic, taking pride in the fact he got them to stop poking an emotional wound that will never quite heal. He just wants to help them.

He just wants them to be okay.

He already failed Hyrule horribly just by not finishing Ganon for good...

Legend can't fail the traveler again.

He can't fail any of them.

You would be doing everything you can for them if you were aware, and so it's Legend's job to do so in your steed.

Hopefully you're okay in that town.

Maybe... maybe he could go visit? Just to check.

His Pegasus boots would make it easier.

No.

The best choice Legend can make is to let you go... so he will.

Legend will let you go, and he will stay away because that's what's best for you. That's what matters.

-------

Next - wip

Taglist: @danyzta @vrsin @silver-the-pendejo @tulip-does-stuff @justanotherweeb666 @yourlocaltreesimp @blueberrysungie @victoryssong23 @shu-leepy @sleepifonlyigoti @sour-patch-delight @phlying-squirrel @pumpkincitrus

[bananayuyu]

Tell Me No

Pairing: professor!Yunho x f reader

Genre: smut, dark academia vibes

Word count: 6.3k

Summary: You'd always been a picture perfect college student. So when Professor Jeong gives you a grade that threatens your flawless track-record, you'll do just about anything to raise it.

Warnings: smut, MDNI, age gap not specified but it's obviously there, reader wants him bad but is kinda in denial, dry humping, heavy petting, lots of praise

A/n: Professor Yunho always hits, I've seen so many fics on here that I've loved but I just had to make my own. I hope y'all enjoy <3

Read it on ao3

Professor Jeong was remarkably smart, remarkably tall, and remarkably well-liked. There wasn't a thing he could do, it seemed, to upset anyone. His third year as faculty, he was already surpassing all expectations the Dean and Vice President had set. It was a revelation: all his students absolutely adored him, every single one. All, except for you.

It was late fall, and the weather was starting to turn. Leaves were falling in clouds of red and yellow, and the air was crisp in the mornings. The entire week the sky was overcast, not a ray of sunshine to remind you of the warm season just past. It felt gloomy, calm, and focused on campus, and it should have been the perfect start to your favorite time of year.

It should have been. But as you sat in your Contemporary Literature class and read over the marks on your most recent paper, you felt nothing but rage.

63%. That's what he'd given you. That, and a slew of notes in red ink along every margin, telling you just how poorly you'd screwed this whole thing up. You didn't much care for contemporary books, that was the worst part; this was a class you were required to take as a part of your literature degree, and one you'd dreaded taking, no matter how many raving reviews you'd heard about the professor. It was an added slap in the face that he was so damn harsh with grading, when you really couldn't give a fuck about the books you'd been assigned to read.

It only took a week of class before you understood. His good looks, his sense of humor, his easy and flirtatious nature, those were the things that made every student love him. Class itself was a slog, but you'd been expecting that at least, and made it through your first two papers with decent grades. Only three papers and a final exam were graded in his class, and you panicked every time you hit submit, not knowing if you'd be able to pass with at least a 70% and get your much needed credits. But so far it had been fine; you'd never needed to ask him much, never seen a reason to visit office hours. You had no desire to talk to this good-looking professor, even if your mind wandered in his class. It was all too easy to picture him in all his naked glory, but a part of you knew your dreams must be too good to be true, and you'd hate to have the illusion shattered.

It wasn't out of character for you to crush on a teacher. And it wasn't that you hated him. But what good was a hot professor if he was going to fuck up all your plans?

"Hey, did he screw you too?" a voice behind you asks. You didn't bother turning around, knowing the aggravating man it had come from and exactly the conversation he was hoping for.

"Yes, obviously," you answer. Professor Jeong's a fucking asshole, you add to yourself. Dad's gonna fucking kill me.

Here on Daddy's money, you were that girl. And though it was an obvious perk, it came with one severe expectation. You would be done in four years, and never get below a C. There would be no making up credits, no re-dos. Summer was meant to be spent interning, not making up for stupid mistakes during the year. Your dad's words ring clearly through your mind as you sigh into your desk.

"Wanna go get coffee and bitch about prof for an hour?"

"No, Marcus, I have shit to do," you respond.

"One day you won't be such a bitch to me," he replies, before slinging his backpack over one shoulder and shoving his long hair out of his face. "I'm gonna go to his office hours tomorrow and give him a piece of my mind," he says as he walks past you.

"Good luck with that," you joke, staring down at the floor.

You'd been able to wear your favorite boots today, and your legs covered in black tights were a sight for sore eyes. But none of it could be enjoyed, these little beauties of life that usually brought you peace. The potential of failing this stupid class was looming, and now more than ever you were thankful for the weather, for sunny days always made your bad moods even worse, making you feel almost guilty for your negativity.

"Come to my office hours tomorrow, I have to head home now," you hear Professor Jeong tell a clearly panicked classmate, who sighs with defeat and slumps away. You look up, taking in the small room, a class with only thirty desks, dark and windowless, with bookshelves lining the back wall behind a large mahogany table. The few lamps at the front illuminated the tired and frustrated bodies of your peers as they exit to the front corner, and there is no part of you that wants to join that sad parade. There had to be a way out of this, a way to avoid your worst nightmare. There was no way you'd let your hard work of the last two years go to waste, all to be replaced with beratement from your Dad and a forced position in his company.

You'd never been overcome like this, or so determined. Something in the red ink on your perfectly printed paper had switched a flip. Paper in hand, you sling your book bag over your shoulder and storm to the front of the classroom. The last student had just slipped out, and your professor was turning off the lamp high on the right-most bookshelf, his back to you.

"I need to talk to you," you say. The force in your voice shocks you, and you take a deep breath to recover.

"My office hours are tomorrow, you can co-"

"No, I need to talk to you now."

He turns to you, peering over his shoulder before his chest has time to face you too. Instantly his gaze is piercing, a deepness in his brown eyes that you'd never noticed before. His suit is perfect and sharp and intimidating, and your knees feel wobbly as your guts roll. Who were you to be demanding such a thing from him? You had no idea where it had come from, other than the primal fear of a life lived under your Dad's severe control. Your degree was your chance to escape, and you'd stop at nothing to secure your freedom.

"I have to head home now, I can't talk to you." His voice is stern but soft, and feels like a warm breeze blowing past your cheeks and neck. A shudder runs through you, one you try your best to hide.

"Just five minutes, I'll walk with you out of the building," you reply. He lets out a frustrated sigh through his nose, crossing his arms and staring at you deeply. With a subtle shake of his head he straightens up again, grabbing his own bag off his chair and zipping it closed, before slipping it over his head. He pushes in the chair, and moves to the other lamp, looking back to you once more before clicking it off. For a brief moment the room is blanketed in complete darkness, and all you can hear is the soft rustle of trees outside blowing in the wind.

He opens the door, holding it until you exit, and locks it swiftly behind you.

"I was wondering when you'd finally come talk to me," he says, walking the opposite direction you expect, towards the back of the building. His long strides are hard to keep up with, and you balk at what to say now. There was something eery about his words, but something too that told you to keep going. This may just work, if you were willing to push through your nerves.

"My grades on my last two papers were reasonable, I didn't see any reason to come and argue with you about thos-"

"No, what I mean is, you obviously hate my class," he cuts you off.

"I- I don't, sir, I promise-"

"You don't need to lie to save my ego, I can easily tell when a student doesn't like the work I assign for them," he sighs softly.

"I just don't care much for contemporary books, I'm much more interested in historical literature. And literature written by women tends to interest me more, too," you reply. You'd reached the end of the hallway, the back double doors much shabbier than the front, but still adorned with wood carvings and leaf-shaped handles. Professor Jeong pushes the left door open with ease, holding it in silence until you exit again, rejoining you in your decent of the steps.

"Yes, I have heard this complaint a time or two, and I saw this coming from you, I know your type," he replies cooly, walking fast and still making no eye contact.

"I'm not any type of person, I don't know what the hell you're talking about," you snap, covering your mouth seconds later in regret.

"No, please, lay it all out, I am all ears. It's only about two minutes to the train station, so you'd better make use of it."

"You're seriously going to accuse me of being some "type" of student who complains about how all the books we read are by men, when your main critique of my last paper was that the perspective I took was predictable and the same as so many students before, and that I really should look outside of the box and be more creative with my thinking? When you assign the most boring, predictable, inside the box books known to man? What the hell do you expect, me to invent some deeper meaning to this whiny basic crap I'm reading?"

The words tumble out of you with force, another student you passed looking bewildered, ducking their head down and walking into the grass to avoid you. Adrenaline wracks through you, your heart pounding hard enough you could feel it in your head. You weren't sure what you were thinking, launching into such a person attack of the books he'd assigned. But once he said to lay it all out, your mind couldn't think to do anything else. You try to walk in a straight line beside him, try to keep up with his strides without completely losing your breath. A distant strike of lightning is followed many seconds later by the low rumble of thunder, and your head snaps up in your anxious state, your whole body on high alert. Seconds stretch by, as the air feels suddenly colder and your sweater far too thin. You were waiting for his professional, academic response, knowing almost surely humiliation was about to greet you. But when you finally look up, his lips are turned up in a smirk. Your eyes go wide, wondering if he was laughing, if he found your statement so pathetic and stupid that all it did was make him chuckle.

"You're funny," he deadpans, looking up to the cloudy sky. "And no, I'm not smiling, not at all." His smirk grows wider, almost to a full smile, before he turns from you and steels his face, his expression back to his typical stoicism as his eyes meet yours.

"You think your paper deserves a second look?" he asks, as you cross the bike path and walk through the strip of pine trees, before starting down the stairs to the train station.

"Absolutely, sir, I just want a second chance, maybe I can explain to you further what I meant in certain sections, help you understand- I- I'll rewrite sections if you'd like, anything for a better grade-"

You are cut off by the man in the ticket booth.

"Heading home, Mr. Jeong?" the man calls jovially, waving a large hand in his direction, a pale yellow ticket between his fingers.

"I'll take two today Mr. Choi, thank you," he replies, smoothly walking up to the booth and slipping the man two one-dollar bills.

"Have a nice ride, enjoy your evening!" the man calls as you both walk towards the platform, your boots scuffing on a crack in the stone tiles, eyes too focused on the tall broad back in front of you to notice the ground.

Already a train was approaching, and by the look of your professor, it was obvious this was his. You aren't sure why you're still following; you pull up for a second, eyes wide as you take in the scene around you. The station ss teeming with people, many students and several faces you think you vaguely recognize, but amidst it all his head of black hair ss visible, so much taller than anyone else around. He walks forward a few steps before looking behind him, noticing your absence and squinting hard, trying to find you. The train was now pulling up, and his eyes were flicking between it and the direction he'd lost you, looking the least bit frantic, if that was even possible for him. As soon as the train stops people launch towards the doors, handing the ticket-man their yellow slips and hurriedly finding the seats they want.

When the crowd thins enough and he can see you again, Professor Jeong makes his way to you quickly.

"Whatever you do, don't you dare get on this train car with me," he utters, slipping one of the tickets into your hand and closing it in his. "Don't get off at Fortsmith station, and don't wait for me by the red phone booth outside."

As he walks towards the door his head turns to meet your gaze one last time, and something deep and mischievous glints in his eyes. As he enters the car, ducking low to fit through the small door, you run up behind him, handing the man your ticket too and slipping inside. A moment later the ticket-man jumps in too, sliding closed the door and locking it, sitting in his designated chair.

"How many stops to Fortsmith station?" you ask him, peering over your shoulder at the nearly packed car, only one empty seat next to a man that looked leeringly at you, in a way that made your skin crawl.

"12 stops, ma'am," the man answers, his accent thick.

"How- how many minutes is that, approximately?"

"About 40 minutes, ma'am."

You sigh, stepping out of his way. "Thank you," you add, nodding to him slightly, before turning back around to find a place to stand. When you turn, though, a different seat is empty, one you could swear had been filled by your professor just moments ago.

When you look to the right, you find him sitting by the leering old man and watching you intently. And quickly you slip yourself into that now empty seat, breathing a sigh of relief for your poor heels.

The ride was smoother than you had expected, but the stops were arduous, and each time as people filed on and off, you felt your nerves growing and shaking you. This seemed so strange, that your professor was letting you follow him, giving you the ticket and directions so you wouldn't get lost. Had your little outburst really piqued his interest? Was he only winding you up to shit on you later, in the privacy of his own home, when it was only you two? Suddenly, you realize you know nothing about this man. You aren't even sure if he lives alone, if he has a family, if anything about this little excursion iss a good idea, or if you're walking right into the den of a lion. A deep shudder runs through you when the announcement for 'Fortsmith' comes through the speakers. Only another minute, and you'll be wobbling your way out of here. You'll be in a completely foreign part of the city, not one person knowing where you were.

The station is much smaller, not underground like the University stop, the train only at a full stop for maybe thirty seconds before whisking itself off again. Only one other person steps off with you two; the woman makes quickly for the north exit of the station and disappears into the pouring rain, the cool outside air hitting you and making your body go rigid.

With a quick glance around, you spot the phone booth. It was just to the left of the south exit, visible through the glass panels of the door. As Professor Jeong exits he opens his umbrella, standing patiently by the red booth as you made your way in his direction, your body shaking. Once you exit he begins walking beside you, holding you close under the small radius of his umbrella, his large hand on your back feeling like it was searing right into your skin.

Its a short and quiet walk to the quaint street he lives on, large trees covering the sides of the small boulevard and ivy covering the stone walls of most of the houses. Each was small, only a few with a second floor, including his; it was exactly the type of place you'd expect him to live, the heavy front door creaking as he pulls it open and walks in ahead of you, quickly closing his umbrella and setting it down, and closing the door with a gentle thud once you enter.

A draft hits your wet legs and causes you to shiver again, and you wrap your arms tightly around yourself. Inside it is dim and hazy, and soon he was pulling out a set of matches and lighting a candle on his mantle, the living room coming into view once the warm light started flickering.

"This is my office, wait in here," he says, opening a door just down the hall. When you walk in there is only the soft light of the early evening to guide you, the floor so hard to see that you reach out your hands and shuffle slowly. Once his desk comes into view you spot the ornate lamp just behind it, and carefully reach around to click it on, the room suddenly awash in a gentle pinkness.

Not unlike his classroom, the walls are covered with stacked bookshelves, but in here it was every inch, not a single bit of free space available. You walk slowly to the closest shelf, your eyes scanning over the spines. Shock rips through you as you see the authors: Dickinson, Austen, Bronte, so many of the historical women you adore. Above that shelf is a collection of more contemporary works: Cline, Hooks, Mock, your eyes just about bug out at seeing the names, breath hitching. Here was a stunning collection of so many of your favorite authors, an entire giant bookcase dedicated to the work of women, and women alone.

"You found my favorite shelf, I see." His voice is low and buttery and doesn't shock you, only makes you feel like melting into the floor. But you can't help turning suddenly and clinging to yourself, the room still feeling chilly. "You aren't in trouble, why are you looking at me like that?"

"Why did you bring me here?" you shoot back, taking in a quick breath.

"Why did you come when I told you not to?" he replies, walking close and handing you a cup of steaming tea, the notes of lavender and honey hitting your nose.

"You- you obviously wanted me to come, you told me exactly where to get off-"

You cut yourself off at the sight of him smirking again, and shake your head, the shock of the situation finally hitting you.

"I shouldn't be here, should I?" you suddenly panic, shoving the tea back in his direction, making for your bag on the floor. But as you crouch and grab it your hands feel like stone, not willing to move an inch. You don't want to leave, not at all, as much as some part of you is telling you to stop this and head back to campus, now. You stand back up quickly, feeling awkward as you smooth down the bottom of your oversized sweater, turning to him again.

"Is this wrong?" he asks, gesturing between you with the mug of tea.

"I- I don't know," you sigh.

"I made you tea because you looked cold, are you sure you don't want it?"

You stare longingly at it, his hand easily wrapping around the entire thing. With a hard swallow you push yourself to take a step, grabbing the tea from him and finally taking a sip, your chest instantly feeling warmer.

"Why did you let me follow you?" you ask, turning around and sitting yourself on the smooth top of his desk , crossing your legs. His legs cross too as he leans back against the shelf behind him, a longer piece of his black hair falling in front of his eyes.

"I've been hoping to get a chance to chat with you, ever since I read your first paper."

"So even though you could tell I hated your readings, even though I'm that type of student you seem to have such great distaste for, you still wanted to talk with me?" you ask.

"I kept hoping you'd come to office hours, but you never did," he sighs. "You might hate my class, but you're obviously passionate about literature. You'd be surprised how rare that is, amongst all my English students."

"You've only had a few like me, then?" you ask.

"I've never had any student like you."

Silence hangs in the air, and you sip at your tea to fill it, savoring the way your body is relaxing. You stare at him, trying to read it all. Why the hell would he say something like that to you? Alone in his house, no indication of another soul residing here, you feel oddly comfortable. It had never crossed your mind that you could possibly end up in a situation like this.

"You're determined to get at least a C, aren't you?" he asks.

"I have to," you reply. "I can't- I just have to."

"For your scholarship?"

"No- well, sort of, in a way," you sigh, thinking of your Dad. "It's a long story, but I have to."

"Let me give you some advice then. Just because you don't much care for an assignment, don't throw in the towel and do the bare minimum. Your other work is too good, it makes it obvious when you've barely spent any time on something."

You stop short, tea clasped tightly in your hands, your eyes wide.

"Do you write, any fiction or poetry?" he asks.

"Yes."

"Good, you have an immense talent for writing, you must nurture it."

It was the last thing you were expecting, and the words send shivers of warmth through your limbs, your mouth hanging slightly agape.

"God, do you have any idea how remarkable you are?" he asks, his head suddenly shaking, his arms crossing.

"What do you mean?" You try to keep your composure, but his last words feel like a metaphorical breaking of a boundary, and suddenly your cunt aches and your feet feel tingly. Were you really that easy to break? Liking praise this much was something you'd always felt shame about; your cheeks redden as your heart rate slowly picks up, and you are sure your flush is obvious, even in the faintly pink light of the room.

"You're just- you're remarkable, there's no other way to put it. Like I said, I've never had a student like you," he says.

"Then why torture me with such a bad grade?" you ask, taking another sip.

"I'm not torturing you, it was deserved," he replies. "You wrote that whole paper the night before it was due, didn't you?"

You turn your eyes away in lieu of responding, not wanting to admit that he was absolutely right.

"I know everyone says I'm a harsh grader, but what about next year? You'll have two semesters with either Haas or Park, and both of them are stricter than I am, both expect near perfection. I'm preparing you as best as I can for next year, so your whole degree doesn't blow up in your face at the final hurdle."

"You really care that much?" you fake pout, chuckling a bit and biting your lip.

"Yes, yes I do. You're too smart to not make it out of that University with a degree." His voice is genuine, not an ounce of sarcasm present. Something about how sure and even it is adds to the heat in your low guts, and you squirm slightly, trying to relieve the pressure building between your legs.

"Come here," you say, setting down your mug and holding out your hands in front of you.

"What?" he asks as he pushes off the bookshelf, uncrossing his arms as he starts walking. In only three steps he's just inches away, towering over you as you spread your legs slightly. You're hit with his smell, something musky and rich that you can't name, and all it does is add to the heat inside you, sweat beginning to form underneath your sweater.

"Will you read my stories and poems, if I show them to you?" you ask, tugging on the lapels of his suit jacket, your eyes locked together.

"I won't hold back in my reactions," he says, sighing deeply to try and keep the growing firmness in his pants at bay. Being this close to you was not something he'd planned for, and his head spins as your soft eyes look up so longingly, his own guts doing somersaults at the precious sight.

"I wouldn't want you to," you say, smiling, unbuttoning his jacket and exposing his white button down, making work of the buttons there too, from top to bottom.

"Hey, hey, wait a minute," he chides from above, but he doesn't move an inch, doesn't do a thing to prevent your movements. You notice quickly he isn't wearing an under shirt, met with the creaminess of his skin as you expose his chest, working slowly down to the lowest buttons. You pull his shirt free from where it was tucked in his pants, loosening his belt to help you, before pulling the sides of the shirt wide and finally revealing his naked torso.

Now you understood. He was a nightmare, but in all the ways you least expected. He was better than your dreams, hotter than you could imagine; the flat plane of his chest was broad, and his tummy was the perfect mixture of muscle and softness, a small dark line of hair snaking down from his belly button and into his pants. And his pants, when you finally look down, you see it; his bulge is straining against the fabric, long and hard and thick, and immediately you start salivating, running your tongue along your bottom lip to collect yourself.

"Good god," he groans from above, his pupils blown, losing the fight to not be affected by you. Your small, soft hands running over his torso feel heaven-sent, and in seconds he's rock hard, shamelessly staring down the low cut of your sweater, letting himself look at you the way he's been wanting to for months.

"This- this is what you want?" he asks, breathless, running a thumb down the side of your cheek, turning your head up further to meet his gaze head-on.

"You- you just kept saying such nice things, and it made me feel all weird right here." You grab his hand and pull it towards your crotch, the warmth and wetness immediately evident even with your tights in the way.

"Fuck," he groans, tipping his head back and sighing. Though he knew it was already risky bringing you here, lines were now being crossed that were objectively wrong. He tries to pull his hand away from your core, but he can't, and when he looks down at you again, your eyes are wide with want and need, conflict screws all of his thoughts into a tight knot.

But before he can stop himself, his open lips meet yours. The kiss is immediately deep, all the tension and heat you'd just created washing through you both. He starts applying some pressure with his hand, rubbing his fingers up and down against the warmth of your cunt, and you moan into his mouth, suddenly breaking the kiss when he hits your sensitive spot, your mouth falling open. With no support behind you, you grab onto his arms, pulling him closer as you move to kiss him again, his right hand wrapping around your back to hold you up.

His lips are soft and sweet in yours, and you can't help biting at the plumpness of his lower lip, making a quick breath escape his mouth before he dives in harder, the hand on your back moving up to your nape as he pulls your face impossibly closer. You reach your hands out to feel over the bareness of his torso again; his skin feels hot and smooth, his abdominal muscles clenching as he leans into you more and takes all the effort of steadying you both. Balanced on the edge of his desk you feel shaky, so you reach around his hips and pull them closer, forcing him to remove his hand as your cores meet in sudden ecstasy, the hardness of him feeling all too delicious against your soaked cunt.

Immediately you're grinding against him, savoring every bit of pleasure you can get, while his wide torso cages you in and his soft lips move to your cheek, then your neck, trailing down until he's biting at the soft skin above your collar bone. The choked moan that leaves you sounds almost like a cry of pain, but it was really just the shock, the unexpected pleasure you were getting from every little movement of his.

He pulls his mouth away, suddenly nervous he's taken a wrong step, gone too far. His hair falls in his face as he watches you shamelessly grind against him, your eyes still screwed shut in ecstasy, stopping at nothing to get all of the pleasure you can from it. It takes you a few moments to register the absence of his lips, and when you do you look up at him through hooded eyes, wondering why he pulled back.

"What do you want?" he asks, working hard to rip his eyes away from the sight of you grinding on him.

"Just wanna be good for you," you say breathlessly, swallowing a moan. "Wanna- wanna make you feel good."

"You are making me feel good, angel, I'm so fucking hard," he sighs, looking down again and starting to rock his hips slightly, in time with yours. The added pressure and friction send jolts of pleasure through you, and suddenly your head feels a bit fuzzy, your hands and feet tingling with delight. "You gotta tell me to stop, I can't- this, fuck, we shouldn't be..."

"Please don't stop," you cry, holding onto him for dear life, focused entirely on the feeling of him against you, his strong arms in your hands, his hot breath on your face, his hardness giving you more pleasure than you could ever dream of. "I'll rewrite my entire paper, I'll do anything, just please, don't stop."

"You don't have to promise me that right now," he says, holding you tight against him. "You're too good, let yourself have this."

With his permission, you let go completely, all thoughts leaving you as the pleasure becomes overwhelming, your spasming cunt sending shockwaves of pleasure up through your entire core. His lips are on yours again, and he kisses you deeply, savoring every taste he can find, all but devouring you as he keeps up with your pace, rocking his straining cock against you just how you need it. You feel fully enveloped by him, by his smell and his words, by the feelings of complete safety and desire that he's lighted within you. You never expected this conversation with him to go so well, to head in this direction. For the first time in your life a teacher saw what you hoped they would in your writing, and his admission of his admiration for you left you wanting every bit of praise and pleasure he could give.

Finally, you feel it building deep, a volcano about to explode, your core tightening and threatening to snap. The feeling is searingly hot and delicious, your legs starting to shake, his hands moving to hold onto your thighs as you desperately shake and hump against him, chasing your orgasm to completion. You rip your mouth from his to scream, all the glee and nerves of your evening coming to a head, your body going rigid as it rips through you, your climax so intense and long lasting that you can't quite believe it's real.

"Good girl, let yourself cum," he whispers in your ear, helping you through it. His cock is achingly hard in his pants, but the feeling of you coming in his arms takes all his attention, the most beautiful sight he's ever seen. It's hard to tell when it ends, your legs still so shaky, but eventually your rubbing ceases, and he stops his thrusting too, just holding you in place as you pant and center yourself, adrenaline and happiness coursing through you.

"You okay?" he asks.

"More than okay," you sigh, slumping into him, making you both laugh. It's light, airy, the sound an absolute joy to your ears. You look up, face flushed and cheeks high in a smile, and he leans down to kiss you, a soft and patient kiss that makes butterflies dance in your stomach.

"I didn't mean for that to escalate like that," he says, sighing.

"I did," you say, and it makes him laugh harder, his high cheeks and beautiful smile greeting you. You've never seen him look so sweet, so happy; your stomach suddenly clenches with a feeling of utter admiration, and it's so deep that tears spring in the corners of your eyes. You blink them away, not wanting to cry in front of him, but you can't help the look on your face. His smile is gorgeous, and internally you're melting at just how perfect he is.

You stay locked together for a long time, the minutes passing by as you both breath deeply, more kisses planted on your forehead and cheeks that make you giggle and squirm. Eventually you come down, your legs finally not shaking, your body coming back to the temperature of the room. The cool air is making you sleepy, and you yawn as you pull away from him, gently moving him back so you can stand and stretch your legs, gathering yourself.

It's silent, slightly awkward, but nothing in you feels scared. Though your legs are back to freezing, you feel a warmth in your chest and stomach that won't leave, and when you look up to him, his face is soft and still and utterly lovely.

"I really didn't mean for that to happen," he says, clearing his throat and finally breaking the silence.

"It's okay, seriously, I- I wanted it to," you sigh, holding his gaze.

"I really think you're amazing, it's not just that you're beautiful, I- I want you to go places, I want all of your dreams to come true. With writing, and everything else too," he says, running a hand through his hair.

"I know," you respond, nodding and smiling. "I know."

It's all you can think to say, when so much is running through your head. Now that your heart rate is more normal you can actually think straight, and though you don't feel scared, there is some level of uncertainty dancing in the back of your mind. Where would this lead? And what could possibly come of it? Your own hormones and emotions had led the way earlier, and now you weren't so sure it had been the best choice. But you also couldn't fault yourself for doing it, because you knew that if given the chance, you'd absolutely do it again, as many times as he'd be willing to. Class now might be a nightmare, your active imagination supported by this memory. But that didn't sound all bad, either, frankly. It might be fun to make eyes at him and watch him stutter, to see just how much you could affect him in front of all your peers.

"Are you wanting to head home now?" he asked.

"I probably should, I have a lot of homework to do. And I need to get some dinner."

Twenty minutes later, the delivery arrives, and you sit in his living room sipping at your favorite soup, a casual conversation about your other classes filling the air. It had always bugged you when people asked about school, but for some reason with him, you felt giddy to brag, excited to share every grade and project you could. You felt seen, felt actually supported. It struck you over and over how strange it was to be feeling this way with him, of all people.

"Rewrite that paper, you have a week," he says as you stand in his open door, the streets and lawn drenched from the rain, but the sky now clear.

"Rewrite the whole thing?"

"I expect it to be up to the standard of your other two papers."

With all of the other work you had, it should have been frustratingly hard to finish it. But there was something about thinking of his face as you worked, of his hands, of his chest and his abs and his cock....

You finished the paper in record time, turning it in only four days later. And the next day in class it was lying on your desk when you entered, bright red marks along the front again.

91%.

You looked up at him, and though it was subtle, there was no question there was a glint in his eye as he winked.

[nottslove]

i keep spamming vixen by ayesha at the gym

main character vibe

event; profile; nav; hi honey!! believe me, i squealed when i saw you participating in the event... i'd never heard this song before until now, and i actually like it.

totally gives off main character vibes. so, i figured, this song would have to describe two, extremely stubborn main characters, both fighting for the upper hand....

enter you and enter mattheo riddle.

warnings: slightly nsfw, fwb, toxic relationship

song: vixen, ayesha erotica slytherin boy: mattheo riddle.

YOU had always been attracted to danger, always liked the thrill of putting yourself in risky situations, perhaps that was why you found yourself fascinated with him in the beginning.

the dark lord's son, the boy who was feared by half of hogwarts, and envied and respected by the other half.

he had it all; the looks, the brains, the charm, and even the arrogance and big-headedness that came with having to deal with all of that.

you didn't know how you stood him. but then again, the rest of your friends in your group did act as good buffers.

you always hung out in a group, from first year, to seventh.

things began to change during the end of the sixth year.

pansy got a girlfriend, so she would hang out with her, instead of the rest of you guys.

the get-togethers still went on, and you would all sit by the fireplace in the slytherin common room, or in the local pub at hogsmeade.

draco was the next to leave after pansy. he too, got a girlfriend.

lorenzo left too, eventually, trailing after this hufflepuff girl he was smitten with.

still, you, mattheo and theo would continue with your meetups, until theo transferred his attentions to chase after another witch he had a one night stand with.

leaving just you and mattheo.

you did try to hang out with him in the beginning, but after the first ten minutes of him smoking a cigarette and you reading your book, filled with mindless chatter here and there, the awkward silence that filled the space grew suffocating.

eventually, you decided that you would rather hang out alone.

"doesn't make sense for just the two of us to sit in silence since there's no one else," mattheo had agreed with you.

your friends did inquire why the two of you didn't hang out— "we're too different..." was your answer.

your friends also asked why the pair of you didn't find romantic partners to hang out with.

"you know me— i'm a low commitment guy..." mattheo had shrugged with a smirk.

"edwards and i broke up again," you replied, mentioning your ex-boyfriend; surely, an uncomfortable topic. "i'm not looking for anything serious right now..."

edwards had been your first love; and you had been dating steadily for a few months, until you broke up once over a small fight. ever since then, it had been an on and off relationship with him, and you felt suffocated in the relationship after he kept cutting ties with you, then winning you back with some grand, romantic gesture.

your friends, feeling a little uncomfortable at the mention of edwards, never brought the topic of you and mattheo hanging out with each other, or with other people again.

and the first few times the rest of your friends left to chase after their own romantic interests, you and mattheo dispersed as well; you going to the library and him staying in the common room, you realized there were only so many places you could go without running into mattheo.

suddenly he was everywhere; your paths kept tangling.

in the library? he was there.

quidditch pitch? he was there.

even when you got detention, he happened to be there.

eventually, you stopped trying to fight the forces that brought you two together and embraced it.

turned out, you had a lot in common with mattheo. and you did get along pretty well, even though the dialogue mostly consisted of unhinged flirting, dirty jokes, constant bickering, dissing, arguing and laughing.

it was exhilarating, to say the least.

you couldn't recall the last time you'd had this much fun in detention, and mattheo made up his mind that perhaps you weren't the uptight girl he thought you were.

sure you did contribute a lot to your conversations as an entire friend group, but alone?

god, he never knew you were so witty and flirty.

it drove him insane.

especially when he insulted you and you retorted by harshly slapping his shoulder and using the filthiest curse-words known to man.

or when he teased you about the amount of books you read and you flipped him off.

the worst moment for him was when you wore those slutty, short skirts of yours and it would hike up slightly as you would sit down. that was when he would catch a glimpse of the lace garter strapped to your upper thigh, holding a tiny flask of what he was sure was not water or pumpkin juice.

whether you were talking, or in class, his eyes wandered down to your thigh more often than he would care to admit, and he would have to excuse himself to the men's room.

he was growing addicted to you, and he didn't know it. he constantly had to deal with his urge to pin you against every surface and fuck the shit out of you.

as the pair of you walked back from detention together, you decided you were having too much fun together to part ways once you got to the common room.

hence you both found yourselves in front of the fireplace in the empty common room, casually betting on whether or not professor snape and the new ancient runes professor were sleeping together.

before you knew it, mattheo had pulled out a joint and offered you one. placing it between his lips, he fished around his pockets for a lighter.

"shit, you got a light? can't find mine—"

you gave him a sultry smile, and an understanding nod. "don't worry, i got you covered..." and then, you placed the death stick between your dark, red lips, and before mattheo's very eyes, you undid one of the buttons of your blouse and dug your fingers into your bra, looking for your lighter, unaware that he was losing his fucking mind.

he had never seen anything hotter.

you didn't realize the effect your actions had on mattheo, until you saw the slight rise in his pants. you knew exactly what you were doing when you pulled out the lighter and used it to light the tip of your cigarette, which was still dangling from your lips.

it was still warm from your body heat when you gave it to mattheo, and him, just knowing it had been stuffed inside your bra, pressing against your tits was struggling to hide his growing erection, which was straining painfully against the zipper of his jeans.

he simply couldn't stop staring, and he did nothing to hide his painfully obvious boner.

you noticed.

"close your mouth, darling, you'll catch flies," you drawled, your voice dripping with confidence.

"did— fuck, doll— did that just come out from your bra?" mattheo asked, head spinning. he simply couldn't believe it.

"they don't stitch pockets in girls' skirts," you replied vaguely, fully aware of mattheo's gaze on your tits that peeked out from beneath your shirt. "you can keep it if you like..."

you trailed off lightly, your eyes flickering up to meet his.

he stashed the lighter in his pocket, patting it lightly as if it were his most valuable possession.

his eyes never left yours as he says his next words, fully prepared to catch you off-guard.

"is that why you carry a flask of whiskey strapped to your thigh as well?" he drawled.

your breath hitched, and your eyes widened. no one was supposed to find out about that.

still, you weren't going to let him know he had the upper hand here.

"been staring at my thighs, matty?" you whispered, leaning closer, at an angle that gave him a perfect view of your tits right down your shirt.

"more than you can fucking imagine," he muttered through gritted teeth, your little nickname driving him feral.

"now now, be careful—wouldn't want you to cum in your pants now, would we?" you whispered, fingers reaching softly to caress his bulge over his jeans, your long, manicured nails grazing against the material and causing him to hiss lightly through his teeth.

that was when all hell broke loose. he didn't ask for permission any more. he wasn't going to treat you like a gentle princess when you were right there, acting like a whore.

his mouth collided fiercely with yours, emitting a possessive growl as he pulled you into his lap, cigarette dangling from his fingers.

the cigarette smoke had definitely messed with your mind, because you were grinding against him whilst making out with him, and it simply wasn't enough.

you wanted more. you needed more.

your manicured nails were buried into his hair, the other clutching his shirt, skirt riding higher and higher as your gyrated your hips over his.

"i need more," he muttered, hand flitting to your garter, pulling it away from your thigh and letting it snap back into place, causing a slight sting of pleasurable pain to kiss your delicate skin.

"this is a one time thing," you warned him, before you gave him all control of the situation, knowing all too well he would satisfy your needs.

the amount of times his sexual conquests had been discussed in your friend group was too many for you to count.

"agreed," he replied, before he took you to his empty dorm room.

both of you never expected to do it again. you both assumed you merely needed to get each other out of your systems, but you were proved wrong the next time your friends left you alone.

it wasn't even one minute since their absence that the pair of you were already making out.

and then, you put a label to it.

friends with benefits.

it didn't end there. you swore to keep it a secret from the rest of your friends, but it was only a matter of time before they found out.

draco had forgotten his phone in the dorm room, and he had come in to get it, only to find the two of you in a very compromising position.

naturally, he had informed the rest of the group.

it was easy for you to contain your relationship with mattheo within the four walls of his dorm.

outside, you were friends. the benefits only came out when you were alone.

he didn't do relationships, or commitment, and you had just gotten out of a relationships; you weren't looking for anything serious.

until feelings began getting involved.

and until mattheo started behaving like a boyfriend outside the bedroom.

he would hold your hand, pull you into his lap randomly and make-out with you in public.

not that you minded.

he was so goddamn addictive.

when you started catching feelings, you tried to squash them, suppress them, but that proved to be difficult when he hung around you every waking moment of the day.

"we need to stop," you told mattheo one time, after he had pulled you into an empty classroom to slide his hand between your thighs.

"stop what? we won't get caught, doll—" he replied, fingers brushing against your panties.

"us. i can't keep doing this with you—"

and then you walked out.

he had helped you get over your ex. and though you hadn't been looking for anything serious, catching feelings for mattheo had made you realize how much you craved the feeling of being loved.

and to get your mind off mattheo, you began seeing another guy, hoping your feelings for your friend would go away.

they didn't.

you couldn't kiss him without thinking of mattheo.

mattheo was jealous. glaring at you from the distance, sitting on the table with all your friends around him.

"i think it's nice she's finally giving someone else a chance," pansy commented.

"shut the fuck up," growled mattheo.

"what's gotten your knickers in a twist?" scoffed theo. "thought you don't do commitments."

"i don't," replied mattheo. "that asshole doesn't deserve her."

"you should stop seeing him," mattheo commented later that evening, when you were left alone with him in the common room.

"yeah, like suddenly you know what's best for me," you replied dryly.

"oh, but i do," replied riddle, leaning in closer to your ear to allow his words to drip through, like venom.

"i know exactly where to touch you to make your toes curl. i know how how to pleasure you; until you're screaming my fucking name— does he know how to touch you? does he touch you like i do?" mattheo murmured, his hand sliding underneath your thigh, softly drawing circles on your thigh, fingers caressing your garter. "he doesn't know how gorgeous you look, screaming my name as i eat that sweet pussy..."

you slowly shook your head, your heart lurching.

and thus, mattheo knew exactly how to manipulate you.

the cycle began.

you kept calling things off, and he kept worming his way back into your pants, and your heart.

until you had enough.

"mattheo—stop," you told him, halting his hand from where it had begun to venture across your thigh. "i.. i can't do this anymore. please..."

catching the vulnerability in your tone, he looked into your eyes and distinguished the slightly glassy stare. "why not? what's wrong?"

"i just can't."

he didn't do relationships; telling him the truth would just make things worse.

"why not? because of the other guy? you still whoring around for him?" he scoffed, sounding completely pissed.

suddenly, a small sob cracked through your body, and you shook your head, completely hurt by his words.

"no," you replied back, your voice reflecting your hurt. "because i made the mistake of falling in love with an asshole like you."

instantly, he knew he had fucked up.

his heart stuttered with your confession, as dread slipped into his blood.

"doll—" he tried, trying to catch your wrist, but you slipped out of his grasp.

"don't doll me," you demanded. "we're over. i can't stand to be near someone who thinks of me as nothing but a whore."

he didn't apologize to you.

you stayed away from him; from everyone, in fact. you kept to your dorm room.

you couldn't face mattheo, or your friends. you couldn't deal with all their questions and sympathy stares.

your friend group was now split between you and mattheo; none of you hung together any more.

you were broken, and mattheo went back to picking up a different girl each night.

it didn't help that you were madly in love with him, heart clenching at the thought of him with any other girl.

eventually, you and mattheo had to talk. where you go back to tolerating each other's presence so your friends could hang out together.

mattheo was stubborn.

he had caught feelings for you; it was obvious. your friends knew, the teachers knew. everyone fucking knew.

he was just too fucking stupid and dumb to admit it.

every girl he brought back, he would moan your name. he would imagine you underneath him.

it was only until another guy asked you out that mattheo lost it all. he couldn't stand another guy touching you, being with you.

enough was enough.

"can we talk?" he asked one night, when your friends had thrown a party in the slytherin common room.

"no," you brushed him off, walking right past him.

"please, doll. one minute; that's all i need..." he begged, his brown eyes full of vulnerability. "i.. i know i fucked up. big time.."

"yeah," you replied, a dry scoff punctuating your words. "one minute only."

"i'm... i'm sorry for what i said," he admitted, after much difficulty. "i was.. i was jealous of the other guy; and pissed at him."

"you're the one who said you didn't do relationships," you quoted him. "so you shouldn't have gotten mad when i wanted one."

"that's the thing," mattheo breathed, raking a hand through his dark curls. "i didn't want a relationship until i met you."

your heart stopped. your eyes flickered up to meet his.

the rest of the party faded away.

the music dimmed, the faint beat of the woofer made the floor vibrate in sync with your heartbeat.

it was just you and him.

you, and mattheo.

"you— you... you drive me fucking insane," mattheo breathed. "i can't stop thinking about you— i love you—"

you didn't need to hear the rest.

your hands gripped his jaw and you crashed your lips against his.

the last thing you heard before you snuck away to mattheo's dorm room was his voice.

"i love you, doll."

"i hate you, riddle," you replied.

but you didn't.

event; profile; nav;

©nottslove 2025. do not copy, steal or claim any works/graphics as your own.

[rwshfordgirl]

OCEANO

"só sei viver se for por você."

pairing: jude bellingham x reader!

where he just wants to see you well.

warning: mention of cheating.

a/n: i dedicate this to all the girls who read this story and who by some chance, share portuguese as their native language, lusófona union hahaha i was really looking forward to starting this project, i've been thinking about it for months and i'm so happy to finally be able to share it with you. really hope you guys like it ;)

𝐚𝐩𝐫𝐢𝐥 𝐬𝐨𝐧𝐠𝐬✮

Jude remembers well all the times he heard you say that you would leave everything behind to go live with him on an island in the middle of the ocean. He felt bad every time he saw you stressed, coming home from work and college tired and still finding time to take care of himself. He wanted to reward you for that, he wanted to make you forget the problems that afflicted you so much and take you to the island that you wanted to visit so bad.

He saw the board on your Pinterest profile, you saved photos that other people shared when they had the opportunity to visit an archipelago in the Indian Ocean off the coast of the African continent. The islands that formed the territory of Zanzibar. Your dream destination.

As the end of the season approached, Jude made a plan. He booked an entire floor of a five-star resort on Kendwa Beach, for a week, just for you and him.

He didn't say anything, it was a surprise until the last second. "Babe, you mind going to Ibiza this summer?"

You did mind going to Ibiza, it's not the most special place in the world, it's not the ideal place to relax after a stressful season. But Bellingham likes going there, he likes it when he gets his friends together and they head off to the island, and you wouldn't want to be without him.

However, Jude wouldn't take you to Ibiza, when the question was asked during one random afternoon, he had just booked the room at the Resort. He saw you trying to hide the annoyance on your face and in your voice.

When the day arrived, when Jude boarded the jet with you, the resort's commercial posters were above the plane's seat.

"What's this, love?" You said as you flipped through the paper showing the beauties of Zanzibar.

The smile on Jude's face grew huge, he licked his lips before speaking, "Surprise. That's where we're going."

Jude couldn't explain what he felt when he saw her face, when he saw her eyes shine and her smile gradually grow in size, "Jude, are you serious? My God, but what about your friends? Jude, are you really serious?"

Jude ran his hand around the back of you neck, he pulled you close gently and gave a little kiss on the top of her head, "It's serious love, very serious. I know how much you wanted to go there. And my friends already knew that we wouldn't go to Ibiza, only you didn't know."

You looked out the plane window, already imagining yourself lying on the sun loungers on the beach and walking hand in hand with Jude along the sandy strip of the beach.

And sitting on the edge of the bed, with his hands on his head, he remembered the smile you gave him when he told you about the trip, the kisses you gave him that conveyed your happiness. But nothing would prepare him for what would come next, nothing would prepare him for what happened minutes after that.

Bellingham headed to the balcony of the room you were in, still thinking about the event that preceded your arrival. He could see you lying face down on the hayloft, your blue dress moving in the wind, and he counted how many times you brought your hand to your face, trying to wipe away the tears that were falling.

Jude made you cry, he made you cry out of sadness and not out of happiness as it should have been, as he had planned.

"What are you insinuating?", the vision of you crossing your arms and looking him in the eye with anger, will never left his mind.

"You like his pictures, comment on his pictures. What do you want me to think?"

You rolled your eyes, the smile on your face appeared but it only highlighted the anger you felt.

"What are you implying? Tell me Jude Bellingham, what are you implying with this."

Your hands reached out to Jude to push him away.

"Do you think I would cheat on you? Do you think I would be with someone else? You are such an idiot, such a fucking idiot."

Your fingers pushed Jude further and further back in the chair.

"No my love, it's not that...", his voice came out almost like a whisper, he was sorry. But I knew you were upset, almost heartbroken for hearing him insinuate that you were hitting on another man.

And on the hotel balcony, Jude couldn't stand to see you like this anymore, suffering because of his actions. Maybe you didn't want to talk at that moment, but he would try, he would try to get closer.

You felt Jude sit down on the lounger, towards your belly. His fingers gently walked over it.

"Baby girl, can we talk?", the question came cautiously.

No answers, the only sound was that of the ocean waves. Jude took a deep breath, his hands ran through his hair, a gesture that represented the anguish he felt inside.

"I can pack my things and leave.", it was the first time he had heard you voice since the incident hours ago.

"No, no.",Jude felt a wave of despair invade his chest, "You can't leave, you don't have to leave. I want you to enjoy it here, I want you to relax, I want to see you well."

Your face was turned towards the forest that surrounded the beach, without the courage to look Bellingham in the eyes.

"Love, I'm so sorry, okay? I'm really sorry, I hate knowing that I was the one who left you like this. I just didn't know who he was, I was scared, I felt insecure."

Jude was being honest, that was really how he felt. Insecure and vulnerable.

"Jude, you are the most perfect man in the world. It would be crazy to think of another man having you, knowing that I am loved by you.", you finally managed to compose yourself, got up from the lounge chair and sat in front of him.

"I'm really sorry about that, I'm sorry for doubting you.", it was Jude who couldn't look at you, he was embarrassed.

"I felt terrible hearing you insinuate that the likes I gave to the photos of a friend of mine who I haven't seen in years, represented to you a sign of cheating.",

"I don't know what happened to me, really. I trust you, I trust you with my eyes closed, I trust you to be my guide on a path full of thorns.", he took a deep breath, his hands found yours, "Don't think about leaving me, don't think about leaving me without you please...please, my love."

Bellingham felt he could get on his knees in front of her and beg for your forgiveness.

"Promise me, Bellingham. Promise me that you will never again be able to doubt me, to doubt my love for you."

His fingers tightened around yours.

"I will never do that again, never again. I promise you, I promise not to do what I did today ever again.", he brought your hand to his mouth and kissed it.

"You mean everything to me, everything I love the most. I can't be without you for a second and see you here, alone, not wanting to talk to me... it hurt me. It hurt me because I knew I was the one who caused all this pain."

Tears streamed down your face again, but this time they were tears of relief, Jude's words really sounded right to you, they were sincere words.

"Jude?" you said as you felt him caress your face.

"Huh?" he said, not wanting to be distracted from what he was doing.

"Thank you for this, thank you for bringing me here."

Bellingham rested his forehead against hers, happy that he could finally do this.

"You deserve this, you deserve this and much more. I want to make you happy, I want to make you very happy every day.", again he kissed the back of your hand, "I don't want to make you cry like that ever again, it was the first and last time, i promise to you.I want to see you cry because you are happy to be with me, to be here."

Jude hugged you, a sincere hug that for both of you meant the end of a complicated situation. Neither of you felt the urge to let go, to leave.

"I love you.", you whispered in his ear, "I love you too much."

Your words made Jude let go of you, but he didn't pull away, he just took his hands and brought them to your face.

"I love you too, my dear love. More than you could ever imagine."

[screechingdefendorpuppy-blog]

My dearest Sevika....

You hum along to the song playing softly on the radio as you get ready. Both you and Sevika had been invited to Isha's six grade graduation. I twill be the first time you go out together since her return so you were both excited and nervous for this.

You straighten your blouse as you take a last look in the mirror. Leaving the ensuite bathroom you see Sevika sat down on her side of the bed. You smile at first till you notice the sag on her shoulders. She hasn't noticed you yet so you slowly walk over to her and sit next to her. You stay silent knowing that she will tell you what is going on when she is ready.

"It wont fit..." she whisper. That's when you notice her wedding band in her right hand. Her gaze on her left prosthetic arm. It has been a journey since her release from the hospital. From physical therapy, actual therapy, and the difficulties to get used to her new reality.

You lift your hand and start to rub her back and lean on her shoulder. "Maybe you can wear it on your right hand." you suggest not thinking much about it, just wanting to give her a simple solution. Once her hand clenches around her ring you know it was the wrong thing to say.

"It's not the same." she says, anger evident in her voice. Though the anger was never directed at you. It saddens you to hear it. As you open your mouth to respond she abruptly gets up.

"We have to go or we'll be late." she says as she leaves the bedroom.

You stay put for a bit thinking to yourself that you could've handled that better. As you get up, you remember a conversation you had with Jinx a few years ago, when you had first met her. You smile and make a mental note to ask her a few questions.

________

"Almost there Sevi, just a few more steps." you excitedly tell her as you guide her. A bandana adorns her face to cover her eyes. Ever since that day you found her saddened about her wedding band, you had talked to Jinx, done some research and booked an appointment.

Maybe the appointment was jumping the gun a bit but you had wanted to help Sevika with this. To help her feel loved and seen. It had been eating at you that your response had not helped. Though Sevika didn't hold it against you, she actually ended up talking to you about it later that night.

Had shared how the fact that she couldn't wear her wedding ring and feel it felt wrong to her. That it felt like something was missing. You had tried to apologize to her but she had stopped you. Telling you that she knows you wont always have the answers. Hell she doesn't expect you to have them. That night you both had promised each other to firstly be an anchor to each other and then try for a solution together.

That was last week, and though you hadn't told her about the appointment you had made. You had mention to her how in other cultures they use different ways to symbolize marriage other than wearing wedding rings.

She had been non the wiser about your comments. You had always like learning about other cultures and other topics. Always reading about them, watching documentaries, and researching things that catch your interest. So she did not think twice that you had been looking into it.

Now though there is a lil hint of suspicion in her mind. Especially after you had blind folded her instead of letting her drive like she normally did when you were together.

" Babe, I am one step away from yelling 'Help I have been kidnapped'"

You roll your eyes as you continue to the front door of the establishment. Once in front you take a big exhale and turn to face Sevika.

"Ok, you can look now." You tell her

"Finally." she chuckles as she removes the bandana. It takes her a moment to adjust to the sudden brightness. Then she looks up at the place she was standing in front of.

A Tattoo Parlor.

You can she the question before she voices it.

"So, I have been thinking about your ring and how you are not able to wear it anymore at least not the way it is meant to be worn." you start.

Sevika opens her mouth but you stop her. " I know it has been bothering you and I know our therapist said that I cant fix everything for you. But I can try to at least make some alternatives towards a new normal." You look down at your wedding ring and remove it.

"You are not able to wear your wedding ring. So I wont wear mine." She goes to talk but once again you stop her. "Only if you are ok with what I am proposing."

"In other cultures there is different ways to signify marriage or your devotion to someone., Some with bracelets, others with necklaces and tattoos." You pause to gage her reaction. She stay silent trying to come up with an answer.

So you panic "It's just that I thought, that if you cant wear a ring. then what else could you use to show that you are married and well at first I had thought of a necklace but you are that big of a fan of jewelry and well that also ruled out a bracelet and then I thought piercings! But like which on you know cuz there is a nose ring that signifies marriage but I work with kids andmmm-" her lips crash into yours

"You're rambling sweetheart." she tells you against your lips.

"Yeah well I haven't been this nervous since we went on our first date." you whisper still a bit dazed from the kiss and her proximity.

She chuckles as she glances back up at the parlor. " A tattoo huh" she says her hands still cupping your face. You nod, "I just thought it was more like you and well it would be something that would be unique just for the two of us."

"And you are willing to get one?" she asks as she lets go of your face to grab ahold to your waist. "You are afraid of needles."

" For you I will do anything Sev. That's a promise I will always keep." you tell her "Even if it means dealing with needles." you whisper solemnly making her laugh.

She sobers up and looks at you. She is about to ask you once more till she sees it. The love and determination you have to do this for her. She smiles and lifts her right hand to move a strand of hair from your face.

"Ok" she says "Lets do it."

A big smile blooms on your face as you grab her prosthetic hand and start dragging her inside.

Tag list: @archangeldyke-all , @ghosting-y0u , @sumisamente , @chezze-its , @yeetsugadaichi , @user-ladiesman217 , @caralynlane , @iwannadeletemyself , @wee-bitch , @megamultifandomtrashposts , @abbyandersonsarmsweat , @sevikabrainrotenthusiast , @sevikasleftbicep , @caterpilla-in-a-hat , @h2pinky , @vintagelotus345 , @kay-khronicals , @loofat

[riverscuomoforcefem]

there are literally better children's books about young magic users too, if that's a desperate necessity. The Tiffany Aching discworld books are far better written and more compelling, don't have pro-slavery and anti-aids-sufferer arcs, and were written by a man who loved all people (and whose daughter, who inherited his estate, has donated money to british trans charities in the past with discworld profits).

Percy Jackson - can't speak much on this series cause I never read it, but everyone i know that did absolutely loves it, the author is pro-trans, and it's ongoing so you get to continue to read works in the series when you've read everything that's out already.

Philip Pullman sucks but His Dark Materials is kinda magic kids adjacent and the series makes a good read. don't buy it, but your library probably has copies.

and if none of those are good enough for you because they're not your precious shitty little kids books written by the terf queen herself, then for the love of god at least shut the hell up about how you still love the series too much to stop giving it money. it's a set of children's books that I was able to recognise didn't really hold up when you start to grow up *at 14*. if you "love trans people" but can't bear to let go of your shoddily written children's series that directly pays money to the trans people suffering maximisation committee, you don't really love trans people. so stop begging us to forgive you when all we're asking you to do is to not give the person that wants us dead money, and you can't even do that. you are nothing. you are less than nothing. grow up, shut up, and get a hold of yourselves

i truly cannot fathom the cognitive dissonance required to stumble through the "b-but it meant so much to me growing up" bubble that harrier potting fans have in trying to justify continually engaging with it, despite everything. despite trans people begging them to stop giving jkr money. to stop talking about it. i cannot imagine seeing a nightmarishly evil ruling be brought to fruition because of an author's direct funding and still contort my brain to justify myself.

you need to fucking drop it. read a different fucking book. join a different fucking fandom.

[yuumcbr]

I just found out that today is International Bat Day, so I'm going to write some headcannons I have about our beloved bat fae!!

Note: English is not my first language and for reasons of laziness I translated this with Google Translate

1- It's common to see bat decorations during Halloween and on this date scares are a frequent occurrence. And guess who loves to scare people as a form of prank?

1.2- It's seeing images of bats upside down, so I find it funny every time Lilia tries to scare someone, he does it upside down

2- I thought it was cool that in Lilia's last SRR birthday card (the 2025 one in case you're reading this in the future), the groovy guy in the card is him with a 'who opened the curtain' face, since the sun's rays in the morning are very strong compared to the darkness of his room.

The funny thing is that as far as I know, bats aren't the biggest fans of sunlight either.

3- Bats are nocturnal creatures, so I think it's cool to see that Lilia spends many nights awake playing games with her friend Gloomurai.

4- I have the headcanon that just like Malleus, all fae were born in an animal form, so… mini baby bat Lilia!!!!

5- It was Cater who introduced Lilia to social media on her first day at the pop music club, I mean, Cater definitely took a picture with her club on the first day and said something like "Wow, give me your @ so I can tag you guys in Magican"

Lilia asked questions about what Magican was and Cater had a similar reaction to when she found out Yuu didn't have a phone. Lilia bought a cell phone at Mr. S's store as soon as the club ended.

6- Can anyone else see Baul and Lilia exchanging ideas about Sebek and Silver's childhood? I can see it!!

7- No one will ever get it out of my head that Lilia sees Malleus as her son, but she never says it out loud because she doesn't want to be disrespectful to the royal family and Malleus's deceased parents.

(Malleus also sees him as a father figure, but he never said it out loud either. The end of book 7 proved it to me and now nothing will get this headcannon out of my head)

8- Many fae respect him for being an excellent general during the war, but because of fae traditionalism, they don't quite see the fact that Lilia socializes so well with human culture.

I mean, online games, different clothes and pop music!! are not really Briar Valley's style, right?

9- I imagine that when Lilia gives a birthday present to someone she cares about a lot, he puts nuts inside the gift wrapping.

10- I think Lilia catches herself humming the lullabies she sang to Silver every now and then

[fables-if]

I have crawled my way out of my grave buried in assignments. Fr, I feel like I'm drowning with stuff to do, but well, procrastination (ehe)

Alright, another ask! Definitely not stolen from an ask on another blog, of course not.

MC suddenly gets mind reading abilities for a day. Oh wow, look, there comes the romanced RO! What would MC hear?

OTTEEEEEEER I MISSED YOU SO MUCH <3. It's great to have you back. Good luck with the stuff you have to do (I get the procrastination; I've been there. Well, technically, I'm still doing it, u_u). I love this ask. So cute. Let's get into it: Ana (she/her): Ana, with a serious expression as always, is thinking this: Omg, here they are. They look so beautiful in blue (or whatever colour they're wearing), their hair looks so good today, I bet it smells really good too. MC is smiling and is blushing a little bit. Be cool, Ana, be cool. Flirt with them, compliment their style, or something casual so you don't seem like a super intense person. Should I say hello to them with a hug or two kisses? Maybe only one? I want to be bold, but I don't want them to get uncomfortable. I need to give them the decoction I made for their sore throat, maybe we can stop by the Aphotecary and I can give them that and the leather notebook I made from scratch for them. I hope they like it, maybe I can add a few tea bags in case they have restless nights again. Well, if that happens, they can call me and I will be with them the whole night. I'm worried about their nightmares.

This, but in a loop. Ana is a sweetheart, but she's def a lot more confident in the flirting stage rather than the relationship one. She's not used to the kind, slow relationship that she has always wanted, and MC brings to the table, so she's in a bit of a panic when she's around them. Dix (they/any): Dix seems like a serious person, but they are a little bit like an airhead. So their thoughts would be a little bit like: Have I fed my daughters today (the ferrets)? I think so, or they would have complained when I was leaving. Oh, there is MC. *blank for a few seconds* I want to hug them. *hugs them*. I've been seeing a weird number of black dogs around Imeria lately. I hope it's not a bad omen. A crow! Let me show MC the crow. I like MC's earrings. I wonder if they would like me to gift them some custom-made jewelry. Would MC like to have a pet? I don't think they can handle a dog, maybe a turtle? I would have to talk with An, they would know what to get them. Mc looks a bit lonely lately. Caterina is getting worse, but I don't think it's just that. There is something weird in the air.

An (they/any): Caterina is getting worse lately; she doesn't even come outside to the sun. I wonder how MC is doing. The kiddos keep asking about them and want MC to play with them again. *sees MC^ Oh, there they are. Their hair looks beautiful today, but their eyes are a bit sad. I know that look, they always have it when they're about to cry or need some comforting since we were 3. *hugs MC and comforts them* I wish I could take the sadness away, but all I can do is remain by their side. I wonder if they would rather do an activity than talk about their feelings. Talking never works for me. I saw some cool rocks near the river, maybe I can take them over there and we can look for cool rocks for their collection. I wonder if they still collect them. Bingen (he/him): I've been saving these books for the children of the village. I wonder if they are going to like them. I should contact the provincial library to see if we can exchange books. Maybe Ana can take me to the next town by car so I can talk with the people in charge. Just thinking about it makes me nervous, but MC has been helping me a lot, and I'm starting to be confident in my abilities and in myself. Oh, there they are. I'm always envious of how they are able to make people like them and go to them. Before, I thought MC didn't put any effort into it, that they were just magnetic enough to attract so many people. Now I know that's not true. How they learn the names of every person they talk to in the village, how they learn what's important to them (their family, their hobbies, animals, garden...,) and how MC asks them about it. Not because they want something out of it, but because that's just who they are. Yet nobody asks them about their grandma, about their work, their studies, about the way they look tired every day, and the night doesn't seem to alleviate the tiredness, only makes it grow more. Maybe I should be the one to ask them those questions, because I care and because I love them.

[josnhoes]

* Kicks door down like you own me money*

Why did I just learn you do Devil May Cry? Have you known DmC was originally supposed to be a resident evil game but change because it looks different then it should?

Okay, now that's out of the way let me request some with this offering

May I request of what would it be if Dante and Vergil having a sister? ( they all triplets) and they assumed she's dead but turns out been alive the whole time but have amnesia and raised around the church as a demon/monster hunter ( cuz badass nun, yay! )

How would they react when seeing their sister again but alive?

( let say this take place maybe around DmC 3 or after 5, what ever you see fit )

I did know that dmc was supposed to be a resident evil game, and tbh I'm glad they went a different direction because while I love resident evil I have more fun with dmc.

I'm going go with an alternate ending to dmc 5 where instead of leaving dmc Dante stays and Vergil joins. Let my 3 boys work together damn it.

Content warning mention of reader being dead but it was presumed. Female reader

-----

They see you the first time on one of their odd days off. In an attempt at bonding Dante agreed to go to a book store. That wasn't his usual scene and honestly sounded boring but he had so much time to make up with Vergil that ot was worth it.

You had grown up surrounded by books in the church, when you weren't training to slay demons and protect the innocent you were reading. So since your training for the day was complete you decided to go pre-order the newest copy of one of your favorite series. You didn't even notice the brothers as you gave the clerk your name for the pre-order.

The brothers were frozen, here you were their baby sister alive. Alive and seemingly well. Vergil was filled with grief, if he had known he would have pulled you to his size. Bring you home where you belonged...but that wasn't true. Not with Mundus' involvement in his early years. But after maybe.

Dante's frozen stature didn't last long and he did what he did best. Do with out thinking. He approached you trying to sus out if you recognized him while asking about the book series. You seem to the way you search his face, the way you ask if you know him. But it was clear you didn't remember not in a way that matter and that broke his heart.

Both brothers had adored you, their sweet little sister too soft for the world she was born into. You were the one thing they didn't fight about...unless it was your attention. No they tried to protect you be good big brothers. They loved you.

Their faces and names made your head hurt and your heart ache. You knew them, deep down you knew them. So you offer to grab coffee with them, talk and hopefully garner the truth.

Usually Vergil would have scolded Dante for just acting but that was the thing about Dante it usually worked for him and this time it worked in his favor too.

Both brothers want to drag you back to devil may cry, remind you of your old life with them. Just bring you home but neither wanted to risk your hate. Even if their inner demons screamed to bring 'the baby' home.

Dante laughs as you explain your job in the church commenting on demon slaying really being the Sparda destiny.

Vergil is more interested in what you plan to do now that you know of them. Will you stay with the church or join them. Though he will admit the idea of *you* fighting demons made his heart skip beats with anxiety.

For now you stay with the church, saying you want to know them better before deciding anything. Which while fair was a disappointment to the brothers. But their both just happy you're alive, well for now soon their devils will insist they convince you to come home.

When they get home Vergil is silent before asking Dante, "Is this how you felt when I came back?"

"Yeah but less chest pain since she didn't stab us." It was a joke the actions long since water under the bridge.

Nero piped up once he knew the story, "Damn Dante if you had a Nicole for everytime a twin comes back from being supposedly dead you'd have two-"

"Which isn't a lot but weird it happened twice." Dante finished for his nephew.

[clxssified-mirxcle]

Bewitched Me, From the First Time that You Kissed me ๋࣭ ⭑⚝ Suguru

You get that you can’t share certain information during the shared dreams with your soulmate- the rules were taught to you since you started having them as a child, after all- but it seems like he isn’t willing to talk about himself, no matter how much you try to get him to! What's the matter with him, and why is he so hesitant about meeting you?

Containing:

Soulmate AU (Shared Dreams), First Kiss, Secrets and miscommunication, College, but there's still curses AU, we HATEEEE the higher ups, slight Forbidden Love?, Hopeless romantic reader <333

Notes: Mimi tries to avoid use of phrase "Y/N" at all costs; Any feedback is appreciated esp when it comes to writing x readers to be more inclusive in general!

You loved the idea of having a soulmate. Having someone who the universe knew would be the one for you? It felt like something you'd listen from the book of fairytales that your mother would read to you before you'd go to sleep. There were rules though, something she had explained in the weeks leading up to your 4th birthday when you would finally tire from bouncing off the walls endlessly in excitement.

She'd sat you down at the dinner table in a manner that made you sit straighter and puff your chest out. It felt a lot like those meetings that your father had when he brought you with him for Bring your Kid to Work Day.

What was that word again? Important? Maybe.

You wondered what your soulmate would look like. Your mother had taken you to a shaman that specialised in soulmates to find out more and he'd said that it was a guy. You hoped he was pretty.

Your mom sighed, noticing how your eyes glazed over again in a daydream.

"Hey sweetie, you know how you've been really, really excited over meeting your soulmate tomorrow night?" She asked, noticing how your attention immediately snapped towards her at the words 'your soulmate'. It was adorable how set you were on the idea of love.

"Yeah?" You smiled, a giddy smile on your face from the mere idea of meeting them like a true hopeless romantic.

"Well, there's some rules in place that you have to follow, okay? So make sure to listen to me really closely, and then I'll take you out for some ice cream." She said, smiling at your excited nod.

The first rule was your least favourite- that you wouldn't be able to remember what they really looked like once you woke up. Sure, you'd know it instantly the moment you met them, but it still sucked! How were you supposed to rememberif they were pretty or not?!

The second was that you couldn't tell them your name, or your address, or really anything that would make them be able to find you by purposefully searching for it. You could, of course, but again, you wouldn't remember it. If you tried to remember, your mum said, you wouldn't be able to get the words out, like they were stuck in your throat.

She had laughed at the downtrodden look on your face, telling you that these were just how things were. The universe liked fate, and fated lovers never needed to search for each other. Searching would be like doubting fate, and that meant doubting the universe.

You were upset about the fact that you wouldn't know right away for approximately…30 minutes, settling on the concept that in the end, it was just more romantic that you didn't need to search, that it was fated. That one day, your soulmate and you would stumble across each other and it'd be the best day of your life.

Your mother smiled as she tucked you into bed, the biggest, most infectious grin on your face.

It was finally the night- finally time to meet your soulmate!

"You have to calm down, you know. Otherwise you'll never fall asleep," Your mother soothed, brushing your hair aside and barely failing to hold her laughter back at the giggle you let out. "We don't want to keep your soulmate waiting all night, do we? I bet they're already asleep."

You let out a gasp, appalled that you might make your soulmate angry before you even met them, instantly pulling the blankets over your head and screwing your eyes shut tight as your mother shut the lights off with a last goodnight kiss to your forhead.

Sleep came quick, your body tired from the way you were basically bouncing off the walls in excitement.

Your soulmate was already there when you arrived in your shared dream, and you were almost giddy with how pretty he was. You ran down the hill that the dream took place in, looking at him with a smile.

"Hi! Are you my soulmate?" You asked, holding your hand out with a smile as you introduced yourself.

He turned around, and wow. Shiny, smooth black hair and striking violet eyes that made your smile even bigger as he returned it, taking your hand. It was a shame that you'd forget it, when you were awake to daydream about him.

"I think so. My name's Suguru, though my mother says that we won't remember it while we're awake…but I still want to know your name." He said, a thoughtful smile on his face.

You nodded, introducing yourself enthusiastically, sitting down next to him and feeling your heart flutter in your chest when he scooted to sit next to you. Your shoulders were just barely touching as he pointed to a cloud that he said 'looked like a tray of zaru soba', which you thought didn't make any sense,

"…because zaru soba outside of the tsuyu looks like any old lump, Suguru!" You exclaimed, cheeks puffing up in a pout.

"So? That doesn't mean it doesn't look like it!" He retorted calmly with a smile, the argument barely fazing him.

You'd heard from your mother that you'd fall fast, but you didn't realise it was like this, waking up with a dreamy smile and vague memories at a boy that loved zaru soba and the clouds up above.

Fifteen years later…(21 years old)

You had dreams with the boy for a month or so, looking forward to sleeping more than being awake, the way you found yourself infatuated with him, until you started waking with fuzzy memories of long hair, a voice like silk, and change.

He started being more secretive, preferring to listen to you rather than debate in the admittedly childish discussions that he used to, bringing up deep questions that went right over your head.

"Hey…do you think that there's more on Earth than just humans and animals and stuff?"

"What, like…ghosts? Don't be silly, $u%u#u. Of course not."

"…Right."

And then you both entered high school, and you woke up with clear dreams without a glimpse of black hair that you'd tie into a bun, without flashes of deep purple that you always described as magical, bewitching, even.

It was clear. Your soulmate had either lost interest in you, or was hiding from you in the vast, grassy hills of your shared dream. They were endless, as far as you both could tell.

You couldn't stand the thought of your soulmate, someone who you'd never met awake but knew in your heart that he was the one, would grow bored of you or reject you, so you settled for the latter.

You couldn't talk nor find him face to face, but you knew that he'd hear. So you did what you knew best, talked about anything- your day, your feelings, anything into the rolling green hills and blue skies- except how you felt about him, for fear that that small seed of resentment against him that you yourself resented would be the last straw to drive him away.

So that's where you found yourself.

"It's my twenty first birthday tomorrow, so I'm going out with my friends." You commented, sitting down on a patch of grass that used to hold two.

"I know that I still have that essay due on Monday…but it's my birthday, you know? The essay can wait, can't it?" You said with a laugh, longing for someone who you hadn't seen since the last week of middle school.

But who was to say that you hadn't truly seen him since the first time you saw him?

You still stayed a hopeless romantic, trying to find that missing piece that made your heart ache when waking up from yet another dream that held just you.

You didn't even know what possessed you to speak about specifics, the words coming out before you could stop it.

He'd forget in the morning anyways…if he was even listening.

"Anyways…I'm going to this nearby club with my friends for the night. Party and everything. It…doesn't matter, anyways. You're going to forget that in the morning."

You just stared up at the clouds for the rest of the dream, waking up soon after in your bed at your dorm all alone. Your friends had found their soulmates near the start of college, like most of the soulmate pairs you'd seen before- it was considered to be the average time for soulmates to meet.

You mainly spent the morning going to your classes, working on your essay during lunch and any free time you could to make up for the fact that once you went back to your dorm, not much work was going to get done. Your friends had all gathered with you at your dorm, the suite becoming a flurry of activity as you all got dressed to impress …though you'd all be the best dressed regardless.

Not like it mattered. It wasn't like you'd see your soulmate. You didn't know why, but you felt yourself unable to feel any happiness or self satisfaction when you looked at yourself in the mirror like you normally did. It was strange….but you shrugged it off as you and your friends packed into the car together.

It really wasn't a smart idea, looking back. There were seven of you, and the car was supposed to fit five. Three up front- the passenger seat seating two, and four in the back that made you pray that no police would trouble you tonight.

The club was a well known one- Neon Gloss- that was considered the 'de facto' club for celebrations due to their deals, namely free drinks for you, the birthday girl. It was three or four drinks in and two hours spent dancing under bright lights that you excused yourself from the dance floor under the guise of needing the bathroom that you found yourself accosted by a man who had clearly made a business out of spending as much time at a club as possible.

"C'mon, don't you know what a deal you're getting? Just one song, hm?"

He was the definition of the word sleazy, his attempt at a charming smirk coming off more remnicent of the Cheshire cat, too much teeth and leaving no doubt that there were nothing but twisted intentions in his mind. You knew these kind of people well- greasy haired alcoholics that would no doubt take advantage of an unattended drink.

Your soulmate would never.

"…No thank you, I think my friends are looking for me-" You muttered, trying your best at concealing your discomfort as you moved past him, hoping to lose him in the crowd only to be dragged back by a grip too rough and clammy with sweat. He'd introduced himself earlier as "Takashi", and leered at you, reaching for your drink. You dropped it in an attempt to call attention to yourself as you tried to pull away, the glass shattering on the floor, muffled by the loud, blaring sound of the DJ's and club patrons singing loudly along to the music. You felt the tell tale queasiness of nausea in your stomach, a sign of one or two too many drinks.

"Now, now, don't be going too soon, huh?" Tadashi grinned, sending chills down your spine as he pulled you into the empty hall to the bathrooms, his shoes crushing the glass, squeezing your wrist too tight. "I've been watching you all night, birthday girl. Why don't you get me a drink, with that discount of yours?"

You don't know why you opened your mouth to scream when it'd be drowned out in comparison to the people dancing and having a better time than you, but your voice died in your throat when you caught a glimpse of someone coming around the corner to the hallway, a tall man with silky, long black hair that caught your eye immediately, who stopped in his tracks unnoticed by Tadashi. You closed your mouth to open it again and shout once again, for help-

Only to keel over and throw up all over Tadashi's shoes. The action ended before you could fully register what you had done, looking up at the drunk's face, contorted in rage, unable to see if the tall man with the long hair had stayed or left.

Well, might as well rub it in.

You thought to yourself as you balled up the acrid taste in your mouth and spat at his face, defiance in your eyes as you stared at him. Your voice was hoarse as you yelled at him, voice ringing out in the silence

"…Let go of me, you-"

"YOU LITTLE BI-"

Tadashi roared, raising his free hand as you flinched away, waiting for the sharp sting of pain that never came. A single hand had stopped him, pulling the would-be assaulter away from you with so much force that he was knocked to the ground.

It was him. The man with the long hair and…violet eyes…?

Oh.

Him.

You were so caught up in memories of grassy hills and fluffy clouds, of a voice so smooth it could've been made out of silk that you heard less and less, that you didn't notice him turn to face you, gently grasping you by the shoulders and moving you away from the puddle of your throw up.

It was all coming back in a rush that was almost overwhelming.

So this was what it was like, to meet your soulmate. To feel their touch for the first time, to remember everything you had shared…and everything that you hadn't.

"Are you okay?" He asked, voice a low murmur like it was caressing every syllable, deeper than when you last spoke to him. So familiar, like you've heard it for decades, and yet not at all. "It's overwhelming, isn't it? I prepared myself beforehand…and yet."

"And yet." You were nearly unable to hear yourself over the thundering of your heartbeat and the blood rushing through your veins as you echoed his words. "You're…You…You're Suguru."

"Yes, yes I am." Suguru replied, and it felt so strange to finally have a face, a voice, anything more tangible than a feeling that you would remember. His hair was long, longer than the last time you saw him, partially arranged into a half up bun with his singlar bang left untied. Bewitching, violet eyes that were a shade you'd never seen before, and they almost seemed to drink you up, taking every centimeter, every minor shift of your face. "I almost forgot how your face looked like, after only listening to your voice for so long."

"…And I almost forgot everything about you." Your voice was whisper soft, unconsiously containing an edge of bitterness to it. It surprised you, but didn't surprise him one bit. After all, he'd left you, his soulmate, for no reason, no memories to remember him. He'd resent himself too. "I'm more surprised than anything that…"

He finished your sentence; That phenomenon was a common thing to occur with soulmates, after all. "…That you'd ever meet me in the first place. Want to head outside, clear your head?" Suguru asked, offering his arm to you. You stared at it, briefly, but merely nodded in response, walking in front of him.

You couldn't help but yearn to take that arm…but he'd made you wait for six long years…longer if you counted the months when he started to drift away from you…so it felt like a deserving jab.

Petty, but deserving, by the way Suguru's eyes were burning a hole in the back of your head, and you couldn't tell whether it was out of desperation or something else. All you knew was that he was drinking every centimeter of you in, like a man starved and deprived of thirst.

You walked through the hallway, past the bathrooms, through cool concrete walls plastered with colourful posters from events and live shows past to a door that led to a secondary exit to an alleyway. Walking out onto the sidewalk, you turned to him, leaning against a streetlight.

"You're not mad at me." He murmured, stopping a few paces in front of you, his face shadowed by the light of the street lamp where yours was illuminated. "You're trying to act like you are, but you're not."

To your credit, you tried your best, but your glare had no heat, and your words had no real edge, giving you no choice but to concede. "…No. I'm not. Just…why, Suguru?" The words sounded more desperate than you wanted them to, more revealing than they should've. After all, that was the question resounding in your mind every quiet, lonely night.

Suguru didn't know how to respond. Sorcerers had an isolationist lifestyle, especially regarding to soulmates. The loss of a soulmate was crushing, and in such a dangerous line of work, sorcerers were encouraged to cut ties with their soulmates as soon as possible- it was considered better for a sorcerer's soulmate to live thinking that they didn't have a soulmate than form that connection and experience the crushing grief that came with a dead soulmate one had formed a deep connection with.

He didn't know why he'd come to the nightclub. He didn't know how he knew, to come here at this time, but something called him here. To Suguru, it felt like he would find his missing piece; something to fill the hole in his heart that he cut out when he entered Jujutsu High.

Maybe whatever divine being that set up the soulmate system had finally gotten fed up.

And yet…he came anyways. The first intention was to observe. Just catch one glimpse of you, of the life he could've had, and then to leave.

He knew who you were from the first time he saw you.

It hurt, to sever ties with someone so important, but it was for the greater good. It was cruel, to see you, who he knew had never given up hope once, and yet never give you a chance for you to see him.

But then he saw that man follow you, his soulmate, and damn it, he couldn't help but follow. And then he saw a hand raise, and he couldn't help but react.

And by then it was too late. From the first time he touched you, made eye contact with you, Suguru was a goner. He made up his mind then and there, standing under the streetlight.

He couldn't tell you everything, but…he could explain himself just a little bit more.

"I've…not been the most open to you. I know that. There's a lot I can't tell you right now, and there's some things I will never be able to tell you. Just… please listen to me, believe me that I had no control over." He hadn't realised that he'd reached out, holding your hands like a lifeline.

"Is this about… the ghosts that you kept seeing?"

He didn't expect you to remember. It had to be ages since he first told you. Since he first referred to them as ghosts. When he was a young boy who didn't know what a curse was. He didn't answer. Couldn't answer, words stuck in his throat like soba gone down the wrong pipe. It was all he could do to just continue to hold onto your hands and squeeze just a bit tighter, nod stiffly with shame because if he hadn't seen those damn curses, then he could have been spending a lifetime with you already.

But he could. It was a curse in itself.

Your eyes widened at his confirmation, and as much as you wanted to ignore it, the feeling of his hands holding yours made you feel a fluttering warmth in your chest that you hadn't felt since the last time you talked to him. It sobered you up, that warm feeling coupled with the piercing look in his eyes. Your voice was hoarse, and yet your eyes were brimming with…love? Not as far, but something similar. Affection, maybe.

Because at the end of the day, he was here. With you. And from the way he was looking at you like blinking would make you disappear, he wasn't going to leave again.

"Are you safe, Suguru? Are you…Are you okay?" You asked, pulling him a step closer so that you could see him better.

You weren't expecting for that action to kickstart him as Suguru pulled you from your leaning position, hugging -no- embracing you against the soft fabric of the black sweater that he wore. Holding you so tight to him like he wanted to keep you with him forever…and he did. His words, almost devastatingly choked up, like he was broken and you realised how much staying silent during all those dreams had left such a toll on him.

"Your voice…it kept me sane. Being able to remember it…your voice calling my name-" He cut himself off, keeping one arm around your waist as the other trailed up to the back of your neck, tilting it so that you were looking up at him.

Suguru, your soulmate, was looking at you like you were the source of light itself, like a moth drawn to a flame, and you couldn't help it, really. His eyes were just too bewitching, purple with flecks of gold from the streetlamp and a yellowish halo in his hair. Your arms, previously hanging uselessly by your sides shot up to the collar of his sweater, pulling him closer.

Were your eyes not closed as you pulled him into a crushing kiss, you'd honestly be proud of yourself at the shocked look on his face. It may have taken you over a decade, but you'd finally been able to catch your soulmate off guard.

Sorry for this being late everyone!!!! There's...been a lot. I'm a senior in high school in IB Diploma so I've been WEIGHTED with school work and studying (also i had surgery for a skiing injury and then wisdom teeth surgery...so somehow I've already been hit with the ao3 author curse)...but I finally found time to finish this out!! I'm so sorry for the delay, but I will be working and writing the other oneshots...in a much more timely manner. Thank you for being so patient :,DDDD

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@evilari111@the2ndl @lavnder311

Credits ⋆ ˚｡ ⋆

Made everything myself on Canva! Got images from Pinterest!

© 2024 clxssified-mirxcle. All work belongs to @clxssified-mirxcle. Do NOT repost, translate or plagiarize in any way on ANY platforms. clxssified-mirxcle does NOT consent to having her work used to train AI in any form and does NOT support any form of AI 'art' whatsoever.

[hainge]

"In the book I didn't read, in the movie I didn't watch, in the photo I didn't appear in."​

Itoshi Rin x gn!gender

ft: angst. no happy ending. toxic relation ship. one shot.

an: the title is based of this portuguese song called intervalo (its my first language btw 🦐)

The wind bit through the silence as if it carried blades. Frost clung to the dead grass beneath your feet, but Rin couldn’t feel any of it, not the cold, not the sting. Not when you looked at him like that.

That expression.

Like Sae that night.

Cold. Detached. Like something inside you had already decided to leave.

“I gave you everything,” you snapped, voice cutting clean through the thick quiet. “I tried so hard to reach you, to understand you. But you don’t even try, Rin. You don’t fucking care until I say I’m done.”

He opened his mouth, but nothing came out. His throat tightened. His hands were trembling, but he didn’t even notice. He only saw your eyes, dull, tired. Familiar. Exactly like Sae’s when he said he didn’t want to share their dream anymore.

You kept going, not letting him retreat. “I begged for your attention in the little ways. I let things slide, told myself it was just your way, that you weren’t used to this, to love. But Rin, this isn’t love.”

He wanted to say it was. He wanted to say he did care. But his mouth wouldn’t move. The words weren’t there.

You stepped forward, and Rin flinched without meaning to. Like you were about to say the thing that would finally break him. You did.

“I was patient. I was present. I was loyal to a man who couldn’t even look me in the eyes and tell me he needed me. You made me feel disposable , like I was a stand-in for something you couldn’t fix in yourself.”

You were crying now, but not from sadness. From exhaustion. Your voice didn’t shake. Your shoulders didn’t hunch.

You weren’t pleading.

You were done. “I worked every day to understand you, and you let me burn myself out trying to be enough. You just stood there. Like you are now. And I can’t keep loving someone who refuses to show up.”

Rin couldn’t breathe. It felt like his chest was collapsing, but he didn’t move. He watched the space between you widen, like the last crack in a sheet of glass just before it shatters.

You turned, not even sparing a final glance. And that hit worse than if you had screamed.

Rin’s heart pounded in his chest as he saw you walk away. Every instinct screamed for him to stop you, to do something, anything to fix this. But when you turned your back on him, it felt like the world had already made the decision. Like you had already made the decision.

Before you could take another step, he reached for your hand.

The touch was almost desperate, fingers trembling, voice shaking with the weight of things he’d kept buried. “Wait… please.”

You froze but didn’t turn around.

“I- I know I fucked up. I’m…I’m an idiot. I know that. I know I pushed you too far, and I know I never gave you enough, not the way you deserved.”

He took a shaky breath, trying to hold onto something that felt like control. “I built these walls…I thought they’d protect me. But I pushed you away instead. And I’m not asking you to forgive me. I’m not asking you to stay just for the hell of it.”

His voice cracked on the last sentence. He hated how weak he sounded, but it didn’t matter. The words were slipping out like sand through his fingers. “I just…I just wanted to be enough for you. And I know now I failed. But I’m not asking for a second chance because I deserve one. I’m asking because I can’t live with myself like this.”

His fingers tightened around yours, pulling you gently, trying to bridge the distance you’d created. The space between you felt like miles now.

But when you turned to face him, there was no softness in your eyes. No compassion. Just the same cold mask.

“I listened,” you said quietly, your tone flat, but with a bitterness he didn’t know you had. “I listened to everything. I heard you. And maybe that’s why it’s worse. You know what hurts the most, Rin?”

His breath hitched. He couldn’t speak, not with the way you looked at him. So cold, so tired.

“It’s that I cared. I really did. I stayed so long, holding on to a version of you that you don’t even want to be anymore. I listened to your excuses, your words, your apologies…and none of it mattered."

Your gaze dropped to his hand, still clutching yours like a lifeline. The disgust in your voice made his stomach twist. “You never wanted to change for us. You just wanted me to keep waiting. And I’m done. I’m tired, Rin."

The silence that followed was deafening. Rin's hand fell away, like a string finally severed from the thing he’d been holding on to.

“You changed because of Sae,” you said coldly, voice low, but the venom in it was clear. “Because you were too scared of being nothing in his shadow. You changed for yourself, for soccer, for your own damn pride. But not for me. Never for me. You only changed for your ego.”

He opened his mouth, but no words came out. He couldn’t speak against the truth that burned in your words.

“I was just the relief,” you continued, voice steady, but the anger was there, raw and unfiltered. “I was the distraction. When the game got too hard, when your world started falling apart, you’d come running to me, because I made it easier for you to breathe. But I wasn’t the one you were fighting for. It was never about me.”

You took a step back, away from his touch, and the finality of it felt like the last thread between you snapping. “You used me. And I let you. Because I thought I could change things. I thought maybe… maybe you’d see me the way I saw you. But I was just another thing you needed to hold onto, a crutch for your own damn insecurities.”

Rin’s head spun. “That’s not true…” he whispered, but it was weak. Pathetic.

“Don’t,” you snapped, voice low and tight. “Don’t lie to me. I watched you. I watched as you shut me out more and more, as you pushed me aside for soccer, for your stupid rivalry with your brother and Isagi. I stayed, hoping you'd come back to me, hoping you'd notice me. But you didn’t. You just wanted someone to fill the empty spaces, someone to make you feel better, and I let you.”

You shook your head, the exhaustion in your voice now clear. “I can’t keep fighting for someone who doesn’t even care enough to fight for me.”

Rin opened his mouth again, but the words choked in his throat. He wasn’t even sure what he could say anymore. He didn’t deserve to fix this. Not now. Not after everything you’d just said.

You turned, your back to him once again, and this time Rin didn’t stop you.

“I tried,” you muttered under your breath, barely audible, but to Rin, it sounded like the weight of the world. “I really did. But you’re too selfish to see it.”

Rin stood motionless, his outstretched hand trembling in the biting cold, the weight of your words sinking into him like shards of ice. His throat tightened, the apology he longed to utter caught in the storm of his own guilt.

You turned back to face him, your eyes devoid of warmth, mirroring the same coldness Sae had once shown him. The resemblance was uncanny, and it struck Rin harder than any blow.

"And don't you dare," you began, your voice steady but laced with finality, "use me as the reason you play football."

Rin's breath hitched, his heart pounding in his chest. He opened his mouth to speak, but the words died on his lips.

"You think," you continued, your gaze unwavering, "that because you pushed me away, because you treated me like a crutch, that now you'll become the best? That I'll be your excuse for your failures and triumphs alike?"

Rin's eyes widened, a mix of shock and realization dawning upon him.

"You don't get it, do you?" you said softly, yet the weight of your words was crushing. "I won't be your scapegoat. I won't be the reason you think you can succeed. You need to face your own demons, not hide behind me."

Once you turned away, Rin collapsed to his knees. The world around him blurred as his breath became shallow and erratic. His chest tightened, each inhale feeling like he was suffocating. It was the same sensation he had felt that night with Sae, when he had told him he didn't want to share their dream anymore. The same overwhelming sense of helplessness and fear.​

His hands trembled uncontrollably, and his vision swam as if he were underwater. The ground beneath him felt distant, as if he were sinking into an abyss. His mind raced, but no coherent thoughts formed, just a cacophony of guilt, regret, and despair. It was as if his body had betrayed him, shutting down in the face of the emotional storm.​

He wanted to scream, to reach out, to undo the damage. But his voice was trapped, his body unresponsive. All he could do was sit there, paralyzed by the weight of his own failures.​

[fictionadventurer]

All the tour groups in Springfield should be very proud of me for how well I refrained from sharing all my fascinating Lincoln facts.

[scarletfasinera]

The way grown adults in their twenties still talk about how they didn't learn about x historical event or y horrific thing the US did back when they were in highschool as if it's any excuse for their willful ignorance is like actually so pathetic. It's four years of schooling that you had a decade ago of course you didn't learn every single thing in the world, no one does in any school in any country. You're not special. It's time to grow up and make the effort to learn things for yourself, You're Not In Highschool Anymore

[ohara-n-brown]

As a late diagnosed autist I will say one of the most damaging but transformative experiences I've ever had was being misdiagnosed with BPD.

Everyday my heart goes out to people with BPD.

The amount of stigma and silencing they face is astonishing and sickening.

I took DBT for years. Therapists use to turn me away because of my diagnosis.

I would be having full blown autistic meltdowns, crying for help literally - but because I was labeled as BPD ANY time I cried I was treated as manipulative and unstable.

As if the only reason I could be crying was if I was out to trick someone.

95% of the books out there with Borderline in the title are named shit like 'How to get away from a person with Borderline', 'How to stop walking on eggshells (with a person who has BPD)'

I was never allowed to feel true pain or panic or need.

That was 'attention seeking behavior', not me asking for help when a disability was literally inhibiting my ability to process emotions.

There were dozens of times where I had a full meltdown and was either threatened with institutionalization or told I was doing it for attention.

My failing relationships weren't due to a communication issue, or the inability to read social cues. No, because I was labeled borderline, my unstable relationships were my fault. Me beggong nuerotypicals to just be honest and blunt with what they meant was me pestering them for validation.

Borderline patients can't win.

And the funny thing is - I asked my therapist about autism. I told her I thought I was on the spectrum.

BPD is WILDLY misdiagnosed with those with autism and I had many clear signs.

Instead - she told me 'If you were autistic we wouldn't be able to have this conversation'. She made me go through a list of autistic traits made clearly for children, citing how I didn't fit each one.

And then she told me that me identifying with the autism community was the BPD making me search for identity to be accepted - and that I wasn't autistic, just desperate to fit in somewhere.

I didn't get diagnosed for another ten years. For ten years I avoided the autism community - feeling as if I were just a broken person who wanted to steal from people who 'really needed it'.

Because of my providers - I began to doubt my identity MORE, not less.

Ten years of thinking I was borderline and being emotionally neglected and demonized by a system meant to help me.

To this day, I still don't trust neurotypicals. Not fully.

I know I'm not borderline now - but my heart aches for them. Not for the usual stuff. But for the stigma. And the asshole doctors. And the dismissiveness and threatening and the idea of institutionalization hanging over their head.

I love Borderline people. I always will. I'm not Borderline but if you are I love you and I'm sorry.

You're not a bad person. You're not a therapists worst nightmare, you are a human with valid feelings and fears.

Borderline people I'm sorry.