#I have seen several of these posts and I finally snapped

[bonefall]

Splashtail and Atheism

Hello. I am an Atheist and I call Splashstar an Atheist because he is based on widespread bigoted depictions of godless people like myself. There have now been several posts about this written as if they're trying to "correct a misconception," and I am tired of vagueposts completely missing the point of the criticism to get caught up on arguing semantics.

The misanthropic, god-hating "Atheist" character in Christian propaganda, which I feel Splashstar has some alarming similarities with, does not come from the writer's correctable "misconception" of irreligious labels. It is born from a hatred of nonbelievers.

Specifically, my point that Splashtail is a mashup of two popular anti-secular tropes common in religious media;

The assertion that there's no such thing as a "real" nonbeliever, and that Atheists are just "rebelling" against God because we're mad at him, want to do bad things without guilt, or have "lost our way."

The belief that morality itself stems from faith in a higher moral being, asserting that the irreligious are "evil" in contrast to the faithful.

Even passing familiarity with the arguments of Christian apologia seen in Chick Tracts, Pureflix films, PragerU videos, and so on, will have put these tropes in front of you. They are false and harmful, and they target Atheists.

For more on this, TVTropes has an entire article dedicated to the Hollywood Atheist and its sub-tropes. Note how many of these Curlfeather and Splashtail fall into, regardless of if you're arguing that they are "real atheists" or not.

Those that hate us do not care about semantic labels. To them, we are without God, A-Theistic, and they do not actually care what is at the core of your beliefs if it contradicts their narrative.

But, even worse, the "Splashtail Can't Be An Atheist" crowd isn't even totally correct on the semantics they're trying to have a pedant battle about.

Most atheistic organizations and online atheists define Atheism as "one who does not believe in God" and attempt to push a sliding scale of "agnosticism" on how hard of a "maybe" you're feeling about your lack of faith. In the sliding agnostic scale, Agnostic Atheists are a "probably no god" and Gnostic Atheists are a "definitely no god." Others describe that scale as "hard" and "soft" Atheism-- but there is NOT universal agreement on that definition.

There other definitions of an "Atheist," and even those who reject the "agnostic scale" completely (I am one of them). "Atheism" was historically the catch-all term for what we might now call "Irreligious," and more.

The Encyclopedia of Philosophy explores its many meanings, and proposes that what defines an Atheist is an active choice to distance oneself from faith; "Someone who rejects the premise of gods either based on lack of belief, or meaninglessness of the question." Matt Dillahunty, a prominent educator and activist, intentionally refers to himself as an Atheist when others (including religious people!) have tried to pressure him into using the label Agnostic, for reasons he covers in great depth. Historically, "atheist" simply meant anyone who denied the gods or acted impiously, evolving into use as a broad label for irreligious practices around the 1500s, until attempts to narrow it to "nonbelievers in deities" in the 1800s.

By EoP's expanded definition alone, Splashstar qualifies as an Atheist. The rejection does not have to come from a belief that Theism is false, but that the question is meaningless. He doesn't have to "believe" in StarClan any more than you have to "believe" in a total stranger. He rejects faith in it and lives without their influence.

But even more than that, "atheist" is a broad, stigmatized term with a history you can't erase. Hundreds of combinations of philosophies, spiritual beliefs, and logical positions have been called "Atheism."

"Atheist" can refer to Agnostics (those who aren't sure if there is a god or not), Antitheists (opposition to the belief in and/or worship of gods), Igtheists (those that feel that "god" is such a nebulous term that the question of belief is meaningless), Apatheists (people who just don't care), practitioners of Non-Deistic religions (such as Humanistic Judaism and some sects of Buddhism), and even heretics who spoke against religion like Diagoras of Melos (gay guy who chopped up a statue of hercules and used it to bake beans. king.)

In a fantasy universe where gods are provably, visibly real, the term "Atheist" is going to look a lot more like those historic and expansive uses.

Unless you want to argue that "atheism" by the narrow, popular definition of "believing in deities" can't exist in such a setting. So, arguing that Cloudtail stopped being an Atheist when he saw demons in OotS, in spite of this not affecting his spiritual practices. Or, dancing around using one uniting term, you could specifically say Curlfeather is a Misotheist, Splashstar is an Antitheist or Agnostic, Mothwing is Deist, etc.

You could have a discussion about how applicable these words even are in the setting. Or make up terms that satisfy yourself. You could do this forever. But I choose not to.

I think it's counterproductive to push people to learn a bunch of terms for hyperspecific branches of irreligious philosophy just to discuss clear anti-secular sentiment within the text of a book, actually. Or push people to abandon a useful word because fantasy isn't exactly the same as real life. Functionally, imo, all of those aforementioned cats are Atheists within this setting, living "without god" by rejecting belief-- and many of them invoke real world bigotry, with tropes much older than WC itself.

So the simple fact is; Calling Splashtail an "Evil Atheist" immediately communicates the narrative tropes I am criticizing.

Either by authorial accident or on purpose, Splashstar's lack of morality being tied to his rejection of StarClan invokes the demonized atheist trope, very much like the ones seen in PureFlix's God's Not Dead or Jack Chick's The Last Generation.

All the arbitrary wishing that the terms were more narrow and exclusive will not change the reality that those characters are intended by bigots as atheists. The terms of the discussion reflect that. Trying to tut-tut the fandom for calling a spade a spade is a smug way to phrase you completely missed the damn point.

[harrysfolklore]

did you see that video of tom holland pushing the paparazzi off zendaya? Yeah I thinking about something similar but with Charles Leclerc x famous!reader

something short and sweet bc i'm not posting a new fic this week but i hope you enjoy it!

The flash of cameras was something you were used to, but tonight felt different. As you stepped out of the car at the prestigious event, Charles' hand firmly in yours, the crowd of paparazzi seemed more aggressive than usual. The combination of an A-list actress and a Formula 1 star had created a media frenzy.

"YN! Over here!" "Charles! This way!" "Are you two official?" "YN, how does it feel dating a racing driver?" "Charles, what's it like dating a Hollywood star?"

The shouting was overwhelming, and despite your years of experience handling red carpets, you felt yourself tense as the photographers pressed closer, their cameras mere inches from your face.

"Stay close to me," Charles murmured, his thumb stroking reassuringly over your knuckles.

"I'm used to this," you whispered back, trying to maintain your composed smile.

"I know, but this is crazy even for me."

You felt Charles' grip on your hand tighten protectively as one particularly aggressive photographer pushed forward, nearly causing you to stumble in your heels.

"Watch it!" Charles snapped, his accent thickening with anger as he steadied you. In an instant, his demeanor changed from polite to protective. He moved swiftly, positioning himself between you and the crowd.

"Back off," he said firmly. "I said back off! You're being too aggressive."

His arm wrapped securely around your waist, creating a barrier between you and the chaos. "That's enough. We'll pose for photos, but give us space."

"Charles, it's okay," you tried to soothe him, though you appreciated his protection.

"No, it's not okay," he responded, his jaw clenched. "They don't get to push you around just because you're a public figure."

The authority in his voice made several photographers take a step back. You could feel the tenseness in his body as he guided you through the crowd.

"Almost there," he assured you quietly. "Just a few more steps."

"YN! One more shot!" "Charles! Look this way!" "Are you living together?"

"Just ignore them," you whispered to Charles, sensing his growing irritation.

As you finally reached the relative safety of the venue's entrance, Charles's posture relaxed slightly, but his protective hold remained. He pressed a gentle kiss to your temple, completely ignoring the renewed frenzy of camera flashes the gesture triggered.

"Are you sure you're okay?" he asked, his green eyes scanning your face with concern. "I've never seen them this aggressive."

"I'm fine," you assured him, straightening his tie affectionately. "I'm used to it, remember? Though I have to admit, having my own personal bodyguard is nice."

He smiled softly, but his eyes remained serious. "Nobody gets to treat you like that," he said, his thumb gently caressing your cheek. "Not even if they have cameras. I don't care if it's part of the job."

"My hero," you teased, trying to lighten his mood.

"I'm serious, mon coeur. I know this comes with both our careers, but there's a line."

In that moment, despite the chaos around you, you couldn't help but smile. You'd dealt with aggressive paparazzi before, but having someone who instinctively moved to protect you, who prioritized your comfort over the perfect photo op - that was new.

"Thank you," you said softly, standing on your tiptoes to kiss his cheek. "For having my back."

"Always," he promised, taking your hand again. "Ready to go face the slightly more civilized cameras inside?"

You laughed, squeezing his hand. "Lead the way, Leclerc."

[pellucid-constellations]

Only in Dreams

Pairing: Azriel x Reader

Summary: In his dreams, Azriel recounts how he got to his mate.

Word count: 2k

Warnings: Some angst, mentions of injuries

a/n: Hi this is my first acotar fic idk what I'm doing. I've been reading them for years so here's a little one for fun <3 I know it's different from my usual but inspiration is a finicky creature :) Also, italics denote flashbacks.

~~

There was very little Azriel wouldn’t do for his mate. 

He had learned that early on. 

In those early days, when the bond had made itself known to only him, there was so much confusion and strife within the shadowsinger. He had known you for decades, admired you from afar, and befriended you under self-made pretenses. You were a light, a healer, too good and sweet to be anything to him other than a friend, a coworker. 

But you were also his mate. 

The air had been knocked from his lungs at the realization. 

“Is everything okay?” you had asked, sweet confusion bunching at your brows. 

And Azriel couldn’t answer, not for several long beats. 

“Az, what’s wrong? You look like Cassian after he took that weird herb Majda wanted me to test.”

Another bout of silence, this time accompanied by soft, warm hands along his cheeks. You leaned in, the sweet scent knocking him out of his stupor. As he jerked back, you only followed, blinking in surprise. 

“Azriel—” 

“I apologize,” he finally—weakly—stammered out. “I was talking with Rhys.” 

“You were talking with Rhys?” 

It hadn’t sounded much like a question, but Azriel nodded anyways, enraptured by you and your closeness. He needed to get away, to leave. You were too close. He was too weak. 

But then you giggled, and the sound was so melodic and saccharine that he found himself breathless again. He could get lost in that sound. If he was being honest with himself, he had gotten lost in that sound plenty of times before. But now… now. Gods, now you were his mate. 

As you laughed some more, teasing retorts echoing in the air, Azriel knew you had no idea. 

And, as Azriel had learned, that was fine. You didn’t need to know. Because he knew, and that was enough. 

Enough for the overwhelming devotion he felt for you to finally have substance. To finally be validated. 

You were his—everything sweet and good was his to protect. And, gods, did he want to protect you. 

You made that very difficult in the weeks after the bond had snapped for him. His instincts were in overdrive, taking note of your every move and praying to the cauldron that you were careful when he was sent on missions and you stayed back in Velaris. He had nothing to worry about when that was the case. The inner circle loved you almost as much as he did. 

But then Rhys decided you were needed. 

With an unreciprocated mating bond and a mate that cared so little for her own self-preservation, that had been Azriel’s worst nightmare. 

“Reconsider.” 

“There is nothing to reconsider, Azriel. We need a healer in Windhaven to show them that the clipping won’t be seen to fruition. And y/n just so happens to be our court healer,” Rhys carefully explained for the third time. 

“Send Majda.” 

Rhys held the bridge of his nose. “There is a reason y/n took over her post. Madja is far too old to be making those kinds of trips.” 

“Send anyone else,” Azriel rasped, a tightness to his words. 

“No. She is the best. It will only be for a few weeks and Cassian—” 

“Rhysand.” 

Rhys paused at the desperation laced within his brother’s tone. He removed the fingers attempting to abate the ache along his temple and observed Azriel’s clenched fists and restless shadows. Rhys’s lips parted in shock, his eyes blinking in quick succession. Something clicked within his gaze.

“Is she…” 

The muscle in Azriel’s jaw quivered. “Just don’t send her there. Please.” 

Rhys raised a hand to run down his jaw. “My gods, Azriel. This is…this is—does she know?” 

“No,” he replied, quick and low. 

“I understand what you’re feeling, but I can’t stop her. You know that, brother.” 

And, unfortunately, Azriel knew that. 

When you set your mind to something—when you knew you were going to help people—that was it. There would be nothing keeping you from helping those in need. Especially the Illyrian women. Azriel was pretty sure you kept a dartboard somewhere in the house with Lord Devlon’s face on it. 

He loved that about you, truly he did. But it also made you reckless.

There were plenty of instances where you burned yourself out from healing. You would come home swaying on your feet or be so depleted you couldn’t even winnow correctly. He could count on two hands the amount of times you passed out at the dinner table after work. When he thought about you doing that in Windhaven… Azriel couldn’t even stomach the thought. 

“Then order her,” Azriel gritted out. He could hear you coming. You and Cassian, bags packed, chatting down the hall about something insignificant. 

Why couldn’t he come, again? 

Right, because he would “stir up the camp” or whatever obtuse reason Rhys had given him. 

“You know that won’t go over well,” Rhys countered. 

“Neither will the entirety of Windhaven if she gets hurt.” 

Azriel’s threat fell on deaf ears as you came bounding into the room, bright and determined and smiling at him as if you weren’t leaving. 

“Here to see us off, Az?” 

That trip to Windhaven had been awful—for Azriel and for you. Rhys’s “ordering” hadn’t been effective, and neither had Cassian’s ability to pick up on context clues. As you stood, baffled at Rhys’s sudden change in plans, Cassian didn’t so much as look at Azriel’s subtle vies for assistance. Because Cassian had been just as baffled as you were. 

So, you went to Windhaven. 

And then you came home hurt. 

Not terribly, just a few cuts and a black eye that rivaled his own from the last time he trained with the Valkyries. 

Cassian explained that there had been a fight unrelated to you, but you had gotten caught up in it. He suspected it was a ploy to get hands on you, but Azriel had stopped listening to him the second you landed on the balcony with stitches on your forehead. The moment he saw your hands bandaged and your eye purple and blue. 

You had laughed about your inability to fight, knocking an injured hand into Cassian’s side as he jested that it was time for you to get into the training ring with him. Later, Azriel would agree with that sentiment. In that moment, however, unparalleled fear had coursed through his veins. Rhys was the only one ready for it. 

Cassian’s back slammed into the far wall of the house, wings splaying out against stone. Azriel’s shadows were gone as he held his brother against the wall, abandoning him in favor of wrapping around your wounds. 

Azriel thought he heard you scream. 

“You said you would protect her!” he seethed, pushing his forearm against Cassian’s throat, blue siphon blazing atop his hand.

“Azriel, stop!” Your call went unheard. Rhys stood ground in front of you, arm jutting out when you tried to get around him. 

Cassian pushed back against him, face twisted in confusion. “I did. I pulled her from that fight as soon as I could, Az. You think—” his words cut off with another shove from his brother “—you think I would have let anything happen to her on purpose?” 

Azriel growled, low and dangerous. “All I think is that my mate came back looking like that when you swore to take care of her. You swore.” 

The room went silent, stagnant. Even the shadows halted their appraisal of you as you held onto Rhys’s arm. Cassian stopped fighting. Somewhere down the hall, the rushed footsteps of some other member of the family abruptly stopped. 

“She’s your mate?” 

“Azriel—” Your whisper was lost in the lingering chaos of the room. 

The time after was a blur for Azriel. He knew he left the balcony, retreating to his room hastily after sending you a longing, apologetic glance. He knew you called after him, that you were breathless and shaking and Rhys kept holding you back… telling you to give him some time to cool off. 

He didn’t need time. He needed you, and Azriel had been positive that would never happen now. 

Half of his shadows joined him in his room, engulfing him as he sat on his bed with his head in his hands. The other half stayed with you, still worried about the pain that you had endured. It was a miracle you hadn’t sent them away. They would have listened to you if you had. They would always listen to you. 

When the door creaked, his shadows covered him even more, encasing his fear and worry and embarrassment into a shell that kept him safe. 

He was a fool. 

“Azriel?” 

He had to be imagining the sweet trill of your voice. There was no way you had come for him, not after all of that. But soon, your shoes slinked into the mess of shadows between his legs, and a bandaged hand gently guided his chin up. 

When he met your eyes, his shadows circled faster. His wings fell lower and lower against the bed, giving himself up to your gaze. 

“Azriel,” you repeated, music within the swish of dark air. “Care to explain, shadowsinger?”

The bruises on your face made his stomach turn. He went to look away, to escape this physical and mental turmoil, but you only locked your wrists and kept him there. 

It took him a moment, but he finally relented. 

“You are my mate,” he spoke, gravely and unsure—even though that was the one thing Azriel was sure of above all else. “You are my mate and you are hurt. I am sorry for my actions… if I scared you or—” 

“I wasn’t asking about the display of male violence on the balcony.” Your teasing smile made some of his shadows rest.

It also made hope swell within the deepest parts of Azriel’s wearied chest. 

You didn’t look forlorn at his offhanded declaration, nor did you look repulsed. You just looked like… you. You looked at him as you always had, and maybe that meant something. 

Maybe that was something for Azriel to hold onto. 

“How long have you known?” you asked, when he spent a moment too long admiring the upturn of your mouth. 

Azriel blinked, moving his eyes back to your own. “A while.” 

“And you weren’t going to tell me?” You didn’t sound accusatory, or even angry as he was sure Feyre had all those years ago. You only sounded sad. That made it worse. 

“I wanted to tell you,” Azriel stressed, leaning forward on the bed to capture your legs between his. “I wanted to, I just—y/n, I just…” 

There was no solid explanation. You didn’t rush him as he stumbled over his words—you were patient, as you always were. You were patient and Azriel was a coward.

Determination set a line in his brow. 

“I was a coward,” he affirmed. “I didn’t want to push you away… to make you feel unsure or pressured. You are… you are everything. You have been everything to me for many years now. If I had ruined that—if I had pushed something upon you that you did not want—” 

“Has it occurred to you, Azriel, that I would very much like to be your mate?” 

Azriel paused his spiel, licking his drying lips as he searched your eyes for the lie. 

“Only when I dream.” 

You had kissed him after that, all bruised and scratched and broken, and Azriel found himself dreaming.

As he stared at you across the sitting room, surrounded by your raucous, disruptive family, Azriel dreamed again. The glow of the fire lit up the side of your face as you laughed, sending warmth up the long-accepted mating bond, and he dreamed of you in every iteration of his life. 

And he would do anything to keep that dream alive.

[hauntingrabbits]

Happy Batman day! Went back and finished the last batch of the MLP AU I had sketched way back in May.

Part 1, Part 2

More info under the cut!

Enigma/The Riddler (Edward Nygma)

Intelligence and puzzle-solving are deeply valued among sphinxes, and those who fall short of their standards are often ridiculed and cast out. Among some (prejudiced) Sphinxes, other sapient, non-Sphinx species such as ponies are looked down-upon or seen as fundamentally inferior for not putting as much stock in puzzles and the like as sphinxes do.

Enigma, though considered a prodigy for his remarkable intelligence and skill with puzzles even among his fellow Sphinxes, was ostracized when a pony unfamiliar with Sphinx culture (a younger Sundown traveling Equestria for his training), humiliated Enigma by unraveling a puzzle of his that was meant to be judged as his final submission in a prestigious event, permanently staining his reputation and wounding his massive ego.

After years of quiet ridicule from his peers and his own growing obsession over the event, Enigma eventually snapped and fled to Gotham for revenge. His contempt has since spread far beyond that of the original pony he wished to prove his superiority over, and he now makes all of Gotham the target of his obsessive schemes, constantly trying to prove his superiority and feed his ego by putting ponies through his elaborate puzzles and riddle-based traps. He sees Batpony’s skill and determination in foiling him as both an inherent challenge to and a slight against his own abilities, reminding him far too much of that original pony from so long ago. 

Other notes:

-Apparently sphinxes in MLP have pony heads instead of human heads which makes sense I guess but it threw me through such a loop man.

-Whilst traversing the wiki I ended up with the same problem I had with chimeras in the first post where only one ever shows up in the series and there's no other info on them. So I made stuff up again.

- I imagine Sphinxes live a very long time, so the event Enigma was embarrassed at would probably take a long time to roll around again and he'd be forced to stew with his anger and wounded ego for far too long. I'm not sure what the puzzle was exactly or how Sundown dismantled it, but I imagine he did something extremely simple that a Sphinx would never have thought of (a la that software engineering joke), making it feel far more unfair and humiliating than if he'd solved in the intended way.

-His naturally crooked tail settles into the shape of a question mark, and the pattern on his arm is meant to look like a stylized question mark wrapping around his forearm (the "dot" is the white of his paw).

2. Miss Friday (Miss Tuesday)

Enigma’s teenaged assistant, Miss Friday seems to be the only pony the sphinx enjoys (or perhaps simply tolerates) the company of. Beyond her having met Enigma in Tartarus during their simultaneous imprisonments, the exact origins of her relationship to and exceptional status with her boss are a bit of a riddle in of themselves. Regardless, the two seem to have something of a mutual understanding, and Miss Friday’s mental prowess and dubious moral code are more than a match for Enigma’s own.

Other Notes:

-Yes this is a "The horse's name was Friday" joke. I'm sorry it was just too good to pass up.

-Miss Tuesday already sounded like a MLP name, but the horse named Friday thing was just too perfect for somebody who works under a guy who's whole thing is riddles. Also I relistened to the BTAA episode where she's introduced while coloring her and I noticed they reference His Girl Friday several times, so fun coincidence?

-The candy-striped leg patterns are based on her canon costume's striped pants & are meant to mirror the Riddler's wrapped leg pattern. The dark patterns on her face are supposed to be reminiscent of eye bags.

3. Mania (Bat-Mite)

Bat-Pony’s self-proclaimed biggest fan, Mania is a Draconequus embodying the spirit of obsession. Normally he watches the hero from his own dimension, but at times he tries to insert himself into the narrative or help Sundown fight, both to varying degrees of success. Though he genuinely adores Bat-Pony, Mania is usually more of a hindrance than a help, and can even be directly antagonistic at times when his obsession goes too far. 

Other notes:

-Similar issue to Chimeras and Sphinxes, only two Draconequuses (Draconequui?) show up in the series, one being Discord (embodying chaos), the other being a comics-only villain known as Cosmos (embodying malice), but honestly what little we're given worked super well for the character anyway. Discord seems to come from his own unique plane of existence/dimension and Cosmos has similarly strange origins; both have penchants for causing mischief with incredible reality-warping powers; and both embody non-physical concepts. Bat-Mite being a reality warping 5th dimensional creature obsessed with Batman was surprisingly easy to adapt.

-He has the head of a pony, a ferret-like body, two front rat paws, mite antennae, an insectoid wing, a bat wing, a pigeon foot, a chevrotain (mouse deer) foot, and a monkey tail. I tried to have him mostly made up of animals that were very small, seen as mischievous, and/or seen as pests.

4. Poison Ivy (Pamela Isley)

Said to be more plant than pony, Poison Ivy is the self-proclaimed princess of the Green. Though once a regular Earth pony, she began to spiral after receiving her cutie mark and fully coming into her powerful natural attunement to plant life. Fleeing into the nearby forests on the outskirts of Gotham, she wasn’t seen again until many years later when Gotham’s city refurbishment and expansion efforts began to encroach on the forests borders, where she reemerged with strange new powerful magic and retaliated violently.

Though she isn’t recognized politically or physically as an alicorn, plants grow from the flesh of her body in the pattern of a horn and wings characteristic of those born into or bestowed with royalty, and the strange natural magic that accompanies them seems to almost rival that of a true alicorn’s.

Other notes:

-I dont really have anything to add to this one I just thought a false alicorn would be a cool concept.

-the whole alicorn royalty thing is very strange to think about isnt it? I feel like the ruling class having such insane amounts of physical and magical power probably has much more pressing ramifications than ever was, would, or should be addressed in a kids show but they are fun to think about.

-Her actual name is Poison Ivy, yes. It sounded like a pony name. I don't know what that says about her parents.

-The leaf wings are folded down in the graphic but I think they are flighted, or at the very least useful for gliding and expressing emotions.

5. Saltbrine (Oswald Cobblepot)

Short, stout, and flightless, Saltbrine’s moniker of “The Penguin” has its origins in the taunts of his peers from his youth. Though the title has persisted into the current day, it’s often spoken with far more fear and trepidation throughout the alleys and backstreets of Gotham than ridicule. Saltbrine owns two of Gothams most well-known businesses, one being the luxurious, high-class Iceberg Lounge…and the other being the organized crime syndicate the former acts as a front for.

Other notes:

-Again don't have much to add to this one. One of my favorite designs though, I love the giant beak face.

-The bird half is actually based on a puffin, because a penguin felt too on the nose for Oswald and too strange for a hippogriff (I couldn't get the wings or face to look right at all either). I feel like the title being an insult works a little better if he's not literally half-penguin.

-he's the same color my club penguin avatar used to be (RIP)

[sturnioz]

fratboy!chris when he gets word that shy!readers friends have dragged her to a party at a frat house he does not fuck with

dude would still find a way to make a comment about how he literally doesn’t care (him rushing over there, pissed off at the inconvenience, severely contradicts that)

- 🫧

"what is your girl doin' at some other frat party?"

chris barely registers the question over the thumping bass of the rap track pulsing through the speakers and he lifts his head, momentarily distracted from counting crumpled dollar bills he'd made selling drugs all night.

"the fuck are you talkin' about?" chris snaps, his brows knitting together in irritation as nate shoves his phone into chris' line of sight, squinting at the bright screen as it presents an instagram post from your friend with a series of pictures at another frat house. "nah.. nah, s'not her. she's at home. studyin' for some stupid—"

"bro, it's her." nate insists, his voice cutting through chris' denial as he jabs at the screen, a tag of your username popping up on a photo of you in a short, black dress, one that's never seen you wear before.

chris refuses to believe it's you — of course he does.

why the fuck would you be at another frat house when you've always said you don't like parties? he clings to denial like a lifeline, but as nate scrolls to another picture, your face lights up the screen, a small smile gracing your lips beside your friends. it twists something dark and primal in his gut, igniting an anger he can't shake.

a humourless laugh escapes him, bitter and sharp, as he presses his tongue to his cheek and shakes his head in disbelief. he shoves the crumpled dollar bills into his pocket, the sound of his tongue clicking against his teeth echoing his frustration.

"yeah i uh, i don't give a fuck. nah, don't care." he mutters under his breath, but the words feel hollow as he stands up from the couch, his heart pounding in his chest. he sniffs defiantly, grabbing his phone from the armrest with a sense of urgency.

nate raises his brow, "then where are you—"

"shut the fuck up."

he's strides away from his fraternity house, jaw tensed and hands buried deep in his pockets, each step driven by a determination that pulses through him. the closer get gets, the louder the music and chaos of the party become, a mix that only fuels his irritation and subtle worry.

he pushes his way inside, shoving past people who block his path, eyes scanning the room frantically in search of you. familiar faces from his own parties greet — the guys giving casual handshakes and dap-ups, while a few girls giggle and tug at his arm.

he uses their attention to his advantage, pulling them in close, leaning down to whisper your friend's name in their ears, knowing she's the more well-known one out of you both.

they eagerly point him in the right direction, and he shoved them away without a second thought, their surprised gasps fading behind him as he navigates deeper into the crowd of bodies.

as he approaches the kitchen, he spots you and your friend filling up your cups, a smile present on your lips. without hesitation, chris saunters over, invading your personal space so suddenly that it makes you flinch back, nearly spilling your drink.

his hand grips your chin, tilting your head up so he can scrutinise your face, searching for any signs of drugs coursing through your veins.

you blink at him in surprise, confused etched across your features. "oh, what are you—"

"did y'take anythin'?" he cuts you off, voice low and urgent. "someone give you anythin', huh? what have you had? tell me, kid, i swear to god—"

"no, i didn't take anything," you frown softly, your cheeks squished together by his grip. chris exhales deeply through his nose before he finally pushes your head away, causing you to whine softly. "ouch—"

"the fuck do you think you're doin'?" you assume he's talking to you, but your surprise deepens when he turns to face your friend, who looks livid at his sudden appearance. "why're you bringin' her here, huh? are you fuckin' stupid?"

"i'm not going back to your stupid frat house again," your friend hisses, glaring back at him. "your asshole of a frat brother—"

"yeah, i don't give a fuck about what happened between you 'n my frat brothers, alright? 'cos that shit got nothin' to do with me. at all. she—" chris points back at you and you blink innocently, caught in the crossfire. "she got somethin' to do with me, yeah? you don't bring her here, you understand that?"

your friend opens her mouth to argue back, but chris is already pushing you out of the room, his hand pressing firmly against your lower spine as he guides you forward. you remain quiet, chewing your bottom lip nervously as you step outside into the brisk night air, the cold nipping at the bare skin of your arms and legs.

your glance up at chris who walks beside you with a tense jaw, his eyes narrowed at the ground, sniffing angrily.

"are you mad at me, chris?" you ask him softly, a hint of worry threading through your voice.

"nah. nah, not mad at you, kid," chris mumbles, tone gruff as he sucks through his teeth, glancing over at you briefly. he exhales deeply, then moves in front of you, fingers brushing beneath the thin shoulder strap of your dress. "look at you. what're you wearin' this for? never seen this shit before in m'life — got dresses like this lyin' around on the sly or somethin'?"

"it's not mine," you reply quickly, wanting to clarify that it was borrowed from your friend. you take a breath, wanting to address what just happened. "chris—"

"y'look pretty, kid," he interrupts, the compliment tumbling out suddenly. the implication is clear: he does not want to talk about it.

"oh, thank you, but—"

"c'mon. let's go back to mine, yeah? s'borin' here and uh, y'don't need to be here — safer with me, y'know?

you hesitate for a moment, wanting to stay put and try and make him talk to you, but chris is already moving, leading you further away from the party, the tension in his shoulders telling you that he's struggling with his own feelings and emotions.

you can't help but steal glances at him before you speak up again. "chris.. i want to—"

chris stops abruptly, turning to face you, the intensity in his eyes making your heart race. "i don't wanna talk, a'ight? 'cos yeah, kid, i am mad. m'not mad at you, but m'fuckin' pissed at her for bringin' you here when you don't even fuck with parties anyway. and i ��� i don't want you caught up in any of that shit that goes on here, okay? jus' wanna go home with you... okay? ...please?"

© STURNIOZ

[sodamnradd]

“You’ve been ignoring me,” said Malfoy, sidling up next to Hermione in the library.

Her hand froze on the spine of a book. “What?” She glanced at his hurt face, baffled.

“After we… you know.”

“What are you on about?”

“The party on Friday night,” he said, growing irritated. “You came back to my room.”

“Nobody’s around to laugh at your jokes,” she snapped, certain he was messing with her. “Go away.”

He staggered back as if something dreadful had occurred to him. Then cleared his throat and left without a word.

Later that afternoon, Hermione found Ginny in the common room. “Did you go to that party on Friday? With all the Slytherins.”

“It wasn’t just the Slytherins.” She grinned. “But yeah. I told you to come.”

“What did you get up to?”

“Nothing too wild. Some drinking games. Harry and I ducked out early, but I heard some people were messing around with party potions.”

The next morning, Hermione sat with Luna in History class. “You were at the party on Friday?”

“It was fun,” replied Luna.

“I heard some people were taking…” she lowered her voice to a whisper, “…special potions.”

Luna’s eyes twinkled. “Fantasy Elixir.”

“What’s that?”

“It makes your wildest fantasies come true.”

Hermione’s eyes veered towards Malfoy sitting alone several rows to her right. “Was it consensual?”

“I think Pansy spiked the punch,” said Luna, unbothered.

“So some people didn’t know their… fantasies… never happened?”

“I suppose it’s possible. Depending on how wild the fantasy might have been. I skinny-dipped in the moon’s craters.”

Hermione stopped Malfoy outside class.

He gave her an impatient look. “What?”

“About Friday…” She began, and his stare grew suspicious. “What did we do exactly?”

“I wasn’t in my right mind.” He tried walking around her, but she followed, blocking his path.

“I kissed you, didn’t I?” she said.

Confusion flickered in his eyes. He glanced at the buttons of her shirt.

She touched them. “And you took this off?”

“No,” he replied, watching her undo the top button. “You did. Just like that.”

Her heart skipped a beat. She dropped her hand. “And you… touched me.”

He leaned down, whispering into her ear, “I spread your legs and tasted your sweet little—”

She gasped. He grinned, and she saw a devilish look in his eye. “Or maybe that never happened,” he mused. “Tell me, Granger, would you let me do that?” When she didn’t answer, he stepped even closer. His breath warm on her cheek. “Would you like it?”

She stormed away, hot and frazzled, as his laughter echoed down the corridor. Prick.

Finally, Hermione went straight to the source. “Were you drugging people at Friday’s party?”

Pansy sat on the ledge of a stone fence; her bag leaned upon a gargoyle. “Of course not.”

“Malfoy told me about it.”

Pansy pursed her lips. “It was harmless.”

“It was completely inappropriate. He saw me naked—”

She burst into laughter. “What?”

“He said…” She flushed, mortified to repeat what he said. “That we did some… vulgar things.”

Pansy’s eyes glittered. She raised her voice, gaze falling upon an object behind Hermione. “Sure. If taking you on some corny ride on his broom and kissing you beneath the stars is vulgar. Remind me, Draco, did you also profess your love?”

Hermione whirled around to find Malfoy standing behind her, hands white knuckling his broom. He was redder than she’d ever seen him, eyes shooting daggers in Pansy’s direction. His gaze shifted to Hermione. She watched his throat move as he swallowed. “No.”

Pansy hopped down from the fence and grabbed her bag. “Well then, here’s your chance.” She skirted around them, pinching Draco’s arm with a wicked smile on her face. “You’re not hallucinating this time. I promise.”

(630 words, cross-posted from bsky)

[whizzing-fizzbee]

Emergency Contact

Sebastian Sallow x Reader

Rating: Explicit 18+, MDNI (smut, profanity), all characters are adults Words: 5,795 Tags: friends to strangers to lovers, post-Hogwarts, 2nd person POV

Summary: You haven't seen or heard from Sebastian Sallow in three years after a falling out splintered your friendship. But a sudden, urgent owl from St. Mungo's reveals he's been seriously injured, and you're still his emergency contact.

Notes: Just a random little one-shot I wrote in two parts so those who want to skip the smut can do so. Part I is plot. Part II is smut. Characters are post-Hogwarts adults.

Read on AO3 or both parts below the cut.

Part I

The moment your body was through the doorway, your shoulders slumped and your shoes were off.

Work had become particularly exhausting as of late. Most recently, your curse breaking career had led you to Albania, where you’d spent two weeks decoding a cursed chest of scriptures found in a coastal cove.

Now, all you could think about was how badly you wanted to crawl into bed and remain for three days. A quick glance at the clock told you it was nearly midnight, so you decided to forego dinner and get straight to sleep.

A brief hot shower and change of clothes and you nearly cartwheeled into bed, cozying beneath the covers until you sighed contentedly.

But as soon as you squeezed your eyes shut, a rapping against your bedroom window jolted you upright.

“Not now,” you groaned as you spotted a small brown owl hovering outside the glass. You begrudgingly hurled the covers off and pulled yourself out of bed to greet the unfamiliar visitor. 

You assumed it was your next work assignment, though you were supposed to have three days between them. But as you snapped the envelope’s seal, you recognized the official logo and letterhead of St. Mungo’s Hospital.

You quickly scanned the scribbles on the parchment, your ears ringing more with each word. 

The Ministry of Magic has your name listed on file as an emergency contact for Mr. Sebastian R. Sallow. 

We regret to inform you Mr. Sallow was injured while on a Ministry assignment this evening. Please see us at St. Mungo’s Hospital at your quickest and earliest convenience. 

Regards, Melinda J. Meadows, Lead Healer St. Mungo’s Hospital, London

Your eyes processed the letter much faster than your brain. But even after you read it no less than ten times, they lingered on one single line: Sebastian R. Sallow.

You hadn’t seen your former friend in three years. All you knew was he was an Auror. The fallout was still raw and real, a cloud of cruel memories that clung to you like smoke on your clothes. You both said things you didn’t mean. You exchanged unfair accusations and low blows meant to sting. But they inflicted much more than shallow wounds; they sank deep below your surface and rooted there, lingering even after all this time.

You blinked away your disbelief and snapped into action. Something terrible had happened to Sebastian, rendering your past differences meaningless. You needed to get to him immediately.

The air inside St. Mungo’s felt anything but still. The hospital’s corridors seemed to hum with an unsettling aura, as if pulsing the walls with life would balance out the death and dying happening inside them.

You approached the front reception desk with fear and confusion, unsure what you were about to learn. Your former friend was hurt, and you didn’t know how grave it was. You were scared for him, despite not having seen him in years.

You were also bewildered. How could you possibly still be Sebastian Sallow’s emergency contact? He clearly had forgotten to update his information since your falling out, but it surprised you. The ties you severed weren’t frayed; they were a clean cut, made with the sharpest knife of finality and reprehension. As far as you knew, Sebastian had no intentions of ever reentering your life.

“Excuse me,” you said feebly to the witch working the front desk. “I- I’m here to visit Sebastian Sallow.”

“Your relation to the patient?”

“Huh?”

“Are you a spouse or family member?”

“I… Neither. But I’m his emergency contact.”

“Let me check his records.”

You rocked back and forth between your heels and toes as you waited impatiently. You realized the hospital was cold and found yourself wishing you’d brought a jacket or sweater… then you felt foolish and guilty for thinking such a thing when your former friend may be gravely injured.

“Ah, I see. Here you are,” the receptionist said as she handed you a visitor badge. “You can go see him. Room 424.”

“Thank you.”

Your pace matched your rapid heartbeat as you hurried through the hospital and took the lift to the fourth floor. The room numbers climbed higher, and so did your pulse. You were about to see him again for the first time in three years. He surely wouldn’t be prepared to see you, nor were you ready to see him.

But you had to. You were apparently the only person he had.

Room 421, 422, 423… you paused as 424 came into view, lingering outside the room. The door was wide open but curtains surrounded the bed. You could see at least two healers inside, bustling about. 

Oh god, you couldn’t do this. How could you be expected to? You shouldn’t be here. This wasn’t your place, because you no longer had a place in this man’s life.

You closed your eyes and swallowed, willing yourself for a surge of courage. How could you possibly be such a fucking coward right now, when your old friend needed you? You were once a hero. You saved your entire school from a goblin rebellion. You’d freed numerous creatures from vicious poachers. You looked dark magic in the face on countless occasions. But you couldn’t look Sebastian Sallow in the face now.

You heaved a deep breath, your palms sweating as your feet finally shuffled forward toward the room. You lingered in the doorframe, your eyes scanning the room warily until one of the healers noticed your presence.

“Oh!” she said as she waved you to enter the room. “Are you Mrs. Sallow?”

“What? Oh, no. I’m his emergency contact, though.”

“Well, come in. I’m Healer McCartney,” she said with a smile that didn’t meet her eyes. “I should prepare you, though. He’s in rough shape.”

You nodded. “What happened?”

“From what his colleagues said, sounds like he was hit with a combination of aggressive offensive spells – definitely Sectumsempra and Fiendfyre, and something else… some kind of hex that’s left some nasty scars and skin patterns. We don’t know what it was. He’s lost a lot of blood but he’ll survive,” Healer McCartney explained.

You breathed a sigh of relief. He wasn’t dead. He wasn’t going to die. That was all you could ask for right now.

“Can… can I see him?” you finally asked. Healer McCartney nodded silently and reached for the curtain. She offered you a grim smile as she yanked the curtain backward.

Your breath caught in your throat. This wasn’t the same man you’d known three years ago. If it wasn’t for those familiar freckles, you’d wonder if you had the wrong room number.

But it was undeniably him. His brunette hair was shorter now, cut into a more refined style than the tousled mop you previously knew. He’d also bulked up a bit, his arms more muscular and his chest broader. He still had those long legs, though they were less lanky and much sturdier now.

He was unconscious and shirtless. You swallowed at the sight – his shirt had been cut away, discarded in a bloody heap on the floor. Bandages now wrapped his torso which was still smeared with blood. Black streaks snaked across his chest and shoulders like trails of smoke, evidence of the sinister hex that had struck him. 

“Sebastian,” you whispered breathlessly. Tears pooled in your eyes and you steeled yourself. This wasn’t how you wanted to be reunited.

“I’m going to go fetch the lead healer,” Healer McCartney said. “Wait here. She’ll need some information for you.”

You opened your mouth to tell her you couldn’t provide any information, that you didn’t really know this man anymore, but no words came out. You watched Healer McCartney scurry from the room and returned your gaze to Sebastian. He was breaking your heart all over again.

The end of your friendship damn near destroyed you three years prior. Sebastian lashed out at you over Anne’s treatment. St. Mungo’s was offering a clinical trial on a new experimental potion that might greatly reduce the symptoms of Anne’s curse, but the potential side effects were gruesome.

Anne had been apprehensive about the trial drug, so you sided with her, wanting to respect her wishes. Sebastian became frustrated and insisted there was nothing to lose.

“Nothing but your sister’s dignity,” you’d chided dryly. Sebastian unleashed a barrage of furious and hurtful words your way, and in defense, you hurled them right back. Soon, the argument was no longer about Anne. Years of suppressed declarations and tension erupted from you both, on the topic of everything from your romantic partners to the tragic events of your fifth year at Hogwarts.

The damage was irreversible and you walked out of Sebastian’s life, for what was intended to be for good. This was not supposed to be your reconciliation.

Healer McCartney soon returned with another woman, who introduced herself as Healer Meadows, the person who had owled you.

“Are you a relative?” she asked. You shook your head as you wondered how many times you’d have to tell people you weren’t a spouse or family member.

“I’m… just a friend,” you answered.

“You’re his emergency contact though, yes? You’re the one I owled?”

“Yes.”

“Can you tell me if he has any health conditions we should know about?”

“N- no? I don’t know.”

“Does he take any potions or medications?”

“I don’t know.”

Healer Meadows gazed at you with clear annoyance.

“Do you know his family medical history?”

“No, both his parents died when he was young. And his sister… she died about a year ago.”

“Is there anything you can tell us about him? Anything about his health we should know at all?”

“No,” you sighed. “Look, he and I haven’t been in contact for three years. I really don’t know what his health is like. As far as I know, he’s healthy.”

“But you were his emergency contact,” Healer Meadows repeated.

“Yes, I know. I’m guessing he forgot to update his information when we… dissolved our friendship.”

“I see.” 

“Sorry I can’t be of more help. I just really don’t know.”

“Well, thank you for coming,” Healer Meadows hummed as she turned to examine Sebastian. “We think he’ll make a full recovery. He’s just very weak now.”

“What about the hex?”

“It appears to be neurological,” Healer Meadows explained. “Meaning there may be some nerve damage. We won’t know until he’s awake and moves his appendages.” 

“But overall he’ll… he’ll be okay?”

Healer Meadows offered you a thin smile that was likely more of a grimace. “I don’t know,” she answered. “He’ll survive, yes, but we won’t know the extent of his injuries until he wakes up.”

“And when will that be?”

“We’ve given him a sleeping draught and some pain potion. I expect he’ll sleep through the remainder of the night. If you’d like to go home, I can owl you when he wakes up.”

“I’d like to stay,” you said much more forcefully than you’d intended. “If that’s allowed,” you added gently.

Healer Meadows nodded. “Very well,” she said, eyeing you up and down for a fleeting moment. “I’ll have Healer McCartney fetch you a blanket.”

It was nearly 2:00 in the morning by the time you settled into the bedside chair. It was anything but comfy but you weren’t planning on getting much sleep anyway. Once the healers had all cleared out of the room, you gazed at Sebastian in silence.

The tightness in your chest was painful, a menacing, constricting ache that worried you. You hoped you weren’t suffering from some sort of heart attack at the sight of Sebastian’s state, but you also were too worried about him to care.

A sliver of silver moonlight snuck through the wispy white window curtains, casting shadows over Sebastian’s face. You watched as his bare chest rose and fell with his breaths. It was a sight you once adored more than anything.

Your falling out with Sebastian fissured more than your friendship. It unraveled your heartstrings and stole the piece of your soul that was meant to be shared with another human being. You hadn’t been the same since.

You loved Sebastian, more than just friends or kindred spirits, as you called yourselves. You loved him like home; like a sip of hot cider on a chilly evening, or like the sound of the swaying trees when you sailed above them on your broomstick. You loved him passionately, fiercely and unconditionally, but you knew you had to love yourself more.

Because for all the brilliance and blaze that you saw in Sebastian Sallow, there was also a shell of a man, emptied by the cruel complexities of life. Dead parents by age 10, a dead uncle who had never wanted him to begin with, and a dead sister whose life had been cut short by a treacherous curse. Life drained Sebastian of much hope or happiness. Even his eternal optimism couldn’t surmount life’s lashings.

It made him angry and bitter. His temper was short and his moods were thunderstorms that sometimes lingered for weeks on end. His outlook on life became futile. It dragged you down until you also felt his despair, and when he launched harsh, irrevocable words at you, you decided you had to let him go in order to save yourself.

You didn’t want to give up on him. You had been the only one who supported him through everything. But you couldn’t keep killing yourself for a man who couldn’t even see how much you loved him.

“Oh Sebastian,” you whispered as you continued to watch him sleep. “Please, be okay. I still need you.”

By 4 a.m., you finally fell asleep.

---

You startled the following morning at the sound of Healer Meadows bustling around the room. You straightened in your chair and squeezed your eyes open and shut to pull the room into focus. When everything became clear, you froze.

He was awake. He was awake and he was staring at you.

“Sebastian,” you breathed as you scrambled to your feet.

“You’re here,” he croaked.

“Of course, I am. I mean, you still had me listed as your emergency contact, so…” your voice trailed off, unsure how to continue.

“Oh,” Sebastian managed. “Sorry. I guess I forgot to change that.”

“It’s okay,” you said reassuringly. “How are you feeling?”

“Like hell.”

“You look like it, too.”

“Thanks.”

You couldn’t help but crack the faintest smile. Your guard was up but your nerves were starting to melt. He was awake. He was alive. And he wasn't lashing out at you.

A blanket had been tossed over Sebastian, but you could see his bare shoulder, still covered with the hex’s claw marks.

“Your shoulder,” you whispered “Can you move it? Can you feel anything?”

Sebastian nodded. “I can,” he said slowly. “But it burns. When I move, it feels like there’s fire coursing down my arm.”

“We think our alchemists can concoct a cure,” Healer Meadows chimed in. “It’ll take nearly a week, but we’re hopeful.”

Your tense shoulders relaxed at the news. “That’s brilliant,” you breathed. “Thank Merlin.”

Healer Meadows left the room and you could feel Sebastian’s eyes burning into the side of your head. When you finally turned to meet his gaze, his expression remained unchanged.

“Why did you come here?” he asked quietly.

“Because they sent for me,” you answered. It wasn’t the entire truth, of course. You came because you always would, even when Sebastian didn’t want you there.

“You didn’t have to do that.”

“I know,” you replied softly. “But… I had to make sure you were okay.”

The gates of defense were open now. You were both inviting one another in, with cautious optimism that your past could remain in unspoken territory.

“Well, thank you,” Sebastian said. “I appreciate it.”

But before you crossed that threshold, before you could step back into Sebastian’s life or allow him to do the same, you had to be sure.

“Do you… do you want me to go?” you asked carefully. The answer might kill you.

“No… not unless you want to,” Sebastian said. You could see the familiar traces of vulnerability in his eyes that were once reserved only for you. Everyone else saw Sebastian’s hardened exterior, but you had once peeled back the layers for a glimpse at the softness beneath.

“I can stay,” you said gently. “As long as you want me to.”

And so, you did stay. You stayed as the healers came and went. You stayed as Sebastian’s colleagues came to check on him. You stayed as you shared updates on your lives, swapping stories about your work adventures. You told him about the cursed objects you’d encountered during your travels while he recalled the duel with a cabal of dark wizards that had landed him in that hospital bed.

You stayed with Sebastian, but you had no idea you’d never actually leave again.  

---

Five days after Sebastian’s admittance to St. Mungo’s, you found yourself lounging lazily in that same bedside chair. It was like nothing had ever happened.

The two of you joked and teased, laughed about old memories and dipped your toes into nostalgic moments you’d shared. The sharp words you once swapped were cast away and replaced with new declarations of a renewed friendship. You were so happy, you practically skipped through the halls of St. Mungo’s when you came to visit each morning.

This day was particularly exciting, because the potion to heal Sebastian’s shoulder was set to be complete. They’d keep him for another night to monitor the potion’s progress, and then he’d be sent home.

You learned he didn’t live far away from you, in a flat two neighborhoods over. You also learned he lived alone, no romantic partners or other responsibilities. 

But you also learned that Sebastian had become a recluse since Anne’s death. When his colleagues came to visit, you spent some time catching up with Everett Clopton as Sebastian slept. Everett was also an auror, and he confided that Anne’s death had dragged Sebastian downward to an alarming, dark place. It left him reckless and impulsive, a familiar version of himself you’d seen your fifth year. You didn’t abandon him then, and you decided you wouldn’t do that now. Sebastian needed someone, and you wanted so badly for it to be you.

“I can’t wait to get out of here,” Sebastian groaned as you beat him at another round of chess.

“I don’t think a change of scenery is going to change the result of these chess matches,” you mused. “I’ll still kick your ass.”

“So you’re still going to come around once I’m out of here?”

“Oh.” Your cheeks flushed. You hadn’t discussed the nature of your friendship now. What if Sebastian was merely using you for entertainment while he was stuck in the hospital? He’d used and manipulated you in the past, back before you became close friends. Could he do it again, even in spite of your history together? “Well, only if you still want to hang out,” you said shyly.

Sebastian snorted, his arms folded across his chest. “Of course, I do,” he said. “I’m not going to spoil our second chance.”

Your mouth became dry instantly, unsure of how to respond to such a declaration. It moved you. It made you want to clap and squeal, or fling yourself onto the bed to hug him. You were back in each other’s lives, but more importantly, you were both committed to staying there.

“In all seriousness,” Sebastian said as he eyed you with a soft sincerity. “I can’t begin to tell you how grateful I am for everything you’ve done here… and how sorry I am for everything I did in the past.”

“Sebastian-”

“I mean it,” he continued. “Life’s been miserable without you and I’ve wanted to make amends for years, but I was tired of tainting you with all my darkness.”

“Maybe I just wanted to be the light to that darkness,” you said softly. “Seb, I’m always here for you. Life’s been cruel to you, but you don’t have to face it alone.”

“I know,” he said, swallowing as if he was becoming emotional. “I know that now. And I swear to you, I won’t fuck it up. You’ve always meant the most to me.”

You smiled and reached for his hand, the first time you’d done so since the day Sebastian arrived at the hospital. You squeezed his hand and he held yours until the healers arrived with the potion.

---

There was an extra pep in your step the following morning. The potion had worked, meaning Sebastian would finally be released from St. Mungo’s. You were going to meet him there and accompany him back to his flat to make sure he had everything he needed.

You’d also put a little extra effort into your appearance that morning. Your hair cascaded over your shoulders in soft curls and you put on your favorite dress and perfume. 

It’s not that you’d expected anything to happen with Sebastian. The two of you were merely friends again, and you’d told yourself you were okay with that. Simply having Sebastian back in your life was enough. Still, you wanted to look pretty.

Your shoes clacked against the marble floors of St. Mungo’s as you made a beeline for room 424. You’d been there so many times that week, you could walk that route with your eyes closed. But when you reached the door, you stopped dead in your tracks.

The room was empty and the bed was vacant, its linens stripped completely. You caught Healer Meadows in the corridor from the corner of your eye and hustled after her.

“Healer Meadows, where’s Sebastian?”

She turned to look at you in confusion. “He was released first thing this morning,” she said. “Surely you knew that.”

“I only knew he’d be released today,” you replied. “I… I thought I was supposed to meet him here.”

“He was awfully eager to get home,” Healer Meadows said with a shrug. “Perhaps try there.”

But you didn’t go there after you left the hospital. Your insecurity reared its ugly head, suffocating all of your logic and reasoning. 

What if Sebastian lied? Maybe he didn’t actually intend on maintaining your friendship. Maybe he changed his mind and decided you weren’t worth the time and effort. Maybe you simply didn’t mean that much to him.

So you headed home, walking instead of apparating to clear your head. But by the time you reached the front door to your townhome, tears had stained your cheeks. They blurred your vision so much, you didn’t notice the figure sitting on your front steps.

“Sebastian?” you whispered as you stopped. “You’re here.”

Sebastian scrambled to his feet. “I couldn’t wait to see you,” he admitted. “They released me from the hospital first thing, but I didn’t want to wait around for you to arrive. I was hoping you’d still be here by the time I arrived.”

“Oh,” you said stupidly. “I just left the hospital.”

“I figured,” he said as he rubbed the back of his neck. “Sorry for making you make the trip.”

“It’s fine,” you said as you breathed a soft laugh. “Do you want to come inside?”

“I’d love that.”

Sebastian followed you quietly as you unlocked and entered your townhome. You could hear his footsteps behind you as you led him into the living room, and you smiled to yourself as you realized his tread sounded the same as it had years ago.

“Nice place,” he mused as his gaze drifted around your home.

“Thank you.”

You were met with a mutual silence that made you avert your own gaze. Finally, you cleared your throat as you kicked off your shoes. “Can… can I get you something to eat or drink?”

“Oh. Er, sure,” Sebastian answered. 

“Tea?”

“That’d be nice.”

He followed you to the kitchen, where you put on a tea kettle. 

“So would you like me to come over later?” you asked casually as you gathered a pair of tea mugs from a cabinet. “I can help you get settled back into your flat.”

“I was only out a week,” Sebastian chuckled.

“I know. But it’s been a hell of a week.”

“Too true. But I’m not too worried about it. I’m in no rush to get back there… unless you want to get rid of me, of course.”

“Not yet,” you quipped. “But ask me again later.”

Sebastian smiled at you, and there was something about the way his eyes seemed to call to you that made your stomach flip.

“Well, I’d like to stick around as long as you’ll let me,” Sebastian continued.

“Seb, you just spent an entire week with me. Aren’t you sick of me?”

“On the contrary, it’s not been enough.”

Sebastian took a step toward you. His eyes seemed to cling to every one of your features, and you were certain he could hear your heart hammering in your chest. “Oh,” you said blankly, begging your face to stop flushing.

Everything unfolded in slow motion, yet all at once. Sebastian reached for you, a hand cupping the side of your face. You held your breath as he leaned in, slowly, slowly, much too slowly, until his lips were pressed against yours. It was soft and sweet, but you didn’t want it to remain that way.

You answered with eight years of desperate desire. You clutched the front of his shirt and pulled him harder against your lips until he had to hold your waist to steady you both.

Your lips moved in sync until your tongues battled. It was a perfect duel that left you both panting for air.

Sebastian smirked. “Sick of me yet?”

“Oh, shut up.”

You yanked him into another kiss that set your new status in motion. You were no longer friends. Now, you were exactly who you were meant to be. 

Part II (Smut warning)

You don’t know how long you stood there in your kitchen with your arms draped around Sebastian’s neck as you kissed him, but soon, you found yourself sitting on the ledge of the counter with your legs draped around his torso.

Your brain surged with dopamine while your core surged with arousal. Sebastian’s lips attacked your neck, his hands skimming over the tops of your thighs, as your head dipped backward against a cabinet.

Your eyes clung to Sebastian as you watched him slip his sweater over his head. He was quick to notice the way your gaze shifted from lust to concern. You couldn’t help it. The hex had left streaks across his shoulder, angry and red. They looked painful, though Sebastian had insisted he didn’t feel a thing. 

“I’m sorry,” he said quietly as he watched you study the imperfections across his skin, his eyes wide with concern. “Does it bother you?”

“What?” you breathed. “Sebastian, no. It doesn’t bother me. It just-” Your voice cracked. “It just stirs up a lot of emotion. I’m sorry. I just… seeing you like that in that hospital bed, thinking you might not recover – that we might not recover – it just makes me emotional.”

Sebastian smiled kindly and pressed a kiss to your forehead. “But we’re here now,” he said softly. “And we will recover. You understand that, right? You and I… it’s different this time because we aren’t holding anything back.”

You nodded silently in response and he leaned in to kiss you again. You could feel his lips forming a smile against yours. It reassured you more than words ever could.

Sebastian’s hands drifted to the small of your back, pulling you closer to the counter’s ledge, closer to him. Your thighs instinctively squeezed tighter around his waist until he was lifting you away from the counter.

He whisked you from the kitchen toward the corridor, where he paused to kiss you. “Where to?” he murmured.

“Last door on the left.”

He couldn’t walk fast enough. By the time he ventured into your bedroom and dropped you gently onto the bed, your skin was hot and your brain was buzzing. A mere week ago, you were returning home to this bed set to fall asleep alone. Sebastian hadn’t been in your life and you thought you were content with ignoring his existence.

Now, after everything that transpired, you couldn’t let him go again if you wanted. 

Sebastian crawled on top of you, his legs flanking your waist as he placed sweet, gentle kisses along your neck. His hand roamed downward over the curve of your waistline and beneath the hem of your dress. You could feel it skimming your skin until it reached your hip.

“Help me take this off,” you whispered. He helped you shimmy out of your dress and you watched him toss it aside to the floor. Sebastian stilled as he gazed downward at you, his eyes drinking in your bare chest. You, too, had scars and scrapes, battle wounds from all the dark wizards and goblins of your past.

“You’re so beautiful,” Sebastian breathed.

You reached a hand for his shoulder, your thumb tracing gently over the red trails that snaked across his flesh. “So are you.”

Sebastian smiled in understanding and returned his lips to your neck, planting a path of kisses to your shoulders before he found your breasts. You sucked in a sharp breath at the warmth of his tongue over your nipple while his hand squeezed the bump of your hip bone.

As your impatience mounted, you fiddled with the belt of Sebastian’s trousers until it clanked open. You immediately missed the warmth of his body as he fidgeted to kick them off with his briefs, leaving you to face his erection.

You tried to temper your breathing, scared the rise and fall of your chest was exposing your nerves. But as Sebastian leaned in to kiss you again, you became too turned on to care.

You shifted beneath him as the ache in your core demanded attention. Sebastian felt the way your hips rocked and smirked. You watched him with heavy eyelids as he peeled your panties down past your ankles, exposing every inch of your flesh to him.

“Fucking hell,” he hissed as he stared. He positioned himself between your knees until your legs were draped over his shoulders and his tongue was swiping over your slit. You whimpered at his touch.

Your eyes nearly rolled back into your head as his tongue flattened against your clit, nudging at it until your high-pitched whines became breathy moans. Sebastian’s hands explored your body while your own fingers became tangled in his hair. You squirmed beneath him, each panting breath signaling your impending climax.

More, more, more. That’s what you wanted to scream, but your brain remained unable to form words. Instead, your body responded for you, your hips jutting upward until Sebastian’s tongue met you with more force.

You cried out as your legs went rigid, arching your back off the mattress as the force inside you crumbled, sending pulses through your cunt. Sebastian’s tongue continued its assault on your entrance until you whined in protest, your legs slackening and your clit too sensitive for more.

But still, you wanted more. Your pulse raced as you watched Sebastian crawl toward you, his erection bobbing between your thighs. You were still panting in recovery from your climax, but as the tip of Sebastian’s cock pressed against your soaked entrance, you held your breath.

You could swear you felt every ridge as it sank slowly inside you, parting your walls as they stretched around him. Sebastian smiled at you as your chest heaved.

“Relax,” he murmured. “I’ll take care of you.”

You willed the tension to leave your shoulders as you allowed Sebastian to enter you fully. The delicious pressure enveloped your entire body, sending your nerve endings into overdrive. You couldn’t help but squeeze your cunt tighter around him, drawing a groan from Sebastian.

He rocked his hips forward and you moaned. Heaven couldn’t feel this good and hell couldn’t feel this hot. You squeezed your eyes shut as you focused on the friction within your core as Sebastian’s shaft dragged across your walls and his tip pressed into the deepest part of you.

Your fingers sank into his shoulder, leaving tiny crescent nail divots among his scars. If he felt them, he said nothing. Instead, he grit his teeth at your tight heat, his cock nudging you closer to the edge with each snap of his hips.

Sebastian was torn. The sight of your folds swallowing his cock was beyond anything he’d imagined, a vision he wanted burned into his mind forever. But he also felt a desperate longing to be close to you. He wanted to shower your face and lips with kisses while he whispered passionate prose in your ear.

“Seb, please,” you breathed, your eyes still closed tight. “Please.”

The way you begged, the way your flushed face strained in desperation and the way your slickness coated his cock, sent Sebastian into a determined frenzy set on feeling you fall apart for him.

His fingers sank hard into your hips as he drove himself into you, pulling your body toward him with each thrust, leaving the bedsheets clinging to the corners for dear life. You unleashed a series of moans, his cock driving you closer and closer to your peak. 

You were desperate to lose control around him, and as you could feel the heat mounting, you waited. The timing had to be right. Finally, as Sebastian’s cock prodded your sweet spot, you forced an exhale until your body relaxed. It sent searing spasms across through your muscles and nerve endings, causing your thighs to quake. Your hips rose upward and you wailed as your walls convulsed hard, surging your climax around Sebastian’s cock. 

He swore at the sensation and tumbled over the edge after you, his own back arching as he slammed inside you for the final time, grunting your name as he spilled himself.

He collapsed next to you, sharing the heat from his body with your skin. You rested your head against his chest, your eyes closing as you caught your breath and let your hazy head recover. The room was quiet. You liked it that way; not because you didn’t want to hear Sebastian speak, but because you wanted to relax into the peaceful scene and commit it to memory.

“One thing,” Sebastian finally said as he lazily played with your hair. “Do you want me to remove you as my emergency contact with the Ministry? I will if you want me to.”

Your tired eyes cracked open with a smile. “Whatever for?” you asked. “I can’t imagine anyone else is going to give you this kind of treatment.”

[all-with-angel]

𝐂𝐑𝐎𝐒𝐒 𝐌𝐘 𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐑𝐓, 𝐈 𝐇𝐎𝐏𝐄 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐃𝐈𝐄!

Summary: In which you try to avoid the rude, short-tempered and dangerous special grade sorcerer, Sukuna Ryoumen, who happens to also be your senpai. But whatever you do, it seems that he simply never leaves you alone.

Pairings: Sorcerer!Sukuna x male!Reader, Implied Satosugu if you squint

Content. male! reader, amab reader, rivals to lovers, swearing, light gore, bullying (from both parties), suggestive, reader is described to be using a katana, reader is in their second year while Sukuna is in their third year, yandere/stalker Sukuna

W.C. 3.4k words || Masterlist || A.N. When I saw the severe lack of sorcerer!Sukuna, I said fine, I'll do it myself. Inspired by another sorcerer!Sukuna fic I can't find rn... This is my first published fic on here, please be nice! English isn't my first language so kindly tell me about any misspellings/grammar issues. I hope you enjoy ♡

The first time you met Sukuna Ryoumen, you knew—you just knew—he was going to be a problem.

It wasn’t just the way he carried himself, that confident, swaggering arrogance of someone who knew he was untouchable. It wasn’t just the sharp, toothy smirk he wore, or the way his eyes, ringed in crimson, sized you up like you were nothing but an entertaining little nuisance. 

No, it was the fact that he would not leave you alone.

The same day that you had met him, you had been sitting on a bench with Shoko while waiting for Gojo and Geto to finish a mission. It was a lazy afternoon, one that had you playing idly with the hilt of your katana while Shoko smoked and went through her phone, occasionally snickering to herself when a particularly funny post rolled around.

You two sat in that comfortable silence for a while until Shoko had hummed and nudged you out of your daydreaming. “Huh?”

“Take a look,” Shoko tilted her phone in your direction as you squinted to read the text on the small screen. “That ‘curse king’ guy from the Kyoto branch is apparently transferring over here.”

You blinked at the screen, like Shoko had said, it was Yaga telling her to return back to the school as soon as possible with Gojo and Geto to meet him.

Sukuna Ryomen.

You had heard of him plenty, mostly from Gojo yapping about his rival from the Kyoto branch that he had to supposedly keep in check. Maybe that's why he was transferred here. Your mind had supplied, you knew Gojo’s strength was no joke and by logic neither was Sukunas. Rumors, i.e, Gojo had told all of you that he was a massive brute with anger issues who eats women and children– You scoffed at that, as if the higher ups wouldn’t execute a threat like that immediately.

“But it’s trueeee!~ You should really see him, if looks could kill, you would be dead!” Gojo had defended, dramatically whining before turning to his best friend, as if a partner in crime. “Right, Suguru?~ C’mon, back me up here!--”

To which Geto had rolled his eyes as he shook his head. “Satoru, I haven’t even seen him yet.”

“Still! I’ve seen him and my eyes are your eyes! You gotta trust me on this one, c’mon Suguruuuu!~” Gojo had resorted to lightly shaking the raven-haired male, whining as he did so.

At the memory, the two had seemingly appeared out of nowhere as you and Shoko’s focus snapped to the two smiling at eachother like some lovesick idiots. They walked in stride, as Gojo’s arm was resting on Geto’s shoulders. Gojo was practically draping his body weight onto the dark-haired sorcerer, but he didn't seem to mind.

“Finally, I thought you two had ditched us,” Shoko sighed in relief as she put out her cigarette, groaning as she stood up and stretched. “-what were you two up to, anyway?”

Geto looked away, finding the trees much more entertaining, humming with a much too neutral expression. “Ah, well, the curse was-” 

“BO-RINGGG!!!” Gojo exclaimed. “-but! But! But! Me and Suguru had time to have fun instead!” He cheered with a bright grin as he skipped over to you and leaned down far too close to your, or Shoko’s, phone. Perhaps a way to change the subject as Shoko raised a brow. “What’cha got there?”

“Ah, that rival of yours is transferring to the Tokyo branch, Yaga said to meet him at the school–”

Gojo’s eyes shone in excitement, with the fact he had another person to annoy endlessly, and he clapped once, loud and clear. (Also in front of your face, which made you flinch.) “Well! That my dear oh dear classmate, means that we must go! Now! C’mon!!!” Gojo wore that signature grin of his as he dragged all three of you with Blue, rushing to go and see his so-called rival. 

Something in your gut, and every piece of your being told you that this may not end well.

Well, you were right.

You weren’t the type to cause trouble, but you sure as hell weren’t going to let someone walk all over you. And for some reason, Sukuna seemed determined to make your life miserable.

And really, you never asked for this.

Not for the responsibility of greeting some special grade menace that had just returned from a mission, not for standing in a line like some underpaid retail worker waiting to endure a horrible customer. And especially not for meeting Sukuna Ryoumen, the infamous third-year who had a reputation for being a ruthless fighter and a complete asshole.

Yet, here you were.

You were bruised, tired, and not in the mood for anything outside of food and maybe a long nap. Unfortunately, Yaga had other plans.

“I want you all to meet Sukuna Ryomen,” he announced once the four of you were settled back at Jujutsu High.

You barely looked up, not out of fear no, never, but more out of boredom. You just wanted to finally take your lunch break and eat some much-too-sweet convenience store snacks with the others.

Sukuna Ryoumen stood lazily beside Yaga, arms crossed, his tall frame relaxed, but something about him immediately put you on edge. He had sharp edges and confidence, his entire being screaming danger. The tattoos that wound down his arms only made him look more feral, more like a creature that belonged in battle rather than a school hallway. His expression, twisted into something smug, shifted lazily between all of you, like he was already unimpressed.

Geto and Shoko glanced at each other before shrugging. They didn’t care much. But Gojo—oh, Gojo already looked thrilled.

“Sukuna!” he greeted obnoxiously, pushing his sunglasses further up his nose. “Wow, they really let you out, huh? Was it a mistake? Should I call security?”

Sukuna’s eye twitched. “Shut the hell up, Gojo.”

“No need to be so grumpy~” Gojo sing-songed. “Haven’t seen you in, what, a year? You look awful.”

Sukuna was already cracking his knuckles. “Keep talking and you’ll be eating through a straw, Six Eyes.”

Gojo cackled like it was the funniest thing he’d ever heard. That was the moment you made the conscious decision to not get involved.

Sukuna clearly had a history with Gojo—probably some weird family rivalry thing that you had no business being in. So, you tuned them out, stretching your sore shoulders and wondering how quickly you could make an excuse to leave.

But then, Sukuna’s gaze landed on you.

At first, there was nothing. Just a flicker of mild disinterest—he had already decided you weren’t worth his time. But then—then—his smirk faltered, ever so slightly. It was subtle, almost imperceptible, but you caught it. His sharp crimson eyes narrowed, scanning you in a way that made your muscles tense on instinct. Like he was seeing you properly for the first time. And you hated that.

You met his stare head-on, unfazed, and tilted your head slightly. “Something wrong?”

Sukuna let out a quiet huff, something between a laugh and a scoff. “Nah.” His voice was amused, but there was a glint of something sharper beneath it. “You’re just not what I expected.”

“Oh?” You raised a brow. “And what exactly were you expecting?”

Sukuna’s grin stretched wider, something about it entirely too smug. “Someone boring."

You didn’t know what it was about you that made Sukuna suddenly give a damn. Maybe it was because you didn’t react to him the way most people did. You didn’t fawn over him like an awe-struck underclassman. You didn’t shrink under his presence. You didn’t immediately try to challenge him to establish dominance like Gojo did.

Sukuna wasn’t the type to pay attention to people unless they were worth his time. He ignored weaklings, brushed off challenges he found pathetic, and generally acted like the world was beneath him. So at first, you thought maybe he’d forget about you. That his moment of curiosity was fleeting.

It started off small, before it became a problem you couldn’t control.

A passing smirk in the hallway. A casual shoulder bump that was just a little too forceful. A comment here and there, his voice always carrying that teasing lilt that made it impossible to tell if he was joking or if he genuinely thought you were beneath him.

You ignored him at first.

But Sukuna was persistent. It was like some curse had latched onto you, except instead of a monster with rotting flesh and sharp claws, it was a six-foot menace with an ego the size of Japan, rivaling even Gojo’s.

One day, you were minding your own business, heading to a late-night training session when a shadow peeked out from behind you. Actually, scratch that, the shadow loomed over you like a death knell. An omen of many, many years of suffering.

“Your stance is sloppy,” Sukuna’s voice cut in even as you tried to will his existence from entirely disappearing, making you tense with irritation.

You’d whirl around, glaring. “Excuse me?”

“Sloppy,” he repeated, shrugging lazily. “You’re telegraphing your movements too much. Any idiot could see your next move coming.”

You scoffed. “Right. And I should take advice from you?”

“I mean, yeah,” Sukuna smirked. “Unless you wanna keep sucking.”

“Ha, I bet you know alot about that, whore.”

Sukuna scowled, muscles flexing in anger. “Hah? What did you just call me, bastard?”

Sukuna dropped his arms to his side, cocking his head lightly to the side as he glared at you. You hummed mockingly, before fully turning to face him. You took your time to plant the wooden sword you were using into the ground and leaned on it casually before painstakingly blinking up at the fuming pink-haired sorcerer.

“I called you a whore, w-h-o-r-e.” You grinned lazily as you watched Sukuna’s eye twitch and his hands tighten into fists. He laughed. Like, actually laughed in a dangerously low tone. “You really don’t give a shit, huh?”

“Correct.”

His smirk widened. “I like that.”

“Well, I don’t like you.” Your nose scrunched up in disgust at the thought of liking an arrogant prick like him.

“Oh? You sure? You seem pretty into me.”

You scoffed. “Yeah, you got me, Ryoumen. I was actually planning to confess my deep, undying love to you any second now.”

Sukuna replaced his scowl with a dangerous grin, “Go ahead,” He obliged in a condescending tone. “Be my fucking guest.”

You didn’t miss a beat before grabbing one of your knives from your belt and throwing it at his head. He dodged, still grinning even as a thin cut started bleeding on his tattooed face. “That’s the spirit.” You clicked your tongue in annoyance.

At first, you thought maybe if you ignored him long enough, Sukuna would lose interest and move on to his next source of entertainment. He didn’t seem like the kind of guy to focus on anything for too long unless it served his ego or his bloodlust.

But no.

No, of course not.

Because that would’ve been too easy.

Instead, Sukuna had decided that you, of all people, were going to be his new favorite hobby.

It wasn’t just the occasional, casual antagonizing anymore. No, he had upgraded to full-on shadowing your every move like some deranged stalker. Everywhere you went, he was there—leaning against a wall with that smug expression, watching you like a cat that had just spotted a particularly feisty mouse. It was infuriating.

And the worst part? No one else seemed to see a problem with it.

“Maybe he just wants to be friends,” Shoko snickered, lighting up a cigarette like she hadn’t just uttered the most blasphemous thing you had ever heard.

Gojo, the absolute traitor, had just laughed and slapped you on the back. “Sukuna? Friends? Nah, he just likes messing with you. Think of it as a compliment.”

A compliment? A compliment? 

A compliment!!?????

Sukuna was like a parasite, burrowing under your skin, living off your irritation like it was some kind of fuel. No matter where you went, no matter what you did, somehow, he was there. Watching. Commenting. Smirking like he knew something you didn’t. And he was always pushing.

Not just with his words—though those were bad enough—but with his actions. A nudge of your shoulder when you walked past, sending you off course. Snatching your drink and taking a sip, looking you dead in the eyes as if daring you to do something about it. Cutting into your spars with others to correct you—except his ‘corrections’ always came in the form of attacks, meant to prove a point rather than actually help.

The worst part? He was actually good. Annoyingly good.

It wasn’t just that Sukuna was strong—everyone knew that—but he was skilled, refined. Where Gojo had raw, absurd talent, and Geto had calculated control, Sukuna had this terrifying mixture of instinct and experience, like he was born to tear people apart. Every time you fought him, you knew you were improving—but it pissed you off beyond belief because he knew it too. And he loved it.

Sukuna didn’t just want to beat you. He wanted you to acknowledge him, admit he was a monster on the battlefield that could tear you and everything else to pieces. He wanted you to fear him, respect him like the others did, he wanted you to kneel. 

But he could rot in hell before you’d give him that satisfaction.

It reached the point where you started keeping an eye out for him—like prey learning to anticipate a predator’s movements. Your day-to-day was suddenly filled with paranoia, irritation, and a growing hatred so deep you thought you could probably strangle him if given the chance.

It wasn’t even funny anymore.

Not that it ever was, but at this point, Sukuna’s constant presence in your life had gone from ‘mildly irritating’ to ‘downright fucking unbearable.’ It wasn’t just that he was a menace, or that he carried himself with the kind of arrogance only someone with real power could back up—it was the way he seemed to think he was entitled to your time, your attention, your goddamn patience. You’d seen the way he treated others. People either feared him, admired him, or were too busy licking the dirt off his boots to realize he saw them as nothing but playthings.

You were none of those things. And for some reason, that fascinated him.

A reasonable person would have continued to ignored him. Taken the high road. Kept their head down and let Sukuna’s interest wane until he moved on to his next victim.

But you weren’t a reasonable person.

And Sukuna, you had unfortunately found out, was a fucking stalker.

It started out slow, almost subtle. If you didn’t know better, you’d think it was all in your head. A coincidence. You’d see him in the hallways, near the training grounds, in the mess hall—whatever, it was a small school, people crossed paths. But you did know better, and you weren’t stupid enough to believe in coincidences when it came to Ryoumen Sukuna.

You’d turn a corner at Jujutsu High and find him lounging against the wall, arms crossed, smirk in place. He never said anything right away, just watched you with an amusement that made your skin crawl. Then, as if he’d grown bored of the silence, he’d toss out some snide remark—your technique, your stance, your tired-looking face—whatever would get under your skin the quickest.

“Running late? How tragic. Must be hard, being so painfully average.”

“You look like shit. What, finally realizing you’ll never be as strong as me?”

“If you’re gonna keep staring, at least buy me dinner first.”

The last one had been particularly insufferable because you hadn’t even been looking at him. He’d just walked up, gotten in your space, and said it because he knew it would piss you off.

So, naturally, you bit back. You had no problem shoving past him, telling him to fuck off, or throwing a well-placed insult right back at his smug, tattooed face. Maybe that was the problem. Maybe if you just ignored him, he’d get bored.

You tried it, once, ignoring him instead of arguing or actively avoiding him.

You’d finished up a mission, still sore and bloodied, only to walk through the gates and spot him leaning against the entrance, arms crossed like he’d been waiting. 

“Ha, you look like shit, pretty boy,” His voice was a deep, lazy drawl as he looked you up and down, scoffing at the mess that was you. Your uniform was torn in some places, pants stained with red splotches, your hair was a mess and your katana definitely needed some cleaning. “Did you lose a fight with a monkey? Or a curse? Cause you could’ve fooled me.”

You wanted to slam his head into the concrete, you felt your fingers twitch at the thought. No, no, you were too tired to deal with him right now. You walked right past him and straight into the school, making a beeline towards your dorm as you left a few drops of blood in your wake.

Sukuna’s grin dropped, turning into a deep scowl as he watched your retreating figure. His red eyes narrowed at you before muttering to himself. “Tch.”

The next day, your life felt much more free than the last few weeks. You were nearly always under the damning gaze of Sukuna, he glared at you from the other side of the field, shoving you when you two passed in the hallway or scoffing condescendingly at you when you laughed with Shoko. Not that you cared, ofcourse, you continued to ignore the bastard as if he didn’t exist. You hummed and brushed it off whenever Shoko or Gojo had brought it up.

“He’s more pissy than usual, huh?” Shoko remarked, blowing out smoke from her lips and glancing towards you. “You have anything to do with that?”

“Nope.”

“Aww, is my dear friend ignoring his clingy boyfriend?~” Gojo teased, voice pitching up too many octaves like an adult talking to a baby. “Oh, what a travesty! Trouble in paradise!” He dramatically flopped on his back, which meant lying on both you and Shoko’s laps, lanky limbs weighing on the both of you unceremoniously.

You scrunched your nose in disgust at that, scowling at Gojo’s antics as Shoko huffed at the Six eyes user sprawled on her lap. “Shut up, Gojo, go bother your boyfriend instead.” You snarled before shoving him off of you.

He landed on the floor face first with an accompanying Oof! Before quickly turning to lay on his back and whining. “But Suguru is buuuuuuusyyyy!” He flailed his arms and legs around, like a child throwing a tantrum in the middle of a store.

You and Shoko sighed in unison.

You ignoring Sukuna lasted one, quiet and mostly peaceful week before he upped his game. He wasn’t just appearing at Jujutsu High anymore—he was showing up everywhere. You'd be grabbing food from a street vendor, and suddenly there he was, leaning against the counter like he had all the time in the world.

"Didn’t take you for a cheap date," he’d remark, eyeing your meal. You rolled your eyes and turned away after getting your change.

After one particularly rough mission that left you with a nasty gash on your side that was healed thanks to Shoko, you swore you saw him outside your dorm window. You were playing on your gameboy, ignoring the assignments piled on your desk before you noticed two pairs of red, piercing eyes and signature bright pink hair right outside your window. You blinked, and he was gone, but the feeling of being watched lingered long after.

And the worst part?

He wasn’t just some idiot with an inflated ego. He was strong. Incredibly strong. You hated it. Hated that his arrogance wasn’t just empty bravado but something he could actually back up. You’d seen him fight before, seen the way he didn’t just defeat opponents but humiliated them, toyed with them like a cat batting around a half-dead mouse. 

He would transform into that giant hulk of a form, tearing his clothes to pieces as an extra pair of arms grotesquely grew from his sides, flesh and bone pulling itself together while he grinned like a madman. He ripped some of his enemies apart with his bare hands, using his CT when he eventually got bored of them. He was terrible, annoying and arrogant– Atleast Gojo was funny, Sukuna’s only form of humor was either bullying you or watching curses squirm under his gaze.

And yet, as much as you despised him, there was something terrifyingly exhilarating about throwing yourself headfirst into his orbit. Like standing at the edge of a cliff and daring gravity to take you. Shit, you thought to yourself, before pushing those thoughts down, down, down into the depths of your mind.

Part 2 ➠

[russellbee]

I MIGHT SAY SOMETHING STUPID (MV1)

max verstappen x driver!reader (team & gender are ambiguous) summary. you've never been good at talking to people. you can never form the right words, hold eye contact, or in worst cases, think before you speak. so truthfully, you're not really surprised when you end up confusing max with your spontaneous confession. unbeknownst to both of you, lando brings you back together. (writing, texts, + a bit of smau) (3.3k) warnings. for self-hate & mentions of hate comments, mentions of anxiety(!!!), everyone is confused and oblivious (except lando!), george and max rivalry is very present, mentions of alcohol & intoxication, use of y/n, reader has parents (and is close-ish with them), sorry if your name is spencer (the name is used for a friend), george doesn't have a gf(!!!), mentions of sex (but it’s really nothing), and cursing. andi's note!! inspired by my beautiful adhd brain 😍😍 (and my max obsession, ofc!) the title is from 'i might say something stupid' by charli xcx but the song doesn't have anything to do with the fic!

nav+masterlist

You've seen multiple media outlets say that your mouth is disconnected from your brain with the amount of (accidental) out of pocket things you've said. Your first post-race interview in F1 ended with you severely embarrassed because you tried to make a joke but the way you worded it made it sound rude. You had backtracked as soon as you realized how it came off (honestly, it took too long) but you still had the comments you'd seen online stuck in your head.

Every season in F1 you get increasingly more nervous to talk in interviews or to the other drivers; the comments and articles gnawing at your self esteem. But with Max it's always been different. He can laugh off an unintentional brash remark or just raise an eyebrow and in a snap you'll realize what went wrong. So, because of how easy it is to talk to Max you've become close.

You're in Abu Dhabi, the season's ended and George Russell is getting on your nerves. He's in your sight, talking to Lando and Alex; laughing. You don't dislike George, he's always been nice to you but your love for Max trumps your like for George. Love?

You're just a little tipsy. It's fine.

As long as George doesn't go near you maybe you won't open your mouth. It's always hard to stop talking the second you get alcohol in your system; not a single word is filtered, it all just comes out.

Someone is staring at you, it better not be George because he knows what you'd do for—

"Are you alright?" Max sits down next to you, gin & tonic in hand. He's so— warm. His thigh is pressed against yours, and you can feel the warmth of his body through his jeans. (It's not really warm enough for shorts but you couldn't remember the weather from last year, so you're stuck in a pair of shorts you brought to Qatar.)

"Huh?" What he said comes back to you and you stammer, "Oh, sorry. I'm fine just thinking. I guess."

"Thinking?"

"Yeah, y'know." You really are thinking; thinking about how good his cologne smells and wondering if it clings to him night and day. Does he always smell this great? How have you never noticed this?

"What are you thinking— Do you ever feel like, really obsessed with someone? Like you see them and you want them. Bad." You cut through his question with your own (stupid) question. Neither of you are looking at each other. You're too focused on not looking at him, actually. Why do you always do this? Did you never learn how to talk to people?

You're so busy panicking that you don't notice your eyes are still on George, and Max has noticed; his lips pursed and eyebrows furrowed in confusion. Had he been reading things wrong?

You're waiting at your gate when you get the text. You feel your phone buzz against your thigh and you hope, and hope that it's Max. You're terrified to message him first, worried he heard the meaning of your question and didn't want to acknowledge it. He hadn't said anything last night. Maybe he's finally sick of you. Can't even let him speak, or think before you talk with a single drop of alcohol in your body. You squeeze your eyes tight and will your brain to stop talking. Then, after a deep breath you open Whatsapp and see it's from Alex.

alex albon

did you tell max to apologise to george?

You blink. What? Never in your life would you think Max would apologize to George. You wouldn't tell him to either. What had gotten into him? Who would be able to change his mind like that?

alex albon

y/nnn

you have read receipts on ik you saw this

You sigh, trying to slow down your brain so you can make your thoughts coherent for Alex.

you

sorry i was thinking

didn't tell him to do that

idk why he would, it's not like him

alex albon

alright thanks 👍

i think we're all confused rn haha

Your boarding group is called and you feel a little bit of annoyance bubble in you. This is gonna be stuck in your mind for the entire flight.

the best rookies

lando

i think y/n likes george

or that's what max thinks at least

alex

and how did you come to this conclusion?

george

That makes no sense

Y/n and I don't talk that often

lando

i saw them together b4 y/n left

they were staring at us

prob george tho

considering everything

george

Many people stare at us, Lando

lando

you don't getttt it

max looked like

mad but confused?? he was very focused on you

and y/n looked like they wanted the earth to swallow them

v embarrassed yknow

alex

y/n probably just said smth wrong

can't really see them liking george

george

If anything, Y/n likes Max

lando

max doesn't care when they do that tho

ik y/n likes max thats like super obvious

ugh u guys dont get it at all 😒

You had practiced your speech for the awards, had repeated it over and over in your head. P3 in the championship, a first for you. Then you made a fool of yourself, stumbled over your words. People had laughed a bit, but in the back of your mind you acknowledge it had nothing to do with the jokes you attempted. At least you didn't have to take any more photos.

Lando finds you as you're about to leave, wiping the tears off of your cheeks and steadying your breathing. "You weren't that bad you know?" Lando teases and you let out a breathy laugh. "Fuck off." He laughs and you both start to leave the venue.

You make meaningless small talk. Lando is going to ski with friends and you'll be visiting a childhood friend, Spencer, in London. You're both anticipating a better season. The valets go to retrieve your cars, and you're both left standing on the sidewalk. It's a little humid, but not enough to make you want to blast the AC.

"Did you see George's post on Insta?" Lando asks after the silence has settled. Your face scrunches up, "Sorry?" You would've been fine to stay quiet until one of your cars arrived and you'd say goodbye. Lando had other plans, apparently.

"His post saying goodbye to Lewis. The last picture was nice, wasn't it?" You feel like there's something Lando's searching for but you can't put the pieces together. "I don't follow George on Insta. I— It's not like I don't like him, it's just. We're not really close?" Lando raises a brow, and it's not like when Max does it. It's something else, and you don't understand. You want to ask why, what he's thinking, but the valet parks your car in front of the sidewalk before you can.

Lando moves forward when the valet gets out, holding the driver's side door open for you. What is going on? You look at Lando, questions floating in your head and then hesitantly get into your car. "Have a nice off-season." Lando's grin is triumphant. Not like when he's at the top of a podium, something different and unfamiliar, yet kind.

"Yeah, thanks." Maybe you just don't know him well enough.

Lando double checks everything. He looks through his and George's mutuals and looks through the likes on George's end-of-season posts. He's never been more determined to prove Alex and George wrong. (And getting you and Max together, of course!)

Oscar looks at him weird 'cause he's grinning at his phone, then teases him, asks him if he's got a girlfriend. Lando laughs it off, because how is he supposed to say that he's investigating into some grid drama? That he's trying to understand what happened after Abu Dhabi, with you and Max? George has been ruled out as a player in this game, none of you are that close.

In London, you facetime your parents. They show you everything in their little villa that you rented out for them, the sandy beaches and the bright ocean. They tell you that they miss you and you repeat the sentiment. A part of you misses Max more, and you try to push that down.

Spencer orders pizza, and you both relax on the couch as you wait for it to arrive. They make a noise, a bit contemplative but unsurprised, and you look up from your own phone. Spencer's looking at you with a wolfish grin. "Oh, no."

"Have you seen this?" Their voice is teasing as they hand you their phone. It's opened to a post on the F1 Instagram account, the caption reads: Celebrating Max's 4th WDC with pictures of the best friendship on the grid 🏆. You gape slightly at the first picture; it's of you and Max in Zandvoort '23 on the podium. You both have bright smiles, your focus is on drenching Max with your champagne. He's laughing, accepting the spray. You don't bother to look at the rest, a sick feeling building in your stomach that you've begun to associate with Max. You know what it means, but you can't acknowledge it now. You haven't talked in over 2 weeks.

The pizza arrives and Spencer makes you pay. You can't get yourself to eat a lot, too stuck in your mind to acknowledge your hunger. When you lay in bed later that night, you feel sick. You know it's not the food, you know what it is. In the back of your mind you wonder if you'll ever be able to accept your feelings or if you'll just have to get over it.

lando norris has made a groupchat

monaco dinner 😁😁 (alex albon, george russell, max 🏆, carlos sainz, charles leclerc, oscar piastri, you)

lando norris

alright everyone. need to know when you're all returning to monaco

"You're up to something," Oscar says from beside Lando. Lando raises a brow, a teasing grin on his lips. "Whatever do you mean, Osc?" His teammate rolls his eyes before scanning the table, landing at the empty seat next to George. Everyone is here, except you. Lando pretended he got a text from you saying that you'd be late, when in reality that's not the case. He told you the reservation was for twenty minutes later than he told everyone else. His plan needed to work and he didn't want you arriving earlier than intended.

"Y/n, someone who is always scared of coming late they come fifteen minutes early, isn't here. I'm assuming you have nothing to do with this?" Lando's grin grows wider. "Mate."

"Just wait."

You arrive at the restaurant 5 minutes early, since you had to walk and that led you to being noticed by some fans. When you go up to reception and say who you'll be sitting with, the host raises a brow before directing you to a table in the far back of the restaurant. Everyone is already there, drinks on the table. Worried, you look at your watch to see it isn't even the time Lando sent. You're early.

The only seat open is at the end of the table, to the right of George. It's also right across from Max. He looks surprised to see you, putting away his phone as you sit down. George says hi and asks you how your break has been so far. You make pleasant, friendly conversation with him. When Charles asks you a question you turn your attention to him, and notice that Max's mood has visibly soured. He must notice you looking, because he inserts himself into Alex and Carlos' conversation. You bite your cheek, trying not to seem annoyed or disappointed. You still haven't talked, and it's been seven weeks. He's liked your posts; the one from your trip to London, a set of gym photos your team took, and your photos from your other trip. No comments, just likes.

He doesn't talk to you for the rest of the dinner, instead he watches you make conversation with your other drivers. You stumble over your words, make mistakes and try to laugh it off. It's nice to talk to them, it just requires more energy. With Max, you don't have to worry about your never-ending rambling or your stories that tend to not make sense. It's easy. You miss it.

Dinner ends, you all split the check and go your separate ways. After getting your card back you head to the bathroom, just standing in silence for a few seconds. You need a break, especially if you run into some fans on your way home. The more you talk and force your brain to try, the more exhausted you get. The easier it is to snap or say something completely wrong. No one deserves to be on the receiving end of that.

You scrub your hands over your face, trying to wake yourself up. In your pocket your phone buzzes once. Then twice.

max 🏆

Are you still here?

I didn't see you leave.

Your breath gets caught in your throat, and you make yourself type slowly. Your hands are shaking. You need to get a grip.

you

yeah, haven't left yet

you're still here then?

max 🏆

Yep. Meet you at the entrance?

you

sure

As you leave the bathroom your brain has fired up again, what the fuck, repeating in your head consistently. Because, what the fuck? Why has Max all of a sudden decided to talk to you? What changed his mind?

He's standing in the waiting area, his plain white t-shirt covered by a jacket you recognize from the Alphatauri website. The corner of your lip twitches, as you fight back a smile. He's so predictable.

"Hey." His voice is quiet, like he was scared that you were lying. Like you'd hide in the bathroom till he left. Even though you're mad at him, you can't see yourself doing that, ever.

"Hi. Um, nice break so far? We haven't talked a lot," You let out an awkward laugh, cringing internally. Why did you bring that up? And in the first sentence too?

"I'm sorry about that, I've been busy," Max's smile is weak and your heart deflates a bit because you know when he's lying. He doesn't do it often, so it's easy to tell. "I meant to text you, really." But that isn't a lie. Huh. You stare at him for a second trying to make sense of what's going on.

"Did you drive here?"

"No, didn't have time to get gas. I mean— I did, I just forgot because I've been doing other stuff." Max smiles and everything feels almost normal again. The seven weeks of silence still looms over the conversation, like it's preparing to end your friendship forever. "I'll drive you. You didn't move, right?" He has a smile on his face, the one when he's trying to be funny. You feel that sick feeling building, and your skin warms.

"No, I should though. Apparently my neighbor almost set the complex on fire, and the one across from me she— she did something weird, I can't remember. But I know it caused a meeting for the building about some policy and everyone was really mad at her," You ramble, voice picking up as you get that giddy feeling, when you know you're really being listened to. Max leads you to his car and you get into the passenger seat. On the drive to your building, you finally remember the reason why your neighbor got in trouble.

"She got in trouble because she had sex on her balcony or something, and then someone saw and reported it. Holy shit, I can't believe I forgot that!" You laugh, face scrunching with your smile.

"Your neighbor?"

"Yes!" It feels really good to talk to Max again, to feel a true connection when you talk to him.

lando norris

hey mate

how's y/n?

max

Good?

Do you not have her number?

lando norris

no haha sorry

thought you guys were dating

things seemed off just wanted to make sure

max

Right.

We're fine

lando norris

but not dating? (max has reacted with 👍)

Everything has been good with Max. It's like a weight has been lifted off your shoulders now that you can talk to him again. You flew with him to Bahrain and now Australia. Media day is tomorrow, and Lando has texted you asking if you want to go explore, like neither of you have ever been to Melbourne. You say yes, anyway.

You're in the elevator going down to the lobby, when it stops at another floor. George is standing on the other side of the doors, and he smiles at you as he walks in. "Hanging out with Max?" He asks as the doors slide shut.

"No, Lando invited me out. He said he wanted to explore, which I don't really understand because he's been to Melbourne multiple times. Also, Oscar's his teammate so, I don't—," You stop yourself. "It'll probably be fun though, it's Lando."

"Lando invited you out?"

"Uh— Yeah? Why?"

"He invited me out as well, that's all." Oh.

Is he trying to set you and George up? The thought hits you like a truck and your nose scrunches up involuntarily. First, the questions about his Instagram and then making you sit next to him at dinner. You feel warm, anger building inside you. Is Lando oblivious?

↳ user since when are they friends????

↳ user you left out the part that lando was with them 💀

You and George walk back together, an awkward silence hanging over you. It was a fun day. You took pictures, ate good food. You had fun. It was just awkward because it seemed both you and George knew what Lando was trying to do.

You're waiting for the elevator when George turns toward you. You shift your eyes toward him, trying to make sense about what he's about to do. "Do you like me?"

Your eyes widen and for a moment all you can do is stare at George. "No, I— I don't know where Lando got the idea that I like you, but I don't." You're trying to be nice in case George does actually like you, but he lets out a breath of relief.

"I'm really sorry, Lando is..."

"He's Lando, I know." The elevator dings, and the doors slide open. You both walk in and George hits the button for your floors. "You do like Max though, right?" Once again you find yourself speechless. George laughs, cheeks turning red.

"Sorry, it's— It's really obvious, I don't know how Lando missed it." You're burning with embarrassment when you look away from George and mutter, "It's not that obvious." He cracks up, and you feel yourself growing warmer.

Thankfully for you, George gets off soon enough and it's just you. When you step off the elevator, you notice someone leaning against the wall by your door, scrolling on their phone. They look up when you come to a stop. It's Max, in another plain t-shirt and skinny jeans. You may hate the skinny jeans but they really show off his thighs, so it's not that bad. "Hi."

Max walks over to you, stopping so there's only a few inches between you. You can smell his cologne, see how blue his eyes are, and how his hair is a little out of place. He opens his mouth to speak but you speak before he can. "You look good, I mean—," You cut yourself off to prevent the inevitable ramble about how good he looks; your friends have heard it numerous times. Max blinks, the beginning of a smile on his face before he leans in and kisses you.

You make a little noise in surprise before you reciprocate, you reach for him blindly, grabbing onto his shoulder. It's easy kissing Max. You've been waiting for this, the soft press of his lips against yours, the heat of his hand against your face. The same sick feeling rests in your stomach, and you feel it; the way your heart speeds up when he's near and the hot flush that builds on your skin when he touches you. You never want it to end.

yourusername close friends story

[caption: @.maxverstappen1 🤍]

view replies

lando OMG DID IT FINALLY HAPPEN??

yourusername yes...? lando oh thank god my plan worked i was so close to locking you two in a closet yourusername HUH????

[ninii-winchester]

But daddy, I love him

Pairing : Dean Winchester X Demon!Reader

Word count : 3.6k

Warnings : angst (if you squint), foul language.

I DO NOT GIVE PERMISSION TO COPY MY WORK, TRANSLATE IT OR POST IT TO ANY OTHER PLATFORM. REBLOGS ARE APPRECIATED.

Dean was bored. No, he was beyond bored. There were no cases and Sam was, well, being Sam. He had his nose buried in some book and he refused to acknowledge Dean's situation. He kept throwing paper balls at Sam just to annoy him and he finally succeeded when Sam slammed his book shut and glared at his brother.

"What the hell is your problem.?" He snapped.

"Ah so nice of you to notice." Dean started sarcastically, "in case it wasn't obvious. I'm bored."

"If you're bored read some lore books." Sam suggested with a shrug.

"I want to kill my boredom not die myself." Dean rolled his eyes. Sam made a bitch face before answering,

"Go out to a bar or something." He got up from his chair and left the library. Dean perked up,

"Good idea Sammy. I'm heading out." He announced leaving the bunker.

He arrived at the nearest bar, settling on one of the barstools he ordered himself a drink. His eyes search the space, trying to find something or someone interesting, his eyes dropped a figure a few seats to his left. She looked familiar. He looked at her for a few seconds before it clicked, he'd hooked up with her years back.

Now normally he wouldn't be able to recognise anyone he hooked up with several years back, but he remembered her because she looked exactly the same. It had been years and she didn't change even a bit. And the fact that he thought about her quite often. More than he'd like to admit.

He couldn't help but think if she remembered him. He wouldn't know if he didn't ask. Besides he didn't have anything better to do so he approached her.

"Hey." Dean said sitting down beside her.

"Hi." She smiled looking at him. It was hard to decipher if she remembered him or was just being friendly. "I know you." She added making his release a breath.

"So you do remember." He smirked at her.

"Do you really think you're forgettable, Dean?" She questioned with a sly smile on her face. He laughed at her comment, shaking his head.

"I must say, you haven't aged a day since I've last seen you." Dean spoke gulping down his drink. "And it's been like what? Nine years?"

The two had met when Sam had left for Stanford and John had gone God knows where, and Dean was free to do whatever. He was hunting a werewolf. After he killed the creature, he found a bar and ended up her in bed. They spent three weeks together before John called Dean back.

"Nine years." She nodded. "But you haven't aged yourself." She replied glacing at him.

"No really, you're just exactly how I remember you." He said looking at her in amazement.

"Yeah? Above you or beneath you?" She whispered leaning closer to him. He wasn't expecting her to be this straight with him so it caught him a bit off guard.

Dean quickly collected himself and answered with a smirk. "Both."

"Good to know I'm not the only one who still thinks about it." She added and he nodded.

The two had spent weeks together but it wasn't just hooking up. Dean took her out on dates and she cooked for him sometimes. They cuddled, played games, talked about anything and everything, music, movies, dreams. Everything except their personal lives. And they had sex. It was as if they were together but without any labels, and when Dean left there were no hard feelings.

"So what brings you to Kansas?" Dean questioned, looking at her with curiosity.

"Ah you know me, i go where the wind takes me." She replied with a shrug.

"So you mean you're still wandering around?"

She nodded her head before speaking.

"And you're not?" She laughed.

"Nah I've got a place now. With my brother." Dean replied vaguely, not wanting to drag her into the mess called 'hunting life'.

"Cool." She bit her lip, she completely turned her body towards him. "Do you wanna get out of here? My motel is right infront of this place." She added seductively, her hand placed on his chest.

"With pleasure, sweetheart." Dean said helping her stand, he threw a few bills on the counter which were more than enough to cover both their drinks, he pulled her out of the bar.

The moment she entered the room her back was slammed against the door and his lips were attacking hers. She moaned in his mouth, his hands touching everywhere he could. He picked her up and dropped her on the bed. Clothes were ripped and thrown haphazardly. Their kiss was hungry and needy. For the next few hours the only sound that could be heard was of the slapping of his skin against hers, her moans and his groans and the filthy words he spoke that she loved so much.

"Fuck, I thought you were good back then but now you're just..." she trailed off panting, laying on top of him.

"You're one to say." Dean replied, his own breathing ragged. He dragged his fingers on her bare bare soothingly. "Missed this." He spoke after a minutes of silence. "Missed you."

"I did too." She said leaning up to peck his lips. "This is cozy." She added snuggling up to him. He wrapped his arms around her firmly. She laid her head on his chest when she noticed his tattoo. "Hey. I like your tattoo, what does it mean?" She said tracing it with her finger. He froze for a second.

"I don't know actually, I uh.. I saw it at the tattoo shop, and I just liked it." He lied through his teeth. She nodded laying her head back down.

The next morning, Dean woke up by the sound of his phone ringing. He groaned before answering his phone. It was Sam, asking where he was and that he needs to be back. Y/n felt Dean move beneath her and woke up.

"I have to go." He said sitting up, she pouted clutching the sheets to her chest as she watched him put his clothes back on.

"So soon?" Dean chuckled lightly before kissing her.

"We could do this again, for as long as you're here in Kansas." Dean said tying his shoes, sitting on the edge of the bed. She moved closer so she could hug him from behind.

"De." She said resting her head on his shoulder. He turned his head to look at her. She was quiet for a moment, she seemed lost in thought.

"What is it, sweetheart?"

"I meant it when I said I missed you." She mumbled against his shoulder. He tilted his head to look at her better. He gave her a confused look not getting where she was going with this. She unwrapped her arms from his torso and shifted to his side, and straddled his waist. He leaned back a bit so she could sit comfortably. He gripped her hips, holding her gaze. "Dean, those three weeks were the best days of my life. I never thought I'd ever meet you again. In my entire life no one has ever made me feel the way you do, can we.. could we try-" Her heart dropped the moment his grip loosened and he avoided eye contact. She whispered a quiet "oh" and quickly got off his lap.

"Y/n-"

"I get it, I'm sorry if I made you uncomfortable." She was embarrassed, she really thought he felt the same.

"You didn't. It's just... it's complicated." Dean said standing up from where he sat on the bed.

"Yeah, no.. I get it." She nodded not meeting his gaze. Before either of them could say anything else, Dean's phone rang again. He sighed before answering.

"Yes Sam, I'm on my way. Yeah." He spoke into the phone before hanging up. He gave her one last glance before walking out of the door.

It had been three days since Dean walked out of her motel room and she felt pretty shitty. She basically asked him out and he outright rejected her. She sat at the small table, nursing a glass of scotch when she heard a knock on the door. She opened the door expecting anyone but Dean, yet here he was.

"Not gonna invite me in, sweetheart?" He asked leaning against the doorframe.

"Find someone else to wet your dick." She rolled her eyes, closing the door but stopped it with his foot.

"C'mon don't be like that. I just want to talk." He said softly, prompting her to open the door wider. She walked back and he entered inside. "Look, I know I was a dick last time you saw me, but like I said it's complicated." She didn't speak or even acknowledge his words. "I would love nothing more than to be with you but it'd be hard." She raised her brow at him and he rubbed his face. "I'm gone, alot. I wouldn't be here everytime you need me. And you, you never stay at one place for a long time. I'm willingly to do this if you're okay with it."

"You really think I wouldn't stay, if you'd ask?" She said walking towards him. "Dean, the last time I felt something, felt alive was nine years ago. I was callous before and after you." She said honestly and her words couldn't have been anymore true. She was a demon. She hadn't felt, feelings for as long as she can remember. But with Dean, she felt everything there is.

"Let's do this." Dean leaned down kissing her softly. For the past three days all he did was think. He still wasn't sure what prompted him to give in to her, but it's time he started living for himself a bit.

Months passed, Y/n had gotten herself an apartment in Kansas, her and Dean had been going strong. They went out for drives, Dean stayed over sometimes, and had phenomenal sex whenver they could. Y/n had yet to visit his "place" since his brother doesn't know about them and she was fine with it. Part of her was relieved Dean couldn't stay longer. She didn't have to keep her "human charade" up.

Unbeknownst to them, both of them were hiding a significant secret from each other. But that was until,

"Princess, you can't go in there, his majesty is in an important meeting-" A measely demon tried to stop her from entering the chamber Crowley has his 'throne' in.

"Shut up before I disintegrate you into nothing." She sneered, her eyes turned completely black. She knew she wouldn't do but that demon didn't know that nor did he need to know. She pushed open the door, her father sitting on his so called throne while two men stood in front of him, their backs to her. She was too angry to recognise the silhouette of the body in front of her. "How many times do I have to tell you not-"

"Darlin' I'm a bit occupied at the moment." The man with the Scottish accent interrupted her. The two men turned around and her eyes widened.

"Dean, What're you doing here?" She questioned. His face seemed like he'd seen a ghost. He was shocked and confused. The other man, she assumed his brother, Sam raised his brows in confusion as well.

"Squirrel, you know my daughter?" Crowley questioned standing up.

"Your daughter?" Dean's jaw clenched as he looked back and forth between the shorter man and his daughter. She was flabbergasted and didn't know if she could get out of this situation. When she saw some demons following her, she confronted them, they revealed her father had sent them to keep an eye on her. The only reason she was here was to tell him to back off.

"You're on nickname basis with the King of Hell?" She joked looking at Dean. He glared at her and her grin dropped.

"What exactly is happening here?" Sam questioned feeling completely out of loop.

"That is exactly what I would like to know!" Crowley demanded looking at Dean and Y/n.

"What is happening is here, I just found out I've been sleeping with the Princess of Hell." Dean gritted his teeth. "You put her up to this, didn't you?" He glared at Crowley.

"She's my daughter, not some hooker. And why would I even do that? We're besties, aren't we?" He said as if they had been childhod buddies. "Wait a minute, you're sleeping with Dean Winchester?" Crowley looked at his daughter, disappointed. "He's a goddamn hunter."

"You say as if it's a bad thing." She mumbled "I didn't know he's a hunter." She shrugged. "I didn't even know his last name until now."

"You've seen him naked, you didn't see his anti possession tattoo?" Sam asked, clearing getting a kick out this situation. Dean glared at his brother.

"Well I asked him about it he said he didn't know what it was, the last time I choked a guy half to death because of that tattoo and turned out it was some nerd book thing, Supernatural or whatever." She countered throwing her hands in the air. Sam shook his head at the mention of the Supernatural books.

"How could you hide this from me?" Dean questioned the look of betrayal all over his face.

"Yeah sure, I could've just walked up to you and said, hey Dean I'm a demon." She rolled her eyes. "You didn't tell me you were a hunter either. Had I told you the truth you would've killed me."

"This is different." Dean replied.

"Alright Romeo Juliet. Whatever it is, this is done here. Y/n, I forbid you to see him." Crowley intervened.

"But Daddy I love him." She replied and the three men present in the room froze.

"I need a drink." Crowley said.

Dean looked at her wide eyed, still processing her words. A demon is in love with him, before knowing her real identity, Dean himself felt something for her but right now he wasn't so sure. Y/n bit her lip, looking at the green eyed hunter.

"We should talk." She said walking over to him. "Privately." She added loudly looking at her father. Crowley rolled his eyes before snapping his fingers, him and Sam disappearing from the room. Dean looked surprised Crowley didn't throw a fit when told to do something. "He loves me." She said as if she had read his mind.

Dean was silent for a moment and the everything came crashing into him at full speed, his supposed girlfriend is a demon, not just some demon but she's the daughter of the King of Hell. He's been sleeping with the Princess of Hell and apparently she's in love with him.

"What the fuck!" Dean exclaimed, extremely pissed.

"Dean, let me explain. I promise I won't lie about anything."

"You're a demon, demons lie all the time, you've been lying to me this whole time." He snapped at her.

"I didn't lie about anything, I just hid one fact. Besides you're the one who approached me at the bar, both times." She felt herself getting defensive. "I'm not like other demons you've met. I'm not evil. Hell I didn't even ask for this." She felt herself tear up.

"I don't even know who you are!" Dean exclaimed. "Who's body are you even wearing."

"It's mine." She replied.

"That's not possible, if you're Crowley's daughter you're atleast over two hundred years old how'd your body even..." he trailed off. "What do you mean you didn't even ask for this?"

"I'm the reason he's what he is." She started. "If you know him closely you'd know his relationship with his mother." Dean nodded urging her to continue, "so when I was born he swore he'd be the parent he never got. He gave me everything he could, loved me too much." Her voice cracked, "When I was fifteen, I was diagnosed with a terminal disease, and we're talking centuries back, I was gonna die. So my father, Fergus made a deal. My life for his soul. Ten year later they took him. He became a demon, kept an eye one me. He was happy that I was alive, When I was twenty seven I got into a fatal accident, I died. And he couldn't bear that so he transformed me with magic or shit I don’t know. He made me a demon. That way I would be with him forever."

Dean hadn't taken Crowley to be a man capable of love, he always thought of him as an evil son of a bitch who was the King of Hell and was there to cause trouble for him and his brother.

"He became the King of Hell because of me, just to give me everything I could ever need, he didn't realise by doing he kept me alive, but over the it made unhappy and lonely. I could never find love, I could never feel a thing. But nine years ago I met you, and I felt something, I don't how or why but I did, then you left." She whispered staring at him. "And then we met again, I thought I could finally get what I wanted, but I was naive to think it would work. I'm sorry Dean I never meant to hurt you, I just thought you're just a guy that I'll outlive and you'd never find the truth."

"This is a lot to take in." Dean said shaking his head. "I'm sorry about what happened to you." She nodded her head not knowing what else to say. "Is it true? What you said?" He asked cautiously.

"About loving you? Yes. I mean I don't know what love feels like, it's been a long time, but you do make me feel like I did when I was human. So yeah I do love you Dean. And I know you might not want anything to do with me after all this. But I'd do anything for you." She replied honestly. She'd been lonely for the past centuries, she's willing to do anything to feel something again.

"I did...uh" he cleared his throat before speaking, "I did feel something for you before this whole ficasso and I'd be lying if I said you being a demon changed it." Dean took a step towards her, "you said you're willing to do anything for this to work?" She nodded her head in affirmation, her eyes filled with hope. "We know how to cure a demon, make them human again."

"You do?" She asked looking surprised.

"Yeah, your father didn't tell you? We almost turned him human!" He chuckled.

"I told you I don't keep up with his evil shenanigans. If I did I'd have known all about you." Dean nodded in understanding.

"So do you-"

"Yes." She didn't even let him finish. "I'd do it."

"It might hurt." Dean warned "and what about your father?"

"Dean, I'm tired of being lonely for centuries. Yes I love my father but he has to let go someday. I can't live like this anymore."

To say Crowley threw a fit when he heard Y/n's decison was an understatement. He was beyond pissed. He went off on Dean, cursing at him, telling him he's always causing problems for him. It took Y/n a while to convince him but he came around when he realised this is where her true happines laid. Even if he was the King of Hell and Dean was his frenemy, he was still Y/n’s father and did gave Dean the 'you hurt her I'll kill you' talk.

The Winchester brothers took her to the Bunker and Sam prepared to cure her. They cuffed her to the chair in the dungeon inside the devil's trap. Sam had gone to bring the human blood, Dean kneeled infront of her. He cupped her face in his hands.

"It's gonna be okay. I'm right here."

"I trust you, Dean." She smiled at him. He placed kissed on her forehead when Sam came back.

Hours later, Y/n was screaming and groaning as they continued to inject her with human blood. Dean felt bad, wanting it to be over soon. When Sam was done, Y/n was sweaty and her head lolled to the side as she threaded on the edge of consciousness.

"Hey, sweetheart." Dean patted her cheek lightly. She slowly opened her eyes, her black eyes now y/e/c, full of life. She gave him a tired smile.

"Hiya, Dean."

Dean moved aside allowing Sam to pour holy water on her and she flinched at the sudden splash.

"Sorry, Y/n. It's Procedure." Sam apologised. She nodded lightly, she would've waved him off but her hands were tied. Her flesh didn't sizzle and the two brothers nodded at each other. She blinked a couple of time to adjust her eyes. Dean uncuffed her hands and helped her stand.

"Hi baby." Dean said holding her waist. She didn't waste anytime, pulling him for a kiss which he gladly returned.

"I didn't need to see that." Sam said loudly making them pull apart. "Congratulations Y/n, you're human now."

"Thank you for helping me, Sam." She told the taller man and he smiled at her.

"Thanking just him?" Dean complained.

"Well I thought I'd thank you some other way but if you just need the words...." Dean didn't let her finish before picking her up and making his way towards his bedroom.

Tags:

@deans-baby-momma @bansheesandbutterflies

[satans-codpiece]

8 with screamer pls

8) oops, we were just hiding in this closet, but then the close proximity get us too turned on not to fuck

(Implicitly TFP Starscream, post-Partners. Him sneaking around the Nemesis is so good for this.)

----

You thought you were dying; that someone's finally come to kill the High Command's pet human in an idiotic power play-

Until he was shushing you.

"What are you doing here?"

You hadn't seen him in weeks, months-- you still didn't see him as talons had curled together in a protective cup. Until your demand registered in his audials and each towering rod of metal sprung apart.

"ME???" He hisses, optics wide, lighting up the room in scarlet. All around you, his thin digits twitch with indignation. He holds you at chest height, but even here he makes you look up to see him. "What do you think I'm doing? I'm running on fumes out there and-" Starscream's head whips towards the door. All at once the red light that had been bathing you is gone, illuminating dark metal. It takes another several seconds before you hear what had drawn his attention. Footsteps- several in succession. A squad of Vehicons. Were they there for him? You turn back towards him and truly take in his appearance. As bright as his lights are in the pitch black room, they're dim- dim for how blinding they should be with him keyed up, ready to fight whatever came through the door. Worse, him looking away gives you the perfect view of the horrid scratch just below his right optic.

He holds you so close, so precariously folding his limbs to fit into the closet anyway- you stretch up onto your tip toes and reach for him. "Starscream..."

Your fingertips barely brush metal. His face snaps back towards you.

In an instant you can see it, plain as though he'd told you himself. He didn't come back for you-- not that you would have expected him to, he was hardly the most dedicated of them-- but now that he has you in his servos again... The apertures of his optics spin, watching you, betraying more than he would ever want to say. Outside, the footsteps recede.

"I was worried about you." You say, "I missed you." and it's true. When you reach for him again, he lets you touch, your tiny palm against his massive, cool cheek.

"Of course you did." Starscream says on instinct. But the waver of his optics, of his derma means there's something else. Starscream quiets as he struggles to say something with sincerity. Evidently, he doesn't quite get there. "I can't mass displace." It's not what he really means to say, replaces his first-line defense of sarcasm and self-aggrandizement with second-line allusion. It's enough to give you pause- "Have to be quick." and that's enough for you to push it aside.

You nod, instantly breathless. You don't know what quick means to him right now, so you skip the formalities and kick your pants off the edge of his servo. His optics darken at the sight of you adjusting, settling back against the quickly warming plates.

And when you part your legs for him- his engine hums, spooling up despite his attempts to suppress the sound- and his glossa spills from his intake. Slick, smooth metal joints trace up your thigh- and that's all the warm-up you get before he's sliding between your lips.

A gasp rips its way from your mouth- and you quickly cover it with your hand, sinking your teeth into your fingers just to keep quiet. From the heat in Starscream's gaze and the momentary flick of his wings, you think he'd wish you wouldn't- regardless of how tactically sound that impulse is.

He drags his glossa up nice and slow, lets his optics shutter, rerouting processing power to the chemical sensors on his glossa. It's been a quartex- no, two- since he last tasted you and your strange little organic lubricant. It's sweet and so strangely inert, his drained tanks aching for energy-dense fuel, not the delicious strings of proteins you leak so obligingly onto his glossa.

His faceplate is cool when he draws his servo even closer, your thighs pressing up to rough-worn metal. You sigh for the contact, squirm in his palm as his languid licks turn intentional, the tapered tip prodding at your entrance while the base rubs teasingly across your clit.

"Star," You sigh into your fist. He must hear it- because his engine gives a stuttering, half-aborted purr and his glossa pushes in.

With so little effort, he fills you- and your warmth, your softness, your taste surrounds him. This time, his engine's spooling goes unchecked, a deep rumble that rises in pitch- and yet does nothing to hide the distinctive shnk of his panel opening.

You wish you had the time, that he had the energy to fuck you properly. It's been so long, and as nice as his glossa feels pumping into you, squirming deliciously against your walls, it's not the same.

Around you, his talons twitch again- and now you watch his arm move and stroke himself with a pace that shuns the very concept of patience. Heat bursts from his vents, fans clicking ever higher in vain. It's been too long- too long without him, too long worrying. There's no room for the nice, slow reunion fuck you each deserved.

"Close," You gasp, but he already knows. He's felt how your soft, squishing walls keep trying to clamp down on his glossa, as though you could trap him inside that soft, wet little frame-

"Yes, yes," He purrs- voice rumbling unimpeded from his vox. Red light washes over your tiny body as he re-engages his optics, watches as you squirm in his servo-

And when you cry out, "Star!" body going rigid because of him- for him- Starscream's engine stutters, skips a cycle and he moans against your skin. His arm trembles, struggles to work himself through his own overload.

He leans away, his vents hot like desert air on your skin. The light of his optics has dimmed, lowered in the wake of his spent charge- but still coat your body in a garnet gleam, every inch of you painted red for him.

You rub your hand along his, feel the grooves between plates. "Do you have to go?" You murmur, staring up him.

"I'll be back." Starscream promises, stroking your body so carefully with one long, sharp talon. "I'll find you."

[kisblle]

Caliber Heart

Pairing: High honor Arthur x female reader one shot

Author's note: Oh what do I have to say about this. To start, this one shot came from me having MAJOR writer's block with my Colter fic. It seems like I had rewrote my Colter fic a thousand times and did not like any of them, really pulling me into a writer's block for the past month and a half. However, as I sat at my macbook staring at the screen in anger at myself this idea popped into my head, and as I was writing it I was kicking my feet and giggling.

Now it might not be that Colter fic I had been teasing, but it is something that I'm really proud of and think the fandom will really enjoy.

Summary: Arthur teaches you to shoot.

Trigger Warning: 18+, graphic sexual content

“Now why I gotta do this anyway?”

“Cause’ my woman is gonna know how to protect herself,” Arthur gruffs, his voice like gravel as he sets up glass bottles in the windows of the second story of Limpany’s burnt saloon.

“Ain’t you spose’ to be the one protectin’ me?” You playfully yell out to him with an evil smirk plastered on your face, dragging your boot in the dirt in front of you out of pure boredom.

The cowboy lets out a small chuckle, jumping back down to the ground level with ease and setting the remaining whiskey bottles on the steps out front. “Now you know I wanna be with you all the time, but I need you to be able to protect yourself when I’m not.”

You bite your lip as the brooding cowboy finally approaches you, his left thumb looped into his gun belt as a cigarette gently hangs out the side of his mouth.

You hated to admit that Arthur was right.

Too long you had been running with Dutch, and too long you had been procrastinating this exact moment. But after years of Arthur chasing your skirt, it seemed as soon as you got in bed with him he was teaching you all sorts of new things.

The sun shines high in the sky as Arthur pulls out the cattleman’s revolver from his gun belt, and teaches you how to load seven shiny revolver bullets into the gun’s worn cylinder, taking the barrel into his hand and placing the grip into your palm. “Now show me how you shoot.” The cowboy commands without any other instruction, his crystal eyes focusing on you as he takes several steps backwards.

You roll your eyes sarcastically at him before he sends you a dissaproving glare.

You let out an annoyed sigh before lifting your dominant hand that held the revolver, aiming down the sight, and placing your right foot parallel to your hand. Mirroring what you had seen the men do countless times before.

You line up your sight with nearest bottle, your pointer finger teasing the trigger as you sat in the same position for several, long moments. “Now go on,” Arthur suggests as you hear him change positions, the dry, coarse dirt of Limpany shifting beneath his boots.

You pull the trigger

You miss by two feet.

You sigh, dropping your arm back down at your hip in dissapointment.

Arthur starts to chuckle, clapping his hands together as if he were mocking you for your failed attempt. “You’re doin’ it all wrong.”

“Hey,” you snap as your head turns behind you where the gunslinger stands. His left hip jutted out, his thumbs resting in the loops of his gun belt with a god awful smirk resting on his face . “I’m just copyin’ what I’ve seen you men do a thousand times!”

The gunslinger rolls his eyes, another gentle laugh escaping his lips. “You’re shootin’ like you think you’re some seasoned gunslinger or somethin’ ,” he jokes, spitting his half smoked cigarette onto the ground in front of him and taking several steps up to you, placing his calloused hand on the arch of your back.

“I’m just doing it how-,” you attempt to remind him, as his other hand grasps your stomach tightly, nearly knocking the breath out of you.

“For starters, you gotta stand up straight, and keep your shoulders parallel with your feet,” he commands, pushing his hands into your torso as if he were attempting to fix your poor posture.

Your spine straightens instantly and you did your best to make your feet parallel with your shoulders. “Now two hands on the gun, and I like to shoot when I exhale,” he commands, letting go of your stomach and taking several steps behind you once again, his eyes carefully watching your every move.

You follow the gunslingers suggestions, aiming the revolver at the same bottle you did before.

You aim.

You pull the trigger.

You miss again, but this time only by a few inches.

“You didn’t exhale,” Arthur calls out.

You exhale.

You aim.

You pull the trigger.

The first of several glass bottles explodes into a million tiny fragments as your head bolts to Arthur for a look of approval.

“Good girl,” he praises. “Now again.”

For the next several hours Arthur has you shooting at glass bottles, and when all the glass bottles had been shattered, he starts having you shoot at the painted letters all around Limpany that had survived the fire’s destruction.

“The second O in Saloon,” he would call as you would turn and fire, shooting at every letter until you had made a clear hole in each one.

After all bottles were shattered, and every letter had several tiny bullet marks in it, you were ready to call it a day. By no means did Arthur turn you into a sharpshooter in just a couple hours, but you were glad you could at least hit a target.

“Come on Arthur, it’s been hours,” you whine as he takes the several empty ammunition boxes out from his satchel and fills them with dirt from beneath his boots, setting them up on the steps of the saloon just as he did with the glass bottles earlier.

“We ain’t done till I say we’re done,” he says, moving back towards you with a mischievous smirk.

You role your eyes at him out of annoyance.

“What? Think you can shoot a couple targets and don’t need more practice?” He adds with a furrowed brow.

“That’s not what I’m sayin-“

“Out there you got bullets flyin' and men yellin'', you gotta learn to keep focus,” he replies grumpily.

“Arthur-“

“Aim,” he commands as he steps closer to you.

You send him a long, strenuous glare before placing both hands on the gun and pointing it at the steps of the saloon.

You exhale.

You shoot.

With a loud pop, the box of dirt erupts into a small cloud of smoke.

You aim again, letting out another breath before you hear Arthur walk up behind you, his hands grabbing your hips as he leans his chin on your shoulder.

“What are you doin'?” You chuckle as his hands move from your hips to the buttons of your blouse.

“Now the most important part of gunslingin’ is to keep concentration no matter the distraction,” he whispers with a devilish tone into your ear.

Your breath hitches for a singular moment before you realize what he meant, his lips finding their way to your ear lobe as his calloused fingers dance over the buttons of your blouse.

One by one he pops open the buttons of your shirt, quickly freeing your breasts from the confines of your blouse. Your nipples instantly peaking at the chill of the New Hanover air but also from your building arousal.

“Arthur, what if someone sees,” you breathe out, barely able to comprehend what was happening as his lips continue to trail down your neck.

“No one ever comes out this way. Now shoot.” He barely commands, his right hand traveling to your left breast. His thumb and forfinger finding their way to your nipple and rolling it back and forth with light, pleasurable pressure.

You moan.

You exhale.

You shoot.

Another box of dirt explodes into a ball of smoke.

“Good girl,” he mumbles as his free hand starts to reach the buckles of your jeans. Quickly unbuttoning your pants and slipping his left hand below your bloomers, easily finding that patch of nerves he knows that you enjoy all too well.

“Arthur-“ you moan is such shock as you feel him grin against your neck.

“Shoot,” he commands once again as his pointer finger reaches deeper into you and starts to draw small circles onto your clit, your knees becoming weaker and weaker from each calculated touch.

You moan

You exhale.

You shoot.

The box pops into another cloud of smoke.

“That’s my girl,” he rumbles as he picks up pace, moving back and forth against your bundle of nerves with such vigour that you were unsure if you could physically stand much longer.

“Again,” he whispers, the prickle of his shadowed beard scratching against your sensitive neck with prowess.

You moan.

You exhale.

You shoot.

You hit the fourth and final box as it explodes into a cloud of smoke.

Within seconds you drop the revolver onto the ground as you finally give into his touch.

“That’s my good girl,” he speaks, circling your clit with such vigour that your knees buckle almost instantly, causing you to lean backwards onto him for full support. Without missing a beat Arthur's right hand catches you and with a shuffle of his feet he walks the two of you over to the side of the saloon and bends you over so you can prop yourself up against the building with your arms.

His left hand still pulsates against you as you can feel your body near your finish. "God Arthur you make me feel so good," you nearly scream as he takes his right knee and spreads your legs farther apart, still leaning over you from behind, his breath hitching in your ear.

"I know your close girl," he mumbles as he continues the steady beat of his fingers against your core.

You were beyond on close.

You were there.

You moan in pleasure, gently jutting your hips against his calloused fingers that were so diligently working you through your release. It felt like forever, but as soon as Arthur was sure your release had been completely worked through he unwraps his hands from infront of you and runs his finger through your soaking cunt, making sure you were ready for him.

The cowboy drops his gunbelt quickly, dropping his work pants to his ankles and fisting his already, blood swollen cock in his hand. "So purdy," he moans as he takes the tip of his member and runs it down your seam.

Your entire body shivers at the meer touch, your hands doing their best to keep you properly bent down for him against the side of the building.

"Tell me you want it," Arthur commands as he still playfully runs his tip against your core again.

"I want it," you moan as your body wettens even more for him, begging him to fully enter you at his pleasure.

"Tell me you need-" he mumbles.

"God Arthur I need you now," you beg as you jut your ass back up at him as if you were some wild animal in heat.

The cowboy grins as he looks down at your wet, pink pussy and slips his entire length into you slowly. When his large length was finally inside of you, he stops and looks down at the combining of your bodies. His thatch of chestnut hair combing against your ass with such prowess that it takes himself several long seconds before he pulls himself out of you, and then in again.

"You take -ah- me -ah- so well," he starts to moan, pushing himself in and out of you with a strong beat.

Arthur continues to push into you, placing his right hand on your hip as his left hand balls up your loose hair into his palm. Pulling your hair tightly into his fist and pulling downwards, forcing your chin to rise in pleasure.

You can feel his hips start to work faster as the clapping of your two bodies merging together seemingly echoes throughout the ghost town.

"Fuck," you curse in pleasure, his hand loosening from your hair and instead finding it's way to your other hip, his fingers digging into you as he roughly pulls your cunt closer to him with every push of his cock.

"Mine," he musters out. "You're -ah- all mine."

Red marks start to appear on your hips as his fingers tighten against your skin. Your knees start to feel that familiar weekness as you recognize your second release starting to pour over.

"I'm gonna-," you yell out.

"Just a little bit longer," he barely is able to mumble.

It was too late, your second release envelopes on Arthur's cock with such vigour that you nearly scream in pleasure.

But as soon as the cowboy felt your cunt pulsating from your second orgasm, he releases his spend into you with several strong thrusts of his hips. His chin jutting upwards as he moans loadly into the pink sky above him, his hands still glued to your hips as his knees shake in pleasure.

After the two of you had been completely worked through, he sits inside you for several seconds as he gathers himself. His breath hitching as he slowly pulls himself out of you, a devilish grin appearing on his worn out face as his surveys his spend dripping down from your cunt and onto your inner thighs. "S'beautiful," he whispers, taking his left hand and palming your ass before you push yourself back up to a standing position and turn around to meet the discheveled cowboy.

"You make a fool out of me," you laugh, pulling up your pants from your ankles quickly as your chest still hangs freely in the cold, New Hanover air.

Arthur grins and shakes his head as he follows suit. "Should've taught you to shoot months ago," he playfully gruffs as he places his gunbelt back onto his hips, his eyes focusing on your chest as you do your best to rebutton your blouse as quickly as possible.

"Shut up, Morgan," you glare at him with a grin plastered on your face, pulling the last button closed, making you atleast presentable to any onlookers who may have rode by.

Arthur raises his hands up to you as if he was surrendering to your tone, "I'm just sayin' if I knew I could-"

You cut him off with a devilish grin, "Maybe the next lesson should be taught by Javier, heard he has the better aim anyway." You snap, knowing that as soon as the words left your mouth you would find yourself running away from the cowboy with a playful smile as you knew he wouldn't take the harmless joke lightly.

"You little hellcat," he snaps back with a playful grin, quickly darting after you as another budding erection started to form beneath his jeans.

[reiderwriter]

hii! could you write smut where spence and reader are bestfriends and one day shes in his car and he snaps and is like “I LOVE YOU” and like they have sex in the car (like with sub spence) and can you include spence getting bj THANKYOUUU

A/N: Car love confessions always remind me of the electric love tiktok "I kissed my best friend" trend that I was OBSESSED with two years ago, and my GOD was this a full-circle moment for me.

Warnings: sub!Spencer, semi-public sex, slight voyeurism, oral sex (m recieving), slight cum play, car sex (bj only), like this was slightly self-indulgent and I had to post it right after I finished writing...

The air outside was cold, but the car had been running for an hour now as you listened to Spencer Reid talk about his day. Whether your cheeks were flushed from the heat coming from the fans or from his subtle attentions, you couldn't discern. 

Spencer, your best friend of nine years, who had been around the country saving lives and facing the most horrendous criminals in the world, was currently sat in the passenger seat of your car excitedly mumbling about Star Trek. 

“I can't believe you decided to watch it, and you did it without me,” he smiled at you, his body angled to face you just ever so slightly. 

He'd started by filling you in on the case he'd just returned from, then moved onto books he'd read recently (a conversation you could absolutely contribute to, being a college librarian yourself, and the source of many of his books). 

And then he'd asked you about your day, and you'd spilled about watching a few episodes of classic Star Trek, and all of his joy and knowledge had bubbled up to his lips without even a thought of pushing it down at all. 

“I've been hounding you for several years, and you decide on a whim to watch it today?” He'd meant for the question to come out with an annoyed tone, but he couldn't hold back the smile passing over his lips as you laughed at him. 

“Spencer, it's a TV show. We can watch it again together. In fact, why don't we do just that? Drive to mine, and we can sit through as many episodes of Star Trek as your heart desires.” 

“I wanted to see your initial reactions, though. I wanted to tell you all the behind the scenes knowledge only true trekkies know about.” 

You laughed loudly at this, especially as you saw the pout on his lips as he mumbled the word “trekkies.” 

“Hey, stop laughing,” he said, but his chest was heaving with a chuckle of his own. And for the life of you, you couldn't. He was sitting there pouting because he wanted to see how much you'd enjoy his favorite TV show, and by god, did he look adorable. 

“I'm sorry, Spence, I-” you tried to cover your mouth, but found your hands were both needed to hold your stomach instead as the laughs that wracked your body veered on painful. 

“Y/N, really!” He said, fully grinning now, pout abandoned. But you didn't stop.

Nothing in the air changed or paused at that second, as his head swooped closer to you, but your body instantly reacted to his closeness. 

It was as if all the hairs on your body stood on end as he tipped up your chin and quickly stole away all the oxygen in your body. 

Before your mind could react, your hands were already tangled in his hair, making sure he couldn't pull away. But you felt him smiling into the kiss, and you knew he wouldn't ever want to pull away now that you'd accepted him. 

With empty lungs, you finally had to separate, and to your surprise, a giggle still flittered from your lips. This time, you did clap a hand over your lips, though. 

“You're laughing still? I just kissed you to shut you up, and you're still laughing.” He said, tucking the few strands of hair behind your ear but still refusing to move too far away. 

“You should've seen your face. You were pouting and adorable and-” 

“I love you.” 

Your heart, that had previously been beating remarkably fast after his kiss (and likely from the fit of laughter preceding it), stopped at his words. 

You'd heard people describing butterflies in their stomach before, but this was more intense. It was more like your heart was a pinball that had just been launched back into the machine and was bouncing around in your ribcage hitting objects and trying desperately not to detach from your chest and jump into his arms. 

“I love you, Y/N.” He smiled, and it was sweet and simple, and even if you were not simple people and life had never been particularly sweet to you, you allowed your happiness to soar as you leaned back in and pressed your lips against his. 

Maybe it was the nine years of waiting (though had you been asked, you'd have been totally oblivious to your quite obvious feelings for the man). Maybe it was again the heat in the car. Maybe it was perhaps the two weeks in which you'd not seen him that led you to venture a step further than you usually would. 

But within seconds of tangling your tongue with his in his mouth, sending him reciprocated confessions with each passing breath, you somehow found the energy to pull yourself up and onto his lap. 

“Y/N, we're in a car-” his protests were weak as you suckled your way down his neck. 

“It's dark outside, and I love you.” His hands gripped possessively on your hips as you continued to shower him in affection. 

“What if someone sees us?” He whimpered as you loosened his tie, discarding it so you could pop his buttons open and trail more kisses across his beautiful collarbone. 

“Then I hope they understand enough to walk away and leave us alone to love each other.” 

You'd managed to get all of his buttons undone and sat squirming in his lap as your fingers brushed across his pert nipples. His head was thrown back to allow you access to the part of his neck that, when you'd run your tongue along it, had him gripping your ass and rubbing your core along the now obvious tent in his pants. 

“Y/N, please….” He panted, and you again returned your lips to his face, brushing over his eyes, his nose, his jaw, and his lips. You were blind and discovering your whole new world through your lips, mapping his features inch by inch. 

His whimpers grew louder, more urgent. He was almost becoming whiny, and that pout from earlier shadowed across his face again, so delightful that you'd immediately wanted to kiss it away from him. 

Dry humping in the passenger seat wasn't going to be enough  you decided, and reluctantly drew away from him quickly. 

“Y/N, what-” He weakly gripped the material of your pants, his quiet protests from earlier forgotten as he begged for your touch to return. 

“Trust me, I love you,” you winked at him again, marvelling in his flush, the hand he wiped across his face to hide his quiet joy. 

You shimmied yourself down so your face was hovering just above his cock, straining through his pants. You slowly undid the buttons and let his cock spring up, wrapping a firm hand around it when it was fully released. 

His hand came down to cover yours, even as the other covered his flushed cheeks and eyes in embarrassment. 

“Spencer, let me see your face. I want you to look at me, please, Spencer.” You cooed at him as you quietly removed your hand from under his, instead moving it to his so you could control his movements. 

You let your breaths hit his cock as you controlled his hand, helping him to slowly jerk off as he gave into the pleasures you were so desperate to gift him. 

“Spencer, please, for me. Show me your fucked out face, I want to see it so bad.” 

With each slow stroke, his body seemed to grow heavier with lust until the hand on his face eventually fell, and you could lock eyes with him once again. 

You smiled brightly at him and, without missing a beat, took him into your mouth. 

The angle was awkward, but you only needed to see that shock and just in his eyes briefly, so you manoeuvred your head into a better position and began fresh. 

You held his hand, holding his cock, and sunk your lips down as far as they'd go, before lifting slowly off. You did it again, and heard the hiss from his lips as he enjoyed the pressure. 

You sped up slightly and felt his discarded hand land on your hair. It wasn't domineering or controlling, but more comforting, as he tugged your hair behind your ear, eventually bundling it up into a gentle pony tail to keep it out of the way of your task. 

“Y/N, I love you so much,” he whimpered and moaned, and you squeezed his hand in response, intensifying the pressure on his cock while also responding to his confession. 

You were going to show him just how deeply you loved him by giving him as much pleasure as you could muster. 

“Pull off, Y/N, please, I'm going to-” He bit his lip, biting off the sentence, almost as if he were afraid of speaking the vulgar words into existence. You could feel his muscles going taut underneath your hands, though, knowing exactly how close he was to losing all control and giving into passion. 

And you certainly weren't pulling away. 

Instead, you pushed your head down once again, going further than you'd managed thus far, nose tickled by his pubic hairs as he shot his load down your throat. 

You gagged, of course you gagged, and he let out a guttural moan, sensitivity apparent in each of his twitches and ragged breaths. 

You made sure to keep as much of him inside your mouth and rose off his cock, looking up at him again through eyes half-lidded with lust. You made sure he was watching as you smiled and swallowed a mouthful of his cum, making sure to lick your lips after and watching his throat bob as he processed the entire scenario. 

You again climbed into his lap, but this time, you just pressed your head to his bare chest, wrapped your arms around his neck, and listened to the thrum of his heart. 

“I love you, Y/N,” he said again. You hummed a response and waited for him to say it  again and again. Hopefully, for the rest of your lives. 

[kopilot-pop]

[For you are loved.]

- New Jeans x Ex-IZ*ONE! Reader

Request: You can write New jeans(separate) x Ex-izonereader Who is exhausted because he takes so much criticism (Like Wonyoung, only worse because she suffers🤷🏻‍♀️🤷🏻‍♀️😓😓😦)and just goes to them and lays on top of them, but oh..they fall asleep..just cute, Your works are too cute!!!!💗💗💗🐰🐰🐰😍😍

Warning(s): Cursing, self-hatred, cyber bullying, etc.

A/N: This is fluffy in the end so don’t be scared to read it because of the warnings. Love y’all, have fun!

———————————————————————

“I just don’t get why you’re with them.”

You froze.

You’re currently at a sign event, meeting hundreds of Bunnies, and having a chance to talk to them.

Everything went smoothly. You smiled at fans, they screamed, you said hi, they screamed, and when you posed for pictures you could hear clicks louder than the ones you heard on a red carpet.

Maybe you should’ve expected not everything could be that perfect.

A certain fan - although it’s clear she has a favorite - made you anxious the moment she sat down in front of you. You were last in the line, so you were able to watch the others interact with her. She brought small wrapped gifts for all your members, but when she arrived at your table, it was clear she was empty handed.

Not even a piece of paper for you to sign at a fucking sign event.

“I… I’m sorry?”

“You heard me.” She crosses her legs, folding up her arms on her chest. “I don’t understand why Ador even considered you to join.”

Realizing what’s happening, you quickly glance at the manager - unfortunately he’s busy handling an overexcited fan with Dani.

“I..”

“I don’t want your stupid signature, it’s the same lazy one you had with IZ*ONE.”

Oh.

“You should’ve just stayed alone and pathetic after the disbandment rather then ruining a perfect group.”

Wow.

“You’re an eye sore - do you even know that? A fucking rat standing next to the goddesses. Every day I pray that you get caught in a stupid scandal and leave like th-”

“Excuse me. Your time is over.”

The ‘fan’ quickly glares at the manager, and hurriedly leaves, stomping purposefully. He gently puts a hand on your shoulder.

“Sorry I came too late. You can stay out for the rest if you’d like-”

“It’s okay! I can’t keep my fans waiting. Thank you though.” The fake smile clearly doesn’t ease up your manager’s mind, but he knows you well, and decided to leave you back to work with a simple pat.

—

On your way home you started to read the comments about the interaction.

The same girl decided to brag about her interaction on Twitter. You recognized her username, having seen her and several other fans that loved New Jeans, but hated you.

From editing songs and group photos to exclude you, apparently they decided to finally face you and say the same things that they posted on the internet more directly.

Her post gained attraction -and even though the replies were filled with Bunnies protecting you and explaining how the poster went too far - several replies were filled with hate towards you.

How untalented you are.

How much they hate your voice.

How you didn’t deserve to be with them.

And even a very detailed; ‘100 reasons why Y/n should leave NJ’.

“Number 23, her personality is way too bitchy...” You accidentally mumble out, causing Hyein to snap her head towards you.

“What in the world are you reading unnie?!”

The commotion caused all the girls to look back at the two of you, watching as Hyein snatches your phone out of your grip.

She takes a few seconds to scroll through the thread, as her face becomes more and more sour.

“H-Hyein! Give it back-!”

The younger girl furiously taps on your phone and shuts it off before handing it to you.

“Wha- what did you do?”

“I reported them. Don’t worry about it unnie.”

“But-”

“What the hell are you guys up to?”

Minji, finally awoken from her nap, looks at the two of you with furrowed eyebrows.

“Some asshole was saying shit about Y/n unnie.”

“Woah! Language!”

“My reaction is nothing compared to what Hanni unnie would say if she saw it.”

“Why are you dragging me into this?!”

Minji, now more concerned by the maknae’s reactions, stared at you.

“EVERYONE I’M TRYING TO SLEEP HERE.”

Haerin’s (rare) loud voice clears the van.

“We’ll talk when we get home.”

—

You quickly ran towards your bedroom, locking the door to avoid any contact. You shove your face into the bed letting out a loud groan.

‘I’m used to this. You’re used to this Y/n. This happened 4 years ago, it shouldn’t be that surprising for it to happen again...’

It was the same hate you received ever since you even joined Produce. It always happened, it always existed.

So why does it hurt so much this time?

Was it the comparing? Was it the comment about your skill? Maybe it was the way your members caught your brooding this time.

God, you hope they don’t know about the other times.

The nights you spent awake, wasting your mind reading disgusting comments from older videos. The holidays you spent crying alone at the dorm as you read yet another article about how you ‘mocked someone’. The hours you spent at the company, running your bones and muscles until you felt like ‘you deserved to be with them’.

You’re the most experienced one out of the whole group. You know how common negative comments are.

But it hurts so much more when you’re with the girls.

“Unnie?”

A knock causes you to shoot up from your crying session.

“Y-… Yup?! Yeah??”

You stumble towards the door, but before you could open the door, the full mirror next to your closet made you hesitate.

You teary face and clearly red eyes stopped you from opening the door.

“Um.. do you need something Dani?”

“Oh, yeah. The six of us are gonna have a movie night! Don’t you remember..?”

Shit. You forgot.

“I.. I’m sorry Dani. I think I have a cold. Don’t want you guys catching i-”

“A COLD?! Are you okay unnie!!? Do you need anything!?” Dani’s panic made you groan at your mistake.

After minutes of convincing her to join the others, you finally hear her shuffle away from the other side of the door.

You don’t wanna be seen like this. You’re the tough senior. You’re not the oldest, but the most experienced.

You deal with this alone. Not with others.

Why waste their energy anyways?

—

It’s 3 a.m. when you wake up on the floor.

Your face is still wet from the tears. You ears rang uncomfortably and the mirror still shows a very puffy, tired version of you.

Wiping your face with your sleeves, you quietly make your way to the kitchen - praying that the girls finished their movie night, and all went to bed.

You quietly creak open the door and tiptoe towards the kitchen. But before you could get there, something catches your eye.

The TV screen still plays an old comedy movie - shining a bright light towards the pile in front of the couch.

The air mattress you bought a few weeks ago was on the floor and the girls were all lying on top of it. That’s what you expected, so it wasn’t a surprise.

The empty pillow between Minji and Hanni was the surprising part.

The six of you always had an order you guys laid in.

And you always slept between Minji and Hanni.

You froze and stared at the cold pillow. The sore throat you felt disappeared, replaced by a sudden warmth in your chest. The tears didn’t feel as heavy as they did when you stood besides the mirror.

Like a magnet, you unconsciously gravitated towards the small space. You slowly laid down, staring up into the dark ceiling as the ringing in your ears turned into soft snores all around you.

You could finally hear the laugh tracks coming from the TV, the whirring of the fridge, and the shuffling of sheets.

It wasn’t loud, but enough to calm your mind.

You’re here. You’re in their arms. You’re not a target on the internet, you’re not a ghost from a different group, and you’re certainly not some bitchy asshole as the world makes you out to be.

You’re a New Jeans member.

You’re an adored idol.

And you’re certainly a loved group mate.

Hanni’s unconscious gentle hold on your arm reminds you of that, once again.

———————————————————————

[marinettesaltprompts]

Marinette Salt Prompts: In which Max saves Paris by being himself - Part 1

Prompt by yours truly :)

Warning: Long Post!

When Max first became Pegasus, he was initially excited to become a hero. Getting these cool awesome powers, being able to help the people of Paris and be seen more than just a computer geek had put a spring in his step.

And it still was! ... For a time at least.

But then one day following an akuma attack in which Max lost conciousness (from a wasp attack? did Chloe get akumatised again?) Ladybug came by with a new suit and a declaration that she was the "Guardian" (whatever that had meant). Nobody questioned the declaration, even Max.

This of course, meant that Pegasus became a hero more than not.

This didn't seem so bad at first ... but then the weariness began to set in. More and more akuma's appeared, resulting in Max having to be called more often, leaving him tired and exhausted as a result. While Max was lucky enough that he had not managed to to be hit by an akuma's power, seeing one of his hero allies just disappear sent shivers down the poor genius's spine. Especially when Roi Singe was hit (even though Max had no clue who he was, he seemed familliar).

It didn't help that Ladybug and Chat Noir, the main Heroes of Paris, had begun to fight a lot more. At first it was just simple disagreements, but then it became louder. Max noted that Chat kept trying to get close to Ladybug, but the latter kept trying to push him away. At first Max had assumed that it was due to Chat's well known crush on Ladybug, but now he was not so sure, especially when she began to get snappy with others even if Chat had said nothing the enitre fight (which in itself became more and more uncommon). Ladybug was obviously stressed, but whenever anyone commented on it, she would either deny it or get incredibly angry (especially if it was Chat Noir that made the statement)

It was only after a long and terrible akuma battle that Max began to see things differently. More than half the heroes had been "disappeared", only to be returned back to life with the Miraculous Ladybug. A lot of the heroes looked very uncomfortable, but had said nothing as Ladybug once again congratulated them on a won battle.

Max finally spoke up.

"Um... actually, I have a question?"

The way Ladybug seemed to snap her head to him almost made him jump back, but seeing as she had some sort of smile on her face, he continued.

"These akuma's have started to become more and more problematic recently ... more than half of us were... vanished, when normally that doesn't happen..."

Of course it happened more often, they just didn't say anything. But this is the worst one yet. Most of them vanished. ONLY vanished. We don't say kill because thats impossible to think about without feeling sick to the core

"... perhaps we should approch the problem with the akumas a bit more differently?"

Ladybug paused, the smile disappearing from her face as she contemplated what he said.

"...Well... sure. I suppose we don't spend enough time actually training. I mean, me and Noir have a lot of experience but all of you are much newer than we are ..." Ladybug snapped her fingers in excitement "Oh I know! How about we meet up for a training session? Perhaps we could all take the time to learn how to use our powers better!"

Despite the well intentions behind it, Max actually felt sick at the idea of having to spend more time in the costume. He actually had his own life to worry about thank you very much. (Unbeknwnst to him, several others felt the same way).

"N-No! I-I mean that was what I was going with, we are ok with using our abilities." Max said hurriedly, avoiding the subtle displeasure on Ladybug's face. "What I meant to say was... shouldn't we try and solve the issue directly."

"What, you mean the akumas?" Ladybug asked.

"No ... I meant Hawkmoth. Shouldn't we do something about finding him?"

The question caused everyone to perk up at the thought. Even the now-normally silent Chat Noir raised his ears at the suggestion.

However, Ladybug's face remained stone cold.

"That's ... not possible."

"What do you mean its not? I mean, we have these powers right? Couldn't we use them to find him?" Max said, even as the others visibly shrinked with anger.

"I'm saying its not as simple as you think. We don't have the time to find him. We already spent enough time dealing with the akumas. Don't you want to go back to your normal lives?"

(The irony that the akuma's had left them busy to begin with remained lost on Ladybug's mind, even as the others inwardly cringed at the statement)

Max however refused to back down on this however. "Ladybug, with all due respect, we have been fighting an akuma every few days now. Some weeks we even had to fight every single day! Shouldn't we try to stop the problem at its source?"

"The problem," Ladybug said through gritted teeth. "is that Hawkmoth is too well hidden. We need to focus on being ready for his next attack, not wasting time on impossible goals. We can stop him for good when he finally gets cocky and shows himself."

"B-But we can't rely on that! Ladybug, he has no reason to show himself because his powers don't require him to be close to be effective. Too many of us got ki- got vanished! If this happens again we could actually be in serious trouble!"

"Look, I'm trying my best here! My plan was still able to work! We succeeded in the end right? We saved the day! That's all that matters! That's all we can do for now!" Ladybug said, her voice getting louder.

"And what if it fails the next time?"

"My plans haven't failed yet! Can't you trust me Pegasus?"

"I do! B-But you haven't been performing optimally! Every time you call us you look extremely tired, and you've begun stuttering at times when you're making a plan in battle! You've been coming to every akuma fight all tense and stressed and-"

Max's voice died out in his throat as the rest of the team flinched. He didn't want to say that word, but it slipped out on accident. The whole teamed had learned that nobody should call Ladybug stressed. But he did.

The effect was near instant. Ladybug's eyes constricted and she began to visibly tense up and shake.

"OH GREAT, NOW ITS YOU TOO! CAN'T YOU SEE YOU'RE NOT THE ONE HAVING TO STRUGGLE HERE?! I'M THE GUARDIAN! I'VE GOT BETTER THINGS TO WORRY ABOUT THAN YOU WASTING MY TIME ON STUPID QUESTIONS!"

Pegasu- no, Max, flinched, but tried to stay strong. Emphasis on tried, even as his confidence began to falter/

"Ladybug look, i'm sorry, but if you could jus-"

"NO, YOU DON'T GET IT. I'M THE ONLY ONE THAT CAN STOP HAWKMOTH. ALL I ASK IS FOR THE REST OF YOU TO JUST LISTEN TO MY PLAN SO THAT WE CAN BEAT THE AKUMA AND GO HOME. BUT NO, YOU HAVE TO QUESTION EVERYTHING I DO LIKE IM DOING EVERYTHING WRONG! I HAVE TO MAKE THE PLAN! WHO ELSE CAN PURIFY THE AKUMA? WHO ELSE CAN SAVE PARIS?" Ladybug yelled as she stormed up to Pegasus, furiously tense and visibly sweating.

"But how are we supposed to save Paris if Hawkmoth is still a threat?!" Max said suddenly, a wave of adrenaline overcoming him as he momentarily met Ladybug's eyes. "We can't keep doing this forever like we have no one that won't miss us, we have our own lives too! We can't keep running off to save Paris when our families don't even know where we are! My mom doesn't know where I am!"

Ladybug narrowed her eyes.

"So this is what this is about?" Ladybug asked questionly with hostility. "That you can't keep up with being ahero? Being a hero means that sometimes we have to do what is necassary for the greater good! Not everyone can run away when you're the only one who had the power to fix it. Its about sacrifice!"

"...but this isn't sacrifice. It's a slaughter." Max said, his voice suddenly going hoarse. He felt tired in that moment, a wave of exhaustion ovecoming him as he slumped forwards. He wanted to be back home, not on these rooftops, but with his best buddy Kim and his great robot friend Markov. His family.

As the rest of the heroes stared in shock at the genius hero looking so defeated, Ladybug stood silently as she appeared apathetic to Max's outburst, merely glancing at him as she looked at her (former?) ally.

"You know what? Fine? If all of this is such a problem for you, then I'll find someone else who can take over for you. The akuma's defeated anyways." Ladybug said seriously, ignoring the shock from some of the more empathetic heroes. "Go to your rendevouz spot and wait for me. I'll come and pick up the Horse Miraculous from you. You're off the team."

Despite having no desire to be Pegasus in that moment, the callousness in Ladybug's statement caused Max to feel angry, his hand curling into a grip as he took a deep breathe in and out.

"You know what? No, I don't think I will." Max said simply, ignoring the shock on Ladybug's face as he turned around. "I'm tired, im exhausted, and I just want to go home. You know where I live, you can come and grab my Miraculous from my house once your done with the rest of your team. I'll take the express route home."

Voyage

With a simple word, Max created a portal beneath his feet, leaving to quickly for anyone to stop him or see where he ended up.

Max crashed into his bed. Quickly detrasnforming, he looked up from his bed to see Markov flying towards him.

"Oh hello Max! You look very tired!"

"Yeah, I guess you could say that buddy." Max replied.

"Oh no! You look upset, did something happen?"

As Max sat up from his bed, he began to recount his story as he changed from his normal outfit into his pyjama's. As Max sat down at the computer, he finished recounting this story to Markov.

"...And that's where I am now. So many other heroes got hurt and I'm worried that we won't be able to take another attack like that, but now Ladybug is mad at me and now I'm off the team! Sure, I don't have to be part of the battle, but it won't help when the next monster of the day suddenly levels Paris's city flat!"

"That sounds like a problem!" Markov replied. Though his emotion program was a bit simple, he felt a bit sad for his friend (and a bit angry at Ladybug, though not enough to trigger an akuma attack).

"Yeah, tell me about it. Not to mention that Hawkmoth is still out there, wherever he's hiding."

As Markov began to ponder how he could help his friends mood, a thought came to him.

"Perhaps we could solve this Hawkmoth issue ourselves."

"W-What? Markov I don't think thats possible. I mean, I am about to lose the Horse Miraculous once Ladybug finds me, I don't think we can do much against a magical supervillain."

"True, but as you said to Ladybug, fighting isn't doing us much good at the moment either. In order to stop the akuma's we need to solve the problem at the source. By all accounts, there's a 99% probability that Hawkmoth is a normal human adult outside of his costume. All we need to do is find out who Hawkmoth is and then we can catch him off guard to defeat him! Simple is it not?"

Max contemplated the idea, slowly nodding as he agreed with Markov. "That does seem like a good idea... but where can we start? It's not like we can just track down where he lives. Paris is huge!"

"So we will just have to go for the next two best things. His akumas and his victims! If we can track where those butteflies come from and where they are headed, we can follow them back to his lair!"

"His lair Markov?"

The robot nodded. "I don't remember much when I was Robustus, but I was able to recover a still image of Hawkmoth from his perspective! Apparently he has a huge lair from which he hides!"

"Wait, you had this the whole time? Why not tell anyone?"

"... I didn't think it was useful" Markov said embarrassingly.

Max decided to let it go though as he began to formulate an idea. "So... he sends his akuma's from a lair. So in order to find the lair we need to find the where the akuma's are flying from..."

Slowly, Max looked through his room. Scattered about were serveral drones, some of which were dismantled in order to create the shell for Markov's AI. If he could create a program to speciifically track down these akuma's...

His thought process was interrupted by a knock on his window, Max turned to see the window opened by an unimpressed Ladybug.

"Max"

"... Ladybug"

"the Horse Miraculous. Where is it?"

Wordlessly, Max gave her the box. Ignoring the look on her face, Max opened his laptop as he began to write a code on his laptop.

Ladybug contined to stare at him.

"You know, I was really hoping that you would have reconsidered your actions when I asked you to go to the rendevous point. I'm disappointed to see that I was proven wrong. Especially with that stunt you pulled."

Max continued to ignore her as he kept typing.

Ladybug sniffed her nose as she turned to leave. "Don't expect me to call you again ever. If this is how you are going to act when you are freaking out, then you don't deserve to be on this team."

Max never took his eyes off the computer, even as Markov stared angrily at Ladybug, wanting to say something but feeling like he should not interrupt. His eyes smiling as his code and his plan started to form together.

"Go ahead. Find someone else. Superhero work wasn't cut for me anyways. I'm much better when i'm using my brain anyways. I know what I need to do now. Besides, if being on the team means being treated that way, I'll pass. Last thing I need is to follow another Chloe."

Ladybug flinched, before leaving Max's room, yoyo flying in the distance.

Max didn't notice though. He had a plan.

One that would surely deal with this akuma plan once and for all.

-----------------------------------------------------------

Hi everyone! Hope you like this new idea i've had for a while now! Sorry if it feels rushed, I wrote this while feeling quite tired. I'm making plans for a part 2 and 3, but please let me know what you guys think!

[sturnsbaebackup]

SHY - M. STURNIOLO (PART TWO)

i highly recommend reading part 1 first, which is linked here!

summary; after madi and nick set up their plan to make you and matt fall in love, you’re finally going over to their house to film for the first time… and the connection between you and matt only grows stronger

warnings: she/her pronouns used, mentions of gagging. purely fluff!!!

—

your car ride to the sturniolos apartment consists of nothing but a very happy madi in the passenger seat and severely shaky hands. so much that madi almost had to take your spot in the drivers seat a couple times because you haven’t been able to steer correctly.

when you arrive in the parking lot outside of their complex, you sit in the car for a minute to regain some control of your emotions. as deep breaths exit your nose, madi speaks up. “y/n, you’re going to be fine i promise. now can we go inside? i don’t want to keep them waiting any longer,” she begs. you exhale sharply, nodding your head as you grip the door handle.

before you can even realize it, you’re standing in front of their door as madi gently knocks on the door. you fully snap back into reality when you see matt’s face at the door, greeting you both with a big teethy grin. “hi guys! come on in!” he says, stepping aside for both you and madi.

their house isn’t necessarily the cleanest place you’ve ever seen, but you can tell that they put in somewhat of an effort to clean it for you guys. you smile at nick as he comes running to the door, pulling you into a tight hug. “y/n, hi! i’m so glad you came!” he smiles, making your heart swell with joy. even if you’re in shambles from your nerves, you’re still super joyous that you’ve been adapted into their lives so quickly.

“so before we start the video, we need to go to the grocery store. for some context, we’re doing a challenge where we all buy a few gross or weird foods of our choice, and line them up on the counter. we have an app that when you put a bunch of fingers on it, it randomly selects someone and whoever gets picked has to eat the next food item in the lineup,” nick explains.

“oh god, this sounds awful,” you groan, earning a laugh from a few people.

“this sounds fun y/n! lighten up,” matt teases, nudging your shoulder lightly as he does so. you blush a little and that pit from a few days ago immediately comes back.

“okay people we don’t have all the time in the world, so let’s go!” nick exclaims, pushing you and madi out the door. the five of you get into the car, driving to the closest grocery store. you all go in and make sure to separate so that you don’t spoil your items to one another. each person is supposed to buy 3 items so that the total will add up to 15 items. your items of choice are horse radish, sardines, and to be nice you decide to add unicorn pudding cups.

while you’re using the self checkout, you see chris appear in the line in your peripheral vision. you notice him trying to peak at your items, and you turn your head to him. “stop cheating chris!” you say sternly, making him roll his eyes.

“i wasn’t even looking at you y/n,” he lies, knowing damn well you both know he’s bluffing. you just chuckle to yourself and secretly place your items in your bag, making sure chris doesn’t see. eventually everyone finishes their quick shopping, and you all head back to the apartment to begin the video.

“hi guys! today we’re going to be playing disgusting food roulette, but we have a couple special guests with us! c’mere guys,” nick says, wrapping both his arms around you and madi to drag you both into frame.

“hi guys,” madi says softly with an awkward smile.

“and for those of you who don’t know who y/n is, she’s a great friend of madi’s, and one of our newest friends! her socials will be linked below, so go check out her stuff! she posts a lot on tiktok and instagram, so make sure to go follow her! you can expect to see her in a lot more videos,” nick says smiling at you. you smile back, truthfully unsure of what to say.

“yeah yeah okay we get it nick now stop kissing y/n’s ass and let’s reveal what foods we bought,” chris groans, making you flip him off.

“chris is just mad i caught him trying to look at my foods at self checkout,” you shrug. chris gasps and immediately throws his hands up in defense, “you’re just full of yourself! i was not looking at you,” he rolls his eyes playfully.

“okay chris, leave y/n alone,” matt chuckles, putting his bag of food on the counter. per usual, this sets off that feeling in your stomach once again, but not as bad as before. you’re starting to embrace the obvious feelings you have for matt, and you’re actually okay with that. once everyone reveals their items, it’s time to let the fun begin. “okay guys put your finger down on the phone screen! whoever’s finger gets the little white dot under it has to eat the food,” nick says as you all place your fingers on the phone screen.

the first couple of items on the counter aren’t very bad, but as you further along the line things start to get bad. unfortunately you get chosen to eat the horseradish. “clearly this is my karma for buying this,” you groan, hesitantly placing the spoon into the jar. you quickly shove it into your mouth and swallow, trying to forget about the fact you’re eating horseradish. the taste fills your throat and begins stinging your nostrils from the pungent smell. you start gagging a little, and everyone bursts out laughing.

“fuck oh my god! this is disgusting!” you say, leaning over onto the counter in disgust. you pray that you get the coconut water since it’s the next item, but unfortunately it goes to matt. he takes a sip and scrunches his face a little, and you groan at the gross taste in your mouth. nick and chris are arguing in the middle of the kitchen, while you and matt stand off in the corner. “do you want a sip of my coconut water?” he chuckles, and you accept it gratefully. even if it tastes nasty, you still drink a few big gulps to get the taste of your previous item out of your mouth.

eventually it gets to sriracha sauce, and you’re afraid of getting that as an item seeing as you don’t do good with spices. and of course with your luck, you do. “oh fuck me!” you groan, lifting the spoonful of it off of the counter. you take a deep breath before putting it in your mouth, groaning at the burning sensation on your tongue and lips. you have an overwhelming mix of different disgusting tastes and sensations in your mouth, making you fall to the ground out of disgust and discomfort. everyone laughs at your reaction, and matt lifts his hand out for you to take as a guide back on your feet.

thankfully along the way you get a few good items, but the next item is that stupid pepper chris bought. everyone is deathly afraid of getting it, but unfortunately matt is the one who gets chosen. “you’re joking, you’re actually fucking joking! i’ve gotten all of the worst items!” matt cries out while dragging his hands down his face.

“oh no poor matt,” madi laughs, and matt just groans. he takes a bite of the pepper, and immediately his eyes start watering. he falls to the floor and just curls into a ball while groaning in pain. you all let out a laugh, but after a few moments you guys start getting a bit concerned.

“matt are you okay?” nick asks. matt just looks up at everyone and pouts with little tears welling up in his eyes. you make a little frown at him while letting out a little chuckle. he gets to his feet and stumbles over towards you, pulling you into a hug. he isn’t necessarily thinking clearly, seeing as his mouth, throat, lips, and basically sinuses are all on fire. your eyes widen, but you hug him back gently. you let out a few chuckles, and nick hands him a glass of milk to try and subside the burning sensation in his mouth.

“i’m going to bed, goodnight everyone,” he sadly laughs, waking to his room. you all burst out laughing and end the video without matt.

“someone should go check on him, y/n can you go make sure he’s alive? we need to clean everything up,” nick asks while giving a look to madi. you roll your eyes at the two of them, “yeah sure,” you say in an annoyed tone. they’re making their plan so obvious that even chris is starting to pick up on it.

you softly knock on matt’s door and you hear a muffled voice telling you to come inside. you walk in and his room is surprisingly clean. the lights are off and he’s laying in his bed hugging a pillow, with the empty glass of milk on his bedside table. “i was tasked to come make sure you’re alive. you doing okay?” you ask.

“my mouth is on fire,” he groans and you laugh a little.

“do you want me to get you anything?”

“more milk, please,” he practically begs. you nod and take his empty cup to the kitchen. when you bring it back to him, he’s now sitting up in his bed with his phone in hand.

“fuck, thank you so much y/n,” he says before chugging the whole cup in under 5 seconds. you let out a giggle and he just smiles at you bashfully. he pats the end of his bed, signaling you to sit down on it. your heart rate begins to increase but you do as you’re told and sit down.

“y/n, i know we just met and this might seem a little quick… but i think you’re really pretty and sweet. i was wondering if you maybe wanted to grab food sometime? and i know it’s a little awkward since you just saw me crying from eating a pepper, but it’s the first time i’ve actually gotten the chance to ask you this,” he chuckles and you laugh at the end of his sentence.

“oh my gosh of course matt! i’d love to,” you blush, this time not even worried if he can see your cheeks turning pink. you both figure out a date and time, meanwhile madi chris and nick are all secretly standing outside the door listening in. you exit matt’s room and you see them not so slyly trying to pretend they weren’t listening.

“you guys suck, you know that?” you jokingly say, and they all just shrug.

“have fun at dinner with matt on saturday,” nick winks as you exit their apartment. you just roll your eyes with a smile, “yeah yeah whatever nick.”