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buldakcorn · 2 months ago

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Body Rhythm

LOONA/LOOSSEMBLE Yeojin x Male Reader

Genre : Blowjob, Anal-fingering, Minor size kink, Standing doggy, Carry-fucking, Mirror sex, Degradation

4721 words

You accompanied Yeojin to a dance studio she rented, the faint smell of freshly waxed floors filled the air. The walls were adorned with mirrors, creating an illusion of infinite space, and the rhythmic thump of bass echoed from the sound system.

Yeojin led the way to the center of the room, her hips swaying gently to the music that played softly in the background. She pointed to a chair that had been strategically placed under a single spotlight.

"Could you sit here, oppa?" she asked, her voice a mix of excitement and nerves.

"I want to show you something I've been practicing." You nodded, setting down the camera and lighting equipment you had brought to help her record her dance routine.

She looked at you with a mischievous smile, then turned to the stereo and cranked up the volume. The seductive beat of a slow jam filled the room as she took a deep breath, her eyes flickering with determination.

You couldn't help but feel a flutter of anticipation in your stomach as she began to move closer, her body gliding to the music with a confidence that was both surprising and alluring. The dance she had learned was indeed a lap dance, and the intimate setting made your heart race as she prepared to perform it for you.

As the music grew heavier, Yeojin began to circle you with a feline grace, her movements fluid and deliberate.

With a playful smirk, she straddled your lap, the warmth of her body sending a jolt of electricity through your veins. Her hands gripped your neck firmly yet gently, her fingers playing with your hair as she leaned in closer. You could feel the heat from her breath mingling with yours as she started to grind her hips against yours in time with the beat, the friction of her shorts against your growing arousal making it difficult to maintain eye contact.

The smile that played on her lips widened as she noticed your nervousness, a spark of excitement lighting up her eyes. The atmosphere grew thick with desire, the dance studio seemingly shrinking around you as she took control of the space, leaving you captivated by her seductive performance.

Her movements grew bolder, her hands sliding down to your shoulders and then back up, tracing the line of your arms as she leaned back, giving you a tantalizing view of her midriff. Yeojin's hips rolled in a mesmerizing rhythm, each rotation bringing her closer to you before retreating again, leaving you longing for more. Her legs, wrapped tightly around your waist, began to tremble slightly as the intensity of her dance built. Her breathing grew heavier, matching the tempo of the music that enveloped the two of you in a sensual embrace.

Finally, with a dramatic pause, she pulled away, standing up and striking a pose that highlighted every curve of her body. The music faded out, leaving only the sound of your own breathing and the rapid thump of your heart. She looked down at you, her eyes gleaming with satisfaction at the effect she had on you.

"How was it, oppa?" she asked, her voice a sultry purr. "Do you think I've got the moves?" The question hung in the air, thick with anticipation as she awaited your response, her body still vibrating with the energy of her performance.

You swallowed hard, trying to find the right words amidst the whirlwind of emotions her dance had stirred within you. "It was... it was amazing, Yeojin," you finally managed to croak out, your voice thick with desire.

"You've definitely got the moves," you added, your eyes lingering on the sultry look she wore so naturally. Her smile grew even wider, a hint of triumph in her eyes as she stepped away from the chair, giving you a moment to compose yourself.

"How about my body, oppa? I've been working hard at the gym."

Yeojin stepped closer to you, her hands tracing the outline of your jaw before tilting your head back. "I want to hear it," she murmured, her voice a siren's call that sent your pulse racing. "Tell me what you think of my body."

You couldn't resist the urge to reach out and touch her, your hands sliding over her hips as you met her gaze. "Your body," you said, your voice low and filled with admiration, "it's... it's incredible."

Her short booty shorts and risen white t-shirt accentuated her slender yet curvy and small frame, revealing the toned muscles and supple flesh she had worked so hard to achieve.

The way her shirt clung to her, exposing her midriff, was nothing short of tantalizing, making you want to trace the line of her waist with your fingertips. Yeojin's legs, long and lean from hours of dance practice, extended from the shorts, leading up to her firm, round bottom that had been the star of her seductive routine.

The way the fabric of her shorts hugged her curves left very little to the imagination, and the sight of her glistening with the light sheen of sweat from her exertion only made your desire for her grow stronger. You couldn't help but let out a soft groan as she leaned in closer, her breath hot against your ear.

"You like?" she whispered, a playful edge to her voice.

"Can you read out what's written on my t-shirt, oppa?"

With a mischievous twirl, Yeojin pulled down just a little the hem of her shirt, revealing the cheeky message scrawled across her shirt in bold, black letters: 'I ❤️ to make boys cry'. She giggled at your reaction, the sound as intoxicating as the scent of her sweet perfume that filled the space between you.

"That's what I want to do you, oppa. Right here, right now. And it seems like you've been wanting this too."

Yeojin's hand slipped down from your chest, and before you could react, she cupped your growing bulge through your pants. You gasped at the sudden contact, your body tensing involuntarily. The warmth of her palm and the firmness of her grip sent shockwaves through your core, leaving you momentarily speechless. Her eyes gleamed with a playful mischief as she squeezed gently, feeling the evidence of your arousal.

"Are.... are you sure about this, Yeojin? Someone might see us here."

Ignoring your concerns, Yeojin's smile grew more daring as she leaned in, her lips brushing against your ear.

"Let's make it our little secret, oppa," she whispered, her voice a seductive promise that sent a thrill down your spine. Her hand began to massage you more firmly, her fingers tracing the contours of your erection as she squats down on the floor, her cheeks can be seen slipping through her shorts from the mirrored walls.

"You're so big and taller than this cute little Yeojinnie. Hopefully, something else is big."

With a flick of her wrist, she unbuttoned your pants and slid them down, freeing your straining cock. She stared at it with hungry eyes before leaning in, her warm breath teasing the sensitive tip as she took it into her mouth, her tongue swirling around it with a skill that left you gasping for air.

"Fuck, calm down Yeojin!"

Yeojin's eyes never left yours, the connection between you growing more intense with every stroke of her tongue. You watched as she took more of you in, her cheeks hollowing as she bobbed her head, the sight alone making you want to lose control. It was clear she knew exactly what she was doing, and she reveled in the power she had over you.

Was this the same sweet, innocent Yeojin you knew? Or was this a side of her you had never seen before, a side that was as passionate and wild as the dance she had just performed? Either way, you weren't about to stop her.

"Let's make some noise, oppa," her hands found the base of your cock, stroking in time with her eager sucks. Her eyes watered with the effort, but she never broke eye contact, her gaze locked onto yours with a fiery determination. Yeojin had promised to pleasure you until you cried out, and it seemed she was a woman of her word.

"If I knew you had a cock this big, I would've suck you earlier, oppa."

"I'm gonna drain you so bad, you're gonna walk home with nothing inside these balls."

Feeling your body tense up, Yeojin's pace grew quicker, her mouth moving up and down on your cock with increasing urgency. Her other hand slipped between her own legs, her fingers moving under the elastic of her shorts to pleasure herself as she watched you.

The sight of her playing with herself while she brought you closer to climax was almost too much to bear. Your hand reached down to caress her head, your fingers tangling in her hair as you guided her movements, the pleasure building within you like a storm about to break.

You could see that her face was flushed, her eyes half-closed in concentration, and her lips stretched around your shaft, creating a visual symphony of desire. The studio echoed with the wet sounds of her eager mouth and your stifled moans, each one growing louder despite your efforts to keep quiet.

"I'm so fucking close, Yeojin-ah."

Yeojin's grip tightened, her movements growing more frantic as she felt your body begin to shudder beneath her. She was relentless, her eyes gleaming with challenge as she pushed you closer and closer to the edge, eager to claim victory in this erotic dance of dominance and submission.

With a final, deep thrust, you couldn't hold back any longer. You bucked your hips, driving yourself into Yeojin's eager mouth as you reached your peak, the force of your climax causing your entire body to convulse. Yeojin took it all, her eyes watering as she swallowed every drop, her hand still stroking you gently until you were completely drained.

She sat back on her heels, her chest heaving from the effort, and licked her lips with a satisfied smile, looking up at you with a sense of accomplishment. You slumped in the chair, panting heavily, your heart racing as you stared at her, utterly speechless. The room was silent except for the sound of your breathing, the evidence of your passion still lingering in the air.

Yeojin stood up, her own desire clearly visible as she adjusted her shorts, and whispered, "Now, it's my turn, oppa. Use me how you like. Breed me like I'm nothing but your rag."

Yeojin spun around, presenting her back to you with a cheeky wiggle that had your eyes immediately zeroing in on the round, tempting curves of her ass. She hooked her thumbs into the waistband of her shorts and, with a seductive arch of her back, began to pull them down. The fabric slid down her thighs, revealing the smooth, creamy skin of her buttocks.

She reached back and grabbed each cheek, spreading them apart with a shamelessness that had your cock twitching back to life. Your gaze was drawn to the pink, puckered rosebud of her anus and the glistening wetness of her pussy, both begging for your attention.

The room grew hotter as she bent over slightly, her back arched and her hands still spreading herself open for you, revealing the intimate landscape of her desires. Yeojin looked at you over her shoulder, her eyes gleaming with lust and a hint of challenge.

"Come closer and keep bending down."

Yeojin complied, her hands placing themselves on the floor and her body bending down so that her ass was directly above your now fully erect cock. Her cheeks quivered with each deliberate twerking motion, creating a mesmerizing show that had your eyes glued to her.

She looked back at you with a mischievous smile, her eyes sparkling with excitement as she felt the warmth of your cock against her skin.

"Which one do you want to fill up first, oppa?" she asked, her voice a seductive purr that sent shivers down your spine.

Taking a deep breath, you took hold of Yeojin's hips with both hands, feeling the softness of her skin under your fingertips. She gasped as you lined up the tip of your cock with her wet pussy. You could see her bite her bottom lip in anticipation, her eyes never leaving yours as she nodded, giving you the silent go-ahead.

With a firm grip, you slammed her down onto your cock, the sound of her wetness enveloping you echoing through the studio. Yeojin's body jolted at the sudden intrusion, but she didn't pull away, instead pushing back into you with a needy whine.

"Fuck, I'm stretched out!"

You didn't hold back, pumping into her with a ferocity that matched the rhythm of the music still pulsing through the speakers. Each thrust sent waves of pleasure crashing through her body, her walls tightening around you as she moaned in delight. Her ass bounced back with every impact, the sight of her taking you so eagerly driving you wild.

"Fuck me hard, oppa," she begged, her voice breathless and needy. "Make me feel it deep inside."

"Bounce on it, Yeojin. Show me how much you want it."

With a smoldering look of determination, Yeojin began to bounce on your cock, her movements matching the beat of the music. Her ass jiggled with every bounce as she found her own rhythm. You watched in amazement as she took charge of the moment, her little body moving in a way that seemed almost inhumanly graceful. The sound of her wetness filled the studio, mixing with her breathless gasps and the slap of your bodies coming together.

With a wicked smirk, you leaned over and spat onto Yeojin's tight asshole, the saliva glistening in the soft light of the studio. She whimpered at the sudden coolness, her body tensing before she felt your finger press against the sensitive area. Slowly, you pushed it in, watching as the muscles of her anus clenched around the digit, her cheeks reddening with the mix of pleasure and slight discomfort. She let out a gasp as you began to move your finger in and out.

Her pussy tightened around your cock, her body responding instinctively to the dual penetration. Yeojin's eyes widened with each movement, her breath hitching as you started to pick up the pace, adding another level of sensation to her already overwhelming pleasure.

"Slap my ass, oppa. Teach this little whore a lesson."

Obediently, you brought your hand down in a firm slap against Yeojin's upturned ass, the sound echoing through the studio like a gunshot. She yelped, her body jolting at the impact, but she didn't slow down. Instead, she pushed back into you harder, her pussy clenching around your cock like a vice. You could see the imprint of your hand on her skin, the redness spreading like a brand.

You slapped her again, and again, each time the sound growing louder, the color on her ass growing darker. Her pleas for you to continue only grew more desperate, her voice hoarse from her moans. You couldn't resist the urge to give her what she wanted, to mark her as yours in this primal dance of lust. With each slap, Yeojin's hips bucked back at you, her movements becoming more erratic as she approached her own climax.

"Don't stop, oppa," she whimpered, her voice tight with need. "It feels so good."

Her ass was a fiery shade of red, a stark contrast to the paleness of her skin. Yet she didn't ask you to be gentle, she didn't flinch away. Instead, she met each slap with a grind, her body moving in a symphony of pleasure and pain that had your blood pounding in your ears. Yeojin's breaths grew ragged, her moans louder, as she neared the edge.

"Come sit down properly, you filthy bitch."

Yeojin released her hands from the floor, allowing you to pull her arms back and hold onto her firmly from behind. This new position had her entire body bouncing on your cock, her tits jiggling inside her shirt, her ass slapping against your thighs in a delicious rhythm.

"Is this what my Yeojinnie wants? To be fuck senselessly?"

She moaned louder now, the change in angle hitting all the right spots, sending her closer to the brink of ecstasy. Her pussy clenched around you even tighter, her body begging for release as she moved in sync with you.

"Yes! Fuck me like you own me! I'm just a hole for you to fuck! Give me all of your juicy big dick!"

The feeling was indescribable, and the sight of her like this, so open and wanton, had you on the edge of your sanity. You could feel her inner walls fluttering, signaling that she was close. With one hand still wrapped around her hip, you reached around with the other, finding her clit and giving it a firm pinch.

"R-right there! Yeojinnie is cumming!"

Yeojin's eyes rolled back, her body convulsing as she screamed out her orgasm, her pussy contracting around you like a velvet vice. The sight of her coming undone was too much for you to handle, and with a roar, you emptied yourself into her, filling her to the brim with your hot seed. The intensity of the moment washed over the two of you, leaving you both gasping for air as your bodies finally stilled, your connection broken only by the slowing of your ragged breaths.

"I'm not done with you yet."

Standing up with a firm grip on Yeojin's hips, you positioned her in front of the floor-to-ceiling mirror, her back to you. Her legs wobbled slightly as she tried to find her balance, her chest heaving from the intense climax that had just ripped through her body.

You could see the desperation in her eyes as she stared at your reflection in the mirror, begging for more.

With a feral growl, you bent her over at the waist, her hands bracing against the cold, hard surface. The angle was perfect, her pussy still wet and gaping from the previous round. You aligned your cock with her dripping entrance and, without a second thought, slammed into her from behind.

Her scream was muffled by the mirror as she watched herself being taken, her eyes wide with a mix of shock and pleasure. Your hands roamed her body, pulling up her shirt and bra, squeezing her breasts and leaving bruising marks on her hips as you thrust in and out of her with a renewed vigor.

Yeojin's moans grew louder with each pump, her body moving in time with yours as if the two of you were one entity. The mirror reflected the passionate scene, the image of your bodies joined together in a primal dance of lust. You could see the marks on her ass from your slaps, the redness a stark contrast to her pale skin.

"Take it, slut," you grunted, pushing deeper into her. "You love it, don't you?"

Her only response was a whine of pleasure as she pushed back into you, her pussy swallowing you whole. The sight of her taking your cock so eagerly was more than you could handle, and your own orgasm was building again, a pressure building in your balls that threatened to consume you. Yeojin's eyes never left the mirror, watching as you claimed her again and again, her body trembling with each powerful stroke.

You tightened your grip slightly around Yeojin's neck, not enough to cause pain, but just enough to make her gasp and arch her back, pushing her breasts out even further.

"Look at yourself, Yeojin," you growled in her ear, your voice low and possessive. "So fucking dirty, taking it like a whore."

Her eyes met yours in the mirror, the fire in them igniting at the harsh words. The reflection showed her flushed cheeks and the desperate hunger in her gaze, her mouth open in a silent scream of pleasure.

"Am I?" she panted, her voice a challenge. "Is this what you want, oppa? For me to be your little slut?"

"Yes," you hissed, your thrusts growing more erratic. "This is what you're made for."

Her eyes grew darker, and she pushed back into you, her pussy clenching around your cock.

"Fuck me, then," she whispered. "Fuck me like I'm your dirty little whore."

The words sent a jolt of electricity through you, and you increased your pace, watching as your reflection in the mirror showed your hand wrapped around her neck, controlling her every move. Yeojin's eyes rolled back in her head, her moans growing louder as you both approached the edge of ecstasy once more.

"Cum for me, Yeojin," you ordered, your grip tightening just a bit more. "Cum like the filthy slut you are."

With a scream that was half pleasure, half submission, she did as you commanded, her body shaking with the force of her second climax as you continued to pound into her. The sound of your skin slapping against hers filled the room, echoing off the mirrored walls, a symphony of desire and dominance.

"Take my cum, greedy bitch!"

Yeojin's eyes widened in the mirror as she felt you pulse deep inside her, your seed filling her up once more. Her legs quivered and she bit her bottom lip to hold back another scream, her orgasm milking every last drop from you. Her pussy clenched around you, eager to keep you inside, but eventually you pulled out, your cock glistening with the evidence of her pleasure. She straightened up, panting heavily, her body still humming with the aftershocks of the intense experience.

Turning to face you, Yeojin's cheeks were flushed a deep shade of pink, and her eyes sparkled with a mix of satisfaction and hunger for more. She stepped closer, pressing her body against yours, her hands reaching up to tug at your shirt. "You're not done with me, are you, oppa?" she whispered, her voice a siren's call that you couldn't resist.

"Not a chance."

Your mouth claimed hers in a deep, possessive kiss, her arms wrapping around your neck as she melted into your embrace. The kiss grew more intense, your hands roaming her body, reacquainting themselves with every curve and contour. Yeojin's nails dug into your shoulders, her breath hitching as she felt your cock, now semi-hard, pressing against her stomach.

Without breaking the kiss, you hoisted Yeojin onto your waist, feeling her legs instinctively wrap around you. She locked her ankles together at the base of your spine, her thighs tightening as you supported her weight. The feel of her wetness against your abdomen was maddening, and you knew you couldn't resist much longer.

With one swift motion, you aligned your cock with her pussy and pushed back inside, her slickness making it easier than ever. Yeojin gasped into your mouth, her nails digging into your skin as you began to place her back on the mirrored wall, your movements now a slow, sensual grind against her. The feeling of her tight, warm channel surrounding you once more was intoxicating, and you couldn't help but moan against her lips.

"Fuck yes, give it to me, oppa!"

The stark contrast between your towering frame and her delicate, compact body was a visual feast that fueled your desire even more. With every slow, deliberate thrust, you felt like a conqueror claiming his prize, her tight pussy enveloping your cock like it was made just for you. Each time you pushed into her, she'd let out a soft moan, her body seemingly molding around your length as if she were a living sex doll, created solely for your pleasure.

Her breasts bounced with each collision of your hips against hers, her nipples hard and begging for attention. The sight of her, so small and vulnerable against your towering presence, was a turn-on that was impossible to ignore, making you want to go even deeper, to claim every inch of her as your own.

"Fuck me, fuck me, hnghh, fuck me!"

Yeojin's moans grew hoarse as she struggled to find her voice with every harsh bounce of her body against the cold, hard surface. Her sweat created a mesmerizing pattern on the glass, her ass cheeks slapping against it with a sound that was music to your ears. The sight of her tight, wet pussy clinging to your cock was almost too much to handle, and you felt your orgasm building once again.

"You're mine, Yeojin, my little whore," you murmur against her neck, feeling her shiver at the dirty words. "Cum with me. Give me your sweet release."

Her eyes glaze over with pleasure as she nods, her pussy contracting around you, eager to obey. "Yes, oppa, I'm yours," she whimpers. "Fill me up with your seed."

Your pace quickens, your hips snapping into a punishing rhythm that has Yeojin's body sliding up and down the mirror, her legs trembling with the effort to keep herself in place. "Look at us," you whisper, your voice hoarse with desire. "Look how perfectly we fit together."

"I'm going to cum," she gasps. "I'm going to cum all over oppa's big fucking cock."

The words push you over the edge, and with a final squeal, you bury yourself deep inside her, your cock pulsing as you fill her once again. Yeojin's orgasm hits her like a tidal wave, her nails scratching down your back as her body convulses with pleasure. Her juices dripping onto the floor and along your legs. The feeling of her pussy spasming around you sends you spiraling into your own climax, the intensity of the moment making stars dance in your vision.

Breathless and spent, you hold onto her, feeling the aftershocks of your shared pleasure echo through both of your bodies. The room is filled with the scent of sex and sweat, the mirror fogging up from the heat of your passion. You kiss her deeply, tasting the salt of her sweat and the sweetness of her mouth as the music plays on in the background.

The intensity of the moment had you both trembling, and you slowly lowered her to the floor, your legs giving out from the exertion. Yeojin's body melted into yours, her arms still wrapped around your neck as you kissed her deeply, the taste of her still lingering on your lips.

The coolness of the floor against your skin was a stark contrast to the fire that still raged within you both, but it was a welcome reprieve as you tried to catch your breath.

Your chests heaved in unison, your hearts pounding in a symphony of passion as the aftershocks of your shared climaxes faded away. The music continued to pulse around you, the bass vibrating through the floor and into your bodies as you held onto each other tightly, the silence between you speaking volumes about the connection you had just forged in this dance studio.

You two were a mess, sticky with sweat and the remnants of your passion, but you couldn't bring yourself to care.

Yeojin looked up at you, her eyes shimmering with a mix of satisfaction and awe, and whispered, "That was... incredible, oppa."

You couldn't agree more, Yeojin's words echoing the very thought in your mind. You stroked her sweat-soaked hair as she nests into your embrace. You press a gentle kiss to her forehead, the taste of her still lingering on your lips.

"We should get cleaned up before we leave."

She nods, a small smile playing on her lips as she opens her eyes, looking into yours with a newfound intimacy.

"But first," she says, her voice a ever so seductive, "just one more kiss." And as your lips meet in a kiss that's tender yet filled with promise of more to come.

The thought of the next dance session had you both grinning as you helped each other get dressed. Yeojin's eyes sparkled with mischief as she gave your now-softened cock a final, playful pat, whispering, "See you next time, my favorite dance partner." The promise in her voice had you hardening again, but you resisted, knowing that you'd have plenty of time to indulge in each other's company again soon.

#loona smut #loossemble smut #yeojin smut #kpop smut

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robbysreaders · 28 days ago

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pairing: jack abbot x f!reader word count: 2.1k notes: Another part to ex!reader and babydaddy!jack thanks to @whatdoesntkillyoumakesyoustrange's reply to part 3! Fits before the Prequel!

Jack Abbot does not want to be interviewed.

He’s made that clear to everyone — grumbling to Gloria, threatening Robby, muttering under his breath about “puff pieces” and “PR bullshit.” But he shows up anyway. Apparently, losing rock-paper-scissors and the thought of Gloria owing him a favor are enough to get him in the room.

He’s already five minutes late when he walks into the break room at Pittsburgh Trauma Medical Center, barely glancing your way.

“Dr. Abbot?” you ask, voice a little too bright.

He doesn’t answer right away — just finishes pouring his coffee. Then, deadpan: “That’s what the name tag says.”

You blink. Smile tight. Off to a great start.

You introduce yourself, give a quick rundown of the piece — community health spotlight, frontline ER coverage, equity in urban hospital settings.

“Yeah, I read the email,” he says, finally turning. He looks like hell: scrubs wrinkled, hair a mess, a twitching vein in his temple that suggests he’s running purely on caffeine and spite. But his eyes — sharp and unexpectedly curious — hold on you.

“Let’s get started?”

You pull out your notes and recorder, settling into the seat across from him.

“This is for a piece on how ER staff are adapting to systemic constraints in—”

He lifts a hand. “Please don’t say ‘in these trying times.’”

You smirk, hitting record.

Thirty-five minutes later, your recorder is full. Your notes are chaotic. And your opinion of Dr. Jack Abbot… has evolved.

He’s still kind of a dick. But he’s compelling — sharp, honest, surprisingly self-aware. He talks with his hands, voice softening when he mentions residents by name. There’s a story there. Probably a few. But every time you try to dig, he deflects with dry humor and pointed looks that feel more teasing than defensive.

You’re packing up when he clears his throat.

“So,” he says, “you get what you need?”

“Think so,” you reply. “Unless you want to give me a stirring quote about resilience. Maybe something involving a phoenix.”

He leans back, arms folded. “How about: ‘Most days I want to punch a wall, but we’re out of budget for drywall repair.’”

You laugh. “Wow. Poetry.”

“You asked.”

You hesitate. “Honestly, I expected you to be more…”

“Hostile?”

“I was going to say ‘buttoned-up.’ But sure. Hostile works.”

He smirks. “If you wanted polished, you should’ve interviewed Robby. But I lost rock-paper-scissors.”

“Lucky me.”

“Hmm,” he murmurs, voice low, “I think I’m the one whose luck is shifting.”

You sling your bag over your shoulder, suddenly aware of how close he still is.

“Well… thanks for the time. I know your shift was long.”

“Mm.” He doesn’t commit to gratitude — just watches you.

You hesitate. Then — against instinct — you reach into your bag and pull out a card. “Here’s my email. Just in case anything else comes to mind.”

He takes it, thumb brushing over the raised print. “Of course. Let me show you out.”

Two days later, Jack is in a mood.

“Who pissed in his Wheaties this morning?” a nurse mutters.

“He’s been like that since that hot journalist left,” another chimes in.

“Maybe he got rejected.”

“I didn’t get rejected,” Jack snaps, startling them. “I’m just a sleep-deprived idiot who washed her damn business card with my scrubs.”

“Oh my God,” someone groans. “She’s a journalist. Just look her up and make up a reason to email. Jesus.”

Your inbox pings.

Subject: Quote Clarification From: [email protected] I meant “systemic negligence” not “strategic indifference” in that part about state funding. Also, I never said “heroic.” Ever. Want to make that crystal clear. If you want to double-check the phrasing, I know a place with good fries and strong drinks. -Abbot

You stare at it. Then reread. Is he… asking you out?

God help you, you kind of hope he is.

You reply:

Sure. As long as you don’t try to rewrite your quotes mid-pint.

The bar is dim, divey, absolutely his pick — confirmed when the bartender greets him with, “You back already?” and your drinks hit the table before you sit down.

“You have a tab here?” you ask.

“I had a chair with my name on it,” he says. “Until they caught me revising journal drafts on my days off.”

You laugh. “Work-life balance going well, I see.”

“The fries help.”

He’s in jeans and a black T-shirt. Still rumpled, but clearly intentional. Hair pushed back, eyes clear. The difference is subtle. But it’s there.

“So,” he says. “Am I worse in print than in person?”

“Oh, definitely,” you tease. “But very quotable.”

“That a line you use on all your sources?”

“Only the ones who share their fries.”

You both reach for the same one. Fingers brush. His breath hitches.

The air shifts.

You fall into easy rhythm. He tells stories — the worst shift, the weirdest patient, the quiet things that don’t make the cut but still shape the job. You tell him about being locked in a janitor’s closet at a mayoral debate. By the time you finish your drinks, you’re both laughing more than talking.

Your knees knock under the table.

He glances down. Then up. “So… is this part of the fact-checking process?”

You tilt your head. “Would you prefer it was?”

“Depends,” he murmurs. “You gonna quote what I say next?”

You pause. Then: “Not unless it’s good.”

His eyes stay on you. Then he leans in.

“How about this?”

The kiss is quiet at first. Soft. Testing. But deepens fast — hands in your hair, thumb at your jaw, like he’s been thinking about this since the interview and just needed the excuse.

When he trails down your neck, you forget your name.

You’re still catching your breath when he mutters, “Too forward to ask if you want to get out of here?”

“Yes,” you say. “But I like forward.”

He grins, hand low on your back. “Fifteen minutes this way. If you don’t mind walking.”

“Lead the way.”

You wake up slowly — not to an alarm, but to the quiet shift of weight beside you. Sheets tangled, room faintly lit by the early gray of morning. For a moment, you don’t move. Just listen.

Jack’s already awake. You can feel it in the way his breath has steadied, his body warm and solid beside yours, one hand resting lightly at your waist like he forgot to move it.

Your voice is quiet. “You always up this early?”

“I don’t sleep well. Occupational hazard,” he murmurs.

You turn toward him. He’s propped on one elbow, hair a mess, shirtless, gaze already on you. There’s something cautious in it — like he doesn’t want to push too hard, too soon.

“You okay?” you ask.

He nods. “Yeah. You?”

“I think so.” A beat. “Little disappointed you didn’t try to sneak out. Would’ve made things easier.”

He smirks. “I thought about it. But then I realized, this is my house and I didn’t have anywhere to sneak off to.”

Your heart drops a bit “Oh shit, I spent the night. I don’t spend the night.” You try to get out of bed but his arm has you lightly locked in.

He watches your expression, then adds, voice lower, “I’m not in a rush. If that’s what you’re worried about.”

You search his face. “So what is this then?”

He shrugs, but it’s not dismissive. “Something I haven’t stopped thinking about since the break room.”

You huff a laugh. “God. I really thought you hated me.”

“I did,” he says. “For like the first two minutes. And then I realized you were just really fucking good at your job.”

You smile. “You know this is probably a bad idea, right?”

“Yeah,” he says, gaze lingering on your lips. “But not the worst one I’ve ever had.”

There’s a stillness between you. Not awkward. Just quiet.

From then on, you’re basically attached at the hip. Any free moment either of you has is spent together—or texting, though Jack is, hands down, the worst texter you've ever met. Half the time it’s just one-word replies. Sometimes emojis that don’t make sense. Once, a photo of a traffic cone with no context. But you find it weirdly charming.

Two months in, he invites you to grab breakfast after one of his night shifts. “Swing by the hospital,” he says. “We can walk from there. Just let them know you’re here for me, they’ll let you in.”

You’re nervous walking in. You’ve been here before, obviously—it’s how you met Jack—but it feels different now. Like meeting the family. And you haven’t even talked about labels.

But the moment he spots you, his whole face lights up. He cuts across the nurse’s station toward you without hesitation.

“Hi,” he says, giving you a quick kiss. “You haven’t been waiting long, have you?”

“No, no,” you murmur, caught off guard by the PDA, especially in his workplace. “Just got here.”

“Perfect.” He glances at a chart in his hand. “I just need to hand this off and then we’re good to go. Mind sitting here for a sec?”

He leads you to his desk, and it’s all so… Jack. A photo of him and a few Army buddies, a coffee-stained mug with a jackrabbit on it, a bumper sticker that reads Honk if you love amputees, and—tucked behind his monitor—your article, folded up like something worth saving.

You don’t even get a chance to sit fully before a couple of nurses wander over.

“That article you wrote? Incredible,” one of them says. “You really captured the systemic issues. We appreciate you shining a light on it in such a visible way.”

“Oh—it was an honor to be trusted with the story,” you reply, a little flustered. “You all do the hard work. I just hope it helps spark something.”

You feel Jack behind you before you hear him.

“You two done harassing my girl?” he teases, placing a hand on your shoulder.

You don’t miss the look exchanged between the nurses before they excuse themselves, already whispering as they disappear down the hall.

“Alright,” he says, tilting his head toward the exit. “Ready to go?”

“What, no grand tour? You were so rude the first time I was here—I didn’t get one then.”

He smirks. “Fine, whatever. Let me show you around.”

He takes you on a brisk loop, introducing you to a few of the names you've heard in passing—Santos, Samira, the guy who once threw out his back trying to do a TikTok challenge. Then a voice rings out:

“Abbot, leave. You were off fifteen minutes ago. Get out.”

You turn to see Robby, grinning, arms crossed.

Jack sighs. “Just showing a guest around before heading to the diner.”

“Ohhh,” Robby says, eyes narrowing.

“This is the Robby?” you ask, holding out a hand. “Nice to meet you. Thanks for being so good at rock-paper-scissors. I wouldn't have met this guy without you.”

Robby laughs. “Ah, the journalist. It’s about time. Great article, by the way.”

“Had some great sources,” you reply.

You leave the hospital together, walking a few blocks to a small diner. Once you’re settled in a booth and sipping coffee, you nudge his knee under the table.

“Demoted from ‘your girl’ to ‘a guest’ in a matter of minutes. Think I failed the family meet-and-greet.”

He groans, dragging a hand down his face. “Yeah, I’ve been panicking about that for the last twenty minutes. I froze. First time felt natural… saying it again, in front of Robby, just felt…presumptuous.”

“I didn’t mind,” you say, voice a little quiet. “We haven’t talked about it, but… I didn’t mind. I’m not seeing anyone else. Just… so you know.”

He looks at you, serious now. “Yeah. Me neither.”

You smile, tentative. “Good to know. I’m not really planning on seeing anyone else.”

“I sure hope not,” he says, then falters. “I, uh… don’t really want to keep doing this unless we’re exclusive. But if that’s not what you’re looking for, I—”

“Jack,” you interrupt, amused. “Are you asking me to be your girlfriend?”

He groans again. “You don’t have to make it sound like we’re in third grade.”

“Well, you’re kind of acting like it.”

“Okay, yes,” he says, finally meeting your eyes with a grin. “I’m asking. Officially. Want to be my girlfriend?”

You tilt your head, pretending to think. “Hmmm. Depends. Will you start texting like a normal person?”

“Not a chance.”

“Then yes,” you say. “But only because you’re cute.”

He laughs, reaches across the table to tangle his fingers with yours. “Deal.”

And just like that—without fireworks, without ceremony—you’re his. And he’s yours.

#jack abbot #jack abbott #jack abbot x reader #jack abbott x reader #the pitt drabble #the pitt imagine #dr. abbot #dr. abbot x reader #dr. abbott #dr. jack abbot #dr. jack abbott #dr. jack abbot x reader #dr. jack abbot x you #p attempts to start writing #ex!reader and babydaddy!jack

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rafeslvbug · 1 month ago

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introducing…. nfl!rafe

back to basics!! (physical)

height: 6”3/6”4, type of man to be considerably taller than you and use it to his advantage

build: 220lbs, biceps the size of your head, inverted triangle, lean yet muscular, elbows and knees always scarred despite wearing pads.

age: mid to late 20s, in the prime of his career (quarterback)

looks!! (specific)

tattoos/piercings: one ear pierced on a drunken night out after winning his first superbowl, tattoos scattered up his arms, important dates (your birthday, marriage, children, first and second superbowl)

signatures: always has his team’s cap, wearing it whichever way, it’s a must. doesn’t like jumpers, hates restriction on his arms, tanks and t-shirts are his go to - even in winter. might see him wearing a quarter zip, but the man’s a walking furnace. doesn’t wear his superbowl ring, has it on a chain around his neck instead.

personality

playful: very unserious with you, his son, his family - on the offseason only. the brief months of relaxation is the softest version of him. building forts. food fights. ball in the backyard.

strategic: does this for a living. how to visit each family member without them getting mad/jealous because he went to someone else first. how to get your son to be as good at football as him. how to get your daughter into sports. what order to do chores for the best outcomes - you don’t even understand half of it. watching tv? game of thrones? best believe he’s plotting how to get the iron throne.

protective: his life is in the spotlight, he’s faced stalkers, and paparazzi, hate crimes and people who would want to hurt his family. he’s always on high alert. he’s a designated full body shield when you guys go out, clutching his son’s hand and arm around you while you shield your daughter’s face from the flashes. even at home, away from anyone, he’s protective. no one says a bad word about you, no one hurts his kids at school, it’s the type of thing that makes his heart rate spike through the roof.

competitive: he won’t stand for sluggish behaviour from his teammates, he needs to win, needs to be the best. sports day hates to see him coming - his son does too. pressure on his son to be good at sports which you have to remind him isn’t everything so he eases back.

active: always training. always working. he can be jokey while on his offseason but that doesn’t mean his physique can lose itself. he’s in his prime, he’ll stay that way. if he’s done his exercise? he’ll fix stuff around the house, clean up, do basic chores and turn it into a sprint race, trying to tick them off the list as fast as he can (competitiveness) and then getting restless again. he’ll even make you go for a walk with him, or swing your daughter around in the backyard, maybe play ball with your son.

likes

energy drinks and protein bars. they’re his staple diet inbetween breaks and he can’t fault them, even if he crashes later on - at least it’ll be after the match.

when you cook for him. packed lunches with little sticky notes that he collects while he’s touring. hearty meals at home, daughter picking out all the carrots and giving it to him and son trying to match his eating pace.

reading bedtime stories to your daughter, and telling your son inspiring stories from his career. mundane stuff normal dads do. he likes feeling normal.

seeing you in the family box. respectful fans who love you as much as they love him. the way you run down to the pitch after a big match or even a loss, supporting him no matter what.

when you wear his jersey as pyjamas, lacy underwear underneath and hair all done like you’re going somewhere important. but you’re really only going into his arms.

dislikes

laziness. men on the pitch who give up because they think they’ve lost. they don’t lose until full time.

you receiving any ounce of disrespect from the media, family or kids. you’ve prioritised his career from the very start, supported him throughout, it’s his turn to prioritise you now.

players who cheat on their wives. it happens all the time, and it disgusts him. loyalty is everything.

family & people-specific hcs

you: met in high school, he didn’t go college to fulfil his dream and you went to uni, but graduated and didn’t work, starting a family with him.

– always tells you to work, encourages you to do what you want but you find it too difficult to do so with kids

– pet names for you: sweetheart/cheeks, gorgeous (flirty) baby, wifey & luck (when he’s got a big game)

– pet names for him: big guy (teasing manner), baby, handsome, ray

son: is a little tough on him, expectations to take care of his sister and respect his momma, but if his son knew how much rafe cried when he was first born.

– plays ball with him in the backyard, nurtured him into sports early on and is ever so proud of him.

– names: little man, son (instead of his name), football (because he carries him like one)

daughter: looks like you and he adores her. he might carry his son like a football and rough handle him, but he carries her like she’s gonna break. she’s three years younger than he brother, two years old.

– plays shop or dress up with her. will always attend her tea parties. takes photos of you and her while you’re baking or the first time she attends a match.

– names: little lady (matching her brother), sweet girl, sweetie

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astrologydray · 2 months ago

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Mercury Sign Intelligence Ranking (From Sharpest to Softest Thinkers)🧠✨

Note: Everyone has strengths in different kinds of intelligence (emotional, analytical, spatial, linguistic, etc.). Mercury in Pisces may write the most moving poetry. Mercury in Capricorn might write the best business plan.

1. Mercury in Gemini

Keyword: Mental Gymnastics

This is Mercury’s domicile, meaning it functions at full strength here. Sharp, witty, fast-talking, and excellent at multitasking. Absorbs trivia like a sponge. Thinks in hyperlinks.

2. Mercury in Virgo

Keyword: Precision

Also in domicile and exaltation. Analytical, detail-oriented, and mentally organized. Masters systems, edits flawlessly, and thrives on logic. Their brain is a high-speed filing cabinet.

3. Mercury in Aquarius

Keyword: Genius-Level Pattern Seeker

Independent thinker, visionary mind. Thinks ten steps ahead and outside the box. Often “ahead of their time” — the rebels and inventors of thought.

4. Mercury in Scorpio

Keyword: Psychological Sleuth

Obsessed with depth. Highly intuitive and investigative. Can detect lies, read minds, and process information beneath the surface. Strategic thinker with razor focus.

5. Mercury in Capricorn

Keyword: Strategic Planner

Thinks long-term. Practical, grounded, and goal-oriented. Absorbs knowledge through structure and discipline. Excellent at putting ideas into action.

6. Mercury in Libra

Keyword: Diplomatic Logic

Highly intelligent socially and verbally. They weigh perspectives and speak with poise. Great debaters, lawyers, and artists of articulation.

7. Mercury in Sagittarius

Keyword: Big Picture Thinker

Philosophical, adventurous, and open-minded. Not always detail-oriented, but sees overarching meaning and vision. Brilliant storytellers and educators.

8. Mercury in Aries

Keyword: Quick and Blunt

Snappy thinkers. Acts on impulse and trusts instinct. While not always reflective, they’re sharp, decisive, and quick-witted in arguments.

9. Mercury in Leo

Keyword: Creative Communicator

Thinks with flair and heart. Loves storytelling and spotlight communication. Not the most logical, but brilliant at inspiring and performing.

10. Mercury in Taurus

Keyword: Slow and Steady

Learns at their own pace. Strong memory and focused attention, but slower to process new ideas. Excellent at mastering one subject deeply.

11. Mercury in Cancer

Keyword: Emotional Intelligence

Learns through emotion and memory. Not always linear, but intuitive and empathetic thinkers. More subjective, but deeply wise in a nurturing way.

12. Mercury in Pisces

Keyword: Dream Logic

Highly creative, imaginative, and intuitive — but struggles with linear or rational processes. Their intelligence is spiritual, artistic, and symbolic rather than logical.

#astro notes #astrology #birth chart #astro observations #astro community #astrology observations #astrology community #astrology degrees #astro #astroblr #astrologyposts #astrology content #astrology aspects #astrology insights

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cressidagrey · 2 months ago

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That Kind of Love

We are interrupting our regularly scheduled programming to celebrate Oscar's 5th career win! (Is this now becoming a weekly thing? apparently.)

Pairing: Oscar Piastri x Felicity Leong-Piastri (Original Character)

Summary: The most attractive thing about Oscar Piastri wasn’t his appearance. Or his mind, even though he was brilliant. It’s the way he loves his daughter.

(divider thanks to @saradika-graphics )

Felicity has always thought Oscar Piastri was attractive.

Not in the loud, centre-of-the-room kind of way. Not the kind of beauty that turned heads or commands spotlights. He wasn’t fire. He wasn’t thunder.

He was gravity.

The steady kind. The pull-you-in kind. The quiet force that grounds everything in place.

Felicity always been drawn to precision, to stillness in motion.

Maybe that’s why Oscar had caught her attention in the first place: because he was quietly extraordinary.

She fell in love with his mind first — sharp, methodical, deceptively fast.

The kind of intelligence that doesn’t flaunt itself, just is. It’s in the way he studies data. The way he absorbed pressure like a sponge and never cracked, even when the world demanded noise.

Oscar didn’t dominate a room. He didn’t chase the spotlight. He just… did what he did. With focus. With grace. With an almost irritating level of control.

His voice — calm, low, always careful with his words. She learned early on that when Oscar spoke, it mattered. That he listened more than he talked. That silence, with him, was never empty.

And then… his hands.

God, his hands.

Not just the way they handle a steering wheel or adjust a headset. But the way they held her waist without thinking. The way they brush her cheek when she’s frowning at a spreadsheet. The way they fit against the small of her back when the world is too loud and he just knows she needs to breathe.

(He’s attractive when he’s angry, too — which was annoying. Because he didn’t yell. He just got cold. Sharp. Icy. Strategic. Like a scalpel — not a hammer. And somehow, that was worse. But also… god, it was hot.)

All of that was attractive.

All of it.

But none of it — none of it — compared to the way Oscar Piastri was a father.

It was the most breathtaking thing Felicity had ever seen.

When the house was still dim and soft with sleep, and Bee was snuggled under a fuzzy blanket, blinking up at her papa with the kind of trust only children gave freely.

Oscar sat on the living room rug, hair messy, hoodie inside-out, and a plastic hairbrush in one hand while Bee twisted in his lap like a kitten in slow motion.

He held the braid gently, patiently, letting Bee instruct him in quiet whispers: "Not too tight, Papa. I don’t want my brain to get squished."

And he nodded like it was a reasonable medical concern. "Right. No brain squishing. Got it."

Felicity watched from the doorway, one hand on her coffee mug, heart doing something completely unscientific in her chest.

Because that — that was the most attractive thing about Oscar Piastri.

It was the way he woke up before sunrise just to FaceTime Bee from a hotel room three time zones away because she “wanted to tell Papa about her new socks.”

It was the way he kept that lopsided bead bracelet on his wrist even during press conferences, even when stylists asked him to take it off. “It’s for focus,” he said. And it was.

The way he let her cover him in stickers and never complained.

The way he said, “You’re safe,” like it’s a promise he’ll burn the world to keep.

The way he crouched next to Bee at parks and built leaf piles with full F1 driver focus.

The way he always, always listened — like everything Bee says is important. Because to him, it is.

It was the way he packed Bee’s backpack for preschool, humming under his breath and double-checking the snacks.

It was how he never forgot the things Felicity hadn’t even meant to ask for.

It was how he showed up, over and over, again and again, for both of them.

No spotlight. No ceremony. Just presence.

Just love.

The most attractive thing about Oscar weren’t the podiums.

Nor the interviews or the way he could navigate a race track like he was part of it.

Not even the way he looked at Felicity like she was his home.

Not the way he looked in a race suit.

Not the wins.

Not the calm under pressure or the world-class reflexes.

It was the way he loved their daughter.

The way he became her world, every single time she reached out her arms and said, “Papa?”

The way he never made being a father look like a chore.

He never used the word babysitting.

Never “helped” like he was doing Felicity a favor.

He was there. Present. Committed. Gentle in a world that rewarded aggression.

The truth was simple.

Oscar Piastri was a good man. A brilliant man.

But the most devastating, beautiful, breathtakingly attractive thing he had ever become—

Was a father.

Her daughter’s father.

And there was nothing — no podium, no press quote, no perfect sector time — that would ever top that.

***

Bee was asleep upstairs.

The monitor was on. The dishes were done. The lights were low. And Oscar was shirtless.

Not in a flashy way. Not even intentionally.

Just shirtless in that stupid, casual way that made Felicity want to strangle and kiss him in equal measure.

He was folding laundry, wearing old sweatpants, hair still damp from Bee’s bath — because he had been the one who insisted on “princess shampoo and spa night,” complete with glittery bubbles and a towel crown.

Felicity stood in the doorway, arms folded, watching him fumble with a pair of Bee’s socks. One was missing. It always was.

He looked up and smiled — soft and familiar.

“Hey.”

Felicity leaned against the frame. “You’re ridiculous.”

Oscar arched a brow. “What did I do now?”

She crossed the room and took the sock from his hand, tossing it onto the pile. “You’re folding laundry shirtless and you still don’t realize how distracting that is?”

Oscar smirked. “Didn’t realize it was a crime.”

“It’s not,” she said, stepping closer. “It’s just... unfair.”

He dropped the towel he was folding. “Unfair?”

Felicity shrugged, biting the inside of her cheek. “Because you’re... everything. You’re a world-class driver, you’re brilliant, and calm, and stupidly good at folding our baby’s shirts, and somehow—somehow—you also look like this.” Her hand slid up his chest, slow. “And on top of all that, you’re Bee’s dad.”

Oscar blinked. “You say that like it’s a bonus.”

“No,” she whispered, “I say that like it’s the thing that wrecks me.”

He went very still.

“Watching you with her?” Felicity murmured. “How gentle you are. How patient. How proud. The way you let her wrap you around her little finger and you like it. That’s what gets me. That’s what makes me want to drag you into bed and remind you exactly who you belong to.”

Oscar’s jaw tightened — barely.

Then he dropped the towel completely.

In the next second, she was in his arms — his hands on her hips, her back hitting the edge of the couch as he kissed her like it was the first time. Like he needed it. Like she’d said the thing he didn’t know he was waiting to hear.

Felicity laughed against his mouth, breathless. “Easy, Oz. You’re going to wake the baby.”

Oscar kissed her harder. “She won’t wake up.”

She tangled her hands in his hair. “You are so—”

But he swallowed her next words with another kiss, hungry and warm and real, and suddenly they were teenagers again — messy and flushed and reckless, but this time with a house and a baby monitor and years of love built between them like scaffolding.

“God, you’re such a good dad,” she breathed against his mouth.

Oscar groaned. “That is such a weird thing to say while kissing me.”

“You know it’s working.”

He kissed her harder.He kissed her like she was air.

She kissed him like he was gravity.

#formula 1 #f1 fanfiction #formula 1 fanfiction #f1 smau #f1 x reader #formula 1 x reader #f1 grid x reader #f1 grid fanfiction #oscar piastri fanfic #oscar piastri #Oscar Piastri fic #oscar piastri x reader #oscar piastri imagine #op81 fic #op81 imagine

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crescenthistory · 6 months ago

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Haunt Me, Then

Pairing: Sirius Black x Reader

Synopsis: The Hunger Games AU; After your best friend miraculously won his games, you were never to see him again – until your last Reaping as an eligible citizen ends catastrophically for you and another one of your friends.

Words: 6.1k

Warnings/tags: fem!reader, us of y/n, Hunger Games typical warnings, grief, implied loss, heavy hurt/comfort, talk of death and poverty, Capitol Citizen!Bellatrix Lestrange, same for barty sorry, angst, some fluff, childhood best friends (to lovers), physical affection, unwanted physical touches, creepy Capitol behaviour, heavy disassociation, strategically used characters, background bsf!marylene, implied that sirius got the finnick odair treatment, nb! it's a thg au but not thg canon compliant (aka i make the rules here)

A/N: this is sooooo exciting to me. your district is only implied (district 7) in this one and there are a lot of purposefully unresolved threads 🌝 there's more to come, if you want it. and yes – the title is from the wuthering heights quote "you said i killed you – haunt me, then"

Part Two

You hated Reaping day for more reasons than most.

While no person, whether they are of eligible age or not, enjoyed being in that town square annually, watching the Capitol representatives clown away on stage as your heart and ears thundered with anticipatory fear, you were left with the biting pain of the past, present and future all at the same time.

Stood in a sea of people, feeling both as if you were drowning and had a spotlight shining on you, you feared for yourself. You writhed beneath the thought of how many times your name had gone into that bowl in an attempt at keeping your loved ones safe, you winced at the knowledge that it would be just the perfect karmic timing for you to have everything taken from you this one last time.

Clutching onto Mary’s trembling fingers with one hand and Marlene’s little sister, Mabel, with the other, you feared for your loved ones. Your makeshift found family now consisted of the McKinnons, the McDonalds, the Pettigrews and you – and you could not bear the thought of how many of you were jammed into the plaza today. Marlene and her older siblings had aged out, but you, Mary and Peter were still in for your last year. Your mouth ran dry at the thought of how many years Mabel and the McKinnon and Pettigrew boys had left. Children. They were all just children – the very reason why you all kept consistently placing your own name in over and over again, to keep them safe. While you could never decide if you trusted the legitimacy of the arrangement that you could covertly buy someone’s immunity by placing your name in more times, you also could never help but try each year.

Thus far, it had worked. Mabel had at least never been picked.

But then again, you knew of at least one person who was picked despite their supposed immunity. Odd how the guilt always forced your hand regardless; the risk was worth the potential reward.

You could feel Mabel’s breaths grow shuddering beside you, but could not bring yourself to look down at her. You just wrapped an arm around her shoulders and shoved away the doomsday feelings brewing within your chest.

You felt guilty for even fearing for yourself, because you knew well how out of everyone, your name was in there probably the least amount of times. Apart from buying the immunity of one of your friends’ siblings, you had never needed to buy anything with tickets of your name. You had been financially looked out for to a much larger degree than most could dream, and not had your hand forced. At first, the help came through the direct acts of kindness from your best friend, and then later, you would somehow just always find exactly what you needed. Whenever the Capitol increased ridiculous taxes that felt as if they were specifically designed to wring you dry, there would be a freshly opened position for you to apply for, a wad of cash found in one of the boxes you looked through, even a charity basket by your door that you would always pass on to the rowdy McKinnon home.

Part of you could hear his whispered promise to you whenever these blessings seemingly fell into your lap, but you pushed it down. It couldn’t be.

“I will always take care of you, princess”.

Above all else, being in the town square tore up your heart because you could only ever think of him. Of Sirius.

Of that day 5 years ago, when you had just started breathing normally after they called some girl’s name you did not know in the Reaping, only for your lungs to be ripped from you permanently at the sound of the reaped boy.

The second “Regulus Arcturus Black” boomed through the scratching speakers, your heart was shattered into a million pieces, never to be recovered, because it was followed up by a small yet firm: “I volunteer.”

When your head whipped to the side to witness your best friend in the whole world square himself against his inevitable death, you had found his sad grey eyes already fixed on you through the massive sea of bodies. You have no recollection of the sounds after that, but you know you were protesting, crying, trashing even, in the firm grip of Marlene as she forced you into a bear hug to stop you from trying to be a human shield for the one person you could not stomach losing. The sight of Sirius kissing Regulus’ head and squeezing Peter's arm before taking to the stage, shoulders squared and jaw lifted, already looking every bit like a child warrior, was burned into your retinas.

It took years before it was not the first image you saw whenever you closed your eyes. It still sometimes was.

That day, you had been certain your best friend was lost. When they let his loved ones bid him a quick goodbye in a solitary room after the ceremony, you had stood to the back with your hiccuping sobs, allowing Regulus the space you knew he needed. Marlene and Mary passed through, so did Peter, until it was just you left.

His parents did not show up.

While Sirius had kept up the facade with the others, his face crumbled when it met yours in your momentary privacy – save the Peacekeepers by the door. You had been hugging your front to keep from falling apart, but the second he slumped back against the desk and opened his arms for you, you were wrapped up in them.

At just 13 and 14 you were each other’s worlds. Grown up as neighbors, surviving just about everything together.

And it was because he was just 14 that you had no belief he could survive the games – at that point, no 14 year old had, and no matter how strong Sirius Black was, it took more than strength to break through that harrowing cycle.

Sirius had let his first few tears slip and fall into your hair, holding onto you for dear life. You can’t remember what you said anymore, just the way he smelled, just the way he held you and the murmurs he whispered into your skin as he swayed you.

“I’m sorry, I had to. You’re wonderful. I love you. You’ll be okay. I love you.”

You hoped to the gods you had said it back.

Though you did not know that then, you had been correct. Your best friend was lost that day – but he survived his games.

It had been a torturous few months, forced to see him paraded around like a piece of meat, only to suffer through one of the longest games anyone had seen. You had sworn you would not watch it, but could not resist taking a peek at a small screen you snuck into your bedroom, crying as you caressed his dirtied face that looked so void of the Sirius you knew. Sometimes he would find a nearby camera and stare into it as he fell asleep, almost as if he could actually see you, feel your touch. You hoped it comforted him; that thought had you returning to the screen almost every night. The only nights you didn’t were the ones where you and Regulus slept in the same bed to keep each other sane, tethered.

When you two eventually woke up to the news that he managed to outlast the final tribute overnight, you cried until you laughed only to laugh until you cried.

On the day of Sirius’ return, you had made everything ready; dusted his room, bought the ingredients for his favourite dessert, orchestrated for his parents to be elsewhere, planned what to say with Regulus, who was equally as teary. Except when the Capitol Carriage swept up by the entrance and you ran out to greet him, only Peacekeepers exited the carriage, forcing you to step back. The blinds of the carriage were shut.

You stumbled, entirely bewildered by the situation, sharing deeply concerned looks with Regulus. You had tried shouting for Sirius, you had tried asking the Peacekeepers, but you were left with nothing but silence.

While you were dumbfounded, Regulus grew agitated. With months worth of guilt piling up, it was easy work for them to bubble over into anger; he pushed past the Peacekeepers to try and bang on the wall of the carriage, yanking on the locked door handle. His screams of Sirius' name were cut off in an instant when the Head Peacekeeper slammed the back of his rifle against Regulus' neck. He lurched, tried to regain his footing, before he crumbled to the ground.

Acting more on instinct than anything else, you dragged him off to the side and held him tight to your chest, as if that would protect him. With an unconscious Regulus in your lap, you were forced to watch them carry down all of Sirius’ belongings, packed haphazardly in bags, and shove them into the back of the carriage.

It drove off without you ever even catching a glimpse of Sirius.

The next time you saw him was a few days later, on a broadcasted interview where he announced his permanent move to the Capitol. Clad in shining black clothes that could have fed the entirety of Districts 11 and 12, he had taken on the persona of the Casanova of the Capitol, the goading gladiator, the wicked victor. At just 14, he had made history.

The day after that, Regulus disappeared without any warning or trace.

All you had was a seemingly private note slipped beneath your pillow that said “Don’t go looking” – you never told anyone about it. No one seemed willing to talk about him either. You were left completely and utterly alone.

Grief settled into your veins, and you did the only thing you could: you settled into routine. Sweet, hard-working routine to keep your storms at bay until you had made some sort of life for yourself. With one job as a wooden toy carver and another as a wood sculptor, not to mention the dinner rotation at the McKinnons and the Pettigrews, you kept busy. You could pretend to forget.

Until you couldn’t. Each year when you were forced into that town square, the memories haunted you viciously, cruelly – taunting you with how little you understood, how much time had passed. Beneath it all, there was a simmering of the one emotion you never could get rid of in the grief and confusion; love. It was the singular thing that powered all within you, ranging from the determination to the resentment. Oh, how you loathed how much you loved and missed your Black brothers.

You felt Mabel jump beside you at the crackle of the sound system, as the new Capitol representatives got ready to commence the Reaping. You shared a quick glance with Mary, acknowledging how the younger girl had to be your priority right now.

“It’s alright, Bel,” you whispered, shifting to hold her tighter against your side. “That sound means it’s almost over. Soon we’re done.”

Mary squeezed your own hand in return, almost as if to say take your own advice. You smiled meekly at her, and she rewarded you for your efforts by momentarily placing her forehead on your shoulder.

The younger girl just buried herself into you and you sighed to make yourself softer. It was her second Reaping, which meant it was far from her last. You understood her fear well, but still, you wanted to quell it.

The further the representatives got into their speeches, the longer the same old video droned on for, the more you disappeared from the current moment. It was hard to differentiate between past and present in these few heavy minutes, so you preferred to be in neither, to float up and out of your body. The only thing grounding you was your two friends pressed up against you, and that was all you needed. Nothing they could say up there was of any meaning to you except those two harrowed names.

Sirius never attended the Reapings the way some of the other victors did. They would line up at the front, on occasion even make speeches themselves, but never Sirius. He had yet to be a mentor, but you knew that victors were supposed to have a meeting of sorts before each game, where one of them was selected for the year. You often found yourself wondering where that meeting took place, if it was at the Capitol or nearby, if you unknowingly were standing just a couple hundred metres from him where he waited backstage or on the train.

A part of you hoped to never find out. A part of you hoped to never be near him again.

Most of you knew that was a poisonous lie.

These were thoughts you promptly pushed away. They did you no good – it had been made clear to you that you were not to think of the noble victor Sirius Black anymore.

The muscles in your back tensed tighter, shoulders hiking higher and higher the longer into the speeches the Capitol representatives got. Knowing that a name was soon to be pulled, yet you kept yourself disconnected.

Almost over, almost over.

The sudden outburst of sound and emotion around you – cries of relief, gasps of shock, whispered reactions – alerted you to the fact that a name had been called.

However, it was Mary’s loud sob and her face turning towards yours with nothing short of horror written over it that told you it was someone you knew.

One glance up into her grieving eyes told you that no, it was– it was you.

After so many years of just barely dodging it, you had been reaped. You were reaped. You were reaped. If your thoughts mere moments before had been a cloud, dragging you up above the crowd, they now became an anchor, cementing your feet to the ground.

“Mary…” you began, but were cut off by a static crackle.

“Y/N L/N? Come now love, don’t be scared.” The glee and excitement in the Capitol woman’s voice was nauseating, but it did kick you into action – and everyone else around you too, as the crowd seemed to separate to form a physical beacon on where the three of you stood, pressed together.

Your body moved on instinct; it was as if you were possessed by Sirius’ memory, pulling Mabel's crying form against you and kissing her head much like he had done with Regulus, squeezing Mary’s shoulder with a tight-lipped smile much like he had done with Peter. Ignoring your heart and mind screaming through sobs and anger, you released yourself from both of their grips to walk down the metaphorical red carpet leading up towards the stage. Chin tilted up, face schooled into nothingness. Eyes burning at the lights that suddenly shone upon you, fighting to keep from squinting. Forcing the tremble away from your fingers by balling them up into fists as you began to ascend the steps to the stage.

“There we are, darling,” the male Capitol representative, who you had yet to bother learning the name of, essentially cooed at you, reaching out a hand for you to take.

You walked past it and assumed the position to the right of them both, staring emptily into the air.

He chuckled in a low, menacingly lilting tone. “Okay, well, we can see what kind of tribute we just selected, can’t we, Bella?”

“We sure can, Barty,” the woman, Bella, replied with a gleaming smile. “As for her comrade in arms…” she trailed off for dramatic effect before dipping her fingers with their ridiculously long and sharp nails down into the pot.

From a distance, it was easier to distort the sounds of their voices. Now up close, you couldn’t help but hear every word passing between the two representatives, no matter how loud the screaming in your own head was.

No. No, no, no, no.

“... Peter Pettigrew!” Bella shouted cheerily, with a screeching joy that all but punctured your eardrums.

No.

You squeezed your eyes shut from the first syllable, fighting the shaking taking over your body. Heavily, your shoulders slumped and your face began to fall at the revelation, before you scrambled for any and every piece of strength in your body to square up once again and face the literal sound of the music.

Deep breaths.

In the corner of your eye, you saw him climb the stairs to stand beside you. For only a brief second, you dared glance over, only to see the pure terror written all over Peter’s face, only to immediately regret it and whip your face forward again. You knew in your heart that you were not making it out of these games – and unlike with Sirius, the feeling settled like wings on your shoulders instead of rocks. If you were honest, you knew Peter would likely not either, but you could at least fight for him, in the hope that he would.

The man Bella had called Barty came up behind you both and placed a strikingly cold hand on your shoulders, twisting you to face one another. It was custom to shake hands with your fellow tribute, but for the Capitol representatives to lay hands on you like this was certainly not. You fought back the urge to shake it off.

“Now if the tributes may shake hands,” Barty said with a wicked grin, speaking loudly enough for the microphone a metre away to pick up on it – thus too loudly. “And may the odds be ever in your favour.”

Peter’s hand was trembling with such force that he could barely move it away from his body. With a quick sideway glance at the cameras, you reached forward to grab it, steadying it even as you shook it. Peter could not meet your gaze, and not a single part of you could hold it against him; you merely squeezed his hand reassuringly. That had to be enough for now.

As soon as you let go, Bella closed the Reaping Ceremony with a flourish.

You kept your chin elevated and your gaze empty as you began to move, lest it meet any of your friends and family in the many separated crowds. You weren’t sure if you would be able to keep it up if your eyes locked with Mary’s parents, with Peter’s brothers that he had to leave. Instead, you walked behind the walls with a pin straight back and let the Peacekeepers lead you through the townhouse, room after room, keeping all your emotions balled up. You signed some papers in one room, received a bag with a uniform in another. Finally you walked into the very same room that broke your heart 5 years ago, where your friends and family were already waiting.

The goodbyes were a flurry. Nothing felt real.

You hugged every one of the McKinnon siblings goodbye and nodded weakly when they begged that you would come back home to them, unable to make false promises verbally. The eldest, your Marlene, was the only one who did not plead; she grabbed each side of your face with a determined look and forced you to meet her eyes. “You will come home, Y/N. You will. I am not giving you a choice, you are making it back to us. Do you hear me?”

Even her, you could only spare a nod. But you listened and held her gaze through every word she spoke to make up for it, which seemed to be enough for now. Her hug was even more crushing now than when she kept you from running after Sirius and getting gunned down during his Reaping.

Mary had been silently crying through it all. When she hugged you, your collar was instantly wettened, and you could not help but wonder if this was how it felt for Sirius when you cried into him. You hoped it wasn’t, even as you knew it was.

When every cheek was kissed and every I love you uttered, you sized them up with a resolved gaze. You let it drag carefully over them all, committing them to memory, one last time.

Marlene could see what you were doing. With minimal movement, she shook her head – not admonishingly, but the correction was clear nonetheless. You will come back. You gave her a tight-lipped smile, and gave them all a final nod before exiting, allowing Peter to enter for his own goodbyes.

You stopped to say something to him, to hug him or give any reaction, but he scurried past you before you could. Even as you kept walking, your heart was sinking.

There was only one Peacekeeper waiting for you in the hallway.

“Where do I go now?” You hated how weak your voice sounded, but at least there were no cameras here to catch it this time.

“Mrs. Lestrange is waiting for you around the corner. She will take you to meet your mentor on the train.” Even in your shock, you were baffled by the extreme lack of emotion in his voice. It was almost like talking to a robot, except it had distinctly human eyes. You supposed that was something to get used to.

“Thank you,” you replied, unsure if that was a common custom with Peacekeepers. You were lucky enough in 7 that their presence was limited.

You heard Bella before you saw her, she was excitedly recapping the entire Reaping process to Barty, as if it did not just end and he wasn’t there for the whole thing. He didn't seem to mind; he was twirling around himself, as if your metaphorical dead body was his favourite meadow to frolic through. Her clapping hands and screeching voice made you sick to your stomach, but her eyes might as well be cameras in the court of public opinion, so you picked your facade back up.

“I was told you would take me to the train.” You interrupted one of her tirades, and when her head snapped towards you, there was a second of blazing fire in her expression before she realised that it was you – a new plaything. The glee set back into her within a second.

“Oh, this was the part I was the most excited about.” She smacked a kiss to Barty's cheek before grabbing your elbow to drag you away with her. You had to clench your teeth not to rip it away from her – these Capitol people were handsy. “It’s about time for a reunion, don’t ya’ think?”

You weren’t sure what she was saying most of the time, though you rarely were with Capitol people. Yet the pinching feeling in your stomach did not recede to make space for confusion, nor did your shoulders lower even a fraction.

There was a special entrance to the train that you could access through the townhouse, so that you would not be too swamped by onlookers. Bella was explaining the whole ordeal to you somehow, but as the metallic train came into view through the windows, the blood rushing through your head got louder and louder, even more so than her pitchy voice.

With this entrance, you only had to walk a meter unsheltered in the transition between the townhouse and the train. Shortly after the first gust of wind hit you was it again shut away as you stepped onto the metallic floorboards.

“Where are we going?” You found yourself asking Bella, unsure if she had already answered this or even if she was in the middle of a sentence.

She looked at you as if you were dumb, but it did not lessen her unnerving smile even a fraction nor stop her quick strides through the many corridors of the train. “Well, to meet your loverboy, duh.”

You stopped in the middle of a step, staring at her incredulously, unsure if you heard her correctly. A frustrated groan escaped her when she had to stop too, looking at you as if you were quite tedious. You knew who she must be referring to, but you had no idea why she would. At least like that.

“Am I not to meet with my potential mentors?” You tried to force any emotion out of your sentence.

“You’re being so silly, did you know that?” Bella took your arm once more, jostling you along with her. “Your mentor has already been decided, stupid. He’s waiting just over there, come on.”

You stumbled slightly in your step from how forcefully she dragged you. You were unsure if she even knew that she was gripping you as hard as she was, or if there was some serious disconnect between her mind and body.

She only let you go in favour of ripping open a rather large oak door and releasing an unnecessarily loud “ta dah!”.

The back you were met with was one you would have recognised in every life.

He stood hunched over a table, hands splayed out so wide they were shaking, black curls hanging messily in his face, breathing ragged. At the sound of Bella’s entrance and you being ushered in, he whipped around.

It was Sirius. Of course it was. Your heart wanted to say it was your Sirius, but you could clearly see that he wasn’t.

Though he looked different than he had on the occasional glance you stole of him onscreen, he still didn’t look the way you remembered either. No longer was he the scrawny boy you grew up with, the one you messed around in fields with, the one you read books with, the one you cried with and slept beside and walked beside and lived beside. Before you stood a weathered man, sharp in his handsomeness, pointed in every one of his features, guarded by an army of layers yet wearing more emotions than suited him. He had a few tattoos creeping up the side of his neck, the onyx ink shining in contrast to his pale skin.

The one thing that remained the same was the utter heartbreak spelled out in his eyes. It was the same as when you saw him last, only perhaps worse.

No, it was decidedly worse. When the stormy greys landed on your face, flitting about so rapidly that you were unsure how he could even see, lips parting ever so slightly, whatever tormented him settled in deeper. He looked inconsolable.

Sirius opened his mouth to say something, but closed it again. As if he didn’t know what to say, as if there were no words.

His attention was abruptly shifted over to Bella when she clapped her hands together in mirth. “Isn’t this exciting!” she exclaimed, looking back and forth between you. “Aren’t you going to hug in greeting? Aren’t you going to ki–”

“Bellatrix.” Sirius spoke through gritted teeth, all of his pain schooled away in favour of a burning fire when he faced her. His voice was so much deeper than you remembered, so much hoarser. “Get lost. This is a meeting between mentor and tribute.”

“Oh, this is hardly a meeting or classified in any way, Siri. Just–”

He cut her off once more. “I won’t tell you again.” He eyed her with a severe glare. “Leave us. Now.”

It looked like Bellatrix wanted to fight him on it, but after looking between you three more times, she evidently decided she had gotten enough out of this endeavour. “You’re too serious, Black,” she said with a giggle. “Don’t bite her face off, you dog, she needs it for the interviews.”

She seemed to all but float out of the room, but closed the door behind her with a loud bang. You kept your head craned sideways, eyes burning a hole through the door where she left, leering.

The silence in the room felt more deafening than the volume of the plaza had. You had no idea what to say – this was nothing like what you could have imagined.

You and Sirius, alone in a room. Something you had craved more than words could explain, but that you now backed away from with every fibre of your being.

“Princess.” Sirius breathed the word out like he had been choking on it. Before you had the time to turn your head fully back towards him, he had swept you up into a bone-crushing hug. “Y/N,” he whispered into your neck, almost reverently.

A minute ago you were walking down the hallways with an awful stranger, and now you were embraced by someone who, despite everything, was painfully known to you. It did not compute in your mind, everything was whirring and screeching, and unlike what he once could, Sirius did not quiet the noises.

He almost did, though. Just almost. With his arms around your back, fingers splaying around your ribs, with your nose shoved against his neck as he cradled you, his scent taking over your senses, you could almost fall into it. Could almost fall into him. Your Sirius.

He smelled the same.

You reared backwards out of his touch, back hitting the wall as you stumbled. Your eyes felt wide, almost like a cornered animal, your lips parted as you stared at him. You realised you were breathing heavily. If he was startled by you ripping away from him, his face didn’t show it.

Studying his face now gave you a wave of deja vu so strong, it almost made you dizzy. There was no way you could communicate anything effectively at the minute.

“Sirius, what the fuck?!”

You hadn’t meant for your voice to be so loud, but not even that drew a reaction from him. Kicking yourself off the wall, you walked past him – leaving a large amount of space between you – dragging your fingers through your hair as you did so. You began a sentence multiple times, but no coherent word came out. “Why are you here? What just happened?” you ended up whispering, feeling pathetic at how close to a whimper it was. “Who–” You stopped. That was a sentence you did not have it in you to complete.

Who are you?

When you turned around to face him, you found that he had followed after you, keeping a respectable distance but still within arm’s reach, as if he couldn’t allow you to get further than that. For the first time since you stepped into the town square, tears began to fight to well in your eyes. Sirius didn’t look away from them.

“I’m so sorry.” His voice was barely a whisper, insistent and imploring. “Y/N, I am so sorry.”

“For what?” You choked out, wrapping your arms around your stomach, not much unlike you had during his Reaping. Sirius’ gaze flitted down to your arms before moving back up, and it was as if you could see the memory playing across his irises.

He heaved a deep breath before rubbing his hands up and down his own face. When he lowered them, he gave you a look of defeat.

“I– let’s start over again,” he said then. He gave you a rueful smile. “Hi, princess.”

You looked at him, uncertain of whether you should start crying or laughing. You settled on a scowl in between. “I’m not sure you get to call me that anymore.” You looked away from his face as you said it, unwilling to see his reaction. “But sure. Hi, Sirius.”

When you dared a glance at him, he had his lips pressed together and a look of remorse in his eyes. You hated that you could still read him like this, for more than one reason.

“I was roughhoused onto the train last night. Told that I was to be the mentor of these games, whether I’d like to or not, no more information.” He said, as if that explained anything.

You couldn’t help the bite in your reply. “Am I meant to feel sorry for you? I was just given a death sentence. And now I have to face my ex best friend who I haven't seen in five years. This is some awful joke.”

This time you didn’t avert your gaze, the simmer within you for once bursting into a flame, however short-lived, and you got to witness how his face jerked backwards as if you had slapped him. In some way, you kind of had.

Your anger was not mirrored in his expression, but a form of determination took over his face as he spoke. “You weren’t. You weren’t.”

“What?” you asked dumbly, yet uncaring of sounding it.

Sirius stepped towards you, gingerly taking your hands into his own. His touch burned, the new awkwardness of the gesture burned. “You weren’t given a death sentence. I wasn’t and you weren’t. I bloody swear to you, Y/N, you will make it through these games.”

You couldn’t bring yourself to pull away from his touch, but you managed to at least not lean into it. There was a dangerous gloss coated over his grey eyes when you met them with your own, and for a second you got lost in them. Your voice cracked as you asked, “Why?”

Sirius let out a humourless laugh and suddenly brought you back into a hug, as if he just couldn’t help himself. Your hands were trapped between you in an embrace with one of his, but he rested his forehead against your temple and seemingly breathed you in.

“I am so, so sorry you have to ask that, princess. I’m so sorry, but I had to go.”

You shivered in his hold. These were words that you dreamed of – but had they not been nightmares? You shook your head but made no other move to remove yourself.

"It's been five years, you know? I'm not sure we even know each other at this point."

Sirius' answer was immediate. "I know you." He pressed his forehead firmer against you. "I know you."

The emotion in his voice rendered you speechless.

He pulled backwards without releasing you from the embrace, leaning away just enough to catch your gaze with his. It felt like the floor was giving way beneath you. His hand on your back travelled up to your cheek. “I'm sorry for it all. Always. And I’m sorry for calling you princess when you just asked me not to,” he added with a hint of the sheepish smile you once loved.

You opened and closed your mouth, absolutely dumbfounded, and he just stared at you patiently. Warmly. Desperately.

“Sirius–”

You were cut off by the door swinging open once more, causing Sirius to physically spring away from you, suddenly putting multiple metres between you at the sign of new guests. You almost stumbled at the change in positions, and you saw his hand twitch when he cast a glance your way, as if it ached to steady you.

“Now that the lovers have had their private greeting, maybe it’s time to include the other tribute in your strategies, Siri? Or are we just going to let itty bitty Peter die at the cornucopia?”

Bellatrix’s high pitched voice pierced through your ears, and you felt a mountain of guilt fall on top of you when your eyes fell on Peter cowering behind her, his eyes flitting wildly between you and Sirius. In your whirlwind of emotion, you had almost forgotten that he was as doomed as you were.

One glance to your right showed you that Sirius had no idea Peter had been reaped too. His brows furrowed and his lips fell into a decidedly downturned frown. “What– no, Pete,” he breathed out, arms falling to his sides.

“Hi, Sirius,” Peter squeaked, seemingly uncertain about what their dynamic was now, but relieved at at least being acknowledged.

Sirius stepped forward and physically nudged Bellatrix to the side as he pulled Peter in for his own hug. The sight stung in a way you couldn't communicate.

Over Sirius’ back, Bellatrix was grinning at you wickedly.

“Seems like you three have a conundrum or two to work through for us, don’t you?” Barty said cheerily as he emerged from behind Peter, clapping his hands down on his shoulders and making the younger boy jump in fear.

Bellatrix laughed as if that was just the funniest joke, and all but skipped up to you to tug at your cheek while turning to look at Sirius’ face that became increasingly stony at the sight of Bellatrix’s hands on you.

“Don’t you, Siri?” she pushed, giggling in a nearly maniacal manner. “Luckily, the Capitol is still far off. Gives you just loads of time to catch up, yeah?”

Part Two can be found here<3

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daportalpractitioner · 1 year ago

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leo degrees in the natal chart (5°, 17°, 29°)

5° = gifts that you are here to express passionately in the world. the inner child. carefree. independent. doesn't care what anyone thinks of them. child-like innocence before the corruption. very creative. entrepreneurial spirit. authenticity before the corruption. big dreams + visions. expansive imagination. hair is significant quality of the native. hot head. family person. fierce + protective. autoimmune disorders. lives from the heart. family favorite. playful + curious, similar to gemini. feels free to express honestly. use your heart as your compass and you'll never be strayed away. desires freedom yet doesn't know how to attain it. jack of all trades when it comes to hobbies.

17° = fame + the corruption that comes with it. cares too much about what people think. strategic with their generosity. wants everyone to like them. popular girl/guy. hyper-focused on romance. serial dater. love bomber. narcissistic tendencies. entitlement. impatient. natural spotlight. very sexy + attractive. it girl vibes. trendsetter. socialite. presence adds value to the atmosphere. knows how to command a room. interested/well versed in psychology. confidence issues stemming from childhood. traumatic relationship with parent(s). single parent household vibes. hypersexual. hook up culture. rejection wounds. crucifixion for being your true self (you can't please everybody). people will try to dim your light because not everyone can handle the sun. sheep behavior. don't stray away from your passions in order to appeal to others.

29° = eldest sibling syndrome. the example of who or who not to be. the only way you'll be fulfilled is if you live for you, not everyone else. choose the life you want — give yourself that autonomy. resurrection energy. the ultimate freedom of christ consciousness. artistic. life should be a pure reflection of the heart. heart is as light as a feather. strong connection to the spirit world + the dead. keep your heart healthy — get into some cardio. death is a common theme in this lifetime as one closes out many cycles. given the responsibility of ending certain cycles that hold the bloodline back. lover of children + could play a parental role, mentor, etc. chaotically concentrated energy of whatever sign this degree is in. use the energy of this sign to free yourself. iconic + legendary. talked about for many generations afterwards. extremely talented + well known for talent(s).

#daportalpractitioner #leo degrees #astrology observations #leo placements #astro observations #astrology #astro notes #astrology notes #astrology community #astrology predictions #astroblr #leo #degree theory #astro degrees #degrees in astrology #leo sun #leo moon #leo rising #spirituality

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obsidian-pages777 · 4 months ago

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How are you Winning in life and career in the Future? [Doechii themed reading]

Top Left to Right= 1->2, Bottom Left to Right= 3->4

Know how you are winning in your life and career in the upcoming future through this reading.

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Reading 1: The Powerhouse Success 🚀💰

You’re building an empire, whether it’s in business, media, or another high-achieving field. Your ambition is unmatched, and you’re seeing the rewards—financial abundance, industry recognition, and a reputation as someone who gets things done. You’ve mastered the art of networking, and people respect you for your strategic thinking and ability to turn ideas into reality. The competition is fierce, but you thrive under pressure. Your lifestyle reflects your success, whether that means luxury, freedom, or the ability to fund passion projects.

How You’re Winning: You're at the top of your game, setting trends and influencing others. Your Secret Weapon: A relentless work ethic combined with sharp intuition—you're always ten steps ahead. Potential Challenge: Burnout or losing personal fulfillment in the pursuit of success. Advice: Balance ambition with self-care to ensure long-term success and happiness.

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Reading 2: The Low-Key Winner 🌿🔮

You’re winning in life not because of money or fame, but because you’ve found peace. Your career may be unconventional or even slow-growing, but it’s exactly what you need. Maybe you’ve created a passive income stream, work remotely, or live a minimalist lifestyle. Success for you isn’t about external validation—it’s about personal fulfillment, doing work that aligns with your soul, and avoiding unnecessary stress. You might be deeply involved in creative or spiritual work, or simply living a life that allows you to wake up without dread.

How You’re Winning: You have inner peace, freedom, and a stress-free life that others envy. Your Secret Weapon: Prioritizing your well-being over societal expectations. Potential Challenge: Some people might not understand your choices or see them as "successful." Advice: Trust your path—you're building a life many dream of but never dare to pursue.

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Reading 3: The Resilient Hustler 🏆📈

Your success didn’t come easy by the time this win manifests. You’ve faced setbacks, challenges, and maybe even failures, but you’ve always found a way to bounce back. Your career path might be nonlinear—full of pivots, learning experiences, and moments where you had to reinvent yourself. But every challenge made you stronger, and now you’re finally reaping the rewards. You’ve developed resilience, problem-solving skills, and an unshakable belief in yourself. While others may have doubted you, you’ve proven that persistence pays off.

How You’re Winning: You turned struggles into stepping stones and are now thriving. Your Secret Weapon: An ability to adapt and never give up, no matter what. Potential Challenge: Staying patient when success is a slow build. Advice: Keep going—you’re closer than you think to reaching your biggest goals.

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Reading 4: The Hidden Genius 🧠🎭

You’re winning in life in the upcoming times because you’re brilliant at what you do, even if the world doesn’t fully recognize it yet. You might be in a niche field, working behind the scenes, or simply not interested in the spotlight. People who matter know your value—whether that’s a small but loyal audience, a company that relies on your expertise, or a creative work that will gain recognition long after its release. You’re playing the long game, and your impact might not be immediately obvious, but it will be lasting.

How You’re Winning: You have mastery in your field and are making a quiet but powerful impact. Your Secret Weapon: Depth of knowledge, originality, and the ability to think differently. Potential Challenge: Feeling overlooked or underappreciated at times. Advice: Keep honing your craft—your legacy will be undeniable in the long run.

#pick a photo #tarot reading #pick a card #pick a pile #pick a picture #pick a card reading #pick one #psychic readings #future life

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ild-rllrcstr · 30 days ago

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The Second Seat part 1

Lando Norris X You (female driver) / slight angst / 2.5K

part 2 / part 3 / part 4 / part 5

Summary You worked your way up to Formula One, contracted with McLaren, defying all odds. You play the team game: humble, strategic, and willing to follow orders, even if it means sacrificing podiums so Lando Norris can be the world champion. Every lap you sacrifice, every time you hold back, the world starts to doubt your talent. Lando sees it all. So he makes a choice: to give you the race, the recognition you deserve, and maybe his heart. You came for the drive, but you stayed for something more.

Warnings None A/N Thank you all for liking my work! I don't know how much parts this is going to be, I'm kind of going with the flow, there’s not yet a lot in part 1 but I promise it’s building the plot up! Let me know how you guys like it!

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The headline of you signing a contract with McLaren shocked everyone who watches F1. For most people paying attention, you are talented and often seen as a black horse rising from nowhere, winning karting competitions, all the way to champion of the F1 Academy in a very short time.

Two years ago when you won your first F1 academy champion, some media asked you about the possibility of you competing in F1, your respond were simply humble:

“I think if the door is finally open to us, there are also many my fellow Academy drivers that have more experiences and deserve to compete in F1.”

Turns out, you were more ready than anyone thought.

The year after that, you were signed for a year of testing during F1’s qualifying while still competing in the Academy. It had people making assumptions, but most media took it as a non-serious opportunity for you.

Being a female driver, you don’t really get to be taken as seriously as the male drivers. There were female drivers in the F1 history, but not in the modern era of F1. The doors existed but were never really considered.

You spent the year in the shadows of simulators and data sheets, growing into the shape of something undeniable. Quietly, relentlessly, you were preparing to become.

And McLaren noticed.

While other drivers posted ski trip selfies and yacht photos, you were at HQ, bent over telemetry graphs, simulator feedback, and car fittings with the engineers. You started to feel that the McLaren team wasn’t just trying to plug you into a role. It feels like they were building space around you. Not just putting you into a dubbed car of the main pilot.

Some said it’s a good image for the team, to be a pioneer, some took it as a big joke. But no matter what people said, you are here where you are. It has always been what you truly believed in. You saw the opportunity, thought it was the right thing to do, and you went with it.

At first, Lando was as curious as the public, but the more he saw you doing your work, the more his convinced about the team’s decision.

The first time you crossed paths more in private, he had popped into the sim room after a debrief. You were midway through another long test.

“Didn’t know vampires were on the team now,” he said, sipping whatever he was drinking. “Do you ever leave this building?”

You barely looked up. “Only to get blood. Want to offer yours so I don’t have to go through the effort of hunting?”

He chuckled. “Bit aggressive. You’ll fit in just fine.”

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The season kicked off with the showcase night. That was the first time you officially attended a McLaren public appearance since the news of your contract. You were presented at the table of the McLaren team. All eyes were on you, but you came prepared with a lot of PR training ahead of the event.

The night started with a red carpet, and you were dressed elegantly by your stylist. The goal is to strike a good image from day one.

Close to the end of the night, the McLaren team was under the spotlight, the media buzzed as you stepped into your race suit, white with subtle papaya-orange details, tailored perfectly.

You walked in front of the McLaren car with Lando. In contrast to you, he’s a natural, completely used to the crowds and how the media works in the world of F1. He quickly gave you an encouraging smile, making sure you were okay before the host came down with the CEO of McLaren, beginning with the interview.

“Earlier, when you were at the table, I thought we were at the Met Gala, the dress was absolutely fabulous,” the host joked. “Y/N, our very special rookie and the first female driver to compete in F1 this century, how does it feel to be in orange tonight?”

The whole room was silent, focusing on you.

You smirked, microphone in hand. “Thankfully, the suit’s mostly white. I’ve heard orange doesn’t go too well with my skintone .” You joked and hinted a bit at the criticisms you received since you signed with McLaren.

Lando let out a soft laugh beside you, and you felt the tension ease in your spine.

“Seriously though,” you continued, “I’m grateful for the team. We’ve been working very hard through the off-season to get me prepared, and I know there’s pressure, but I’m here to race. And hopefully,” your voice warmed with defiance, “not be the only woman on this stage for long.”

As the interview wrapped and you walked down beside Lando toward the car, he leaned in just enough to whisper, “You crushed that. They didn’t see the fangs.”

“Only the smile,” you replied, walking with your head high.

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You didn’t have much time to breathe after the showcase, because you hopped right on the plane the next day for the pre-season testing in Sahkir.

The attention only got more intense on you once you were in Sakhir, as the three days of testing, the world will see you properly driving in your own F1 car as an F1 driver.

You and Lando now shared track time, garage chatter, and endless data runs. The engineers called you “the sponge,” absorbing feedback faster than they could give it. Every day you arrived early, and most nights, you stayed late.

Your performance did not go unnoticed during the testing, as you were able to do pretty much the same number of laps during the testing as the other driver. You tried to test as many settings as possible, and the media responded quite positively to everyone’s relief.

“You make the rest of us look bad,” Lando joked one afternoon, catching you alone in the sim room again.

You shrugged, not breaking focus. “Then drive faster.”

He smirked but stayed. “You know... people keep asking me what it’s like having a female teammate.”

You paused. “And what do you say?”

“I say ‘teammate,’ full stop.” He gave a half-smile.

You didn’t say anything, but you didn’t need to. He got it.

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Australia quickly came.

Qualifying P9 wasn’t just a success, it was a statement. The paddock had to take you seriously now. Although some media still whispered: lucky run, soft tires, media hype. But you knew better.

On Sunday, you crossed the finish line in P5. Hands still tight on the wheel, your heart pounding not from nerves, but from the surrealness of it all. The first race. Your first race in F1. Call it a miracle, but you finished in the points, not just scraping by, but holding strong, making moves when they mattered, staying clean when it counted.

The radio cracked with cheers. Your race engineer's voice came through, shaky with excitement:

“That’s a P5, Y/N! Amazing work. We did it. You did it.”

You laughed, really laughed, for the first time all weekend.

“We did it, thank you! It was amazing,” you echoed, eyes flicking up at the fireworks bursting over the circuit.

And somewhere ahead of you, Lando crossed in P1.

You stumbled back into the paddock, soaked in sweat, aching and wired. Physically, you are still adapting to the intensity of F1. The rush of the race still buzzed in your blood, but your eyes were still scanning your own performance lap by lap in your head. The cheers for McLaren echoed around the garages, louder than usual.

When Lando finished his podium and press conference, he found you behind the McLaren motorhome, still holding his celebratory champagne bottle, mostly empty.

“Hey,” he said, pulling you in for a quick, sweaty hug. “P5 on your debut. That’s massive.”

You smiled, brushing a few damp strands of hair back. ��And congrats to you for the huge win!”

There wasn’t a trace of rivalry in the air, just mutual respect. You didn’t feel the pressure to match him, not yet. You knew your place in the team. Second seat, rookie, still learning. But even so, standing there beside a race winner in the same suit, there was pride. Not ego, just quiet pride. You belonged here.

“I’m just happy to have finished clean,” you admitted. “No contact, no chaos. I did everything we planned.”

“And more,” he said, nudging your shoulder. “You held off Carlos and Fernando for half the race. That’s not beginner stuff.”

You shrugged. “I still have a lot to learn. You made it look too easy out there.”

Lando smiled. “It wasn’t. But that’s the difference, you’ll get there. And trust me, it’s nice having a teammate who’s not trying to stab me in the back every session.”

You laughed. “Not yet.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Noted.”

There was a shared pause then, both of you looking out at the chaos of the post-race celebrations, team members hugging, photographers shouting, the McLaren orange shining under the spotlights.

“Come on. Let’s go get some food. You’re no good to us if you pass out from adrenaline.”

You followed him inside, a strange warmth blooming in your chest. Not pride. Not relief.

You didn’t feel the need to be first today. Today was about arrival. Not proving you were the best, just proving you were meant to be here.

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The little honeymoon feeling did not last long. Round 8, Monaco, where everyone’s busy partying, enjoying the luxurious and exciting vibe of the city. You are pacing in your driver’s room with telemetry sheets in your hands. Your heart is heavy.

A week ago, Imola was tough. You tried to gain more pace and positions, but the instructions you were receiving made you felt like they were just to ensure Lando’s pole-winning. Way earlier pit stops, being the rear gunner blocking the others behind, testing the setup and having the better result for Lando.

You know you are the second driver, but sometimes you are starting to feel like you are not being able to do your best because of it. Some strategies made you feel like you could’ve finished better to gain more points, but it’s always a priority to get Lando on the podium.

So many times, you almost broke down in your driver’s room or when you got back to the hotel.

One thing you are good at is putting on a smile for the team and for the media. You are getting really good at the whole PR thing, perhaps it has something to do with you being praised as an extraordinary actress when you did theatre class back when you were very young. Deep down, you know it’s not good for you, and sooner or later, you need to deal with that properly.

Before you know it, you’re on the track, 35 laps out of 78, rain is pouring over Monte Carlo, and the pit stop has been seen more in action due to the weather. Lando is still running P2, where he started, right behind Lewis. You are in P5, a position you earned yesterday in qualifying. You’re running on the fresh, wet tires, gaining in speed, while behind you, a line of eager drivers are gaining in fast, waiting for any gap to pass you. You’re pushing more to gain more distance and hopefully catch up with Hadjar, who is one second in front of you.

But your engineer’s voice came like the thunder of the rain,

“Y/N, we’re switching to plan C.”

“I’m not far from Hadjar, I think there’ll be an opportunity soon.”

“Y/N, need to switch to plan C now, Lando’s boxing.”

Lando’s boxing, of course, that’s why they are pulling plan C, they need you to stall the others to create a bigger gap, for him not to lose too much position for boxing.

Plan C wasn’t even discussed in the pre-racing brief, but it’s the given instruction, the team strategy, so you gripped harder onto the wheel and executed. You adjusted your brake balance, slowing just enough, delicately, subtly, but it hurts so much to see Hadjar distance away from that one-second gap.

Monaco doesn’t need aggressive defending. One car slightly off pace is enough to create a train. Stroll and Albon got visibly frustrated, their own races slipping into chaos as you executed the perfect plan C in McLaren’s strategy book. As Lewis boxed, Lando took the clean air and managed to come out of the pit before Lewis could pass him the lap after.

By the time you had to pit again in lap 50, the drivers behind overtook your position, leaving you coming back out and finishing Monaco in P9.

Lando finished P1, for him, it was champagne and headlines.

For you? P9, two points and one short official quote.

“It was a team race today, I just followed the instructions, they see the race with a bigger picture, I can’t from down there.”

The media speculated. Some praised your composed attitude and tactical skill, being calm about the situation, while some other drivers might’ve refused or snapped emotionally. Some questioned the fairness of the strategy at McLaren and whether it’s wise to sacrifice you for Lando to be the champion.

After the debrief, you quickly congratulated Lando and retired early to your hotel room while Lando was swarmed by the media and people wanting to celebrate with him. He only got a chance to quickly thank you, but you only smiled, a fake smile, too good of a fake smile, people might think you do not care about your own scoring this year. You were always expressing your gratitude to be in F1, but people think you're happy enough to just be here.

It was 10 P.M., the party of the night had just begun, but you’re not at all in the mood. You just wanted to sulk by yourself in your hardly lit hotel room.

The ringing of the hotel telephone took you by surprise.

“Miss Y/F/N, Mr. Norris requests to visit,” you sighed quietly, but agreed.

Hung up, you quickly dressed up a little, keeping up with the image. The knocking soon arrived at the door. You turned on the dim light near the entrance and opened the door.

“Hey, are you not coming?” Lando grinned softly at you, he’s all dressed up, obviously, he’s prepared for a big party.

“Where to?” you pulled a nice smile asking, knowing the answer, pretending to be oblivious.

“My party. Can’t party without my Plan C savoir.” He grinned even bigger, thinking about his win.

You couldn’t help but the corner of your smile crooked, and your smile faded a bit.

“Oh, I’m sorry, I’m a bit tired, I don’t want to poop the party. Probably need some rest tonight.”

“Ah,” Lando’s smile faded a bit, his eyebrows frowned a bit, and worry crept into his mind. But before he can continue, Carlos called and says they need him down in the club now.

“Go, have fun, don’t worry.” You took the chance of the call to pull back that energetic smile of yours, assuring the champion to go and have fun.

The hotel room was closed behind, you leaned to the door and slid down, tears streaming down your cheeks, you have your hand on ur mouth, muffling the sobbing, there’s no one in your room but you still unconsciously try to hide your crying.

On the other side of the door, Lando stood there staring at your closed door. He frowned. But the impatient Carlos kept ringing.

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#f1 x reader #f1 fanfic #f1 imagine #lando x reader #lando norris #lando x you #lando imagine #lando x y/n #lando fanfic

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sermalatenightsnack · 2 months ago

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You vs. Hawks: Who’s Japan’s Sweetheart, Really?

Episode 1

SUMMARY: What if there was another pro hero on the rise—just as fast, flirty, and fan-favorite as Hawks? You didn’t ask for the spotlight war, but now you’re in it. From a chance meeting behind a restaurant dumpster to joint missions and viral interviews, the world can’t stop watching Japan’s “favorite rivalry.” Too bad you’re starting to enjoy the game. TAGLINE: Fem!reader. Mentions of sexiual tension. Slow burn. Two rising stars. One too many cameras. And absolutely no rivalry feelings whatsoever.

Based on this blurb

A small drabble before you met him here

Unfinished series!

A/N first time writing a series. And editing on tumbler is a pain.

An overly televised disaster waiting to happen.

You never meant to become a household name. Not really. Not in the way that came with hashtags, interviews, or limited-edition soda cans with your face on them.

But somewhere between that rescue in Shibuya and the time you called Hawks “Featherboy” live on national television, you became the headline.

And unfortunately for you, so did he.

The Pro Hero scene was never quiet, but ever since you showed up, it’s been chaos. Not villain-related chaos---PR chaos. Tabloids live for it. Paparazzi stalk rooftops just to catch one of your now-famous aerial tag matches. The internet has been divided into two camps:

#Team(Hero Name) — “They’re hot, unbothered, and can do a perfect barrel roll in three-inch platform boots.”

#TeamHawks — “He’s iconic, strategic, and literally saved Japan. Let’s not forget the wings, people.”

#(Hero Name)hawksTruthers — “Just kiss already.”

Your agency says you’re good for each other’s image. You call it “brand beef.” Hawks calls it “free entertainment.”

And today, like clockwork, you land next to him on top of a burning building with a sigh.

“Don’t tell me you were waiting for me,” you say, brushing soot off your sleeve.

He grins. “Wouldn’t dream of stealing your spotlight.”

“You couldn’t if you tried.”

“Oh? Then what do you call this?” He gestures to the hovering drones, all centered on the two of you like it’s a red carpet and not, you know, a potential hostage situation.

You smirk. “I call it Tuesday.”

[SMASH CUT TO: A neon-lit studio set with a spinning title card]

“WHO’S WINNING THE (HERO NAME) VS HAWKS RIVALRY?”

~~~An Exclusive HeroWatch! Segment (Now in 4K UltraDrama)

[Cue dramatic music: overproduced strings and fake wind FX]

[Clips play rapid-fire: you diving off a skyscraper mid-rescue, Hawks laughing on a late-night show, the two of you shoulder-bumping post-mission like it was nothing.]

[Cut to: a host with aggressively styled hair and too much eyeliner.]

HOST (grinning at the camera):

“Two top pros. One public stage. Endless sexual tension---I mean rivalry. We asked you, the people, whose side you're on!”

[Insert “Street Interviews” section. Microphone, shaky camera, chaos.]

INTERVIEWEE 1 (teen with glitter stickers on their cheeks):

“(Hero Name)’s literally my role model. They once did a double corkscrew flip just to grab a kitten off a ledge. Hawks could never.”

INTERVIEWEE 2 (older man in a hawks hoodie):

“Hawks is practical. Sharp. Efficient. (Hero Name)’s cool, sure, but they do too much sometimes. Gotta reel it in.”

INTERVIEWEE 3 (couple sharing one hawks/skyline-themed umbrella):

“We love them both, but let’s be real---those two are flirting. Right? Like, it’s not just us, right???”

[Cut back to studio. Dramatic spin on the host’s chair.]

HOST (leaning forward like this is serious journalism):

“HeroWatch polls show a 50/50 split---nationwide. The tension’s high. The fans are louder than ever. And with another joint mission scheduled next week...”

[Cue ominous thunder sound effect]

HOST (grinning wide):

“...someone’s feathers are gonna get ruffled.”

[Roll credits. Blurry freeze-frame of you and Hawks dodging debris, mid-sassy banter.]

...

You were in your apartment. Dim lighting. A half-empty takeout box that sat on your lap as the TV plays a little too loud in the background.

You didn’t mean to watch it.

In fact, you were planning to ignore it entirely. Just like you ignored the trending hashtags, the fan art, the shipping threads, the conspiracy theories about your “lingering stares,” and the video essay titled “Why Hawks and (Hero Name) Are the Next Great Rivalry/Enemies-to-Lovers Arc” that had over 2 million views.

But the second your name dropped in the ad break--“Next up: Why Japan can’t choose between (Hero Name) and Hawks!”--you froze mid-bite and instinctively hit the volume.

And now you're here. Slumped on your couch, squinting at your TV in exhausted disbelief as glittery-eyed teenagers argue over your combat flips and some dude in a Hawks hoodie says you're "too much."

What the hell is this.

You cover your face with one hand, fingers dragging down over your mouth, and exhale a slow, bone-deep sigh.

How did it get this far?

Seriously. How.

Your mind flickers back---past the screaming headlines, the fanbase wars, the constant speculation---to the moment this entire circus began. Not in a battlefield. Not in a press conference. But behind a dumpy soba restaurant with a broken neon sign.

You remember it too clearly.

One year ago. Night. Rain. You’re walking home after patrol, minding your business.

It was supposed to be a quiet detour. Just you, your umbrella, and the sound of wet gravel under your boots.

And then you heard it. Rustling. Cursing. Muffled grunts.

You paused, narrowed your eyes down the alleyway beside the soba shop. A pair of wings---red, twitching midair. “Whoever” they belonged to was halfway into a garbage bin, legs kicking wildly like an overturned turtle.

You tilted your head.

“…Hey,” you called, cautious. “You alright?”

No answer.

“Do you need help?” you tried again. “Or are you... trading drugs in there?”

The person froze.

Then---WHUMP.

A head popped out. Feathered blond hair, ruffled and speckled with rice grains. Wide amber eyes blinking at you. A noodle stuck to his cheek.

You blinked back.

“…You’re not homeless, are you?” you asked.

He grinned, upside-down. “Nah. Just forgot my phone.”

You stared at him. Then at the bin. Then at him again.

“Your phone,” you repeated slowly. “In the trash.”

“Yep. Dropped it in while tossing leftovers. Pretty dumb, huh?”

That was the first time you saw him in person. Pro Hero #2. Elbow-deep in soup-stained napkins and laughing like this wasn’t the most ridiculous introduction imaginable.

You couldn’t stop thinking about it for days.

But in the moment you’d be lying if you said you weren’t a little thrown.

Not because it was Hawks---though yeah, Hawks. Pro Hero #2. The walking, talking soundbite machine with feathers and fame on his side.

No, what got you was how you met him.

Not at a press event. Not during some high-octane hero team-up. No slow-mo action sequence, no cameras, no scripted “Hey, aren’t you---?” moment.

Just you. And him. And a dumpster.

And the second that spiky mop of blonde hair popped out of the trash, you had a choice to make.

Drop the act---or double down.

You picked the latter, obviously.

Because your public image? The easy smiles, unbothered, cool-in-every-storm type? That had taken work. You had fans who’d never seen you sweat, who praised your every witty comeback and gravity-defying save. You couldn’t just stutter in front of the nation’s golden boy because he happened to be rummaging for his phone behind a soba shop.

So you leaned a hip against the wall, arms crossed, gave him a half-lidded stare like he wasn’t half-covered in pickled ginger.

“…You usually go dumpster diving on your nights off?” you asked, tone smooth like you'd planned the question three days in advance.

He looked up at you, eyes glinting, mouth curved. “Only on Mondays. Tuesdays are for alley yoga.”

You snorted. Couldn’t help it.

“So you are Hawks.”

He hopped out like it was nothing, brushed some seaweed off his jacket, and gave you that exact smirk you'd seen a hundred times in interviews. “Guilty. And you’re (Hero Name), right? The fans think we’d look good together.”

That---that---he just went straight to the point... Huh.

You barely managed a shrug. “Haven’t even bought me dinner.”

His eyes crinkled, amused. “Soba counts, if you don’t mind it reheated.”

You played it off with a scoff and a casual look away, pretending like you're not just now realising how much he wasn't just just like you...He was just like you---too much like you. The jokes was like meeting a mirror you weren’t sure you wanted to look into.

But that was the game, right? Keep the mask on. Keep it smooth. Never let them see you break.

Even when they catch you off guard behind a restaurant and toss your whole online persona into the trash with a wink and a noodle on their face.

You stayed leaning on the wall, playing around with what words to say next in your head‚ though your mind was already backtracking to what he just said---“The fans think we’d look good together.” Did he just open with that? No hello? No preamble?

You glanced him up and down, from the noodle on his shoulder to the way his wings rustled behind him like they had their own amused rhythm.

“Didn’t think you were the type to check your QRTs,” you said, arching a brow.

“I’m not,” he replied, flashing a grin that was just a little too satisfied. “But my agency is. They keep a whole folder. HeroWatch calls it ‘The Flirt Wars.’ You’ve got good numbers.”

You exhaled sharply, somewhere between a laugh and a scoff. “You’re kidding.”

“Dead serious. You’ve got better reaction stats than I do. Stronger pull with the 18–24 crowd.”

He said it like he was proud of you. Like this was some kind of twisted influencer competition and you’d just unlocked a new tier.

You tilted your head. “So what, you track me down behind a soba place to... what? Compare analytics?”

He shrugged. “I was hungry. You were here. Felt like fate.”

“Right,” you muttered. “Fate with a side of trash juice.”

Hawks snorted and finally started fixing himself up, flicking rice grains off his gloves and straightening the straps of his jacket like he hadn’t just been neck-deep in restaurant garbage. “You’re shorter than I thought.”

You blinked. “Excuse me?”

He gestured lazily with one wing. “You come off taller online. More... towering menace with killer cheekbones. Reality’s got softer edges.”

You raised an eyebrow. “That your way of flirting, or just a weird insult?”

“Why not both?”

And there he flashed a grin---that grin. The kind that made it feel like you were the one being toyed with, like you were a punchline he already knew the end to.

But two could play that game.

You pushed off the wall and took a slow step forward, letting your eyes trail over him with deliberate cool. “You’re louder in person,” you said. “Thought you’d be more mysterious. Y’know, brooding. Aloof. Not... elbow-deep in someone’s leftover lunch.”

He laughed---really laughed this time, head tipping back. “Guess we both break expectations, huh?”

You paused, lips twitching despite yourself.

“…Yeah,” you murmured. “Guess we do.”

For a second, neither of you said anything. The hum of a nearby streetlamp buzzed overhead. A cat knocked over a can in the distance. Hawks was still watching you, eyes sharp behind that easy smile, wings settling in a little closer like he wasn’t planning on leaving anytime soon.

You crossed your arms again, fighting back the urge to actually consider this interaction as anything meaningful.

“So,” you said slowly, “you stalking me now, or is this just a trashy coincidence?”

He smirked. “Wouldn’t you like to know.”

Dang.

Ahem.

You rolled your eyes---just enough to let him see it, but not enough to give him full satisfaction.

“I’ll take that as a yes,” you muttered, brushing past him, casual, as if this whole encounter hadn’t gotten under your skin.

You half-expected him to let you walk off with the last word. But no.

Of course not.

“Hey,” he called behind you.

You stopped, only slightly.

“What.”

There was a pause---just long enough for the silence to bite a little.

Then:

“You’ve got a leaf in your hair. And uh… soy sauce on your elbow.”

You turned fully, ready to argue---deny it, ignore it, anything---but the he just looked at you like he’d already memorized your microexpressions and was ready to catalog every single one‚ made you rethink.

Your eyes slid his way, neutral.

“Alright. Thanks.”

Flat-toned acknowledgment.

You didn’t reach for your hair. Didn’t check your elbow. Just stood there, steady.

His eyes narrowed slightly---curious, amused---but you caught it. That tiny twitch in his mouth, like he hadn’t expected that response.

“I get people pointing things out all the time,” you added, flicking a hand lazily. “Stains, threads, food on my face---y’know, the classics. So now I just say thanks.”

You glanced at him, letting it land.

“And don’t fix it?”

“Nope.”

That got him. A low chuckle rumbled out of his chest, and he nodded slowly like he’d just found another reason to be entertained by you.

“Well, (Hero Name), this was fun.”

And then---with the gall of someone who knew exactly what they were doing---he gave you a two-finger salute‚ turned on his heel with the kind of careless grace that only came from annoying amounts of self-confidence. Wings stretching, streetlight catching on the edges, and he was gone---vanishing around the corner like you’d imagined him.

Disappeared like this had been just another Tuesday night errand.

Like he hadn’t just tossed your night into a blender and strutted off with the lid.

You stood there a moment longer.

Still not brushing the leaf out of your hair.

What the hell just happened?

At first, you hadn’t even planned on it being a rivalry.

You’d just wanted to one-up him.

Maybe the next time you ran into Hawks, you’d be the cool one. Unflinching. Dismissive. You’d say something smart---subtle but scathing---and he’d finally be the one left blinking, stuck with a leaf in his hair.

But then he started showing up.

Everywhere.

You brushed it off the first time. The second, you gave it a little side-eye. But by the fourth unexpected run-in---at a charity event, a late patrol, a live-streamed PSA---it was getting suspicious.

And before you knew it, Hawks had become something of an occupational hazard.

There he was: in the corner of your interviews, hovering at joint patrols, clipped into your comms like it was the most natural thing in the world. You didn’t invite him---PR did, apparently. “Shared air time” and “opposing charm points” and other buzzwords that meant ratings.

You didn’t mind the spotlight. You’d just rather not share it with someone who had the audacity to leave you standing with a leaf in your hair and soy sauce on your elbow.

So when he swooped into formation beside you mid-air and mid-mission---smug, composed, like he belonged---you didn’t flinch.

You turned just enough to meet his gaze, flashing him the same easygoing grin you wore on livestreams and magazine covers.

“Well,” you said, voice smooth, “look who’s following my lead.”

He gave you that two-beat laugh, head tilting like he was delighted you were playing back.

“Figured you’d want backup,” he said, as if you hadn’t handled six solo ops this month without blinking.

“Oh, how thoughtful.” You glanced down toward the van below, then back at him. “You bring backup for everyone, or am I just lucky?”

“You,” Hawks said, effortlessly, “are many things. But no one’s ever called you lucky.”

“Not to my face,” you shot back.

His grin widened. A challenge. You let the wind ruffle through your hair as you banked slightly ahead of him---just a bit---like you were carving out the lead.

“Keep up, Feathers. I’ve got a reputation to uphold.”

He chuckled behind you. “And here I thought I was the cocky one.”

You smirked, not bothering to look back.

But unfortunately (not)‚ that wasn't the end of it.

Back to present:

You're on your couch. TV now playing a slowed-down clip of you and Hawks laughing mid-mission with sparkles added in post.

You sink deeper into the cushions, biting the inside of your cheek. You knew the media would twist things, but this? This was peak nonsense. (But kinda funny too)

You and Hawks weren’t even rivals at first. You were just trying to mind your own business while he kept showing up at your patrol zones like some cryptid in aviators. Then the missions started. Then the banter. Then the banter during missions. Then the one time you both tried to stop a jewel thief and ended up accidentally crashing a wedding.

You didn’t ask for a public rivalry. You were just trying to do your job.

But now? Now it’s you vs. him in the public eye. Fans drawing you like lovers. Kids calling you the “Birdbrain Duo.” HeroWatch running full-length segments debating your aerial dynamics and emotional chemistry.

You grab the remote, mute the TV, and stare at your own frozen image on screen---smirking at Hawks in the middle of a burning hallway, like you're having the time of your life.

And, okay... maybe you kind of were.

But that’s not the point.

“…This is getting out of hand,” you mutter into the silence.

And somewhere---inevitably---your phone buzzes.

It’s from Hawks.

[Hawks:] U watching HeroWatch? They gave you my jawline. Kinda rude tbh.

You stare at his message.

Your lips tug upward, slow.

You move to type with one hand, casual.

[You:] Must’ve been the lighting. Or maybe they just think I wear it better.

The typing bubble pops up almost immediately. Predictable.

[Hawks:] Oof. A hit to the jawline and the ego? Cold.

You let the silence hang for a beat too long before replying. Let him stew. Then:

[You:] I thought you liked cold. Isn’t that why you keep flying next to me lately?

Pause. Beat.

[Hawks:] …Touché.

[You:] Don’t get soft on me now, angel.

You swear you can feel him stopping in the air wherever he is.

[Hawks:] Angel??

You pop another bite of your cold takeout.

[You:] Too much? Thought we were both fanservice now.

Silence.

Still nothing.

You smirk wider, toss your phone on the table, and lean back into the couch. You don’t need the last word. You already won this round.

And besides---he’ll come flying back for more. They always do.

Especially the pretty ones with too many feathers and too much airtime.

Your phone hasn't buzzed again. Not yet.

You glance at it---just once---out of the corner of your eye like it might buzz the moment you look away. But it doesn’t. Just your own reflection in the black screen, faint and smirking a little too wide.

God, this is fun.

You stretch, slow and satisfied, kicking your legs up over the arm of the couch and letting your takeout box tip just slightly. The scent of lukewarm curry clings to the room, the volume from the muted TV flickering across your face in flashes of fan-edited chaos. The screen is still frozen on that frame---your face tilted toward Hawks mid-mission, expression amused, his own caught in that half-laugh, half-glare thing he does when he knows he’s been baited.

They captured it so well, you almost want to applaud.

Almost.

Instead, you scroll. The ship tags are exploding. Your name paired with his in increasingly unhinged combinations, fan cams stitched together like a love story. There's even a slowed-down audio clip of your last mission---your voice layered over his, syncopated like a duet.

You shake your head. It’s not that you don’t get it. You just never asked for it.

No, he started this.

Well---okay. That’s not fair. Technically, he was just being his usual breezy, too-charming self, and you… may have fed into it. Just a little. Just to see what he’d do.

And now?

Now he's texting you like this is a game you both agreed to. Like there are rules.

You roll your neck back against the couch cushion and stare at the ceiling.

It wasn’t personal before. Just a weird coincidence. A few overlapping patrols. A trash bin. Some chemistry, maybe. But now? Now he’s on your turf. Casually leaning into your airspace. Cracking jokes like the two of you are synced-up sidekicks.

You narrow your eyes at nothing in particular.

He’s in your missions, your mentions, your hashtags. Your spotlight. And what’s worse? You don’t hate it.

Though you kinda wanna mess with the script. Have him flustered mid-flight. Or have him making the headlines about your “undeniable chemistry.” have every viewer pausing the playback wondering how Hawks got played so smoothly by someone who never even raised their voice.

Yeah, you'll totally do that.

Your phone buzzes again.

[Hawks:] U free tomorrow? Got a joint mission briefing. Thought we could ��sync our energies” or whatever PR likes to say.

You pick up the phone, type:

[You:] Only if you’re ready to get out-charmed.

Send.

You’re still staring at your phone.

The screen lights up again, and you catch it just in time---the typing bubble flickers to life, disappears, then reappears like it’s debating with itself. You squint, thumb already twitching toward the screen.

Then the message lands.

[Hawks:] btw, after the mission---u wanna grab food or something? Like, real food. No more trash dives. I'm evolving.

You stare.

Your brain---bless its tired, overworked circuits---lags for a second.

Huh?

You read it again. And again. And… yeah, it’s still there.

Dinner. He asked you to dinner.

HAWKS asked you to dinner.

You blink slowly, then narrow your eyes like the message might morph into something else if you glare hard enough.

This has to be a trap.

You never---never---thought he’d be the one to ask first. Not because you thought he wasn’t bold enough (he’s too bold, actually), but because he’s too proud. Too annoyingly smug. Always toeing the line of flirtation like it’s a performance, always acting like he’s got it handled. That man practically oozes control over every situation.

So why… this?

Why now?

Your brain launches into damage assessment mode.

Is this a PR stunt? Did his managers tell him to do this for engagement? Is this for some HeroWatch segment called “Rivals Try Pasta”?

You imagine sitting across from him under suspiciously perfect lighting, camera flashes going off, and some blogger captioning it ‘Rivals. Lovers? We Investigate.’

You grimace. What if there will be paparazzi?

Or maybe he’s just being nice. Or... professional. This could be a hero thing, right? Just two coworkers grabbing a bite. Totally neutral. Totally platonic. Totally not--

No, who are you kidding. You saw the way he typed that.

“I’m evolving”?

Is this supposed to be flirtatious? Ironic? Genuine?

You sit there in dead silence, phone glowing in your hand, jaw faintly slack.

You never imagined in a million years that he’d be the first to flinch.

And that’s what this feels like. A flinch. A crack in the game. A move not designed to win, but to be seen.

Your thumb hovers over your keyboard.

Alright, Birdbrain. What’s your angle?

Because if this really isn’t a trap…

Well. Then you might actually be in trouble.

You let your thumb hover for another beat before finally typing back:

[You:] suspiciously specific evolution

are your PR managers involved in this? Will there be cameras? a “Top Ten Heroes Try Soup” livestream?

You pause, then add:

[You:] …but if it’s actually just food

and not some weird press stunt,

I’ll bite.

A second later:

[You:] but if there are cameras I’m ordering the messiest dish on the menu. And i’m not wiping my mouth.

Then you hit send.

You stare at the message.

Your phone buzzes again.

[Hawks:] lmao

nah, no cameras

unless you’re bringing them

which honestly would be kinda flattering

Another buzz.

[Hawks:] swear it’s just food

no PR managers, no press, no schemes

just me

evolving

in your general direction

You blink at that last part, reading it twice.

Then he sends:

[Hawks:] bring your messiest dish game tho

I’ll match you bite for bite

consider it... team-building

And finally:

[Hawks:] mission first

dinner after

don’t be late. i might take it personally.

You stare at the string of messages, thumb hovering but unmoving.

No press. No PR. Just him. Just food.

Just Hawks, allegedly evolving in your general direction---whatever the hell that means. You’re not sure if you want to snort or roll your eyes… or smile.

You reread the last message:

don’t be late. i might take it personally.

Tch.

He’s got jokes now. Team-building? He’s really trying to make this sound like a professional bonding exercise when he knows it’s not. Or maybe that’s the trap. Maybe it is professional to him, and you’re the one overthinking it.

Or maybe---maybe he’s serious. No schemes. No handlers in the shadows. Just him showing up… and hoping you will too.

But… do you trust him?

You glance at your closet without meaning to. Then back at your phone. Then the closet again.

If he's telling the truth, great. If he's not? Well.

You’re not showing up underdressed.

You’ve played the background long enough. So if this turns out to be a PR stunt?

You’ll make sure the cameras get your good side.

#mha #y/n #bnha #hawks #mha hawks #hawks x you #hawks x reader #slow burn #my hero academia #mha keigo takami #keigo takami #pro hero #@d4rlinxs

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loveemagicpeace · 1 year ago

Text

🐚Creativity and Focus💿

🌙5th house & 12th house are considered houses of creativity. Only for the 5th house, it shows itself through hobbies, visibility, activity, impulsiveness, fun, joy, passion, and the 12th house through the deeper art with which we show our emotions and our imagination.

🦋Pluto in the 5th might confer the gift of writing a good detective novel; being creative in other ways, can be an all-consuming and transformative experience, giving rise to a deep and unassailable power within yourself. 🌱Uranus here might suggest that creative ideas fall like heavenly sparks, trying to find a place to land and take root. You have potential for genuine creative originality, although your challenge might be to allow it to land and take form, because each idea is rapidly superseded by the next. You can create something very unique and different. These people usually have very interesting and unique talents.

🪐Saturn in 5th house-maybe you find creativity through the lessons of life (everything you've learned). Real creativity can come later in life and so can the inspiration you find. Saturn in the 5th house brings a strong desire for fame, recognition, and success but may result in delays and disappointments in love life and artistic creations. Your chosen pastime might be chess or something equally strategic. Creative work can become a honed skill, from event planning to sculpture or pottery.

🧜🏼‍♀️💫Neptune in 5th house- your creativity shows through your imagination, which is limitless. Many times people do not understand the creativity and hobbies that these people have - because it can be something completely different, mystical. They have a vivid imagination and often surprise others with it. You find a lot of your inspiration or creativity by the sea or places that are more emotional. Music or poetry might appeal to you, and you may find it easy to lose yourself in artistic activities. These can bring a sense of emotional and spiritual fulfilment.

❤️‍🔥Jupiter in 5th house- traveling is your passion and you can also do something that involves traveling. You can find hobbies everywhere. These people are many times famous abroad. You might opt to have a large family or just enjoy indulging in holidays and recreation. Taking time out to play can be rejuvenating.

⚡️Mars in 5th house-For you, sexual potency might well be a form of self-expression. Games are competitive and having children could bring your fighting spirit to life. You can show your creativity through sports, especially more dangerous sports or sports that require a lot of energy. You like things that give you an adrenaline rush.

🩷Venus in 5th house-Romance needs to be at the heart of a relationship for you, a sense that your worth and attractiveness are admired. Creative skills might involve design or fashion. You can also show creativity through the love or feelings you have for someone.

🎄Mercury in 5th house- Your creative impulse might involve words and communication - inventive writing or storytelling. You seek praise for this, since this is a side of you that can shine. You can have many mental abilities. People may see you as a person who can solve a lot or a person who can compete well in words.

🌙Moon in 5th house- Attuned to the playful world of children, you have an easy creativity and fun-loving side. You might also want your personal needs to be placed centre stage. You feed your mind through different learnings and attaining knowledge. You are likely to have a strong desire for creative self-expression.

☀️Sun in 5th house- You can be a natural performer or creative artist, happy to take a place in the spotlight or put your heart into your creative work. You seek attention and praise. You need to give yourself permission to be who you really are. You are gifted with the ability to remind others about the importance of creativity and fun. You can have a very beautiful childlike energy.

🎞️Chiron in 5th house- Perhaps adoption or surrogate children are part of your experience. Any form of play can help to nurture the wounded child within, both in yourself and in others. It suggests that you are a creative and unique person but sharing your gifts with others is not always easy for you. You remind people how important it is to be you and express yourself.

🌟12th house energy. This is a place where you can conjure images and connect to non-ordinary worlds.

🥑Mercury here you might be interested in myths and fairy tales, or be attracted to symbolic languages (such as astrology!). You might be curious about the spiritual or intangible dimensions of life, including myths and symbols. Imaginative story telling allows your voice to be heard Or with Venus here, perhaps art or photography appeal to you, or losing yourself in a romantic novel (or writing one). The perfect lover probably does not exist - but hold the image in your head and you might then recognize it as a projection of your own beauty or gifts. Even Saturn enters into the spirit in this house - Saturn here might serve you well if you are a designer, a composer, or the manager of an art gallery, giving form and substance to imaginative conceptions. Remembering you are not responsible for the world's suffering can help you to focus your dedication around truly worthy causes. You have a gift for bringing order to chaos.

🩵Mars in 12th house- On your own you might feel as though your efforts do not hit home - yet you can fight effectively and courageously on behalf of those who are weaker or less fortunate. You find your creativity through passion, energy, actions - you can have many hobbies and you are very good at many things. You have many hidden talents. You can also express art through anger. When you're angry and you doing things you do things better. Mars here suggests that you can solve problems in a unique and creative way. You can use your planet here for making art, writing, or in any creative way. The 12th house is the house of fantasies, illusions, music, acting―with placements here, you can easily tap into the ocean of the unconscious and turn into something unique and beautiful.

🌛Moon in 12th house- Care work might appeal. Focusing your compassionate efforts in this way can be more fruitful than trying to care for the whole world. You find yourself emotionally connected to people and understand their emotions on a subconscious level.

🌞Sun in 12th house- many times you show your art through things that others cannot see. You want to show what people can't see.To go into the unknown and unconscious. With your artistic expression, you often inspire other people and people can find you as someone who helped them a lot through (music, writing, dance...) whatever you do, you do it to inspire others. You can talk a lot about mental health or how to find the light. Your identity and purpose can emerge from a life dedicated to service. You may shine as a performer or actor, easily shifting into character.

🔥Jupiter in 12th house- Bliss might be the perfect trip abroad or time spent celebrating in jovial company. For as much as you give generously, you might also feel blessings magically arrive. You can bring happiness to the people around you. You can do a lot of things that are fun, optimistic and inspire a lot of people with your work.

🫧Neptune in 12th house- Perhaps you give everything to the cause, leaving nothing for yourself - but you can be a beacon of compassion in a troubled world. These people express their art through the most spititually imaginative things. They have their own imagination. They live in their own fantasy world and many people find their work very interesting.

🪁Uranus in 12th house- Perhaps you hide your unconventionality so as to fit in - reclaiming this can heip set you free. Your radar for collective trends can put you ahead of your time. You often have a unique and unconventional personality. People with this placement usually try to avoid being in the spotlight.

🏹Pluto in 12th house- If you do not accept your own power (or feelings of powerlessness) you can undermine your efforts. You have the capacity to probe the psychology of the collective mind. You can leave a mark with your work. Many powerful people hold this position. ( Steve Jobs, Marilyn Monroe, Kurt Cobain, Jennifer Lopez, Katy Perry, Lana Del Rey, Tom Hanks..)

🛼Chiron in 12th house- This suggests a desire to heal the collective and show compassion to all. Perhaps you have had to conceal your own suffering, making you sensitive to others' hidden pain. You have the potential to become a remarkable psychologist for others. By overcoming your fear of self-exploration, you can understand the mechanisms of healing and utilize them to heal others with subconscious wounds.

✨Ig-bekylibra✨

🎸For personal readings u can sign up here: https://snipfeed.co/bekylibra 🎸

-Rebekah🫧💿🦋

#astrology #energy #zodiac signs #planets #astrological houses #creativity #12th house #5th house #imagine #chiron #pluto in houses #5th house jupiter

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