#because just the thought that eventually the two of them will be forgotten to most except for those like sebastian vettel

[deductordemigod]

GOD GAVE THE DESERT TOO MANY TEETH | R. Wright

i came across a quote from this and it got me thinking about daniel's career in f1, the fact that daniel broke his hand today was coincidental.

[fortuneforsaken-if]

What is a King to a God, and what is a God to a non-believer?

DEMO ☥ PINTEREST

This game is geared for mature audiences and as such is strictly 18+.

Ancient shackles bind you to the mortal realm, a soul severed from a home lost to the sands of time. A curse on you, a blessing for those who take command; Who wouldn't like to own a God?

You're the highly revered deity of fortune. Or you were, five thousand and eighty-two years ago. Now you're nothing but a glorified plaything to one of the most powerful families in the world. Every demand you must fulfill, no matter how vile or self-serving. The illusion of choice is all but shattered, there's nothing you can do to change it.

Or is there?

It takes a simple thing for something to shift. A fragment from the past, an ageless, flickering hum of power that unfurls the hands of fate and unearths buried sparks of hope. No one would've thought that an ancient sherd would hold the first hint to your freedom, a warm, familiar sensation of your soul locked in a tomb somewhere where no mortal has stepped in well over five thousand years.

Let's hope the decay doesn't take you before you find your way back home.

☥ FEATURES ☥

Two separate sides to customization; The one mortals perceive, and select parts of your true form. Choose names, appearances, gender, pronouns, sexuality, romantic orientation, and more.

Shape the personality that starts to re-emerge after being dulled for the better part of history. Reconnect with yourself, and get in touch with memories and feelings you lost so long ago.

Experience a character-driven story full of twists and turns that eventually determine how each of the three endings play out.

Romance one (or two) potential love interests from a cast of characters; A shunned archaeologist, a primordial God, the reincarnation of a priestess, or the mysterious man you can't quite place. Or don't, it's up to you.

And last but not least: Don't let the decay reach your heart. Every change of fortune has consequences, and mindfulness is encouraged. This game does have bad endings.

☥ CAST OF CHARACTERS ☥

Zain/Zaina Tharset ∆ M or F, 28

"You're my birthright, and I'd sooner have you dead than let you make a fool out of me."

Z is your charge. Loud, obnoxious, and entitled; They don't care about your feelings or protests. Every desire that leaves them only serves them alone, and it's on brand for most of the charges you've had before. In simple terms, Z is not a good person, and the more time you serve under them, the less you believe they have any redeeming qualities.

Like everyone in the family, Z has warm brown skin with golden undertones, and eyes in light shades of brown. Their hair is naturally curly and shaved on the sides, leaving a strip of hair on the top and back, like a fashionable mohawk. Zaina's hair reaches the middle of her shoulder blades, while Zain's stops at the nape of his neck.

Being bound to them is painful, but you have no choice. Trying to retrieve your soul will be an ordeal, and it might not be worth the agony.

Rami Tharset ∆ M, 28, RO

"Just because the world has forgotten you, forgotten them, doesn't mean I will."

Rami is the twin brother of your current charge. Kind and humble, it's difficult to imagine him a part of the Tharset family on count of how different he is from that pit of vipers. He keeps to himself, usually holed away in a library or study where he digs into the history of, well, you. Or the ancient world you came from. This has caused the rest of the archeological community to shun him, the name of your old empire nothing more than a myth and a glorified fairy tale.

Rami shares his family's warm brown skin tone, and the black curly hair that's usually a messy mop that sits on top of his head, unstyled and naturally chaotic. It reaches just the stop of his ears, and is shaved in the back. Light brown eyes that are quite blurry without his glasses, but the gold-tinted pilot-framed lenses fit him nicely.

He's one of the few friendly faces you face in the Tharset circle, and you curse your misfortune that you couldn't have him as a charge instead.

Maluset ∆ M, N/A, RO

"For all I am, all I have controlled, still I could not keep you safe. Forgive me, old friend."

The God of the Night, and everything that you have left of an age and life long forgotten. While the rest of your pantheon faded one by one, he remained. You've always known Maluset as a calm presence, a steadfast and unperturbed God that never let himself be shaken, by mortals or his siblings.

While Mal prefers manifesting as his animal motif - a jackal made of black marble and eyes like consolidated galaxies - he does have a human form too. If he must appear mortal, his skin takes the color of what the mortals of your time had; bronzed, medium brown with a golden undertone. His hair would be jet black and curly, medium length, and he likes it naturally tousled by the winds. If necessary, he'll let his eyes appear dark brown in color, but he prefers the starlit skies in them instead.

He's been a constant in your life, at least until he disappeared three centuries ago. You know he's still out there since the realm where you take shelter is his, and it hasn't yet disappeared.

Rory Ewing ∆ F, 23, RO

"I can't remember, but your face, it stirs something in my heart. Why? Who was I to you?"

Rory is a new acquaintance to you, but there's something very familiar about her. She might just be a student now, her curiosity bringing her close to you, but you can feel an old connection whenever she's close by. Her voice reminds you of prayers long ago, even if her modern vernacular is closer to 'damn, that shit's the bomb' than hymns sung in your praise. Then again, reincarnation has a way of changing people.

It doesn't, however, change appearances. Back in your day, Rory's vessel was a traveler from the north; Her skin was light beige, rosy in its undertones. Her hair was thick and a subdued red, woven into an intricate braid that hung over her shoulder, reaching her midriff. Her eyes were also uncommon to you; pale green, vibrant but ghostly.

She doesn't remember you, and maybe that's for the best. Her new self is a stark contrast to who she was, and you don't think she'd enjoy the idea of donning priestess garb over the punk-rockish getup she wears now.

Taz Arian ∆ M, 34, RO

"Funny, isn't it? How some people seem familiar, even when they shouldn't be."

Taz is... Someone. He appears out of nowhere to join your journey, his knowledge of old ruins and tombs handy but somewhat worrying when he shouldn't even be able to see you. There's a strange thrum of power coming from him whenever he speaks, and you swear you've met him before, but where? It might be easier to find out if he didn't deflect and flirt his way out of things, but it does help with mortals that can't see you.

His appearance is nothing extraordinary; Dark brown hair that's held up in a bun, and you could assume it reaches his shoulders when loose, the loose curls pulling it a tad shorter. His eyes are light in color, almost golden in the right light, glinting with mischief. His skin is weathered, and golden bronze in color, with an intricate tattoo of an eagle spanning across his chest. He also sports a short beard, which gives him a rogueish look.

There is something about him that tugs at your memories, but you can't catch that thread of remembrance for long enough to recall him. Still, he doesn't seem to mind and resorts to teasing you instead.

[gyusrose]

➵ you’re so vain -> l.hs

⚠︎ smut (mdni)

✎ jock!heeseung x reader, enemies to ?????, heeseung is rlly annoying, hate sex ;), hair pulling, dirty talk, unprotected sex, degradation, backshots lmao. i think that’s it?

summary: attending a new school was supposed to be a fresh start for you, trying to be nice to everyone and have new friends, yet coming across lee heeseung threw all of that out the window.

(heeseung x fem.reader)

wc: 3.2k

your sweaty hands could not be gripping the steering wheel any harder. you wouldn’t call yourself “super shy” but when it comes to a whole new community of people, teenagers, hell yeah you are.

you had to move exactly at the middle of the year due to your mom’s work. they offered her double the salary at the other side of the city, who was she to say no to that? although you were going to miss your friends and the overall environment of your old home, you couldn’t just tell your mom ‘no’, either way her decisions are final.

you just got here two days ago, and to be honest, it wasn’t that bad. the worst thing so far is the fact that the nearest shopping center was 30 minutes away but you’ll live.

you didn’t except your first day of school to be so nerve-wracking. surely you’ll make some friends but who knows what people are like here. eventually, you saw the big navy blue sign with your school’s name on it. it was an averagely big school, bigger than your old one, which also meant more people.

the parking space alone was scary. it was huge yet already full even though it was still fairly early. you went around in circles around the parking lot, trying to find a vacant spot. fortunately you did at the second-to-last line.

as you tried to park, the limited space you had made it difficult to, having to back up and drive in constantly. as you reversed your car, you must have completely forgotten that you aren’t the only one there, feeling a small crash at the bumper of your car.

your eyes widened in panic. you looked back to see what you hit, and with your luck, it revealed at very nice black car, to which you’ve just hit. you tried to quickly get into your parking spot, hoping it was nothing serious, but then someone came walking up to you.

‘shit, that must be the owner’ you saw his red, rather handsome, fuming face.

you got out of your car to confront the first person interaction.

“hey look im so-“

“CANT YOU FUCKING DRIVE RIGHT? YOU HIT MY VERY EXPENSIVE CAR WITH YOUR THING, WHO DO YOU THINK YOU ARE?”

oh he was an asshole. you almost scoffed in his face. who does he think he is.

“it was accident that’s all, it was barely a scratch calm down man.”

“IT WAS DEFINITELY A SCRATCH LOOK AT IT! JUST BECAUSE YOU KEEP YOUR CAR LOOKING ALL MISERABLE DOESNT MEAN I WILL, DO YOU EVEN HAVE A LICENSE?”

lord take me back. you were so close to just leaving him there arguing with himself. but you didn’t want to make him even angrier.

“look im sorry! i can pay for the fix up if that’s what you want, i dont know what else to do?”

the boy scoffed and rolled his eyes at your statement.

“you think i don’t have the money for it? please, it shows you’re a newbie around here.”

“i didn’t mean it like that-“

“yo heeseung!! come on bro!” another blonde boy called from afar, hopefully ending the argument y’all were having.

“ watch your back new girl.” with one last glare, he left to join his group of friends.

you rolled your eyes. shiver my fucking timbers, you thought.

you took a deep breath before grabbing your backpack and making your way into school , hoping to never see his face ever again.

>>

you thought that was going to be the end of it all. but oh boy were you wrong. soon you found out that heeseung is the captain of the football team, and pretty much the most popular boy in school. as cliche as it sounds, every girl would drop their panties if he asked them to.

people know he’s not the nicest person ( an asshole) yet they still look up to him. that’s angered you. how are all these people so dumb? just because he’s kinda good-looking? seriously?

over the course of a few weeks, you’ve managed to make some friends, your closest taehyun and Isa. although you tried to block the negativity, heeseung made it really hard. always giving you snarky comments when he saw you around, ridiculing you in front of other people. somehow always finding a way to run into you despite not having any classes together. except gym.

“ bro open your eyes, catch the damn ball!” he yelled from across from you.

you hated sports. even less could you play one, but you gotta do it for the grade.

“the ball was too high up dummy!” you retorted, rolling your eyes for maybe the 100th time in the class period.

if you hated gym before, you definitely hated it more now.

as the period ended, you decided to take a quick shower in the locker rooms since you couldn’t handle being all sweaty and gross throughout the day.

heeseung finished changing and was outside the locker room with his friends, chatting, waiting for the bell to ring. that’s when he may have accidentally eavesdropped the conversation between your two friends, he could barely the names of.

“where’s _____?” taehyun asked isa, noticing how you weren’t with her.

“she’s taking a shower right now, she told us to not wait for her.” Isa shrugged before taehyun nodded.

a beautiful idea popped in heeseung’s brain. it was too good.

he excused himself and sneakily waited by the girl’s locker room, waiting for everyone to come out. once he only heard the shower you were using running, he quietly entered the room. the bell had rang about a minute ago, so the gym was empty, only you and him. the gym teacher god knows where.

he saw his target and rapidly grabbed the pile of clothes sitting on the bench, a smirk evident in his face.

suddenly the shower stopped running, making heeseung hurry and exit the locker room.

the shower felt too good, you think you spent more time that you anticipated to. as you exited the shower tiles, you looked around for your clothes, which you remember clearly leaving them in the bench closest to the shower. you looked around the whole locker room, hoping you were wrong and placed them elsewhere. unfortunately, you couldn’t even find your damn socks.

your biggest fear has come true. you’re now naked, nothing but a towel covering you, this was more than just humiliating. you felt sad, mad, angry, embarrassed all at once. they’ve been stolen for sure, and you were more than sure on who did it.

grabbing your phone you called Isa, to see if she could help you somehow. and she indeed did. bringing you some spare clothes she had. thankfully, you always bring extra underwear since situations like these could happen. you just had to wait for isa for the clothes, yet the five minutes she took felt like five hours. unfortunately, passing period is over, meaning some students are coming in the locker room to change.

many of them just straight up stared at you. giving you weird looks as to why you were pretty much naked in the middle of the locker room, but none had the guts to ask you.

you wished the ground would just swallow you whole. lee heeseung won’t hear the end of it.

“LEE HEESEUNG!” you yelled across the field. he and his friends were siting down eating lunch outside when you spotted him after trying to find him after the stunt he just pulled.

heeseung knew it was coming, giggling with his friends as they heard you yell his name once again. “ oh she’s about to scold me now .” heeseung scoffed but still got up and went over to you.

“yes ma’am?” he said with a smile, you wish you could slap off but you’re better than that.

“YOU KNOW WHAT YOU DID DO YOU KNOW HOW EMBARRASSING THAT WAS?”

“i have no idea what you’re talking about..” heeseung tried acting innocent but failed as he just burst out laughing. you groaned, how on earth is that funny?

“cute panties by the way” he continued to laugh, not sparing a glance at your mad expression on your face.

“you’re such an ass, i hate your guts.” you said leaving him alone, laughing to himself.

“yo bro i think she actually got mad this time.” his friend, jake came over.

heeseung shrugged. “she’s so sensitive, it wasn’t even that bad.”

“i can’t believe he did that…” taehyun said as you told them both what had happened. Isa knew a little bit but not who did it.

“that’s fucked up, what’s he got against you so much?”

you shrugged. “i guess because i gave his car a little scratch, but i guess he took it to heart since he hasn’t stopped bothering me since. he’s a jerk.”

“finally someone who thinks the same as me!” taehyun said making you chuckle.

“then get back at him! you know the one thing that makes him who he is is that damn football.” Isa said.

you tried to be the bigger person this whole time, not paying much mind to his little remarks or pranks he pulls, biting back a little wouldn’t hurt right?

“you know what, you’re right.”

“lee heeseung, mrs. park wants to speak to you.” mr.jung said calling heeseung.

heeseung who was barely paying attention heard his name. his frowned at this. what on earth could she want to talk about with him? either way, he went to her classroom.

he entered the empty classroom to find his coach and mrs.park, waiting for him. what the fuck? heeseung was more confused now. maybe they were going to congratulate him for the good work this semester? his coach’s face said otherwise though.

“there you are, you may be wondering why you’re here..” mrs.park started. heeseung nodded, feeling uneasy.

“a student came forward, showing how you copied word for word her whole assignment, the one i assigned a week ago. i didn’t notice it at first but it’s very clear now, you may know how cheating is unacceptable in my class, i’ve decided to fail you in this assignment, plus you’ll be serving detention this whole week..” she turned to the coach.

heeseung’s heart started beating at a rapid pace, he’s never been caught cheating, and being failed on the assignment that was a big part of his grade, it means he’s most likely failing the class now. the rules for football stated that all players should be passing all of their classes if not, they’ll be dropped….

no no no, the lee heeseung can’t be dropped. he’s the captain! the star player!

“since you’re failing this class heeseung, i think you know what’s about to happe-“

“please coach! don’t kick me out, i’m the captain! what would the team do without me? i’ll get my grade up as soon as possible im-“

“calm down calm down, i’m not going to kick you out, it’s the middle of the season, but unfortunately you won’t be playing the next three games. if your grade is not up by then, then i will drop you. understood?” his coach stated earning a sharp nod by heeseung.

he’s glad he’s still on the team but what’s the point if he can’t play? he’s going to become a joke. the captain that’s a bench warmer. how stupid.

he left the classroom enraged. he knows exactly who did this.

“bro what? what do you mean you ain’t gonna play ?” riki said in disbelief at what his captain just said.

“some snitch told mrs.park that i cheated on the last assignment and coach suspended me for the next three games, and i got detention all week!” sunghoon unknowingly chuckled. heeseung looked at him with a glare.

“what? she got you good, what did you expect hee?” sunghoon kept laughing, making some of the others also laugh silently.

heeseung had nothing to say back, he just rolled his eyes. “tch, whatever.”

nevertheless, you were overjoyed seeing heeseung slouching on the bench. you couldn’t miss this once in a lifetime scenario. obviously you were the cause for it. heeseung asks Isa almost all the time for her notes or to straight up copy her. she willingly let you rat him out after what he did to you.

he can sense how all eyes were on him, but he just tried to block everyone out a focus on the game. he had a poker face on, but deep inside he was irritated . he saw how you were smirking and laughing with your two little friends. you knew what you were doing.

>>

“ahh look who it is, the benchwarmer! “ you said chuckling as you made your way to heeseung.

after the team (barely) won, jake threw an ‘after party’ at his house. even though you don’t normally go to these parties, especially from those boys, you felt like a party would do good with your marvellous mood. something about seeing heeseung’s frowny face made feel over the moon.

“seems like cat got your tongue now huh? dont have anything to say-“

in a blink of an eye you were pulled into a room, heeseung’s fingers wrapped around your neck, pulling your face closer to his.

“what the fuck? heeseung-“

“shut the fuck up.” his hoarse voice caught you off guard. he was actually really mad.

“you think what you did it’s fucking funny? huh? almost getting me kicked out ? “ you’ve never seen him this enraged before. making you almost scared, yet….kinda turned on? no, you hate him, snap out of it! you told yourself yet the wetness in between your legs became hard to ignore.

you didn’t respond. “fuck, you’re so annoying, i can’t fucking stand you. i hate you.” he saw lowly. fuck that was hot.

you spoke before thinking. “then show me.”

not needing to tell him twice, heeseung pulled you completely in. your lips met in a kiss that was anything but gentle, a fierce and consuming clash that spoke longing and raw need.

The kiss deepened, fueled by an unspoken urgency, their mouths exploring each other with a fervor that left y’all breathless. his grip on your neck becoming tighter.

“shit im gonna show you to fucking behave.” he said before pushing you into the bed forcefully. you may have discovered a new kink of yours. watching as he undressed himself and yourself rapidly. feeling his anger through every touch he gave you.

he rubbed through your folds before inserting two fingers aggressively. your body jolted at the sudden move.

“holy shit go softer dumbass.”

“aw you think i give a fuck? suck it up and take it since you think you’re all that.” his fingers pumped faster and faster making it hard for you to answer back to his stupid remarks.

“oh my god..” you tried to pull his hand away before you cum. not wanting to see you orgasm so easily yet.

“just fuck me already heeseung, or is your dick as tiny as your brain?”

heeseung looked darkly at you. that stupid mouth of yours can’t shut up will it?

he retracted his fingers put of you and took his boxers off. wanting nothing more than to prove you wrong.

shit. your eyes went wide at what stood in front of you. saying he was big was an understatement. it was like a zipper for your mouth. how was that thing going to fit inside of you?

“can’t say anything now, can you slut?” he pulled your legs down the mattress to have you at the perfect angle to ram into you.

heeseung ran his til over your folds, teasing his way in. making you aggrevated.

“just put it in for fucks sake!”

“tell me how bad you want it.” you shook your head, no way were you going to beg. no way.

“alright then, i guess im gonna go.” he said letting go of your waist, acting as if he was going to leave.

“okay okay! please fuck me, i want it so bad, i want your big cock so bad heeseung.” heeseung moaned at your words. he didn’t wait any longer and thrusted all of him in you.

you both moaned yet it was more painful for you. you’ve never had something so big inside you before.

“fuck yeah..” he said then grabbing your neck, slightly choking you. your hands went to his biceps, trying to find something to hold on to as the speed he was thrusting in became more hostile.

“fuck me harder, like the asshole you are.” you said in between breaths. heeseung took the challenge and thrusted violently. the skin slapping and wetness of your core could probably be heard in the party outside.

“of course a whore like you would like to be fucked like this.”

before you could respond he pulled out of you earning a desperate groan from you, but then your were flipped, now on all fours and before you knew it he was back in you again. gripping your hip with one hand while he pulled your hair on the other.

“such a tight pussy, you probably fantasized about this am i right?” he said in your ear. you shook your head through your moan.

“in your dreams lee, in your fucking dreams. fuck you.”

“i’m quite literally doing that.” chuckling, he let go of your hair and instead gripped your other hip, going in deeper, nudging your cervix literally driving you to an edge.

“fuck i’m cumming.” you cried out. never has an orgasm felt like this. heeseung was on edge as well, feeling you clench around his dick did it for him.

your climax rose over you, making you fall into the pillow while heeseung kept thrusting until his own organs came over him, pulling out and releasing his white ropes all over your back.

tiredly, he laid besides you in the strangers bed, not knowing what to say now.

you turned to him, smirking. “i think i may hate you even more now.”

[yesihaveaobsession]

alastor x nurse!female reader

Summary: The reader (you) are a ER nurse in the depths of Hell and the Radio Demon seems to be quite fond of you.

A/N- So y'all who gave me some ideas/ requests a few weeks back I haven't forgotten about you! So this request was from @artisticbishoujorin and instead of doing the whole human solider bit I decided to keep it in hell because I thought it was cuter! I hope that is okay and I hope y'all like this!! :))))

Like most things in Hell, it was quietly strange. You had just finished tending to a particularly loud sinner’s broken arm. Now, you were filling out a patient chart at the nurse’s station when the sliding doors opened.

You didn’t look up at first—you figured it was another demon coming in to complain about a scratch or something. But then came the static. A very unfamiliar kind of static.

It was radio static. That unnatural buzz that slithered into the corners of your mind and set your nerves on edge.

You looked up—and nearly dropped your clipboard.

The Radio Demon stood there.

Alastor.

The smile that carved horror straight from the airwaves himself. Crimson eyes glowing, his microphone in hand. That ever-present toothy grin stretched just a little too wide to be comforting.

Of course. How did you not notice it before?

You froze, afraid to move. Your instincts screamed at you to keep your head down. Keep filling out the chart. You’d heard the stories—everyone had. Alastor wasn’t the kind of demon you wanted in your clinic unless you had a death wish.

And yet, he was just standing there, eyes scanning the room like he was browsing a menu. Until finally...

They landed on you.

And oh, you felt it.

“You must be the nurse I’ve heard about,” he said, his radio-tinged voice both dangerously charming and deeply unsettling.

You tried to speak, but it came out as a whisper. “Heard about?”

“Oh yes!” He twirled his microphone and leaned on it like a cane. “I’ve seen you on my strolls through this part of town. Always so kind to your patients. And so very neat! Why, it’s a breath of fresh sulfur to see such professionalism.”

He chuckled at his own joke.

You honestly had no idea what to do. Laugh? Run? You figured one wrong move and you'd be done for. So, you forced a smile.

“Can I… help you with something?”

He tilted his head. “Not today, dear. Just curious. But I’ll be back.”

And he was.

Over the next few weeks, he came back again and again. Sometimes with real injuries—and only asking for you. Nobody dared to question it, so they always led him straight to you.

Despite the wounds he showed up with, you never asked how a demon like him even got hurt. Sometimes it was just a scratch. Other times, he brought "friends" who needed help. And once, he just came in to “ask about stitches” for a ripped waistcoat.

You never fully stopped being nervous around him.

But… over time, something strange started to happen.

He never once made you feel unsafe. As crazy as that sounds.

Sure, he was… odd. Too observant. Watching you with those crimson eyes as you cleaned a wound or bandaged someone up. But he never crossed a line. He listened when you spoke.

Once, while you were patching up a wounded imp with blood smeared across your cheek, he offered you a pristine white handkerchief embroidered with his initials.

“Can’t have you tarnishing that pretty face,” he said with a grin.

Was he flirting with you? No… impossible, right? Still, your cheeks burned for the rest of the day.

Eventually, you two started talking more—about everything and nothing. You told him how you ended up a nurse in Hell. How you liked helping people, even if most didn’t deserve it.

And he told you… well, vague, unsettling stories. But the way he told them was so dramatic, you couldn’t help but laugh.

You two grew close.

One day, after patching up a hellhound’s paw, you looked up and caught him watching you with a softness in his eyes.

A rare softness.

It startled you more than his grin ever had.

“What?” you asked, wiping your hands on a rag.

He simply smiled. “It’s just curious,” he mused, “how someone so bright ended up in such a dark place.”

You looked down and kept working. You didn’t know what to say.

“And yet you stay kind. Unafraid,” he added, tapping his cane once. “I find that… endearing.”

His gaze followed your movements.

You blinked and smiled a little. “Unafraid? I was terrified of you when you first walked in.”

He threw his head back with a laugh, a hand on his chest. “Good! Means I was doing something right.”

You smirked, just a little. “You still scare me sometimes.”

“Excellent,” he said, still grinning—because when was he not?

“But I do hope you’ll let me keep visiting.”

You hesitated… then nodded.

“Alright. But next time, bring actual injuries. Or at least a good story.”

He winked as he turned to leave. “Darling, with you? I’ll bring both.”

And with that, you heard him humming as he walked away.

You just smiled, rolled your eyes, and shook your head.

Not that you minded.

[yandereforme]

OK, I know I’m more well known for my Batfam stories but I was struck by a thought

Yandere Class 1-A and Yandere Class 1-B with a neglected and oblivious reader

Your quirk isn’t the most outwardly useful and you aren’t a giant fighter, so you tend to get overlooked a lot. (You are also probably the youngest in the class.) You try to make friends with your classmates and try to get your teacher’s praise, but a lot of of the time you feel pushed aside and forgotten. Some of the class seems to treat you like an afterthought while others treat you like you can’t do anything right.

Then, Kendo would find you training in the gym while crying because everyone in class forgot it was your birthday, even though you reminded them several times and they remembered each other‘s birthdays. You are just really sad, but you’re trying to get better because you think if you get better, they will pay attention to you. 

Kendo definitely comforts you and takes you out for ice cream. She swaps numbers and invites you to join Class 1-B on a shopping trip the next day. You integrate into the class pretty easily after that, the only roadblock probably being Monoma, but I feel like he would switch from “You are in Class 1-A and are scum” to “Your class is scum and you should be in 1-B” pretty quickly.(the entire class will see you as a little kid, so you probably aren’t going to be trained that well, but it’s better than being an outsider)

You also are withdrawing yourself from all of your classmates now that you have friends. You don’t do any of the little things that you used to. You aren’t offering homework help or hiding snacks in people’s desks when they are upset. Everyone is noticing the difference, but they can’t figure out what caused the change in the mood.(None of them really noticed you doing these things.)

Then, I think Vlad would approach Aizawa and mention possibly transferring you. Aizawa would definitely brush it off, but when he focuses on your presence, he realizes that you were the one doing all of those good things and that you’ve stopped. His final straw would be when he realizes that you were the one who was leaving coffee on his desk every morning before class and sees you hand Vlad a pastry from the same coffee shop. 

That adds Yan! Aizawa into the ring.

Class 1-A takes a little longer, but I think they would slowly notice overtime in groups of two or three that you weren’t around as much and would see you out with members of class 1-B.

The breaking point is definitely when you submit paperwork to switch classes. This causes a giant uproar that you did not see coming, with both the students and the teachers being at each other’s throats. Nezu eventually makes an agreement that you will stay in 1-A until the end of the next semester and after that, if you still want to transfer, you will go to 1-B.

Your class is taken that as a challenge to change your mind, thus leading to the Cold War between the classes. You are oblivious to this are just happy you have friends, so they are nice to each other’s faces when you are around. Make no mistake, they’re at each other‘s throats the minute you turn away. 

[sarahroutldge]

running to you.

a/n: as someone who always seeks a happy ending, I just had to... if you wanted pure angst then don't read, but if you're craving a fairytale ending then here it is.

for those who haven't read part one or want to revisit, here it is!

summary: rafe made his choice, and now you have to make yours.

word count: 1.2k

warnings: nothing really... lmk if I missed anything

When the door closes behind Rafe Cameron, you should feel instant relief. Knowing that he’s not going to interfere on your wedding day should make you feel even more settled in your decision to let him walk out the door. The man you’re about to meet at the end of the altar is so kind, so generous, and the ideal husband. Any woman in Figure Eight would be happy to take him off your hands. So why aren’t you more thrilled?

Connor Huntzberger is easy, clean, and no drama. With him, you can picture living out the rest of your lives on the pristine family property, eventually surrounded by children and grandchildren that are more Huntzberger than you. You can imagine nights ending on the porch with calm conversation and flowing glasses of wine, with no harsh realities to unpack. The future dinner parties with families and friends come to your mind with ease, as do the pool parties in the summer and brunches at the country club. There are no unforeseen circumstances, no lingering consequences due to questionable decision-making in the past, and no difficult arguments. Any arguments that the two of you do have are settled quickly and quietly, and his voice never raises. Connor won’t forget a date or an anniversary, and you’ll show up everywhere on time, the both of you looking straight out of a home and garden magazine. 

But as the clock ticks on your last few hours as an unmarried woman, you begin to wonder if that’s truthfully all you can survive on. And if you’re being honest with yourself, these are the thoughts you’ve tried so hard to bury ever since Connor proposed. Surely, if you could’ve just convinced yourself to make it to this day, then walking down the aisle would seem like a piece of cake. Yet now it seems like a trek you’re not prepared for, and your legs feel glued to the floor the more you imagine it.

Do you dare to consider the man that just walked out of your life, perhaps forever? What would a life with Rafe Cameron—well, the new Rafe Cameron—even be like? His struggles will always be a part of him, and every day will be a challenge. He’s hurt you emotionally in ways you still haven’t fully recovered from, and your trust in him remains fragile. He lacks the perfect Figure Eight family and your parents have repeatedly expressed just how grateful they are that you married someone “so unlike the Cameron boy.” He’s shown up hours late for dates and forgotten important relationship milestones. He was never the perfect boyfriend, and you doubt that he’d be the perfect husband.

But maybe that doesn’t matter. Maybe what matters is that when you think about the happiest moments in your life, you realize that Rafe was always there. His romantic gestures may not always have been timely, but they were heartfelt, and they were special. He knew you better than he knew yourself, and based on that brief conversation you just had, he still might. He saw the darkest parts of you and loved you in spite of them. You could tell him your deepest fears, and he wouldn’t be surprised; for a man so troubled, he carried a level of understanding that you have never seen in anyone else. Most of all, though, something in you burned for him. What you assumed perhaps faded with time was clearly only just a flicker, for it was immediately set ablaze when you laid eyes upon him once again. And you want that flame back. Because who cares about perfection when deep, all-consuming, understanding love is so much better?

And so your legs begin to move. You kick off your heels, reaching for the flats you arrived in. After sliding them on, you grab your purse and your phone—only the necessities. You can’t waste any more time when any minute now someone could be banging on your door, ready to escort you to the venue. And you certainly can’t waste any more time when the love of your life is about to hop on his motorcycle and leave you behind. You open the door a crack, hoping that no one is in the hallway. The coast is clear, and you make your way to the emergency exit. You run around the hidden path, dashing to the front where the cars are parked. “Rafe!” you shout, not even caring anymore if someone in your wedding party discovers you. Your body has made your choice for you, and your mind just has to catch up. 

You don’t see him immediately, and you frown at the thought that he took off so quickly. You start to feel like an idiot before you hear the familiar roar of his motorcycle. 

“Rafe!”

Rafe Cameron can’t be sure if he’s dreaming or not. This is not how life turns out; he’s not supposed to get the girl. Prince Charming is supposed to sweep her off her feet. Someone with his baggage is not meant to be with the love of his life, even if he’s spent his past few years atoning for every mistake, improving himself just in case the possibility of love showed up again. And thank God he did, because she’s running right towards him, her dress dragging on the parking lot. 

You’re sure you look stupid, but you can’t help but giggle. You come to a stop, breathing heavily. “Any chance you have a spare helmet?”

He smirks, and you feel like a sixteen-year-old girl again, shy with your cheeks warm at the thought that he might reciprocate your own feelings towards him. 

He pulls out a second one, and you walk right up to where he’s sat. He reaches a hand up to take your headpiece off delicately. “I always thought you hated headbands.”

“I do,” you respond. It’s quiet, until you both laugh at the words you just said given the current circumstances. You yank the headband out of his hands and throw it in the middle of the parking lot, hoping it doesn’t break through someone else’s window. You bow down a bit so he can place the helmet on you, and he buckles it into place. Once he’s sure it fits, he rubs his thumb against your lips, his actions a show of appreciation at your willingness to give him one last chance. If he’s sure of anything, he’s sure that he won’t mess up this time. 

You step behind him, pressing your hands against his stomach, and feeling the signature Rafe Cameron warmth that you’ve been deprived of for years. Lightly, as if you’ll disappear, one of his hands comes to meet your own, squeezing. 

“Where are we headed to, angel?” 

“I’m not picky, but preferably anywhere I won’t run into a Huntzberger,” you respond, and he lets out a deep chuckle at your signature bluntness. 

“Coming right up, ma’am,” he adds, before kicking up the stand, and the two of you ride off into the distance, chasing the hope of the future instead of the broken promises of the past. 

so... I hope y'all enjoyed! another thank you to @zyafics for requesting the original fic and then wishing for a happier ending, so here it is :)

[readerihardlyknowher]

A Loving Feeling | Pt. 2

This one's extra long because I couldn't find a good stopping point. Probably ooc at this point.

Spencer Agnew x Reader Warnings: None WC: 4,675 Pt.1, Pt.2, Pt. 3

“Guys, we’re back. It’s another game of Don’t Win Mario Party. Today we’ve brought our favorite guest on,” Trevor begins, before gesturing to you. You look into the camera and wave.

“Yeah, it’s nice to be here. And it’s finally nice to be in a video with my good friend Spencer. I swear, he’s avoided being seen with me up until now,” you say, throwing a jab at Spencer, who’s sitting right to the left of you on the couch, but it’s all in good fun.

“Yeah, I was, and you’ve ruined my streak,” he says, jesting back at you. You snicker and bump him with your shoulder as the pre-game chatter continues. Shayne – while wearing a cone – eventually briefly runs over the rules with you, as you haven’t yet played, and then you all boot up the game to play. The character you’re playing as is Yoshi in this game, and when it starts out, you’re immediately in first place, since all other guys on the couch have played before, so they know what to do.

As the game continues though, you slowly move your way down until you’re in third place. All this time, Spencer beside you has slowly but surely moved his way closer to you, until your thighs are pressing together. You hadn’t realized it until you noticed how much warmer you now feel until you see that you as well had moved closer to him subconsciously. The thought makes you smile a little, the fact that you two have become so close physically and in your friendship. In just under a month, you’ve gone from essentially strangers to close friends. You can’t think of the last time you’ve had a friendship with a guy where you could get this close without him being all weird about it, so Spencer has been such a welcoming relief.

Eventually, the game nears its end, and with that your energy from the beginning of the game has begun to fade out. While Shayne and Trevor have a small minigame against each other, you look down at your controller, before Spencer’s tattoos catch your eyes. Spencer, noticing your starting, silently pulls up his sleeve some more, lifts his arm up, and watches you as you look at his tattoos closer. You grab his arm to hold it still, the other hand tracing over his tattoos, pausing once you see his Whomp one. You do a fake shocked face, point to the tattoo, then to the screen. He makes the same face, which makes you laugh, with him immediately following.

“What are you guys doing over there?” Shayne asks, not taking his eyes off the screen. You laugh again and let go of Spencer’s arm, but he doesn’t roll up his sleeve. 

“Nothing, nothing” you reply.

“Yeah, just looking at my Whomp, like a good friend. You guys never look at my Whomp…” Spencer says, a fake sad tone to his voice, which makes Shayne and Trevor roll their eyes. 

The game plays on, and before you know it, it’s the final round. You had completely forgotten the points and what place you were in before, so in that moment, you feel like it must be neck and neck. You all play a minigame and tie for last, all of you immediately dying the instant it begins, which leads to the announcement of the places. In last place is Trevor, who successfully flew under the radar for most of the game. In 3rd is you. 2nd manages to be taken by Shayne, which means that the winner/loser of this Don’t Win episode is Spencer, whose mouth is hanging open in shock.

“Are you serious right now? I swear to god I did not win that. There’s no way,” he complains, a smile still on his face as Trevor and Shayne mock him a little. You’re laughing alongside them, ruffling his hair lightly as a teasing gesture.

“It’s what you get for being so cocky at the beginning,” you say, which makes him turn and glare at you, before bringing both of his hands to mess with your hair now. “Hey! Quit being a sore loser!”

“Okay, Spencer’s now bullying Y/n,” Shayne says to the camera. You manage to push Spencer off of you enough to begin fixing your hair with a scowl. “Okay guys, and I think with that we’re gonna end this episode. Thank you all so much for watching and we’ll see you next time!”

_________________________________________

Saturday, June 19th arrives and it’s finally time for Courtney’s party. You, meanwhile, are in your apartment, freshening up for the night while waiting for Spencer to arrive. You can’t seem to stop your eyes from continuously glancing down at your phone, checking for his text every few seconds. The outfit you’re wearing isn’t anything too fancy, it’s Courtney and Shayne’s place, not a fancy restaurant, but still, you put a bit more effort into your outfit tonight than you normally would when going to see your friends. It’s a birthday party after all, nothing to scoff at.

You hear a ding from your phone and look down, expecting to see Spencer’s name, but instead open it to see Courtney’s. Opening up the text, you see she’s sent you yet another TikTok of you and Spencer in the last two episodes you were in together. This one has compiled when you were playing Don’t Win Mario Party together, and it’s just when you played with his tattoos and when you both messed up each other’s hair, with the caption “omg they can’t stop touching each other #y/s/n #smoshships” You roll your eyes at the video and turn off your phone.

Immediately once you do so, it vibrates in your hand, you glance down to see Spencer’s text of arrival before walking to the door, waiting a couple extra seconds as to not seem like you were waiting. You walk up to his car and he opens the passenger side door from his side, where you slide in and take in the comforting smell. He looks over at you, looks back to the road, before back to you again, this time fully taking in your outfit.

“Hey, you look nice,” he says casually, which casually makes your chest clench for some unknown reason. You smile and look at him; he looks how he normally does, but his hair seems to be well groomed today.

“You don’t look too bad yourself, handsome,” you reply mostly in a joking manner. You knew he was hot, everyone did. He had that energy of a guy you may not realize is hot at first until you realize he is one day and now suddenly can’t unsee it. There’s a reason why everyone at Smosh has a lowkey crush on him. It’s normal, nothing weird about it, and he knows it’s fine. Your thoughts are pulled from you as he starts pulling onto the road and begins driving. It’s quiet for a moment before you decide to speak.

“Do you think she’s gonna like our gifts?” You ask, referring back to the other day when you both went shopping for her. He glances at you for a moment with a cocky smirk.

“She better. I know we got the best gifts for her that she’s getting tonight,” he replies, fairly certain that he knows his friend. Besides, you were there to pick things out with him, it’s not like you’d pick the wrong thing. “I hope we play Cards Against Humanity again, last time was so fun.” You smile at this, remembering how a couple months ago for the last hangout you all played Cards Against Humanity.

“God, so fun. I would have won too if you hadn’t kept that one card in your hand until the very end.”

“I knew I had to save ‘my gay best friend’ for when the time called for it.”

“This time, Spence, this time I’ll wipe the floor with you.”

He laughs at your words before once more the car falls into a comfortable silence. It doesn’t take long to get to Courtney and Shayne’s place, and once you head inside with the bagged gifts in hand, you see most of your co-workers and some of Courtney’s personal friends are here. You set the bags down where you see some others are put before you go to speak to the birthday girl.

“Happy birthday, Courney!” You say, making her turn around and squeal when she sees you, pulling you into a hug. She sees Spencer behind you and pulls him into the hug as well, making the two of you squished up against each other.

“Oh my god, just in time! Amanda suggested we pull out Cards Against Humanity for a good rematch,” they say, energy so high. “There’s some alcoholic and non-alcoholic drinks over there, and yes, they’re labeled. I think Chanse and Angela are both on their way now. In the meantime though, grab a drink and let’s play!”

And with that, Courtney is gone, disappearing to go hang out with the others. You glance back at Spencer, who has a sort of awkward smile. Even though it’s not going to be some sort of crazy party, you know he can get a little nervous when there’s a ton of people all put together, especially since he doesn’t know all of Court’s friends particularly well. Deciding to try and ease his nerves a little, you speak.

“I’m gonna grab a drink, want anything?” You ask, walking over to the kitchen counter where some premade drinks and some bottles are to make your own. You look down at the post-its under each set of drinks and pick the one you think looks the best for you. You feel Spencer walk up beside you and look down at the drinks as well, finding a non-alcoholic drink for the night.

“I think I’ll stick with this. Don’t want to get too crazy tonight,” he says, a small smile on his face. You snicker and turn your head, seeing the tension in his body beginning to fade little by little. For a moment, you consider saying anything more, but before you can find any words, the door opens and Chanse makes his appearance, Angela coming in a couple seconds after. Perfect timing.

You both walk over and have a quick chat with the two of them, mainly about how the roads were so empty tonight, thank god. After a moment of chit-chat, Courtney calls everyone into the living room where there’s some extra seats pulled up to play Cards Against Humanity.

Both you and Spencer take a seat on a loveseat, and you settle in with your drinks and cards, ready to play. At the beginning, it feels a little weird to be playing a game without having to perform for a camera during it, since the last time you’ve played board games off camera was months ago the last time you played CAH. Still though, it doesn’t take long for you to get into the groove of just playing with friends.

A few rounds in and so far, Shayne and Spencer are tied for the most rounds won so far, which is two. You would be fired up with the competitive spirit, but from sipping your drink throughout the game, and even getting up for a refill, you’re lightly buzzed and just enjoying the game itself and having fun, not worried about winning at this very moment. The next round begins with Shayne reading out the card, “What made my first kiss so awkward?” You look through your deck before pulling out a card that makes you snicker, placing it in the pile on the coffee table in front of you. When you lean back in the seat now, you feel what seems like an arm on the back of the seat around where your shoulders are. Glancing over, you see Spencer has now wrapped his arm around the back of the seat. He looks at you with a smirk, before revealing the card he intends to play. You lean in to look, chuckling at the card before he leans forward and puts his card into the pile as well, before once again bringing his arm around the back of the seat.

You watch as Shayne reads out the white cards, but your eyes catch Courtney’s, which are excitedly eyeing you and Spencer. You roll your eyes at her, but she just wiggles her brows at you before looking back at Shayne. His eyes light up as he reads out the next card.

“What made my first kiss so awkward? Announcing that I am about to cum. Oh my god…” Shayne reads, before putting his head in his hand and wheezing out a laugh. Everyone else laughs as well. Spencer looks over at you, laughing, giving you a look that asks if it’s your card, which you nod to. “I’m definitely going to have to give that one to whoever put this one down.”

“Yes! Score!” You shout, reaching to the table to grab the black card from where Shayne set it down. Shayne commends you for the well done card, before you take the next black card, reading it out. 

A few more rounds pass and by now, you’ve completely molded into Spencer’s side, not bothering to put any distance between the two of you. You have thoroughly avoided looking in Courtney’s direction, because you know if you did, she’d definitely shoot you a look. You know that to an unknowing eye, it probably looks like the two of you are a couple like Shayne and Courtney, but at this moment you really don’t care, there’s just something so comfortable about being cuddled up with your friend. 

Eventually, as the game comes to a comfortable pause and as you all discuss what games you might like to play next – most people suggesting different Jackbox games – you feel the drink from earlier hitting your bladder and sit up from your comfy seat.

“I’ve gotta use the bathroom, you all can decide without me,” you say, before turning and looking back at Spencer. “Save my seat for me, ‘kay?” He smiles and puts his hand down to the cushion you were on. You nod and begin walking off to the bathroom, before you hear someone speak from behind you.

“Ooh! I’ll come too!” Courtney’s voice makes you pause. You know she’s going to say something.

“Oh me too!” Angela follows. You consider letting them go first, but decide it’s best not to ignore your friend’s incessant teasing. It’ll happen sooner or later. 

Once you reach the outside of the bathroom, and outside of hearing range, both of the women practically jump on you.

“So, you two are getting pretty close,” Courtney begins.

“He doesn’t normally warm up to people this fast. Have you two started dating?” Angela interrogates. You put your hands up in defense, back against the bathroom door.

“Not you too, Angela. And no, we’re not dating. You guys were right about the fact that we’d get along really well! Why does it have to be anything more than that?” You ask, trying to get them off your backs. Spencer is a really great friend. You didn’t really have other male friends in your life that you were that close to, where you could be super close in public like that. He was just special like that, and so sweet, why would that necessarily mean you have to date him?

“Look,” Courtney starts to say, “all I’m saying is, if something does happen, you let me know. And let it be before Shayne’s birthday. I’ve got ten dollars on the line.”

You don’t know whether or not they’re joking about betting, but you just hesitantly nod, unsure of what to say, before quickly opening the bathroom door behind you and rushing inside. You’re glad they don’t tease you for it when you eventually come out, but they do both shoot you looks before you all go sit back down. Those jerks didn’t even need to use the bathroom.

“Okay, we’ve decided on Quiplash,” one of Courtney’s friends says to you three. When you look back to your space on the loveseat, you see Spencer has brought his arm back to the back of the couch, before looking up at you and scooting over to give you room to sit. Deciding to screw with Courtney and Angela a little, you sit far closer to Spencer than before, with one leg hiked up onto his knees, lightly manspreading. Out of the corner of your eye, you see Spencer’s shock, before his other hand comes down to rest on your shin. You feel him rubbing light circles there, before the hand around your back comes down to grab his phone to play with everyone. 

Trying to ignore the glances from your friends, and how your body feels strangely warm, you play the game like you normally would, having fun and laughing at the dumb responses some people put. Eventually, as you lean back into the seat more, your other leg is pinned up against the front of Spencer’s legs, and you don’t even notice it until he brings his hand down to hike your other leg up onto his lap.

You look over at him at this, feeling a little surprised that he did that, but his eyes don’t meet yours, instead looking down at his screen as he types out his answer to the prompt, other hand still resting on your shin. It takes a moment for you to pull yourself together when you look back at your phone, typing your answer as well.

After a couple seconds, on the top of your screen, you see a message pop up from Angela. You glance up at her and she looks away with a mischievous look on her face. Hesitantly, you tap on the message, seeing a picture of you and Spencer from the seat across from you where she’s sitting. Followed by the picture is the text “Couple goals”. You glare at her, which she laughs at before she shows the picture to Courtney, who gasps and asks Angela to send it to her.

Spencer seems oblivious to it all, before you hear the quiet buzz emanate from his phone. Out of the corner of your eye, you watch his face as he looks at whatever was sent – you’re imagining based off of Courtney and Angela’s gazes that it’s likely the picture she sent you – and he smiles and rolls his eyes. You see him glance down at how you’re lounging, looking at you with an unreadable expression for a few moments, before looking back to his screen. You don’t have much time to question it when the voting begins, and you’re brought back to the game.

It doesn’t take much longer after that for you to begin yawning, feeling the energy spent from the night begin to drain. Checking the time on your phone, you see that it’s nearing midnight. Glancing around, most of the other party goers seem to be tired as well. It appears to be the most perfect timing to make this observation, because it’s at that moment Shayne speaks up.

“Alright, guys, I think it’s probably time for everyone to start getting ready to head out. It’s almost our bedtime,” he says, looking over at Courtney, who nods in agreement.

“Yeah everyone. It’s been so great having you all here, and thank you so much for coming. Just make sure you all get home safe,” she says to everyone, who all voice how fun it was to have this party, and wishing another round of “happy birthday”s.

You and Spencer decide to stick around to clean up a little, as all good friends do, before heading out. You go hug Courtney and Shayne goodbye, before heading out to the car with Spencer.

The ride back to your place is mostly silent, a few small discussions about various jokes told throughout the night, before you arrive back at your place. Before you get out of the car, you reach into your pockets for your keys, only to realize that not only is this not your jacket, but also that you left your keys inside your jacket. And because this isn’t your jacket, you do not have the keys to get inside your apartment. Cursing, you pull out your phone, ready to text the party group chat to see if anyone is still nearby and accidentally took your jacket earlier.

“Whoa hey, what’s going on? You okay?” Spencer asks, concerned by your sudden fear and cursing. You feel him place his hand on your shoulder in an attempt to comfort you. Your eyes panicked, you look up into his eyes and see how worried he looks.

“I- no- well, I think someone mistook my jacket for theirs, but the keys to my place are in it, and now I have no way to get inside–”

You’re interrupted by a ding on your phone. Angela.

“Oh my god im so sorry i thought it was mine. im already home but i can drive over there now.”

At first, you sigh in relief, now at least you know the location of your keys, then immediately follow that realization with a groan. Angela’s the complete opposite direction from Courtney and Shayne’s place than you, meaning it’d be about a 45 minute long drive for her to get over here and give you your keys. As you begin thinking about what you’re going to do, planning out if you could stay awake for that long, Spencer’s gentle voice breaks through your thoughts.

“Hey, if you need a place to stay for the night, I can let you crash on my couch,” he says. Normally, you’d just brush it off, say it’s no biggie, but right now, you actually consider it. In that moment of consideration, Spencer has already made his decision, pulling the car out of park and pulling back onto the road. “My couch it is. Don’t worry, I’ll make it extra cozy for you.”

You open your mouth to protest, not wanting to intrude on his space, especially not when he feels like he has no other choice, but it’s really hard to argue when you feel like you’re about to pass out. For a moment you silently curse yourself for having stayed up late the previous night doing some extra work. 

“Only if you’re actually okay with it. If you’re just offering to be polite, I can just stay in the lobby until Angela gets there,” you say, really trying your hardest not to be a burden at this moment. You hear Spencer laugh beside you and shake his head. 

“You think I’d offer to let you stay over if I didn’t mean it? Besides, it’s basically just a sleepover, and friends have sleepovers all the time, in case you didn’t know,” he teases you. You bite your cheek, still hesitant to accept his offer, before pulling out your phone and texting Angela that it’s alright, and (also hesitantly) telling her that Spencer’s letting you stay over for the night. Her response comes quick with just a “Have fun 😏”, which makes you wonder how much of her stealing your jacket was really an accident.

Regardless, you’re still tired, and Spencer’s offer felt too good to pass up. So, once you arrive in his apartment’s parking lot and walk to his place, you try to hide how anxious you really are. It makes no sense to you why you feel this way, you’ve been over to his house many times before, but right now it feels different. You decide to blame it on your friends and the alcohol. 

After you take off your shoes and Angela’s jacket, you take a seat on the couch, grabbing the throw blanket that sits on the end, ready to settle in for the night. Of course, when you finally begin to feel the night take its hold of you, you’re jolted awake by the feeling of weight on top of you. When you open your eyes, you see that Spencer has thrown another blanket on you, followed soon by a pillow which he tosses at your face. With a scowl, you grab the pillow and put it under your head, glaring at your friend as he silently laughs at your expression. 

“Sorry, I thought you might have needed that,” he says, a little bit of sarcasm seeping into his words. Another piece of fabric hits your face. “And that.” You open your mouth to snap back at him, but once you pull whatever he threw at your from your face, you see it’s his infamous Legacy hoodie. You roll your eyes at him before a silence fills the room, making you feel like there’s some words you’ve left unsaid. 

“Thank you, Spence. I… you’re a really great friend,” you say, feeling a little embarrassed while saying it. It’s not that you haven’t called him a good friend before, but it feels different now. You’re both alone, in his apartment, at midnight, and he’s standing right in front of you. His living room is currently dimmed, the only light coming is emanating from his bedroom, which you assume he’ll retreat to any minute now to sleep. He looks down at you, but you can’t really see his expression. 

“Tonight was really fun,” he says, before a moment of silence once more fills the room. “Do you think our co-workers will ever stop shipping us?” He asks out of nowhere, which makes you immediately shoot up, sleepiness gone. 

“They’re so excessive! Court keeps sending me TikToks of us together, have they been sending that to you too?” You ask. You had been wanting to bring up the ship with him for a while now, but had felt it’d be too awkward to do so. You hear him smile in the darkness before taking a seat on the edge of the couch, his butt touching your legs.

“Yeah, yeah, they have. And yknow, it sucks because I can’t send back any videos to them because they’re married to the person they’re shipped with. Frankly, it’s unfair,” he says, and you nod, laughing at his words. 

“God, and tonight too. I swear, I couldn’t look their way without them sending me goo goo eyes.”

“‘Goo goo eyes’? Really?”

“Yes, 'really'. I mean, you saw their antics of them sending the picture of us on the couch together.”

“Oh god, they sent that to you too?”

“Yes! They really aren’t subtle, are they?”

A beat of silence falls in the room. This time, it’s not awkward, nor do you feel like you need to say anything. Instead, you just sit there, feeling Spencer’s body heat through the blanket over you. It feels like minutes pass when he finally speaks again. 

“We did look pretty cute though,” he says, and you can see him looking down at you. You snort, rolling your eyes before looking back up at him.

“You’re just fueling their delusions,” you say, but some part of your chest feels a little tight. No more words are shared when he finally stands up, turning around to tuck you in. You laugh at him but go along with it, snuggling even further into the blankets. Once he finishes, he pecks you just an inch from your forehead, not actually touching you, but still making the “mwah” sound, before ruffling your hair and walking back to his room. 

You exchange “goodnight”s before the room falls completely empty and silent. You don’t bother to move to the bathroom to take off your now uncomfortable shirt and replace it with his hoodie. A smile spreads across your face as you realize how much it smells like him. It doesn’t take you long after that to drift off, the memories from earlier that night fueling your imagination as your mind shifts to dreaming.

[charmed-quill]

The Bet// F.W x Reader

authors note at end.

summary: Fred Weasley and y/n make a bet: whoever gets a date to the Yule Ball first wins. But what starts as harmless competition devolves into full-blown war.

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word count: 6.2k

The Yule Ball had been the only thing anyone could talk about for the past few hours. Every conversation in the common room seemed to circle back to it, who was going to ask who, what everyone would wear, and, most importantly, who would end up going alone.

Y/n sat curled up in one of the cushy armchairs by the fire, pretending to be absorbed in her book. The flames flickered, casting a warm glow over the common room, but she wasn’t really reading, she was listening. 

Fred and George were sprawled across the couch nearby, talking in the way they always did: half-serious, half-dramatic, and entirely too loud.

"Everyone’s gonna be in a frenzy tomorrow morning," Fred said, stretching his arms behind his head.

George frowned, his brow furrowing slightly. "How do you mean?"

Fred waved a hand around vaguely. "You know," he said, searching for the right words, "like... everyone’s gonna be scrambling to get a date before all the good ones are taken."

At that, y/n finally glanced up, raising an eyebrow. "Why would they be scrambling?" she asked, feigning ignorance even though she already knew the answer.

Fred let out a sigh, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. "Because no one wants to be the last one left without a date," he said, like it was some kind of universal truth. "Gotta snatch up the best options before they’re all gone."

Y/n scoffed, closing her book and resting it on her lap. "Define ‘good ones.’"

Her voice had that familiar teasing edge to it, and she narrowed her eyes just slightly, watching as Fred hesitated for a second too long. He always got flustered when she turned her full attention on him, and she found no small amount of amusement in that.

George, of course, was thoroughly entertained, smirking as he watched Fred try to think of a response.

"You know," Fred said eventually, shrugging like it was no big deal. "Fun ones. People you can actually stand being around for an entire night."

Y/n hummed thoughtfully, tapping a finger against the cover of her book. "So what, if you wait too long, you’re stuck with someone unbearable?"

Fred opened his mouth, then shut it again, realizing too late that anything he said now could get him into trouble. George chuckled under his breath, clearly enjoying watching his twin dig himself into a hole.

"That’s not what I meant," Fred tried to backtrack. "Just" He sighed, shaking his head. "You’re twisting my words."

Y/n grinned, leaning back in her chair. "Am I?"

Fred rolled his eyes, but there was no real frustration behind it. It was just how their dynamic worked, Fred talked too much, and y/n made it her mission to make him regret it.

"So," George cut in, glancing between them. "You’ve got a plan, then? Gonna ask someone first thing in the morning?"

Y/n snorted. "Please. I don’t even know who I’d ask."

Fred raised an eyebrow, tilting his head at her. "You’re kidding."

"Dead serious," y/n said, stretching her legs out in front of her. "Haven’t really thought about it."

George let out a low whistle. "Risky move. Someone might snatch up all the ‘good ones’ before you get the chance."

Y/n rolled her eyes but smirked. "Guess I’ll just have to settle for one of you two, then."

Fred and George exchanged a look before Fred gasped dramatically, pressing a hand to his chest. "Merlin’s beard, George, we’re her last resort!"

George sighed, shaking his head. "Tragic, really."

Y/n laughed, nudging Fred’s foot with her own. "Yeah, yeah, laugh it up. It’s not like either of you have dates yet, either."

Fred opened his mouth to argue, then hesitated. "Alright, fair point."

George grinned. "Maybe we should be scrambling."

Y/n stretched her arms over her head before smirking at the twins, her book long forgotten in her lap. "I won’t be scrambling," she said breezily. "I basically have to beat the guys away with a stick."

Fred scoffed loudly, crossing his arms as he leaned back against the couch. "As if." He shot her a challenging grin, that familiar mischievous glint in his eye. "I bet I can get a date before you can even say ‘Yule Ball.’"

Y/n sat up a little straighter, the flicker of competition sparking in her chest. She knew that look, Fred Weasley never backed down from a challenge, and honestly? Neither did she.

"Oh yeah?" she said, raising an eyebrow. "You wanna shake on it?"

Fred’s grin widened, his head tilting slightly. "What are the stakes?"

Y/n paused, tapping a finger against her chin as she considered. It had to be something good, something that would really make losing painful.

"Whoever loses has to be the winner’s personal assistant for a week," she finally declared, a smug smile creeping onto her lips. "Anything they need; carrying books, fetching snacks, covering for them when they’re late to class."

George let out a low whistle. "That’s dangerous," he mused, glancing between them with amusement. "I like it."

Fred, however, didn’t even hesitate. He barely took a second to think before sticking his hand out toward her. "You’re on."

Y/n grinned as she clasped his hand firmly, shaking it once. The deal was set.

As she leaned back in her chair, she couldn’t help but feel a thrill of excitement. This wasn’t just about getting a date anymore, this was about winning. And if there was one thing she loved just as much as messing with Fred Weasley, it was beating him at his own game.

—

The next morning, y/n was up before the sun had fully risen, determination settling deep in her chest.

She was going to win this bet.

She was going to win this bet and rub it in Fred’s stupid, smug face.

Her uniform was neat, her tie perfectly knotted, and her shoes freshly shined as she practically bounced down the stairs toward the Great Hall. The air was crisp, and the halls were still relatively empty, most students weren’t quite awake yet, dragging themselves toward breakfast like they were being led to execution.

Not her, though. She had a plan.

Sliding into her usual seat at the Gryffindor table, she ate with purpose, shoveling food into her mouth while her mind worked through her options. She started categorizing potential dates, ranking them from most to least likely to say yes.

She briefly considered asking George, he’d say yes in a heartbeat, if only to reap the benefits of her inevitable victory, but she scrapped the idea just as quickly. Where was the fun in that? No, she wanted to win properly.

By the time the Great Hall had started filling up with groggy students, she had made her decision.

Daniel Scott, a Hufflepuff in her year, was her best shot. It was no secret he fancied her, and she had a feeling he’d jump at the opportunity to go with her. 

Easy.

Just as she was about to finalize her approach, a familiar presence slid into the seat beside her. 

Fred.

He was as casual as ever, hair still slightly tousled from sleep, his tie half done like he couldn’t be bothered to fix it properly. He snatched up her half-full glass of orange juice, finishing it off with a satisfied sigh before turning to her with that lazy, infuriatingly confident smile.

"Are you preparing yourself for defeat?" he asked, setting the glass down with a soft clink. "I take my tea with extra milk, by the way, since you’ll be fetching it for me all next week."

Y/n rolled her eyes. "You’re awfully cocky for someone who hasn’t even secured a date yet."

Fred just grinned wider, leaning in slightly. "Neither have you."

She shot him a smirk, picking up a piece of toast as she stood from the table. "Give it ten minutes."

With that, she sauntered off, feeling Fred’s gaze follow her as she made her way toward the Hufflepuff table. 

Game on.

Daniel," y/n said, her voice sweet as honey as she shot the boy a dazzling smile.

He froze, mid-bite into his toast, eyes widening like a deer caught in wandlight.

This was going to be easy.

"I was wondering if you wanted to go to the ball with me?" she asked, tilting her head slightly, letting just the right amount of charm seep into her voice.

Daniel gulped, his fingers tightening around his fork. His eyes darted around the table, as if searching for an escape.

"I—uh, well—" His face turned an alarming shade of red, and he suddenly found great interest in the surface of the table.

Y/n frowned, confused by his hesitation. This was Daniel Scott. The same Daniel Scott who had stammered through at least three separate compliments about her hair just last week. The same Daniel Scott who could barely meet her eyes without turning pink. There was absolutely no reason he wouldn’t say yes.

Unless

Her stomach dropped as Daniel cleared his throat, his voice barely above a whisper. "I, um, I heard from—uh, someone that you—er—only asked me because you lost a bet."

Y/n blinked, her head jerking back slightly. "What?"

"I just—I mean, it’s fine if you did," Daniel rushed to say, still avoiding her gaze. "I just—Fred Weasley mentioned something about it before breakfast, and—uh—I just don’t want to be anyone’s backup plan."

Her entire body went still.

Fred.

That absolute menace.

Y/n clenched her jaw, inhaling deeply through her nose before forcing a tight-lipped smile. "I see. Well, thanks anyway, Daniel."

Before he could stammer out another apology, she turned on her heel and marched straight back to the Gryffindor table.

Fred was right where she left him, lounging in his seat like he hadn’t just completely sabotaged her. He was halfway through a piece of toast when he caught sight of her storming toward him.

"You," she hissed, planting her hands on the table as she loomed over him. "Sabotage? Really?"

Fred grinned, entirely unbothered as he leaned back. "Oh, come on, love. You didn’t seriously think I’d play fair, did you?"

She narrowed her eyes, fuming. "That was a dirty play, Weasley."

He shrugged. "It was never off the table."

Y/n exhaled sharply, crossing her arms as she reevaluated everything. Clearly, she had underestimated just how far Fred was willing to go to win this bet.

Fine. If that was how he wanted to play, she’d just have to get creative.

And she would win.

—

The Great Hall had been cleared of its usual long tables, the enchanted ceiling above a dull gray as a storm brewed outside. The Gryffindor students, fourth years and above, stood in two separate lines, girls on one side, boys on the other. The air buzzed with hushed conversations, a mix of excitement and dread hanging between them.

Professor McGonagall was saying something about lions and swans, but y/n wasn’t listening.

She was too busy plotting.

Fred’s little stunt with Daniel still had her seething, and if he thought she was just going to take the loss quietly, he had severely underestimated her.

Fred had made his move first, and now it was her turn.

She spotted him cutting across the floor toward Angelina, steps sure and confident. Oh, no. That wouldn’t do at all.

Without hesitation, she swooped in, looping her arms around him and settling his hands on her waist before he could protest.

Fred blinked in surprise before narrowing his eyes. "What are you doing?"

Y/n smiled up at him. "Playing the game."

His fingers twitched against her waist. "And what exactly is your next move?"

She shrugged, shifting slightly as the music picked up. "Haven’t decided yet. But I figured a little sabotage was in order."

Fred let out a huff, his lips quirking. "So, your grand retaliation is stealing me as a dance partner? That’s weak, y/l/n."

"Not stealing," she corrected smugly. "Intercepting."

He chuckled. "Ah, I see. Is that what you were doing with Daniel earlier? Intercepting?"

Her smile tightened as she shot him a glare. "Oh, you mean the boy you so graciously warned about my ulterior motives?"

Fred smirked. "Oh, did I do that? Hm. Must’ve slipped out."

"Sabotage wasn’t part of the deal, Weasley."

"Wasn’t excluded either."

Y/n exhaled sharply, shaking her head as they spun in time with the music. "You really don’t fight fair, do you?"

"Absolutely not," he admitted easily. "And neither should you, if you want to win."

Y/n hummed, as if considering. "Noted."

Fred tilted his head slightly. "So what’s next, then? Surely you didn’t just drag me away from Angelina to lecture me on fair play."

She smiled, slow and deliberate. "Wouldn’t you like to know?"

Fred eyed her, lips twitching. "Oh, I would."

They moved across the floor smoothly, the space between them filled with unspoken challenges. Y/n glanced at his tie, still barely holding itself together, as if he had done it in a hurry that morning. Typical.

With a smirk, she reached up, fingers deftly undoing the sloppy knot and tightening it properly.

Fred stilled slightly, brow furrowing. "What are you—"

"Fixing it," she muttered, patting his chest once satisfied. "Honestly, Fred, do you even try?"

"Not when I have someone to do it for me," he quipped, grinning.

Y/n rolled her eyes, stepping back as the music faded. "Enjoy the dance, Weasley. I’ve got work to do."

She turned on her heel and strode off, already formulating her next move.

Fred watched her go, adjusting the tie she had just fixed. He shook his head with a quiet chuckle, already anticipating whatever chaos she had planned next.

—-

Fred was feeling good about Amelia Roberts.

Smart, sharp-witted, and completely unaware of his ongoing war with y/n.

She was laughing at something he’d said, her blue eyes twinkling under the candlelight of the courtyard lanterns. Progress.

Fred leaned against the stone railing, flashing his signature smirk. "So, what do you say, Roberts? Yule Ball with me? Best decision you’ll make all year."

Amelia smiled, tilting her head in consideration.

And then

Two warm arms wrapped around his waist from behind.

Fred stiffened.

"Oh, there you are, sweetheart!"

His stomach dropped.

No.

Absolutely not.

Y/n practically melted into his side, resting her head against his shoulder with the ease of someone who had done this a thousand times before.

Fred didn’t even have time to react before she turned her sweetest, most innocent smile toward Amelia.

"Oh, Amelia!" y/n gushed, gripping Fred’s arm like he was the love of her life. "I love that you and Freddie are such good friends! Ever since we started secretly dating, I was so worried that people would suspect, but you—" she clasped a hand over her heart, voice dripping with sincerity, "you have been so supportive!"

Fred choked. "What—NO—"

Amelia’s entire expression changed in an instant.

Her smile vanished, replaced with suspicion. "Secretly dating?"

Fred tried to pull away from y/n, but she only tightened her grip, shooting him a warning glance that said if you move, I will make this worse.

Her head tilted slightly as she turned to him, eyes suddenly filled with mock devastation.

"Freddie," she whispered, voice breaking just a little. "Are you ashamed of us?"

Fred froze.

Oh.

Oh, this was bad.

He looked back at Amelia, who now had her arms firmly crossed, her gaze icy.

"No," Fred said quickly, "no, I am absolutely NOT dating her—"

"Freddie!" y/n gasped, turning every single pair of eyes in the courtyard onto them. "I cannot believe you would deny me like this! After all we’ve been through?"

Fred was actually speechless. His mouth opened, then closed, then opened again—but nothing came out.

Y/n sighed dramatically, looking to Amelia as if she were the only one who could understand her pain.

"You have to forgive him," y/n said solemnly. "It’s just… so difficult for him. The constant attention, the pressure of keeping this a secret… He wanted to tell people" she sniffled, "really, he did"

"Yeah, I don’t do cheaters," Amelia muttered, already stepping away.

Fred’s entire body jerked forward in panic. "Wait—no, I—"

But Amelia had already turned on her heel and walked away.

Fred stood there, still partially trapped in y/n’s grasp, his brain short-circuiting from what had just happened.

Slowly, his head turned toward her.

Y/n beamed up at him, looking immensely pleased with herself.

She patted his shoulder, smiling sweetly. "Oops."

Fred exhaled deeply. "I hate you."

"No, you don’t," y/n said, sing-songing as she walked away.

Fred groaned, slumping against the railing.

He needed a new plan. Immediately.

—

Y/n had spent the entire morning planning her approach. She’d decided that Thomas Greaves, a quiet but friendly Ravenclaw, would be her best shot. He wasn’t the type to make a huge fuss, and she figured she had a pretty solid chance at getting a yes.

She spotted him just outside the Great Hall, standing near the entrance, looking over a rolled-up parchment, probably last-minute homework. Perfect.

Straightening her tie and putting on her most charming smile, she strode toward him with confidence.

"Hey, Thomas!" she greeted brightly, tucking her hands behind her back as she rocked on her heels. "Got a second?"

Thomas looked up, blinking behind his glasses. "Oh—uh, yeah. What’s up?"

Y/n grinned, already sensing victory. "So, I was wondering if you’d like to go to the Yule Ball with me?"

Before Thomas could even process what she was saying, a familiar arm slung itself over his shoulder.

"Oi, Tommy boy!"

Y/n’s stomach dropped.

Fred.

Of course it was Fred.

"Mate, I haven’t seen you all morning," Fred said, giving Thomas a heavy pat on the back, his voice dripping with fake concern. "Are you feeling alright?"

Thomas frowned. "Uh—yeah? I think so?"

Fred gasped, clutching his chest dramatically. "Oh, thank Merlin! When I heard about your—" he dropped his voice to a conspiratorial whisper, "condition, I thought you’d still be in the hospital wing!"

Y/n narrowed her eyes. "Fred, don’t you have somewhere else to be?"

Fred ignored her, turning back to Thomas with a solemn nod. "Bravest bloke I know," he said. "I mean, most people wouldn’t even show their face after spotted wandrot."

Thomas froze. "Spotted what?"

Fred sighed, shaking his head sadly. "Oh, mate, no need to be embarrassed. Madam Pomfrey said she’d never seen a case spread so quickly. And to think, you’re walking around like nothing happened." He wiped an imaginary tear from his eye. "Inspiring, really."

Y/n clenched her jaw. "Fred—"

"Though, of course," Fred continued thoughtfully, stroking his chin, "it is highly contagious. Wouldn’t want to pass that on, right?"

Thomas visibly paled.

"Wait—what? I—I don’t have—"

Fred gasped. "Oh no! Did Pomfrey not tell you? I thought she was supposed to give you the full debrief." He turned to y/n, shaking his head. "You’d think they’d at least warn the poor guy before sending him off to infect the whole school."

Thomas took a full step away from both of them, his expression stricken. "I—I have to go—"

Before y/n could stop him, Thomas bolted into the Great Hall like a man fleeing for his life.

She stood there in stunned silence, processing what had just happened.

Then she turned, eyes blazing, to Fred, who stood beside her looking utterly pleased with himself.

"You," she seethed. "Are the worst."

Fred smirked, stuffing his hands into his pockets. "Better luck next time, love."

And with that, he sauntered off, whistling a cheerful tune, leaving y/n fuming on the steps of the Great Hall.

–

Fred had been extra careful this time. He had barely spoken about his next move to anyone, not even George, not even Lee. He was playing this one quietly, which, for him, was practically impossible.

But he wasn’t about to let y/n get the better of him again.

That’s why he’d chosen Lily Carter, a friendly and straightforward ravenclaw who, as far as he could tell, had zero history with y/n and no reason to get caught in the crossfire.

It was the perfect setup.

They sat next to each other in Charms, and just as Flitwick turned his back to demonstrate a wand movement, Fred pulled out a small slip of parchment and wrote, in his best and least-sarcastic handwriting:

Oi, Lily, fancy going to the Ball with me?

He folded the note quickly and, with the smoothest flick of his fingers, slid it onto her desk. He kept his eyes trained on his own parchment, waiting, listening.

A pause.

Then a faint rustling as Lily unfolded it.

Fred smirked. This was too easy.

Until—

"Uh… Fred?" Lily whispered, leaning slightly toward him. "Why did you hand me a blank piece of parchment?"

Fred blinked.

He turned his head, looking down at the note in Lily’s hands.

It was completely empty.

Not a single word.

No ink. No invitation.

Nothing.

Fred sat up straighter, now fully awake. "That’s not—" He grabbed his quill, tested it on his own parchment, yep, worked perfectly fine, then squinted at the blank slip. "I—I wrote something, I swear."

Lily gave him a bemused look. "Right. Well, I appreciate the effort, I guess?"

Fred’s brain was scrambling. This wasn’t possible.

Unless—

Oh, for Merlin’s sake.

Slowly, he turned in his seat, craning his neck toward the back of the classroom.

Sure enough, y/n was there, leaning casually on her elbow, watching him with a very self-satisfied smirk.

She lifted her wand slightly, giving it the tiniest twirl.

Fred groaned.

"Y/L/N," he whispered, barely keeping himself from laughing.

Y/n raised an eyebrow as if she had no idea what he was talking about.

Fred turned back around, taking a deep breath.

—

Y/n had planned this perfectly.

She had finally found someone Fred hadn’t gotten to yet, James Dunmore, a charming and easygoing Hufflepuff who was known for being friendly with just about everyone. He was the type who wouldn’t be put off by rumors or sabotage, which made him the perfect candidate.

It was foolproof.

She caught him outside the Herbology greenhouses between classes, brushing a stray leaf off his robes. "Hey, James," she greeted casually.

He grinned. "Hey, y/n. What’s up?"

She exhaled slightly, steeling herself. "So, I was wondering—"

But just as she was about to ask him, the doors of the castle slammed open.

A chorus of heavily off-key voices rang out across the courtyard.

Y/n froze.

Students turned in confusion as four overly enthusiastic first-years in matching pink suits came marching toward her, led by none other than Lee Jordan.

"FRED WEASLEY SENT US TO DELIVER A MESSAGE OF TRUE LOVE!" Lee bellowed.

James took a slow step backward.

Y/n clenched her fists.

Lee gave an exaggerated wave. "Hit it, lads!"

The first-years immediately burst into song:

"Oh, y/n, my darling true," "Your beauty shines, your wit cuts through," "Fred Weasley dreams of you all day," "So please don’t turn and run away!"

Y/n covered her face with her hands.

James looked deeply uncomfortable. "Uh—"

Fred, watching from the entrance, leaned casually against the doorway, arms crossed, smirking like he had just orchestrated the greatest act of war in history.

The first-years weren’t done:

"The Yule Ball’s coming, don’t you see?" "So say yes, my love, and dance with me!" "Fred is waiting, don't delay—" "Or he’ll cry himself away!"

The entire courtyard was now watching.

James chuckled awkwardly, rubbing the back of his neck. "Uh, y/n, this—this seems like a lot. Maybe I’ll just—" He gestured vaguely before retreating into the greenhouses at top speed.

Y/n slowly turned on her heel, rage simmering.

Fred grinned at her from across the courtyard.

"Sabotage is such an ugly word," he said smugly. "I prefer to think of this as… performance art."

Y/n narrowed her eyes.

This wasn’t over.

—

Fred was getting too close to winning.

Y/n had already lost three potential dates thanks to his sabotage, and she refused to let him have the last laugh. So, she pulled out her own bag of tricks.

She waited until dinner, when Fred was at his most comfortable, laughing loudly at something George had said while stuffing his face with mashed potatoes.

Perfect.

Sliding into the seat across from him, she leaned in, her tone light and casual. "Hey, Freddie. Have a drink, yeah?"

She pushed a goblet toward him, freshly poured pumpkin juice.

Fred raised an eyebrow. "Awfully nice of you, y/l/n," he mused. "You wouldn’t happen to be poisoning me, would you?"

Y/n rolled her eyes. "You think way too highly of yourself. Drink."

Fred smirked, not one to turn down a freebie, and took a long sip.

Y/n fought to keep her face neutral.

The effects were instantaneous.

Fred blinked once. Then twice. His smirk faltered.

"Y/n," he said slowly. "Why does my mouth feel weird?"

"Oh, no reason," she said, beaming.

George snorted. "What did you do?"

Fred sat up straighter, his hands gripping the table as if he were trying to physically hold back his next words. His expression shifted from suspicion to horror as his mouth opened against his will.

"I KISSED A MIRROR ONCE TO SEE IF I WAS A GOOD KISSER," he shouted.

The entire Gryffindor table went silent.

Fred clamped his hands over his mouth, eyes wild.

Y/n grinned. "Oh, did I forget to mention? That was a Truth Potion."

Fred shook his head violently. "No. Nope. Not happening."

His hands dropped from his face, and suddenly—

"I USED TO HAVE A NIGHTMARE WHERE PROFESSOR MCGONAGALL WAS A GIANT CAT AND CHASED ME AROUND THE CASTLE."

George fell off the bench.

Fred turned to y/n, betrayed. "THIS IS EVIL."

She rested her chin on her palm, enjoying the spectacle. "You started this war, Weasley. Now, tell me, who’s your next target for the Yule Ball?"

Fred tried to fight it, he really did. His entire body tensed, his lips trembled—

"I WAS GOING TO ASK LUCY AINSLEY AFTER DINNER!"

Lucy Ainsley, sitting two seats away, immediately stood up and walked out of the Great Hall.

Fred groaned. "Oh, come on!"

Y/n popped a grape into her mouth, looking very pleased. "Well. Guess you’ll have to try again tomorrow."

Fred glared at her. "I will get you back for this."

Y/n winked. "Looking forward to it, mirror kisser."

—

Y/n was dangerously close to winning the bet.

She had dodged Fred’s last few sabotage attempts, and now she had one final shot, Clarke Roswell, a smart and charming Ravenclaw who had always been friendly toward her. He wasn’t the type to get easily spooked, and Fred hadn’t had time to get to him first.

At least, that’s what she thought.

She found Clarke in the library after dinner, sitting at one of the quieter tables near the windows, scribbling notes on a long parchment. Taking a deep breath, she sat down across from him, flashing her most confident smile.

"Hey, Clarke," she said smoothly.

He looked up, smiling back. "Hey, y/n. What’s up?"

"Well, I was wondering—"

And suddenly, her mouth wouldn’t stop moving.

"WELL, CLARKE, I WAS WONDERING IF YOU WANTED TO GO TO THE YULE BALL WITH ME BUT ALSO I USED TO SLEEP WITH A STUFFED HIPPGRIFF UNTIL THIRD YEAR AND SOMETIMES I STILL DO BUT THAT’S NOT THE POINT—"

Y/n slapped a hand over her mouth, horrified.

Clarke blinked. "...What?"

Her eyes widened in terror as she realised she couldn’t stop talking.

"SORRY I THINK I’VE BEEN HEXED BUT I TOTALLY THINK YOU’RE HANDSOME AND THAT ONE TIME IN POTIONS YOU ROLLED UP YOUR SLEEVES I GOT DISTRACTED AND SPILLED MY INGREDIENTS EVERYWHERE AND PROFESSOR SNAPE GAVE ME DETENTION FOR IT—"

Clarke looked deeply alarmed. "Uh—"

"WAIT NO DON’T LEAVE, I SWEAR I’M NOT A WEIRDO, I JUST THINK YOU HAVE NICE HANDS AND I ALSO ONCE CRIED BECAUSE I DROPPED A SLICE OF PUMPKIN PASTRY ON THE FLOOR AND I STILL THINK ABOUT IT SOMETIMES—"

Clarke was already backing away, his chair screeching against the floor as he practically ran out of the library.

Y/n slammed her forehead onto the table, mortified.

A slow, mocking clap echoed from behind her.

She knew who it was before she even turned around.

Fred Weasley leaned against a bookshelf, arms crossed, looking immensely pleased with himself.

"You know," he mused, "I was really hoping you’d start babbling about me, but that was almost just as good."

Y/n lifted her head just enough to glare at him. "You did this?"

Fred smirked, pulling out his wand and twirling it between his fingers. "A little Babbling Curse, just to make things interesting."

"I hate you," she hissed.

Fred grinned. "Nah, you love me. You said so, right before you mentioned that stuffed Hippogriff of yours,"

Y/n grabbed the nearest book and hurled it at his head.

Fred dodged it with ease, laughing as he ran out of the library, while y/n seethed, already plotting her next move.

—

Fred Weasley was in trouble.

It hit him like a rogue Bludger to the chest as he sat at the Gryffindor table, idly pushing peas around his plate. The Great Hall was filled with buzzing conversations, excited chatter about dress robes, last-minute dates, and who was going with whom.

And then, in a single horrifying moment, he realised.

The Yule Ball was two days away.

And he had no date.

His fork clattered against his plate as his brain kicked into overdrive.

He had spent so much time sabotaging y/n that he had completely forgotten to actually secure a date of his own. He quickly ran through his mental list of possible options.

Amelia Roberts? Gave him a withering glare every time they crossed paths after the “secret relationship” stunt.

Fiona Hayes? Still recovering from the boggart catastrophe and actively avoiding him in the hallways.

Sophia Benson? Thought he was in love with Lee Jordan, so that was a firm no.

Lucy Ainsley? Walked out of the Great Hall after his Truth Potion confession and hadn’t spoken to him since.

Clara Whitmore? Witnessed the public marriage proposal and didn’t want to be anywhere near that mess.

Fred groaned, rubbing his hands down his face. He was officially out of options.

But then

His hands froze.

His mind came to a screeching halt.

There was still one person who was available.

Y/n.

He let the thought settle, blinking rapidly.

Technically… technically, she counted.

She was still open. He was still open.

And after everything they had done to ruin each other’s chances? It was almost poetic.

His lips curled into a slow smirk.

Oh, this was going to be fun.

He pushed his plate aside, standing abruptly. George, mid-bite into a chicken leg, raised an eyebrow. "Where are you off to?"

Fred cracked his knuckles, stretching his arms before rolling his shoulders back. "I’ve got business to handle."

George snorted. "That sounds fake, but alright."

—

Y/n was pacing.

She had spent so much time playing defense against Fred that she had completely neglected to actually secure a date for herself. And now, with only two days until the Yule Ball, she was faced with a horrifying truth:

She had no options left.

Leaning against the stone railing of the Grand Staircase, she furiously ran through every possibility.

Thomas Greaves? Avoided her like she carried a deadly curse.

Noah Bell? Would rather transfer schools than interact with her again.

Liam Fletcher? No. Just—no.

Clarke Roswell? Likely in hiding.

James Dunnmore? Won’t even look at her anymore.

Her stomach twisted.

She was completely out of options.

And then, like a lightning strike, it hit her.

Fred.

Her head snapped up.

Fred was still available.

Technically, he counted.

And after everything they had done to ruin each other’s chances? It was almost fitting.

The second she had the thought, she took off down the corridor, pushing past a few startled second-years.

She had to find him.

She sped through the Grand Staircase, dodging a confused first-year, nearly tripping over a moving step.

Where the hell is he?

This was Fred Weasley, he was always around, always loud, always in the way.

But now, when she needed to find him? Now, when it actually mattered?

Gone.

She gritted her teeth, rounding a sharp corner.

He was moving too fast.

His mind was whirling, his options were gone, he was out of time, and his only way out of this mess was y/n.

It was almost poetic.

Almost.

If he had time to dwell on it, he might have thought about how ridiculous it was that they had wasted weeks sabotaging each other, only to end up in the exact same situation.

But he didn’t have time.

Because he was running, and the second he turned the next corner—

CRASH.

It was instant.

One second, they were both charging full speed ahead.

The next

A solid impact, a tangle of limbs, a sharp oof as they collided full-force into each other.

Y/n stumbled back, slamming into the stone wall, hands gripping Fred’s arms to steady herself.

Fred nearly lost his balance, one hand bracing against the wall beside her head to keep from toppling over.

For a moment, neither of them moved.

They were close. Too close.

The impact had sent her stumbling back against the cold stone wall, and Fred, ever so slightly off balance, had caught himself by bracing a hand against the wall right next to her head.

She blinked.

He blinked.

Neither of them moved.

For a long, stretched-out second, the only sound was the distant chatter of students in the corridors, the faint flicker of torchlight casting warm shadows along Fred’s face.

Y/n swallowed. "You ran into me."

Fred exhaled sharply, amused. "I think you’ll find that you ran into me."

She raised an eyebrow. "You were the one running full speed down the hall like a lunatic—"

"You were also running full speed down the hall," he shot back, a slow smirk curling onto his lips. "Where were you headed, anyway?"

Y/n huffed, finally shifting out of his almost-trapped position. "To find you."

Fred blinked. "Oh."

A beat of silence.

Then, realisation flickered across his face.

"You were coming to—"

"You were also coming to—"

They both froze.

Understanding settled between them.

Fred let out a deep groan, rubbing a hand down his face. "Oh, for Merlin’s sake—"

Y/n snorted, crossing her arms. "I hate this."

"I hate this more," Fred muttered.

A charged silence hung between them.

Y/n cleared her throat. "So."

Fred glanced at her, arms still crossed over his chest. "So."

Her fingers drummed against her sleeve. "I suppose there’s really no way around it, then?"

Fred sighed dramatically, as if the very idea of what he was about to say pained him. "Unfortunately, I don’t think so."

She smirked. "Wow. You sound thrilled."

"Oh, absolutely. Overjoyed."

Another silence. This time, it wasn’t quite as combative.

Fred exhaled, tilting his head slightly, studying her. "You know…" he said, more thoughtful this time, "as much as I hate losing, and as much as I hate you thinking you won—"

Y/n grinned. "So much hate in that sentence, Weasley. Sure you don’t have something else to say?"

Fred ignored her. "I don’t think going to the Ball with you will be that bad."

Y/n raised an eyebrow, tilting her chin up slightly. "That bad?"

Fred gave her a slow, lazy smile. "Well. There’s always a chance I might enjoy myself."

Y/n huffed a laugh, shaking her head. "Don’t get your hopes up, Weasley."

"Oh, my hopes are very low, don’t worry."

A pause.

Then, Fred stuck out his hand, looking almost reluctant but also… maybe something else.

Y/n eyed him, amused. "What is this?"

"A truce," he said, though his lips twitched like he was holding back another smirk.

She considered, tapping a finger against her chin like she was actually debating it.

Then, slowly, she took his hand, shaking it once.

The moment stretched just a bit longer than it needed to.

Her palm was warm against his.

Neither of them let go right away.

Y/n arched an eyebrow. "What? Are we having a moment?"

Fred let out a loud groan, instantly pulling his hand back. "Absolutely not—"

"Sounded like a moment to me"

Fred scowled, but his ears were definitely pink. "See you at the Ball, y/l/n."

Y/n smirked, turning to walk away.

"You better dress nicely, Weasley," she called over her shoulder. "Wouldn’t want people thinking I’m dating a total disaster."

Fred scoffed. "Well, lucky for you"

He hesitated.

Y/n slowed, glancing back. "Lucky for me…?"

Fred rolled his shoulders, smirking again, but softer this time.

"Lucky for you, I look good in anything."

a/n: i hope you guys enjoyed. i am having some serious writers block at the moment im so upset :(

[8-0mph]

Forbidden Dream

This is all of my Adventure Time AU in chronological story order. Thanks to my friend for proof-read.

Act I: Prismo and Betty

This takes some time after the events of F&C. Prismo and Scrabby inhabit the TR(TimeRoom) and Golbetty has gotten restless with her time in space. She decides to reach out to other multiversal beings, but no one wants to associate with Golb. She finally finds someone that puts up with her ..that being the Wishmaster.

Prismo is scared of Golbetty at first, especially Scrabby since he has a little bit of history with her. He scurries off or hides behind Prismo when she is in the TR. To Scrabbys surprise, Pris and Betty hit it off and become good friends. They find they have something in common, which is their “human” past. Theyre both mortals turned to immortals.

The duo start off by drinking and making fanfics together, but then Betty proposes the idea of making these fics “real”. Prismo is hesitant at first but lately he doesn’t mind breaking the rules.

At first they visit universes that Prismo considers safe. They treat them like vacations, and a lot of these worlds do not have the typical AT characters. Theyre peaceful docile places. Prismo gets daring, telling Betty that he wants to feel alive again. The two of them agree to visit a dangerous world, the Vampire Kingdom.

Notes:

- Betty chose her physical form to look like magic Betty because she felt it would be strange to appear as she normally did in the past.

- Prismos physical form is what he looked like as a younger human. He thought it would be more fitting for the “adventure”. Also.. He hates how clothing feels on him, so the see-through garments suffice.

- Scrabby is not happy about their friendship. He feels that Prismo has gotten even lazier, foregoing his Wishmaster responsibilities and even worse, ignoring him. The scarab thought he found someone that was happy to spend time with him for the first time, But feels like he has gone back to being the “forgotten” one.

EP II: Vampire Kingdom

Once Pris and Betty teleport here, theyre immediately caught off guard by a group of vampires that whisk Prismo away and the two are separated. Betty gets surprised by a starved vampire!Simon, who at first doesnt recognize her until he gets a good look at her face.

He refuses to believe its actually Betty and rather a wizard attempting to play tricks on him. Marcy calls his name and he flys away, leaving Betty stunned.

The vampire world is an AU where Vampires take over, but Simon never died and was able to stay with Marcy. Marcy isnt evil here. Simons crown was stolen before he could make a complete transformation into IceKing, and his sanity was kept in part to Marcy turning him to save him from a group of hungry vampires. One curse was replaced with another.

Marcy was turned at a younger age by the VK, but Simon saved her by scratching at the VKs eye (his face scar). Even though the King is furious at Simon for this, he thinks it is more amusing to keep Simon alive and suffering from vampirism. Vampires are starved in this world just like “The Star” episode, but Simon proposes the idea to wrangle human (and animal) survivors and keep them on a reserve to supply the Vampires with a food source. He inevitably becomes the person in charge of the Blood farms. Keep in mind, Simon did this to save humans, otherwise they would have been hunted to extinction.

Unlike the safe worlds PrisBetty visited, this world has most of the original cast in them. Finn is a survivor of the Blood Farms, swearing to kill Simon who he believes imprisoned him in there (which.. is true). The farm is surrounded by booby traps all around the perimeter, no one can get in or out without some level of flying.

Finn always managed to get close to escaping But eventually gets caught in one of the traps. The last attempt caused him to cut his own arm off to be freed and helped by Huntress Wizard. She is one of the few wizards to help the freedom fighters, a band of humans and candy people led by Commander PB. Wizards are hated by Vampires since theyre the few beings that can overpower them. They try to stay out of each others business But huntress is an exception as she feels that the vampires are disrupting the balance of nature.

The Candy Kingdom is fortress walled with wooden spikes and garlic (I thought it would be silly Lol). PBs armor consists of wooden stakes and reminiscent of Golb who she is a follower of. She has access to the Enchiridion and sees Golb as a being that she should harness the power of if the vampires happen to overwhelm her people someday.

The end of the story would involve PrisBetty helping Simon overthrow the VK after Marcy discovers the vampires ability to “drink red” instead of blood. They team up with the help of PB and Huntress. Simon never truly reconciles with Betty as his defense mechanism is to push any feelings of his past away. But he does have a newfound respect for her and tells her to visit him again. Simon will assume the role of Vampire King and free the humans afterward.

Notes:

- Simon is the only vampire dressing in traditionally “Dracula” clothes. Because hes a nerd and thinks its fitting.

- Marcy is raised by Simon here instead of VK, so she is a lot kinder and sympathetic to the humans and candy kingdom (even if she doesnt show it for a while).

EP III: Winter Kingdom

After the Vampire world, Prismo and Betty decide their adventuring is “complete” and attempt to teleport back to the Time Room with Prismos magic. This doesnt work out. Turns out, their human forms have been draining their magic slowly, making it so that they need to find a magical item to recharge. This being the Enchiridion.

This is a totally different world than (Canon) Winter Kings as obviously he is alive here.

Ooo has been mysteriously frozen over and put into an eternal Ice Age. There is hardly any life (apart from immortal beings and those resistant to the temperatures) so hardly anyone lives on the surface. Prismo automatically assumes WK is responsible, but Betty refuses to believe Simon would be the cause of this destruction. WK has a much larger kingdom with a variety of ice people, a lot of them more human-like in appearance. It seems like he is trying to mirror a human society.

Here WK has Bettys skeleton and attempting to use the cloning machine he has in F&C to clone a “real” Betty (which is why he doesnt have an ice clone of her).

The backstory of this WK mirrors my au version of him.

Prismo and Betty are briefly separated and I wont go into too much detail on the story. Betty gets the “safe” tour of the kingdom by WK and Prismo is left to wander in search for the Enchiridion. He starts to see things that point to a darker scene (fire people fighting ice soldiers, lack of any plant life, and ice clones of people who no longer exist). At the same time, Betty is off-put by WKs controlling nature. He reveals to her that he has been in a 100-year war with the Fire Kingdom “who destroy everything” with their flames, while ice “preserves it”. Betty is shocked to see the extent of destruction the Ice Kingdom has caused to Ooo and manages to slip away to do her own investigating. She eventually ends up in the room Bettys corpse is kept, which is the only place that WK allows plant life to grow. The Enchiridion was sitting on skeleton Bettys lap.

The two of them engage in a fight where he details his plan for her and Ooo.

Prismo manages to save her at the end of it. Up until this point hes been a pacifist in the story. They use the Enchiridion to teleport home and they end up.. not there.

Notes:

- I had a bonus page where Scrabby is reacting to PrisBetty not arriving back in the Time Room. He thinks they didnt teleport back on purpose.

- This page also has WK grabbing Bettys ankle right as she teleports. I was going to have WK teleport with them so there was some kind of threat. I am not sure yet.

- The fight scene was supposed to be a lot longer with Betty having the upperhand at first, But I didnt want to draw all of it.

- Winters appearance slowly turns back into Simon when separated from the magic crown.

EP IV: Back Home

They end up in Ooo where the magic teleported them into the sky, making them fall a great distance. They are a little injured, but Betty is mostly shaken by her experience in the Winter world. She redirects this into frustration at Prismo for not teleporting them to the correct place and that they would need to search another “sucky universe”.

Prismo is frustrated and goes off on his own to find another magical object. Betty stays put in the forest. When looking up, Prismo realizes the universe they teleported to was actually the main Ooo upon seeing the floating human city. He rushes back to where Betty was sitting, telling her to go find her Simon here in Ooo, that he knew that he had the Enchiridion in his closet. Betty refuses, knowing that she already said goodbye to Simon years ago and him seeing her again will only hurt him.

Prismo is annoyed at this but walks off, and Betty wanders around the forest until she encounters one of the transport boats that take people up to the city. In her reluctance, she hitches a ride. Meanwhile Prismo reaches a graveyard on the outskirts of the woods, he hides in the bushes and sees a familiar person, Finn, walking up and leaving a bouquet of flowers at the grave.

When Betty makes it up to the city, she explores for a bit before approaching Simon (who is signing a childs book). Before she could say anything, she covers her face with her hat and speeds off. He is at first confused by this but is immediately distracted by the kid again.

Betty is in shock and retreats onto the boat leading her back down to land. She eventually catches up to Prismo, who is kneeling over Jakes grave. She attempts to comfort him, but the words fall short. He asks her if she visited Simon, but Betty says she couldnt do it. At this point Prismo feels like he wasted his time in the Time Room when he could have been spending it in his human form visiting Jake. He remained trapped in the TR unable to spend time with the mortals he built connections with. He feels that Betty is going to suffer the same regret he feels after Simon inevitably dies.

In a turn of events, Prismo places his hand on the grave and it teleports them back into the Time Room. They are amazed by this, Jakes grave acted like a magical object would have. They temporarily celebrate before Betty is impaled by an angry Scrabby.

Bettys human form is heavily injured as Prismo and the Scarab fight in several rooms. Scrabby tells him that he alerted the auditors about their misdeeds. That they will both be locked away for thousands of years or perhaps forever just like he was trapped in the Time Room.

Prismo temporarily subdues Scrabby and goes back to the main room where Betty is. This is where he turns her into a fox to keep her hidden, and promises that her memories are all stored in her body dormant in Golb (Like how Prismos form is dormant in the Time Room).

Fox!Betty wakes up in Ooo, no memories, a feeling of disconnect from her body, and hungry.

End of Act 1

Act II is all about Bettys life as a fox in Ooo. Its a lot calmer and slow burn in comparison to Act I. Upon landing in Ooo, fox!Betty encounters posters advertising Simons* sci-fi series Casper and Nova. She is convinced he is knowledgeable about space because a talking dog told her he was.

*EDIT: Someone pointed out that C&N was written by Astrid (it is implied heavily). Pretend the posters are the two of them working together, maybe Simon helping Astrid write them since she is just a kid.

She starts pestering Simon at one of his book signings and he already dislikes foxes because earlier in the week, a band of them stole his draft for an upcoming book. Betty proposes that she will find the notes and return them to him if she can have a place to stay (Even though he says no, she crashes at his place anyway).

I thought about Simon giving Betty a nickname so that she isnt just referred to as “fox”, so she is “Sunny” since she really likes when he makes sunny-side up eggs. She really likes eggs as a fox that is her quirk.

Update 1/21/24: Sunny encounters Simon after breaking into his home and snooping around for clues. Simon ambushes her in the Golb ritual room, assuming she has come to steal the Enchiridion. Sunny explains herself and claims that she can get Simons draft back from the fox thieves. They go on an “adventure”. It is revealed that fox!Betty can transform into Betty only when unconscious/sleeping. Simon wakes up next to her but assumes he is hallucinating..

Post about Simon and fox!Bettys dynamic.

I couldnt fit all images into this post as there is a 10 photo limit. I decided to link additional photos to underlined text. If you want further context, check those out. I love reading others AUs and was inspired to do my own. Any questions can be left in comment. Thanks for read..!

[ihavetoomanyocsdealwithit]

You break down into tears and tell them: "It’s been so long since I’ve felt this happy, I think I just got overwhelmed. You make me happy.” 

Heartslabyul dorm (here) ; Savanaclaw dorm; Octavinelle dorm; Scarabia dorm; Pomefiore Dorm; Ignihyde Dorm; Diasomnia Dorm

Cater Diamond – The bar is on the floor. That’s his first thought when he sees you tearing up over just being able to lean on his shoulder while you both look at funny little cat videos, the hand that was petting your hair almost clenching at the roots instead. You’ve never been this happy around Cay-Cay. But Cater? Cater made you happy, just by...being him.  

He sets his phone down, pulling you closer to his side and gives a small kiss on the temple as he pets your hair again. You don’t say anything as you feel a wet spot on the crown of your head, and if he stays tucked into your side whispering little nothings into your hair, nobody has to know but the two of you.  

“You make me happy too.” he breathes, barely audible. He doesn’t know if he wanted you to hear it or not. 

Trey Clover – It’s not fair, he thinks, watching your shoulder’s hitch, not with joy, but with tears. It’s not fair that things have to be so difficult all the damn time, especially for you. It’s not your fault that this world hit you like a freight train. But how you have persevered, how you adjust and shift with the heat because you have no choice. He understands. He hates that you have to do it too.  

The donuts for breakfast are quickly forgotten, his hands coming around you to squeeze tight and rub your back.  

“They won’t be so fleeting one day,” he whispers over the sound of the radio playing in the back, “One day it will be the sadness that surprises you. I don’t know when, but I know it will.”  

Ace Trappola – His hands hesitate, not sure what to do. It was just a regular movie night, cracking jokes at the bad effects when he sees your lips get tight, fat water drops dripping down your cheek as you try and wipe them away.  

“Prefect, if it takes this little, either the bar is in hell or there’s stuff you aren’t telling us.”  

He pulls you into his side, laying the both of you down and letting the stupid movie play in the back while he cracks the worst dad jokes his family has ever told him, eventually poking at your sides until you start laughing again. He understands, of course him and Deuce understand better than most, they’ve been with you since day freaking one, but he knows dwelling on it doesn’t help.  

If he has to keep you smiling, he’ll use every card in the deck to make sure of it.  

Deuce Spade – The only person Deuce has ever made happy in his entire life is his Mom, and even that was something he fucked up for a minute. He can’t believe that he was the one to make you feel like this, so overwhelmed with joy that you start crying.  

The pan sizzles as he clicks the burner off, moving the eggs off the heat. He doesn’t even remember what joke he made, something to do with eggs and chickens, and you doubled over in laughter until it wasn’t.  

Forceful as ever, he yanks you together, holding on to the moment as tightly as he is to you. If you don’t see the pinpricks of tears in his own eyes, it’s probably for the better.  

“I’m not good with words, but I’m here.” He says, cradling your face to look into your eyes. “I am here.”  

Riddle Rosehearts – Kneeling in the hedgehog pen wasn’t how he pictured this going when he invited you to help with their feeding time, and he wasn’t lying when he said it was easier with two. The hedgehogs were less likely to make a break for it if there was a second set of eyes.  

He was simply telling you about them, Angel being his favorite, when he hears the quiet sniffle. He understands a little, even as he cradles your face to wipe the tears away. The hedgehogs in  your lap snuffle at you both, and you laugh again at Houdini’s tumble from your lap to Riddle’s.  

“It takes time,” he whispers, “And I know that you are afraid that you’ll lose this feeling again.” He certainly was, eventually just cradling your face, “but I know that you’ll find it again, as long as you keep trying. Just...do what you’ve taught me.”  

He gives you a few extra minutes simply letting the little creatures roll between the two of you, and is mentally rearranging the feeding roster to include you. And if you happen to stay into dinner and evening tea, well, you are over here all the time anyway. It’s just...it is polite but it’s what he wants too.  

[kisseobie]

hey >_< erm... tutor!jongseob being frustrated at u and bending u over the desk, bullying his fingers into ur busy while he asks u questions WHO SAID THAT

(can i be 🍸 anon ╥﹏╥)

ohhh anon ur soooo right.. i’ve always thought about reader tutoring jongseob but the roles being reversed is also very… 😵‍💫

he’s wearing his sexy ass glasses.. your professor assigning him to be your tutor which he only agreed to because of the extra credit!! it’s definitely not because he notices you every class and daydreams about spreading your cunt open instead of paying attention to the boring lectures!!!

you two would start off tutoring sessions in the school library, but he argues that it’s harder for you to focus in there so you must start coming to his dorm instead!! he knows what he’s talking about, he’s the tutor of course.. he definitely didn’t lure you to his dorm for any ulterior motives.. definitely not that..

he’d be sooo into the sessions too, using his matter-of-fact voice when explaining certain concepts to you. the mansplaining gets on your nerves but he’s the smartest in your class, and you really need to improve your grade (plus he’s sexy, you aren’t blind).. if you can’t answer a question, despite him explaining it to you mere minutes beforehand, he’d definitely roll his eyes and scoff. if it was anyone else you’d call them a pompous ass, but he’s just so yummy with his brows furrowed 😵‍💫😵‍💫 his cocky attitude and annoyance with your forgetfulness eventually makes you crave for him to put you in your place :(

you’d probably start rubbing your pretty thighs together too, which does nothing to satiate the leaking of your cunt at the way he talks to you like you’re stupid :,( he most definitely takes notice but says nothing.. thinks he’s misreading your actions due to his self-proclaimed “delusion”, but when you get the next of his questions wrong with a dopey grin on your face, he can’t resist himself anymore ☹️ huffs and grabs your cheek roughly, humiliates you for being so fucking dumb, telling you that you need to be taught the hard way 😵‍💫

a few minutes later you’re bent over jongseob’s work desk, panties and skirt pulled down to your ankles. the desk is now empty, save for his macbook that’s propped up right in front of you, the red record button blinking at your disheveled appearance as it tapes this new approach to your tutoring session.. seob would smirk at the camera while furiously pumping two digits into your pussy, one arm wrapped around your neck in a headlock to prop you up so you’d be visible to his camera 🤤

you’re mewling and keening like a bitch in heat, pushing your ass back to meet the thrust of his fingers, losing yourself in the feeling. jongseob would be so mean too :( would tell you that you’re still studying, that you need to answer his questions perfectly or he’ll drop your future tutoring sessions ☹️ you don’t even know how to respond to his questions about the forgotten material when he’s abusing your cunny, but you try your best to focus anyways.. if you pause for too long, he’d smack your ass as punishment while telling you to “hurry the fuck up, bitch”

and when he finally fucks you? it’s so nasty 😵‍💫 he’d be spitting in your mouth, manhandling you like you weigh nothing, fucking you into his mattress as if there’s no tomorrow :3 everytime you leave a study session, your brain is foggy, limbs sore, and most importantly, jongseob’s cum drips between your thighs <3

[pandacherryblossoms]

𐙚 Too Little, Too Late? 𐙚

Part Two of Toxic Fwb Jake

wc: 2.4k

Genre: Angst, Smut, Fluff.. MDNI 18+

Warnings: Explicit sexual content, rough sex, emotional sex, desperation & possessiveness, begging & pleading, marking/possessiveness, angst-driven intimacy

Jake always thought you’d come back.

That’s how it had always been—you got mad, he let you cool down, and eventually, things went back to normal. No matter what he did, no matter how much he pushed you away, you never really left.

This time was different. You ignored the knocking.

Jake’s voice was muffled through the door, frustration bleeding into every word. “Open up, damn it.”

You stayed on the couch, staring at your phone as his name flashed across the screen for the tenth time that night. You were done playing his games—done answering his late-night calls, done being the girl he ran to when he wanted to feel something, only to be discarded the next morning like none of it mattered.

Except it had mattered. And now, as he pounded on your door, demanding your attention like he hadn’t been treating you like an option for months, you finally found the strength to shut him out.

The knocking stopped. Your heart pounded as you listened for his next move, but all you heard was silence. Minutes passed. You told yourself not to care, that this was exactly what you wanted. But when you finally peeked through the peephole, your chest tightened. Jake was still there, forehead resting against the door like he was willing himself not to break.

You squeezed your eyes shut and turned away. You couldn’t let him back in. Not this time.

At first he told himself you just needed space. You’d come around.

Days passed. Then weeks.

For the first time, Jake knew what it felt like to be the one waiting. The one hoping. The one desperate.

So he tried harder.

It started with messages—ones he hoped would remind you of what you had before everything got complicated.

Jake: “I know I messed up.”

Jake: “Can we talk?”

Jake: “Please.”

You ignored them, when your fingers twitched over the keyboard, when your heart screamed at you to reply. You couldn’t afford to fall back into the cycle. Then came the gestures. Flowers at your doorstep. Your favorite kind. No note, just left there early in the morning before you even woke up. Lunch dropped off at your job, always exactly what you liked. Jake waiting outside when your shift ended, leaning against his car like he hadn’t spent the past few weeks pretending you didn’t mean anything. You declined the ride every time. He didn’t push.

Instead, he sent texts about things you thought he’d forgotten.

Jake: “Remember that summer we spent at the lake? You made me jump off that huge rock even though I was scared shitless.”

Jake: “Or when you snuck us into that concert? Still the best night of my life.”

Jake: “You were my best friend before any of this. I don’t want to lose that. I don’t want to lose you.”

You stared at your screen, conflicted, because this wasn’t just about sex anymore. This was Jake—the boy who used to make you laugh until you cried, the boy who always knew exactly what to say to make you feel like the most important person in the world.

So, finally, you agreed to talk.

Jake stood at your doorstep again, but this time, you let him in. He looked different—tired, restless. His usual confidence was stripped away, replaced with something raw.

“You really weren’t gonna talk to me, huh?” His voice was quiet.

You crossed your arms. “I didn’t see the point.”

His jaw tensed. “The point is… I fucked up.” He exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair. “I treated you like shit. I don’t know why I did it. Maybe because I was scared, maybe because I didn’t know how to deal with how I felt about you. I don’t know. But I do know I can’t stand the thought of you not being in my life.”

Your chest tightened. “Jake…”

“I love you,” he said it like he’d been holding it in for too long, like it had been clawing its way out of him. “I was just too much of a coward to admit it.”

You searched his face, waiting for the usual deflections, the casual indifference he always used as a shield. But it wasn’t there. This was real.

You let out a slow breath. “You can’t just say that and expect everything to be okay.”

“I know.” His voice was steady. “I don’t expect anything. But I want to fix this. I want to fix us.”

Silence stretched between you, thick with everything unsaid. Then, finally, you stepped forward. Jake didn’t move, didn’t even breathe as you reached up, brushing your fingers along his jaw. His eyes flickered with something desperate, something hopeful.

“Then show me,” you whispered.

He did. The first kiss was hesitant, almost uncertain, but when you didn’t pull away—when you pressed closer, letting your fingers slide into his hair—he melted into you. A quiet groan rumbled in his chest as his hands found your waist, pulling you flush against him.

It had been too long. Too much time wasted. His lips trailed along your jaw, down to the soft spot beneath your ear.

“Missed you,” he murmured against your skin, voice rough, like he was barely holding himself back.

You tilted your head, letting out a quiet sigh as he kissed down your neck, his hands warm and steady where they held you. The warmth of his body against yours sent a shiver down your spine, and suddenly, all the anger, all the hurt, melted into something else.

You pulled back just enough to meet his eyes, breathless. “Let’s take this to the room.”

His grip on you tightened slightly. “Are you sure?”

You nodded. “Yes.”

Something flickered in his gaze—relief, want, something deeper. Jake exhaled slowly, his forehead resting against yours for just a second. Then, without another word, he took your hand, lacing your fingers together as you led him toward the bedroom.

The door to the bedroom clicked shut behind you, leaving nothing but the soft glow of the streetlights filtering through the blinds to illuminate the space. Jake’s hand was still in yours, his thumb gently stroking the back of your hand. It was a gesture you had always found comforting, a silent promise that no matter what happened, he’d be there.

You turned to face him, the weight of your decision settling heavily on your shoulders. The room felt smaller, the air thick with unspoken words and unresolved tension. For a moment, you just stared at each other, the silence stretching out like a tightrope between you.

Then, Jake took a step closer, his eyes searching yours for any sign of doubt. He lifted his free hand, cupping your cheek with a gentle touch. His thumb brushed over your skin, and you felt the warmth of his breath on your face.

“I know I don’t deserve this. But I’ll spend every minute making it up to you, if you’ll let me,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper.

You felt your resolve wavering, the warmth of his hand on your cheek making you want to believe him. You leaned into his touch, his thumb tracing a comforting path over your cheekbone.

“I don’t want to be hurt again, Jake,” you whispered, your eyes searching his for any hint of insincerity.

His gaze never left yours. “I know. And I promise you, I won’t let that happen. I’m going to prove it to you every day.”

Jake leaned in, closing the distance between your mouths with a gentle kiss that held all the apologies he couldn’t voice. It was sweet, tender, and it made your heart ache with a yearning you hadn’t realized was still there. The kiss grew deeper, hungrier, and your hands found their way to his shoulders, gripping the fabric of his shirt as if you were trying to hold on to the feeling.

He pulled you closer, his arms wrapping around your waist, lifting you off the ground slightly. You wrapped your legs around him, feeling his strength as he carried you to the bed, setting you down with a gentle thud. The mattress sank under his weight as he hovered over you, his eyes never leaving yours.

The kisses grew more urgent, his hands sliding up your sides to cradle your face as his thumbs traced the outline of your jaw. You could feel the desperation in his touch, the fear of losing you forever. But it was mixed with something else—a fierce determination to make things right, to be the person you deserved.

You reached up and unbuttoned his shirt, letting it fall open to reveal the firm planes of his chest. His skin was warm, the beat of his heart a steady rhythm against your palms. He pulled back, eyes dark with want, and helped you off with his shirt. Your own breath hitched as his bare chest met yours, the sensation sending a jolt of electricity through you.

Jake’s hands paused at the hem of your shirt. “May I?”

You nodded, letting him lift it over your head. His gaze roamed over you, taking in every inch of your exposed skin as if he were memorizing you. The way he looked at you—like you were the most precious thing he’d ever seen—was almost enough to make you forget

With trembling hands, Jake reached for the clasp of your bra, his eyes never leaving yours. You felt a flutter in your stomach as the material fell away, the coolness of the room meeting the heat of your skin. He kissed you again, his mouth moving with a newfound urgency, his hands exploring the curves of your body as if it were the first time.

You could feel the tension in his muscles, the restrained power in every touch. It was intoxicating, making you want to melt into him. You arched your back, pressing closer, your breasts brushing against his bare chest. His mouth trailed down, leaving a hot path of kisses across your collarbone, down to the peak of your breasts. His hands skimmed over your skin, leaving a trail of goosebumps in their wake.

With a gentle tug, he pulled you onto your side, his hand slipping down to unbutton your jeans. His touch was slow, deliberate, as if he were savoring every moment. You could feel your heart racing, every inch of you alive with anticipation.

As your jeans slid off, his hand found the bare skin of your hip, his thumb tracing small circles there. The sensation was maddening, making you squirm against the bed. Jake’s eyes never left yours, watching for your reaction, making sure you were okay with every step he took.

“You’re so beautiful,” he murmured, his voice thick with emotion.

You felt a blush creep up your cheeks. Despite everything, his words had the power to make you feel cherished. You reached for the button of his own jeans, feeling the tension coil even tighter.

With a nod, Jake allowed you to push his jeans down, his boxers following. The sight of him—bare and vulnerable—sent a wave of desire crashing through you. You took a moment to appreciate the way his muscles flexed, the way his skin felt against yours. He was yours again, and it was a feeling you hadn’t realized how much you missed.

He slid his hand up your thigh, his fingertips brushing against the dampness of your underwear. You gasped into his mouth, your body responding to his touch as if it had been programmed to do so. He paused, his eyes searching yours for consent. You nodded, unable to find words to express the need building inside you.

Jake slid your underwear down, his touch feather-light as he revealed you to him. He kissed you deeply, his hand cupping you, his thumb finding the sensitive spot that made your hips buck. You moaned into his mouth, your fingers digging into his shoulders as he touched you with a reverence that was almost overwhelming.

He broke the kiss, his breath warm against your neck. “I want to take care of you tonight,” he whispered. “Let me make you feel good. Let me show you how much you mean to me.”

You nodded, your breath hitching as his hand slid away from your center, leaving you feeling exposed and needy. Jake leaned down, pressing his lips to your neck, his teeth grazing your skin as he kissed his way down your body. His mouth found your breast, his tongue circling your nipple before taking it into his mouth. You arched into his touch, the sensation making your toes curl.

He kissed across your stomach, his hands ghosting over your hips before sliding them under your thighs, urging you to open for him. His mouth was hot and wet against your core, his tongue stroking you in a way that made you forget everything except for this moment. You tangled your fingers in his hair, holding him closer as he tasted you, explored you, worshipped you.

The sensations built, coiling tighter and tighter until you were panting, your hips moving in time with his rhythm. He knew exactly what you liked, how to make you fall apart in his arms. You felt yourself teetering on the edge, the pressure building until you couldn’t hold back anymore.

Jake’s eyes never left yours as he slid two fingers inside you, his thumb pressing against your clit. You bit your lip, trying to muffle the sounds that spilled from your mouth. He watched you, his gaze intense, as he pushed you closer to the brink.

The room filled with the sound of your breathy moans, the scent of your arousal heavy in the air. His mouth moving against your inner thigh, kissing, nipping, until you were on the edge. He knew your body like a map, had memorized every curve and hollow. His fingers danced in and out of you, curling to hit that spot that made your vision swim. You gripped his hair tighter, urging him on as you climbed higher and higher.

And then you shattered. Your back arched off the bed, a keening cry escaping your lips as your orgasm crashed through you like a wave. Jake held you through it, his mouth and hands never stopping their sweet torment until you were limp, boneless.

He kissed his way back up your body, his eyes never leaving yours as he positioned himself at your entrance. “You ready for me?”

You nodded, still riding the aftershocks of your climax. His tip pushed in slowly, stretching you, filling you. You gasped, the sensation overwhelming, and wrapped your legs around his waist to pull him closer. He sank into you with a groan, his eyes closing in pleasure.

Every inch of him was perfection, sliding in so easily it was as if your bodies had never been apart. You felt a tear slip down your cheek as he started to move, his strokes long and deep. It was like he was claiming you all over again, proving to you that he wasn’t going anywhere.

Jake’s eyes searched yours, his expression one of pure, unbridled passion. You could see the love in his gaze, the regret, the fear of losing you forever. And as he moved within you, you realized that maybe—just maybe—you could forgive him. Maybe this time, things would be different.

He leaned down, his forehead pressing against yours as he kissed you, his movements inside you growing more urgent. You atched his rhythm, your hips rising to meet his, the friction sending sparks through your veins. You could feel the tension building in him, the muscles in his arms and back tightening with every thrust.

“You feel so good,” he murmured against your lips.

You nodded, your breaths coming in short gasps as he filled you completely. The sensation was exquisite, the ache of his love mixed with the sweet agony of his apology. You tightened your legs around him, urging him deeper, wanting to erase the space between you.

Jake’s eyes searched yours, and you saw the storm of emotions within—the need, the regret, the hope. His hips rolled into yours with a gentle force that had you moaning his name. Each stroke was a promise, a vow to be the man you needed. You could feel your walls start to crumble, the anger and hurt slowly giving way to a love so potent it made your heart ache.

His thumb found your clit again, stroking it in time with his thrusts. The pressure grew, coiling in your belly, and you clung to him, your nails digging into his back. His teeth grazed your ear, his breath hot as he whispered, “I love you. I’m sorry. I won’t let you go again. I promise.”

You believed him. You had to. You needed to.

As he continued to move inside you, every stroke seemed to echo with those three little words that held so much weight. You felt yourself rising again, the tension building once more. His eyes never left yours, and you knew he could see it—the way you were losing yourself in him, in this moment.

With a final, deep thrust, Jake sent you spiraling over the edge for a second time. You cried out his name, the sound muffled by his own moan as he followed you, his release hot and powerful inside you. He held you tightly, his entire body shaking with the intensity of it all.

For a few moments, the only sounds in the room were your mingled breaths—the quiet aftermath of passion. Jake’s weight pressed you into the mattress, but it was a comforting feeling—a reminder that he wasn’t going anywhere. He kissed you softly, his forehead resting against yours.

He sighed, rubbing the back of his neck, his eyes flickering between yours and the ground, like he was trying to find the right words. “I don’t think I can do this anymore,” he said, his voice low but steady.

Your stomach twisted. “Do what?”

“This—” he gestured between the two of you, exhaling sharply. “Pretend like I’m okay just being your friend when I’m not.” He finally looked at you, and there was something different in his gaze—something raw, like he had already decided he was done holding back.

“I’ve tried,” he continued. “Tried to push it down, tried to be cool about it, but it’s not working. It never worked.” His jaw tightened for a second before he shook his head, laughing softly like he couldn’t believe he was actually saying this out loud. “I like you. More than I should if we’re just friends. And I don’t want to sit here acting like that’s not true.”

His hand brushed yours—hesitant, like he was giving you a chance to stop him before he went any further. “So, tell me now if this is one-sided, and I’ll drop it,” he said. “But if it’s not… then let’s stop pretending.” His voice softened as he finally asked, “Be with me?”

For a second, the only thing you could do was stare at him, heartbeat pounding in your ears. His words hung in the air between you, waiting—he was waiting.

Then, before you could overthink it, you reached for his hand, fingers sliding between his like it was the most natural thing in the world. “It’s not one-sided,” you whispered. “It never was.”

His breath caught, and for a moment, he just looked at you, like he was trying to memorize this exact second. Then his grip tightened around your hand, and a slow, relieved smile spread across his face—one that made your chest feel warm, like everything was clicking into place.

“So,” he murmured, stepping a little closer, his free hand lifting to cup the side of your face, his thumb brushing your cheek. “That means you’ll be mine?”

You nodded, feeling breathless. “Yeah,” you whispered, barely getting the word out before he was leaning in.

The kiss was soft at first—like he was savoring it, like he was still in disbelief that this was actually happening. But then his fingers tangled in your hair, pulling you just a little closer, and you melted into him, your hands gripping his hoodie to keep him right there.

By the time you broke apart, you were both smiling like idiots, foreheads resting together as he whispered, “Took us long enough.”

You laughed, your heart still racing. “Yeah,” you breathed. “But it was worth the wait.”

…..……………………………….…..:><:………………………………………

I hope this makes up for the harshness of the first part…😄

Taglist: @xikersgurly @sunheenan14 @juicygirl4life @sillyjjongsaeng @nuyeaj @pookiewookiedookiesoobie @cvntyjake @mrsbyun-baek @xoenhaxo @justtsss22 @jakesimsprincesss

[4unnyr0se]

❥ tsukishima plays the waiting game

warnings: fem! reader, pre and post timeskip! tsukishima, tsuki gets slapped, reader is a sweetie, yamaguchi and hinata mentioned, tbh its mostly fluff

MDNI | No 18+ content here, I just don't want minors interacting with my blog

word count -> 785

part two

Kei Tsukishima wasn’t the best at showing affection at all. He only liked and respected Yamaguchi, but apart from that, there wasn’t really anyone he thought merited his honest and most sincere loyalty and trust. Sure, he respected Daichi when he was still in high school, but Daichi was his captain. It was different.

Then, you moved to Miyagi and enrolled in Karasuno in mid-April. You were placed in the same class as Yamaguchi and Tsukishima. Apparently, you had scored in the top 1% in your old high school, much to Tsukishima’s chagrin. He assumed you would be just another one of those academic bitches (like himself) who only cared about what directly affected them. 

That was the first time Tsukishima was wrong. 

You were sickeningly sweet, so much so that many people thought it was just an act. Tsukishima first thought this, too, that a wolf was hiding under that fluffy sheep wool. But no, there wasn’t. You were genuinely nice without ulterior motives, always volunteering to tutor students after class. You even helped Yamaguchi with his English vocabulary and grammar. He didn’t even have to ask! That’s how sweet you were, and Tsukishima hated that. Well, only at first. 

He knew he liked you the second you snapped at him, calling him an asshole in front of the entire Karasuno team. He was practicing serves and missed completely, the volleyball slamming into your torso as you walked by the practice gym. Instead of apologizing, he blamed you for being in the way. 

Instead of you apologizing for having dared to be in the way of a rouge volleyball, he was met with a cold smack in the face. Vulgar words left your mouth, your face heating up in anger as you called him out for being a stuck-up prick who didn’t care about anyone but himself (and maybe Yamaguchi.) The Karasuno team stood in shock as you screamed at him, your usual friendly and kind demeanor long forgotten. Hinata thought that Tsukishima was absolutely going to murder you, but instead, the lanky blonde just stood there with the tiniest blush on his cheeks. You called him out; you slapped him. The sweetest girl in Karasuno slapped him and humbled him in front of his teammates. You weren’t just an innocent little lamb, you bit. And Tsukishima liked that. 

Tsukishima never acted on his urges in high school; he was too busy with class and volleyball and Hinata’s bullshit to worry about romantic relationships. But he caught himself sneaking glances at you throughout high school, no matter where he was. You two were always in the same class, weirdly enough. Graduation eventually came, and lo and behold, the two of you went to Sendai. He was on a semi-volleyball scholarship, and you had a full academic ride because you did. And to his horror, or perhaps delight, you both had the same entry-level statistics class.

He first noticed that you had a sense of personal style that he approved of. Tsukishima had only ever seen you in the Karasuno girl’s school uniform before, so it was a pleasant surprise to see you wearing a spaghetti strap tank top with a wool cardigan and loose jeans. It was…cute.

Tsukishima was taken aback when you walked up to him after class, bowing your head slightly to apologize for screaming at him when you were in high school. He smirked and accepted the apology, pushing your head down further. 

“You also slapped me and called me an asshole, remember?”

You became flustered and started apologizing even more, tilting your head with sparkling eyes.

“I know, I’m really sorry. I don’t want any bad blood. How can I make this up to you?”

“Go on a date with me.” It came out of his lips so fast that Tsukishima didn’t have time to cover it up with a cough. How could he let that slip from his lips, he always thought before speaking. He thought before doing anything! He sighed and rubbed the back of his neck, looking away in embarrassment. “Go on…just go on a date with me, please. I’ve liked you since high school, moron.”

You smiled and hugged him, squeezing his torso with all your might. Of course, Tsukishima thought this was adorable, he was a foot taller than you. “Of course, I’ll go on a date with you! Where?” You asked as you looked up, the prettiest smile plastered across your shining face. Fuck, Tsukishima was totally screwed. He’d give you the world right then and there if he wasn’t so proud. 

“My dorm? Yamaguchi is out with friends for the weekend.”

“Yamaguchi has friends other than you? Damn, he really grew up.”

“Indeed,”

Tsukishima’s side of the dorm was immaculate. Spotless, organized, and decorated with dinosaur posters. It was cute and nerdy, making you smile. Maybe deep down inside, he wasn’t such a jerk.

[xoln04f1xo]

Dark Fic

Oscar Piastri x Reader

WARNINGS: Emotional manipulation, obsessive behaviour, surveillance, kidnapping?, captivity, gaslighting, and psychological abuse, mentions of drugging

WC: 3.1k

Y/N POV

There was a time when you loved mornings.

They started slow with the smell of clean sheets and the low hum of the ocean behind double-glazed windows. When Monaco was still just a dream - when he was still just a boy with a bright future and a gentle voice - mornings meant croissants, cracked knuckles over sudoku, and sunlight kissing the side of his jaw. You used to trace it with your eyes. Memorize it.

Oscar.

At first, he was quiet in the way that made you curious. Still water, you told your best friend once. “But I don’t think he runs deep. I think he runs cold.” You were wrong. He wasn’t cold. He was calculating. But back then, it was easy to mistake that for control. Discipline. Precision.

The kind of man who measured his words like lap times.

Your first trip with him was to Melbourne - a Grand Prix weekend wrapped in jetlag and adrenaline. You stayed in a high-rise suite where everything smelled like leather and lemon cleaner. He let you wear one of his team hoodies, snapped a photo when you weren’t looking, and later posted it with a soft caption:

"My favourite part of the track isn't on it."

Thousands of likes. You remember how your phone exploded. Friends congratulating you, joking about marrying rich. But there was something in Oscar’s eyes when you laughed at the comments. Like a flicker. A shutter snapping closed.

“You like that attention?” he asked that night.

You thought he was teasing.

You kissed him on the shoulder. “It’s harmless.”

He didn’t smile.

Two weeks later, you noticed your DMs had been cleared. No more message requests. Even your best friend's old photos had disappeared from your tagged feed. You asked him, offhandedly, if he’d seen anything weird on your phone.

“Probably just a bug,” he said, eyes not leaving his screen. “iOS has been trash lately.”

You told yourself it didn’t matter. You weren’t hiding anything. Maybe it was good he cared enough to look. Most men didn't. Most men forgot anniversaries, birthdays, everything. Oscar remembered it all.

Even your dentist appointment.

He called you after it ended - before you even texted him. “So? Did it hurt?”

You laughed nervously. “You have my calendar notifications?”

A pause. “Just making sure you’re okay.”

It was easy to let it slide, because being with Oscar felt like being in a parallel world. Where everything was faster, brighter, but somehow… smaller. Your social circle narrowed. Nights out turned into quiet evenings in. Messages from friends were always “forgotten,” plans always postponed. You convinced yourself it was just the nature of dating someone famous.

He needed privacy. You were just protecting him.

Right?

The first time you noticed the lock on your apartment door had been changed without asking, Oscar handed you a new key before you could even open your mouth.

“Upgraded the security,” he said, brushing your hair back behind your ear. “Don’t want anyone sneaking in.”

You stared at the old key in your palm.

“And you... didn’t think to tell me?”

He blinked, as if confused by your question. Then smiled. “Telling you now, aren’t I?”

It escalated slowly. The way thunder rolls in before a storm.

At first, he asked about your day. Then who you saw. Then why you saw them. Eventually, it became easier not to go anywhere. Easier to let him track your phone, check your DMs, read your texts.

“It’s not control,” he once said. “It’s trust. You wouldn’t hide anything if you weren’t doing anything wrong.”

And the worst part?

A small part of you agreed.

You’re not sure when exactly things changed.

Not really.

You just remember waking up one morning, wrapped in Egyptian cotton sheets, in an apartment you didn’t recognize - with windows that didn’t open, and doors that only locked from the outside.

Oscar was already dressed. Black t-shirt, watch glinting on his wrist. Calm as ever.

“Morning,” he said, placing a coffee by your bedside. “Welcome home.”

The coffee is your favourite kind - hazelnut roast, one sugar, oat milk - but it’s cold.

You sit up slowly, blanket falling from your shoulders, heart pounding before you know why. There’s a hum beneath your skin, like your body knows something your mind hasn’t caught up to yet. Your phone’s on the nightstand, but it’s face down. That’s not how you left it.

You glance at Oscar.

He’s standing by the window, looking out at the harbor with the sort of quiet intensity that used to feel elegant. Now, it feels like silence before a verdict.

“Where are we?” you ask.

He turns. Smiles. “Our place.”

You shake your head. “This isn’t your flat. It’s - this is… new. When did we come here?”

“Last night.”

You don’t remember last night.

You remember a conversation. You remember saying you needed space - not in an angry way, not even in a final way. Just clarity. Time. He had nodded, like he understood. Said he’d be patient. Said he’d take care of things in the meantime.

Apparently, this is what he meant.

“Oscar,” your voice cracks slightly, “I want to leave.”

He doesn’t react. Just tilts his head.

“You are home.”

The words land like weights.

You slide your feet to the floor, test the edge of the room. The door is shut. Not locked - not obviously - but something about the way he watches you makes you feel like a mouse eyeing the trap.

“Where are my keys?” you try. “My stuff?”

“It’s all here,” he says, like that solves everything. “You don’t need to worry about those things anymore.”

You stare at him.

His calmness is unbearable.

“Why would you do this?”

He finally turns to you, arms crossed. “Because you’re not thinking clearly. You say you want space, but you don’t mean it. Not really. You’re confused, and the world out there - it feeds on that confusion. I’m the only one who knows how to protect you from yourself.”

You blink. “That’s not protection. That’s prison.”

Oscar exhales through his nose. “You always say the most dramatic things when you’re overwhelmed.”

The first 48 hours blur.

You learn the apartment has no physical address. No working intercom. The windows are made of reinforced glass and don’t open - you try, of course. The locks on every external door have electronic access, fingerprint-only.

Yours doesn’t work.

You can move through the apartment freely. Kitchen, bedroom, bathroom. But that’s it.

No balcony.

No outside line.

He brings you meals. Watches you eat. Talks to you like nothing is wrong - asks about your sleep, offers to put on movies, gives you “little projects” to stay occupied. Once, he brings a jigsaw puzzle. A thousand pieces. You stare at the cover image for an hour before opening it.

It’s a photo of you two.

You don’t remember it being taken.

He gives you your phone back on the third day.

You stare at it, hesitant. “It’s been wiped.”

“No,” he says evenly, “it’s been cleaned.”

You open the messages. Every contact is gone except one.

Oscar 💖

Your heart races. “What did you do?”

“I backed up everything,” he says. “Sorted through the stuff that didn’t matter. Cleared the noise. It’s better this way. You only need one person.”

You almost scream. Instead, you speak through clenched teeth.

“You’re insane.”

He doesn’t flinch.

He walks to you, kneels in front of the couch, and looks you dead in the eyes.

“No,” he says. “I’m focused. And the world calls people like me insane because they can’t understand loyalty like this.”

So...insane... you thought

Later, when you’re alone, you test the bathroom for privacy.

There are no visible cameras. But you know better. You take a glass from the sink and hold it up to the walls, listening.

Nothing.

Still, when you whisper, you do it directly into the drain.

“If anyone can hear me… I need help.”

Every time he leaves, you check the door. Still locked.

The only other way out is the guest bathroom window - too narrow, but you measure it anyway. He notices the bruises on your arms the next morning.

“Don’t do that again,” he says, voice flat.

“You’re hurting me,” you whisper.

His eyes soften — not with guilt, but something worse. Pity.

“I’m saving you.”

You start to unravel differently after that. Less like breaking, more like… peeling. Each day strips away another layer of resistance. Not because you want to give in, but because you can’t afford to feel anymore. Emotions are too loud. Too risky.

So you fake it.

You let him read to you at night. Let him hold your hand. Let him tuck your hair behind your ear like nothing’s wrong.

You wait.

And watch.

Because the only way to escape is to make him think you never wanted to.

It happens on the eleventh day.

You stop counting them on purpose. Let time dissolve into quiet rituals - eat when he eats, smile when he smiles. Let him believe you’ve softened. Let him think the edges have dulled.

You start asking for things. Small, domestic, harmless.

A book here. A specific kind of tea there. Music.

He obliges, pleased. Always so pleased when you ask. It reinforces the idea that you're dependent. That he's essential. It’s exactly what he wants.

So you let him believe it.

But while he scrolls through his phone on the couch, you trace the layout of the apartment in your head. Memorize his routines. When he showers. When he charges his phone. When he paces on the balcony that only he can access.

He never locks the guest bathroom door from the inside.

You begin testing the window more aggressively now, bruising your shoulders, your ribs. It’s tight, but you can almost get through - if you turn sideways and push hard. It opens onto a sheer wall, no ledge. But there’s a drainage pipe, two meters to the left.

It’s stupid. It’s dangerous.

But it’s a way out.

The opportunity comes after midnight. You feign a migraine, lock the bathroom door, turn on the faucet. Let it run as cover.

You open the window slowly, silently.

Pull yourself up.

You don’t look down.

Your ribs scrape the frame. You stifle a cry. You’re halfway through when your shirt catches on the hinge. You panic and twist...

Then you hear the click.

The bathroom door opens behind you.

You don’t turn around.

“Don’t,” he says.

You freeze. His voice is calm. Flat. Not angry.

Worse.

“Come down,” he says. “You’ll fall.”

You stay still.

“I said...” There’s a pause. You hear him take a breath. “If you jump, I won’t catch you.”

That gets you. A tremble runs down your back.

He steps forward slowly, but not too close. He knows better than to spook you now.

“I built this place for us,” he says. “I picked the tiles in this bathroom because you told me once you liked the way sunlight reflects off pale green. You don’t remember that, do you?”

You say nothing.

“I remember everything,” he whispers.

Then, softly, so softly it nearly shatters you:

“You don’t want to die like this.”

You close your eyes.

And for one split second... you believe him.

You let yourself slide back down into the bathroom, knees hitting tile.

Oscar doesn’t say anything. He just kneels in front of you, wraps a blanket around your shoulders, and holds you.

As if you’re the one who broke something.

The next morning, the window is sealed.

Bolted. Painted over.

He brings you breakfast and says nothing about it.

But there’s a new camera in the hallway.

You notice it. He wants you to.

That night, he sits across from you at dinner. The mood is quiet, but not tense. Oscar carves into his food like nothing’s changed. Like you didn’t almost run. Like he didn’t have to lock you in tighter.

“You’re not ready,” he says, finally.

You keep your eyes down.

He sets his fork down carefully. His voice is gentle. Controlled.

“I didn’t want it to be like this.”

You blink. He waits.

Then he leans forward, elbows on the table, head tilted like he’s studying you.

“But now you’ve proven I can’t trust your judgment. You understand that, don’t you?”

You nod slowly.

Because what else can you do?

He shows you a box the next morning.

Inside it: a ring.

Simple. Silver. Understated.

Your heart nearly stops.

“We’re already something better than married,” he says. “But this is for you. To help you remember.”

You want to throw it at him.

Instead, you slide it on your finger.

You have to survive.

You can’t afford defiance.

Not yet.

Later that night, you lie awake in the bed you used to share with him. Now, he sleeps in the room next door. Says you need “space” again, like it’s a kindness.

There’s a sliver of light under the door.

You stare at the ceiling and begin counting again.

One day.

Two days.

Three.

There will be another chance.

You just have to wait.

You wait two weeks.

Fourteen days of smiling at the right moments, of wearing the ring, of letting him believe that you’ve settled. That his warped version of love is finally working.

Fourteen days of pretending to be his.

During that time, he returns small freedoms to you like tokens of trust. Your favourite playlist. A softer blanket. A journal - with every page numbered. You notice that. Just like you notice the faint scratch across the spine of the hallway camera. You hadn’t touched it.

Which means he had. Probably testing. Probably watching how often you look at it.

You look often.

You make him think you care about being watched.

So that when the real plan begins - he won’t see it coming.

The plan isn’t elegant. It isn’t clever.

It’s just human.

You make him believe he’s won.

That’s the real trick.

On the fourteenth night, you set the dinner table yourself.

You wear the softest thing you can find. You tell him he’s right. That you’re sorry for the fear. For the resistance. That maybe you did need this - time, safety, him.

You say it all with your hands flat on the table so he sees there’s nothing to hide.

He watches you with narrowed eyes at first.

Then he smiles.

It’s almost heart-breaking. Because for one moment, you see the boy he used to be - the one who quoted lap times and made you tea during late-night race weekends.

Then he takes your hand and says:

“I knew you'd come around. I always knew.”

You drug him that night.

Not with anything dramatic.

Just a slow dose. Benadryl dissolved in wine. Enough to pull him into something heavy. Enough to stall his reflexes. The glass trembles in your hand as you pour it. You’re careful not to overdo it. You don’t want him unconscious - you want him slow.

He downs the wine with a quiet sigh and pulls you close on the couch. You feel his breath against your neck, the weight of his arm draped over your shoulders.

He falls asleep with his hand still tangled in your hair.

It takes everything not to scream.

You wait until his breathing shifts.

Then you move.

Softly. Quietly. Every step rehearsed a thousand times in your mind.

You retrieve the screwdriver hidden in the lining of the hallway lamp - taken apart and reassembled over a week of quiet hours while he thought you were “healing.”

You head to the security panel in the utility room. The one you spotted him using through a cracked door three days ago. The keypad glows. You enter the numbers.

6… 2… 7…

He uses racing numbers as codes. Always has. You try his F2 championship date next.

It works.

The front lock disengages with a dull thunk.

For the first time in weeks, you breathe like air matters.

You move to the door. It opens silently.

Beyond it... a hallway. No guards. No traps.

Just freedom.

You run.

You make it as far as the second-floor stairwell.

That’s when the lights go out.

And his voice returns...

Not angry. Not yelling.

Just steady.

“I thought we were past this.”

Your blood runs cold.

You turn - and he’s already there, barefoot, calm, breathing a little heavier than usual.

His eyes are glassy. He’s still groggy.

But he’s awake.

And the worst part?

He’s smiling.

“You waited so long,” he says. “I thought you really meant it this time.”

You back away, heart slamming against your ribs.

“I did mean it,” you whisper. “I meant to survive you.”

Oscar nods.

Then, like it's nothing: “I could let you go. You know that.”

You stare at him, hope flaring.

But he steps forward.

“I could… but I won’t.”

You fight him.

For the first time, really fight him.

Fingernails, elbows, teeth - anything to make him let go. He doesn’t expect it. You knock him back against the wall hard enough to hear the breath punch from his lungs.

You run again.

This time faster. Down the stairwell. Barefoot. You scream - once - just to hear your own voice echo in the real world. Just to know it still works.

The front lobby opens up like a dream.

You hit the last set of doors—and they’re open.

Unlocked.

You stumble into the street.

You’re in a quiet neighborhood.

Industrial. Empty.

But not far from the city. There are people.

And someone sees you.

The hospital room is white.

Clean.

Free.

You stare at the window for a long time before speaking to anyone. You tell the nurses your name. Tell the police your story. They listen. Some of them don’t believe you at first - who would? A Formula 1 driver, kidnapping a woman?

But they see the bruises.

They read the journal.

They watch the security footage pulled from hidden drives in Oscar’s apartment.

He never deletes anything.

Control, you realize, is its own undoing.

He’s arrested four days later.

Not publicly. Not yet.

The team releases a statement about “mental health leave” and “ongoing investigation.” The internet buzzes, but no one really knows. You don’t care.

You’re out.

One month later, you walk barefoot through a real field of grass and cry.

You feel the sun.

The actual sun.

You start to remember how to feel hungry. How to trust the time on a clock. How to look at a door and not measure how fast you could get through it.

You’re not healed.

Not yet.

But you’re you again.

And that’s enough.

For now.

A/N: Okay this one is like.. EXTREMELY fucked up i cant lie, but i hope you enjoyed it

Click here for more!

[callsign-mayhem]

heartbreak feels so good (part 3)

Pairing: Bradley 'Rooster' Bradshaw x Female!Reader Word count: 6.2k CW: Shitty ex-boyfriends, slow burn, angst, fluff, use of Y/N

Part One Part Two

Whether by the grace of some mystical power or Elijah choosing to be sensible and avoid you, you managed to go three days without running into him on base. During these three days, you saw more of Bradley and Natasha than you ever had while working. You were an engineer and spent most of your days nestled underneath fighter jets or shoulder-deep in their engines, while your friends spent most of theirs in the sky. Because of this, it was rare that you crossed paths. 

While you’d found the past three days extremely pleasant, you knew their presence was only heavy because they were keeping an eye on you. 

On Monday, Bradley came into the hangar and told you that his jet had started making a weird noise whenever he took off. You spent most of the day attempting to pinpoint the problem, and he stayed with you while you worked, pestering you from his perch on an overturned oil drum.

Why did it take you so long to pinpoint the problem? Because there wasn’t one. After hours of taking things apart and adjusting things, you finally relented and asked him to start the engine while you were standing next to the plane. You listened intently for a few seconds and eventually held your hand up for him to cut the engine. 

Throwing your hands up in exasperation, you shouted: ‘I don’t hear anything!’

Bradley climbed out of the cockpit, looking confused. 

‘Huh, that’s odd. You must have fixed it without realising when you pulled that pipe out.’ 

‘Well, that’s lucky then.’ You played along. ‘I guess you can report back to Mav now.’

He seemed mildly disappointed. ‘I guess so.’

On Tuesday around lunchtime, Nat brought In-N-Out to the hangar. There was enough food to feed the whole squadron, so it shouldn’t have surprised you when Bradley, Jake, Bob, Javy, Mickey and Reuben waltzed in. You weren’t sure these guys even took lunch breaks, let alone took them all simultaneously. One thing you were sure of, however, was that Bradley was the only person on base who knew how much you loved In-N-Out. He’d discovered this after a particularly rowdy night out just before you’d met Elijah when you’d insisted he find a way to take you there even though you were both slaughtered and missing the rest of your group. He’d been the only one there, which led you to conclude that he’d orchestrated this group meal that had so clearly been intended to cheer you up.

I mean, come on. They weren’t even trying to hide it. It would have been flattering if not for the embarrassment. They were so concerned that you couldn’t cope with this heartbreak alone that they’d indirectly put you under a 24/7 watch. 

On Wednesday, Bradley and Nat were both waiting for you outside the hangar when you finished up for the day. They’d already changed out of their flight suits, and Nat had a beach bag over her shoulder. 

‘There she is,’ Bradley beamed, pushing his aviators onto the top of his head. ‘We’re heading to the beach for a swim. Thought you might like to join us.’ 

You had to admit, a dip in the ocean before dinner sounded nice. 

‘I didn’t bring a swimsuit, though.’

‘I have a spare.’ Natasha grinned. 

‘That’s convenient.’ You said, raising a brow.

She shrugged. ‘It’s always good to be prepared.’ 

Now, it was Thursday morning, and you were sitting outside on the tarmac, drinking coffee and watching the pilots start their drills. The sun might have been low in the sky, but from the way the air rippled above the runway, you could tell it would be a scorcher. After a delightful start to your week, you’d almost forgotten that you were supposed to have your guard up just in case. This wasn’t to say you’d forgotten about Elijah and all your negative emotions. It was more that you’d been too distracted to notice how your body and mind held said emotions, and it was only now that you saw him drilling with the rest of the pilots that you’d been reminded. 

As much as you hated to say it, he looked good when he dropped to the floor and started doing his press-ups. You had to find a way to get your mind off this undeniable fact that didn’t involve going inside before you’d finished your morning ritual. 

Nobody would have blamed you for opting to look at Bradley instead. Still, you felt guilty anyway, partly because you were only looking at him as a way of not looking at your ex and partly because it felt highly intimate, even though he had no idea what was happening. 

By the time you’d finished the last sip of your coffee, you needed a cool shower to bring you back down to planet Earth. To say you were flustered was perhaps the biggest understatement of the year.

Thankfully, time started to slip away the minute you lost yourself in your work for the day. Having something productive to do was massively beneficial. If nothing else, your heartbreak taught you that keeping your hands busy was the key to forgetting that you were in agony. 

Lunchtime came and went. The last time you’d so much as glanced at a clock, it had been 9:30 am. Now, at nearly 4 pm, you’d only put your wrench down because you needed the bathroom. 

There was only an hour left of your work day, and since you’d stopped and lost your momentum, you wondered whether anybody would miss you if you cut out early. The pilots had been in a training seminar all day, so you hadn’t seen anyone, and as much as you loved your friends for looking out for you, the peace and quiet had been soothing. Being able to zone out and focus on rebuilding part of an engine, scrubbing turbulence ducts or configuring navigation systems without half the squadron hovering over you had been damn near therapeutic. 

But you were ready for a well-deserved self-care night. 

After cleaning down, turning everything off and locking up, you made the short walk back to the main base and grabbed your belongings from your locker. Normally you changed clothes before leaving the base, but you didn’t want to risk running into anyone in the changing rooms, so you unzipped the top half of your flight suit and tied it around your waist. You always wore black tank tops underneath to avoid any noticeable oil stains. 

It seemed as though everyone else was still busy, as you didn’t run into anyone on your way through the building. In fact, you made it all the way to your car without so much as a ‘hey, Y/N.’ You were calm and content by the time you walked through your front door, more than happy to be alone with your own thoughts for the first time since the breakup. Part of you thought it was too soon to be this at ease, but you weren’t one for looking gift horses in the mouths. 

So, it was time to start your self care night. 

Step one: throw your dirty uniform in the wash. Step two: quick shower and hair wash.

Step three: run a bubble bath with your most luxurious products. Step four: pour yourself a glass of your favourite wine. Step five: relax in the aforementioned bubble bath and finally finish the novel you’d been trying to finish since last month. 

Step six: get rudely interrupted by someone buzzing your intercom thirty million times. 

Step six was supposed to be: get out of the bath, find your cosiest pyjamas and order takeout to eat while watching Gilmore Girls. 

This was not part of your plan. 

With a huff, you bookmarked your page (you were so close to being done that it almost hurt to put the book down) and grabbed a towel from the rack. The buzzing was constant, and you hoped whoever it was had either been mugged or stabbed. Or both. Because jeez. 

In your haste to get the buzzing to stop, you didn’t even ask who it was. Water dripped onto the floor where you stood, and you wrapped your towel tighter. Panic started to set in. What if it was Elijah? The thought of him seeing you like this after everything made you realise that opening the door in nothing but a towel was probably not a good idea. But just as you were about to run to your bedroom for your dressing gown, the knocking started. 

You froze. 

It wasn’t the usual three polite knocks that people usually make at somebody’s door. It was rapid and incessant, like the buzzing. Whoever stood behind that door really needed to see you. 

Heart racing, you peeked through the spy hole. Panic quickly gave way to shock, which soon gave way to a strange, warm sensation that tingled throughout your entire body, from the top of your head to the tips of your toes. 

The strangeness of it all eclipsed your earlier decision to put on your dressing gown, and you opened the door without hesitating. 

Bradley was panting, clearly having run up all three flights of stairs leading to your apartment. He was still in his flight suit, the top of which was tied around his waist just as yours had been. A bead of sweat trickled down the side of his neck, settling in the sweet spot where his collarbone started. His black T-shirt was soaked through. 

‘Bradley?’ 

Breathing heavily, he examined your towel-clad form and wet hair. 

‘What happened?’

You were lost. ‘What do you mean? Nothing happened, I was taking a bath.’ 

Bradley ran his hands through his hair, knotting it in his fists. He let his hands rest there momentarily while he caught a breath.

‘I came to see how your day went, and everything was locked. I thought something had happened.’

Now that he knew you were okay, his shoulders sagged, and he was able to offer you an embarrassment-tinged smile. 

‘I thought something had happened,’ he explained. ‘When you weren’t on base, I thought maybe you’d run into Viper, and he’d upset you. I don’t know. Guess I just panicked.’ 

You were simultaneously warmed and humiliated by Bradley’s thinking that something had happened and that it was his responsibility to come and fix things. It was like you couldn’t take care of yourself. You appreciated it, and at first, it was nice, but it was beginning to make you feel sheepish. 

You crossed your arms, which only drew attention to your very naked form. You felt your face warm, then your neck, then your chest. Paired with being treated like a child, it was a level of embarrassment you’d never had the misfortune of experiencing before. 

‘I can take care of myself.’ You murmured, unable to meet Bradley’s eye. 

He exhaled sharply. ‘I know you can, Y/N. Doesn’t stop me from worrying, though.’ 

Tentatively, you peeked at him from beneath your eyelashes. His gaze was locked onto your face in an attempt to stop himself from looking elsewhere. Bradley Bradshaw—ever the gentleman. 

You cleared your throat. ‘I can’t express how grateful I am for everyone taking care of me. Especially you, Roo. But I’d like it if you’d stop treating me like I’m going to break. I’m not that fragile.’ 

‘Oh, I know you’re not fragile, sweet girl. I just care about you so much.’

You couldn’t help but smile. ‘I care about you too.’

‘I can’t explain it. It’s not that I think you’re a flight risk,’ he smirked at his pun. ‘I just like taking care of you. I like knowing you’re safe and happy, and I like knowing that it’s because of me.’ 

You didn’t know which way to take this. It was a hard thing to hear for a few different reasons. For one, you weren’t used to hearing things like this from the men in your life, weren’t used to them wanting to take care of you. For two, it was coming from Bradley—one of your long-time best friends—and friendly wasn’t precisely the word you’d use to describe his tone. For three, you were standing in your apartment doorway in a towel with bubbles stuck to your legs, dripping water all over the floor. 

You couldn’t help the little laugh that escaped you, but Bradley wasn’t inside your head, so it seemed like you were laughing at his confession.

You apologised. ‘My brain is on overload right now,’ you explained. ‘And I don’t think this is a conversation we should have in the doorway while I’m in a towel.’

Bradley looked you up and down; although it was brief, you couldn’t ignore the hunger hidden behind it. It would have been easy to miss had you not been so well attuned to his mannerisms. Another addition to the list of things to be confused about. 

‘Yeah, I should leave you to it. We can talk some other time, when you’re fully clothed.’ He smirked.

Your blush deepened. ‘You gonna be at The Hard Deck tomorrow night?’

‘Is the sky blue?’

You chuckled. ‘Tomorrow it is, then.’

When Bradley got back to his apartment, he had no idea what to do with himself. He was sweating, covered in jet fuel and overthinking every word he’d just said to you, so the only option was an ice-cold shower. As he stood underneath the cool spray, he tried to imagine a world where things were simple. A world where you’d never met Elijah, never had your heart broken, and your whole perspective on love shattered. In this world, he wouldn’t have to wait for you to heal because it would have been him all along, and you’d never have gotten hurt. 

But you were hurt, and it had never been him. Judging by the way you’d laughed after his semi-confession, it might never be him, and this was harder to swallow than one of Penny’s homemade shots. 

He took his time in the shower, but all the cold water in the world couldn’t wash away the memory of you standing there in your fluffy white towel. This image was more powerful than everything else, and he was ashamed. It was more powerful than his anxiety over you not feeling the same, more powerful than the fear of losing your friendship. 

It wasn’t that he cared more about the thought of seeing you naked than getting turned down, or maybe not having you in his life anymore. It was more that his nerves were frayed after a really hard day at work, and he simply didn’t have the energy to dissect hidden truths and map out possible outcomes. His exhausted brain found it easier to latch onto the more simple thoughts and imagined scenarios, like coming home to you after a hard day, and having you take care of him in all the ways. Or sharing that bath with you and wrapping you in that towel with his own two hands before leading you to the bedroom and unwrapping it again. 

Pleasure and anticipation unfurled in his abdomen at the mere thought of your naked body beneath his. He didn’t need to experience it to know that skin-on-skin with you would be like finding out that heaven did exist and that it was a place on Earth. Or rather, a person. He tipped his head back and let it rest against the shower wall, and when he reached down to take his dick in his hands, the satisfaction transcended the guilt. 

It was only your name in his mind, repeating over and over like some kind of mantra.

Y/N. Y/N. Y/N.

It was the kind of news that felt like a swift kick to the gut.

Out of the entire Dagger Squad, Jake wasn’t your closest friend. You didn’t share deep secrets or have any inside jokes, and he wasn’t the first person you went to when you needed help or a cinema date. But he was still your friend, and you would miss him. 

Eighteen months abroad on some secret mission was a long time, especially when it was just him out of his entire squadron. You weren’t a fighter pilot, but you’d been sent away before as your skillset was rare amongst navy engineers. The six-month stint you did at sea was the scariest experience you’d ever had; nothing had topped it yet, and you highly doubted anything ever would. Eighteen months was inconceivable to you. 

Jake had known that he was going away for quite some time, but he hadn’t told anyone until two days before. He said he didn’t want his last few weeks Stateside to be ruined by everyone coddling him—he just wanted it to be normal. You could hardly blame him for that, but it made his news much harder to digest. You’d only found out about the mission earlier on that day, yet here you were getting ready to go to The Hard Deck for his leaving drinks. 

Natasha sat cross-legged on your double bed with her makeup bag in her lap and your hand mirror in front of her face. You sat on the carpet in front of your full-length mirror, where you always did your makeup. An 80s song you hadn’t heard in years played through your Bluetooth speaker, and you hummed along contentedly. 

‘What dress do you think I should wear?’ You asked.

‘What are the options?’

‘Either the new yellow one—with the corset top—or the white one.’

‘The one that looks like Marilyn Monroe’s dress?’

You smiled. ‘Yeah, I guess it does.’

Natasha didn’t wear much makeup, nor did you, so you were nearly finished. ‘I think the white one. Save the yellow one for a special occasion.’

‘You don’t think Hangman leaving for eighteen months is a special occasion?’

Natasha snorted. ‘No. I don’t think Bagman leaving for eighteen months is a special occasion. That yellow dress is for a first date or a wedding reception. He’d get the wrong idea and—’ 

Nat cut her sentence in half. Suddenly, she was extremely focused on applying mascara to an eye she’d already finished. 

‘And what, Natasha.’

She ignored you.

‘Natasha Trace.’

‘What?’

‘And?’

‘Oh, I just mean it might give everybody the wrong impression. You getting so dolled up on a night that’s all about Jake. Especially now that you’re back on the market.’

‘I am not back on the market. I’m healing.’

‘Yeah, right. You just need to grow a moustache, and I can start callin’ you Rooster.’

You launched your lip gloss at her, and she ducked, howling with laughter. 

‘Hey, don’t bring Roo into this. He’s just very emotionally mature! It’s a good thing.’

‘Emotionally, maybe. But what about everything else?’

You knew it was a lighthearted jest, but you were still stuck on the other part. Did she mean that everyone would get the wrong impression, or was she worried about a certain someone? You hadn’t seen Bradley since he showed up at your door unannounced yesterday. He’d said…what, exactly? Not a great deal. Just that he liked taking care of you, liked knowing that he was the cause of your happiness. 

What was a girl to make of that? 

‘We’ve gotta be there in twenty minutes,’ Nat said, pulling you from your thoughts. ‘Best get that dress on, Marilyn.’

‘She’s not here yet, man. You’re gonna get a crick in your neck if you keep turning round to look at the doors.’ 

Bradley rolled his eyes in Jake’s general direction. He didn’t want to make eye contact because he knew he’d be met with that world-famous shit-eating grin. It was bad enough that he was pining after you, he didn’t need Hangman—of all people—giving him shit for it. After last night’s activities, he was all too aware of how pathetic he was. 

‘On a serious note,’ Jake continued. ‘What’s the deal with you two?’

‘There is no deal.’ Bradley replied. Because there wasn’t. 

‘Oh come on, you think I came off the back of yesterday’s milk truck or somethin’? You better not be about to tell me that you’re just friends.’

‘We are just friends. There’s nothing else to it.’

‘But you want there to be.’ This was a statement, not a question. 

‘It doesn’t matter what I want. She’s still getting over Viper.’

‘That clown. He’s so crooked, he could swallow a nail and spit up a damn corkscrew. I’m still pissed I didn’t get to run into him before my deployment. I’d have given him two matching shiners.’

Bradley had to smirk at this. ‘I think that’d add to what he’s already got going on.’

‘He’s got nothing going on. He’s the ugliest son of a bitch I’ve ever seen, and I’m sittin’ in front of you.’

‘You really can’t give it a rest, even if it’s your last night, huh?’

Jake winked. ‘You should know me by now, Rooster.’ 

Bradley sipped his beer. It was nearly empty, but he didn’t feel like pushing his way through the masses to get to the bar. Mainly because he was waiting for you to arrive so he could buy you a drink, too. 

‘All I’m saying,’ Jake said. ‘Is that when I get home and open my front door, I want there to be a wedding invitation waiting for me.’ 

Bradley’s heart constricted. It wasn’t that he’d never thought of your name, his and marriage in the same sentence, it was just that he’d never said or heard it said out loud before. It was like Jake had just come up behind him and ripped his stool out from underneath his ass. 

He was lost in thought, imagining you in a white gown walking down the aisle, when Jake suddenly wolf-whistled. Bradley’s head snapped up, and he followed Jake’s line of sight to the front doors. You were arm in arm with Natasha, and although Bradley wasn’t sure he believed in God, something out there must have been listening to his thoughts. 

It wasn’t a wedding gown, but it was the prettiest little white dress he’d ever seen. Your hair was done all curly, and a pretty white bow was clipped in the back to keep the top half out of your eyes. Bradley’s eyes must have been bulging out of his head because Jake elbowed him sharply in the ribs. 

‘Anybody ever tell you it’s rude to stare at a lady?’

He flushed from embarrassment and something else. The same something had taken over his body in the shower the previous night. 

When you and Nat got to the table, he did his best to organise his facial features into something that resembled composure.

‘Ladies,’ Jake bowed dramatically. ‘You both look gorgeous.’

Natasha squinted at him as though she was waiting for the catch. The catch never came, so at least Hangman was being nice to someone on his last night. 

You hugged Jake, but as quick as the flames of jealousy licked at his insides, they were put out. You looped your arms around his neck (obviously standing on tiptoes) and pressed yourself against him. He brought his arms up and wrapped them around your lower back, pushing you even closer. It was all warmth and skin and the strawberries in your shampoo, and he wanted more.

More. More. More.

Jake cleared his throat, and just like that, it was over. He missed the contact already, but not for long. The next thing he knew, you took his hand and led him towards the bar, Jake and Natasha following closely behind.

What had he done to get so lucky tonight?

The vibes at The Hard Deck were always lively. If pure, unadulterated joy had a physical form, it would be this bar on a Friday night with all your closest friends. Despite the sad and somewhat scary occasion, you were there to mark, it was still one of the best nights you’d ever had. There’d been good food, homemade cocktails, round after round of Penny’s special shots (that she wouldn’t reveal the contents of) and your favourite songs on the Jukebox. It was hard to tell if they were your favourite songs because they stood out to you or because you were listening to them here, surrounded by these specific people on this night.

You and Mickey were belting the lyrics of Africa by Toto when Bradley reached around and yanked the jukebox cord out of the wall rather unceremoniously. 

‘Hey!’ You yelled.

‘Sorry, sweetheart,’ he grinned. ‘I’m gonna play some real music.’

You were about to argue that Toto was real music when the meaning of his statement dawned on you. 

He was getting behind the piano. 

Since you’d disappeared from the face of the Earth for a while, you hadn’t experienced one of Bradley’s performances for a long time. Few things were more enjoyable than seeing him perform. Your whole body tingled with anticipation, as it did when you were about to drop on a giant rollercoaster or the first time you’d gone up in a jet. 

He was watching you expectantly, and you realised he’d just asked you something.

‘What did you say?’

‘I said, do you wanna sit with me at the piano?’

Your heart soared. Nobody ever sat with him at the piano.

‘Really?’

‘Yeah.’

‘Yes!’

He was chuckling as you followed him to the piano, and you wouldn’t have been able to wipe the smile off your face if you tried.

Mostly everyone drinking at The Hard Deck that night knew what was coming and had swarmed around the piano to await his presence. You were both pretty drunk and when Bradley sat on the bench and pulled you into his lap, you didn’t think anything of it. Had the two of you been sober, he probably wouldn’t have done it, and if he did, you wouldn’t have let him. Because friends don’t do that, and it would have been weird. 

Luckily, nobody in the bar was anything close to sober. 

‘I’m trying something new tonight.’ He announced. Then quietly—so only you could hear him—he said: ‘It’s for you, doll.’ 

You had the perfect view of his hands and watched, mesmerised, as his fingers danced along the black and ivory keys. He played with the effortless grace of somebody who had music in their veins and could do it with their eyes closed. You’d heard enough about Goose to know that this particular gift came from him. 

When he started singing—

Well. That was a whole other story. 

There's a little moonlight dancing on the sand There's a warm breeze blowing by the ocean as you're taking my hand. You need to know where I'm standing now. That I'm right on the edge of giving in to ya Baby it's a long way down.

His raspy voice was like some kind of drug to you. The second he started singing, you were transported from the room to someplace closer to heaven. And it wasn’t just his voice; it was the lyrics. You listened more closely than usual since he’d told you this song was yours. 

If I fall, can you let me down easy?

If I leave my heart with you tonight Will you promise me that you're gonna treat it right? I'm barely hangin' on If I fall, can you let me down easy?

The scent of your perfume floatin' in the air You're looking like an angel lying on a blanket with a halo of hair And those lips look too good to be true.

Once I taste that kiss, I know what'll happen I'll be at the mercy of you If I fall, can you let me down easy? If I leave my heart with you tonight Will you promise me that you're gonna treat it right? I'm barely hangin' on If I fall, can you let me down easy?

When the song ended, the whole bar erupted into cheers. He didn’t give them a chance to disperse, though. He launched straight into the crowd favourite: Great Balls of Fire. It used to be your favourite, too, but now. Everyone was dancing and singing along. His legs bounced as he played, and you giggled like a maniac, getting jostled about whenever he moved. You wanted to go and sit somewhere quiet so you could digest the previous moment, but you were too wrapped up in this one.

Everyone begged for an encore once he’d finished playing, but he told everyone he was desperate for another drink but might play something else later. You were still planted firmly in his lap, and you locked eyes with Nat from over the top of the piano. She raised a brow, and you gave her the universal ‘I don’t fucking know what’s going on either’ look. The crowd started trickling outside or to the bar. Somebody plugged the jukebox back in, and Africa resumed, although it didn’t sound as good as before. All you wanted to listen to now was Bradley’s song for you.

It was time for you to get up, which proved incredibly difficult. Bradley was warm and solid in a comforting way but also in another way that you weren’t quite ready to unpack just yet. You climbed out of his lap and turned around to face him. He was still sitting but had moved to the other side of the stool to face your direction. He gazed up at you with those big, puppy dog eyes, and you realised with a start that if you took one more step, you’d be standing between his legs. You could have rested your hands on his shoulders or the sides of his face. You could have leant down and kissed him.

Because of this, you didn’t know what to say, and this wasn’t good because the ball was most certainly in your court. He’d just said everything he needed to say with that song.

You decided just to be honest with him.

‘I don’t know what to say, Roo.’

‘You don’t have to say anything. I just needed to get that off my chest, and I didn’t know how else to do it.’

‘I will say something,’ you assured him. ‘Just not right this second.’ It was clear that he was trying to hide the dejection he felt. You saw right through the fake smile meant to reassure you, and immediately, you felt as though you’d let him down. Thinking on your feet wasn’t easy when you were drunk, and you might have chosen to do things differently had you been sober. Now probably wasn’t the best time to deal with something like this, but now was all you had. You couldn’t bear letting him go home tonight, thinking you didn’t feel anything towards him.

So you took his hand in yours and tugged his arm. He got up silently, and you led him outside, across the decking and onto the sand. He trailed behind you down to the water, which was starting to come back in after low tide.

Your thought process had been that it might be better to talk out of earshot from the rest of the daggers and that words might come easier if you were somewhere more peaceful. This was, in fact, not the case, and the absence of commotion was only making things awkward. There was nothing to distract you from the longing behind his eyes, nothing to distract him from the way you nervously picked at the skin around your fingers.

It had never been this way with you and Bradley. Way before Elijah—which was beginning to feel like it had happened to someone else and not you—your friendship had been as easy as eggs on a Sunday morning. Thoughts flowed freely during lengthy but never tiring conversations. You didn’t need to guess how he felt and vice versa because both of you always just knew. You had inside jokes for days and more than a few secrets.

Just because you hadn’t grown up together and hadn’t known one another your whole lives didn’t mean you weren’t inseparable. The bond you shared was forged in everlasting fire the day you met at the academy. It was made out of some kind of magic, a rare kind that most people spent their whole lives searching for and never even coming close to.

As you thought about all this, you realised what a fool you’d been to neglect such a bond for somebody like Elijah. But even with all this, you’d never imagined the two of you would be anything more than best friends. When you had something as extraordinary as this, it was hard to fathom risking it when it was already perfect the way it was.

Or so you’d thought.

What if it wasn’t perfect the way it was? What if all those years of friendship were a prequel to something better?

A forever kind of something.

You took a deep breath and trusted that if you spoke your heart, everything would turn out precisely the way it was supposed to. And since you were speaking your heart, you started by saying his name. He’d been looking out over the water, but now he focused his attention back on you. You didn’t think you’d ever spent so many consecutive minutes in his company without him saying anything.

‘I wasted so much time looking for love in the wrong places,’ you started. ‘And when it ended the way I always knew it would—deep down—I listened to you tell me over and over that real love isn’t supposed to feel like that. I listened to you tell me that I deserved better, all while not believing what you were saying.’

It was hard to look at him now. There was so much riding on whatever you chose to say next.

‘What I’m trying to say is, I wasted so much time looking for love and the real meaning of it, when I should have been looking at what was right in front of my face the whole time.’

It wasn’t exactly what you wanted to say. You wished it could’ve been more eloquent—like his song—but this was what you had, and so you gave it to him.

He smiled broadly, and it reached all the way up to his eyes.

Oh, the things you’d have done for that smile.

Part of you was worried that these kinds of revelations would mess with your synchronicity, but you had no need to worry. There was no awkwardness, no clunkiness and no anxiety when he cupped your face in both his hands, and you reached up to loop your arms around his neck. You only felt overwhelming joy and an innate sense of rightness when your lips met in the most passionate of kisses.

And when he tilted your head back further and parted your lips with his tongue, you were able to revisit that feeling you’d felt when he pulled you into his lap not half an hour before. It wasn’t something you could tame, and you highly doubted he could, either, though you could tell he was going to give it his best shot.

You just couldn’t imagine this getting old or wearing thin. If you and Bradley really were a forever thing, you knew that being with him would always feel as exciting and enticing as it did right now.

You let one hand snake down his side, resting just above his hip. When you pulled his body closer so it was pressing against yours, he groaned into your mouth. You could’ve sworn you’d blacked out for a second.

‘Slow down, doll.’ He said between kisses.

‘Why?’

He pushed you away ever so slightly, and you pouted.

‘Because I wanna do this properly. I want to take you out for dinner, drinks, dancing, all of it. You can’t rush something you want to last forever.’

Ah. So he was thinking the same thing as you, then.

‘What if I’m impatient?’

‘Then I’ll take you to dinner now.'

He was making light, but you decided to indulge him. ‘Take me, then.’

Bradley laughed. ‘It’s almost midnight, sweet girl. We won’t get a table anywhere now.’

‘So take me to In-N-Out. And then take me home.’

His eyes were all pupil, and you knew that now you’d put the thought into his head it would be impossible to take it back out.

‘You’re terrible.’

‘It’s not my fault!’ You protested. ‘You’re standing there looking all delicious, kissing me like that!’

‘If I agree, you have to promise me one thing.’

‘Anything.’

‘At some point next week, you’ll get dressed up. You’ll let me take you to a fancy restaurant with overpriced cocktails and tiny portions, and then you’ll let me drive you home. When we get to your front door, you’ll let me kiss you goodnight, and then you’ll let me go home. We have to do it in a civilised manner at least once.’

You laughed. ‘Okay, fine. If you insist.’

‘I do.’

You kissed him again, and it felt like coming home after being away forever.

‘You know something, Bradley?’ You murmured. ‘I never knew heartbreak could feel so good.’ 

A/N: I planned on ending this series here, but now that the final part is complete, I've realised I have many more ideas for where this can go. Maybe some sequels or a whole other series off the back of it. If you'd be interested, let me know and I can tag you in future parts.

Taglist: primroseluna eloquentdreamer sgt-barnesveins daybleedsintonightfa11@sadgirlgiselle @sleepy-writersblock @lovelyygirl8 @my-therapist-hates-me

[frudoo]

For the slasher 141 AU, imagine they didn’t find the guy. He lays low, evading police and CPS until they eventually lose interest, or another case “takes priority” (AKA they can sweep it under the rug.)

141 lies waiting, but maybe it slips their minds, until John gets a call that reader’s been attacked by the guy, or maybe it’s a hostage situation type deal where he has reader and her class under duress while making orders. Does reader dare to try and fight back, knowing her class and the legal trouble it could bring? Does she pretend to comply, until she can overpower him?

Alternatively, 141 using her as bait (consensually ofc) to lure a notorious abuser out of hiding that goes horribly wrong. Love your AU!

I am kissing your brain right now anon

Reader gets some more backstory <3

Part 2 to this.

Warnings: Dark!Fic/DDDNE. Mentions of abuse. Brief mention of teen pregnancy, forced miscarriage, infertility, hysterectomy. Cancer. Cliffhanger ending (sorry!).

“Faster, bitch!”

     You grip the steering wheel tighter, jaw clenched shut. You want nothing more than to smart off to him, but you know better than that. With four armed and dangerous men of your own, you’d think that they would have taught you to check your surroundings at all times, or at the very least to always lock your damn car. You thought it was harmless—all you had to do was run back inside the building to grab your lunchbox you’d left by accident. How were you supposed to know that someone with a vendetta would sneak into your backseat?

     You had forgotten all about the situation for the most part—Oliver had been coming to your class like normal, happy and unscathed, and his mom had been picking him up with no issue. Maybe that’s why you’d assumed the police had taken his father into custody, or that the man simply just didn’t want to come after you. That theory has been completely obliterated, now, with his knife to your neck, barking orders in your ear. 

     “Are you deaf? I said faster!” He’s erratic, positively irate, and you can feel the cool blade pressing harder against your throat. 

     He’s been screaming at you to take him to his wife’s house, and you plan to do just that. You know for a fact that Oliver’s mother has taken him to her parents’ house because she felt unsafe at her own—too many bad memories and the nagging fear that her husband may come back—and for good reason, apparently. The house is totally empty.

     “I’m trying not to get pulled over,” you say plainly, willing yourself not to wince as he leans in closer, hot breath puffing against the side of your face.

     “Whatever. Just- just fucking get there.”

     The man leans back once more, but he’s getting more and more anxious by the second, frantically checking his phone and tapping his leg nervously. You use his distraction as an opportunity to pull out your own cell, quickly searching for one of your lovers’ contacts. You land on John’s, cautiously typing out an SOS and sending it. There’s a read receipt immediately and you know John is already tracking your location, making Simon start the truck and gathering up the other two. 

     You hide your phone before the fuming man behind you can see what you’ve been doing and pray that Simon’s reckless driving will get them at the house around the same time as you do. Your heart and head are pounding with irritation and, for the first time in a while, true fear. 

     Suddenly, you feel like you’re sixteen again, with your father pressing the tip of his blade into your pregnant belly. You can still hear his voice berating you, calling you words no daughter should ever hear from her father. You can still feel the excruciating pain of the bowie penetrating your abdomen right where your womb sat. You can still remember driving yourself to the hospital and being told that you’d lost your baby, and as a result of the knife wound, would never be able to conceive again. There’s emptiness where your uterus should be, loss where there should have been life. Your boyfriend at the time left you after finding out about your hysterectomy. 

     Sometimes you wish you could have been the one to kill your father. Not the stupid fucking cancer that slowly made him hate you less and less as he got weaker. The sickness seemed to take all the spite in his heart and manifest it into a malignant tumor in his pancreas. The doctors found the mass too late, just like your father found some twisted form of love for you far too long after he ruined you. You didn’t have control over his fate, but you do have control over the piece of shit behind you.

     It’s another fifteen minutes of being threatened before you finally make it to the house, and your heart drops when you realize that your boys aren’t there yet. Your mind starts racing—what if they got pulled over? What if they got into a wreck? You don’t know what the hell you’d do without them, especially not now, as the man is dragging you out of the car and forcing you inside the house with him. Thankfully, it’s empty as you expected, but that just infuriates Oliver’s dad more. 

     “Where the fuck are they?” He grabs you by the throat, spittle spraying across your face in his rage. 

     “I don’t know,” you whimper.

     You’re cursing yourself for showing him just how scared you are. He can practically smell your anxiety and it fuels his ego, makes him squeeze your neck so tight that you know it’ll leave bruises. You’ve already resigned yourself to the fact that this is more than likely where you’ll die, with no courage rising up from your belly and none of your boys to have your back. Maybe it’s a fitting end—your father coming back in a different body to finish the job he was too weak to complete all those years ago. 

     “I think you do,” he hisses, tightening his hand and effectively cutting off your air supply.

     Your vision goes spotty and then black, gasping for breath but not even bothering to fight back. At worst, your death will alert the police and your lovers won’t even get to see your body for the last time as you’re dragged to the morgue. At best, the boys will finally show up and get rid of this fucker, albeit too late to save you, but at least they’ll get to see you and take you back home to lay you to rest. Your absence may hurt for a while but things would inevitably go back to normal—and your sweet little kiddos at the daycare. They’re still so young that they won’t remember you after a while, and you take comfort in that fact as you slowly lose consciousness.

     You don’t feel your body hit the ground.