#but if the book isn’t good after you know what happens then it’s just a bad book

[je0ng1nn]

WILD FLOWER — CHO SANGWOO

𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ PAIRING — Cho Sangwoo x Pregnant!reader

𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ TYPE — Fluff, little bit of angst?

𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ NOTE — Hey y‘all! this is my first fanfic on Tumblr, i do have some experience in generally writing things like this, but i have no knowledge when it comes to writing here.. so bare with me🤍 This is supposed to be a little fanfic about Sangwoo where he won the games and came home to his pregnant wife, have fun!

It was a cold afternoon, the sun wasn’t shining. Rain falling down the sky as Sungwoo came home from the Squid Games. He won. He didn’t know if it was worth it, killing his old friend for money? But he just had to.. he didn’t want his child to grow up poor. He knew he needed to, for his baby, for his wife.. and for him.

He got the keys out of his pocket as he opened the door. „Y/N? I‘m home,“ He said. He never told her the truth, where he was. Or what he did. It was always just a business trip in America.

„Sangwoo?“ A soft female voice called out, slowly walking to the door. Her shocked face turned quickly into a surprised and happy one. She immediately hugged him.

„Finally! You’re home! I missed you a lot.. The business trip must‘ve been really tough.“ She let slowly go of him, her hands wandering to his shoulders as she looked into his eyes.

„It was, but we got the deal. We have enough money now, jagiya. Our little trouble maker will have a good childhood, i promise.“ He sighed. The memories still played in his head. It was like a nightmare. He got a card, which would give him access to the bank account. He didn’t planning telling her how much he won. After all, 45,6 billion won was a lot of money.

„Really? Ah.. it makes everything easier, i‘m happy everything went well.“ She smiled. She closed the door behind him to not let more rain into the house. Sangwoo got out of his shoes and hung his jacket next to her‘s. Everything was tidy.

His wife turned to him, she was holding his hands as she guided him to the kitchen „I was just cooking Tteokbokki, do you want some too?“ Sangwoo‘s eyes shined, he loved her Tteokbokki, and maybe, just maybe he can calm down a little. He kissed her forehead

„Of course Jagiya, your Tteokbokki is the best!“ Y/N giggled at his compliment before putting something in a bowl, she got out two plates for each of them. „Let me help you. You shouldn’t do so much, the baby can come any time.“ He took the plates from her and put them down, after he went again for chopsticks.

Y/N was already sitting at the table, deep in thoughts. „Something was wrong with him.. he isn’t like this normally.. hm“ Sure, Sangwoo was a big Introvert, he didn’t show a lot of emotion. But he always had a soft spot for his wife, after all it’s his first, and only love in his whole life. It did something to her. But she didn’t bother saying anything, if there’s something, he would tell her.

Y/N and Sangwoo ate together the meal she cooked. „Thank you for the delicious meal darling, I missed your cooking. In the States there wasn’t a lot of Korean food“ She smiled at his compliment, like she would always do.

He loves her smile, it always brightens the room. „Really?“ Sangwoo nodded, before looking down at his food again. „Ah, Sangwoo?“ He looked back at her, a curious look. „Lets go to the States sometimes yeah? I really want to go! Also we should go to your Mom, she misses you a lot yeah?“

Sangwoo‘s heart started to warm up at the mention of his Mom. She loved her a lot, she also didn’t know anything about what happened, and he also couldn’t tell her at all. „Oh really? We should go to the States if you want to go that bad“ He chuckled, he finally had the money again to go anywhere she wants, give her the life she dreamed of. „And for my mom, why don’t we go there together tomorrow?“ Y/N nodded, she replied with a short sure, and they both continued to eat in a comfortable silence.

——————————————————————————

Y/N was already laying in bed, reading a book. Sangwoo was doing the dishes and did some callings. It was always like this, it was normal. Y/N thought.

Finally he was back home, the business trip was long enough, she missed him a lot. The door opened, a tried sangwoo behind it. „Baby?“ he called out, earning her attention. „Whats up?“ She put the book away, sitting up more than she was already doing.

„A… friend of mine passed away, she had a brother in a Adoption center.. it was her last wish that someone would take care of him.. I know we already have the stress with the baby.. but-„

Y/N stopped him, „Of course! The poor boy, oh my.. We should go see him after visiting your mom yeah? I‘m sure he‘ll be happy seeing a friend of his big sister wanting to take care of him.“

Sangwoo, sat down on his side of the bed, turning around to look at her. „Really? I have the money now.. let’s buy a bigger house, so we can fit him in..“ He smiled. he felt guilty for killing Sae-byeok. She would’ve died anyway, but after hearing what she said to Gi-hun, he wanted to atleast let her last wish come true.

„That sounds wonderful. I‘d love to, let‘s plan everything tomorrow yes? You should go to sleep now.“ Y/N kissed him, a passionate kiss on his lips, Sangwoo let himself fall into her touch. It made him feel loved, the feeling he missed for the last days.

He nodded and layed down himself, he was exhausted. He turned of the lamp on his left. The two wished each other a good night before drifting of to sleep together.

——————————————————————————

„You’re a monster Sangwoo, it was a mistake loving you. Why did you do that? You killed for money, like a greedy animal. Killing your friends without a second thought. Lying to them.“ Sangwoo stood in a empty room, it looked like the Squid game‘s. Infront of him his Wife, it felt familiar but also so strange.

„Have you heard me?! A monster!“ the voice screamed this time. Anger could be heard clearly. „N-no.. it’s not-.. I-..“

„You can‘t excuse this Sangwoo. You‘ll be a Monster. No matter what you‘ll try or do. Its over!“ and out of nowhere his Wife fell to the floor. He ran to her. the only thing laying there was a dead body and blood. When he looked up, the room slowly started to write „YOU’RE A MONSTER“ all over itself. Sangwoo started to cry, shaking his wife‘s body.

„Y/N!! Y/N pease stand up! I love you haven’t you heard? Don’t leave me!!“ Nothing happened and out of nowhere the guards came in. Took his wife away and all he had was himself and the voice that sounded like his Wife’s which kept telling he‘s a monster.

——————————————————————————

Sangwoo jumped up, sweaty and exhausted. He was shaking. He started to cry, the guilt and fear overflowing him as he sat in his bed. Of course this didn’t go unnoticed by the sleeping Y/N. She slowly woke up to the crys of her Husband.

„Sangwoo? Love? what happened?“ Still tired but worried she took his face in her hands, whipping away his tears. „I-it’s..“ he could barely talk, the fear keeping him from doing anything. „I thought i-i lost yo-.. you..“

„Shhh.. look at me, everything’s alright yeah? It was just a nightmare, i would never leave you.“ He couldn’t tell her the truth, atleast not yet. He would when the time was right, but now it would be too.. risky. Y/N kissed him passionately and slowly, letting him melt and calm down. Her hand was on his shoulder now, caressing it. It often helped him calm down a little..

Hey guys it’s me again! I had a lot of fun writing this so i hope y‘all love it🤍, I‘m maybe planning on doing a second part on this where he has a family and all and finally plans on tell her, if y‘all want to ofcourse ;). If you have any requests, just tell me! I‘d love to write storys with your ideas.

I write mostly about K-drama actors/characters and K-Idols! So anythinf in that topic would be fine🤍 Until next time !

[ps-cactus]

No Voices But Ours | HL oneshot

5,400 words | also posted on AO3 Ominis x f!MC, & Sebastian (unnamed MC, no appearance descriptions)

Thank you, the ever-amazing beta @accio-bagel

Tags and TWs: Major Character Death, Post-Canon (10 years later), Haunted House Vibes, Thriller, Mystery, Unreliable Narrator, POV Multiple, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Survivor’s Guilt, Redemption, Tragic Love, Tragic Friendship, Hallucinations, Implied Suicidal Thoughts, Found Family But Also Lost Family, Mental Instability, Self-Loathing, Depressive Themes, Nightmares, Fear of the Unknown.

Summary / Preview:

If the past calls, can you ever ignore it? Should you run—or listen closer?

Ominis is right, of course. Sebastian Sallow died months ago, and she saw it happen. He’s gone. Completely gone, because this is certainly not a ghost. She recalls clearly from Hogwarts: ghosts are visible, faintly tangible, capable of conversation, and some even of heated discussions. Whatever voices reach her, whether in dreams or waking hours, they don’t truly exist. It’s nothing more than something perfectly normal that comes with grief—the wish that he were still alive. ... Tonight, he receives another reminder that it's not even a ghost. He knows what ghosts look like and how they behave... Sebastian crouches down but makes no effort to pick up the book. Resting his palm against the polished wooden floorboards, he feels this again. The faint, rhythmic pulses, like the ghost of a heartbeat. After all this time, he knows the pattern—once the rhythm fades, all the odd sounds fall silent too. Not forever, no, but for a while at least. Usually, it fades fast. And it's fading already. Good.

“Are you hearing him again?”

Familiar hands grip her shoulders firmly, bringing her back from the depths of sleep. They also force away a lingering echo of her own scream that still rings in her head. She lets go of the wall where she had probably instinctively clung to escape the familiar rhythmic pulses coursing through every surface in moments like this.

“Yeah,” she answers, feeling the scratch in her throat, and hastily adds, “I know. Just a dream.”

Ominis brushes a strand of hair from her forehead, and she knows he’s using the gesture to feel for fever. She watches his face, bathed in pale moonlight, and his eyes, where this light glimmers in fleeting reflections. It keeps her from acknowledging the never-ending shadowy hallway looming behind him. At night, this house always seems oppressively enormous.

“Just a dream,” Ominis reassures her, placing a light kiss on her forehead. The suffocating dread slowly fades, and sleep starts pulling at her again.

Ominis is right, of course. Sebastian Sallow died months ago, and she saw it happen. He’s gone. Completely gone, because this is certainly not a ghost. She recalls clearly from Hogwarts: ghosts are visible, faintly tangible, capable of conversation, and some even of heated discussions.

Whatever voices reach her, whether in dreams or waking hours, they don’t truly exist. It’s nothing more than something perfectly normal that comes with grief—the wish that he were still alive.

x

Sebastian doesn’t move, hardly even breathes, standing barefoot in the dark corridor. The moonlight carves a pale path beneath him. The screams have faded. Except for the ones that will never leave his head, of course. But in his mind, that same voice isn’t screaming. It’s casting spells. Calling his name sometimes. Spitting out curses occasionally.

But here, it’s always the same—a scream of fear, a scream of pain. He holds back from speaking to that voice again. Maybe there’s no voice at all. Maybe it’s just this old house driving him mad. Tonight, he receives another reminder that it's not even a ghost. He knows what ghosts look like and how they behave. This is a haunting punishment.

He checks a few unused rooms, just in case—filled with nothing but silence, as expected. 

Of course. He’s just going mad, plain and simple. Serves him right.

He leaves without another glance back, retracing his steps toward the bathroom.

x

The trees stand bare, having surrendered into an early slumber even before winter’s touch, yet she always finds comfort in strolling through the garden. Especially as soft strains of a piano drift through the air from a slightly open window. 

She is careful enough not to glance toward the far end of the grounds, taking an early turn to avoid the white tombstone among the old oak’s fallen leaves. Clutching the book she failed to concentrate on to her chest, she lifts her head, absentmindedly looking for the seagulls in the silent sky, but the island’s autumn fog is thick as wool, even at noon.

Lunch passes soon, as unremarkable as so many that came before. The house-elf follows every request, preparing the meals exactly to their liking, but they all taste like nothing to her. Just like the familiar groans of the floorboards, the whispers of the drafts in the old house are simply background details she doesn't even notice anymore.

But her cup slips from her fingers, rolling on the table and sloshing its remaining tea the moment she hears a sharp, furious thud from the room above.

x

Sebastian brushes the book off the table. Useless. Worse still, he can’t even leave to search for something more useful on his own, depending instead on booksellers he barely trusts.

But there is always this fear whispering to him: what if, by leaving, he risks the protective spells faltering or vanishing altogether? He doesn't trust his own magic anymore. Whatever that risk is, it isn’t one he can take. He has to finish what he started. No one must find him before that. He won’t be able to explain. No one could ever understand.

He barely understands himself these days. Least of all can he grasp what truly happened after she used the spell meant to rid them of the relic for good. But he just blacked out—no other term fits better. When he regained consciousness again, it was long past the moment it mattered.

Maybe the confusion goes back even further, because he still has no explanation how the relic found its way back to him after almost a decade.

He hadn’t looked for it, of course. That much was certain. The moment he saw it again, he knew only that it had to be destroyed. He had the audacity to ask his friends for help without having any semblance of  a plan. What a fool. How dare he even call them friends now?

x

She quickly says, "There's something upstairs," even though Ominis hasn't yet asked. He’s just frozen, worried, across from her at the table. “Something fell. Dusky, see what’s going on up there.”

The house-elf, having already cleaned up the tea from the table with practiced efficiency, nods and disappears with a sharp pop. 

x

A muffled pop, both remote and unnervingly near, makes Sebastian turn to the middle of the room. Nothing. 

A second noise, like the lingering reverberation of the first, makes him blink and peer at the empty space. Still nothing. Not a shadow, not a whisper. Not a ghost.

He almost wishes it were just a ghost. He wonders if just a ghost would even bother speaking to him. Or would it simply linger, observing in silence, with no words to give? Would it despise him? Or pity him?

He’d take hatred over pity any day.

x

“Nothing?” she asks sceptically, irritation rising as the elf shrugs and shakes his head. She knows he returned too fast. She sees he’s scared. “Are you lying?”

His frantic head-shaking intensifies, eyes flickering in panic for a moment before he dashes from the room.

“House-elves can’t lie,” Ominis notes calmly.

“Wait!”

The elf doesn’t stop, his retreating steps disappearing down the hall toward the kitchen. She turns sharply toward Ominis.

“House-elves can’t disobey, either.”

x

Sebastian crouches down but makes no effort to pick up the book. Resting his palm against the polished wooden floorboards, he feels this again. The faint, rhythmic pulses, like the ghost of a heartbeat. After all this time, he knows the pattern—once the rhythm fades, all the odd sounds fall silent too. Not forever, no, but for a while at least. Usually, it fades fast. And it's fading already. Good.

He frowns at the book on the floor before eventually placing it back on the table, where there’s still a little space left among all the glasses and plates.

Beneath the papers, Sebastian notices an envelope resting at the very edge of the table. This one holds nothing but more grief and pain. So be it.

He tugs at the corner of a letter a little. The recipient’s name stings his mind. His own handwriting looks foreign. It’s the last letter he ever sent here. He never should have written it. Even if it had been the last thing he ever did, he should have handled it alone. 

Well, it doesn’t matter anymore, does it? That’s exactly how it will be now. Alone as he is, and with this probably being the last thing he ever does, he will see the relic destroyed. There are already a few ideas he’s considered. For instance…

A gust of wind scatters some papers from the table along with that letter, making Sebastian glance up, noticing the seagulls flying by again, their cries unusually loud today. With an annoyed flick of his wand, the window snaps shut, and the glass rattles in protest.

x

“...Or suddenly go mute! But all of this—” Her voice rises, frustration mounting with every syllable of a conversation they’ve already had too many times—until she stops. “Did you hear that?” 

Ominis doesn’t answer, focusing instead on making a genuine effort to understand, just as he does every single time she hears something he does not. As usual, for him, there’s only silence. Her chair screeches against the floor right before she darts past him out of the room. Soon, her hurried footsteps reach the top of the stairs.

Ominis hesitates before going after her. Whatever these ‘sounds’ are, they terribly exhaust her. She doesn’t know how to stop them or make some sense of them, and he has no idea how to help. All ever since that day.

He still remembers the rage that consumed him—his entire being, the whole world at once—when Sebastian, after ten years of a perfectly decent life, claimed that the relic had simply turned up in his house. How convenient, Ominis said then, because it was agonising to realise that every bit of faith he had in his friend’s redemption had been misplaced. 

However, she had always been the one willing to trust people, to believe in them. It’s because of her he agreed to listen to Sebastian at all. Now her faith is likely the reason she still can’t accept how truly catastrophic his mistake had been and why she can’t let it go. 

When Ominis finally follows her into the room, she comes to him at once. He searches for any disturbance, any inconsistency in the signals from his wand—but there’s nothing. Nothing but silence and stillness.

“There’s nothing.” Her voice comes out quiet, almost shaking, just like her hands. “I don’t know… Must have imagined it. Sorry.”

“No, don’t be,” he squeezes her hand slightly, repeating the simple words that still seem to help them both. “It’s alright. It’s an old house; I used to hear things here all the time. It’ll pass.”

Later that night, Ominis leans over a sink in a bathroom far from their bedroom, gripping the porcelain with both hands. The rush of water fills the silence around him.

Yes, he still remembers that all-consuming rage. But the rage and anger are long gone. Ominis has had no will for anger in a long time. The little strength he does still have, he hoards for forgiveness but never quite reaches it. If there’s one thing he has in excess, it’s pain—so much that, deep down, he knows exactly what she feels, far better than he cares to admit.

Each time he jolts awake from that nightmare, detailed as ever, Ominis edges closer to acknowledging what she had always seemed to know. That the person coming to their house that day wasn’t a reckless teenager, but a man genuinely terrified of something he wanted to but couldn’t explain. Terrified of what came true after all.

Odd enough, Sebastian’s death had never once appeared in his nightmare. The final moment is never about him at all. And her dream is the exact same. There are moments when Ominis almost speaks aloud the theory forming in his mind. He may not hear voices or strange sounds, but he feels the way the silence here lingers unnaturally. It makes every room feel emptier than it should, stretching the time even. Or the way the fire in the hearth loses its warmth the more attention he gives it. The simple yet so complicated theory. Almost impossible. Rather insane.

“No. This is ridiculous,” Ominis murmurs, shutting the tap off. He presses his hands, insufficiently cooled by the water, against his face. Wrapped up in his own mind on this troubled midnight, he fails to notice that the tap seals itself shut, ceasing its quiet dripping.

x

Sebastian twists the tap tighter and hurriedly returns to his usual spot—the blanket spread out on the bathroom floor. Thick enough that he can’t feel the subtle impulses beneath him, though he knows, without a doubt, that they’ve started the moment the tap started dripping by itself. 

He sleeps right here often because the space is just small enough not to smother him with its hollowness and because, until now, this was the only place where they had never reached him. He always hears them from afar, from other rooms, but never here. 

Although now he would swear on anything, he just heard Ominis’ voice right beside him.

He isn’t afraid of such things anymore. He doesn’t even indulge in these imagined voices, either, weaving the illusion that he was never at fault at all. But lately a mere voice seems a rarity, because what he hears more often is the scream. And it gets closer. Just like the voice was right here in this room. As though any semblance of peace is vanishing from his reach completely.

x

“You’re gone… you’re not real… you’re gone…”

She rushes through the garden, her tears sliding off her cheeks just as fast. This time, she doesn’t turn away from that path. She is barely awake from yet another dream that returned the terrible, aching thoughts. 

She doesn’t even wait for Ominis to come back, so desperate is the need to see the tombstone again, to remind herself of reality, of acceptance, and—please—just calm down.

It’s too late to change anything. She must live on. Must focus on the future, or at least the present. Anything but the past. 

She steps closer to the white stone standing out in the darkness and wipes off the soggy leaves clinging to it. Her fingers trace the rough-cut letters briefly before they freeze.  

x

Sebastian hugs his knees closer, still sitting on the bathroom floor. Her voice. The deafening ‘No!’, as distant as it seems resounding straight from within his own head. He senses the faint, rhythmic pulses coming off the floorboards and walls. Stronger than he’s ever felt them. The pain is no longer confined to his chest; his whole body hurts.

He knows what’s doing this to him. Knows it’s punishing him and knows why. But he can’t take it anymore. No matter how—it just needs to be over. He has to act. He has to try. 

As he stands, he keeps his gaze on the door, refusing to acknowledge the mirror. One of the reasons is the grey in his hair. As if he has any right to still be here, growing older, when they will never get the chance.

Determined, he steps into the hallway. 

Each step down the creaky staircase is deliberate, and the grip on his wand is firm. 

All the resolve drains from him as he reaches the entrance to the vast, empty basement. Almost empty. He leans into the cold stone as his breath catches.

Is he really allowed to take another step? Will it let him even try? What if it already knows what he wants?

The house drafts feel much colder than before. He’s barefoot again, clad in only pyjama trousers and a thin shirt, but sweat drenches his skin.

x

As she drops to the ground, the wet leaves beneath her knees smear into mud. Ominis calls her name again and again, but her voice is just as lost as her mind might be. It’s only when he touches her shoulder that she jolts and tries to speak again, unsure, however, she will make any sense at all.

“Th—there…” She chokes out, unable to finish, her eyes locked on the letters on the white stone. “And you… your…” 

Ominis kneels beside her, dropping his wand on the leaves. One arm wraps around her, steadying her trembling body, while the other gently finds her face. 

“Shhh… I’ve got you, shhh… It’s alright.”

That’s when she notices that unlike her, he hasn’t even thrown on a coat. She doesn’t think when she starts to rise, oddly happy there is a reason to leave. She keeps swallowing her tears, trying to say, “It—it’s freezing. Why are you—”

“No, it’s not,” Ominis stops her. There’s tension in his voice, but it carries a quiet steadiness hers lacks. “Feel it. The wind, the ground—they're not cold. Please, just stop and feel.”

The request stuns her for a moment, but she lowers her hand to the damp leaves. Her fingers dig into them, seeking for the earth beneath, searching for a chill that should be there, that must be there—but isn’t.

“How? Why?” Her voice falters as her eyes snap back to the white stone. It doesn’t make any sense. She begs it to be some nonsense. Another nightmare. She finally speaks the words she had meant to, even as each one feels unbearable. “Ominis, the tombstone… It has our initials. Both of ours. Ominis, please… Why?”

“That dream we both have sometimes,” he says, drawing closer, his fingers skimming her cheek again. It hurts him too, to speak, but he can’t keep holding this in. “You had a feeling it was the truth, didn’t you? But something stopped you from saying. Like a word on the tip of your tongue, just out of reach, no matter how hard you try to grasp it, so you let it slip away.”

The truth. 

The truth is somewhere so painfully close.

It is in so many things she keeps both accepting and hopelessly missing. All this time, she had never questioned when their break from work, taken months ago, would end. There were no letters sent or received. No owls for so long. No seagulls in the ever-quiet sky, not once in months. 

And yet, she never questioned it. 

She had turned away from these questions, just as she had turned away from the tombstone, because deep down, she knew too well. Because even though Sebastian’s body and the relic had vanished without a trace, she knows that the stone was more than a memorial and that beneath it, the ground was not empty.

She knows why the nightmare always ends there. 

She understands why it always ends the same way.

x

Another drop of sweat trails along his temple, blending into the single tear streaking down his cheek as Sebastian steps into the basement. He lights a few torches along the walls.

The relic waits, undisturbed, right where he left it. 

A monument to his foolishness. 

Spells are echoing in his head again, desperate, never-ending. 

Slowly, he advances toward the small pyramid on the stone floor, more surprised at each step. It didn't even let him this near that day. 

Blink. A glance to the side—that’s where Ominis was. He was closer, so Sebastian reached for him first, fingers searching for a pulse. He hoped. Listened for breath. Heard nothing. Blink. His eyes dart to the farthest, darkest part of the basement—where she fell. Walking toward her, he knew already. Blink. He turns, just for a moment, toward the door. That’s where a curious house-elf was peeking inside, terrified. 

Sigh.

He raises his wand, aiming directly at the relic. He doesn't know if he could cast the spell or if he could even force out a single word and what might follow. 

He simply wants this all to be over.

x

She once believed that facing some kinds of truth can be painful enough to unravel someone completely. And still, even through the ache, her mind is sharp; it feels clearer than it has in such a long time. To understand, to recognise the truth, is now as effortless to her as drawing breath had once been. A pang of guilt and disappointment in herself stirs inside her—is she really so selfishly determined to deny her own destiny that she chose to believe it had belonged to someone else?

For so long, she had been spiralling, lost between reality and endless illusions, unable to comprehend whatever this is that’s happening to them. But now all her thoughts, both clear and still taking shape, flow down her cheeks in the form of tears… 

No, not quite. They flow onto the fingers that slowly trace her skin.

Ominis is here. Beside her, just as he always has been. Even as she pulled away, as she lost herself, when he had been struggling just as much.

“Ominis, I’m so sorry…” She whispers, leaning on his knee, clutching at the thin fabric of his pyjama trousers. “I’m so sorry…”

“No—Why?” His hand moves carefully as he brushes against a stray strand of her hair near her face before returning to settle beneath her chin. 

“I think… the last thing I remember before everything changed… Is using Ancient Magic. Something went wrong. That must be why we’re both… I’m sorry. I don’t know… Merlin, I just…”

"No, don’t say that," he says firmly, holding her tighter against him. "We made that list of ideas together, didn’t we? We all chose to take the risk. That relic was far more complicated." He breathes in deeply before continuing. "You remember when I said that if it found him, rather than the other way around, it could be worse than anything else?"

She watches as his hand trails down her arm, finding her hand clenched into a fist on his knee. Carefully, he unfurls it, weaving his fingers through hers. 

“I do. It would have meant this relic is so powerful and complex, it may have something like a consciousness of its own…” She looks up at him. “So… you believe him? That he didn’t try to find it again?”

“I truly don’t know. But if both he and the relic are gone, and that means he’s facing it alone somewhere... then I genuinely hope he can overcome it.”

“He loathes himself so much. There’s so much pain inside him. But whatever happened then, I know the relic has no hold over him anymore.” 

Her eyes drift back to the gravestone with six letters on it. It hurts more the more she understands; her mind is flooding with all the realisations she used to suppress. And yet, she still doesn’t fully get it. “You truly haven’t heard anything? Nothing at all? No thuds, no footsteps, no voice?”

“I swear, I didn’t hear anything,” Ominis says, as if regretting that it’s true. “No voices but ours, no footsteps, nothing unusual at all.”

“But you had the same dream as I did?”

“Yes.”

She grips his fingers tighter, and his thumb strokes hers in slow, steady movements. Her mind swirls with thoughts, and though some facts settle easier than others, they wound her just as deeply. 

Sebastian has some bond with the relic because he once wielded it, and she has one because she attempted to destroy it with magic she believed she understood. Could that be the reason she had heard his voice? 

But why—why is Ominis here? And the elf...? What if she is the reason they are all somehow trapped? That would be too cruel. Is there any part of this she can still change? Is there anything left for her to undo at all, or did all the possible moments pass beyond reach?

“What if… maybe this is all just another dream?” She breathes out, pressing her eyes shut, unable to handle the number of questions—some unanswerable, some too painful to even voice.

Ominis says nothing. He simply leans forward, pressing his forehead lightly against hers.

x

Sebastian clenches his teeth so hard it hurts—from sheer anger. Mostly, he is furious at himself. At the foolish fifteen-year-old boy who once decided this damned thing was the answer he needed. 

The relic had changed—there are no Inferi on its edges, it seems smaller, and utterly silent. And he didn’t black out after unleashing magic on it, spell after spell. 

Still, none of it worked.

The only thing left to try is the spell he had used the first thing back then. The relic had changed so much in the months. Maybe this time, it will work. 

Anyway—

He is so done he’s ready to tear the whole world down and himself afterwards just to make it all end. He takes a deep breath, his wand already starting the precise movement.

A flash. 

A thunderous crash.

He freezes, eyes narrowing as he notices something new. The smallest, almost invisible crack on the relic’s surface. He feels something he hadn’t felt in eternity—a sharp, unexpected jolt of joy that almost makes him laugh. 

x

Ominis lowers his hand from her face, his head tilting toward the house.

“There’s someone there,” he whispers, his words almost lost in the wind. “It’s not the elf.”

“True… Not an elf,” she whispers back, placing her palm to the ground again out of habit, expecting the usual pulses, but there is nothing. The shock of it—both the missing sensations and the man standing before her, whom she hadn’t seen for so long—is so great that it takes her a moment to realise she wasn’t the first to notice.

“Hold on, you actually heard it?”

The silhouette doesn’t move closer, stopping just a few steps away.

“Is that… Is that you?” The distant voice wavers, hesitant, uncertain.

“I hear,” Ominis nods. “It’s Sebastian.”

“Forgive me,” he still hesitates, as if afraid to take another step. “I fixed it. I think I did. Just… please…”

For the first time in forever, the voice doesn’t come from within her own head—it’s real, right beside her. His real voice. But the weight of the new suspicion is so heavy, so full of sorrow, that if they had been near the island’s shore, she is certain the grief alone would have pulled her under the waves straight to the ocean floor. From the way Ominis remains perfectly still and silent and only furrows his brow, she knows he feels the same. 

The brief hope they had is mercilessly gone.

x

The pyramid’s peaks emit a soft silver glow, their rhythmic pulses no more spreading through the ground and the walls. A faint light seeps from the crack, sluggish and indifferent, as though the relic knows it has no audience. And even if Sebastian Sallow weren’t lying motionless on the stone floor and was still able to be interested in anything, he wouldn’t have seen this glow no matter how hard he tried.

The glow pulses at the four peaks, climbing the ridges toward the highest, the only still unlit point. When it reaches the top, it gives a last, weak flicker. And fades.

A last, feeble shudder runs through the relic. Then, there is only stillness. Probably the kind that exists in the last fragile second before an unstoppable storm.

The relic cracks. 

One thin line becomes many, crawling over the relic’s surface like vines overtaking a house, claiming it entirely.

x

“He just vanished,” she murmurs in disbelief. She barely has time to process it before noticing something worse. “Ominis, the house—it’s fading. Something’s changed.”

The world transforms quickly. She doesn’t even have time to describe what she sees, but soon there is nothing left to describe at all. The wand on the ground is gone. Ominis’ arm remains wrapped around her waist, and she suddenly understands that she must not let him go, so she clasps his hand and presses it tighter against herself.

The house is gone. The elf is nowhere around. There’s even no earth beneath them anymore. No leaves. Nothing but the blackness where the world used to be. 

Beside them, on what looks like a floor made of black glass, lies Sebastian. In the vast, consuming darkness, the only glow emanates from beside him. Covered in an endless network of fine lines, the relic appears to still be whole only because of this soft, familiar glow.

“He destroyed it,” she realises, looking closely. “The relic. It looks slightly different now, and it carries a little trace of Ancient Magic.” 

“So using your magic wasn’t the wrong choice. Maybe that’s what altered the relic and allowed it to be destroyed. But why did he appear so briefly?”

“He’s… he’s here as well.”

She guides Ominis’ other hand to Sebastian’s shoulder, and he tightens his fingers uncertainly around the damp fabric of the shirt. 

“Tell me, is it just me, or…”

She knows. She doesn’t understand why, but she’s glad to know. “This is strange, but… yes. Maybe…” 

She glances around quickly, but there is nothing. Nothing at all. The void stretches on, endless, empty. The last traces of the faint glow continue to fade. 

“Nothing?” Ominis asks, but she can hear it in his voice—he knows the answer.

“Nothing,” she says, because she has to say it out loud. “If all this was tied to the relic, that means we… we’ll be…”

She knows, with unbearable certainty, what’s happening. There’s nothing they can do to change it. And the only thing that truly matters now remains unknown—what comes next.

“Hey. It’s alright. This is just a dream. Any moment now, we’ll wake up,” Ominis murmurs, lightly lifting her chin. “You hear me? There will be no more nightmares. All of them are over now.”

She watches the tiny reflections of light flicker in his eyes as she trembles in his arms again. She doubts it will happen the way he describes, but the way he says it soothes her.

So she accepts it.

And from acceptance comes peace.

From peace comes… hope. The last one. 

She reaches for the silver glow of the relic, if anything of the original relic remains at all. For the last time, she calls upon this magic, and it obeys, eagerly, almost as if it’s glad to. The glow drifts with her hand as she lowers it onto Ominis’ fingers, which have just returned to Sebastian’s shoulder, as if he had known exactly what she was about to do.

“It’s alright,” Ominis says, leaning slightly toward Sebastian. “It’s not your fault. None of us is to blame.”

“No more nightmares,” she adds firmly, watching as the edges of their fingers blur, dissolving within the dwindling glow. She looks away, squeezing her eyes shut, curling forward, her forehead pressing against Ominis’ chest.

The sharpest pain now comes from knowing that their final days, their last months together, had been filled with confusion and suffering. And that those months were truly their last.

“I… I wish we had more time,” she says.

“Let’s find each other again when we wake up, alright?”

She barely nods. “Alright.”

“Just please, don’t be too hard to spot. I’m not exactly great at hide-and-seek.”

A weak laugh escapes her as she sinks further into his embrace. His hand settles over her head. His other hand moves slowly, smoothing down her back in a measured rhythm—steady, unchanging, like the tide rolling in and out. Her trembling lessens with each pass of his touch, and at last, she feels safe, fully sheltered—not just from the endless emptiness that’s already around, but from whatever comes next.

x

The last traces of the silver glow fade away. The relic lingers only for a heartbeat more, as if offering a final farewell, before it shatters into countless fragments, each no larger than a speck of dust.

xxx

Sebastian Sallow’s pulse hammers against his ribs, wild and unsteady. Each breath he exhales pushes the tiny piles of dust away from his face. He doesn’t dare to move yet. 

He listens. 

The voices reach him, but for the first time, they bring no fear. There is no anger in them for some reason. No hatred. He doesn’t like that. He thinks back to his own thoughts, but the weight of self-loathing is no longer there somehow. It isn’t his choice—he doesn’t want any relief—but he lacks the strength to fight. His gaze catches on the scattered dust, and suddenly, he knows what it is.

He actually did it. It worked. The relic is gone.

As he steps outside on unsteady legs, he shields his eyes from the light that burns his eyes. It’s too bright and feels almost too warm for autumn. He looks toward the white tombstone. There’s no one there, of course.

He trembles, feeling his body surrendering to exhaustion. He stumbles back inside and sinks onto the first sofa he finds. 

He sleeps for hours, peaceful, dreamless, and unmoving. This sleep will definitely settle something inside him. When he wakes up, he will know what to say to people who keep asking. He will know how to return to work he once loved, and he will love it again. He will live.

And no one in this house will ever suffer another nightmare.

P.s. I couldn't have said in the beginning but it was partially inspired by 'The Others'. Thank you for reading, your feedback is very much appreciated ❤️🥹

[batmanisagatewaydrug]

reading update: january 2025

I'm a bit behind on getting this posted, so I'm gonna do it quick and dirty. this is not the most elaborate reading round-up I'm ever going to do, and that's okay!!! january has gotten off to a weird, uneven start in terms of reading, and that is what it is!

The Extinction of Irena Rey (Jennifer Croft, 2024) - this book is great for anyone who likes dark academia but wants to see what those students will be like when they’re adults who have to get by outside of college. in this case, they become translators for an enigmatic woman who makes them gather in a remote Polish forest and then disappears. pure vibes all the way down; truly things just happen in this book. the gimmick of the novel itself being a work by one of the characters, told from her perspective, and then translated by another character that the narrator despises, is soooo rich and interesting, and I deeply wish it had been used much more extensively.

Darknesses (Lachelle Seville, 2022) - is this book good? I couldn’t possibly say. it was very fun to read on vacation with like 12% of my brain operating. the best way I can possible explain it is that by the time the book is over it feels like Seville is running one of those old ask blogs where artists would have their blorbos and their OCs answer questions and hang out and stuff. do you know the kind I’m talking about? it’s like that, it’s dissociative identity disorder Dracula and the descendants of the human Dracula characters and Norse mythology werewolves and a vampire bunny and a dragon and Satan who’s a teenage girl with pink hair and they’re all hanging out in New York City. don’t think too hard about it. 

Become Your Own Matchmaker: 8 Easy Steps to Attracting Your Perfect Mate (Patti Stanger with Lisa Johnson Mandell, 2009) - I’m not proud of this and I can’t really justify it except that my housemates and I have gotten really into watching old episodes of Patti Stanger’s terrible TV show, Millionaire Matchmaker. the show is atrocious and so is the book but in my defense it’s extremely funny.

Queen Takes Rose (Katee Robert, 2020) - guys I can’t stand Katee Robert. I really can’t. I thought it was going to be fun but god this just sucked.

Adam & Evie's Matchmaking Tour (Nora Nguyen, 2024) - after that last one I really needed a good, normal romance novel to get me back on track, and this delivered! I don’t think it’s going to be one of my all-time faves, but the characters are lovably realistic losers and I was really rooting for them—especially Evie, who feels like a messy bitch I would love to hang out with. plus the setting, a romping tour across the sights of Vietnam, was so fun and I’m always willing to award points to a romance novel that supports telling your awful to fuck off right to hell!

Mystery Lights (Lena Valencia, 2024) - here’s the thing. every short story in this collection is a well written, coherent short story. thematically there are really clear throughlines; you’ll get a lot of mileage out of this if you like middle aged women who have complicated relationships with their daughters between the ages of 13 and 23. I really wanted to like this! and yet, I feel like this collection just isn’t going to stick with me very well. there are some cool concepts and ideas (there’s a creepy story involving a little girl who disappears into some underground caves and comes back Weird that actually spooked me pretty good) but overall I feel like it’s just not going to stick with me :/

Is Love the Answer? (Uta Isaki, 2021; trans. Sawa Matsueda Savage, 2023) - huge thanks to the person who sent me an ask to recommend this manga! it’s a very quick, sweet read about a university student coming into her aroace identity with the help of a circle of newfound friends supporting her along the way. I really liked the way it delves into the way anxiety can have you second-guessing and overthinking your sense of self even after embracing an identity. this was my Heartstopper (I say, without having ever read Heartstopper).

The Last Report on the Miracles at Little No Horse (Louise Erdrich, 2001) - I picked this up at Erdrich’s bookstore, Birchbark Books & Native Arts, last summer while I was briefly in Minneapolis, on recommendation by an employee at the store. I was initially hesitant about the novel’s focus on spirituality and religion, given that it follows a Catholic priest working on an Ojibwe reservation throughout the 20th century, but man, this was an incredible introduction to Erdrich’s work. Father Damian Modeste is an incredible character and one of my favorite depictions I’ve ever seen of a woman living long-term in disguise as a man, and how the line between those identities blurred. there’s a scene I don’t think I’ll ever forget, in which Modeste is asked, essentially, “Are you a man or a woman?” and answers firmly “I’m a priest.” and all the while, despite the fact that he’s supposed to be an agent of colonization and the destruction of indigenous culture, more than anything he is changed by the Ojibwe people he works with. it’s a surprising, elegant book, and I was shaken to find myself crying at the end. 

A Magical Girl Retires (Park Seolyeon, 2022; trans. Anton Hur 2024) - this book is a short, rapid-fire read that’s a dry, funny take on the magical girl genre. our protagonist starts the book so mired in credit card debt that she’s considering jumping off a bridge when she’s summoned to be a magical girl, and things will only get weirder for her from there as Korea’s magical girl union recruits her to help them combat climate change. a fun read, easy to polish off in a single sitting at less than 200 pages.

salt slow (Julia Armfield, 2019) -now THIS was the short story collection I was waiting for! it reminded me so much of why I loved Armfield’s novel Our Wives Under the Sea. she has another new novel out this year and I’m really looking forward to reading that as well! she has an incredible way with love and melancholy.

[neeeooon]

I liked your stalker ask, maybe part 2 for the rest of boys? Like Michael, Isagi, Barou, Reo, Nagi, Ness, Chigiri, Hiori and Kurona?

okay!! these aren’t as long since there are more characters, but i hope you enjoy and ty for the request!

when you have a stalker pt 2 ;

bf blue lock x gn!reader (some scenes may be unsettling, but are all sfw!)

michael kaiser

-> he’s already always on edge and aware of his surroundings because of his past, so dating you just means he now looks out for you as well

-> because of this, he’s pretty quick to notice the discomfort in your stance when he picks you up at your place

-> he’d get the door for you and still at the hand on his chest. “don’t make it obvious, but do you see that guy in the black hat? he’s been following me for the past twenty minutes…”

-> “stay in the car.” “wh.. kaiser, i said don’t make it obvious—!” he just kisses the back of your hand and closes the car door behind you, making sure to lock it

-> you can’t make yourself watch as kaiser approaches the hat guy, but he’s back three minutes later with a few specks of blood on his cheek. “you good, sweetheart?” “mhm.. are you?” “oh, i’m fine. it’s not mine :)”

isagi yoichi

-> isagi, your cute little boyfriend who never so much as cusses when he’s around you, becomes a loose cannon

-> he was walking you home from one of his games when someone started catcalling you. when you ignored him and tightened your grip on isagi’s hand, the guy started following

-> he doesn’t get very close, though, because you feel isagi tensing up beside you. he shoots you an almost sheepish look, as if asking permission to defend you, and you step to the side

-> isagi immediately whirls on the guy, insults flying as he shoves his finger repeatedly against the guy’s chest. “who raised you? who told you it was okay to speak to people like that? are you dumb or something? fucking dead and blind? helen keller has more manner than you, dipshit. my god. get the fuck out of here before and die i kill you myself.”

-> you are thoroughly impressed and delight in the sight of the guy sulking away. isagi shoots you a bashful look. “too much?” “nah, that was perfect.”

barou shouei

-> people don’t usually mess with you when barou is around (i mean, look at him), but usually isn’t always

-> contrary to popular belief, barou is actually a gentleman. he’s super sweet to you and would do any and everything for you without complain if you asked. so imagine your surprise when your sweet natured boyfriend catches someone eyeing you a bit too comfortably

-> barou gently takes your hand in his and asks if you’re okay with moving to a different table, telling you he’ll be right back

-> after a minute of waiting, you go looking and find barou trapping the guy from before against the wall, his forearm on the man’s neck. “look at them again. i fucking dare you. look at them and see what happens.”

-> when the guy gets the message, he’s released and books it out of the store. barou’s eyes widen almost shamefully when he sees you, but you wrap an arm around his and kiss his cheek. “thank you, love.”

mikage reo

-> he’s used to spoiling you and flattering you and making you feel pretty. he isn’t used to having to physically protect you, but he isn’t about to let anything happen to you, either

-> the two of you were at a karaoke bar with some friends when you were cornered by some older guys with smiles that unsettled you

-> they were being rowdy and pushing you around a little to tease you, but before anything serious happened, reo suddenly shoved himself between you and the guys, his arms outstretched almost comedically

-> “you alright, y/n?” “i’m alright.” “good. okay! we’ll be leaving now. you lads have a terrible night!” and he grabs your hand before kicking the middle one between the legs and running off

-> “that was so stupid!” you scream as you both run away from the guys, but you know they’re too far away to catch you. “probably. but it was funny, right?!”

nagi seishiro

-> the boyfriend who lets you drag him around while you shop despite complaining to go home within ten minutes of arriving

-> it was one of those days, nagi holding all your clothes, nodding along when you asked if certain things looked good, when nagi suddenly grabbed your hand

-> before you could ask what happened, he shot you a distracted look. “let’s leave.” “hm? but we just got here—“ “we can order everything online. i’m tired.”

-> usually you’d convince him to let you shop a little longer, but you could tell by his voice that something was wrong. instead of asking, you played along and returned what was in your hands. “okay. let’s go home.”

alexis ness

-> ness would be a little scared, but he’s willing to put on a brave face for you when he needs to

-> he was showing you around his favorite spots in germany, telling you all about the fabled magical properties, when you realized someone was behind you

-> you stood closer to your boyfriend, asking him lots of questions about his interests to try and distract yourself from the person rapidly approaching

-> ness freaks out when you scream as someone grabs you, but he can’t let anything happen to you. not while he can do something

-> so, ness grabs a very scary looking stick and uses it to whack the person until they let you go. he throws rocks and other random things he finds at them as they run away

-> “are you okay?!” “yeah, i’m… you just beat him off with a stick..” “oh… um, yeah, i—“ “that was so cool, lex! you saved me!” and he gets all blushy and happily hugs you back

chigiri hyoma

-> your stalker isn’t that smart, because his interest immediately shifted when he saw the pretty redhead sitting next to you at a cafe

-> he waited until the two of you were leaving before striking. that is, following you and using his large status to rush and overwhelm you—“you” being chigiri. and he was in for a treat!

-> you were holding your boyfriend hand since you both still had your drinks, so you didn’t exactly look “coupley”

-> imagine your surprise when a giant man suddenly appeared in front of you, and imagine when he grabbed chigiri���s chest just to freeze when he realized chigiri is a boy

-> you were busy laughing as chigiri loudly confronted the guy about being a pervert and kicked him before police heard the commotion and detained the guy

-> “did that seriously just happen?” “what part? that you had a stalker, or that he decided to grope me instead of you?” and your laughing at the absurdity all over again

hiori yo

-> he may look like a cute little pacifist in blue, hiori will gladly throw hands with anyone who asks for it

-> you were hanging out together at one of those gaming cafes when some rando decided to stand directly behind your chair and start touching your hair

-> you didn’t want to cause a scene and swatted him away twice before getting angry

-> the third time he tried it, you pushed your chair back, ready to verbally confront him, when a ball of blue flew in front of you. hiori roughly shoved the guy away, causing him to stumble and fall back onto a tray of glass drinks

-> hiori didn’t have to say anything as he grabbed your wrist and gently pulled you out of the cafe, snickering when you stuck your tongue out at the guy on the floor

kurona ranze

-> he’s the type to bite when he feels threatened

-> that said! you were at the beach playing mermaids when someone started swimming a bit too close for comfort

-> you kept ignoring them and drifting away but they didn’t let up. looking around, you grew worried when you couldn’t spot your boyfriend

-> until the person who’d been invading your space suddenly let out a scream and started swimming desperately to the shore shouting, “shark!!”

-> when you turned around, you saw kurona standing there in confusion before pointing from his mouth to the guy’s leg. “what a weirdo.”

part 1

[coolmaycroft]

“I’m going to get a little wonky and write about Donald Trump and negotiations. For those who don’t know, I’m an adjunct professor at Indiana University - Robert H. McKinney School of Law and I teach negotiations. Okay, here goes.

Trump, as most of us know, is the credited author of “The Art of the Deal,” a book that was actually ghost written by a man named Tony Schwartz, who was given access to Trump and wrote based upon his observations. If you’ve read The Art of the Deal, or if you’ve followed Trump lately, you’ll know, even if you didn’t know the label, that he sees all dealmaking as what we call “distributive bargaining.”

Distributive bargaining always has a winner and a loser. It happens when there is a fixed quantity of something and two sides are fighting over how it gets distributed. Think of it as a pie and you’re fighting over who gets how many pieces. In Trump’s world, the bargaining was for a building, or for construction work, or subcontractors. He perceives a successful bargain as one in which there is a winner and a loser, so if he pays less than the seller wants, he wins. The more he saves the more he wins.

The other type of bargaining is called integrative bargaining. In integrative bargaining the two sides don’t have a complete conflict of interest, and it is possible to reach mutually beneficial agreements. Think of it, not a single pie to be divided by two hungry people, but as a baker and a caterer negotiating over how many pies will be baked at what prices, and the nature of their ongoing relationship after this one gig is over.

The problem with Trump is that he sees only distributive bargaining in an international world that requires integrative bargaining. He can raise tariffs, but so can other countries. He can’t demand they not respond. There is no defined end to the negotiation and there is no simple winner and loser. There are always more pies to be baked. Further, negotiations aren’t binary. China’s choices aren’t (a) buy soybeans from US farmers, or (b) don’t buy soybeans. They can also (c) buy soybeans from Russia, or Argentina, or Brazil, or Canada, etc. That completely strips the distributive bargainer of his power to win or lose, to control the negotiation.

One of the risks of distributive bargaining is bad will. In a one-time distributive bargain, e.g. negotiating with the cabinet maker in your casino about whether you’re going to pay his whole bill or demand a discount, you don’t have to worry about your ongoing credibility or the next deal. If you do that to the cabinet maker, you can bet he won’t agree to do the cabinets in your next casino, and you’re going to have to find another cabinet maker.

There isn’t another Canada.

So when you approach international negotiation, in a world as complex as ours, with integrated economies and multiple buyers and sellers, you simply must approach them through integrative bargaining. If you attempt distributive bargaining, success is impossible. And we see that already.

Trump has raised tariffs on China. China responded, in addition to raising tariffs on US goods, by dropping all its soybean orders from the US and buying them from Russia. The effect is not only to cause tremendous harm to US farmers, but also to increase Russian revenue, making Russia less susceptible to sanctions and boycotts, increasing its economic and political power in the world, and reducing ours. Trump saw steel and aluminum and thought it would be an easy win, BECAUSE HE SAW ONLY STEEL AND ALUMINUM - HE SEES EVERY NEGOTIATION AS DISTRIBUTIVE. China saw it as integrative, and integrated Russia and its soybean purchase orders into a far more complex negotiation ecosystem.

Trump has the same weakness politically. For every winner there must be a loser. And that’s just not how politics works, not over the long run.

For people who study negotiations, this is incredibly basic stuff, negotiations 101, definitions you learn before you even start talking about styles and tactics. And here’s another huge problem for us.

Trump is utterly convinced that his experience in a closely held real estate company has prepared him to run a nation, and therefore he rejects the advice of people who spent entire careers studying the nuances of international negotiations and diplomacy. But the leaders on the other side of the table have not eschewed expertise, they have embraced it. And that means they look at Trump and, given his very limited tool chest and his blindly distributive understanding of negotiation, they know exactly what he is going to do and exactly how to respond to it.

From a professional negotiation point of view, Trump isn’t even bringing checkers to a chess match. He’s bringing a quarter that he insists of flipping for heads or tails, while everybody else is studying the chess board to decide whether its better to open with Najdorf or Grünfeld.”

— David Honig

[vicontheinternet]

I’ve come to notice that we can’t have a show/movie that doesn’t center whiteness in some way mainstream or not because white ppl can’t picture themselves in characters that aren’t white while that’s all we had to do

[hatshepsut9]

Yeah it’s kinda silly, especially if they’re judging the book after they didn’t read all of it, but people in the notes are acting like none of them have ever skipped past some description to learn what happens in a suspenseful moment.

Sure, NOW as an adult I do usually force myself to wait and read everything in order because the author clearly wanted to build the suspense there, or create a lull in the tension, but as a kid you bet I was skimming until I found the part where my burning questions were answered. Not all of us were born patient!

Do they know that reading is not mandatory? Nobody is forcing them to read?

[leona-hawthorne]

LEONA-HAWTHORNE’S FICMAS

december 7th. mattheo riddle — love potion.

mattheo riddle x reader

summary ; when he’s all over you after a love potion gone wrong… aka pussydrunk!mattheo words ; 3.3k warnings ; smut, oral (f receiving), overstimulation, multiple orgasms, kissing, nipple sucking, swearing

navigation ficmas masterlist

You barely registered the weight of him collapsing onto the worn leather couch beside you before his hands were reaching for yours, clumsy and sure all at once. His curls were wild, his tie hanging loose around his neck, and his eyes—merlin, his eyes—were soft and unfocused, tracing your face like he was committing every detail to memory.

“You smell so good,” he murmured, his voice thick and honey-slow, like the words had been dipped in sugar. His nose brushed the side of your neck as he leaned in closer, the faint scent of chocolate and cedar lingering on his skin. “Like… I don’t even know. Just you.”

You froze, heat flooding your cheeks as you tried to process what the hell was happening. “Mattheo, are you drunk?”

He pulled back slightly, blinking at you with an almost childlike confusion, his lips curving into a crooked grin. “Not drunk,” he whispered. “Just…completely, utterly—” He sighed dreamily, his head falling against your shoulder. “Gone for you.”

Your book slipped from your lap, thudding against the floor, but you couldn’t bring yourself to care. You stared down at him, utterly bewildered, as he buried his face in the crook of your neck with a contented hum.

This was not normal. Mattheo didn’t do dreamy or loopy or any of this. He was sharp edges and biting sarcasm, a bundle of contradictions wrapped in leather and cigarette smoke. And yet, here he was, clinging to you like you were the only thing keeping him tethered to the earth.

It wasn’t until his fingers began absentmindedly tracing patterns on your knee that the pieces clicked into place.

It started two days ago, in Slughorn’s Potions class. Extra credit was practically a lifeline for you, so when he’d offered it for creating “innovative applications of potion theory,” you’d jumped at the chance. The result? A batch of chocolate truffles laced with a mild love potion—just strong enough to evoke fondness and infatuation in the eater. Slughorn had been delighted, declaring your concoction “a stroke of brilliance.” 

But the love potion had a catch: it required a strand of DNA from the intended target to work. In this case, your own hair had made its way into the mix.

You’d left the chocolates on Slughorn’s desk after class, only to find them gone by the next morning. At the time, you hadn’t thought much of it. But now…

“Mattheo,” you said slowly, trying to untangle yourself from his grip. “Did you eat any chocolate recently?”

He looked up at you, his brown eyes shining with unrestrained affection. “Mmm, yeah. Some girl gave them to me. Said they were a gift.”

Of course. Of bloody course.

You sighed, gently prying his hands off you as he pouted. “Mattheo, those weren’t for you. They were part of an assignment, and—”

“Doesn’t matter,” he interrupted, his voice a low murmur. His hand found yours again, his thumb brushing over your knuckles. “Best thing I’ve ever tasted.”

Your heart did an embarrassing little flip at the sincerity in his voice, but you shoved it aside. This wasn’t real—it couldn’t be. It was just the potion talking.

“Mattheo, listen to me,” you said firmly, meeting his gaze. “This isn’t you. It’s the potion. It’ll wear off in a few hours, and then you’ll—”

“No,” he said softly, cutting you off again. “It’s not just the potion.”

Your breath caught. “What?”

His hand slid down to rest just below the hem of your skirt, and his face inched closer, his lips brushing your ear.

“You’re so beautiful,” he breathed, the words tumbling from his lips as though they’d been locked in his chest, yearning to escape. His voice was low, reverent, thick with desire. “I���I’ve always wanted… this.”  

Before you could respond, his mouth claimed yours in a searing kiss, urgent and consuming, like a man starving for his first taste of salvation. His lips moved against yours with fervent precision, soft yet commanding, coaxing a needy whimper from deep in your throat.  

You melted into him, your arms curling around his neck as he deepened the kiss. His tongue swept into your mouth, tangling with yours in a sensual, desperate dance that left you breathless. When he nipped at your lower lip, the sting was fleeting, soothed instantly by a gentle, teasing lick before he plunged back into the kiss.  

His hands roamed over you, slow yet deliberate, mapping every curve with a reverence that made your heart race. Fingers glided down the line of your spine, dipping beneath your shirt to stroke the bare skin at the small of your back. His touch was electric, each graze igniting sparks that radiated through your body. When his hands slid lower, palming your hips, you gasped softly, arching into him instinctively.  

The kiss broke only for his lips to blaze a trail down your neck, nibbling and sucking at the delicate skin there, leaving behind faint marks that bloomed like fire beneath his touch. He moved to your jaw, his mouth brushing over the sensitive ridge with maddening gentleness, only to return to the hollow of your throat, where he lingered, his warm breath sending shivers through you.  

As his hands slipped beneath your shirt, pushing it upward with quiet urgency, the soft swells of your breasts were bared to his smoldering gaze. He paused, drinking in the sight with an expression so raw and unguarded it made your knees weak.  

“God, you’re fucking gorgeous,” he muttered hoarsely before diving in. His lips closed around one hardened peak, his tongue swirling in slow circles as he suckled. A soft moan escaped you, your back arching into him as your fingers found their way into his curls, tugging gently.  

His free hand cupped your other breast, thumb brushing over the sensitive underside before teasing the nipple, his touch so light and precise it sent jolts of pleasure racing through you.

“Mattheo…” you breathed, your voice trembling, thick with desire. His name was a plea, a confession, a surrender. You could feel the press of his body against yours—the hard, unyielding planes of his chest and abdomen in stark, tantalizing contrast to the softness of your curves.  

He released your nipple with a wet pop, his dark eyes locking onto yours as he shifted to lavish the same attention on the other side. You bit your lip, desperate to stifle the moan threatening to spill from you as your hips instinctively rocked against him, seeking relief from the mounting ache between your thighs.  

When his lips finally left your skin, you felt bereft, aching for the contact he had so willingly given. Driven by need, you tried to climb into his lap, but Mattheo’s hands stopped you, firm but gentle, one resting on your hip, the other cradling your cheek.  

“Wait,” he murmured, his voice thick, rough with restraint. “Let me…”  

With that, he sank to his knees before you, his hands sliding up your thighs with agonizing slowness, brushing the hem of your skirt higher until his thumbs grazed the waistband of your panties. His gaze burned into you, his voice low and rasping when he spoke. “Tell me what you want, sweetheart,” he said, his warm breath fanning over your skin. “I’m yours to command.”  

His words sent a shiver down your spine, a jolt of heat pooling low in your belly. Your fingers found his curls again, tugging lightly, guiding him closer as a teasing smile curved your lips.  

“Took you long enough to realize that,” you teased, your voice soft, edged with playful defiance.  

Mattheo chuckled, a low, wicked sound that vibrated against your inner thigh. “Patience has never been my virtue,” he admitted, his words muffled against your skin as he peppered slow, lingering kisses along your thighs.  

His face nuzzled against you, his nose brushing the dampened fabric of your underwear as he inhaled deeply, savoring you. Then his tongue flattened against the cloth, dragging torturously slowly over the heat of you, the thin barrier between you doing nothing to muffle the sensation.  

“Fuck,” you whispered, hips tilting forward in silent, desperate encouragement.  

Mattheo obliged, his lips closing over you as he sucked gently at your puffy lips through the fabric. Then he hooked his fingers into the waistband of your panties, dragging the thin fabric down your legs in a torturously slow motion that made your pulse race.  

Once you were completely bare before him, his hungry gaze roamed over your glistening folds, before he spread you open with two fingers, exposing your slick, swollen flesh. He leaned in, dragging his tongue along your slit in a slow, languid stroke that tore a whimper from your lips.  

“Fuck,” he murmured against your trembling skin, his voice thick and husky. “You taste even better than I imagined.”  

He didn’t wait for a response, diving back in with reckless abandon. His tongue circled your clit with maddening precision, alternating between feather-light flicks and firm, deliberate pressure that had you gasping his name like a prayer.  

“Mattheo… oh gods…” you choked out, your fingers tangling in his curls, tugging sharply as he worked you into a frenzy. His hands gripped your thighs, his strong fingers sinking into the supple flesh as he maneuvered your legs over his broad shoulders.

“Fuckin’ perfect,” he growled between kisses, his breath hot against your drenched core. “Such a sweet little cunt.”  

His tongue plunged into you without warning, fucking your tight, clenching heat in a rhythm that matched the frantic pounding of your heart.  

“Faster… please,” you begged, your voice a broken plea as you ground your hips against his face, chasing the release that loomed just out of reach.  

Mattheo growled his approval, his hands tightening on your thighs as he obeyed, doubling his efforts. His tongue moved with punishing speed, thrusting in and out of your dripping heat while his nose brushed against your swollen clit, each movement pushing you closer to the precipice.  

When his lips closed around your clit with brutal intensity, the coil inside you snapped. Your orgasm ripped through you like a violent storm, shattering you into a million pieces as your body convulsed in pure ecstasy. 

Mattheo didn’t stop. Even as you trembled and bucked against him, he continued his assault, his mouth and tongue relentless as they dragged every last aftershock from your trembling body. His lips and chin were drenched in your essence, and the musky, heady scent of your arousal seemed to drive him into a frenzy.  

He angled his head, delving deeper with his tongue, his strokes long and firm as if determined to wring every ounce of pleasure from you. His grip on your thighs tightened, the bruising pressure grounding you as your body jerked and twitched uncontrollably.  

You let out a choked sob, tears pricking the corners of your eyes as the overwhelming sensations pushed you further. It was too much, yet somehow not enough—everything you needed, all at once, leaving you raw and undone beneath his unrelenting touch.  

“Can’t get enough of you,” he rasped, his voice muffled and rough.

The world blurred around the edges, your vision hazy and your body trembling uncontrollably. All that existed was Mattheo—his mouth, his hands, and the electric firestorm of sensation he’d ignited in you.  

Mattheo groaned deeply, the sound reverberating against your sensitive flesh and sending another jolt of pleasure through your overstimulated body.  His fingers dug into the plush flesh of your inner thighs, spreading you even wider, holding you open for his devouring mouth. His tongue curled around your swollen bud, flicking and sucking with a desperate intensity, while his other hand slid lower. Two fingers pressed against your entrance, teasing for the briefest moment before plunging into you to the knuckle.  

The stretch was delicious, a perfect complement to the maddening rhythm of his mouth. Your moans spilled freely, loud and desperate, your voice cracking as you gasped for air. “Fuck! Please, I can’t—” you wailed, trying to close your thighs, your hands tugging weakly at his head in a futile attempt to create distance.  

Mattheo growled against your core, his grip unyielding as he anchored you in place. “Oh, yes, you can,” he rasped, his voice thick with lust and determination, his breath hot against your drenched folds. “And you will.”  

Lost in the intoxicating taste of you, he buried himself even deeper, his fingers curling upward, dragging against your inner walls in a way that made your entire body quake.  

“Mattheo!” you whined, your voice hoarse as the pressure built rapidly, coiling impossibly tight in your belly. He felt the way your walls clenched around his fingers, the desperate flutter signaling your impending release, and he doubled down.  

The dual stimulation proved too much to withstand. Your climax hit you like a lightning strike, blinding and all-consuming, your pussy gripping his fingers with an almost punishing force.

Mattheo groaned again, savoring every shudder, every broken whimper that spilled from your lips. He drank you in like a man starved, his tongue lapping up your release as though it were a precious elixir. His own cock throbbed painfully against the rough confines of his jeans, the ache only spurring him to continue.  

Even as your orgasm began to ebb, Mattheo didn’t relent. His fingers kept pumping into your fluttering heat, coaxing out every last ripple of pleasure while his lips sealed around your clit. He suckled greedily, tongue swirling in slow, deliberate circles that had your oversensitive body twitching uncontrollably.  

“Fuck, you’re perfect,” he muttered against your soaked skin, his voice ragged but reverent. He didn’t care that his breath came in short, uneven pants; the sheer need to taste more of you consumed him.  

Your hands clutched weakly at his hair, trying to tug him away, but Mattheo was lost to the haze of lust and obsession. He couldn’t stop, wouldn’t stop, not until you were utterly spent, until your body was reduced to a limp, satisfied puddle beneath him.  

He drove his fingers deeper, angling them to hit that sensitive spot inside you that made your legs jerk and your cries escalate into desperate, breathless sobs.

“Mattheo… too much…” you gasped, your voice trembling, tears pricking at the corners of your eyes as you teetered on the edge of unbearable pleasure.  

He merely hummed in response, the vibrations dragging you into another devastating high. Your release hit with even greater intensity, your body wracked with shuddering spasms as he milked you of every last ounce of bliss.  

Even then, Mattheo didn’t let up. He licked and sucked at your oversensitive flesh, devouring you with single-minded determination, his face and chin slick with your arousal.

His face was a picture of unrestrained lust and satisfaction, his dark eyes locking onto yours with a wicked gleam. “I’m not done with you yet,” he said, his voice dripping with promise, his lips curling into a sinful smirk as he leaned in for more.  

Your body felt utterly boneless, every nerve alight and trembling as Mattheo continued his merciless assault. Pleasure and exhaustion warred within you, your mind a haze as you struggled to grasp the sheer force of your release. He’d unraveled you completely, pulling sensations from depths you hadn’t known existed.  

Tears streaked your flushed cheeks, your hips rolling involuntarily, a primal search for friction despite the screaming protest of your muscles.  

"Mattheo... I can't," you choked out, your voice barely more than a breathless whimper, trembling with raw vulnerability. But he didn’t stop—he didn’t even falter.  

“Can’t stop,” Mattheo growled, his voice guttural, almost feral, as his tongue flicked over your swollen clit. “You’re too fuckin’ sweet. I’m not done. Just give me one more.”

“Please,” you whimpered, though your body betrayed you, arching into his mouth as his lips sealed around your sensitive bud once more.

His movements became messy, wild, every lick and suck driven by pure, unrestrained hunger. The wet, obscene sounds of his mouth working against your soaked sex filled the air, mingling with the raw cries spilling from your lips.  

His free hand slid upward, cupping your breast through your clothes, kneading it with rough, possessive squeezes that bordered on desperation.

The ache in his jeans was unbearable now, pre-cum soaking the denim as his cock throbbed with every moan, every tremor of your body beneath him. Yet Mattheo didn’t stop to ease his own suffering—he was consumed by you, intoxicated by the heady scent of your arousal and the way your body responded to him.  

“Mattheo,” you sobbed, nails tearing into the cushion beneath you as you fought to anchor yourself. But there was no escape from the storm he’d unleashed.  

The tension inside you snapped violently, and your fourth orgasm tore through you like a tidal wave, stealing the very air from your lungs. Your back arched off the couch, lips parted in a silent scream as pleasure consumed you utterly.   

When he finally pulled away, your body slumped against the cushions, utterly spent and quivering. His chest heaved as he looked down at you, his lips and chin glistening with evidence of his unrelenting hunger.  

A string of saliva clung to his swollen lips, connecting them to your slick folds as he licked his mouth clean with a satisfied hum. His dark, fevered gaze roamed your form, taking in the sight of your flushed skin, tear-streaked cheeks, and trembling thighs.  

Mattheo looked utterly primal, his expression a perfect blend of satisfaction and raw, unbridled desire. But as his eyes dipped to the insistent bulge straining against his jeans, it was clear your night was far from over. 

​​ficmas taglist: @winnie1emon @ur-local-wizard @satosugu4-ever @ankoluvs @superstargirll @slytherin-princess-x @abeoavita @mattheoriddle101 @georgiastars13 @smoooore @mattheoriddles-sluttt @2dloveshp @mattysprincess @catching-fire-in-the-wind @revesephemeres @esmerai-artemis @clar2aa @iamaconfusedpan

© leona-hawthorne 2025. please do not copy, translate or repost any of my writing.

[5sospenguinqueen]

Tantrums Pt 2 | Lewis Hamilton x Reader

Summary: After flushing a ten year relationship down the drain, Lewis realises he wants nothing more than to win you back. Especially when he sees you doing everything in your will to make him suffer.

Warnings: slight age gap, reader is 32. angst. swearing. pettiness

Requested: @madelynn-sienna and a whole bunch of you on part 1

F1 Masterlist

This is a long one, sorry

prev.

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roscoelovescoco just posted

liked by albon_pets, charles_leclerc and others

roscoelovescoco i am’s 12 today’s 🥳 thanks for’s all’s the birthday’s love’s. just as handsome’s as ever’s

44,985 comments

lewishamilton happy birthday to my boy

yn_ln oh, i miss when he was that little. happy birthday to my cutest boy 💕

user1 not yn and lewis both using my boy instead of our boy 

user2 i feel like lewis was behind this post ‘cause he used the cutest pic of him and roscoe

→ user3 yes, he looks so boyfriend coded in this 

→ user4 i feel like that’s the point? 

→ user5 i bet it’s because he’s trying to remind yn of how much she loves her boys

→ user4 but this doesn’t even include yn’s face

albon_pets happy birthday, roscoe! love from the whole gang

user6 everyone is saying lewis posted this to win yn back but i actually feel he’s posting this as a snub

→ user7 he hasn’t included yn’s face despite there being millions of pics of her and roscoe. like, that’s been her dog as well for the past 10 years

→ user8 i feel like these two are going to be really petty. i mean, look at how brocedes went

→ user9 i feel like you can’t let go of a 10 year relationship and not be slightly petty

user10 okay but lewis looks so good in this 

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tagheuer just posted

liked by maxverstappen1, redbullracing and others

tagheuer counting down to race time with our formula one collection ambassadors  tagged: maxverstappen1, yn_ln

33,239 comments

yn_ln i think we all know who looks the best though 

→ maxverstappen1 fire her

user1 queen’s been booked and busy lmao

user2 not the red bull brand

redbullracing the best looking ambassadors i’ve ever seen

user3 tag putting yn and max in the same post? does this mean they modelled together?

→ user4 she’s an ambassador for a brand that solely sponsors red bull and is showcasing their f1 collection. of course they modelled together

→ user5 we love to see it

user6 i bet lewis is frothing!

user7 we know who red bull is picking in the divorce 

→ user8 like there was ever a question

user9 i just feel like george will be the one to show this to lewis by going “what do you think about this watch?” 

→ user10 omg yes, he’ll show yn’s pic and say “do you think carmen would like this?” just to watch lewis realise who the model is liked by carmenmmundt 

user11 i know she’s a model so will take the jobs she’s offered but i definitely feel like she accepted this to be a little petty

→ user12 what are the odds that she accepted it with a giggle 

→ user13 as she should

redbullracing just posted

liked by carmenmmundt, schecoperez and others

redbullracing kicking off the mexican grand prix with some famous faces  tagged: yn_ln

23,109 comments

maxverstappen1 famous faces? the only one i recognise here is me

→ yn_ln ha ha ha you’re hilarious.

→ user1 max and yn being besties? when did this happen?

→ yn_ln when we did our shoot for tag and he stuck by my side the entire time. like a child forced into a room with a bunch of their mum’s friends

→ maxverstappen1 you were the only person i knew! 

user2 oh, this isn’t what i was expecting to see when i opened insta 

mercedesamgf1 give her back

→ user3 messy

georgerussell63 oi, she doesn’t belong to you 

→ user4 carmen clearly supports this move

→ georgerussell63 carmen! we can see that you liked this

user5 does this mean lewis and yn are truly over?

→ user6 no! i refuse to accept that this is how it ends 

user7 lewis must be seething 

user8 if anyone hears any loud crashes, that’s lewis throwing things 

landonorris can we have you next?

→ oscarpiastri they seriously need to take away your media 

user9 streets are saying that max was the one who invited her?

user10 please, red bull, fix that damn car so max qualifies at the top, away from lewis, because i fear for our boy’s safety after this 

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yn_ln just posted

liked by alexandrasaintmleux, nicorosberg and others

yn_ln is this what you call an everyday car? 

19,406 comments

user1 wait, what happened to her ferrari?

charles_leclerc i feel betrayed 

→ yn_ln it’s not about you, i promise

porsche a pretty car for a pretty girl 

→ yn_ln my dream car

→ user2 since, uh, when?

user3 is she starting a new collection of cars or is this in lieu of the ferrari?

→ user4 i fear she got rid of the ferrari 

→ user5 or she’s kept it and just has the porsche in addition

user6 this is definitely a deliberate post. lewis bought her her dream car for their anniversary and not even months later, she’s buying a porsche?

→ user7 she can have more than one car

→ user8 yeah but she’s never been a multiple car owner and like user said. the ferrari was her dream car

user9 this feels like a dig at lewis

user10 i say good for her. a man wasted her time so she’s wasting his “gift”

user11 ultimate power move. if only red bull were still aston martin so she could’ve picked aston martin

user12 i bet lewis got mad at her for being in the red bull garage and she decided to wind him up further

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yn_ln just posted

liked by alexandrasaintmleux, roscoelovescoco and others

yn_ln 🖤💋

21,966 comments

carmenmmundt jaw droppped

→ yn_ln 🩷

user1 who is that man?

user2 she thought she could distract us with how hot she looks but we see that man, sis

user3 i hope this one treats her right and gives her everything she deserves

user4 bride yn incoming with a man who will marry her

francisca.cgomes i need that dress and the body in it

→ yn_ln i’ll send you the link, my gorgeous girl

user5 i’m glad she’s moving on because lewis did her dirty so it’s nice to see her recovering from that 

georgerussell63 what’s all this then

→ user6 omg guys, george commented

→ user7 and?

→ user8 he hasn’t commented on any of her posts since her and lewis broke up. does this confirm that the guy in the pic is lewis?

→ user9 may your delulu come trululu

user10 i can’t deal with this today. i know yn deserves the best but she can’t move on

user11 i’m actually in mourning. wdym she’s moving on and getting super hot pics from it

lewishamilton 😅🫣

→ user12 excuse me? i found this comment hidden 1000s of comments down but excuse me?! 

→ user13 what does this mean?!

→ user14 mate, if you want to win her back, you need to try harder

→ user15 he heard people talking about hot she looked and decided to hit her up

→ user16 this is such a pathetic attempt. what happened to his rizz

→ user17 looks like yn took it with her

yn_ln added a new story

lewishamilton added a new story

charles_leclerc added a new story

replies (tweet 1 and 3 are supposed to be swapped)

user1 @/tweet3 she was! kym illman posted her on instagram as their guest for the weekend

→ user2 she had a merc pass and everything

user3 i want to know who invited her and why. she doesn’t model for tommy anymore so she’d have no reason to be their guest

→ user4 i bet it was george

→ user5 nah. toto did it to throw lewis off so he could make his “shelf life” comment look real

user6 the real question is, did lewis know she was going to be there

user7 @/tweet2 we waited 10 years for lewis and yn’s wedding and we don’t get one ever?

→ user8 they broke up. we weren’t getting one anyway?

→ user7 streets are saying that yn and lewis got married in vegas

→ user8 be fucking real. he broke her heart

user9 @/tweet1 fully agree. i bet it was max and charles instead haha

→ danielricciardo he can back off my man! 

→ user10 omg daniel. he may not be on the grid but max is his forever 

user11 people are speculating that they got married because he posted a picture of a chapel?

→ user12 i know. that could mean literally anything?

user13 all the drivers were drunk celebrating max’s fourth wdc so i’m betting it’s a driver marrying another driver instead

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9 months

lewishamilton just posted

liked by nicorosberg, mclaren and others

lewishamilton my whole world

50,440 comments

roscoelovescoco the’s cutest’s sister in all’s the world’s 

user1 the man famous for long captions and he only gives us 3 words?! where’s the details!!

user2 when did this happen!!!

user3 and she has a wedding ring on? they definitely got married in vegas 

user4 guys, she's just changed her name on socials!

georgerussell63 what happens in vegas, does NOT stay in vegas 

charles_leclerc @/alexandrasaintmleux see, i told you we needed a dog AND a baby 

→ yn_hamilton are you going to push the baby out?

→ charles_leclerc i would if biology let me

→ yn_hamilton @/lewishamilton why did you never say this to me?

→ lewishamilton i knew letting you two be friends was a bad idea

yn_hamilton i still can’t believe you brought the ring to vegas

→ lewishamilton i was feeling lucky 

mercedesamgf1 you don’t tell us you got married and now you don’t tell us about the baby

→ scuderiaferrari he’s not your driver anymore?

→ mercedesamgf1 oop, my bad. used to seeing his name and being responsible for his pr

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Baby Fever Angst Series

requests open

tag list

@how-what-why-huh @bibissparkles @strengthandstay @raynetargaryan2 @seonghwaexile @unknownmystery22 @hoeforsirius @jackandsallyandbuttonandsparrow @mbioooo0000 @unstablefemme @strawb3heart @wearethecanadians @ajordan2020 @topaz125 @seasonswinter @fearfam69691 @evie-119 @be-your-coffee-pot @myescapefromthislife @madelynn-sienna @heavy-vettel

[robinsgrl]

rafe with a weird and clingy girl pt. 2 y’all i have a lot of these you don’t even know how weird of a gf i can be.

weird girl masterlist

main masterlist

it’s not just cute aggression. although that is a main factor. you need to be touching him at aalllll times. like all the time.

you’re both in bed, the night a cold one for the outer banks. he’s on his side of the bed reading a lame book that you can’t care for. and despite being under the same blanket as him, he feels warmer.

you place your cold hands on his abs and he lets out a tiny yelp and shoves you away. “god, why are you so cold?”

“as my boyfriend it’s your job to warm me up!”

“no way, then i quit”

you put your hands back on him and despite how he tenses from the cold, he doesn’t push you away again. this gives you to the idea to trail your hand down and put them in his shorts.

“what the hell are you doing?”

“that’s the warmest part of you”

“what?”

“it’s like when i put my hands in my bra cause it’s really warm”

“you put your hands in your bra?”

“shut up, you put your hands in my bra all the time”

“to cop a feel not to get warm”

“don’t move my hands!” because he’s trying to get your hands out of his shorts

“baby, you cant grip on me because you want to warm up”

“okay then pretend im coping a feel!”

“get off of me weirdo!” he laughs, attention now on you as you practically wrestle

you like to slap his ass. it’s hard not to. he’s so tantalizing. even when he isn’t trying. you go to the gym with him once and he’s lifting weights as you drool behind him. up and down. up and down. You let out a wolf whistle as you watch him and he tries and hold back his smile.

“just like that” you coo

“you sound like a pervert”

“im a pervert for you”

“that’s not as romantic as you think it is”

“what would you do if i squished a cheek right now?”

this alarms him and he drops the weights, giving you a scolding look. “you can’t squish a guys cheek while he’s lifting”

“im not going to.” you scoff, rolling your eyes at him. you were definitely going to.

he gives you a careful side eye, making sure you’re on your best behavior. a few minutes later and he’s back at his task. you sit, bored, still just watching him. you sigh loudly as you get up off the machine you were sitting on. “you’re boring. im leaving”

“wait for me, angel, im almost—“

you giggle and run away as you send a smack to his ass, “sorry! i had to!”

“jesus, you’re an animal!” he calls out after you.

you don’t even stop at family events. cameron events are usually stuffy. you hate them. but you do what you can for rafe. it’s the end of the awkward dinner and you two are washing dishes. “surprised you didn’t make the help do this”

“we gave him the day off”

“spoiled brat” you tease him as he rinses a dish under the water. you finish drying off the plate and put it in the cabinet, eyes trailing over him. his ass looks good in his dress pants.

with a hop to your step, you stand behind him and wrap your arms around his waist. “what are you up to?”

you scoff, “can’t a girl hug her man?”

“you’re hugging me like a broke boyfriend. you only do that when you’re up to something”

“would it surprise you if i said im trying to cop a feel?”

“nothing about you surprises me anymore”

“so you won’t be mad?”

“i’ll be pissed.”

“too late” you bring your hands behind him and give his ass a squeeze. he tenses at this, pushing himself forward to get away from you.

“you’re perverted!”

“you have cake! i can’t help it!”

“cake? god, you gross me out”

“stop running away!”

he’s threatening you with a wet hand towel but you dodge him as you keep chasing after him. dinners at this house are always the worst but not as the two of you run around the kitchen, laughter filling the air.

“uh, what’s happening?” wheezie’s voice cuts the two of you off.

rafe’s got you draped on his shoulder, your hands on his ass from the upside down angle you’re in. you both pause. “we’re touching butts.”

“jesus, baby, don’t tell my sister that”

[personapeters]

✰ 𝐟𝐫𝐚𝐭-𝐛𝐨𝐲𝐟𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐝!𝐫𝐚𝐟𝐞 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐜𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐧𝐬

— frat boyfriend rafe if he turned to college instead of crime (lol)

rating: sfw — cw: a little suggestive, language

— frat!boyfriend rafe who… during the day wears his regular rich boy attire: a polo, fitted shorts, and sneakers worth more than a semesters tuition. after hours, you’ll find him casually dressed in a university branded tee that hugged his biceps oh-so perfectly, gray sweatpants that hung low on his hips and a backwards snapback that held his long hair out of his face — perfection.

— frat!boyfriend rafe who… is supposed to wear glasses but rarely does, saying they make him look like ‘a fucking geek’. eventually, he became comfortable enough to wear them around you and only you in the privacy of your dorm, and you’d tease him about how he’s the hottest ‘geek’ you’ve ever seen.

— frat!boyfriend rafe who… never lets you walk back to your dorm alone, no matter the time or circumstance. whether it be broad daylight or the middle of the night, he makes zero exceptions — he’s seen the way some of the guys interacted with the girls on campus and he’ll burn the place down before it happens to you.

— frat!boyfriend rafe who… isn’t really fond of coffee unless its fully black, but occasionally brings you your favorite cream filled and sugar loaded latte when you have an early morning class, loving how much sweeter it makes your mouth taste.

— frat!boyfriend rafe who… begrudgingly walks (practically drags) your drunk friends back to their dorms whenever you ask him to, though he couldn’t care less how they got home. as terrible as it sounds, he only does it for you.

— frat!boyfriend rafe who… enjoys to show you off to his frat brothers but simultaneously hates when they look at you. it didn’t make sense, and he was well aware of that, but it’s true — in a ‘look how hot my girl is’ yet a ‘she’s mine, don’t look at her’ way.

— frat!boyfriend rafe who… met you at the campus library, as cliche as it is. he was only there to make quick deal outside, but when he spotted you through a window as your fingers grazed the spines of the books on the shelf, he knew he had to go inside.

— frat!boyfriend rafe who… loves when you wear his university branded t-shirts and hoodies, loving how they swallow you whole as your sleeping gowns or when you roll them up, paired with leggings: “fuck, keep that one — looks so fuckin’ good on you.”

— frat!boyfriend rafe who… insists on covering any and every cost that your scholarships don’t and more; books, supplies, dorm furniture, food, clothes, gas, fees, whatever. of course, you were bewildered as to how a college student had enough money to fund someone else’s life, let alone their own, but once you learned the entirety of his lengthy backstory, it all made plenty of sense.

— frat!boyfriend rafe who… has gotten into his fair share of fights over you, feeling it’s mandatory that everyone on campus knows who’s girl you are and what happens when they challenge that. let it be a suggestive comment or a lingering touch, rafe’s always quick to set shit straight. typically, that type of behavior would result in expulsion, but with the cameron family’s high status and money, rafe was never actually punished for anything.

— frat!boyfriend rafe who… only made it into the same university as you due to his wealth. sure, he was smart but wouldn’t have made it in without his monetary advantage. he’d often get angry and frustrated whenever doing work he simply couldn’t master, but you were like his personal tutor, reassuring him that he can, he just needs to take the time and study (with your help, of course).

— frat!boyfriend rafe who… has your schedule memorized, often casually leaning outside of your classroom with his arms crossed over his chest as he waits for you to emerge so he can shamelessly perform some p.d.a. before escorting you to your next location.

— frat!boyfriend rafe who… once brought you to visit his home town on a break, the outer banks, taking you to all of his favorite spots and, hesitantly, introducing you to his close friends and family. he even explained the whole ‘pogues vs kooks’ thing, emphasizing his distaste for the latter — you honestly thought it was insane: “y’know… if i grew up here, i’d’ve been a ‘pogue’, too,” you reasoned. “yeah, well, you didn’t,” he stated stoically.

— frat!boyfriend rafe who… only went to college with the plan to build his credentials, promising his father he’d soon join in on running the family business. his father was impressed to hear that, saying, “really? wow… m’proud of you, son,” hugging him firmly in a way he seldom did; all rafe’s ever wanted was to be loved and accepted by his dad, and this was his way to do it.

— frat!boyfriend rafe who… is very aware of and annoyed by how other girls throw themselves at him during parties or in the halls — instead of it fueling his ego, it only angers him because he knows they can see you standing right next to him: “swear the bitch is fuckin’ stupid… like she doesn’t see my hand on your ass.”

 personapeters 2024 — all rights reserved • masterlist

[rafedarling]

𝐬𝐮𝐧𝐬𝐞𝐭 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐧𝐞𝐰 𝐛𝐞𝐠𝐢𝐧𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬

requested by @gracerose68

pairing: drew starkey x fem!reader

summary: five years after outer banks ended, drew and you are enjoying life together, despite your ten-year age gap. loved by the entire cast, you are considered part of the “obs fam.” during a group vacation to ibiza, you starts feeling off and realizes you might be pregnant. caught between your fears of drew’s reaction and the unwavering support of your “siblings,” you discovers that love, family, and unexpected surprises can lead to beautiful new beginnings.

warning(s): english is not my native language. unplanned pregnancy, emotional vulnerability, fluff, humor, mild swearing, supportive friendships.

au: like, reblog and feedback are much appreciated.

Your and the other actor of Outer Banks group chat was always filled with energy.

Chase: “Ibiza is happening! Flights booked. Who’s ready for sunburns and bad decisions?”

Rudy: “I call dibs on the best room. Drew, don’t fight me this time.”

JD: “This isn’t Outer Banks, Rudy. No treasure hunt to claim a room.”

Madelyn: “Can we focus? Who’s bringing sunscreen?”

Madison: “Y/N will bring it. She always has everything.”

You glanced up from your phone and smirked at Drew, who was scrolling through the same messages.

“They’re not wrong.”

“You’re like the group’s mom,” Drew teased, pulling you closer on the couch.

“Well, somebody has to keep you lot alive.” You poked his side, earning a soft laugh.

The trip to Ibiza had been a long time coming. Between work schedules and personal commitments, it had been years since the Outer Banks cast had been in the same place together. Despite not being a cast member, you were as much a part of the group as anyone else. Drew’s friends had embraced you with open arms, making you feel like family.

It wasn’t always easy being ten years younger than Drew. At 24, you were still navigating adulthood, while Drew, at 34, was more settled. But your love for each other made the age gap feel insignificant.

The first day in Ibiza was pure of laugh and every other things. About the villa, it was breathtaking, with whitewashed walls, infinity pools, and views of the sparkling Mediterranean. Everyone quickly settled into vacation mode, with plans for beach days, exploring the island, and late-night conversations by the firepit.

By the second day, though, you couldn’t shake the nagging exhaustion and nausea that had crept in. It wasn’t like you to feel so drained, especially when surrounded by people you loved.

As the group lounged on the beach, Drew noticed you sitting quietly under the shade of an umbrella.

“Hey,” he said softly, crouching beside you. “You okay? You’ve been quiet today.”

You forced a smile, brushing off his concern.

“Just tired. I think the travel caught up with me.”

His brow furrowed, but he didn’t push.

“Let me know if you need anything, okay?”

“Always.”

Later that afternoon, a small girl wandered toward the group, her tear-streaked face melting everyone’s hearts.

“Where’s your mommy?” you asked gently, kneeling in the sand to meet her gaze.

The little girl sniffled and pointed toward the other end of the beach. Without hesitation, you held her hand, reassuring her until her mother arrived.

“You’re an angel,” the mother said gratefully before walking away.

“You’d make such a great mom,” Madison said, nudging Drew with a grin.

“She really would,” Drew agreed, his eyes soft as they met yours.

Your stomach flipped, but not in the good way. His words felt like confirmation of what you’d been suspecting but were too scared to admit.

That night, while everyone gathered in the living room for a movie, you excused yourself and retreated to the bathroom. With shaking hands, you retrieved the pregnancy test you’d packed.

The seconds felt like hours as you stared at the test, unable to bring yourself to flip it over.

A knock on the door startled you.

“It’s Madelyn. Are you okay?”

You quickly hid the test and opened the door, forcing a smile.

“Yeah, I’m fine.”

Madelyn’s sharp eyes darted to the trash can, where the box sat in plain view.

“Y/N…” she began, her voice a mix of curiosity and concern. “Are you pregnant?”

Tears welled in your eyes as you nodded.

“I think so. I haven’t looked yet.”

Without hesitation, Madelyn wrapped you in a hug.

“It’s going to be okay. I promise. Let’s look together.”

With trembling hands, you flipped the test over. Two pink lines. Positive.

“Oh my god,” you whispered, the weight of the realization crashing down.

Madelyn pulled you close as you started to cry.

“It’s okay. Drew loves you. He’s going to be so excited.”

“But what if he’s not?” you sobbed.

“We’ve never talked about kids. What if this ruins everything?”

Madelyn shook her head.

“Stop. Drew adores you. He’s not going anywhere.”

Madelyn helped you gather the girls for a “mandatory ladies’ meeting” in the bathroom.

“Are you dying?” Rudy called after you jokingly as the girls shuffled upstairs.

“Very funny,” Carlacia shot back before closing the door.

Once everyone was inside, you took a deep breath and shared your news. The girls gasped, their reactions quickly turning to excitement.

“You’re going to be such a good mom!” Kelsea squealed.

“If Drew so much as blinks wrong, we’ve got your back,” Madison added, earning a round of laughter.

The next day, the guys decided to go bungee jumping, leaving the girls at the villa.

“You’re seriously not going to tell him yet?” Madison asked as you lounged by the pool.

“I’m scared,” you admitted.

“You can’t keep this from him forever,” Carlacia said gently.

“I know. I’ll tell him tonight.”

When the guys returned, you greeted Drew with a tight hug. “I missed you.”

“I was gone for a few hours,” he laughed, kissing your forehead.

At dinner, panic set in again when the waiter asked what you’d like to drink. Thankfully, Madelyn saved you by whispering to the waiter to make your cocktail virgin.

After dinner, the group gathered by the firepit, and the girls urged you again to tell Drew.

“You’ll feel so much better once it’s out in the open,” Madison said.

With a deep breath, you pulled Drew aside, leading him down to the villa’s private pier.

“What’s going on?” he asked, his worry evident.

“I have something important to tell you,” you began, your voice shaking.

Drew’s brows furrowed. “You’re scaring me.”

“I’m pregnant,” you blurted out, tears streaming down your face.

“I know we haven’t talked about this, and if you don’t want —” you continue.

“Wait,” Drew interrupted, his eyes wide. “You’re pregnant?”

You nodded, unable to meet his gaze.

Drew pulled you into his arms, his grip firm yet comforting.

“Y/N, this is amazing. I love you. I love us. We’re going to be fine. I mean much better than fine.”

His words brought a fresh wave of tears, but this time, they were tears of relief.

Back at the villa, Drew insisted on sharing the news with the group.

“We’re having a baby!” he announced, his grin infectious.

The group erupted in cheers, with the guys tackling Drew in a congratulatory hug while the girls swarmed you.

“You’re stuck with us forever now,” Chase joked.

“You’ve been family for a while,” Rudy added, “but this seals it.”

As the night wound down, Drew pulled you close, his hand resting protectively on your stomach.

“You’ve given me everything I didn’t know I wanted,” he said softly.

You smiled, your fears finally melting away. Surrounded by love, you knew this was the start of a beautiful new chapter.

[earthtooz]

x : NOT JEALOUS ! :*+ﾟ

in which: alhaitham isn't jealous, he doesn't get jealous, so what is this suffocating feeling in his chest that only happens when you're talking to another man that isn't him?

warnings: 5.4k words, jealous!alhaitham x gn!reader who has loads of rizz, university!au, fluff with angst but happy ending, pining!alhaitham who doesn't realise that he loves you, kaveh is there, mention of cyno, ooc at some bits?, swearing, alhaitham is a little bit of an asshole at some parts sawry. he's bad with feelings.

a/n: inspired by @danijaci's jealous jealous boy comic with alhaitham! hi dani if you're reading this pls don't perceive me... hides... but i hope you all like it :,)

Alhaitham isn’t jealous. 

The uncomfortable feeling obstructing itself in his throat is just because he’s beginning to develop a sore throat- that’s all. It is flu season after all, who knows what kind of bacteria are in the air? Ones capable of lathing an uncomfortable oil that burns inside his chest, the smog crowding its way into his heart, sickening him to his core as Alhaitham can’t help but eavesdrop on the conversation happening beside him.

“I’m free friday,” a voice besides you confirms.

“Okay!” you cheer, sounding a little too happy for Alhaitham’s liking. After all, it’s 9 am, who has this much energy in the morning? “lets do Friday then!”

“Sounds good, I’ll see you then. Bye Y/n.”

“Bye, see you!” Alhaitham watches from the corner of his eye as you wave to the random stranger you’ve decided to associate yourself with before finally taking the seat beside him with a sigh. 

He doesn’t say anything to you, feeling your eyes glance at him expectantly as he stares stubbornly at the lecture board instead of acknowledging you or the jumble of feelings clogging up his diaphragm. 

“Hello, you,” You lean over slightly, careful to not invade his personal space whilst waving at him, hoping to catch his attention. He glances at you, nodding in greeting before returning to his book, the pages and rows of words only fuelling his unease he suddenly felt. He doesn’t even know where he left off, the book’s events a blur in Alhaitham’s mind.

How bothersome. What’s happening to him?

“Talkative today, aren’t you?” Your tone is playful despite his cold attitude and Alhaitham sneaks another look in your direction, noting the way your lips curve upwards. “So, how are you?” 

“I’m fine,” he murmurs, inserting a bookmark between the pages before slamming it shut, an indicator that you could keep conversing with him.

“Cool.” You tap your nails on the desks of the lecture hall. “Oh, I finished my essay the other day.”

“The one for your elective?”

You hum in agreement, “I hope I never get it back. Submitted it ten minutes before the due date.”

“You know you wouldn’t have been stressed over it if you just started it earlier-”

“I know, I know,” you huff, “spare your productivity lectures for another time, I’ll be needing them later in the semester.” The grey-haired shakes his head as you laugh, but his gaze returns to the front cover of his book as he solemnly thinks about the interaction you had with another man, right in front of him. 

(What right did he have to see you smiling so earnestly like that?)

“Who was that?” Alhaitham coughs out, barely choking down his pride in time to make space for the question.

You murmur some guy’s name that he doesn’t bother to remember. “He’s a friend of mine in the same discussion group for this course and we decided to do the assignment together. He bumped into me on the way in so we were just planning when to meet to do the research.”

“Oh.” Your answer doesn’t calm the churning in Alhaitham’s gut. Not even one bit, in fact, it makes it worse. 

But it’s not jealousy, Alhaitham doesn’t get jealous because he’s above petty feelings of inadequacy. He’s merely concerned for you, worried for your brainpower by the end of the project because your partner seems less-than-incompetent. If you’d picked someone like Alhaitham (or better yet, just picked Alhaitham), you would’ve aced the class without even blinking an eye. 

(The two of you are friends, so why didn’t you pick him? It’s literally been proven that the two of you are compatible working together since you were both executives of Sumeru’s Cultural Society, and amidst all of the activities the club has run, you’ve collaborated many times to make each event run flawlessly. So why not him? Why would you pick another man over him?)

“You know you could have picked me, I wouldn’t mind working on the assignment with you,” he grumbles, words soft but very clear.

Alhaitham misses the way your eyes widen in shock as apologies scramble out of your mouth. “I’m sorry! I automatically assumed that you wanted to work on it by yourself. Next time I’ll ask you.” 

The lecture begins before he could say anything in return and like a robot, he sets his thoughts aside and begins listening, notes document up and cursor blinking at the ready.

A mundane two hours pass by, one powerpoint slide after powerpoint slide before the lecture is finally over, much to your pleasure. Alhaitham notices the way you eagerly jump out of your seat to stretch, grabbing your bag. On the other hand, your grey-haired accomplice takes his time in packing up, forcing you to wait for him.

“Would you like to get some coffee before the meeting?” You ask.

“Sure, we can find a seat there and join it together,” he adds and you beam at him, expression bright and so enchanting that it makes him forget about all the perplexities he felt before the lecture. 

The two of you make your way to one of the many campus cafés where you practically wrestled Alhaitham to stop him from paying for both your orders (losing in the end) before sitting at a booth, your laptop set up with a pair of Alhaitham’s earphones shared between you. The meeting begins to fill up with almost all committee members, even Kaveh, who resides in his room of his and Alhaitham’s shared flat. Upon noticing him, you go to text him, with the grey-haired peeking over your shoulder from time to time to see your conversation- not that he cares that much.

(Perhaps if Kaveh glanced up from his phone, then he’d see how close Alhaitham had gotten with you, breaching the distance that he prefers to keep around others. He’d also notice the headphone sharing despite how he generally tends to keep them out of anyone else’s hands.)

You’re tasked with the role of taking notes for the meeting since Alhaitham, in your opinion, is not at all a reliable scribe. His notes tend to just include vital information and never what everyone else needs to know, yet each time you scold him for it, his unbothered expression never falters, waving your complaints off with a shrug. 

“Hey, Kaveh and I are going to go for lunch tomorrow after our classes. Care to join?” You ask, smiling at him hopefully as your messages with Kaveh sit open on your screen. Alhaitham doesn’t think twice before agreeing. 

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

“It looks like it’s about to rain,” you murmur, pulling out a chair as Alhaitham and Kaveh take their seats opposite you. 

“So it does,” Alhaitham notes, not caring to look too long out the window before returning his gaze to you. “You have an umbrella, right?”

“I, uh, didn’t think I needed one today.”

“Do you not check the weather before you leave?”

“Not everyone’s like you, Alhaitham.” Kaveh teases. “It’s no problem, Y/n, if it rains I can walk you back to your dorm.”

“Only if you are okay with it,” you insist, “I have no problem walking home in the rain. I love the rain.”

Alhaitham intervenes with a raise of his hand. “Nonsense, you’ll catch a cold. We’ll walk you home.”

A soft but genuine ‘thank you’ slips from your lips, neither of you wiser to the way Kaveh eyes his roommate suspiciously, not missing the use of ‘we’ in his sentence and the implications the collective pronoun has. For it meant that Alhaitham is willing to take precious time out of his day to perform an act for someone that he is not indebted to do. Not that Alhaitham is inherently selfish, per se, but he is a man of routine. He wakes up every morning and takes five minutes to scribble on his stupid whiteboard in the kitchen what he has to do for the day and strictly abides by it, not even straying two minutes off schedule.

Willingly volunteering his minutes? Kaveh finds that suspicious. 

“So, how’s your architecture assignment, Kaveh?” You ask, breaking the blond from his daze whilst Alhaitham pours glasses of water for the table, starting with your cup. 

“A nightmare,” he sighs, sinking into his chair. “I still have so much to do, you know my professor didn’t like my blueprint? How ridiculous! I hope that man steps in a puddle and wets his sock.”

The grey-haired pipes up with a remark. “I can’t wait for it to be done, our living room is a mess right now.” 

“Hey, I am the one that cleans that living room, thank you very much. Your bookshelf is still a mess even though I’ve asked you to clean it five times.”

“If it bothers you so much then why don’t you do it yourself?”

“I’m the only one who-”

“-I’m going to go to the bathroom,” you murmur, cutting the conversation before shuffling out of your chair, seemingly eager to do so.

Kaveh turns to the grey-haired again, “and you just scared away Y/n.”

“Sorry no one wants to hear about your architecture project.”

“Y/n literally asked, asshole.”

A rebuttal sits on the tip of Alhaitham’s tongue- as it always does when it comes to bickering with his roommate, but it dies out when an intruder comes to the table. “Excuse me, I hate to interrupt,” he begins, “but the person who just got up, is that your friend?”

“Yeah, why do you ask?”

“Oh, I just wanted to drop this off, mind passing it over for me?” The piece of paper he was holding lands in Kaveh’s hand. “Thanks, bro.” Is all he says before strolling away, out of sight but definitely not out of mind.

The blond does not hesitate to open it up, chuckling in amusement when reading the content. “’Hey you’re cute, here’s my number’ it says. What a bitch! You didn’t like his vibes either, right, Alhaitham?”

“Hold on, what does the note say?”

Grabbing (snatching) it from Kaveh, the grey-haired has half a mind to rip the note apart, a certain sense of distaste washing over him that intensifies the long he stares at the guy’s handwriting. His eye is twitching. Why is his eye twitching?

“Hey!” He hears Kaveh call. “Don’t scrunch it, that’s Y/n’s-“

Alhaitham stuffs the ball of paper into his bag where he’ll recycle it later even though something irrational within him tells him to burn it. “Y/n won’t miss it. You said it yourself, he’s a bitch.”

“Sure, but why are you doing-“

“Hey!” You interrupt, sliding back into your chair with a grin on your face. “So, what did I miss?”

“Nothing,” the grey-haired murmurs, assuming his crossed-arm position. Kaveh side eyes his roommate before agreeing with a hum. “Let’s order something now. We want to beat the rain, right?”

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

This meeting for the Sumeru Society might have been one of the most important ones of the year thus far, with almost every committee member expected to attend. After all, the annual ball was a big event that always had the largest turnout, and the amount of planning that goes into it to ensure its success is almost triple that of its other events.

So why weren’t you here?

“Why did you leave the meeting early on Friday?” Alhaitham asks as soon as he sees you.

You pause briefly, eyes widening and eyebrows raising. It must have been the way that Alhaitham’s voice raised a pitch towards the end of the question, demonstrating a nervous break in character that was not at all typical. Cool and collected would be the defining words to describe Alhaitham, as well as someone who does not care for the menial activities of others, so what is he doing asking you? And why does he care so much?

“I, uh, had dinner with someone,” you confess, continuing to grab your books and laptop, missing the way his features contort into something un-cool, and very un-Alhaitham.

“Whom?”

You murmur the name of some other guy, who he vaguely recalls to be your project partner.

“What?” Alhaitham snaps.

“I didn’t think missing out on some of the meeting would be a big deal! I got another committee member to explain what I missed,” you justified. “Besides, there’s no big events going on right now, so I thought-”

“-That you could abandon your tasks and go have fun with someone else?”

Alhaitham’s not really sure why he said that. He’s not angry that you skipped a meeting; there are larger things in the world to worry about, he’s angry because you spent time with another guy that wasn’t him.Why not go to dinner with him instead? He spends it every night with Kaveh, and you are far more favourable than Kaveh.  

“Is it really something to get mad over? I already told you, I got the meeting notes and everything-”

“-You’re an executive of the society, Y/n, more is expected from you.”

“Seriously?” you ask, “how come you didn’t bat an eye when the vice president wasn’t there the other day?”

“Because she was sick.” 

“Okay, fine! what about the subcommittee? they’re not always there either!” 

“They’re subcom. Whether they miss a meeting or not is not crucial.”

“So, it’s just my business that you care about?” You ask, eyebrows furrowed, disbelief clouding over your expression like a mask.

Again, Alhaitham doesn’t know where these punches are coming from and why he’s throwing them against you so viciously, but his heart is tightening defensively with a burning emotion that he’s been feeling more and more recently, and his first instinct is to lash out, to protect himself from it.

Perhaps it’s because foreign things that he can’t understand terrify him and you, all you ever do is make him feel things that he’s never felt before and he can’t understand why. 

“You’re not that special.”

A flash of hurt gleams in your eyes and Alhaitham knows now that he’s royally fucked up. “You’re an ass,” you grumble, about to walk away when he intercepts.

“Listen to me!”

“Fuck off!” 

“Y/n-”

You’re gone before he can get another word out, retreating figure stomping away whilst his chest weaves into knots; something that no amount of deep breathing can calm. It doesn’t help that the minute he returns home, Kaveh is onto him like some sort of parasite, curious over the tense air surrounding his normally-composed roommate. 

“Hey, welcome home- whoa, what’s gotten into you?” The blond asks.

“None of your business,” Alhaitham grumbles through gritted teeth, taking his shoes off and throwing them aside haphazardly. Kaveh doesn’t miss the way Alhaitham’s jaw is clenched, or the strain in his hand when he brings up a hand to run through his hair, or the very subtle and minute twitch in his cheek.

The blond ignores all signs that he wants to be left alone, and instead, follows the grey-haired to his room after he swung the door open. 

“Whoa, whoa, whoa, hold on, let’s talk about this-”

“Talk about what?” Alhaitham growls.

“Who pissed in your black coffee today?” 

“No one. Now get lost.” 

“Aw, come on, you know what they say. Getting things off your chest is always beneficial.”

“There’s nothing on my chest, go away.”

“You sure? no stress, no deadlines, no love interest making you tear your hair out-”

“-No, no, none of those!”

“Then what?”

Alhaitham steadies himself by resting his elbows on his thighs, hands clasped together as he exhales loudly. “I got pissed and took it out on Y/n, who’s mad at me now.”

“Huh? Why so annoyed?”

“Because Y/n went to dinner with another man.”

It’s silent for a while. The sassy quip that he expects from Kaveh does not happen. Instead, the blond merely smiles, a satisfied, knowing grin that slightly irks him. “You know, I’ve been waiting for the day you realise you have feelings for Y/n.” 

“What? Where did you get that conclusion from?” Alhaitham sits up straighter. There are a lot of things he knows, and he knows for sure that he does not like you in any way beyond platonic. He doesn’t have any time to spare for love. There are scholarships he still needs to apply for, internships to be interviewed for, research projects to submit- nowhere amongst the minute hand of the clock is there space for love. 

“Oh come on,” Kaveh sits down on the bed beside his roommate, leaning back on his hands. “You’re not as smooth as you hope to be sometimes.”

“I’m serious, I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Y’know the sooner you accept you have feelings for Y/n, the easier life will be.”

“Life is already easy and there is no sooner because I don’t like Y/n like that. Now get lost. I have stuff I need to finish.”

Kaveh shrugs, standing up with a soft ‘suit yourself’, taking seven steps before he’s out of the room. Alhaitham lets out a sigh that has lodged itself in his throat for too long, and the feeling of reprieve he gets is short-lived before he’s flooded with a certain tightness again. Maybe he did have a weight on his chest after all, not that he’d ever admit it to himself or Kaveh.

He gets up from his made bed with a grunt and decides to push aside all distractions. Time is unforgiving, and if doesn’t finish his assignment by this Friday then he’ll be a little less than pleased.

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

Alhaitham feels like he can’t breathe. 

You’re sitting alone at a library desk, all focused and concentrated on your laptop screen with your headphones on, blocking out any outside voice as you type away. He wonders if he should say hi, maybe try apologising for the way he acted last Monday- who is this guy that’s approaching you and why does he look so familiar? 

And why are you smiling so happily?

You beckon to the seat beside you and the guy readily complies, taking the chair beside you like he belonged there, like there weren’t other candidates that should be there instead (he’s not talking about himself. definitely not).

He hands you one of two coffee cups he’s holding. What kind of right does this guy have to give you a coffee? Does he even know your order?

He feels like a bit of creep keenly watching you interact with someone else from a balcony of the library, but the book and laptop in front of him lies forgotten, and in a rare moment of weakness, Alhaitham can’t find it in himself to return to his tasks, pursuit of knowledge momentarily forgotten. He can’t push aside the bile that threatens to rise, he can’t loosen his grip on the couch’s armrest, and he can’t blink for a second in fear of losing you from his sight.

(You’re laughing. Why are you laughing? How can you look so pretty laughing and why doesn’t he ever get to make you laugh like this?)

Alhaitham is losing his damn mind. So much so that the first thing he does when he sees you again is corner you. 

“You shouldn’t talk to that guy anymore.”

You’re backed against the brick walls of the time-worn building that your shared lecture always takes place in, and Alhaitham, spotting you like a hawk, put you in this precarious position as soon as the two hours were over. 

He can’t breathe. It’s been almost three weeks since you last spoke to him and you’re staring up at him like you’ve done nothing wrong, blinking once and twice at his uncharacteristic display of subtle aggression. 

“Who?” you mutter, shaking your head to try and grasp reality once again. you hug your laptop closer to your body. “What’s this about?”

“I said you shouldn’t talk to that guy anymore.” 

“What guy?” 

“Your project partner.”

“Really?” you mutter in disbelief.

He nods, teal eyes shining at you firmly. “Really. The project’s over, you don’t need to talk to him anymore.” 

“I don’t recall ever giving you the right to dictate who gets to be in my life or not, just like how you can’t tell me what to do with my time.” 

“I’m looking out for you, so stop trying to make me sound tyrannical.” 

Your mouth hangs open as you furrow your eyebrows, growing more and more frustrated with each second. So much for thinking that he wanted to resolve the awkwardness between the two of you. “I’m not even going to argue with you,” you murmur a quick ‘jerk’ under your breath before brushing past him. 

Alhaitham, however, is not willing to let you go as easily as you wish, quick to chase after you. Not that you go far anyways, turning around to face him again in the spaciousness of the vacant hallway. “Why do you care?” You ask, exasperated. “You’re Alhaitham, you don’t let trivial things like who I hangout with bother you, you’re cool and collected and rational, and I just don’t understand why you’re acting like this.”

He doesn’t understand either, not the erratic beating of his heart, the stubbornness of his mind, nor this undisputable urge to keep you all to himself. Is it normal to want to hide someone for selfish reasons?

Trailing off, Alhaitham is slightly humiliated that for the first time in his life, someone has witnessed him coming short of an answer. No logical conclusion, no explanation, not even a satisfying quip, just plain, suffocating silence.

“Right. When you do have an answer, let me know.” You walk away.

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

Your last rebuttal still weighs heavily on Alhaitham’s mind, even two days later as he and Kaveh are seated for a lecture in a shared course. His thoughts are scrambled like never before, the messiness of it all making him feel uneasy because for once, he doesn’t have an appropriate answer to a question.

Why was he acting like a temperamental teenager? What you did with your life was up to you, and indeed he has no right trying to change that. More importantly, why was it so hard to apologise for the stuff he said-

“So, how’s everything between you and Y/n?” 

Kaveh turns to him with widened eyes whilst Alhaitham’s poker face doesn’t move an inch, deceivingly apathetic.

“Good, we’ve been hanging out a lot more recently,” the other guy says, who Alhaitham quickly recognises to be your project partner and distaste rises in his stomach like bile. 

“Aye, good for you, man! So when are you going to ask Y/n out?”

“No way, bro, not yet. I’m such a wimp, but I hope I grow the balls to ask soon because I really like-”

“-looks like you got some competition!” The blond nudges Alhaitham, and if it were anyone else, they would not have glanced twice at the grey-haired who seemed unmoving and uninterested. However, Kaveh is not anyone else because he noticed the darkened look in Alhaitham’s eyes instantly, anger seeping into his composed gaze as his nose scrunches in disgust. 

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

“So, you and Alhaitham still aren’t talking?” Kaveh asks, leaning on the table of the restaurant with curious ears, hoping that he can grab some answers out of you as to why there was a stalemate between you and his roommate.

“Nope,” you sigh. 

“Why not?”

“I’m just-” you pinch the bridge of your nose, “I’m just waiting on an apology from him.”

“An apology? Why? What did he say?”

“He didn’t tell you?”

“You know how he is. Always insufferably secretive, so no, I don’t know anything that happened.” 

“Alhaitham just said some hurtful things to me, and he was being weird when I told him I was going to dinner with a friend of mine. Just kept being in my business.”

“Really?” The architecture student quirks a brow, confusion plastered on his face. “That’s not like Alhaitham at all.”

“I know, right? He kept trying to be like ‘don’t hang out with him’ and ridiculed me for not playing my part as an executive of the Sumeru society,” you complained, “like sorry I have other things I want to do.”

Kaveh nods in understanding as the conversation briefly stops when the waiter comes to drop off utensils at your table. As soon as they were gone, however, you begin again.

“And even though he was all up in my business, trying to tell me what not to do, he then said that I wasn’t special, which is so confusing because like-”

“-hold on. Alhaitham said that you weren’t special?” You nod at his parroted claim. “To him?” 

“Yeah. Stung like shit when he said that, especially since I thought we were friends but guess not,” you murmur sadly, fiddling with the fork.

Later that night, almost immediately after meeting you over dinner, Kaveh barges into his roommate’s room, not even changing out of his outside clothes. The sudden intrusion shocks Alhaitham who was busy typing on a document, textbook splayed open beneath him but momentarily forgotten as the blond takes a seat on the bed.

“What the- not even a hello?” The grey-haired asks, confused by this uncharacteristic silence of Kaveh’s. It’s pretty normal for the blond to barge into his room without notice, but it was not normal for him to be so quiet, practically brooding on the mattress. “Whatever. Where have you been? Have you eaten yet, because I made-”

“When will you just confess to Y/n?”

The mention of your name causes a spike in Alhaitham’s heartbeat and he swivels around instantly, attention fully directed towards his roommate. “Where is this coming from?”

“Y/n told me everything that happened between you two by the way-”

“-what, when?”

“Tonight, we just met for dinner.”

“And you didn’t tell me?”

“What would you have done if you knew? Showed up and made things worse?” He doesn’t say anything in retaliation, merely shutting his mouth and furrowing his eyebrows. “Why did you say that Y/n wasn’t special to you?” 

“I didn’t,” Alhaitham sighs, very loud and very perplexed. “I didn’t mean for it to come out the way it did.”

“Don’t you miss Y/n? You two used to hangout so often.”

“I do, of course I do!” He exclaims, burrowing his face in his hands. 

“So why aren’t you apologising?” 

“Because whenever I’m around Y/n, I’m not who I normally am,” he mutters, “especially everything whenever that project partner is around-”

“Jealous, much?”

“I’m not jealous.”

“Oh come on, you’re ridiculous. Stop pushing away your feelings and just be honest with yourself, Alhaitham! Y/n is not just a friend to you and you know it.”

“But, we are just friends-”

“So you mean to tell me that if I hung out with someone else- like if I hung out with Cyno, you would be pissed?”

“What? No, of course not.”

“Then why is it different with Y/n?” Once again, Alhaitham doesn’t have an answer to the question, sitting as still as a statue hunched over his desk. “Fine, I’ll spell it out to you. You like Y/n, more than just a friend!”

The silence leftover from Kaveh’s outburst is tense and full as the grey-haired lets the words sink in. 

“I’ll let you think about it,” the blond murmurs, voice softening dramatically as he stalks out of the room. Before he closes the door, however, he leaves a few final words. “Just- be honest with yourself, Alhaitham, and I wouldn’t delay trying to talk to Y/n.”

A sharp click rings through the room.

Alhaitham is no stranger to being alone, for who needs the company of others when you are happiest by yourself? Yet, in the weeks that you have not been speaking to him, a cardinal urge as been growing each and each day, wanting him to do something so atypical of him: to reach out and make the first move. Every passing day doesn’t lessen the thoughts that plague his mind, rather, they make him more and more impatient, because what if you get swept away by your project partner? 

(What if he’ll be too late? What if you won’t know of these powerful emotions that are steering through the storm in his heart? What if you won’t know just how badly he was been wanting you- wanting to see you, wanting to apologise, wanting to see you beam at him like you always would.

What if you won’t know that he adores you, especially now that he’s figured it out?).

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

A rain droplet falls and lands on your nose, another lands on your forehead, then another lands on your lip then more and more keep falling from the cloudy sky, falling through the leaves and landing on the bench you were currently sitting on. Goodness, you should have checked the weather before leaving your dorm. Why was it now out of all times that it had to rain, what would Alhaitham think after he finally decided to reach out to talk?

Taking your phone out to message the grey-haired about relocating, an umbrella is suddenly held over you, stopping the gentle drizzle from falling onto you. Looking up, you’re greeted by a familiar face that you have been missing too much recently.

“Hello, you,” you breathe, voice gentle and quiet and Alhaitham feels like he can finally breathe after so long, the scent of rain washing away all perplexion.

He nods at you in greeting before offering you the bouquet of flowers he was holding. A gorgeous arrangement of pink of white stare prettily at you and a man even more gorgeous expects you to accept it.

“For me?” You ask.

“For you.”

“Thank you, they’re so beautiful,” you take his gift with gentle hands, holding it close to your chest. 

“I want to apologise,” he firmly states, getting straight to the point; very Alhaitham of him. “For treating you the way I have been recently.”

You beam at him, so bright and so gorgeous that it renders him speechless, a feat pretty difficult when it comes to someone like Alhaitham who has a whole dictionary of words, in multiple languages too. Somehow, they all flock out of his mind the second you smile at him.  

“I accept your apology, thank you for reaching out, must have been hard for someone like you, huh?” You tease, standing up from the bench.

“Well, I had do for someone as special as you.” The grey-haired’s voice is deceivingly confident and assured, but you know better, especially when he looks away to hide his expression with his neatly styled bangs. 

“No need for the flattery, you know, I’ve already forgiven you.” There’s a moment of silence that occupies the air, caused by Alhaitham’s hesitation as he fishes his brain for the courage to ask you out. You speak before he can get a word out, however. “I got asked out the other day.”

“By your groupmate?”

“He has a name, you know, but, yeah. I rejected him, though,” you laugh awkwardly, almost like you were trying to cope with it by playing it off. “Did you know that he would do that?” 

“Yes. I did.”

“Is that why you were so adamant on me not hanging out with him?”

“I guess you could say that. We can talk more about it another time,” he tells you, voice gentle and caring to mask the subtle hit of jealousy he feels in his chest, scolding himself for letting someone else confess to you before him. However, it’s a minute sensation in comparison to the triumph Alhaitham feels knowing that you rejected the other party. 

“We have a lot to talk about, don’t we?”

“We do, but I want to ask you something first.” 

You nod, hugging the bouquet closer to your chest, anticipation heavy in the air as you spur him to continue. 

“If I asked you out, would you reject me too?”

A mere second passes by where you don’t respond, yet the second stretches out to what feels like eternity as Alhaitham’s stomach churns. Patience is something he doesn’t lack, but how can he be patient when his heart wants you so bad? 

Then, you take his hand, and the heavens sing at the feeling of your hand in his. “I wouldn’t, but are you asking me out?”

“Are you free right now?”

“I am. Why?”

“Let’s go out then. On a date.”

“I'd love to.” You rise up to place a lingering kiss on his cheek, one that has his heart racing with joy rather than frustration.

The smile you earn is gentle, shy, but says more than Alhaitham's words ever can.

© EARTHTOOZ 2023, do not steal, translate, repost my fics and do not recommend my fics onto any other site.

[moonpascaltoo]

sebastian sallow

masterlist • hogwarts legacy • 11/22/24

˚‧⁺ ･ ˖ · ୨ৎ recs

𑣲 never forget I @zevrra

where sebastian is actually worried about MC and regrets casting crucio on them

𑣲 caught in the rain I @/zevrra

you and sebastian seek shelter inside an abandoned home where every feeling is laid to bare.

𑣲 truth or dare I @ppomumgranatum

Truths emerged and friendships were tested as you found yourself confronting two years' worth of suppressed feelings towards Sebastian. Drunk.

𑣲 the dance of love’s sweet potion I @/ppomumgranatum

When a potion meant to repel backfired, it became a mishap that turned your world upside down.

𑣲 marry me I @theealbatross

The 3 times Sebastian thought about marrying you and the 1 time he asked.

𑣲 fight the alchemy I @/theealbatross

Garreth asks why Sebastian isn’t dating you. Sebastian spirals.

𑣲 i love you, it’s ruining my life I @/theealbatross

Sebastian has the worst insomnia known to man and you are not dating him.

𑣲 never not been mine I @/theealbatross

Everyone wonders if you and Sebastian are together. Sebastian wonders when will everyone mind their own business.

𑣲 fever (what a lovely way to burn) I @shadowtriovibes

"since you saved Sebastian from Azkaban, he has met you in the common room every morning and you have gone to breakfast together. One morning he isn't there so you go to his room looking for him to find him in bed, poorly.”

𑣲 request I @/shadowtriovibes

Eric Northcott is relentlessly pursuing you, so Sebastian offers to act as your heroic boyfriend to get him off your back

𑣲 break a sweat part 2 part 3 part 4 I @/shadowtriovibes

sebastian makes the house quidditch team after training all summer. before his first match, you let him talk you into a bet over its outcome that will in all likelihood ruin your friendship. (merlin, you sure hope it does.)

𑣲 mind if i move in closer? I @/shadowtriovibes

𑣲 it’s a sign of the times part 2 I @/shadowtriovibes

Rivals-to-lovers Sebastian and MC use a Time-Turner to travel to the future with Ominis in search for a cure for Anne. Instead they find a girl who's the spitting image of MC trying to sneak into the Restricted Section in the 1910s, only she has freckles like Sebastian

𑣲 fissured composure I @anto-pops

After watching you hold your own against a handsy classmate, Sebastian is feeling particularly needy and steals you away to the Undercroft to show you just how worked up your right hook got him.

𑣲 possessive touch I @/anto-pops

Sebastian has never been the sharing sort. He was happy to loan people notes or quills, maybe even the occasional book from the Restricted Section. But not you. Never you.

𑣲 sudsy confessions I @/anto-pops

Sebastian confessing his long-harbored love for you while you’re naked in a bathtub.

𑣲 request I @/anto-pops

𑣲 unspoken attraction I @arthenaa

The girls and you have a talk on who they'll date amongst the students in Hogwarts. No one mentions Sebastian despite being deemed the most handsome in your year. You wonder why?

𑣲 jealously, jealousy I @awkwardauthorwrites

𑣲 i think he knows I @/awkwardauthorwrites

Sebastian helps Y/N with an interesting request

𑣲 violets and verbena I @/awkwardauthorwrites

Two years have passed since the events in Hogwarts Legacy, in which Y/N has drifted away from Sebastian. What happens when she has to spend some time in the hospital wing and he comes to visit?

𑣲 in the middle part 2 I @/awkwardauthorwrites

After a few months of knowing the reader the boys suddenly realise one day they are falling in love with the reader and start to become a bit bitter towards each other and very jealous if another guy gives her attention.

𑣲 wildest dreams part 2 part 3 I @/awkwardauthorwrites

Ten years have passed since the events of Hogwarts Legacy and Y/N is invited back as part of a reunion to celebrate.

𑣲 diesel is desire I @wttcsms

sebastian sallow is a good friend. so good, in fact, that when you find yourself under the ungodly influence of a lust potion, he's willing to help give you some relief.

𑣲 trust fall I @fairytalesandlegacies

Sebastian Sallow teaches you how to fight against the Imperius Curse late one night, and in the process, some long-kept secrets are revealed.

𑣲 i need you I @ravenelyx

Sebastian has different ways of dealing with being hurt. One of them is burying his face in your chest while you cuddle him

𑣲 who do you smell? I @roarieluz

Sebastian Sallow has had a crush on Y/N for a while now, this isn't news to him but when a strong batch of amortentia is made for potions class it is hard to keep his mind clear of anything that isn't about you and what he wants to do to you.

𑣲 the night shift part 2 part 3 part 4 part 5 I @writing-intheundercroft

You're the lead healer in the St. Mungo's intensive care unit, and a painfully familiar face ends up in your ward.

𑣲 a long time coming I @undergaunts

aka three times Sebastian is a flirt, one time he gets called out on it, and one time he finally does something about it.

𑣲 pining in potions class I @festivalsofmargot

Sebastian Sallow is forming a huge crush on you, and it’s hitting him all at once in a very annoying way. Something as simple as not being partnered with you in potions class eats away at him.

𑣲 pretty thoughts part 2 I @/festivalsofmargot

Sebastian is down bad for you, my dear reader. But a lot of overthinking on your part makes you blind to it. So, his only option is to keep chasing after you.

𑣲 a worrisome box of chocolates I @matchavellichor

𑣲 you look better in green part 2 I @fierymiasma

In which Sebastian sees the new transfer student wearing someone else’s scarf and proceeds to absolutely lose it.

𑣲 snow, scarves, and schemes I @spaceyaceface

Y/N is sick of Leander Prewett trying to court her. Luckily, she has a best friend named Sebastian Sallow who would love to help put an end to it. They devise a plan to pretend to court up until the Yule Ball. Should be simple, right? If only. 

𑣲 the one who stayed I @talesofesther

For a moment, Sebastian thought he lost you, and now the guilt for what happened is eating away at him.

𑣲 the winner takes all I @justauthoring

in which, leander prewett is a prick and sebastian shows him not mess with his girl.

𑣲 bludgered I @slytherizz

Sebastian never really knew what his friend saw in Isaac Cooper but he never questioned it - he made his friend happy. That is until a Quidditch match goes quickly awry and he realises his feelings for her may go far deeper than simple friendship.

𑣲 between the two of you I @cuffmeinblack

Rewriting of the events of the Shadow of the Study/Discovery quests.

𑣲 i crumble completely (when you cry) I @atlabeth

there's only one way to get into salazar slytherin's scriptorium.

[suguann]

He has a feeling that the new girl running the front desk at the gym is going to be a problem—a distraction disguised in a gym uniform polo and khaki pants.

It starts with you smiling too brightly as he walks in one morning, all teeth and that little twinkle in your eye that feels like trouble when you scan his membership card.

“Good morning, Mr. Riley.” 

“It’s just Simon,” he tells you as he takes his card off the counter. 

The following day, it’s the same, except Johnny is there to make it worse.

He nudges Simon with his elbow. “She’s kinda pretty, huh?”

“Say it any louder, and she’ll hear you, mate,” he grumbles.

Simon’s not blind; of course, he knows you’re pretty, but he doesn’t have time to commit to anything outside of work—even if you smile at him like you’re happy to see him and how he’ll think about it later: on missions, at his desk, during morning runs. His head is nothing short of woven webs with thoughts of you stuck in the middle.

Honestly, it’s that you—

(You try to make small talk with him every morning, and Simon is starting to think it’s just for him because on the days he doesn’t come alone, you merely scan his card and go back to reading the open paperback book on the desk.)

It’s weird because it’s almost like you—

(He bumps into you at the supermarket and makes a dumb joke about carrots that makes you laugh. It makes him a little tongue-tied and awkward afterward because he realizes he hasn’t talked to a woman outside of only wanting a quick fuck in a really long time, but more importantly, he wants to hear it again. 

Instead, he tosses potatoes in his cart and walks away.)

He tells himself it means nothing, or not how Simon wants it to.

You’re just…he’s not even sure; acquaintances? Maybe more than that, but less than friends. Somewhere in that odd in-between phase where he only knows bits and pieces but not the whole picture.

Sometimes, he wishes—

(Simon doesn’t know what he’s doing the first time he invites you to meet the guys from work on a night out. He’s dated around a few times and had his fair share of hook-ups, but this isn’t like that. His palms are sweaty, more than usual, and no amount of wiping them on the thighs of his jeans keeps them dry.

Then you walk into the bar in a dress that’s probably too light for early spring in London—even though he stares appreciatively at the long expanse of your legs as you walk up to the table—and he wishes he wasn’t introducing you as his friend.)

But you—

(A new development happens after you slip him your phone number on one of the gym’s business cards—it’s weird that we don’t have each other’s numbers, so message me sometime or whatever—and he messages you ‘hey’ right before he leaves for a mission a few days later. 

It slowly shifts and changes over time.

You start sending him texts in the morning. Never an actual good morning text, but of the dogs you take on walks, the sunrise, the new flower box in your window. Somehow, it’s better.)

You really are—

(His house feels too hot, and he’s distracted from the movie by how close you are, how your leg drapes over his under the blanket, fingers fisting into his sweater at his stomach that clenches. An ache that grows, throbbing, spreading from his abdomen to his groin.

It feels monumental—something more than the gentle touch to the elbow to squeeze by each other in his entryway earlier or giving you his jacket that night at the bar—a tilt of the axis that makes the messy pieces fall neatly into place. 

He must be staring because you glance up at him, smiling, and the sound from the TV turns into white noise in the background.

“Can I…would you—fucking hell,” Simon runs a hand through his hair. “Can I kiss you?”

When your lips press against his, and his hands are pulling you onto his lap, where you settle hotly against his dick tenting in his jeans, he wonders why neither of you has done this before. Just kissing—him licking the seam of your mouth, and you panting his name.

“I’ve wanted to do that for a while,” you mumble, lips brushing his.

“Me too,” and he fists his hand into the hair at your nape and pulls you back to his mouth.)

“I knew you’d be trouble,” he tells you one day, glaring at the bloke further down the bar who tried making a swipe at your ass before Simon showed up, towering over his shoulder with your fruity cocktail in hand.

“Oh, yeah?” you giggle, leaning into his side.

“Yeah,” the corners of his mouth quirk, though he hides it when he presses a kiss against your temple. “A real pain in my ass, love.”

“But yours.”

This time, he does smile. “Yes, but mine.”

Masterlist

[nereidprinc3ss]

do you believe me now? | 8

it's the morning after. spencer reid suspects you’re left with some doubts after losing your virginity to him. he has to figure out why—which is hard when you're keeping secrets.

series masterlist

this series is 18+ warnings/tags: fem!reader, blood related to losing virginity (dramatized for the drama duh), super vague allusions to the BAU being hungover, mild blasphemy if anyone even cares, pondering god bc am I really a fanfic writer if I don’t get a little religious w it, emily AND hotch are here and nobody knows why pls don't pay attention to that bc we are imagining like season 11/12 spencer and I'm inconsistent w who is unit chief in this series apparently, spencer slut lore, spencer emotional wounds lore, Spencer is a traumatic situationship survivor a/n: DADDYS HOMEEEEE (me and dybmn not spencer) anyway missed these little guys and am happy to be writing for them again!! idk what my upload schedule will becoming back to this but pls lmk what u think of this part, I have no idea how you will respond but I'm being brave and ily

Friday morning Spencer comes into the office fifteen minutes late (he tried his best), in yesterday’s suit (everything in his go-bag had been too wrinkled), hair messy (no doubt from your fingers), coffee cold (he’s exhausted) and overall, in an excellent mood.

The rest of the team isn’t faring quite as well—Spencer gathers they stayed at the bar celebrating Derek’s birthday a lot later than he had. It shows through sallow skin and dark circles and the grimaces he receives on the way to his desk that are probably supposed to approximate good morning’s. 

Honestly, he doesn’t mind the dull mood—he doesn’t need the teasing and the prying questions that would be sure to come if his co-workers were at peak performance and were able to put together his unusually perky demeanor and disheveled appearance. At least Prentiss doesn’t appear to be paying him any mind. She’s always the one who can read him like an open book and has no shame in doing so aloud. Echoes from years of, ‘so who was the lucky girl, last night, Reid?’ Still ring through his mind and it’s like he can feel her finger prodding at his side. 

The Emily of it all makes him smile, though the rest of the memory leaves a metal tang in his mouth. Back in those days, there were sometimes a lot of girls, but even then he was consciously aware he wasn’t necessarily doing something he enjoyed. He spent a lot of time, actually, staring at his bedroom ceiling, psychoanalyzing himself. Repetition compulsion. The insatiable desire to repeat or reenact emotionally painful experiences. Maybe he thought if he could teach himself to subsist off of emotionless hookups, he could in some way heal from his experience with Elle. Though, he’s hesitant to think of it now as healing—it’s not like he didn’t know what he was doing when a few nights after she said I don’t feel the same I’m sorry he opened up his front door for her. It’s not like he didn’t know what he was doing every time after that. So, maybe heal isn’t the right word, when one doesn’t have the right to be injured. Or when the injuries are, in a manner of speaking, self-inflicted. At the very least he could tell himself that this time around, meaningless sex was a choice he was making for himself. Spencer hates when things just happen to him. 

But you—you’re different. You were a complete surprise. At first, a cute and unexpected complication. After a few painful and short-lived attempts at real relationships, Spencer decided he was simply not to be trusted with emotional intimacy of any kind, including that which inevitably develops from physical intimacy, and would resign himself to a life of celibacy. He tried not to like you, but you were just so damn likable. Magnetic, to use a trite and perfectly honest turn of phrase. All that to say: he doesn’t regret you at all. There is no filter of putrid shame or anguish over his memories of last night. 

Just you. Perfect. Starlit. Glowing softly around the edges like you’re not even real. 

I love you I love you I love you. A hymn with no melody. You, always reminding him exactly why he is decidedly not a man of faith. At least, not in the typical sense of the word. 

How God became the idol and not Mary is lost on him. That’s why, Spencer supposes, tapping an eraser on his desk, marriage and sex were forbidden for so many ecclesiastics. After all, if they knew what it was to love a woman, specifically to love you, he doubts they’d feel like spending much time in the pulpit. Love. Humans had that long before they had any gods. It’s primeval. It’s the most natural manifestation of devotion and worship. It will always have come first. Isn’t it a better kind of religion when a man realizes he can kneel in front of a woman rather than an altar?

A heavy hand falling on his shoulder jolts him from his theological musings—which are in all practicality useless. What’s that saying about blasphemous thinking on the FBI’s dime? Right. There isn’t one. 

“I’m scared to ask,” Morgan says as Spencer jumps slightly in his chair. 

“What?” He mumbles, looking up from the document he’d only sort of been reading.

Morgan just looks at him, strong brows furrowed and a ditch between them, angles his head and glances to the side as if Spencer is missing the obvious. He almost follows Derek’s eye-line. When that doesn’t work, Derek just says your name. Like your status is somehow in question. 

“Did you two work things out, or not? It looked pretty bad when you guys were leaving last night.”

People often misunderstand an eidetic memory. It’s not like things can’t slip his mind—Spencer can actually be quite forgetful. It’s made worse by the fact that last night at the bar feels like months ago. For a moment, he has no idea what Derek is referring to. 

“Oh. Oh! Right, we—right. Yeah, we, uh—we worked it out.” Before Derek has a chance to read his face, no doubt as incriminating as his fumbled speech and an ill-timed throat clearing, he turns back to his paperwork. “Thanks for keeping an eye on her at the bar. I appreciate that.”

It’s quiet for a moment, and Spencer’s lips twist as he can feel the incoming inappropriate comment. 

“Is that the same suit you were wearing last night?” Morgan quips, his wide grin audible. Spencer can practically hear the cartoon gleam of his friend’s bleached teeth. 

“No.”

“You dog.” Derek is still smiling as he claps Spencer’s shoulder again. “What did you say to her that worked so well?”

Spencer clears his throat again and tries to look extremely involved in logging onto his computer, speaking quickly as if he’s beyond disinterested and can’t wait for the exchange to be over. 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about. I’m actually trying to work so if you wouldn’t mind going back to your desk that would be great.” 

“Uh-huh. I’ll let you work. But I see you, pretty boy.”

Spencer tries not to blush like a teenager as he refuses to look up. 

Naturally the rest of the day is a slow descent into dread and madness as all those good feelings with which Spencer had started his morning begin to harden into something much worse, chilled by your lack of response to the text he sent you earlier. Which was essentially a rehashing of the note he left on your bedside table. 

Maybe it was too much. It should’ve been one or the other, but not both. He’s overwhelmed you. 

Okay, so maybe this is what religion is for. A last ditch effort when you can’t talk to your girlfriend so you have to try talking to God. 

But Spencer knows you, and he knows something is wrong. You wouldn’t just ice him out so blatantly if everything was okay. He catches himself glancing up toward Hotch’s window to see if the blinds are drawn, and considers faking an illness to get out of work early and go check on you. But he powers through the remaining hour and a half that he is obligated to stay at work, he bounces a pencil between his fingers, drums at his desk, and gets nothing else done. As soon as 4:59 rolls around, he’s out. 

Spencer can hear shuffling on the other side of your door as he stands in the hallway. A pot clatters. The walls hum with the rush of water through the pipes to your sink. He knocks, relieved that you’re okay and at the same time struggling with that weight on his chest—something cold that leans over his shoulders and whispers into his ear—so she just didn’t want to talk to you. 

Suddenly all sound from inside your unit ceases. For a few long seconds, Spencer’s confusion only grows exponentially. 

“Who is it?” You finally call, voice wavering. Also odd. Usually you just open the door. 

“Um… Spencer?”

“As in my boyfriend Spencer?”

He frowns, bottom lip jutting out ever so slightly as he tries to decipher your sudden paranoia. “I hope so?”

The click and jingle of several locks precipitates your much-anticipated reveal. 

“Come in,” you say breathlessly, more harried than usual and not giving him the tender greeting he’s selfishly become accustomed to—barely even giving him a second to look at you. But he steps inside, watching on in concern as you do up every single lock—the one on the knob, the deadbolt, even the chain. Is this really all because of his little comment last night about anyone being able to get in? He certainly hopes not. He didn’t mean to terrify you. 

When you finally turn, he takes stock of your appearance. Big hoodie, pajama pants patterned in little hearts. Hair pulled back hastily. Your skin is sort of dull where you normally glow. But you’re beautiful, like always. It always aches just a little bit to look at you. Spencer’s always been like that. Going breathless at a particularly good piece of art or pretty girl. Like yourself. Mostly you. 

You quickly turn to hurry back into the kitchen. “I was trying to make dinner, I—”

“Hold on,” he interrupts, stopping you with a hand on your stomach that is so non-demanding it’s really mostly a suggestion. He tries to clear his head, though you make it hard. “You didn’t talk to me all day. Not that you have to, but… I was worried.”

You glance at the floor and mumble, “I lost my phone,” with so much embarrassment he believes you’re telling the truth. “Did you, um—did you text me?”

Insecurity. Spencer knows well what it looks like on you. He softens. You weren’t ignoring him—but you’d been left in a vulnerable state without any ability to contact him or anyone. That couldn’t have been comfortable. 

“Of course I did.” He pauses to observe you. Still anxious. Still prepared to run at any second. Something, and he’s not sure what, did a number on you today. Maybe it’s sheer exhaustion, maybe it was the anxiety of not having your phone. But he has to figure out what it is so he can undo it. “What? What’s wrong?”

He watches your breathing pause—watches your eyes gloss over with tears and a frown contort your features. Oh, god. He’s done something terribly wrong. It’s been thirty seconds and he’s done something wrong. 

“Can we sit down? I don’t feel very good.”

“Yeah. Yeah, we can. Whatever you need.”

You cast a baleful look at him and now he has to wonder what that means. Spencer sets his bag on a pulled out dining chair and follows you to the couch where you settle on opposite sides—you’re curled up in the far corner, hugging a pillow to your chest with your legs folded in front of you. Spencer’s heart is beating fast. He doesn’t know what’s going on with you and he can’t figure it out just by looking and you don’t seem eager to tell him. 

He’s exhausted all his typical ways of collecting information, and now he’s at a loss. 

Eventually, the anxiety comes bubbling up. 

“Please talk to me,” he pleads. And you do. Almost instantly, like he stepped on some sort of landmine. 

“I know it’s my own fault for not having my phone on me and not being able to see your texts, but it really sucks that I had to find out from my creepy neighbor that you snuck out in the middle of the night without saying goodbye.”

The whiplash is so strong it’s almost a broken neck. Spencer reels, frowning deeply as he tries to process your impromptu speech, the sudden confrontation. What creepy neighbor?

“I… didn’t. I went to grab my stuff from the car around one, but I came right back. I left at 7:30. You don’t remember me saying goodbye?”

Your brow furrows, and your eyes dart over the design on the rug like you’re watching memories go by. He sees it in your eyes when you recall some hazy image of him holding your face, kissing your cheek more times than was necessary and whispering sweet things against your lips before he had to go. You shrink into the couch, clearly struggling under the combined weight of relief and embarrassment. 

“I forgot. I thought… he said…”

A moment passes and it’s clear you’ve abandoned the sentence. Spencer is concerned about this shadowy male figure who put malicious untruths into your head. He slides his hand under yours and twines your fingers together. Finally, finally you meet his gaze. 

“Someone made you believe I left without saying goodbye.”

And he almost wishes you weren’t looking at him as more tears pool before falling down your cheeks. You nod, and don’t make a sound. 

“No, honey. I didn’t do that. I’m sorry that’s what you’ve been thinking all day.”

“I was worried that you… or that I wasn’t…”

His chest aches. You’d woken up alone, no recollection of his goodbye, and without the comfort of even a text. 

“You didn’t see my note?”

The way you look at him then is heartbreaking. Eyes wide and wet and sad, lip trembling. 

“You left a note?”

Murphy’s Law. Anything that can go wrong, will. 

It must’ve fallen off the bedside table, or maybe he just hadn’t positioned it obviously enough. 

A lost phone, a missed note, and not even a memory of his departure. While none of these things are verifiably Spencer’s fault, he feels so, so guilty. 

“I did,” Spencer says gently, scooting closer and pulling you into him, head pressed to his shoulder as you try not to cry, and he rubs your back slowly. 

Your sulky words are muffled by his shirt. “I didn’t see it. What did it say?”

“A lot of very nice things about you,” he whispers. Spencer thought maybe he could get away with giving you all the sincere compliments you can’t accept face to face through a note you could read while he wasn’t around. That way you couldn’t refute them or stop him. It was a good plan. 

He feels the sigh of relief leaving your body against his neck. 

“I didn’t know.”

“I know. I’m sorry. That’s not… I should’ve just stayed. This is my fault.”

You keep your cheek pressed to his shoulder as you speak. 

“It’s not. You have a job. A really important job. You can’t just call out whenever I want you around.”

Logically he knows you’re right, but he doesn’t always think logically around you. 

“I could’ve made it work. I could’ve come in late, or the team could’ve called me if there was a case, which there wasn’t—”

“Spencer, it’s okay. It’s not your fault. Don’t worry about it.”

He pulls back slightly, frowning at your tone. You do look relieved, much less plagued than you’d been when he arrived minutes ago, but something heavy still weighs you down. The burden of it darkens your eyes and dulls your expression. When he cups your cheek, you glance up at him, and then away once more. 

He speaks softly. “Is that all you wanted to tell me?” 

Again he earns a moment of your eye contact, but it’s fleeting. He watches the words spin around your head as you try to figure out what to do with them—and then choose to remain silent. 

There is in fact something you’re keeping from him. 

Spencer hates to use work tactics on you, but he doesn’t speak either, hoping that you’ll feel compelled to fill the silence with the truth. Knowing how you’re not entirely comfortable with quiet. 

And you try, lips parting and the sound delayed as you wrestle with something you clearly don’t know how to talk about. 

“I… my neighbor,” you say, frowning like you don’t quite know why you’re speaking. “The one who told me he saw you leaving in the middle of the night. He also—he said…”

Spencer brushes hair away from your cheek with a thumb, stroking the high point in gentle passes as your words taper off. Now that he’s thinking about it, he did encounter a man in a dumpy robe standing in the courtyard and smoking a cigarette when he left you tangled in sheets and dozing contentedly to get his bag from the car. In fact, they rode back up to your floor in the elevator in mostly awkward silence. Spencer was sure his outfit told a story—shirt untucked and hastily buttoned only partway, no belt, shoes barely tied, duffel slung over his shoulder—he wasn’t really expecting to run into anyone at such an hour, to be honest, but he hadn’t particularly cared what this man thought of him, so it didn’t cross his mind again.

Now he remembers. 

Long night, huh? I remember those days. 

It was an inappropriate comment, but given his job he’s used to ignoring those. Mostly his mind had been preoccupied with the idea of returning to you, who gave him such a warm and sleepy welcome when he climbed carefully back into your arms several minutes later that it was like he’d never known anyone else at all. 

Now he resents that he hadn’t said anything, he hates the idea that you spoke to this man and he said something to upset you and Spencer wasn’t there. Usually he tries not a judge a book by its cover (metaphorically, of course) but he’s been around enough bad men to know when he’s looking at one. Last night he hadn’t even been cognizant enough to realize they got off on the same floor. 

“What did he say, angel?” Spencer whispers, incapable of being anything but soft with you at the moment. Even though he senses something a lot like a tide of preemptive anger rising in his chest, painted over with layers of anxiety and guilt. He should’ve found a way to stay with you this morning. 

You sniffle and let your head fall again, forehead resting against his collar. Instinctively his hand slides to the back of your neck and even at the awkward angle he finds a way to press his lips to yours hair. “Can we talk about it later? I don’t feel good.”

If it’s making you this uncomfortable, Spencer really wants to know what passed between you and this neighbor. In fact, he’d be willing to bet a lot of your strange behavior this evening stems from something that occurred which you don’t feel comfortable telling him yet. But he manages to bite back anymore questions. He doesn’t want to make you feel interrogated. 

“Yeah, you mentioned that,” he says eventually, kindly, hand tracing down the length of your back and up again. “Why don’t you feel good?”

He doesn’t miss the way you reach up to discreetly wipe your cheek. But he won’t make you talk about anything you don’t want to talk about until you’re ready, and it seems like you’re already having a rough day. Which is not what he wanted. This is so far from what he wanted for you. He’s cursing himself for how he handled this whole situation. 

“Um, I just… I don’t know. I feel… bad. I’m sorry I’m being so weird.”

“You’re not being weird, honey. You had a hard day. You’re having a normal reaction to an abnormal set of circumstances.”

You sit up, sniffing and wiping your tears like you can just make the whole thing go away. 

“No, I am. I am. It’s all okay now, right? So I don’t know why I feel like this. I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”

He watches helplessly. “Nothing is wrong with you. We’ve… it’s been a big couple of days. Mostly good, but I think you’re probably really tired. Emotionally and physically.” 

You bury your face in your hands and nod silently. He still feels like he’s shooting in the dark, but you’re not entirely comforted yet, and it’s killing him. 

“Whatever you’re feeling is okay. If this is… about last night, or this morning, or something entirely different—regardless of what it’s about, you’re not going to be… in trouble with me if you’re having complicated feelings. And you can talk to me. But it doesn’t have to be right now. We don’t have to figure it out all at once, okay?”

You press the heels of your palms into your eyes, and for a moment, his words sink into silence. When you do raise your head, nodding, the evidence of your discomfort is all over your face—reddened eyes, cheeks polished with wiped tears. But you take a deep breath and try to project whatever it is you think he wants to see. 

The back of your hand is soft under his thumb as he sweeps it, as if he could draw forth more information that way. People speak when they’re ready.

“Is there anything I can do?” He tries, all ramped brow and soft spoken. 

You’re looking at where he’s tracing swirls on your hand as you swallow and blink the last of your tears away. 

“Um… you can say no, but—do you think it would be okay for you to maybe stay again tonight?”

Spencer sucks in a breath, painfully aware that he’s about to let you down. 

“I… I haven’t been home in a week. I’ve been wearing this suit for two days straight and I don’t think I would want to share a bed with me again until I shower.” He watches you wilt and lifts a hand to stroke your hair. “But I do want to spend time with you… do you maybe want to come stay with me instead? No pressure—”

“Okay. Yes. Is that okay?”

Spencer’s brow knits. You seem even more enthused about the idea of going to his apartment, like now that the opportunity has presented itself you can’t wait to get out. Maybe you have some sort of black mold problem. 

“Of course. Do you wanna grab a few things and then we can go?”

“Um—I also haven’t showered today. Do you mind waiting?”

“Sure. Or you could use mine. With supervision, this time.”

Spencer is attempting to make a joke about your unplanned (and unmoderated) stay at his apartment last week after he left—but looking at your face now he’s wondering if he touched a nerve. 

“Like… one at a time? Or…”

He thought maybe you’d be more comfortable around him after last night—and it’s not like he hadn’t seen you naked before then, either.

“Do you wanna do it one at a time?” He asks gently. 

There’s this sparkly sort of longing in your eyes that he’s seen before, but you tamp it down like always. You’re so cautious. About everything. Even the things you’re curious about. It’s sweet and a little sad. 

“I’ve never… showered with anyone.”

The corner of Spencer’s mouth twitches as he pushes hair over your shoulder. “I know. You don’t have to. We could save like 100 gallons of water depending on how long your showers typically last, but—”

“Spencer—”

“Sorry, sorry—I didn’t—I didn’t mean it like that. I’m not trying to pressure you. You absolutely can take your own shower. You can go first so you get the hot water.”

“No,” you laugh, and it’s like a sparkling cloud of gold has settled around you, fractals bouncing off the shine of your cheeks and eyes—the sound of your laughter, the look of it, is such beautiful relief he can’t believe how good it feels, but it fades from you quickly. “It sounds… I think I want to, I just… I don’t wanna, like… do… anything.”

For a split second your veiled language mystifies him and then he realizes what you’re trying to say without saying. Something has changed since yesterday, when you brazenly referred to it as fucking, and today, when you can’t even say sex. He’s gotten as far as it being something your creepy neighbor said. Maybe. He needs to know what. 

But that’s not the topic at hand. 

“We don’t have to. I didn’t mean to imply that we would do anything like that. I don’t expect anything from you.”

You swallow. 

“Okay. I wasn’t sure.”

About what?

He says your name. No response. 

“Can you look at me, please?”

It takes you a moment, and your head raises like you might need some oil in your hinges, but eventually you manage. Spencer hopes the way he’s rubbing your leg is comforting. 

“You know I’m never, ever going to make you do anything you don’t want to do, right?”

To his horror, your answer isn’t an immediate and resounding yes. Instead you look back down and cover his hand with your own, fiddling nervously with his fingers. 

Eventually, you reply, “Yeah… I know. I just thought… I’m not sure. Maybe it’s supposed to be different now.”

“It doesn’t have to be. Nothing has to be different. We’re still doing everything on your schedule, okay? And as for the next few days, at least—I think it might be a good idea to take sex off the table altogether.”

Your eyes narrow and you hesitate. “Why?”

“Because I don’t want you worrying about it. And I don’t think it would feel good for you right now. I think there are things we need to talk about, but… we’ve probably tried enough for a while, hm?”

You give him a shy nod and hum your agreement. For a moment he lets his hand linger on your leg and then pulls it back. 

“Okay. Do you want my help packing a bag, or should I wait out here?”

“You can wait. It should only take a minute.” You pause, halfway up to look pensive. “Um, Spencer—do you think it would be okay if maybe I… if I stayed tonight and tomorrow? I just—I wanna get out of here, for a bit.”

He frowns but doesn’t hesitate. “Of course. Can I ask why?”

“It’s just… suffocating sometimes,” you call as you turn and hurry down the hallway to the bedroom. “Feels like my neighbors are on top of me, like they’re… breathing down my neck, half the time.”

Sure, bigger apartments exist—but it’s not like you’re in a studio. And you’ve never mentioned feeling that way before. That bad feeling is starting to come back—like you’re not telling him something he needs to know. But is it worse to let you deal with it yourself until you’re ready to talk or to force it from you?

A few minutes later you return, a duffel of your own over your shoulder and full to bursting. 

“So I’m an idiot. My phone was literally in the pocket of my jeans on the floor.” You drop the bag as you bend down by the door to pull on your favorite slippers. “Oh—I think I forgot my charger, can you grab it? It’s by my bed.”

Spencer of course obliges, and is secretly pleased to be in your room again, in the light this time, so he can see better. It’s sweet. The pictures on the walls, the plants and the knickknacks and the sticky notes scrawled with messy reminders on every surface and the sweater hanging over the back of a chair—the one you’d been wearing at the cafe all those months ago—it all feels so you. He wonders why the two of you don’t spend more time here. 

He lets himself linger for only a minute before remembering his task, but as he reaches down to unplug your charger, whatever dopey smile he’d been wearing evaporates. The sheets have been stripped from your bed, and he can see why—there’s a striking stain of dried blood, and several surrounding dots, soaked into the mattress. Not much, but enough to make him feel horrendously guilty. He cringes, imagining what it must’ve been like to wake up all alone to nothing but your own blood. Poor girl. Of course he’d noticed some, last night when he was doing his best at cleaning you up, but it had been dark, and he was exhausted, and he hadn’t done enough. 

“Where’d your sheets go, baby?” He asks once back by the front door with his own bag on his shoulder, setting a gentle hand on your lower back and holding out your charger for you. You jump slightly, and he makes circles on your back, wishing there was something he could do to settle you. 

“Oh! They—they got ruined. I threw them out. It’s fine. I have others.”

So you didn’t have enough energy this morning to walk a few feet to your shower, but stripping your bed, getting dressed, and walking down to the trash chute at the end of the hall had been top of your priority list. 

You swallow as he undoes the locks and holds the door open for you, and pretend like you’re not doing surveillance to either side as you stand in the hallway, locking your door again like you can’t get out of here fast enough. 

Spencer casts a sidelong glance at you and wonders if you’re intentionally avoiding eye contact. He tries not to think like a profiler. He tries not to assign meaning to your actions, but he can’t help it. He can’t not notice. 

He can’t not worry. 

And he can’t not wonder what you’re not telling him. 

-

part nine