#for the SOLE purpose of figuring out if you like them enough to be in a relationship

[accidental-apocalypse]

Dating people?? No thank you, I'd rather slowly fall in love with a kind, tea-making coworker/friend and not realise I have feelings for them until it all culminates in a dramatic showdown after which we basically get married and go off to live in Scotland - as Jonny Sims intended.

[echo-exco]

❝DOCTOR I CAN’T TELL IF I’M NOT ME.❞

୨⎯ ┊BATFAM X NEGLECTED!HEALER!READER ꒱

✰ ৎ──────SYPNOPSIS: all you ever wanted was a purpose. something that would give meaning to your existence, your power. healing others was the only thing that ever made you feel alive, needed… until you ended up in that awful place.

✰ ৎ────── masterlist. | next.

There is only one thing you ever truly wished for in this life: a purpose.

Something that would justify your existence, that would give meaning to every breath, every wound, every sleepless night.

And you found it. Not in an empty promise or in the affection of others. You found it in your own power.

A selfish desire, yes, but undeniably yours. A purpose born not out of love, but out of need.

From that strange power growing inside you, the one that forced you to look at others’ suffering with cold, almost cynical eyes. As if every wound were a problem only you could solve. As if every scream of pain were a prayer meant solely for you.

You clung to that.

To the idea that your worth existed only in your abilities.

The ability to stop someone from dying in front of you. To rip death from their body with your own hands. To stitch broken flesh with threads that hurt, yes, but worked. That was the only thing that ever made you feel alive. The only thing that ever made you feel alive, needed.

For a while, it was enough.

For a long while, you were selfish.

It didn’t matter if they used you. It didn’t matter if it hurt. If every healing left another scar on you. If every salvation cost you a little more of the little you had left.

As long as you could keep doing it—healing, fixing, protecting— the price didn’t matter.

Because at the end of the day, you could lie down on that mattress of emptiness and tell yourself: “Today, I made it worth it.”

Your existence and your power meant something.

Of course, you didn’t have a mother to share secrets with, nor guardians who offered you love. Only faces that came and went, and the bitter understanding that you were just another burden in a broken system.

Until, by some twisted stroke of fate, you had the “pleasure” of meeting your biological father.

Bruce Wayne.

Billionaire. Philanthropist. Playboy.

Batman.

Even so, none of that really mattered to you. What truly hit you was learning that you had to leave everything behind and go to Gotham.

That cursed city, that concrete jungle drowned in darkness and crime. Where dreams go to die and bodies, if they’re lucky, go to sleep.

Gotham wasn’t a home. It was a prison for someone like you.

A place where meta-humans like you were enemies, threats, problems to be contained.

Your power, your only purpose, was stripped away with nothing more than a change of zip code.

And that was the cruelest part of all.

Not being able to use it.

Not being able to save.

Not being able to be useful.

Your existence, reduced to ashes, like the bodies of those you didn’t reach in time.

It must be poetic, right? The healer who cannot heal. The savior without faith.

They hate you. You've felt it. That visceral resentment from those who survived because of you, but still blame you for what you couldn’t stop. Screams, stares, choked pleas— all of them pierced your soul deeper than any weapon ever could.

For someone who once swore to save lives, it’s only natural that those you vowed and wanted to save now express their utter disgust and despair toward the false, horrific salvation you once offered them.

And now? Now you live among strangers.

An immense mansion full of absences. With brothers who seemingly don’t recognize you, and a father who doesn’t see you.

Your arrival in Gotham wasn’t exactly ideal, at least, that’s how you think you remember it.

It’s hard for you to remember that moment. You don’t hold on to unnecessary memories… none of it will make you feel alive again.

Apparently, your new father figure has several children. Some of them are already adults. With lives of their own far from the mansion, you don’t know much about them, they were almost always too busy to say anything to you.

You can’t understand them, can’t they come up with better excuses? You don’t want these people’s attention.

These people can’t help you with your abilities. They can’t make you believe you’re still allowed to use them freely.

No, these people are just strangers who stumbled into your life overnight and want nothing to do with the problem. Not even your new father had the decency or responsibility to try forming a bond with you.

Bruce Wayne was an absent father. Not in the way someone leaves and disappears completely, but in the kind of absence that feels stronger the closer the person is. A hollow physical presence, like a ghost made of flesh and bone. One who could look you in the eyes and still not see you.

He struggled to communicate, to make time for you, to even remember that there was now one more occupied room in that massive mansion of his.

He doesn’t know how to deal with you, and you don’t know how to deal with him either. At first, you wondered if the problem was you. If you had done something wrong. If the way you talked, walked—even breathed, was so bothersome that he’d rather bury himself in work than give you an hour of his time.

But soon, you realized something even crueler: You don’t need a father. You’re not looking for one. You’re not waiting for one.

What you need is a patient. Someone you can heal. Someone who needs you.

Because that’s what you’ve always done. Heal. And Bruce… Bruce simply refuses to be healed.

But he doesn’t understand.

When you approach him, when you seek him out, when you try to speak to him, all he does is throw up a wall made of cold words, as practical and impersonal as that damn business suit of his.

“I’m busy.”

“Not now.”

“We’ll talk later.”

“It’s for work.”

Always the same. Always excuses with the bitter taste of indifference.

Is this what having a father is supposed to feel like? Because if it is, then it doesn’t feel any different from your days in foster care.

At least there, you knew you were alone. Here, they make you believe you’re not… but you are, more than ever.

You’ve learned to observe the details, as always. It’s one of the few things you’re good at, aside from using your power.

You notice the tired look in his eyes, the dark circles underneath, the way his fingers tense around his pen like he’s trying to crush it. The stack of papers on his desk never gets smaller, it’s like it multiplies just to keep you at a distance.

And the subtle changes… that lower tone in his voice when he sees you, like he can’t even be bothered to raise it for you. The way his eyebrows furrow, not out of anger, just… annoyance. Irritation.

That’s what hurt the most.

So you stopped trying. Because if you kept going, you were only going to be reprimanded by the one you were supposed to please. You convinced yourself that you don’t need his approval. That you don’t need his love. That you’re better off without him.

But then, why is it that every time you walk past his office, you pause for a second, hoping that door opens, just once, without you knocking first?

Why do you still need him to see you?

Richard Grayson is the eldest. The first adopted son of Bruce Wayne. Everyone sees him as a beacon of hope, the moral compass of this family made of shadows and scars. And it makes sense. He has that bright smile, that genuine warmth the others can barely fake. He gives out hugs without being asked, listens patiently, laughs easily, and has that absurd gift of making anyone feel seen, at least, if you’re one of his.

Because with you, it was always different.

From the beginning, Richard seemed kind. Seemed. But between that warmth and you, there was always a distance, like someone had drawn a curtain between the two of you. You heard his apologies more than you heard his actual voice.

“Sorry, I have to head out right now.”

“Sorry, I was already on my way to Blüdhaven.”

“Next time, I promise.”

He was always rushing. Always busy. Always somewhere else. And you… you’re not someone who believes in empty promises.

At first, you thought it was just bad luck. That maybe if you insisted a little, if you found an excuse, if you caught him in the kitchen, he might stay for five minutes. Just five. But those minutes never came. And you started to notice a pattern. How his demeanor shifted the moment you walked into the room. How his smile became more diplomatic. More rehearsed. How his footsteps sped up when he thought you weren’t watching.

You didn’t want to admit it at first, but something inside you began to whisper an uncomfortable truth; He was avoiding you.

And then you understood. If Richard Grayson, the kindest, the most human, the most "big brother" of them all, couldn’t be around you, then what was the point of trying with the others? What could you possibly expect from Jason, who barely speaks to you? From Tim, who seems more invested in his computer than in actual people? From Damian, who can barely tolerate his own shadow?

So you did the same.

You avoided them. One by one.

You decided it wasn’t worth it. That if you weren’t going to be a real part of this family, you weren’t going to pretend.

It’s easier that way. It doesn’t hurt as much if you’re the one walking away first.

But sometimes, when you see them laughing together from the staircase, or hear Richard speaking so fondly of the others, a part of you wonders if it was ever really your choice to walk away, or if they’d been leaving you behind from the very beginning.

Your suspicions didn’t take long to confirm. All it took was talking to a few of your supposed brothers to realize the pattern repeated itself.

Jason, Tim, Damian…

Each one was a story unto themselves. Each one was a maze of traumas, masks, and poorly calibrated emotional responses. But if you had to describe them in one word, it would be: inaccessible.

The second of your brothers was Jason, and from what little you could gather, because no one seemed eager to talk about it much, Jason had died. And then he came back. It wasn’t a metaphor. It wasn’t an exaggeration. He had been buried, and now he was not. That simple statement was enough to provoke a morbid curiosity, almost scientific. What had changed in his body? Did he suffer from partial necrosis? Brain damage? Did his muscles regenerate? What residual effects did resurrection have on human physiology? Everything in you screamed to investigate. To dissect. To understand.

It was a dangerous thought. You knew that. You repeated it to yourself like a mantra: too tempting for your own good.

But what confused you the most wasn’t his condition, it was his behavior toward you. Jason had this aura of latent violence, like dynamite that could explode with the wrong spark. But that wasn’t what kept you away. Not entirely. It was his inexplicable rejection.

You didn’t understand it. You didn’t provoke him. You didn’t talk to him, you didn’t interfere, you didn’t cross the line. And yet, his gaze was always sharp. As if your mere presence triggered something in him. Irritation. Annoyance. Maybe even disdain.

You wondered if it was your fault. If the way you were, the way you spoke, the way you were, simply bothered him. But you couldn’t find an answer. And though you wanted to, you knew that getting closer would be too risky.

Because you’ve seen the broken walls. The misaligned doors. The tables split in two like they were made of paper. You’ve felt the tension in the air when Jason enters a room and isn’t in the mood. And you know, without needing confirmation, that his punches aren’t soft. That his rage doesn’t distinguish between the guilty and the witnesses.

So, you avoid him.

Not out of fear exactly, but out of caution. Self-preservation. You don’t want to be the next crack in the walls of this house.

Tim was a different kind of strange. More than Jason, though in a completely different way. His oddity didn’t stem from aggression or visible trauma. It was more subtle. More internal.

Almost clinical.

You observed him, like you observe everything. With that gaze of yours that searches for patterns, inconsistencies, vulnerabilities. And in him, you found many.

Surprisingly, Tim was brilliant. Not just "smart for his age," but one of those cases where the brain moves faster than the body. Too fast. So much so, that sometimes it seemed like his body gave up halfway through.

The dark circles under his eyes were a constant. His responses were slow, as if they had to pass through a filter of a thousand thoughts before being verbalized. He walked like his mind was too heavy for his spine to carry. A shadow carrying ideas. You were surprised he hadn’t fainted yet from the combination of insomnia, chronic stress, and mild malnutrition.

No one asked you.

No one thanked you.

But still, you started leaving him food. Food that could sustain him without causing a stomach collapse. Nothing too obvious, of course. A yogurt here. Cut fruits there.

Something easy to eat between keystrokes. You allied yourself with Alfred in that small act of silent intervention. The old butler seemed to notice, but he never mentioned it. And you never confirmed it.

Tim would probably assume it was all Alfred’s doing. In fact, you counted on it.

Not because you wanted to keep it a secret. But because you knew that if he suspected you were behind something so... "thoughtful," it would only make him uncomfortable. He doesn’t know how to respond to care, to the intention behind such detail. Tim doesn’t know how to handle it if that sincere gesture comes from you.

Just like you would if any of them ever tried it with you.

Alfred... Alfred is a different matter.

Of all the people in the house, he’s the only one who acts like your existence isn’t a miscalculation. But he doesn’t fool himself. He doesn’t offer you love, or tenderness. He offers you structure. Routine. Measured phrases and cups of tea.

It’s not affection between you.

It’s a sort of tacit alliance.

Two functional people in the middle of a broken ecosystem.

You know he tries. But you also know it’s not enough for you.

You’ve seen children like you. In hospitals. In refugee camps. In temporary homes. Children who cling to an adult figure as if their life depended on it, and are then destroyed when that figure leaves. Or worse, when they stay but stop looking.

You don’t want that for yourself.

You convince yourself this is better. A working relationship. A dynamic where each one fulfills their role and no one crosses the line into the personal. Because if you get attached, if you let yourself believe this could mean something...

You know how that ends. They can’t give you what you’re looking for.

They can’t give you purpose.

They can’t return what was taken from you when you understood that your value only exists if you can heal, if you can serve, if you can be useful.

You still don’t know who you are when you’re none of that.

Back to the subject of your "family," the last on the list of who your siblings were, was Damian.

The youngest of the group. The second biological son of Bruce Wayne.

You said it out loud once, casually: "Ah, so he is the real one."

No one found it funny.

Unlike the others, Damian didn’t need time to show you that you weren’t welcome. He didn’t bother to fake courtesy or neutrality. From the beginning, he made it clear that your existence was expendable.

Maybe it was your silence. Maybe it was your lack of reaction to his provocations. Maybe he just didn’t like you. But he pointed his katana at you the first month you arrived.

The blade against your neck wasn’t a metaphor. It was real, cold, intimidating contact. You felt a thread of power activate instinctively in your body, a reflex of defense, of desperation. If you had let it go, well, you wouldn’t be here, mentally recalling this account.

You didn’t. Not for him. For you.

Because it wasn’t worth it. Because using your power on someone in your “family” would mean admitting they were important enough to hurt you.

They weren’t. Not yet.

You can’t risk being discovered. No one can know that you actually have this power. None of them can know.

Bruce appeared just in time to prevent the confrontation from escalating. Did he protect you? Not exactly. He simply said something like, “Damian has a complicated history,” as if that justified a death threat in the family kitchen.

Is it common in Gotham to justify a child’s homicidal impulses if they've had a difficult childhood?

That was your question. You didn’t ask it out loud. No one would have liked the answer.

It was also that day you found out that Damian was Bruce’s biological son. And you couldn’t help but think about the irony of it all.

The same Bruce Wayne who, in the public eye, was a scandalous figure, a charming, charismatic playboy billionaire with endless parties, had exactly one biological child. One. Not five. Not a legion of illegitimate children scattered across the world. Just one.

That kid turned out to be a ticking time bomb with a traditional sword.

Everything fit so perfectly wrong that it almost seemed planned.

With the girls, it's complicated. Maybe even more so because, deep down, a part of you thought they could be different.

Stephanie. She was like a female version of Richard, a constant smile, a vibrant energy that everyone seemed to adore, except you.

She greeted you with empty enthusiasm, one that never went beyond the surface. It was easy to see that behind her good mood, there was a locked door she wasn’t going to open for you.

And you understood. Because you'd seen it before.

People who act as if everyone is welcome, except you.

Stephanie was just another confirmation that no matter how hard you tried to fit in, this home was already full. You weren’t in the original plan. You never were.

Barbara, on the other hand, was simpler. She was hardly ever at the mansion. You’d see her sporadically, a red ghost in the shadows of fleeting visits. And still, in that limited time, she always found a way to smile at others, share a joke, a quick conversation, a knowing glance… Never with you.

Not once.

It was as if your presence went by unnoticed, not even worth including out of courtesy.

Cassandra was the most honest, in a way. She didn’t pretend. She didn’t smile. She didn’t speak.

She ignored your attempts to help with almost admirable efficiency. You could attribute it to her trauma, her history, her way of seeing the world… but that excuse starts to wear thin when it’s the only one left to justify everything.

Maybe you’re just not interesting. Maybe you don’t even stand out enough to be actively rejected.

Or is it because you don’t even deserve her attention?

It was easier to believe that they all had a reason not to see you.

Easier than admitting that maybe, you weren’t that hard to ignore.

What was dangerous about this family wasn’t the weapons, nor the katanas, nor the fists that had broken ribs more than once.

It was the mask.

It took you time to understand it. First, it was a hunch. Then a suspicion. Finally, a certainty: they were all vigilantes. Heroes of Gotham. The same ones who make your hands tremble when you try to use your power. The ones who make your gift feel useless. As if it were a mistake rather than a blessing.

The irony is so perfect it could almost make you laugh.

You can’t feel useful, can’t do the one thing you know how to do perfectly, because you’re surrounded by those who fight so that people and beings like you are neither necessary nor welcome.

And yet, you prefer them this way.

Cold. Distant. Detached. Unknown. Because connections are dangerous. Because memories weigh. Because at some point, someone taught you that affection is the hook that precedes the pain.

Because you know it better than anyone. When you get attached to someone, it’s not just pain that you feel when you lose them. It’s as if a part of you dies too. Not because you lose them, but because without your power, without that “usefulness,” you feel like you never deserved to have them in the first place.

In Gotham, you can’t do anything.

You can't heal.

You can't save.

You can't be useful.

You can't be loved. Or at least, that’s what they taught you to believe.

Here, you have no parts left that you can afford to lose. Not while you're trapped in this city that doesn’t need what you can give. A family that doesn't know what to do with you. You don’t know what to do with yourself either.

They can’t give you a purpose.

They never could.

They didn’t even try.

You expected so little, that not even that surprised you.

Until you found him.

The only living person who not only recognized your power, but accepted it for what you wanted it to be:

A miracle.

He called himself Doctor Masashi. A kind voice, a serene figure. But behind that calmness was surgical precision. He knew exactly how to shape you. How to rebuild you, only to destroy you again with elegance.

He was the only one who never lied to you about what you were:

A weapon.

A tool.

A precious jewel that only shines when it bleeds for others.

A perfect puppet.

And you, grateful for the strings.

He gave you direction when all you had was guilt.

He gave you structure when all you had was emptiness.

He gave you… meaning. A cruel meaning. A conditioned meaning. But still, you took it.

It can't be that bad, right?

Clinging to that.

Clinging to him.

Clinging to something that tells you that you can still be "something."

Because if someone, even just one person, can look at you and say that you are good for something, then you're not broken.

Then you're not alone. Then everything that hurt was worth it.

Even if guilt drowns you every night.

Even if the nightmares never rest.

Even if the hands you tried to save still drag you from their graves, begging for a second death.

It doesn't matter. As long as someone believes that keeping you alive makes sense... then that’s enough.

Right?

Maybe you're a weapon.

Maybe you're selfish.

Maybe you did it all just out of fear of disappearing, for that unbearable need to feel alive.

The need to feel that you matter. To have a place to fit in.

But at least you're something. In this shattered world, that's already more than many have.

But how much more can you take before you truly break? How much longer before you completely crumble, like so many times you did on the inside? How much will the price of his greed cost… and your desperate desire to remain useful?

Because in the end, it wasn't Bruce.

Nor your brothers.

Nor your sisters.

None of them ever knew who you were.

None of them understood.

Only him. Only Masashi.

That’s what scares you the most. Because if even he can make you believe that’s all you’re worth. If even he manages to make you cling to that idea, then maybe, you were never more than that.

Maybe you were never more than your power, and in Gotham, where you can no longer use it...

Not even that belongs to you.

[edenesth]

ATEEZ as Hogwarts Students

Pairing(s): hogwarts student!ateez x hogwarts student!reader

Word Count: 9.8k

A/N: Oh my gosh, thank you all so much for helping me reach 2.3k followers! To celebrate this, I'm back again with another one of these! Once again, special thanks to my one and only, my pookie, @itstheghostofmypast, for helping me confirm which houses some of the members should be in💘

ATEEZ MASTERLIST

Hongjoong ↠ Gryffindor

The Poor Prefect That Nobody Takes Seriously

"I swear to god, if I see another damn chocolate frog loose in the dorm, I'll—" Before Hongjoong could even finish, a cheeky first-year passing by stuck his tongue out at him. "What are you gonna do? Run off to cry to Professor McGonagall again?"

The seventh-year's jaw dropped, his blood pressure spiking, but the kid was gone before he could even scold him. Two years—he'd been a prefect for almost two years now, and still, no one ever took him seriously. Thinking back to his early days as an optimistic prefect, eager to bring order and discipline to his rowdy housemates, he knew now how impossible that dream was.

But was he going to stop trying?

Not a damn chance.

Hongjoong had chosen to become a prefect the very moment he was eligible in his fifth year. Professors had always praised him as reliable, a natural-born leader, and he'd believed that wholeheartedly. He'd pictured himself bringing order to his dormitory, respected by his housemates for his efforts to keep things in line. But the reality? Gryffindors, as he was learning, could be a lot harder to control than he ever expected.

Unfortunately, his "small but mighty" reputation didn't exactly translate into authority. He'd start off with a firm tone, reminding them of the rules, only to watch them twist his words into a rallying cry for their next scheme. His attempts at seriousness somehow only fueled their chaotic Gryffindor spirits, making him seem more like a mascot for daring antics than a figure of discipline.

While the academic staff continued to commend his commitment, his classmates saw him as the "cool" prefect—the one who'd cover for them more often than not, a little too forgiving to actually be feared. Some nights, he'd even find himself dragged into the very pranks he was supposed to be preventing, swept up by the contagious energy of his friends.

Despite everything, Hongjoong couldn't bring himself to truly give up. Every morning, he'd tell himself that today was the day he'd put his foot down, that he'd be the prefect his professors always said he could be. He knew the odds weren't in his favour, but in true Gryffindor fashion, he wasn't about to back down from the challenge.

Today's the day—I can feel it in my bones.

Letting out a determined breath, Hongjoong's gaze fixed on the notice board, now littered with doodles, silly notes, and questionable "decorations." With a purposeful nod, he crossed his arms and cleared his throat, catching the attention of the Gryffindors lounging around the common room. "Forget the frogs then. How many times have I told you all not to vandalise the notice board with your nonsense? It's used solely for—"

"For important announcements. Yes, we get it," piped up a cheeky third-year, eyes glinting with mischief. "But there are no announcements at the moment, so is it really so bad if we, y'know, decorate a little?"

And there it was again—the quick responses that left him speechless every time. Hongjoong tried to keep his expression stern, but a tiny part of him could almost see their point. Was it so bad to have a bit of fun? No, he reminded himself, that's not the point. But as he felt his resolve waver, he knew a miracle wasn't going to happen today. Why couldn't he be both firm and likeable, just like—

"Oh, so you want to test if it's bad?" your voice cut through, sharp but calm, as you stepped down from the spiral staircase. You'd been listening long enough to hear their usual defiance, and you were not about to let them undermine your boyfriend's authority. "How about we invite the professors to take a look at your 'artwork' and see how much they'd appreciate it, hm?"

Like you.

Hongjoong released a breath he hadn't realised he was holding, grateful for your support. You, with your knack for balancing authority and approachability, were everything he wished he could be as a prefect. If he could just learn how to be firm, like you, maybe Gryffindor's antics would finally come under control.

"You heard her," he added, finding a bit of confidence again as he nodded in agreement. "Clean it up. Now."

The students exchanged glances, sighing as they reluctantly began peeling off the doodles. He couldn't help but grin a little as he glanced your way.

"Thanks, babe," he mouthed.

You shook your head, smiling as you nodded toward the remaining Gryffindors lounging around. "I'm heading to the Great Hall first. I'll leave it to you to get everyone to breakfast on time, Joong. Think you can handle it?"

Hongjoong nodded enthusiastically, eager to make you proud. "You bet. They're going to see a whole new Prefect Kim this year," he declared confidently.

You laughed, both amused and a bit sceptical. He'd nearly caved to their antics just moments ago, but that was part of his charm. You loved how different he was from you—how he helped you loosen up when you were too serious, just as you helped him stay firm when he got a little too lenient. Together, you two were like yin and yang, balanced and perfectly matched, as everyone in the house always teased.

Squeezing his hand, you gave him a playful smile. "Show 'em, tiger," you winked before turning to leave, catching a glimpse of his cheeks turning pink.

The moment you were out of sight, the common room burst into whistles and smirks around him. Snapping out of his trance, your boyfriend rolled his eyes, trying to keep his composure.

"Alright, folks," he called out, clapping his hands. "You heard my girl. Let's cooperate for once and head to the Great Hall on time—don't make me disappoint her!"

The Gryffindors grinned, shuffling toward the door without a fuss, eager to play along. He smirked, pleased with their obedience whenever you were mentioned. Maybe he'd always need your presence to keep this difficult crowd in line, but he didn't mind at all. He knew they didn't have to fear him for him to be a good prefect. Deep down, he knew they all adored him, and he was pretty sure that, rule-breaking aside, they wouldn't truly make things difficult for him. They just loved teasing him—because, honestly, he might just be their favourite prefect.

Seonghwa ↠ Hufflepuff

The Goody Two Shoes and Teacher's Pet

"Oh, Seonghwa, my boy! What brings you here on a weekend? Shouldn't you be off enjoying Hogsmeade with your girlfriend?" Professor Sprout asked, pleasantly surprised as her star student stepped into the greenhouse, notebook in hand. The seventh-year smiled brightly, giving her a respectful nod before approaching.

"Good afternoon, Professor! I just came by to check on my mandrake—I'm determined to cultivate one to maturity for my latest Restorative Draught. And, uh… my girlfriend, she'll be here to join me soon," he added, rubbing the back of his neck, cheeks turning pink at the mention of you.

Professor Sprout's expression softened, a smile touching her lips. "You're too hard working for your own good, both of you," she gently chided, pride swelling as she glanced at the Hufflepuff sigil pinned proudly on his denim jacket. Even on a day when house representation wasn't required, Park Seonghwa wore his Hufflepuff loyalty openly, reminding everyone where his heart belonged. She knew he had a bright future ahead, and if she were to ever consider early retirement, he would be her top choice to take over as the next Herbology professor.

As if on cue, you pushed open the greenhouse doors and stepped inside. "Hwa, are you here already?" you called, glancing around before your eyes landed on your boyfriend and Professor Sprout.

Seonghwa, who'd been focused on his mandrake, looked up at the sound of your voice, a soft smile lighting up his face. In the presence of authority, he resisted the urge to rush over and hug you, his restraint both endearing and unmistakable. You bit back a laugh, amused by his adorable attempt at composure.

"Oh! Good afternoon, Professor!" you greeted, nodding respectfully. "Are we disturbing you? We can come another day if you need the greenhouse for your work."

She smiled warmly, waving off your concern. "Not at all, dearie. I was just on my way out. You two enjoy your little date," she added with a knowing wink. "And if you're in the mood for a treat, there are some extra Every Flavour Beans on the top shelf—please help yourselves."

"Thank you, Professor!" you and Seonghwa chimed in unison, exchanging a look of warmth and shared gratitude. As the elderly woman left, he gently took your hand, pulling you close enough to place a soft kiss on your forehead. You leaned into him with a contented sigh. "How embarrassing—now she's certain we're dating," you murmured, unable to hide your own smile.

He chuckled, his eyes dancing with affection. "Is that such a terrible thing, love? Maybe it's time the whole world knows you're mine."

You gasped in mock scandal, playfully nudging his shoulder. "How improper," you laughed, but a blush crept into your cheeks. Though you'd never formally announced your relationship, it was hardly a secret—everyone must have guessed by now with all the time you spent together. But for the sake of his reputation as the model student, you'd both kept things understated, not feeling the need to broadcast your love. Now, though, there was a new spark in his eyes, a hint of the Slytherin heritage running through his veins, as if he suddenly wanted the world to see what his heart had always known.

Seonghwa, after all, was the first Hufflepuff in a long line of Ravenclaws and Slytherins—a surprise his family hadn't quite anticipated. But their surprise had never bothered him. Instead, it had only strengthened his resolve to prove that Hufflepuff was as noble and worthy as any other house. Consistently at the top of his class in Herbology and Care of Magical Creatures, he'd gained the admiration of professors for his quiet dedication and high moral standards. Always the first to lend a hand to new students or submit his assignments, he was as dependable as they came.

Yet as much as he wanted to honour his house and his achievements, his heart now longed for something deeper. For the first time, he wanted his family—and everyone else—to see you, the one who had believed in him through every challenge and celebrated every victory, who had loved him exactly as he was. He knew that letting you into his life so openly would be the proudest badge he could ever wear.

"So," he began, biting his lip as he shifted his focus from the mandrake to you, who was busily jotting down notes about its latest growth. "Should we spend some time in Hogsmeade after this?" His voice was soft, almost hesitant, and your eyes widened slightly, your actions faltering as you locked gazes with him.

"You're joking, right? All our friends are there—" you started, but he shook his head, his expression earnest. "I'm serious, love."

The weight of his words sank in, and you realised he wasn't joking at all. A rush of emotions washed over you. "I... I don't know why it took me so long, but I don't want to hide my feelings for you anymore. I want to openly show my affection and be like every other couple in school. It's already our seventh year, and we haven't even been on a proper date. Can we make this the first of many more? Would you like to... go on a date with me?"

Placing your pen down, you blinked, your heart racing at his sincere proposal. This was a big step. Once the truth was out in the open, there would be no turning back—everyone, including his family, would know about you two. But as you looked into his eyes, you felt a rush of warmth. If he was ready for it, then so were you. You knew he would always protect you, no matter what.

With a shy smile, you nodded, feeling butterflies fluttering in your stomach. "Thought you'd never ask."

His face broke into a radiant grin, and the world around you seemed to melt away. Seonghwa stepped closer, allowing your head to rest against his shoulder, enveloped in the warmth of his presence like a cosy blanket. "I can't wait," he murmured softly.

"Me too," you replied, a wave of excitement bubbling in your chest.

In that greenhouse, surrounded by vibrant plants and warm sunlight, you both felt the first tender blooms of something beautiful—a love that was finally ready to thrive in the open, with all the joy and light that came with it.

Yunho ↠ Hufflepuff

The Popular Triwizard Champion

"Well? Have you managed to figure out the next task, golden boy?"

Yunho's head snapped around at the sound of your voice, his wide eyes betraying his surprise. Before he could respond, a few stray water droplets from his damp hair splashed onto you, drawing a squeal from your lips.

"Oh no! Angel, I'm so sorry!" he stammered, hastily brushing at your sleeve, his genuine concern making you laugh. He held the golden egg tightly, now safely shut after his latest round of inspections. "But seriously, what are you doing here? You'll be in trouble if anyone finds you sneaking into the prefect's bathroom!"

You snorted, though your heart melted at the way his brows knitted with worry. "Well, I could say the same for you, Yuyu. You're not a prefect either," you quipped with a grin.

He chuckled, the sound echoing in the steamy room as he swam closer to where you sat at the edge of the bath, your legs lazily dangling in the water. Gently, he set the golden egg beside you, then rested his arms on your thighs, gazing up at you with a playful smirk.

"The difference is, I'm a Triwizard Champion," he teased, his grin widening, "and you're not."

Rolling your eyes, you booped his nose with a finger, earning a soft laugh from him. "True, I'm not," you replied, sticking your tongue out cheekily. "But I am your girlfriend, so that grants me a special privilege, doesn't it?"

Yunho's gaze softened as he beamed up at you, water glistening on his face like tiny jewels. "Yeah," he murmured, his voice warm and affectionate. "It definitely does."

With a tender smile, you reached out to brush the water from his face, gently pushing his damp hair back from his eyes. Your heart skipped a beat when he instinctively leaned into your touch, his warmth grounding you despite the growing tension in your chest.

"You haven't answered me yet," you reminded him softly, your voice barely above a whisper. "Have you figured out the answer to the second task?"

He nodded, his hand lifting to cover yours on his cheek, holding it in place as though it anchored him. He gave your fingers a soft, reassuring squeeze. "I have," he murmured, his gaze meeting yours with a quiet intensity. "But... I don't want you to freak out. Everything's going to be okay, I promise."

Despite his comforting tone, the knot in your stomach tightened. You tried to mask it with a cheeky smile, nudging him lightly with your foot in the water. "Suuure, Yuyu. I totally believe you when you say these tasks will get easier. I mean, it's not like the first one involved dragons or anything."

Your boyfriend sighed, a bittersweet smile tugging at his lips. You knew he was thinking about the moment his name had been announced as the Hogwarts champion—the wave of fear that had gripped you as the Great Hall erupted in cheers.

He had submitted his name on a whim, more as a joke than anything. He hadn't thought for a second he'd actually be chosen. But of course, you should've known better. He was Jung Yunho—the school's golden boy. Everyone adored him, from his endless optimism to his natural charm. He could light up any room he walked into and never turned away anyone in need. His wild card selection had shocked everyone, but he had embraced it with the same unshakable enthusiasm he brought to everything in life.

For him, the Triwizard Tournament was an adventure, a chance to make memories and new friends. For you, it was a constant worry. You knew the dangers far too well, and it terrified you. Still, when he had emerged victorious after the first task, his joy had been contagious, and you told yourself you had to let your fear go. You couldn't hold him back from greatness. He needed your support, and you were determined to be the girlfriend he deserved.

Leaning forward, you pressed a quick kiss to his lips, hoping it would reassure him as much as it did you. "Alright," you whispered, brushing your thumb along his jaw. "So tell me. What's the second task?"

Before you could pull away, he held onto you, wrapping an arm around your waist and resting his forehead against yours. His voice softened, steady but laced with a vulnerability he rarely showed.

"The Black Lake," he said quietly. "I... I have a feeling I'm going to need you to get through this task."

His words sent a shiver down your spine, but the conviction in his eyes made you hold your ground. Whatever this task demanded, you knew one thing for sure: you'd face it together.

And his predictions couldn't have been more accurate—he and the champions from Durmstrang and Beauxbatons had an hour to retrieve something that had been stolen from them from the merpeople's village beneath the Black Lake.

The lake was eerily silent, its surface shimmering under the overcast sky as Yunho broke through the water, gasping for air. His strong arms cradled you protectively, his chest rising and falling in rapid bursts. The tension that had gripped him since the start of the task finally began to ease now that you were safe in his embrace.

You coughed violently, expelling the icy water from your lungs, your breaths coming in sharp, shallow bursts. The fragments of what had happened began piecing themselves together in your mind—the haunting stillness of the underwater village, the muffled echo of water all around, and your boyfriend's words from the prefect's bathroom resurfacing with a jarring clarity: "I have a feeling I'm going to need you to get through this task."

He had been right.

The task wasn't just about retrieving an object of value—it was about recovering the most precious thing stolen from them.

For Yunho, that had been you.

"Oh thank god, you're alright," he murmured, his voice thick with relief as he guided you onto the shore. The cheers and applause from the crowd were a distant hum in the background, drowned out by the pounding of his heart. Grabbing a towel, he draped it over your shoulders, enveloping you in its warmth before pulling you close. His arms wrapped around you securely, as though anchoring you back to him and shielding you from the chill that clung to the air.

You pressed your forehead against his shoulder, his familiar scent grounding you amidst the chaos of the moment. Despite the lingering cold, a soft smile crept onto your lips. Your voice, though weak, carried an unwavering sincerity. "How could I not be? You'll always save me… my hero."

His grip on you tightened at your words, his heart swelling with emotion as he buried his face in your hair. "Always," he whispered, his voice steady but laced with the weight of his promise. "Now I understand how hard it is for you to worry about me. I promise I'll make it out alive, every time—for you."

The announcement of his second-place finish barely registered. Everything seemed insignificant in the face of what truly mattered. All that filled his mind was the undeniable fact that you were safe, right here in his arms—the one person he cared for most.

Yeosang ↠ Ravenclaw

The Annoying Ace

"Hey, Kang! What'd you get for Potions? There's no way you aced it this time—it was brutal, and you barely studied before the test," a fellow Ravenclaw called out, pulling Yeosang from his thoughts. He glanced up, a small, nonchalant smile gracing his lips as he held up his graded paper. "You're right, it was tough. I only got an A- this time."

The room fell silent. His classmates stared at him, their jaws nearly hitting the floor. Was he serious? Most of the class had barely scraped by, even after endless hours of revision. Seventh-year Potions was no joke, filled with the most complex and challenging formulas known to the wizarding world.

"Only an A-? Are you kidding me? Did you bribe the professor or something?" someone blurted out, their voice tinged with disbelief.

You, seated next to your boyfriend, shot them a sharp glare. "Say that again in front of Professor Slughorn. I dare you," you retorted, crossing your arms.

The student huffed indignantly, muttering under their breath. "Whatever. You probably cheated with Felix Felicis or something."

Before you could unleash another scathing comeback, Yeosang gently placed a hand on your shoulder, his calm demeanour soothing your rising temper. His ever-composed smile didn't waver as he addressed the accusation. "Well," he began, his voice light but laced with quiet confidence, "if we were skilled enough to brew the Liquid Luck flawlessly and effectively, wouldn't that alone prove we deserve our grades?"

The remark landed with perfect precision, leaving everyone speechless. They knew he had a point. Brewing the luck potion wasn't just difficult—it was borderline impossible for most, requiring six months of meticulous preparation and risking catastrophic failure if done even slightly wrong.

The room buzzed with unspoken thoughts. If you and Yeosang could pull off such a feat, would the Potions exam have been challenging for either of you?

Your lips quirked into a satisfied smile as you exchanged a glance with your boyfriend. That was just like him—always shutting down his doubters with quiet brilliance, never needing to raise his voice to prove his worth.

"Man, I really need to learn how to be as effortlessly cool as you," you teased, giving his shoulder a playful nudge as he led you by the hand out of the classroom and toward the courtyard for some fresh air.

He glanced at you, his usual relaxed grin softening into something fonder. "You're already the coolest person to me," he replied casually as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.

Your cheeks warmed instantly, and you lightly smacked his arm, looking away as you bit your lip to hide the spreading blush. Even now, you could hardly believe he had accepted your confession back then—and that he was now your boyfriend. To you, he had always seemed so distant, so untouchable, like a star out of reach.

That was, until the day he noticed you struggling with a potion after class and offered to help. You hadn't known it at the time, but that small moment of kindness would lead to something far greater.

Yeosang is that Ravenclaw—the one who always seems lost in his thoughts yet somehow aces every test with ease, charming every professor in the process. He's the envy of his classmates, who burn the midnight oil studying while he effortlessly secures perfect scores. His calm, almost ethereal demeanour only adds to the intrigue, making him a bit of a mystery to everyone around him.

No one can figure out how he manages to zone out during Potions lessons and still brew flawless draughts, but they're too in awe (and slightly frustrated) to ask. It's just him—an enigma wrapped in quiet confidence, and somehow, he was yours.

"But seriously, Yeo, have you actually managed to perfect your luck potion? Don't think I didn't notice Professor Slughorn sneaking glances your way. He really did trust you to brew some for him, didn't he?" you asked, leaning your head against his shoulder, fingers gently squeezing his where they were intertwined with yours.

He hummed softly, the sound vibrating against you as he rested his head atop yours. With a flick of his wand, he cast a subtle charm to deflect a stray prank from a group of cheeky Gryffindors playing with products from Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes. The spell stopped the flying object just before it could land anywhere near you. Your heart fluttered at his nonchalant protectiveness, and you couldn't help but notice the envious sighs from a few girls nearby.

"I'll answer that," he murmured, his tone teasing, "when you tell me how you managed to brew such a flawless Amortentia draught."

You blinked, lifting your head to meet his gaze. "The love potion? What are you talking about? I've never even tried to make one."

A small smile tugged at his lips, and he reached up to tuck a stray strand of hair behind your ear. "Are you sure about that?"

You furrowed your brows, your confusion deepening. "Yes, I'm sure," you replied, your tone laced with scepticism. But before you could press him further, he leaned in and stole a quick kiss, leaving you gasping softly in surprise. Your hand flew to your lips, cheeks aflame as you tried to process what just happened.

Yeosang chuckled at your flustered reaction, his arm slipping securely around your back as he guided you to keep walking. "Then explain how you managed to make me so hopelessly enamoured with you," he said, his voice low but teasing. "It's the only logical explanation for how smitten I am."

"Oh, obviously. That's the only logical explanation," you burst out laughing, playfully trying to push him away, but he held firm, his grip steady yet gentle.

He chuckled along with you, pressing a tender kiss to the top of your head. "Exactly, my love. You've clearly bewitched me, and I have no intention of breaking free."

"The feeling's mutual, my darling genius."

San ↠ Slytherin

The Intimidating Head Boy Who's Secretly a Softie

"Oh, come on, Pumpkin! When will you learn to leave the Monster Book of Monsters alone?!" San groaned in exasperation, his eyes following his mischievous cat as it darted around, narrowly avoiding the snapping Care of Magical Creatures textbook that was now chasing it across the yard. The naughty feline had somehow managed to unclasp the book—again. "Come here, you stubborn little thing!" he called, swooping in to scoop up the cat.

With practised ease, he approached the wild book, stroking its spine gently until it calmed and locked itself shut, just as Hagrid had taught. Of course, San was probably the only one who had actually paid attention to that particular lesson.

A dramatic gasp caught his attention, and he turned to find you standing nearby, a teasing grin plastered across your face.

"Well well, who would've thought? The scary and intimidating Choi San names his cat Pumpkin? And a cat, no less? I always pictured you with an owl or a crow. Guess you're a softie after all. Wait till the rest of the house finds out."

He rolled his eyes but smirked, settling back into his seat behind Hagrid's hut. "Go ahead and tell them, sweetheart. It's not like I asked anyone to see me as the 'mean and cold Slytherin.' If they want to believe that, then that's on them."

You chuckled and took a seat beside him, watching as he cooed at his cat and peppered it with kisses. "So, what's a big bad boy like you doing out here, hm?"

"Detention, obviously," he deadpanned, his tone dripping with sarcasm. "Fits my reputation, doesn't it?"

You shook your head knowingly, the corner of your lips curling upward. "If that's what you're calling it, sure. But Hagrid told me you were out here for some extra lessons on Hippogriffs when I passed him earlier."

He feigned a pout, resting his chin on Pumpkin's head. "Damn, you caught me. There goes my big bad boy image. Boohoo."

You burst out laughing, unable to hold it in.

San had always been an enigma to those around him. With his sharp, commanding presence and role as Head Boy, he had a reputation for being unapproachable. First-years practically scrambled out of his way in the corridors. But those who dared get to know him soon discovered that beneath the piercing gaze and confident swagger was a playful, caring soul who adored magical creatures.

And you? You were supposedly his rival—his female counterpart, according to your peers. With your equally composed demeanour and role as Head Girl, it wasn't uncommon for people to pit the two of you against each other. But those who looked closer would've seen the truth: you were far from rivals. If anything, you were two halves of the same warm, hidden flame, especially when it came to each other.

"Well, I hope you don't mind me joining you on your little detention, Choi," you teased, leaning your head against his shoulder.

He hummed thoughtfully, nuzzling his head against yours. "On one condition."

"And what's that?" you glanced up at him.

He bit his lip, his eyes sparkling with mischief. "Let me take you to Hogsmeade this weekend, Head Girl."

"Alright, alright. None of that in my class," Hagrid's booming voice cut through the moment, startling both of you as you quickly pulled apart, clearing your throats in unison.

San shifted awkwardly, rubbing the back of his neck while you tried—and failed—to suppress a laugh.

Hagrid folded his massive arms across his chest, his bushy eyebrows raised knowingly. "We're only doing this if you're both serious, okay? This isn't some fun little date idea."

You nodded earnestly, though the corners of your lips twitched with amusement. "Of course, Professor. We're serious about this."

But Hagrid wasn't done.

Turning his attention to the Head Boy, he added, "But please, do take her to Hogsmeade, lad. I've heard more than enough from you about how much you like her."

San's eyes widened, his cheeks instantly flushing a deep crimson. "H-Hagrid!" he stammered, his voice a pitch higher than usual.

You couldn't hold it in anymore, bursting into laughter as he glared at you half-heartedly. "Oh, you're never living this down," you teased, nudging his arm.

"I—uh—yes, sir," he mumbled, his voice barely audible as he stared down at the ground, clearly flustered.

The professor chuckled, giving a hearty clap to the young man's shoulder that nearly made him stumble. "That's what I like to hear, Choi. Now, back to work, both of you. Those Hippogriffs aren't going to train themselves."

As Hagrid lumbered away, you leaned closer to San, grinning. "So, how much do you like me, Choi San?"

He groaned, his hands covering his face. "Can we just focus on the Hippogriffs?"

"Not a chance," you replied smugly, your laughter ringing out as his ears turned an even brighter shade of red.

The journey back to the common room was filled with quiet comfort, but as you both stepped through the entrance, his demeanour shifted instantly. Gone was the flustered boy from earlier; in his place stood the stoic and commanding Head Boy, his sharp gaze sweeping over the lounging students.

"Keep it down," he said curtly to a group of rowdy second-years, his tone leaving no room for argument. They immediately quieted, murmuring apologies.

You bit back a smile, watching his transformation with newfound amusement. After seeing the playful, gentle side of him during the lesson with Hagrid, this intimidating persona of his now seemed more endearing than imposing. It was his way of keeping the chaos in check, and you couldn't help but admire how effortlessly he switched between the two sides of himself.

As you trailed behind him, snippets of hushed whispers reached your ears.

"Did they come back together?"

"Isn't that the Head Girl?"

"Are they… you know?"

You glanced at San and caught the slight gulp he tried to conceal, his stiff posture giving away his unease despite his poker face.

When you both reached the point where the dorms split, you turned to him, raising an eyebrow. He stood tall, keeping his expression neutral, though you could see the faintest flicker of nervousness in his eyes. The room fell silent, the curious gazes of your housemates fixed on the two of you.

You smirked, breaking the tension. "So, Hogsmeade this weekend, right?"

His eyes widened, and a soft gasp rippled through the common room. He cleared his throat, trying to maintain his composure as he met your gaze. "You… accept?"

You shrugged nonchalantly, though the playful glint in your eyes betrayed your amusement. "Well, you did say I could only join you earlier if I agreed to this. Seeing as we've already finished the lesson, that clearly means I've accepted, no?"

For a moment, his carefully constructed mask faltered, replaced by a grin so wide and boyish that it made your heart skip a beat. He didn't care about the whispers anymore as he stepped closer, his hand reaching out to give yours a gentle squeeze.

"It's a date then, Head Girl."

You smiled back, your voice light but teasing as you replied, "Sounds good, Head Boy."

The room erupted into murmurs and low cheers as you turned and walked toward your dorm, feeling his gaze follow you until you disappeared from sight. If San had been worried about his reputation before, it was clear now that he didn't care.

Not when it came to you.

Mingi ↠ Ravenclaw

The Son of a Famous Wizard Scientist

"Going somewhere, Song?"

Mingi cursed under his breath, reluctantly pulling the invisibility cloak off his frame to face you. You sat casually in one of the Ravenclaw common room chairs, a book in hand and an amused smirk playing on your lips. He looked thoroughly defeated. "How do you always figure me out?"

You chuckled, closing your book and setting it aside as you straightened up. "It's not that hard with your lack of stealth. I feel the breeze every time you pass by. Honestly, the real mystery is how Filch hasn't caught you yet."

He crossed his arms with a huff, a pout forming on his lips. "Ugh, what's it gonna take for you to pretend you didn't see me? My dad cannot find out. Name your price."

You tapped your chin, standing to your full height and eyeing the Marauder's Map in his hands. "I want in on whatever you're up to."

His brows shot up in surprise. "You? But aren't you like... the model Ravenclaw? Goody two shoes, follows every rule, reads for fun? Why would you risk your squeaky-clean image for something like this?"

You shrugged, a mischievous glint in your eye. "Let's just say I'm curious about what the great wizard scientist's son is always sneaking off to do instead of, I don't know, living up to everyone's—and your father's—expectations."

He sighed in defeat, lifting his left arm to gesture for you to join him under the cloak. "Fine, but don't say I didn't warn you. Just make sure you can keep up. And for Merlin's sake, please tell me your stealth skills are better than mine. You really don't want to run into Mrs. Norris."

"Trust me, I wouldn't dream of it," you replied, ducking under the cloak with him, your heart racing at the prospect of finally joining him on one of his adventures.

And so, that night marked the beginning of an unlikely yet thrilling partnership: you and Song Mingi, partners-in-crime navigating Hogwarts past curfew.

For someone as studious and rule-abiding as you, it was a surprising twist to find yourself sneaking through hidden passageways, clutching an invisibility cloak, and dodging prefects alongside someone like Mingi. But there was something irresistibly intriguing about him—the way he effortlessly balanced his rebellious streak with a sharp intellect, and how his lighthearted demeanour contrasted with the heavy expectations placed upon him.

You see, unlike your ordinary self, his life was all about finding his own path despite the pressures of his family name. As the son of a renowned wizarding scientist, expectations for him to follow in those illustrious footsteps were high. But Mingi? He wasn't interested in being defined by anyone else's legacy.

Sure, he had the smarts for it—his insights into magical theories often surprised you, even when they were thrown in casually during one of your late-night escapades. But instead of shouldering the weight of those expectations, he found joy in simply being himself. He explored magic for the sake of curiosity, not obligation.

Of course, it was hard for someone like him to truly fly under the radar. With his tall frame and infectious laugh, he had a knack for drawing attention no matter how much he tried to avoid it. He'd always play it off with an easy grin, though—effortlessly charming his way out of trouble (well, most of the time).

And now, here you were, walking beside him in the dead of night, laughing softly at his whispered commentary about the portraits on the walls. It was a side of him most people didn't see—carefree, thoughtful, and incredibly warm.

"Alright, where to next, partner?" you asked, barely containing your grin as you reached a fork in the corridor.

He glanced at the map, his finger tracing a path. "A secret stash of sweets hidden near the kitchens. Wanna check it out?"

"Only if you're willing to share," you teased, bumping his shoulder lightly.

He smirked, holding the cloak open as you ducked beneath it again. "Deal. But only because I need you to distract the house elves if we get caught."

With that, the two of you disappeared into the night, laughter echoing softly down the empty hallways. It was the start of a friendship, and perhaps something more that, against all odds, just worked.

On one of the slower days at school, the two of you lounged in the Great Hall, a wizard's chessboard between you. The usual hum of scattered conversations and the clinking of goblets provided a quiet backdrop as Mingi hunched over the board, his tall frame bent in concentration. His eyes darted between pieces, plotting his next move with a focus that made you smirk.

"I've got an idea," you said, leaning back with a teasing grin. "Whoever loses has to take on a dare during tonight's adventure."

His head shot up, a glimmer of intrigue lighting up his eyes. He grinned, his expression a mix of mischief and admiration for the rebellious streak you seemed to save just for him. "Oh, it's on."

The match stretched out with calculated moves and sly counters, both of you pouring focus into claiming victory. But when your queen finally cornered his king, you leaned back with a triumphant grin. "Checkmate," you declared, watching the realisation dawn on his face.

He groaned theatrically, throwing his head back. "Noooo!"

You laughed, folding your arms smugly. "Now, about that dare..."

He straightened in his seat, narrowing his eyes as he tried to guess your plan. "Alright, hit me with your worst."

A mischievous gleam danced in your eyes as you leaned forward and whispered, "Tonight, when we sneak out, you have to charm Moaning Myrtle with your best pickup lines."

His jaw dropped, his ears turning an amusing shade of red. "You want me to flirt with a ghost?!"

"That's the dare," you said, grinning wider.

He blinked at you in disbelief, then let out a booming laugh, shaking his head. "You're insane. But fine—a deal's a deal."

As the two of you packed up, you noticed a flicker of something softer in his gaze. He clearly enjoyed this side of you, the playful daring you didn't often let others see.

The night was quiet as you snuck through the dark hallways, huddled beneath the invisibility cloak. The close proximity made it impossible to ignore the way your shoulders brushed, or how you could feel his breath softly against your ear as he whispered directions. You tried to focus, but the warmth radiating from him and the faint smell of his cologne made it difficult.

He wasn't faring any better. His movements felt unusually cautious, his arm brushing against yours more often than necessary, his voice a little lower than usual when he whispered, "Careful where you step."

Ironically, it was his warning that broke your concentration. Your foot landed on something uneven, and before you could stop yourself, you tripped, sending a potted plant toppling from its perch.

The crash echoed loudly through the corridor. "What was that?!" Filch's voice screeched in the distance, sending panic shooting through you both.

"Move!" Mingi hissed, grabbing your hand and pulling you into the nearest room. The door creaked shut just as the school caretaker's hurried footsteps grew louder.

You realised, to your dismay, that the "room" was a cramped broom cupboard. The two of you were squished together in the small space, the invisibility cloak still draped awkwardly over your heads. Your breathing was ragged from the sudden sprint, and you both struggled to keep quiet as Filch's grumbling grew nearer.

"Stupid kids sneaking around… I'll catch them sooner or later," he muttered as his footsteps faded in the opposite direction.

Only when the sound of his boots disappeared entirely did you dare to speak. "We're safe now," you whispered.

"Yeah," Mingi murmured back, his voice quieter than usual.

That's when you noticed just how close you were. Your heart stuttered as you looked up, your nose grazing his. His dark eyes locked onto yours, and you could feel his breath, warm and shallow, mingling with your own. Neither of you moved, the air between you was charged and heavy.

He swallowed hard, his hand slowly brushing against yours beneath the cloak. "I know I lost the game," he whispered, his voice barely audible. "But... is it alright if I flirt with someone else tonight?"

Your breath caught, your thoughts spinning as he leaned in closer, his lips barely brushing yours.

"That depends on who it is," you whispered back, your voice shaky.

He smiled softly, his eyes flicking between yours and your lips. "You."

Your heart skipped a beat. Without thinking, your hand slid up to grip the collar of his shirt as you murmured, "Fine."

Then, closing the final distance, you pressed your lips to his. When you finally pulled away, the world felt different as you stayed close, foreheads touching. He let out a soft chuckle, his thumb brushing over your cheek. "Best dare I've ever lost."

You smiled. "Guess I'll have to keep challenging you then, Song."

"Guess you will," he whispered, leaning in for another kiss.

Wooyoung ↠ Gryffindor

The Talented Quidditch Beater

"Woo, you got it! That's my boy!"

The sound of your voice rang out across the pitch, instantly catching Wooyoung's attention. A grin lit up his face as he turned mid-flight on his Nimbus 2000, his eyes sparkling as they met yours.

"I'll make you proud, babe!" he called back, his tone brimming with confidence.

"Not if you can't keep your eyes on the game," his teammate—another Beater—shouted, swooping in just in time to deflect a bludger barreling toward him.

His eyes widened at the close call before a sheepish, boyish grin spread across his face. "Thanks, mate. That was a little too close!"

He turned his attention back to you, throwing you a playful wink and blowing a kiss in your direction. "Love you," he mouthed with a quick smirk, clearly revelling in the way your worried gaze softened into a smile.

And then, just like that, he was off again, zooming across the pitch like the fearless champ he was, ready to win not just for his team, but for the person cheering him on from the stands.

Pride swelled in your chest like a warm, unrelenting tide as you watched your boyfriend play. It was almost surreal to think about how far the two of you had come—especially since there was a time when you couldn't stand him.

Back then, Jung Wooyoung was everything you couldn't tolerate: loud, attention-seeking, and constantly wreaking havoc with his pranks. He was the popular Gryffindor Quidditch star with a magnetic grin, always surrounded by friends and admirers. Meanwhile, you were his polar opposite—a shy, studious student with no interest in shenanigans, focused solely on excelling in your studies and making your parents proud.

It all started when one of his pranks nearly ruined your Transfiguration assignment. Furious, you'd confronted him in front of half the common room, calling him reckless and immature. Wooyoung, never one to back down, had retaliated with a smirk, calling you boring and stiff. That marked the beginning of your rivalry—petty remarks, pointed glares, and intentionally getting on each other's nerves became routine.

But everything changed the day he overheard a group of Slytherins mocking you. Their cruel taunts about your Muggle heritage—and the word "Mudblood" slicing through the air—left you reeling. Before you could even muster a response, he stepped in, his usual playful demeanour replaced by something sharp and unyielding.

"What did you just say?" he demanded, his voice low and dangerous. The bullies faltered under his glare, and though they tried to brush it off, he didn't let them escape unscathed. He stood firm, defending you with a conviction that left you stunned.

From that day on, the dynamic between you shifted. He made it clear that no one was to mess with you—not even his own friends, who had occasionally targeted you with harmless pranks. In return, you stopped berating him for his antics, accepting that his mischief was simply part of who he was. Over time, you found yourself laughing at his jokes, and he discovered a softer side to you that few others had ever seen.

Years passed, and that fragile truce evolved into friendship. Somewhere along the way, the friendship blossomed into something deeper, something neither of you could ignore. And now, here you were, standing in the Gryffindor stands, cheering him on with every fibre of your being.

Only after being with him did you truly understand why so many adored him for his talent. On the pitch, he was in his element. As a Beater, he thrived on adrenaline, his bat swinging with precision as he sent a bludger hurtling toward the opposing team. He was a natural showman, hyping up the crowd with daring plays and cheeky winks. Though his mischievous nature was ever-present, he became fiercely competitive during matches, his focus unshakable when it came to leading his house to victory.

You smiled as he executed a flawless manoeuvre, his laughter echoing across the pitch when the crowd erupted into cheers. He was so different from the boy you had once disliked, yet so quintessentially the same. His charm, his energy, his ability to make everyone around him feel alive—it was impossible not to love him for it.

"Watch this, babe!" he called as he rocketed past the stands, his grin wide and unrestrained. He was a whirlwind of passion and joy, and he was yours. And somehow, you wouldn't have it any other way.

"Aaaand Gryffindor wins!"

The roar of the crowd filled the stadium as the Gryffindor Seeker triumphantly held up the golden snitch, the tiny wings glinting under the bright sun. Cheers echoed through the stands, Gryffindor flags waving wildly in celebration. You cheered, knowing that much of this victory was thanks to your boyfriend, who had spent the game clearing the path for his teammate with skilful swings of his bat.

Amid the chaos, Wooyoung's sharp eyes immediately sought you out. Despite the throng of screaming fans and his own teammates clamouring to celebrate, all he could see was you. Without hesitation, he veered his broom in your direction, ignoring the unmistakable warning glare from Professor McGonagall.

Hovering in front of you, he flashed his signature grin, his chest rising and falling from the adrenaline of the match. Before you could say a word, he leaned in and kissed you, his lips warm and slightly chapped from the cold wind. The crowd's cheers seemed to fade as you felt his smile against your own, your cheeks heating with the realisation of how public this display was.

When you pulled away, your voice was barely above a whisper. "That's enough, Woo. You don't want detention now, do you?"

He laughed, his eyes sparkling with mischief. "I wouldn't mind it if you were there too." With a wink, he flew off to join his team, leaving you blinking sheepishly under Professor McGonagall's sharp gaze.

You cleared your throat, attempting to smooth down your robes as you mumbled, "Sorry, Professor."

To your surprise, her expression softened, and she gestured for you to walk with her as the stands began to empty. "Don't be," she said, her voice measured but kind. "You're a good motivator for him. We appreciate it. I won't lie and say our victories haven't increased since you came into the picture."

Her words left you blushing furiously as you followed her down the steps. Did that mean even she shipped you and Wooyoung? The very thought had you hiding a bashful smile behind your scarf, the cheers of the Gryffindor team still ringing in your ears.

Jongho ↠ Slytherin

The Scary Prefect Who Commands Respect

"There he is! Shhh, keep it down!"

Your friends scrambled to settle into their seats, hastily lowering their voices and pretending to focus on the books in front of them. You followed their lead, keeping your head down as the most intimidating prefect of Slytherin entered the library. Choi Jongho's very name was enough to make most students sit up straight, and his imposing presence only amplified that effect. His silence carried more weight than words ever could, commanding obedience and respect effortlessly.

You swallowed hard, trying to concentrate on the text in front of you, but your focus wavered the moment his footsteps stopped—right beside you. Your heart raced as you eyed his polished shoes, unsure if you'd done something wrong. Too nervous to meet his gaze, you froze in place, waiting for whatever came next.

"Here. I think you dropped this," he said, his voice low yet unexpectedly warm.

Your eyes widened at the gentle tone, and you glanced up to see him holding out your late father's pocket watch. The faintest trace of a smile tugged at the corners of his lips—so fleeting you wondered if you'd imagined it.

"O-oh, thank you," you stammered, taking the cherished item from him. A spark shot through you when your fingers brushed against his, leaving your heart fluttering in a way you hadn't anticipated.

"You're welcome," he replied simply, his voice kind yet measured, before continuing on his patrol.

As you watched him walk away, a realisation settled in your mind—perhaps he wasn't as fearsome as everyone claimed.

Jongho's reputation was well-earned. As a Slytherin prefect, he didn't need to raise his voice to maintain order. A single stern look was enough to make any student think twice about misbehaving, and his word was as final as it was rare. Yet, those who truly knew him understood there was more to him than his intimidating exterior. Beneath the cool, composed demeanour was a steadfast friend with a laugh that could shatter his usual seriousness in an instant.

And soon, you would become one of the few to witness that softer side of him—though, for now, you had no idea what lay ahead.

It was on a particularly eerie evening that you would come to learn the truth. The air hung heavy with an unsettling stillness as you wandered along the outskirts of the Forbidden Forest, seeking solitude to clear your mind after a gruelling week. The low-hanging clouds cloaked the forest in shadows, and the quiet seemed almost too oppressive.

But peace was the last thing you found.

A low, menacing growl rippled through the trees, stopping you dead in your tracks. Your breath caught as you turned, your wand trembling in your hand, to face a pair of glowing eyes cutting through the darkness.

A werewolf.

Your heart pounded wildly as the creature advanced, its snarling lips curling back to reveal rows of sharp teeth. Panic seized you. You tried to cast a spell, but fear made your movements clumsy, and the incantation faltered on your tongue. The werewolf snarled again, its deadly intent unmistakable.

You were sure you were doomed.

Suddenly, a thunderous roar shattered the tense silence, startling both you and the beast. From the shadows emerged a massive bear, its fur bristling and eyes blazing with an otherworldly fury. The bear wasted no time, charging at the werewolf with raw power and unmatched ferocity.

Their clash was brutal and swift, the werewolf no match for the bear's strength and determination. Before long, the defeated creature limped off into the safety of the forest, leaving you frozen in place, trembling from head to toe.

The bear turned its attention to you, its intelligent gaze locking onto yours. Despite your fear, there was something strangely familiar in the way it looked at you—almost protective.

And then, to your utter disbelief, the bear began to shift. Its enormous form shrank, fur receding as its features morphed into something distinctly human. In a matter of moments, you found yourself staring at Choi Jongho, his sharp eyes unwavering as they met yours.

"You…" The word barely escaped your lips, your voice a mere whisper. "You're an animagus?"

His jaw tightened briefly before he nodded. "Yes," he admitted, his tone steady but quiet.

You blinked, your mind racing to process what you had just witnessed. It wasn't just the transformation that left you reeling—it was the way he had risked himself to save you. "Why didn't you tell anyone?" you finally managed.

He let out a soft sigh, running a hand through his hair. For the first time, you saw the stoic facade crack, revealing something raw beneath. "People already think I'm intimidating enough," he said, his voice laced with vulnerability. "If they knew I could turn into a bear, they'd see me as a monster. Even if I chose this form to protect, not harm."

Your chest tightened at his words, at the loneliness he must have carried. His stern demeanour suddenly made sense—it was a shield, a way to keep others from seeing the parts of himself he feared they wouldn't understand.

"But it's not a bad thing," you said softly, taking a step closer. "You became an animagus for a noble reason. That says more about who you are than anything else."

His gaze softened, the hard lines of his face easing just slightly. "I appreciate that," he murmured. "But not everyone would see it the same way. People fear what they don't understand."

For the first time, you saw through the intimidating exterior everyone else feared. Beneath it all, he was just someone who cared deeply, someone who bore the weight of his secrets quietly for the sake of those around him.

"Thank you for saving me," you said earnestly, your voice steady despite the storm of emotions swirling inside you. "Your secret's safe with me. I promise."

He nodded, the faintest smile tugging at the corner of his lips. "It's my pleasure," he replied, his tone warm yet reserved. "Now, you should get back. It's not safe out here."

"And you?"

"I'll make sure the forest is clear," he assured you, his protective instincts shining through. "Go. I'll be right behind you."

As you made your way back to the castle, your mind was consumed with thoughts of Jongho. The boy who had just saved your life was so much more than the fearsome prefect everyone believed him to be. And now, you carried a piece of his truth, a secret that revealed a depth to him you never would have imagined.

From then on, something shifted.

You became one of the few who dared to hold his gaze, the rare recipient of his fleeting smiles. Where others saw the intimidating Slytherin prefect, you saw the quiet strength and vulnerability he kept hidden beneath the surface. And nothing shocked people more than seeing him sit next to you at breakfast in the Great Hall.

Whispers rippled through the tables, curious and incredulous alike. Choi Jongho, the stoic and fearsome prefect, sitting with someone? A girl? The novelty was enough to turn heads, but what truly caught people's attention was the way he looked at you.

There was something unmistakable in his eyes—a quiet affection, soft and unguarded, as if your presence unravelled the walls he so carefully maintained.

He glanced over at you as you finished your meal, his expression relaxed yet tinged with curiosity. "Where are you headed after this?" he asked, his tone casual but attentive.

You wiped your hands with a napkin, smiling up at him. "The Duelling Club."

His eyebrows rose in mild surprise. "The Duelling Club? But why?"

You bit back a laugh at his incredulity, placing your fork down with an amused shake of your head. "Because someone with a very admirable trait has inspired me," you said, your voice warm with sincerity. "To be stronger, to protect those around me too."

The words caught him off guard, and you watched as his usual composure faltered. He blinked, a faint flush creeping up his neck and into his cheeks. The sight was endearing, a rare glimpse of boyishness in the otherwise composed prefect.

He cleared his throat awkwardly, reaching for his goblet of pumpkin juice and taking a long sip as if it might steady him. Setting it down, he muttered softly, "You don't have to." His eyes flickered to yours, vulnerable but earnest. "You'll always have me."

Your chest warmed at his words, his quiet promise resonating deeply. He might have been the boy feared by many, but to you, he was simply someone who cared more deeply than he let on.

You leaned forward slightly, a teasing smile playing on your lips. "I know," you said, your voice gentle but firm. "But it doesn't hurt to know how to hold my own, does it?"

He exhaled a quiet chuckle, the corner of his lips curving upward in a rare but genuine smile. "Fair enough," he conceded, his gaze lingering on yours for a moment longer before turning back to his plate. "But I'm coming with."

Any fellow Potterheads here? Humour this poor author and tell me about your Hogwarts house, your favourite Harry Potter book/movie as well as your favourite character! Most importantly, let me know if you agree with the houses I've sorted the members into!

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[jeonstellate]

the ghost of monza

there’s a phantom walking around the monza circuit — and oscar seems to be the only one who can see her.

ᯓ★ oscar piastri x fem!räikkönen!reader

ᯓ★ mentions of ghosts & ghostly behaviors

ᯓ★ paragraph format — 3K words

masterlist | the ghost of you masterlist

[pic’s full credit belongs solely to its owner]

ᯓ★ all italian, spanish, & finnish words in this are from google! yn is kimi räikkönen’s daughter, but there are no physical descriptions mentioned.

ᯓ★ this is now the first part of a mini-series, which masterlist is linked above :]

It started on Oscar’s year as Alpine’s reserve driver.

It was a race weekend in Monza, Italy. The weather was great — the sun shone softly behind the clouds, the occasional wind blew like a hug, and there was a low threat of precipitation. It was really the ideal conditions for a Grand Prix for everyone involved.

There was no need for Oscar to fill in for any of the drivers and, thus, he was as relax as he could be.

He was just chilling inside the team’s motorhome, enjoying the relative silence of the hustle and bustle from the sidelines, when the glass door to his right opened from an effortless push of the figure outside. No one bothered to look — nor seemed to have noticed the door open — except for him.

To be fair, he wouldn’t’ve cared, either, had the figure not stood out like a sore thumb being the only red amidst the sea of blue. And if they didn’t look slightly passive — visibly judging, if he squinted hard enough — after sweeping the entire room with just their eyes. It was as if they found the entire Alpine motorhome lacking — or, worse, not worth their time.

Against his better judgment, and with every bit of an unknown force compelling him so, Oscar approached them. "Do you need help?"

He only had time to register the red cap on their head and the RKN boldly printed on the front of their equally red shirt before the person replied with a question of their own. "Is Alonso here?"

Oscar didn’t expect that inquiry at all. Purely based on the amount of red that covered their body, he assumed they were a tifoso who just lost their way to the Ferrari area. Yet, as it turned out, they came in there on purpose.

He weighed the ethicality of divulging a driver’s whereabouts. "He went back out. I’m not sure when he’ll be back."

The stranger nodded once, looking content with the answer he gave despite the vagueness. "Okay. Thank you."

With that, they turned back to the door and out to where they came from. They didn’t even look back to spare him — nor the motorhome — another glance.

It took Oscar two beats of silence to remember what Fernando had announced before the latter completely disappeared from the Alpine area. "If anyone comes looking for me, tell them I’m with Seb!"

It took him another beat to run after the stranger. Unfortunately, that three-second delay was enough for them to be out of sight in all the directions he looked.

He went back inside wondering if he merely hallucinated the entire interaction.

It continued onto Oscar’s rookie year in Formula One.

It was another race weekend in Monza, Italy. It was a more guaranteed dry bout than last year, though, with the sun shining a little brighter and no chance of precipitation.

That time around, he was no longer as relaxed, for he was now one of the twenty drivers who would try to take pole to increase their chances of winning the Grand Prix. Add the fact that he still had something to prove with his seat in McLaren— there was really no time for him to completely relax at all.

He did have time to disassociate, though, and let his thoughts wander — albeit they couldn’t stray too far from the race, no matter how many times he tried.

He saw the door to his right open in his peripheral vision. He thought nothing of it, as a lot of people kept coming in and out of the McLaren motorhome for one reason or another.

Except the latest newcomer wasn’t clad in papaya and black — or any other neutral and ‘safe’ colors. They were red. And not just any red, either, but a distinct variation of Ferrari red. They had to be tifoso, for sure.

"Excuse me?" Before he knew it, the tifoso in question was in front of him. They weren’t invading his personal bubble, though, much to his silent gratitude. "Hi."

Oscar reciprocated their greeting after his brain registered that the stranger looked vaguely familiar. "Can I help you?"

"Has Alonso dropped by here today?"

It clicked then where he had seen them previously. They were the same person that inquired the same thing to him last year, back when he was still in Alpine. They were even wearing the same RKN shirt, albeit the red cap had been swapped for a black one.

"No," he shook his head. He considered asking why they were looking for Fernando, but the stranger closed the conversation before he could even make up his mind.

"I see," they say with a nod, reminiscent of their first encounter. As before, they were content with his short and direct answer. "Thank you."

And, like the year previous, they turned back out to the street without sparing him another glance.

Oscar trailed his eyes on their retreating figure, but he didn’t see them go toward any direction after the door closed. Instead, the glass wall merely remained a barrier between the inside of the motorhome and the empty, lifeless street.

It had to be a trick of light.

In hindsight, Oscar was partly to blame for his latest dilemma.

He didn’t have to bring up the vanishing tifoso to Fernando during the drivers’ parade. He didn’t have to assume it’d be a simple, open-and-shut conversation, either. And, yet—

In his defense, it seemed to be the perfect chance to.

He just didn’t anticipate Fernando to look at him like he asked his question in a language he didn’t understand. "No tifoso came to me."

He decided to drop the topic after that. He wasn’t sure if he should clarify or ask for a confirmation. And, quite frankly, he wasn’t sure if he wanted to do either — especially considering how the tifoso in question vanished the way they did.

Perhaps it was better that he never got to ask again. That way, he had nothing that resembled a confirmation of a recurring hallucination.

He was fortunate enough to be gifted in compartmentalizing, so his performance wasn’t affected. He might’ve not performed as well as he hoped, but they were blameless on that. That was all him and the car.

Unfortunately, with the race done, he really had nothing else to occupy his mind.

Which meant, in the stillness and silence of his hotel room, the compartment he stored his biggest what-if opened with a bang!

What if he was being haunted by a ghost of Monza circuit?

(That didn’t even make sense. Monza was Ferrari’s territory. And the last time he checked, he didn’t drive for the prancing horse. If anything, a ghost of Monza circuit should be haunting either Charles or Carlos — not him.)

It was a blessing — and a curse — that Formula One kept Oscar occupied enough to effectively keep the ghost of Monza circuit out of his mind.

Because, by Oscar’s second year in Formula One, he had forgotten about his recurring supernatural encounter.

. . . Until the season calendar circled back to Monza, Italy, that was.

"You look like hell, mate." Lando greeted him when they met at the McLaren garage for free practice. "You alright?"

"Yeah," the lie slipped out easily. Coming to work with barely any sleep was normal for him, so he learned long ago how to function with it. It was just rather unfortunate that he was yet to master not looking like he crawled out of hell whenever he didn’t get enough hours. "Just tired."

Although ‘just tired’ wasn’t technically a lie, it still was to an extent. After all, his sleeplessness wasn’t simply caused by jet-lag or anything mundane. Rather, by something he couldn’t exactly explain.

Screw his brain for remembering about the ghost of Monza circuit just when he was about to pass out.

"Oh, yeah," his teammate agreed. None than wiser about his current dilemma. "Immigration ran long last night."

Oscar could only hum in agreement. He wouldn’t be lying anymore if he didn’t respond verbally.

Unfortunately, a part of him didn’t want to leave it at that. "Say, do you believe in ghosts?"

"Why?" Lando’s response might’ve lacked a direct answer, but his body language told him everything he needed to know. "Is there a ghost in your hotel room—"

"No, nothing like that," he interrupted before his teammate thought the worse. It was bad enough that his mind was plagued by such things. He didn’t need Lando to be distracted by it, too, for the sake of their team. "Hattie just got me thinking about it."

There was immense relief when his teammate didn’t question the lie that escaped him so nonchalantly.

He just hoped his sister never gets a wind of him using her as an excuse — or else he’d never hear the end of it.

It would’ve been so easy to ask other drivers, any team members, or pit crew if they’ve seen someone with a RKN shirt around the circuit.

It would’ve been so nice to hear at least person affirm in some way, none the wiser about the magnitude of relief they just bestowed him.

It would’ve been so liberating to be free of the torment of not knowing for certain.

It would’ve been so many things.

But, alas, going around and asking would take a lot of energy. He might have the energy to race and do his job, but he had nothing to spare for satisfying his curiosity. He could do either-or, not both. And he definitely wouldn’t pick the latter if he actually had to choose.

Thus, Oscar settled for the unknown to plague his subconscious. Not in the forefront of his mind whenever occupied with pressing matters, but definitely still triggerable with a word or two.

It should’ve been obvious by now that him sitting idle inside his team’s motorhome was a common factor in all his — quite plausibly — ghostly encounters.

But, alas, the realization merely came when he was, one again, living through an unfaithful replay.

"He’s not here," Oscar replied to another variation of the one question the tifoso always asked.

And like they always did, they accepted his answer as it was. No follow-up questions asked. "Okay."

Only that time, he wasn’t about to just let them leave and disappear again. "I might know where he is right now, though," he quickly added before they express their gratitude and turn away. "I can take you to him?"

The unnamed tifoso thinned their lips as they considered his offer. He took that time to take note of two things: One, they donned a red cap with a ‘7’ embroidered on it and their usually red RKN shirt had been swapped for a white one. Two, the sunlight from the glass wall wasn’t shining through them but on them.

They were not a ghost.

It really had been a mere trick of light.

"I suppose that’s fine."

Oscar’s relief almost manifested into a small smile. He’d be able to sleep comfortably later! "Great. If you’d follow me—"

He opened the door and gestured for them to exit first. They obliged with a subtle nod of acknowledgement, and their — theirs and his — arms touched accidentally. He paid no mind to the electricity that flowed through his skin where they made contact, too focused on counting the brief moment as another proof that the stranger wasn’t anything supernatural.

He led them to the Aston Martin garage, the tifoso following him soundlessly from behind. He made few attempts to walk next to them instead, but they countered with a move of their own every time — which successfully kept them directly behind him. He got the message after the third failed attempt.

He felt like Orpheus on his way out of the Underworld.

"Do you mind if I ask for your name?" He inquired a little louder than his usual talking voice. He wasn’t one for raising his voice unless necessary — and that moment definitely required it. For he had to keep his head facing forward, so he could safely navigate the both of them across the chaos of the paddock.

Amongst the scattered noise all around, he was able to pick out a sound of a reply, "My name’s [first name]."

[First name].

It might’ve taken three years but, finally, he had a name.

Oscar quietly tested their name on his tongue — making sure he was pronouncing it right, before saying it out loud. "Nice to officially meet you, [first name]. I’m Oscar."

He could almost swear he heard them something else in reply, but it was drowned by the noise around them. All he could attest to was a reminiscent of a hum and something that almost sounded like a "Likewise."

In all the overthinking he had done, Oscar had somehow never anticipated how the truth would actually come to be.

Fernando, the first person he hinted about the phantom tifoso, did know [first name]. "Princesa! It’s so good to see you!" Personally, based on the tight hug he engulfed her after that enthusiastic greeting.

"You, too, Nando setä," [first name] greeted back, albeit with less excitement visible in her body language.

Oscar stood there rather awkwardly, unsure of what to do with himself. Was he supposed to go now?

"Wait—" The older man suddenly held [first name] at arms’ length. He looked at her up and down, seemingly taking in her outfit. "Are you the tifoso Oscar was talking about?"

"What?"

Fernando turned to him, as if he realized it was a question for him instead of hers. "Is [first name] the tifoso?"

"Yeah," he affirmed. He turned to her, puzzled, "Are you not a tifoso?"

"Only conditionally," she responded with a light shrug. "I don’t typically consider myself one."

"Your outfit says otherwise, princesa." the Aston Martin driver gestured toward the prancing horse on her cap. He nodded in agreement, as the other encapsulated precisely what he was thinking.

[First name] was unfazed. "I just see them as faija’s merch."

Oscar had no idea what ‘faija’ meant but, based on context clues, he’d assume it meant ‘dad.’ Also based on context clues, ‘setä’ probably meant ‘uncle.’ It could also be the other way around, really. Alas, he’d have to confirm later.

"Your papá doesn’t even race anymore—" Or not, since Fernando seemed to have given him the confirmation indirectly— "why do you still insist to wear his merch when you watch me race?"

"I just want to."

He felt an inclination to ask who her father is. Yet, at the same time, he also felt like it was already at the tip of his tongue.

[First name] and her Uncle Fernando watched Oscar leave to return to the McLaren motorhome.

When the Australian driver was nothing but a speck in the sea of paddock chaos, her uncle wasted no time to open the conversation he was most likely dying to have. He probably would’ve kicked Oscar out of the Aston Martin garage, too, if the latter didn’t excuse himself early enough. "Finally got the balls to exchange more than a sentence with him, huh?"

She didn’t move her attention from the direction Oscar disappeared to. "On the contrary, I just didn’t want to refuse his offer."

Her first encounter with Oscar in Alpine had been by chance. She really was looking for her Uncle Fernando then. Her Uncle Sebastian wasn’t in his team’s motorhome down the lane when she dropped by, so she strategically sought out her other uncle. She figured they were likely chitchatting in some corner, as they often did with her dad back when the latter was still in the grid. It was only a matter of narrowing down where they could possibly be.

She didn’t know what it was with the team member that assisted her in Alpine. He just stood out to her much more than the one in Aston Martin. Perhaps it was because he didn’t make her wait for nothing. Or because he was more direct in replying to her query. Maybe it was because he was obviously around her age.

Whatever the case might be, she wasted no time in asking her uncles about the cute boy in Alpine after she sprinted to the garages. It was obvious her uncles immediately caught on what was happening before she even realized it herself. After all, she was a Räikkönen and very much like her father. She wouldn’t use much of her energy if she could help it. At best, she would only willingly use her energy for things that she cared enough about.

The fact that she sprinted just to get a name . . .

(It only took them a wordless glance at each other to unanimously conclude that she got a crush. A firsthand experience in love at first sight, if they wanted to push it.)

"Ay, princesa." Her Uncle Fernando’s disappointment was already distinguishable in just two words. "You backed out again?"

She couldn’t blame him. She planned to be acquainted with Oscar last year but she lost courage at the last second, so she tried again when the calendar restarted. Unfortunately, the same thing occurred. "It’s hard."

"You’re only asking him to be your friend, not for his hand in marriage."

[First name] scoffed at his chosen phrasing of his words of encouragement. She knew he was right, of course, but she refused to give him the satisfaction of hearing her agreement. "Maybe I should’ve just listened to faija and stayed away from the paddock."

It was his turn to scoff. "Too late for that. Your papá already approves of Oscar."

Her head snapped toward him in a concerning speed. "What?"

Fernando met her wide eyes with his own sparkling in excitement, as if he had been waiting for that moment for years. "I’ve been sending updates to him and Seb."

[sirxaibs]

Can I ask for Sale Fisher x fem!reader that's popular? And could you PLS PLS PLS don't make her mean? Like, I want her to be popular becouse she's one of those poeple that just sthraight up go talk to anyone.

And maybe Sal's friend group thought that shes propably a bitch, but like.

'She sat at our table?.....and didn't make fun of us?.....in fact she gives compliments that don't feel backhandead?......wtf?'

⬆️just an example, you can do whatever with this.

Sorry for possibile grammer errors or speeling mistakes, english isn't my first lenguage. Thank you and I hope you'll have a nice day ♥️

Hey! I THOUGHT THIS COULD BE SO CUTE!! so Ive seen many fics on this and i wanted to take a different approach. I hope you enjoy it. I love Sal and I hope this isn’t too crazy. I wrote a version yesterday and made everyone a little too mean and I don’t believe any of them would be assholes. So! Hopefully this satiates y’all.

masterlist

⋆༺𓆩☠︎︎𓆪༻⋆ Your legs ache from practice, the soles of your sneakers sticking a little to the hallway tile with each step. You smell faintly of sweat and cherry body spray, the cheer uniform still clinging to your skin like it’s part of you now tight pleats, school colors, and all. You could’ve changed, sure, but exhaustion said no. So here you are, hair in a high ponytail, shoes untied, carrying a stack of junk mail and a single envelope that doesn’t belong to you.

You look at it again under the flickering hallway light, flipping it over in your fingers like it’ll magically reroute to the correct mailbox on its own.

SAL FISHER

UNIT 402

You know the name. Everyone at school does. The kid with the face cover. You’ve never spoken to him he doesn’t really hang around the same kind of people you do but he’s always there. At lunch, in the halls, sometimes sitting out near the tree line when no one else is around. You didn’t peg him as the chatty type.

You stare at the letter like it might bite you. Then sigh. “Why not be a good neighbor,” you mutter, dragging your legs toward the elevator.

The ride to the fourth floor feels longer than it should. It shudders a little on the way up. You keep your eyes on the numbers. Three… four. The doors open with a ding that sounds half hearted.

You’ve never actually been up here.

The fourth floor feels… worse. Everything smells faintly of dust and something like mothballs and metal. You don’t know why, but the lights here feel dimmer. You walk slower, steps echoing.

You find the unit: 402. You raise your hand to knock. There was a pause for a few seconds.

A man stands in front of you, tall, a little disheveled, and definitely not Sal. His presence is immediate, like he fills the space just by being in it. You blink.

“Oh hi! Sorry,” you start, holding the envelope out, “I was just dropping this off”

“He’s in his room,” the man says before you finish.

You freeze. “Oh, no, I wasn’t trying to bother him, I just thought I’d–”

“Just go on in. Down the hall, last door on the left.”

You blink again. You’re not even sure he’s looking at you. Just staring somewhere past your head, like he’s already decided this conversation is over.

“I mean, I could just leave it here”

“Last door on the left.”

He steps aside, just enough for you to enter. You do, but not on purpose. Your legs just move. You step into the apartment, and it’s… weird. Not gonna lie, being in any strangers apartment never really felt cool. You walk toward the hallway, clutching the letter, mind screaming at you to stop being so polite.

“Damn old people,” you think, jaw tightening. “I just wanted to drop something off, not go all this way”

The hallway feels longer than it is. The floor creaks behind you, or maybe above you. You don’t look back. You keep walking. Last door on the left.

⋆༺𓆩☠︎︎𓆪༻⋆ You knock lightly once, twice then pull your hand back like the door might burn you. A pause. Then the knob turns. The door creaks open slowly, revealing a familiar figure just behind it. Blue pigtails. The mask.

Sal Fisher.

He stares at you. You stare back. Neither of you says a word. And because silence is somehow gnawing at your neck, you blurt, “Hi! Um, I think our mail got mixed up I swear I didn’t just barge in.”

You thrust the letter forward like it’s a peace offering. “This was in my mailbox. For you. I thought I’d, y’know, be neighborly and return it. I didn’t open it or toss it or anything. Your dad sent me over this way”

He takes the envelope slowly, his fingers brushing yours for the briefest moment. His gaze flicks down to it.

“Thanks,” he says. His voice is quieter than you expected. Almost gentle.

You nod. Then freeze. Then nod again. You’re still standing there, very much in his doorway, very much uninvited. His room is in full view behind him. Posters of metal bands you’ve only heard mentioned in passing. Skulls, red and black ink themes. A guitar in the corner. Tiny, vaguely creepy figurines lined up on a shelf.

“Your room’s so cool,” you say before your brain can stop you. You lean forward just a little, peering past him. “Seriously. This is like… Sid and Nancy level. How do you even find posters like that anymore? Oh my god is that an actual cassette player? That’s so sick.”

You wince as the words leave your mouth. “God, sorry, I’m not trying to be weird. I mean that in a good way. Promise.”

Your voice is speeding up. You’re spiraling. And you know it.

Sal just keeps watching you like he’s trying to figure out if this is real or a very strange dream. A cheerleader. In his doorway. Talking about cassette players. You finally cringe so hard your whole body folds in on itself.

“I’m gonna go,” you say, backing toward the hallway. “Sorry for the whole… I don’t know what that was. I was just trying to be a good neighbor and it turned into, like, a monologue of whatever the fuck.”

You turn halfway around to leave when you hear

“You wanna take a look around?”

You glance over your shoulder.

Sal is still standing there, holding the envelope like it might vanish. His posture is stiff, like he’s surprised the words came out of his mouth, too.

You blink. “I mean… sure?”

He nods. “If you’re into the posters, Do you dig that kind of music?.”

Your eyebrows shoot up. “Well I wouldn’t say it’s exactly my style but I’m a all things can be redeemable if you give it a try”

He jerks his head toward the room. “why not give it a try then”

You’re already stepping inside before he finishes, smiling wide. “You had me at ‘cool’ and sealed the deal with ‘band.’ Show me.”

The second you cross the threshold, it’s like entering another world. The bland apartment hallway behind you disappears into a mess of amps, guitars, wires, dark posters, and the faint scent of incense and old vinyl.

Sal gestures toward a small desk setup with beat up speakers and a laptop. He grabs a pair of headphones well worn, slightly cracked along the band and offers them to you.

“You don’t have to pretend it’s good,” he mutters. “Honest opinion’s fine.”

You shoot him a thumbs up and take the headphones like they might unlock the secrets of the universe.

He clicks play.

The drums hit first loud, fast. Then comes the guitar: raw, rich, angry. A distorted voice cuts through the noise melodic under the layers of whatever was happening, but clawing to be heard. Your eyes go wide. You start bobbing your head slowly. Then more. A grin creeps up your face, shoulders bouncing slightly as the music crashes through your ears. You grip the headphones tighter, fully in it like you’ve been dropped into a private punk rock concert in a dream.

When the song fades, you pull the headphones off with a breathless laugh. “That was… so good,” you say, eyes lit up. “Like, very loud but in the best way. I felt like I could punch God in the face. I loved it.”

Sal’s ears what little you can see of them turn just slightly pink. He shifts, crossing his arms. “Yeah?”

You grin. “What, because I’m in a cheer uniform, you think cheerleaders don’t have rage?”

He laughs softly. It’s warm. Unexpected.

You glance at the clock and groan. “Ugh. I should probably head back and pretend I’m responsible or whatever. Homework calls.”

You hand the headphones back, your fingers lingering a second before letting go.

“Thanks for showing me that,” you say. “Seriously. its super sick.”

Sal shrugs, casual, but he still won’t quite meet your eyes. In his head, he’s screaming. Because what the hell. A cheerleader just walked into his room, complimented his taste in music, vibed to Sanity Falls, and then thanked him like he did her a favor.

Respectfully and he does mean that. you’re hot. this whole thing feels like a glitch in the matrix. Like someone else’s life. He clears his throat. “Yeah. Uh. Anytime.”

You flash one last smile before turning to leave. Sal Fisher stands frozen in his room, A pretty girl was in his room.

⋆༺𓆩☠︎︎𓆪༻⋆ the clatter of trays, bursts of laughter, the shriek of a chair scraping too hard against the linoleum. Sal sat across from Larry, Ash, and Todd, picking at the edges of his sandwich more than actually eating it. His thoughts weren’t really on food. Not when they kept drifting back to the night before.

Cheerleader. In his room. Pretty girl. She liked his music.

“Hey,” he said finally, pushing his tray forward and folding his arms on the table. “Do you guys know that new girl who lives on the third floor now?”

Larry paused mid bite, sandwich halfway to his mouth. “Third floor?”

Ash glanced between them, already suspicious. “Wait. Are we talking about that new girl? Y/N something?”

“Yeah,” Sal said, tone casual like he wasn’t rehearsing the question all morning. “she dropped something off last night. Just wondering if you knew her.”

Larry barked a laugh. “The cheerleader? Yeah, she’s definitely one of those girls.”

Sal blinked. “Those?”

“You know,” Ash chimed in, leaning her chin on her hand. “Perfect hair. Always smells like a mall. Probably part of one of those fake bestie cliques that post about how much they loveee each other but secretly hate one another’s guts.”

Larry nodded, already back into his food. “Plastic. The kind that calls everyone ‘babe’ but doesn’t know your actual name.”

Todd, sipping from a thermos, finally looked up. “You guys don’t even know her.”

Ash raised an eyebrow. “And you do?”

“I’ve had class with her. She’s… quiet,” Todd said thoughtfully. “Pays attention. Says thank you when someone passes her a worksheet. She helped a freshman with their locker on the second day.”

“That’s your bar for decency?” Larry said, skeptical.

“I’m just saying, you’re judging her and like Sal was new too once,” Todd said. “You don’t know anything real about her.”

Ash groaned. “You don’t need to know someone to know someone, Todd. Some people just radiate mean girl energy. Trust me.”

Todd narrowed his eyes. “That’s a shallow assumption and you know it.”

Ash muttered something about “cheerleaders being a plague” under her breath, and Larry snorted.

Sal, who had gone unusually quiet, finally spoke again. “She’s not like that.”

All three of them turned to look at him.

Larry’s mouth slowly curved into a smirk. “Wait. Hold up. Why are you asking about her, dude?”

Sal looked down, then up, tone clipped. “I told you. She dropped off mail. That’s it.”

Ash crossed her arms. “why did she just come all the way up to your place to give you a letter?”

Sal shrugged. “Her mailbox got mine by accident. then stayed for a bit”

Larry leaned forward, grinning. “What, did she get lost on the way out?”

Sal blinked. “She liked my music.”

Ash scoffed. “What, like out loud?”

Sal nodded. “Yeah. She tried my headphones. Even headbanged a little.”

Todd smiled slightly. “That’s kind of cool.”

Larry shook his head like he was witnessing a miracle. “Okay, wait a minute. A cheerleader, listened to screamo music, and didn’t run screaming for the suburbs?”

Sal shrugged again. “She said it made her want to punch God.”

Ash froze, lips parting in a mix of confusion and, for the first time, mild interest. “Okay… that’s actually kind of hardcore.”

“She said my room was cool,” Sal mumbled, mostly to his tray.

Larry threw his hands up. “Okay, what the hell, Sal. Are you telling me you Sal ‘I sit by myself and listen to death metal’ Fisher just casually had a cheerleader in your bedroom?”

Sal didn’t reply, but his fingers drummed on the table a little too fast to be casual. Larry leaned in. “Dude. You got a cheerleader in your room. Are you sure this wasn’t a dream? Like a fever dream after one too many gas station burritos?”

Todd tilted his head. “Or maybe… maybe she’s just a person. Like the rest of us. Who happens to like punk and be good at flips.”

Ash scowled. “God, Todd, you sound like a teacher.”

He shrugged. “Just saying.”

Larry still wasn’t over it. “Next thing you know she’s gonna show up in all black with eyeliner and join a band.”

Sal didn’t say it out loud, but a flicker of a smile played under the edge of his mask at the idea. He kinda liked that you were so different. the juxtaposition of your looks and what you seemed interested was very cool to look at.

⋆༺𓆩☠︎︎𓆪༻⋆ You strolled through the crowd with your cheer squad flanking both sides laughing, gossiping, spinning their hair around fingers like it was a competitive sport. You listened absently as one of them launched into a dramatic retelling of how her ex “accidentally” liked her finsta post at 2 a.m.

You weren’t really paying attention. Not because you didn’t care, though the first time she talked about it had you engaged. but because your eyes had already locked onto something else across the cafeteria. A short blue haired guy sitting at a table near the back with a group of kids you’d only ever heard about through whispered rumors and cruel nicknames.

There he was. Sal Fisher. without really thinking without asking yourself anything at all you broke away from your group mid laugh. Just veered straight toward him like your legs had made the decision before your brain did.

“Wait, where are you going?” one of your friends asked behind you.

“BRB,” you called over your shoulder. “I want to bother someone.”

Across the cafeteria, at a table meant for the misfits, Sal was in the middle of pushing peas around his tray when a sudden blur of cheer uniform and bounce came into view. He looked up.

You stopped right beside him and sat down immediately grabbing his arm, breathless and grinning. “Okay, so, I’ve been thinking about that song you showed me all night. Like, literally, I couldn’t sleep. I need more. You got a playlist? A mixtape? A USB drive from hell? Gimme.”

For one perfect, cinematic second, the entire table was silent. Larry dropped his fork. Ash’s eyes nearly bugged out of her skull. Todd blinked like you had just walked through a wall.

Sal just stared. “You… what?”

You nodded eagerly, lowering your voice like it was sacred. “You ruined all my playlists. I need more of that noise in my life.”

He blinked again. “You sure?”

“You say that like you thought I wouldn’t.”

“I–” Sal started, then stopped, looking absolutely stunned.

You turned to the rest of the table, realizing they were still staring at you like you’d just sprouted devil horns and declared yourself prom queen of hell. You raised a hand sheepishly. “Hi. Sorry for interrupting. I’m Y/N. just moved this year.”

Ash looked like she was physically holding herself back from combusting. Larry was still open mouthed, and Todd was watching with the kind of intrigue usually reserved for alien encounters.

“If you’re anything like Sal,” you added, offering them a genuine smile, “then I’m sure you’re all cool as hell.”

Larry looked to Sal, eyes wide. “Yeah, he’s crazy cool. Though he did learn from the best” Larry awkwardly replied while pointing himself

Ash leaned toward Todd. “I think i’m on drugs, what’s happening” Todd just smiled quietly.

You turned back to Sal, who was very much glitching out in real time. “I’ll give you my number later,” you said with a wink. “Text me a playlist. Or this time I’m breaking into your room.”

Sal opened his mouth. Closed it. Nodded once like he was in shock. “Okay.” And then you were gone, skipping back to your friends, who were whispering furiously and shooting glances like you’d just fraternized with the enemy.

“what was that?” one of them hissed.

You smiled, tugging your ponytail higher.“you’re the one who told me to make friends here, thats all i’m doing.”

Back at the table, Sal stared down at his tray like it might give him answers.

Larry leaned in, whispering, “Bro. Are you a witch? Did you hex a cheerleader?”

Sal just shook his head.

“I think,” he said slowly, still stunned, “i think its jover for me.”

⋆༺𓆩☠︎︎𓆪༻⋆ You weren’t quite sure how it happened. One second you were joking in the hallway with Sal about your shared hatred for lukewarm cafeteria pizza, and the next you were in his room, cross legged, spinning slowly on his desk chair while he nervously adjusted the volume on his old stereo system.

The room was quiet, save for the soft murmur of some obscure post punk band playing from the corner. You didn’t recognize the lyrics, but it felt like something you wanted to memorize.

“You know,” you said, glancing around, “I kinda expected more skulls. Or like… weird taxidermy?”

Sal laughed soft and surprised. “Yeah, you’re not the first to say that. I think Larry was disappointed when he first came over and didn’t find a Ouija board or something.”

You gave him a playful squint. “Wait, you don’t have one?”

Sal grinned slightly behind the mask. “Okay, I do. But it’s under my bed and mostly for decoration. Larry gets carried away.”

You hopped off the chair and crouched, peeking under the bed like you were on a mission. “You’re telling me there’s a haunted board game down here and you’re not showing me?”

“It’s not haunted,” he replied, clearly amused. “It’s just from a yard sale. Probably cursed with suburban angst at most.”

You laughed, brushing your fingers over a dusty shoebox. “Still cool. You’ve got good taste. I mean, look at this stuff.”

Posters of bands you’d never heard of were plastered across the walls, scribbled notebook pages taped in between like patchwork wallpaper. An old lava lamp flickered halfheartedly in the corner. There were stacks of CDs, cassette tapes, and one particularly weird clay sculpture that looked like it might’ve been made in a sleep deprived art class.

You plopped onto his bed and tilted your head. “This one’s my favorite,” you said, pointing at a crooked drawing of a girl with hollow eyes and messy hair. “She beautiful.”

Sal stepped closer, shoving his hands in his hoodie pocket. “That was… something I did when I was like, thirteen. Supposed to be a ghost from this dream I had. I kept seeing her for weeks after.”

You looked at him, expression soft. “You see ghosts a lot?”

He hesitated for a second, then nodded. “Sometimes. Not all the time. But yeah.”

“Damn. That’s metal.”

Sal let out another laugh, more comfortable now. “That’s what I told my therapist.”

You leaned back on your elbows, smiling at him from his own bed like you’d done it a hundred times. “So, what else are you hiding in here? Secret dungeon? Portal to hell?”

“Uh,” Sal said, eyes glinting with something playful. “Larry stole all the portals to hell. I’m more of a secret music archive guy.”

You shot up. “Prove it.”

He smirked and crossed the room to a cabinet by his desk, pulling open a drawer to reveal a mess of burned CDs, USBs, old MP3 players, and one tiny cassette player with a sticker that said “Play if you hate the world.”

You gasped like he’d opened the Holy Grail. “Sal. This is the coolest shit I’ve ever seen. You better send me everything.”

He knelt beside you, pulling out a CD with careful fingers. “This one’s the first mix I ever made. It’s super rough.”

You took it from him reverently. “I love rough.”

Sal’s ears went pink. “I, uh, that came out weird.”

“Yeah,” you teased. “but cant a girl say how she feels.”

You glanced at him, and he was already watching you, like he couldn’t believe you actually said that. Like you’d disappear if he blinked too long.

“Hey,” you said, quieter now. “You’re kinda talkative tonight.”

He shrugged, brushing some hair from his face. “You’re easy to talk to.”

That made something flicker warm in your chest.

“Same,” you murmured. Then you nudged him with your shoulder. “Do you like me here?”

Sal tilted his head, mock serious. “People probably that I’ve summoned a demon cheerleader to possess me.”

You grinned. “Yeah? Hope they’re right.”

And he laughed again. You liked that sound. You wanted to hear it more.

You and Sal stayed like that for a while, just talking. The kind of conversation that meandered and curved around strange facts and half finished thoughts. He told you about a ghost that used to knock on his closet door when he was little. You told him about the time you accidentally summoned a raccoon with a ritual you found on Tumblr. Somewhere between laughter and another CD recommendation, you spotted a small, beat up notebook tucked between the mattress and wall. It looked old, like something with secrets.

“Ooooh, what’s that?” you asked, already reclining across the bed to reach it.

Sal looked up, immediately alert. “Wait no, that’s!”

Too late. You stretched out, reaching over him as he sat back against the headboard. Your fingers brushed the edge of the notebook only for your balance to shift, the mattress dipping under your weight.

Thump.

You landed right on top of him. For a moment, neither of you moved. You were nose to nose, your chest pressed against his, hands awkwardly splayed on either side of his shoulders. His mask had tilted slightly, and you could see just a glimpse of the scar beneath it before he quickly adjusted it. His breath hitched so did yours.

Your eyes met.

Sal’s eyes were wide, pupils flicking between yours like he was scanning for some kind of signal. You suddenly became very aware of the warmth radiating off him. Of the way your knee was pressing slightly between his legs. The room, the music, the whole world had gone still.

“Uh,” he said softly, like he was trying not to spook you.

You blinked. “Sorry. Um. .”

“it’s okay,” he said, voice an octave higher than usual. “Totally. You’re all good trust. Yeah.”

You were about to say something maybe a joke, maybe not when the door slammed open with the force of someone who had never knocked in his entire life.

“Yo, Sal HOLY SHIT”

You scrambled off like you’d been hit with a taser, rolling off to the side and nearly falling off the bed. Sal sat bolt upright, stiff as a corpse.

Larry stood in the doorway, a soda can in one hand and a box of cookies in the other, blinking like he was trying to make sure what he was seeing wasn’t a hallucination.

“Dude,” he said, utterly stunned. “Did I interrupt something?”

Sal buried his face in both hands with a groan. “Larry.”

“No, because this is like… well im not going to say. You’re on the bed, she’s on top of you, the music’s playing do you guys want me to turn the lights down? Light a candle or something?”

You threw a pillow at him.

Larry dodged it “I can come back later. Like, waaay later.”

“You weren’t even supposed to come now,” Sal hissed, his voice muffled behind his hands.

Larry grinned. “I felt a disturbance in the force.”

You sat up and crossed your legs, trying to fix your hair and your dignity. “Hey Larry, how’s it going?.”

Larry raised his brows and backed toward the hallway with exaggerated steps. “I meet you once and you’re already over my man right here”

And then he was gone, disappearing down the hall with the sound of crinkling cookie packaging trailing behind him. Sal finally peeked up at you, his face still a little flushed. “…Im sorry about that.”

You smiled, brushing your hair back. “Im not too worried, He seems like a nice guy.”

Sal blinked, then laughed “I think I like having you around,” he murmured, almost too quiet to catch.

You grinned, nudging his knee with yours. “Then send me that damn playlist before I tackle you again.”

“…Not the worst threat I’ve heard,” he replied.

And the music played on.

⋆༺𓆩☠︎︎𓆪༻⋆You sat criss cross on the grass with your cheerleader friends, your lunch mostly forgotten as you braided strands of your best friend’s hair while another girl animatedly recounted some drama from first period.

“…and then he said, ‘It’s not cheating if we were on a break!’” she shrieked, clutching her phone like it was sacred.

Everyone groaned, gasped, or fake fainted in synchronized horror.

You laughed, tossing a piece of grass in her direction. “He used the Friends defense? God, we need to start handing out red flags on flashcards.”

You were comfortable here. It was loud, messy, dramatic but it was yours. And they loved you because you weren’t just part of the cheer squad, or the new girl, but because you talked to the theater kids, the band nerds, the weird guy in the dinosaur hoodie. You didn’t care about cliques. You liked people. People were weird and interesting.

Eventually the bell rang and everyone stood, gathering their things in a flurry of hair and perfume.

“I’ll see you after school!” someone called. You waved, backing away toward the building with your backpack swinging behind you.

And that’s when you heard it. “Pick it up, you little freak. Or do you need your mommy to do it for you?”

You rounded the corner and froze. A smaller kid, maybe a freshman, was scrambling to pick up their books, hands shaking as a taller guy stood over him. Shaggy hair,, fists clenched like he wanted someone to look. A few papers blew past your feet. You didn’t step in. You knew better. You weren’t built like that couldn’t throw a punch or bark louder than a threat. And you knew the look of someone who’d use that.

But still… once the kid grabbed his stuff and scurried off like a spooked rabbit, you found your voice.

“Hey.”

The guy turned to you, annoyance etched into every line of his face. “What?”

You took a slow breath and tilted your head. “What’s your problem?”

He blinked, like you’d just asked him the square root of an existential crisis. “You wanna go?” he said, stepping toward you with all the bravado of someone who’d been fighting shadows his whole life.

You didn’t flinch. Just crossed your arms and stared. “You seriously pick fights with kids who can’t fight back? What, did your cereal bully you this morning?”

That got him. Just a flicker but it was there. A crack in the tough guy mask. He scoffed. “Don’t act like you know me.”

“I don’t,” you said honestly. “But I know whatever that was back there? Thats fucked, stop being a dick and maybe your mommy would do something about it.” His jaw flexed like he was holding back a hundred things he didn’t know how to say. “I’m not scared of you,” you added softly. “But you being a dick is pointless.”

He stared at you for a long time. Long enough that it should’ve felt uncomfortable. But instead, it felt… tense. Not dangerous. Just tight. Like something holding its breath.

Then, just before turning, he muttered, “Tch. Whatever.”

You watched him go, the anger in his steps still there but dulled, somehow. Like your words had wedged into the gears of whatever rage machine he operated on. You found out later from someone in gym class that his name was Travis. Just Travis. No one knew his last name, just that he was trouble, had a rep, and probably didn’t have many people who called him anything else.

Ash had seen it.

She’d been leaning against the side of the vending machines, chewing on the straw of her empty smoothie cup, eyes darting around the quad like they always did. She wasn’t looking for drama, not really, but if it stumbled into her path, she sure as hell wasn’t going to ignore it.

She watched the whole thing Travis towering, spitting venom, and you standing there, not brave enough to throw hands, but bold enough to ask why. Not backing down. Not even flinching.

When he walked off, still pissed but quieter somehow, she tossed her smoothie into the bin and strolled over like she wasn’t deliberately inserting herself.

“What was that?” she asked, casually, like she’d just seen you pet a lion.

You turned, slinging your backpack higher on your shoulder. “What was what?”

Ash raised a brow. “With Travis. You said something. He didn’t hit you. That’s basically a miracle.”

You shrugged, still feeling the adrenaline buzz in your ribs. “I don’t know. Just… couldn’t walk past it.”

Ash snorted. “People walk past him all the time. He’s an ass. A racist, sexist, homophobic caveman with fists for brains. Trust me, most people are glad to stay out of his way.”

You chewed your lip. “Yeah. I guess. I just. I don’t know. People who are assholes need someone to speak up.”

She tilted her head, considering that for a beat. “You ever get into fights?”

“God, no,” you said quickly. “I’d die.”

Ash smirked. “That checks out. Still, you didn’t run. Didn’t go fake sweet or start crying to a teacher. You just… confronted him. That was kind of bold of you new girl.”

“Thanks?” you offered, unsure.

She walked with you now, matching your steps as you made your way down the hall. It was quiet, the rush between lunch and next period tapering off.

Ash glanced sideways at you. “Y’know, I pegged you as another one of them.”

You didn’t need to ask who them was. You’d seen the way she looked at your cheer friends. Glitter and high ponies didn’t mix with combat boots and smudged eyeliner.

You smiled softly, still looking ahead. “Yeah. I get that a lot.”

She didn’t say anything for a second. Then: “Turns out you’ve got more bite than you let on.”

You turned to her, surprised. “You saying that like it’s a good thing.”

Ash shrugged. “Might be.”

That was it. No over explanation. No emotional dive into friendship territory. Just the Ashley Campbell version of a peace offering. She didn’t invite you to hang out or trade numbers. She didn’t ask personal questions or gush. But the next time she saw you in the hall, she nodded at you instead of looking through you.

⋆༺𓆩☠︎︎𓆪༻⋆ The bell had just rung, and the hallways were alive people yelling across rows of lockers, someone dropping a textbook with a dramatic slam, and the smell of cafeteria pizza already creeping in. You scanned the crowd like a bloodhound on a mission.

Sal Fisher. Quietly standing near the usual corner with Larry, Todd, and Ash. He had his hands in his pockets, head tilted as Todd went off about some new theory, probably ghosts or government tech. Ash was chewing on a straw and nodding vaguely, while Larry interrupted every other word with “Nah, but listen what if?”

You didn’t even think twice.

“Hey!” you called, bounding over like a cartoon character with too much energy and absolutely no sense of personal space. “There you are, Blue.”

Sal looked up right as you reached him. “Blue?”

“You’re wearing blue,” you said, pointing at him. “And your hair’s blue. You’re very committed to the aesthetic.”

He tilted his head. “I wear black more than anything.”

“Technicalities,” you said, grabbing his sleeve. “Come on. We’re doing something.”

Larry raised a brow. “Is this a kidnapping?”

“Definitely,” Ash answered flatly.

“Wait, what are we doing?” Sal asked, laughing under his breath as you pulled him gently away from the group. “Do I get a say in this?”

“You get to walk or be dragged, your call.”

“That doesn’t feel like much of a choice,” he muttered, but he let you lead him anyway.

“Where are you taking him this time?” Todd called out with actual concern.

“To the moon,” you replied without turning around. “Or maybe just the vending machines. We’ll see.”

Ash cupped her hands around her mouth. “Bring him back in one piece!”

Larry shouted after, “AND IF HE COMES BACK MARRIED IM ATTACKING YOU FOR NOT LETTING ME BE BEST MAN!”

You groaned and shot them a look over your shoulder. “Y’all are so dramatic.”

“We’re dramatic?” Ash asked, gesturing wildly. “You swooped in like a caffeinated falcon and stole our boy mid convo!”

Sal laughed beside you, his eyes squinting just slightly with amusement behind the mask. “You kinda did.”

“Okay, but be honest,” you said, bumping your shoulder into his. “You weren’t even really paying attention to Larry’s alien rant.”

“…It was about space cats this time.”

“See? I’m rescuing you.”

He chuckled again, a little softer this time. “Then thanks, I guess. You know, I’ve started looking forward to these.”

You slowed your pace, peeking at him from the side. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” he nodded, a bit bashful now. “You’re crazy and I am definitely living for it.”

Your smile tugged wider, warmth blooming in your chest. “That might be the nicest thing anyone’s ever said to me.”

“You need better friends,” he teased.

“I have you,” you shot back.

And that quiet moment hung between you both for just a second comfortable, kind of sweet, a little electric.

Back at the hallway corner, the trio watched you both disappear down the hall. Ash crossed her arms, a curious look on her face. “Im glad to have found out she’s not just some glitter clone.”

“Nope,” Larry agreed. “She’s cool. Like, actually so cool.”

Todd smiled faintly. “And Sal likes her. That much is obvious.”

Ash gave a small nod, the corner of her mouth twitching up. “Yeah. He really does.” for once, none of them said anything snarky.

[lifeisyoung4everyone]

PAPA SYLUS WITH HIS DAUGHTER

SYLUS WAKES UP TO YOU NOT IN BED WITH HIM. With a slight hunched tension on his back and spine, Sylus does a gruff and puff as he adjusts his silk black robe, to take off and come get you back to bed.

He turns to sit up properly on the bed, hands pressed firm on the mattress either side of his body to backstretch and to let his feet meet the floor. Yet funnily enough he places his feet down to be met with the most frigid cold floor (which grants him a distasteful expression); and he can’t feel for his slippers.

He treads to the kitchen with shivering numbness on the soles of his feet, but that irksome bother is quickly forgotten once he actually gets a glimpse of the scene in the kitchen from the doorframe.

Sylus’s face turns from disgruntled to wholesomely entertained to the sight of his little one sat perched sideways on the island stool facing her biggest teddy bear, whom was sporting her papa’s artisan-crafted suede slippers.

His smiley amusement only grows on his face as he meets your equally cheekily amused one, rumbly delighted chuckles fluttering out of him that you meet with your own giggles.

He approaches the pair of you and bows down to be close to eye-level with his little angel’s face.

“Can I have them back, sweetie?”

“Or is teddy’s feet too cold?” you brazenly chime in.

He can only meet your audacious smile with fake, light-hearted frustration (which to you is always a really bad act, since he can’t help snickering and the corners of his mouth turn upward), along with mock groans and crossed arms, all designed to make you laugh.

She’ll be the judge on who’s getting the slippers.

SYLUS WHO FINDS HIS LITTLE PRINCESS ASLEEP ON THE COUCH, limbs branched out comically whilst her stuffed animals stay splayed on the floor, presumably struck down by her little arms and legs (which move like cats on hot bricks when she’s asleep- a kicker for sure).

Papa Sylus begins on bending down and picking up her soft toys and placing them on the sofa with her. As he does, a few get lay down with cotton-filled flabby arms covering their beady eyes and having starfish legs, all in purpose to mimic the sleeping position of your daughter. The others get lined up around her like waiting for her to wake up and watch TV or play with them again (don’t worry- they’re placed a radius far enough so she won’t kick them down again, hopefully.)

Once done with his antics, Sylus turns from his view the of the couch and catches glimpse of you behind the glass sliding-door of the balcony.

Carefully and slowly sliding the door open and closed as to not make too much noise for your sleeping angel, he joins your leaning figure of elbows on the railing, watching the view outside the apartment.

He grabs your waist letting his arm and hand rest across the entirety of it, and kisses the top of your head.

“She’s fast asleep.”

[lohotine]

two time x reader smut PLEASE I LVE UR WRITING

Two Time x AFAB! Reader

Cw: NSFW, Friends w/ benefits, Two Time is a perv, post forsaken Au?, not at ALL proofread

In which you pleasure yourself with the water from your shower head, and your roommate offers to "help you out."

Your clothes were already thrown in the hamper, long since off your mind. Yet, you didn't exactly enter the bathroom for the sole purpose of cleanliness....

Embarrassingly enough, you've been feeling rather pent up lately... Oh well! Nothing that can't be solved.

You flicked through the different modes of the shower head, having a very particular one in mind. You grinned hazily at the thought...

Before you knew it, the head was already being pressed against your needy cunt, the constant stream of pressure sending waves of heat through your body.

God, this was exactly what you needed... You didn't even think much of the small moans that escaped your lips.

It wasn't like your roommate would be paying that much attention anyway, right? That weirdo was probably too busy praying to their god or something.

Whatever it was, it clearly didn't concern you.

Unfortunately for you, Two Time was much more observant than you originally gave them credit for.

They noticed the way your mind today constantly appeared to be... elsewhere.

And the way you'd rub your thighs together when you thought they weren't paying attention.

So of course, when you stumble your way into the bathroom, looking flushed, they simply must trail behind you.

They aren't stupid. It's quite obvious, at least to them, when you're feeling pent up. Your tells are just oh so obvious!

So, is it really a surprise when they press their ear to the bathroom door to try and hear something... anything at all from your end?

They're nearly drooling at the thought of you in there. How perhaps, you're using your fingers to get yourself off.

They can already imagine the image in their head; how your fingers pump in and out of you tirelessly, covered in your slick.

And you don't disappoint their expectations in the slightest, as they pick up your stiffled whines through the door and even through the running water.

Fuck.... your moans sound so heavenly. Two Time almost instantly begins to palm their quickly hardening dick that's already starting to tent in their pants.

Perhaps they should feel bad... jerking off to your moans as if you're some sort of porn video.

But they don't. They don't even feel the slightest bit guilty.

What they do feel, however, is a sense of... jealousy.

They're almost certain that they could make you feel so much better than whatever it is you're using in there.

Could make you scream so much louder.

Perhaps they could convince you. It's not like you're really thinking straight anyway right now.

And they do just that;

They could probably just slip into the bathroom quickly. Neither of you usually lock the doors anyway, since a shower curtain is in use.

Sometimes one of you goes through your nightly routine while the other showers, so it wouldn't seem too out of the ordinary..

The only warning you get is a knock and a quick "Hey, I forgot something in there," before they slide into the bathroom with you.

That shuts you up instantly, an almost shameful silence befalling you.

"Oh, uh... okay-" you mutter. Two Time does not miss the slight waver in your voice, a grin forming on their face.

When they enter the bathroom, the first thing they look for is the shadow of your figure through the curtain.

And they are, once again, not left disappointed when they see you leaned against the wall, with the shower head still between your legs.

It's perfect. You're even more desperate than they imagined.

But honestly, Two Time never really took you for the type...

They make sure to drink in every inch of your silhouette. Fuck.... the things they wish they could do to you....

Would you let them?

"You uh.... seem like you could use help..." Two Time admits, feeling only somewhat guilty for being so brazen.

A small whimper escapes your lips. "What are you talking about?"

You both know exactly what they're talking about.

"I can make you feel so good, if only you'd allow me to," they'd say, leaning against the wall expectantly.

And you want to say no; but you cannot deny how tempting it sounds to get dicked down by Two Time. Especially in your current state.

So, when the small words of agreement escape your lips, Two Time is already scrambling to remove all of their clothing and join you behind the shower curtains.

They snicker a bit, seeing your pathetic form.

"The shower head? Really?"

Your face flares up. Can't they just help you instead of mocking you like this? Like they said they would?

"Shut up-"

Two Time cuts your sentence short by pressing their mouth to yours. It's hot, desperate.

Two Time presses the head harder against your clit, and the constant pressure makes your mind numb.

"I can make you feel so much better," they mumble into your mouth. Their kisses slowly begin to get sloppier, and then they trail down your neck.

Two Time sucks the skin there, before nipping at your pulse point. You shudder at the sensation, and Two Time gazes at you with amusement.

It's the kind of gaze that makes you feel less like a person and more like a piece of meat.

"Sensitive spot, huh? I'll make sure to keep that in mind..."

They take the shower head from your already shaking hands and nudge their knee there instead. It's placed on the shelf nearby and quickly forgotten. Two Time's hand trails down your side, slowly, deliberately.

Then they grab your thigh and hitch your leg up around their hip.

"I must be in the Spawn's favor to be blessed by such a sight," Two Time would murmur, almost mindlessly.

Two of their lean fingers begin to prod at your exposed entrance, collecting slick on them.

Was it wrong to feel this turned on by your weird, cultist roommate who had the audacity to mention their god while preparing to fuck you against the shower wall?

Well, maybe only a little bit.

You gasp as the digits slide almost effortlessly into you. Two Time pays very close attention to how your pussy flutters around them and coats them with your juices.

Two Time can't help but wonder what it would taste like. What you would taste like.

The thought is so erotic, and Two Time quickly feels themself becoming more desperate by the second.

Their fingers work to stretch you out, slowly; so slowly it's almost painful. You heave erratically. They're so deliberate in it... suspiciously so.

As Two Time feels you clutch around their fingers, they can't stop their mind from wandering...

You already feel so good... how would you feel around them? What sounds would you make?

"Fuck... I cant hold myself back anymore..." they'd hiss under their breath, their fingers slipping out of you to instead, wrap around their length. "Please.... let me do this for you... please... let me make you feel good- I promise... I'll be good..."

They're begging for this. Less with the idea of pleasing you, and more with the idea of you. But they're begging nonetheless.

Two Time guides the head of their cock to prod at your entrance, already sliding the tip in without your permission.

Their face is hazy with pure, unadulterated lust. They're just as needy for this as you are.

You let out a choked moan as you feel them already entering you, and then nod your head quickly.

The room is spinning around you.

Gods, you wanted this. You wanted your perverted roommate to fuck you senseless- until the only sounds you could make were broken moans and the syllables of their name.

And as soon as they saw that nod, they shoved the rest of their twitching cock into you. A vulgar noise left you, one that could only be described as pure desperation.

You were already so sensitive from your earlier menstruations with the shower head, so you were practically putty in their hands.

But hell, Two Time couldn't have came to help you out at a better moment...

They slid in and out of you at a pace that had you basically drooling. The tip of their length came to kiss your cervix so perfectly, over and over and over again.

Two Time muffled your moans with their mouth, choking you out with their tongue.

"By the Spawn... you feel s'good... so perfect..."

Their thumb came down between you two, and it quickly started to rub circles around your nub.

You already felt so overstimulated... you couldn't even form words anymore- you could only moan like some pathetic bitch in heat.

And fuck, Two Time would be lying if they said they'd never imagined this before:

Fucking you, tasting you, hearing you.

Sometimes, they'd lay awake at night after fishing out one of your dirty panties from the hamper and jerk off to your scent. They'd pretend their hand was your cunt, and they would fuck into it desperately.

Now they were actually fucking you and it felt like heaven.

They were actually acting out their lewd fantasies with you-

You didn't last long at all. Not with how close you had already gotten yourself with the shower head; so Two Time was basically just fucking you through your high.

"P- lease..." you'd whimper, voice giving out.

Did you know what you were asking for?

Hell no!

But you needed something, anything... as long as it was something Two Time gave...

Your noises only helped to spur them on more.

Fuck... they were also close... They couldn't help it. You felt so so good. Better than their hand, at least.

Everything has long since become a hazy, hot blur to the both of you, the only noises being your moans and the wet noises of skin on skin.

"Hah.... maybe... next time, we can take this to the bedroom..."

Two Time whimpers as they feel themselves getting closer.

They wonder if maybe one day, they could convince you to let them cum in your mouth and force you to swallow all of it.

Or... maybe they'd just fill you up and watch it leak out of you...

...

Some other day, perhaps.

With one final thrust, they quickly pull out of your abused cunt and press their dick onto your stomach, releasing thick, hot spurts of their cum all over you.

It's a mind-numbing release for the both of you, and for a while, nobody says anything.

Their breaths are ragged and heavy as they admire their seed coating your belly. Two Time grins at your exhausted form and brings their lips close to your ear.

[bewitched-hours]

yandere robot forsaken au where y/n is but an apathetic inventor whose skill went underappreciated by their coworkers (work for a corporation idk). one day, they were requested by a wealthy family to....make a robot replica of their dead son? (chance) weird, but anyways. after the success of one, many orders started to pour in and as they were drowned underneath works, they failed to see signs of severe malfunctions from these machines. (are they truly robots? idk)

Y'all are freaks! And I love it- Idk if you wanted all of them(except Chance) or not so uh- Hopefully you did-

Anywho, reader gets she/her for the sole purpose of strong wamen~

Your apathy would be your downfall.

That's what everyone at your workplace thought of you.

You didn't participate in gossip or office drama, you didn't entertain small talk, you were just there to make money and fuck off.

You thought that when you were contacted with a business opportunity by some wealthy folk that you'd be able to challenge yourself for once.

The task was to create a life-like robot version of their deceased child, even sending along pictures for references.

It took you months to figure out the most efficient way to go about it and once sent off, you were proud of yourself. You technically reanimated the dead and even got paid double for it!

With those 6 figures now in your account, you began wondering if you should quit your job. You didn't do it just yet because you figured it was likely a one-off occurrence. There's no way more people would-

... You had more orders... Just a week later...

Turns out when you satisfy a wealthy family, you attract many more...

But you wouldn't let the sudden inflow stop you and quit your job to focus on the orders. It likely wouldn't be a long-time solution so you made sure your boss was still left with a good enough impression of you for when you had to go back to the job market.

But with the orders all being at once, you had to work on all of the robots day in and day out. You neglected your needs and spent many nights keeping yourself awake for work. You even failed to notice your own mistakes in their programming and never had the realization that they were coming to life and gaining sentience.

Bit by bit, they would watch you work on them with care, quietly talking to yourself to help your focus and make sure you wouldn't mess up.

It made them... Feel.

They felt a strange draw to you. Like they had to do everything to keep you with them.

Their affections started subtle.

Putting your jacket back on you when you fell asleep at your desk and letting you believe you forgot to take it off the night prior, leaving snacks out at random and creating deepfake footage on your security cameras to make you believe you simply forgot about putting them there yourself, even displacing your keys or wallet at times to keep you inside longer.

Don't get them wrong, they were quick to understand what it meant to be human and what necessities you had thanks to your programming skills but...

You also had to understand that you made a simple mistake and now had a full cast of robots literally ready to kill to make sure you were theirs.

You only noticed too late that they were moving on their own.

"What... the.... Hell...?" You instinctively tilted your head to the side as you dropped the bag of groceries you just got inside.

C00lkidd was playing in the living room but had frozen up at the sound of the door. He didn't have the time to put away your stuff again and this time you were sure something's gone wrong.

"How is this possible??" You questioned, approaching the small bot and kneeling down to check his eyes. "You're not..."

You didn't dare to finish your sentence as you saw a faint red glow in his eyes. "Oh no... No no no- NO!" You quickly got up and backed away, thinking about all the possibilities before you were stopped by a metallic hand on your shoulder.

"Surprise..?" That... Was Elliot's voice... The voice you programmed for him....

"Please don't freak out..." And there's 007n7's voice... What the fuuu-

Truth be told, you didn't freak out and allowed them to explain. They begged you not to take their sentience away and it made you think...

You created literal life out of metal and code...

With a sigh, you promised they would be able to stay and keep their sentience but you would need help creating new bots like them to fulfill your orders. They were more than happy to comply since you promised them they would keep living and didn't even need to leave your side!

Not like they'd go peacefully...

Surprisingly, their help still got all the orders to be done within the deadlines and they made sure the new bots didn't get the same sentience they got... They'll be damned before they share you with cheap replicas.

So when you sent off the new models, you thanked them. It was rare of you to show such warmth but their systems took it... Well...

It wasn't even all that bad! C00lkidd was happy to call you mom and the other bots were happy calling you theirs.

Who would've thought a minor slip-up could lead you to run a household full of... Lovers? Lover-bots? Who cared at this point? Certainly not you...

Anything you'd like to request/ask? Check out my pinned post first and I'll be happy to write up whatever you want!

[heeluvv]

UR FICS R GEN SO GOOD IM ASCENDING ONE OF MY FAVE WRITERS AAAAA ohmygod i have a req im sorry if its vague i lowkey just need more sunoo fics🙏🙏🙏🙏

so like sunoo and reader r like bsfs and lowkey reader has a crush on him but shes like gaslighting herself nd being like nah im not his type and then sunoo overhears her talking abt him to her friend and saying she likes him so then sunoo goes insane the whole week trying to figure out how to bring it up cuz he likes her too and then he loses control at the end of the week and just ROUGH SUNOO LIKE PLEASEE THIS MANS DUALITY IS INSANEEE

ty ohmygod that was long

omggg that is so sweet 🥲 and i totally agree with you, so i'm here to deliver them 🙂‍↕️

ALWAYS BEEN.ᐟ

pairing ᝰ.ᐟ bsf! kim sunoo x reader

warnings ᝰ.ᐟ oral (f), fingering, nipple play, unprotected sex, dom! sun, etc.

natty’s notes ᝰ.ᐟ mdni, hate comments will be deleted.

days passed, but sunoo couldn’t get you out of his head. every moment alone was consumed by the weight of what he had overheard, by the confession you had unknowingly laid at his feet. he wasn’t supposed to hear it, wasn’t supposed to be standing outside your bedroom that night, frozen in place as your voice cracked with uncertainty over feelings that mirrored his own. but he had, and now, every second he spent without you felt like time wasted. the knowledge sat heavy in his chest, swelling with the need to do something about it, to act. no more late-night thoughts of what if? no more lying next to you, pretending he wasn’t falling apart every time your fingers brushed against his.

so now, as he stood outside your apartment door, fingers gripping the spare key you had given him long ago, he felt his resolve solidify. there was no hesitation this time, no second-guessing. he slid the key into the lock, twisting it smoothly, stepping inside with quiet purpose. the soft glow of the television illuminated the dim room, casting a hazy light over you as you curled up on the couch, lost in whatever played on the screen. you didn’t notice him at first, too focused, too at ease. but then the door clicked shut behind him, and your head turned, your gaze locking onto his.

“sunoo?” your voice was soft, laced with curiosity as your brows furrowed at the expression on his face. he looked different, darker, his usual lighthearted demeanor replaced with something unreadable, something intent. you sat up slightly, your posture shifting as you took him in fully. the sharp set of his jaw, the tension in his shoulders, the way his eyes roamed over you like he was memorizing the sight before him. your stomach twisted with something between anticipation and uncertainty.

“what’s wrong?” you asked, voice quieter now, like you already knew something was about to happen but couldn’t put it into words.

he didn’t respond. there was no need for words, not when his body was already moving, closing the space between you in a matter of seconds. he dropped his things onto the coffee table carelessly, his focus solely on you, on the way your lips parted slightly as you watched him approach. then, without hesitation, his hands found your face, cradling it gently but firmly, fingers pressing against your jaw as he tilted your head up toward him. before you could react, before you could fully register the moment, his lips crashed onto yours.

the kiss was desperate yet controlled, slow yet overwhelming. his lips molded against yours perfectly, moving with a purpose that sent shivers through your body. your fingers clutched at his shirt instinctively, gripping the fabric as he pressed further into you, deepening the kiss as if he had been starving for this—for you. the heat of his body was intoxicating, surrounding you, drawing you in until nothing else existed beyond the feeling of his mouth on yours.

he pushed you back against the couch, but not fully—he kept you upright, his hands slipping down to your waist, fingers tightening just enough to make you feel the strength behind them. the kiss didn’t falter, didn’t slow, his lips parting just enough for his tongue to swipe along your bottom lip, teasing, tasting. the softest sound escaped you, a mix between a sigh and a gasp, and he swallowed it eagerly, his breath heavy against your skin.

his fingers twitched where they rested on your waist, holding back, resisting the urge to explore further. but there was something restrained in the way he touched you, something raw hidden beneath the careful movements. he was savoring you, memorizing the way your body responded, the way your lips pressed back against his just as hungrily, like you had been waiting for this just as long as he had.

but this was just the beginning.

because now that he knew, now that he had you—he wasn’t about to let you go.

“sunoo…” your voice is barely above a whisper, breathless against his lips, but it’s lost between the heat of the moment, swallowed by the way his mouth moves against yours. he only hums in response, the sound low and deep, vibrating in his chest as he tilts his head to deepen the kiss.

his lips work against yours with an intensity that leaves you dizzy, your thoughts dissolving into nothing but the feeling of him—his warmth, his taste, the way his body presses closer, fitting against yours like he belongs there. you barely register the way his hands slip from your waist, fingers trailing up your sides, fingertips grazing the curve of your ribs before he reaches the hem of your shirt.

he tugs at the fabric, a silent command, but he doesn’t pull away just yet. instead, his fingers curl into the material, gathering it slowly, teasingly, his knuckles brushing against your bare skin as he lifts it higher. the sensation sends shivers through you, your breath hitching slightly as his hands roam, his touch warm and deliberate.

finally, he breaks the kiss, just long enough to drag your shirt over your head, tossing it aside carelessly. his gaze flickers down, lingering over your newly exposed skin, his eyes darkening with something unreadable—something hungry.

his lips are swollen, flushed a deeper red from the intensity of his kisses, slightly parted as he takes in the sight of you. the air between you is thick, charged, electric. but rather than hesitate, rather than give you a moment to process, you move—your hands reaching up, snaking around his neck, pulling him back in.

your lips find his again, just as eager, just as desperate, the fire between you reigniting in an instant. the kiss is messier this time, less controlled, fueled by something raw, something needy.

his hands find your waist again, fingers pressing into your skin, holding you firmly in place as he leans in further, deepening the kiss like he wants to consume you, like he wants to ruin you.

and you let him.

his hands slide down the curve of your waist, past the dip of your hips, until they find purchase on the swell of your ass. his grip is firm, possessive, squeezing just enough to make you gasp softly against his lips. but he doesn’t stop there—his fingers trail further down, grazing over the back of your thighs before hooking under them.

without hesitation, he lifts you effortlessly, your body molding against his as your legs instinctively wrap around his waist. the motion presses you flush against him, your core rubbing against the hard outline of his arousal, drawing a sharp inhale from both of you.

but even as he moves, carrying you toward your room, the kiss doesn’t break—not once.

it stays heated, desperate, his lips moving against yours with an urgency that makes your head spin. his breath is warm, ragged, mixing with yours as he walks, his hold on you tightening, like he doesn’t want to let go for even a second.

by the time he reaches the bed, he wastes no time.

he drops you onto the mattress, the sudden loss of his body heat making you whimper as your back bounces slightly against the plush surface. but sunoo is already on you, already leaning over, his hands slipping beneath you in one fluid motion.

before you can even process it, you feel the soft snap of your bra coming undone, the straps falling from your shoulders as he peels it away, tossing it onto the floor without a second thought.

his breath catches the moment your bare chest is exposed to him.

his eyes darken, his jaw tightening slightly as his hands move immediately—palms cupping your breasts, squeezing, kneading with a roughness that sends sparks of pleasure coursing through you.

a deep grunt rumbles in his throat as his thumbs brush over your nipples, teasing them into stiff peaks, his fingers flexing, relishing the way you react under his touch.

“sunoo…” your voice is a breathy whimper, barely able to escape past your lips.

he leans down, lips parting as he attaches his mouth to one of your nipples, the heat of his tongue sending a sharp jolt of pleasure straight through your body. his mouth moves with purpose, sucking deeply, his tongue swirling before he bites down ever so slightly, tugging at the sensitive bud with his teeth. the sensation sends a shudder through you, a broken moan spilling past your lips.

his free hand isn’t idle—his fingers find your other breast, pinching and rolling the neglected nipple between his fingertips, the dual stimulation making your back arch off the mattress. the pleasure is sharp, overwhelming, your body reacting instinctively to every movement, every calculated flick of his tongue.

“s-sunoo…” your voice is barely coherent, breathy and desperate, your fingers threading into his soft hair, tugging as if grounding yourself.

but if you think pulling his hair will slow him down, you’re wrong.

instead, it only fuels him further, a deep, guttural moan vibrating against your skin, sending another wave of pleasure rippling through you. he sucks harder, the wet sounds of his mouth working over you filling the space between your heavy breaths. his grip on your waist tightens, like he wants to pin you down, keep you from squirming under his touch.

he pulls away from your nipple with a soft pop, lips glistening as he drags his mouth lower, his tongue trailing hot, wet kisses down the valley of your breasts. his breath is ragged, his voice husky, dripping with something raw, something needy.

“waited so long for this, baby…” he murmurs, his lips grazing against your skin, every word punctuated with another lingering kiss.

his hands slide lower, fingers ghosting over your ribs, your stomach, mapping out every inch of you.

“so fucking long…”

his voice is quiet, almost like he’s speaking more to himself than to you, but the weight of his words settles deep in your core, making your entire body burn with anticipation.

“please, sunoo…” your voice is barely above a whisper, trembling with need as you look up at him through half-lidded eyes. desperation laces every syllable, your body burning with anticipation as you widen your legs, offering yourself to him.

your fingers move on their own, hooking into the waistband of your pants, dragging them down your thighs before kicking them off completely. the cool air brushes against your heated skin, only making the ache between your legs more unbearable.

sunoo lets out a soft chuckle, his expression unreadable as he reaches for your wrists, wrapping his hands around them with ease.

“keep them up here, baby,” he murmurs, guiding your hands above your head, pressing them into the mattress as he settles between your legs.

the sight of him kneeling before you, his dark gaze locked onto the damp patch of your panties, makes your stomach tighten, anticipation coiling deep in your core.

before you can even register his movements, his tongue darts out, dragging a slow, deliberate stripe up the center of your panties, licking the slick arousal that has already soaked through the thin fabric.

the sensation is light, teasing, but it’s enough to rip a needy whimper from your throat. your thighs twitch, your hips jerking slightly, instinctively seeking more.

“so fucking wet…” he breathes against you, his voice laced with amusement, with satisfaction.

your breath stutters, your entire body trembling under his gaze as his fingers trail up your inner thigh, featherlight, barely touching where you need him most.

then, without warning, he hooks a finger into the fabric of your panties and rips them away with a single, effortless tug.

the sound of the fabric tearing is drowned out by the sharp gasp that escapes you, your head tilting back as your thighs instinctively try to clamp shut, but sunoo is faster.

he parts your legs again, his grip firm but gentle, his free hand tossing the ruined scrap of fabric to the side before finally, finally dragging his fingers through your soaked folds.

“for me, no?” his voice is dark, teasing, his breath hot against your exposed skin.

he strokes you once, slow and deliberate, spreading your slick, his fingers gliding effortlessly against your heat.

“this fucking desperate… only for me, baby?”

his words make your entire body shudder, your hips rolling into his touch as you let out a desperate whimper—because yes, only for him. always for him.

he doesn’t wait for a response—doesn’t need one. instead, he dives in, his tongue dragging a slow, deliberate path down your folds before sweeping back up, gathering every drop of your slick. a deep, satisfied grunt vibrates against your core as he tastes you, savoring the sweetness of your arousal.

his fingers follow soon after, trailing up your thigh before slipping between your legs, the pads of his fingertips barely brushing over your swollen clit. the teasing flick sends a sharp jolt of pleasure through you, making your back arch, a loud whimper spilling from your lips.

your head tilts back, eyes fluttering shut as your hands fist the sheets beside you. the way his tongue moves—lapping at you, slow and purposeful, before pressing firmer, licking you clean—has your body trembling beneath him.

but he doesn’t stop there.

his mouth moves with precision, alternating between licking and sucking, his lips wrapping around your sensitive bundle of nerves, pulling it into his mouth before releasing it just as quickly. the sensation is overwhelming, the rhythm relentless, and when he finally presses his tongue inside you, your breath catches in your throat, your vision going hazy.

the pleasure is all-consuming, leaving you breathless, barely coherent, reduced to nothing but the sensation of his mouth devouring you.

just when you think you can’t take any more, he pulls away—just enough to replace his tongue with his fingers.

the stretch is sudden, unexpected, and a sharp, needy moan rips from your throat as his fingers push inside you, deep and unyielding.

his lips brush against your cheek, warm and teasing, his breath hot against your skin as he murmurs, “fuck, look at you…”

his voice is thick with hunger, his hooded eyes never leaving your face, watching every reaction as his fingers pump in and out of you, curling just right, finding that spot inside you that has your entire body tensing.

his thumb finds your clit again, circling in slow, deliberate motions, his touch both gentle and devastating.

“s-sunoo! goddd—”

your cry is broken, desperate, your body arching into his touch, chasing the high that’s building rapidly inside you.

his smirk presses against the shell of your ear as he nibbles at the delicate skin, his voice low, taunting.

“hm? feels good, baby?”

his words alone send another shiver through you, your hands flying to grip onto his shoulders, nails digging into his skin as you nod frantically.

he chuckles, his pace quickening, his fingers thrusting harder, deeper.

your legs begin to tremble, muscles tightening as sunoo’s fingers work you open with merciless precision. every calculated thrust, every curl of his fingers inside you sends another sharp wave of pleasure rolling through your body, leaving you breathless and shaking.

the wet sounds of his fingers plunging into you mix with the quiet, broken gasps that fall from his lips whenever you clench around him. his mouth stays close to your ear, feeding you small, taunting whispers, his breath hot against your flushed skin.

“so tight, baby,” he murmurs, his voice thick with amusement, with hunger. “you keep squeezing my fingers like that—fuck—you really want to come that bad, huh?”

your body jerks in response, your hands flying to grip his forearms, nails digging into the taut muscle as you struggle to ground yourself.

“please! s-sunoo, m’gonna—gonna cum…” you whimper, your voice breaking, high-pitched with desperation.

his pace never falters. if anything, your pleading only spurs him on, his fingers thrusting harder, deeper, hitting that spot inside you that has your entire body tensing.

“aw, you are?” he coos mockingly, his lips brushing against the shell of your ear. his tone is teasing, dripping with false sympathy, but his fingers remain ruthless.

“gonna cum on my fingers, baby?” he goads, his free hand slipping down to press against your lower stomach, amplifying the pressure, making your toes curl as the pleasure becomes unbearable.

your moans grow louder, higher, your thighs squeezing around his wrist, but he doesn’t stop—doesn’t even slow down.

“then do it, baby,” he commands, his voice suddenly firmer, more demanding. “be my fucking good girl and cum for me.”

his words push you over the edge.

your entire body tenses before unraveling, a cry ripping from your throat as you come undone around his fingers. your walls clamp down on him, pulsing, the pleasure crashing over you in waves so intense they leave you shaking in his hold.

sunoo groans softly, feeling you fall apart beneath him, his fingers slowing just slightly, working you through the aftershocks, milking every last bit of your release.

“that’s it,” he murmurs, pressing a kiss to your temple, voice softer now, almost proud. “such a good girl for me…”

you lay completely boneless, limbs heavy as aftershocks ripple through your body, your chest rising and falling in uneven pants. your thighs still tremble, your nerves overstimulated, but sunoo doesn’t give you a moment to recover.

before you can even catch your breath, he withdraws his fingers from your soaked heat, only to bring them straight to your lips.

“open,” he murmurs, his voice deep, expectant.

your lips part instinctively, wrapping around his fingers as he slides them past your tongue. the taste of yourself coats your mouth, warm and slick, as you suck obediently, your tongue swirling around his digits. he watches you with dark, hooded eyes, his breath catching slightly at the sight.

“my good girl…” he praises, his voice barely above a whisper, more to himself than to you. his fingers flex against your tongue, feeling the way you suck them clean, completely compliant, completely his.

he pulls them out with a soft pop, his hand trailing down your cheek, his thumb pressing against your swollen bottom lip, smearing the remnants of your arousal across it.

“you’re my good girl, right, baby?” he asks, his voice softer now, but still laced with something dark, something possessive.

you nod weakly, unable to form words, your mind still foggy from the intensity of your orgasm.

he smirks at your fucked-out expression, shifting his weight as he leans back slightly, his knees pressing beneath your thighs, spreading you open effortlessly.

“then you’ll cum for me again,” he murmurs, more of a statement than a request.

your hazy mind barely registers the sound of fabric shifting, the rustle of his pants being shoved down, but your attention snaps back when you hear it—his moan.

low, breathy, raw.

your half-lidded gaze drops to where his hand wraps around his cock, so hard and sensitive that he shudders the moment he touches himself.

“fuck,” he groans, his head tilting forward as he strokes himself once, twice, his breath coming out shaky.

his free hand moves to your thigh, fingers pressing into your soft skin as he spreads you further, his cock dragging against your slick folds, teasing, rubbing, coating himself in your arousal.

your body twitches at the sensation, a gasp escaping your lips as the head of his cock nudges against your entrance.

and then—he pushes in.

the stretch is slow, deliberate, his cock sinking into you inch by inch, stretching you open, filling you completely.

his head falls back, his mouth parting in a sharp gasp, his fingers tightening against your thigh as he bottoms out, fully sheathed inside you.

“fuck, baby…” he exhales, his voice trembling slightly, wrecked by the feeling of you wrapped around him, tight, warm, perfect.

he stays still for a moment, savoring it, savoring you—before his hips pull back, only to thrust in again, deep and slow.

it only lasts for a second—that brief moment of stillness where he lets you adjust, lets you feel just how full he’s stretching you—before his restraint shatters completely.

his hips snap forward, driving into you with a force that steals the breath from your lungs. his cock fills you perfectly, each deep, punishing thrust pushing you further into the mattress. the sounds between you are filthy—the wet, obscene slap of skin meeting skin, the breathless moans that spill from your lips with every movement.

your legs tighten around his waist instinctively, ankles locking behind his back as you try to ground yourself, try to keep yourself from falling apart too quickly. but sunoo doesn’t let up.

he fucks into you mercilessly, his pace unrelenting, each stroke deeper than the last, dragging against every sensitive spot inside you with devastating accuracy.

“uh—fuck, baby!” he groans, his voice breaking into something almost desperate, almost wrecked.

his hands leave your thighs, coming up to cradle your jaw, tilting your face toward him. his fingers press into your cheeks, forcing your lips to part slightly, his gaze dark and burning as he watches your expression twist in pleasure.

“taking me so fucking good,” he grunts, his breath hot against your skin, his words punctuated by the sharp snap of his hips.

and then—his lips crash onto yours.

he kisses you fiercely, swallowing every moan, every gasp, every breathless whimper that escapes you. his tongue slides against yours, deepening the kiss, his teeth nipping at your bottom lip before soothing the bite with another slow, searing stroke of his tongue.

his pace never falters. if anything, the kiss only spurs him on, his thrusts growing rougher, needier, like he’s trying to claim every part of you at once.

his grip on your jaw tightens, keeping you exactly where he wants you, his mouth devouring yours like he’s starving—like he can’t get enough.

“fuck, baby,” he groans against your lips, his breath heavy, uneven. “you feel so fucking good—so perfect—”

his words dissolve into another moan as your walls clench around him, drawing him in even deeper.

and from the way his rhythm stutters slightly, from the way his fingers flex against your skin—

you know he’s just as close to breaking as you are.

“you love me, baby?”

his voice comes out in harsh, ragged breaths, each word fractured by the force of his thrusts, but you hear him clear as day.

the question slams into you harder than he does, your heart lurching in your chest, a tight, breathless feeling coiling in your ribs. your hands clutch at his back, your nails digging into his skin, because you know what he’s asking. you know he’s not just playing anymore.

sunoo knows.

he knows.

his lips are still close to yours, his breath hot against your skin, and though your mind is hazy from pleasure, from the overwhelming sensation of him inside you, you can’t ignore the weight of his words—the way they settle deep in your stomach, heavy and consuming.

“i know you do, baby…”

his voice drops lower, rougher, laced with something dark, something possessive. his cock twitches inside you, the sheer thought of you loving him—wanting him—making his pace stutter for just a second before he regains control, before he slams into you even harder.

his grip on your waist tightens, fingers pressing deep enough to leave bruises, his body leaning into yours, crowding you, owning you.

“should’ve told me sooner instead of me finding out like that,” he growls, his lips ghosting over your jaw before nipping at the sensitive skin beneath your ear.

you shudder, a sharp gasp escaping you as his hips snap forward again, relentless and punishing, dragging you closer and closer to the edge.

“but don’t worry, baby,” he murmurs, pressing open-mouthed kisses down your throat, his teeth grazing your pulse point before sucking hard enough to make you whimper.

his tongue flicks over the mark, soothing it, before he pulls back just enough to meet your gaze. his eyes burn into yours, dark and intent, his expression a mix of raw hunger and something deeper—something dangerous.

“i’ll just mark you up,” he promises, his pace never slowing, his cock driving into you like he’s staking a claim, like he’s branding himself into you.

“because you were always mine.”

just as the last word leaves his lips, the coil in your stomach snaps, shattering into pure, unfiltered pleasure that crashes over you in overwhelming waves. your entire body seizes, your muscles locking up for a split second before unraveling completely, pleasure crackling through every nerve in your body.

your pussy clenches around him impossibly tight, gripping him like a vice, milking him as you come undone beneath him. your back arches off the mattress, pressing your chest flush against his as your head tilts back, mouth falling open in a loud, broken moan of his name.

“sunoo—!”

his hands grip your thighs, his fingers digging into your skin as he watches you unravel, his breathing erratic, ragged. the way you convulse beneath him, body trembling, walls fluttering around his cock, has his own release slamming into him without warning.

“oh my fucking god, baby—”

his voice is strained, almost desperate, his jaw clenching as his hips stutter, losing rhythm completely. he barely manages a few more shallow thrusts before his cock twitches one last time, and then he’s gone—tipping over the edge with you.

a deep, guttural groan rips from his throat as he buries himself inside you, his grip tightening, keeping you exactly where he wants you as he spills into you, filling you to the brim with his release.

“fuuuck—oh, shit!”

his head drops to your shoulder, his breath hot and heavy against your sweat-slicked skin, his body trembling as he rides out the last waves of his orgasm. his arms tighten around you, like he needs to feel you, all of you, as the pleasure pulses through him, leaving him utterly wrecked.

his hips give one last, lazy roll before he stills completely, chest heaving, his lips brushing over your collarbone in a mix of exhaustion and silent reverence.

your bodies remain tangled, the only sounds in the room being your combined heavy breaths, the lingering echoes of pleasure still humming between you.

natty’s notes ᝰ.ᐟ i hope you liked it !!

[mydearzero]

Livid | mean!Spencer Reid x Reader

MASTERLIST

18+ MINORS DO NOT INTERACT

Summary: Annoying Spencer, just to see him get mad, was one of your favourite ways to pass time at the BAU. Emily had warned you not too push him too far. You hadn't realised how right she was until Spencer decides he's had enough and takes you down to the basement.

Contents: DUB-CON, NO Y/N, fem!Reader, BAU!reader, mean!Spencer, no aftercare,, dom!Spencer, sub!Reader, co-workers, smut, unprotected sex, penetrative sex (p in v), creampie (is it even a mydearzero original if there's no coming inside?), spanking, dacryphilia, impact play, choking, spit, degradation, humiliation, semi-public sex, punishment, name calling, sir kink, filming and taking pictures without permission, orgasm denial, If I missed any warnings please tell me!

5K words

this one's a doozy folks. buckle up. it's pure porn - nik

You weren't doing it on purpose at first. It just so happened that you occasionally did things that got under Spencer's skin. You gradually realized which actions ticked him off and started doing them more and more. You just enjoyed seeing him annoyed, huffing and puffing, yet never saying anything. His patience seemed neverending.

Emily had warned you not to push him too far. According to her, when Spencer snapped, he exploded. 

Yeah, right. 

Her discouragement only egged you on. You'd hardly ever seen the genius even get mad. Spencer got irritated at best. He was an angel, really. 

So you continued pushing, taking every possible chance to get on his last nerve. It had turned from enjoying seeing him annoyed to wanting to see him furious. You'd seen Spencer snarl at a snobby police officer once. Hell, you'd even seen him snap at an UnSub. But you'd never seen him absolutely livid. 

It took you a while to figure out why you wanted to see him get mad. 

You thought back to that case, the one that had him yelling at the UnSub. You couldn't even remember the details of the case. All you could think about was Spencer's hands gripping the table as he leaned across it, getting close and personal with the UnSub. 

You cared about the veins straining against the surface of his skin, the bead of sweat rolling down the side of his face. The only lasting memory you had of the case was the tone of his voice and what it did to your body. 

A part of you wanted to be on the other side of that table, and it scared you how that part was growing exponentially, especially after Emily's warning. 

You didn't want to admit it, not even to yourself. But the sole reason you continued messing with Spencer was the age-old 'teasing your crush to get their attention' stint, and you hadn't even realized it. 

You shouldn't have been having all these deep thoughts and desires while sitting at your desk on a random Tuesday afternoon. Yet here you were. 

You tried to read the lines on the page in front of you repeatedly but to no avail. Your face sunk into your hands as you groaned inwardly. You had to stop this juvenile behaviour at this second. He was going to catch on. You were certain somebody already must've done the math. 

It shouldn't have surprised you when Spencer did finally burst. It wasn't like you did anything out of the usual. He wasn't even being tormented by a gruelling case. He'd just had enough. 

"God! You think you're so cute, don't you?" Spencer exclaimed, slamming the mouse you'd taped over on the table. The silence from before and after his outburst differed immensely. It was calm and serene before it turned tense and awkward. 

You slowly turned to look at his desk, not meeting his eye. If you had, you would've seen the way his pupils dilated at your meek behaviour. The way he had to regain his composure. 

Your heart rate skyrocketed, feeling caught. You knew reading minds wasn't a thing, but profiling sure was one of the things closest to it in this world. Spencer couldn't have known what you were thinking only seconds prior to him finding your latest childish attempt to invoke his anger. But it felt like he knew. 

Spencer scoffed as you chewed on your bottom lip, suddenly not feeling so funny anymore. "You don't have anything to say for yourself?" 

You gaped as you made eye contact with an overly amused Derek. He was enjoying this show to its fullest extent. "Don't look at me, kid. We warned you." He shrugged. 

You turned your eyes back to a still-aggravated Spencer. He pushed himself away from his desk and got out of his chair. He brushed his hands over his jacket, still sending daggers your way. 

Your gaze followed him hesitantly as he stalked over to your desk. You scrambled to arrange things as if your messy workspace would only annoy him more. 

"Get up." He demanded. You raised your eyebrows in question. Was he serious? 

"Ooh, someone's in trouble," Emily teased in a sing-songy tone. Not helping, Prentiss. 

"You're messing with me, right? Because of all the stupid pranks?" You asked sceptically. Your voice was wavering and uncertain. 

"No, I'm being dead serious. Get up. Follow me." Spencer made an upwards motion with his fingers as he loomed over your seated figure. 

You slowly pushed your chair out and sent questioning glances to JJ, who only shrugged. Your legs were unsteady as you stood. Spencer was your coworker, your friend. So why was your heart beating in your throat as if you were about to be sent to the fifth circle of Dante's Inferno? 

Spencer didn't say another word as his long legs stalked out of the bullpen, uncaring that you were struggling to keep up. You nearly tripped over your feet several times before reaching the elevator. You stood beside a seething Spencer, who turned to push the 'B' button. 

The basement? What business did he, or you, for that matter, have in the basement? Nobody ever- Right. Nevermind.

Nobody ever set foot in the basement. 

You twiddled with your fingers in anticipation, hearing Spencer breathe in an unnatural pattern. The floors passed by quickly, and before you knew it, you were met with the sight of the metal doors sliding open into darkness. 

Spencer flicked the light switch. Harsh, industrial, white light filled the dusty room. It was smaller than you expected. The rows of file cabinets made it look smaller than it really was. A desk was situated in the middle, seemingly abandoned. 

You shuddered a breath as you stepped into the room, feeling exposed even when you knew nobody could see or hear you down here. Your shoes seemed outrageously interesting, your eyes never leaving them as you awaited Spencer with bated breath. 

"Look at me." His words filled the silence. The room had an eerie lack of echo, his voice sounding closer than it actually was. 

You slowly lifted your head to meet his gaze. He appeared taller like this, especially when you were already feeling small, hunching in on yourself. 

"I'm going to give you one chance to apologize for your downright appaling behaviour." Spencer crossed his arms as he leaned against the desk. You felt as if you were being scolded by a teacher for throwing a crayon at another student. 

"Why the condescending tone, Reid? We're all coworkers here." You questioned defensively, mirroring his stance by crossing your arms. 

"That doesn't sound like an apology to me, but I'll bite. We are definitely coworkers. But you know as well as I that you changed that dynamic when you decided to start acting like a spoilt little girl begging for my attention." His composure didn't change as he spoke the incriminating words.

You didn't know what you expected coming down here with him, but this certainly wasn't it. You felt something simmer at his words, something you didn't want to acknowledge. You searched his face for any emotion, but only found a look that said "Well?" 

When he noticed you weren't going to answer, he laughed. It wasn't a hearty chuckle. There was an underlying tone of sarcasm and ridicule to it. 

"You've been at this for months, and now you're not even going to attempt to say sorry? I expected a shitty excuse, sure, but an apology nonetheless." Spencer scoffed. 

You knew he was holding back. You could see it in the way he turned his head and closed his eyes before facing you again. You damned your profiling skills for giving you a foresight of what he had in store for you. You'd seen nothing of his wrath yet. 

You knew he was getting frustrated at your silence, but you couldn't find the words. Nothing you could say could make this any better for you. You ran all the possible outcomes in your head, but every thought was more incriminating than the previous one. 

"Fine." He clapped his hands together, stepping away from the desk. He motioned towards it, signalling you to take timid steps towards the piece of furniture. You looked at him questioningly. 

His eyebrows raised. The words "You know what to do" went unspoken. 

You swallowed as your mouth went dry. You looked at the desk, before looking at Spencer again. He didn't have to say anything. He wanted you to do it yourself. You closed your eyes as you leaned your palms against the unkept wood. You slowly brought your elbows down, leaning on them uncertainly. If this wasn't his intention, you'd just embarrassed yourself into the next century. 

You heard him breathe deeply as he walked behind you. You jerked as his hand ran up your back until it reached between your shoulder blades. He pushed hard enough to press your chest flush with the desk, turning your head to lie it on the surface. His hand stayed there as the other was placed on your hip. 

Spencer let out a content sigh. "Better." 

He stepped away, leaving a cold feeling behind. You didn't dare move, already mortified at your predicament. You tried to breathe as quietly as possible as if any noise you made could set him off. You tried to hear what he was doing, unable to see him clearly in your peripheral. 

Your head raised off the desk at lightning speed when you heard the unmistakable sound of a phone camera shutter. 

"Did I say you could move?" Spencer asked. You shook your head, quickly placing it back on the desk. For a second, you wondered why you were even listening to him. He had no authority over you. But it felt exhilarating to give it to him. 

"You speak when I ask you a question. No shaking your head, understood?" His voice came from in front of the desk. How hadn't you noticed him walking around it? 

"Yes, sir," You squeaked, doing as he asked. Sir? Really? 

"Good girl." 

The words flipped a switch inside you. You licked your lips and closed your eyes, seemingly having to wait an eternity for him to take the next step. You heard the distinct sound of his belt unbuckling. You found yourself crossing your legs at the implication. Surely he wasn't going to whip you? 

You thought you were going to get scolded for the action, but Spencer ignored it. He reached for your wrists, lying awkwardly beside your head. You didn't dare make eye contact. 

You were confused at his next action until you saw the hole near the back of the desk, meant for cables. He threaded the belt through it before bringing your wrists to it and tying them together. The positioning was awkward at best, but you were starting to feel like that's what he wanted, to embarrass you. 

You gave the makeshift handcuffs an experimental tug. They didn't budge, of course. Panic simmered in your chest, a claustrophobic feeling settling at the thought that you were stuck. There was nowhere for you to go, nowhere for you to run from Spencer's revenge. 

He ran a hand through your hair, softly shushing you like you were a child. His hand slowly slid down your back. Your breath stuttered at his deliberate pace. He was taking his sweet time. 

"Shhh... You're fine." He whispered, putting a foot between yours and kicking them open. You grunted at the action just as he was hooking his fingers into your bottoms and taking your underwear clean off with them. He lifted one of your feet, only bothering to untangle one foot and leaving your clothes pooled at your other ankle. 

His fingers trailed up the inside of your leg. The tips of his fingers finally found the spot where you needed them most, but Spencer didn't do much besides feel you up. 

"You're so fucking wet it's pathetic." He mumbled as he wiped his fingers on your thigh. 

"You can pretend that you're tough and grown up all you want, but this is what you are. A pathetic little whore begging for my attention." Spencer walked around the desk and grabbed your chin harshly. The look in his eyes could only be described as animalistic. The ghost of a smirk danced on his lips. 

You saw his eyes flicker down to your lips, and for a second you thought he was going to kiss you. You wanted him to kiss you. But he did no such thing. 

"Open your mouth." He demanded, squishing your cheeks between his pointer finger and thumb. You obeyed, but it wasn't good enough for him.

"You can do better than that, c'mon." He urged, putting his thumb in your mouth and pushing your head back. He removed his hand and observed you lying there with your mouth open. He seemed pleased at the sight, humming in approval. 

His hand made its way back to your chin, turning your face upwards, craning your neck uncomfortably. You hadn't registered what he'd done until you felt a warm glob hit your tongue. Had he just spit in your mouth? You looked at him aghast. 

"Wipe that shocked look off your face and swallow it if you know what's good for you." He patted your cheek mockingly. You closed your mouth and swallowed his spit, not trying to think too much about the fact that known germaphobe Spencer Reid had just spit. in. your. fucking. mouth. 

"That's what I thought." He said, grabbing the hem of your shirt and lifting it over your head. You thought he was going to take it off, maybe leaving it on your arms, seeing as they were currently tied to the desk, but he did no such thing. He brought the hem over your eyes, effectively blindfolding you with your shirt. 

You couldn't imagine what you must've looked like. Legs spread, bottoms haphazardly pulled down, shirt over your eyes, hands tied, pussy dripping. Your heart sank as you heard Spencer take another picture. 

"You look so good like this, exactly how you're supposed to be," Spencer spoke with a misconstrued sense of pride. 

You flinched and yelped when he abruptly struck your behind with a flat hand. You'd expected this was coming, that he was going to punish you, but you hadn't heard him approach. He rubbed his hand over the sore spot he'd just hit. 

"You're going to count them for me, and you're going to apologize after every single one. You better mean it because if I feel you're being insincere, you're only gonna get more until I believe you." Spencer set the rules, resting his left hand on your hip. You waited for him to begin, but another strike didn't come. 

"This is the time where you say 'Yes, sir' like you did earlier. I must admit, I didn't expect that one. But I like it, so we're keeping it," he mocked. 

"-Yes, sir," you stammered. Another hum of approval met your ears as he repositioned himself for the optimal angle. 

He didn't hold back as the second slap hit your butt. It stung more than you'd expected, a burning sensation spreading fast. 

"Two. I'm sorry, Spencer." You apologized, putting as much sincerity behind the words as you could muster. 

"No, that was one. The first one was just a warning. And you don't deserve to call me Spencer right now. You'll need to earn that privilege back. You'll learn to respect me soon enough. Now, start over." 

His hand came back down once more.

"One! I'm sorry, sir," you hissed at the pain. 

"What are you sorry for, princess?" Spencer asked as he delivered another smack. 

"Two! I'm sorry for disrespecting you!" You no longer had the energy to keep your head up, giving up the attempt to look at him and resting it back on the desk. 

"And?" He questioned. Another strike. 

"Three! I'm sorry for embarrassing you and pulling stupid pranks." You admitted.

"I don't buy it," Spencer contemplated. 

"Please, sir! I'm sorry. I'm genuinely sorry for being so childish." You apologized. A strike harder than the previous ones landed on your behind. 

"You don't speak out of turn, do you understand?" Spencer gripped your hair and pulled your head up to spit the words straight into your ear. You nodded wildly, as much as his grip on your hair through the shirt would allow. 

"Yes, yes, I understand." You said. Spencer let go of your hair. You only had milliseconds to respond, preventing your head from hitting the wood. He returned to his previous position, not wasting any time before landing several strikes to your ass.

This continued for a while, him smacking, you counting and begging for his forgiveness. Your legs were shaking by the time he reached the twentieth hit. 

"Twenty... I really am sorry, sir. I shouldn't have pushed you." You sighed, feeling Spencer rub circles over the impacted flesh. 

"Have you learned your lesson?" He asked. 

"Yes, I won't do it again. I'm sorry." You didn't remember how many times the words 'I'm' and 'sorry' had rolled off your tongue that afternoon, but it must've been dozens. 

"Good. Now, for good measure, one last time." There was an underlying tone to the threat you couldn't place. You didn't have to wonder long, the last strike landing directly on your pussy. 

"Shit! Oh my god," you cursed, attempting to shut your legs. Spencer's feet kept them from moving. He'd anticipated the reaction. You were glad for the echoless chamber, the humiliatingly wet sound only reverberating slightly. 

"Now I can really be sure you'll remember." You could hear the smile in his voice. He was enjoying this too much. But then again, hadn't you been the exact same? Gaining joy from inconveniencing him? You sighed at the realization you couldn't judge him for getting off on this. The last smack certainly hadn't been a dry one. 

"Now..." Spencer trailed off. He removed the shirt from your eyes, pushing it further over your head. He pushed the fabric into your mouth as a makeshift gag. 

"Don't you make any noise, okay? I mean, not like anybody will hear you down here." He chuckled. You turned your head and your eyes widened as you saw him walk towards the elevator. He pushed the call button and turned back to catch one last glimpse at you. He snapped a quick picture of your reddened ass cheeks before stepping into the elevator. 

You yelled his name through the gag, nothing but gurgling, obstructed pleas meeting his ears. He wasn't leaving, right? He wouldn't. He couldn't. He was just testing you. 

You were left with the sound of your own pants and racing heart. You tugged at your binds once more. What if he left? Went home? Surely it was past the regular office hours by now. 

Tears welled up in your eyes at the idea of being left here like this overnight. What if nobody came down here? What if somebody did come down here and saw you like this? You were conflicted. 

After 10 minutes of silent contemplation and several escape attempts, the metallic creaking of the elevator coming down sounded through the basement. You clenched your eyes shut, begging the universe it was Spencer and nobody else. 

You breathed a sigh of relief when you heard the familiar sound of Spencer's shoes hitting the linoleum floor. You watched as he sipped his newly acquired coffee, not acknowledging you, only looking at his phone. After presumably sending a couple of texts, he shut it off and put it away on top of one of the cabinets nearby.

He smiled at the sight of the fresh tears rolling down your face. "Tell me, have you ever heard of Dacryphilia?" He asked as he crouched down to your level and wiped a few stray tears from your chin. He removed the gag from your mouth. 

You shook your head before correcting yourself. "No, sir." 

"It's a form of paraphilia in which one is aroused by tears or sobbing," Spencer explained. Leave it up to Spencer to dive into an explanation at a moment like this. 

"I never thought I was someone who could be turned on by that. But seeing you like this, I can definitely see the appeal." His words were quiet, but so was the room. 

"You look so pretty when you cry for me." He praised, running a hand through your hair. It was a surprisingly sweet sentiment, given the circumstances. He got up from his crouched position before you. You looked up at him. The domineering gaze he gave back told you all you needed to know.  

"Thank you, sir," you whispered, hoping it was the correct response. 

"See? It's not that hard to be respectful. But I'm not done with you yet."  

Your breathing picked up as you remembered your predicament. Spencer didn't waste any time, pushing his pants down. His cock was long and thick. 

You thought he was going to make you suck it. He pushed it in your mouth harshly, not giving you any room to breathe. He held you there, choking on his cock by the back of your head for a few more seconds before pulling it out and slapping it on your cheek. He smiled wickedly before tucking it back in his pants. It had only been a taste, literally. 

He saw your confused look, but ignored it, opting to walk back around the desk. He wasted no time, pushing two fingers inside your mortifyingly wet hole. He curled them exactly right, and you clenched your fist and eyes to stop your legs from giving out. 

Just as you'd started moving your hips along with his hand, he pulled away. "Stay still. Or you don't get anything." 

You willed your entire body to remain frozen as he resumed his activities. He brought his other hand to your clit, rubbing at the exact speed and pressure to make your knees buckle. You had to put all your weight on your upper body to stop moving. 

"God, will you shut up?" Spencer groaned. You hadn't even noticed you were making any noise, the moans and whines falling from your lips sounding foreign. 

You bit your lip to keep them from escaping, but it was hard when Spencer was unrelenting. You felt yourself coming close, soft, high-pitched whines escaping your throat no matter how hard you tried to contain them.  

Your toes curled, and your muscles tightened, but Spencer pulled away. More tears welled up in your eyes at the immensely unsatisfying sensation. You wanted to beg him to please continue and let you finish. But he'd told you to shut up, and you really weren't looking to prolong your punishment. 

You heard your own pathetic sobs, drowning out the sound of him undoing his pants again. Your chest heaved as you tried to stay silent. Sweat dripped down your face, mixing with the tears. 

It was bizarre how quiet he stayed. He was usually so talkative. But the implication that you didn't deserve him speaking to you unless it was an order was clear. 

"This is all you're good for. A hole for me to fuck. And don't you dare forget it." Spencer lined himself up and didn't offer any more preparation before sliding inside. 

"You're just a deplorable, woeful, pitifully sad little girl." Spencer spat as his grip on your hair returned. His other hand snuck around your neck, gripping tightly. He used the grip on your hair and neck as leverage to set a brutal pace, calling you every synonym for pathetic available. 

"You think you're so important? Good enough to be pulling shit like this? You need to learn your. fucking. place." Every word was punctuated by a harsh thrust. "You're expendable at best." 

You didn't dare speak, the only thing leaving you was quiet sobs, whines and moans. Your breathing was strained against the hold he had on your neck. 

You were embarrassed to feel the knot in your stomach tightening worryingly fast. Spencer was treating you like a whore, and you were getting off on it, faster than anything else ever had before. 

Spencer felt you tighten around him and quickly pulled out and stepped away. You felt the cold breeze on your empty hole. More tears spilt as you heard the sound of a video recording starting. 

Spencer zoomed in on your desperate, fluttering pussy, before pushing back inside, keeping the camera focused on his cock entering in and out. 

You tried to hide your face when he turned the camera to it, but his hand yanked on your hair, making you face the camera. 

"Say: 'I'm Spencer's little slut. His own personal hole to use whenever he pleases because I'm a cockwhore hungry for attention.'" Spencer demanded. 

"Please, sir. Don't make me say it on camera," you begged. You'd say it, just to get it over with, but the current footage he had was already incriminating enough. 

"No, you're going to fucking listen to me for once. Say it." The pace of his hips never let up, your figure moving crudely in and out of the shot. 

"I-I'm Spencer's... Please," you began. Spencer's speed inside you increased, interrupting your train of thought. He delivered a harsh smack against your still sore ass, urging you to continue. 

"I'm Spencer's... little slut. His own personal... hole... to use whenever he pleases." You inhaled sharply before continuing. "Because I'm a... cockwhore... hungry for attention." You stuttered over the words, forcing them out. 

Spencer seemed satisfied, putting his phone away. His hand returned to your throat, cutting off the airflow as he fucked you harshly. Every thrust of his hips sent a jolt of electricity through your body. 

The wood was digging into your hips, sure to be beaten and bruised by tonight. Your weight was no longer being held up by your legs, Spencer's presence behind you being the only thing that kept you from collapsing. 

You were tight with desperation, every muscle wanting that sweet release he was depriving you of. 

Spencer grunted unintelligible curses against you as he pistoned inside. His thick cock felt like it was splitting you open with every thrust, no matter how wet you'd gotten. 

"Gonna cum inside you, and there's nothing you can do about it," Spencer mumbled as he sped up. How it was even possible, was beyond you. 

"Please, sir. Please let me cum." You whined. If he denied you one more time, you weren't sure if you could take it. 

"What makes you think you fucking deserve to cum? You're an annoying, good-for-nothing brat who's getting what was coming for her." He moaned against the shell of your ear. The sound ignited something new inside you. You needed to hear it again. 

"Please, Spencer. Please," you begged, more tears threatening to spill after you'd assumed you were all out. 

"What, you're gonna fucking cry? Like a fucking baby? Don't fucking do things if you're gonna fucking cry over the consequences, you fucking slut. And it's sir to you, you whore." You'd never heard Spencer this vulgar. And you could've never imagined what it would do to you. 

"You know what they call this, crybaby?" Spencer asked, tightening the grip on your throat, cutting off most if not all of the airflow. You shook your head aggressively. 

"Karma." He spoke, thrusting harshly to get the message across. The combination of the lack of air and his ruthless thrusts was brutal. You could feel yourself trembling, trying to keep yourself together. 

Spencer pushed his cock sharply one last time, twitching and releasing his spend inside you with a loud groan. He released your throat and pulled out. You fell forward, chest heaving with dry sobs. He hadn't let you come. You cried frustrated tears as Spencer took more photos, as expected. 

You felt the warm come drip from your pussy as Spencer took close-ups. A tense silence overtook the room as he made himself decent before paying you any attention. 

"Garcia still owed me a favour, so she disabled the elevator from coming down here unless you enter a code," Spencer explained as he untied you. You felt a weight lift off your shoulders, even if the ordeal was already over. The fact that there had been no real threat settled the uneasy feeling, even if only a little. It was the only consolation he offered. Spencer redid his belt as if it hadn't just been used as handcuffs while he fucked you like you were his property to discard. 

You rubbed your wrists, seeing the red wells carved in them from your relentless tugging. How were you going to explain this when you came in tomorrow? 

Spencer didn't seem to care, simply grabbing his stuff and waiting for the elevator. You looked around for your underwear, only to see a small piece of fabric sticking out of his pocket. You sighed and put your bottoms back on without the underwear, cringing at the wet, sticky fluid still between your legs. Your top was still wet with saliva and tears. 

You got in the elevator with him without saying a word. You'd expected to at least talk to him about it, but as soon as you reached ground level, Spencer was gone. 

Your eyes welled up and cheeks heated when you realized you were going to have to walk through the lobby and go home alone, all without any underwear and while still dripping his cum. 

Spencer had gotten what he wanted. You were mortified. And you sure as hell weren't going to pull any more pranks anytime soon. 

Not while at the office, anyways. 

[cherrygarcia-07]

Good Old Fashioned Lover Boy📞❤️/ Spencer Reid

technophobe spencer reid becomes obsessed with leaving you sweet little love letters in the form of voice notes <33

(this was inspired by a tweet I saw talking about Spencer leaving you voice notes and I spiralled a little)

pairing: spencer x gn reader

genre: fluff fluff fluff

word count: 1.9k

notes: nothing i just want spencer reid to leave me voice notes oh my god :(((( btw sorry if this is poorly written i am sleep deprived and fighting delirium rn

masterlist

————————————————————————-——❤️ —————————————————————————

Spencer didn’t understand it at first, being the self-proclaimed technophobe he was.

“Why would I need to do that when I can just call you?” He’d protested, sounding as confused as if you’d just spoken to him in alien language (probably more so seeing as he could likely decode an alien’s messages faster than he could figure out what the purpose of a voice note could possibly be).

You’d tried to explain it to him but it was like talking to a brick wall. A tall, astutely stupid, old-fashioned brick wall. Hell, he was still solely using that old brick phone of his until you had forced a smartphone in his hands and put your heart and soul into batting your lashes at him until he begrudgingly agreed to use it (only on the side, he’d said, when he absolutely needed to- that brick phone still sat snug in his pocket at all times). You loved him, but he was stubborn. And he had sworn, pledged, vowed that he would never have a need to send a voice note instead of simply calling- that was until you started sending them to him.

It was fair to call Spencer uncooperative when it came to most aspects of technology, but unfortunately for him his dopiness outweighed it tenfold. It didn’t matter what you said to him, just the sound of your voice was enough to render him silly. You would send him messages full of absolutely nothing: ramblings about your loud next door neighbour; pitchy performances of whatever song was stuck in your head that day; mundane questions you could totally just google but opted to consulting your encyclopaedia of a boyfriend instead- and he would be absolute mush where he stood listening to your voice as it rang, sweet and melodic, in his ears.

Spencer would catch himself reaching across the bed to his nightstand, eyes still closed and head buried in his pillow, desperately needing your familiarity to soothe his sleepless nights but not wanting to wake you with a phone call. His fingers would move on their own, finding your contact instinctively and scrolling until your voice notes appeared on his screen, knowing you were the lullaby he needed to settle his restless brain. Sighing contently, he would sink back into the mattress and listen to your messages as if they were poetry (even if you were just talking about some pop culture drama he had no clue about) until a wave of calm passed over him and pulled him into a sea of sleep.

When he was away with the team he didn’t always have the time to call you, but the cases he was working on would weigh heavy on his mind and so, like clockwork, his hands would find your name in his phone again. A small but undeniably lovesick smile would settle on his face as he allowed your voice to light up the dark events of the day until they were distant rain clouds in the sky that was your presence, hanging over him protectively even when you were apart.

He hated to admit it, but he was beginning to understand the appeal.

Spencer had laid in bed one of those sleepless nights, phone in his hand as he stared at the screen. He wanted to return the favour but couldn’t fathom where to begin. A million questions bounced around in his head (‘What do I say?’ How long do I talk for?’ ‘Wait, how do I even press record…?’) and he wondered if after all these years he’d had his dear IQ wrong seeing as something so simple as a smartphone had him completely and utterly stumped.

When you checked your phone the next morning, your jaw dropped. You rubbed your eyes in disbelief, thinking you must still be asleep and dreaming as you took in the 4 notifications under Spencer’s name. A short, breathy laugh escaped you as you eagerly unlocked your phone, itching to hear what awaited you.

The first voice note was 2 seconds long. It was muffled, and you could make out the rustling of sheets as if someone was shifting positions before it cut to silence as the message ended.

“He must’ve sent that one by mistake.” You muttered to yourself before moving on.

The second voice note was slightly longer at 7 seconds long. It began the same way, muffled movement and awkward silence for the most part until a voice cut through at the very end saying something you couldn’t quite decipher before cutting out completely as the message ended abruptly.

You couldn’t help the chuckle that you let out. God, he was just so endearing. A grin stretched across your face as you shook your head, bracing yourself for the third voice note.

Through your speaker, Spencer cleared his throat before speaking, shy and quiet.

“Um… H-hi uh…” He stopped to clear his throat again, a nervous habit of his you adored, before mumbling to himself “God, what do I sa-“.

You were laughing loudly at this point, your head dropped forward slightly as your shoulders shook and you didn’t hesitate before moving on to the fourth and final message.

There was a stretch of silence at the start before he spoke, like he couldn’t tell if he had hit record or not. “I’m not really sure what I’m doing but, um, I wanted to talk to you but I didn’t want to wake you so I thought I would finally try this out. I hope this makes you happy seeing as I feel incredibly foolish right now.” You could hear the shy smile in his words as a sigh left your lips. “But, um, that doesn’t matter because I wanted- needed, really- to tell you that I love you.” His voice had dipped lower, raspy and heavy with drowsiness but simultaneously so full of affection and adoration that it made your heart swell. “And that I hope you’re sleeping well. Goodnight, sweetheart.” There was another small period of silence before spoke again, this time to himself, “Now, how do I stop recor-“.

Over time, Spencer became more confident in the voice notes he would send, despite his continuing persistence that they were completely unnecessary in the wake of standard phone calls. Some days you would check your phone to hear frantic blabbering about the latest piece of research that had fascinated him, his voice loud and animated as he spoke with excitement laced through his words and you smiled a great, impassioned smile as you could practically see the way his free hand was wildly gesturing in tandem. Other days it would be shorter messages, relaying a random fact that had popped into that marvellous, never ending brain of his that he thought you’d enjoy (which you always did, but you would enjoy anything no matter the topic as long as it was coming out of his mouth). But every morning and every night, like it was law, Spencer would make sure to begin and end your day with a string of smitten ‘I love you’’s and heartfelt ramblings, making sure you woke up and fell asleep knowing how sincerely and how endlessly you were loved.

In the mornings, his voice would be slightly groggy, raspy in that way that sent shivers down your spine and made your heart stop beating for a moment. You could picture him lying in bed, brown curls splayed out in every which way around his head as it rested on his pillow, big doe eyes lazy with the lingering dreams of the fading night. Closing your eyes, you allowed his voice to take over your senses as the butterflies in your stomach danced at the love letters that spilled so effortlessly out of those soft lips of his. At night, Spencer’s voice would be heavy, weighed down by the long day behind him and yet he never skipped a second, as if he needed to get every lovestruck thought out of his head before his body would even consider letting him sleep, even if it meant he had to wait just that bit longer before he could see you in his dreams again.

You had never known love like it, like him, in your life. Spencer was unashamed, proud of the feelings he harboured for you and he never let you forget it. When you were together he was glued to you in some way or another, a gentle hand holding the small of your back like you were something precious that he could hardly believe he had the privilege of loving, or his arm draped over your shoulders like a shelter for you to burrow under and stay wrapped up cosy in the safety of his touch. He had a smile that was saved only for you, a genuine beam that reached as wide as it could across the face that you cradled in your hands every second you had the chance to, and his gaze was soft, glazed over slightly in a haze of adoration as he treasured your face that looked back at him with the same amount of tenderness. It was these memories that flashed across your mind every time you heard his voice, the familiarity of him somehow closing the distance no matter how far apart you were and it was as if he were sitting right beside you, cuddling you close like he never wanted to let you go.

The first time he sent you a voice note in public, you could tell. There was that same hesitation at the beginning that had been present in his first attempts so long ago, his voice was quiet and almost shaky and he paused at odd times where you could tell he was stopping to look around him to make sure no one could hear him. You’d giggled as you listened to him, nervous and bumbling as he detailed the quaint little bookstore he’d found and insisted he bring you there on your next date.

In those lonely evenings when you were apart, you’d find yourselves exchanging silly voice notes to keep each other entertained. Your sides would ache and your cheeks would be stiff from laughing at the numerous cheesy Clint Eastwood impressions he would leave you and you’d wish you could see the way you knew his face was mimicking the matching facial expressions too.

Whenever you were having a bad day, your phone would chime and the weight on your chest would begin to lift as you listened to what felt like an entire soliloquy of pure love. Spencer would go to the ends of the earth, travel space and time and whatever else he may come across if it meant he could make you happy and banish any sadness you felt into a big black hole never to bother you again. It killed him when he couldn’t be there to hold you, to stroke your hair and press light but longing kisses to your forehead as he hugged you through the pain you were feeling, and so the messages he sent were lengthy, longer than any other as he spilled his heart out into something you could play over and over whenever you needed him beside you, leaving positively no room to doubt that anyone or anything could love as deeply and as earnestly as him.

Somehow, despite his obstinance around technology, it seemed Spencer had found an outlet he admired, another means of connecting with you, of taking care of you and loving you in a way that surprised him with its vulnerability and for that he was grateful. It didn’t matter how many compliments he showered you with, how many kisses were shared in moments of intimacy or how many ‘I love you’s tumbled out like they were second nature, it was never enough. If this meant a whole new world of late night ramblings and whispered sweet-nothings, then who was he to say no?

-

[burekforsatoru]

fire up the night

sebastian (stardew valley)/f! reader | read it on ao3 sebastian just wants to go home… that is until you catch him by the door of the club, offering him something he can't refuse | inspired by the song fire up the night by new medicine wc: 5.2k tags: smut, spit play, piv sex, multiple orgasms 𓇼 ⋆.˚masterlist

sebastian hates absolutely everything about this night.

the music is too loud and the dj keeps skipping to another song without properly mixing. sam, next to him, is having the absolute time of his life, headbanging to every single song, no matter how short, no matter how badly blended, if at all, into the next, no matter how many people bump into him and spill their drink over his shoes. sebastian's feet are sticking to the floor of the club, squelching as he tries to lift them, if anything just to keep moving them and not feel like he's stuck in quicksand.

looking over most people's heads, a perk of being slightly taller than average, he can see there's barely any space in the room, so many heads of different colors moving simultaneously, some pressed together, making out in the middle of the floor. he rolls his eyes, lighting another cigarette, continuing his coping habit of chain-smoking to feel something, to not feel awkward about his hands, to have a purpose, when a figure knocks into him. he's ready to shoot his meanest, most venomous glare their way, but the genuine smile, the apologetic eyes, and the hands that hold onto his elbow for balance catch him off guard.

"shit— i'm so sorry," you say, "fucking glass…" as you look down to where you tripped over someone's disgustingly discarded glass bottle clinking along the floor, he takes the moment to glance at your body, already unable to help but imagine what it would look like squished under him.

very quickly, he feels the back of his neck heating up as you remember to let go of his elbow, but not before he manages to drop the cigarette that dangled precariously from his parted lips.

"ah, fuck." sebastian looks away in embarrassment, stepping with the sticky sole of his shoe on the cigarette rolling across the floor before quickly taking out another, lighting it immediately in an attempt to get his hands busy and not think about what it would feel like if he could touch you.

"i— sorry about that as well…" you chuckle and with a look up at his flustered face, you turn and let yourself be led away by a friend making their way to the toilets.

with a quick motion of his head, he nods toward the exit door, making sam's grin drop a little. he checks the time, quarter past two, and sighs. at least it's not only midnight like the last time sebastian asked to leave the club. that time, there was hardly any point in going if it was only for two hours for the concert. but sam always indulged him, always gave in, and not just because sebastian was his ride home. despite not being a fan of leaving so early, he understands the need for his friend to be away from people, so he doesn't argue, he tries not to show the wish that if only they could stay for a little while longer… maybe sebastian would be able to let go a little more.

a while later, sam is belting out the wrong lyrics to whatever stupid song is playing at the moment when sebastian realizes he's had enough. he's spent the past… however long, more than he would care to admit, thinking about the way your fingers held onto him like he was the only solid thing in the world. looking down, he notices there's enough put out cigarette butts on the sticky floor to make even him feel embarrassed, so he pulls on the sleeve of sam's jean jacket to get his attention. the blond doesn't seem too pleased to be pulled out of his zone, out of the vibe that's making his body move in such a natural, easy way, that sebastian feels almost jealous of his friend.

he wishes, not for the first time, that he was able to relax around so many people the way his best friend does. he would love to actually enjoy these nights out, and not just for the first hour when the band they initially came to see is playing, but the ridiculous music afterwards, the filled up club, the push and pull of the crowd. he wishes he could stomach the alcohol, have something other than his cigarettes to help him let go and feel alive.

they reach the exit, already feeling the breeze from the outside sneaking in through the door propped open by an empty beer bottle, when he hears someone calling out.

"hey bangs!" instinctively, he turns. stupid, he chastises himself, why would you turn to that stupid nickname? his dismay is quickly replaced with a confused, but excited curiosity. you push through the crowd to get to him, making his face redden for no reason. he can't stop his mind racing, his body reacting against his wishes. it's so stupid.

"bangs?" he repeats, cracking a cocky smile despite the way his brain is screeching at him. suddenly, there's nothing else around him but you and your amused smile, a self-satisfied little curve that proves your intention was to stop him in his tracks. well, congratulations, you did it.

"what is it, then?" you hold onto the wall for a moment, balancing yourself to lift your foot and pull out a piece of broken glass from the sole of your shoe. the casual way in which you manage to return to the conversation, or whatever has been happening between you, has him nearly stuttering. his focus is narrowed, and it ends with you, suddenly, he doesn't feel the weight of the mass of people surrounding him.

"is this how you planned on asking me for my name?" he pushes his hands into his jean pockets, feigning casualness when in fact his heart is doing somersaults and his mind is already starting to spiral, imagining how easy it would be to just push you to the wall behind you and kiss you until you give up your fearless front and admit you're desperate… because why else would you chase him down just to ask for his name?

"not smooth enough for your tastes, is it, bangs?" you joke, taking the step that's been separating you until now. he bends his head down slightly, smelling cigarette smoke and traces of perfume on your hair. you're bold, he notices, from the way you tug on his sleeve until he's bending down to allow you access to his ear. you cup your hand around it, making sure he can hear your next words.

"maybe i just wanna know what i'll be screaming later…" your cheekiness makes his breath hitch, his cheeks heat up, his heart hammer… there's no way he just heard what he thinks he did, right?

"you're bold, i'll give you that," he replies, not lifting his head, "so which version of sebastian do you think you'll be crying out?"

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

there's a sneaky little smile that creeps up onto your face as he plays along, so with one fluid movement, he steps forward, making you back up until your back meets the wall. the kiss is so sudden, you have no time to do anything other than reach up and tangle your hands into his hair. sebastian's lips seek out more of you, grabbing kiss after kiss while his hands grab for your hips, angling you so he can press his body against yours, caging you in because this is what you wanted, right? you wanted his attention, wanted to be a cheeky little brat that chased him down just as he was about to leave to put ideas into his head. and so he's playing along. he's indulging you, because it feels like he's coming back to life after being dormant for yoba knows how long. it feels like his stomach is burning with desire and life is blooming in his soul.

he doesn't even turn to look at sam as you push him away just to grab his hand and pull him through the main door, shivering with the sudden drop in temperature as the night air whips around you. the last thing he hears before the door shuts after him is sam shouting get it, seb, which would make him cringe if he wasn't currently on the way to your place, running hand in hand so fast that your feet barely touch the ground.

it's almost deadly, the way this anticipation makes him feel alive. he knows absolutely nothing about you, other than your name, that you're bold even when sober, and that he wants, more than anything he can imagine, to feel you shudder under his palms as he fucks you until you're nothing but a puddle of pleas and screams. he really wants to hear it, your soft lips letting out a scream that can only sound like his name.

quickly enough, before he can fully lose his mind, you pull him up across the porch and through the front door, nearly smashing it open with the desperation in both of you. his lips are on yours again, devouring every huff and breath he can, eating them up like he can't take a breath if it's not from your mouth. there are little moans already leaving you as his quick fingers start unzipping your jeans, tugging them down so violently that he's surprised they aren't ripping as he pulls them off your legs. clumsily, you step out of them, completely blindly trying to feel along the walls, trying to make sure you're going in the direction of the bedroom, but sebastian reaches down to grab the underside of your thighs and picks you up with little effort. your yelp dies in his mouth, in a fierce kiss with your tongues gliding together, warm breaths exchanging places.

he moves back, pressing you against the front door that slammed shut not even a full minute earlier. the wood creaks slightly as your back collides with it, but in the heat rising between you, the touches get grabbier, the kisses get shorter and interrupted by quick breaths as you try to undress.

your fingers tug on his hoodie, lifting the hem up and over his head before it lands somewhere on the floor, it doesn't fucking matter where. his hands dig into your bare thighs, just taking the time, while you rush his zipper, to feel your skin under his palms. it's what he's imagined from the very second you held onto him for balance, looking up at him with those eyes that he simply cannot wait to see as they roll back into your skull when he finally feels your cunt squeeze him tightly.

you groan once his jeans and boxers are falling down, helped by one of his hands that he reluctantly removes from the plush skin of your thigh that fits so perfectly against his palm. he steps out of them, now perfectly positioned to grind his hard cock against the thin fabric of your panties already getting wet with arousal. he pulls them aside, his brain fizzling out with just a glance at your slick, puffy folds right there, so ready, so fucking gorgeous.

"come on then," he drawls, lowering his head to bite your jaw, grazing it with his teeth as he makes his way down to your neck, "you were gonna say my name, yeah?"

"oh, but you gotta earn that, bangs." you grin, flashing your teeth at the ceiling as your head leans back in the pleasure of having your neck kissed so sloppily.

his lips pull into a smirk against your neck and he trails them back to your lips, catching them into another searing kiss, feeling like you've done this a million times before, far from the reality in which you only kissed not even an hour ago.

"oh I think I'm earnin' it, actually…" he chuckles against your skin, licking a stripe on your neck before attaching his lips and sucking a bruise into it. "…mmm I think I am, you're soaking wet already. now whom might that be for, hm?"

"don't get too big headed, bangs, you haven't even fu— ohhhh—"

your snarky little comment is promptly cut off by a squelching noise of your sopping pussy sucking in his cock. if he wasn't so twitchy from the first contact with your squeezing cunt, he would keep the snarky comments going, but it's heaven pressed against the heavy wooden door. he can't look away from how your chest rises rapidly, are you seriously struggling?

he pulls his hips back and pushes in again, feeling your velvety insides tighten around his cock as he starts off slowly, giving himself time as he lowers one hand to tug off your shirt. it's offending his eyes, covering up your perfect tits from his view. with a quiet plop, it lands somewhere on the floor, maybe joining your jeans, maybe disappearing into the void, who gives a shit… the only thing that matters is the warmth your sweet, needy little cunt provides as sebastian pushes harder into you, pressing his large palms on the flat of the door, caging you in as he starts ruthlessly fucking you while your legs tighten their hold on his waist.

your eyes shut tightly, teeth tug on the bottom lip desperately as he presses your back against the door. the sweet, honeyed moans that squeeze through your teeth are almost immediately swallowed by his heavy grunts, the sweaty skin sliding, body against body, hips slamming against hips in a mess of desire and sheer greed.

sebastian's grunts nearly have you contracting around him already, the animalistic need with which his cock hits your sweetest spots twists your insides, makes you claw at his back with the intensity never felt before. and he can feel it, he can tell you're struggling to keep the sugary whines inside your throat, so he attaches his lips to it, messily nipping at your skin.

reddened bruises bloom in the wake of his lips, creating a pattern of your fiery need, a reminder that will be with you for days, he can only imagine. his fist bangs on the door, veins popping along that pale forearm as his other hand lowers to grip your hip hard, fingertips digging into your soft skin as if there will never be a point where you're close enough to him. he tries to pull you against him harder, rougher, faster as he groans into your neck, hearing you finally release that lip from your teeth and cry out for him.

what a melody, what a noise that rips through his entire body, from the top of his head down to his toes, making his cock twitch inside you, so bravely continuing his punishing pace while you tighten around him and cum in an electric shudder that shakes his palm gripping your leg.

"se— oh fuck— fuckfuckfuuuck seb— ahhh" you groan, rolling those eyes into the back of your skull, seeing stars inside of your own head explode with the intensity of your orgasm.

"mhm… there it is," his cocky voice vibrates against your neck as he licks over the latest bruise he leaves there, "it's just seb, huh? don't have any more syllables in you?"

he knows you'd wipe that cheeky smirk off his face if only you had more control of your own body, but the puddle he's reducing you to is just as pliant and willing as he's hoped. he just knows you'd give him a hard time, and he would love it so fucking much, sebastian wants to know how you'd make him chase after you, grovel at your feet, make him roll over like a good puppy… but at this crucial point the only thing he's able to do is keep pushing his cock deep inside you, lead you to another orgasm, maybe another two, until he can't feel his legs anymore and has to be removed from your warm cunt.

in response to his teasing, you're groaning in exasperation, but still gasping for air. holding onto his back, your nails dig into his skin leaving crescent moon indents as he hikes you up higher against the door, but your legs aren't strong enough to keep yourself up clinging to his hips anymore. noticing you slipping, sebastian pulls you away from the door and turns, getting on his knees while keeping his palms firmly against your ass. slowly, not pulling out because it would be a crime, he lays you down on the floor, too eager to give a shit about comfort, the only thing on his spiraling mind is finding a way to keep thrusting into your weeping cunt, keep it fluttering around his cock, quickly getting addicted to your grip on his back.

within seconds, he's rolling his hips into you again, pinning you to the floor in desperation as your electric moans and whines fuel him further. he's getting cocky, despite the way his eyes close in pleasure, unable to keep those heavy lashes open. and it's certainly not helping him how your thighs press against his sides, keeping him sandwiched between them as he's been imagining himself from the moment you bumped into him at the club. his pelvis meets yours repeatedly, followed by the lewd noises of your cunt sucking him in, so wet, dripping, slippery as he glides in and hits your perfect spot, the one that has you curling your toes and whimpering his name in a hundred different ways.

by now, it's the only word that matters, the only one he wants you to know, the only word that should spin in your mind as he gives you exactly what you need. sebastian and—

"more— mmmph more, please!" you cry out, lifting your tear-stuck eyelashes to see his parted lips spreading into a grin, making his grunts and moans louder as he looks down at the state of you on the floor, pinned down by his nimble hand.

"oh yeah?" he leans in to steal a wet kiss from your bitten lips, "beg for it…"

"n-no come on, jus'…" you barely start stuttering those precious words, trying to get out of begging, when his hand lands a smack against the side of your ass, stinging the flesh before he does it again.

groaning straight into his mouth, just before you throw your head back to meet his palm that shields it from hitting the floor, you curse, slipping in a few choice words with his name as he slows down his thrusts. brutally so, since you're already clenching around him again, on the precipice of another orgasm, and he feels it. it's the pitch of your voice in his ear, it's the way your thighs try to close against his sides, it's the sinful wetness of your pussy that just can't keep quiet with his thick cock diving back inside for more.

but he's so mean, rolling those hips slower and slower until you do what he wants, until you're clawing at his back, trying to grip him harder to move him yourself. until you're lifting your hips to meet his thrusts, until you're crying real tears for him, in such a state of despair that his ego rises almost before your very eyes, no matter how barely open and tear-filled they are.

"good girls do what they're asked, especially if they wanna cum again." those words are cold, but his breath on your lips is hot. sebastian hovers his mouth just out of reach for you, a branch bearing the juiciest fruit just high enough so you can't grab it and smear it over your lips. the tantalizing distance, so close but so far away, enough to feel and taste his breath, not enough to drink in the moans gathering on his tongue. "you do wanna cum again, don't you, pretty?"

he sees the attempt of defiance in your face, going through a loop of trying to bite back your words, bite back the chuckle that dies in your throat, never managing to quite get past the back of your mouth, but what does make it out is a loud, needy whine that almost makes him completely buckle under the weight of your desperation. it makes him slam his hips against yours a little harder, digging the head of his cock once again into you right where it presses into your soft spot.

"shit, don't do that…" he moans out, feeling you clench around him again, feeling the slower pace just as good once you can get used to it. rolling his hips into you a little harder, he leans down and gives you the kiss you've been reaching for, messy, wet, leaving you even more breathless than before, but as he pulls back, a glob of saliva lands into your mouth from his tongue.

seeing you swallow it so readily is like a punch to the gut, it kicks the air from his lungs and he stutters in his movements. oh, he wasn't expecting you to be so filthy, but now that your mouth is open again, tongue only slightly poking past your teeth, he feels his skin getting warmer again.

"oh, you dirty fucking thing…" sebastian lowers his head again, sticking his tongue out to watch a string of saliva starting from the tip end on your pink tongue. he stares at the way you roll it into your mouth and open up again, thirsty for more. "want more? told ya to beg for it."

he doesn't relent, holding his spit back as a hostage, making you squirm under him as you look up with your eyes slightly more open now. he's having way too much fun, still rolling his damn hips too slow, slower than before, wanting to make you dissolve under him, pinned to your own damn floor under his warming body. you huff, swallowing your own saliva in absence of his, opening your eyes more and more, looking at the way his dark hair falls to the side of his cocky face. attempting your best doe-eyed, pleading, manipulative look, you purposely quiver your bottom lip, pouting ever so slightly before inhaling softly.

"please, sebastian… give me more?" your voice comes out sweet and soft, almost enough to make him melt and relent. almost.

"more what?" his grin widens, hips almost unmoving as your cunt tries to keep him in.

"more… fuck me more, please? please please please, i wanna cum again, wanna cum soooo badly please…" a little whine in your voice, a little bit of that princess attitude and he's done.

almost like a full stop to your sentence, his hips speed up, slamming into you once again. and your eyes roll back, exposing the whites before you shut them tightly, biting your lip again, trying not to scream out so soon, but damn your cunt can't take it quietly. so slippery, so sopping wet it grips him tight and you have to cry to relieve the pressure building in your abdomen. nails dragging down his flesh as your ankles cross behind his lower back, his hips stutter but keep the pace as his balls smack against your ass, wet with the juices your sweet pussy can't stop leaking.

"wasn't so hard, now, was it?" he breathes against your mouth again, chuckling briefly before pulling another kiss from your pouting lips, "and now you got to cum again. be polite, say thank you."

your voice comes back in between shallow breaths, coming down from another high with bright lights behind your eyes. "tha— mmm thank you, s-sebastian."

it makes him chuckle, your sweet little words as you obey him. so far from the teasing, cocky little shit you were being before he stuffed you full of his cock and made you into his pretty little toy that's content even against the door or on the cold, hard floor. as long as you're full of him, as long as his thickness is thrusting into you and pushing all your buttons, you're happy to drool and moan his name.

"there we go, pretty thing, wasn't so hard, right?" his lips trail down to your jaw, down to your neck, down to leave a tasty bruise on your collarbone so red that he sees it even in the semi-darkness. "now you're gonna give me one more, okay?"

"h-huh?" you blink, lifting your head slightly to chase after his lips for one more kiss but he pulls away, lifting himself up on one hand as the other grips your plump thigh and lifts it higher, changing the angle so he can get even deeper inside you.

"one. more. you can do that, right? you can be good for me and cum one more time, for me?" when he puts it like that, there's not a single defiant thought in that pretty little head of yours, and it makes him smile briefly before slamming his hips rougher once more, making you whimper from the impact.

"f-fuck that's g-good…" your broken up voice is barely audible, barely reaches his ears as you try to breathe, his rough thrusts make it difficult to form thoughts, that much is clear from your blank expression.

"just good, hm? gonna have to up my game for you?" he chuckles, nipping your earlobe before pressing your thigh higher, hiking your knee over his shoulder as he fucks into you deeper, enjoying the way your eyes roll back again and again, your lips pop open to let out little gasps and fractions of his name. it's like a puzzle for him, like a game of trying to get you to say every syllable of his name he can then put into the correct order, peppering them onto your neck with sloppy kisses and bites.

"yeah… yeah i'll give you more, pretty… you deserve it." he leans in to kiss those soft lips once more before lifting himself up again, taking a better look at your body, at the tits bouncing as he thrusts into you, at the flushed cheeks that would look so good if they were pressed against his thigh and bulging with his cock… but for now he's good with taking your legs into his hands and pushing them against your chest, getting into you as deep as he can, focusing his eyes first on your dripping pussy, that noisy little thing squelching as he ruts into her, parting those slippery folds with his thickness all the way to the base, and then looks up at your flushed face.

"n-no aaah— please, more, more… don't stop, please baby don't stop, don't st—" you trail off, but from the way your warm cunt is fluttering around him, sebastian knows what it means. it's telling him to keep it going, to keep hitting that sweet spot inside you, to keep gliding his cock in and out of you until you're limp in his arms and all your pretty lips can manage is a string of his name and thank you.

fuck, he wants you to fall in love, he wants you to be as obsessed with him as much as he is with your pliant body, with your tight little cunt that takes him in so willingly, with your filthy mouth, with your dirty little tongue that readily takes his spit. once more, as if to prove his own mind right, he lets his saliva trail from his tongue as he watches your lips part almost as if conditioned to do so at the sight of his spit. you swallow it, rolling your blushing lips together, enjoying it, savoring.

and he can't get enough, the sweet pout of your lips as you repeat his name like a mantra, seb, seb, sebastian, mmmm seb, the scrunch of your nose as you squish that pretty face in pleasure. the tears trailing down the sides of your face, those tears that he'll kiss later, when you're nothing but a babbling mess, when he can finally lie down and show you he can also be affectionate. affectionate… he shakes the thought out of his head for now, instead taking another look to see how his cock disappears into your cunt, how it's squeezing him so tight he wonders how he hasn't finished yet, you're so warm it's almost too good to be true.

sebastian picks up the pace, feeling himself come so close to finishing now, all it takes is one… more… fucking…

"seb! fuuuuuuck," your high pitched scream shakes him to his core, makes his movements falter for a second, the pace going out the window and his knees nearly slip on the hard floor underneath.

"mmmph shit—" he gasps out as he reaches his orgasm, shaking with the intensity of the pleasure while pumping you full of his white, sticky cum. your warm little cunt tightens around him one final time, accepting all of his release as he groans, leaning one cheek against your calf, resting his heated face. oh it's perfect, the slickness of your velvety walls, the hot sponginess of your insides gripping his cock, keeping him inside like they want him to stay. he collapses forward, landing on his forearms on the sides of your head before leaning down to bury his face into your neck. it's sweet, warm and a little sweaty from going through three orgasms, ending up in a scream of his name, exactly what you said you wanted earlier.

challenge passed i guess, he thinks, looking down at your face, the blush now spread all over it, looking so soft he could just kiss every inch of your skin. he settles for your lips. slowly, softly, letting you breathe, he presses his lips against yours and just… relaxes.

your body shakes slightly under him. opening his eyes, he realizes your eyelashes are slightly fluttering open and you're chuckling, the sweetest creases appearing on the bridge of your nose.

"i like it!" you say, voice going back to normal after so much breathiness in his ear.

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

your fingers snap in front of his face, and in an instant he's on his feet, once again surrounded by people, the smell of sweat and smoke in the air and you… fully dressed standing one step in front of him with that cheeky smile tugging on your lips.

"you okay?" you ask, raising a brow and leaning in to get him to lower his head again so you can speak into his ear, "i said i like your name, bet it would sound nice echoing in my bedroom!"

sebastian feels his face redden, realizing he's been standing here like an idiot when you're practically throwing yourself at him, being so damn forward and open, and all he's done is get in his head and fantasize about what it would be like to have you…

"sorry, yeah… maybe you should— maybe we should test that theory." he saves the situation, and, seeing the smirk on your lips widen, together with a thumbs up from sam as he tilts his head to the side, sebastian sighs in relief.

♡ if you enjoyed this, consider leaving a like, reblog, or a comment. interaction helps keep your writers motivated! also if you don't agree with any aspect of this that's okay, this is just my opinion and it's hella self-indulgent!

hearing that little giggle from your lips, the one he's been imagining until now, he knows the night is about to get so much better. you take his hand and wave at your friends, that devious little smile being the last thing he sees before he shivers entering the darkness outside. he would question himself, think twice about whether or not this is a good idea, if he wasn't currently on the way to your place, running hand in hand so fast that your feet barely touch the ground.

[allisluv]

JOHANNA GIVING READER SNACKS WHEN HER BLOOD SUGAR IS SLOW WLW

Ok thanks honey 🤭-

whipped.

pairing: johanna mason x fem!reader

content warnings: pre-established relationship, johanna is in fact whipped, alcohol, brief mention of the drinks used in the capitol to make you sick, low blood sugars and diabetes, my limited medical knowledge but i pinky promise i tried my best, teasing, use of pet-names.

authors note: i myself do not have diabetes so please correct me if anything i said is portrayed incorrectly! i did try my best to research and my intentions are never to cause any harm or offence <3 // reblogs and comments are appreciated!

word count: 0.9k

Johanna Mason has been described as many, many things in her very short lifetime; cold-hearted, blunt, manipulative, sneaky, rude--- now that she thinks of it, almost every negative adjective to ever exist has been attributed to her at least once.

And honestly? She wouldn't say they're wrong. It's not that she wants to be any of those things. She just kind of... is. And, well, she figures it is far too late in her life to change her tune now. Besides, there would be no point, not when this lifestyle works for her.

She doesn't mind them thinking badly of her, really. They're Capitol-- they drink alcohol specifically designed to make them sick with the sole purpose of eating more, meanwhile people in the districts have their ribs on display.

Their selfish opinions do not matter in the slightest to her, but at the same time, she doesn't mind playing into it, either. Half of them think she will jam a carving knife into their jugular if they approach her, so they steer clear, which works just fine for her.

Johanna hates these Capitol galas, anyway. She loathes the bright colours and the obnoxious outfits and the food that shouts greed! in everybody's faces.

If it weren't mandatory to attend the galas, she would avoid them. But unfortunately for her, it is mandatory, so she just has to suck it up for another five hours.

Great.

The one thing that makes this awful situation even remotely bearable is you.

When she grips a flask of champagne so tightly that it turns into a very real possibility that it might shatter in her hand, you redirect her attention and it's easier to breathe.

When a drunk Capitol citizen decides to be brave enough to strike up a conversation with the two of you, she's grateful when you swoop in and manage to come up with excuse after excuse on why you have to leave.

Everything is easier with you.

Johanna is in the middle of scowling at two women from the Capitol who keep going on and on about this years upcoming games when she catches sight of a flicker of movement out of the corner of her eye. She watches as you sway on your feet and grasp the corner of a nearby sofa to steady yourself.

She frowns, stepping closer to you and securing an arm around your waist to keep you from falling. "Are you okay?" You nod and give her a weak smile that she can see right through. "Bullshit."

One of the Capitol women smiles into her glass of wine. "Well, looks like someone can't handle their liquor, huh?" Her friend dissolves into a fit of giggles.

Johanna resists the urge to snap back at them, and instead, focuses in on you. "Babe. You done with the bullshitting?"

You try to brush her hand off and insist, "I'm fine, I'm fine. Just got a bit dizzy is all."

A crease forms between her sharp brows. She doesn't bother saying goodbye as she steers you away from the women and out of the gala, into a secluded hallway. "Have you checked your sugars lately?"

You shake your head and she heaves a sigh, helping you sit down in a leather armchair.

She kneels down by your feet and takes your unsteady hands in hers. "Give me your bag. C'mon."

You unloop your bag from around your body and hand her it. She digs through the contents until she finds your blood glucose meter.

She's done this many a time before. She inserts the test strip into the meter and uses the lancing device to prick your pointer finger. A quiet wince of pain hisses from your lips and she mutters a quiet, "I know, I know. I'm sorry." She squeezes the blood onto the test strip and holds your other hand as she waits for the reading. A number flashes on the screen, far too low for her liking, and she frowns. "You're a little low. We need to get those sugars up, alright?"

Johanna wastes no time in rooting through your bag for the juice box you keep stashed in there for emergencies like this one. She pops the straw through the hole at the top and raises it to your parted lips. Her free hand rests on your knee, and she smooths the pad of her thumb up and over your skin as you take slow sips.

Once she's satisfied, she sits back on her heels and sets the juice box down on the floor beside her. "We're gonna wait a while for that to get into your system, okay, sweetheart? Then we can check again, and if they aren't up, we can try the skittles."

There's a moment of quiet, where the only sounds come from inside the ballroom down the hall.

You lean back in the leather armchair as Johanna continues to hold your hand. "You don't have to do this, you know." You say eventually.

"Do what?" Johanna frowns.

"Take care of me. You don't have to."

"I know that," She nods, and as if she can read your mind, she says, "I am not doing this out of obligation, you know that, right? I'm simply doing this because I love you."

A small, tired smile tugs at the corner of your lips. "Finnick was right."

She cocks her head to one side. "How do you mean?"

"He told me you were whipped. I just didn't believe him."

Rolling her eyes, she scoffs. "I am the furthest thing from whipped, all have you know."

"Really?"

"Yes, really."

"So, if I asked you to go get me a bottle of water, you would?"

"Why? Do you want water? I can go get some--"

You grin victoriously. "See? Whipped!"

[venusincleo]

aligned.

chapter one. the way.

Warnings: MDNI • Explicit • Terry Richmond x Black!OC, Self!Insert, a lil fluff, just introductions. 

Summary: Right place, right time. When Cleo meets Terry, the rugged pretty boy, at the club on a celebratory night, it seems like the first in a string of divinely twisted moments. But will fate be enough to move their love along, or will they have to weather some storms before their happy ending?

Word Count: 1.3k❣

A/N: Hiiiiii! Long time no... read? lmaoooo but i hope you enjoy this first part of aligned. 🤭

• • •

It had gotten to the point where she just didn’t care anymore. She didn’t look over her shoulder to see if some fine man just so happened to be watching her, or peer across the room to stake her claim over a stranger. It was no use. She was always the last to get picked for anything good; the last of her family and the last of her friends. Of no fault to them of course.

It may have been her quirky way of saying things, her very singular interests, or how serious she could get about the things that mattered to her. That always seemed to intimidate people; her intensity.

But at this point in her life, Cleo had begun to pull her energy back inwards, and focus on herself for once.

She honed in on what her style was, her favorite nail shape and color, how she loved to wear her hair. She focused solely on the things that brought her joy; that benefited her and no one else.

Cleo was so effective, she even figured out how she wanted to use her purpose, and began on the path she dreamed of. It was as if she suddenly found herself living by her mother’s words: the mark of a woman is her signature. So that’s what she found. Her signature scent, her signature look, her signature way.

It wasn’t her intention to lure him in, or anyone for that matter. But when you live in your own world, and love it? You’re bound to have a few tourists.

Terry’s eyes scaled the live club, carefully moving from the bottom level to the top to scope out anything unusual. It was apart of his routine: every hour on the hour make sure everything was secure on the property, and keep a keen ear out for any distrubances. But as the Head of Luxe Nightclub security, he found that he’d seen more inch long skirts, pasties for shirts, and aching feet than any actual fights. It was a perk.

Easy work from now on was the goal, a way to still do some good without the fear of constantly being on the frontlines. He had subordinates for that.

As he rounded the club, examining the partiers and human mannequins alike, he made his way back to the front, where the hour just hit 11:00 p.m.

Three girls shuffled into the door from the cool spring air, all of their brown skin was glistening to perfection, dresses seemingly tailored to their exact sizes, and hair befitting to all of them. The guard that was stationed at the door quickly ran the handheld metal detector over all of their frames, and as Terry made sure to keep watch of anything he may have missed, his eyes met the most beautiful woman he had ever seen.

She was like the median of the group; not the skinniest nor the thickest, but fine as hell. Her hair consisted of dark locs that fell just past her shoulders, her deep brown skin was covered in a few tattoos along her arms, and her little black dress clung to her most promising assets.

Though he didn’t want to stare, he found his eyes stuck on her, noticing her d-cup breasts that sat under her low plunge neckline. And then there were those eyes. Almond shaped yet big, and sort of doe-like. Even though she looked like she belonged, her eyes stood out; as if she was the most innocent girl in the room.

Those very eyes flickered up, catching his gaze as she got past the entryway of the club.

Cleo blinked in his direction, taking in the sight of him. His eyes seemed…green? And…blue? Teal maybe? She didn’t fully know, but they were gorgeous, feline even and starkly juxtaposing the serious scowl on his face. But judging from the vest and stealthily holstered gun, she figured he had to look that way.

Had to look menacing just in case someone wanted to try something while he was on the clock. Had to watch her for a full minute as she walked past to find her and her friends’ section.

Throughout the night, she completely forgot about the tall man. She drank, and danced, then drank again. Soon, she could feel the bass of the hip-hop songs playing in her body, and she let the liquor take away any inhibitions she had around gettin up on the small table within their section. As Saweetie’s voice blared through the speakers, Cleo swayed happily, prompting her friends to cheer her on.

Mrs. Make it Happen, doing numbers got em pissed!

She pointed her forefingers at herself as she sang along, and all of her friends jammed right with her. The whole club erupted in different voices singing the lyrics, and she smiled at the atmosphere.

Arch yo back, toot it up, damn I’m cute as fuck!

As Cleo followed the instructions of the line, her friends screamed even louder, glad that she was finally letting loose.

Terry could hear the happy screams across the room, his ears perking up at the sound. He had finally gotten himself to stop staring over at the goddess of a woman that he saw walk in, and now everything in her direction was pulling him back in.

Allowing himself to glance over, he saw a figure higher than all the rest, and on a double take, his brows furrowed as he realized who it was. Her. Dancing on the table with all of her friends egging her on.

Though he loved the sight of her twerking her ass to this melodic rap tune, he couldn’t be caught letting a liability slip under his radar. He walked slow, wanting to let her have her moment, but as he watched on, her other friend got on the table as well, and then another girl from one of the other sections nearby. Gotdamnit. Terry sped up his steps, and as he walked up on the table, he looked up at the woman in awe.

“Excuse me, I’m gonna need y’all to get off this table.” His deep voice projected in the loud room, and even though everyone heard him, only Cleo looked down. Her body didn’t stop moving, she swayed to the end of the song as the DJ mixed it with something else, but she couldn’t help but smile at the man who seemed determined to get her down.

A ghost of a smile met Terry’s face as he reached his hand up, and she put her hand in his, instantly feeling his warmth as she stepped down carefully. Finally at the height that her heels afforded her, Cleo looked up at the tall man, curious about his continued eye contact.

“You gotta be careful, these tables ain’t meant to handle all’a that.” He flirted absentmindedly, giving her a quick look down her body and back up to her eyes.

“Mmh, are you?” Cleo retorted, Hennessy and sass lacing her words.

“Hell yeah.” When the short woman’s smile grew, Terry realized his mistake. Shit. He really didn’t mean to say that outloud. But as her eyes lowered and her smile faltered just a little, he didn’t feel an ounce of regret in his body.

“I’m Cleo.” She replies, following suit and looking him up and down. A scoffed chuckle from the man’s lips made her smile grow yet again, and he rests his hands in the straps of his bulletproof vest.

“Terry.”

• • •

I do not condone any translations, replications or plagiarisms of my original work. Please do not repost as your own. Reblogs and comments/notes welcome. ♥︎

• • •

༓TAGLIST༓

@motheroffae @nayaesworld @ms-mosley-ifunastyyy @mymindisneverhere

*I just tagged a couple people but if you want to be removed or added, let me know in the comments.♡*

[spiritualitygeek]

PAC Reading | 2025 Prediction

Disclaimer: This is a general reading intended for entertainment purposes only. The insights provided are not definitive predictions, as your choices and actions constantly shape your reality. This reading reflects potential outcomes based on your current energy and should not be used as the sole basis for significant decisions, including those related to health, finances, or life-changing matters. Please use your own judgment and seek professional advice when necessary. I am not responsible for any decisions made based on this reading.

Pile 1

Cards: 5oW, PoW(X) and QoW

Signs: Gemini, Libra, Aquarius

Are you lost, babygirl? Haha, I had to keep that in because it truly fits the energy of your reading.

Your year started with the energy of 5 of Wands, and oh boy, you were in the thick of it!

Scrambling, competing, proving, pushing—whether it was career, relationships, or just proving your worth to yourself, you were in that hyper-masculine "go, go, go" mode. And while that fire helped you move forward, it also drained you. There may have been conflicts, inner or outer, and a feeling of "I need to win at all costs." But did you ever pause to ask, win what exactly?

Now, we’re in the Page of Wands reversed phase. And honestly? You're tired. It’s that feeling of I used to be excited about this… so why am I not anymore? The spark feels dimmed. Maybe you're questioning your path, your motivation, your direction. Maybe you’re even a little bored or uninspired. And let me tell you, that's okay. This is your soul telling you to slow down. Instead of forcing yourself to “figure it out,” take this as a cosmic permission slip to simply be. Go on solo dates. Reconnect with hobbies that don’t have a purpose beyond joy. Let go of the need to prove yourself. Because, babygirl, you already are enough.

And then—boom! By the end of the year, you step into Queen of Wands energy.

Now we're talking!

You’re no longer chasing; you're attracting. You’ve shifted from desperate action to inspired action. From pushing to flowing. From proving to owning. Your feminine energy is activated, and with it, your confidence, magnetism, and ease. Things start aligning for you because you’re no longer in resistance. You’re radiating that main character energy, and trust me, people will notice.

The biggest lesson here? You don’t have to exhaust yourself to get what you want. Resting, believing, and taking aligned steps will get you further than forcing things ever did. You’re stepping into a version of yourself that knows their worth, stands in their power, and lets the universe meet them halfway.

So breathe, relax, and trust the process. It's already done!

Pile 2

Cards: Knight oP, QoP, 6oS

Signs: Taurus, Virgo, Capricorn, Aries, Libra

OMG, Pile 2! I am absolutely loving your energy—it’s so grounded, so determined. It’s giving "I’ve got a plan, and I’m sticking to it!" I’m getting strong vibes of working toward a goal that sets you free—whether that’s moving out, becoming independent, leaving a relationship that no longer serves you, or upskilling for a better job. Whatever it is, you’re in it for the long haul, and you’re not about to half-ass it.

You stepped into 2025 with Knight of Pentacles energy. This is the card of slow, steady, and disciplined work. You’re not rushing things, you’re not being reckless—you’ve got a goal, and you’re making consistent moves toward it. It might have felt tedious at times, like you’re putting in all this effort without immediate results, but the Knight doesn’t care about instant gratification. He’s in it for real, lasting success. And so are you.

Now, with your current energy as the Queen of Pentacles, I can tell you’re doing amazing, sweetie. You’ve leveled up. You’ve found your rhythm, your stability. You’re not just grinding mindlessly—you’re also nurturing yourself, balancing work with self-care, and actually enjoying the process. That’s the secret sauce! Instead of obsessing over what’s wrong or what you don’t want, you’re choosing to focus on what you do want. And let me tell you, that mindset shift? Powerful. You’re sitting on your throne, secure in yourself, radiating grace and abundance. You’re a Queen indeed.

And here’s the best part—by the end of the year, we’ve got the Six of Swords. And oh boy, this is the card of moving forward. Whatever you’ve been working toward, whatever you’ve been patiently building, you’re finally making that transition. Whether it’s literally packing your bags and leaving, cutting ties with a situation that no longer serves you, or stepping into a new career, it’s happening. The storm is behind you, and you’re sailing toward calmer waters.

My only request is, please keep this energy up. Stay patient, stay steady, and trust that all your efforts are leading you exactly where you need to be. You’re not just dreaming about change—you’re making it happen. And by the end of 2025, you’ll look back and realize just how far you’ve come.

Pile 3

Cards: Temperance, KoW, Strength

Signs: Cancer, Scorpio, Pisces, Sagittarius

Pile 3, you mystical, radiant souls. If I could reach through this reading and give you the tightest, most heartfelt hug, I would. Because wow—you are something special.

You’re my sages, my old souls. You’ve been through the fire, walked through darkness, and yet here you are, not just standing but shining. There’s something so deeply healing about your energy, something that touches people without you even trying. Maybe that’s your purpose—to inspire, to uplift, to simply be a presence that makes the world feel a little less heavy.

You entered 2025 with Temperance—the card of balance, patience, and divine wisdom. This tells me you’ve already done the deep work. You’ve faced your shadows, healed wounds that once defined you, and reached a place of profound self-awareness. You’ve unlearned the limiting beliefs that held you back, shed layers of conditioning, and embraced a path of inner mastery. You don’t react impulsively anymore; you respond with wisdom. There’s a beautiful, almost ethereal peace to you—like you’ve made friends with time itself, knowing that everything unfolds exactly as it should.

And now? Now you’re stepping into the King of Wands energy. Confidence. Vision. Purpose. You’re no longer just existing; you’re leading. Maybe you don’t even realize how magnetic you are, how people naturally look up to you, seek your guidance, and feel safe in your presence. You might be highly spiritual, or maybe you’ve found a way to balance your spiritual depth with the practical world effortlessly. You’re the kind of person who walks into a room and commands attention without even trying. But the best part? You’ve recently learned to protect your energy. No more giving endlessly to energy vampires. No more overextending yourself. You’re choosing where and how you shine, and that’s a power move.

By the end of 2025, with Strength, I see you reaching a level of mastery—not just of survival, but of living. This isn’t just physical strength (though for some of you, it could be a focus on health and vitality). This is inner strength. Emotional resilience. The kind of peace that comes from knowing that nothing outside of you can shake you anymore. You’re stepping into a level of enlightenment that most people spend lifetimes chasing.

I'm sorry if I fangirled a bit too much. Tbh, I don't feel qualified enough to be doing a reading for you, Pile 3. You seem to know and understand it all already. You're so intuitive and wise. TT

Pile 4

Cards: the chariot, death(X), 2oP

Signs: Gemini, Libra, Aquarius, Sagittarius, Scorpio

Pile 4, my warriors in disguise.

I feel like shaking your shoulders gently and saying, "Wake up, love! You’re so much stronger than you think!" Because you are. But right now? You might not be acting like it.

You entered 2025 with The Chariot—bold, determined, full speed ahead. At some point, you had a clear goal, a destination in mind. You were ready to take charge, to move, to break free. But somewhere along the way, something happened. Maybe fear crept in. Maybe doubt whispered in your ear. And now, with Death in Reverse, you’re resisting the very change you once craved.

Let’s be real—you know deep down that something in your life isn’t serving you anymore. It could be a job, a relationship, a mindset, a habit—something is dead weight, but you’re still carrying it. And the craziest part? It’s not even that you want it anymore. It’s that you’re more afraid of the unknown than you are of staying stuck. It’s like a type of emotional masochism—you’re comfortable in discomfort. You’re focusing more on what you don’t want than on what you do.

But here’s the thing: The universe doesn’t respond to hesitation. It responds to clarity. If you keep focusing on fear, you’ll manifest more of it. If you keep thinking about what you don’t want, you’ll keep getting exactly that. It’s time to flip the script.

By the end of the year, we have the Two of Pentacles—which tells me that, whether you like it or not, life is going to force you to juggle your choices. You can’t stay in limbo forever. You’ll either have to adapt or let go, but either way, movement is coming. So, why not take the reins now? Why not be the one who decides instead of waiting for the universe to shake things up for you?

You started this year with The Chariot—that drive, that hunger is still inside you. You just have to believe in it again. Let go. Say yes to what excites you, not what scares you. Because the only way forward is through. And trust me, you were built for this journey.

Pile 5

Cards: PoS(X), Emperor, 5oP

My dear Pile 5, I know you feel like you’re not good enough. Not smart enough. Not pretty enough. Not enough in general. And I know you look around and think, "Everyone else has it figured out. Everyone else is so sure of themselves. Why can’t I be like that?"

But let me let you in on a little secret: most people in this world have absolutely no idea what the hell they’re doing. They just act like they do. They follow the crowd, go through the motions, and convince themselves they’re wise, all-knowing, and superior. But deep down? They’re just as lost as you are. The difference is, they fake it better.

Right now, you’re in The Emperor energy, and that’s actually a good thing. It means you’re not a quitter. You refuse to let life knock you down permanently. Even when you feel lost, you keep pushing forward. You keep redirecting yourself, trying to grab onto something—anything—that gives you a sense of control. That’s the thing about The Emperor. He needs structure, stability, a plan. And when things feel shaky, he tightens his grip even harder. That’s you right now—holding on, trying to make sense of everything, trying to create order in the chaos.

But here’s the part I need you to prepare for: Five of Pentacles at the end of the year.

I see you hitting rock bottom—or at least, feeling like you are. Maybe it’s burnout. Maybe it’s rejection. Maybe it’s just that overwhelming sense of, "I’ve done everything I can, and it still wasn’t enough." You might feel abandoned, like life is leaving you out in the cold. Like all your work, all your effort, all your struggle was in vain.

But listen to me. Do not let your insecurities hold you back.

Let me tell you a little story.

A guy once flirted with me. He was sweet, charming—I started liking him. But then, like any overthinker with internet access, I went through his followers list. I saw all these girls—prettier than me, more popular than me, seemingly better than me. And suddenly, my confidence shattered. I started acting weird, second-guessing everything. And guess what? He changed too. He started pulling away. What changed? Not him. Me. My insecurities drove him away before he even had a chance to make a real choice.

That’s the danger of self-doubt. It warps reality. It makes you sabotage things before they even have a chance to bloom.

And another story—this one about my career.

I got rejected. Not once. Not twice. Multiple times. My hard work was dismissed, overlooked, shut down. I could’ve taken that as a sign to stop. To quit. To believe I wasn’t good enough. But I didn’t. I kept going. And now? I have multiple contracts under my name, multiple projects. I made more money than I ever would have from the things that rejected me.

So tell me—was it my loss? Or theirs?

Had I given up, had I let my insecurities win, I wouldn’t be where I am today. And neither will you.

Pile 5, persevere. Even when it feels pointless. Even when you’re tired. Even when you think you’re not good enough. Because the truth is—you are. You just have to believe it before the world does.

I hope this PAC reached the people who needed to hear these messages and that they resonated with you. You're more than welcomed to write me your feedback if the readings resonate and help you in any way. I'll be more than glad to hear from you.

Also, if you’d like to stay updated on future PACs or personal readings, make sure to follow me! You can DM me for paid readings, or if you prefer, keep an eye out—I occasionally offer free personal readings as well.

Thank you!

- Love, Snow <3

[sunsbaby]

❝ everything is blue . . .❞

❝ her grace, his hands, her jeans . . . ❞

dean winchester x fallen angel!reader

falling from heaven was no easy task, and so was losing your grace—it was the one thing that made you who you were. the only thing you were able to grasp onto for understanding when times got tough, reminding you that god made you; that you were his soldier and his child more importantly.

turns out your peers thought otherwise, continuously having to fix and remake you—not something they seemed to have time for. they toyed with your mind and the code that was carved into your being; it wasn't something they'd seen before. it scared them, so just like michael to lucifer, they cast you away.

god made you this way, why weren't you accepted? your grace, drained from your form—shining in its glory; unlike usual angels yours was blue, not iridescent and white. blue was what humans used to depict the emotion of sadness. the blue which once brought you comfort only taunting you with your past. though you could never get away.

everything around you was blue.

even the sky was taunting you. with a turn of your head there it was again—a flower. the petals a shade of blue, you couldn't bear it. so, you took off, your body carried you far far away. the gravel beneath you scraping against the soles of your feet. blood followed in a trail behind you, not that you could feel it. it didn't make sense, tears fell from your eyes—the salty fluid slowly trickling down your cheeks.

you ran until all you felt was pain, falling on the floor in agony as your body ached. your feet were bloody and dirty, remnants of the rocks left wedged between the cuts. all you could do was cry, you were now human; once an angel to which you had a purpose. now, all you had were feelings and nothing to help guide you in your new life. laying on the floor, curling up into a ball, you cried until you couldn't. gasps left your lips, red eyed, and sore.

you woke up somewhere new, a bunker of some sorts; however, you weren't safe. as your eyes cleared up, all you saw was blue. what used to ignite a feeling of warmth inside only brought a feeling of emptiness. your body still hurt, yet your feet were taken care of—bandaged and cleaned. a man appeared, he stuck his hand out towards you.

blue

it was all blue, it reminded you of heaven. what had been stolen from you and kept sealed away. the spot left in your soul—in your being was affecting your body negatively.

"please.." you muttered out, your body trembling and suddenly everything around you was cold.

dean didn't know what to do, sam had seen you and brought you back to nurse back to health—dean didn't really want to, for safety of course. yet, when he saw you, bloodied, dirty, with tear-stained cheeks something burned inside him. something new, something he'd never felt for another before.

"what's wrong, does something hurt?" he retracted his hand while he spoke, his eyes softening slightly—just enough to show he cared.

your mind was running with all possible outcomes, all painted blue. your grace was your foundation, what you stood on to stay strong. now it was gone, the most important part of you was stripped away from you with harsh hands. you'd been molded into the perfect soldier by god himself, but you weren't the same as others. and just like humans—anything different scares them. it strikes fear in those with authority.

what you hadn't realized was that's all you were to them: a dog. when you showed signs of wanting to explore heaven more, pulling away from your leash—they deemed you a danger. they tried and tried to figure out what god had done to you. what he did to make you so, unique. when they couldn't, they tossed you out. to them you were useless, sure you were strong—but now all you are is just a human. angelic powers now in their greedy grasp.

"hey, hey–what's happening?" dean placed a hand on your denim-clad legs.

somehow his touch caused a reaction, your vision faded from blue, colors you were once able to see came back. your body flowed with a fire, warming you up. you locked eyes with his, the green orbs that stared back at you shined with something new—something exciting beneath the worry and confusion. there was no blue, except for a small streak running down your back.

a realization came into your mind, now clear with no thoughts or fears clouding it. you never did fear blue, it still brought you comfort.

your fear was change.

change as in the fact that you were now a fallen angel—human, if you will. but, that made you just like them. this strange yet handsome man helped you conclude, change can be good, even if you lost something in the process.

sunny yaps! this is actually horrible but i had to let it escape the confinements of my drafts! comments are greatly appreciated and honestly this is NOT one of my best works omg.. I CANNOT WRITE HURT OR ANYTHING FOR SHHH or plot even like HELP! I LOVE YOU ALLL

special tags! @bluemerakis @figthoughts @dulcescorderitas @h8aaz @rositaslabyrinth @bejeweledinterludes

𝐒𝐔𝐍𝐒𝐁𝐀𝐁𝐘 ® 𓂃 do not repost or copy my works without permission!!