#Help Desk Ticketing System | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

kittenan2 · 11 days ago

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Troubleshoot My Heart

Trope: IT Helpdesk Chaos Pairing: Grumpy Genius IT Guy!Yoongi × Bored, Unhinged Newbie!Reader Warnings: Explicit 18+ content, office romance, age gap (~10 years), smut, forbidden romance, workplace chaos Word Count: ~5k Rating: 18+ | Explicit | Minors DNI Some viruses come from shady websites. Others wear glasses and a smirk.

The office is a prison of beige and buzzwords. At 22, you’re a fresh graduate, drowning in Excel spreadsheets and shared calendars that multiply like roaches. Your cubicle is a purgatory of motivational posters and recycled air, and the 4 PM quarterly update call is sucking the last dregs of your soul. The presenter’s voice drones on about “synergy” and “KPIs,” and you’re half-asleep, chin propped on your hand, when boredom—your old, reckless friend—whispers in your ear.

Just one click. For the thrill.

You know better. You do. But the corporate firewall is a challenge, and you’re restless. So you type a shady URL (NSFW) into the browser, something you overheard in a freshers' group chat about “exclusive content.” It’s blocked, of course—big red warning, “Access Denied.” But not before something slips through. Your laptop stutters, screen flickering, then freezes entirely. A pop-up screams: “CRITICAL ERROR: SYSTEM COMPROMISED.”

Panic claws at your chest. You mash keys, but nothing works. The IT helpdesk form is your only salvation, a digital confessional for your sins. You type, hands shaking: “System acting weird. Might’ve clicked something. Send help (preferably cute help).” You hit submit and pray.

Ten minutes later, he arrives.

Min Yoongi, head of IT support, is a walking paradox: hoodie under a blazer, dark hair falling into sharper eyes, and a voice so low it should be illegal. At 32, he’s a legend in the office—not for charm, but for fixing disasters with minimal words and maximum disdain. He doesn’t look at you as he drops into your chair, his fingers flying over your keyboard.

“Did you accidentally download six trojans,” he says, not asking, “or was that part of your productivity strategy?”

You lean against the cubicle wall, feigning innocence. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. I just… clicked a link.”

He glances at you, one brow raised, and you feel it—a spark, like static from a bad outlet. His glasses slide down his nose as he mutters, “Idiots who think VPNs make them invincible.” But he’s already working, pulling up diagnostics, his hands moving with a precision that makes your throat dry.

The screen stabilizes. He stands, brushing past you, close enough that you catch the faint scent of coffee and cedar. “Don’t do it again,” he says, and he’s gone.

But you’re already hooked.

By Wednesday, the office is a hamster wheel of monotony, and Yoongi’s dry wit is your only lifeline. You decide to make a game of it: How far can I push the grumpy IT guy before he cracks? It’s not just boredom driving you—it’s the way his eyes linger a fraction too long, the way his voice dips when he’s annoyed. You want to unravel him.

Your first move is small but deliberate. You submit a ticket: “Mouse not working. Urgent.” He shows up, slouching into your cubicle, glasses catching the fluorescent light. “Urgent,” he repeats, voice flat as he picks up the mouse. It’s unplugged. His eyes flick to you, narrowing. “Really?”

You bat your lashes, all innocence. “It just… stopped. Maybe it’s shy?”

He snorts, plugging it back in with a flick of his wrist. “Shy. Right. Next time, check the cable before you waste my time.” But he’s lingering, leaning closer as he tests the mouse, his arm brushing yours. You catch a hint of his cologne—cedar, sharp—and your pulse spikes.

“Waste your time?” you say, tilting your head. “I thought you liked visiting me.”

His fingers pause on the mouse. He looks at you, and there’s a glint in his eyes—half irritation, half something else. “You’re gonna be trouble,” he mutters, but he doesn’t move away.

By Thursday, you’re bolder. You spill a splash of coffee on your desk—nowhere near your laptop, but close enough to justify a ticket: “Coffee incident. Laptop at risk. Save me.” Yoongi arrives, tie loose, sleeves rolled up, exposing forearms that make your brain short-circuit. He scans the desk, sees the tiny puddle, and sighs, long and suffering. “This is what you call a crisis?”

You lean forward, letting your blouse gape just enough to draw his eye. “Could’ve been. Better safe than sorry, right?”

He grabs a tissue, wiping the desk with exaggerated care, his movements slow, deliberate. “You know,” he says, voice low, “if you keep crying wolf, one day I might not come.”

You pout, twirling a strand of hair. “Oh, Yoongi, you’d miss me too much.”

He freezes, just for a second, then tosses the tissue in the trash. “Keep dreaming, princess.” But his voice is rougher, and when he leans over to check your laptop, his shoulder brushes yours, lingering a beat too long.

Friday, you go for broke. Ticket: “Desktop icons too aggressive. Hostile work environment.” He shows up, arms crossed, leaning against your cubicle like he’s bracing for a storm. “Aggressive icons,” he deadpans. “Care to explain?”

You point at the screen, where your perfectly normal icons sit innocently. “They’re glaring at me. It’s intimidating.”

He stares at you, then at the screen, then back at you. “You’re unbelievable.” He slides into your chair, closer than necessary, his knee brushing your thigh as he pretends to inspect the screen. “Maybe they’re just mad you keep breaking shit.”

You gasp, mock-offended. “Language, Min Yoongi. What would HR say?”

He smirks, typing something pointless. “HR would say you’re a menace who needs constant supervision.” His fingers brush yours as he slides the laptop back, and the contact sends a jolt through you. “Or maybe just a leash.”

Your breath catches, but you recover fast, leaning in until your lips are inches from his ear. “Only if you’re the one holding it.”

He stiffens, glasses slipping down his nose. For a moment, you think you’ve gone too far, but then he updates your ticket with a note:

Try restarting. If that doesn’t work, I’m available. For troubleshooting. Or kissing. Whichever works first.

You choke on your smoothie, heart hammering. He’s already walking away, but you catch the smirk on his lips. Game on.

The flirting is a full-blown war now. You’re addicted to the way Yoongi’s jaw tightens when you push his buttons, the way his eyes darken when you get too close. You call him for every minor issue, each ticket a thinly veiled excuse to see him. He knows it, and he’s playing along, showing up in person even when he could resolve things remotely or send someone else. His sarcasm is sharper, but so is the heat in his gaze.

Monday morning, you’re chewing a pen cap, voice deliberately breathy as you call him. “Yoongi, I think I clicked something bad again…” You’re perched on your desk, skirt riding up just enough to be dangerous.

He arrives, tie loose, hair slightly mussed, looking like he’s already had three coffees and zero patience. He leans against your cubicle, arms crossed, glasses glinting. “Clicked something bad,” he repeats, voice dripping with skepticism. “What was it this time? Another ‘productivity’ site?”

You twirl the pen, letting it slip between your lips before answering. “Maybe. Or maybe I just wanted your expertise.”

He steps closer, crowding your space, his voice dropping to a low growl. “My expertise? Or my attention?”

Your pulse spikes, but you hold his gaze, smirking. “Can’t it be both?”

He chuckles, dark and low, and slides into your chair, his knee brushing your thigh as he checks your laptop. “You’re gonna get me in trouble,” he mutters, but his fingers linger on the keyboard, brushing yours. “Keep this up, and I’ll start charging you for house calls.”

You lean in, close enough to smell his cologne. “What’s the price? Coffee? Dinner? Or… something else?”

His eyes flick to yours, and for a moment, you think he might kiss you right there, cubicle walls be damned. But he pulls back, adjusting his glasses. “You couldn’t afford me, princess.”

Tuesday, you up the ante. You wear a tighter blouse, top button undone, and submit a ticket: “Laptop lagging. Need urgent assistance.” He shows up, visibly fighting to keep his eyes on the screen. “Lagging,” he says, voice flat. “Or are you just fishing for compliments in that shirt?”

You gasp, mock-scandalized. “Min Yoongi, are you objectifying me?”

He leans closer, voice a dangerous whisper. “If I was, you’d know.” His fingers brush your wrist as he types, and you swear the air crackles. “Fixed. Try not to break it again by lunch.”

Wednesday, it’s a fake email issue. He’s at your desk in minutes, looking like he’s one ticket away from throttling you. “Your email’s fine,” he says, not even touching the keyboard. “What’s the real problem?”

You lean back, crossing your arms, pushing your chest out slightly. “Maybe I just missed you.”

He stares, jaw tight, then mutters, “You’re gonna be the death of me.” But he doesn’t leave. He lingers, pretending to check settings, his hand brushing yours again. “Stop looking at me like that,” he says, voice low.

“Like what?” you ask, all innocence, batting your lashes.

“Like you’re begging for something you can’t handle.”

Your breath hitches, but you recover, whispering, “Try me.”

He doesn’t answer, but his eyes burn, and you know you’re winning.

Then comes the fire drill, means everyone needs to evacuate building for around 30-40 minutes.

It’s the third one this month, alarms blaring, everyone groaning. You’re halfway to the exit when Yoongi grabs your arm, pulling you toward the server room. “Need to check something,” he says, voice clipped, but his grip is firm, possessive. You follow, heart racing, the chaos of the drill fading behind you.

The server room is a claustrophobic box of humming machinery, blinking lights, and stifling heat. The door clicks shut, auto-locking. It’s tiny, fans roaring, air heavy with static. You’re both sweating, your blouse clinging to your skin, his tie loosened, sleeves rolled up. He leans against a rack, glasses fogging slightly, and growls, “You really don’t care about fire safety, huh? Following me in here like it’s nothing.”

You step closer, bold, reckless. “Maybe I just like tight spaces. Especially with you.”

His eyes darken, pupils blown. “You’re trouble,” he says, voice rough. “And you know it.”

You tilt your head, smirking. “And you’re not? Dragging me in here, all alone, no witnesses?”

He steps forward, closing the gap, his breath hot against your cheek. “Keep talking like that, and I’ll give you something to complain about besides your laptop.”

Your stomach flips, but you hold your ground, whispering, “Promise?”

He doesn’t answer. He doesn’t need to.

The air in the server room is thick, charged. You’re inches apart, and you can’t resist pushing him. “You think I don’t know what you’ve been doing?” you tease, voice low. “Fixing my laptop so fast, showing up every time I call, even when you can do it remotely or can send someone else from your team. You’re obsessed.”

He snaps. “You think I’m obsessed?” His voice is rough, dangerous. “You’ve been downloading viruses, calling me for fake crashes, bending over your desk like it’s part of your job description.”

Your breath catches. He steps forward, crowding you against the server rack. The metal is warm against your back, cables brushing your arm. His hand grazes your waist, then slides under your skirt, fingers skimming the edge of your panties. “You want chaos?” he murmurs, lips brushing your ear. “I’ll give you chaos.”

You gasp as his fingers slip beneath the fabric, finding you already wet. He groans, low and feral, and you’re done for. His mouth crashes against yours, all heat and desperation, tasting of coffee and something darker—need. You tug at his belt, fumbling, and he chuckles against your lips, dark and teasing. “Impatient.”

“Shut up,” you hiss, yanking his shirt free. His hands are everywhere—under your skirt, gripping your thighs, lifting you slightly so you’re perched on the edge of a rack.

The machinery hums, vibrating through you, amplifying every touch. He pushes your panties aside, fingers sliding inside you, slow and deliberate, curling just right. You moan, loud, and his free hand clamps over your mouth.

“Quiet,” he growls, but his eyes are wild, pupils blown. “Unless you want the whole office to know you’re getting fucked in here.”

You bite his palm, and he curses, thrusting his fingers deeper. Your nails dig into his shoulders, legs wrapping around his waist. He’s hard against you, straining through his slacks, and you grind against him, desperate for more. He undoes his belt one-handed, freeing himself, and you nearly whimper at the sight—thick, flushed, and all for you.

He doesn’t wait. He pushes inside you, slow at first, letting you feel every inch. The stretch is exquisite, and you arch against the rack, cables tangling in your hair. He thrusts harder, deeper, the rhythm relentless, each movement sending sparks through your core. The fans drown out your gasps, but not the slick, obscene sounds of him moving inside you.

“Fuck, you’re tight,” he mutters, voice wrecked. His hands grip your hips, bruising, pulling you onto him with every thrust. You’re close, so close, and he knows it, angling just right to hit that spot that makes you see stars. Your orgasm hits like a wave, crashing through you, and you clench around him, trembling.

He’s not far behind. His thrusts grow erratic, and he buries his face in your neck, groaning your name as he spills inside you. You’re both panting, sweat-slicked, clinging to each other in the humming dark.

Then you shift, still dazed, and your elbow bumps the emergency restart button on the rack.

A low hum dies. Lights flicker. The servers reboot with a whine.

You freeze. Yoongi’s eyes widen. “Did you just—”

“Oops,” you whisper.

Monday morning is chaos. Emails flood in:

“Why did the servers reboot?” “We lost six hours of sales data.” “Also, someone left a bra in the server room.”

Yoongi’s inbox is a warzone, but he’s calm, typing responses with that infuriating deadpan.

You’re avoiding IT helpdesk department now, because the office is buzzing. Whispers follow you—your tickets get resolved suspiciously fast, and someone saw you leaving the helpdesk department, blouse misbuttoned.

It’s early afternoon, and you’ve locked yourself out of your laptop again—right before a client presentation, a bad habit of not remembering the password. You could’ve go to helpdesk, but you’re avoiding the department after the server room fiasco, terrified someone saw you. Instead, you text Yoongi directly on his personal contact:

“Locked out my laptop. Conference room. Help. Have client presentation in 1 hour.”

He storms in, tie askew, glasses slipping, looking like he’s ready to strangle you. “You forgot your password?” he snaps, slamming his admin laptop onto the conference table. “Again?”

You’re leaning against the table, blouse tight, top two buttons undone, revealing a hint of lace. “No,” you say, voice dripping with mischief. “I just wanted to see your face.”

His jaw clenches, but his eyes betray him, flicking to your chest before he catches himself. “You’re impossible,” he mutters, typing override commands with aggressive precision. You slide closer, letting your hip brush his, and murmur, “You know, no one uses this room until after 2.”

He freezes, fingers hovering over the keyboard. “You’re playing a dangerous game,” he says, voice low, but he doesn’t move away. You lean in, lips grazing his ear. “Good thing I like danger.”

That’s his breaking point. He spins, grabbing your waist, and pulls you under the table, out of sight of the glass walls. The projector hums to life, casting the company logo across the room, but you’re already on your knees, hands working his belt.

His breath hitches as you free him, stroking slowly, teasing the tip with your thumb. He’s thick, hard, and you can’t resist tasting him, tongue swirling around the head before taking him deep.

“Fuck,” he groans, voice barely a whisper, his hand fisting your hair. You move slowly at first, lips sliding along his length, savoring the way he twitches against your tongue. The projector light dances across your face, the hum masking your soft moans.

His hips jerk, pushing deeper, and you hollow your cheeks, taking him to the back of your throat. His grip tightens, guiding you, and you can feel him unraveling, his breaths ragged.

He pulls you up, voice wrecked. “Get up here.” He spins you, bending you over the table, your skirt hiked up, panties shoved aside. His fingers find you soaked, and he groans, teasing your entrance before sliding two fingers inside, curling them just right. You gasp, gripping the table’s edge, the wood cool against your heated skin. “Yoongi,” you whimper, and he chuckles, dark and low.

“You wanted my attention,” he murmurs, withdrawing his fingers to replace them with his cock. He pushes in slowly, letting you feel every inch, the stretch making your thighs tremble. He grips your hips, thrusting hard, the table creaking with every movement.

The projector flickers, casting distorted light across your back as he fucks you, relentless, each thrust hitting that spot that makes you see stars. His hand slides up, fingers tangling in your hair, pulling your head back so he can whisper in your ear. “You feel so fucking good.”

You’re close, the pressure building, and he knows it, angling his hips to hit deeper. Your orgasm crashes through you, and you clench around him, gasping his name. He follows, pulling out just in time to spill across your thighs, his breaths heavy against your neck.

He zips up, adjusting his glasses. “Next time you lock yourself out,” he pants, “I’m locking you in instead.”

You’ve been avoiding the IT department like the plague, terrified of the rumors swirling after the server room incident. But your laptop’s battery is genuinely overheating now, the fan screaming like it’s possessed.

You try to fix it yourself, but every troubleshooting guide fails, and you’re forced to face the inevitable: you need Yoongi. Emailing him feels too risky—too many eyes on the network—so you swallow your fear and head to IT, clutching your laptop like a shield.

The department is quiet, most of the team out for lunch. Yoongi’s at his desk, headphones on, typing furiously. You hesitate, heart pounding, but you need this fixed before your afternoon meeting. You clear your throat, and he looks up, eyebrows raising behind his glasses. “You,” he says, pulling off his headphones. “Thought you were avoiding me.”

You blush, setting the laptop down. “Battery’s overheating. It’s real this time.”

He smirks, leaning back in his swivel chair. “Real, huh? Not just another excuse to get me alone?”

You roll your eyes, but your pulse races. “Don’t flatter yourself.”

He stands, locking the office door with a casual flick of his wrist. “Break hours,” he says, pointing to a handwritten sign taped to the door: “IT Lunch Break: 12-1 PM.”

“Can’t have anyone walking in on us troubleshooting.”

Your stomach flips, but you play it cool, perching on the edge of his desk. “So, you gonna fix it or just stare at me?”

He steps closer, crowding your space, his voice dropping. “You mean you’re overheating.” His fingers brush your knee, and you shiver, skirt riding up as you shift. He’s right—you’re burning up, even more than your laptop.

You grab his tie, pulling him closer, and kiss him hard. He groans, hands sliding to your waist, lifting you onto his lap as he sits back in the chair. The blinds are half-open, light chatter drifting from the hall, but the locked door gives you courage. Your skirt hikes up, and his hands find your thighs, squeezing as you grind against him, feeling him harden beneath you.

“Fuck, you’re gonna kill me,” he mutters, lips trailing down your neck. You fumble with his belt, freeing him, and he’s already tugging your panties aside. His fingers tease you, circling your clit before sliding inside, slow and deliberate. You gasp, rocking against his hand, and he smirks, voice low. “Keep making those sounds, and the whole department’s gonna need help.”

You bite your lip, trying to stay quiet as you sink onto him, the stretch making your head spin. He’s thick, filling you completely, and you rock your hips, slow at first, savoring the way he grips your waist.

He’s on a call now, headset on, voice infuriatingly calm as he says, “Yeah… just another quick fix. Shouldn’t take long.” You clench around him, and he stifles a groan, pretending to adjust his headset.

You lean forward, whispering in his ear, “Liar.” He thrusts up hard, making you gasp, and you ride him faster, the chair creaking under you. His fingers dig into your hips, guiding you, and you’re both teetering on the edge. The blinds cast slatted shadows across your bodies, the risk of being caught only heightening the thrill.

You come first, trembling, biting his shoulder to muffle your moan, and he follows, thrusting deep, spilling inside you as he mutters, “Fixed,” into the mic.

You collapse against him, panting, and he kisses your temple, voice soft. “You’re gonna get us both fired.”

The rumors hit critical mass by Wednesday. Your tickets are resolved before anyone else’s, and the whispers are deafening. Someone saw you adjusting your skirt outside helpdesk department again.

HR calls you both in, and you’re sweating, heart pounding as you sit across from the stern-faced manager. Your job—your first real job, the start of your career—feels like it’s slipping through your fingers. You’re 22, barely out of college, and the thought of being fired for “unprofessional conduct” makes your stomach churn.

The manager peers over her glasses. “Is there a reason her tickets are prioritized, Yoongi?”

He leans back, glasses glinting, voice calm as ever. “She breaks things a lot. I’m just thorough.”

You nod, throat tight, barely breathing. The manager’s eyes flick to you, and you force a smile, but your hands are trembling in your lap. “We’ve noticed… irregularities,” she says.

Your heart stops. Yoongi’s knee brushes yours under the table, a small anchor, but it’s not enough. You’re spiraling, imagining unemployment, blacklisted from every corporate job, your career dead before it started.

After the meeting, you’re a wreck, avoiding Yoongi’s gaze as you hurry to your cubicle. He catches up to you in the hall, pulling you into an empty stairwell. His hands are on your shoulders, firm but gentle, and his voice is low, urgent. “Hey. Look at me.”

You do, eyes stinging. “I can’t lose this job, Yoongi. I just started. I—”

“You’re not losing anything,” he says, voice steady. “I’ve been through this��corporate bullshit, getting blamed for things that aren’t your fault. I won’t let that happen to you.” His thumbs brush your arms, grounding you. “We need to cool it at the office. No more server rooms, no more conference tables. Not because I want to stop, but because I won’t let you go through what I did. Your career’s just starting. I’m not gonna fuck that up for you.”

You nod, swallowing hard. “But… what about us?”

He softens, a rare smile tugging at his lips. “My place. After hours. I do repairs there too.” He leans closer, voice dropping to a whisper. “And I’m not letting you go, princess. Not now, not ever.”

It’s Friday night, and you’re at Yoongi’s apartment, a small, cozy space with exposed brick and mismatched furniture, a stark contrast to the sterile office. He’s cooking—actual cooking, not just microwaving ramen.

The kitchen smells of garlic and sesame oil, and he’s stirring a pan of japchae, sleeves rolled up, glasses fogging from the steam. You’re perched on the counter, swinging your legs, watching him move with quiet precision.

“Stop staring,” he mutters, not looking up. “You’re distracting me.”

You grin, stealing a noodle from the pan. “Can’t help it. You’re cute when you’re domestic.”

He snorts, but his cheeks pink slightly, and you feel a warmth that has nothing to do with the stove. He plates the food, handing you a bowl, and insists on feeding you the first bite, chopsticks hovering at your lips.

“Open,” he says, voice soft, and you do, letting the flavors burst on your tongue. His eyes are on you, warm, unguarded, and you realize this is a side of him the office never sees.

You eat in comfortable silence, sitting cross-legged on his couch, a soft lo-fi playlist humming in the background. When the dishes are cleared, he pulls you into his lap, arms wrapping around you, his chin resting on your shoulder. It’s quiet, intimate, and you feel the weight of something unspoken.

“Yoongi,” you say, tracing circles on his wrist. “Why are you so… cold at work? I know it’s not the real you.”

He tenses, then sighs, his breath warm against your neck. “Ten years ago, I was a cybersecurity hotshot at a big tech firm. Thought I was untouchable. Then a system crashed—major project, millions lost. Wasn’t my fault, but they needed a scapegoat."

" I got dragged through the mud, humiliated, fired. Landed here to lay low, avoid the corporate bullshit. I hate the politics, the small talk, the way people treat you like a machine. So I shut down. Keep my distance. It’s easier.”

You turn, cupping his face, thumbs brushing his cheeks. “But you’re not distant with me.”

He looks at you, eyes soft, vulnerable. “You’re different. You’re reckless, restless, like I was back then. You don’t treat me like a tool—you tease, you challenge, you see me. First time in years I didn’t feel like I was rusting away.” His voice cracks slightly, and he pulls you closer, forehead against yours. “You bring color to my life, princess. I didn’t know I needed that until you.”

Your heart aches, and you kiss him, slow and sweet, tasting salt and warmth. “I’m not going anywhere,” you whisper, and he smiles, real and unguarded, pulling you against his chest.

“You better not,” he murmurs, kissing your temple. “Because I’m not letting you go anywhere.”

A/n: Well recently I raised a ticket regarding my email's not working and somehow this idea popped in my mind. But why my office IT Helpdesk doesn't have Min Yoongi? 😩

Taglist: @army-geniuslab . @jeonjamiekim . @moonjinniecafe . @minpdrecs . @bontensbabygirl . @this-most-assuredly-counts . @taolucha . @mytaegiheart . @dear-mono . @lilyficrec . @janeluvwonuuuu . @k-fan-fics . @iztrouble . @pikajooni . @namluvili . @alonahh . @paradise172 . @stay-tiny-things . @micdropitlikeitshot . @softhaes . @littlebluhellfire . @niqueesthings . @nocturnalsingularity . @syudoeslove . @namjoonbaby17-blog . @mar-lo-pap . @naesarang07 . @diame93 . @themwordsblog . @crizoosblog

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badathumanemotions · 8 months ago

Note

Hey could you do a Spencer NSFW fic where you end up trapped in a confined space with him (maybe hiding from an unsub) and all your personal space is gone and stuff gets heated yk and then maybe it’s carried on later in a hotel room that they had to share (dom spence, degradation, size kink etc) whatever you want to do really 🫶🫶

Hidden Feelings

Spencer Reid x Fem Reader MDNI MasterList Category: Smut CW: Smut, Oral Sex (fem), Praise, Dirty Talk, Use of Good Girl and Sweet Girl, Riding, Creampie, Breeding Kink, Aftercare, Love Confessions. WC: 7,194 My brains been foggy lately so it's taking me longer to write these. Sorry guys. Also because of the long breaks I totally forgot to add everything you asked for and my Dom Spencer's a little rusty. Sorry anon. (Not Proof Read)

In the heart of a long-forgotten industrial district, the abandoned restaurant stood, a relic of a bygone era. The team had received an anonymous tip, a whisper on the wind that led them to this desolate corner. You and Spencer Reid drew the short straws, tasked with investigating the eerie structure.

Peeling paint and shattered windows cast a grim pallor over the faded sign that swung lazily in the breeze. You felt a shiver run down your spine as you approached, your footsteps echoing against the cracked pavement. Spencer, ever the intellectual, rattled off facts about the place's history, trying to fill the silence with something other than the heavy tension that hung in the air.

Inside, the restaurant was a maze of dust-covered tables and chairs, the smell of stale grease clinging stubbornly to the air. The kitchen was a jungle of rusty pans and forgotten spices, the floor sticky with a layer of grime that had built up over the years. Despite the emptiness, it felt as though you were intruding on a place where secrets had been left to fester in the dark.

The tip you received was vague, hinting at suspicious activity in the area. You and Spencer moved methodically, your eyes scanning every corner for the faintest trace of anything could help with the case. You weren't quite sure what you were looking for – a clue, a sign, anything to justify the uneasy feeling that had settled in your stomach. Spencer paused every so often, his sharp mind analyzing anything out of place.

It was in the kitchen that you stumbled upon the horror. The ticket holder, once used to organize orders, now held a different kind of queue – a series of surveillance photos of the victims. Each face hauntingly familiar from the case files you've studied. The sight of their images, captured unknowingly by the monsters you were hunting, sent a cold chill through your system. Spencer's eyes widened in surprise, his voice barely above a whisper as he pointed out the meticulously laid out schedules scattered around the kitchen counters. It was clear that these Unsubs had been stalking their prey, plotting their every move.

The two of you withdrew your weapons now on high alert. You continued clearing the place, the weight of the moment pressing down on your shoulders. Your heart pounded in your chest, each beat a reminder of the lives at stake. You could feel Spencer's tension beside you, his breaths shallow and eyes darting around the room as he searched for any sign of the trio.

Approaching a back office, you pushed the door open with your foot, not taking any chances. The room was a time capsule of forgotten paperwork and dusty filing cabinets. A desk sat in the centre, with a table beside it covered by a faded tablecloth.

The papers scattered across the surface looked like they had been abandoned in a hurry. Invoices, receipts, and pay stubs lay in a disorganized heap. You squinted in the dim light, trying to make sense of the dates. They were from before the restaurant had closed, a mundane record of a business that no longer existed.

Then, the unmistakable sound of footsteps, heavy and deliberate, echoed through the empty dining area. You and Spencer froze, your eyes locking for a split second. The blood drained from your face as you both realized the gravity of the situation. The Unsubs had returned and you were out numbered.

You caught a glimpse of four men, their silhouettes looming through the dust. At least two were obviously armed, their weapons glinting in the sliver of light that pierced the dimly lit space. They were getting closer and you had to think fast.

With a burst of adrenaline, you grabbed Spencer by the arm and pushed him down onto the floor, under the protection of the dusty tablecloth. He tumbled backward, his eyes wide with surprise, and you quickly followed, landing on top of him in a desperate attempt to hide. Your heart hammered against your ribs as the fabric of the cloth billowed around you, threatening to give you away with every breath.

With quick hands, you pulled out your phone and silently typed a message to Hotch, your thumb hovering over the 'Send' button. The footsteps grew louder, each step bringing the danger closer. You hit 'Send' and shoved the phone into your pocket. You could feel Spencer's body tense beneath yours, his muscles coiled like a spring, clearly thrown off by you sitting on top of him.

He begins to squirm, and you knew he was uncomfortable, not just from the fear of being discovered but also from your proximity. The cramped space made it impossible not to be aware of every inch of your bodies pressing together.

Spencer tries to sit up, but you're quick to react. You place a hand firmly on his chest and push him back down, shaking your head.

Suddenly, he whispered, his voice strained and urgent, "We should change positions, it's not…ideal." But before he could finish, you clamped your hand over his mouth. You didn't know if the Unsubs had heard you, but you couldn't take that risk.

"Quiet, we don't want them to hear us."

You felt Spencer's body stiffen even further as your breath danced against the sensitive skin of his neck. You could feel his pulse racing against your chest, a frantic drumbeat matching the tempo of your own heart. You shifted slightly, the movement pressing your ass against his growing arousal. His breath hitched beneath your palm. It was an accident, but one that sent a jolt of heat through you.

The voices grew louder, the Unsubs seemingly oblivious to the danger hiding in the shadows. They talked in hushed tones, their words muffled by walls between them and your hiding spot. You strained to listen, hoping for some clue as to their plans or identities. The words were indecipherable, but the tone was one of excitement and anticipation.

As the moments dragged on, the tension in the air thickened, coiling around you and Spencer like a serpent. His body was taut beneath yours, the fabric of your clothes the only barrier between you. The adrenaline had shifted gears, no longer just a fight-or-flight response but a potent cocktail of fear and desire.

You felt his hands grip the back of your thighs, knuckles almost white with restraint. The heat of his body was intoxicating, and the friction of your movements was setting something alight between you. It was a dangerous dance, one that had no place in the middle of a horror show, but your body didn't seem to care about the setting.

Spencer's eyes searched yours, looking for a sign, a silent question. Was this real or just the situation playing tricks on you both? But the desire was unmistakable, a palpable force that seemed to fill the air in the tiny space. You drop your head down, your nose brushing against his cheek, and for a heart-stopping second, you thought about what it would be like to kiss him right then and there.

The sound of the Unsubs grew closer, their footsteps echoing in the hall outside the office door. Spencer's hands slid from your thighs to your hips, his grip tightening. The heat of his touch seemed to burn through your clothes, setting every nerve ending alight. The fear was still there, a live wire running through your veins, but it had morphed into something more primal, something that made your skin prickle and your breath catch in your throat.

You met Spencer's gaze, and in that fraction of a second, everything changed. The hunger you saw in his eyes was raw and undeniable. It was a look you'd never seen from him before, one that made your heart skip a beat and your body respond in ways you hadn't anticipated. For a moment, the horror of the situation was forgotten, replaced by the all-consuming need to touch, to taste, to claim.

Your hand slowly slid from his mouth to cup his jaw, feeling the stubble that had formed over the past few days of non-stop work. His breath was hot against your palm, his eyes never leaving yours. The intimacy of the gesture was not lost on either of you, but in the face of the danger lurking outside, it seemed to be the only thing that made sense.

Spencer's arms wrapped around you, pulling you closer until your chests were pressed together. The sound of the Unsubs' footsteps grew fainter as they moved away from the office, but the intensity between you only grew stronger. His hands slid up your back, tangling in your hair, and you both leaned in, lips almost touching.

Suddenly, salvation in the form of a vibration. Your phone. The team had gotten your message. You felt a rush of hope as you realized that rescue was on the way. The vibration against your leg was a silent shout of reassurance, a beacon in the dark.

You both knew that you had to keep it together, to keep the facade of professionalism until the danger had passed. The text message seemed to sober you both up, the urgency of the situation slapping you back into the stark reality of your predicament.

You glanced down at the screen, noting the time since you'd sent the SOS. It felt like hours, but it had only been minutes. The message was simple: "In position. Hold tight." Spencer's eyes met yours, understanding passing between you in a fraction of a second. The weight on your chest lifted slightly, the fear ebbing away just enough to allow you to breathe again.

The sound of the Unsubs grew fainter as they moved away from the office. You dared not speak, not even a whisper, as you both listened intently for any clue to their whereabouts. Spencer's hand slid from your hair to the small of your back, his fingers gently tracing the contours of your spine. You shivered at his touch, the line between terror and passion blurring further.

Suddenly, the air was pierced by the sound of shattering glass. The Unsubs had been spooked, and the cavalry had arrived. The SWAT team, alerted by your message, had come crashing through the restaurant's front windows, the shards raining down like a crystal waterfall in the dusty room. You could feel Spencer's body tense beneath you, his muscles coiled and ready to spring into action.

You both took this as your cue to come out of hiding. With a silent nod of understanding, you slithered out from under the tablecloth, drawing your weapon as you went. Spencer was right behind you, his eyes sharp and focused, scanning the room for any sign of the quartet. The office door was slightly ajar, and the sound of chaos outside grew louder with each passing second.

As you emerged into the corridor, the scene that met you was one of organized mayhem. The SWAT team was spread out through the restaurant, their movements precise and calculated as they secured the area. You saw Morgan taking down one of the Unsubs with a well-placed tackle, the man's body hitting the floor with a heavy thud.

The other three Unsubs were already in cuffs, their faces a mix of shock and rage as they were read their rights. You felt a wave of relief wash over you as you realized that it was over, that no one else would suffer because of them.

He approached you and Spencer, his gaze sweeping over the two of you with a practiced eye. "Are you both okay?" he asked, his voice low and steady. You nodded, still trying to catch your breath, and Spencer managed a tight smile.

Morgan's eyes lingered on the two of you, and for a moment, you wondered if he could see the unspoken tension that had arisen between you during the standoff. But he said nothing, only nodded and turned back to the rest of the team.

The wrap-up was a blur, a flurry of activity that seemed to happen in fast-forward. You watched as the Unsubs were led out of the building, their heads bowed in defeat. The SWAT team secured the perimeter, and the forensic unit began their meticulous dance of collecting evidence. Your heart was still racing, the adrenaline from earlier lingering.

Before you knew it, you were in the back of an SUV, the cool leather pressing against your heated skin. Spencer was sitting beside you, the two of you trading glances. The silence between you was deafening, charged with the electricity of the kiss you had almost shared.

You couldn't help but wonder if it was the adrenaline that had pushed you both over the edge, or if there had always been something more simmering beneath the surface. The team was busy around you, talking and filling in the gaps of what had just transpired. But all you could think about was the way Spencer's body had felt beneath yours, the way his hands had explored you in the dark.

Once back at the precinct, you were just going through the motions. While the majority of the team interrogated the Unsubs, you found yourself cataloguing evidence with a sense of detachment, your mind replaying the events in the abandoned restaurant.

The almost kiss kept playing in your mind like a record on repeat. You couldn't shake the feeling of Spencer's breath against your skin, the way his eyes had searched yours for something unspoken. Each time you reached for a new piece of evidence, your hand would tremble slightly, a reminder of the intimate moment you had shared.

The touch of his fingers on your spine had been electric, sending a shiver down to the very core of you. You found yourself acutely aware of every point of contact, every brush of skin on skin, feeling as if you were still entwined under that dusty tablecloth. The memory of his arms around you was a comforting embrace that seemed to linger.

You froze for a moment as the realization hit you like a ton of bricks: you were sharing a room with Spencer tonight. The implications of what had almost happened weighed heavily on your mind as you continued to process the adrenaline-filled afternoon. You'd been partners for so long, so close, yet this was uncharted territory. You couldn't help but wonder how this would affect your relationship, both personally and professionally.

The case was wrapped up. Everything else was left for the locals. You and the team had done your part, leaving the cleanup to the local law enforcement. The Unsubs were behind bars, and the victims could now find some semblance of peace.

As you and the team divided into cars, you found yourself paired with Morgan and Prentiss. Spencer ended up in the car with Hotch, Rossi, and JJ, his eyes meeting yours briefly before the doors slammed shut, leaving you to wonder what might happen next. The drive to the hotel was a blur of city lights and the muffled chatter of your colleagues. You were lost in thought, replaying every heart-pounding moment in the abandoned restaurant.

When you finally arrived at the hotel, the lobby was a bustle of activity. The team checked in with weary efficiency, the gravity of the case still weighing on everyone's shoulders. You couldn't help but feel a twinge of disappointment as Spencer's gaze didn't seek you out among the crowd. Perhaps it was better this way, you thought, a chance to cool off and sort out the tumultuous emotions that had taken hold of you.

You headed up to the room, the elevator's slow ascent feeling like an eternity. You were sure that the conversation that was bound to happen would be a letdown. It had to be the adrenaline, you reasoned with yourself. It was the only explanation for the way your body had responded to his touch. But as the doors opened and you stepped into the quiet corridor, the memory of his arms around you seemed to follow you.

You fished the room key out of your pocket and slipped it into the lock, turning the handle with a click. The door swung open, revealing a space that felt too small for the emotions you were carrying.

Standing in the middle of the room, you took a deep breath, trying to compose yourself before Spencer joined you in your shared hotel room. The walls felt closer than they should, the air filled with the anticipation of an unspoken conversation that loomed. You studied your reflection in the mirror, smoothing out any signs of distress, hoping to maintain a facade of calm.

As the lock clicked open, the sound echoed through the room. Your entire body tensed, not ready for what the night might hold. Spencer stepped in, his eyes briefly scanning the room before they settled on you.

For a moment, you just stared at each other, the silence stretching out between you. His face was a mask, revealing nothing. You searched his gaze, desperate to find some clue, some hint of what was going through his mind. But Spencer was a master of poker faces, and he wasn't giving you anything to work with.

Then, without any warning, Spencer closed the distance between you, his hands coming up to cup your face. His touch was surprisingly firm, yet gentle, his thumbs tracing the line of your jaw as he leaned in. His lips met yours in a kiss that was as intense as it was unexpected, stealing the breath from your lungs. You felt your knees wobble as you kissed him back with an equal fervour.

You gripped onto Spencer's shoulders, your nails digging into his shirt as you tried to keep yourself tethered to reality. His arms wrapped around your waist, pulling you closer, his hands splayed against the small of your back.

He broke the kiss abruptly, his eyes searching yours with an intensity that made your heart flutter. "Tell me you want this" he growled.

"Yes," you assured him, the word coming out as a breathless whisper. "I want you," you clarified.

With frantic movements, you both began to undress each other, the fabric of your clothes seeming to dissolve away in your haste. Buttons popped and zippers hissed as the barriers between you fell away. You could feel the heat from his skin as your shirts were discarded.

Spencer reached around and unclipped your bra with an ease that made your stomach flip. He took his sweet time peeling the fabric away, revealing your breasts to his hungry gaze. He didn't waste a second before his mouth found them, his lips closing around your nipple with a gentle suction that sent a jolt of pleasure through you. You gasped, your back arching, pushing your chest closer to his face.

With a groan, he began to suck, his tongue flicking and teasing the sensitive bud as you tangled your fingers in his hair. His hands followed suit, cupping your breasts, his thumbs brushing over the peaks as he played with your nipples. He switched to the other side, giving it the same attention, his teeth grazing the sensitive skin. Each nip and suck sent electricity through your body, making your legs threaten to give out.

Once he had his fill, he moved on to your trousers, taking them and your underwear down with a gentle urgency. You stepped out of the fabric pooled around your ankles, feeling vulnerable and exposed. He knelt before you, marvelling at the sight before him, his eyes dark with desire. You felt a blush spread across your cheeks as he looked up, a wicked smile playing on his lips.

"You're so fucking gorgeous," he murmured, his voice a low rumble that seemed to resonate in your very soul. "All mine to taste." He leaned in, his breath hot against your skin as his eyes travelled down your body.

With a gentle but firm tug, Spencer's hands slid down to the back of your thighs, urging you closer. You stepped into the embrace, feeling his warm breath against your sex. The sensation sent a shiver through your body, and you bit your lip to hold back a whimper of need. His fingers dug into the flesh, gripping tightly as if he needed the anchor.

He leaned in, his tongue tracing the seam of your pussy. You felt his hot breath against your clit, the anticipation making it throb with desire. He circled the sensitive nub with the tip of his tongue, the touch so light it was almost maddening.

You moaned, your hands finding their way into his hair, gripping the soft strands as he began to apply more pressure. Spencer's eyes never left yours as he started to devour you, his mouth working magic on your clit, his tongue flicking and teasing until you were grinding against his face, desperate for more.

He chuckled darkly at your eagerness, his hands moving to grip your ass, pulling you closer until you were practically riding his face. His tongue plunged into your wetness, tasting you deeply, and you couldn't hold back the moan that escaped your lips. The sensation was overwhelming, a delicious mix of pleasure and vulnerability that had you teetering on the edge.

"That's right, sweetheart," Spencer murmured, his voice muffled by your flesh. "Cum for me. Let me feel you come apart." His words were a command, a demand that sent a thrill through your body. You could feel the muscles in your abdomen tighten, your orgasm building in your core.

Obeying his urging, you began to rock your hips, grinding your clit against his tongue. The pressure was exquisite, each movement sending waves of pleasure through you. His eyes remained locked on yours, his pupils blown wide with desire, his mouth wide open collecting your juices. His hands tightened on your ass, his fingers digging in, urging you to move faster, to give him what he wanted.

And then, with a final, needy grind against his mouth, you shattered. The orgasm hit you like a tidal wave, crashing over you leaving you trembling and gasping for air. You could see the triumph flash in his eyes as he felt you come apart. He didn't stop, though, continuing to lick and suck until your legs gave out needing him to catch you.

With a firm grip on your waist, he guided you to the bed, his movements sure and decisive. The mattress dipped as you sat down, and he didn't waste a second before he was beside you, his body pressing into yours, his mouth claiming yours in a kiss that was as possessive as it was hungry.

"Good girl," he murmured against your lips, the words a dark praise that sent a thrill through your body. He pushed you back onto the bed, his body following yours, his weight a delicious pressure that made your heart race even faster. You felt the heat of him, his arousal pressing against your thigh, and it was all you could do to keep from reaching down and taking him in your hand.

Spencer sat up, his eyes never leaving yours as he removed the rest of his clothes. Each article of clothing fell away, revealing more of the toned body you had only ever seen glimpses of. His chest was bare, a blush trailing down it, and his erection was clear through his boxer briefs. He watched your reaction, a smug satisfaction in his gaze as he revealed himself to you.

"You have no idea how much I've wanted this," he murmured, his voice thick with lust as he pushed the last of his clothes off. "How hard it was to keep my hands to myself while we were hiding." His hand slid down his body, gripping his cock, giving it a slow stroke that had you biting your lip.

The admission sent a bolt of desire through you, making your heart race even faster. You had known there was something between you, something that went beyond friendship and partnership, but to hear him voice it so bluntly was exhilarating.

Spencer climbed over you, his breath hot against your neck as he whispered in your ear, "While you were on top of me, I couldn't help but imagine what it would feel like to have you riding me like that, taking me deep inside you." His words were raw, unfiltered, and they sent a shiver down your spine. You could feel the heat of his arousal, his cock pressing into your thigh as he spoke.

He trailed kisses down your neck, each one a silent promise of what was to come. "I wanted to rip your clothes off right there," he confessed, his voice a low growl that resonated through your body. "To feel you wet and ready for me, to hear you scream my name as I made you cum."

The words alone were almost enough to push you over the edge again. Your pussy throbbed with need, your inner walls clenching around emptiness, desperate for his touch. A moan slipped past your lips, and you threw your head back, giving him full access to your neck. His teeth grazed your skin, and you felt a shiver of pleasure that went straight to your core.

"Please," you begged, the word a breathy whisper that seemed to hang in the air. "I need you inside me." Your voice was ragged with desire, your eyes never leaving his as you made your plea. The raw need in your eyes seemed to be all the permission Spencer needed.

With a final, lingering kiss, he positioned himself at your entrance, the head of his cock nudging against your slick folds. "Don't worry, sweet girl," he murmured, his voice low and dominant. "I'll take care of you."

He slammed into you with a force that made you gasp. The feeling of being filled by him was almost painful in its intensity, but the pain quickly gave way to pleasure as your body adjusted to his size.

Spencer's eyes were hooded with desire as he watched your reaction, his hips moving in a punishing rhythm. His hands gripped the headboard, the wood creaking under his grip as he thrust deeper and deeper, his whole body taut with the effort.

You could feel the mattress shift with every pounding stroke, the springs groaning in protest beneath you. The sensation was almost overwhelming, a delicious mix of pain and pleasure that had you panting and writhing beneath him. You wrapped your legs around his waist, trying to pull him closer, urging him deeper.

Spencer took your cue, his hands moving from the headboard to your hips, his grip unyielding as he set a rhythm that had you seeing stars. His hips snapped against you, his cock filling you completely, the sensation of fullness making your eyes roll back in your head. He was a force of nature, a storm of passion that you had unleashed, and you were helpless to do anything but ride the waves of pleasure that he brought.

You could feel the headboard knocking against the wall with every thrust, the sound of skin meeting skin echoing through the room. Each time he pushed into you, your breath hitched, a whimper escaping your lips. His eyes watching every flicker of emotion that crossed your face, his expression one of fierce concentration.

"Look at me," Spencer demanded. You obeyed, locking your gaze onto his, unable to look away as he claimed you, body and soul. His dominance was intoxicating, the way he took control of your pleasure, leaving you powerless to do anything but submit to his will.

With a slight adjustment of his hips, he angled himself just right, and you felt the electric sensation as his cock hit your g-spot. A shocked yelp escaped your lips, your eyes widening with surprise. The intensity was almost too much, but you didn't want him to stop.

The sound of your moans grew louder with every thrust, filling the small room. Spencer smirked, his eyes dark with arousal as he leaned in close, his hand coming up to cover your mouth. "Quiet," he whispered, his voice a seductive rumble in your ear. "We don't want them to hear us, do we?" It was a playful reminder of your earlier words.

You moaned against his hand, the muffled sound only serving to add to the intensity of the moment. The heat from his palm was like a brand on your skin, searing your lips as you fought to keep your noises contained.

As the pleasure mounted, he slowly switched to putting his thumb in your mouth while the rest of his hand cupped your cheek. The act was both innocent and incredibly erotic, a silent plea for more as your teeth grazed his skin, your tongue swirling around the digit.

The sound of his groan filled the room, a low rumble that seemed to vibrate through the very air. It sent a bolt of electricity through your body, making your pussy clench around his cock. Spencer's eyes darkened with need, his thumb pressing deeper into your mouth, his hips moving faster, his strokes more urgent.

"So fucking tight," he murmured, his voice a low, guttural growl. "You're so wet for me, aren't you?" His words went straight to your pussy, your body responding instinctively to his words. You nodded, unable to form coherent sentences as he continued his relentless assault on your senses.

"Tell me," he demanded, his hips grinding into you, his cock hitting your g-spot with every thrust. "Tell me how good it feels." You moaned around his thumb, the sound muffled and wanton.

"Am I fucking you so good you can't answer?" he taunted, his voice low and full of smug satisfaction.

You could only nod, the words caught in your throat as he hit that spot again and again. The feeling was so intense that you could feel yourself climbing towards another orgasm.

With a sudden shift, Spencer rolled over, flipping onto his, and you straddled him, his cock still buried deep inside you. "Fuck, I need to see you ride me," he grunted.

Wasting no time, you immediately got to work, arching your lower back and slamming your ass down against his pelvis. The pleasure had your eyes rolling back in your head. Each downward thrust was met with an upward surge of his hips, filling you completely.

Spencer's fingers dug into your hips, his grip tightening with each bounce, leaving the promise of bruises in his wake. You could feel the pressure building again, his cock stroking your g-spot with an almost punishing precision that had your toes curling.

"That's right, be a good girl," he murmured, his voice thick with lust. "Ride my cock just like that." The words were a command that had your pussy clenching around him, desperate to please. You picked up the pace, the slap of your ass meeting his thighs growing louder with each passing second.

Spencer's eyes never left yours, his gaze a mix of hunger and admiration. "Look how much you want it," he said, his voice a dark whisper. "Look how much you need me to fill you up, to make you scream." His words were like a drug, sending a rush of pleasure through your body.

"You like me praising you," he murmured, his eyes flicking down to where you were joined. "Calling you a good girl?" His hand moved to cup your cheek, his thumb stroking your skin gently as his hips began to move again, his cock still buried deep inside you. "I felt the way your cunt started squeezing me," he continued, his voice a low rumble of satisfaction. "Every time I say it, you get wetter, don't you?"

You couldn't help but nod, the truth of his words evident in the way your body was responding. You felt the heat of his palm on your cheek, the gentle pressure of his thumb against your skin grounding you.

With a growl of pure need, Spencer brought your face down to meet his in a passionate kiss that was both possessive and tender. His tongue claimed your mouth, the taste of you still lingering on his lips. You moaned into the kiss, the sensation of his cock inside you making your head spin.

Both his hands grabbed your ass, the firm grip of his fingers digging into your flesh. He used the leverage to slam your hips down onto him, the sound of your bodies colliding filling the room. You could feel the muscles in his arms tensing, the power behind each thrust driving you closer to the edge. The sensation was overwhelming, and you could feel yourself tightening around him, the beginnings of another orgasm building deep within you.

Spencer's voice was a low growl in your ear, his words a mix of praise and need. "You're so fucking perfect," he murmured, his hips bucking up to meet yours. "I want to fill you up, have you dripping with my seed." The thought of his release inside you had your pussy clenching around him, the walls quivering with the anticipation of his climax.

"Will you let me, sweetheart?" he asked, his eyes searching yours for an answer. The question was loaded, filled with a mix of hope and desire that made your heart race even faster. You could feel the tension in his body, the way he was holding back, waiting for your permission.

You nodded, the word "yes" barely escaping your mouth before it was swallowed by his kiss. Spencer's hips bucked up into you, the urgency of his movements increasing. He broke the kiss, panting. "I need to feel you come around me," he groaned.

The frantic pace continued, your bodies moving in perfect synchronicity as you raced towards the peak of pleasure. Spencer's grip on your ass was bruising, but you didn't care. You needed this, needed him to make you feel alive in a way you never had before. His cock slammed into your g-spot over and over, causing non-stop pleasure.

Your kiss grew sloppier, tongues tangling and breaths mingling as if you were trying to breathe each other in. The taste of him was intoxicating. You felt the pressure building, the tension coiling tighter and tighter in your core, threatening to break at any moment.

"Cum for me, sweet girl," Spencer begged, his voice strained with his own need. And as if those words were the key to your release, your body obeyed. You felt the orgasm crash over you, a tidal wave of sensation that had you throwing your head back and screaming his name. Your nails dug into his shoulders, your body spasming on top of him, your pussy clenching around his cock like a vice.

The sight of you, lost in the throes of ecstasy, was too much for Spencer. With a roar, he reached his own climax, his cock pulsing inside you as he filled you with his cum. The feeling was indescribable, a mix of pleasure and relief that had him seeing stars. His hips jerked upwards, his body shuddering with the force of his release, his hands gripping you tightly.

You moaned at the feeling of him cumming in you, the sensation of being filled sending you spiralling over the edge into another orgasm. Your pussy clenched around him, milking every last drop from his cock as he emptied himself inside you. The feeling was primal, a deep-seated satisfaction that resonated through every part of your being.

As the last tremors of pleasure passed, you collapsed boneless against him, both of you trying to catch your breath. Your cheek was pressed against his chest, his heart pounding against your skin. You could feel the stickiness of your juices between your legs, mingling with his seed.

Spencer's hand came up to draw patterns across your spine, the touch gentle and soothing. His fingertips traced the contours of your back, moving in a lazy pattern. You leaned into the caress, the tension in your body slowly beginning to melt away.

For a while, you both lay there, just breathing, the sound of your harsh pants slowly evening out as your heart rates returned to normal. The silence between you was conent, a shared understanding that didn't require any words. You felt the warmth of his body, the steady thump of his heart, and the sticky warmth between your legs.

Spencer was the first to move, cupping your cheek gently and turning your face to look at him. His eyes searched yours, a soft smile playing on his lips as he brought you into a sweet, lingering kiss. When he finally pulled away, the words he whispered were filled with wonder and a hint of disbelief. "I can't believe I finally have you," he murmured, his voice filled with emotion.

The truth of his words hung in the air, the weight of them heavy on your chest. You had both crossed a line, one that could never be uncrossed. But as you stared into his eyes, the warmth of his gaze and the tender way he held you made you feel that this was right. That this was what you both needed.

You felt his cock begin to soften inside you, the pulsing subsiding as your bodies slowly calmed from the intense climax. The feeling was strange, almost bittersweet, as if your body was mourning the loss of his hardness. Gently, he pulled out, his movements careful and deliberate, mindful of your sensitivity. A gush of warmth accompanied his exit, leaving a wetness that was both a reminder of what had just occurred and a promise of what was to come.

Spencer looked down at you, a soft smile playing on his lips as he brushed a stray hair from your face. "Come on," he prompted. "Let's get cleaned up." He offered you a hand, helping you to your unsteady feet. Your legs felt like jelly, weak from the pleasure he had wrung from your body. You took his hand gratefully, allowing him to lead you to the bathroom.

Spencer turned the shower on, the sound of rushing water filling the small space. He stepped in, testing the temperature with his hand before turning back to you with a nod, extending his hand once again. You stepped in, the warm spray cascading over your bodies, washing away the sweat and semen.

He took a washcloth soaking it in the warm water, and gently began to clean you. You watched him, the tender way he moved the cloth across your skin, wiping away the sweat and slick. His eyes were focused on his task, the intensity of the moments before replaced by a softness that made your heart ache.

You leaned into his touch, your body relaxing against his as he took care of you. Each stroke of the washcloth was like a caress, soothing the ache in your muscles and the throb of your pussy. He was thorough, paying special attention to every inch of your skin, as if he was worshipping your body.

Once he was satisfied that you were clean, Spencer quickly cleaned himself and stepped out of the shower. He grabbed a towel and wrapped it around his waist before turning his attention back to you. "Let me dry you off," he murmured, his eyes gentle.

You stepped out of the shower, the warmth of the water leaving your skin glistening. Spencer took a towel from the rack, his movements methodical as he began to gently pat you down. Starting at your face, he moved down your neck, taking special care around the sensitive areas.

His touch was surprisingly gentle, almost reverent, as if he was afraid to break the spell that had been cast between you. You felt his hands on your shoulders, sliding down your arms, and around to your back, his touch feather light as he dried your skin. Each brush of the terrycloth cause goosebumps to break out.

Once Spencer had you thoroughly dried, he wrapped the towel around your body, tucking it in tightly, almost like he was afraid to let you go. He took your hand, leading you to the second bed. The mattress dipped under your weight as you sat down, the softness a welcome relief after the intense moments that had passed.

He took a seat beside you, his eyes searching yours. "I need you to understand something," he began, his voice serious. "What we just did, it's not just about the case or the adrenaline. It's not just about the physical attraction we have."

Spencer took a deep breath, his hand reaching out to cover yours. "I want you, not just your body, but all of you," he confessed, his gaze never leaving yours. "I want to know every part of you, every thought, every fear, every dream."

You could see the vulnerability in his eyes, the way his heart was laid bare for you. "This isn't just about scratching an itch," he continued. "It's about connecting on a level that goes beyond anything I've ever experienced." His words were a declaration, a promise of something more substantial than the fleeting moments of passion you've shared.

You took a deep breath, the warmth of the shower still clinging to your skin as you searched for the right words. "Spencer," you began, your voice a whisper. "I feel the same way." The confession felt like a weight lifted off your chest. You had been holding it in for so long, the fear of ruining your friendship and professional relationship had kept you from saying what you truly felt.

His eyes searched yours, the intensity in them making your heart race. "Do you mean it?" he asked, his voice hopeful yet tentative.

"Yes," you whispered, the word a promise that seemed to echo through the quiet hotel room. "I do." Spencer's hand tightened around yours, his smile growing as he leaned in to press a gentle kiss to your lips. It was a kiss that spoke of relief and joy, a silent acknowledgement that he wasn't alone in his feelings.

As the tension between you dissipated, you both got ready for bed, moving with a newfound ease. You slid under the cool sheets of the second bed. Spencer followed, his body fitting against yours as if he had been made for you.

You were so giddy with the intensity of what had just transpired that you weren’t sure you’d be able to sleep. Yet, as you cuddled against his chest, listening to the steady rhythm of his heart, the comfort of his embrace began to lull you into a peaceful slumber. His arms tightened around you, his warmth seeping into your very bones.

As the night passed, you both slipped into a deep sleep, your bodies entwined like lovers lost in each other’s embrace. The tension of the case and the passion between you had drained you both, leaving nothing but peaceful rest.

#criminal minds #masterlist #spencer reid #spencer reid smut #spencer reid x reader #doctor spencer reid #dominate spencer reid #mgg #mgg smut

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001x456 · 4 months ago

Note

any 457 fic recs?

In-ho x Gi-hun fic recs

credits to the respective authors! ♡

*some of them are wholesome fluff, but some may contain topics that can be triggering, taboo and considered “dark theme” in nature; so after tapping the links, make sure you read the tags first (actually, since I'm a sucker for whump, spicy and fucked up stuff, most of them are 'dead dove do not eat', so be warned)

Overthrown

Seong Gi-hun isn't the only enemy the Front Man has. It takes him too long to realize that. Or, Front Man's right hand man, the Officer, with the help of the Soldiers, plans to take him down. And In-ho has been too blind to see the betrayal coming. (Ironic enough, it turns out the one who's too trusting isn't Gi-hun.)

Obedience and Oblivion (NSFW)

Dragged back into the shadows of the games, Gi-hun finds himself bound not just by chains but by the quiet, unnerving pull of the man who holds him captive. The Front Man offers him comfort wrapped in control, tenderness laced with possession. As lines blur between survival and submission, freedom and desire, Gi-hun must decide: will he rise above, or let himself fall deeper into the arms of the enemy?

and I found love where it wasn't supposed to be, right in front of me

"Young-il was a good person. He was my friend. And you killed him because all he wanted was to save his family."

"Gi-hun —" In-ho quickly stopped and shut his mouth when he realized he was letting it slip. He's Player 456 to you now, and you're not Young-il anymore, warned the voices in his head.

You're the Front Man and he's Player 456. Young-il and Gi-hun are no more. And that ache, the sudden surge of pain in In-ho's chest, In-ho could never seem to understand.

all I worship and adore (NSFW)

After the tenth year anniversary of his wife's death, In-ho decided it was time for him to feel something else that wasn't grief. He found himself in a shady brothel with a companion of an overly friendly, overly awkward sex worker named Seong Gi-hun. (It's fine, right? It's merely physical pleasure and nothing more. This does not mean you're betraying her, it does not mean you're moving on, or so In-ho told himself.)

loving you is a losing game

Gasping and gurgling and choking on his own blood, In-ho's eyes remain fixated on Gi-hun and Jun-ho.

Mister Right

“Hwang Inho,” His assailant introduced stiffly and rattled off a lengthy sequence of numbers. “Eh?” They’d given Gihun something for the pain and it was making him a little dizzy. “My name and badge number,” The man said, his jaw clenched tight as he advised, “you should lodge a formal complaint to the Seoul Metropolitan Police Agency when you are able to walk, sir.” “Oh…ok.” “Did you remember what I just said?” Gihun’s head lolled. He blinked groggily at the figure dressed in all black. “Are you my nurse? This needle in my arm hurts. Could you blow on it?” The man didn’t move. “Please?” He whined, blinking back tears.

One Way Ticket (NSFW)

Gi-hun arrives in a foreign land brimming with hope and dreams of starting a new life with the woman he’s convinced is his soulmate. But when things start to unravel, and the truth of his situation becomes painfully clear, he finds himself at the mercy of a stranger—Hwang In-ho, a man who sees opportunity in Gi-hun’s desperation.

Final Game

In which In-ho tries running away from his own self, his guilt, doubt and feelings. (Gi-hun is handcuffed to a bed, yet In-ho finds himself the one in chains, unable to run away.)

Material Girl

“I’m not a prostitute,” The man sitting in the small plastic chair opposite Junho’s work desk repeated. Junho glanced up from the arrest form he was filling out on his computer and studied him. Seong Gihun, age forty-three, resident of Ssangmun-dong. The system showed his only living relative to be his elderly mother. There were numerous citations on file for money issues mostly, but no prostitution. Oh, and today was his birthday. “Officer,” the man said, wringing his hands like an old woman and rocking in his seat, “I swear.” Junho took his fingers off the keyboard and crossed them over his desk. “Ajusshi, I have you on video without your pants in a popular love hotel.”

dead (for a little while) (NSFW)

Gi-hun loses the next game.

Strangely, they don't kill him.

like a good, good dog (NSFW)

"Come on," Thanos — Player 230 — said, "I see the way you look at him and the way he looks at you. A blind person could see you've been yearning for each other. Don't look at me like that, I'm just doing you both a favor here."

"What did you just say?" Gi-hun asked.

"You heard me. Fuck 001. Or die."

In a Truth or Dare game, Gi-hun landed himself with the most absurd dare. In-ho realized the price of his undercover mission may be higher than he thought when he was getting fucked at his own game. Figuratively and literally.

Alternative Universe where no one gets hurt.

Forgotten Vows (NSFW)

Gi-Hun wakes up with a wedding ring on his finger.

Dirty Business (NSFW)

Gi-hun sucks In-ho’s dick while he watches the chaos unfold.

Facilitated Karma

VIPs kind of get whatever they want, here- so when one of them orders to have Gi-hun for a night, In-ho has to comply.

Gi-hun doesn't get the memo.

All Your Pieces (NSFW)

After the failed rebellion, he dissociates on the Frontman's floor.

pick up your stitches (better than your riches) (NSFW)

Gi-hun just looks at him in silence for a moment, studying his frame intently. “How do you live with yourself?"

“I don’t know.”

When he leans in, it’s slow and deliberate. It’s like he’s showing his hands. Begging Gi-hun to squint and pretend they’re clean.

“You can tell me no,” he reminds him. Miraculously, Gi-hun just nods.

Or: Gi-hun and the Frontman meet after the games are through.

wrap my name across your mouth when i let my feelings down (NSFW)

“You haven’t eaten all day,” In-ho reminds him, a note of desperation in his voice. “Let me feed you, Gi-hun.”

Gi-hun’s eyes are unfocused and bloodshot, he notices. There are dark circles underneath them. In-ho chastises himself for not considering the fact that his companion might be sleep deprived.

“Uh, yeah,” Gi-hun awkwardly rubs at his neck with his right hand. “I could eat.”

in the flow of things

“That’s my fish,” Inho snaps, taking a step closer. His voice echoes through the narrow space, sharp with rage. The man chuckles softly. “I mean… define 'your' fish.” Inho blinks, momentarily stunned by the audacity. “Are you serious? You stole it. You've been stealing my fish.” “Borrowing,” the man corrects, raising his finger. “Relocating is the better word, actually. You keep buying more anyway, so I figured-” “Relocating? Are you serious right now?” Inho's voice rises, disbelief flooding his system. He stalks closer, fists clenched. “You’ve been breaking into my apartment and stealing my fish like it’s some kind of hobby?”

or Five times Inho came home to an empty fishbowl, and the one time he finally caught the culprit.

let's drift away in fits of pleasure (NSFW)

Fronting a secret killing game while also taking place in said game was difficult as expected, but the most unexpected inconvenience was that of sneaking out every night to return to In-ho's office. He resorted to excusing himself to the bathroom for long hours during lights out and hoping the others didn’t bother to ask in the haze of their exhaustion.

It was Gi-hun that pushed the boundaries, as he should have learned to expect these days.

Nightmares

Chapter 1: Gihun gets a nightmare and I Inho takes care of him Chapter 2: Inho gets a nightmare and trys to hide it from Gihun because he thinks he deserves to get them

TO YOUR SWEET NOTHING

"You’re up early,” came the dry, familiar voice of In-ho beside Gi-hun. “Early?” Gi-hun snorted, glancing at the clock on the bedside table. “It’s almost nine. You call that early?” In-ho grunted, shifting slightly but making no move to get up. “It is when you’ve spent years sleeping with one eye open,” he murmured, his voice muffled by the pillow.

Or, a soft lazy morning between Inho and Gihun

Would You Still Love Me?

In-ho turned back to his microscope, clearly done with the conversation, but his lips twitched into a smile. “Speaking of worms…” “Oh, please no,” Gi-hun groaned. Nothing sane or understandable ever followed that phrase. “Would you still love me if I were a worm?” “Why are you even asking this?” Gi-hun demanded. “Do you plan on turning into a worm?” His eyes widened in mock horror. “Oh my god, did you sign up for some kind of freaky experiment?”

Or, "Would you still love me if I was a worm?" fic featuring Gi-hun and In-ho!

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konansock · 3 months ago

Text

Mod Update: Club & Business Activity Expanded - MORE Business update!

Happy Simming, Simmers! After Business and Hobbies released, I tested my mod in the new system and found more opportuny, as well as bugs to be fixed! So here's a major update to the mod.

Bug Fixes:

Various Text and Images were missing from the first version, they're fixed in this new and improved update.

Tend Stall now officially works as intended.

WooHoo Business:

Apparently this is one of the most anticipated feature of WooHoo Addon, but it wasn't working before, now it is.

The present activity WooHoo will still work with restrictions, for Simmers who just want customers to be intimate with their partners and sleep at a hotel.

New activity has been added: WooHoo with Small Business Employees (for customers) and WooHoo with Customers (for employees). You need to pair them up so customers have employees to ask for WooHoo. Don worry, they won't ask for WooHoo from random janitors who was only assigned the task 'Clean'!

They're now fully autonomous, and your small business even earns money from it! Charisma, Fitness and Romance skills affect the payout.

As customers, you can expect to check in your favorite small business for a casual WooHoo, too!

Photo Studio:

I always wanted a way for my Sims to pay some Simoleons and take their photos. You can sort of simulate it with the updated Photography activity.

Employees will Tend Tripod along with Photo Studios now, and taking pictures for customers with tripods now earns them Simoleons. It just does not display on the text. Photography skill and Fine Arts Degree affect the final payout.

As a customer, you can see the employees Tend Tripod. They're just cosmetics and don't actually matter. You just strike a pose with your Pose Player and select Ask for Photoshoot either from a Tripod or the Ticket Kiosk. Selecting the photographer affects your payout.

Self service as a customer now also cost you Simoleons.

Fashion Studio:

The Make-Up Chair and Wardrobe Pedestal is probably the ACTUAL most asked feature in this update. It's HERE!

Your can assign employees the task Tend Make-Up Chair and Tend Wardrobe Pedestal. This is necessary for customers to find a hairdresser/cloth designer.

For NPC Customers, once you choose the activity Be Styled or Be Outfitted, you can just let the Make-Up studio or Clothing studio work in the background, and you'll earn money from it. Fame and Fine Arts Degree affect the final payout.

However, manually Offer Make-Up/Hairstyle/Outfit will earn your Sims more Simoleons. Manually Offer to Update Appearance on Wardrobe Pedestal also earns your Sim money.

If you want to also earn money from Offer to Update Appearance interaction on Make-Up Chair, use this mod by LittleMsSam.

As a customer, you can choose any interaction on the Make-Up Chair and Wardrobe Pedestal, and you'll be styled/outfitted for a fee! Note that only Ask to Update Appearance lead your Sims to CAS and allow you to customize, the other interactions are random.

Tarot Reading:

Life and Death allowed us to open a Tarot business, but not as a customer? This is fixed in the mod.

Front Desk Assistant:

This is so random but some kind Simmer asked for this feature. Requires Get to Work though. While the Front Desk is tended, customers will be automatically welcomed, helping you a tiny bit in customer rating.

Grocery Shopping:

The Get to Work Lice Freezer now works with Small Business! Stock up with snacks, fizzy juice, harvestables and farm products, and watch your business grow into local Sims-mart!

Works with Brazenlouts' Produce stand, too!

As a customer, you can also purchase ingredients stored in the retail fridge.

Occult Training:

Occult Training now earns you money based on your rank and length of mentorship.

Note that Occult Training is very strict on customers, so this might not be a good idea for long-term business.

DOWNLOAD HERE

#konansock #modupdate #ts4cc #ts4mod #mod update #s4mod #s4cc

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star-crossed-fates · 2 months ago

Text

Even My Damnation Spells Your Name

Chapter 4: The End Wore My Face

Synopsis: In a city of steel and stars, you fall in love with a man the world calls a monster. He looks at you like you’ve haunted every life he’s ever lived. Sylus is danger wrapped in silk, secrets stitched into every glance, every touch, every word spoken like a spell. He’s yours before you even realize what you’re remembering.

Because this isn’t the first time.

Dreams unravel you. Memories not your own. A dragon’s death cry. A kiss beneath bloodied skies. A love too eternal to stay buried. As the past bleeds into the present, you begin to piece together the truth. Some memories burn brighter than the stars, others wound deeper than any blade.

And love, no matter how timeless, always demands a price.

Pairing: Female! MC [Named] x Sylus

Rating: Explicit 18+ [MDNI]

Spoilers: Sylus's myth cards/memories. Please note: memories might be a little different than from game for story purposes.

Warnings: NSFW, Explicit smut, including various kinks: Praise, degradation talk, first time, CP, DP, anal sex/play, probably some Dragon!Sylus smut, maybe a lot of it. Many, many more that I'm forgetting to list. Consider yourself warned. - Unlikely to be completely canon. - MC is named. Her personality is darker than in the game, far more morally grey. - Switching between MC's memories/dreams/flashbacks and current timeline. - Other love interests will not show up in this. - Some plot, but not super planned out. Basically, this is a "what if the closer they became, the more MC remembers her life with him on Philos.

You’re seated at your desk with a datapad in one hand and your chin in the other, pretending to review a mission report that was due, oh, a solid week ago. Maybe two. Time is fake, and paperwork is a government lie.

The words blur together into a mess of acronyms, jargon, and phrases like “potential kinetic anomaly,” which really just means someone got punched very, very hard. Your eyes glaze over somewhere around the third paragraph.

Your brain? Elsewhere. Specifically, imagining Sylus with his shirt off, sweat gleaming down the line of his pecs while he does something completely unnecessary like fixing a motorbike he probably stole or recalibrating a sniper rifle with his veiny arms and that concentration face he does.

There’s a particular angle—head tilted slightly down, lashes low, mouth curled just enough to be dangerous—that basically rewires your entire nervous system.

God, you miss him.

He’s been off-grid for three days, doing Onychinus things. Probably threatening someone while sipping espresso, playing chess with a war criminal, or, worst-case scenario, getting shot at in another suit that costs more than your entire apartment.

You tap your pen against the desk, sighing so deeply it might count as a medical event. Sitting on his face wouldn’t be the worst way to die. The thought hits you like a derailed subway car, and you blink hard.

Okay, wow. You need air. You need water. You need help.

You’re just starting to wonder if anyone’s ever died from horniness-induced dehydration when a voice cuts in beside you:

“Earth to Anira,” says Ethan, leaning a little too close over your desk, like he’s trying to solve the mystery of your very obvious spiralling. “You okay? You’ve been staring at that same paragraph for five minutes. Either it’s written in code, or you’ve transcended language altogether.”

Ethan is tall and clean-cut, with that golden-retriever energy that screams, Will hold your purse and cry during Pixar movies.

“Sorry,” you say, straightening in your chair and dragging yourself out of lust-ridden la-la-land. “Was just… thinking.”

“Mysterious,” he teases. “You’ve got that far-off look in your eyes, like you’re in a tragic romance. Should I be jealous?”

You manage a smirk. “Only if you’ve got a criminal record and a death wish.”

He laughs like you’re joking, which is adorable.

“No record, but I did get a parking ticket last weekend.”

You feign a gasp. “Scandalous.” What did you do last weekend? Oh yeah, threaten to break a woman’s fingers after you watched Sylus beat some guy senseless in an underground fighting ring.

Ethan leans a little on the desk, flashing you his best grin. You can practically feel the sugar content. “Listen, if you ever want a break from whatever tragic romance you’re stuck in—”

Oh no.

“—we could grab lunch sometime. My treat. There’s this new café on the east end. Supposed to have great pie.”

You smile noncommittally. “Thanks, Ethan. I’ll keep that in mind.”

He beams like you just handed him a lottery ticket, and you have to resist the urge to pat his head. “Okay! I’ll let you get back to your report.”

You wave as he saunters away like he’s just been invited to prom by the most popular girl in school. Ethan’s a good guy. Sweet in that kindergarten teacher way. Maybe in another universe, you’d want the kind of love that feels like a home-cooked meal and happily-ever-after. But in this one?

You fell for the man who only smiles like that when something’s about to burn, and you pray that it’s you. Thankfully, Nina comes to your rescue when she snaps a rubber band at your face.

You flinch. “Hey!”

Nina grins, not even pretending to look sorry. “That’s for ignoring my texts. Again.”

She’s the only person here who could get away with this kind of crap. Short, sharp, and with a smile like a blade. Her pink undercut changes shades weekly, and she has exactly zero time for authority, which is probably why you like her.

“I was busy,” you lie.

“You were drooling,” she corrects, pointing at the report you’ve smudged. “I don’t know who he is, but I hope he’s hot enough to justify endangering official documentation.”

You shrug. “Depends how you feel about knives and moral ambiguity.”

Nina raises an eyebrow. “God, you do have a type. You know, normal people crush on actors or influencers. You look like you’ve been mentally raw-dogged by a Bond villain.”

“Only the sexy ones.”

She snorts and tosses a candy bar onto your desk. “Sugar. You look like you haven’t eaten since 2025.”

“Thanks, Mom.”

Across the bullpen, Ethan is still hovering, possibly pretending to reorganize a supply crate so he can glance your way. When he notices you noticing, he gives a small wave.

Nina clocks it too. “He’s gonna ask again.”

“I know.”

“You gonna let him down gently or hit him with the full ‘emotionally unavailable with a vampire kink’ package?”

“I was thinking of faking my own death.”

“Bold choice. On brand.”

“Anira?” Captain Jenna approaches.

You swivel in your chair as she stops beside your desk, crisp in her dark uniform, arms folded.

“Yes, Captain?”

Jenna holds out a data tablet, and your name’s already glowing on the screen.

“Field request just came in. Metaflux surge in the western fringe. Abandoned warehouse near the old docking lines. Locals flagged it. Too volatile to ignore. Normally I’d assign this to a recon team, but your records from similar anomalies show strong results. I want you on this one personally.”

“Understood.”

Before Jenna can move on, Nina leans back in her chair with a groan that’s more drama than protest.

“Oh, come on, Captain. You know she’s not gonna say no. Let me tag along, and we’ll wrap it up by lunch. I’ll even promise not to blow anything up unless it bites first.”

Jenna exhales with a small nod: “Fine. Take a two-man team. Gear up and move fast. Report anything unusual immediately.”

The warehouse is an old relic, wedged between half-demolished buildings and silent, rusted-out rail lines. Chain-link fences rattle faintly in the breeze, and sunlight filters through the cracked skylights in long, narrow beams that illuminate swirling dust.

You and Nina move in silence, boots crunching over loose debris. Her pistol is out, held low and ready, while yours rests in your holster.

“There’s nothing here,” Nina mutters, voice tinny through the comm. “No recent activity.”

Your Evol hums beneath your skin, like static crawling through your veins. It’s faint, not enough to triangulate, but unmistakably there.

“There’s metaflux,” you inform quietly. “Weak, but it’s here.”

Nina doesn’t question you while she adjusts her grip and keeps moving. She trusts you, probably more than anyone else in the Association. Not that you’ve given her much in return. You’re grateful, in your way, but you’ve never been good at letting people get close.

You sweep your eyes over the interior again. Rust-streaked girders, shattered crates, and scorch marks on the concrete. You’ve seen so many spaces like this before they all start to blur.

The air changes, growing drier. You taste smoke before you see it.

Nina curses softly. “Got movement. South wing.”

You draw your weapon. From the far end of the warehouse, there is a flit of red light, then another. Then flame bursts along the floor in a sudden whoosh, licking at the edges of crates, catching on old wiring, and climbing into the shadows.

The Wanderer steps out of the blaze like it was born from it. Tall. Humanoid, but stretched wrong, like heatwaves made corporeal. Its eyes burn brighter than its skin, twin coals in a shifting face. You recognize the type immediately: Cindertide-Class. Fire variant. Fast. Destructive.

Your body reacts before your brain does. You fire, and Nina splits to the side, her Evol flaring to life in a shimmer of kinetic force as she tries to flank it.

Embers spiral toward you, drifting, and everything slows. The orange glow, the heat, the way the flames dance and spiral—it’s too familiar.

Reality tilts.

The temple’s roof yawns open to a sky that’s gagging on ash and smoke thick as gravecloth, blotting out stars that once bore witness to miracles and massacres alike. Fire coils through the ruins in serpent spirals, hissing where it touches broken stone, tasting the marrow of walls that once begged the heavens for mercy.

You stand in the center of it all.

Wings cloaked against your spine, smudged in soot. Horns splintered at the tips, like they once caught the sky and lost. Your tail coils around your leg in a loop, flicking now and then in the echo of anger. Rage has been worn thin by time. There is only the hollow, echoless quiet where feeling used to live.

The ruin sings your name in the creak of melting beams, in the soft sigh of glass breaking under your feet, and beyond the temple, the city screams.

Thousands of voices rise. Some are a wail of history folding in on itself, burned down to the root; others are no louder than a breath caught mid-prayer. The sound is extinction made audible: walls folding inward, lives torn loose from the world, and the future weeping as it burns down to bone and ash.

Your claws trace the mosaic. A girl with a crown of light. A sword in her hand plunged through the chest of a great black dragon.

He is dying.

She is shining.

And the story, God help you, dares to call it salvation.

Your hand drags across the curve of his spine. Over inky-scaled wings and red-threaded horns. Over the throat you used to trace with kisses. Over a body you once held so tightly, you thought you’d never be alone again.

Your breath trembles. Your lip splits between your teeth. The world blurs around the edges.

“Why?” you whisper, and the word feels like it’s being torn from somewhere deeper than your lungs. “Why did you make me do it?”

And oh, it burns. The ache in your throat. The sting in your eyes. The grief has teeth, and it gnaws at you like penance.

It wants you hollow.

Soldiers crash into the temple behind you. You hear steel unsheathing, bowstrings pulled taut, and boots scraping over the fallen dead. You smell sweat and blood and the rot of corrupted faith. Parasites draped in holy colours. Greed gleaming in their souls like oil on water.

“Kill the fiend!” someone shouts.

But you do not turn until the first arrow sings through the smoke. It is only then that you unravel. Tendrils burst from your skin, black and red and gold, like the soul of some dying god writhing free.

They snap through the air, catching arrows mid-flight, stopping blades inches from your skin. They wrap around the soldiers like vines of vengeance, dragging them to their knees.

You leer at them. Pale faces. Ragged armour. Eyes wide with fear they fucking earned.

You can smell the sweet decay of humanity too far gone to be saved.

“You know not what you’re worshipping,” you accuse, stepping down from the mosaic like a god dismounting her altar. “You don’t know what was taken.”

Screams tear through the ruin, echoed in the howling wind, in the collapse of stone as more of the ceiling falls away. Blood splashes the floor. Bones snap like brittle twigs.

Their deaths are not merciful. You make sure of that.

They thought he was the end of the world.

It turns out you are the Armageddon they should’ve feared all along.

The fire doesn’t vanish; it shatters. A heatwave slams into your side, and then a beast with burn-slick skin crashes into you like a meteor. Your breath is torn from your lungs, ribs crunching under the pressure, and the ground rushes up too fast to catch yourself.

Pain explodes through your spine and arms as you skid—palms shredded, elbows scraping concrete. Blood smears. Your skull rings like a bell struck too hard.

You lie there for half a heartbeat, lungs wheezing for air. That vision hasn’t left you. It’s in your bones now. It pulses, slow and volcanic. Rage curls through your ribs, dragging itself up your throat, coating your teeth in molten heat.

The Wanderer screeches. A wrong sound, like a forest burning alive.

You rise with fury. Blood streaks your temple. Your gloves are torn. Your breath comes ragged, but your eyes lock onto the burning shape before you, and something inside you smiles.

There are four of them now, maybe five, slithering out like smoke with claws. Each one hunched and malformed, fire weeping from the cracks in their skin like molten wax. One lashes toward you again, but you’re already moving.

You spring sideways, gun drawn mid-roll. Two clean shots hit center mass. It snarls, staggering back.

A wall becomes a launching point as you leap, your boots skimming up stone as you backflip over a Wanderer. As you twist in midair, you plant a bullet in the thing’s skull. It jerks, legs folding in on themselves. Dust explodes as it hits the ground.

Another roars from behind. You slide under its strike, one knee dragging across glass and gravel. You twist your body at the last second and unload two rounds straight into its gut.

They swarm, and you spin between them. Hands like lightning, legs a storm. You vault over debris, use a half-collapsed beam to spring up, flip, shoot from above—always one step ahead, always just out of reach.

You are precision and chaos braided together. The fourth one tries to corner you, flames jetting from its spine. You charge. No fear. Gun empty—fine. You throw it hard enough to clock its jaw. While it’s reeling, you draw the second, jam it beneath its chin, and pull the trigger.

“Anira!” Nina again, breathless.

You’re barely listening. The last one sees the others fall and falters. A shiver runs through its warped limbs like it senses what you are now.

Too late.

You sprint, closing the distance in seconds, and slam into it. Guns forgotten. You drag it down with your hands alone. Teeth clenched, you rip its head back and drive your knee into its chest. Once. Twice. Three times.

Its hide gives way with a sickening crunch, and still—you don’t stop.

It’s Nina’s hand on your shoulder that grounds you. “Hey. Anira. It’s dead.”

The warehouse is scorched and steaming. Smoke curls upward like incense from a battlefield altar. You’re panting—chest heaving, ribs screaming. Your knuckles are raw. Your palms are slick with blood. You close your eyes. You try to breathe, but that mosaic still burns behind your eyes, each shard a brand pressed into thought. In your chest, an old fury stirs, raw and restless, clawing at the hollow beneath your bones. It whispers a name wrapped in smoke, a name you almost remember but never quite catch.

You’re behind the wheel before you know it. The streets blur past your windows, painted gold and red by the low-hanging sun. Traffic thins as you leave the central district.

You don’t remember turning off the main route. Linkon fades into a rougher silhouette with shadowed alleys and neon signs stuttering. The N109 looms like a forbidden thing you step into willingly.

When you pull up to the tower, the sensors register your car. The elevator knows your name. When you press your thumb to the scanner outside his penthouse, the door clicks open like it’s been waiting.

It’s dark.

Not just dim, but hollow.

No Mephisto shrieking with his next dramatic entrance. No Luke yelling from the kitchen about you stealing his last soda. No Kieran teasing you.

Nothing.

The silence is so complete, it roars. You step inside, and it swallows you. You don’t even take your boots off. Just ghost through the empty space, down the familiar hall, until the soft red gleam of his room meets you like an old scar.

You open the door, but you don’t make it to the bed.

You sink onto the floor like your legs finally give out. Knees pulled to your chest. Arms wrapped around them so tightly, it feels like you might keep yourself from shattering, and then you’re crying.

You don’t even feel the first tear fall. But then it’s another. And another. Until they’re hot, scalding trails down your cheeks, down your neck, across the bruises blooming along your ribs.

You bite your lip hard enough to draw blood, but the sob still escapes. The rage is back—wild and feral in your throat, snarling. The grief is a fist around your heart. Your mind is full of ash and questions and that goddamned mosaic.

You want to scream. You want to sleep. You want to understand. But all you do is fold in on yourself, trembling, your breath shaking in the hollow of your chest.

This place is the only one where you can bleed in peace.

You don’t know how long you’re asleep, but when you wake, the light outside has shifted, washed in the indigo hush of twilight.

The door creaks open behind you.

You don’t have to turn to know it’s him. That sharp, charged air, like the pause before lightning strikes, gives him away. You feel his presence like you feel your own heartbeat crawling beneath your skin.

You should be relieved, but your body twists with something sour and ugly.

“You know, don’t you?” You spit from the floor without even offering a greeting. “You know what’s happening to me.”

His brow lifts, barely. “You’ll have to be more specific.”

“Don’t play coy.” You rise and take a step toward him, fists clenched. “The visions. The memories. The dreams. They started after I resonated with you, and they haven’t stopped.”

Sylus gives you nothing but that maddening quiet and that gaze like he’s seeing more than you’re saying. Like he’s weighing the weight of a thousand lifetimes in your single breath.

Your voice cracks with the fury you can’t cage. “Are you doing this to me? Did you plant them in my head? Is this part of whatever the hell your eye can do—”

“No.”

His voice cuts clean through your spiralling.

Just that.

No.

It should be comforting.

It isn’t.

“Then what the hell is happening to me?” You demand, every inch of you shaking. “Why do I remember things I’ve never lived? Why does it feel like my soul’s splitting open every time I sleep—”

“You’re not splitting. You’re remembering.”

Before you can push or punch him for being so damn cryptic, he steps forward and pulls you into his arms.

Not delicately. Not cautiously. He folds you against his chest like you belong there, and even as you stiffen, even as you try to shove him away with all the fury still fizzing under your skin, you can’t stop the sob that breaks loose from your throat.

Your fists press against his chest. Your knees give out again, and he goes with you, sinking to the floor without letting go.

“Tell me,” you whisper, voice ragged. “Please, Sylus. What aren’t you telling me?”

His hand moves slowly through your hair, fingers brushing the base of your neck. You press your forehead harder to his chest, trembling, breath shallow and sharp.

He doesn’t answer.

He just holds you tighter.

And for now, that’s all he’ll give you.

Chapter Masterlist A03 [Cross-posted] Taglist: @mcdepressed290, @animecrazy76 As always, thank you for reading, and I hope it's enjoyable. Please feel free to comment and tell me what you think ❤️ Take care everyone!

#dragon sylus #l&ds sylus #lads sylus #lnds sylus #love and deepspace sylus #sylus #sylus love and deepspace #sylus smut #sylus x mc #sylus x you #sylus x oc #lads

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simplybakugou · 4 months ago

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Story Mode 2 | Mystic Academia: Sero Hanta's Route

⋆ PAIRING: hacker!sero x fem!reader ⋆ WARNINGS/TAGS: swearing; slight angst ⋆ WORD COUNT: 547

A/N: back to back written story modes YUUUUPPP. this would’ve been done sooner but i’ve been thriving lately with the eagles winning the super bowl, securing tickets to see beyoncé, and getting numerous snow days from classes LOL HOWEVER i am back to working on this hehe. this part is lightly based off of one of the story mode’s from seven’s route so apologies for the minor angst lol. here's to the last part of day 3!!

NOTE: credits to @eraserhead-transparents for the sero cap

Mystic Academia: Sero Hanta's Route Masterlist

The alarm continued to blare and pierce your ears and you winced slightly. Sero walked towards the door, pulling the electronic pin pad out and rewiring it. He reset the password and he wasn’t going to let anybody else break into the office again. While simultaneously fixing the door, Sero pulled his phone out from his pocket and with a push of a single button on his screen, the alarm ceased immediately.

Just as the alarm stopped, with its remnants still ringing in your ears, you realized how fast your heart was beating. The gravity of the situation hit you in that moment and you felt like you were going to collapse to the floor. Unknown had been targeting M.F.A. for three days straight and had finally targeted the office for who knows the reason. And it seemed as if Sero recognized him, considering the fact that Unknown referred to Sero as “Cellophane.”

A million questions began buzzing in your mind and you finally snapped out of your daze. You looked at Sero who had a blank and unreadable expression on his face. You couldn’t decipher how he was feeling but he just looked… devastated.

“Should we evacuate? You said there was a bomb that was about to go off,” you asked, your tone full of worry.

Sero snapped his head up, as if he finally broke free from the trance he was in and realized where he was. “Oh, the bomb? I lied to get S–”

Sero stopped speaking immediately, pursing his lips together as if he was about to say something he shouldn’t. “I lied to get… that guy out of here. It was just a fake alarm. There’s no bomb.”

Sero’s sentences felt short and to the point, sounding like a robot that was programmed to say these things.

Despite not being able to fully grasp the situation, you took notice of Sero's hand that was shaking from how tightly he was gripping his phone. You moved towards him. “Are you okay? Do you want to talk about it?”

He immediately took a step back, causing you to stop in your tracks. “I’m okay. Don’t worry about it.” He turned around, looking up to the lofted second floor of the office and he began to ascend up the stairs.

“I’m going to work on fixing the security system up here. I don’t want you to get hurt so I need to make sure no one else can break into the office again.”

You nodded, watching as he sat by your desk and pulled out a computer from a backpack that you hadn’t noticed previously. “Let me know if you need any help.”

“There’s nothing you can help with,” Sero said curtly in a manner that made you flinch. “Just focus on the party.”

“O-Okay,” you stuttered due to the harshness in his voice.

Sero began working immediately, typing away at a speed that you didn’t think was humanly possible. He stopped momentarily. “Don’t tell the others what happened.”

You were taken aback. It seemed like an important and big thing that everyone in the organization should be aware of. Before you could question his decision, Sero shut you down by taking out a pair of headphones and putting them over his ears.

JOIN THE TAGLIST

#sero hanta x reader #mha hanta sero #hanta sero x reader #sero x reader #hanta sero #sero x yn #sero x you #hanta x reader #sero hanta #bnha social media au #mystic messenger #bnha x reader #bnha x y/n #bnha smau

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a-d-nox · 2 years ago

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wyrd web: what to gift a person based these three numbers

this is just a theory of mine because these bubbles of the matrix should represent earthly desires. this is not to say that you can't enjoy things not listed in your category / under your energetic number. this is simply what i believe people with these numbers would enjoy receiving as a gift.

paid reading options: astrology menu & cartomancy menu

enjoy my work? help me continue creating by tipping on ko-fi or paypal. your support keeps the magic alive!

2 - the high priestess

things that support their spiritual practices, things that support feminine health (hum women's probiotics bundle, honey pot oral vaginal care probiotic, etc), bake goods / baking gear, barbecue sauce sampler / grilling gear (for the dads pt 2), bar in a jar (for those of drinking age) or really any beverage tester kit, bath/spa kit, beach vacation, boat, cruise, careof for brain support, truly nice melons boob butter, candles (it doesn't have to be yankee candle either - bent candles, spiced votive candle, etc) or candle making kit, imported cheeses, clothing staples (blue jeans, black turtleneck, etc), juice cleanse or other things that support digestive health, cooking classes or meal kits (hellofresh, homechef, etc), a tarot/astrology/mediumship reading, or outdoor cameras or other home security tools

3 - the empress

pillows, stuffed animals, rose quartz, personal celebrity cameo, clothing, tickets for an art museum tour, ballet tickets or classes, art supplies, makeup pallets and/or brushes, flowers, jewelry, candy/sweets, money, bells / wind chimes, clothing, designer pieces, cosmetics, dolls, a trip to a fancy restaurant, fruit basket / dried fruits, gardening supplies, jewelry, concert/orchestra tickets, poetry book, tickets to a play, a purse, lingerie (if y'all are close like that), trip to a vineyard (for those of drinking age), couples' dancing classes, or a wallet

4 - the emperor

skincare, rock climbing voucher or some other physical activity they enjoy, an adrenaline rush activity (skydiving, bungee jumping, etc), careof for brain support, crafted wooden objects (cutting boards, tables, etc), coffee trials/samplers, sunglasses, blue light glasses, hair care products/supplies, scalp treatments/care, oral health care (thera breath, whitening products, etc), meditation app subscriptions / in person sessions for meditation, or a planner

5 - the hierophant

moss agate (don't question how random that sounds this is some intuitive stuff), artwork, an architectural tour, beauty products/supplies, historically significant objects, pastries or sweets/candies, earrings, sour dough starter kit, jewelry in general, piano/organ lessons, singing lessons, a wallet, or any classes where they can learn something fun and new to them

6 - the lovers

car stuff (seat covers, cup holder coasters, etc), bicycle or bicycle accessories/gear, books (the more educational the better), briefcase / work tote, bus tickets for a day trip, gym membership or soulcycle classes, crystals, a standing desk / cute office supplies (for the work girlies both those who work in office and from home), hand & foot message, manicure voucher, newspaper subscription (i am a fan of new york times, washington post, and the new yorker), language classes or rosetta stone subscription, magazines subscription, merchandise from their favorite singer / group / tv show / movie, train trip, or we're not really strangers card packs

7 - the chariot

gardening supplies, hermit crab, baked goods, bath products / beauty products, boat, cruise, car stuff (seat covers, cup holder coasters, etc), truly nice melons boob butter, juice cleanse, gut health thrive market kit, glassware / blown glass, stuff they need / need for their home (security system, chest freezer, etc), hotel or bed & breakfast stay, kitchenware, lake trip, pearls, real estate / land, restaurant voucher / gift card, silver jewelry, shopping gift cards, a trip, or intention journal

8 - strength

amusement park tickets, supplies for their passion projects, ballroom dancing classes, tea sampler, games (video games or board games), movie theater gift card, personal celebrity cameo, flower garden supplies/seeds, stuff for their pet, or a belt

9 - the hermit

pet related gifts (if they have a pet that is), bookshelves (they probably need one), juice cleanse, gut health thrive market kit, a cat, clothing, oral health products (thera breath, whitening products, etc), stationary, emergency preparedness (ready to eat meals, fire blanket, etc), cook books, dining ware (new plates/bowls, cups / glassware, silverware, etc), food subscriptions (home chef, hello fresh, pickle of the month club, bokksu japanese snack box, etc), careof subscription, gloves, herb garden kit, a one way ticket to anywhere, or a hiking trip

10 - wheel of fortune

incense, cleansing herbs, bow and arrow, sapling, land, dried berries, budget book, gym/exercise membership, religious/spiritual/philosophical books, poker set, cloth (if they like sowing), wool (if they like weaving, crocheting, and/or knitting), wool clothing, a coat, trip to a country or place they have never been, oral health products (thera breath, whitening products, etc), etiquette classes/books (this is great for the traveler because they are often interested in learning customs before going on their trip), figs, fruit basket (like edible arrangements), honey sampler / royal jelly, horseback riding lessons, lottery tickets, merchandise from their favorite singer / group/ tv show / movie, shoes, really any game, any subscription they have not tried, things that support their spiritual practices, or book on positive mindset

11 - justice

personal celebrity cameo, tickets to a ballet or to an art gallery, air purifier, portable heating pad, spa voucher, cosmetics, lingerie (if y'all are close), closet organizational items (space saving hangers, linen bins, accessory hanger, etc), pastries and sweets, diamonds (perhaps propose to your lover), a dress, tickets to a fashion show or exhibit, flowers, a luxury chair, jewelry, concert tickets, poetry books, any quartz pieces, chocolates dipped strawberries, hair extensions, logic puzzles, a voucher for an escape room, or a kitchen/baking scale

12 - the hanged man

bar in a jar (if they are of drinking age), a book on angel numbers, a book on natural medical remedies, ballet classes or tickets to see a ballet, bath bombs and other bath goodies (salt, bath table, candles, sugar scrub, bath teas, etc), beach vacation, tea or coffee sampler, butterfly farm kit with caterpillars, disposable camera or a camera they would like (polaroid, filming, etc), scientific kits (geode kit, grow your own crystals, etc), cigars (for the dads in your life), unsolved mysteries or crime kit, dance classes, smutty/romance/fantasy books, fairy garden, a tarot/astrology/mediumship reading, budget book, makeup palettes or other cosmetic they enjoy, concert tickets, paint, poetry books, clue the board game, a pass to an indoor pool, a book on poppet making, meditation membership or a voucher for in-person sessions, or something to support their curiosity for new spiritual insight

13 - death

hermit crab, a jumping spider, a reptile, homeopathic books for natural cures and remedies, operation the game, butcherbox subscription, a book on how to cook and trim meats, beginners chemistry kit, a colon cleanse, sea monkeys, unsolved mysteries or crime kit, philosophy of death books, books on magic, magic the gathering the card game, period products (portable heating pad, the diva cup, etc), poisonous plants (belladonna, foxglove, lily of the valley, etc), a frog pond, a scorpion, a snake, a burr/boo basket (these people love seasonal stuff), or marie kondo's life changing magic of tidying up

14 - temperance

a hunting trip, bow and arrows, books on religion or philosophy, book of devotions, book on dream meanings (hello, freud haha), a certification course or college class, horseback riding lessons (for the newbie or a younger sibling or your child/niece/nephew), horse drawn carriage ride (for the couples *smirk*), logic puzzles, things that support their goals, or a book of angel number meanings

15 - the devil

a fan or air conditioning unit, if you have the land for it a cow/horse/goat, kinetic tape, arnicare bruise cream (this is a joke... unless...), coal or a diamond (this is also a joke... unless...), a clock or a watch, cuticle trimmer (and other nail care things), room darkening curtains, a happy lamp, lotion/cream, hat/scarf/gloves, hair products (extensions, shampoo subscription, etc), leather fashion-ware, gardening supplies, ice maker, or a juice cleanse

16 - the tower

tiger balm or other pain relieving ointment, acrobatic/gymnastic classes, homeopathic books for natural cures and remedies, first-aid kit, baking kits, barbecue sauce sampler, barbecue sauce sampler / grilling gear (for the dads), gift card for haircut, dollar shave club (for the dads pt 2), metal works (spoon handle rings, metal roses, etc), boxing lessons, boxing match tickets or monster truck tickets, butcherbox subscription, a book on how to cook and trim meats, crafted wooden objects (cutting boards, tables, etc), cactus plant, beginners chemistry kit, cookbook, pocket knife or leatherman/multitool, tool kit, jenga, emergency kit, food, first aid kit, merchandise for their favorite superhero(es), electric lighter, liqour or bar in a jar (if they are of drinking age), rock music (a vinyl or concert tickets), pepper plant, pipe for smoking (if they like to smoke that is - my grandfather had a collection), lego kit, or lincoln logs

17 - the star

friendship bracelets, a fan / ac unit, model airplane, flight lessons, compression stockings/socks, architectural tour, astrology reading, car stuff (seat covers, cup holder coasters, etc), club memberships (golf, racket ball, sam's, etc), electronic devices (a new phone, amazon fire stick, solar portable charger, etc), movie on blue-ray or dvd, movie gift card, a camera (polaroid or another type they have been eyeing), disposable cameras, camera gear, shadow work journal, aesthetically pleasing bluetooth retro radio, streaming service subscription, a book on health or mental health, or a book on positivity

18 - the moon

abstract art, bar in a jar (if they are of legal age), a fish, a fish tank, tickets to an aquarium, cocktail book (if they are of legal age), a fishing trip (for the dads), book of conspiracy theories, the conspiracy theory map, a crystal ball, unsolved mysteries or crime kit, a jellyfish, a tarot/astrology/mediumship reading, a camera (polaroid or another type they have been eyeing), disposable cameras, camera gear, poetry book, hydroponic starter system, games that involve bluffing (clue, poker, herd mentality, etc), shoes, sleeping eye mask, silk pillow cases, new bed sheets, bonnet, socks, a computer keyboard, typewriter, a book on shadow work, a puppy, or a book on dream meanings

19 - the sun

maine coon, autobiographical books, ballroom dancing lessons, poker set, oral health products (thera breath, whitening products, etc), card games, personal celebrity cameo, circus fruit basket, chocolate gold coins, classes that encourage creativity (create it and break it sessions, pottery classes, etc), jewelry or an engagement ring (if it's been more than 2 years y'all should know what you are doing at this point), flowers, indoor herb garden, tickets to race of some sort (cars, horse, sporting events, etc), sporting equipment, ivy plant, a pottery painting voucher / gift certificate, or something for their passion project / hobby

20 - judgment

a reptile, ant farm, a guide on astral projection, operation the game, the chameleon game, clue game, unsolved case files game, grand theft auto video game, assassins creed video game, dungeons and dragons the game, yahtzee, emergency preparedness kit, magician kit, poisonous plants (belladonna, foxglove, lily of the valley, etc), the divine comedy, puzzles, a rodent of some sort, or lingerie (if y'all are close)

21 - the world

gardening supplies, acoustic guitar, air conditioning or fan, architectural tour, teddy bear, snow globe, boots, calendar or planner, supergoop (sun protectant) products, wooden objects (cutting board, chest, box, etc), carpet, clay (air drying or via kiln), a clock or watch, compression stockings/socks, collectible coins, pain patches or kinetic tape, crystals, budget book, lotions for dry skin, dried fruits, gloves/mittens, hair care products, ice machine or ice making trays, ice cream subscription, pottery classes, rain coat, real estate or land, zen sand garden, sculpture, or snake

22 - the fool

flight lessons, model airplane, a flight to anywhere, car stuff (seat covers, cup holder coasters, etc), an astrology reading, bath products, biking gear, movie theatre gift card, clock or watch, club memberships (golf, racket ball, sam's, etc), mood lighting or strip lights, a train ride, fun magnets, motorcycle accessories/training, microphone (maybe they are filming or recording something), patterns for cross stitch / knitting / crocheting, a camera (polaroid or another type they have been eyeing), disposable cameras, camera gear, stuff for the tv (surround sound, sound bar, streaming subscription, etc), or classes for one of their interests

have ideas for new content? please use my “suggest a post topic” button!

return to nox's guide to metaphysics

return to the masterlist of the web of wyrd

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xichilie · 6 months ago

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Two sides of a Gem (Part 4)

Aventurine x (stoneheart)reader

Part3

_______________________________________

A.N

So we finally made it to penacony, but I didn't write everything exactly like in the quest i changed some things, and I kept the arrival brief 😅 hope u still enjoy♡

______________________________________

The Astral Express crew stepped into the grand Penacony Dreamscape Terminal, greeted by an overwhelming display of luxury. The golden hues of the marble floors reflected the sparkling light from towering crystal chandeliers. The air carried the faint scent of exotic flowers and fine perfume, mingling with the murmur of countless conversations and distant, melodic music.

At the reception desk, the crew gathered, Himeko, Mr. Yang, March 7th, Trailblazer, and Y/N standing together as a hotel attendant in an immaculate uniform scrolled through a holographic terminal.

“I’m terribly sorry, ma’am,” the receptionist said, her polite smile unwavering despite the tension in her voice. “But there’s no record of this ‘Trailblazer’ in our system. The invitations were sent in advance, and it seems this… addition to your party wasn’t accounted for.”

March 7th crossed her arms with a huff. “Seriously? The invitation list was made ages ago. You can’t just add one extra name?”

The Trailblazer scratched the back of his head awkwardly. “I don’t mind sleeping on a bench if it comes to that…”

Himeko stepped forward, her voice calm but firm. “Surely there’s a way to resolve this? We came here under invitation, and I’d rather not have to start our visit on this note.”

Before the receptionist could stammer out a response, a smooth, sharp voice sliced through the conversation.

“Well, well… trouble already, Astral Express crew?”

The group turned as Aventurine approached, his sandy-blond hair catching the ambient golden light, his vibrant magenta and cyan eyes sharp with amusement. He wore his usual confident smirk, hands tucked into his pockets as he sauntered over.

“You’ve barely set foot on Penacony, and yet here you are, causing a scene at the front desk.” Aventurine gave a mock sigh, shaking his head dramatically.

Himeko’s smile didn’t waver as she turned to face him. “you must be the IPC’s ambassador. How fortunate that you’re here.”

“Fortunate indeed,” Aventurine replied, flashing a grin before leaning slightly on the counter, his gaze flicking briefly to Y/N before returning to Himeko. “But what seems to be the problem? Did someone forget their golden ticket?”

“The Trailblazer wasn’t on the original invitation list,” Mr. Yang explained calmly.

Aventurine let out a low whistle. “Ah, a clerical error, then. And here I thought the Astral Express was always perfectly prepared. Guess even legends trip up sometimes.”

March 7th bristled, but Himeko cut in smoothly. “Mr.Aventurine, let’s not waste time with banter. You’re someone with influence here. Surely you can help us resolve this little hiccup?”

Aventurine chuckled, running a hand through his sandy hair. “Well, I could… but what’s in it for me?”

Himeko’s smile sharpened slightly. “How about this—we’ll owe you a favor. And if there’s one thing I know about you, Mr.Aventurine, it’s that you love having favors to call in.”

Aventurine paused, his grin widening. “Oh, Miss Himeko, you do know me so well.”

After a brief moment of exaggerated deliberation, Aventurine sighed dramatically. “Fine, fine. You’ve twisted my arm. I’ll give up my room for our dear Trailblazer.”

“Wait, your room?” March 7th asked, surprised.

“Don’t look so shocked, dear,” Aventurine said with a smirk. “Generosity is one of my many virtues.”

With a flick of his wrist, Aventurine accessed the terminal and made a few quick adjustments, the receptionist nodding politely as the details were updated.

“There,” Aventurine said, stepping back with a flourishing bow. “One luxury room, generously donated. I expect your gratitude to be eternal.”

Himeko offered a polite nod. “Thank you, Mr.Aventurine. You’ve been… most helpful.”

“Always a pleasure,” he replied, his grin lingering as he turned on his heel and disappeared back into the crowd, leaving a faint trail of mischief in his wake.

As the crew began moving toward their accommodations, a figure stepped into their path—Sunday, head of the Oak Family, flanked by his darling sister, Robin.

Sunday wore a tailored suit, his silver hair swept back, and his eyes sharp but kind. Beside him, Robin practically glowed in a dress of shimmering blues, her voice carrying softly as she greeted those who passed.

“Ah, guests from the Astral Express!” Sunday said warmly, spreading his arms in greeting. “It’s an honor to meet such esteemed travelers.”

Robin stepped forward slightly, her serene smile lighting up her face. “Welcome to Penacony. I hope our home brings you peace and joy during the festival.”

Himeko stepped forward with a polite nod. “Thank you, Mr. Sunday. And Miss Robin—it’s an honor to meet you both.”

Sunday chuckled lightly. “Please, no formalities. We’re all guests in this dream together, aren’t we?”

Robin’s gaze flickered briefly to Y/N, a curious glint in her eyes, but she said nothing.

Sunday gestured grandly toward the inner halls. “Please, settle in and enjoy yourselves. The festival is about to begin, and the real magic happens when the sun sets.”

With that, the Halovian siblings moved on, leaving behind an air of effortless charm and authority.

As the crew continued onward, Y/N stayed slightly behind, her sharp crimson eyes narrowing as she watched Sunday and Robin disappeared into the crowd.

“Something’s not right,” she murmured to herself.

Himeko, hearing her, glanced back. “Stay sharp, Y/N. This dream might become a nightmare if we aren’t careful.”

Y/N nodded, her expression unreadable as the crew moved further into Penacony’s glittering embrace.

_______

The golden halls of Hotel Reverie stretched endlessly in either direction, their soft lighting casting rippling patterns over the plush velvet carpet. Faint strains of distant piano music drifted through the air, mingling with the faint hum of the dream machinery buried deep within Penacony's gilded skin.

Y/N walked with deliberate steps, her sharp eyes scanning every detail the hum of energy lines pulsing beneath her feet.

It had been a long day, and Penacony's beauty—no matter how pristine—felt hollow. Artificial.

As she rounded a corner, her shoulder collided lightly with another figure stepping out from a room.

"Ah, my apologies, friend.”

The voice was smooth, honeyed with a sharp edge hidden just beneath its surface.

Y/N took a step back, her eyes immediately locking onto Aventurine. He stood with casual elegance, one hand in his pocket, the other raised slightly in mock surrender. His sharp, mismatched eyes—magenta and cyan—gleamed under the corridor lights, and his lips curled into an all-too-familiar smirk.

"Aventurine," Y/N said calmly, her tone sharp but not unkind. "You're far from your room, aren't you?"

Aventurine tilted his head slightly, his grin never faltering. "Sharp eyes, friend. But aren't we all a little far from home here in Penacony?"

Y/N crossed her arms, her gaze drifting briefly to the door he had just stepped out of. The Trailblazer's door.

"And yet, this isn’t your home, either. Care to explain what business you had with them?"

Aventurine let out a soft chuckle, his shoulders rising in an exaggerated shrug. "Oh, come now. You make it sound so sinister. I was just paying a visit—welcoming our newest little star player to the big stage. Friendly conversation, nothing more."

Y/N’s brow arched slightly. "Friendly conversation? You mean the kind that leaves shadows on the walls and locked doors behind you?"

For a fleeting moment, something sharp flickered in Aventurine’s eyes before disappearing behind that practiced, playful mask. He pushed off the wall and stepped just close enough for Y/N to catch the faint scent of expensive cologne.

“You’re an observant one, friend. That much is clear.” He grinned wider, showing a flash of sharp teeth. “But let’s not stand here throwing accusations like cards at a table. Why don’t you tell me why you seem so interested in my little meeting, hm?”

Y/N didn’t flinch under his intense gaze. Instead, she stepped slightly to the side, her body language relaxed but her stance firm.

“Because, Aventurine, people like you don’t make casual house calls. You don’t breathe without calculating the odds first.”

Aventurine laughed again, loud enough to echo faintly down the hallway. It was a genuine sound, but the humor didn’t quite reach his eyes.

“Oh, you’re good. I can tell. You’re very good. But why so serious, friend? We’re here at the grandest party in the galaxy, in the most luxurious hotel money can build. Can’t we at least pretend to enjoy ourselves?”

Y/N studied him closely for a moment before exhaling softly and lowering her arms. Her voice lost some of its sharp edge, though her eyes remained watchful.

“Alright, Aventurine. We’ll play your game. But don’t mistake my patience for trust.”

Aventurine’s grin softened slightly, and he gave a theatrical bow, one hand over his chest. “Ah, trust. Such a fragile little thing, isn’t it? But I’m glad to hear you’re willing to play along, friend.”

He straightened up and let his grin shift into something smoother, almost charming in its casualness. “Since we’re being friendly now, what do you say we share a drink? You strike me as someone who appreciates fine company and finer conversation.”

Y/N’s lips quirked into a faint smirk. “That depends. Are you buying, or am I walking into a carefully laid trap?”

Aventurine placed a hand on his chest in mock offense. “Me? Set a trap for you? Oh, friend, you wound me!”

Y/N rolled her eyes but turned on her heel, starting down the hallway towards the hotel lounge. Aventurine fell into step beside her, his long coat brushing against his legs as he walked with a smooth, confident stride.

The silence between them was comfortable for a moment, filled only with the faint hum of distant dream machinery and muffled laughter from somewhere deeper in the hotel.

As they walked, Aventurine glanced sideways at her, his voice lower this time, almost thoughtful.

“You know, friend, people here are all wearing masks—metaphorically and sometimes literally. But you… you wear yours very well. I can’t quite see the cracks yet.”

Y/N glanced at him from the corner of her eye, her expression neutral but her gaze sharp. “And you, Aventurine? How many masks are you wearing right now?”

Aventurine’s grin widened, and he let out a low chuckle. “Oh, friend, let’s not ruin the surprise just yet.”

They arrived at the lounge—a grand, open space filled with faint golden light and the soft sound of piano keys being played in the corner. Crystal glasses clinked, voices murmured, and the faint scent of expensive cigars lingered in the air.

Aventurine gestured toward a quiet corner booth. “Shall we?”

Y/N hesitated for only a moment before stepping forward and sliding into the booth. Aventurine followed, smoothly taking the seat opposite her.

As a waiter approached, Aventurine gestured grandly. “A glass of your finest for the lady, and for me… surprise me.”

The waiter gave a short nod before retreating, leaving the two of them alone in the golden glow of the lounge.

For a moment, neither spoke. Aventurine’s grin softened into something more relaxed, but his mismatched eyes remained sharp, ever-calculating. Y/N, in turn, studied him with a quiet intensity, her expression unreadable.

Finally, Aventurine broke the silence, his voice low and smooth.

“So, friend, shall we see where this little gamble takes us?”

Y/N leaned back slightly, her arms crossing lightly over her chest as a faint smirk tugged at the corner of her lips.

“Let’s.”

The camera pans out, the golden light glinting off the glassware as their conversation begins—two players at a table, masks on, cards in hand, and the stakes rising with every word exchanged.

#aventurine x reader #aventurine fluff #honkai star rail #honkai star rail x reader #hsr aventurine #star rail aventurine #aventurine #hsr art #genshin impact #hsr x y/n #hsr x you #hsr x reader #hsr smut #honkai star rail x you #honkai stelle #fanfic

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thezombieprostitute · 9 months ago

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Lmao this made me think of Jakey Poo

You know what? I'm making this canon for how Jake and Sunshine met.

Summary: Jake knows he's the luckiest man in the world and it's all because of you.

Warnings: None at this time. Please let me know if I missed any!

A/N: Reader is female. No physical descriptors used.

Tech Tuesdays Masterlist

Poor Jake didn't have much going for him when he left military service for the civilian life. He's just not sure what to do with himself outside of work and gaming. He tries to go out, especially when he's meeting up with The Losers again, but often he finds himself just feeling lonely with too much time on his hands.

Then he gets a ticket from you. The problem seems like an easy enough fix so Jake, still being the new guy on the team, gets assigned to it. He signs onto the Zoom app that he despises with all of his being, but it's company policy to use it.

When you answer the Zoom call your voice is so sweet that it takes Jake a second to respond. You actually think there's something wrong with the connection and he hears you saying, "frick. Even in the future nothing works."

He laughs, recognizing the Spaceballs reference, and startles you. "Sorry about that," he chuckles, as he hears your gasp. "That was just...really funny. Don't meet a lot of Spaceballs fans these days." He shakes his head, "anyways, I'm going to take control of your computer for a bit so I can try to fix it."

"Of course," you reply. It is standard procedure.

Jake gets a remote look at your desktop background and gasps, "you're a Pokemon fan!"

"Gen 1 and proud," you reply.

"That might explain what happened," he starts. "You let your Magnemite get too close to your laptop!" You laugh at the joke and Jake feels his cheeks heat up.

"Well it certainly isn't a Rattata chewing on the wires," you chuckle back.

"Hmm. Maybe we should get maintenance to double check," he jokes. He starts poking around your system files and is immediately at a loss. "What the..."

"Everything okay?"

"Umm..." Jake starts floundering. "I, um, I think. Hmm..."

Shit, he thinks. He was really hoping he could impress you. He's never even seen you but you're so nice and a fellow geek. He wanted to go in, press a button and fix your problem, but this is something more complicated than the ticket implied. He's wishing he had his pirate hat to help him think.

"Okay," he shakes his head, clearing his thoughts, "I think I'm going to need to take a look at the computer itself to figure this out."

"Sure thing." You exchange names and give him your cubicle number and quickly start cleaning up your desk. He might be an IT guy but his voice is very sexy, his laugh even moreso. And he's a fellow geek! Not someone who looks down on you for liking "childish things". You want to make a good impression.

By the time Jake gets to your cubicle you've tidied up pretty well. You smile up at him and Jake swears he's never met a more beautiful woman in his life. He's barely able to get out a "hi" because you've taken his breath away.

You're trying hard not to giggle and kick your feet at how cute Jake is. The fact that you've flustered him isn't lost on you and it makes you feel even giddier.

"Um, I um, I like your, your Gravity Falls sweater," Jake finally gets out.

Looking down you realize you're wearing your handmade Mabel Pines sweater and your face lights up. "Oh, thanks! I made it myself!"

"That's so cool," Jake says, earnestly. "I'm always so jealous of people who can make their own cosplay stuff."

"I could make you something," you quickly offer. "If, that is, um, if you'd like."

He smiles at you and, for the first time in a very long time, he feels like everything's going to be okay. The clouds are parting and you, the sunshine, are lighting up his life.

Tech Tuesdays Masterlist

Tagging: @alicedopey; @delicatebarness; @ellethespaceunicorn; @icefrozendeadlyqueen; @jaqui-has-a-conspiracy-theory; @late-to-the-party-81; @lokislady82; @ronearoundblindly

#tech tuesday #tech tuesday: jake jensen #jake jensen x female!reader #jake jensen x female reader #jake jensen fluff

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adhdream1409 · 2 months ago

Text

Into Playtime's Hands

This is a flashback sequence I wrote for my Poppy Playtime AU: the "Stray Souls AU". The AU itself is gonna involve multiple fandoms including but not limited to FNAF, Marvel, BATIM, and Undertale/Underverse. But until I get the chance to write up some proper bios and get a few of the beginning chapters written (maybe a few one-shots to sum up some backstory stuff), I will probably only post small sections that involve minimal OC interaction. This passage is Jack's fateful visit to the Playtime Factory. It's written from his POV so there is going to be TW: depictions of child death and drowning, so please be aware of that if you choose to read it. (If I should add that to the tags on this post please let me know, I'm still new to Tumblr and the tagging system). My AU will be doing some small retcons but as far as this section goes, it should be cannon-compliant (with small headcannons/speculation on things not specifically mentioned or explained in-game). Anyway...Enjoy the angst!

(Italics indicate internal dialogue or thoughts of the POV character, unless it is specified to be someone else's thoughts.)

Jack’s eyes were filled with wonder as he followed his parents through the playtime factory. From the moment they pulled into the lot and saw the colorful building’s exterior, he was buzzing with excitement! As they entered the colorful lobby, Jack could see the entrance to the factory itself just behind the turnstiles. In front of the entrance was a small waiting area filled with other tourists. He could hardly contain his excitement watching his parents hand over their tickets to the woman at the front desk.

Taking his mom’s hand and practically dragging her through the turnstiles, they joined the waiting crowd. A youngish looking guy, maybe an older teen, wearing a Playtime polo stood by the doors looking at the large crowd. He looked a bit worried for some reason, but Jack was far too busy taking in every inch of the building to notice.

“Welcome, friends, to the Playtime Co. Factory! I am Brendan, and I will be your tour guide for today! Now, before we go in, we have a few rules to make sure–”

Jack’s attention wandered to the murals on the walls and the colorful pattern of tiles on the floor. How did they make it look so random but organized? He wished HE knew how to do that. If he could do that to his room, then maybe he wouldn’t have to clean up so much. His attention snapped back to the Tour guide as he said,

“To stay safe…Now follow me!” He swiped a card on his belt in a scanner to the side of the door which opened to reveal a long hallway. The end of the hall opened into a large round room with a domed glass ceiling. In the center of the room stood a giant statue of one of playtime’s most popular mascots, Huggy Wuggy. He was super tall! More than twice the height of Jack’s Dad!

Wow! I wonder if they have giant statues of all their mascots! He would love it if they did! Then he could see giant smiling critters, a giant PJ Pugipillar, or best of all, a GIANT Doey the Doughman!

Doey had been Jack’s favorite character as long as he could remember! He loved watching his show. Usually there were kids who were bored or who had a problem they didn’t know how to fix, but Doey would always show up and help them with whatever was wrong.

“I can be anything you KNEAD!” he would chuckle. Sometimes, when Jack had a problem he couldn't fix, like the time his kite got stuck in a tree, or when he had forgotten his homework at school, he would imagine Doey coming to the rescue!

“If you’ll follow me this way we can enter some of the production facilities.” Brendan led the group through a set of doors and down a long hallway. Jack let go of his mom’s hand and squeezed his Doey doll with both arms, so excited he could barely contain himself.

“Jack, you need to hold my hand while we’re in here…I don’t want you wandering off and getting lost.” his mom chided.

“Aw…mom…I won’t wander off! I promise!”

She sighed and shook her head, “Alright, just stay close to me…I don’t want you getting hurt.”

`~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Before long they were entering the catwalks in the area Jack had most looked forward to, the room where they made Doey Dough. The room had a large mural of Doey on the wall, and the walkways were suspended over giant tube-shaped machines churning the bubbling dough. There were so many colors! It was so incredible!

Brendan was saying something about when Doey Dough was first invented, but Jack was busy peering over the railing at the machines below. His mom shouted at him from a few yards ahead of him not to wander off, but he wasn’t wandering. He was just looking. Everyone was still right there. He didn’t understand what she was so worried about.

“He’s not listening to a thing I say, is he?” his mom muttered, turning to her husband a bit further ahead.

“Not even a little bit.” his dad replied. Which wasn’t entirely fair, since he WASN’T wandering, and she hadn’t asked him anything. He just wanted to see how the machines worked.

He leaned against the railing, mesmerized by the process. He watched the machine’s mixing arm going round and round…he had never seen so much dough all at once in his life!

There’s so much I could swim in it!

Not that he’d want to, the dough bubbled like the soups his mom would make when the weather got cold. She always made warm soup for Jack since she knew how much he hated the cold. Maybe she could make some tonight when they got home. He turned his head to look at the group further ahead when he felt a slight movement and heard a low creaking. He looked back to the railing he was leaning on.

Has that bend always been there? Maybe I should stand a little further awa–

The rail suddenly gave out and Jack felt himself tip forward as he yelled in alarm. He tried to grab onto the walkway, but the surface was slick and slippery. He heard his mother scream, and heard dozens of footsteps rushing towards him.

His heart was pounding as he hung suspended over the bubbling vat. He heard an alarm blaring as his mother shouted,

“GRAB HIM! SOMEBODY! GRAB HIM!”

His mom was right there, she reached towards him, his dad holding her other hand so she wouldn’t lose her balance. Jack let go with one hand to reach for hers…

And he slipped…

Down…down…down he fell…He watched his mother’s face morph from worry into horror as he fell further and further from her outstretched hand. Did he fall for minutes? Hours? Maybe it was only a second or two…he couldn’t really tell.

There was a searing pain as he dropped into the viscous material, feeling it close over his head with a “blorp” sound.

There was still yelling, but the dough muffled it and he couldn’t tell what was being said. He reached up as high as he could, feeling his hand stick out of the gooey blue material that clung to him. He tried kicking his legs like he was swimming, but the material wasn’t like water…he could barely move in it. As he tried to reach his other hand out so someone could pull him free, the metal mixing bar swung around and hit him, pushing him further under the dough than before.

His thoughts became more and more confusing and he felt more and more anxious as he fought desperately to get to the surface! He needed to breathe! He couldn’t breathe! His body tried to pull in a breath but his mouth and lungs filled with the hot sticky dough. He tried to cough it out but he COULDN’T!...he couldn’t…

…so…hot…can’t…breathe…Mommy! Daddy! I wanna go home! Help me! Please! Somebody help me!

#doey the doughman #poppy playtime #doey #poppy playtime doey #doey poppy playtime #doey ppt #ppt chapter 4 #jack ayers #susan ayers #george ayers #playtime co #ppt au #Stray Souls PPT AU #ADHDream_1409

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tiedyeflannels · 2 years ago

Note

Heyyy hope your doing well, if you don’t mind me asking could you possibly write something about jungkook G.C.F video like idk maybe they do a vlog together or something whatever makes you comfortable !!! Thank you💗

Hi! Thank you for the request and I hope you're doing well too! This was very fun to think about and I did sprinkle a bit of romance in here as well, but overall, I hope you enjoy it!

Yes or No

Jungkook x reader

Word count: 2.6K

Masterlist

“Hello. This is Jungkook,” he said into the camera.

He turned over to me and I rushed from the corner of my room where I was setting my stuff down, practically jumping into the camera frame.

“And, I’m Y/n,” I exclaimed happily, making Jungkook chuckle.

We were about to head over to Budapest, Hungary, to film a music video for Jungkook’s title track, Standing Next to You. He thought it would be a great time to film some of the process, so… that’s what we’re doing.

I was initially hesitant to film with him when he asked because I wanted it to be all about him and not just a travel vlog among friends, but after the constant pleas and countless puppy dog eyes, I finally agreed to feature.

After my introduction to the camera I went back to sift through my stuff to make sure I haven’t forgotten anything while Jungkook explained what he was making and why he was making it.

Everything was accounted for on my end so I took out my phone and went to sit on the couch while I waited.

“There’s so many things I need to pack! We have an hour before we leave,” he panicked as he started darting around his apartment to gather things to pack into his luggage.

I looked up from my phone, “Kook, this trip has been on your schedule for weeks and I literally reminded you to pack yesterday. What did you do?”

He paused folding a shirt to look at me. “Went live with ARMY,” he said, pulling his lips down into a “frown” like he usually does when he's guilty of something.

I laughed at his silliness, knowing that he didn’t really feel guilty when it came to not doing something because he went live for his fans.

“That was your fault so I’m not gonna help you pack.”

I went back to scrolling through my phone.

He was back to running around his apartment by the time I checked the time and started to gather my bags before calling out, “Hurry up, you have five minutes!”

I placed my bags near the door, then walked over to his desk, grabbing the tripod and moving it to the table near the door.

He rushed out with his bags, placing them next to mine before running back to his room and emerging with a jean jacket in hand.

He came to stand next to me and spoke to the camera while fixing his jacket, “Alright, let’s head out! Let’s go!”

“Now boarding for Budapest,” a man said over the PA system.

Jungkook and I gathered our things and headed for the flight attendant’s desk so we could get our tickets verified. When we were given the “all clear” we started for the airplane.

We got on the plane and looked for our seats right away since the managers said they would take care of storing our carry-ons.

“Here we go,” I said as I found our seats.

I shuffled over to the window seat that was located on the left side of the airplane.

I smiled as I looked out at the runway until I heard the sound of lip smacking followed closely with a whine, “Why do you get the window seat?”

I looked over at Jungkook, “Because I got here first.”

He looked like he didn’t like my answer and brought out his ticket and pointed to the number.

“See I’m technically supposed to have the window, “ he said matter-of-factly.

I deadpanned, “Are you seriously using technicalities to get the window seat?”

He nodded.

I sighed, “Fine, but you owe me. Got it?”

He smiled and gave me a little salute. I motioned for him to stand up and get out of the row so we could exchange seats. When we finally sat down, he looked out the window and giggled happily. A smile crept onto my face as I softly scoffed at his reaction.

He turned back to me with a grin, “Thank you!”

I playfully rolled my eyes and dug around my bag, looking for a little go pro Jungkook gave me for the trip.

I turned it on once I found it and made sure it was recording, then I turned it over to him, “Do you have anything to say?”

He looked at the camera, then at me, then back at the camera before saying, “The view from the window seat is amazing!”

I scoffed as I punched his arm, to which he laughed at and held where I hit him.

I positioned the camera so we were both in frame.

“Yeah, the window seat that you stole from me,” I exclaimed.

We slowly looked at each other. We made eye contact for a moment before we burst out into laughter.

“I get the window seat on the way back, okay?” I held out my pinky to him.

He linked his pinky with mine, “Promise.”

I turned off the camera as the flight attendants started to go through the standard procedures if anything were to happen during the flight.

A few moments after they were done, the seatbelt light was turned on and the plane started to move toward the end of the runway, preparing to take off.

Although I had been on countless plane rides because of my job, the moments before take-off never failed to make me a little nervous. I was lost in thought until I felt a finger poke my arm.

I turned to Jungkook, “Hm?”

“I asked if you were okay.”

“Oh! Yeah I’m fine,” I said.

He squinted his eyes at me.

“You’re nervous, aren’t you?”

Confusion creeped onto my face. “How’d you know that?”

“Because you always fiddle with your bottom lip when you’re nervous,” he said as he pointed to my hand that was currently playing with said bottom lip.

I immediately took my hand away, letting it fall on my lap.

“Here,” he said, holding his right hand out for me to take.

“Thanks, Kook,” I said as I placed my hand in his.

As the plane started to take off, I turned his hand over so the tattoos faced me and started to gently trace over his ARMY tattoo in order to calm myself down.

“Anytime Y/n/n, “ he whispered.

“Y/n,” Jungkook drawed out, “Come with me to the gym.”

He was tugging on my arm, trying to get me off my bed and out of the hotel room.

“No,” I whined. “Why can’t you just go by yourself? I wanna laze around before tomorrow.”

“Because I need someone to record me,” he whined back, tugging harder.

“Dude, just bring your tripod! You don’t need me!”

I tugged my arm back and rolled over on the bed trying to get away from him. I didn’t do a very good job because he rounded the bed and met me at the other end. I stared up at him, unimpressed.

“Because I want to have someone to talk to,” he said, grabbing my hands and tugging me to sit up.

“Please,” he said, giving me his puppy dog eyes.

I narrowed my eyes for a moment before I turned away and sighed. “Fine.”

I got up from bed and made my way to the door where our shoes were. I slipped on my shoes while Jungkook held the door open. He handed me the camera when we stepped out of the room.

“You’ve gotta stop using your puppy dog eyes to get me to do things.” He laughed, “Well if it works, why would I stop?” I sighed. “You’re right…”

To say that I was bored is an understatement. Jungkook had been on the elliptical for about 45 minutes and I wanted nothing more than to go back to my room.

I stood up, grabbed the camera that was sitting next to me and walked over to where Jungkook was.

I held the camera up to record him.

“I’m tired,” he said breathlessly.

“And I’m bored. How much longer are you going to work out for,” I said, moving my head to the side away from the camera so he could see me.

“Gimme a sec.” He clicked some buttons on the elliptical before slowing down and hopping off.

He grabbed a towel and sat on the ground. I watched as he closed his eyes and sank down to lay on the floor. I smiled as I rolled my eyes at his overreaction and stood on top of him with the camera.

“Don’t overdo your workout… Or else you’ll be in trouble… Okay?”

I moved the camera very close to his face, almost bumping his nose. He opened his eyes and moved the camera to the side while a smile made its way on his face.

I laughed and stepped over him as he started to roll over to get up.

“Come on Muscle Bunny, you gotta get some rest before your shoot tomorrow.”

He looked up at me as I extended my hand to help him up.

“Okay,” he said as he took my hand.

“And go take a shower. You’re super sweaty,” I said, taking my hand back and drying it on my pants.

A smirk made its way on his lips before he lunged himself at me, wrapping me in his arms. I scrunched my face, trying to push him away from me before any more of his sweat could get on me.

“Stop! You’re hot and sweaty!”

“Yeah, but you still love me!”

“Who wakes up this early,” I yawned.

We arrived at the set of the Standing Next to You music video and were now in the hair and make-up trailer. I held up the camera to keep myself busy so I wouldn’t doze off. I looked at Jungkook who looked like he was dozing off too.

“Apparently not you. You still look half asleep,” I told him. He sleepily chuckled at my statement.

It didn’t take as long as I thought for make-up to be done, so when Jungkook changed into his first outfit, we were ready to head out. This was the first location that we would be shooting in, the tunnel, as I like to call it.

We were coming up to where the crew and other dancers were currently at when Jungkook turned to look at me.

“Are you recording?”

I nodded.

“Okay, watch this,” he said before he happily skipped away. I laughed at his silliness.

When we got to where the crew was, the director started telling Jungkook will be doing. Just walk forward.

“All I have to do is walk through it? What more is there to life,"he wondered.

“Life is about moving forward,” I said.

“Life is about moving forward,” he repeated, giving my hand that was holding the camera a little fist bump.

He started to record and it was really cool to watch the monitor versus just watching him perform regularly. Not saying that he wasn’t cool regardless if he was on camera or not, but you get what I mean.

The day went by smoothly. He completed filming for the regular music video then changed outfits for the choreography version. It was safe to say that he was tired by the end of the day.

We shot at two other locations over the next few days. The second location was mainly for the big dance break and some other non-dance scenes.

And that leads us to today. I wasn’t even sure what to call this place when I first stepped foot in the building. Turns out that it’s an abandoned power station.

Huh, cool.

I was sitting in one of the chairs scrolling through my phone just waiting for Jungkook to get back from wardrobe because he said had a “surprise” for me.

I couldn’t have been waiting for more than 5 minutes before I heard my name being called.

I looked in that direction to find Jungkook walking toward me. I almost knocked over the chair I was sitting on with how fast I got up. I rushed to Jungkook, who was wearing a black pinstripe suit with dark wings on his back.

“Cool, right?”

I was in awe. “This is insane, Kookie!”

I circled around him to see the full ensemble.

“Are they attached to the jacket itself,” I asked, curiously looking at where the wings attached to the back of the jacket.

“Mhmm,” he nodded triumphantly.

I moved to stand in front of him, still in awe of the wings.

“You are seriously the coolest person I know,” I said, looking between the wings and his face.

“I know.” He smiled down at me.

We stood there, unmoving, for a moment before the director called him over to start filming.

As he started to walk away I called his name, making him turn his head toward me.

“Knock ‘em dead, Kook!”

“I’m just saying, that feast was well deserved. I have been longing for grilled meat since the first meal I had. Why does everything have to be so healthy here?”

Jungkook chuckled, “I know how you feel.”

We walked out of the elevator as we headed toward our hotel room.

Once unlocked, we went inside, took off our shoes by the door, then I quickly plopped down on my bed ready to sleep off this very delicious meal.

Jungkook sat on his bed with his back resting on the headboard as he scrolled through his phone.

I grabbed one of my extra pillows, hugging it tightly, ready to happily doze off before Jungkook decided to speak up.

“Y/n/n?”

I hummed to let him know that I was still awake.

“What would you do if I asked you out?”

I opened my eyes, but I didn’t move from my position facing the wall.

I hummed in thought before answering, “I would probably say that you’re drunk.”

“I didn’t drink that much.”

“Then I would say that you’re crazy.”

He playfully scoffed at my answer. Figuring that I wouldn’t be getting out of this conversation anytime soon, I sat up and turned to face him while crossing my legs for some comfort.

“What would you really say, Y/n?”

“I don’t know. Are you really asking me out, Jungkook,” I asked, tilting my head to the side.

He mirrored me by moving to sit across from me, crossing his legs.

“Maybe~”

“Then maybe,” I said as I leaned on my arms behind me.

“Y/n/n, all you have to say is yes or no.”

I smiled as I softly sang, “Say yes or no. Yes or no. Yes or no~”

He chuckled, crossing his arms.

“You know,” he started, “I wrote that about you.”

My eyes shot up to meet his as I furrowed my brows in confusion.

“Wha- really?!”

He nodded as he played with his lip ring. “You always thought it was sweet to confess through a song. That song is my confession to you.”