#human intelligence intelligence gathering

[editoress]

Reading an indie fae romance book, and I can't help but feel that the entire setup is gleefully throwing rocks at ACoTaR. Very charming to me

[bottombaron]

whenever i think abt writing Nandor and i get going thru a series of sequences of him behaving like a well-adjusted, caring, adult i have to stop myself, backspace several mental paragraphs and remember that he's basically a semi-captive lion being observed in a nature documentary and he functions on 92% Id

[antistellars]

smooth operator

PAIRING: Sonar x Fem!Reader

SUMMARY: Sonar has been obsessed with you since you started at SDN. Unfortunately, every attempt to talk to you ends in disaster.

WARNINGS: sonar has no game, brief mentions of drugs and alcohol

WORD COUNT: 5.6k

READ ON AO3 [ALL PARTS]

Victor knows his weaknesses, just as any enhanced individual should.

He's shit at writing, which he supposes is only fair considering he can run quantitative risk assessments and arbitrage calculations in his head faster than most people can boot up Excel. The universe couldn't make him completely perfect—though it got pretty damn close.

On occasion, Victor is also willing to admit he has issues with moderation, if the logged hours in his Steam library are anything to go off of. A lack of self-control, maybe. Though he prefers to think of it as commitment to mastery.

He also talks faster than he thinks sometimes—a fascinating flaw, really, considering his processing speed is roughly 40% faster than the average human's, and his IQ sits comfortably at 140, even compared to his fellow Harvard graduates.

He's reminded of this particular weakness whenever he's banned from voice or text chats in his games, where one too many creative insults about the opposing team's mothers slip out before his brain catches up to his mouth.

And there's also the whole cocaine thing. But that's not important. He's working on it. Malevola makes sure of that.

His greatest weakness, though, walked into his life a month ago.

Specifically, when you began working at SDN.

It was love at first sight. At least for him, because you hadn't even looked at him as you walked by, following Blonde Blazer as she animatedly introduced you to the dispatchers you'd be shadowing.

A few seconds was all Victor needed to know he was fucked.

He paid more attention in the weeks that followed. He gathered intelligence: not only were you hot—like, objectively, scientifically attractive—but you were funny. More than funny. Hilarious, actually. At times, he found himself coughing to cover up his laugh after he'd eavesdrop on your conversations. Not entirely creepy, because he only did it when you were in the break room or the conference room, and he considered those public spaces. Natural ground. It wasn't his fault he had exceptional hearing.

His crush has only grown since then, metastasizing into something he can't quite control.

There are times he's convinced you're secretly enhanced, some kind of undercover operative. It's the only explanation, really—maybe you're a temptress, a succubus, some lust manipulator with pheromone control. Because without fail, you turn him to putty. He has to readjust himself in his dress pants whenever you walk past, because your perfume wraps itself around his veins and tugs the flow of his blood straight to his dick like a leash.

Malevola had laughed herself sick one evening when she'd noticed, telling him he was "down catastrophic" for someone he didn't even have the guts to talk to. She'd shared the observation with Z-team too, and when Prism caught him adjusting himself during a mission briefing, they'd called him a perv loud enough for half the room to hear.

You'd earned the nickname Medusa after that, because Malevola found it hilarious that you managed to turn him rock-hard just by existing in his line of sight.

Victor had thrown a pen at her head. She'd caught it without looking and threw it back five times as hard.

Standing in the hallway, Victor rises to attention as you walk toward him, following the usual path to your desk. He adjusts his tie, tuning out Malevola's conversation, and steels himself mentally.

"I'm gonna go talk to her."

Malevola glances up. "Oh yeah? What are you gonna say?"

"Something good. Get her interested. Leave her thinking."

Malevola scowls. "Please don't mention your crypto portfolio."

"Why would I mention my crypto portfolio?"

"Because you mentioned it to the last three people you tried to talk to."

"I was networking!"

"You were being insufferable."

Victor sneers at her, half annoyed, half embarrassed. "Whatever. Watch and learn."

He tightens his tie and steps in front of you, halting you in place.

"Oh," you say, blinking. "Hi, Sonar."

You offer him a smile—polite, gentle. Good sign.

"Hey," he grins. "How's it going?"

"It's... going good, I guess. Just a regular Monday."

He nods. "Right. Cool. So, uh, I noticed you take like three sugars in your coffee."

Okay, good start. Observational. Shows he pays attention.

"...Okay?"

"That's cool. I mean, that's a lot of sugar but like, you do you. I usually go for two max." Wait, that sounds judgmental. "Not that three is bad! Three is good. Sweet tooth, that's chill."

Your smile is getting tighter. "Thanks?"

"Yeah, no problem." He shoves his hands into his pants pockets. "So hey, I've been looking at the mission numbers. You're doing pretty well. Like, way above average. If you ever want any tips on dispatch strategies or whatever, I could totally help you out."

"I... you're not a dispatcher. I am."

"Right, yeah, I know that. I just meant like, general efficiency stuff. I'm really good at that kind of thing. Optimization, time management, all that." He's nailing this. "Actually, I used to run this whole investment operation and—"

"The fraud thing?"

"—it was very successful. Financially. Before the legal issues." Okay, maybe don't bring up the crimes. "But like, I learned a lot about managing systems and people and—"

"That's great, Sonar, but I really should get back to work."

"Oh yeah, totally. I get it, you're busy. Respect the grind." He nods. "But hey, if you ever want to grab coffee and talk shop or whatever, I know this place that has really good espresso. Well, decent espresso. It's acceptable espresso but the vibe is nice."

"I'll... keep that in mind." You slip past him, the tight, nervous smile still on your face. Maybe you're nervous because you like him too. Score.

"Cool, cool. See you around!"

You give a little wave without really looking at him and speed-walk toward your desk.

Victor turns back to Malevola with a grin. "Dude, I think she's into me."

Malevola stares at him, mouth agape, the corners of her lips turned down.

"What?" he asks.

"I don't think so. She literally ran away from you."

"No she didn't. She walked. Quickly. Because she's busy and dedicated to her job. That's attractive, actually." He feels good about this. That went well. "She smiled at me."

"That wasn't a smile. It was a grimace. I felt like I was watching a hostage negotiation."

"You're being dramatic." He loosens his tie a bit, feeling accomplished. "I was smooth. I gave her an out by mentioning coffee, showed off my skills without being too much about it—"

"You told her about your fraud charges."

"I was being honest. Chicks dig honesty."

Malevola sighs. "Sonar—"

"You're wrong," he says, cutting her off. "I know what I'm doing, okay? I've got this. Tomorrow I'll try again. Maybe I'll tell her about that time I made 100k in a month. That's impressive."

"Please don't."

"Or maybe I'll ask about her interests. Show I care about her as a person."

"That one. Do that one."

"And then tell her about the 100k."

"Sonar, I'm begging you—"

But he isn't really listening anymore. He's already planning his next move, thinking about what to say, how to stand, when to catch you again.

He's got this. He's good at this.

Victor's eyes track you through the open break room door.

"What are you staring at?"

Victor flinches at Malevola's voice, straightening himself in his seat. "Huh? I'm not staring at anything."

"Uh-huh." She follows his gaze and sighs, turning back to him with a pitiful expression. "Please don't tell me this is why you wanted to take break at 2:15 instead of 3."

"I don't know what you're talking about."

Malevola groans. "It is, isn't it? You figured out her schedule? Dude, that's so creepy."

"It's not creepy. It's called pattern recognition. That's a skill."

"Technically, so is stalking."

Victor glares at her but doesn't reply, his white eyes flickering to where you stand as he registers movement. You're wrapping up your conversation now, waving goodbye to another dispatcher. James, maybe. Something with a J. Victor sits up straighter without meaning to.

"Oh, she's coming in," Malevola says, grinning. "You gonna talk to her this time?"

He frowns. "What are you talking about? I talked to her last week."

"Whatever that disaster was, was not talking."

Victor's expression flattens to unamused. You're approaching the threshold of the break room now. He can already smell your perfume. "Okay. I'm doing this."

"You're doing this," Malevola echoes.

"Yup." He stands. "Gonna be casual. Relaxed. Normal."

"Three words that have never been used to describe you."

He glares at Malevola again, but she only raises a brow, the corners of her lips quirking upward. Despite her amusement, there's an encouraging gleam in her expression that Victor recognizes. He matches it with a confident nod, fixes his tie, checks his cuffs, and makes his way to where you stand at the counter.

The break room isn't large by any means, but he feels as if he's been walking for a long time. He can feel Malevola's gaze following his movements. Good. Witnesses to his success are important. This time is going to be a win. He can feel it.

You're making coffee. Perfect. He's got this.

He opens his mouth as he finally reaches you, winding up one of his practiced conversation starters, but stills as you put in headphones.

Shit.

He looks back at Malevola. She's watching with barely contained glee, making a "go on" gesture with her hands.

Okay. Okay, he can work with this. He'll just... wait until you turn around. It gives him some time to prepare, anyway. A few seconds can be priceless to a man if he knows how to use them right.

A few moments pass, but you have yet to acknowledge his presence. Or anything besides your coffee making, really. Which, now that Victor's thinking about it, is concerning. How have you not been mugged?

You're adding sugar—one, two, three packets, as usual—and he should probably say something or clear his throat or do literally anything besides hover like a creep, but his brain has completely blanked.

You're stirring now. Any second you'll turn around and he'll say something smooth and—

He's made a miscalculation.

Grabbing your mug, you step backward—and walk directly into his chest.

You gasp, spinning around. The coffee in your cup jumps, sloshing over the rim and splashing across your hand, your wrist. Drops hit your shirt, your pants. Your headphones catch and pull free from your ears.

"Shit!" you hiss, jerking your hand back. Coffee drips onto the floor between you.

Victor's frozen, staring at the spreading stain on your shirt, at your reddening hand. At least the break room coffee is never really hot. Perpetually room temperature, in fact. "I—"

"Jesus Christ, Sonar!" You set the mug down hard on the counter, shaking out your hand. "How long have you been standing there?"

"I wasn't—I just—" His mouth is moving but nothing useful is coming out. "Maybe thirty seconds? I was waiting for you to turn around because you had headphones in and I didn't want to—"

"So you just stood behind me?" You grab napkins from the dispenser, pressing them against your shirt. The coffee's already seeping through. "Silently?"

"I didn't want to startle you—"

"Well, congratulations. You failed." You're dabbing at the stain, movements sharp and frustrated. More napkins. The coffee isn't coming out. "God damn it."

"I can help—"

"It's fine."

"Let me get you paper towels, or—"

"It's fine, Sonar." You crumple the napkins in your fist and toss them in the trash. When you look at him, your expression is carefully neutral. Painfully polite. "I have an extra shirt in my locker. I need to go change."

"I'm really sorry, I didn't mean to—"

"I know." You're already moving past him, toward the door. "It's fine. Just... an accident."

But the way you say it doesn't sound like you think it's fine at all.

Victor watches you leave, your coffee-stained shirt disappearing around the corner, and something in his chest sinks.

The break room is quiet. Too quiet.

He turns slowly, meeting Malevola's gaze.

"Don't," Victor says.

"I didn't say anything."

"You're thinking it loud enough."

Victor's tried four more times since the coffee incident.

Each interaction has been uniquely catastrophic in ways he didn't think were possible. There was the time he tried to hold the elevator for you and accidentally hit the emergency stop button instead, trapping you both for twenty minutes while you made increasingly uncomfortable small talk and he sweated through his shirt.

He followed that disappointment a few days later when he brought you coffee from an overpriced cafe as an apology (three sugars, he remembered) but had accidentally grabbed another order instead—black, no sugar—and watched you take a sip and immediately wince.

Then there was the time he tried to compliment your new haircut but instead said you looked "different" in a tone that implied he meant it negatively.

And finally, there was yesterday, when he'd attempted to help you carry a box of files and had somehow managed to trip over absolutely nothing, sending papers exploding across the hallway like the world's most pathetic confetti cannon.

The Z-team has been having a field day. He's even seen money exchanging hands in the break room. Malevola claims she's been betting in his favor, but her recent vinyl purchases suggest a very different story.

By this point, Victor's half-expecting a restraining order. Or at minimum, a very awkward meeting with Robert to discuss workplace boundaries and what constitutes harassment.

He's given up. Officially. He's waving the white flag.

Which is why he's at Gracie's on a Saturday night, letting the terrible DJ and even worse drink specials wash over him in waves of aggressive mediocrity.

The music is too loud. The bass is making his head throb—enhanced hearing is a blessing until it very much isn't—and some drunk girl just spilled her vodka cranberry on his shoe.

He needs air.

Victor pushes through the crowd toward the back exit, shouldering past a group doing shots and a couple making out against the wall. Lucky them.

Reaching the door to the patio area, he shoves it open and steps outside.

And freezes instantly.

You're sitting on a picnic table that's been shoved up against the brick exterior wall, perched on the top with your feet on the actual seat, scrolling through your phone. The string lights overhead cast everything in warm amber.

Oh fuck.

Victor immediately pivots, turns on his heel, fully prepared to march right back into the bass-thumping hellscape he just escaped because this—this looks like stalking. This looks like he planned this. This looks like—

The door slams open into his face.

"Shiiiiiit, dude, my bad!"

A drunk guy stumbles past him, hand briefly patting Victor's shoulder in apology before he makes a beeline for the porta-potties in the corner of the patio.

Victor's holding his temple, white eyes squeezed shut against the sharp pain.

"Sonar?"

He opens his eyes and turns around. You're looking at him now, phone lowered, expression unreadable.

"Oh, heyy." His voice comes out pained. "Didn’t see you there. What’s up?”

He genuinely considers willing himself to transform and flying away, dignity be damned.

You lock your phone. Drop it in your lap. "Are you stalking me?"

Victor's eyes go wide. His hands come up immediately, waving emphatically. "No, no. I swear, I didn't know you'd be here—"

A smile breaks across your face within seconds, your laughter following suit. Bubbly and amused and completely unexpected. "I'm just fucking with you. Everyone and their fuckin' mom comes to Gracie's on a Saturday, apparently. Dunno what the fuck that's about."

The word 'fuck' sounds strange coming from you. Wrong, but in a way that makes his body heat with warmth he's not entirely prepared for. He's seeing you in a completely new light now as he slowly walks closer: gone is the corporate demeanor, the professional distance.

You, his Medusa, are a potty mouth.

In a way that's much more endearing than when Chase does it.

Victor realizes he's been quiet for a few seconds too long. "Yeah," he manages. "What the fuck is that about?"

The grin on your face widens as you tilt your head, examining him. Instinctively, Victor stands straighter, hoping it radiates an attractive aura of confidence rather than the barely-restrained awkwardness he's actually feeling.

"Can I join you?" He points to the space next to you.

You glance at it, then back at him. Nod. "Make yourself comfortable."

"Cool."

He climbs up, settling beside you. Not too close—that would be creepy, invasive, weird. But not too far either—that would be offensive, like he thinks you have a disease or something. Just in case. He scoots a little to the left. Then back to the right.

You don't comment on his musical chairs routine, which he takes as a win.

Now that he's closer, he can see the slight tint in your cheeks, the looseness in your posture that speaks of a few drinks in your system. Which might explain the casual swearing—and the fact that you didn't pretend not to know him entirely.

The drunk guy exits the porta-potty, stumbling slightly as he heads back inside. A few girls immediately take his place, their loud laughter cutting through the muffled bass still thumping from inside the bar. Victor grimaces at the sound of one of them vomiting into the open toilet.

Classy establishment, this.

You're looking down at your lap now, twirling your phone between your fingers. Nosily, Victor tries to peek at your lockscreen, see what hints it might give about your life outside of dispatching. But he's met with nothing. Just the black, smooth coating of a privacy screen protector.

Smart.

He's half-tempted to pull out his own phone just to give himself something to do besides aimlessly bounce his knee. But that would be rude. And you haven't unlocked your phone either, which feels like a sign. This is his chance. His shot at redemption. To make up for the elevator incident and the coffee mix-up and the box of papers and every other disaster that's led to this moment.

He sorts through the thoughts in his mind, watching dialogue options flash across his consciousness like some shitty dating sim.

"Can you—" You grimace slightly, glancing at him. "Could you stop that? Maybe?"

Victor blinks, head whipping to the side. You're pointing at his knee, your gaze bouncing between his face and the traitorous limb that's been bouncing hard enough to shake the whole bench.

"Oh, yeah. For sure. My bad."

He clears his throat, placing his palm flat on his knee. The movement slows, but he can still feel the muscles twitching under his hand, restless energy with nowhere to go. He knew those lines in the bathroom were a mistake. Victor opts for a better solution, leaning forward to brace both forearms on his thighs, using his weight to settle the spasms.

Silence settles between you again. You're humming under your breath, and without looking directly at you, he can hear the rustle of fabric as you sway subtly to the music bleeding through the walls. The vibrations meet his eardrums, bass-heavy and relentless.

He steals a few glances at you. After the third, his gaze settles on the side of your face, taking in your profile. The shape of your nose, the curve of your jaw, the way the string lights catch in your hair.

Conversation. He needs to make conversation. He's alone with you, and you haven't skittered away from his presence like every other time. This is it. Say something. Anything. Something to engage you, make you like him—

"You want some coke?"

Your eyes lock on his as you turn to look at him, brows furrowed and mouth slightly parted.

"I have some. In case you do."

You're still staring. Your mouth parts even further, but he can see the corners of your lips beginning to turn upward.

"Or not. That's totally cool. You don't have to. I just thought I'd offer because we're both here and—"

Finally, you break your silence with a laugh, your shoulders shaking with it. "You know SDN drug tests, right?"

If Victor had a human face, he's sure it would've been drained entirely of color. He sits ramrod straight, leaning further into your space without meaning to. "What? They do?"

Pressing your lips together, you give him a tight nod.

His face falls. He looks forward blankly, speedrunning the image of unemployment in his mind—fired for a failed drug test of all things, after everything he's survived, after clawing his way back from federal charges and—

Then his ears twitch, picking up another sound leaving your lips. Another fit of laughter.

He turns to face you once more.

"I'm just fucking with you again," you say, curling into yourself as your laughter settles into something softer. "Oh my god, your face."

"So not cool," Victor says, but he's fighting back a chuckle of his own. "My life just flashed before my eyes."

"Oh, I saw it." You bite back a smile. "Don't worry. If we started drug testing, I think we'd fire half the staff." You give him a pointed look. "You guys love your drugs."

You're teasing him. This is a win. He's winning. Victor clears his throat, hoping to play it cool.

"And I was still willing to share."

"Oh, how charitable of you."

You're looking at him through your lashes now, your head slightly lolled to the side. You look... so hot. He's fighting the urge to inhale your scent like a rabid dog. He's more refined than that. More dignified.

"I'm actually very charitable," he says, nodding seriously.

"Oh yeah?"

"Yeah. Not to brag or anything."

"Seems like you're super humble, too."

He shrugs, feigning nonchalance. "Totally."

His response earns him another laugh. He's racking up wins tonight, each one more improbable than the last. Finally.

You shift slightly, curling in on yourself, arms wrapping around your middle. It's not really cold outside, but he sees an opening. A chance. Every romance movie he's ever secretly watched while high has prepared him for this moment.

Victor shrugs off his suit jacket and drapes it over your shoulders in one smooth motion.

You jump slightly, startled, but then you realize what he's doing and soften into it, pulling the fabric closer around yourself.

"Oh," you say quietly. "Thank you."

And he swears—he fucking swears—you run your gaze over him. Over the white dress shirt, over the loosened tie at his collar, lingering just a second too long. You're checking him out. Holy shit, you're actually checking him out.

"No problem." He's trying not to grin too wide.

You settle back into your sitting position, his jacket wrapped around your shoulders like a claim, and Victor has to resist the urge to fist-pump right there.

"I'm—I'm sorry that I brush you off at work."

Victor raises a brow, surprised. He wasn't expecting an apology. Wasn't expecting you to acknowledge any of it.

"I have this anti-superhero policy," you continue, not quite meeting his eyes. "For flirting, or whatever. A lot of you guys are just so stuck up, you know? Full of yourselves. And I thought—" You pause, picking at your nails. "I thought you were messing with me for some weird entertainment. Because the Z-team is always laughing whenever you try to talk to me."

You guys. You consider him a proper superhero.

"They were laughing at me," Victor says quickly. "Not you. Totally not you." He runs a hand over his head, over the smooth fur there. "They were laughing because I kept messing it up. Every single time."

"I realize that now," you murmur softly.

Victor opens his mouth to say something else—something smooth—but you make a small sound of discomfort, dropping your head down as you run a hand across your temple.

"I think I should go get some water."

You're starting to move, preparing to haul yourself up from the table, but Victor stands quickly—too quickly—and nearly stumbles when his foot catches on the ledge of the bench.

"No," he says, then clears his throat, smoothing his voice into something more casual. "I mean, you stay here. I'll go."

"Are you sure?" You're looking up at him with furrowed brows, readjusting his jacket across your shoulders.

White eyes track the movement, and his heart beats faster at the image of you in his coat. It skips, unhappily, at the thought of you taking it off in favor of going back inside—at the image of losing you to a crowd.

He nods, probably too quick. "For sure. You just—you stay here. Don't move."

His hands raise to emphasize his point, and thankfully, you bite back a laugh at the motion. "Okayyy."

Victor nods again, smiling, then starts backing toward the door. He glances back once, twice, making sure you haven't moved. You wave at him, amused, and he nearly walks into the doorframe before catching himself.

Smooth. Real smooth.

He opens the door casually, steps inside—

And then he's running.

Waters acquired, he heads back, walking quickly but not running this time. Playing it cool. He's got this.

He pushes the door open with his shoulder—

And immediately registers that something is wrong.

You're standing now, backed up against the picnic table. There's a guy in front of you. Too close. Your arms are crossed, body language screaming discomfort.

"—just being friendly," the guy is saying, his words slurred. "Why you gotta be such a bitch about it?"

Victor's jaw clenches.

"Wow, I'm swooning," you say, annoyed. "Leave me alone, dick."

Victor steps forward, waters still in hand. "She’s not interested."

The guy turns, taking in Victor with bleary eyes. Scoffs. "Nobody's talking to your recalled beanie baby ass."

Victor's mouth falls open slightly. Recalled beanie baby? Now he's pissed.

"Fuck you, man."

The guy laughs, turning back to you. "What, this your boyfriend or something?"

"Don't be a cunt," you say to the guy.

Another laugh, ugly and mean. "Sure, I'll stop being one if you show me yours—"

One second, Victor's standing there, waters in hand, watching this play out.

Then the glasses in his hands shatter.

And everything goes red.

His vision tunnels. His hearing sharpens. He feels the familiar, uncontrollable surge of his body changing, growing, warping. Clothing tears. Air hits fur. His heart pounds in his chest, rapid-fire, and his breathing comes harsh and ragged through expanding lungs.

Distant thuds fill his ears: people scrambling away from the patio area, the man's heartbeat kicking into overdrive, terror-sharp.

And yours—your heart is racing too.

Victor—no, the beast now, the creature version, massive and monstrous—hunches his shoulders and bares his fangs.

He shrieks, a guttural sound of pure rage, and the guy's eyes go wide, face drained of color.

"She told you to get lost," Sonar growls, his voice distorted and deep.

The guy nods frantically, stumbling backward. "I'm—yeah, I'm going, I'm—"

He turns and runs, practically falling over himself to get back inside the bar.

Victor watches him go, head turning to track the movement. He's still breathing hard, teeth bared, arms tense and ready. The predatory satisfaction of watching a threat flee courses through him, hot and electric.

Then his gaze swings back.

And he sees you.

Wide-eyed. Mouth open. Hands tightening around his jacket.

Shit.

He transforms back in a rush, the shift happening so fast it leaves him dizzy. Fur recedes. Size shrinks. His breathing evens out.

And then he's just Victor again, standing in the middle of the patio, completely naked, glass crunched under his feet.

You're staring.

"I... kinda feel like I may have overreacted," he says.

"No—that was—" Your eyes flicker downward and widen more.

"Oh!" You turn immediately, one hand coming up to cover your eyes. "Oh my god. Your dick is out."

Victor stiffens—in multiple ways, unfortunately—and looks down.

Yup. Dick's out. He moves to cover himself with his hands.

He's not ashamed, exactly. He knows he's packing more than average. But he's also a grower in more ways than one, and this was definitely not how it went in his fantasies when you first saw him naked. He'd imagined it would be more empowering. That you'd go wide-eyed with lust and excitement, maybe bite your lip suggestively.

Not turn away and exclaim while covering your eyes. That's... not a good sign.

"Shit. Sorry. That—the clothes don't come back when I transform. Because of the whole ripping apart thing."

"Um," you say, voice muffled behind your hand. You're carefully not looking at him, which would be funny if Victor wasn't dying inside. "Here."

You take his jacket off your shoulders and hold it out blindly, arm extended.

"Thanks," Victor mutters, taking it.

He tries to figure out how to position it around his waist. The warm night breeze kisses his exposed skin.

"Can we—can we just—" He does an awkward shuffle-turn with you so his bare ass is facing the wall. "Just turn with me—yeah, like that—"

Finally, he gets the jacket positioned, holding it around himself like a towel. Roman bath-style. "Okay. Got it."

You peek through your fingers. "All good?"

He clears his throat. "Yup. Yeah. All good."

You drop your hand and turn fully to face him, holding his gaze for a long moment.

And then you're laughing, covering your face with both hands, shoulders shaking. Victor feels the tips of his ears go hot with embarrassment.

"Maybe you could not laugh in my face after seeing my penis."

You're laughing harder now, doubled over. "No, it's not that, I swear, it's—"

You press your fingers over your lips, taking a deep breath to compose yourself. "I appreciate you defending my honor."

"Anytime," Victor says, and he means it despite the circumstances.

Someone bursts through the door, yelling your name, and both of you snap your heads toward the sound.

Your friend stops in place, eyes going wide as she takes in the scene—you, Victor in nothing but a jacket-toga, broken glass everywhere.

"Uh... hello." She walks over slowly, confused but clearly intrigued. "Am I interrupting something?"

You and Victor glance at each other.

"No—uh, this is Sonar. We work together," you say quickly.

"Heyy," Victor says. He readjusts his hold on the jacket with one hand and extends the other for a handshake. "What's good?"

Your friend takes it delicately, eyebrows climbing higher. "I'm—wow. Okay." She introduces herself, then looks between you and Victor, amusement growing in her expression. She looks at you with a shit-eating grin. "Do all the hot superheroes at your job get naked for you?"

Victor sees an opening and points at her. "Only the best ones."

Your friend cackles. You cover your face again, but you're smiling.

"Well," your friend says, turning back to you, "I've been looking for you. I think we're ready to head home. That cool?"

You nod, glancing back at Victor. "Yeah. Yeah, I'm good."

"'Kay, I'm calling the Uber." Your friend pulls out her phone and steps away, giving you two space.

You turn to Victor fully, and he holds your eye contact for as long as he can manage without combusting.

You walk toward him.

Victor stiffens—and embarrassingly, he can feel himself getting hard. He attributes it to the warm breeze and your smell flooding his nostrils and the softness of the jacket lining. Curse his excellent taste.

He tracks your movement with white eyes. When you're close enough, you go up on your toes and press a kiss to his cheek.

His brain flatlines.

You pull back, and there's a strand of hair stuck to your lip gloss.

"Oh, hair," you laugh softly, pulling it away from your mouth. "I'll…see you Monday?"

Victor's still stunned. Completely frozen. "Yeah. For sure. See you... see you Monday."

Your friend grabs your hand, tugging you toward the door. "Uber's here. Let's go."

She glances back at Victor as you both head inside. "Nice meeting you, Batman."

"It's—it's Sonar—" he calls after you, but you're already gone.

Victor stands there for a moment, alone on the patio, hand still pressed to the fur on his cheek where you kissed him.

He does a celebratory fist pump, his jacket falling to the ground. "Yes! This is what I'm talking about!"

Someone stumbles out of the porta-potty. They make eye contact. The guy freezes, taking in Victor's naked form with wide eyes.

"Celebrating a massive win," Victor explains.

The guy keeps staring.

Victor leans down slowly to grab his jacket, wrapping it back around his waist. "Aight. Night, man."

He lets his excitement bleed through his body, raising his heartbeat as he transforms—carefully holding his jacket this time—and takes off into the sky. Victor is too consumed in his success to register the small baggie that fell out of his jacket pocket and landed on the ground.

The guy from the porta-potty watches the giant bat fly away, then looks down at the baggie at his feet.

He picks it up, examines it, and grins.

Score.

thank you for reading and please lmk if you enjoyed <3 i operate entirely on positive reinforcement like a dog with treats :D

😽 THE NEXT PARTS can be read on ao3

(it’s much easier for to continue stories with their platform 💗)

[n1k0laa5]

THE EXTENDED HISTORY OF MANIFESTATION, REALITY SHIFTING, ASTRAL PROJECTION, SPIRITUALITY, ETC.

no tldrs, no summaries, sit the fuck down and read. or complain that your mindset is crap, and for some reason, you just can’t get yourself to believe in this… your choice.

most people, specifically antis, believe that manifestation is something that began out of nowhere. a tiktok trend, they say. something formed by teenagers who had nothing else to do during quarantine. and yet, those very people fail to see that this is simply wrong.

just because they tried once or twice in 2020 doesn’t erase the history they refuse to acknowledge.

for centuries, people have believed that mind and spirit can shape reality.

anthropologists note that magic and manifesting were not considered “primitive” by all; quote, “even reasonable, lucid, and intellectually sophisticated people, including great philosophers and artists of the past, dabbled in magic”.

the idea that consciousness can alter the world / your reality or travel beyond it is ancient.

one scientist summarizes, “the idea that humans can leave their bodies during dream states is ancient. countless people, from new agers to shamans around the world, believe that it is possible to commune with cosmic intelligence.”

nearly every society has had rituals or teachings for realizing desires or journeying to other realms whether through prayer, spell, trance, meditation, or other techniques.

so, enough with the stalling. let’s begin with our history lesson! take notes, pens in hand.

puts on serious glasses…

animism and shamanic traditions.

in many indigenous cultures, the shaman or medicine person was the spiritual specialist.

they would enter trances or dreams to negotiate with spirits, heal the sick, or control nature. our prime example is “american indian and first nations” traditions, which include the “vision quest” and the medicine man, whom is known as a a traditional healer and spiritual leader. ethnographies note that using drumming, shamans could enter trances, combat evil spirits and disease, communicate with ancestors, prevent famine, and control weather (rain dances). by ritual they aimed to manifest desired outcomes: good harvests, healing, luck, etc.

similar roles existed in african, siberian, oceanic, and amazonian tribes. among the waiwai people of the amazon, a shaman (yaskomo) is believed to perform soul-flights: flying to the sky to consult moon spirits, entering caves to ask animal spirits for game, or diving into rivers for help.

in Inuit / arctic belief, a healer (angakkuq) could journey to mythic realms (the north star, the underworld, etc.) to heal the community.

these accounts show that even hunter-gatherers conceived of traveling to their desired worlds and other worlds in visions to achieve practical goals.

ancient egypt and mesopotamia: magic and the afterlife.

now we move towards ancient egypt (c. 3000–1000 BCE), religion was suffused with magical spells for controlling fate.

pharaohs and nobles buried books of the dead—collections of incantations—with the deceased. these texts were meant to manifest a safe afterlife, the spirit (“ka” and “ba”) had to speak the right words to pass trials. one guidebook states that after death “the deceased… travels across the sky before judgement… to progress through the complex challenges in these stages, the dead must speak the right names and spells at the right time and respond with the right answers to the gods’ questions.” egyptians literally carried prayer-scrolls inscribed with spells to make the underworld obedient.

sources are a fragment of an “egyptian book of the dead” (c. 1075–945 BCE). such papyri functioned as “guidebooks for the dead,” containing magical formulas to control reality in the afterlife. the hieroglyphs include prayers to deities like osiris and re, and instructions (for instance, naming the parts of a door before passing it) to ensure safe passage. ancient egyptian religion blended spirituality with practical “manifestation”. reciting or inscribing the correct words, one aimed to bring about life after death. similarly, the mesopotamians kept extensive collections of omens and incantations (e.g. enûma anu enlil) hoping to foresee or shape events.

ancient india: vedas, mantras, and yoga siddhis.

indian traditions are rich in the idea that mind and intention shape destiny. thank them for being the basic foundation of nonduality! vedic texts (1500–500 BCE) already treat thought and word as powerful. the rigveda (c. 1500 BCE) contains hymns implying that one’s destiny is influenced by action and intention. the sanskrit concept sankalpa (resolution or intent) is used in rituals to set a firm purpose.

medieval theologians observe that hindu priests would invoke deities to bring worldly blessings, as one modern scholar notes: “if you want money, think of lakṣmī” (goddess of wealth); “if you want good luck, be sure to participate in ganesh puja”.

these are explicit instructions to manifest prosperity by mental focus and prayer.

moreover, Indian yogic tradition identifies advanced mental powers (siddhis). patanjali’s yoga sutras (c. 400 CE) describe supernormal abilities gained through meditation ranging from telepathy to levitation. they continue to list powers like “becoming manifold, disappearing, walking on water, flying” and perceiving past lives.

commentators (e.g. v. taimni) stress these siddhis have indeed “been exercised by people in practically all ages”. classical Indian texts assert that deep samādhi (meditative absorption) can let one bend nature, effectively manifesting miracles.

in hinduism, beyond the vedas, the upanishads and bhagavad gītā teach that the ultimate reality is pure consciousness and that aligning one’s will with that reality yields results.

saints like sri ramakrishna (1836–1886) and paramahansa yogananda (1893–1952) described yogic feats. yogananda, for instance, claimed to have witnessed his guru, swami pranabananda, perform a miracle via astral projection—a modern testimony that yogic power can transcend space.

buddhism too speaks of psychic faculties (abhinñā) attainable through deep meditation. The pāli canon (buddha’s discourses) lists “six superknowledges,” including mind-reading, past-life recall, and flying. many later buddhist adepts, especially in tibet and japan, were said to master such powers.

stories of milarepa (11th c. tibetan yogi) tell of him flying through the air or calling storms. and in japan, esoteric buddhist monks (shugendō practitioners) believed that austerities on mountains enabled them to control the elements.

chinese taoism and alchemy.

from the han dynasty on, taoist alchemists sought immortality by purifying body and spirit. the cantong qi (4th century) describes refining the “three treasures”, jing, qi, shen, to align the human microcosm with the universe. practitioners ingested elixirs made of refined cinnabar (mercury sulfide) or gold, believing this would grant eternal life. they treated the body as a laboratory: by internal visualization and herbal concoctions, they aimed to transform physical matter and one’s fate. classical taoism distinguishes the philosophical path (daojia) from the popular, magical side (daojiao) focused on these alchemical “life-force” techniques.

in later centuries, chinese qigong masters also demonstrated feats like levitation or mind-over-matter, though often kept secret. modern taoists note that these siddhis were not ends in themselves but byproducts of spiritual discipline.

nevertheless, extremely cool.

ancient greece and rome: hermeticism and magical papyri

In the greco-roman world, philosophical and magical traditions centered on the idea that gods and spirits could be petitioned or harnessed to affect reality.

from about… say, 100 BCE to 400 CE, egypt’s greek magical papyri offered spells and rituals for every purpose. love, wealth, healing, protection, you name it. a quote from a historian, “these papyri were used by magicians, priests, [and] mystics for the direct purpose of influencing reality, and therefore manifesting”.

the orphic and hermetic writings contained invocations; each orphic hymn ends with an appeal meant to draw down divine power, akin to a prayer of manifestation.

devotees would even bury lead tablets inscribed with wishes, a technique mirroring today’s vision boards or scripting, to bring their desires to life.

mediterranean philosophy also flirted with these ideas. ouuuu!!!

neoplatonism (3rd–5th centuries CE) taught that “the one” or “the good” could be called upon through ritual, thus “working with the gods and goddesses”. whether zeus, asclepius or hermes, was seen as a form of manifesting reality by aligning with higher powers. some emperors and elites even employed personal “incantation masters.”

in rome, pliny the elder (1st century CE) records magical cures and spells. more concretely, people paid vendors for love potions or curses in the colosseum.

christianity and medieval europe.

believe it or not, medieval christian tradition also contains many accounts of miracles and mystical powers.

saints and holy people were routinely attributed abilities that defy physical laws, my favorite example being st. joseph of cupertino (1603–1663), a simple italian franciscan friar became famous for levitating during prayer. reports say joseph would “rise and float” during mass so dramatically that crowds claimed he was “the man who could fly.” he was eventually canonized as a saint, and even today is venerated as the patron of astronauts and aviation for this very reason.

other medieval miracles include bilocation (being seen in two places at once.. sound familiar?), prophecy or instant healing at shrines. the kabbalistic tradition (judaism) and the christian hermetic / neoplatonic currents also taught that pure thought and prayer could influence reality.

renaissance occultists like paracelsus (1493–1541) invoked astrological and angelic forces in medicine and alchemy.

giordano bruno (1548–1600) famously claimed a living universe in which mind and matter interpenetrate. john dee (1527–1608), advisor to queen elizabeth I, spent years in occult study and “angel magic,” believing he could make contact with higher intelligences.

renaissance to modern occult and new thought.

the 16th–19th centuries saw a renewed focus on the mind’s power in the west as renaissance magicians like cornelius agrippa (1486–1535) wrote grimoires and spellbooks and revived hermetic ideas.

the protestant mystics (jacob boehme, etc.) and rosicrucians spoke of an inner christ consciousness capable of miracles, which was the same idea neville goddard had.

concurrent with occultism was the new thought movement (late 1800s USA), i have an entire post on this! but in short, this directly anticipated today’s “law of attraction”.

20th century, spiritualism and self help extended these ideas. famous mind-power teachers (napoleon hill, norman vincent peale, now rhonda byrne’s “the secret”) popularized the notion that thinking certain thoughts or feeling certain ways will attract matching outcomes.

today, manifesting is mainstream in some circles.

the secret (2006) sold over 30 million copies and celebrities like oprah winfrey have endorsed it.

searches for “manifesting” exploded by 600% during the 2020 pandemic. which is where the argument that this, something that was once esoteric is now often packaged as “false”.

though the history i gave isn’t quite similar to current manifestation, or may not align with what you believe—realize it is all the same.

people have belief in something —> they experience it.

that’s it.

class dismissed!

[viperify]

oneshots | ᴛᴏᴍ ʀɪᴅᴅʟᴇ x ꜰ!ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ

৻ꪆ A RECIPE FOR DISASTER.

ꫂ ၴႅၴ SUMMARY: most professors would agree that love potions are far too dangerous for students to handle. if that was true, why were you asked to brew one? and why, of all people, was Tom told to supervise you during the process?

ꫂ ၴႅၴ WARNINGS: MATURE CONTENT. brewing a love potion gone wrong. inappropriate use of the prefects’ bathroom, Tom has super human intelligence as always, Valentine’s day is gross for singles, bathtub sex, soft dom!Tom, nipple play, fingering, Tom gets creative with his positions, clit play, kissing, biting, a bit of overstimulation, after care, Tom knows how to help that fuzzy feeling in your tummy <33

ꫂ ၴႅၴ AUTHOR’S NOTE: 14h of writing later… uhhh I am so sorry this is a day late but I did NOT intend this to become my longest fic on here. stuff happens, I guess. Happy Valentine’s Day, my darlings! I love you all so so much. 🥺💘

wordcount: 5,0k

The day you’ve dreaded for weeks has come along—Valentine’s Day. In the past few years, you spent it with your friends in Hogsmeade, and up until two months ago, that was what you’d planned for this year as well.

But instead, you’ve now barricaded yourself in your dorm, far away from the one person you couldn’t fathom seeing on this day.

Tom.

・・・

PREVIOUSLY

It all started with a terrible idea—or, back then, a seemingly brilliant one.

Your grades had never been bad, not even close to it. They were nearly perfect.

Nearly.

And that had been the problem. That one word—nearly.

Competition for internships at the ministry was fierce, and without perfect scores, there was no need to even attempt applying for the single position they offered each year. 

Not when the person who desired the position as much as you was named Tom Riddle.

It was a one-time mishap that had caused you all this trouble. You had forgotten to turn in a paper, which cost you valuable points—enough to drop your grade below minimum requirements for your prioritised internship.

You’d tried, practically begged Slughorn to round up your points—without success.

He’d apologised, his expression clearly sympathetic with your situation. But even then, he said he couldn’t change your results.

Sensing the disappointment radiating off you, he did offer you another chance—an extra assignment.

You’d have to complete it within the following two weeks, and that alone had been enough of a challenge due to the ongoing exam season and your extremely limited time besides classes and revising.

The task itself though made your head hurt more than hours of consecutive studying in the thick, dry air of Hogwarts’ library ever could.

Slughorn had given you an ancient potions book. One with handwritten pages, with knowledge spanning back hundreds of years. The coarse leather spine was cracked, and it smelled faintly of smoke and a hint of vanilla. You estimated it to be more valuable than anything you owned, anything you’d touched—and yet, he trusted you with it.

You were one of his favourite students. Responsible, honest, and trustworthy.

And apparently, in his eyes, skilled enough to brew a potion which could not be found anywhere near the curriculum for a rather apparent reason.

He had handed you the recipe for a powerful love potion, which heightened both attraction and lust after contact—worse if one batch was consumed by two different people at the same time.

No touch, not even eye contact was necessary for this to work—merely a glance in their direction could make someone lose their mind.

Hence the restrictions on the potion.

In the moment you were told to gather the supplies for it, you didn’t dare question your professor or his intention with the forbidden substance. Too much had been at stake for you—your grades, your internship, your future—your pride.

You accepted without thinking twice.

During the process of gathering the supplies, doubts rose—making your chest tighten with unease. Most ingredients were restricted, therefore difficult to acquire, and not handed out without one or the other question as to what you’d use them for.

You lied each time.

When you’d finally gathered everything and presented them to Slughorn, he seemed content, allowing you to use his key to access the potions classroom after operating hours.

The brewing process would take more than a week, and if you wanted the assignment to count for this semester, you’d have to start that very day—which you, though exhausted and tired, did.

Except, as with most things in your life, it did not go as planned. Because as soon as you tried to turn the key in the lock, the door creaked open by itself without much resistance. Though confused, you entered—quickly sensing you weren’t as alone as you’d hoped to be.

Sitting casually on one of the chairs was Tom, arms crossed over his chest, studying you intently with an unreadable expression.

“I have permission to use this classroom. Alone.” you said dismissively, dropping your bag onto one of the chairs and glancing around the room to find a suitable cauldron.

“And I have permission—or rather the obligation—to help you,” Tom countered, entirely unbothered by the shocked stare you gave him.

That had not been part of the agreement between you and your professor. Not at all.

It was a recipe for disaster, if anything.

“Get out, Riddle.” you hissed, sorting your ingredients on the table after you found the fitting cauldron. “Now.”

He huffed a laugh, making no move to rise from his chair—instead unfolding a paper he retrieved from the pocket of his trousers, showing it to you.

You read it in disbelief.

Slughorn’s explanation that he’d assigned you a partner—someone he trusted to assist you during the “complex” brewing process. With his signature at the bottom.

Fuck this.

“You don’t even know what we are brewing—or barely! I have studied this topic thoroughly over the past days, and I can assure you I do not require your help, nor your presence.” Frustration had crept its way into your voice, having Tom’s lips twitch in amusement.

How wrong you were.

“First, add three-quarters of a litre of purified water. Then, two grams of Himalayan salt. Stir three times counterclockwise. Add eight Angel Trumpet petals within the next minute. Stir another three times, clockwise. Next, add four six-centimetre quills of cinnamon, and let it boil on a low flame for at least ten minutes. When those have passed, you’ll already have your Snakeweed and Ashwinder eggs prepared, adding them simultaneously. Five more stirs clockwise, and day one is done. Let it rest for two days; then, on day four, you’ll start with the two most essential ingredients: rose oil, one single Moonstone, and five grams of pure Pearl Dust. You will want to—“

“Fine. Fuck, Riddle. Fine, it’s fine—just shut up. I don’t need you to play smart with me today, and I certainly don’t have time for this either.” You interrupted his perfect recitation of the complicated instructions in the book Slughorn had given you, determined to get started—no matter whether he was there or not.

You would simply have to endure it. 

You opened the book on page 293, starting the brewing process just as Tom had told you moments before—and surprisingly, he made no effort to bother you.

He simply watched—observed you with those dark honey-brown eyes, which had so often made you nervous and uneasy when they lingered on you.

You pushed the thought to the back of your mind and added ingredient after ingredient until it was time to let the mixture rest for at least forty-eight hours.

No word was exchanged between the both of you as you cleaned up and left shortly after, and you exhaled a relieved sigh when you arrived at your dorm, tucking yourself beneath your sheets after a much-needed hot shower.

・・・

Day four had concluded similarly to day one, and soon enough Tom stood beside you as you added the final touches to your potion almost a week later.

You were tired that day—more than usual. You’d finished the exam and instantly left for your potion, eager to get it done and present it to Slughorn. Everything had gone perfectly fine so far. The ingredients you’d gotten were of perfect quality, and even the brewing process progressed smoother than you had expected, given that it was an advanced and outdated recipe.

Tom did not contribute much. At first, when Slughorn’s words had just sunk in, you thought he’d be his usual self—an insufferable know-it-all. However, he wasn’t—he merely did what was asked of him.

Supervise you.

As much as it bothered you that your professor had sent him of all students, in the end, it didn’t matter. You just needed this grade.

So. Badly.

Lost in thought, you went over the recipe one last time before you retrieved the cauldron from the shelf you left it to rest on, lit the fire, and assembled the two missing ingredients.

Tom strolled in shortly after, settling beside you.

You added twelve drops of Salamander blood, gave your potion four stirs, and then dissolved a strand of an Abraxan’s mane in the soft pink, pearly mixture.

Your eyes drifted to the page once more, and before Tom could react properly, your hand reached for the heat regulator, turning it twice.

“No! Don’t! You will speed up the process and—“ he exclaimed, quickly lowering the heat before it could properly reach the cauldron.

You had just read the instructions for the potion below the one you needed.

Your tiredness vanished in that very moment, lips parted slightly, eyes focused on your project in front of you.

It still glimmered faintly in the dim light of the classroom, stirring slowly, a few small bubbles forming at the surface.

It seemed as though nothing changed, and the potion stayed unaffected by your careless mistake.

Exhaling a long, relieved breath, you turned towards Tom, taking in his tense features.

“I— I don’t know why I—“

You were interrupted by his hand wrapping around your wrist, forcefully tugging you aside—but before you could complain, a loud sizzling noise erupted from behind, and just a split moment later, the cauldron exploded, soaking both you and Tom in its content.

The finished love potion.

You both gasped, exchanging a horrified look.

The potion was hot—nearly boiling—but the immediate effects of it drowned out the pain quite efficiently.

Dizzy and momentarily confused, you grabbed hold of the edge of the table, trying to steady your trembling legs. And it worked—it worked just fine until Tom decided to touch the bare skin of your arm with his hand, asking whether you were hurt.

Based on his immediate retreat, he too must have regretted it the instant he did—the electricity that a simple, short touch exchanged between the both of you was shocking, and the pictures that came to mind as his hand lay on yours were even worse.

You and Tom. Under the effect of an ancient love potion, which amplified attraction and lust between the two consumers drastically and irrevocably.

No known counter-potion. You had read the sentence over and over again when you studied the recipe.

Unknown duration.

Perhaps permanent.

You were fucking doomed, and if you weren’t so dizzy with heat and lust, you’d have laughed at the irony of it all.

Instead, all you wanted was—and even though you found yourself under the effect of the potion, the thought still disgusted you—Tom. 

You closed your eyes, pressing a hand down on your stomach.

Breathe in, breathe out.

Again.

Again.

Focused breathing provided you with momentary relief, but when you heard his voice whisper your name, hand on your shoulder, everything crumbled to pieces once more.

The only solution was to get away. As fast as your shaking legs could possibly carry you.

He called after you, but you couldn’t bear looking at him. You had to leave him behind with the mess you’d caused.

By the time you were back in your dorm, droplets of sweat had gathered over your eyebrows, and you stumbled into the bathroom before your roommates could see the state of you.

A horrified gasp escaped your lips when you took a look in the mirror.

Your pupils were blown wide, skin glowing with both sweat and heat, lips swollen, your fingers trembling as they reached for the buttons of your uniform.

You tried hot showers, cold showers—still, none of them were enough to dull the effects of the potion.

The heat in your lower abdomen never left, pressing for relief—relief only one person in this entire world could give you.

Regrettably, also the last person you’d ever consider for something like this.

You’d rather suffer the consequences of your own actions for the rest of your life.

Additionally, you weren’t sure if it would work. Perhaps it would worsen the effects. Make you more drawn to him than you already were. Perhaps it’d tie you to him—consummate whatever this potion had started.

Fuck, you were beyond doomed.

When Slughorn asked about your progress the next day, clearly worried about you, you merely said it was going fine. That you’d turn it in soon.

You didn’t dare tell anyone about this.

And whenever Tom merely looked your way, let alone approached you—you turned the corner, fleeing the scene.

His gaze felt scorching hot on your skin, even from afar.

You weren’t brave enough to find out what it’d feel like if he touched you. If his hands drifted lower, if he—

If you allowed yourself to chase what you’d been craving ever since that day.

・・・

PRESENT

When your friend handed you her keys to the Prefect’s Bathroom, you could have kissed her. Literally. This day especially has been more than draining, having to endure two classes with Tom and couples kissing and hugging in every corner of this godforsaken castle.

You wish for nothing more than to hide beneath the safety of your duvet, read a book, take a cold shower.

Cold showers work better than warm showers to dim unwanted thoughts and the fuzzy feeling in your tummy, you’ve figured out.

And that’s exactly what you’ll do—after visiting the prefect’s bathroom.

A bath is what you crave. The spacious tub filled with warm water and bubbles would work perfectly to calm your running mind—it always did.

Neatly folding your clothes and resting them on the counter, you step into the warm water, eyes fluttering closed as you take a deep breath.

The scent of roses and bergamot fills your senses, working well to relax your tense muscles when you lower yourself into the water, letting the warmth surround you.

Your eyes remain closed, focusing on your breathing instead of the slick between your thighs—instead of the image of Tom leaning over you, pearls of sweat on his forehead as he slowly—

No.

Breathe. Just breathe.

You haven’t dared touch yourself, allow yourself the release you so clearly needed. Too afraid it would make everything worse than it was.

Your thoughts shift to the upcoming months, to spring, remembering how much you love the season of new beginnings. To what will await you this summer after you told your professor you wouldn’t be able to complete the assignment in time.

Surely Diagon Alley must have some open retail spots to offer, right?

・・・

Tom didn’t mean to leave his dorm so late. He in fact had no business being out this late, however, there was something that called to him—not far from his prefect’s dorm on the fifth floor. Not a voice or anything alike, but rather a feeling, a pressure in his abdomen which he’d grown awfully familiar with.

That day in the potions classroom, you had taken the worst of it—most of the substance spilled on you, only bits of it splashed onto his bare skin.

Good for him, bad for you.

All this time, ever since it happened, he’s been well aware of the predicament you two are in. Unrelenting lust and attraction, especially when close to the other person.

He’s taken notice of just how often you shifted on your seat during class when he is near, how you flinch each time his eyes slowly drag over your body, from the bare skin of your neck all the way to your ankles.

Tom has never liked the sentence “unknown duration, no counter-potion.” in textbooks.

Simply because it is not true.

Every potion is reversible, or at least repressible. The same is true for duration—if a recipe doesn’t specify the duration, the witch or wizard inventing it was merely too lazy to research it.

Tom had taken over that work before he agreed to supervise you. While the duration can vary from person to person and is greatly dependent on the amount and quality you consume, it is rarely more than a month. A month and a half in very severe cases.

Given that it’s been over a month and the effects still seem to rage on, you must’ve absorbed the majority of the potion supposed to improve your grade. The potion which would’ve earned you the top spot of the class, given the excellent quality.

Too bad.

Tom’s symptoms, on the other hand, had dimmed enough for him to tolerate your presence again.

And while it is true that there is in fact no counter-potion, a solution to halt the effects of the potion does exist. At the very least, the lust part can be stopped.

Because love cannot be created with this potion—it misses key ingredients for that effect. Love can only be enhanced—given that it already exists.

Tom’s lips curl into a smile at the thought that has plagued him for days.

Love cannot be created. Only enhanced.

You’d been tasked to brew a potion in order to improve your grade—and accidentally revealed something both of you have failed to realise all these years.

That the fuzzy feeling when he beat you in an exam has never been caused by him outscoring you, but rather because he enjoyed seeing your adorable pouty and irritated face after.

Now, if you only let him talk to you, he could tell you all of this, and if you so wished, leave you alone with that information—but you strictly avoided being near him at all costs, which left him no other choice than to leave you to suffer by yourself.

・・・

You don’t hear the door handle as it is pushed down, don’t notice the footsteps nearing you from behind. The only thing you do finally notice is the very familiar voice, immediately sending a shiver down your spine and tearing you from your daydream.

“As far as I can recall, the Prefects’ Bathroom is for prefects only,” Tom says calmly, eyes slowly drifting over your exposed skin as you attempt to cover your chest as best as you can with your arms.

“Tom, what the— leave! We can’t— I can’t—“ you stumble over your words, lowering yourself further into the bubbles until the water reaches your chin.

“No,” Tom interrupts, taking a few more steps forward, watching the horror on your face grow. “You can’t. You can’t be here.”

“I will leave. Just let me— get dressed. In peace.” You say, wincing at the last words when he’s just two steps away, and his eyes watch you intently—skin feeling as though his lingering gaze might light you on fire any second.

“You’re in pain.” He states as though it’s a well-known fact, as though he isn’t just as affected as you are.

Is he?

“It’s the potion. You aren’t helping it by being here. Just let me leave, and let’s forget about this.” You try, not daring to look up at him, afraid of what it may do to you.

Tom just scoffs, sitting on the edge of the tub and reaching to cup your face, turning your face to his.

You draw back at the contact, but he doesn’t let go—no longer affected, you figure.

“Let me help you.”

You swallow tightly, thighs inevitably clenching at the tone of his voice. “What? How?” 

His fingertips trail down the side of your neck, and you flinch away—but he follows.

“We can leave it at that. A one-time thing. Nobody has to know. If you want that. If you don’t—I’ll give you the privacy to get dressed. It’s up to you.”

It’s up to you.

You’ve sworn to yourself you won’t go this far—but his touch has once again worsened your symptoms, and all you want is for this to stop. You know Tom well enough to believe he won’t suggest things as such for no apparent reason—especially not with you.

And you could always obliviate him if he did lie.

Tom has already moved to stand, taken a few steps towards the door when you call after him.

“Wait. Riddle, wait.”

He stops himself from smiling before he turns back to you, watching you for a moment before he returns to your side.

“Please— please help me,” you whisper, finally looking up at him.

・・・

Tom strips himself of his clothes before you get the chance to change your mind. The water is above his preferred temperature when he joins you, but in that moment, he can’t bring himself to care—too focused on you, your tense features and the heat that radiates off you. Not the water, he is sure—but you.

After all, the potion hasn’t really worn off for either of you—he merely didn’t suffer any longer.

But he does feel it—the connection between you.

Love cannot be created. Only enhanced.

So close to you, your bare skin centimetres from touching his as he lowers himself beside you, he wonders how the both of you could’ve possibly missed it for this long.

“Do you trust me?” Tom asks lowly, brushing his fingers along the inside of your arm.

You huff silently, clenching your jaw before you answer. “What other option do I have? This is torture. If this helps, I will do it—just this once. It won’t change anything between us.”

The corner of Tom’s lips lifts into an understanding grin. “You’re quite the romantic. Not how I imagined my Valentine’s Day to go, I must say.”

You roll your eyes at his attempt to ease the tension between you two.

It’s electric—the air between you charged like the sky on a stormy summer evening, right before lightning strikes.

“We both know damn well you didn’t have a date besides your books today, Riddle.” you say humourlessly, though the dig doesn’t ease the smile from his face.

“Close your eyes.”

You inhale a deep breath before you follow his words, eyes fluttering closed, focusing on the humid, scented air around you, on the warmth the water provides to your tense body.

His hands part your thighs as soon as he feels you relax against the wall, the contact drawing a sharp gasp from your lips. With his fingertips trailing down the inside of your thighs and his breath hot against the side of your neck, he swiftly makes you forget any leftover doubts about this.

When his fingers descend further, inching closer to where you’re most sensitive for him, he kisses you just below your jaw, stealing your breath from your lungs—and he uses that moment to dip between your folds, groaning when he feels your arousal coat his skin.

“So wet. And it’s all for me,” he purrs, circling your entrance before he sinks a single finger inside, soon followed by a second.

You can’t see the smug smirk playing on his lips, but you can very well hear it.

“Fuck you, Riddle. Stop teasing and do something for Merlin’s sake,” you hiss, bucking your hips to meet the shallow thrusts of his wrist.

“Hmm,” he hums, brushing his lips down the length of your throat, stopping to nip at your skin here and there, interrupting his infuriatingly slow and tender touch to circle around your clit instead, never directly touching it. “Like this?”

This insufferable bastard.

“Please, Tom. Please just— fuck me,” you pant, every rational thought consumed by the pressure that has built in your lower abdomen, burning for release, anything—

Luckily for you, these words seem to do the trick.

You feel his hand move away, positioning himself between your legs instead—the head of his cock trailing along your slit, gathering your arousal before he pushes inside. You gasp at the same time he does—and it feels so natural, him here with you, that you almost forget it isn’t—that this is your doing, your mistake which made Tom as addicted to you as you were to him.

He sinks into you so slowly, with so much restraint, you wish this wasn’t Tom Riddle but anyone else. Anyone else, who’d just fucking take what they wanted instead of acting responsible.

“Mmph—“ you whimper at the faint sting as he pushes deeper, your nails digging into the skin of his toned back, leaving crescent marks beneath them.

Once Tom’s hips are flush with yours, you exhale a shaky breath, resting your head on the edge of the tub. Your eyes remain closed, but oh how you wish to see his expression in this moment. His eyes, most of all. 

They have always told the most about him.

Tom, on the other hand, wishes he could tell you to look him in the eyes as he sets a slow pace, withdrawing inch after inch before slamming back inside you. He would make you look at him when he pushes you to your limits, frees you of your suffering. Make you thank him for it afterwards.

Though, there is a good enough reason for him to miss out on perhaps his only ever chance to see you like this.

The potion and eye contact.

“Tom, please move—“ you whisper, opening your thighs wider for him, eyebrows drawn together as though his gentleness pained you.

“Poor thing,” he croons in response, flattening his tongue over your hardened nipple. “You’ve been suffering on your own for so long.”

“Fuck, Riddle, I—“ you exclaim, and your eyes flutter open before you can stop yourself.

The second they meet his, you realise why he told you to keep them closed.

The potion. Fuck, the potion.

A spark flashes behind his dark brown eyes and he groans, fingers digging into your thighs where he’s holding you open, breathing heavily.

Neither of you looks away. Neither of you can look away. It’s as though you’re in a trance—consumed by each other and the sensation of being pressed to each other so tightly.

Your breath comes in short gasps, and as though hypnotised, your trembling hand reaches for his neck. His jaw clenches, but he doesn’t stop you when you pull him closer to place a kiss on his lips.

When you part, his expression has softened, and his hands move underneath the water to wrap around your back and draw you closer. He’s positioned you so your legs are wrapped around his back, chest to chest, steadying you as he kneels with you in his arms.

You don’t complain about the intimacy of it.

“That’s why you should’ve kept your eyes closed, sweetheart. Because of this, you understand?” Tom growls, giving you a single, deep thrust that has a moan spill past your lips.

“Because I won’t be able to— fucking hold back.”

You shake your head softly, a smile playing on your lips before you lean in, kissing along his neck and marking him with bites and hickeys.

“Then don’t,” you say simply, so casually he just looks at you for a moment in disbelief.

“Remember, this is what you wanted, understand?” Tom rasps lowly, fire lighting up in the mahogany brown of his eyes.

“Yes— fuck me, Tom— just—“

You don’t get to finish your plea before he plunges back inside you, knocking the air from your lungs, dipping your head to rest on his shoulder. His hands are splayed on your back, and so are yours on his own, nails clawing at his skin so roughly, you draw blood.

Tom, though—he couldn’t care less. He’s lost in the warmth of you, of how snugly and perfectly your pussy feels wrapped around him—if anything, the sting amplifies his pleasure.

Your combined pants and moans echo off the walls in the bathroom, so loud that if this wasn’t late at night, you’d be afraid someone would hear you. 

Not that you care, either way. 

The feeling of his cock filling you so wholly makes you forget about anything but this. His thrusts, once gentle and soft, are now the opposite—rough and demanding. Stretching you open for him, and just him.

The heat in your tummy grows with each perfectly angled snap of his hips, and when you think you can’t take it, when it becomes too much to bear, you lift your head to meet his eyes.

“Tom I— I can’t,” you plead, but he merely shakes his head.

“Just a little longer. You are right there, darling. Look at me,” he rasps, his fingers tangling in your hair to keep your eyes on his.

You frantically shake your head, but then, he kisses you. His lips move against yours gently, betraying his harshness where you’re connected.

You suck in oxygen when you part, and Tom instead bites down on your neck—pushing you so close to the edge of your own orgasm, you cling to him more tightly.

Your walls spasm around his cock, nestled deep, as you mumble incoherent words.

“There you are. Come for me, doll,” Tom encourages, reaching between you to circle your swollen clit with expertise that leaves you no choice but to do as he said.

With a broken moan, the first waves of your orgasm wash over you, your entire body feeling as though on fire. But it feels good, relieving—so amazing, you cling onto the feeling as long as you can before you go limp in his arms, resting your head on his chest.

You didn’t even notice he finished until he withdraws, the warmth of him staying behind.

None of you exchange a word, Tom having moved to a sitting position with you cuddled into his side.

He didn’t lie. His touch doesn’t affect you any longer, and the other effects of the potion have dimmed to a point you don’t notice them if you aren’t concentrating.

Beneath you, you feel his heartbeat slowing. Still, he doesn’t make a move to leave—instead, his fingers draw patterns on your hips, and he presses a kiss to the top of your head.

“Love cannot be created. Only enhanced.” Tom murmurs after a while, pulling you closer when he feels you shiver.

“What?” You ask quietly, too tired to make sense of his words.

A grin tugs on his lips, his thumb brushing along your cheekbone when your arm snakes around him and you chase after the warmth radiating off his body.

“Later, sweetheart. Rest now.”

thank you so much for reading! <3 feel free to reblog and leave feedback! :3 — masterlist. | oneshots.

©2026 viperify. please do not copy, translate or claim my work as your own.#

𑁤 general taglist:

@glowingatdawn @whimpurrin @cb97s-babyygirl

[hagiomoto]

Italy probes claim that tourists paid to go to Bosnia to kill besieged civilians

Italians and others are alleged to have paid large sums to fire at Bosnians risking their lives in besieged Sarajevo.

The public prosecutor's office in Milan has opened an investigation into claims that Italian citizens travelled to Bosnia-Herzegovina on "sniper safaris" during the war in the early 1990s. Italians and others are alleged to have paid large sums to shoot at civilians in the besieged city of Sarajevo. The Milan complaint was filed by journalist and novelist Ezio Gavazzeni, who describes a "manhunt" by "very wealthy people" with a passion for weapons who "paid to be able to kill defenceless civilians" from Serb positions in the hills around Sarajevo. Different rates were charged to kill men, women or children, according to some reports. More than 11,000 people died during the brutal four-year siege of Sarejevo. Yugoslavia was torn apart by war and the city was surrounded by Serb forces and subjected to constant shelling and sniper fire. Similar allegations about "human hunters" from abroad have been made several times over the years, but the evidence gathered by Gavazzeni, which includes the testimony of a Bosnian military intelligence officer, is now being examined by Italian counter terrorism prosecutor Alessandro Gobbis. The charge is murder.

13 November 2025

This is disgusting.

[obsessivevoidkitten]

The Program

Pack of Male Forest Wraiths x Gender Neutral Reader CW: Noncon, kidnapping, mild medical tests, breeding, non-human dicks, general yandere behavior, licking, mention of musk, bukkake, cum as lube Word Count 1.7k Summary: Monsters require humans to breed. Humans have realized how crucial monsters are to the environment and so compatible humans are given to a pack of monsters to sustain their numbers.

Monster cum transforms the insides of compatible humans, no matter their gender, and makes them capable of impregnation by monsters.

Your mandatory testing determines that you are compatible. (Commission for @lyteatus, the forest wraiths are visually based on wendigos.)

Ever since the dawn of human history, there have been monsters. Intelligent creatures lurking in the shadows. All monsters are men, and they can only reproduce by mating with compatible humans.

Whether the human is male or female doesn't matter. If they are compatible with monster semen they have monster offspring. The semen itself would transform the insides of such humans, making them able to carry monster babies.

Due to this, in the past, monsters kidnapped and raped many humans in order to find any that they may be able to impregnate.

A lot of time had passed since then. Humans have become much more technologically advanced. For a while, humans were able to largely avoid being taken by monsters, but they realized that monsters were needed for a healthy world.

Now, there were conservation areas for monsters. Advanced screening techniques allowed humans who were capable of being bred with monsters to be found and paired with a monster pack that they'd be most suitable for.

The chance of being monster compatible was low, so you never really thought much about it.

When you were of age for mandatory screening, you went in and got the test done just like everyone did. You never expected the doctor to come back to you in the waiting room with two buff security. Your heart sank as they approached.

"You are very lucky! You get to participate in the conservation of monster kind!"

The security workers had you get to your feet and follow the doctor.

"Now we just have to see what exciting pack you'll be helping!"

The next few days were filled with genetic tests, blood work, and psychiatric evaluations. You were biologically compatible with any monster species, not uncommon for people like you, but you may be fertile for certain species over others.

They also had to see which you'd be a good fit for psychologically.

All throughout the process, your fervent pleas for a retest, that there must have been some sort of mix-up, fell on deaf ears.

You had been informed that you were to be paired with a pack of endangered forest wraiths.

You had seen them, but only in documentaries. They were tall and lanky, ribs visible through their furred skin. They stood on two legs but had hooved feet. Their heads were deer-like and skeletal, topped with antlers.

You were marched up the wall of their protected environment and forced to go down a slide leading to your new home. You cried as slid down. You begged at the bottom, trying futilely to go back up.

No one could hear your cries. No humans anyway. They had already left. Your suitors heard you, though, and pinpointed your location with ease.

They gathered at the tree line, lurking out of sight. There were ten of them in this territory. They chattered away excitedly but in whispers in their own language. They were careful to remain unseen and unheard until they had determined what to do about you.

It was quickly determined that they would all share you as a mate, that's clearly why you were there. They could just sense that you were one of those special humans who would give them many babies. They were beyond thrilled, they were all virgins who had formed a pack in search of a mate. This was typical for many monster species, many of them leaving home and forming their own male harems that shared a mate since they were so scarce.

They began arguing amongst themselves over who would be the first to breed you. They made too much noise.

You turned away from the wall you had slid down from and silently scanned the trees, not even daring to breathe.

Yellow eyes could be seen in the shadows. They were communicating with each other but didn't seem to be watching you so you made your escape.

As quietly as you could, you followed the wall away from there. You hoped to find a breach of some sort. Or even something you could use to climb up it like a downed tree.

You heard a rustling in the distance behind you. The snapping of twigs.

You bolted.   Your attempt at a stealthy escape had failed, now it was time to throw caution to the wind and RUN. There wasn't enough cover near the wall so you went into the woods. Rationally speaking there was never a snowball’s chance in hell that you would ever manage to outrun an entire group of long legged forest wraiths, especially not in their own territory, but terror demanded that you try your best.

You ducked and weaved through the branches, the one advantage of your smaller form being that you could fit into tighter spaces among the trees.

But in your haste you didn't pay enough attention to where your feet were going. You tripped and went careening down a hill, rolling down through the dirt and low lying bushes. You came to rest at the foot of a tree, smacking into it hard with your stomach.

Though covered in scrapes and bruises you managed to avoid any serious injury.

You groaned and started to get up but were met with piercing yellow eyes staring down at you.

They sniffed and licked your wounds, you could feel the slimy muscles as they swiped over your abrasions, they clambered over themselves to make sure you were okay. You struggled but were powerless to escape.

The forest wraiths were relieved to see that you were okay but were dismayed at your crying. Poor thing had a scary fall. Needed your nice new mates to let you know you were all safe.

They took you back to their nest. Carefully taking turns cradling you as they made their way there.

It was a large den under some larger trees, nestled within the great root systems. It had rooms of every purpose but the one they wanted you nice and tucked away in was the chamber used for sleep.

As much as they wanted to just strip you down and fuck you full of their babies they resisted the urge. They wanted you to be at least a little acclimated to your new home before emptying their balls into you.

They tucked you into a bed of furs and soft moss before bundling themselves around you. Their earthy musk surrounded you as you sobbed yourself into a fitful sleep.

Over the course of the next few days you were fed, clothed, and cuddled constantly by the forest wraiths. They gave you their undivided attention, as much as you would have preferred not to have it.

Slowly you began to adjust to your new home. When they noticed you no longer flinched when they moved towards you, no longer hesitated to eat what they fed you, they decided that you were ready. And you were about as ready as you could be, given the circumstances.

"Our mate will adjust a lot quicker once nice and bred!"

"Yeah, that's probably why they're still so gloomy!"

"Having babies will make it much more like home for them~"

They wrestled amongst themselves to determine the order in which you would be bred by them.

When they all gathered around you in the burrow that night they had a hungry glint in their eyes. They didn't cuddle around you like normal, instead surrounding you while standing, causing you to curl into yourself in fear at what they were about to do.

Judging by their slimy cocks peeking from their musky sheathes you knew you weren't going to like it.

They pulled your limbs open and pinned them down after stripping you of every scrap of clothing. You shivered as the cool air of the nest caressed your bare skin.

A moist cock kissed your thigh while a probing tongue claimed your mouth. Noses and tongues were nuzzled into nearly every inch of your body while the largest forest wraith propped your legs up on his shoulders and drove his cock into you.

The tapered tip and natural lubricant coating it allowed it to slide into you with no prep, it slowly thickened within you, stretching you out gradually with each movement.

Your lover could feel your every moan and twitch reverberate around his cock and it didn't take long for him to be pulled over the edge, spilling the first load of many into you.

He stayed hilted in you for a few minutes, riding out his pleasure with a few last lazy thrusts into you as his twitching cock oozed out a few final drops of cum before pulling out and letting the next wraith take his place.

He pumped into you much harder and faster than the first one, having been far too excited by the show he watched before him to go gently.

You babbled and drooled around the tongue plundering your mouth as many pairs of hands greedily groped and massaged your body.

The ones watching and touching you decided they couldn't wait any longer and couldn't resist stroking their thick cocks above you or grinding them against you. They wanted to last longer too so blowing their first loads over you before taking their turn in you would help with that.

The one currently inside you lasted about as well as the first one. Maybe even less so given his friend's cum was lubing up his cock so well.

You came hard soon after he did, panting from the unyielding onslaught of sexual stimulation.

Each of the ones after that lasted much longer given their earlier loads were already covering you. Though the first ones circled back and took additional rounds inside of your well fucked hole.

They kept going through the night and well into the next morning.

The cum was already transforming you, converting your insides into something able to produce little monsters. You were extremely exhausted throughout the process. Luckily your many mates cleaned you up and made sure you were well fed and as comfortable as you could be.

Their seed had surely taken hold and they couldn't wait until their lair was filled with the sounds of baby forest wraiths.

You were less enthusiastic about the future, but there was no way you would ever escape your new mates.

[mountainoread]

Pick a Card : What will your future spouse find attractive about you? 𝜗𝜚˚⋆

pile 1 ⋆.𐙚 ̊. pile 2 ⋆.𐙚 ̊. pile 3 ⋆.𐙚 ̊.

mentions of 18+ please do not read if you’re a minor thank you.

⊹ ࣪ ˖ ❕🤍disclaimer : tarot readings are generally for entertainment purposes only. These readings are not professional advice, including legal, financial, or medical guidance. They are considered general, not personal, and should be used with intuition. Users are responsible for their own actions and decisions.🤍❕⊹ ࣪ ˖

as promised this is the pick a card reading you guys voted for on the poll. I hope you’ll enjoy this reading! I have a lot more readings for you soon I’m so excited!!♡

- ori𐙚

🫧𓂃pile 1

the sun, page of swords, 3 of cups

Your future spouse will be completely captivated by you not just by how you look, but by how you exist.

They’re drawn to your hair, your back, your shoulders… the way you look in dresses, the way you carry yourself with confidence. Your voice stands out to them. When you walk into a room, especially at celebrations or gatherings, you light it up without even trying. You’re like a muse in your future spouses eyes. They love watching you interact with other people, almost like they’re studying you in awe. Even when you’re just busy doing something random, they find themselves staring. They love your chest area for sure. They like taking pictures of you, the random ones you don’t even know they’re taking, but they also love when you pose intentionally. They probably look at the pictures you post online too maybe even stalk your Instagram a little because they’re fascinated by the way you present yourself to the world. There’s something really cute about you. I heard “tripping” are you clumsy? 😂 They might secretly think it’s adorable when you are. You have this natural pure and youthful energy about you. Even if you’re in your mid 30’s you feel light, playful, and young at heart. You’re not overly serious. You’re curious, communicative, funny sometimes without even trying and you make them laugh effortlessly. That innocence mixed with cleverness? They find that incredibly attractive. You’re positive. You don’t obsess over what could go wrong. You just live. There’s something hypnotizing about you. I specifically feel like sometimes they get stuck looking at your legs, or maybe it’s the way you walk and move. Your energy just flows. They may even imagine you as a mother one day and find that beautiful the way you play with children, how naturally nurturing and connected to your inner child you are. You respect kids and teens as human beings, you don’t dismiss them, and that says a lot about your heart. You’re gentle but not naive you’re pure because you choose to be.

You’re also very free. You don’t suffocate people. You don’t force anyone to stay. You give others space, autonomy, and freedom and that makes them feel safe with you. At the same time, you’re clever. You know what’s going on. You know the tea in different friend groups. You read between the lines. You’re observant and curious, especially about creative or interesting things. Sometimes you even use that youthful, innocent energy to smooth over conflict or talk your way out of tension keeping the peace in a way that feels natural, not manipulative. That balance of fun, intelligence, and lightness is magnetic. There’s something about you that makes them feel free enough to explore, to drop their guard, to just enjoy the moment without overthinking. You make things feel easy and light mentally, emotionally, and maybe physically too. You stimulate their mind. You’re like catnip to them. Maybe you guys play board games or card games.

18+ I just heard “I like to f#ck everybody” 🤨 now what’s that about? maybe you like to have fun in THAT way lol??? like you are very OPEN like that, maybe that’s ur idea of fun lol are you guys maybe into thre#esomes???😭 or maybe they are? idk lol they find attractive that they can just let go with you and be happy and have fun and not worry too much. Maybe you guys like to play games in bed? Like s#x games?

I hope you enjoyed this reading, take care love!♡

🫧𓂃pile 2

ace of cups, queen of pentacles, 4 of pentacles

They’re deeply drawn to your natural beauty. Your future spouse is very attracted to your neck and décolleté, your hands and your arms. They love your hair especially when it’s open. There’s something about you that feels organic, healthy, glowing. You give Empress energy very abundant, very grounded, very feminine. You look very fertile and that’s very attractive to them. You look expensive. Maybe it’s the way you dress, the way you carry yourself, the perfume you wear, or just your aura overall you look and smell luxurious. There’s a richness to you, and it’s not only about money. It’s in your presence. But at the same time, you probably do make your own money. You’re financially independent, work minded, controlled, and focused. If you don’t have a lot now, you will in the future. Your future spouse finds that extremely attractive. You can provide for yourself. You don’t need them to survive, and that makes them want you even more. They know you don’t need them and you provide for yourself. You could leave them at any moment. You’re not gonna let anyone disrespect you and you’re very emotionally mature, you’ll do what’s best for you and you are not worried because you can provide for yourself they think this is really attractive.

They love how possessive you are over the people you love especially over them. It makes them feel chosen. It makes them feel wanted. And at the same time, they’re likely possessive over you too. There’s a mutual possessiveness here. You give divine feminine energy. You’re intuitive, emotionally intelligent, and mature. You’re empathetic. There’s innocence to you, but it’s not naivety it’s purity. You feel like a breath of fresh air. Your presence is healing, calming, nurturing. Being around you probably feels safe and warm.

18+ they’d definitely wanna get u pregnant (consensual of course!!) like for sure cause like I said u look very fertile.

I hope you enjoyed this reading, take care love!♡

🫧𓂃pile 3

queen of cups, 6 of cups, ace of wands

You come across as very feminine, soft, gentle, and kind. There’s something youthful about you, you probably look younger than your actual age. To them, you’re not just pretty you’re hot. You genuinely turn them on. Your eyes and your lips might stand out the most, there’s something very captivating about them.

Your energy feels warm and healing. You’re likely a great listener. You’re very loyal, emotionally mature, romantic, sensitive, sometimes even a little shy. You have this nurturing presence that feels safe. You’d make an amazing mother or maybe you already are one. There’s a softness in you that feels comforting. Sometimes you might overlook red flags for the sake of love, because your heart is just so genuine and forgiving. You give them the feeling of stability, comfort and safety. You have strong motherly qualities and they are deeply attracted to that. It’s like you give them the love and support they’ve always needed. Your heart is pure and innocent. You might even be the type to give small thoughtful gifts just because and they absolutely love that about you. You make their inner child feel safe and happy. In a way, you’re the nurturing figure they may have always longed for. Your presence alone feels healing. You’re compassionate. You forgive. You care deeply. And in their eyes, you are the ideal partner, the ideal mother. That’s very attractive to them. They imagine building a life with you.

18+ you look fertile like this person really wants to get u pregnant like seriously pile 2 also got this message but for this pile it’s like very clear!! I think even tho you have all these soft, feminine and motherly qualities you have a very spontaneous, kind of daring and confident side to you. You are probably very attractive in bed to them, it’s giving lady in the streets freak in the sheets lol. Like you guys will love the se#x for sureee it will be hella good. I mean they for suuuuree wanna get u pregnant for sure (obviously it’s going to be consensual!!!). But like the se#x is also going to be suuuuper good like exactly what you like and want and need just it’s going to be super good and passionate for both of you.

I hope you enjoyed this reading, take care love!♡

© mountainoread𐙚 | 2026