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gf2bellamy · 2 days ago

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hey girl!

Just read someone talking about a tiktok where the boyfriend sits with his plushies and watches and corrects his girlfriend as she teaches him as a way of studying for exam.

Maybe a PhD!student!reader x early!season!spence with this plot and he gets all cheery and claps whenever she gets a topic right idk

Hope that made sense😶‍🌫️

Love ya! 😘

studying — spencer reid

pairing: spencer reid x fem!reader ( no use of y/n ) content warnings: established relationship, fluff , reader has an exam, earlyseason!spencer <3 a/n: hi hi !! this isnt the first message i've received abt this tiktok video ( i feel like i'm the only one who hasnt seen it?) but its so spencer so i just had to write this <3

You stared at the whiteboard, its surface cluttered with half-erased scribbles, bullet points, and arrows pointing in increasingly uncertain directions.

The markers were beginning to dry out, and your brain too.

You squinted at the words, trying to will them into making sense, but they just sat there smugly, refusing to reorganize into anything remotely coherent.

Behind you, Spencer sat cross-legged on your bed, half-buried in a sea of plushies that had taken up residence there during your all-night study sessions.

He didn’t seem to mind. In fact, you were pretty sure he was enjoying himself.

The way your nose scrunched when you were frustrated, the way you gestured wildly when you finally connected the dots. He loved it when you taught him things, even if he already knew them.

You sighed and dragged a hand through your hair. “Okay, I give up. I’ve explained this same thing four different ways, and I’m still confusing myself.”

Spencer didn’t answer right away.

When you glanced back at him, he was gently repositioning a lopsided stuffed bear, straightening its little bow tie with delicate precision. He caught your gaze and smiled, warm and a little shy.

“You’re not confusing,” he said quietly. “You’re just tired. But I think you're explaining it better than you think you are.”

You let out a breath somewhere between a groan and a laugh, turning around to lean against the edge of your desk. “Then why does it feel like none of it’s sticking?”

“Because you’ve been at this for hours,” he said, shifting slightly and patting the spot on the bed beside him. “Come sit. Let’s go over it again.”

You hesitated, eyeing the whiteboard one last time like it might suddenly throw you a bone. It didn’t.

You had discovered early on in your relationship that Spencer was an excellent study partner—not just because of his eidetic memory, but because of the way he listened. He absorbed information like a sponge, but more than that, he made you feel heard.

When you explained concepts aloud to him, it forced you to articulate them clearly, and his occasional corrections (always gentle) kept you sharp.

With a reluctant sigh, you crossed the room and dropped onto the bed. A stuffed alpaca flopped sideways onto your lap, and Spencer gently rescued it before it fell off the edge.

“This one likes to supervise,” he said with a grin, setting it back beside you like it was part of some official plushie committee.

You couldn’t help but smile. “He looks judgmental.”

“Motivational,” Spencer corrected with a soft laugh. “He believes in you.”

You rolled your eyes but felt your shoulders relax for the first time in hours. He turned toward you, expression open and attentive.

“Okay. Tell me again about the difference between quantitative and qualitative methodology. As if you were explaining it to someone who knows absolutely nothing about it.”

“You do know something about it,” you teased.

“Humor me.”

You exhaled slowly, gathering your thoughts, and launched back into your explanation.

As you spoke, Spencer nodded, asked the occasional gentle question, and—when you got slightly off track—interjected with the quietest correction, always phrased like a suggestion instead of a critique.

It didn’t hurt that he looked at you like you hung the moon.

Every time you nailed a concept—delivered a term with confidence, or remembered an example from your research—he clapped.

Actually clapped.

Not loudly, not obnoxiously—just a few soft, sincere rounds of applause, the kind that made your cheeks flush and your heart squeeze in your chest.

“Well done,” he said softly, his eyes glowing with pride. “You’ve got it.”

You chuckled and glanced at the plushies around him. “I think they’re helping. You’ve got a whole committee of motivational support there.”

Spencer paused, then grinned sheepishly. “Well, they are great listeners.” He reached down to adjust a stuffed elephant’s little bow tie, his eyes gleaming with quiet joy.

You continued explaining. Eventually, your words started flowing smoother, more confidently. You stopped stumbling over the terminology.

By the time you reached the end of your explanation, you felt like maybe—maybe—you actually understood what you were saying.

You stood up again, feeling the need to walk around as you grabbed another marker and began scribbling new diagrams on the whiteboard.

“And then… that’s it,” you said, your voice more certain now as you stared at the board, watching the last piece of the equation fall into place. You took a deep breath and turned back to Spencer.

His expression was pure warmth—bright eyes, a grin so wide it almost seemed to take up half his face.

"Exactly," he said, his voice soft with admiration, before clapping again—this time with more enthusiasm.

You couldn't help but grin back, your heart swelling with a sense of accomplishment and gratitude.

That smile of his, so genuine and so full of pride, made all the hours of frustration feel worth it. He didn’t look tired—not even slightly. Not after hours of watching you scribble, re-explain, stumble, and try again.

Spencer didn’t show a hint of impatience, and that made you appreciate him even more.

In fact, he looked downright adorable sitting there—cross-legged on your bed, surrounded by plushies, still so full of energy and enthusiasm.

You let out a breath, feeling the weight of the night lifting off your shoulders. You had done it. You got it.

“I think… I might actually get some sleep now,” you said, laughing a little as you leaned against the whiteboard for a moment, suddenly exhausted.

Spencer chuckled softly, setting down the stuffed elephant he’d been gently adjusting for the past few minutes, his eyes twinkling. “Sleep sounds like a good idea. But if you need to go over it one more time, I’m happy to help.”

You shook your head, a fond, tired smile playing at the corners of your mouth. “I think you’ve helped enough for tonight.”

He shrugged lightly, an endearing gesture that made you feel like he was constantly giving you more than you could ever ask for.

"Anytime," he murmured, voice warm like the tea he'd made you three hours ago that now sat cold and forgotten on your nightstand.

You turned back toward the whiteboard, eyeing the chaotic scrawl of diagrams and notes that had once felt like your mortal enemy.

Now, it just looked like progress.

“I think we can erase these,” you mumbled, already reaching for the eraser.

Spencer padded up behind you, quiet as ever, until you could feel him just over your shoulder.

“You sure?” he asked, his voice low and teasing, lips brushing just behind your ear. “Might want to keep it up for nostalgia.”

You rolled your eyes, grinning. “Spencer, it’s a jumbled mess. Half of it looks like it was written during a caffeine-induced breakdown.”

“That’s the charm,” he said, tightening his arms around your waist briefly before releasing you just enough to grab a nearby marker.

“Besides, this little guy deserves a spot in the Smithsonian,” he added, circling a particularly squiggly doodle of a triangle that had somehow gained angry eyebrows and a caption that read ‘Qualitative gremlin.’

You laughed, letting your head fall back against his shoulder for a second. “Oh no, not the gremlin.”

“He has theories,” Spencer said solemnly.

“You are the gremlin,” you shot back, elbowing him gently in the ribs.

Spencer feigned offense, but the grin that lit up his face gave him away. “Rude,” he said.

You finally began to erase the board, slow satisfying swipes of the eraser wiping away all the hours of stress and scribbled confusion

When the last marker stain was finally wiped clean, you stepped back to admire the blank space like it was a newly renovated canvas.

“Look at that,” you said, arms crossed, satisfied. “A fresh start.”

Spencer hummed in agreement beside you. “Symbolic.”

You glanced at him. “For what?”

He tilted his head, thoughtful. “Tomorrow. The next chapter. Your well-deserved nap.”

You let out a sleepy laugh. “God, yes. That.”

He smiled, then reached out and gently tapped your forehead with his index finger. “Go lay down, before you try to start another lecture.”

You caught his hand before he could pull it away and gave it a small squeeze. “Only if you’re coming with me.”

Spencer’s smile widened, eyes soft as he laced your fingers together. “Lead the way, professor.”

#spencer reid x reader #criminal minds fanfic #criminal minds fanfiction #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid x you #criminal minds x reader #spencer reid #criminal minds #criminal minds x you #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid fanfic #criminal minds fic

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coryndoll · 1 day ago

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❛ we make each other alive . .

does it matter if it hurts? ❜

I’M COMING, WAIT FOR ME.

PLOT you enter the hunger games a proud weapon of your district, only to find your sharpest blade is the boy beside you, and you’re not sure which one of you the capitol wants to break first.

CONTENT chapter one, best read in dark mode, blood, meeting the mentors, tribute parade, not too much rafe and y/n interaction YET but it’ll come sooner than you think.

main masterlist | tag list | previous next

you’ve been on trains before. nothing like this one.

this one is too smooth, too fast. you barely feel it move. the windows blur with tunnels and sleek, metallic walls outside, sometimes breaking into vast stretches of nothing but gray-blue light and darkness blinking like a heartbeat.

you sit alone in a chair that could probably buy someone a house. everything is red velvet and gold trim, like the whole train was stitched together from the capitol’s pocket change. it smells expensive, too, like citrus and fake flowers.

you’re still in your reaping dress. someone said they’d bring you new clothes soon. someone else took your measurements. you don’t remember who. your ears have been ringing since your name was called.

rafe’s across the room, stretched out on the other side of the glass table, one leg over the other like he’s posing for a photo. he hasn’t said much. his face is unreadable, blank, but not stupid, like he’s already memorizing escape routes. or maybe he’s memorizing the names of every other tribute so he can picture them all dead.

his jaw clenches when the train shifts again, barely noticeable unless you’re looking.

you are.

the tv flickers on in the far wall. someone’s playing back the reapings.

district 1’s girl looked dangerous. all eyes and confidence. her male counterpart practically flexed his way down the stage. typical.

2 is you and rafe. 3, 4, and so on.

none of them look particularly terrifying. not yet. they will, once they’re all cleaned up and shoved into costume and trained to kill. but right now most of them look like scared kids in too-big shoes. even the ones who try to smile.

you both just watch the reapings on the screen to fill the silence, but nothing sticks. no one looks that threatening. yet.

then the door hisses open. enobaria, one of the few living victors in two, steps in first. she’s tall, composed, her glossy dark hair pulled back in a ponytail that looks too tight to be comfortable. she’s dressed sharp, tailored, like someone with nothing left to prove. and her teeth . . . they catch the light when she smiles. pointed. sharpened. but she doesn’t bare them unless she wants to.

she gives you both a once-over. “stand up,” she says. her voice is calm, but still firm. rafe stands first, slow but steady. you follow, legs stiff from sitting so long. your stomach turns with the train, or maybe it’s her.

behind her comes brutus. he’s massive, silent, and broad-shouldered like a living wall. he doesn’t bother with a greeting. just closes the door behind them and lets the quiet settle.

“so,” enobaria says, crossing her arms loosely. “you’re the ones we’re working with this year.”

brutus grunts. it might be agreement.

“you look the part,” she adds, tilting her head. “though i heard someone got a little messy getting here.”

her gaze slides to rafe. not judgmental, just amused. rafe shrugs, unbothered.

“he shoved me first.”

brutus narrows his eyes. “you still broke his nose.”

“he was weak,” rafe says. “he would’ve died in the first five minutes.”

you glance between them, curious how this will go.

enobaria lets out a short laugh. “well, he’s not wrong.”

brutus doesn’t laugh. but he doesn’t press, either. “next time, control the impulse,” he says. “you’re a tribute. not a brawler in the street.”

rafe gives the smallest nod, jaw tight.

enobaria moves closer, nodding toward the door. “come on. let’s talk where it matters.”

they lead you down the corridor to the next train car. it’s some strategy room, clearly. it’s darker, more utilitarian. the walls are lined with screens, a long table set in the center surrounded by deep leather chairs. maps of the arena’s past years flicker faintly, and files are stacked at brutus’s side.

you sit beside rafe. he leans forward with his elbows on his knees. you sit straighter, eyes flicking across the maps, learning. everything matters now.

“this is where we get to know what we’re working with,” brutus says, finally breaking the silence. “we’ll go over schedules soon. training days, interviews, assessments. but first—we need to know you.”

“what’d they teach you in the academy?” enobaria asks, sitting across from you. her eyes land on you first. “what’s your strength?”

you don’t hesitate. “blades. close-range combat. throwing knives too.”

“accuracy?” she asks.

you nod. “tight grouping. fast recovery. high hit rate.”

she lifts an eyebrow. “mental?”

you pause. then, “i don’t freeze, i think under pressure. i read people.”

“hm.” she taps her nails against the table once. satisfied.

“you?” brutus turns to rafe.

“hand-to-hand,” rafe says. “blunt weapons. axe, mace, staff. trained in a few chokeholds.”

brutus nods slightly. “pain tolerance?”

rafe’s mouth quirks at the edge. “pretty high.”

enobaria hums. “good. we can work with that.”

that makes brutus look at him a little longer. not smiling. but almost pleased. “you’ve got potential,” brutus says simply.

“both of you,” enobaria agrees. “we’ve seen enough tributes over the years to know who’s dead the second they get off the train. you two—”

“they might have a shot,” brutus finishes.

you glance at rafe. for the first time, he’s looking at you too.

“now,” brutus says, dragging a folder closer. “you’ll have three days in the training center before assessments. we need to talk presentation. strategy. we want sponsors watching you from day one.”

“confidence,” enobaria says, pointing at you. “you’ve got that, i can tell. play it up. don’t act like a victim. victors don’t come from people who want to be liked.”

you lean back a little, arms crossed.

“this year’s tributes look soft,” brutus says. “a few big ones from four and eleven, but no real killers. not yet.”

“that gives you an advantage,” enobaria says, gesturing lazily. “you walk into training like you’re already the ones to beat. let them know you’re district two. let them fear you.”

rafe leans forward slightly. “what about other strategy?” he asks. “like alliances?”

brutus smiles for the first time. it’s not kind. “you make them. you break them. that’s up to you.”

“but don’t expect loyalty,” enobaria adds. “only one of you walks out. remember that.”

her eyes slide to yours, thoughtful. “are you planning to be the one?”

you answer before you can think, “i don’t plan to die.”

brutus lets out a short, sharp laugh. it’s not mocking, it’s approval. “good. that’s the attitude.”

you feel your pulse steady a little. faster than it should be, but controlled.

you don’t know what’s coming exactly, but it’s war. and at least now, you know who’s on your side.

brutus stands then, massive and silent, nodding toward the door. “we’ll regroup before we reach the capitol.”

enobaria follows, pausing in the doorway.

“get some rest,” she says. “you’ve got a lot of blood to spill.”

you see the capitol from the train window as it pulls into the platform, and for a second, it feels like something’s crawling beneath your skin. there’s a quiet itch that tells you this is not your home. this is the center of the world that wants you dead, but dressed up pretty when it does it.

they lead you through long marble corridors, ceilings stretched so high it hurts your neck to look. peacekeepers flank every corner, faceless in their stark white armor. everything smells sterile and expensive.

you’re taken to the third floor. district 2’s floor. brutus tells you it’s yours now, until you’re dead or crowned.

your apartment is bigger than any home you’ve ever lived in. warm lighting, silver walls. there's fruit in glass bowls, too, and a view that wraps around the city like a threat.

but there’s no time to rest. your prep team is waiting.

they descend on you like insects, swarming with excitement and thin, practiced hands. you lose count of how many of them there are—two? three? one has pink hair styled in loops, another wears latex gloves and talks only in hums. they’re gentle, mostly. methodical.

they strip you down to nothing and pretend not to notice the bruises on your ribs, the dried blood under your nails, the way your lip is still swollen from the reaping.

you sit still through the scalding bath, the scrubbing, the waxing. they touch every part of you like you’re a project, like you’re not a person. they remove every piece of you that looks too human, like body hair, scars, dirt, blood, pride.

when they finish, you feel hollowed out. but also . . . polished. like a weapon pulled clean from the forge.

they leave, giggling, promising to return. and then the door clicks open again, and in walks your stylist.

her name is valis.

she’s tall, not much older than you, with skin like obsidian and eyes rimmed in silver liner that somehow makes her look even sharper. her hair is shaved close on one side, the rest pulled back into a thick braid wrapped in gold wire. she wears all black, all angles. she looks at you the way someone looks at a blueprint, deciding how best to make it a masterpiece.

she doesn’t smile.

instead, she steps closer, circles you once, and says only: “you’ll be unforgettable.”

you believe her.

valis doesn’t ask you many questions. she tells you how it’s going to be.

“district two is masonry, strength, legacy. they expect you to look like gladiators, yes, but that’s easy. what they won’t expect is how we make you divine. not just killers, but symbols.”

you’re fitted into a bodysuit made of something metallic and matte, like iron but soft to the touch. dark, gunmetal gray that catches the light and splits it. sculpted pieces of armor are fitted onto your shoulders, chest, arms. not bulky. sleek. molded to your frame like it belongs to you, like it was always yours, waiting.

etched into the armor are fine lines, maps of old battlegrounds, wars lost and won, mountains cracked open for stone. the designs shimmer faintly when you move.

your hair is pulled back, tight and regal. your face is left mostly bare, just sharp contouring, metallic powder across your cheekbones and down your collarbone.

valis places a final piece on you: a headpiece like a crown, low and fierce. a brutal, elegant circlet of dark steel or iron, shaped like a blooming crown with jagged upward spikes, mimicking both a rose’s thorns and the carved stonework of district two.

“you’re not just from district two,” she says, fastening it. “you are district two. they’ll see you and remember why they’ll root for you.”

when you step out of the prep room, you see rafe across the hall. he looks like he’s been carved out of stone.

his stylist’s clearly coordinated with valis. the look is sharp, sculptural. thick, slate-gray armor plates molded over a fitted black base layer, like cracked stone pulled from a mountainside and reforged around his body. there's silver powder dusted into the creases, like light catching between bricks. his shoulders are draped with some idiotic black cape lined with marble-patterned fabric that sways just slightly when he moves.

he looks less like a boy and more like a statue brought to life.

your lips twitch, and he notices, takes his time dragging his eyes from your war crown down to the laced boots hugging your calves.

“nice crown,” he says, like he’s trying not to smile. “very queen-of-the-quarry.”

you arch an eyebrow. “nice cape. looks like something they pulled off an old memorial statue.”

“i was going for intimidating,” he deadpans. “you know, before we get turned into national entertainment.”

“i think we’re already that.”

he glances at the armor shaped tight to your ribs. “yours actually fits,” he mutters. “mine’s like walking around in a coffin.”

you tilt your head. “that’s because mine was made for a victor.”

he gives you a look for that. flat, unreadable. but there’s a glint in his eye you’re starting to recognize.

the dry amusement. the you’re just as annoying as i am, and i hate that i like it kind of look.

“you look like a funeral,” you say, nodding at his costume.

“you look like the reason there is one.”

you pause, slow grin. he breaks first, just a small exhale, a breath of something close to laughter. it's sharp and quiet and it doesn't last. but it’s there.

and that’s the problem. you don’t want to laugh with him. you don’t want to see him like this. not when you're both dressed like weapons, walking toward your own slaughter. and yet, you like it. more than you should.

valis claps once behind you, sharp like a whip crack. “positions!”

you climb into the chariot first. rafe follows.

your mentors are waiting nearby. brutus doesn’t say anything for a long time. just looks at the two of you like he’s seeing a dream come to life.

then finally: “if you die dressed like this, it’ll be the most expensive mistake the capitol’s ever made.”

enobaria grins wide, fangs flashing. “you’ll burn them down,” she says. “and look beautiful doing it.”

district 1 steps out before you, draped in diamonds, glinting like fire. they’re tall. smug. perfect.

but when you and rafe mount your chariot and the horses start to move, you can feel it already. there’s this roar rising before you even reach the avenue.

the horses pull forward, muscles rippling beneath their sleek coats, hooves clacking steady against the marble-like ground. you’ve seen this parade before, sure, through a screen. but nothing prepares you for the real thing.

the crowd is massive. oceans of color and sound. glittering costumes, faces painted in horrifying beauty, hands reaching up, voices screaming for names they don’t even know yet. and you, you're on that screen now. you’re one of them. you’re the face they’ll remember.

and you’ll give them something worth remembering.

you stand tall, head high. your shoulders are pushed back, chin lifted like you were born to be here. and in a way . . . maybe you were, born to bleed in front of them, born to make it look good.

rafe doesn’t say a word beside you. you don’t need him to. he stands just as tall, just as cold. the two of you balance the chariot like matching statues—his side, your side. equal presence, equal pride. he doesn’t lean in, doesn’t try to whisper. he knows better. right now, this is a game of image, and you both know how to play.

you see district one’s chariot just ahead, gold and jewels and arrogance, but hear the pitch of the crowd shift when yours rolls out. louder. more excited. more curious because there’s a kind of danger to the two of you that can’t be replicated with glitter.

district two doesn’t come to entertain. you’re here to conquer.

your costume shifts when you move, metal and leather catching the overhead lights. your headpiece is heavy, it presses down on your skull like a threat. but you keep it there like it’s second nature.

when the chariot turns the corner and the path begins to narrow, your gaze lifts, and there he is.

president snow.

standing tall atop his ivory platform, hands folded neatly in front of him, white rose pinned to his chest like an omen. he watches like a god. and you hate the way your chest tightens just looking at him.

it’s not awe. not fear, exactly. just that reminder that no matter how tall you stand, he still sees you as small.

your eyes flick sideways. rafe’s jaw is tight. his brows pulled just slightly, just enough for you to see it. he feels it too. but he doesn’t waver. and neither do you.

you nod, just once. it’s not warm. it’s not for comfort. it’s strategy. we don’t falter. not here. not in front of him.

and then, you feel it.

the shift. the slip.

a slight release of pressure from your crown before it clatters, sharp and metallic, against the chariot floor. it bounces once, then rolls to the edge. off. gone.

you don’t move. rafe doesn’t either, his posture iron beside you.

you don’t even look down. not a twitch. the crowd hasn’t noticed, not really. the cheers are too loud, the cameras too high up. but you saw the way the district three tributes flinched behind you, their eyes darting to the fallen headpiece like it was the first drop of blood in the arena.

they’re worried for you. maybe even pitying.

you feel heat crawl up your neck. not from shame. from rage.

you hate when people assume they should be afraid for you. like you can’t handle the weight of a crown. or a mistake. or a punishment.

you meet their gaze over your shoulder, cold, sharp, unblinking. mind your business.

and then you turn back to face the capitol like nothing ever happened. spine straight. chin high. head bare, but proud. the spiked crown left behind like a piece of armor you never needed in the first place.

the parade ends in a slow blur of heat and noise.

hands reach for you and rafe immediately, belonging to security, staff, some faceless intern pulling you both down from the chariot with quick, trained motions. the horses are led off. the chariot’s rolled away.

you’re still standing tall, armor stiff, head bare, skin humming with leftover adrenaline when you’re guided toward the group already waiting near the edge of the staging area.

valis stands front and center, perfectly composed. she spots you both, gaze flitting briefly to the empty space where your crown once sat, but she doesn’t say it. not directly.

“i’m sure someone’s already picked it up,” valis offers instead, her voice light, easy, like she’s talking about a misplaced bracelet instead of a political symbol. “it’ll be returned to your suite. no need to worry.”

you don’t answer. just raise a brow, lips parting slightly in that resting expression of yours that always seems like a threat in disguise.

beside her, enobaria steps forward, more practical in her approach, arms crossed but face impressed.

“you stood like killers,” she says, nodding with approval. “not scared. not too smug. like you belong in the arena already. the way you claimed your space . . . people will remember that.”

you glance briefly at rafe, who looks equally unimpressed. good.

“i told you they’d pull it off,” valis adds, half to enobaria, half to herself. “i knew they would.”

their escort pipes in with a sudden clap of her jeweled hands. she’s tall, with pale pink skin painted in shimmery swirls, lashes curled up like petals, and an updo stacked so high it nearly brushes the overhead lights. her name is cassaline, and she literally sparkles when she talks.

“this is so thrilling,” cassaline squeals, already guiding you both toward the elevators with her arms open like she might actually try to hug one of you. “i cannot wait to show you your floor! i know you’ve already seen the dining room but your bedrooms are simply to die for! and i know you’ve had such a long day but—oh—it’ll be quick, i promise! just a little peek and then you can sleep like champions.”

you almost laugh. like champions.

rafe walks beside you, quiet, his shoulder bumping yours lightly as you’re led further into the hall.

you feel brutus’s presence more than you see it. he’s behind you both, a wall of silence. but something makes you glance over your shoulder. and you catch it.

he’s not looking at you. he’s watching something over your shoulder, just past your line of sight.

your eyes flick past him, slow and casual, until you spot them. there are clumps of tributes lingering in small groups. district four, five, six. stylists, prep teams, mentors. they're laughing, murmuring, adjusting costumes. but their eyes?

their eyes are on you. not just glancing, but watching. a few lower their heads quickly, whispering. a few don’t even try to hide it. like maybe they expected something out of district two. and maybe now they know they were right to.

you hold their gaze for just long enough to make them uncomfortable. good.

then you look back at brutus. and finally up at rafe, who meets your glance like he’s been expecting it. like he saw it all, too.

“get me out of this,” you mutter, your voice low, clipped, directed at valis without even turning her way. “i want to lay down.”

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jraker4 · 11 hours ago

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Thing is, on a surface level I can get the whole ‘disapprove of following the letter of the law’ aspect of Judaism. On a surface level, an initial thought process, I can understand how the thought occurs. But…sticking with that thought fails one of the, probably the most important parts of, empathy, which is meant to be one of the most important parts of multiculturalism and tolerance. Which leftists and liberals certainly claim to be good at:

It’s to ask ‘what does this practice mean, *to them?* Meaning the folks that actually live it. ‘What does this feel like, to me?’ is only the first step in the process. What it feels like, initially, to me is sneaky but…kinda in a good way? Like, ‘respect the hustle’ sort of way?

Maybe I get that from an amalgam of cultural appreciation for trickster heroes in folklore, or something. I come from a Christian background, but I’m not and my family certainly hasn’t been heavy in it. Not in the fundamentalist ‘god fearing and it’s *good*’ sort of way. The initial disapproval I partly feel probably comes from that, because *that* part of my background points to ‘tremblingly obey God, and be happy about it’. And ‘tricking’ God damned sure doesn’t fit that bill. ‘Outwitting’ God? Hell no. Pun intended.

And if I didn’t take the next step of empathy and understanding, if I didn’t ask ‘what does this tradition mean, *to them?*’ I probably would be left with a foundational wariness and borderline mistrust of Jews, on top of all other cultural antisemitism I’m steeped in. But once I ask that question, it becomes immediately clear ‘hey, on this question, these human beings come from a different tradition entirely than mine, and it’s not one steeped in smug disrespectful cunning at all’. But you gotta ask the question, consciously or otherwise.

I think a whole shitload of liberals and leftists have really bought into the American stance of ‘if I’m not a hood-wearing, sign-waving, card-carrying bigot with a lust for violence front of mine, I’m not a bigot!’ and they forgot that it applies to more than just conservatives and moderates. It always did.

There's this really frustrating goyish idea that Jews are always finding "loopholes" or "tricks" to violate the "spirit of the law" when it comes to observing Jewish law. No, they're following Jewish law. All ways in which one can follow the law are equally "in the spirit of the law" because the law's purpose is to be followed. The idea that finding easier ways to observe religious rules means "tricking" god or doing something otherwise shameful is reflective of Christian philosophy. Suffering is not virtuous in Judaism. Penance is not the purpose of Jewish law. Judaism is meant to enrich the current lives of its community, not ritualize hardship for some unknowable divine purpose.

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badkitty3000 · 13 hours ago

Text

The Bodyguard

Chapter 7

<-Chapters 1 and 2

<-Chapter 3

<-Chapters 4 and 5

<-Chapter 6

Five Hargreeves x female reader, multi-chapter COMPLETE, request

Summary: Five is hired to protect you, a professional ballet dancer, from an obsessive stalker. As the threat from the stalker escalates, Five must navigate his growing feelings for you while keeping you safe

Warnings: Smut, rough sex, choking, bathtub sex, after care

A/N: Thank you to everyone that read this story! I really enjoyed writing it. A special shout-out to @thesilvertheorist for helping me out with the ballet facts, I hope I got it mostly right 🥰

Chapter 7: The Boyfriend

You were awoken the next morning by a loud bang from somewhere within the Academy. The sun was already up, shining through the small window of Five’s bedroom. Today you didn’t have to be at the theater until later in the day, so you and Five had been able to sleep in. Which was a good thing, considering you hadn’t gotten that much sleep during the night. As it turned out, Five’s libido had been turned up to eleven and you were woken up more than once by persistent kisses and his rock hard erection pressing up against you.

Not that you were complaining.

But you were tired now, and you sunk deeper into the bed, burrowing your face into Five’s chest.

“What’s going on?” you asked, your voice muffled.

“Hmmm?” Five answered, still half asleep.

Then you heard another loud noise, this time accompanied by a voice.

“Fivey! Hey, you here?”

Five’s eyes flew open and he sat straight up in bed, making your head drop onto the mattress. “Shit.”

“What’s going on?” you asked again, this time a little more annoyed. You rubbed at your eyes. “Who’s here?”

Five groaned and ran a hand down his face. “Klaus.”

“Your brother?”

Five nodded. “Shit,” he said again, untangling himself from your body and stumbling out of bed, almost falling on his face as he grabbed his boxers off the floor.

Just as Five had them pulled half-way up his legs, the bedroom door flung open.

“Oh, there you are! Jesus, I’ve been looking all over for–” Klaus stopped mid-sentence when he saw Five hastily tugging his underwear on while you pulled the covers up over your chest. “Oh shit…” Klaus gasped. Then he broke out in a huge grin. “Wait… Fivey! Is this her? The ballerina?”

Klaus stepped around Five to address you. “Hi, I’m Klaus, I’m sure Five has told you all about me. I think I can speak for our entire family when I say that it’s about damn time someone took the old man here to Pound Town. He really needed to do the ol’ lust-and-thrust, if you know what I mean.” He made a lewd gesture with his hand. “Poor guy… the pressure has just been building and building, and I was telling him just the other day that he could stand to play a game of hide the cannoli before it falls off and –”

Five grabbed Klaus’s arm with a yank and they both disappeared in a flash of blue, leaving you blinking bewilderedly into the space they had just been occupying.

From the other room you heard the aftermath.

“What’s the matter with you, Cinco? OW!”

“What's the matter with me?! What’s the matter with you?!”

“OW! Stop hitting me!”

“NO! You’re lucky I’m not armed right now!”

“OW! God damn it, Five! You’re acting like a lunatic!”

While the two brothers were arguing, you hopped out of bed and pulled your clothes on. Then you snuck out of the bedroom and into the living room. Five’s entire body was coiled tight and he breathed like a bull through flared nostrils. The fact that he was standing there in just his underwear, with his hair sticking up in every direction, and clearly wanting to kill his brother, made you laugh. You covered your mouth when Five whipped his head in your direction.

“See? She thinks it’s funny,” Klaus said, pointing at you. “Thank goodness she has a sense of humor, you crabby old bastard.”

“Shut. Up. Klaus.” Five spat out through gritted teeth.

“Five, it’s ok,” you assured him, although you weren’t entirely sure it was ok. Five really looked ready to explode. “It’s not a big deal.”

“Yeah, it’s not a big deal,” Klaus added helpfully. “So I caught you in a pants-off-dance-off; so what? I’m happy for you! You finally found someone to touch your wiener and personally I think that’s beautiful.”

Five covered his face with both hands and groaned. “Fuck my life.”

Trying your very best to keep from laughing at the entire situation, you walked up to Klaus and officially introduced yourself.

“It’s nice to finally meet one of Five’s brothers,” you said. “I hear enough about you.”

“I bet he says I’m his favorite, right?” Klaus joked.

“Actually… yeah,” you said with a smile.

Klaus gasped so dramatically with a hand on his chest, you thought he might fall backwards onto the floor. “Fivey! I knew it!” He reached out to hug Five, but was met with a look that meant he would surely meet his demise if he even attempted any physical contact.

Klaus backed off, but he grinned at Five. “I told you, didn’t I? I told you she would jump your rickety old bones.”

“He jumped my bones, actually,” you corrected.

“Oooh… such a horny old man… I love that for you!”

“Klaus?” Five said.

“Yeah, buddy?”

“For the love of god… GET THE FUCK OUT!” Five yelled, his neck muscles straining with the effort.

Hardly fazed by his brother’s outburst, Klaus turned to you. “Well, I better go because I can see that twitchy look in his eye and I don’t really feel like making a trip to the Void today. But it was very nice meeting you, you seem lovely.”

You laughed. “Thank you, so do you.”

“Bye, Fivey… don’t do anything I wouldn’t do!” Klaus called over his shoulder as he walked into the foyer and you heard the door close behind him.

You looked at Five, staying silent lest you piss him off anymore.

“Sorry,” he said, clearly still fuming.

“Five, it’s fine. I don’t really care. And I’m not really sure why you’re so angry.” You paused and thought of something. “Are you ashamed to be with me?”

Five’s eyes widened. “What? Of course not!”

“Then why are you so angry?”

Five sighed. “I was just… I don’t know… I just wanted to keep you for myself for a little bit longer. Now Klaus is going to blab his mouth to my entire family and pretty soon all of my idiot siblings are going to be down here, putting in their two cents. For some reason they feel the need to always comment on my life choices.”

You breathed a little sigh of relief, then went to him, circling your arms around his waist. “I think they just want you to be happy.”

Five rolled his eyes. “Them leaving me alone would make me happy.”

You squeezed him tighter and kissed his cheek. “I think you’re a big liar.”

Five raised his eyebrows, settling his hands on your hips. “You’re calling me a liar?”

You nodded. “Yep.”

With a sad shake of his head, he hoisted you over his shoulder while you shrieked out loud. “Help!” you cried with a laugh “I’m being taken against my will!”

“Sorry, sweetheart… no one is coming to save you,” Five said solemnly before blinking you into the bedroom and tossing you onto the bed.

******************************

An hour later, after Five had finished his thorough torture of you, and you were allowed to shower and dress again, it was time to get going to the theater.

“I need to stop back at my place,” you told him. “I forgot my lucky hairpin.”

“You have a lucky hairpin?” Five asked skeptically as he buttoned up his shirt and tucked it into his pants.

“Yes. And don’t make fun of me.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it,” he said sarcastically.

“So, are you taking me there or not?”

“Who’s asking? The boss or the girlfriend?”

You shrugged. “Let’s say the boss.”

Five gave a lazy salute in your direction. “Then you got it.”

When you kissed him hard on the mouth, then pinched his butt, you pulled back with a smile. “That was the girlfriend.”

Five grinned. “Careful. I don’t want my boss to find out. She’s cute but she’s kind of crazy. She has a lucky hairpin.”

“So I’ve heard,” you said with a giggle.

****************************

Five drove the SUV up your long driveway and parked it at the top, in front of the house. You turned to him with a hand on the door handle.

“I’ll just be a minute. I know right where it is.”

“Hurry up, you don’t want to be late again.”

“Last time was not my fault!”

With a smile, Five turned off the engine. “True. I’ll take the blame for that one.”

“Wait here, I’ll be right back,” you told him as you hopped out.

You fished your house key out of the pocket of your sweatpants and opened the big oak door of your house, shutting it behind you. As you ran up the winding staircase, your footsteps echoed in the big mansion. You jogged into your bedroom, checking the top of your dresser where you sometimes throw your pins and barrettes when you get home from the studio. It wasn’t there, so you knew the only other place it could be was the bathroom.

Flipping the light on, you walked to the counter where you kept a small little dish with some jewelry and more hair stuff. Spotting the pin you needed, you lifted it out of the dish and smiled, tucking it into your bun. When you glanced up at the mirror, something odd caught your eye. One of the candles that lined your bathtub had been knocked over and was lying on its side. It was weird because you knew Five had cleaned everything up after your little sex romp the other night. You remembered because you had specifically made a comment to him about his OCD since he had lined up all of the candles in a perfect row.

Frowning, you reached over and set it upright again. You were going to ask Five about it when you got back in the car. Maybe he hadn’t been as thorough as you had thought. You flipped the lightswitch off and walked back into your bedroom.

As you crossed to the middle of your room, the hairs on the backs of your arms stood up for just a second and you paused. That’s when you felt something loop around your neck from behind.

Your initial reaction was to scream, but your voice was cut off before it could leave your throat. Whatever was around your neck was getting tighter by the second and you gasped and choked, trying to suck air in, or to make any kind of noise. In your frantic flailing, you backed up against a body. It was clearly someone bigger and taller than you and even in your panic you could hear their heavy breathing close to your ear.

It was your stalker. He must have broken into your house while you were at Five’s and had been waiting for you. The thought made you panic even more.

You brought your hands up, trying to claw at the rope or whatever it was he was strangling you with. When you felt it, though, you knew exactly what it was. One of the satin ribbons from your pointe shoes. That was the reason you couldn’t find one of them yesterday. He had somehow stolen it from the theater.

The ribbon was flat and slippery against your throat, and you couldn’t get your fingers underneath it to try and pull it away. You were strong, probably stronger than your attacker, so you started to fight back with all of your might.

Rearing up and throwing your head back, you slammed the back of your skull into his chin, making him cry out in pain. He held on, though, so you moved in the other direction, bending over and trying to flip him over your shoulders.

But he was too tall and you couldn’t get enough leverage. You realized you were going to run out of oxygen very soon.

“This could have ended differently,” he told you, so close to you that you could feel his hot breath on your neck. “But I wasn’t good enough for you.” He yanked the ribbon tighter. “Where’s your asshole boyfriend, now, huh?”

At that precise moment, Five was in the car, checking his watch. You had been gone several minutes now, which wasn’t cause for alarm, necessarily, but you had said you would be right back. He rapped his fingers on the console, trying to tell himself it was fine and to just give you a couple more minutes. After about thirty seconds, he let out a heavy sigh.

“She really is a tortoise, I swear,” he said to himself before blinking inside the foyer.

Five called your name up the stairs. When he didn’t get an answer, he thought that was weird, but maybe you were in the bathroom and couldn’t hear him.

There was a loud “thump” sound and then what sounded like shuffling of feet. Then he heard a man’s voice.

With his heart pounding in his chest, Five reached into the back of his waistband for his pistol, but there was nothing there. He realized, horribly, that he had left it in the car.

It didn’t matter, though. In one blink, he was standing at the top of your staircase. He heard another loud thud from your bedroom and sprinted towards it. When he burst through the door, he was met with the worst sight he could have imagined.

You were fighting for your life, kicking and struggling with everything you had, all while your face was turning blue and your eyes were bugging out of your head. Your stalker, the same man that Five had assumed he’d scared off, was trying to choke the life out of you. From the looks of it, he had almost accomplished his goal.

Five’s entrance distracted the stalker for a moment and in that fraction of a second, you flung your body backwards, slamming him against the wall. The impact made him loosen his grip just enough to where you could get your hands up under his arms, slipping under them and out of his hold. You stumbled forward, reaching for Five, but you had been deprived of oxygen for too long and the spots you had been seeing before your eyes turned to solid black. You fell to the floor in a heap, passed out cold.

Five stared in horror at your limp body. Then he saw red.

He blinked behind your stalker, catching him by surprise. With one arm flung around the front of the man’s neck, Five used his free hand to grab around his other wrist and pull backwards, choking the man just like he had choked you. Five then brought his knee up, slamming it into the small of the other man’s back, directly over his vertebrae. The stalker groaned with pain, the sound coming out strained and gurgling from his throat.

“I told you I’d kill you if I ever saw you again,” Five warned. “Did you think I was fucking kidding?”

As an answer, the man broke free of Five’s grasp, lurching forward to get away from him. He spun around, facing Five head on.

“This is your fault!” he screamed, his scruffy face contorted with anger and pain. “You ruined everything!”

Five blinked directly in front of the man, hauling his fist back and punching him across the cheek bone, where he heard a sharp crack. The man yelled out, but he fought back; swinging his own fist out and making contact with Five’s chin before he could blink out of the way. He didn’t let it slow him down, though, and Five jumped again, landing behind the man and kicking the back of his knees, buckling his legs. When he fell to the ground, Five stood over him, giving him a hard kick in the gut and making the man curl in on himself.

“You stupid fuck,” Five snarled, balling his fists up and staring the other man down. “Get up!” Five kicked him again, this time directly in the face, splitting his lip wide open and fracturing his nose. “YOU WANNA FIGHT ME? I SAID GET UP!”

Your attacker was broken and bleeding, moaning and clutching at his stomach, but he still wasn’t done. Taking Five’s direction, he slowly and painfully hauled himself up from the floor. He still held the pink ribbon from your shoe, now stained with blood.

He started to cry, tears slipping down his face and mixing with the blood running out of his nose and mouth.

“Why you and not me?” he asked pitifully. “Why are you so fucking special?”

Five smiled dangerously, letting out a low laugh. “See, that’s what you’re not getting, asshole. Neither one of us are special.” He looked at you lying on the floor. “She is.”

“I’M GOING TO KILL BOTH OF YOU!” the man screamed, right before he charged at Five.

Five was able to dodge another hit to the face, but the stalker’s next swing landed on Five’s back, right at the level of his kidney. He clenched his jaw and groaned in pain. He blinked again, this time just a few feet away, but it gave him enough of an advantage to deliver a powerful roundhouse kick to the man’s chest. It knocked him off balance and he staggered backwards.

Five took the opportunity to blink one more time, grabbing the front of the man’s shirt in both hands and shoving him as hard as possible away from him and towards the old, drafty window of your bedroom. As the other man was staggering backwards, Five lifted his foot and kicked him with all of his strength, directly in his stomach. That provided enough momentum to send the man flying backwards, right through the glass of the second story window.

There was a loud, high-pitched scream as he disappeared out of sight, and then a sickening “crack”. Then there was silence.

Five ran to the window and looked down. Directly below him was the lifeless body of your stalker, his back snapped in half at an unnatural angle, and draped over one of the cement lion statues that guarded your grandmother’s mansion. A trickle of blood seeped out of the corner of his mouth as his lifeless eyes stared back up at Five; the pink ribbon still clutched in his hand and fluttering in the breeze.

Five was glad the fucker was dead, but he didn’t have time to think about that right now. His main objective was you and he blinked to your side, dropping down on the floor and quietly saying your name. He gingerly moved your head so that he could rest it in his lap. He stroked your hair off your face.

You were breathing, he could see that at least. He leaned down, kissing you gently, before picking you up and laying you in your bed. He sat on the edge, next to you, and held your hand. He squeezed it and said your name again.

“Please wake up. Please.” He noted the dark purple line slashed across your throat from the ribbon, and he traced his fingers lightly over it. “Come on, sweetheart… I need you to wake up, now.”

Maybe you were inclined to follow his instructions even when you were unconscious, or maybe it was a coincidence, but at that moment your eyes fluttered open.

“Five,” you croaked out, your throat raw, and you coughed.

“Oh my god,” Five breathed out in relief. He pressed his forehead to your chest and squeezed your hand tighter. “Shit, I thought I lost you for a second.”

“What happened? Are you ok?”

Five chuckled and wiped at his eyes. He kissed your lips. “Of course you would ask that. Yeah, I’m ok. You’re safe now.”

“Where is he?”

“Gone. He can’t hurt you anymore.”

You coughed again, sucking in a wheezy breath. “Is he dead?”

Five nodded. “Yeah.”

“Did you kill him?”

He swallowed. “Yeah I killed him.”

You nodded thoughtfully for a moment. Then you managed a shaky smile. “I think you might be due for a raise.”

Five let out a loud and short laugh, and shook his head. “No. That was the boyfriend, not the bodyguard.”

********************************

You looked in the mirror as you stabbed your lucky hairpin into your bun and adjusted the strap on your costume. The dressing room was a flurry of activity as the other dancers put on their makeup and talked over one another with excitement. It was finally the opening night of Romeo and Juliet, and you were nervous but also confident. No matter how many times you performed in front of a theater full of people, you always got a few butterflies in your stomach. Right now, you had a few that weren’t caused by just the ballet.

Out of the corner of your eye, you saw Five standing off to the side, waiting near the doorway for you to come out. You smiled to yourself. He could have come in, no one else would have minded, but he wanted to give you some space. You took one last look in the mirror, making sure everything looked in place, and then went to find him.

“Hi,” you said cheerfully, resting your hands on his arms and squeezing his biceps.

“Hello, my love,” he said with a smile before kissing your cheek gently, so as not to smudge your makeup. “You look gorgeous.”

“Thank you.” You ran your hands down his chest, over his tailored suit, and adjusted his tie. “So do you.”

After a few seconds, Five’s smile faded and his eyebrows drew together. “Are you sure you’re ok enough to be doing this? You have an understudy, you know.”

“I have never missed an opening night, and I’m not going to start now.”

“Yeah, well, you probably never almost died before, either.”

“I promise I’m ok, Five.”

He reached out, gently tracing his fingers over your neck. The purple stripe that ran across it was covered with foundation, making it look like a shadow. “You can’t really see it anymore,” he mused.

“Stage makeup is amazing. It hides everything.”

“I’m still not sure about this,” Five said with a frown.

“I swear.. I’m ok. And I really need this. For myself.”

He nodded. “Ok, I get that.”

“And now you don’t have to wait in the wings. You can sit in the audience and watch it for real,” you told him with a big smile. “And then you can meet me right back here afterwards and I will be all yours again.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Again?”

“I meant still,” you said with a smirk.

“That’s what I thought.” Five leaned in to speak quietly, his cheek brushing against yours. “Remember what I told you.”

You traced your fingers over the lapels of his suit coat. “Don’t worry, baby. I’ll be thinking of you the whole time. Specifically what you will be doing to me later tonight.”

Five’s breath caught in his throat. “Did you just call me baby?”

“Yeah,” you said. “Do you like it?”

He thought for a second and nodded. “Yeah, I think I do. I like it a lot, actually.”

You smiled at the obvious turn-on you just discovered. “Good. Now go take your seat. You’ll be sitting with Stephan’s husband. He’s nice, you’ll like him.” You reached up to give him a small kiss on the lips. “I’ll see you later, ok?”

When you went to walk away, Five grabbed your arm, and you turned back. “Merde,” he said with a smile.

You raised your eyebrows in surprise, then you laughed. “Oui. How did you know to say that instead of good luck?”

Five shrugged. “I asked Stephan.”

“You’re amazing. You know it means–”

“Yeah, I know it means shit in French. I’m fluent in seven different languages.”

You rolled your eyes. “Of course you are.” You gave him another kiss, this time with a little more force behind it, even if that meant smudging your lipstick a little. “Thank you, Five. Thank you for caring and for knowing what’s important to me.”

“If it’s important to you, it’s important to me,” he said sincerely, and that was probably the first time anyone had said that to you.

**********************************

While Five went to take his seat and you waited backstage, warming up, you thought about all that had transpired in the last week. Five had killed for you. He had done it to save your life. And maybe you should have been a little more traumatized than you were, but deep down you felt safer than you had in a long time. Your stalker was no longer out there, watching you and waiting. You no longer had to look over your shoulder or jump at every shadow you saw. It was over, for good this time. And you had Five to thank for that.

The cops had been called, there was no getting around that. But with all of the evidence stacked up over the preceding weeks, with the letters and the photo and the restraining order, it was quickly deemed self-defense. They questioned you and Five separately and your stories lined up, so they moved on. The deceased wasn’t missed by anyone. He really was a nobody.

Your throat and neck were already starting to heal, even though you still bore the purple bruise from your ribbon. But that would fade. And you had been happy to get back to dancing. It was true what you had told Five. You really needed this performance to go well in order to heal something inside of you.

While you had been able to move on fairly well, you still had not been able to stay in your house. Instead, you had been staying with Five at the Academy. It was temporary, just until you could figure out how to sell your house and Five could find another place to live. But so far it was working out ok.

The nights weren’t scary anymore. Not when you were in Five’s bed, with his arms wrapped around you, and his body pressed to yours. It was the best feeling in the world, and sometimes you would pretend to be sleeping even after you woke up, just so that you didn’t have to move from your little piece of heaven.

As you made your entrance onto the stage, with the spotlight illuminating only you, you paused to scan the crowd. When you saw him, his sparkling green eyes looking back at you with nothing but adoration, he smiled the most loving smile. You really felt like Juliet, with Romeo comparing you to the sun.

The future for each of you was still uncertain, but for right now life felt pretty wonderful.

Tag List: @vera-arora, @loganskittycatears, @raggabashie, @coolspider-man101, @cincohargreeveslove, @moon6star, @hopefuldesignofkawaii, @dorkyfangirl24, @chifuyu-monam0ur, @tuanputri-magui, @little-forest-goblin, @i-liketoast, @groovydazephantom, @d4rkpasseng3r, @ur-moms-fav-whore, @dremnia, @iselinde, @whatsawagonwheel, @wawawafdtuhdjh, @marydbl, @rubixgsworld, @yangzpotter, @yourlocalbrellie, @1-is-loneliest-number, @ifellinto-fantasy, @mimi4morr, @em1989ts, @fndmsrndmyfckinglfe, @moonkitty59, @wonwon1e, @smt-obsessed, @strawberrymilk4k, @voteforevilthoughts, @xfanficluvrx, @losingmymindforsoobin, @sofiebikovi, @jana0509, @callmeankiii, @thedaythatidied, @80pairsofcrocs, @sweetxserenity, @defnotsunny, @pass-me-jeez-it, @sweetbabythrills, @starlitflora, @fatcatdaddyo, @effie-revelles, @benbarnesbitj, @mvvnnstarss, @x-e1, @lovelykwe

#five hargreeves x reader #five hargreeves x you #number five x reader #number five x you #five hargreeves smut #number five smut #tua smut #five hargreeves imagine #number five imagine #smut requests #number five fanfic #five hargreeves fanfic #badkittywrites

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yuurei20 · 13 hours ago

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Updated Silver Facts Part 20: Silver and Lilia (pt8)

Lilia has taught Silver the mark of a true warrior is being able to run across lotus leaves on the surface of water, which Lilia can do. Silver says, “I haven’t mastered that skill, so I’m not a true warrior yet.”

Silver relates a story that Lilia told him about a hero who could fire three arrows at once and hit three targets. Silver says he has yet to reach that point, but he works hard in the Equestrian Club and he does other forms of training to follow in the footstep’s of the hero from Lilia’s tale.

Silver says that as long as he keeps at it, he is sure that he will pull off the triple-arrow shot one day, and that a guard of Malleus’ must always build upon their strength.

At the end of the tale it is revealed that the hero in question was female, and Jamil reacts with annoyance to Silver burying the lede. Silver apologizes, saying that storytelling isn’t his strong suit.

Silver’s disliked food is officially listed as “Lilia’s cooking.” He is more willing than Epel to eat a pie with fish heads sticking out of it, explaining, “I don't see what all the fuss is. It isn't all that different from a lot of things l've eaten in my time…”

Silver says that the cooking at NRC left him awestruck, as aside from the meals he would make for himself, he grew up on his father’s “...particular brand of home cooking.”

When Lilia suggests he bake a cake for the NBC social Silver’s first response is “NO! Not that... Anything but that!,” and he physically intervenes when Lilia suggests roasting rats and lizards for food in his dream.

Silver volunteers to oversee the cooking and Lilia responds, “fae have far more sensitive palates than humans do. If you try to slip in anything funny, I'll know,” shocking Silver, to Lilia’s confusion.

During Culinary Crucible Silver says that he wants to expand his cooking repertoire in order to cook more enjoyable meals for Lilia, and to earn money so that he will be less of a burden on Lilia in the future.

Silver tells Riddle about how he used to fall asleep while learning to cook when he was younger which would lead to Lilia having to take over in the middle of the process. Silver says, “It never occurred to me just how much he did to keep me safe.”

#twstfacts #twisted wonderland #twstsilver #Silver #silverfacts

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madamsixx · 1 day ago

Note

I notice that no one ever asks you about stories. And considering that you read a lot. What are your top 10 favorite stories that you've read on Ao3 WP RF. I'm really curious 🤔

Omg!!!! No one has ever asked me this!!! 🥹. Okay, this is going to be hard for me. Just cause I do read a lot of stories 😂😂. But I can't just say what stories I need to explain why. So this is my list. And sorry it's 11 because I just couldn't get rid of any one of these. All these stories have left a huge impact on me. And nothing against any other stories that are not on this list. It's just these stories stood out. So I'll go from 11 being best, to 1 being my number ONE story that I LOVE!!! Okay...

11. Face Down In The Dirt: By @kabella Ao3.

My friend and mentor. She was my introduction to the M/M reading. In my opinion, she is the best Motley Crue M/M writer for Tommy/Nikki. Before her, I never looked at M/M reading. I wasn't interested in it. I'm a F/M writer and that's all I would read. One day I just happened to see a bunch of comments for a story of hers. And I started to read it. I was pulled in because of her writing. And I stayed in because of her humor. By the time I finished that story, I clicked the 2nd and 3rd story of hers that was written. I had forgotten that it was a M/M story. Out of all her stories. This one is my favorite. It was a controversial story because a lot of us who read it became divided to the point where some Tommy and Nikki lovers didn't want them together. And others did. We debated so much on that story. In the end, I was losing hope because I wanted them together but with the amount of negative comments saying how much people hated Tommy in the story because Tommy cheated on Nikki. I wasn't sure if she would be able to pull it off where the two of them could work things out. But she did.

10. In Bloom- By @x-solara-x Ao3

So I just started reading this story. And let me just say this story is so sweet, calm, and fluffy. Don't get me wrong I love thrillers, action, drama etc. But Solara is an artist in her writing. There’s something so soothing about the way she brings even the loudest rockstars into these quiet, introspective moments. Her writing feels like a warm blanket. Soft, thoughtful, and full of heart. What I especially love is how she writes older James and Dave with this kind of calm wisdom, like they’ve weathered storms and finally found a place to breathe. It’s not about the chaos or the wild past anymore. It’s about reflection, gentleness, and the quiet strength that comes with age. The way this writer captures that makes me feel safe like I’m watching two legends just be human for a moment. And that is extremely hard to do with writing James and Dave together. Considering their past. Also just to let you know, her story isn't finished. I'm looking forward to the next chapter.

9. Blasphemous Rumurs- By @backseatrhythm Ao3

I’ve always been drawn to psychological stories because they mess with your mind in the best way. They keep you guessing, questioning every little detail until the truth hits you like a brick. This story was a THRILL!!! A psychological psychopathic thrill! And I loved every second of it! This writer is very good at writing creepy things. I've read all her stories. This one stuck with me. With the way the writer introduced each character you know something is up with one of the characters. You just don't know which one. As the story goes on she made my heart start racing. My skin starts to crawl. My eyes bulge out of my sockets. I was so close to my phone screen reading like my life depended on it.

I remember being completely shocked at the end of this story when it was revealed that Lars was a psychopath who used to be in a mental institution. It caught me so off guard. When James finds out that Lars killed Cliff, I feel the same fear and disbelief he did. Like the ground had just been pulled out from under me. And what makes it stick with me even more is the ending…it doesn’t give you peace. It leaves you with this unsettling feeling, wondering what else Lars might have done that no one knows about. That kind of lingering dread is exactly why I love psychological stories. They don’t just end, they haunt you. And this story haunted me.

8. Don't Cry -By @kirk-says-wah Ao3

This writer knows how to reel in her readers. And one thing I love about her is that she can write any genre of a story. Whether it's horror, fantasy, science fiction, historical fiction, mystery doesn't matter. She can write it. And she writes it very detailed and very well.

Don't Cry is a mob story mixed with thrillers and suspense. And let me just say writing mob stories with thrillers and suspense is harder than people think. It’s not just about guns, loyalty, and power plays. It’s about pacing and tension, too. You’ve got to balance the gritty realism of organized crime with the kind of suspense that keeps readers on edge, and that’s tricky. The mob world already has so much built-in danger that raising the stakes without going over the top feels like walking a tightrope. Plus, every character has to feel authentic and ruthless, yes, but human, too. And she did an AMAZING job with that! She made me care about the people who live in this violent, high-stakes world. You feel for the children who didn't choose to be born into the world of crime. But have no choice but to navigate through that world of crime. I'm enjoying this story too much. It's not finished yet either. And something I love that this writer did, is that created a safe space on her Tumblr for everyone who’s reading her story to come and chat about their thoughts on it.

7. Quarter After One- By @ride-the-hammett Ao3

This is the story where I fell in love with Kirk and Lars. When I read this story, I felt the passion pouring out of every word. It’s more than just a plot or a well-constructed sentence. There’s a heartbeat in it, something alive. You can tell she truly loves these characters like they mean something personal to her, and that love seeps into every scene. It’s in the way she describes their flaws, their little victories, the quiet moments between chaos. It’s like she’s not just writing about them. She’s writing for them. And when you’re reading this story, you can’t help but feel that too. It hits you, that connection, and suddenly you care just as much as she does. One thing I truly love about this story. Is that she touches on the subject of bullying and how bad it can affect someone over the years. James who bullied Lars and Kirk in the past is seeking redemption. However, he doesn't know the magnitude of emotional pain he caused them in the past. And you feel the emotional scars that were left on Kirk. Especially because James was not only his bandmate. He was his brother. And I also enjoyed the story because, in the beginning, you see Kirk and Lars are afraid to express who they are to each other because of the bullying. But as the story goes on. They gain confidence. And they're able to slowly start exploring these hidden feelings for each other out in the open. There's so much more to the story. But this is what got me hooked.

6. The Right Kind Of Wrong- By @thenaughtynun Ao3

I love this girl and I love her writing. I especially love her because she knows exactly what she wants to write about. And what she's into. I couldn’t put the story down. It was insanely hot. The sex scenes were just dripping with tension and raw desire, but what got to me was the passion between James and Lars. James, being the older man, had this intense, control that made every moment between them electric, and Lars brought this eager, hungry energy that lit up every scene. Their chemistry was off the charts. It wasn’t just about the physical stuff, though that was scorching; it was the way they looked at each other, touched like they needed it, like they couldn’t breathe without it.

But beyond the heat, I felt for James at times. The author did such a beautiful job showing his insecurities. How sometimes he questioned if he was too old or if he was enough for Lars. It was so vulnerable and real. And Lars would always reassure James with such genuine love, like he wasn’t just with him for the thrill, but because he truly adored him. That emotional depth made the story so much more powerful.

5. Magical Metalheads- By @bethswritingblog1 Ao3

I re-read this story several times lmao. This story was the FIRST Metallica story I ever read. I knew nothing about Metallica. Nothing! I learned everything about Metallica because of this story. I was searching for Guns N' Roses stories. And then I just happened to come across a fantasy story called Magical Metalheads. I clicked it and read it. And couldn't stop.

This writer took me on a journey. A magical journey. A magical adventure. The story focuses on James and how the loss of his mom affects him throughout the story while getting himself into all kinds of trouble.

The way she wrote the characters was spot on. After every chapter, I had to look up how the guys looked and their personalities and also the real story of what happened. She brought the characters to life in her story. I loved the fact that I was able to read the boys starting this story off as crazy boys getting into mischief to becoming responsible men with families. But not only that she added the magic affiliation to it and them having soul marks. And one thing for me that I love, is unique stories. I thought that was amazing and brilliant how when they meet their soul mate, their names get written on their body parts.

She honestly had me smiling from ear to ear nonstop. I thought that I was there with them. And I love that she included the real stories of Metallica and the places they went to and added her fiction to it. I laughed, I got angry, I kissed my teeth, I cried when Cliff died, and swore when James kept messing up. She kept me engaged from beginning to end with all the adventures they went on with the emotions of heartbreak and finding love again. An amazing story that I will never forget.

4. Foxhill - By @blaumeise Ao3

This in my opinion is the best Gun N' Roses story that I have ever read. Again my opinion.

The Foxhill series, it's honestly one of the most amazing fantasy journeys I've ever been on. Duff is looking for work. And he ends up in a Town called Foxhill which is a place where witches, Wizards, Goblins, and all kinds of creatures live with magic and special powers. Duff is sick and Izzy who is a wizard, Axl a witch, and Slash a black cat are trying to save him as well as solving a mystery of some form of magic that's sucking people's auras and killing them. What I enjoy about the series. Is that she doesn’t just write a story; she pulls you into this world full of magic, suspense, and heart-racing thrillers. Every twist feels like you're right there with the characters, and what got me was the brotherhood. The way the characters lean on each other, fight for each other and stick together no matter what. It’s powerful. It’s not just about spells and fighting; it’s about what it means to be a family, chosen or otherwise. The story has some sad chapters in the series. I don't want to say what it is in case anyone wants to read it. But you’ll laugh, you’ll cry, and by the end of the series, you won’t want to leave Foxhill.

This author is amazing!!!! Just like Kirks-says-wah. She's able to write anything from any genre. Her stories are so unique that she draws people in. Has anyone ever read a story where humans are the pets and monsters are the owners!! And it sounds crazy but she made it work. She's a Guns N Roses writer. And Izzy is her main muse. And he's always miserable and getting himself into a mixup. And Duff is always there to help him. Axl is always hilarious in her stories. And it's weird because I don't know if certain parts of her stories are meant to be funny or not. Like this one scene in her story Insane. Axl got angry and smashed his cup on the ground hoping it would break. But it was a paper cup so it just bounced on the ground instead. I kid you not I'm even laughing while writing this. Her humor is very good. She's written a lot of stories. And there is no story of hers that I don't like.

3. Righthand On My Heart -By @boy-oneder Ao3

This is the second Metallica story that I read after Magical Metalheads. And I adore this story. Like I'm smiling writing about it right now.

It's one of those stories that grabs you from the very first page. It's about Dave Mustaine, this no-nonsense club boss who's used to being in control until things start spiraling. He's in a relationship with Kirk, a younger man who used to dance at his club. And Kirk brings something real and tender into his chaotic world. But when a huge chunk of money goes missing from Dave’s club. The money he has to pay up to the big boss in just three days. It kicks off a dangerous race against time. Suspicion creeps in, pressure mounts, and the tension just keeps rising.

What's so compelling is that it’s not just about the missing money. It’s about trust, danger, and love. Dave is desperate to protect Kirk, so he brings in James. An armed and mysterious figure tasked with keeping him safe. But he does more than that lmao.

But you start questioning everyone's motives. There’s suspense, a twisty love triangle, a thrilling sense of urgency, and so much emotional weight. The story is unpredictable and honestly, just fantastic. I couldn’t stop reading. It's not finished yet. The writer has said they will come back to it. So, I'm patiently waiting and excited for when they do come back.

2. Not For All My Little Words- By @aimbuddylist Ao3

This is another story where I had to go back and re-read it again.

I don't know if this will make sense to anyone else. But there’s something magical about the way she writes. Like every sentence has been soaked in emotion before it’s laid down on the page. Her words don’t just tell a story; they sing. It’s not even that she’s using big, fancy language or complicated metaphors. It’s the rhythm, the quiet grace in how she chooses her details. She can describe a cracked teacup or a rainy sidewalk and somehow make it feel like a whole universe is hidden there. Her prose feels like poetry, and it lingers in your chest long after you’ve finished reading.

What gets me is how she writes about heartbreak and healing, about silence and longing, and there’s this undercurrent of truth in every line that makes you stop and just breathe it in. I find myself rereading passages, not because I didn’t understand them, but because I want to feel them again. She doesn’t just write stories. She paints feelings with words, and somehow, they always feel like they’re yours too. Especially with this story and her other one Dust To Dust.

With this story. There was something about the way the writer wrote James that completely wrecked me. From the moment he was introduced, you could feel his loneliness like a weight pressing through the screen. He wasn't just alone. He was tired, and empty, like life had been happening around him, not with him. And then came Jason, this unexpected light, this soft force that made James believe in something again. The way she built their connection felt so real, so delicate, and when Jason said he was moving, I felt James's world cracking. His desperation was so raw, so human, that I found myself pleading silently, please, Jason. Stay! I was angry like actually angry because I could see how much James needed this, how much he loved Jason, and I just wanted to scream at Jason to open his eyes and see what was right in front of him.

But Jason left. And it hurt James. I carried that ache for James like I’d lost someone too. But then, slowly, the writer did something beautiful. She showed us James's rebuilding. He didn’t numb the pain with alcohol anymore; he started over. Got a job. Took care of himself. Played his guitar again. And eventually, he met someone new. Not to replace Jason, but to stand beside a version of James who had learned how to stand on his own. It was a perfect happy ending, that was real and earned. The writer took us on a journey from heartbreak to healing, and by the end, I wasn’t crying out of sadness anymore, but because I was proud of him. James wasn’t hopeless anymore. He was living. And it was one of the most honest, powerful character arcs I’ve ever read. This story holds a special place in my heart even though I didn't write it. Also, I hated Jason in that story. If you read it. You will too.

1. Not Your Pretty Woman- By @ju1ian Ao3

I think EVERYONE knows that this is my ABSOLUTE FAVORITE STORY EVER!!!! I don't even know where to begin with this story. I've gone back and read this story more than 10 times. And each time I go back. It's like I'm reading it for the first time. Also, I never even knew I was leaving a whole chapter book of comments in her section 😂😂😂. That's how much I ADORED that story. And I ADORE the writer. This is another story that holds a special place in my heart.

This story stuck with me. It’s about James, a rockstar in Metallica, who goes out looking for a quick fix and ends up meeting Dave. A fiery redhead with an attitude and a lot more going on beneath the surface. Dave’s a sex worker, and on the outside, that’s all anyone seems to see. But once James sleeps with him, something shifts. He doesn’t want to let him go. What starts as a one-night thing turns into something deeper, even though the two of them come from completely different worlds.

Dave is broke, struggling with addiction and an eating disorder, but he’s strangely content with the little he has. Meanwhile, James has everything money can buy. Fame, cars, a huge house. But he’s deeply lonely. What hit me the most was the message: don’t judge a book by its cover. The writer, Julian, paints Dave so beautifully. Despite his job, he’s kind, polite, and thoughtful. Stacking plates for the servers, saying thank you, being honest and respectful. He loves fish. And loves to play the guitar. But most people overlook all of that, except for James and Jason. Everyone else is blinded by their assumptions.

I loved that as the story unfolded, we got to see James and Dave slowly pull back each other’s layers. James helped Dave fight his demons. Addiction, low self-worth. And Dave helped James open up about his insecurities, neediness, and bossiness. They started on opposite sides of life, but somehow they met in the middle. That growth, that mutual healing, was what made the love story so real and powerful for me.

What made it even better was the way Julian included the perspectives of the other band members. Jason became a real friend to Dave, Kirk brought wisdom, and Lars, though frustrating at times, was the cautious voice trying to protect the band and James. Even though Lars made me mad, I understood his fear. But in the end, Dave let his walls down because of the people around him, and his village, and that’s how he found the strength to go to rehab with David right by his side. It was beautiful. Honest. And it reminded me how important it is to see someone for who they are, not what they do.

I’ve got mad respect for the writer, and let me tell you why. While she was pouring her heart into this story, I was getting so pissed off seeing the rude comments people were leaving in her asks. Like, seriously? This woman has been nothing but open about her struggles, and instead of sending her encouragement or positive vibes, people were demanding chapters like she owed them something. Writing is not easy. If you’ve never sat down to build an entire world from scratch, develop characters, plot twists, and emotions, and then somehow find time to write it all out, while still living your actual life. You will never understand how hard that is. And yet, she does it. Despite the negativity, she keeps pushing forward, and I genuinely commend her for that.

Every story she writes is incredible. I haven’t read one yet that didn’t leave me blown away. Her writing pulls you in, keeps you on edge, and stays with you even after you’ve finished reading. But what hits me is that there’s always a deeper message woven into her stories. At least that’s how I experience them. It’s like I walk away with more than just chills or suspense. I walk away thinking and feeling.

She’s a gifted storyteller, and I’ll always support her work because talent like hers deserves nothing less than respect.

Again thanks for asking me. It means a lot 💙

#ao3 fanfic #wattpad #fanfic #stories #stories I love #metallica #guns n roses #motley crue #fanfiction

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fellulahh · 2 days ago

Text

Satan tells MC she’s pregnant (marginally chaotic)

CONTEXT: I used to write a LOT of pregnancy imagines (my most requested bits!) and they were always really cute and fluffy so I wanted to write something a little more realistic AKA MC panicking because she thinks she’s going to be Bella Swan 2.0.

—

“MC!” Satan smiled as he entered the human’s bedroom, “I bought you a coffee while I was out.”

“Thanks!” MC beamed as she closed her laptop screen before getting up to greet the demon. “I didn’t realise you were going out.”

“Well I wanted to run a few errands so I thought I’d get them over and done with this morning.” He explained, taking a step closer to MC. “That way I get to spend more time with you.”

As he neared the human, he stopped in his tracks as a bewildered look crossed his face. Arching an eyebrow, he studied MC closely.

Immediately noticing his change of behaviour, MC shot him a look. “What? What is it?” She asked confused.

“MC…” Satan trailed, attempting to find his wording, “do you have something to tell me?”

“No?” The human responded point blank, eyeing up the coffee in his hand.

“Are you sure?” He urged, furrowing his eyes at MC.

“What’s going on?” She asked concerned.

Hesitantly, much to MC’s dismay, Satan set the coffee to one side before stepping in front of the human. Placing a hand delicately on her shoulder, Satan found MC’s eyes.

“MC, I think you’re pregnant.” He stated.

“You what?” She quickly responded.

“I can sense more than one soul in your body.” He explained, “I felt it when I came in the room.”

“Excuse me?” The human abruptly responded again.

“MC, you’re pregnant.” Satan repeated.

“Nah, don’t fuck with me Satan.” MC stepped back and raised her hands defensively, “that’s not funny.”

“I’m not joking!” He tried to reassure the human, following her steps so that he could stay close to her, “believe me, I can feel two souls.”

“Are you telling me we’re pregnant?” She asked in complete disbelief.

“Yes!” Satan breathed with light in his eyes.

The smile on his face was not reciprocated.

“Oh my God!” MC cried, putting her hands on her head as she began pacing the floor.

“Not quite the person I was hoping you’d be thinking about at a time like this.” Satan spoke quietly, catching MC’s attention.

Hearing his words, she turned to face him. “Satan, I’m pregnant with a demon baby!” She panicked, “have you not ever seen Twilight?!”

“What?” The blond haired demon asked confused; furrowing his eyebrows.

“I’m going to have to start drinking blood through a straw arent I?” MC asked rhetorically, resuming her pacing. “What if my body isn’t strong enough for the baby? Oh god, I’m already a bad Mum!”

“What are you talking about?” Satan questioned. “You’re starting to panic me.”

“You’re panicking?!” MC turned her head, “five minutes ago I was playing Tetris and now we’re having a little demon baby! What if it has horns?”

“MC you know babies here don’t grow their demon features until they’re older don’t you?” Satan explained. “Plus why would you need to drink blood through a straw?”

MC stopped in her tracks, letting some colour flood back into her face. “I think I need to sit down.” She breathed, realising she needed to think with a cooler head.

Concerned, Satan helped her find her way to the bed. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you.” He spoke softly, taking a seat beside MC, “I was just so surprised when I sensed it that I had to say something.”

“Are you absolutely sure?” MC asked, “Can I pee on a stick to know for definite?”

Satan gave MC a confused look; demons weren’t accustomed to the human method of discovering pregnancies.

“MC, I’m sure.” He confirmed, putting an arm around her to pull her in tight. “But if you want to find a stick in the garden to pee on to feel assured, I won’t stop you.”

“Oh my…” she breathed, sinking into his arms in complete shock. Slowly her anxieties left as she began to think straight.

Not wanting to worry the human anymore, Satan just gave MC a tight hug. As she buried her face in his chest, the demon rested his chin on her head; unable to hide excited smile that crept onto his lips.

#obey me #obey me shall we date #obey me satan

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starryeyedwolves · 2 days ago

Text

Would You Though?

Remus stood at the doorway of the Gryffindor common room, his arms folded across his chest, a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. He was looking at Lily, who was sitting comfortably on the couch, flicking through a textbook she had all but memorized. The fire crackled in the hearth, casting flickering shadows around the room, but it was the steady warmth between them that made it feel like home. It had been like that for years.

"Are you really still reading that textbook?" Remus asked as he stepped into the Gryffindor common room, raising an eyebrow at the sight before him.

Lily, curled into the corner of the couch with her legs tucked under her, didn’t bother looking up. "I like knowing I’ll pass Slughorn’s exam with more than just dumb luck."

Remus chuckled as he made his way closer, the fire casting a golden glow across the room. "You already know everything in that book. You could probably teach the class better than he does."

"Probably," she said, finally looking up with a smirk. "But I’m not the one charming cauldrons to stir themselves mid-lesson."

"Hey, that was one time," Remus replied, feigning offense. "And it worked, didn’t it?"

"Until it exploded."

He laughed, rubbing the back of his neck. "Details."

There was a brief, comfortable silence as Remus leaned against the doorway, arms crossed, watching her with a lazy sort of affection that came from years of friendship. The fire crackled, shadows dancing across the stone walls, but the warmth in the room came from more than just the hearth.

Then Lily closed the book with a soft thump and looked at him, head tilted. "So, are you going to tell me or do I have to guess?"

Remus blinked. "Tell you what?"

She grinned. "Whether or not you’re dating anyone."

Remus scoffed, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. "I think if I was dating someone, I would be the first to know about it."

Lily raised an eyebrow, eyes glinting mischievously. "Would you, though?"

The words hung in the air between them, and Remus froze, blinking in surprise. He’d expected her to agree, or at the very least laugh at his sarcastic remark. But instead, Lily had thrown him a curveball, one that left him unsure of how to respond. He wasn’t sure why he felt a sudden rush of heat in his cheeks, but he quickly shook it off.

"Lily," he said, giving a soft chuckle, though there was a slight unease in his tone. "What are you implying?"

Lily’s lips twitched into a knowing smile. "I’m just saying, you’re not exactly the best at noticing things when it comes to people. Especially when they’re right under your nose."

Remus blinked. "What? What are you on about?"

"Oh, I think you know exactly what I’m on about," she teased, leaning back into the couch with a knowing look. "You’ve been oblivious to a lot of things, haven’t you, Remus?"

Remus frowned and crossed the room, sitting down beside her with a slight sigh. "Alright, alright. I’ll bite. What’s your point?"

Lily shrugged casually, though the playful glint in her eyes remained. "Let’s just say… I don’t think you’ve quite realized how much your friends care about you. Especially one particular friend."

Remus tilted his head, brows furrowed. "One particular friend?"

Lily nodded, a soft laugh escaping her lips. "Yes. One who might just be in love with you."

There was a pause, a beat of silence so heavy it seemed to hang in the air like a thick fog. Remus blinked, his mind racing, but the words refused to connect.

"Lily… what are you talking about?" he finally managed, his voice sounding far more uncertain than he intended.

Lily studied him for a moment, her expression softening. She looked at him with that same gentle care she always did when she was trying to nudge him in the right direction. She leaned closer, dropping her voice into a conspiratorial whisper.

"I’m talking about Sirius, Remus. I don’t think you’ve quite noticed the way he looks at you when he thinks no one’s looking. Or the way he sticks around after everyone else has gone to bed, just to make sure you’re alright."

Remus blinked again, slower this time. Sirius? Love him? The thought twisted something in his chest. Not in discomfort, exactly—just… confusion. Or was it something else? His stomach fluttered, and he wasn’t sure if it was from panic or realization.

Sirius had always been there. Always laughing, teasing, fighting beside him. Fierce and loyal and infuriating and—Merlin, now that Lily said it, he couldn’t stop thinking about the little things. The way Sirius leaned in when Remus spoke. The way he always sat just a bit too close. The nights he’d stayed up after full moons just to make sure Remus slept.

No, Remus told himself. That’s not—he doesn’t—

"No," he muttered, shaking his head. "No, that’s… I don’t think that’s true."

Lily gave him a pointed look. "You don’t see it, do you?"

"I see Sirius," Remus said slowly, his mind still spinning. "But not like that. He’s just… he’s always been there, you know? He’s my friend, Lily. And I—I think I would know if it was something more than that."

Lily sighed, but there was no judgment in her expression, only a quiet understanding. "I think you’d be surprised how much you don’t know. But don’t take my word for it. Watch, Remus. Just look at the way he acts around you sometimes."

Before Remus could respond, the portrait door creaked open with a soft groan, and in strode Sirius. His usual confidence preceded him like a cloak, but there was something a little softer around the edges tonight—shoulders less squared, hair slightly messier than usual, like he’d run his hands through it too many times.

Sirius’ eyes swept the room and landed instantly on Remus. A flicker of something passed over his face—warmth, relief?—before it was quickly replaced with his trademark grin.

"Alright, Moony?" Sirius asked, strolling toward them. His voice was casual, but Remus noticed the way it pitched slightly at the end, like he was searching for something in Remus’ face. "You look like you’re plotting something."

Remus stared at him a moment longer than usual, Lily’s words echoing in his mind. He saw the soft way Sirius’ eyes lingered, the way he dropped onto the armrest of the couch instead of the other empty seat, elbow brushing Remus’ shoulder like it belonged there. Maybe it always had.

"I was just thinking," Remus replied, trying to sound casual. But his voice came out quieter than he intended. Sirius looked at him, head tilting slightly in that way he did when he was really paying attention.

Their eyes met—and this time, Remus didn’t look away. And in that split second, he saw it. Something unguarded. Something tender.

Sirius blinked, the moment breaking. His grin faltered, just for a breath, before he leaned back, smirking again. "Don’t think too hard, Moony. It doesn’t suit you."

From her spot on the couch, Lily shot Remus a look—arched brow, smug little smirk. Like she already knew exactly what was happening. Like she’d seen it all before he had.

"You’re impossible, you know that?" Remus muttered, turning slightly to her.

She just shrugged, all innocence. "I’m just saying… Sometimes the answers are right in front of you, but it takes someone else to point them out."

Remus let out a long breath, leaning back into the couch as the weight of the conversation sank in. Maybe Lily was right. Maybe he had been oblivious all these years.

Sirius, noticing the quiet shift in the air, nudged Remus gently with his shoulder. "Oi, Moony. You good?"

Remus nodded, a slight smile tugging at his lips as he met Sirius’s eyes again. "Yeah. Yeah, I think I am."

Sirius gave him a puzzled look, but Remus just smiled. He wasn’t sure where this new dynamic would take them, but he was willing to find out. And he wasn’t as clueless as he thought.

Lily, watching from the sidelines, just smirked to herself. She wasn’t worried. She knew Remus would figure it out sooner or later. She always believed in them, in their friendship, and whatever it might turn into.

#marauders #the marauders #marauders fandom #marauders fic #marauders fanfiction #lily evans #lily and remus #lily and remus friendship #remus lupin #sirius black #remus and sirius #remus x sirius #wolfstar #wolfstar fic #wolfstar fanfiction #my fic #my fic writing #my writing

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sirxaibs · 1 day ago

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PUH LEASE write a sal x fem!reader where they all go to the lake, (larry, sal, ash, todd, etc) and sal is ogling the reader. then larry gives one of his motivational speeches where he talks him up to confess to her. and make it SUPES fluffy please 🤑🤑 i’ll give u my kidney

SAL FISHER X READER

🂾𓂉🂾 AHHHHHHHHHHH 🂾𓂉🂾I

I want to point out that I changed it up a bit. Larry is still supportive and learns about it all and encourages it like a guy best friend. (so a little immature but all in good health) and uh i couldn’t think of a title

masterlist

🂾𓂉🂾 The low hum of the Deftones spun through the battered speakers in Larry’s room, the gentle, distorted riffs of “Teenager” lacing the air with a strangely melodic chords. The posters on the wall seemed to flicker with the candlelight, smoke curling from the incense stick Larry had lazily propped in an old soda can. He lay across his bed, head resting on his folded arms, eyes half lidded. Sal sat on the floor with his back against the dresser, mask on, fingers toying with a frayed string from the hem of his hoodie. Larry let out a long sigh, kicking one foot lazily.

“So,” he said, dragging the word out with that signature Larry Young drawl, “you sure you don’t wanna tell them how you feel, dude?”

Sal let out a breath part exasperated, part defeated. “Yeah. I’m sure.” A pause. “It’s not like it matters. She’s just… her. Carefree. Like nothing in the world can ever shake her. And I’m… me.”

Larry raised an eyebrow, a shit eating grin tugging at the corners of his mouth. “Right, except she’s been into all your weird ghost shit since day one. That doesn’t strike you as a little suspicious?”

Sal rolled his eyes, though behind the mask, Larry only caught the tilt of his head and the sound of sarcasm lining his voice. “Oooookay, bud.” But even as he said it, his mind started drifting unwelcome but persistent, soft as the music playing in the background.

🂾𓂉🂾 It was one of those October evenings where the sky was bruised purple, the kind of night where the Addison Apartments looked especially like they were hiding something. “Let’s break into the basement,” you’d said with a grin, adjusting your flannel around your waist, boots crunching leaves beneath them. You tapped your chin, head tilting mischievously. “You and your little ghost gizmo thingy what’s it called again?”

“The Gear Boy,” Sal said, holding it up.

You snorted. “Right. Very cool very awesome demure or whatever .” Then you nudged him with your elbow. “C’mon, Sally Face. Let’s go find some demons.” You didn’t even flinch at the dark, or the cold, or the smell of mold in the stairwell. He remembered watching you run ahead, flashlight in hand, hair bouncing as you turned back and grinned at him like this was the best place in the world.

🂾𓂉🂾 Back in Larry’s room, Sal’s voice was quieter now. “She could’ve run screaming like most people. But she didn’t. Which I know she was your friend before anything but her crazy matches my crazy.”

Larry stretched, his joints popping. “Well she just likes creepy shit. Doesn’t mean she’s in love with you, dude.” Sal didn’t respond. But the next memory hit him anyway.

🂾𓂉🂾 They were sitting on the rooftop. You had a ripped black hoodie, sleeves cut into jagged edges, and a collection of safety pins holding one shoulder seam together. A cigarette dangled between your fingers, the smoke drifting in the cold air. You were talking about how your mom didn’t trust the apartments. “Says they give her the heebie jeebies,” you’d said, mocking the voice. “Can’t blame her though. The walls here feel like they’re listening.”

Sal chuckled under his breath. Then you turned toward him, all seriousness for a moment. “You ever think you might be too good for this place?”

He blinked. “What?”

You shrugged. “You’re, like, stupid kind. you might be into everyones business here, but you’re the gentlest person I know. Sometimes I wonder if you even see yourself clearly.” He looked down at the edge of the roof, heart thumping awkwardly. He thought maybe he misheard. But then you flicked your cigarette, stretched your arms behind your head, and looked back up at the stars like it hadn’t been a big deal at all.

🂾𓂉🂾 Back in the room, Larry sat up slightly, now curious. “You really think she meant something by that?”

Sal scoffed. “No. Maybe. I don’t know. She always say stuff like that. You know how she is.”

Larry gave him a skeptical look. “Yeah, and you always brush it off like it doesn’t eat you alive.”

Sal shook his head, reaching for one of Larry’s sketchpads absentmindedly, flipping it open but not really seeing the pages.

“Shes so weird? Like, nothing could tie her down. She’d walk into hell with a smile and offer the devil a light. I’m not sure I’d ever be enough to keep someone like that interested.”

🂾𓂉🂾 It was raining, and you were soaked to the bone, hair sticking to your face as you stood in the apartment hallway, laughing. “Okay,” you said between breaths, “next time you distract the teacher while I pick the lock. My ass is not cut out for this kind of stealth.” Sal had watched you giggle like a maniac, water dripping from your sleeves, eyeliner smudged like a grunge music video, and thought, I’m completely screwed. Then, you looked up at him, eyes bright, lips parted like you were about to say something else but then you stopped. Just smiled. A quiet, knowing kind of smile.

“You’re really fun to get in trouble with, Sally Face.”

🂾𓂉🂾 Larry whistled low. “That’s… okay, yeah, that one’s suspicious.”

Sal grumbled. “You think?”

Larry shrugged, lying back down again. “Sounds like she’s been flirting with you for, like, months.”

Sal leaned his head back against the dresser with a soft thump. “Or she’s just like that with everyone.” The Deftones track shifted, a more intense guitar swell starting as Digital Bath played. The room filled with its pulsing rhythm, washing over the silence between the boys. “I just…” Sal muttered, “I don’t wanna screw it up. If I say something, and I’m wrong, I lose her. And even if I’m right… someone like her, with someone like me?”

Larry stared at the ceiling. “Sal… sometimes you sound like the pieces of fart in romance movies”

Sal laughed under his breath, dry and unamused. “Thanks.”

But still, the memories pressed on him. The way your eyes lingered when you thought he wasn’t looking. The times you leaned against him when you didn’t have to. The way your laughter always came easier around him than anyone else. And the stupid, tiny, impossible hope that maybe just maybe you saw him the way he saw you. He didn’t know what to do with any of it. So instead, he stayed silent. Let the music play a little louder. Let the ghosts wait in the walls of Addison Apartments. Because maybe the scariest thing wasn’t the dead. it was the living. And how deeply they could get under your skin without even trying.

“You gotta do something, man,” Larry said, pointing a lazy finger at him. “Like, soon.”

Sal shot him a sideways glance. “Do what?”

“You know what. Confess. Or flirt. Or, I don’t know, do something with your weird little ghost boy charm. They’re basically throwing hints like they’re in a punk rock rom com, and you’re just sitting here like it’s algebra class.” Sal leaned his head back against the dresser again, letting out a groan. “I can’t, man. That’d be like… opening Pandora’s box with a note that says ‘Hey, I hope this doesn’t ruin everything!’” His voice was muffled but undeniably dry. “Also? What even is ghost boy charm?”

Larry laughed, grabbing a guitar pick from his nightstand and flicking it across the room. “You’ve got that quiet, mysterious thing going on. she eats that shit up.”

“I highly doubt that,” Sal mumbled, tugging at the sleeve of his hoodie.

Larry smirked. “Your loss, man. I’ll be sure to let you wallow in your tragic love story all by yourself while everyone else is making out by the lake.”

Just as Sal opened his mouth to counter with the fact that basically no one in the group is attracted to each other for a multitude of reasons, a loud slam echoed through the room, the door flinging open as you barreled in with a chaotic whirlwind of energy. “WENDIGO LAKE, BABYYYY!” you shouted, practically bouncing on your heels. You wore a pair of scuffed up combat boots and ripped fishnets under a patched up pair of shorts. Your backpack was a canvas battlefield blazing with sewn on patches, painted slogans, and safety pins holding together loose fabric. The Sex Pistols, Black Flag, a big bold patch reading “Only Anarchists Are Pretty”, and another featuring Vivienne Westwood’s face all clashed together like a punk rock museum on your back.

Larry blinked. “You sew all that yourself?”

You gave a proud little hum. “Hell yeah. Don’t trust machines for the good stuff.”

Sal swore his heart skipped a beat. Without hesitation, you plopped down behind Sal, your legs bracketing either side of him. You didn’t say anything at first, just casually reached around to start playing with the collar of his shirt like it was the most natural thing in the world. Twisting it between your fingers, tugging slightly, smoothing it out, then ruffling it again.

“Piercing’s new, right?” Larry asked, tilting his head and nodding toward your septum ring. “Should you even be going into the lake?” You gave him a wicked grin and then dragged your palm slowly across his face in a dramatic shhhh, your fingers smudging his cheek with the soft scent of tobacco and clove. “Shhhh,” you whispered, voice dipped low in mock seriousness. “Let me be irresponsible, Lawrence.”

Larry wiped his face off with the back of his hand, laughing. You leaned forward a bit, resting your chin on Sal’s shoulder. “I’m just stoked to have everyone out. Senior year’s been, like, a slow death. No bars around here worth anything, no good gigs nearby. It’s like the universe forgot how to throw a party.”

You pulled back slightly, hand resting on Sal’s shoulder now. “Oh by the way, I brought you some extra snacks. And a book.” You said it casually, but the words hung in the air. “Figured you weren’t going in the water.”

Sal blinked under his mask, throat tight. “You didn’t have to”

“I wanted to.” You smiled, then hopped up again, grabbing your bag. “Alright. Cigarette break. Don’t get all broody without me.” You shot a finger gun toward Sal and winked before disappearing out the back door.

The second the door closed, Larry launched himself from the bed. Sal yelped as Larry practically straddled him, grabbing his shoulders and shaking him wildly. “DUDE.”

Sal struggled, awkward and panicked. “What the Larry!”

“I SEE IT. I FREAKING SEE IT!” Larry’s grin was wide enough to split his face. “That was not lowkey! That was highkey! High effort! Extra snacks and a book? Who does that? For you?”

“Why are you sitting on me!?”

“Because this is an emergency! We’re in Defcon 1, Sal! You’ve got a hardcore punk goddess out there who’s literally playing with your clothes and giving you personalized gifts like it’s Valentine’s Day for the emotionally suppressed!”

Sal flushed so deeply even the tips of his ears went pink. “She’s just That’s just how she is!”

Larry leaned in closer, eyes wide. “You are so deep in denial. Ive know her since we were shit stains. If you go one more day without at least flirting back, I swear when I die, I’m going to ghost haunt your dreams until you cry.”

Sal grumbled, face buried in his hands. Then the door creaked open again. You stood there in the doorway, one hand on the frame, a smile tugging at your lips. “Well? You boys gonna keep cuddling, or are we heading to the lake?” Sal froze. Larry grinned. You tilted your head, amusement glittering in your eyes. “C’mon. I wanna see who gets wet the fastest when we get there. I say its between Ash or me”

Larry grabbed his bag and slung it over his shoulder. “You’re actually the gross ome,” he said, walking past you. You flipped him off with a grin. Sal stood slowly, heart still racing. You looked at him over your shoulder, a little smile playing at your lips again.

“Hey. You coming, Sally Face?”

He nodded, almost dumbly. “Yeah. I’m coming.” You waited as the Deftones shifted into “Change (In the House of Flies)”, the screen door creaked shut behind you all.

🂾𓂉🂾 The lake shimmered beneath a hazy midafternoon sun, the surface rippling gently under the occasional breeze. Trees surrounded Wendigo Lake like tall, crooked teeth perfect for the vibe of this weird little friend group. The air carried the scent of water, pine, and whatever patchouli heavy perfume you’d doused yourself in before leaving. Something about that smell made Sal’s stomach twist not in a bad way. Just in that weird, you’re kinda in love with someone but don’t wanna deal with it yet sort of way. You were crouched down near the shore, a slightly beat up picnic blanket in your arms as Todd helped you flatten it out over the grass. You had insisted on bringing it, even though only you, Larry, and Sal were sharing it. Ash and Todd, for some ungodly reason, had shown up with just towels like this was a beach day. The contrast was already hilarious.

“Really going full domestic over there,” Larry muttered under his breath with a snicker, elbowing Sal, who was standing stiffly to the side, arms crossed. “You seeing this?”

Sal glanced at you and couldn’t help it he smiled. You were teasing Todd about something, fingers poking at the hem of his hoodie. He couldn’t hear you from this distance, but knowing you, it was probably something like “Bro, you hang out with emos all day. Why are you dressed like an NPR intern?” Todd just looked mildly amused, adjusting his glasses, letting you mess with him like a human fashion victim. Sal felt his cheeks heat, even under the mask. He looked away quickly. Ash, sitting cross legged nearby with her towel stretched out like a lazy cat, clocked it immediately.

“Oh my god.” She slapped a hand on Sal’s shoulder, feigning an emotional gasp. “My little boy… my son… he’s growing up so fast. He’s starting to like girls now.”

Sal groaned. “Ash, shut the hell up.”

She cackled, draping herself over his back dramatically. “Just one girl. That girl made my boy a man”

He practically peeled her off him. “Do you want me to throw you into the lake?”

Ash grinned wickedly. “Do you want me to tell her you were staring at her like she was a sexy alien sent to save the world?”

Sal grabbed her towel and yeeted it into the grass. “That’s it. Exorcism time.”

Meanwhile, you and Todd finally made your way over, you bouncing slightly on your heels as you looked at the mess unfolding. “Damn,” you said, “did we miss the hug session or did it turn into a wrestling match?”

“Sal wouldn’t mind another session,” Larry said instantly, not missing a beat, throwing a sly grin in your direction.

Ash volleyed, eyes sparkling with evil glee. “Especially if it’s with you.”

Larry followed up like the demon duo they were. “You know, he’s really into long hugs. Like, full body contact. horizontally. moving back and forth. Really intimate.”

Sal practically lunged at Larry with a ��You are so dead!” as the taller boy yelped and tried to scramble out of the way, laughing the whole time.

You laughed so hard your whole body curled forward, grabbing Ash’s hand to steady yourself. “fuck man, I think they were both already stoned when i picked them up” you wheezed. “The party has officially started!” Ash was laughing too, but she still gave Sal a knowing look behind your back, mouthing the words do something already. Sal pretended not to see it.

🂾𓂉🂾 You flopped down on the blanket between Sal and Larry, reaching into your bag and pulling out a crinkled pack of gum and a mini speaker. “Alright, mild sun poisoning anyone? you pasty mofos need it”

Larry grinned. “your ass better be talking about anyone else here because I know you’re not talking to me”

Sal, still flushed under his mask and recovering from that last comment, watched you out of the corner of his eye as you started queuing up music, chatting with Ash and Todd about whether The Damned were better than The Buzzcocks. He didn’t say it out loud, but he could’ve watched you do that forever. he didn’t mind the teasing if it meant being this close to you. Even if he was the only one too chicken to do anything about it.

🂾𓂉🂾 It was a little later in the afternoon now, the heat softening as shadows stretched longer across the ground. The smell of warm grass and lake water mixed with the faint burn of something herbal someone had definitely brought a little something to pass around, and judging by the lazy laughter and general haze of good vibes, it had been shared liberally. You were half leaning on Sal’s shoulder, one leg sprawled over the other, ankle gently nudging his shin as you talked nonsense in that way you always did.

“So, like,” you murmured, voice heavy with drowsy amusement, “if fish could scream, do you think people would still go swimming?”

Sal blinked. “…What?”

You nodded like this was deeply important. “Like, you’re just chilling in the lake and suddenlyAAHHHH ” You mimicked a fish shrieking, limbs flailing, nearly smacking him in the face with your elbow.

“I think that argument gave god the entire reason for fish to not scream,” Sal said, dry but fond.

“Okay, but would you still swim?”

“…Probably not,” he admitted, then turned to glance at you. You were close. Like always. Close enough that your cheek was brushing against the edge of his shoulder. Close enough that your hand was resting by his on the blanket, pinkies nearly touching. It wasn’t unusual. You’d always been like that with him. Ever since you started hanging around, you’d just been comfortable. Always invading his space without a second thought, always bumping shoulders or leaning into him when you laughed. He’d never had the nerve to ask what it meant. Maybe it was just you. But damn it if he didn’t want it to mean something. The world swayed with a low thrum of music from your little speaker something with a steady, almost hypnotic beat. The Deftones, again. They’d been the soundtrack to the day. Dreamy. Fuzzy. A little too perfect.

“I feel like I’m melting,” you mumbled, staring up at the sky. “Let’s go swimming. Let’s go be weird little lake freaks.”

Without waiting for an answer, you kicked up from your spot, stumbling slightly with a laugh, then turned to Ash, grabbing her wrist. “Come on. Water nymph time.”

Ash groaned playfully, letting herself be dragged. “Do I have to be a nymph? Can’t I just be a vaguely damp woman?”

“Nope. Nymph or nothing.” You stuck your tongue out and reached for the hem of your shirt, tugging it up with an easy flourish.

for Sal, the world just stopped. The chatter, the breeze, the soft laughter from Todd and Larry. Gone. Even the music faded into something distant and orchestral, as if a full string section had taken over his brain. You stood in the golden light of the sun, the curve of your shoulders catching the warmth like a halo, your skin kissed in amber and the softest shadows. Your shirt slipped off, and it was like time dilated just for him.

Your body. Your posture. The way your hair caught the wind. The shimmer of sweat on your collarbone. Everything about you in that moment was art. He stared. He couldn’t not and he wasn’t even being creepy about it he wasn’t ogling for ogling’s sake. He just… forgot how to breathe. He looked at you like you were some ancient deity pulled from a forgotten shrine, like you’d stepped out of some punk rock myth, wild and grinning and just a little dangerous. And maybe, somewhere deep down, he’d always thought you looked like this. Always felt it when you leaned on him or laughed into his ear or stood with your boots planted like you owned every inch of space you took up.

You were beautiful. Sal whispered it without thinking. A breathless, soft little exhale behind his mask. “…You’re beautiful.”

You turned. Caught it. And flashed a grin so wicked and knowing he wanted to melt into the damn earth. “Thanks,” you said, stretching dramatically. “I do it for the girls” you jerked a thumb toward Ash, “and the gays” now to Todd, who gave you a sarcastic bow in return.

Larry’s voice shot out like a gunshot. “What about Sal and me?!”

You gave him a slow once over, clearly unimpressed. “You’re a perv, dickwad,” you said sweetly. “Sal can look I’ll allow it. You, as a man, should start groveling.”

The entire group burst into laughter. Ash doubled over, Todd adjusted his glasses to hide his grin, and Larry threw hand to you. flipping you off with pride. like you’d mortally wounded him. Sal, for his part, sat there utterly flustered. Frozen. A little dazed. You had heard him. And instead of teasing him, instead of making it weird, you just let him look. it was maybe even… wanted?

You turned, already skipping toward the lake with Ash in tow, your punk patched shorts low on your hips when you all first got there, you ripped your tights so they were ling gone now. a new glint catching the light from your eyes.

“Don’t take too long, losers!” you called. “Water’s waiting!”

And just like that, you were gone sprinting into the shallows, laughing as you splashed Ash and dared her to dunk you. Sal was left sitting on the blanket, staring after you, heart pounding, mind full of sun and music and your laugh. “…Holy shit,” he muttered.

Sal was still watching the lake. The way the water shimmered around you as you threw yourself backward into it, the arc of your arms as you splashed Ash there was something dizzying about the whole thing. Something surreal. Maybe it was the buzz from earlier or just the heat of the day, but it felt like the world had shifted, just a little, like the axis tilted and gravity decided to be kinder.

You looked over your shoulder once mid laugh, you knew exactly where Sal would be, you were making sure he saw you. The grin on your face could’ve been carved from rebellion and starlight. He felt like he was dying. In the good way. Larry had been quiet beside him for a few seconds too long. That should’ve been Sal’s first warning.

Then he felt it. That slow, creeping grin. He turned his head and yep. Larry was looking at him like the cat who got the cream, the rat, the last donut, and possibly a Grammy.

Larry leaned in, eyebrows raised, his voice low and drawling. “Dude,” he said with a smile far too smug for one face. “She basically just asked you to fuck.”

Sal’s brain short circuited. “What?!”

“I mean,” Larry shrugged, tossing a pebble toward the lake, “she said you could look. That’s, like, stage one. Next thing she’ll be asking you to carry her to bed like a Victorian ghost bride.”

“You are so gross,” came Todd’s voice from behind them, utterly unimpressed. He adjusted his glasses with a sigh, setting down a bottle of sunscreen. “That kind of take is exactly why she called you a perv. She knew.”

Larry threw up his hands, grinning wider. “Hey, I am a perv! I embrace the perv. But I’m also right.”

Sal pinched the bridge of his nose, trying to will his soul back into his body. “Yeah, nothing says romance like ‘she’ll haunt you if you don’t rail her.’ Totally the dream.” Todd let out a snort, and Larry cackled, falling back onto the blanket. “Y’all are dumb,” Sal muttered, but he was smiling behind the mask. He couldn’t help it. The warm buzz of your laugh in the distance, the afterglow of your flirtation (which was totally flirtation, right?), and his friends acting like idiots it all wrapped around him like a blanket fresh from the dryer.

🂾𓂉🂾 Golden hour washed the world in amber. Everything looked softer, warmer, even the worn edges of the ghost gang out in the water. Their laughter echoed across Wendigo Lake, distant and muffled like a memory being recalled in real time. Sal sat on the blanket you and Todd had set up, the spine of the book you’d brought him resting comfortably in his palms. He’d tried to focus. Really, he had. He even read the same paragraph four times.

But every few seconds, his eyes would wander first toward the water, then toward you. You were laughing as Ash tried to climb onto Todd’s shoulders for some impromptu chicken fight. Larry was egging both of you on from the sidelines, flinging water like an excited Labrador. It was stupid. Wild. Loud. But Sal could only sit there, book in hand, and watch. Not because he didn’t want to join. because he couldn’t. Even with all of you people who had seen the real him, scarred and broken and still trying he couldn’t do it. Couldn’t take off the mask. Couldn’t risk the way you’d all look at him one day if something in your brains shifted and the wrong thought took hold. He could still hear echoes of old kids, of freak and monster. He kept the mask on. Always. Even when he wanted to be a part of things. Even when you looked back at him with a smile that seemed to say, Come on, blue boy. The world’s warmer over here. He looked down at the page again. A line about borrowed time. About choices made in secret.

Then a splash, a laugh, water footsteps on grass. He looked up, the air left his lungs. You were walking toward him, golden hour catching every drop of water clinging to your skin, each one like a star strung along your body. You were soaked and radiant and barefoot in the dirt, and you were wearing a two piece that could’ve been forged by some divine hand to ruin his entire week. Sal felt like a little boy discovering women for the first time. Like, oh. Oh, that’s what this feeling is. Your hair stuck to your cheeks, your septum ring catching the light just so. A punk Venus. A grungy dream. You were all sunburnt mischief and unapologetic beauty. He didn’t even realize he was staring until you plopped down beside him with a hum, rubbing water from your eyes.

“Hey,” you said, grinning. “How’s it goin’?”

Sal shifted slightly, trying not to sound too affected. “Oh, y’know. Just enjoying my career as the local cryptid.”

You snorted and fished out a towel from nearby, shaking it before folding it and draping it over his lap. Then, without warning, you laid down right across the towel, your damp hair spilling slightly onto his hoodie sleeve. Sal looked down at you, eyes wide, book hovering midair.

“Do I even get a warning before you invade my lap?” he deadpanned.

You smirked up at him, cheek pressed to the towel. “Nope. Felt like it. Problem?”

He exhaled through his nose. “Just trying not to die of cardiac arrest. Thanks.”

You poked his side gently. “That’s what the mask is for, right? To keep all your panic internal?”

“Exactly. It’s the emotional equivalent of a paper bag.”

You smiled, head tilted up so you could meet his eyes. “You start the book yet?”

He glanced at the open pages in his lap. “I’ve been trying.”

“‘Trying,’ huh?” You gave him a knowing look. “What’s the verdict? Worth my very cool, carefully curated recommendation?”

Sal paused for a moment. Then nodded, honest. “It’s good. Actually. Weird good. You’ve got disturbingly good taste.” You lit up at the compliment

“Okay, okay,” you said, turning slightly more onto your back, your arm flopping lazily over his legs. “Read it out loud. I wanna hear you read it.”

Sal blinked. “Seriously?”

“Mhm,” you hummed. “You’ve got a nice voice. It’s like… if sarcasm were smooth jazz.”

He stared down at you, heart hammering in his chest. “You’re lucky I can’t blush through this mask.”

“You’re lucky I don’t make you take it off and prove it.”

Sal scoffed lightly, looked down at the book again, then cleared his throat. You looked up at him like he hung the damn stars. so, under the waning gold light of the evening, with your head against his legs and your hand absentmindedly brushing his knee, Sal began to read. His voice steadying, even if the words on the page danced between lines of wonder and disbelief.

He couldn’t focus on the text. Not really. But it didn’t matter. Because in that moment with you next to him, comfortable and unafraid Sal felt a little more seen.

🂾𓂉🂾 On the other side of the lake, the water rippled gently around Ash, Todd, and Larry as they floated or waded just deep enough to stay cool. They were watching from a safe, absolutely not suspicious distance though their not so subtle gawking was giving the game away hard.

Ash narrowed her eyes like a sniper sighting her target. “She’s laying on his lap. She’s laying on his lap, you guys.”

“No, no,” Larry whispered like he was in church. “We all know she kinda flirty with everyone thats her personality but who flirts in such a casual way like her?.”

Todd adjusted his glasses, blinking once. “They’re always physically close. But this is different.”

Ash looked at him. “Right?! This is intentional closeness. This is I could’ve sat anywhere but I chose the throne.”

Larry, in the middle of floating on his back, suddenly stood straight up in the water like he’d been struck by lightning. “Wait. WAIT. Is she touching his leg right now?”

“Yes,” Todd and Ash said in perfect sync.

Larry, unable to cope, flung himself backward dramatically into the lake. Water splashed everywhere as he sank into the shallows like a fallen hero.

“I can’t they’re gonna fall in love and get married and we’re going to have to wear matching suits for the wedding,” he cried from below the surface before sitting back up with a sputter.

Ash was cackling, half drowning in laughter. “Do you think he’s sweating under that mask? Like. Frying.”

Todd, always a little more composed, was still clutching his towel like a war fan. “It’s the quiet ones that fall the hardest. You see that stare? That man’s reading a book and still found time to look at her like she’s the damn sun.”

All three of them turned into rubbernecking witnesses as Sal, still on the blanket, did the unthinkable. He moved his hand. Delicately. Softly. brushed a piece of hair out of your face.

“OH MY GOD!” Ash shrieked.

“IT’S HAPPENING!” Todd gasped, dropping his towel like it betrayed him.

Larry slapped both hands over his mouth, eyes wide. “I knew he liked her, but this this is outta a movie, bro.”

Ash practically threw herself at the water’s surface, splashing Larry in the process. “I mean, I know he’s got the mask on, but that boy’s soul just ascended.”

Todd was now pacing in knee deep water like a dad preparing a PowerPoint. “That gesture was too tender.”

“I’m gonna cry,” Ash said, wiping fake tears from her face. “Look at her. She’s probably asleep and doesn’t even know she’s got Sal acting like the love interest in a coming of age drama.”

Larry leaned into the dramatic energy immediately, tossing his arms out wide. “HE MOVED HER HAIR, GUYS. THE HAIR. The hair”

Todd nodded solemnly. “The ancient texts foretold this moment.”

Ash, not to be outdone, fell to her knees in the shallows and lifted her hands to the sky. “Sal Fisher is in LOVE and it’s SOFT and GENTLE and she’s probably gonna wake up and say something weird and philosophical and I just I love this stupid, freakish group of friends.”

Larry wiped an invisible tear from his cheek, then suddenly smirked. “You think if we all walk over there right now, he’d panic and fling the book across the lake?”

Ash chuckled, climbing to her feet. “Let them have their moment. Sal’s being brave in his own way.”

Todd added, “It’s kind of beautiful. He’s letting himself feel something.”

“God,” Larry muttered. “If she kisses him later, I might just explode.”

Ash nodded gravely. “Then we explode together.”

Todd sighed with a small smile. “They don’t even know we’re over here narrating their love story like omniscient gods.”

“And we will not tell them either,” Larry said. “This is sacred. This is ours.”

And so the trio stood (or waded), eyes fixed on the quiet scene playing out across the shoreline Sal carefully reading with you resting on his lap, the lake breeze brushing through your hair, a piece of peace they all felt lucky to witness. No one spoke for a minute. Then Ash whispered, “She better ask him out before graduation or I’m staging an intervention.”

🂾𓂉🂾 The sun dipped lower on the horizon, casting golden hour across Wendigo Lake like it was something out of a dream everything warm and slow and humming. The world had turned syrup thick, still and heavy with late summer heat and the haze of the day. On the picnic blanket, Sal sat nearly frozen in place, a book long forgotten in his lap, cradled now beneath the soft rise and fall of your sleeping frame. The towel you’d laid down between your soaked body and his jeans was doing exactly jack shit to keep the water from seeping through. He’d given up on caring about the damp chill a while ago sometime after you’d curled up on top of his lap like it was the most natural thing in the world.

Your arms tucked beneath your chin, your breathing slow and even. His own hoodie now rested over your back, cocooning you with a softness he hoped might make up for how still he was forcing himself to be. He didn’t dare move. Not yet. God, you were beautiful.

Sal’s breath caught when he looked down at you. The way your septum ring caught the light. The wet strands of hair pressed against your cheek. The slope of your nose. Your eyelashes looked longer like this, somehow. Relaxed. Innocent. Peaceful.

And all he could think all he could think was I have to tell you. I have to. If I don’t do it now, I never will.

His heart pounded so hard he was sure Todd could probably feel it from the other side of the lake. Every nerve in his body buzzed with static. His stomach churned in knots, and the voice in his head that mean little bastard voice kept whispering, You’re gonna ruin everything.

But then he looked at you again. Still sleeping. Still peaceful. Still here. On his lap. He reached out, moving a lock of hair from your face again slow, careful, like if he went too fast, you’d vanish into mist. His pinky brushed against your cheekbone as he did, light as air.

You stirred gently, eyelids fluttering open. The slow, lazy blink of someone waking from a warm nap, like a cat. You didn’t move from your spot. Your face turned slightly up toward him, hair fanned out under his hoodie. Sal felt his throat go dry. But it was now or never.

“Pspspsps,” he whispered playfully, soft and dumb and completely him.

You blinked again, brows slightly furrowing as you woke more fully. “Hmm?”

He smiled nervously. “Hey… do you think you’d be willing to give me a chance?”

You stared at him for a second. The sleep still lingering in your expression gave way to a flicker of surprise. Eyes widening just slightly. Your lips parted in a little “oh,” before curling up into a lazy grin. Your tone was smooth, but playful light teasing laced with real meaning. “Alright, pretty boy…” you hummed, voice still sticky with sleep, “…I will.”

Sal’s heart skipped at least two full beats.

“But,” you added, one eye narrowing mischievously, “if you mess with me, I’ll make sure you never hear the end of it.” A beat of silence passed. then Sal laughed soft and low and real. It wasn’t sarcastic or bitter or guarded. It was warm. Nervous. Happy.

He nodded, breathless. “Fair enough.”

You yawned, stretching slightly but didn’t move off his lap. Your hand reached up and lazily tugged the edge of his hoodie closer around your shoulder. “Good. Now shut up and keep reading. Your voice is nice.”

Sal swallowed. “Right. Okay. Reading.”

But his hands shook a little as he picked up the book again, smile hidden behind his mask, heart screaming from inside his chest. even though the towel underneath was still soaked through, and his jeans were a wet mess, and the rest of the group was definitely watching from the lake with wide eyes and zero chill. Sal felt like he’d just won something huge. He had you. Or at least, now… he had a chance.

#sal fisher x y/n #sal fisher x reader #sally face x reader #sal fisher #sally face #larry johnson #larry fanfiction #larry fic #todd morrison #ashley campbell #video game x reader #sal fanart

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trashogram · 4 months ago

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You know what’s interesting to me? Stella was invented purely as the wife of Stolas bc she has no Ars Goetia/Demonology lore equivalent (none of the Hazbin/Helluva women ((aside from Lilith kinda)) do >_> thx patriarchal Christianity).

But also her name is Stella, which means “Star”and is relevant to Stolas’s purpose in defining prophecy from astronomy.

But HB did nothing with it, which makes sense but is also so weird to me. Imagine if Stolas/Stella did have a good marriage and Octavia was born out of love — maybe Stolas would’ve felt drawn to this avian woman with a specifically astronomically-related name? It could’ve been something endearing.

#helluva boss critical #:/ I’m sure this is a sticking point for just me #bc most ppl don’t care about the meaning behind names #but they named her character that and it should’ve been for a reason #stella goetia #Stolas x Stella? Stoella? ugh maybe in a better canon

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crystallizsch · 11 months ago

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hi ian i come bearing angst fuel for the yuusha as twsted elsa (maybe an idea for her possible overblot idk she kinda reads to me as someone whod preemptively isolate in the case she feels...blotty)

(also seeing that art of her playing violin totally didnt fuck me up im still nursing my bruised heart 🥴🥴💕💕)

https://youtu.be/NDldNaEZTt8?si=Wm71pgTltuJLjFvk

^^this is from the frozen musical where they gave a song to elsa to explore her emotional turmoil and it just fleshed out her character so much more than the orig movie (ok i havent seen frozen 2 oops) but just this section here:

Is everyone in danger as long as I'm alive?

Was I a monster from the start?

How did I end up with this frozen heart?

Bringing destruction to the stage

Caught in a war that I was never meant to wage

anyways lmao i jus think the song is neat i think yuushas neat (i wanna see more of her ahehehe i love seeing infodumps abt ur yuus)

-diodellet

(throwback to this “what if yuu had magic” ask where i had a ✨realization✨ and this more recent yuusha lore drop that i gave zero elaboration on 🙃)

very rough ob yuu design??? idk i came up with it on the spot ;;; and it’s kinda based on disney’s concept art of elsa when she was supposed to be the villain.

evil ice queen vibes :3

also i know the ob monster is supposed to be based on the villain— which is elsa in this case— but lowkey. an ice monster is way cooler.

also also i just realized after i drew this i couldve done a grim/yuu tandem overblot ough 🤧🤧 (next time I'll do that instead if i ever go back to this concept)

(read more below because it got SO long)

AAH anyways hi hi dio!!! when i saw your ask i went —

— with this entire post

AAGH HOW MANY MORE UNINTENTIONAL CONNECTIONS ARE GOING TO BE BETWEEN FROZEN AND YUUSHA

i guess watching the movie everyday when it came out when you’re like 9 does something to your brain chemistry (and still haunts you at least a decade later) 💀

but anyways the angst ;;; overblot yuu ;;;;; my brain is rotting and the worms have taken over

also i didn’t even know that there was a frozen broadway musical so im gonna have to check it out later 🏃💨💨💨

(also dont worry frozen 2 is a nice watch for the most part but the way they concluded the characters did not feel 100% satisfying to me 😭 BUT i love some of the songs tho ;;; kristoff’s goofy 80s ballad song is one of them specifically, i need everyone to listen to it)

hfgnnfhfgv anyways thank you so much i’m chugging that angst fuel as i expand more on a possible ob yuusha with another infodump 💪💪💪

⚠️⚠️⚠️ ALSO IM SORRY BUT mentions of taking one’s own life so please proceed with caution ⚠️⚠️⚠️

i had to reread what my initial thoughts about it bc it was months ago??? and after rereading im just like, huh what was i on— (just that feeling when you just cringe at your old posts ;; but idk i think the insanity/cringe sometimes can loop back into being a genius and the cycle just continues)

anyways i’ve been on and off writing yuusha’s bio and overblot yuu was just at the back of my mind chilling but i didn’t really do anything with it.

but now that i have the opportunity,,,, im gonna go on the magicless route this time bc i feel like I've said all what i thought if it was an overblot due to her own magic.

so uh from what i gather overblots are a mix of overuse of magic + intense negative emotion.

since it’s magicless yuu, i guess the one of the general headcanons around the fandom is that they’ve been too exposed to overblots and then intense negative emotions suddenly just triggered their overblot.

uh anyways onto the elsa parts

Is everyone in danger as long as I'm alive? Was I a monster from the start? How did I end up with this frozen heart? Bringing destruction to the stage Caught in a war that I was never meant to wage

THE LYRICS ARE SO GOOD ;;; i really love how some broadway interpretations expand on the source material

and yeah you're right 🤧🤧🤧— yuusha would try to hide and escape, especially as she overblots bc she would try to avoid hurting people (and like elsa, it'd only hurt others more trying to escape bc of probably how she leaves destruction in her wake trying to make others stay away from her 😔)

(this is a small tangent but i remember thinking about an overblot kalim and i imagine him to be similar, like he would not hurt anyone intentionally in his overblot.)

anyways so the way it would go is that i imagine her friends got fatally injured either because a) she feels that she’s too “useless” without magic to help and wasn’t able to do anything OR b) her attempts at helping to try and prove that she can help without magic made everything worse.

and then she just goes into a guilty spiral then boom — overblot.

ALSO in the song, the way elsa briefly contemplated taking her own life but then realizing there’s no guarantee that would solve anything hnghgh (<- another unintentional parallel to my yuusha lore because that’s actually how she ended up in twst except she did NOT have the latter realization)

there’s this “yuu is dead” theory i’m just using and that the black carriage actually just caught yuusha’s soul after she took her own life from all the burden.

also some bonus angst context for that violin post :3

yuusha back in her homeworld is raised and known to be a gifted musician. people can feel the life and soul in her music but when people interact with her, they are usually met with an ice-cold (heh) personality.

the dead family member was the one who taught her music and the only one who was kind to her.

there’s always an expectation from her family to perform well and to keep up appearances as to not be a humiliation since anything she does can reflect on her entire family. (also hi, slight yuusha/jamil parallels maybe???)

the way she presents herself also stemmed from an incident as a child when she went apeshit on another kid bc she was defending a friend.

so from then on she was taught taught to conceal don’t feel those emotions — which just unfortunately extended to any positive ones, not just negative ones like rage.

so when she is brought to twst, there’s no memory of her being forced to hold back her emotions so she’s just unapologetically affectionate and open with everyone bc that’s how she really is.

but every now and then, memories of her breaking down haunt her in her dreams or as subtle reminders in the waking world.

then yuusha just goes on her day like she just wasn't reminded of her past.

(unnecessarily tragic lore my beloved, but anyway—)

another extremely brief tangent and bonus -> the two songs i had on loop while drawing pre-twst yuusha

lindsey stirling my beloved i love her music

the songs are such a vibe

her instrumentals in “lose you now” especially makes me feel some sort of way 😖

#AHH THIS IS /SO/ LONG #THIS IS WHAT HAPPENS WHEN IM GIVEN THE CHANCE TO RAMBLE #but thank you for the ask dio!! 🤧🤧#it makes me so happy to hear you like yuusha 😭💕💕#this also took a bit because i needed to like #actually turn all these thoughts into actual coherent words #and for them to actually. make sense together.#idk im proofreading this myself during the gamer hours of midnight hfdjslkf #i sure /hope/ they do make sense for the most part because this is pure massive brain vomit #[—✦ chatting #-✧ my art #-✧ oc rambles #(💜) yuusha #pretwst💜#-✦—]#at this point too i’m sticking to the twst elsa concept #it just felt weird admitting it bc i have a history with this movie and its fandom in general #kids would ask you “whos your favorite disney princess it cant be elsa” bc everyone would pick her so i'd have to pick another </3 #she was too famous and therefore too obvious and basic #not to mention “let it go” was EVERYWHERE and it did become annoying at one point 😭#the fandom around frozen back then was v questionable too ngl and i was also in that hole for a bit so it's just /ack/#but rewatching the movie i realize how elsa kinda speaks to me hgjkdsjfaljsd #i could lowkey highkey rant more about her but anyways #imma be an elsa defender and apologist for as long as i am able

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