#does anyone know where this jacket is from?

[midnight--sadness]

Vip! Sangwoo x s1 gihun au (I'm bad at writing and creativity.)

anon, i see the vision!!!

sangwoo does so well at this job that he ends up ceo of joy investiments. he creates alliances with powerful people, all in the name of remaining at the top where he belongs.

and he ends up receiving an invitation from chairman oh to attend the squid games as a vip. he has no idea what the games are about but assumes they involve horses or maybe even some casino-type of situation.

let's say that he is very surprised to arrive a secluded island, being told to strap on a solid mask depicting an animal and then sat down in a room full of human furniture. the front man, as he introduced himself, then announces that the fifth game will commence.

and that's when sangwoo sees him - gihun. dressed in a green tracksuit, among others wearing the same, about to pick a number because apparently they aren't here to bet on horses... they are betting on people.

the games goes on and sangwoo is gripping his whiskey glass so tight that he almost shatters it. gihun and a young woman barely escape the exploding glass bridge, backing away with enough time that neither of them seem to be injured.

sangwoo then calls the front man and asks him for player 456 (not 001, as his jacket told, sangwoo found), saying that he wants to meet the player in his private room. the front man seems hesitant but once sangwoo promises to not hurt him, that he'll be healthy enough to play the final game, he is allowed to take gihun.

i think their reunion would be incredibly bittersweet. gihun is very depressed at this point after losing most of his team but seeing sangwoo would lift his spirits. as for sangwoo, he'd have run through every possible way to get gihun away from the games before realizing that for gihun to leave he has to win, so he just tells gihun that he needs to do everything he can to win the final round.

maybe gihun tries to tell him abt saebyeok but sangwoo doesn't care. all that matters is that gihun is alive by the end of this. gihun would then wonder why sangwoo is even there; he's obviously not a player. and now i cant quite decide if sangwoo would tell him the truth abt being invited and sitting quietly as all of those ppl died, or if he'd lie and make up something on the spot.

but i think he'd tell the truth and gihun would be horrified that their deaths are being broadcasted to a bunch of rich pricks who need to be entertained... they'd fight over it, with gihun asking sangwoo why he came and sangwoo saying that he didn't know. gihun asks him if he bet on anyone, as if they are animals, and sangwoo would spit out that the gambler among them is gihun himself.

their fight ends up with them making out and then having sex on those creepy vip private rooms. gihun still has to return to the dorms but i think he'd ask sangwoo if he can take care of gihun's mom and daughter, should anything happen to him.

and now i don't know if i want gihun and saebyeok to forfeit the games and end up with no money, so gihun becomes sangwoo's sugar baby.

or if i want saebyeok to not be able to let go of the money that could save her family and so they'd both go into the last game and gihun sacrifices himself so she can win, and leave sangwoo devastated.

[sirfluffletin]

Reactions to you not wearing a bra in a match

I have no idea where this came from but yeah I made it, deal with it

Noob, They are stammering while they chase you. For the first time they've felt something other than fear in a match, sure they were still going to metaphorically shit their pants if they even catch an offhanded glimpse of the killer but, for once they felt urged to look out for anyone but themselves... How exactly the could help you... Oh... They didn't think that through...

007n7, oh... OH- ahem that's... Unfortunate. N7 realizes that you must have been summoned for the match at a... Inopportune time, he's not sure if he can assist you or if you even want his help without calling him a creep... Hes already known for being a ex-filthy criminal exploiter, he definitely doesn't want to be known as a pervert next. He'll just keep his distance... Good luck.

Elliot, Oh shit that's definitely not good, here take my button up. It's not much but he tries to make your situation better. Elliot's button

Builderman, Will also lend you his jacket it reeks of oil and the strong tinge of metal but its warm, weighing hefty and large on your frame it felt like a warm hug, a promise that you'd be able to return this gift.

Dusekkar, He's very... disturbed at this revelation. Are you not uncomfortable? chastened, maybe? He is like an disgruntled nun but he will get over it...

Taph, ...😱 🫵 🧰. Also very bewildered upon seeing you but their bashfullness strangled any attempts at verbally acknowledgeing you or your current situation, what help would that be telling you something you already know? There are more pressing matters to deal with...

Guest 1337, similarly to Elliot he will offer his O.D. Jacket. He has a strong, goal-oriented personality and he doesn’t shy away from things that are ‘embarrassing’. The main objective is survival, If your situation lessens those chances or distracts the team, it's his duty to deal with it, whether you like it or not.

Shedletsky, He is staring, you won't see him staring but he definitely is. He won't say a thing about it and he tries to keep and air of chivalry and respectfulness about him...

Chance, quite like Shedletsky is also staring, again you won't see him staring because of his dark shades. Unlike Shedletsky he will definitely comment on your chest, it'll be joking and light hearted comments, he assumes you already feel vulnerable so why make it worse for you in an already bad situation? "Getting comfy are we? Should I remove some layers too?"

Two Time, will stare- not at your chest, no but into the deepest depths of your soul. The only words they offer you are- a curt, polite question... "Why are you indecent?"

Jason, Doesn't even notice.

John Doe, Doesn't even notice; Consciousness is foggy, The defunct code moves his body nothing more. Slash, Tear, Kill, hunt another.

1x1x1x1, all her humanity is gone when she looks your way he doesn't even see you, you're just flesh what he craves to tear, til you too are a twisted disfigurement of yourself.

Azure, It's a bit cruel to allow you to be chased in your current situation... He will aid you in the form of a crude woven binder but that is the extent of his mercy. He will still be required to end your life.

iTrapped, "This isn't an brothel, have some class wench."

Okay so... I missed all of my deadlines

So here's the dealio I'm going to be spam posting all of those today (hopefully)...

[youreoutoftouch-imoutoftime]

I've been stuck in a rut with Gold Rush so I wrote something else as a writing exercise to hopefully get back in the grind

fic under the cut

Carlos loves being a Formula 1 driver. He loves the adrenaline, the rush, the strategy, and even the mind games that came with it. But he never really liked the glitz and the glamor that came with it.

Don't get him wrong, Carlos knows how money plays into this sport. And he understands what he must do to continue being in this sport. But if Carlos were asked to choose between socializing with rich pricks who think they can be an F1 driver just because they own supercars and cleaning the world's filthiest house, he'll be picking up a broom, thanks.

But there Carlos was, dressed in a tux that costs more than his monthly rent, at an FIA mandated gala, forcing himself to laugh at some sponsor's bad joke. Thankfully, Carlos was only part of a crowd so he isn't required to actively engage in conversation.

Carlos scans the room. Other drivers were milling about, in their own conversations and whatnot. Lando was talking to another sponsor in one corner of the ballroom. Charles was most likely charming his audience based on the group of people around him, hanging onto his every word. Alex was busy talking to Kalle and a MotoGP rider that Carlos does not recognize.

Carlos steps away from his group, heading out to the hallway and taking out his phone. He gets a notification that Max was currently streaming. Max pulled his WDC card and his new baby to get out of attending the gala. Carlos isn't really a jealous guy but right now, fuck you Max.

There was a glass door at the end of the hallway; a sign pointing that says 'This way to the Magic Garden.' Carlos heads over, if anyone notices his absence, that's their problem. Carlos greets the rush of cool air as he steps out. The door shuts behind him, the noise of the gala turning muffled and replaced with the sound of crickets. Carlos closed his eyes, relishing in the soothing silence until someone cleared their throat and his eyes snapped open.

Oscar Piastri was sat on the bench against the building, a knee against his chest. His suit jacket lay next to him, tie loose and the top button of his shirt was undone. Under the lamplight, Oscar's eyes were dark. Carlos had seen a clip of his eyes when hit with sunlight. Carlos sort of misses the honey brown of them.

"What are you doing here?" Carlos asks.

"Taking a breather. What are you doing here?"

"The same as you."

Oscar doesn't answer; Carlos looks up at the sky. The moon was visible, a white saucer in the sky. Carlos thinks of cheese.

"You can't see the stars from here," Oscar says. "The lights in the garden make it hard. But the light pollution from the hill nearby isn't so bad."

"How do you know that?"

Oscar shrugs. "I explored a bit."

Carlos looks back at the glass door, suddenly noticing the muffled sounds of the gala. His skin crawls with the thought of going back in and having to put up a persona again. "Show me."

Oscar raises an eyebrow. "What?"

"The stars. From the hill."

"You want to stargaze?"

"Yes."

Oscar just stares. Carlos stares back. Carlos would rather stare at the stars but Oscar wasn't half-bad. Finally, Oscar sighs and stands up, his palms slapping his thighs as he does.

"Aight. Let's go then."

Oscar leads Carlos through a pebbled path through the garden. Carlos stops when Oscar hops over the fence into the woods.

"The sign says it is not allowed, Oscar. No tresspassing."

Oscar just smiles. "No one's watching." And disappears into the forest.

Carlos swallows but follows.

The woods were thankfully small; the pair quickly arriving at the foot of a small hill. In fact, it was barely a hill; just an elevated clearing seemingly in the middle of nowhere. Carlos felt like he was in an entirely different world; an alternate reality where it was only him and Oscar with the grass under them and the infinite sky above.

As they reach the top, a gust of wind rolled by, tousling Oscar's hair and making his loosened tie flap in the wind. He had his hands in his pockets as he looked up at the night sky. The moon seemed to shine even brighter, bathing Oscar in a soft silvery glow. The paleness of his skin, while pasty (haha pasty Piastri, Carlos thinks to himself a few hours later) in some instances seemed ethereal in this limbo Carlos seems to have found himself in.

"You are handsome in the moonlight." Carlos could not control his mouth and frankly, he felt no need to.

Oscar gives him a sardonic smile. "I think you need glasses, mate."

Carlos shakes his head. "No, I have never seen so clearly in my entire life."

Oscar gives him another one of his stares; not hostile, just... analyzing, calculating. He looks back up. "Here it is, then. The stars."

Carlos pulls his gaze away then in a split decision, flops down on his back.

"Carlos, your suit-"

"We are Formula 1 drivers, we can afford dry cleaning, yes?"

Carlos keeps his eyes on the sky but grins when he hears Oscar sit next to him.

"Lie down. It is comfortable."

"Mate, I didn't bring my jacket."

Oscar lays down anyway.

They stay in companionable silence just gazing up at the stars. Their hands brush. Carlos tentatively rests his pinky over Oscar's. Oscar does not move away.

Time will go by. Carlos and Oscar will go back to the gala, go back to being racecar drivers in the glamorous world of Formula 1. But right now, no crowds, no press, nothing but the moon and the stars as their witness, the only thing racing between them are their heartbeats.

[midnightquillz]

I wanted to try this again, So i think I got it down this time. :) Honestly i know this poster { @thewriteadviceforwriters was giving advice and i love it but this mentally gave me a prompt. So intentional or not i hope you see this! Thank you :)

MidnightQuillz version of: ✨ The Twist That Reframes Everything ✨

Content Warnings:

Murder and premeditated killing

Financial fraud/embezzlement

Psychological manipulation and deception

Undercover surveillance/stalking

Exploitation of grief support groups

Domestic violence (verbal arguments)

Death of a loved one

Fake grief/emotional manipulation

Police investigation themes

Betrayal of trust

Note: This story involves someone using grief counseling as a cover for criminal activity and an undercover investigation within a mental health support setting.

The Support Group

Jasmine had been going to the grief support group for three months when Alex first showed up.

The community center meeting room always smelled like burnt coffee and industrial disinfectant, but Jasmine had grown oddly fond of it. It was the only place where she didn't have to pretend she was "doing better" or "moving on" or any of the other phrases people used when they were uncomfortable with her pain.

"We have someone new joining us today," Linda, the group facilitator, announced with her usual gentle smile. "Alex, would you like to introduce yourself?"

Alex was younger than most of the group—maybe late twenties, with tired eyes and the kind of nervous energy that came from drinking too much coffee and sleeping too little. They fidgeted with the sleeves of their oversized sweater as they spoke.

"Hi, I'm Alex. I... my partner died six months ago. Car accident." Their voice was barely above a whisper. "I'm not really good at this talking thing, but my therapist said I should try."

"Thank you for sharing," Linda said. "What would you like us to know about your partner?"

Alex's face softened. "Their name was Jordan. They were... they were everything good about the world, you know? Always making everyone laugh, always trying to help people. They worked at the animal shelter downtown because they said someone had to speak for the ones who couldn't speak for themselves."

Jasmine felt the familiar ache in her chest. It had been eight months since Marcus died—also a car accident, though his had been at night, in the rain, on his way home from working late at the youth center. She'd heard Alex's story a hundred times in different versions from different people, but it never got easier.

After the meeting, Jasmine found herself walking out with Alex. It wasn't intentional—they just happened to be heading in the same direction.

"How do you do it?" Alex asked suddenly. "Linda said you've been coming for months. Does it get easier?"

Jasmine considered lying, giving the answer people wanted to hear. Instead, she said, "Some days are better than others. Some days I still wake up and forget he's gone."

"Jordan used to leave me little notes," Alex said. "Stupid things, like reminders to eat lunch or jokes they found online. I keep finding them in random places—jacket pockets, between book pages. It's like they're still trying to take care of me."

"Marcus did that too," Jasmine said, surprised. "He'd put Post-it notes on the bathroom mirror with terrible puns. I couldn't bring myself to take them down for months."

They walked in comfortable silence for a while. Then Alex said, "Would you maybe want to get coffee sometime? Not like a date or anything, just... it might be nice to talk to someone who gets it."

Jasmine hesitated. She hadn't really talked to anyone outside the group since Marcus died. Her friends and family meant well, but they all seemed to think grief had an expiration date.

"I know a place," she said finally. "The café on Pine Street. They have terrible coffee but good pastries."

Alex smiled—the first genuine smile Jasmine had seen from them. "Perfect. I love terrible coffee."

Over the next few weeks, Jasmine and Alex fell into an easy friendship. They met for coffee after group meetings, texted each other on bad days, and slowly began to share the weight of their grief.

Alex was funny in a dark, self-deprecating way that made Jasmine laugh despite herself. They had strong opinions about movies, knew an alarming amount about obscure true crime cases, and always ordered the same thing at the café—black coffee and a blueberry muffin they never finished.

"Jordan would have loved you," Alex said one afternoon, stirring sugar into their coffee. "They collected people like you."

"People like me?"

"Good people. Genuine people. They had this theory that the world was full of people pretending to be okay, and the only way to survive was to find the ones who admitted they weren't."

Jasmine thought about Marcus, about how he'd had a similar philosophy. "What did Jordan do at the animal shelter?"

"They were a veterinary technician. Worked mostly with the dogs nobody wanted—the old ones, the sick ones, the ones with behavioral issues. Jordan said they just needed someone to be patient with them."

"That sounds like Marcus. He worked with teenagers everyone else had given up on."

Alex nodded. "Do you think they would have been friends? Jordan and Marcus?"

"Definitely," Jasmine said. "Marcus would have loved Jordan's Post-it note thing. He was always trying to make people smile."

"What's the worst thing about it?" Alex asked suddenly. "The grief, I mean."

Jasmine considered. "People expect you to be grateful for the time you had. Like the pain is worth it because you got to love someone. But some days I think I'd rather have never met him than feel like this."

"Yeah," Alex said quietly. "And then you feel guilty for thinking that."

"Exactly."

They sat in comfortable silence, watching the rain streak down the café windows. Outside, people hurried past with umbrellas and determined expressions, everyone rushing somewhere important. Jasmine wondered if any of them were carrying the kind of weight she and Alex carried.

"Can I ask you something?" Alex said. "Do you ever feel like... like you're betraying them by moving forward? Like enjoying anything is proof you didn't love them enough?"

"All the time," Jasmine admitted. "I laughed at something on TV last week and immediately felt sick about it. Like I was supposed to be sad forever to prove he mattered."

"Jordan would hate that," Alex said. "They'd probably leave me a note telling me to stop being an idiot and go live my life."

"Marcus would say the same thing. He was always pushing people to be better than they thought they could be."

Alex smiled, but it didn't reach their eyes. "Sometimes I wonder what would have happened if I'd been in the car with them that night."

"Alex..."

"Not in a suicidal way," Alex said quickly. "I mean, maybe sometimes. But mostly I just wonder if I could have changed something. If I'd been there, maybe I could have grabbed the wheel, or told them to slow down, or..."

"Or you'd both be dead," Jasmine said gently. "I've had the same thoughts about Marcus. What if I'd convinced him to stay home that night? What if I'd picked him up instead of letting him drive? But you can't live in the what-ifs."

"I know. Jordan's mom tells me the same thing. She says Jordan wouldn't want me to blame myself."

"You're close with Jordan's family?"

"They're all I have left of Jordan, you know? Jordan's mom still texts me every week to check in. Their dad sends me pictures of their dog. It's like... they're keeping me connected to the person I was when Jordan was alive."

Jasmine felt a pang of envy. Marcus's family had been kind but distant after the funeral. They'd never really approved of their relationship, and his death had only made things more awkward.

"That's beautiful," she said. "I'm glad you have that."

"What about you? Do you have anyone who knew Marcus well?"

"A few friends from work, but they don't really know what to say anymore. Everyone's moved on except me."

Alex reached across the table and squeezed her hand. "I'm not moving on either. We can not move on together."

The following week, Alex didn't show up to group. Jasmine waited until the last minute, thinking maybe they were just running late, but Linda started the session without them.

"Is Alex okay?" Jasmine asked Linda after the meeting.

"I'm sure they're fine," Linda said. "People sometimes need breaks from group. The work we do here can be overwhelming."

Jasmine texted Alex that night: Missed you at group today. Everything okay?

No response.

She tried again the next day, and the day after that. By the weekend, she was genuinely worried. It wasn't like Alex to disappear without saying anything.

On Monday, she decided to stop by the animal shelter where Jordan had worked. Maybe someone there would know how to reach Alex, or at least confirm that they were okay.

The shelter was a small, cheerful building with murals of dogs and cats painted on the outside walls. Inside, the smell of disinfectant couldn't quite mask the underlying scent of animals and hope.

"Excuse me," Jasmine said to the young woman at the front desk. "I'm looking for information about someone who used to work here. Jordan?"

The woman looked confused. "Jordan? I'm sorry, what's their last name?"

"I... I don't actually know. They worked here as a vet tech. They died about six months ago in a car accident?"

The woman's expression grew more puzzled. "I'm sorry, but I don't think anyone named Jordan has worked here. I've been here for two years, and before that my supervisor would have mentioned anyone who... who died. Can you describe them?"

Jasmine realized she couldn't. Alex had talked about Jordan constantly but had never shown her a picture, never described what they looked like beyond vague terms like "beautiful" and "kind."

"Maybe I have the wrong shelter," she said weakly.

"Maybe. You could try the city shelter on Broadway, or the one in Queen Anne."

Jasmine thanked her and left, but she didn't go to the other shelters. Instead, she sat in her car in the parking lot, trying to make sense of what she'd just learned.

That evening, she googled "car accident Jordan Seattle six months ago" and found nothing. She tried different variations—Jordan, car accident, vet tech, animal shelter—but came up empty.

Her phone buzzed. A text from Alex: Sorry I missed group. Been having a rough week. Coffee tomorrow?

Jasmine stared at the message for a long time before responding: Sure. Pine Street café at 2?

Perfect. See you then.

Alex looked terrible when they showed up to the café the next day. Their eyes were red-rimmed, and they kept glancing around nervously.

"Are you okay?" Jasmine asked. "You look like you haven't slept."

"I haven't been sleeping well," Alex admitted. "Bad dreams."

"About Jordan?"

Alex's face went very still. "Why would you ask that?"

"Because... because that's what we talk about. Our partners. Our grief."

"Right. Yes. About Jordan."

They ordered their usual—black coffee and a blueberry muffin—but Alex's hands were shaking slightly as they stirred sugar into their cup.

"Alex, I need to ask you something," Jasmine said carefully. "I went to the animal shelter yesterday. The one where Jordan worked."

Alex went very pale. "Why?"

"Because I was worried about you. You disappeared without saying anything, and I thought maybe someone there could help me figure out if you were okay."

"And?"

"They said no one named Jordan had ever worked there."

Alex was quiet for a long moment. Then they said, "Maybe I got the name wrong. Maybe it was a different shelter."

"Alex."

"Or maybe they just didn't know. Big staff turnover, you know?"

"Alex, stop."

Alex looked up at her, and Jasmine saw something in their eyes that made her stomach drop. Fear. Guilt. And something else—something that looked almost like relief.

"There is no Jordan, is there?" Jasmine said quietly.

Alex's face crumpled. "I can explain."

"I don't understand. Why would you lie about something like that?"

"Because I needed to," Alex said, tears starting to fall. "Because I needed to understand."

"Understand what?"

Alex wiped their eyes with their sleeve. "How you did it. How you got away with it."

"Got away with what?"

"Killing Marcus."

The words hit Jasmine like a physical blow. "What?"

"I know it was you," Alex said, their voice suddenly steady. "I know you killed him, and I know you've been lying about it for eight months."

Jasmine felt the world tilt around her. "Alex, what are you talking about? Marcus died in a car accident. You know that. Everyone knows that."

"Marcus Chen died in a single-car accident on Highway 99 at 11:47 PM on a rainy Tuesday night," Alex said, and their voice was different now—clinical, precise. "He was driving home from work when his car hydroplaned and hit a tree. No other vehicles involved. No witnesses."

"How do you know his last name?" Jasmine whispered.

"Because I've been investigating his death for eight months. Because Marcus Chen was my brother."

The café suddenly felt very small and very quiet. Jasmine could hear her own heartbeat in her ears.

"Your brother," she repeated.

"My older brother. Marcus Alexander Chen. He called me Alex when we were kids because he said my real name was too long. Alexandra." Alex's eyes were hard now, all pretense of grief gone. "He was driving home from the youth center where he volunteered, just like he did every Tuesday night. Except that Tuesday, he'd been fighting with his girlfriend. You."

"We didn't fight—"

"You did. The neighbors heard you screaming at each other. Something about money, about him finding out what you'd been doing." Alex leaned forward. "Want to know what I think happened?"

Jasmine wanted to run, to scream, to deny everything, but she was frozen in place.

"I think you'd been stealing from the youth center's fundraising account. Marcus was treasurer, so he would have noticed eventually. I think he confronted you, and you fought, and you knew your comfortable little life was about to fall apart." Alex's voice was getting louder. "So you followed him when he left. You waited until he was on that dark stretch of highway, and you ran him off the road."

"That's insane. You're insane."

"Am I? Because I've been watching you for months, Jasmine. I've been to your apartment, I've followed you to work, I've sat in group therapy sessions listening to you perform grief for a man you murdered." Alex pulled out their phone. "I've been recording everything."

Jasmine's blood turned to ice. "Recording what?"

"Every conversation. Every coffee date. Every time you slipped up and said something that didn't match the story you told the police." Alex scrolled through their phone. "Like how you said Marcus left you Post-it notes on the bathroom mirror, but you told the investigating officer you'd removed all his things from the apartment the week after he died. Or how you said he was working late that night, but the youth center's records show he left at his normal time."

"You're twisting things—"

"Or how you knew exactly how much money was missing from the fundraising account even though that information was never made public."

Jasmine felt like she was drowning. "I never said anything about money."

"Two weeks ago. You said Marcus was always worried about money, that he'd been stressed about some accounting discrepancy at work. But the only people who knew about the missing money were Marcus, the center's director, and the police."

Alex leaned back in their chair, and for the first time since Jasmine had known them, they looked genuinely calm.

"I've been building a case against you for eight months," Alex said. "The fake grief support group attendance, the manufactured friendship, the recorded conversations—it's all evidence. And tomorrow morning, I'm taking it all to the police."

Jasmine's hands were shaking now. "You can't prove anything."

"Actually, I can. See, while I was playing your grieving friend, I was also tracking your financial records. Turns out you made some interesting deposits right after Marcus died. Insurance money, sure, but also payments from some offshore accounts that are very hard to trace."

"You're crazy."

"And you're a murderer who's been using a grief support group as cover for your guilt." Alex stood up. "The really sick part is that you actually seemed to enjoy it. Playing the grieving girlfriend, getting sympathy, making friends with other people who were actually in pain."

Jasmine thought about all their conversations, all the times she'd felt genuinely connected to Alex, all the moments when sharing her "grief" had felt almost real.

"I did love him," she said quietly.

"No, you didn't. You loved what he could give you. And when he threatened to take that away, you killed him."

Alex gathered their things. "Oh, and Jasmine? That story about Jordan? I got it from you. Every detail about the Post-it notes, the animal shelter, the caring nature—that was all Marcus. I just changed the name and made up a car accident. Funny how easy it was to get you to tell me exactly how to fake grief when you'd been doing it for months."

They paused at the door. "The police will be in touch soon. I'd suggest you get a lawyer."

And then Alex was gone, leaving Jasmine alone with her cold coffee and the terrible understanding that everything she thought she knew about the last three months had been a lie.

Her phone buzzed. A text from an unknown number: Thanks for the confession. - Detective Chen

Detective Chen. Marcus's sister. Alexandra Chen, who'd been patient and kind and understanding while she built an airtight case against the woman who'd killed her brother.

Jasmine looked around the café, at the other customers drinking their coffee and living their normal lives, and realized she was probably looking at it for the last time as a free woman.

Outside, it started to rain.

🔪 3 Plot Twists That Slap (and 1 that should be arrested) 🔪

hello and welcome back to me yelling on main about storytelling crimes. today we are talking about plot twists. specifically: the good, the god-tier, and the why-would-you-do-this-i-trusted-you tier.

let’s go.

✨ The Twist That Reframes Everything ✨ a.k.a. the “wait. WAIT.” twist. This is when you drop a twist that doesn’t just add drama - it recontextualizes the entire story. It makes the reader go back and reread earlier scenes like “was this character ALWAYS sketchy or am I just stupid??” It retroactively changes the emotional weight of everything that’s happened. Suddenly that offhanded comment in chapter three hits like a brick. The romance subplot becomes 500% more tragic. The villain’s motive makes SENSE now. Delicious.

✅ Best used when: the breadcrumbs are subtle but real. The twist shouldn’t come out of nowhere - it should feel inevitable in hindsight. Like Sixth Sense, Knives Out, that one betrayal in your favorite anime you still haven’t recovered from.

2.🧨 The Emotional Betrayal It’s giving: “i would’ve died for you” energy. This is the kind of twist that hurts. You thought they were loyal. You thought they cared. They did care - and still did it anyway. Or they never cared, and now you’re spiraling. This twist slaps because it’s not just about plot, it’s about trust. It stabs the characters AND the reader in the same motion. Bonus points if it’s a slow burn betrayal. Bonus bonus points if the betrayer feels genuinely torn up about it.

✅ Best used when: the reader is emotionally attached. Don’t waste this one on a side character we barely know. Save it for the love interest. The best friend. The mentor figure with dad energy. Make it personal. Make it RUIN lives.

3. 🧊 The “They Were Dead the Whole Time” but Make It Interesting Listen. This one’s risky. It’s a classic for a reason but also easy to flop. But when done well? Haunting. Creepy. Unhinged in a gorgeous way. It doesn’t have to be death either - maybe the character’s been possessed. Or they’re not real. Or the narrator’s memory is lying. The KEY is to not lean too hard on the shock. Lean on the vibes. Give it eeriness. Make it a slow unraveling. Give us dread. Give us melancholy. Give us psychological decay with a side of unreliable narrator.

✅ Best used when: you’re writing something surreal, gothic, speculative, or emotionally weird. This twist isn’t about plot logic, it’s about atmosphere and emotional rot.

🚨 The Twist That Should Be Arrested: “It Was All a Dream” 🚨 I’m sorry but. no. if I read 80k words of someone’s descent into madness just to find out it was their stress dream and now they’re normal again?? I will throw the entire book into a lake. This twist erases tension instead of escalating it. It invalidates everything the reader emotionally invested in. It’s the narrative equivalent of gaslighting. don’t do it. UNLESS - and this is a big unless - you’re doing it with INTENT. Meta intent. Dream-within-a-dream psychological horror intent. If you’re gonna do it, it better haunt me. It better RUIN me. Otherwise? Into the lake.

okay that’s all. go forth and commit plot crimes responsibly. bonus points if you use all three Good Twists in the same story and then look me in the eye like “oh was that too much?”

it wasn’t.

tag me when you emotionally destroy someone with it.

🕯️ download the pack & write something cursed:

[nightghoul381]

Ellis Twilight ~ 3rd Birthday Story

Chapter 2

This a fan translation so it is definitely not 100% accurate. I do not own anything related to Ikemen Villains. Support Cybird by buying their amazing stories!

No Warnings for this part, but it does become NSFW in later parts, so MDNI

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Epilogue

It was past noon when we arrived at the town with the lavender fields.

We left our luggage at the inn and went around the town as planned.

We spent time sightseeing before we would head to the lavender fields at sunset.

Ellis: “Kate, say aah.”

Kate: “Mmm, delicious.”

Ellis: “Give me a bite too.”

Kate: “Yes, say aah.”

Ellis: “Mmm, fufu, it’s tasty.”

As we fed each other gelato in front of the fountain, my heart continued to race at how sweet he was.

(Ellis is being especially sweet today, my heart won’t stop pounding.)

There was nothing that was happening that would ruin our trip together, but…

Perhaps because we came to a town where we didn’t know anyone, the distance between us felt much closer than usual.

When we moved, we walked closely together, holding hands and feeding each other at meals.

On top of that, he kissed me at every opportunity… I felt like I was melting from how sweet he was.

(It was supposed to be a trip celebrating his birthday, but I feel like I’m the one being celebrated.)

As I was thinking about that, I took a bite of the gelato, and drop of water hit the tip of my nose.

Kate: “Huh?”

Ellis: “No way…”

Startled, we both looked up at the sky at the same time.

The sky that had been clear until just a moment ago was covered by rain clouds.

It began to rain heavily.

I frantically looked around but couldn’t find any place to take shelter.

Ellis put his jacket over my head and grabbed my wrist.

Ellis: “Let’s go back to the inn for now, can you run?”

Kate: “Y-yeah.”

He took my hand, and we ran out through the rain.

(This will stop by the evening, right…?)

The rain clouds covering the sky made me feel a little uneasy.

And those fears turned out to be valid.

Returning to the inn, I took a shower and waited for Ellis, who had gone to ask the owner about the weather.

(It’s already evening, but it still hasn’t stopped)

The door to the room opened, and when Ellis saw me, he looked troubled and frowned.

Ellis: “I spoke to the owner, and he said it might not stop until tomorrow morning.”

Kate: “Really…”

(I thought this year would be good.)

I planned the trip, took time off, and did a lot of preparation for this day.

However, just like last year, what seemed to be a successful trip was ruined-- by bad weather.

(I know it can’t be helped.)

I was sad that the rain had interrupted the visit for the second year in a row.

As I looked down, Ellis crouched in front of me and looked into my face with a gentle expression.

Ellis: “Let’s get up early tomorrow morning and go see the lavender fields.”

Kate: “But we don’t know if it will be sunny.”

Ellis: “Then let’s get soaked and look at the flowers together.”

Ellis: “No matter what the weather, I’ll think it’s beautiful when I see it with you.”

Ellis: “So, don’t make that face. If you look sad, it makes me sad too.”

He rested his head on my lap as I sat in a chair and looked up at me.

His eyes seemed to be telling me that it would be okay.

(…He’s right, I shouldn’t be the one feeling down.)

I regained my composure, met his gaze and nodded vigorously.

Ellis’ expression brightened and he stood up.

Kate: “Wha!”

He picked me up and set me onto the bet—then pushed me down.

Kate: “Ngh, Ellis…”

Kisses rained down on me and before I had a chance to speak, my lips were sealed.

While I was absorbed in the sweet, melting deep kiss, the ribbon on my blouse was untied.

I smiled wryly as he sucked on my exposed shoulder, leaving a mark.

Kate: “I’m not going to be able to get up early.”

Ellis pulled down my blouse and put his hands on my skirt.

Ellis: “I’ll wake you up, I promise.”

Ellis: “So—”

Ellis: “Give yourself to me.”

The sound of the rain hitting the window was drowned out by the sounds of kissing.

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Epilogue

[a-casxandra]

𝗬𝗢𝗨'𝗥𝗘 𝗪𝗛𝗔𝗧!?

𝐋𝐚𝐝𝐬 𝐌𝐞𝐧 : reacting to you having cryptic pregnancy.

a cryptic pregnancy also known as stealth or hidden pregnancy, occurs when a woman is unaware that she is pregnant, until late in the pregnancy, sometimes even until labor begins. This can happen for various reasons, including a lack of typical pregnancy symptoms, misinterpretation of symptoms, or denial of pregnancy.

★｡+ﾟ☆ 𝐗𝐀𝐕𝐈𝐄𝐑 ☆ﾟ+｡★

You’re both just finished a mission and was on the way to the hunter's association, when you double over in pain. You think it’s food poisoning. He calmly carries you before teleporting immediately to the medical wings inside the hunter's association.

Reaction:

At first? Deadpan calm.

“...You’re giving birth. That’s what this is.” He says it like he’s reading it from a technical manual, but his grip on your hand tightens.

Internally, he’s going through every medical protocol stored in his deepspace hunter database. He’s weirdly efficient, guiding the doctors, not letting go of you even once, but he keeps asking:

“Do you want water? Are you afraid? Should I hold your hand?”

Even after the baby arrives, he’ll just stare at it with blank confusion, then gently say:

“It’s... small. Like you.”

Then promptly falls asleep holding your hand, because the shock finally hits him post-event.

★｡+ﾟ☆ 𝐙𝐀𝐘𝐍𝐄 ☆ﾟ+｡★

Irony of ironies—you’re in his hospital, and he’s on a break when it happens. You clutch your stomach, and he immediately runs to you. Zayne kneels beside you, immediately goes full doctor-mode—except he’s not calm.

“Where does it hurt? How long has it been—shit, your pulse is spiking.”

He gets you to the ER fast, barking instructions at the med team even though he knows he shouldn’t be interfering. When they tell him you’re in labor?

“That’s not—there’s no way. That’s not possible. We would've seen it. I would've known.”

He’s shaken. All logic, all science he believes in—thrown out the window. But the second he sees the baby placed in your arms, the tears he didn’t realize were there finally spill.

Later, when it’s quiet, he touches the baby's cheek and murmurs:

“I missed everything… but I’m not missing anything else.”

★｡+ﾟ☆ 𝐑𝐀𝐅𝐀𝐘𝐄𝐋 ☆ﾟ+｡★

You’re at an art exhibit he’s hosting. You collapse in pain, and he freaks out so dramatically that half the press thinks it's performance art.

Rafayel panics. Loudly. hands fumbling, as he tried calling for ambulance.... too bad he's too panicking that he actually called the coast guard instead.

“What’s happening to her?! Do something! You’re doctors—aren’t you supposed to save lives?"

Once told you’re in labor, his first reaction?

“That’s impossible. I’d know, wouldn’t I?!” But then he’s by your side, holding your hand, tears in his eyes even before the baby arrives.

“I didn’t even get to talk to them in your belly... I feel like I missed everything.”

Once the baby cries? He cries too.

And don’t expect him to leave your hospital bed. He’ll cuddle both you and the baby like a sea otter protecting its whole world.

★｡+ﾟ☆ 𝐒𝐘𝐋𝐔𝐒 ☆ﾟ+｡★

You’re helping him review maps of the N109 zone when you double over. You think it’s something you ate. You’re trying to tough it out—until you start bleeding.

He freezes. Just for a split second.

Then he carries you bridal-style through Onychinus HQ like a war just started. If anyone even blinks wrong, he growls:

“Out of my way or die.”

At the hospital, Sylus glares at the doctors, knives in his voice:

“If anything happens to her, I’ll tear this place apart.”

Once he learns it’s a birth? He does not compute.

“...We didn’t even know. Kitten, How the hell did this happen?”

But he doesn’t leave your side. When the baby comes, he just stands over it silently... before muttering:

“You’ll take after her. Not me.”

And then wraps you and the baby in his jacket like it’s armor.

★｡+ﾟ☆ 𝐂𝐀𝐋𝐄𝐁 ☆ﾟ+｡★

You’re watching a Farspace Fleet training session when you suddenly cry out in pain. Caleb catches you before you hit the ground.

Instant military mode. Barks orders. Clears the area. Escorts you to medical like he’s carrying precious cargo.

“She’s in pain. Do your jobs.”

When told you're in labor? his eyes widen. For once, Caleb is silent.

Once he’s alone with you though? His voice softens.

“Pipsqueak.. You’re really about to give birth, huh? I didn’t see it coming… but I’m here. I’m not leaving.”

He holds your hand through every contraction, whispering encouragement, wiping your tears.

And when the baby’s born? He crumbles.

“They’re perfect. You’re perfect. You did this all by yourself… I’m sorry I wasn’t there before, but I will be now. For everything.”

[it's my first time writing a reaction/imagine thingy. Should i do a part 2, when the baby comes out looking exactly like them?]

[clemmmmmmmmmmmmmm]

Heeeyyyyyy can you do one with all the batboys but the scenario is that your making out with them and then all of a sudden someone walks in and it’s like a funny awkward moment P.S I absolutely LOVE ❤️ your writing ✍️

“We’re kissing in the bathroom,Girl.I hope nobody catch us,But i kinda hope they catch us.”

Batboys x reader : getting caught making out

Request by @jakiicomics,My first ask ever!!! Thank you 💛💛my asks/requests are open

Bruce Wayne

Bruce is not the kind of guy who’s careless in public… or private.

But when he lets himself go — really go — it’s intense. He kisses like it’s the last thing he’ll ever do. And he rarely lets anyone see that side.

So when the door swings open (probably Alfred, Lucius, or a poor intern), you both freeze.

He does not scramble. Just slowly pulls away from your lips, adjusts his cufflinks, and calmly says:

“Do you mind?”

The same way he’d say “You’re bleeding on my rug.”

If it’s one of the boys walking in?

“This is a private moment. Learn to knock.”

Straight-up dad mode, but deadly.

You’re flustered. Bruce is steely calm. But the second the door shuts?

Back against the wall.

“Now where were we?”

⸻

Dick Grayson

Dick is hands in your hair, lips on your neck, pulling you into his lap—zero restraint. The second someone walks in? He yelps. Actually lets out a full panic noise and yanks a blanket over both of you.

“HELLO?! EVER HEARD OF KNOCKING?!”

If it’s a sibling (Tim or Damian):

“Get out. Out. OUT. Don’t look at her—stop looking at her!”

You’re laughing. He’s red from his ears to his collarbone.

Tries to salvage his cool later:

“Honestly though, we looked good. Like hot. You know? Right?”

Refuses to go near that room for at least a week.

⸻

Jason Todd

It’s steamy. It’s heavy. He’s groaning your name against your mouth.

And then—

“Hey, has anyone seen my—OH COME ON.”

Jason whips around, shields you with his body, and goes full older-brother rage mode.

If it’s Tim:

“TIM. GOD. LEARN TO READ A ROOM.”

Throws a pillow at whoever it is. Possibly a shoe.

“You’re lucky she’s too sweet to kill you. I’m not.”

You try to calm him down but he’s grumbling for 20 minutes.

Makes up for it later. Thoroughly.

⸻

Tim Drake

Tim is already a mess when kissing you. His hands shake a little, he forgets to breathe, and you’re sure he short-circuits every time your lips part.

So when the door swings open mid-makeout?

He jumps three feet, falls off the couch, and takes you with him.

“AHH—SHUT THE DOOR! SHUT THE—DON’T LOOK AT HER!”

Apologizes profusely even though you did nothing wrong.

“I swear I locked the door. I double-checked! I think. Maybe I hallucinated locking it—”

Goes into hiding afterward. Probably under a hoodie. Possibly in a tech lab.

You have to reassure him you’re not mortified.

“It’s okay, Tim. They barely saw anything.”

“They saw my soul leave my body.”

⸻

Damian Wayne

Damian kisses with precision. Control. He doesn’t do messy makeouts often, but when he does — it’s serious business.

If someone walks in? He glares over his shoulder like he’s about to ruin their lineage.

If it’s Dick or Alfred:

“If your eyeballs have finished malfunctioning, kindly exit.”

If it’s Jon Kent or someone young: he throws a cape or jacket over your head and physically removes the intruder.

Absolutely refuses to act embarrassed. But later?

Quietly asks,

“Did it�� upset you? Being seen?”

And when you shake your head, he leans back in like it never happened.

[angelluvsrafe]

how rafe helps you with your autism

writers notes: this is specific to what triggers me, i’m sorry if it’s not suited for you! i can totally write more specific scenarios if you want, just request them and i’ll try to get to it as soon as possible <3

- request a fic - masterlist -

icky textures

whenever rafe gives you his jacket or hoodie, he’ll let you feel the texture first.

“you look cold, bunny” he murmurs and takes his fleece off.

he holds it out for you to feel, you feel it between your two fingers and grimace.

“i don’t like that…” you respond quietly. “feels squeaky…”

he nods and puts his fleece back on.

“that’s okay, sweetheart. i’ll just keep you warm with my heat instead” he chuckles and pulls you into his chest, rubbing your back to warm you up.

labels

you always play with the labels in your tops, rubbing them in between your fingers— feeling the material grip to itself is calming to you.

if rafe is shopping for you, he always takes into consideration how good the labels are. he knows what you like; the floppy, soft material. not the plastic feeling ones.

even if he buys some clothes for himself, he will show you the label and if you like it, he’ll cut them out and give them to you.

it’s a love language at this point.

loud noises

when you’re in busy places, his eyes are always on you. he’s watching your facial expressions to see if anything is stressing you out.

if something does get a little too loud, he’ll pull your head to his chest— pressing your ear against it and then he puts his other hand over your other ear.

he uses the other hand to rub your back or stroke your hair. he knows not to grab your arms or wrap his arms around you in this kind of situation because it stresses you out even more.

“you’re okay, i’ve got you” he kisses your forehead. “let’s go find somewhere quiet.”

he guides you outside with his hands still covering your ears.

when you get overstimulated

he watches you from the bed while you do your hair, you’re trying to curl it and then pin it up into pin curls so they hold better.

your body tenses as a hair gets tangled in your finger and then the music your playing starts seeming louder. you’re now suddenly aware of all the clips in your hair and the strands of hair on your arms and back.

he gets up from the bed and turns the music off before brushing off the strands of hair that had fallen onto your skin.

he then starts taking out the pins one by one, you lean back against him and when he’s done he kisses the top of your head.

“come lay down, sweetheart…” he picks you up and carries you to the bed. he lays you down and positions himself between your legs to lay on you.

he’s like your personal weighted blanket.

sandy toes

you’re at the beach, you’d been in the water with your friends for a while before heading back to where rafe and his group were.

you very quickly became aware of the sand on your feet and in between your toes. rafe sees your face and immediately crosses his legs and pats his lap.

“that’s a cute face…” he chuckles as you sit down, leaning back against this chest.

he starts brushing the sand of your feet, he talks to you to distract you from the feeling of his fingers getting the sand out from between your toes.

when he’s done he kisses the top of your head and then your cheek, chuckling at your scrunched up nose.

“all done, sweet girl…” he murmurs as he dusts off your flip flops and puts them on your feet.

rafe’s the only person you let near your feet. if it’s anyone else, you freak out but for some reason it doesn’t tickle when rafe touches them.

[fromdove]

“i told you not to wait up,” jason says, voice low, rough, ruined from yelling or running or both. he's peeling his jacket off one shoulder, the kevlar sticking where the blood’s dried tacky and brown, and you’re already crossing the room to him with a frown and a half-empty bottle of peroxide.

“yeah?” you say. “and i told you not to get stabbed again. guess we’re both bad at listening.”

his mouth twitches like he wants to laugh. doesn’t. his whole body sways like the adrenaline’s leaking out of him, and now there’s nothing holding him upright but pure spite and habit.

you grab his wrist. gently. “sit down.”

“doll, i’m fine—”

“sit. down.”

he does. mostly because you said it like that. partly because he’s tired. mostly because you’re touching him again.

the cut on his side is shallow but ugly, right under the ribs, still leaking a little. the sight of it makes your stomach twist, like maybe if you’d called him one minute earlier, if you’d kept him talking, if you’d just begged a little harder— whatever. you’re not crying. you’re not.

“what happened?” you ask, even though you probably don’t want to know.

he shrugs, flinches. “guy had a knife. i had bad reflexes.”

“your reflexes are never bad.”

he looks at you. for a second. and then away.

you clean the cut. you don’t say anything about how he hisses through his teeth. or how his jaw tightens like he’s trying to pretend he doesn’t feel you, doesn’t care that you’re here, doesn’t want to grab you by the wrist and kiss you so hard he forgets how to breathe.

“you could’ve called for backup,” you say. softly. the gauze sticks a little. you don’t apologize.

“i didn’t want anyone getting hurt.”

“and you getting hurt is fine?”

“i’m used to it.”

that does something awful to your chest. you press harder than you mean to. he doesn’t say anything. just watches you with those stupid storm-cloud eyes like he’s sorry but also not sorry at all.

“idiot,” you mutter. not looking at him.

“you love it,” he says, smirking with blood on his teeth.

you glare. “you’re literally bleeding out and you still manage to flirt.”

“i’m multitasking.”

you hate him. you love him. you hate that you love him. you love that he’s here, still, bruised and reckless and real and breathing.

you lean in before you can stop yourself. just enough to rest your forehead against his. his skin is hot. he smells like smoke and metal and something that might be yours.

“please don’t die,” you whisper.

he doesn’t say anything.

but his hand finds yours. bruised knuckles and all. squeezes once.

“i wasn’t planning on it,” he says.

[luveline]

can you pls do Sirius and his loser!gf <3 where she’s getting insecure about how cool he is and how much of a loser she is so she stops doing her fun little hobbies and tries to change and he can’t wrap his head around it? luv u 

fem, 2.4k

Shaving the backs of your legs is hard, but you only cut yourself once. More of a rash. It’s fine. And buying new clothes is worse, trying everything on, attempting to make outfits you aren’t brave enough to wear, it’s difficult, but Sirius got you a gift card for your birthday with too much money on it anyways. It’s okay. Doing your makeup like this, following the tutorials and learning how to keep a steady hand, it was frustrating, but it’s done now. 

You turn in the mirror in silence. Small black dress with a reasonable and yet somehow brave skirt. Loafers, leather, shiny and brown. White socks. Baby sleeves, little silver necklace. You look cute, you do, but Sirius sees you everyday. This was all pointless —he knows you’re a loser already. 

He won’t laugh at you, but he’ll raise his brows and whistle or ask what’s gotten into you, because this isn’t normal. You’re not normal. 

“Darling,” he says from somewhere downstairs, and you aren’t ever sure if he’s teasing or if he actually thinks you’re his darling, “are you ready to go? Not that you need to rush, but we might have more chance of getting a table if we leave soon.” 

“Yeah, two seconds!”

“Okay!” There’s a sound of scuffed boots against the wall. “I’m gonna go find Tilly!”

Tilly’s your little white cat. His suggestion, an uncharacteristic expression of worry. I don’t want you to be lonely, he’d said, though you both know you’re always lonely, less so since you met him. You’re a lonely person, and it’s not anyone’s fault, but Sirius acts as though it’s his and he tries his hardest to fix things. Tilly —his name choice, too, the posh bastard— was a year old by the time you got him and has remained very small. A rescue, he refuses to stay inside and yowls like mad if you restrain him, so you let him out in the garden in the daytime. Your house is far from the beaten path, you don’t worry about him often, and besides, he always comes when Sirius calls. 

He barely has to raise his voice for the cat when you hear the tinkle of a jumping bell. “There you are, sweet boy. Yes, hello. You aren’t having anymore ham, it’s your mum’s.” 

That’s nice. 

You gather some bits into a handbag and wrap a jacket around your strange outfit, ready to head downstairs. You’re hoping Sirius won’t have anything to say about what you’re wearing. You might die. 

When you get to the kitchen, Sirius is stroking Tilly’s back as the cat eats a slice of ham from a little saucer on the table. He looks up at your footsteps. Even now, he takes your breath away. It’s a rabid cliche and it couldn’t be more accurate —you choke on your exhale, witness to his good looks in the warm yellow light from the kitchen shade above. Sirius has always been handsome, outspokenly so, and somehow simultaneously there’s an understated quality to him. Perhaps it’s how he’s smiling at you, all warmth and no bravado. Not a lick of performance. You’ll never know why you were the exception, why, that night at the show, surrounded by people far prettier than you are, he’d stopped by your table and said, “Alright?” 

Yes, you’d said back. Thank you. 

You’re welcome. I’m Sirius.

You know now it was unlike him to act so calmly. He must’ve sensed that grand flirting would’ve scared you off. Not that he doesn’t flirt, does he ever stop? But your Sirius often feels like a secret. He only makes sense with you when you’re alone. 

“What are you thinking about?” he asks, smug in his way. 

“Nothing.” 

“Well,” he says, letting the pause between his words breathe deeply, “you look beautiful. But you have a cut?” 

You turn your knee to show him more clearly, peering down at it unhappily, “Oh, I know, I cut it in the bath, is it noticeable?” 

“It’s fine. Does it hurt?” 

You rub your cheek. “No, not really. I’m ready now, sorry.” 

“Don’t be sorry, why are you sorry?” He rubs Tilly’s little snout and stands. “I feel quite stir crazy today. Do you know what I mean? If we weren’t going out for food I’d probably scream.” 

Sirius cups your cheek. He’s not particularly gentle, but that doesn’t mean he’s throwing you about either, quick and greedy with his touching in a way that’s never made much sense to you. 

He takes your shoulder and ferries you from the house, locks the door, insists on driving. “Tilly’s got the vets on Saturday next, I’ll make sure I’m not doing anything, it’s at five so we’ll go at half four, yeah?” 

“Thank you. For sorting everything out.”

“Well, he’s not really a present if I make you do all that stuff, is it?”

“You don’t have to keep paying for his food, though.” 

“Shut up, not having this conversation again.” He reaches over the gearstick for your thigh. “You look pretty. Don’t let me embarrass you, but this is quite new, isn’t it?” 

“Oh, yeah. I got it with the card you bought me. I hope that’s okay.” 

“Of course it is.” He frowns. You watch his face as he watches the road, melted by the rough of his hand slipping up and down your thigh. His bracelet tickles as he goes, a ten thread embroidery bracelet you’d woven for him when you were still too scared to call him your boyfriend. He takes good care of it. Never showers with it on, so the colours have stayed bright and clean. 

“The makeup is nice, too. You always look nice.” 

“Thank you,” you say, covering his hand with your own. This lessens his frown some, but he’s onto you. Suspicious as he parks the car by the pub. 

Then a blank slate falls over his pretty features. “Hey, you know what? James said there’s been a huge family of ducks in the pond behind the two for one, should we go have a look? Baby ones, too.” 

You grin. “Really?” 

“Green ones and everything.” 

You scramble out of the car. It’s a little brisk for the outfit you’ve made up, just, all the cool girls on the website you’d browsed for information had nice legs that they used to their advantage, nobody was wearing jeans or tights, just skirts. Skirts skirts skirts. And you like skirts, but you would’ve worn a pair of jeans and a hoodie any other day. It’s only dinner at the two for one. 

You and Sirius make your way down from the asphalt to the beaten path, through grass and to the edge of the pond, walking along lain wood chips as the pond opens up and the blue expands nearly further than the eye can see. 

“You’re terribly in your head today,” Sirius says. 

“Sorry, am I?” you ask. 

Not cool. You’re lying about not knowing, but Sirius is kind enough to let it slide. For now. “You are. I was wondering if maybe you aren’t happy in the dress. It really does look lovely, you look lovely. It’s nice that you’re trying something new.” 

“But?” 

He offers his hand to hold. You let him slip his fingers between yours and squeeze. “No buts. It really is nice. You know I like you in your joggers, but it’s nice to dress up.” 

You bite back another useless oh, pulling him toward you as you fall into step. Your arms and your shoulders touch. “Yeah. I don’t look stupid?” 

“You don’t look stupid,” he confirms. 

“I think I feel stupid.” 

“It’s always jarring to try new things. You think everyone can tell, but they can’t.” 

“I want this to be me. Like– like, it’s not that I don’t want to dress like this, I do. I don’t think it’s stupid to want to look dressed up or anything…” 

“You know, I’ve been meaning to talk to you about something.” 

You falter where the wood chips are turned to long, green grass at the edge of the water. “What?” 

“Why don’t you make your bracelets anymore?” 

“My bracelets?” 

“Yeah, and your keychains. You don’t make them. You haven’t been watching your shows, either. I… was worried you were going a bit topsy-turvy. You’ve always been my…” You stare at him, not sure you recognise this Sirius who can’t seem to put words together. “You’re a quiet girl, yeah? You don’t go out much, but I thought you liked things that way. I was wondering if maybe you’re a bit depressed, sweetheart. What do you think? Tell me how you’re feeling.” 

You shake your head gently. “Maybe a little, just…” 

You cast your eyes to the water. At the other end of the lake, the family of ducks have emerged from by the cattails and the pondweeds, swimming far, far away in a broken V. 

You don’t usually keep things from Sirius. It’s a big part of why you love him —he loves to hear you talk. You can chat for hours about nothing at all and he eats it up, interrupting with jokes and kisses and soft touches behind your ear. But what are you supposed to say to him now? I feel like I’m not enough for you, not cool enough, not charming. “Do you ever think it’s sad that I can’t seem to make any good friends?” you ask through a smile. “I try my best. I’ve joined all those clubs and I talk to people on the internet, but somehow I’ve never really made any.” 

“You do try your best,” he agrees quietly. 

“But you’re, like, the only person I’ve met who properly likes me.” 

“That’s not true. I’m just the only person who’s managed to get to know you, it’s not– it’s not as simple as liking you. James really likes you, but I’m your boyfriend and he’s not. It’s circumstance.” 

You’re tempted to laugh. “I’m uncool. It’s not funny, it’s quite bad, really, that all my hobbies are stupid, that I never learned how to dress, that– I’m so behind everyone. I think it’s quite miraculous that I have a boyfriend in the first place, but you being my boyfriend? It only happens in books.” 

Sirius acts more like himself when you’re done, loosing your hand go to grab you by the face. “That’s all rubbish,” he says, pressing a sympathetic kiss to the space between your eyebrows. He lingers there, forcing you to shut your eyes tightly. “Yeah? That’s rubbish, you know that’s rubbish. You do. You’ve thought about it too much and you’re not feeling the best and you’ve, like, twisted it up. Because you aren’t uncool, and you aren’t stupid, and this doesn’t just happen in books. It happens in real life, that’s why people write about it.” He’s drawn away, frowning in the frame of your parting lashes. “The things you like aren’t stupid, sweetheart, they’re just not all the same as everyone else. It’s okay to be a bit different, it’s not like you’re an alien. There are tons of girls who like to do your crafts and watch those long tv shows and stuff, you don’t think they’re weird, do you?” 

You shake your head. 

“No.” He relaxes his hold on your face, his hands slipping to the curves of your neck. “I quite like you, which you know. I like that you’re a bit different. I like that you’re quiet with people we don’t know, ‘cos you’re not shy with me. You’re just you, my girl.” 

“I know you like me,” you murmur. 

It doesn’t help you like yourself as much as you both might hope, but it’s not anything to shake your head at, either. 

Sirius manoeuvres you in front of him, his face pressed to the side of your head and his arms coming to hold you at your chest, encouraging you to look out at the water. It ripples with the flock of coming ducks. “Shiny heads,” you mumble. 

“They are much prettier,” he says. “Bet all the other ducks think they’re weird.” 

“Shush,” you mumble, wishing he’d say more as he draws a heart into your chest with his thumb. You can feel it despite your layers. 

“Bet they love doing weird duck stuff.” 

“Subtle.” 

“I’m not subtle, and I never will be, and you don’t mind.” 

It’s heavy-handed but effective. You relax into Sirius’ chest and find yourself suddenly eager to come clean completely, to tell him every detail of the worries you’ve worried these last few weeks, but you wonder if there’s a point. It’ll upset him if he knows how deeply your self-disdain runs, and it’s not as though it makes you feel better to confess to it. 

He noses at the soft skin beside your eye. “You know there’s nothing wrong with you, don’t you?” 

“I don’t know that.” 

“There’s nothing wrong with you.” 

You lean back fully. “Thanks,” you say. Your mouth feels heavy with honey.  

Sirius points at a duck splitting off from the group. “That’s one of the babies. Cute. And friendless for now, but I bet soon–”

You turn in his arms and wrap your own around his neck. “It’s not about friends, Sirius.” 

“I know.” 

He gives you a quick, loving cuddle by the water and pulls apart from you with a twinkle in his eye you recognise and revere. When he spends the evening doting, kissing, and being altogether too touchy, you want to be embarrassed, rejecting his affection because you begged for it with your awkward confession, but you let him be kind to you because you love him, and he loves you, no matter how many ways you might try to change.

He sees you smiling dopily at him over dessert and asks if you’d like to be spoon fed. Won’t get anything on your dress, swear. 

[mangostarjam]

you've been touching him a lot since he got back.

itoshi sae doesn't do anything about it — doesn't dissuade you from tugging at his sleeve or sliding his jacket zipper back and forth while you talk. doesn't comment or bring your attention to it.

but he watches.

you've been around him a lot since his plane landed, making up for all the time he's spent abroad, as if your daily chat threads haven't been enough. most of the time it's just the two of you, the way it used to be. sometimes his brother is around, though thankfully it doesn't seem like you've gotten any closer to rin since sae left.

other times there's a group, mostly your friends, a mix of guys and girls who don't seem to know what to do with themselves around him. sae is used to this — fame brings strange things to light — but you treat him as you always have, except for the touching.

you don't touch anyone else.

it makes him think.

sae has his reasons. he's never let your relationship get past that line, drawn in the sand. he's a professional football player on the other side of the world, and you have a life here. you have friends (even though you still call him your best friend), you have a job (that you complain about all the time), you have family (that can't be bothered to ever congratulate you on anything).

it wouldn't be right — to make you leave. to take you away. not when he needs to focus on being the best in the world.

(he is the best in the world. all those years ago he showed the U-20 team in japan the difference between them, the way the most they could hope for was dating a gravure model. sae never cared about that aspect. he already had you.)

he lets you touch him, but he doesn't touch you back. he keeps you at arm's length — where you're safe.

and then you ask him to be your wingman.

someone else — touching you? kissing you? having you? unthinkable. sae steps out of the shower and barely dries off before pulling on his briefs and pants. steps into his room and there you are, sitting on his bed, looking good, if a little sad.

he considers telling you to get your passport updated and catches the way your eyes trail down his form. maybe this conversation would be easier if he's wearing a shirt — your gaze is too heated, too distracting. you probably think you're being sneaky, hiding your feelings as best as you can, but sae knows you.

and your casual touches are ocean waves washing that line in the sand away.

sae walks towards his closet when it happens again. your finger in his belt loop, stopping him in his tracks. "what?"

"you were ignoring me," you say. "i asked if my outfit is okay."

your outfit is more than okay. "i would have told you to change if it wasn't."

"if you're going to be my wingman, shouldn't you hype me up?" you huff.

sae feels his jaw clench at the reminder. "no," he says, and his tone comes out cold. you don't seem to notice, falling back on his bed and testing every bit of self control in his grasp. "this is a waste of time."

he goes to pull on a shirt before he does something drastic. you're saying something, but it hardly matters when his flight leaves if you'll be on the plane with him. you've covered your eyes with your forearm, so you miss the way he pauses at the foot of the bed, teal eyes drinking in your form splayed out so defenselessly.

sae climbs over you silently, knees nudging yours apart, hands planted on either side of your body. "this is a waste of time," he repeats, watching with amusement as you take in his position. a blush sweeps across your face, but you don't push him off. that's a good sign, at least.

"what, you think i'm not worth being a wingman for?" you ask. silly. you have no idea.

and then you reach for his belt loops again, as if that's a totally normal thing to do and not something that drives him a little nuts every time. sae prides himself on his control, though, so he doesn't lean down to kiss you just yet.

"tell me," sae says, "have you become this touchy with all your friends since i've been gone?"

"n-no?"

it's cute, how wide your eyes get. sae leans down a little closer. feels your breaths on his lips. still doesn't kiss you — yet. "then i won't be your wingman. you don't need one."

"why not?"

do you know how breathless you sound? sae considers his apartment in spain, how he'll need to make sure the bedroom doesn't share any walls with the neighbors. the way you sound is all for him and him alone.

"because you have a boyfriend, now."

(companion piece to this)

[astrolook]

Moon in the houses

Moon in the 1st House: Emotions? Yeah, I’m wearing them like a neon sign.

Mood Swings? Who Needs a Weather App? – One minute, you're on cloud nine, ready to conquer the world, and everyone around you is like, "Wow, you're so inspiring!" . The next minute, you're in a full-on emotional hurricane, and people are like, “Uh, is everything okay?” Yep, they can literally see the storm clouds forming.

You’re basically an emotional X-ray for anyone who needs to know how you're feeling. Super helpful in knowing exactly where you stand.

You have the perfect built-in therapist, your mom, who never asks for a copay and always responds with “I love you, sweetie.”

Moon in 1st gives you a youthful young face. If a man, could be a mama boy. On the flip side, mommy could be overbearing.

When you're happy, you radiate positivity like the sun itself. You make everyone around you feel like they’ve just had a shot of espresso… without the jitters. But when you're in a mood, watch out. It’s like the ocean’s about to swallow up the entire coast. You can go from zero to “I’m emotionally drowning, help!” in 0.3 seconds.

Moon in the 2nd House: The Emotional Shopping Spree - You feel things, and you buy things. Repeat.

When you're feeling happy, it’s like “treat yo' self” day, and suddenly you’ve got 14 new pairs of socks that totally spoke to you in the store. Feeling stressed? Well, it's probably time for a little retail therapy... because nothing says “I’m handling my feelings” like buying a $50 scented candle you’ll never use.

Impulsive purchases. When your emotions take a dive, so does your bank account. "I'm sad, I need a new purse."

When someone asks how you're feeling, your response might just be, "Well, I bought a new jacket, so I’m feeling fabulous."

Your Emotions Are Always on Sale. You're like, “You know what would make me feel even better? A cute new scarf!” Because nothing says “I’m emotionally balanced” like a $15 markdown.

You love investing in things that make you feel good—whether it’s a cozy home, a nice meal, or that perfectly curated playlist you bought (yep, it’s a thing). Your finances are tied to your emotional health like a carefully organized spreadsheet.

Moon in the 3rd House: The Over thinker's Hotline - You think, you feel, you text… then you overthink it all.

Your emotions are running wild and they need to talk. A LOT. Like, you’ll have a deep emotional moment and then immediately text your bestie about it, but also text your mom for a second opinion, and then maybe send a message to a group chat for a third—just to make sure everyone’s on the same emotional page.

You’re the Emotional Wi-Fi of your social circles—always transmitting and receiving feelings, whether anyone asked or not.

You overanalyze everything. Sent a text at 11:30 PM? Now you’re wondering if that emoji you used in your response was “too much.” Did they think you were crying in that voice message, or just, like, “really emotionally engaged”? You end up spiral-commenting under your own messages. "Wait, I wasn’t mad, I swear!" Cue overthinking every single word.

You’re emotionally open, but also maybe one text away from sending an entire novel about your mood swings. If you have a Moon in Aquarius in 3rd house, you are very much into conspiracy theories.

The overthinking is so strong, even Siri gets nervous. “Did I say that correctly? Does it sound too emotional? Let me try that again, Siri, do you think they’ll understand?"

Moon in the 4th House: Home is Where the Feelings Are - Your emotions? Oh, they're all cozy in your emotional fortress… with snacks.

If you're ever feeling down, you know exactly where to retreat: the couch, surrounded by blankets, a mountain of snacks, and probably a weirdly specific playlist of “emotional” songs you know no one else understands.

Your vibe says, "Come on in, let me feed you, and here’s a blanket!" You’re basically the human version of a warm cup of tea.

On the flip side, you can get way too attached to your personal space. Don’t even think about messing with your “comfort zone,” because that zone is sacred. You might find yourself overly attached to places, people, and objects in your home that just... feel right.

If someone says something you don’t like, you might retreat into your home and pretend to reorganize your kitchen for the next four hours. Not because it’s necessary... but because it’s emotionally satisfying.

If there’s food involved and your loved ones nearby, you’re ready for some serious heart-to-hearts.

Moon in the 5th House: The Drama Queen of Feelings - Life’s a stage, and you're always in the mood for a performance.

Your feelings take center stage like you’re auditioning for a Broadway show every single day. You’re all about self-expression, fun, and creating joy—because, let’s face it, life’s too short to not have an emotional karaoke session on a Tuesday night.

Moon in 5th bestows with a girl child. Of course, we need to check whether it is associated with any other planets.

Professions like actor or any artistic professions fits you. You can turn any situation into a joyous celebration and make even the most mundane things feel like a special event.

The flip side? When you're down, it's like the curtains close on the show, and you’re the star in a drama you didn’t sign up for. You may exaggerate your emotions a little (okay, a lot)—an offhand comment from a friend turns into a full-blown emotional musical number. Cue the tears, dramatic exits, and possibly a solo performance on why no one understands your very deep feelings.

You’re basically the person who gets emotionally invested in every movie, reality show, and Instagram post you see and also celebrities.

Moon in the 6th House: The Emotional Overachiever - Feelings? I’ll just organize them into a to-do list.

With the Moon in the 6th House, you take your emotions very seriously—like, spreadsheet-level seriously. You're not just feeling your feelings, you're tracking them, analyzing them, and organizing them with the same precision of a perfectly color-coded calendar.

Your home? Probably a Zen-like temple of organization. You could be a productivity guru and an emotional support animal all rolled into one.

You’re probably the person who compulsively checks your horoscope, wellness app, and to-do list while also making sure you're drinking enough water—because, yes, your emotional health must be on track.

Service - oriented professions.

Probably keeps a journal. Your motto - "Productivity meets therapy!"

Moon in the 7th House: Emotional Rollercoaster + Relationship Drama

You Have a PhD in Relationships – You analyze, you nurture, you feel. Basically, you’re the emotional therapist of every relationship/partnership you’re in.

Emotional Dependency? Yup, It's Real – Your partner's mood? It's now your mood. If they’re happy, you're on cloud nine. If they're sad, well, buckle up, emotional crash ahead!

You Can’t Just "Date" Someone—You Feel Them – It's never just a date night. It's a journey. You’ll be emotionally invested before the appetizers even arrive.

If your partner says, “I’m fine,” but their voice cracks, you’re immediately putting on your emotional detective hat. Something’s definitely wrong.

Your partner's mood shifts and you’re already planning a 5-step plan to emotionally heal them. Just call you “Dr. Love.”

Moon in the 8th House: The Emotional Detective with a Dark Twist

If emotions were a rollercoaster, you’d be the one flipping the safety bar off and screaming, "Let’s go faster!"

Family gatherings? More like family mysteries. You can feel the unspoken tension, and you’re practically Sherlock Holmes, trying to figure out what’s being left out. Every holiday dinner has a side of “What aren’t they telling me?"

When you lose your virginity, you could even hide it from your family.

Being vulnerable with you is like peeling an onion—layer after emotional layer until someone’s crying. Sometimes you overshare, sometimes you say, “I’m fine,” but everyone knows you’re not. You can’t help it.

You can turn pain into growth like a magical wizard. Hurt feelings? Great, now you’re ready for transformation. You take all that emotional mess and somehow turn it into deep wisdom—or a really great, tear-filled diary entry. Either way, it’s epic.

Moon in the 9th House: The Emotional Philosopher on a Soul-Searching Road Trip

Your emotions don’t stay local. You feel them on an international level, like, “Why am I feeling so deep right now? Is this about my past life in a distant land or because I watched a documentary on the Amazon?” Your emotions are basically the United Nations of your soul.

Family & Friends Talks Are Like TED Talks – When you try to explain your feelings to family/friends, it’s less “Hey, I’m upset” and more “Here’s a 45-minute monologue on the meaning of life, and also I read a book on existentialism last week.”

One minute you’re high on life, quoting philosophy, and the next, you’re googling “Why does everything feel so overwhelming?” You’ll go from thinking you’re a wise sage to wanting to crawl into bed and watch Netflix documentaries. Your moods are basically a journey, so pack your bags.

You can't just feel something—you need to analyze, interpret, and probably give it a name. "I feel anxious. Is this anxiety or is it just me tapping into the collective consciousness of humanity?

You’re an Emotional Nomad – You can’t sit still. Emotionally, you need to keep moving, exploring, learning, and growing. "Home? Well, I feel emotionally connected to 17 different places.

Moon in the 10th House: The Emotional CEO of Life

Your emotions are always on display like you’re giving a TED Talk about your deepest feelings.

You don’t just work; your career is an emotional journey. “Am I feeling fulfilled at work? If not, should I change my entire career path? Do I need a promotion to feel better about myself?!” Your job? Basically your emotional therapist, but with more PowerPoint presentations.

Public approval is your emotional fuel, and you’re like, “Did I mention I’m emotionally attached to other’s opinion of me?”

Your mood? It directly impacts your work ethic. When you’re emotionally stable, you’re like, “Let’s take over the world.” But when you're upset? You’re still working, but you’re crying in the break room, making dramatic phone calls to your loved ones.

You’re emotionally invested in how the world sees you. You need to be the best at everything, but emotionally—"Did I look too emotional during my presentation? Was my inner turmoil apparent?" It’s a lot of pressure to keep it all together, but hey, it’s worth the “likes”.

Moon in the 11th House: The Emotional Social Butterfly Who Forgets Why They Came to the Party!

People love your warm, nurturing energy, and your squad is basically a second family. Just be careful—you might adopt every stray friend like a lost puppy. You could even get in trouble for helping your friend.

One day, you're the life of the party, the next, you’re ghosting everyone because feelings. People around you should have learned to just roll with it.

If you are feeling bad, you might turn to strangers online for some emotional support.

You’re energized by like-minded people and might thrive in large social circles, community work, or even fan clubs (yes, you might cry over your favorite celebrity’s life updates).

You might bend over backward to fit into a group, even if it means suppressing your own needs. That’s right—you RSVP to events you know you don’t want to go to, then regret it immediately.

Moon in the 12th House: The Emotional Mystic Who Feels Everything & Nothing at Once

congratulations—you’ve unlocked "Feelings: Hardcore Mode." Your emotions live in the deep, mysterious waters of the subconscious, making you an intuitive, dreamy, and sometimes tragically misunderstood soul. You might love solitude but also feel unbearably lonely, sense energies others miss, and randomly cry for no reason (or is there always a reason?).

Your intuition is next-level. You pick up on vibes, unspoken emotions, and even spiritual messages like a human radio antenna. Your relationship with your mother could feel distant, mysterious, or full of unspoken emotions. Either she was deeply spiritual and nurturing or emotionally unavailable and hard to read.

Unlike most, you actually enjoy being alone. Your inner world is rich, and isolation helps you recharge from the chaos of life.

Even in a crowded room, you might feel disconnected. You crave deep emotional bonds but struggle to express your own feelings.

Emotional stress can manifest physically—sleep issues, mysterious body aches, or just always feeling tired for no reason.

You might secretly love someone from afar rather than openly express your feelings. (Just confess already!). You crave deep, spiritual connections but may self-sabotage by isolating yourself. You love soulmate vibes, but fear vulnerability.

Curious about your birth chart and what it's really saying about you? 🌟 Slide into my DMs for a personalized astrology reading, and let's unlock the secrets of your stars. ✨ Don’t forget to check out my pinned post for pricing details! 🔮 Let’s make those cosmic connections happen! 🌙🌌

[moonstruckme]

Hi Mae!!

Could I request like a really cute Remus x reader where she’s never been kissed or anything before? Like they’re all out of Hogwarts or in their last year and she’s the only one to have never had a relationship, and she’s kinda insecure and anxious about it all?

No worries if not or if you’ve already done something like this!

Thank you! - x

Thank you for requesting <3

cw: alcohol, reader is a bit tipsy

Remus Lupin x fem!reader ♡ 1.3k words

You don’t often feel self-conscious about your lack of romance. When you’re walking home from a bar on a cold night, it’s true that sometimes you wish you had a hand to hold, or a jacket that wasn’t your own, or somebody to slip an arm around your waist and make sure you keep your footing, but generally you’d rather wait than settle. When your friends start moaning and groaning about being lovelorn, though…

“It’s just been so long,” Sirius laments. He’s three sheets to the wind and hanging heavily from James’ side, who’s nodding commiseratingly as they wind a zig-zagging course down the sidewalk. “I mean, two months, James. Two months.” 

“It’s been nearly two weeks for me,” James says glumly. “I don’t know how much more I can take.” 

“Lily will be back from her holiday in three days,” Remus reminds him. He can hold his alcohol better than any of you, and thusly he’s been tasked with carrying the things everyone worried they’d lose. The keys to your apartment are somewhere in his pocket, along with James’ wallet—confiscated after James left it lying on the bar for the second time—and a collection of Sirius’ rings which keeps growing each time Sirius becomes distressed about them somehow falling off. 

“Yeah.” Sirius looks up at James, glaring. “You’re only two weeks in, and you’ve got a lifetime of kisses ahead of you. I’ve got to take them where I can get them, ‘nd I haven’t had even one in two months!” 

“If you think two months is bad,” you say, “try going your whole life.” 

You mean for it to come out light and quippy, but there’s a vulnerability lining your words that you don’t mean to reveal. You wince, thinking everyone’s heard it. 

“Well,” Sirius says after a brief silence, “yes, that does sound worse. Thank you, dollface. You’ve made me feel a bit better.” 

You smile ruefully. “Happy to help.” 

James starts waxing poetic about the shape of Lily’s top lip, and Remus slows his stride, falling into step beside you. You glance over, and he’s giving you a soft look. 

You go sheepish. “Sorry.” 

“What? Why are you sorry?” 

“That was embarrassing.” James and Sirius are talking loudly enough that you don’t have to lower your voice much to avoid being overheard. “I don’t mean to complain.” 

“It wasn’t embarrassing,” Remus murmurs, tone a fond color. He bumps your shoulder gently. “Anyway, I don’t think either of them are likely to remember.” 

You give him a sideways smile. “Maybe, but there’s still you.” 

“I can forget, too, if it suits you.” 

“It does suit me, thanks.” 

“Right. I’ll get right on that, then. Consider it forgotten.” 

You smile down at the sidewalk. There’s something about Remus which always relaxes you. Maybe it’s that he’s so easy to talk to, or that he doesn’t make you feel like you have to talk. You just feel safe with him. You walk a ways in comfortable silence, close but not quite touching, listening to Sirius and James giggle like schoolchildren ahead of you. 

“Do you really feel that way?” Remus asks after a while. “Like it’s bad that you haven’t kissed anyone?” 

You wet your lips. Your saliva tastes like booze. “Sometimes,” you admit. “Like, it’s not as bad for me as it seems for Sirius. But I guess it also probably helps that I don’t know what I’m missing.” 

“Yeah,” he hums, seeming pensive. “That makes sense.” 

“I do wish I’d gotten it over with earlier, though.” 

You’re not sure where it comes from. You do wish that, sometimes, but it’s not the sort of thing you say aloud. Even with a friend as good as Remus, it’s humiliating to declare a want so intimate. 

He looks surprised. “You do?” 

“Yeah,” you say, voice a shade of itself. 

“Why didn’t you?” 

“It wasn’t…it wasn’t really a choice. I was never trying to wait, or anything.” You shrug, cheeks warm. “There was just never an opportunity.” 

Remus makes a sound somewhere between a hum and a laugh. “Oh, I don’t believe that.” 

You look up. “Why not?” 

With your attention off the sidewalk, you stumble slightly, the toe of your shoe catching on the uneven pavement. Remus slips an arm around your waist to help. 

“Careful,” he says, suddenly incomprehensibly close to you. “Watch your footing.” 

“Sorry.” You look back down. “Why not?” you ask again, softly. 

“I just don’t think it’s possible no one ever tried to kiss you.” Remus’ voice is quiet but genuine. Unabashed. “More likely people have tried and you haven’t noticed. Or you just haven’t been ready. That’s alright too, you know.” 

“I’m ready,” you say certainly. “I’ve been ready. It just…hasn’t happened yet.” 

He hums. “That’s alright. So long as you’re alright with it.” 

You’re quiet the rest of the way home. You live in the same building as the boys, only the floor below. James’ bedroom is right above yours. He’s not usually too terrible an upstairs neighbor, though you’re looking forward to hearing him stumbling around before bed tonight. 

Remus walks you to your door while James and Sirius wait in the stairwell, cackling and crawling their way up on their hands and knees. He unlocks your door and reaches inside to turn on the hall light. 

“Alright?” he asks as you step inside. 

You nod. 

“Okay. Drink water, and make sure to lock the door behind you.” He gives you a smile, eyes dark in the dim light of your building. “Goodnight.” 

“Goodnight,” you say back. But he hardly makes it a few steps away before you’re leaning out of the door, suddenly desperate. “Remus?” 

“Yeah?” He turns. And he’s so lovely, all softness and gentle features. You know he’s the right person to trust with this. 

You swallow. “I’ve been ready for a long time. And I don’t…I don’t know if I’m alright with it anymore.” 

Remus frowns, stepping closer. “It’s okay. There’s nothing wrong with it.” 

“I just feel so behind.” Your tone is nearly pleading. “I’m tired of not knowing what I’m missing. I’m curious. I want to know what it’s like.” 

“Y/n.” Remus says your name like a remonstrance gentled. Like he feels sorry for you. “What are you asking me?” 

You worry your hands are shaking, but you steady yourself against the doorframe, making your voice solid. “I’d rather it be with someone I’m comfortable with. Someone I trust.” 

Remus moves closer to you. He’s nearly as close as before, when he’d held you up on the sidewalk. You wonder if this is how close people get before it happens. 

“You’re drunk,” he murmurs, not unkindly. 

You shake your head. “Not that drunk. Not so much I don’t know what I want.” 

He sighs. Says your name again as though to himself, with fondness and something else you can’t place. 

“It’s okay if you don’t want to,” you say in a whisper. “I’d just feel a lot better if it was you.” 

“Oh, love.” He takes your face gently in his hands. The pads of his thumbs soothe over your cheeks. “That’s not it.” 

Your breath catches as Remus starts to lean towards you, your eyes fluttering closed. You stay perfectly still as his lips come to rest in the center of your forehead. 

It’s a tender kiss, not lingering but not overly brief. In the end, it’s so sweet you can’t even bring yourself to feel slighted. 

“Go to bed,” says Remus, pulling back with a sorry smile. “If you still want to talk about it in the morning, we will, yeah? It’s not that I don’t want to.” 

“Okay. I’ll…” Your whole face tingles as though you really have been kissed. You’re half tempted to touch your lips to see if they feel different. “I’ll talk to you tomorrow. I’m sorry, Remus.” 

“Don’t be sorry,” he begs, backing down the hallway, “please. Goodnight, y/n.” 

Your voice comes out a tad breathless. “Goodnight.”

[shotmrmiller]

tw: mentions of roofies, murder, then smut:)

cbf!simon would absolutely kill for you.

cbf!simon has always been your partner in crime.

even in your youth, back when he was built like a daffodil, he was always by your side. kept you safe from the mean girls at school, always got in trouble for throwing hands at boys who made crass comments at you and the like. then he'd left his butcher job to join the military. "I gotta learn how to keep you safe, love. i'll always come back to ya."

and he had. he returned to you almost four times his size; he left a boy and came back a man. down to your very bones, you knew that he would always keep you safe.

which is why he was the first person you called when the guy next to you at the bar roofied your drink. the beer fizzed irregularly and had an almost milky colour even though it was an ipa.

the idiot had dared to smile at you, an oily, crooked grin with yellow teeth, and lifted his own glass to toast with you.

you bolted out of your seat in seconds, heading straight to the ladies' room, and dialed.

he answered on the second ring.

"please come get me." you hadn't meant to sound as terrified as you felt.

"be there in 5," then hung up.

he lived 15 minutes away from the dingy bar.

true to his word, he was there in 5, texting where you were at.

inside the ladies bathroom.

he let himself in, put his jacket around your quivering shoulders, and with a strong, comforting arm, guided you toward the exit and into his truck. simon remained silent as he sat you in the passenger seat, gently pulling the seatbelt over your chest, clicking it into place.

he stood next to you, his hands resting on your jean-clad thighs, waiting patiently for you to explain.

your teeth sink into your bottom lip as you sort out your thoughts. you no longer felt afraid, that much was certain. simon has always been your pillar of strength. there was nothing to fear with him at your side.

so why do your hands continue to tremble? digging deeper, you realize that you're angry. no.

furious.

some imbecile thought he'd take advantage of you. if you'd been any more drunk, you would have been a victim— wound up lifeless in a dirty ditch.

you burned with fury, your blood boiling under your skin. how dare he? how dare he?

simon softly touches your tightly clenched hands, coaxing your fingers to unfurl.

everything pulls hard to port when your eyes land on his disfigured knuckles— scarred by battle. you've never liked what simon did for a living. he just fought and killed people that some higher-up told him were the bad guys.

in war, there is no good or bad side. the field is too soaked in blood for anyone to recognize where the line is if there even was one to begin with.

until now. just this once, you couldn't be more grateful that simon possesses the skills he does.

you make your decision. "there was a guy in there. green hat, ugly brown jacket with yellow, crooked teeth. he drugged my beer, then toasted me so i would drink it."

his hands tighten around yours marginally. "and now i'm here, safe, with you. but he's still in there, with potentially a pocket full of pills, on the lookout for his next victim. how am i supposed to sleep tonight, knowing that if someone goes missing tonight, the blood will be on my hands?"

you cut your eyes to his dark, hardened ones, and the words tumble out of your mouth with surprising ease.

"there's trash in there that needs throwing out, simon."

nothing but a wretched mongrel that needs to be put down.

simon's nod is subtle, but it's there. you exhale a shuddering breath, heart slamming against your ribcage.

he's a gun in your hand, and you've just pulled the trigger.

simon hands you the keys to the truck. "are you sober enough to drive home?" he quietly asks.

hard to keep a buzz when you almost became a victim of—

"yes."

he's opening the glove compartment, taking out his skeleton gloves, and a tac knife that he tucks inside the waistband of his jeans.

"go home. i'll see ya in a bit." his voice is flat, lifeless.

simon closes the door and raps his knuckles on the hood of the truck before heading inside.

and so the elephant marches to war.

-

it's well past midnight when he crawls in through your window. one moment his boots are on the windowsill, the next he's pinning you onto your mattress, hips flush against yours.

his chilly, clean hands lift the hem of your loose shirt, dimpling the soft skin that his fingers dig into— his bare lips grazing the shell of your ear.

"he is no longer a problem."

he grinds his clothed erection against the flimsy fabric of your sleeping shorts.

"you did the right thing by telling me what he did."

simon trails a path of open-mouthed kisses from your ear down to your mouth, licking your bottom lip.

"nothing gets me harder than when my girl looks at me to keep her safe."

your breath hitches when a hand begins to move south, lifting the waistband of your bottoms and sliding his fingers over your slick pussy. "it seems you like it too. does it turn you on, ordering me around like a dog? i bark at your command, pet."

one finger sinks into your wet heat, his groan drowning out your own.

"you like having this much power over me? how easily i bend to your will?" he croons.

there are two fingers in you now, so much thicker than your own, and the way they curl and drag along your nerves has your toes tingling. he takes you to the precipice at frightening speed— the expert hands that kill without remorse are the same ones that are bringing you your pleasure.

he thrusts his fingers into you with an obscene squelch and a thumb circles your slippery clit.

"i'd burn the world to ashes if you asked it of me."

the coil in your stomach is tight, your body tense in anticipation.

"so... would you? would you ask me to bring the world to its very knees?"

the answer sits on the tip of your tongue when you climax around his fingers, walls pulsing rhythmically, arousal dripping from his knuckles.

later will be a good time to reflect on how you don't feel even remotely guilty for what's been done.

for now, you focus on how good simon feels as he slowly sinks into you, splitting you wide open with his heavy cock.

-

simon finds no pills in the guy's pockets. no baggie, no bottle.

nothing.

shame that his little love has declared the guy's life forfeit.

your wish is his command.

[eloquentlytired]

18+ NSFW. MDNI.

dreamlike — tommy miller x fem reader

warnings: slightly dark content, dark!tommy, smut, unspecified age gap but reader is over 22+, masturbation, handjob, cheating, tommy’s moral compass breaks down, unclothed grinding, surprise ending, sex outdoors, tension, maria ily this isn't personal I just rlly like ur man

notes: hi guys it's been 100 years I'm sorry ily + take this bc im ovulating 😎 tommy miller suddenly making me feel things bc of gabriel luna that's right. likes and reposts are appreciated🥹

“I don't think you've settled down quite just yet.” joel tells him one day while they're eating breakfast together. tommy glances, swallows then responds.

“I don't know what you mean.” but his eyes betray him as they return somewhere for the fifth time; at a distant specific table where you're reading some silly book again.

your food is yet to be touched while tommy’s and joel’s are nearly gone.

“tommy we're too old for this shit, you and I. you're my brother, I already know what you'll do before you even do it.” joel throws the bait and tommy bites it.

“I’m not doing anything joel except—”

“except eating Maria's food while throwing damn heart eyes at her.”

tommy hisses at joel’s truthful interruption, not so much at being interrupted but at the validation of those words.

“I’m just making sure she likes the food.” joel deadpans, tommy does the same right after because of his own words. gods, he is pathetic.

“fuck, just shoot me already.” joel shrugs at his brother's words and doesn't even try to hide the fact that he's grinning. “tell your wife, I'm sure she'll be delighted.”

tommy shakes his head and keeps on eating. he stresses over his thoughts so much that, lucky for you, he misses your piercing gaze and the bite of your lips.

he spends days trying to blame it on something other than him being a terrible person. the breakout, the virus, the living circumstances, the we need to work faster from Maria or that everyone depends on him for the hard stuff.

sure, tommy had chosen this in the first place but he doesn't even know if he wants whatever this is anymore. what does he want?

“mister miller!”

the tension leaves his shoulders as he watches you walk towards him, only wearing that favourite sundress of yours and an oversized jacket.

it's the first real summer that wyoming has felt since the outbreak. tommy only appreciates it because he's too lazy to gear up for winter.

“you’re early.” he says and finds himself smiling as you flop down beside him, sitting on the green weeds.

the snow is still melting but it doesn't make things less cold — but clearly you don't feel the cold he does.

“I helped in the kitchen so they let me off early.” you explain and tommy hums. he thinks about the past months when he'd found you during patrol, covered by the snow and nearly dead. he'd never ridden back home faster, urging for the medics to help you out and thank gods they'd done a great job. now you were here, a few months later, and trusting him more than anyone else while tommy was just a straight up bastard.

he fed you more than others, brought you new clothes that you might like and most importantly showed you his spot. that well hidden spot outside the fences which was an hour's walk away... it wasn't even special but it was spacious and quiet and a little cleaner — and suddenly he was calling it our spot instead of my spot.

for months you'd come here, chat with him and draw in your worn out notebook. the pages were running out and tommy made a mental note to find you a new one. fuck.

“what’s this?” tommy murmurs while his hand points at a very specific drawing on the left page.

he seems to pale while you just feel yourself growing hot. you'd drew him back in the cafeteria when he was looking at you, when he thought you were so unaware of his eyes but you always knew.

“I just—” you try to find the right words, or better yet the right excuse, but you can't. “I just did it.”

tommy catches on your tone as if you were afraid to receive a reaction. his reply surprises you.

“do I really look at you that way?” he asks and you nod, the strap of your dress falling off your shoulder clearly to test him.

tommy has never succeeded in any tests in his entire life.

you lay on the ground, indifferent about the weeds tangling in your hair. tommy’s face hovers over yours as he kisses you, one of his hands sneaking beneath your dress to squeeze your thigh and nothing more.

“tommy.” he swallows his own name from your lips, his lips kissing you feverishly yet the rest of his body doesn't dare move. tommy just sticks to laying beside you while his elbow achingly supports his weight.

he cannot trust himself to move, to slip between your thighs and only kiss.

the hand he's placed on your thigh earlier starts to retreat but you don't let it as you use both of your hands to capture his wrist.

“sweetheart.” tommy warns, his eyes blown wide with lust while his chest heaves up and down. he’s affected by this, feeling overwhelmingly lustful like he's young again, while also fearing the consequences of this. the aftermath of it.

for the first time you don't listen to him, pushing his hand between your thighs until his fingers come in contact with your soaked panties.

you hear him cursing beneath his breath, fuck this, as he touches you after what feels like forever.

he rubs you through your panties, his massive hand feeling the material soaking further as his thumb finds your clit. your head turns and you bury it in his chest while tommy just rubs.

his breath is hitched and he's in a far worse state than you for a different type of reasons. you drool on his shirt and throb against his fingers because you're excited, you feel good. on the other hand, tommy cups and fondles your pussy possessively while stressing over the limits. he can't do more than this — he shouldn't.

“can I touch your cock?” you whisper almost too shyly and tommy wishes joel would have just shot him when he had asked the first time.

your hand unzips his trousers and takes out his cock because tommy has obviously agreed, because it's your fault for looking at him with those sparkling eyes.

your foreheads collide as tommy touches you and you touch him.

his fingers eventually sneak beneath your panties because he wants it to be fair, you're touching his bare cock so he's entitled to your pussy right?— or maybe he really is just an asshole deep down.

nothing like the tommy that maria loves, nothing like the tommy that everybody respects. no, once again he's the tommy miller that only joel knows.

your fingers circle around his cock, feeling it at first, before caressing every inch of skin you can get. your eyes are on tommy’s as your foreheads keep touching and a soft smile occupies your face while you stroke his cock.

you're smiling and touching his dick and tommy likes it too much.

“you need a new notebook, don't you?” tommy asks through gritted as your fingers squeeze around his hard cock. because it's definitely the right time for conversations.

you nod, mouth slightly agape as his fingers circle your swollen clit and then dip between your lips, feeling you dripping.

“anything else?” he asks too softly while his nose brushes against yours, offering some intimacy that isn't just sexual.

“pencils?” you don't order him or demand. you ask because you care and tommy likes that you care in that way. it's always only if it's okay with you and that's exactly how he needs it.

“notebooks.. pencils.. whatever you say, it'll happen.” he slaps your pussy, not too hard, and you whimper.

you can feel your nipples hardening beneath your dress while your pussy simply leaks for tommy miller. your legs shift and you spread them.

tommy sways his hips, fucks his cock into your tight but soft fist and curses.

the summer breeze carries your soft whimpers and tommy’s gentle grunts. your hand strokes him a little faster as your thumb purposely brushes against his sensitive slit and you don't fail to notice the way tommy’s hips twitch when you do it.

the front of his shirt is a mix of your drying drool and his sweat but it doesn't bother him. his solid focus is to fuck your small fist and, of course, to pleasure you which is his first priority.

tommy can handle you, his middle finger circling your wet entrance slowly before he pushes in, the slide smoother than he'd expected. he adds a second finger minutes later, then a third.

you stroke his cock as he thrusts his fingers inside your pussy and for a while nothing else really matters.

the squelching of your cunt is loud and tommy curls his fingers inside you, reaching a place that makes you see stars. “tommy!” you gasp in that angelic voice and he goes a little crazy, fingers digging into your sweet spot as he becomes a little desperate with his thrusts.

your lower tummy shudders with delight and your thighs flex as his fingers thrust into your tight pussy recklessly, poking at those sensitive nerves every damn time.

tommy thinks you warn him about your orgasm but he's also not sure as he's too busy watching your face and your pussy reacting simultaneously. your eyebrows furrow and your mouth forms a small ‘O’ as your walls are suddenly gripping his fingers too tight, too deep.

you cum with a shuddering moan of his name and coat his fingers generously, becoming a spectacle. you squirt for him, because of him, and he'd draw out more if it wasn't for time running away from you two.

tommy seems confused when you push his hand away but then everything happens so fast. he can't stop it, he swears.

he watches as you roll to your side, your chest brushing against his, and slip his cock between your thighs. tommy can't breath when his entire girth slides between your pussy lips, soaking through, until his tip kisses your clit.

“no sweetheart—” tommy warns weakly but you're already moving, swaying. his cock is wet with your juices as it slides against your pussy, harder than ever, and he is utterly defeated.

“please cum on my pussy.” you mumble against his lips and he kisses you otherwise he might do worse. he satiates himself with this situation, sucking your bottom lip while thrusting his hips upwards and taking half of what he wants. something he doesn't deserve.

his balls swell and then clench as he orgasms, lowering his hips a little to cum on your pussy. he fulfils his promise, painting the surface white with his cum before resting his forehead on yours again. spent.

it's quiet for a long time as his arms remain lazily wrapped around your body. you melt against him, into him, and you two do your best to catch your breath.

when he looks at you again, the sun is setting right behind you and making you look surreal. you're like a dream while tommy is just there with a stupid smile on his face and half indecent because of what you've done.

then suddenly he doesn't feel real, his body is all too light before it gets incredibly heavy.

he hears his name being called out repeatedly tommy tommy tommy and he jumps, looking around with sweat dripping down his back.

maria stands over him as he lays on the couch because he's home — not outside the fence. not with you.

“I told you to cut day drinking with joel. he's bringing back old habits.” his wife tells him, pressing a kiss on his forehead before walking away.

tommy rises and stumbles to the window. the snow is still there, white and thick, while the red calendar on the wall reads December 25 like it's a fucking joke. like he'd never met you secretly in the spot that belongs to you and him.

reality hits hard as you pass by his house, that familiar notebook resting against your chest as you hug it preciously. you look at him instinctively, as if feeling his burning gaze, and you smile.

“merry christmas, mister miller!” you yell cheerfully and tommy nods, forcing his best smile.

miracles can only go so far and in the end, tommy can be content with just dreams.

[fastandcarlos]

How Everyone In The Paddock Knows You're Dating : ̗̀➛ F1 Reaction

» Max Verstappen 

He’s naturally paying attention to you, without even realising that he’s doing it until one of the team nudges his side. The team are well aware of Max’s eyes trailing across to look at you, or switching off to the conversation as soon as you start talking. He doesn’t know he’s doing it, but the team are well trained and constantly have to remind Max to pay attention again. He can’t help but smile whenever he’s looking at you, especially when he watches you walk around the garage with such an interest, showing a genuine enthusiasm for learning as much as you can about where Max works and what he does, 

» Lando Norris 

He’s like a big kid most of the time, but Lando becomes a lot softer whenever he’s around you, like you make him weak at the knees just from being by his side. The team notice how needy he becomes as soon as he’s in your presence, searching for affection as often as possible. Lando stops focusing on anyone else, the only person that he wants to be around is you. No one in the garage can believe how different Lando is when he’s around you, how he stumbles around, how he giggles uncontrollably, how he can’t bear to be in the same room as you without some sort of physical contact.  

» Charles LeClerc 

Everyone knows that your Charles because his eyes are always watching you. He loves knowing exactly where you are, forever checking that you’re alright and that you’re safe. When he loses sight of you, Charles can’t help but panic, eyes darting around until he spots you again. There’s a fondness in his eyes whenever he’s watching you, if you’re smiling, he’s smiling, if you’re laughing, he laughs with you, and if you seem upset, Charles gets upset too, heading over to you to see if you’re alright. It doesn’t matter what’s happening at the paddock, Charles loves the feeling of knowing that you’re right there with him, like a comfort right by his side. 

» George Russell 

No one in the paddock can fault how much of a gentleman George is for you, despite how busy he is, he always manages to make time to do all the little things for you. He holds the door open for you at every opportunity, keeps his arm around you to protect you from the crowd, offers you his jacket whenever he notices that you’re getting cold, anything that he can in order to keep you safe. Before a race George checks up on you, makes sure that you’re warm enough, had plenty of food, and ensures you’re sat where you can see the race in a spot that’s nice and quiet.  

» Carlos Sainz 

His smile always gets bigger the second he notices you’re around, usually spotting you out of the corner of his eye whilst half listening to what’s being said by the team. When he knows you’re nearby, Carlos is eager for things to be wrapped up as soon as possible so he can go over and see you. As soon as you’re within touching distance, Carlos’ arm wraps around you, with a kiss pressed to the top of your head to greet you, wondering what you’ve been up to whilst he’s been busy. Nobody else needs to look to see if you’re there, they can tell by the excitement in Carlos’ expression that you’re around. 

» Oscar Piastri 

Every single person in the paddock has listened to Oscar tell some sort of story about you, he loves telling them about you. He talks about you with so much excitement that every single one of them knows just how in love Oscar is with you too, sounding much happier than he ever does when he’s talking about his car. He remembers every last detail about the things that he does with you, and has the world’s biggest smile on his face whenever he shares them with anyone. It’s one thing that he’ll never tire of, forever gushing about you around his team. 

» Daniel Ricciardo 

It’s the little things that everyone in the paddock notices that Daniel always does for you. It’s the way he passes you one of his caps if it’s particularly sunny or passes you his water bottle to drink out of when you tell him that you’re getting thirsty and can’t get through to get a drink. He’s constantly attentive, despite how busy he’s supposed to be, he can’t help but still pay attention and make sure that he’s protecting you. The whole team knows just how in love Daniel is with you, after all, he doesn’t take care of any of them anywhere near as well as he takes care of you. 

» Lewis Hamilton 

The team can’t help but admire the way that Lewis looks at you, like you’re the most fragile person in the world that he has to protect. He loves to have you glued to his side when he’s at the paddock, no matter who he’s talking to. Whether it be a team meeting, a chat with a sponsor, or providing some feedback to Toto and Bono, Lewis still has his eyes on you. You don’t say much, not that you can, but when you do speak, Lewis looks at you with such an adoring look that the rest of the team can’t help but admire how fond Lewis is of you. 

˗ˏˋ 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 ! ´ˎ˗