#even though they make up such a small part of the book itself and their interactions are very unromantic

[akallabeth-joie]

Narrative Voice in LM 1.2.X

I think it's rather interesting how a bunch of Hugo's different approaches and techniques show up back-to-back in the early parts of book 2 here. In 1.2.1, for instance, he's keeping to a third-person-omniscient perspective: he's describing the speech and actions that any observer in the room would have seen, but also peppering in details as-of-yet unknown to the characters (such as that Myriel's great work on duty will never be completed).

We also see Hugo insert himself into the narration, suggesting particular documents or persons were sources of his information, as though Hugo was researching and reconstructing the story from primary sources and testimony: there's Mlle Baptistine's letters cited as the source of 1.2.4 (which also allows Hugo to use her perspective to narrate the dinner); the reference to the prison turnkey as witness of Valjean's chaining in 1.2.6 (to show the lasting emotional impact of the scene on a witnes); in the same chapter, the narrator references "my research" to allow a comparison between Valjean and Claude Gaux. I think this conceit of Hugo-as-historic-researcher reinforces the idea that it's a realistic novel: that the characters and plots are accurate representations of real people the idea that Les Mis is an everyman (/woman/child) story that could be about any unfortunate people and thus is about all of them. Furthering that idea, I find the citation of fake sources lends credence to certain details which Hugo includes in the narrative, which likewise could have been "reconstructed" from later sources, even if not named (the "small papers and large book" detail could have come from Hugo inspecting Myriel's notes and books in an archive, Valjean's escape attempts and subsequent punishments would have been documented somewhere in the prison records). Dropping unsourced 'facts' into the narrative ("four out of five crimes in London* are based on hunger"), also subtly reinforces the idea of the story as some sort of derived historic narrative.

However, we are in the realm of fiction, and Hugo-as-omniscient-narrator also freely includes tiny details of the exact scene itself as experienced by the characters in that moment, which would not be recoverable and are unlikely to be documented: the exact identity of the woman who pointed Valjean to the bishop's house, which was unknown to him and thus not reported to the "witness" for the scenes in the bishop's house; the depiction of Jeanne's young son sleeping on his basket or hugging the cat for warmth while waiting for school (an unlikely detail for Valjean to hear about in prison, which is ostensibly the context for the end of Jeanne's story); really the whole of Valjean's early history is full of these sorts of lost details (Marie-Claude giving the children milk and the girls spilling it in their haste to drink? Who would even have that information for Hugo-the-researcher to discover?)

And then we have 1.2.8: an extended metaphor of drowning as a representation for how poverty and incarceration cut Jean Valjean off from society. Hugo gets a certain amount of (affectionate) flack for interrupting the plot of Les Mis with digressions: seemingly unrelated essays and short interludes of real-person fiction. Hugo-the-author uses them to insert his social/political/historical opinions and develop his theses for the books, as well as setting scenes for later events in the plot, calling for political action by the audience, wrestling with his own past, and boring the censors.

*Also, referencing London make this message both more universal and (I imagine) less biting to contemporary French readers. Sure, other than this one sentence Hugo's only talking about French people and crimes committed in France, but dropping in this statistic about English crime supports his "desperation causes crime" message while also drawing off the criticism of French society/law a little. This tidbit is about those guys (who you-the-reader may be annoyed with re: the whole losing the Napoleonic wars thing) over there, not more woe at home! They do it, too! It's not just you and your society. Or something.

[georgiaswarr]

is it bad i still like bicci as a ship like not even right after the book but future type ship

let me check my schedule. alright, your designated bicci shipping time shall be every second thursday between 9:20 and 9:25 CEST starting first week of november. take it or leave it

[lilreidgirl]

For the very first time

Summary: You and your college boyfriend, Spencer Reid, have both of your first times together

Warnings: MDNI(18+), fem!reader, smut, protected sex, fingering, virgin!Spencer, virgin!reader, first time (both), swearing, I think that`s about it but if there`s more; let me know!!, English is not my first language

WC: ~3.3k

A/N: This is my first fully smut fanfic and my first one quite this long, so... keep that in mind and enjoy? (NOT PROOF READ, SORRY!!)

“Can we pleeeeeeeease take a break?” You plead, making your eyes endure the best puppy eyes you could conjure up even though Spencer isn’t even looking at your face, his eyes firmly planted on the book on his lap.

“C’mon, 5 more minutes, princess?" He said, his head finally turning to look at you. His slender hand, that wasn’t holding up his Chemistry book, rubbed your shin that was thrown over his thighs.

You sounded a long “mm…,” feigning a deep-in-thought expression before perking up and exclaiming in a joyful voice, “Nope!”

Spencer`s face made an unimpressed look but you could clearly see him fighting his smile muscles.

You pushed the book off his legs, making sure not to close it as to make him lose the page he was on. With the help of his hands on each side of your thighs, you climbed onto where the book once had been lying and straddled his lap.

His hands travelled up from the skin of your legs to your waist, along your chest, all the way up to your neck to finally settle on the sides of your face. His large palms rested on your cheeks while his fingers splayed out on your hair, threading through a few of the strands.

A small smirk played on his face as he pulled you towards him, connecting your lips. He moved his mouth gently against yours, but as impatient and honestly, downright needy you were, you quickly force the kiss into a heated state. A little gasp escapes his parted lips as you intensify the moment, though he moulded into the new rhythm at a fast pace.

His hands roamed all over your body, willowy fingers gliding over the skin of your face as it heated up before not even a nanosecond later finding home on your thighs.

A surge of boldness wept through Spencer in the haze of affection, pushing him to grip the muscle of your upper leg, right where your ass begun, and move you down onto him in a rough staggered movement. The sound that left you as a reaction to his sudden forceful manoeuvre was a mix of a surprised gasp and a moan you tried to supress. Your eyes, looking as undomesticated as ever, met Spencer`s as your hot breaths mingled between your touching lips.

“Sorry…,” he murmured, regret plaguing his voice but the lust and need also present in it was about the only thing you truly process through your foggy brain.

“No, no, don’t apologise,” you rushed out. “It`s- it`s fine… I… liked it…,” you continued in a lower register, slight embarrassment staining your flushed face.

A small moment went by where neither of you moved, the surrounding world seeming to follow you two in the silent state you found yourselves. Then, just when you had decided you needed to blurt something out to fill the void of soundlessness, Spencer grasped onto your jaw and smacked his lips against yours.

Unbearable warmth rose in both of your bodies, your insides tingled and your skin was tainted with rosy blushes.

Spencer`s touch found itself on the hem of your shirt now, gently slipping it up a bit.

“Can I take this off?” Well that’s definitely a way to deal with the uncomfortable temperature.

“Yes,” you responded immediately before helping him pull your shirt off and throwing it on the floor.

He took in your bare torso, only clad in the midnight blue bra that surrounded your chest. His hazel eyes, sparkling in the light filtering in from the open window, travelled all over your heaving upper body as sweat trickled down your neck and onto your unclothed breasts, glistening in the sunset`s rays of sunshine.

“God, you`re gorgeous,” he exhaled heavily. His gaze was directed intently at your boobs, one would think he was talking to them and not you.

“Thanks,” you giggled out your thank you, leaning in a bit closer to his body as you did.

With a tantalizingly small distance to your skin, his fingertips made their way up your back, resting on the clasp of your bra.

“Can I?” he asked, looking up at you and taking in your lightly dishevelled appearance.

“I don’t know, can you?” you teased, a wide grin adorning it`s self on your features.

His soft but wry chuckle filled the air for a moment before he stated firmly, “May I?”

Predictably you nodded your head, your teeth dragging into your bottom lip as you conveyed your eagerness and acceptance of his pleading question.

As a result he moved his other hand behind you as well and unhitched the little metal and steel hooks, the cups on your breasts immediately loosening after the action.

Spencer moved his hands towards himself again, unsure of what to do with them, he awkwardly placed them on either side of him on the white sheets of your bed.

Reluctantly you swiped the thin straps of material down your shoulders, revealing your chest to him. His eyes stared aimfully at your bare tits, mouth falling open to a slack one as his eyes blinked in awe of the sight before him.

“Fuck, baby, you`re gorgeous,” he groaned, his gaze shortly meeting yours before flicking his eye sight back down to your bosom.

You chortled at his comment, your hands nervously fiddling with the bra that now lay, unused, between your two bodies. “You already said that,” you tittered as you smiled at his astonished face.

He gave no response to that. Instead he lifted his right hand from the mattress and attentively rested it on your waist.

The look in his eyes and the sudden repositioning of his hand told you exactly what he wanted. Good thing, you wanted it too.

Ploddingly you levied your hand onto his, guiding it up as you made eye contact with Spencer.

“Is this okay?” you asked, scared you might be going further than he had initially wanted.

“Uh-huh, yeah, yeah, very,” he stammered out as soon as he realised you were in doubt about whether you were doing the right thing.

You carefully laid his hand on your right tit, squeezing your hand over his. Precipitately he continued to grope your breast, watching the reactive twitches of your facial muscles. With a tedious stride of his hand, he connected his fingertips to your left nipple. He tweaked the sensitive bud, making your neck throw your head back because of the pleasure that shook through your lithe figure.

“Is- is this correct?” he queried. “Mm-hmm. Yeah, you`re doing great, baby,” you encouraged sweetly as you inadvertently rolled your hips down onto his own.

His hands fell from your chest to your hips, squeezing the apex of your thighs. His lips gingerly found the sweet spot on your neck, gently sucking on it before pressing small kisses around the area. Your fingers dropped to Spencer’s crotch, pressing down on the bulge that strained in his pants.

“Shit.” He hissed. “You- you sure?” he asked as he studied your face intently.

“Yes.” You answered certainly. Before you could ask him the same question he had already started to unbuckle his belt, already giving you the answer.

 You moved off of his lap, daftly unbuttoning and pulling off your own pants as Spencer did the same.

Once you were both only situated in your underwear, Spencer yanked his body over yours, hovering above you.

“We can stop at any time, okay? Just say the word.” He prompted. “I know. Same goes for you.”

He gave a curt nod before leaning down and leaving kisses along the column of your throat, his nimble fingers holding your slightly shaky figure in place.

Your eyes followed the path his hands made to reach your hips and then they observed how they fidgeted with the flimsy material of your underwear.

Spencer lifted his head, looking at you as he worded his question in a caring tone, “Am I allowed to take this off?” In response, you gave a small nod, chewing on the gummy flesh of your mouth. “I need more than that, princess,” Spencer probed on.

“Yes,” you uttered out in a hushed tone, your nerves running wild with nervousness and excitement.

Slowly, very very slowly, he pulled the black cotton down your thighs and out from around your feet, throwing it to land on the edge of the bed. The cold air of the evening hit your now unclothed core in a sudden rush, a small gasp escaping you at the feeling.

“You okay?” Spencer asked, his gaze directed at you.

“Yeah. I`m fine,” you offered him a slight upturn of your lips.

The smile you expressed made a smile of its own appear on Spencer`s face before it ducked down and lay a kiss on your shoulder.

“Tell me if I`m doing it wrong, okay?” he murmured onto your collarbone as he rested his head under your chin.

After you agreed, the sight of his hair gliding down your trembling body towards your core was to be seen. He massaged your thighs and by the looks of it, was trying to hype himself up to start.

“Hey,” you spoke up, “it`ll be okay.”

With a new found of bravery from your reassuring words, he mindfully brought his fingers close to where you longed him to be.

While concentrating completely on the matter, he hesitantly touched your sensitive clit, causing a jolt to ripple through your body and force a moan out of what felt like the deepest part of your stomach. Dubiously he started drawing squiggly circles on your swollen bundle of nerves.

“Mm…” you mewled, multiple high-pitched bleats leaving you as you grabbed at the headboard with one hand and fisted the pearly sheets with the other.

Taking in your positive reaction to his touch, Spencer took the chance of making his other hand useful, hovering it over your entrance nervously.

When you looked at him with your lust-clouded eyes, it pushed him to finally take the plunge in. Literally.

He inserted his index finger with as much slowness and care as he could, groans escaping the both of you at the sensation. Just a moment later he dragged his finger out again, leaving only the length of his fingernail in before pushing back into your warmth.

The emptying feeling of the soft shapes he was rubbing to your clit and the fact that he was filling you up with his finger quickly brought your orgasm upon you. You screamed as the dense feeling in your lower abdomen loosened and a haze of post-pleasure took over your body.

“Holy shit, baby, that was… amazing,” you praised as your droopy eyes opened to see Spencer hovering above you again.

“It was,” he reiterated with a small crow.

“Do you want to stop? If you don’t want to continue, that’s completely-“, Spencer starts to ramble a symphony of assuring phrases. “No, Spence, I want to. Unless… you don’t?” You said conspicuously.

“No, no, I want to as well. But… just to be sure, you mean…”

“Sex,” you finished his sentence when he had dragged on the “n” for too long.

“Right, right, yeah…,” he postulated shortly.

After a moment of both of your heavy breathing being the only sound in the room, you awkwardly reached your hands up to his boxers.

He lets out a hum of approval before squeezing his eyes shut, preparing for his last piece of clothing to be stripped off. You took them off in a timely manner, letting him take over and kick them off when they were out of your reach. Your eyes widen as they land on his length. Shamelessly you studied it, tilting your head as you took in the sight. Long, but not too girthy, the tip blushing one shade pinker than your cheeks and glistening with pre-cum.

Now with a bit of shame added to your expression when you realised how long you`d been staring, you looked up nervously.

Spencer had grown a small smirk on his face during the time you gawked at his hard-on.

“Do you have a condom with you?” You said suddenly, comprehending that you wouldn’t be able to do it without.

“Oh. Yeah, I- I think so.” He climbed off of you and grabbed his bag from the place where he dropped it when he came into your dorm almost 3 hours ago.

“Yeah?” You pushed yourself up on your elbows, looking at him with a condescendingly sweet grin manifesting your features.

“Well, it- it was just in case, you know, I…” his words died down and he continued searching through his black backpack.

“Oh sure, sure,” you teased.

“Hey, just be thankful that I have one, okay?” he said with a small firmness to his voice as he held up the same square packet.

“I am thankful. Trust me,” you prompted. “Plus if I’m not, I sure will be soon,” you murmured, the whispered comment making Spencer chuckle enthusiastically as he crawled his way back on top of you. His skilful fingers ripped open the packaging before they rolled the condom on.

“Woah. You really paid attention in sex Ed. class, huh?” you giggled when he managed to put the rubber on in one go with no hesitance and no stumbling.

“Well, I am a genius, princess,” he remarked smugly before pecking your lips.

After the kiss, a solemn silence fell over the room, the wind breezing by the two of you as you both deeply inhaled and exhaled.

“Are you ready?” Spencer’s soft, familiar voice broke the domestic moment.

“Yeah,” you answered, your voice sure of what it was stating. Because you truly were sure, not about what you were about to perdure and what you would have to do, no, you were sure that it was Spencer you wanted to be perduring it with and doing it with.

He guided his length to your entrance, taking one last low breath before slowly entering you. Your hands flew up to his shoulders, squeezing them just as fast as you squeezed your eyes shut and just as tight as you clenched around Spencer as soon as he penetrated you.

“Oh. My. God.” He spoke between panted breaths.

A few moments flew by before the feeling of him staying still became uncomfortable.

“You can move,” you urged on.

That seemed to be enough for him as not even 5 seconds later he was slowly dragging himself out of your tight walls before snapping right back in again. A rugged moan escaped his throat as you squeaked, the sounds meshing together to perfectly fit the unruly scene of the two of you.

He repeated the movement over and over again his hips moving more and more erratically and less and less of a distance each time.

The brutal pace coaxed a series of whines and cries out of you, the sounds bringing Spencer`s hips to a slow stop.

“Are- are you okay? Did I hurt you?” he stammered eccentrically.

“I`m fine, I’m fine. Just calm down, okay, Spence?” You cupped his face bringing it to rest on your bare shoulder.

“`M sorry,” he croaked out.

“There’s no reason to be sorry. You got carried away its fine,” you reassured him, stroking his messy and sweat ridden nest of hair.

“Can… can you be on top?” he asked shyly. “It`s just that I- I don’t want to hurt you again and… um…”

“Don’t worry, Spencer, you didn’t hurt me. But if that’s what you want then of course.” You petted the back of his neck, threading through his baby hairs.

“You sure? I just don`t want to ruin this, I- it’s our first time.” He bashfully closed his eyes.

“You can`t ruin it. You know why? Because we`re doing it together,” you say matter-of-factly.

“God, you`re so corny,” he laughed. “Yeah, and you love it,” you joined in on the laughing.

When you both had calmed down he slowly pulled out, the feeling unsettling you both. He rolled off to the side, coming to rest on his back before he grabbed you by the hips and pulled you on top of him.

Your shins dug into the bed as you situated yourself, positioning your entrance over Spencer’s angry looking tip with a bit of a helping hand from him.

“Ready?”

“I was born ready.”

With a light feeling in your stomach at his words, you start to ease yourself down onto his length, immediately enveloping him with your sopping walls.

He whimpered and gripped your hips tightly. His head flew back at just the right moment as, as soon as you reached the maximum amount of him you could take. You immediately fell forward, crashing onto his pale chest. Your body moulded into his, feeling every inch of his skin clad on yours, feeling his deep inside of you.

“You okay?” Spencer’s face contorted into a worried cowering frown.

“Yeah, I am.” You kissed him softly, melding your lips together as you bring your arms up to either side of his head and grip his messy locks in between your fingers.

With the leverage that your grasp on his hair gave you and the help of Spencer’s hands on your ass and thighs, you started to desperately move your hips against his, snapping away before sinking back down on his length.

The kiss you were sharing became sloppy as you started moving faster, letting your hands roam over his torso.

Spencer frantically snapped his hips up into yours when he felt you stuttered your motion and his hands gripped the back of your head, making out with you like he never has before.

His index and middle finger knowingly found your clit, circling the sensitive bud.

It wasn’t long before you reached your high, being thrown into a realm of bliss as you lay motionless on top of Spencer who came with you just a second later.

Your stomach felt warm and full, that feeling leaving you when Spencer swiftly pulled out, pulling you closer and onto his chest. His lean arms wrapped around your slightly quivering body, kissing the top of your head.

“I love you,” he whispered into your boisterous hair. “I love you too,” you spoke in a soft, hushed voice.

You fortified your chin on his chest, gaping up at his beautiful face.

In the wake of the silence and euphoria that subsequently followed, Spencer spoke up, “We should probably shower.”

An ornery frown graced itself on your tired face, a small grumble leaving you as you cuddled close to him, “5 more minutes, pleeeeeeeease?”

“Okay, fine, 5 more minutes,” he gave in instantly, still in the aftershock of experiencing that striking event.

You spent the next 20 minutes basking in the afterglow and each other`s love, every once in a while placing little kisses here and there.

When Spencer knew he couldn’t ignore the fact that you two needed to shower, he smoothly tapped your hip. “Come on, princess, time to clean up and you still need to pee.”

Begrudgingly you clambered off of him, pulling him out of bed with you. You brushed some desolate tresses from his forehead, smiling a shit eating grin before turning around and heading for the bathroom.

Spencer watched with a beam, his heart filling with complete and total delight. His eyes fell to his Chemistry book splayed out on the carpet floor, grateful that he didn’t push to continue reading about things that seemed so damn unimportant now.

“Coming, Spence?” you called as you started the shower, the sound of water hitting the fiberglass of the shower pan filled the dorm.

“Yeah,” he said, stepping over the unimportant Chemistry book.

@emma-e-a

[taro-bae]

Twisted Wonderland - Third Years

Summary: reacting to you falling asleep in their room

Characters: Third Years

CW/Notes: gn!reader, fluff, Slight Book 7 Spoilers! (Malleus's part), mostly written as platonic but its up to the reader

Trey Clover

Trey makes it to his dorm room after a hustling day of classes and vice-warden duties. He's ready to just sit down and relax his muscles for the afternoon. As soon as he steps inside his room, he recognises a familiar figure lying in his spacious bed on his clover plush. Trey smirks a little amused by your choice of sleeping space. He makes sure the lights are off making his way towards you. He shifts your body to put the blanket covers over you.

Trey is like the older brother of Heartslabyul. He has younger siblings and knows how to take responsibility for others. Taking off his dorm Uniform hat and jacket, he settles at a respectful distance away from you, just resting his eyes with a hand behind his head. He watches you as you stir awake. "Sleep well, sleepyhead?" Trey says with a teasing smirk looking at your slightly dishevelled appearance.

Cater Diamond

After the unbirthday party, Cater returns, eyes locked on his phone as he edits and goes through all the photos he has taken during the day. He walks into the room, still looking down at his phone until he notices a silhouette hugging his smily plushie. Cater immediately goes to his camera, tip toeing towards the bed.

He takes multiple photos thinking just how cute you look with your cheek flushed and soft against the pillow. Cater hovers over you to snap different angles and profiles. "Aww, such a cutie~" Their cheeks look so soft, " He thinks in his head, trying not to wake you up. He reaches over to poke your cheek, snapping a picture at the same time. Minutes later, you are on Magicam for everyone to see, and Cater has no shame. There are plenty hashtags describing just how cute he thinks you like #sleepingbeauty #cutiepatootie #sweetcheeks

Leona Kingscholar

Leona is not pleased. Leona did sense you before even making it into his room by your scent. He scowls, seeing the person lying in his bed. "Stupid herbivore" His tail swishing behind him in annoyance. "Oi, wake up" Leona says bluntly, standing over you. When you refuse to get out and won't budge he lets out a frustrated sigh. "Move over. Now".

Leona slumps over on the bed, spreding his limbs out. He doesn't care at this point. He shifts over, pulling you into his body. "Since ya not gonna listen, you'll be my pillow," He says in a gruff voice. His tail is thumping against the mattress, but he likes how comfortable this is. He will never admit it, though. Leona has a sense of pride that you're not afraid to be near him, let alone dare fall asleep in his room. "Not a word or ya out. I need my nap". He's out within seconds.

Rook Hunt

Rook already knew you were in his room. Most likely, it was his works doing, a set up to get you into his room. Being a hunter, he knows exactly what's happening were and he keeps his diligent eyes on you. Rook returns to his room, where you sleep with an adoring look on his face. "Such a darling, Mon ange ♡" He's absolutely mesmerised by your beauty and peaceful, vulnerable state. He sees beauty in everything. To him, you're like a work of art in itself.

Rook watches over your sleeping face and body. The way your body rises with each breath to the small movement of your face. He takes in every detail. At some point, he takes out his phone to snap a few photos of you. He's so stealthy you'll never know he did. Just be warned you'll end up on his secret wall behind the wallpaper in his room. He's a questionable one.

Vil Schoenheit

The last thing Vil expects is to find someone in his room when he returns. Let alone finding someone in his bed, that's just unacceptable. He lets out a small cough before he speaks, "Wake up this instant." Vil makes his way across the room. "You mustn't sleep in such attire, and sevens forbid in my bed. One must always wear clean pyjamas and do a proper skin and hair routine prior. Which you clearly have not done."

Vil would scold you and point out your eyebags or tired look, warning about the consequences of overworking yourself. You have no choice but to follow through with his routine as he applies beauty products on your face and hair. If you complied well, he might just let you stay and rest up. "Very well...I'll permit you to stay. But don't make a habit out of this. " His voice is authorative, but without a bite to it. Vil actually secretly enjoys pampering you with some self-care and sharing his knowledge.

Idia Shroud

What was he doing out of his room in the first place? Who knows. When Idia comes back, it's an instant panic and internal turmoil. He nearly yelled but slapped his hands over his mouth. "What are they doing here! This can't be happening IRL! What do I do? They'll be mad if I wake them up!" He is slouched over, fiddling with his hoodie string, trying to decide what to do. His heart is pounding in his chest, the phrase "why me? Why my room?" Running through his head at a hundred miles per hour.

He can't help but stare at you, a small smile tugging at his blue lips. "No, stop! That's creepy. Cringe behaviour. They'll think you are a creep!" Idia snaps himself out of the trance but can't bring himself to wake you up. He huddles over near his desk, distracting himself with a game occasionally glancing at you sleeping with the ends of his hair pink.

Malleus Draconia

Malleus is surprised to find anyone in his room. He appears looming over the sleeping form eyes slightly widened as he observes your state. Malleus is rather glad that you're here, making his room seem less lonely. He is pleased that you are not afraid of him and comfortable enough to sleep not only in his room but remain asleep in his presence.

Malleus ensures the room suits your comfort, moving the blankets over you. "You're an interesting cause, child of man. A truly endearing sight." Malleus watches over you, ensuring you only have pleasing dreams and a deserved rest. After a short passing of time, He starts humming a melody. A lullaby.

"My eyes are watching over you still, let’s be together. With no fear, even if we wake from this dream"

His low voice echoes through the room, sensing you into a deeper sleep. That guaranteed would be the best sleep of your life.

Lilia Vanrouge

His room is a mess stuffed with artefacts and the most random things. Lilia finds you tired and fast asleep in his room. He sees this as a perfect opportunity to give you a little scare. Hanging off the ceiling, he yells out a "boo!" Causing you to wake up. "Khee hee," he plays it off by acting cute. "Fu-fu~ look at you all worn out, little one." Lilia doesn't miss a chance to tease you.

His red eyes sparkle with mischief. "Oh, I'm just messing around. Go back to sleep, I'll watch over you~" Says the man who just woke you up for giggles. Once you're off to sleep again, Lilias caring side steps in. He ensures you are safe and well rested, letting you sleep in his room, even on him, as he pats your head affectionately. Lilia is very parental and will guard your sleep from any nightmares.

[wandamaximoffsbadgirl]

Throw A Tantrum

Mafia Boss!Lizzie Olsen x fem!reader

Summary: Lizzie won't stop asking you to marry her, it's become a game between you two now, but when Lizzie doesn't handle a situation right you blow off and go on a little shopping trip with her card

Word Count: 1.6K

Warnings: Lizzie and you have an argument

A/N: This is based off of this post

You always knew there was something different about Lizzie. Growing up together in the quiet suburbs, she always had this aura of command around her, even as kids. But you never imagined that one day she would become the head of the mafia, and you certainly didn't expect her to want to marry you.

Living with Lizzie in her sprawling, luxurious penthouse was an experience in itself. The place was a stark contrast to your childhood homes, filled with top-of-the-line furnishings and an almost intimidating level of sophistication. But despite the opulence, there were small touches that made it feel like home—photos of the two of you over the years, your favorite books on the shelves, and the cozy blanket you always curled up with draped over the back of the couch.

One evening, you were curled up on that very couch, reading a book, when Lizzie strolled into the living room. She leaned against the doorframe, her presence both comforting and intimidating, a paradox you had come to accept.

"Marry me," Lizzie said, for the hundredth time, her tone half-serious, half-teasing. Her dark green eyes sparkled with mischief as she looked at you.

"No," you replied with a smirk, not even looking up from your book. It was a ritual between you two by now, a game you both enjoyed. Despite your refusals, Lizzie never stopped asking, and you never stopped saying no, but it was all part of the dance you two shared.

"You know," Lizzie began, walking over to sit next to you on the couch, "you'd make a perfect mafia queen. You've got the attitude for it."

"And you have the persistence of a stalker," you shot back, finally meeting her gaze. Her eyes softened, a look that made your heart race.

"I just know what I want," Lizzie said, reaching out to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear. "And I always get what I want."

You rolled your eyes, though the fluttering in your chest was hard to ignore. "You can't just go around deciding people's lives for them, Lizzie."

"Maybe not everyone," she conceded, a sly smile playing on her lips, "but you? You're different."

"Different how?" you challenged, leaning in slightly.

"Different as in, you're already my wife in every way that matters," she said softly, her fingers grazing your cheek. "I spoil you, protect you, and love you more than anything in this world."

Your heart skipped a beat at her words. Despite your playful refusals, you were deeply in love with Lizzie. You just couldn't admit it out loud, not when her life was filled with danger and uncertainty. But every touch, every glance she gave you made it harder to resist her.

"You're delusional," you teased, trying to keep the mood light, but your voice betrayed your true feelings.

"Maybe," she whispered, her lips now inches from yours, "but I wouldn't have it any other way."

Before you could respond, she closed the gap, her lips capturing yours in a kiss that was both gentle and demanding. It was a kiss that spoke of years of friendship, unspoken feelings, and a future you were too scared to embrace.

When she finally pulled away, you were breathless, your resolve crumbling.

"One day," Lizzie murmured, her forehead resting against yours, "you'll say yes."

"Maybe," you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper. "But until then, enjoy the chase."

Lizzie chuckled, pulling you into her arms. "Oh, I am, darling. I am."

And as you nestled into her embrace, surrounded by the familiarity of your shared home, you knew that no matter how much you teased or resisted, Lizzie would always be there, loving you in her own fierce, unwavering way.

================

Lizzie's penthouse had five bedrooms, each more lavish than the last. Yet, from the moment you moved in, Lizzie had insisted that you share her bedroom. "For your protection," she'd said, her tone brooking no argument. You had reluctantly agreed, knowing that her insistence came from a place of love and concern.

One night, after a particularly trying day, you found yourself lying in bed with Lizzie. The room was dimly lit, casting a warm glow over the plush bedding and elegant décor. Lizzie's arms were wrapped around you, her hands roaming over your back in a soothing, familiar pattern. Her lips found yours, and you melted into the kiss, feeling a mixture of love and frustration.

You loved these moments and hated them all in one breath. The intimacy, the warmth of her touch, the way she made you feel safe and cherished—it was intoxicating. But it also made you painfully aware of how much you wanted to submit, to be hers completely. And that terrified you.

Lizzie's kisses grew more passionate, her hands exploring with a hunger that mirrored your own. You responded eagerly, your fingers tangling in her hair as you deepened the kiss. Yet, in the back of your mind, a voice whispered that you couldn't allow yourself to fully give in. Not when her life was filled with danger and uncertainty.

When she finally pulled away, her eyes searched yours, as if seeking answers to unspoken questions. "What are you thinking?" she asked softly, her breath warm against your skin.

You hesitated, struggling to find the words. "I... I love you, Lizzie. You know that. But I can't—"

"Shh," she murmured, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead. "You don't have to explain. I understand."

And she did. Lizzie knew your fears, your doubts, and the reasons behind your resistance. She respected them, even if it meant enduring the ache of unfulfilled longing.

"I just want you to know that I'm here," Lizzie whispered, her fingers brushing away a stray tear from your cheek. "Whenever you're ready, I'll be here."

You nodded, unable to speak past the lump in your throat. Nestling closer to her, you allowed yourself to bask in the comfort of her embrace, even if just for a little while longer.

=================

It started out as a minor disagreement, something trivial about the way Lizzie handled a situation with one of her lieutenants. But, as things often did with the two of you, it quickly escalated.

“You never listen to me, Lizzie!” you shouted, frustration boiling over. “You just do whatever you want, without considering how it affects others!”

Lizzie’s eyes narrowed, her calm demeanor cracking just a bit. “I always listen to you. But sometimes, there are things you don’t understand about my world.”

“That’s the problem, isn’t it?” you retorted. “It’s your world, not ours. You always have to be in control.”

The argument continued to spiral until you stormed out, grabbing your keys and slamming the door behind you. You needed space, a chance to cool down and clear your head. And maybe, just maybe, a little bit of retail therapy.

Hours passed, and you found yourself at the most luxurious boutiques in the city. Every swipe of your card felt like a small act of rebellion, a way to assert some control in a situation where you often felt powerless. Designer clothes, expensive jewelry, anything and everything caught your eye.

Meanwhile, back at home, Lizzie was dealing with the aftermath of your fight. She knew she had pushed too hard, but her pride wouldn’t let her admit it. That is, until her phone rang.

“Miss Olsen,” the bank manager’s voice was cautious. “There’s been an unusual amount of spending on one of your accounts. We wanted to verify—”

“It’s fine,” Lizzie interrupted, a wry smile on her lips as she realized what you were doing. “Just my future wife throwing a tantrum.”

There was a pause on the other end, followed by a tentative, “Understood, Miss Olsen. Should we impose any limits?”

“No,” Lizzie said firmly. “Let her buy whatever she wants. She’ll come home eventually.”

And she was right. Laden with shopping bags and feeling a mix of satisfaction and guilt, you finally returned. Lizzie was waiting, her expression a blend of amusement and exasperation.

“Had fun?” she asked, eyeing the mountain of bags you set down.

“Immensely,” you replied, though your tone was softer now, the anger having dissipated.

Lizzie stepped closer, taking your hands in hers. “I’m sorry,” she said quietly. “I do listen to you, and I do care about what you think. Sometimes I just get… carried away.”

You sighed, leaning into her touch. “I know. And I’m sorry too. I shouldn’t have stormed out like that.”

Lizzie pulled you into a hug, her arms wrapping around you tightly. “It’s okay. Just promise me you won’t run off and bankrupt me every time we argue.”

You laughed, the sound muffled against her shoulder. “Deal. But only if you promise to actually listen.”

“Deal,” she echoed, pulling back to look into your eyes. “Now, let’s go through these bags and see what my future wife bought.”

As you sat together, sorting through your extravagant purchases, you took a deep breath and decided to take the plunge. "Lizzie," you started, your voice steady despite the butterflies in your stomach.

"Yes?" she looked up, her eyes full of curiosity and a hint of apprehension.

"Ask me again," you said softly.

Her brows furrowed for a moment before realization dawned on her face. A slow smile spread across her lips as she took your hands in hers once more. "Will you marry me?"

You smiled, feeling a warmth spread through your chest. "Yes, Lizzie. I'll marry you."

Lizzie pulled you into a kiss, her arms tightening around you as if she never wanted to let go. And in that moment, surrounded by shopping bags and the remnants of a heated argument, you knew you had made the right decision. No matter the ups and downs, you were ready to face them together, as partners, as lovers, and now, as fiancées.

[kisses4reid]

scare | ·˚ ༘ spencer reid ,, (part 1)

synopsis - you’re in a relationship with some one else and have a pregnancy scare, both your own reaction and spencer’s makes you realise that you’re not happy.

genre - bau!reader x spencer, friends to lovers, multi-part, pregnancy scare, reader has sort of a douche bf, one sided love (at first), angst and fluff

warnings - pregnancy talk, mentions of sex, unhealthy relationships, stress, sickness

w/c - 1.4k?? take a guess cause that’s mine.

a/n - i’ve got 9 weeks free. yeah, i have a job. and yeah, i have about 6 other hobbies i enjoy. but am i gonna make promises i can’t keep about writing more?? yeah. i am. here, enjoy. (pls lemme know abt mistakes it’s rlly late at night rn.)

The plane whirrs, small chatter from Morgan and who you assumed to be Penelope over the phone humming along with the music you try to distract yourself with. It isn’t working.

Because every song has its own special and quirky musical instrument that happens to sound like a message notification. And you keep getting your hopes up.

Your left leg started to bounce, your fingernails found their way to your anxious teeth. And Spencer noticed.

He noticed about halfway through the case, when you stopped talking as much, started drinking an influx of water, started discreetly taking pain medication. At first, he thought it was a simple stomach bug, and he knew your stomach didn’t agree with a lot of travel. But then you started getting nervous.

Spencer glanced at you a few times before moving, sitting next to you (attempting to be discreet). He can’t be discreet though, because every time he’s around you, his body does this weird thing where it can’t decide whether it should be instantly calm or instantly more nervous. Your presence stopped his fidgeting hands, his tired thoughts. But god, when he looked at you, it’s like his heart wants to see you for itself.

And right now his heart hurt, why were you scared?

You barely noticed Spencer sit down, usually you would, but your phone was annoyingly blank, silent. You turned it off and on three times, and re-entered the plane’s wifi password five times.

And now your stomach was grumbling, and not in the way that those nice small sandwiches can help out with.

“Are you okay?”

You jumped, taking your earphones out and staring at Spencer surprised. You laughed nervously, quietly, “Spencer! Sorry. Yeah, I’m fine.”

His warm eyes searched yours and for a second you could ignore the tight feeling in your chest. It made you think back around 8 months ago, when Penelope, your childhood best friend and now co-worker, created a pros and cons list for both Lloyd, and… Spencer.

It was unprofessional and inappropriate, especially when you decided to listen because you had nothing better to do. And especially when she started making some good points.

He squinted his eyes, and you sighed.

“Sorry, I’m just a bit antsy. Feeling a bit… off.”

You felt sick, and stressed, and like your thoughts were going to be the cause of your death. Because you’ve never been sick like this. And to your overworked brain, it only meant one thing.

Spencer’s a great profiler. And although the team collectively agreed to not profile each other, it becomes hard for Spencer when the girl he’s in love with is so obviously in distress. Even worse when he can’t be the hero.

“I can leave you to sleep if you want.” He says, getting up to leave.

“Oh, no. That’s okay. Honestly, I think sleeping would just make it worse.”

Ah, right. Travel sickness, Spencer thought. He gaps his mouth slightly and nods. He relaxes into the couch and looks over to you, heart picking up slightly as pieces of hair fell from your loose ponytail.

You looked over to the table he was previously sat at, the book you gifted him last Christmas open and nearly finished. You smiled to yourself, but it was bittersweet.

“You’re actually reading it?” You asked, looking back at him with slight surprise.

“Of course. I’ve read it 6 times already, it’s a great pallet cleanser- Just like you said in that Christmas card!” He smiled childishly, like he was recalling the first snow.

“I know right! It’s so simple but interesting, I mean I’ve only read it three times but to me I always found it to clear my head.”

Spencer angled himself towards you, “Did you know that the author actually interviewed his daughter’s teachers to see what ages teachers were more invested in compared to class sizes? He said in an interview that depending on a students intelligence, there’s an underlying emotional connection made between student and teacher,” he took a breath, “It plays into the intelligence to ego ratio that so many people claim isn’t true. Which I’m not trying to say you have a big ego, or that I do-“

You waved you hands, “Woah, woah. Why would I think you’re talking about me?”

He furrowed his eyebrows, “Well, you’re very intelligent.”

“Oh!… Thanks for thinking I’m intelligent, or smart.” You shrugged, “But I think you insulted yourself. You don’t have a 187 IQ for nothing do you?”

“You remembered my IQ?” He laughed nervously. His smile warms your chest like a candle. Like that candle he got you randomly in April, after you mentioned your favourite one being used up by your boyfriend.

Your boyfriend. Ugh.

You smile falters for only a second, “Of course. You only mention it to every person that second guesses you.”

He nods and smiles, “Must be my ego.”

You laugh, subconsciously bumping your shoulder with his. But- Jesus. Your stomach is queasy.

“Hey, uh, do you want some travel sickness pills?” He reached over for his satchel but you grab his forearm and smile as convincingly as you can.

“No, no. We’re landing soon, but thank you.”

You’re overreacting.

That’s what he said. When you texted your boyfriend of a year and a half that you thought you were pregnant he said, You’re overreacting. Two words, two hours after your first text, on his day off.

Maybe you are. You started feeling sick on a slightly more gory case, it’s lasted ever since the case started, you get travel sick as well.

The headaches are from the computer screen and stress. The stress is from fatigue. The fatigue is because of the lack of sleep. The lack of sleep is because of the headaches.

Why do you always do this? Always thinking that there’s something wrong with you. Always being the biggest person in your own life, selfish.

But… what if?

There’s a sudden squeak from behind you, and you instantly snapped out of it. You took a deep breath and looked at your surroundings. You were at your desk, standing, the strap of your bag clutched in your hands - god, your knuckles were white. Your eyes darted in surprise and confusion, and you jumped once again when Spencer spoke into the silence.

“You okay?”

“Um…”

You didn’t look back at him, only looking down at your shoes and taking a deep breath. You plastered on a smile despite the bile collecting in your throat.

“Yeah! Yeah, I’m fine. I’ve gonna go, the bus leaves at um…”

You took out your phone. He didn’t even respond to your text asking him to pick you up.

“I’ll drive you home. But uh, I gotta pick up some groceries. I hope you don’t mind.”

He curved to your desk and gently took your bag from your hands, glancing at the way you traced your knuckles and how the leather strap now had slight wrinkles in it. He smiled, warmly. And he started walking like you rejecting the idea wasn’t an option.

Which is wasn’t, because he knew you too well.

“Well, a cucumber actually has 3% more water than watermelon. So if you really want a refreshing snack, cucumber is your man.”

You smiled and raised your eyebrows in interest. He’s had many vegetables and fruits in the basket, not a lot of protein. Explained a lot.

My man, you thought with a smile.

My man, you shivered.

“I don’t like cucumbers.” You said like it was distraction, and he nodded, picking up some kewpie mayo as he you around to the next aisle. He glanced at you,

“I know. You say it’s tasteless. I like it.” He shrugged.

“I know.” You smiled, and he smiles back.

God, you wish you could bask in it, the warmth. But your chest was still tingly, and your heart hadn’t stopped aching ever since you got excited about an email notification.

“Hey, are you sure you’re okay? I noticed you’ve been tense for like… a week.” He grabbed some pasta sauce and put his hand on your shoulder to turn you around - you obviously looked too far into your own head.

“Yeah, just feeling-“

“Y/n.” He turned to you, stopping your venture into the dairy aisle. His eyes were hard, worried. The fluorescent lights swayed slightly. A worker walked by the end of the aisle with a trolley full of food.

“Sorry.”

“Don’t,” he lifted one arm, wanting to rest his hand on your upper arm, to help you, “Don’t say sorry. Just tell me what’s going on.”

“I have been feeling sick. That’s true. And I’ve been stressed and, thinking a lot. A lot.”

It felt weird to nearly tell Spencer about your relationship problems. It was like complaining to a doctor about healing crystals. It was like a slap in the face. Maybe that’s why you never did tell him about it, because it was facing your fears.

It was the pros and cons list made by Penelope.

But I’m overreacting.

“It’s nothing.”

Spencer sighed. You had that habit, of nearly opening up, and then shutting the door just as he was about to walk in.

You heard his sigh.

“Okay. I gave Lloyd my car because he has the day off, and he likes going to his friends houses on his days off. And, I told him something that should probably freak him out. But he doesn’t really care. I don’t think he really cares, about anything. At least about me.”

You started walking, because holy shit you’ve never said that out loud before, and Spencer followed you,

“Y/n, if you want to tell me something-“

“I think I’m pregnant.” You stopped, and started picking at your fingers, acting as if it was admitting to not knowing your left and rights, or that you don’t really like coconut.

His eyes widen, and his heart drops. It was like his worst nightmare coming true- jesus, how could he even think about himself right now? The girl he loved felt trapped with a man she thought might be the father of her baby.

Spencer gulped, “Oh.”

“Yeah, oh.”

You looked at each other, scared, you more than him. And then you cringed,

“God, I’m sorry Spencer. I shouldn’t have said anything-“

“No- Y/n, it’s fine. I’m glad you told me-“

“I haven’t even, like, taken a test yet-“

“Wait so-”

You spun on your heel and looked at him exasperated.

“So… let’s go get some tests.” He said (he hopes) calmly. He was really trying, to pretend to be calm and collected. That’s what you needed, a clear head to replace yours.

He paid for everything, even the 5 pregnancy tests and the over sized lollipop you put in the basket to ease your nerves later on.

The moon was high, you were about three hours late to get home now, and your head was attacking itself with rambles and aches and honestly, you were sick of it.

You shivered, huddling in your jacket and drawing only slightly closer to Spencer. His silence was like a hook, drawing you in closer and higher and taking every word you had been thinking that day to the tip of your tongue.

You looked up to him. His hair fell into his eyes, the breeze reddening his cheeks slightly.

It’s Spencer. You’ve known him for nearly 6 years, but it feels like you’ve known each other for ever. You know everything about him, and he knows everything about you. Well, not everything. He doesn’t know how you feel in your own apartment, how every anniversary had been forgotten even when it was the ‘1 year’ mark, how you felt like you were raising an over grown child who could drink.

He knows you’re strong, but admitting all that? I’d look weak.

You have looked weak in front of Spencer. He stayed overnight in your hospital room, he held you when you watched a little girl die, he wiped your tears when you watched a sad short film during your break.

You couldn’t hide anything from him.

“I don’t think I’m pregnant- Well, I mean I might be, but there’s a very low chance,” You started, Spencer’s jaw clenched for a millisecond, “I’ve just been feeling sick and… it could be because of stress from work, or just general stress- like, I don’t know.”

Spencer moved the grocery bag to his other hand.

“Kids are great, don’t get me wrong. Some people don’t get the chance to have kids. I mean…” You gulped, and Spencer finally looked down at you. But now, all you could do was stare at the car park’s concrete floor. Speaking out loud was like clearing your brain, the fog was lifting. “Lloyd doesn’t want kids. I do, at least in the future, not right now. I just hope it’s not with-“ You cut yourself off, and slow down a bit. Spencer matches your pace.

I just hope it’s not with him.

He gulps, and clears his throat, looking down at you with understanding eyes, “With everything that’s going on.”

“Yeah… yeah. You know, my job, my…” It’s no use lying to Spencer. He knows. He’s known, for a long time.

Your chest was tight, and you made eye contact with the pregnancy tests lying on top of Spencer’s groceries. The thought of going home, rushing to the bathroom, avoiding your boyfriend who was already waiting angry, made your throat close up. Because only now, when you were three hours late from work and ignoring his one attempt at a phone call, Lloyd texted, ‘I think you need to calm down.’ It was a bare minimum, and finally Spencer could see you realizing it.

No, ‘Wre you okay?’, ‘What’s making you think this?’ ‘Where are you?’

No. He was making you out to be the crazy one, the one to be over thinking, over bearing, too much.

You were confused. To put it blankly. And scared. And questioning your life decisions. And honestly you just wanted to curl up in a ball and to have Spencer make you bad cucumber salad at his warm apartment.

You looked up to Spencer but he was already looking down at you, reaching for his keys and nodding, “You can come to mine, it’ll be okay.”

taglist (open) - @jeffswh0re @reap3erslov3 @candyd1es @0108s22m @aurorsworld @theoraekenslover @c-losur3 @littlelearningbrat @khxna @laurakirsten0502 @cultish-corner

[angelickisscs]

all he could ever want ~ blurb ‧₊˚

‧₊˚ ୨ ୧ ˚₊ pairing ~ jude bellingham x reader

summary: a usual night with you and your boyfriend

NO SOUNDS CHALLENGED that of the TV show Jude had opted for. Somehow, you managed to keep your focus on the page in front of you, your eyes slowly moving from side to side.

A comfortable silence washed itself upon your living room, just like that of a calm sea. Neither of you felt the need to say something to one another, all your talking having happened all throughout your day.

Warmth emitted from the missing sun, it still leaving its mark no matter what. It wasn’t humid however, the heat being the kind that didn’t make you sticky but rather just hung in the air, showing its presence with no consequence to those around.

You had your legs perched upon his lap, his hand mindlessly creeping under the pyjama bottoms, that you had stolen from him, so he was able to run it across your leg.

This had become your nightly routine ever since moving in with each other. How it came about? You wouldn’t know. It had just come about one day and ever since, the both of you had unconsciously followed it.

It was coming up on 10pm when Jude had turned off the television show, his head falling backwards to rest against the sofa as his eyes stared lovingly down at you.

The strong aroma of flowers clung to your nose, the fresh bunch that he had brought for you only that morning being placed on the table in front of you. They were beautiful, some of the best he had ever brought you. Though you could not name the particular types they were, their colours were majestic and that was enough for you.

“What are you reading?” He questioned softly, not daring to break the peace that encircled you.

You looked up from your book, the word that you had just read quickly leaving your mind. “Just some random romance book I found at the library.”

Turning it around, you let your eyes quickly scan the blurb, reading aloud the parts that described the book the best.

He chuckled at that, the vibrations bouncing throughout your calf muscles. You couldn’t do anything but turn your head to the side, your mind coming up blank as to what he could be laughing at.

Jude seemed to swiftly catch onto your confusion, a smile settling onto his face.

“Read it to me?”

His voice was small, almost nervous as you could hardly make out his loving eyes through the darkness. The singular light that pressured into making the whole room bright enough seemed to have given up, its golden hue hardly making it past the corner that it sat in.

You nodded, opening your arms so he could make himself comfortable. And he did just that, his head finding solace in your neck as his hands wrapped around your waist, their stroking motion restarting but this time on your back.

Flipping to the first page, you began. His breath was warm against your skin, it’s evenness a calming noise. One of your hands held the book whilst the other was in Jude’s hair, the paring of your movements and voice meaning that he fell asleep quicker than he would have liked too.

He could have listened to your voice all day and night, opting for that over anything that the TV could provide for him. It was gentle, perfectly becoming his favourite kind of hug on a chilly day.

It was all he could ever want, and he could not be happier that he had gotten it.

[drowning-in-paragraphs]

THE NOTE EXCHANGE

jude bellingham x gf!reader

warnings: none! just fluff

summary: A simple Post-It on the fridge sparks a playful tradition between you and Jude, one that grows into a game of secret messages tucked into unexpected places. At first, it’s a way to brighten each other’s day with little notes of encouragement, humor, and love—but soon, it becomes something more. Jude teases you for being the "romantic one," but after snooping in his closet it is revealed that hes the sentimental of the relationship.

The first note appeared on the fridge.

You noticed it as you shuffled into the kitchen one morning, still half-asleep, your feet dragging against the cold tiled floor. The soft hum of the refrigerator filled the otherwise silent room, punctuated by the faint drip-drip of the leaky faucet that you kept meaning to fix. The sunlight filtered weakly through the curtains, casting pale gold streaks across the counters and illuminating the little square of paper stuck to the fridge door.

Jude’s slightly messy handwriting sprawled across the note, the ink faintly smudged at the edges as though he’d written it in a hurry:

Good luck on your presentation today. You’ve got this. —xx Jude.

A smile tugged at your lips, the simple words dissolving the haze of sleepiness. Jude was already out for his early training session, but the thoughtfulness of the note felt like a warm hug, steadying your nerves for the day ahead. You carefully peeled the note off the fridge, its adhesive slightly stubborn as it clung to the cool metal, and tucked it into the drawer of your bedroom nightstand for safekeeping.

The next morning, you decided to return the favor.

The kitchen was even quieter this time, the faint smell of freshly brewed coffee hanging in the air. You dug through a cluttered drawer, the sound of paper crinkling and pens rattling accompanying your search until you unearthed a stack of brightly colored Post-Its. They were neon and cheerful, a stark contrast to the understated yellow of Jude’s note. Grinning to yourself, you pulled out a hot pink square and grabbed a simple pen from the counter, its cap slightly chewed—a habit you’d been trying to break.

With a playful flourish, you wrote:

You better score today, Bellingham. Don’t let me down… —Your #1 fan.

You examined the note, your handwriting slightly neater than Jude’s but no less hurried. Next to the words, you drew a winking face carefully crafted. Satisfied, you marched over to his gym bag, slumped against the couch in the living room, and hid the Post-It firmly in the front pocket. The vibrant pink stood out starkly against the dark fabric, impossible to miss.

When Jude came downstairs, his hair still damp from the shower and his duffle bag slung over one shoulder, his eyes landed on the note immediately. He paused, plucking it off the bag with an amused smirk. The corner of his mouth quirked up into a grin so radiant it could melt ice. He held it up for you to see, a soft chuckle escaping him.

“Pressure’s on now,” he teased, his voice warm and rich, carrying a playful edge.

You shrugged, leaning casually against the doorframe, but the glint in your eyes betrayed your amusement. “Better not let me down, then,” you shot back, crossing your arms as though daring him to falter.

Jude shook his head, laughing again, before tucking the note carefully into the zippered pocket of his bag. “I’ll make sure it’s a hat-trick,” he said, winking at you, then kissing you, before heading out the door. The sound of his footsteps faded down the hall, and you were left alone, the echo of his laughter still warming the space.

From that day on, the notes became a habit. Each one was like a small gift, a little spark of joy in the everyday rhythm of life. They started popping up in unexpected places—taped to the bathroom mirror, hidden in the pages of a book you were reading, slipped into Jude’s wallet.

They became part of a secret language, a dialogue that wove itself through your days and nights. Some notes were sweet, others playful, and a few outright ridiculous. Once, you’d tucked a note into Jude’s shoe, folded so small he almost missed it until his fingers brushed against the paper while adjusting the tongue. It read:

Step up today. I’ll be watching. —Love, Your Cheerleader.

He texted you later with a picture of the note balanced on the toe of his sneaker and the caption: “Never walking out of here without thinking of you again.”

You instantly replied with a playful: “You did that before?!?”

And his response was a quick selfie sticking out his tongue.

Another time, when Jude had to stay a few weeks away for the international break, he made sure to hid a note in your favorite book, just a few pages shy of where your bookmark rested. You’d discovered it late at night, your eyes heavy with sleep but your heart instantly wide awake. The message, scrawled in his familiar handwriting, read:

Even away, I’m thinking and dreaming about you, of course. Sleep well, love. —J

You’d fallen asleep clutching the note, its edges softened by your grip as it nestled under your pillow.

Sometimes, your boyfriend had a knack for keeping the habit fresh. There were moments where he’d go big—like the time he left a note attached to a single flower in your car’s cup holder, scribbled on the back of a piece of paper:

Picked this up because it reminded me of you. Have a nice day baby! —Your bf

Other times, he kept it simple, like scribbling “Thanks for being there” on a napkin and tucking it under your mug before you’d even woken up.

You weren’t innocent of upping the ante, either. One day, you sneaked a note into the inside pocket of his jacket—a strategic placement he wouldn’t discover until mid-day. It read:

If you’re reading this, I hope you’re having the best day. But if not, know that you’re still the best thing in mine. ��Me (who else?)

Alright, sure, it was cheesy, maybe bordering on saccharine, but the thought of Jude discovering it and smiling made it worthwhile.

When Jude got home that evening, he pulled you into a tight hug before saying a word, burying his face on your shoulder as he smiled against your skin.

“I found your note,” he murmured, his voice thick with affection.

“I hoped you would,” you replied, resting your cheek against the curve of his neck.

It wasn’t always about romance. Some notes were pure comedy, like the time you’d taped one to the bathroom mirror that said:

Don’t forget to shave your face please, whenever you kiss me you tickle me. —Sincerely, your annoyed gf.

Jude had laughed so hard that morning, he nearly nicked himself with the razor. In retaliation, he stuck a Post-It to your pillow later that evening:

Maybe I am going for the rugged look. Thought you liked me scruffy? —your beloved boyfriend (won’t shave next time)

The note was punctuated with a winking face he’d painstakingly drawn—though the uneven lines suggested his patience had run out halfway through.

One day, Jude playfully confronted you, holding a note you’d left in his wallet with an exaggerated look of faux disbelief.

“You’re too romantic for your own good, you know that?” he teased, waving the paper in front of you. It read:

You make waking up worth it. Even on Mondays. Especially on Mondays. —Your favorite morning person (that’s me, in case you’re wondering)

You burst out laughing. “Wait, I’m too romantic? How about the note sticked to the flower?”

Jude smirked, shrugging dramatically. “I have to balance out all the hearts and stars you scribble everywhere. Someone’s got to keep us grounded.”

“Oh, right,” you teased, crossing your arms. “Because nothing says ‘grounded’ like a painstakingly drawn winky face.”

He gasped, feigning offense. “Hey! That took effort. Don’t pretend you didn’t swoon a little.”

Rolling your eyes, you grabbed the note from his hand and tucked it into his pocket. “You’re lucky I’m a sucker for romantics in denial.”

“I’m not in denial,” he protested, though the grin tugging at his lips betrayed him. “I’m just…selectively romantic.”

“Sure you are,” you replied, standing on your toes to kiss his cheek. “You can keep saying that.”

One evening, a few months into your notes exchange, you were curled up on the couch, your laptop balanced on your knees as you worked. Jude was home but in the gym of the house, and the low hum of background music filled the air. You’d hit a lull in focus, staring blankly at the screen, when a thought popped into your head: you needed something soft and oversized, one of Jude’s shirts, to make the moment cozier.

Leaving your laptop behind, you wandered into your big shared room. The door was ajar, the faint scent of his cologne lingering in the air. His closet stood partially open, revealing a jumble of hangers, a row of neatly folded jerseys, and some pair of sneakers placed in the corners. As you rummaged through his things, fingers brushing over the familiar fabric of his shirts, your gaze drifted upward—and you noticed a small wooden box on the top shelf.

It was plain but well-loved, its smooth edges catching the light. Something about it called to you. Rising onto your tiptoes, you carefully brought it down. The weight in your hands felt meaningful, as though it carried something more than its size suggested. A twinge of hesitation flared—were you about to discover something that you would later regret?—but your curiosity got the better of you. The lid opened with a soft creak.

Inside was a collection that stole your breath: neatly folded Post-Its, crumpled napkins, scraps of paper, and even a few old receipts. Recognition hit like a wave. These were your notes—all of them. From the first silly joke to the heartfelt ones you left without much thought, each was lovingly preserved here. Even the ones you assumed he’d tossed or forgotten about.

Your fingers brushed over a pink Post-It adorned with a tiny doodle, a napkin with a kiss mark of your lipstick, and a brightly colored paperclip that once held a particularly sappy message. Your chest tightened as memories rushed back, every word and gesture suddenly more significant than you realized.

Suddenly, Jude’s voice broke the quiet. “What do you think you are doing?” You spun around, instinctively clutching the box to your chest, feeling like a child caught with their hand in the cookie jar. He stood in the doorway, casually leaning against the frame, his damp hair suggesting he'd just come from the shower. The sight of him in that simple T-shirt, the water droplets still catching the light, made your breath catch for a moment.

“I—I was just grabbing a shirt,” you stammered, but the explanation was weak, especially with the box in your hands.

Jude’s dark eyes flicked to the box, and his grin deepened. He pushed off the doorway, taking a step closer. “A shirt, sure. Give me that...”

“You kept all of them,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper. Awe laced your words as you glanced back at the box’s contents.

“Of course I did,” he replied, his tone warm and slightly sheepish. “They’re from you. What, did you think I’d just throw them away?”

A slow smile spread across your face. “And you call me the romantic one?”

He chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck as his cheeks turned red. “Alright, maybe I’m a little sentimental.” Then, he paused as he saw you arching an eyebrow, “What, you think I’m heartless?”

“Noooo,” you said quickly, then teased, stepping closer. “How could the guy who wrote me a note comparing my laugh to music be heartless?”

“That was a solid line,” he countered, his blush deepening despite the mock bravado. “Pretty sure it was award-worthy.”

Laughing, you set the box carefully on his dresser before wrapping your arms around his neck. “It’s adorable,” you said, your tone soft yet teasing. “You’re adorable.”

“Stop,” he groaned dramatically, though his hands found the waist of your joggers, pulling you closer. “I can only handle so much flattery.”

“Oh, this isn’t flattery,” you quipped, grinning up at him. “It’s facts. You’re the romantic one here. Admit it.”

With a mock sigh of resignation, he smiled down at you. “Fine. Maybe a little. But only because you make it easy.”

Your chest swelled, and you stood on tiptoe to kiss his cheek. “Good answer.”

He kissed you back, his arms tightening around you as the moment lingered. When he finally pulled back, he grinned. “So, does this mean I’m forgiven for hiding the box?”

You smirked, brushing your lips against his cheek. “Only if you let me borrow that shirt.”

“Deal,” he murmured, pulling you closer. “But you owe me another note.”

[ethereal-blossom]

Giving BSD boys a blowjob for the first time

ft. dazai, kunikida

warnings: blowjobs (surprise!) MDNI

a/n: kinda wrote these in mind thinking it was also giving them a handjob for the first time so I guess that's double the fun!

Dazai Osamu ♡

Your eyes looked up to find Dazai's face, searching for a sign of approval. In response, Dazai let out a validating, soft moan and closed his eyes as he nodded. "You're doing excellent, belladonna."

It wasn't unexpected. Dazai, sharp and observant as a hawk, had seen the way your eyes lingered over every small change in his facial expressions. While you were dating, both of you had agreed to take things slow. Even small milestones like holding hands was a huge thing for the man that was wrapped in bandages. The slow burn of deepening your relationship into each other's hearts until it left a permanent mark that even time couldn't erase, was wonderful.

But with time grows desire. Dazai teased you to the point of dilated pupils, hitching breaths, and a blush that cups your cheeks. Exactly like planned, the detective thought, smirking behind the mask of crafted innocence. Except, the plan had been for you to beg him to touch you; not that you would beg to make him feel good as your fingers pushed his hips onto the couch. Dazai is highly aware of his intelligence that makes him read people as if they are a children's book, but sometimes, he thinks he doesn't always grab your nature. The type of nature that has you on your knees in front of him, getting high off of his pleasure.

When you wanted to focus your attention back on the twitching cock in your hand, the sight of Dazai's fingers grabbed your attention. You knew Dazai better than any living soul. Although still a mystery novel that hides behind words of deceive and avoidance to keep parts of itself hidden until the time of reveal is there, this mystery novel was slowly showing you its pages that brought you closer to the truth.

One of the mysteries revealed was Dazai's massive self-control over his external reactions. Emotions were another vulnerable aspect of what it meant to be human, and Dazai hid them masterfully. A part of that was because it functioned as a tactic to reach his goals and stay in control, but a part of you wondered if it was because Dazai feared vulnerability more than a bullet. Emotional suffering is torture for the ones with a sensitive heart.

While Dazai's face was decorated in controlled bliss and his moans playing like a soft lullaby, the slender fingers around the sheets were clinging for dear life. You see... could you make another crack in that composed facade?

Your thumb starts drawing circles over Dazai's tip and with that, you witnessed the twitching of both his cock and fingers. A soft groan escaped Dazai's clenched jaw. "Ah, that's my belladonna. You're soo good to me, hm? Working hard for that reward." That controlled tone...

... It wasn't enough.

Dazai could tell something changed. Even though he had his eyes closed in concentration, clinging to the tiny bit of control he had, he noticed how your stroking became irregular. "What's filling your mind that isn't my- argh, shit." Dazai's eyes shot open as he bolted his hips deeper into your mouth, leaving you gagged for a good second.

That face of pure shock and arousal, the one you rarely got to see on your lover, revealed itself to you as you had taken Dazai's tip into your mouth. "Y/N, that's-"

Another lick and Dazai's original sentence was replaced by a moan, and the detective felt like all control slipped between his fingers when you placed your hands around the rest of his cock.

Dazai grabbed your hair, hissing you to go slower because oh God, he was about to cum faster than he ever did in his twenty-two years of living, and God knows he did not want this euphoria to end this soon. Oh, he really wasn't used to feeling this good-

"Belladonna, y/n, please-" Dazai didn't know what he was begging you for. For you to go slower? Faster? What it was, you hummed in approval. That little vibration was all it needed for Dazai to throw his head in his neck. His toes curled as high-pitched whines fell over lips that had become swollen in a miserable attempt to hide his moans.

When you looked up after swallowing, you were met with Dazai's bangs hanging over his eyes. "Osamu, are you okay?" Worried, you push the chocolate colored bangs aside and... oh.

He was so pretty with scarlet painted cheeks. Dazai couldn't even look you in the eyes, giving up after one second of eye-contact before shyly facing another side with his head. "That was... good. For a first attempt."

You chuckled as your hand caresses the cheek that faced your way and with a slightly hoarse voice you respond: "Good. I'll make you even feel better next time."

Dazai's hands twitch one last time before he closes his eyes and mentally picks up every string that he lost along the way. As the detective opens his eyes, you can see the control and seduction in those dark eyes that you love so much.

Dazai leans closer until you feel his breath on your ear. His lips tickle and a shiver runs down your spine as he whispers: "Someone has earned that reward, hasn't she? Let's see how long I can make you last."

Kunikida Doppo ♡

Rubies could not compete with the radiant red glow of Kunikida's face as he realized what you were about to do. The detective should have known you were up to something when he was preparing today's schedule and you had popped up behind him, placing your arms around his waist as you kissed his neck and whispered: "Keep a spot open at 8 PM, love."

Even when the blond had asked for details, your lips stayed sealed. The only hint Kunikida got out of you was "Dazai has made you work over-hours; I want to treat you."

Naively, innocently, Kunikida thought you might have a dinner or massage in mind. Not that he was wrong! It was just a... different type of massage. With your tender fingers wrapped around his cock, Kunikida clenched his jaw to not make a sound, but the moan slipped away as he sighed your name: "Y/n... I, we-"

"Does it feel good, Doppo?" You made sure to rub his tip with your thumb right then, making the detective's cock drop with pre-cum.

"It- yes... yes, it feels good."

Looking up blessed you with the sight of an orderly man turned into a mess under the tip of your fingers. A wave of arousal rushed through your body, seeing the man unravel in front of you. You figured he would be vocal, but oh-

Kunikida was sensitive. The smallest movement had him throwing his head back and trusting his hip as tiny moans calling your name filled the room. Not only were his cheeks the color of fire due to the heat of your touch, but the intimacy of it all left him flustered as well.

You felt a hand rest on your head, lightly gripping a bit of hair. "Y/n... we, you- I have to make you feel good, too."

Oh. "That has to wait."

"But- ah!" The hand around your hair tightened in response to your mouth taking his cock.

Kunikida's thoughts were twirled up in the storm that was you. Your name rolled off his tongue like worshipping prayers as you brought Heaven to earth for him.

The bliss of touching Heaven became too much, and with one closing word, Kunikida fell apart. He arched his back, forgetting to bite his lip to soften the groans that might slip through the walls where his colleagues live. His grip around you tightens, never wanting to let you go, never wanting to let this feeling go. But then Kunikida realizes he's still on earth and lessens his grip on the fear he's hurting you.

The detective looked into your eyes, but they were filled with lust directed at him and God, it felt so sinful that he had to deflect his gaze. Yet, you grabbed his chin and made your boyfriend face you.

"Do you feel better?"

Kunikida stammered, trying to get out a word. "Yes, that was," an embarrassed cough, "excellent." 

Your thumb caressed his lip. "Good."

And then, the world flipped around as Kunikida lay your back on the bed. "I have done a deep-dive research on how to please you when the time was there. Now, let me return the favor." 

[wannabespacesmuggler]

D.D. | Shane's Girl [10]

Part Ten | Masterlist | Buy me a coffee | Check out the playlist

Summary: Daryl Dixon knows he shouldn’t be thinking about you when he’s alone at night in his tent. Hell, he shouldn’t even be looking at you throughout the day. You’re not his. You’re Shane’s girl. But Daryl doesn’t like the way Shane treats you. And he certainly doesn’t like how you’re forced to play ‘loving girlfriend’ to a man with eyes for another woman at the camp.

Pairing: Daryl Dixon x female!Reader

Warnings: Shane Walsh is the worst, angst, canon violence, mentions of tobacco use, chapter follows “Tell it to the Frogs” but dialogue and events are paraphrased.

Word Count: 3K

Author’s Note: Me posting twice in a week? Unheard of. I've just been feeling very inspired for this story and this chapter just took on a life of it's own. I try to keep these chapter under 2,000 words, but this one is a tad longer. Hope you all enjoy! As always I would love to hear what y'all think.

After an eventful night around the campfire, you return to your empty tent. A part of you was thankful when Shane told the group that he was taking watch tonight, but another part of you recognizes that he’s simply trying to delay the inevitable. You’re just not sure you’re ready for that conversation right now. Not after the whiplash of emotions you experienced today: from the joy of one of your best friends returning from the dead to the devastation you felt for Daryl at the realization that Merle didn’t make it back from Atlanta. 

You had asked about the older Dixon’s absence during a lull in the conversation after you’d all finished dinner. Rick explained what had happened in Atlanta, and though you understood why he chose to handcuff Merle on the roof, your heart broke for Daryl. When you asked if they planned to return to the city for him, you were met by a scoff from Shane and a mumbled good riddance under his breath. His reaction made you sick to your stomach. You may not care for Merle Dixon, but Daryl does. And for all you know, he’s the only family that Daryl has left. 

The prolonged silence that ensued after your question was an answer in itself. They didn’t plan on going back for him. 

You lie down on your cot, sighing as you stare into the darkness above you. Your mind is still racing at the realization of Shane’s infidelity. You hadn’t gotten a chance to process the insinuation during the constant commotion this evening, but now that you were alone, it’s all you can think about. You roll over, closing your eyes and hoping that some sleep will give you a clearer perspective on your dilemma. But even though today took pretty much everything out of you, sleep never seemed further away. The idea of holding onto all of this alone is exhausting, but who are you supposed to talk to right now? Rick and Lori just got each other back. You barely know Glenn and Dale. And even though you’re friends with Andrea and Amy, anything told to the sisters tends to spread through the camp like wildfire. You wish Daryl was here. 

But then there’s your second problem. How do you explain to Daryl that the group left his brother in Atlanta? And how will he respond? Daryl’s just started opening up to you, and you’re depending on that budding friendship now more than ever. You’re afraid he will pull away from the group due to the betrayal. And you wouldn���t blame him — betrayal weighs heavy on your heart right now. 

You let out another sigh as you turn onto your back. You pull your thin blanket over your head, trying to physically block out the thoughts spiraling inside of your brain. In an attempt to calm yourself down, you pull Dale’s book out of your backpack and ignite your small flashlight. You open the book to where you left off, but instead of getting further into the novel, your eyes drift to the crumpled piece of paper acting as your placeholder. Finally, you drift off rereading Daryl’s hastily written note. 

When you wake, you’re met with rays of morning sunlight filtering through the flaps of your tent. You blink the grogginess out of your eyes. Even though you slept more than usual last night, your body feels like it didn’t get any rest. You gather your strength and manage to get off of your small cot, groaning as your feet connect with the ground. Hopefully, you’ll feel better once you busy yourself with something to do around camp. 

Exiting your tent, you’re met with a surprisingly empty camp. Your brow furrows as you sweep the area, but a small smile tugs at the corners of your lips as your eyes land on Rick talking to Carol by the RV. Having Rick Grimes back in your life still feels like a dream. You make your way up to the pair, and Rick glances over your way. 

“You look as tired as I feel.”

Although his words are said in a humorous tone, his eyes hold a look of genuine concern. The small smile on your face grows a bit wider at the sight. Rick Grimes isn’t your blood, but you’ve considered him your family since you befriended Lori all those years ago.

“Just a restless night, I suppose.”

You attempt to brush off the concern nonchalantly. The last thing you want to do is worry Rick as he’s settling back in with his friends and family. But even though he lets out a warm chuckle at your response, the concern etched into his features doesn’t dissipate. Rick opens his mouth to reply, but is cut off by a woman screaming. The two of you look toward where the sound is coming from, somewhere off in the surrounding woods, before looking back at each other with wide eyes.

“Lori…”

Without another word, the two of you race off into the woods with Carol not far behind. As you both get further into the forest, you begin to hear a medley of concerned voices. And finally, you find a small clearing with the entire group gathered around Sophia and Carl. Rick rushes over to his son, but your eyes are fixated on an inanimate walker lying beside a deer carcass. Your hand subconsciously lands on your hip and grabs the hilt of your hunting knife. Although it looks like some of the men handled the walker, you still have a sinking feeling in your stomach as your eyes rake over the jagged bite marks that trail down the deer’s neck. 

A rustling in the woods pulls your attention away from the carnage, and suddenly, everyone is on high alert. You watch as both Shane and Rick get in front of Lori and Carl, shielding them with their bodies as they draw their guns up toward the sound. Your tense shoulders relax, and a relieved sigh escapes your lips as Daryl appears from the dense forest brush. Everyone drops their weapons as Daryl raises his hands. Shane groans as he spots a handful of squirrels that Daryl has tied onto a rope in his left hand. Daryl glares at Shane for a second before his eyes land on the mangled deer lying on the forest floor.

“Son of a bitch!”

Daryl approaches the deer, angrily muttering about how he’d been tracking it for miles. He kicks the deer in frustration and drops to a knee to assess the damage the walker has done. 

“I was gonna drag it back to camp — cook us all up some venison. What do you think? Think we could cut around the chewed-up parts?”

Daryl’s proposal earns him several disgusted groans, and Shane responds. 

“I wouldn’t risk it, man.”

Daryl sighs disappointedly before standing up from the deer. He wipes off his hands on the front of his jeans. His eyes harden slightly as he looks over at Shane. 

“That’s a damn shame. Got some squirrel though — that’ll have to make due.”

From behind him, the walker begins groaning and Daryl rolls his eyes as multiple people cry out in horror. In one swift motion he swings his crossbow from behind his back and shoots the walker square between the eyes. Daryl’s eyes scan the small crowd that has gathered around all of the commotion. His posture relaxes ever-so-slightly as his eyes meet yours. He gives you a subtle nod — a small gesture you’ve grown accustomed to. Instead of nodding back, you drop your eyes to the ground. You’re not quite sure how to face him right now — overwhelmed by a mix of embarrassment over your current predicament with Shane and guilt that you didn’t go to Atlanta after learning about Merle. Realistically, you know that there’s no way that you could go on a lone rescue mission to the city to save Merle, but you still feel like you should have done something. 

Daryl’s brow furrows, and his heart clenches at your reaction. What happened while he was gone? Daryl looks around and suddenly realizes that everyone in camp is staring at him with a disheartened expression — everyone except Merle. His eyes quickly scan the group once more before he starts making his way toward their shared tent. Everyone moves to follow him. 

“Merle! Merle, where you at?”

You move to step forward. If anyone was going to break the news about his brother, it should be someone who cares about him. But before you can speak, Shane pushes you behind him and takes the lead.

“Daryl, just slow up a bit. We need to talk to you about Merle. There was a problem in Atlanta.”

Daryl chews on his bottom lip for a second before responding. 

“He dead?”

Your heart breaks as you watch Daryl’s expression drop.

“We’re not sure.”

Daryl’s face hardens at Shane’s answer. 

“He either is or he ain’t!”

Rick puts a hand on Shane’s shoulder before things get too heated between the two hot-headed men. As Daryl’s gaze shifts from Shane to Rick and his eyes narrow. 

“Who the hell are you?”

“Rick Grimes.”

Recognition flashes in Daryl’s eyes as the name immediately reminds him of the numerous stories you’ve told him about the man you consider a brother. His gaze flickers to you briefly before shifting back to Rick. For your sake, he pushes his anger aside for a moment and chooses to listen to Rick. You watch intently as Rick explains the events that happened in Atlanta. Daryl’s nostrils flare, and his grip tightens around the squirrels he’s holding. 

“You’re tellin’ me that you handcuffed my brother on top of a roof and left him there?”

“Yeah.”

And then all hell breaks loose. Daryl throws the bundle of squirrels at Rick, causing Shane to launch himself at Daryl. You rush forward as Shane tackles Daryl to the floor. You’re yelling at Shane — begging him to get off of Daryl. As you attempt to pull Shane off of him, Shane reaches back and pushes you off of him. Daryl yells as you hit the ground hard. Rick helps you up, and there’s a collective gasp as Daryl, who has managed to get out of Shane’s hold, pulls out his hunting knife. 

“Stop it!”

You step in between the two men — back to Shane. Daryl’s chest heaves from the physical activity, and his eyes don’t leave the man behind you. 

“Daryl.”

Finally, his eyes meet yours, and his face softens ever-so-slightly. He sighs before dropping the knife. You nod at him approvingly before turning to look at Shane. Although Daryl seems to have settled down, Shane is still fuming. His gaze is like daggers as he continues to stare at Daryl. T-Dog steps forward to diffuse the situation. 

“I dropped the key, but I locked the door. Nothing should be able to get in there — we just have to go back.”

You hear Daryl grunt from behind you. As you turn to face him, he’s chewing on his bottom lip again. You can practically see the gears turning his head. 

“Just tell me where he is so I can go get him.”

“I’ll go back with you.”

Lori clenches her jaw at Rick’s words, obviously upset by her husband’s decision. T-Dog nods at Rick’s words before stating he’ll join them. Shane mutters a string of expletives under his breath as Rick glances around the group. His eyes land on Glenn, and he shifts his feet nervously.

“Really, man?”

“You know the city better than anybody. It’d make me feel safer knowing you’re there with me.”

Glenn hesitates for a moment before nodding. Rick gives him a small smile, and Shane lets out an exasperated sigh.

“So that’s your big plan, man? You, T-Dog, Glenn, and Daryl?”

“And me.”

Suddenly, everyone’s eyes land on you. Shane’s expression hardens as his eyes meet yours. His gaze is ice cold, but you don’t back down. 

“The hell you are!”

“I’m going, Shane.”

Shane huffs before taking several steps toward you.

“Are you outta your goddamn mind? This is Merle Dixon we’re talking about.”

You glance back over your shoulder at Daryl who is nervously shifting from one foot to the other. He’s watching the interaction attentively. Just like always, he’s prepared to step in if Shane loses his cool.

“He’s still human, Shane. He deserves better than to die handcuffed on top of a roof like a rabid animal.”

Shane’s expression tightens as his gaze briefly shifts between you and Daryl. His gaze eventually focuses back on you and his eyes narrow. 

“You’re really gonna do this for him?”

He juts his chin towards Daryl, and you let out a dry laugh due to the absurdity of this conversation. Everyone’s watching the stand-off between you and Shane intently — you’d be embarrassed by the attention if you weren’t so angry. 

“This doesn’t have anything to do with him, alright? It’s about doing the right thing.”

Shane takes another menacing step forward. You know what he’s doing — he’s trying to intimidate you into submission, but you’re done with this. He squares his shoulders as he towers over you, but instead of cowering, you stand your ground.

“That’s bullshit. If you leave with them, we’re done.”

His voice is seething. He’s desperately trying to regain control of the situation — the ultimatum is proof of that.

“We’ve been done, Shane.”

You turn to leave the conversation, but Shane reaches out and grabs your wrist. The grip he has on you is bone-breaking, and you let out a surprised yelp as he pulls you back towards him. Immediately, Daryl springs into action. A low, threatening growl rumbles in his throat as he moves toward you.

“Don’t fucking touch her.”

Shane’s grip tightens at Daryl’s warning. You squirm due to the pain shooting up your arm. You desperately try to wriggle out of Shane’s grasp, but it’s too tight.

“Stay out of this. She isn’t yours.”

“Are you deaf? She ain’t yours either.”

Before Shane can react, Rick grabs his shoulder. He looks at you and Shane with wide eyes, obviously confused about what has happened between you both during his absence.

“Brother, what are you doing?”

Finally, Shane releases his grip, and you immediately backstep away from him. Daryl places a gentle hand on your shoulder and moves you further away from Shane. Rick’s brow furrows in confusion as he watches Daryl precautiously step in front of you. He’s obviously missing something here. The last time he saw you both — before the accident, before the coma — you were laughing with each other during dinner at Rick and Lori’s. He remembers your joy. But now you’re looking at his best friend with nothing but discontent. And Daryl, the man that Shane warned Rick about last night, is the one protecting you from a man you shouldn’t fear. Rick shakes his head before addressing the rest of the group. 

“Alright everyone, the show’s over. Let’s all cool off for a bit, okay?”

The group begins to wander off in different directions. But Daryl and Shane continue to stare each other down until Rick grabs Shane’s shoulder again.

“Shane, let’s go.”

It sounds more like a warning than a suggestion. Finally, Shane tears his eyes away from Daryl and stomps into camp. Rick gives you one last apologetic look before following after his best friend. You let out a sigh of relief and let your shoulders drop as the tense encounter finally ends. Daryl turns to face you, and his eyes immediately drop to your wrist, which is already beginning to bruise.

“You ‘lright?”

You nod wordlessly, still overwhelmed by everything that just happened. Daryl moves you back toward a fallen log to sit you down before he cautiously grabs your wrist. You’re so far away right now you don’t even respond to the touch. He drops down on one knee and gently assesses the damage that Shane caused, making sure nothing’s broken. Once Daryl is content with his assessment, he meets your eyes. His expression is brimming with worry as he searches your face. 

“You sure you’re ‘lright?”

Finally, you meet his eyes, and Daryl’s heart breaks at the sight of your broken appearance. He’s overwhelmed by his need to protect you — a feeling that’s becoming increasingly common for him as he spends more time with you. This time, you simply shake your head. Honestly, you have no idea what you feel right now. 

Daryl nods and takes a seat beside you. He feels like a fucking idiot. He never should have left you here for so long — not after everything you told him about Shane, everything he’s observed over the weeks you’ve spent in camp together. Before he can kick himself further, you speak again.

“It’s over, right?”

Daryl looks at you softly and nods.

“It’s over.”

“But he’s still…”

“You ain’t gotta worry about him anymore. I promise you, I ain’t gonna let him do anything to you. Not anymore.”

You’re overwhelmed by the sincerity in his tone and the devotion in his eyes. He promises to protect you like he’s taking an oath. And for the first time since he left on his hunting trip, you feel safe. You nod, honestly believing that Daryl would put himself in harms way for your own well-being. Hell, he already did. You lean back against the fallen log and Daryl reaches into his pocket before wordlessly offering you a cigarette. A warm laugh bubbles in your chest at the gesture and Daryl wishes he could record the sound. You take the cigarette and give him a small smile.

“You’re a bad influence, Dixon.”

A smirk pulls at the corner of Daryl’s lips as he hands you a lighter. You take it graciously and Daryl watches you light the cigarette between your lips. You hand the lighter back to him before taking a long drag.

Goddamn.

He always thought those cowboy killers would kill one day — but he was wrong. You’re going to be the death of him and he’s okay with that. Because he can’t think of a more wonderful way to go.

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@ta3baee

@rottngzombi

@rhey-007

@azanoni

@ritosparty

@vaniniweenie

@nameless-ken

@ibuch7

@theunfortunateshadow

@j0joworld

@marauder-exe-old

@hello-emma

@ziziriaa-blog

@livingdeadblondequeen

@krissophia

@mischiefnevermanaged89-blog

@kellie-ana-blog

@my-name-is-heartache

@the-valars-sapphire

@mer-curie03

[ice-man-goes-bwoah]

Slinky the Snake||Lando Norris x fem!reader

Word count — 924

Summary: Lando’s afraid of snakes. Y/N has a snake. Love’s about compromise, right?

A/n it’s 3:30am and I’m finally over the stomach bug and now I can’t sleep mostly because I’ve slept all day.

The first time Lando stepped into Y/N’s apartment, he was struck by how cozy it felt. Plants hung from the windows, books lined the shelves, and her couch looked so inviting that he immediately imagined sprawling across it.

But then he noticed the terrarium. “Uh… what’s that?” he asked, already feeling a strange mix of curiosity and dread building in his chest.

Y/N, who was halfway to the kitchen, froze. Slowly, she turned back toward him. “Oh, um, that’s Slinky’s home.”

Lando blinked. “Slinky?”

Y/N hesitated, debating whether to dodge the topic or dive right in. Finally, she sighed, crossing the room to lift the lid of the terrarium.

“Slinky’s my snake.”

And there it was—a ball python, small and unassuming, poking his head out from under a log. Lando’s eyes went wide, and before he even realized it, he’d taken several large steps back.

“Wait… you have a snake?”

“Yes,” Y/N said, her tone defensive but calm. “He’s my pet. And before you say anything, he’s harmless.”

Lando’s face was a mix of disbelief and mild horror. “Harmless? That thing eats live mice! How is that harmless?”

Y/N rolled her eyes. “He’s a ball python, Lando. He doesn’t even have venom. He’s basically a noodle with a face.”

“A noodle with a face,” Lando repeated flatly, looking at the snake as though it might launch itself at him at any moment.

“Look, you don’t have to love him,” Y/N said, crossing her arms. “But… you like me, right?”

Lando’s gaze snapped back to her. “Of course I do.”

“Then give Slinky a chance. Please?”

Fifteen minutes later, Lando was sitting stiffly on Y/N’s couch, eyeing the snake now draped over her shoulders like a scarf.

“He’s not gonna bite me, right?” he asked, his voice an octave higher than usual.

“Not unless you smell like a rat,” Y/N teased.

“Not funny, love.”

Y/N chuckled, reaching up to gently stroke Slinky’s head. “Relax. He’s just curious. See? He likes you.”

Slinky was stretching toward Lando, his tongue flicking as if trying to taste the air around him. Lando, meanwhile, had his hands gripping the couch cushions as though they might save him from a sudden snake attack.

“I don’t think ‘like’ is the right word here,” he muttered.

Y/N leaned back, giving Lando some space. “You don’t have to touch him today. Just sit with us for a bit. Baby steps.” Lando nodded, though he wasn’t entirely convinced.

The next time Lando came over, Slinky decided to make himself the star of the show. While Y/N cooked dinner, Lando kept one wary eye on the snake, who was exploring the coffee table. At one point, Slinky nudged Lando’s phone, flicking his tongue against the screen.

“Uh… he’s touching my phone,” Lando called out.

“He’s playing with it,” Y/N replied from the kitchen.

“Playing or trying to eat it?”

Y/N walked in just in time to see Slinky knock the phone off the table. She picked up the snake and laughed. “He’s just being clumsy. He gets like this sometimes.”

Lando watched as Slinky managed to tangle himself in a lamp cord, looking entirely unbothered by his predicament.

“Should we… help him?” Lando asked hesitantly.

Y/N shook her head, untangling the snake with practiced ease. “He’s fine. He’s like a toddler—always getting into trouble but too cute to stay mad at.”

Lando frowned, watching as Slinky made a beeline for Y/N’s arm, curling around her wrist like a bracelet. “Yeah… I’m not seeing the ‘cute’ part yet.”

After weeks of awkward encounters with Slinky, Lando finally decided it was time to face his fear.

“Okay,” he said one evening, standing in Y/N’s living room. “I’m ready to hold him.”

Y/N raised an eyebrow. “You sure? No pressure.”

“I’m sure,” Lando said, though his hands were already clammy. “Just… don’t laugh if I scream, okay?”

Y/N grinned, gently lifting Slinky from his terrarium and walking over to Lando. “Alright, hold your hands out like this,” she instructed, demonstrating the proper way to support the snake.

Lando mimicked her stance, and she carefully placed Slinky in his hands.

“He’s heavier than I thought,” Lando murmured, his voice tight.

“Yeah, but see? He’s just chilling.”

Slinky curled lazily around Lando’s wrist, flicking his tongue in a gesture that Y/N swore was friendly.

Lando froze for a moment, his eyes locked on the snake. But when nothing bad happened, he exhaled a shaky breath. “Okay… this isn’t so bad. He’s kind of… soft?”

“Exactly!”

Y/N stepped back to snap a picture, and Lando immediately glared at her. “Don’t you dare post that.” Lando says as they settled on the couch, Slinky slithered across Y/N’s lap, eventually draping himself over Lando’s legs as well.

“You know,” Lando said, glancing down at the snake, “he’s not so bad. I think I might even like him.”

Y/N smirked. “Just wait till he tries to hide in your hoodie.”

“One step at a time, love. One step at a time.”

[actual-changeling]

Welcome back to Alex's unhinged meta corner, and today I have something surprisingly not kiss-related—though it is still about the final fifteen because hey, gotta keep the brand image.

I read this post by @goodoldfashionednightingale and began typing a small response. Then I made the mistake of drinking half a litre of coffee on an empty stomach right after taking my adhd meds and my brain began vibrating at the speed of light.

But oh, have I discovered parallels. This, my friends, is about the nightingale, where it comes from, what it means, and what the fuck happened in part 3 of 1941.

Ready? Let's go.

Now, as OP said in her post, s1e3 is important. In the script book, Neil himself says that these flashbacks are where the producers would tell him to cut scenes to save money. They suggested every single one—except for the one he ended up taking out, which was the bookshop opening scene set in 1800. The others are building blocks, you need them to see how their relationship progressed and what kind of important milestones they had.

(side note: author is very miffed that english does not have a separate subjunctive form like german which makes quoting lines way more confusing than it has to be)

The one I want to mention is neither 1941 nor 1967. No, what I want to talk about is 1601. This might be about to get a bit rambly but I will do my best to keep it tidy.

The focus of that flashback is on the Arrangement, yes, but it gives us a lot more information than that.

they both see Shakespeare's plays regularly, maybe even meet in the crowd

Crowley prefers the comedies

Aziraphale does not seem to have a preference, he enjoys the tragedies and presumably the comedies too

there is an oyster woman selling food -> reference to their meeting in Rome when Aziraphale tempted him to try some oysters

Aziraphale reflexively denies their relationship

Crowley might say he is not worried but circles Aziraphale the entire time, keeping watch

they both ask favours of each other and both agree to do them

What stands out to me in relation to what I am about to expand on is the line that Crowley delivers after Aziraphale's little 'buck up'—which Crowley finds adorable btw but that's a post for another time.

"Age does not wither nor custom stale his infinite variety."

Why would he say that? What exactly is prompting this? WHY say that specific line?

At first I thought it might be to tempt Shakespeare because he does commit art theft by just copying that line down, BUT I think there is more to that. So much more, in fact. I am wiggling now because I am very excited about this and my adhd meds are kicking in anyway.

First things first: the line itself.

It appears in Shakespeare's play Antony and Cleopatra, a romantic tragedy, which was first performed in 1607 aka six years after this meeting. Enobarbus is talking about Cleopatra and describing why Antony won't leave her. Her.

Ccrowley uses his—again, who is he even talking about? Hamlet? Shakespeare? Random poetic quote?

No, I think this line is about Aziraphale and it's a code. Right after, the next line from Aziraphale is "What do you want?", meaning that this is their code phrase for 'I have a favour to ask of you'.

Age does not wither nor custom stale his infinite variety

Age will not affect his appearance nor will he ever become boring to Antony. Crowley, who later chooses the name Anthony for himself, tells Aziraphale, an immortal, that he will never age and that he will never grow bored of him.

It's flattery, pure and simple, and it's code at the same time. This establishes the important fact that they might use more of Shakespeare's work as code/already have a system in place (even though he steals Crowley's line for later).

They play their little morality game of back and forth, Aziraphale agrees, Crowley probably manipulates the coin toss, and THEN we find out that the oyster woman is called Juliet.

Why? What is the meaning of that? Why give her a name and that name in particular? Why bring the sexy oysters back into it?

Romeo and Juliet premiered in 1597, so it is safe to assume they have both seen it by 1601, but this is mostly for the audience, not for us-or is it?

Aziraphale gives Crowley puppy eyes until he agrees to make Hamlet popular, and while I don't think Juliet itself is a code word, although it's very interesting that the OYSTER woman is the one with that name (especially adding what we now know about Job), Romeo and Juliet might be.

Yes, the Nightingale song came out in 1940 but the bird has been around for much, much longer, and, as many probably know by now, also shows up in Romeo and Juliet.

This is where I am starting to vibrate at the speed of light because listen to me. Listen.

Crowley is Juliet. Anthony J. Crowley. Antony Juliet Crowley.

(side note: I'm not saying that Crowley chose it based on that—though I am not not saying that—but that it is a clue for us at the audience.)

Why do I think that? In the play, Romeo spends the night with Juliet and then goes to leave as the night begins to end. Juliet tries to stop him and tells him that the birds they are hearing aren't larks, which sing at dawn, but nightingales, which sing at night.

Who is the one always pushing for more? Crowley. He is the one trying to convince Aziraphale it's safe, they're safe to spend time together.

Romeo disagrees with Juliet and says 'I must be gone and live, or stay and die'.

Leave and stay alive, or stay and hell/heaven will punish us. It gets even better though.

We all know how Romeo and Juliet ends: Romeo thinks Juliet is dead, kills himself, Juliet finds him and then kills herself too.

Hey, do you know how Antony and Cleopatra ends?

Antony thinks Cleopatra is dead, kills himself and dies in her arms, then Cleopatra also kills herself—by snake poison; Romeo also died by poison.

The parallels are THERE. They are jumping down our throats! Two tragedies, two sides, several familiar names and phrases, same fear, same ending.

I think by now you can guess how this ties back to 1941.

We do not see how that night ends, but we know it ends. One of them wants to stretch it out, maybe even quotes Romeo and Juliet because look at the setting!

Candlelight, wonderful night they spend together, the threat of Crowley's early demise, and, to quote the play once more, this time Romeo: I have more care to stay than will to go.

Crowley thought it was his last night on earth and went with Aziraphale to his bookshop, to be with him, because he cares more about that than the fact that he will be dragged to hell come morning. Do you remember?

"Expect a legion to come for you first thing tomorrow" THAT is the threat. They have until dawn, just like Romeo and Juliet, which is why she is so desperate for the birds to be nightingales. Fortunately for them, Aziraphale saves the day, BUT there is NO SECURITY. They do not KNOW if a legion will still show up or not. If dawn is a deadline and they will need to fight.

Sure, they improved their chances, but who knows? Maybe they will come for him anyway, it's not like hell is all fair and square.

The best part: it gets even better.

Juliet eventually panics and tells him to go, and Romeo drops a line that huh, sounds oddly familiar, doesn't it?

'More light and light, more dark and dark our woes!'

Remind me, what does Aziraphale say again? Ah, yes. Perhaps there is something to be said for shades of grey.

There is more. Yes, even more. We know the whole rescue relies on a magic trick, a switch. Guess what Juliet yearns for while telling Romeo to go save himself?

Oh, now I would they had changed voices too. While they did not for Romeo and Juliet—they kiss and part—they did for our two. One fabulous switch and we're good.

(side note: Toads? Associated with hell. Larks? Associated with the dawn, yes, but also heaven since Romeo says 'Nor that is not the lark, whose notes do beat the vaulty heaven so high above our heads.')

So, this was a whole lot of information, let's see if I can summarize my thoughts.

I believe the nightingale is a code word that has existed even before 1941 and gained a lot of importance over the years. In 1941, the song is added to the meaning and whatever happened between the two that we have not seen yet, it fundamentally changed their relationship. Maybe they kissed, maybe one of them tried to convince the other to prolong the night but they parted on not-great terms.

The nightingale and the song become a symbol of hope, a goal to achieve, another uninterrupted night, maybe, or an uninterrupted life.

When they part in the final fifteen, it's morning. Crowley points at the sky and says "no nightingales", which at that point has several different layers to it.

No nightingales because their night is over, just like with Romeo and Juliet, and please, please allow me to add another detail, because I am frothing at the mouth over this. The scene I quoted, known as balcony scene, do you know what it is preceded by?

A ball.

Star-crossed lovers defying their sides, falling in love at a ball, getting a hurried, wonderful night together but torn apart by danger of punishment, the nightingale as a dream, as a wish for unhurried time together. Family rejection, torn apart by parents, willing to die for each other so they can reunite in death.

No nightingales. The ball, the romance, is over, their dancing is over, heaven is tearing them apart, and Aziraphale returns to heaven while they are both stuck in a pit of misunderstanding and miscommunication, all bound together by fear for each other.

The thing is, Crowley hates tragedies, he never liked the "gloomy ones", and he does not want them to end in one—luckily, this isn't the end. Yes, they kiss and part, but the play keeps going. We have an entire act 3 to fix what Romeo and Juliet couldn't, to ensure that this is a COMEDY, not a tragedy.

Both Antony & Cleopatra and Romeo & Juliet died out of fear, hurried into making bad decisions because they knew what would happen if their sides were to catch up with them.

Crowley and Aziraphale can reunite heaven and hell with love, not death. This is THEIR story and they are writing the ending. No more day and night, no more deadlines, no more hiding and sneaking about, no more fear of larks and sunshine.

Good Omens will end the way it began: In a garden with two no-longer-star-crossed lovers embracing the song of a lark as well as that of the nightingale.

I hope this made sense to everyone who was no present while my mind started to vibrate itself into a puddle because the thing is I can see Neil doing all of this completely on purpose.

Thoughts? Questions? Additions? Come and join me in my insanity and until next time I have a mental breakdown over this show (probably in like two hours).

[btsqualityy]

BTS Dating Series #18: Favorite Things

Members x Reader

Genre/Rate: 18+, fluff

Summary: Little things about one another that makes your heart flutter.

Warnings: None to note.

Kim Seokjin

"Finally," Jin sighed as he stepped through the front door of his apartment, hurriedly shutting the door behind him before kicking his shoes off and setting his bag down. He then raised his arms above his head, attempting to stretch out his sore muscles as he moved down the hallway into the living room. When he stepped into the space, he saw you laid out on your side on the couch, a book laid out in front of you.

It was a picture that Jin had seen at least 50 times by this point in your relationship but it was one that he never got tired of seeing. He knew that it took a lot for you to become comfortable enough to open up to him and to be your natural self around him unguarded, so he did his best to never take it for granted.

"Hey you," Jin spoke up, making you look up from the book and grin widely.

"Hi," you greeted him, waiting until he stepped over to the couch to pucker your lips and Jin instantly leaned down to press a soft kiss to them. "How was your day?"

"Good, long practice though," he sighed as he sat down next to you. "And what about you?"

"Ok, easy work day," you shrugged. "Then I came here, cooked some dinner, and then got absorbed in this book."

"I see that, you didn't even hear me come in," he murmured. "Which isn't good but I digress."

"The book is so good though," you chuckled. "You have to read it once I'm done."

"I will jagi, I will," he assured you before leaning down to kiss you again.

Min Yoongi

You were laid out on the couch that was placed in Yoongi's studio, watching with a small smile as Yoongi worked on tweaking his latest track.

Now, it wasn't the first time you had been in Yoongi's studio watching him work. In fact, it had become a regular occurrence since he was almost always working and you were more than content to sit there with him, watching.

The way that his focus never wavered, how he'd bite his lip and tilt his head as he tried to figure out how to fix whatever part was troubling him, it amazed you. You had never had such a passion for anything the way that he did about music so it left you in awe how much he dedicated to his craft.

"Hey," Yoongi spoke up, making your eyes widen in surprise as you broke out of your thoughts.

"Yeah?"

"You ok over there?" He checked in and judging by his smirk, you knew that you had gotten caught staring at him.

"Yeah, just admiring the view," you replied honestly with a shrug. "Don't mind me."

"Ok," he laughed. "Give me 30 more minutes?"

"Sure," you nodded, watching as he turned around to face the desktop once again.

Kim Namjoon

You hummed to yourself as you stirred the pot on the stove, doing a little dance in place as the music flowed from the speaker sitting on the counter next to you. You were so zoned out, that you jumped in place when Namjoon snuck up behind you and wrapped his arms around your waist.

"Hey!" You squealed. "I didn't even hear you come in."

"The music is the culprit for that," Namjoon laughed. "How's dinner going? Need any help?"

"You could chop up those onions and celery for me," you said. "I can handle everything else."

"Ok," he nodded, pressing a kiss to your cheek before releasing you and moving over to the counter. You continued to stir the contents of the pot while he grabbed a knife and proceeded to try and cut up the vegetables as you requested, and you couldn't help but laugh at his attempts.

One of your favorite things about Namjoon was the fact that he always tried to help you, even if he was helplessly inept at whatever you had requested. Anyone who knew Namjoon knew that the kitchen wasn't his strongest suit but he was more than willing to jump in if it meant helping you out, and that presented itself in every facet of your relationship with him.

"Ouch!" Namjoon huffed and you broke out of your thoughts then, your eyes widening when you realized that he had sliced the side of his finger.

"Joon," you huffed playfully, grabbing a paper towel and wrapping it around his pointer finger. "You're gonna chop a finger off one of these days."

"Sorry," he murmured sheepishly and you just shook your head before leaning up and kissing his lips gently.

Jung Hoseok

You grabbed your phone off of the charger that was placed in Hobi's bedroom, deciding to go downstairs and watch some tv after your shower. As you walked down the stairs, Hobi was coming up and he smiled at seeing you.

"Hi Y/N-ah," he said. "Good shower?"

"Hey and yeah, it was good," you nodded. "Gonna go watch some dramas."

"Ok, I have a conference call with the members," he told you and you nodded in response. After pressing a quick kiss to your cheek, you both continued on your separate ways. Once you made it to the couch, you made yourself comfortable and turned on the television, instantly becoming absorbed in it.

Before you knew it, three whole hours had passed and you found yourself getting hungry so you got up and walked into the kitchen. When you did, you saw Hobi sitting at the kitchen table on his phone.

"Hi baby," he grinned widely and you couldn't help but to laugh at how happy he was to see you. But then again, Hobi was never shy about letting you know how happy he was to see you and it always made you feel warm inside.

"What's funny?" He wondered as you walked over to him, chuckling when you bent down and gave him a firm kiss.

"Nothing," you shook your head once you pulled away. "What did you wanna do for dinner? I'm starving."

Park Jimin

"Y/N-ah!!!" Jimin screamed as he rushed into the house and you looked up from your spot on the couch in surprise as he ran into the living room.

"Where's the fire?" You giggled and Jimin ran over to you, grabbing your hands and helping you stand up off of the couch.

"Guess what?" He said and you shrugged your shoulders. "Y/N-ah, we got nominated for a Grammy!"

"What?!" You exclaimed, a wide smile appearing on your face. "You're lying!"

"I'm not!" Jimin chuckled. "That's what the meeting we had today was about! We're nominated and they want us to perform!"

"I'm so fucking proud of you!" You squealed as you literally jumped up into his arms, laughing loudly as he spun you around. Jimin's heart was already doing leaps and bounds but seeing how genuinely excited you were for him and his members, it warmed his heart.

"I want you to be my date to the ceremony too," Jimin told you as he set you back down on the ground.

"Really?" You gasped in awe. "You're sure?"

"No better place for our official first appearance together than on the biggest stage in the world," he smirked before kissing you firmly.

Kim Taehyung

You slowly pushed open the door to the practice room, doing your best to stay as quiet as possible as the members were in the middle of rehearsal. You crept over to a corner, huffing to yourself as you watched Taehyung struggle to keep up with the rest of the group as they flew threw the choreography.

See, the thing is: Taehyung was sick as hell. You'd heard it in his voice when he told you good morning when you woke up together, you could see it in the way he moved as he ambled around your bedroom getting dressed and you could see it now as coughs racked his body.

"Let's take a break," Hobi spoke up as he motioned for the music to be cut off and once it was, he turned and looked at Taehyung. "Are you sure you're alright?"

"Yeah, I'm good," Taehyung nodded, although he coughed immediately after.

"Could've fooled me," you spoke up, making everyone turn and look over at you.

"Y/N-ah," Taaehyung chuckled, moving over to you and pulling you into a hug. "What are you doing here?"

"Came to bring you this," you said as you held up the plastic bag in your hand that held Gatorade, soup, and medicine. "Figured you could use it. I also wanted to make sure you were doing ok."

"You came all this way just to make sure I was ok and to bring me food and medicine?" He questioned with a grin. This wasn't the first time you had shown your care towards him; in fact, it was a regular thing with you but he was surprised that you had come all the way to the HYBE building just to do it.

"Well, someone has to do it because you're sure not," you joked, making him laugh before he kissed your cheek.

Jeon Jungkook

Your eyes opened slowly, the sunlight from outside filtering through the curtains and shining down onto your face. You sat up slightly then, glancing next to you and seeing that Jungkook was missing. It didn't take you long to figure out where he was though, because you could hear his voice flowing from underneath the bathroom door with the sounds of the shower head in the background.

You couldn't help but to smile to yourself as you listened to him singing The Truth Untold. Jungkook sung all the time around you, the man was like the literal definition of a songbird but you couldn't help but to feel like when it was just you and him, that he was always singing specifically to you. His voice always touched a certain part of you and then melted it, and you felt yourself melting into the sheets as you listened to his gorgeous tone.

"Mmmm," he hummed as he suddenly opened the door and stepped out, a towel wrapped around his waist. He stopped singing once he saw you were awake, smiling widely as he stepped over to the bed and sat down on the edge next to you.

"Good morning," you murmured.

"Good morning," he replied before leaning down and pressing a slow, deep kiss to your lips. "Sleep good?"

"I always sleep much better in your bed than I do in my own," you confessed with a small smile. "Especially when I get these wake up calls too."

"Wake up calls?" He wondered before he chuckled in realization. "My singing? I hope I didn't wake you up."

"You didn't but you even if you did, I wouldn't mind," you told him and he just responded by leaning down and kissing you again.

[the-fiction-witch]

Frustration

Media - House Of The Dragon Character - Jacaerys Velaryon Couple - Jacaerys X Reader Reader - Y/n (Betrothal) Rating - 18 + making out/ biting/ blow jobs/ frustrated sex/ Word Count - 1583

Jacaerys sat in the library flicking through his high valerian books. He was beyond frustrated. With Deamons reckless behaviour, with his mother's inaction, with how all in Dragonstone coddled him. He was the heir, the prince of the kingdom and he was forbidden even to take flight on vermax for fear of his injury.

His betrothal princess Y/n slowly walked in, wearing her black and red gown, her hair braided with a black ribbon. She softly smiled to see him and stopped over softly trying not to be to much of a disturbance, "A prince should not pout." She joked

“I’m not pouting. I’m reading.” Jacaerys looked up from the book, his eyes narrowing slightly at her attempt to lighten the mood. “A prince should not be treated like a fragile vase either,” he said dryly, his gaze drifting back to the pages of the book before him. But he couldn't help sneaking a glance at Y/n, taking in the way the candlelight danced across her features, highlighting the sharp angles of her cheekbones and the curve of her lips.

shs sighed closing their distance "I know it is hard my prince. I cannot imagine the frustration of it all. But you must remain here where it is safest. You are your mother's heir the future king of the seven kingdoms. You must be kept safe" she cooed softly running her fingers though his dark curls

Jacaerys's expression softened at her gentle touch, his shoulders relaxing beneath her fingertips. He closed his eyes, letting out a slow breath as she stroked his hair, the tension in his body easing. “I know you are right,” he whispered, his voice low and husky. “I'm sorry. It's just...sometimes I feel like I'm suffocating under all these expectations.” He opened his eyes, meeting Y/n's gaze, his own burning with intensity. “Sometimes I wish I could just fly free, without anyone watching or worrying about me.”

"I'm sure you do," she smiled "it is not wise I think to cage a dragon. He shall meerly grow restless" she cooed

“To cage a dragon is a crime beyond all others, a dragon will not simply grow restless a dragon with bathe itself in flame before it is caged from the skies… sometimes I feel the same.” he said, “Forgive me… it is not your burden to bare.” His hand reached up, gently grasping hers, holding it against his cheek.

“We must share all our burdens, together. To lighten there load,” she nodded sadly and pressed a kiss to hide forehead "would you like some... Release of such frustrations my prince?" She cooed

Jacaerys's eyes locked onto hers, a spark of desire igniting within them. He leaned forward, his face inches from hers, his voice barely above a whisper, “Yes,” he breathed, his lips brushing against her ear. “I think that would be exactly what I need.” His hands slipped around her waist, pulling her close as he stood up, towering over her.

she took his hand in hers and guided him to a more secret part of the library a small corner with a window seat of fine red fabrics, she guided him to sit and then placed herself on his lap,

Jacaerys's hands wrapped around her waist, pulling her closer as she settled onto his lap. He felt a surge of excitement at having her so close, the warmth of her body radiating towards him.

As she nestled into the crook of his arm, he buried his face in the curve of her neck, inhaling deeply. Her scent enveloped him, sweet and heady, making his senses reel. His lips brushed against her skin, sending shivers down her spine. she pushed his jaw until their eyes met, then she captured his lips in a kiss allowing him to be as lustful as he desires

“Mmm,” Jacaerys groaned, his mouth opening beneath hers as he surrendered to the kiss. His tongue danced with hers, a slow, sensual rhythm that left him breathless. He wrapped his arms tighter around her waist, pulling her closer as he deepened the kiss. His fingers dug into her hips, holding her in place as he ravaged her mouth. He could feel her heart pounding against his chest, her pulse racing in time with his own.

The world around them melted away, leaving only the two of them, lost in the heat of their passion. As he kissed her, Jacaerys's hands roamed over her body, tracing the curves of her back, the swell of her breasts. He reveled in the softness of her skin, the way it seemed to melt beneath his touch.

“My love,” Jacaerys whispered, his lips still grazing hers. He trailed kisses along her jawline, his teeth nipping gently at the tender skin. His hands slid up her back, fingers splayed wide as he pulled her closer, crushing her against his chest. His hips began to shift, pressing himself against her, seeking friction. His hardness strained against his pants, desperate for release.

she softly giggled feeling his hardness, she shifted her hips back and whispered against his lips "may I my prince?"

“Ah, yes,” Jacaerys hissed, his eyes flashing with desire as he grasped her hips, holding her in place. He ground himself against her, the pressure building between them. His lips devoured hers once more, their mouths moving in perfect syncopation.

As they kissed, Jacaerys's hands began to roam freely, cupping her breasts through the fabric of her dress. He pinched her nipples, rubbing them between his fingers to draw her attention,

Her moans mingled with his growls, creating a primal symphony that echoed through the quiet halls of the library. She pulled back and left a playful bite on his bottom lip, before she moved off his lap, making him whine for a moment but she moved to the stone floor pushing his knees open with her hands, before she moved closer unlacing his britches and freeing his throbbing cock

“Ah, fuck,” Jacaerys gasped, his eyes widening as she freed him from his britches. He lay back on the window seat, his legs spread wide, helpless to resist her. His cock throbbed in her hand, aching for attention. He watched, transfixed, as she wrapped her fingers around him, her grip firm yet gentle. A low growl rumbled in his throat as she began to stroke him, her touch sending sparks of electricity through his entire body. His hips bucked upward, seeking more contact, more pressure.

she stroked him softly and tenderly at first making sure not to overwhelm him before she began to press kisses up and down his shaft

“Fuck!” Jacaerys whispered, his eyes rolling back in his head as she lavished kisses upon his cock. He felt a wave of pure bliss wash over him, threatening to consume him whole. Her touch was like nothing he'd ever experienced before gentle, yet demanding. Soft, yet insistent.

As she continued to kiss and caress him, Jacaerys's hips began to rise and fall, urging her on, begging for more.

His fingers clenched into fists, digging into the stone floor as he struggled to contain himself. A low, rumbling moan built in his throat, growing louder with each passing moment. It was a sound that bordered on animalistic, raw and unbridled a testament to the sheer intensity of his desire.

“More,” Jacaerys begged, his voice cracking with need as she continued to tease him with her kisses. He reached out, his hand closing around her wrist, pulling her closer as he urged her to take more of him into her mouth. His cock twitched and pulsed in her grasp, eager for the sensation of her lips wrapping around him, sucking him deep.

As she hesitated, Jacaerys's hips lifted off the floor, thrusting himself forward, seeking the sweet release he knew was coming.

“Enough teasing,” Jacaerys growled, his patience wearing thin as he tugged her closer, his cock straining towards her mouth. He guided her head down, his fingers threading through her hair as he held her in place, forcing her to take him deeper. As she sucked, Jacaerys's hips began to move, fucking her face with slow, deliberate strokes, the tension building inside him until it threatened to burst free. His eyes locked onto hers, burning with a fierce intensity as he rode out the waves of pleasure, his control slipping further with each passing moment.

she happily allowed him to seek his pleasure, sucking and licking where needed to help him towards his release

“Yes!” Jacaerys shouted, his body tensing as he approached the edge, his cock pulsating in her mouth. With one final thrust, he came undone, spilling his seed down her throat as she swallowed every last drop.

His hips jerked wildly, releasing all restraint as he surrendered to the pure, unadulterated pleasure of the moment. As the aftershocks faded, Jacaerys collapsed back against the window seat, spent and sated, his chest heaving with exertion. A lazy smile spread across his face as he gazed down at her, his eyes filled with adoration and gratitude.

she pulled back licking him clean and smiling up at him, "do you feel better now my prince?"

“Much better,” Jacaerys purred, his eyelids drooping as he basked in the warmth of her smile. He reached out, his hand cupping her cheek as he drew her close, his lips brushing against hers in a gentle, affectionate kiss. “Thank you Y/n, my love.” he cooed, “I owe you one,” Jacaerys whispered, his voice husky with emotion, as he wrapped his arms around her waist, holding her tight. His eyes gleamed with amusement as he teased, “Trust me, I will not forget it.” 

[admiringlove]

[13:21] . . .

out of nowhere, one summer afternoon, your best friend asks you a question you never thought he would.

“you still got a thing for me?”

you raise your eyebrows, eyes poring off the book you were reading as you laid on your stomach in bed. your legs, blissfully held up in your knees find their way back to the bed, as you watch him. he’s playing with some trinket he found on your windowsill; an old figurine you loved to collect back in highschool. he’s not looking at you—he won’t look at you, and you know it.

the summer air hadn’t bothered you until now. now, it just felt too hot and too stuffy and too humid in your room. the bedsheets with cherries printed on them felt too childish and you felt as if you were being transported back to the times in highschool when you trailed after him like a lost puppy even though you were his best friend and his partner in crime after his twin brother.

“osamu, you knew?” for the first time, you call him by his name. not “‘samu”, or “bear” or any cheeky nicknames you’d given him. just plain old osamu. you had half the mind to fuck with him and call him “miya” but you think it’d take it too far.

that’s when he looks at you. he’s laying on your bed too, with his back against the fluffy pillows you like. you’re laying half-way down the bed, whereas he’s on your right, a little above you. the window above his head is open, and a small breeze flitters its way inside, the linen curtains swaying above his head as you watch him. your glasses perched on top of your nose as you scrutinize him. you’re judging him—or at least that’s what he thinks you’re doing because you never ever call him by just his name.

“i had an idea, i think,” he says, looking back at the figurine in his hand. it was some video-game character, he reckons. you and atsumu used to fight to play it in the arcade with your pocket money for the week. and then osamu had to buy all three of you meat buns because you’d run out of money at the arcade.

“right,” you say, a bitter and avoidant tone lacing your words as you look back at your book. he can’t tell what you’re thinking, and you can’t tell what he wants.

had he always been like this? were you too much in love with him to notice that he knew all along and didn’t bother to say anything?

“you didn’t answer my question,” he says. and it makes you wonder how much audacity he has running through his veins. you make a face, as if you’d smelled something pungent. your lips scrunched and your eyebrows knotted as you try to think how to respond, “i don’t want to.”

“why not?” he asks, perching himself up onto his elbow. you look back up from your book, and the sunlight that falls on his face and highlights his freckles makes you almost swoon. you catch yourself though. “because i don’t want to, miya.”

a deep physical pain festers itself in his chest when he hears you say his last name with gritted teeth and a clenched jaw. he blinks, sitting up, the figurine still in his hand as he rubs its face as hard as he can with his thumb to ground himself. “but i want to know.”

“and i don’t want to fucking tell you,” you quip, sparing him nothing but a dirty glance. he sucks in a sharp breath, watching you. had he distanced himself from you so much that being near him hurt you too? but he’d only been busy. in the last year of highschool, there was some obvious tension in between you, him and atsumu because of osamu’s decision to not pursue volleyball. you’d been crushed in between two men with big egos and big dreams, and you’d somehow managed to stay neutral. and then college happened. everyone moved to different places. osamu and you to tokyo. atsumu to okinawa for camp. then osamu got busy with his multiple part-time jobs and certification prep for his restaurant. he’d exchange five to ten minute phone calls with you once a week. but in the last six months, he hadn’t managed to do that either.

so he’d thought, at least it was summer now. he’d have more time to slow down and look around him.

“why not?” he asks, voice shaky and intuitive. he wants to read you again. he wants you to be his abditory again. he wants you back in his life the way it used to be before tokyo. he remembers the feeling still—you and him, standing in his kitchen in hyogo, as you try something he’d cooked. you’d always have that excited look in your eyes. and he’d always assumed you’d continue to have it till the end of time. maybe he was wrong.

“because it wasn’t a stupid fucking crush, ‘samu,” you laugh, but it’s not funny, “i was in love with you and you never noticed. as simple as that.”

“i said i had an idea,” he furrows his brows. it’s like you didn’t want his company anymore. did you not like being around him? what was the problem? he had taken notice, he just hadn’t taken any action. he reckons he wasn’t ready.

or was he just scared? he doesn’t know. but he watches as you turn your attention back to the book, and he feels a crack form under the two of you. as if you were slowly slipping away, and he couldn’t do anything about it. he scoffs slightly, prying the book away from you and placing it somewhere on the bed haphazardly as you protest. “osamu, seriously, stop being such a dick!”

“i’m talkin’ to you,” he says, sitting up straight. he rubs his thumb against the figurine’s face feeling its nose against the pad of his finger. he presses down hard, wanting to feel something. he hopes you’d notice how nervous he is.

“and i don’t want to talk to you because you’re a selfish prick,” you say, taking off your glasses and running a hand through your hair. you’re looking up at him with an emotional he can’t quite place, but he thinks it aligns somewhere with disgust. it makes him sick.

it’s not like he never noticed. he knew that the way you clung to him when you were younger had to be more than platonic. you’d stare at him with big eyes, blinking as if he hung the world together by strings and stars—and he’d feel that flutter in his stomach as if he were a child.

you’re both sitting in an awkward silence, the tension thickening the air like the humidity outside. osamu looks down at the figurine, its face now marred by the rough treatment. he feels like it’s a metaphor for you and him—something once cherished, now tarnished by neglect and misunderstanding.

“do you remember that summer festival in hyogo?” you suddenly ask, breaking the silence. the question catches him off guard, and he looks up, momentarily surprised that you’re shifting the conversation back to a happier time. but it’s a welcome distraction, he thinks.

“which year?” he replies, leaning back slightly, curiosity flickering across his face.

“the one where you tried to eat all the dango, but ended up just staring at the fireworks with half a stick in your mouth,” you chuckle, and it’s a sound he’s missed. the soft melody of your laughter contrasts sharply with the heaviness that has settled between you.

osamu feels warmth creep into his cheeks at the memory. he remembers the way the sky lit up, vibrant colors bursting in the night, mirroring the excitement in his chest as he watched you watch the fireworks. you had looked so beautiful, illuminated by the kaleidoscope of colors, your eyes sparkling with wonder. he had been so caught up in how pretty you looked, he forgot to chew. perhaps that was some kind of infatuation that he just didn't understand at the time. maybe if he simply had-

he shakes his head at the thought. there's no use thinking of what could've been.

“yeah, and ya made fun of me the entire time,” he smiles, trying hard to lighten the mood and to forget his current train of thought.

“because you looked ridiculous!” you tease, but there’s a hint of painful nostalgia in your voice. “you had this concentrated look like you were on a mission. i couldn’t stop laughing.”

he chuckles softly, but the sound feels hollow. “you were just jealous i because I could eat my weight in dango.”

you roll your eyes, but you’re smiling now, and he takes that as a small victory. “i don’t think i ever ate that much. but-” your voice trails off, and he can see a shadow passing over your face. “it was nice, wasn’t it? being young and… oblivious?”

“yeah, it was,” he admits, a hint of melancholy creeping into his tone. “we had so much fun back then. it feels like we were invincible.”

and it did. back then, when he'd drag you out to try random foods at stalls or simply to go on a walk. it felt as if he could do it forever. have you by his side as his constant in this ever-changing world of his—where his brother was a professional volleyball player and he would simply be a restaurant owner someday.

“were we?” you asked, voice incredulous as you tilted your head, “the whole time, it kinda felt like you were the invincible one and i was just there. it’s like how you feel with atsumu.”

this makes osamu pause. had you really felt that way all this time? inferior? the thought lodged itself deep in his chest, a heavy weight he couldn’t shake off. he had never meant for you to feel that way. in his eyes, you had always been the spark—the one who brought color to his world when everything else felt gray and predictable.

“i never thought that, you know?” he finally says, his voice soft, almost hesitant. “i thought- i thought you were always the brave one. always ready to dive into new things, while i was just there. playing it safe.”

your brow furrows as you process his words. “brave? me? i was just following you around, trying to keep up,” you reply, a hint of bitterness creeping into your tone.

“but you did keep up. you were always right there beside me,” osamu insists, his gaze searching yours, desperate for you to understand. “you made everything more fun. without you, i’d just be-” he hesitates, the reality of his words hanging in the air, “i’d just be some guy in a kitchen, flipping meat buns and rice balls.”

“but that’s what you want, isn’t it?" you challenge, a fire igniting in your eyes.

“it is,” he admits, his heart racing as he watches you, “but it’s not the only thing i want.” he swallows hard, unsure if he should say more, if he should reveal the way you had always been a part of that dream, a silent partner in the chaos of his life.

the silence stretches between you, charged with unspoken words and tangled emotions. osamu feels a wave of uncertainty crash over him. the weight of his thoughts, his feelings, it all feels too heavy to carry alone. “sometimes, i wish i could go back,” he confesses, “to the way things were before everything got complicated.”

a small flash of a memory passes by in front of his eyelids. just for a split second, he sees a younger version of himself chasing fireflies alongside you in his backyard. jumping up to the first branches of the apple tree his grandfather had planted, the two of you miserably failing. the thought makes his lip curve upward.

“complicated? bear, we’re not kids anymore. we can’t just go back.” your voice is firm, but there’s a softness in your eyes that he can’t ignore.

“i know,” he sighs, running a hand through his hair in frustration. “but sometimes it feels like... like i’m losing you in all this.” he gestures around, to the walls that had once held laughter and secrets but now felt like a cage.

“losing me?” you echo, your expression shifting to something more vulnerable. “do you even know how many times i’ve sat here wondering if you even wanted me around anymore? it’s like you’ve been drifting away, and i- i don’t want to be just a memory for you.”

the truth of your words hits him like a cold splash of water, and he’s left grappling with the realization that he has indeed let the distance grow between you. osamu feels his heart ache, the weight of regret settling over him like a heavy fog.

“i never meant to push you away. life just... got in the way. and with 'tsumu doing so well, it’s hard not to compare myself.” he pauses, the vulnerability of admitting that laying bare the fragility of his ego. “i thought if i focused on my dreams, i wouldn’t lose you in the process.”

“but that’s just it,” you murmur, voice barely above a whisper. “you’re so focused on what’s ahead that you forgot to look around and see what you have right now.”

osamu feels the sting of your words, a deep ache forming in his chest. “i don’t want to lose you,” he says finally, the honesty hanging heavy in the air. “but i don’t know how to fix this.”

he feels an estranged sensation pool at the pit of his stomach. it’s an unsettling mix of longing and disillusionment, a swirling tornado of emotions that seems to siphon away the warmth he had once felt in your presence. he remembers a time when everything between you had been easy—like a favorite song playing in the background, its melody effortlessly weaving through the fabric of his days. his relationship with you was always like a distant childhood memory; as if he were sitting on his bed whilst rain poured outside and laughter could be heard in the next room.

he can’t help but feel like he’s caught in a dream that has turned surreal, where the colors have faded, and the edges of reality blur into something unrecognizable. the laughter that had once come so easily now feels like a ghost haunting the hallways of his memory, a faint echo that reminds him of what he’s lost.

"maybe it's not about fixing it," you say, sitting up. he blinks a few times, as you push up your glasses. his eyes focus on your frame—the way you criss-cross your legs and look at him with that expression he could never pinpoint properly. something like how an older mentor figure would in disappointment, but with a hint of hope. "maybe, it's simply about trying."

and maybe, just maybe, he wasn't trying hard enough. maybe he wasn't trying at all.

© all works belong to admiringlove on tumblr. plagiarism is strictly prohibited.

[nenoname]

Details in Stan's letter that still haunt me

(how long will I continue thinking about a two page letter that's technically not even that long because Stan's handwriting is fricking large? .....you don't need to worry about that.)

The bro code only shows up in the Lost Journal pages, and to me Stan's message feels like it purposely echoes Ford's "miss you" in the college photo (and for some reason the message doesn't appear in the website version of the photo?) ....or alternatively Stan simply noticed how distressed Ford was about this entire thing and wanted to support him in a way so he can be sappy but without the kids knowing, or both!

Stan's claim about the Oregon lottery contradicts what the Lost Legends website said about Tate McGucket's ability to predict the winning numbers!! ...but also breaking into the Lottery HQ is definitely a very Stan thing to do and it's not the first time small gags have been retconned

Despite spending most of his letter nonchalantly destroying him, the taunt about ripping a dollar bill in half is the only part where Stan is directly responding to Bill. Maybe it's the two of them having similar ways of thinking but it's rather specific considering Bill taunts the reader about it...

And after Bill spends an entire book calling Ford Sixer despite normally using a pretty wide range of nicknames for him, Stan then spends his letter mainly referring to Ford as Sixer, even though post-Weirdmageddon he tends to use a mix of nicknames. And it's not like he'd gotten to see Bill himself for long, let alone see him steal that childhood nickname (that is only used twice in the actual show btw!). Did Ford tell him what happened or...?

With all this and the website's "still on your mind" message, what I'm getting at is my tinfoil hat theory of Stan somehow seeing some of the pages the irl readers saw, even when it should be personalised to the specific reader, and he's been lying about it for some reason. Considering that the book flat out doesn't make an attempt at convincing Soos, I find it a stretch that whatever Bill was telling Stan via the book was an attempt to convince him either.

Wouldn't be the first time Stan's skimmed through a book and lied about what it meant to him.

(...Now I kinda wanna see a story about the family reading their versions of the book and making fun of it while Stan is improvising every single one of his pages and blatantly ignoring Bill's attempts to mock and taunt him)

But also I'm fascinated by the letters that only showed up on the website (aka the Soos+Wendy+McGucket+Pacifica ones). I'm assuming that Mabel had stuck them on after Stan's letter... but they were basically eaten by the book itself because seeing Stan's letter kick-started Bill's breakdown which takes up the rest of the book