#i like to imagine that he’s the friend that straight up disappears from the group when you go out and manages to go unnoticed for a while

[ifyougiveuptoday]

going to college for writing to fulfill my true purpose: writing planes fire and rescue fanfiction

[mrsjjongstby]

He's trouble. - N.RK

Pairings: brother's bsf!riki x fem!reader Synopsis: Riki always saw you as his friend's little sister, always teasing you and calling you a "kid" but lately he's been noticing you a little more than he should. Warnings: slight tension, fluff-?, skinship and usage of both Ni-ki and Riki (tho referring to the same person). (let me know if i missed any!) WordCount: 654

Your brother has always warned you,

“Don’t talk to my friends, they’re trouble” 

And maybe they are. But trouble is the same group of people who have a habit of casually dropping by your house like they own the house.

You met Ni-ki, one of your brother’s friends when you were 14 years old. Back then, Riki rarely looked at you, ruffled your hair, shoved you and teased you. (he still does)  

But now, you’re older. And now?  Riki’s always looking. 

At first, you think you are imagining it like how his eyes flicker to you whenever you enter a room, how you caught him look at you when he thinks you aren't watching him, how his laughter dies down when someone else makes you smile. 

He still calls you kid when your brother’s around.  But when your brother isn't around and you are alone with him, even for a second- that word disappears.  

He never touches you without any reason but sometimes, he’s too close.  Like when he bends behind your chair- his head beside you, helping you with something on your laptop or when his arm brushes yours when you walk by. 

He carries your bags without being asked. He comes to pick you up from university when your brother has some work. Keeps a straight face when your brother teases you (unlike before) but glares at the guy who sends you “Good morning, Y/N-iee!” every day. He presses like on your stories all the time except for when you post someone else. 

It drives you insane.  

You are fed up because he doesn’t do this to anyone, you never see him do these things to any of his female friends or your brother’s female friends. 

So, you wait for the right time, which is now. 

You both are sitting on the couch not really painting attention to the film that's rolling. Riki is scrolling through his phone and you are preparing yourself. 

You turn, so you are facing him and fold your hands. He looks up at you at the shuffling sound and asks “What?” as he notices you looking at him. 

“You don't actually like me” you say straight up, no beating around the bush, no hesitation just straight up blunt. 

He blinks, “Excuse me?” 

“You just like the Idea of breaking the rules.” 

A beat of silence. 

Ni-ki laughs. A soft scoff, as if what you said hurt him. 

“You think I’d play with your feelings just because I want to break the rules? You think I’m that kind of person?”  

He straightens, closing his phone and keeping infront of him on the couch. 

His sharp gaze locked on you. 

“If I wanted to break the rules, I would’ve kissed you a long time ago Y/n.”  

Your breath hitches, your heart pounding fast and loud. 

And before you realize what you are doing- you close the distance.  

One hand holding the neck of his hoodie as you pull him down just enough and another hand just over his chest where his heart should be steady, but it isn't.  

And you kiss him. 

It was quick and short to test the waters. 

And when you try to pull away, his hand holds the back of your neck and the other hand on your back pressing you closer to him. 

“You started this,” he murmurs against your lips, voice lower now. “So, don't back down because I'm not going to” 

And then he kisses you like he’s been holding it back for years. 

Not just a rule breaking kiss — no.  This is frustrated tension. Silent longing. All those “almosts” finally unravelling. 

He pulls back barely, like he’s afraid to. You’re breathless. 

So is he. 

“Still thinking I’m playing around?” he asks as he caresses your neck with his thumb. 

You shake your head. 

“Still thinking I’m just your brother’s friend?” 

You laugh. A little breathless. A little dangerous. 

“Not when we just kissed like that” 

©mrsjjongstby all writing belong to me. do not copy, modify or repost my works.

A/N: this was requested by ribbon annonie, i hope she likes it!! also kind of rushed it due to some work so sorryyyy T_T anywayssss hope u guys like it!!!! (requests nd asks r open!!!!!!!!) stay hydrated!

[whereforarthur]

So Much Restraint

Request: george (dom) smut where we have been on a group holiday and stopping ourselves from having sex cos of the other ppl (staying in the same villa/b&b) but once we get home its like practically clawing at each others clothes

Pairing: George Clarkey x Gf!Reader

Category: Smut

Word Count: 3.2k

*****

Those who restrain desire do so because theirs is weak enough to be restrained. - William Blake

George leaned against the railing of the villa balcony, his gaze following the boundary between the sea, which was as blue as the ocean, and the sky above. After daybreak, the warm hue of the blazing sun engulfed the clouds, displacing the surging sea below that had looked so blue at the break of dawn. The warm wind blew through a coconut palm, and one could detect the smell of the sea and tropical cream. He sighed and glanced at the heavens, taking in the final moments of solitude before the party commenced.

The past week was a rollercoaster of enjoyment and annoyance. He and his girlfriend, y/n, had to restrain themselves from giving in to each other so as not to disturb their mates on vacation, just nodding and winking at each other as they walked around the living spaces with their friends—Chris, Arthur Hill, and Arthur TV. The villa was very nice, but with people constantly around them, there was no way of giving in to the passion that had been threatening to ignite ever since they set foot in the villa.

As the sun set that evening, George was weak, wanting to give in to his desires. It was a standoff, a power struggle that had been going on all week, one that was palpable yet wordless. As he got up, he saw Y/N standing at the door as she looked straight at him, suggesting that she was fighting the same battle as him. She wore a light summer dress that hugged her curves perfectly.

“It's time for dinner,” Y/N whispered, her words resonating melodiously. ”They are waiting for us downstairs.”

George nodded, yet neither of them looked away from the other. “I know,” he said quietly, the roughness in his tone giving her goosebumps. "I can only imagine what we are going to get up to once we get home."

Silence filled the space between them when he moved closer, and despite the heat in the villa, he only wanted her closer. As if in response, Y/N’s hand slowly extended, touching his chest lightly and causing his spine to tingle.

George saw her looking back at him, and for what felt like hours but could only be a few seconds, an incredible sensation engulfed his entire body and mind. He pulled her closer, the touch of his lips on hers hard and passionate. This was the kiss of love, of desire, the kiss that had been waiting to happen and which was ready to unleash after being pent up for this long.

But as soon as they started, they stopped. Hearing the boy's laughter from the pool below pulled them back into reality. They separated hesitantly, both attempting to calm themselves down. “We can’t,” Y/N whispered, her cheeks burning red.

“I know,” he said, calming her down as he took her hand. “When we get home, I will show you exactly how much I’ve missed you.” It was in his voice that she found the assurance she needed, and with that, she pulled him closer, her arms around his neck as they kissed.

They disappeared from each other for a while; the sound of their pulse echoed with the thump of the sea waves. They were able to keep it to themselves, and the anticipation of the arrangement made it seem like a couple’s promise.

At dinner, they had to wade through desire, circle it like a choreographed dance, sit across from each other at the table with friends, laugh, and chat about the delicious meal and wonderful company. But every time George cast his gaze at Y/N, he could see the same desire in her eyes.

After the meal, they made their excuses, claiming jet lag and the need for an early night. The boys raised their eyebrows in amusement but said nothing.

In their room, George and Y/N took turns in the shower, the sound of water a tantalizing backdrop to their stolen kisses and gentle touches.

Once Y/N emerged, her skin dewy and smelling faintly of coconut, George found his resolve slipping once more. They were both sitting on the edge of the bed; their legs were entangled; they felt the insatiable desire to strip each other. “We can do this,” George whispered, his fingers rubbing through her wet hair. "We can wait; we’ve made it this far."

Y/N breathed in deeply and exhaled, nodding her head slightly. “We have to,” she repeated, her voice a little weary as desperation began to creep in. "If we start now, I don't know if we would ever be able to stop."

They stretched out on the bed, their naked bodies rigid with the agitation of unsatisfied desire. The villa was silent apart from the faint sound of the sea in the distance and laughter from the party in the streets. They could feel the adrenaline pumping through their veins and could virtually hear the sound of their hearts beating.

George’s fingers lightly touched Y/N’s inner thigh, lazing dangerously close to the line of her shorts. "The boys are already complaining about the noises we make at home," he said, though he couldn’t fully hide his amusement. “What would they say if they only knew we have been holding ourselves back?”

Y/N blushed at the thought, gripping the sheets beneath her tightly. “We’ve got to be so much louder at home,” she said, though there was obvious affront in her words. "It will make them think that we have gone mad.”

They smiled at each other, and the tension reduced for a while. But the underlying current persisted; it was an active, waiting-to-detonate-at-any-moment kind of omnipresent tension. George looked down at her and then placed his hand softly over her thighs, delicately tracing lines on her skin. He immediately stopped his movements and faced her as he whispered, “It doesn’t matter what they say.” He smirks at her, “As long as you’re screaming my name.”

Y/N’s eyes sparkled with delight, and she couldn’t help but gasp at what he said. It was a familiar move, a classic sign of affection, but she went further to touch his face, specifically the line of his jaw, a touch that seemed to power through him like volts of electricity. ‘And what about when we get home?’ she whispered. For many, a dangerous question is the provocative “What do you want to do to me?”

George squeezed her thigh gently and looked at her with lustful eyes. “Everything,” he said, his voice turning into a growl. ”I wish to devour every part of you, have you quiver in my embrace, and hear you scream out my name until your throat gets sore.”

Y/N felt her heart racing just at the thought of it, her pulse rate rising through the roof as high as it could go. "Won't the boys still be home?” she asked, her fingers tracing over his hand.

George chuckled darkly. “Oh, they will hear us alright,” he responded, his eyes alternating between naughtiness and amusement. “But it’s ‘our’ house and ‘our’ rules.” The words slither through the air like a sultry whisper before he continues: “And if I remember correctly, you enjoyed 'screaming’ my name without a care in the world before.”

The atmosphere in the room became oppressively heavy, and the tension was palpable. Y/N moved her hand up his chest; she ran her nails along the surface and felt him shiver under her touch. ‘I have missed you, she murmured lustfully.

But just when George was about to surrender to this desire to strip her naked and finally feel her, a sound from the next room brought them to a halt. It was the Arthurs' unmistakable, slurred laughter as the duo clumsily barged into the room.

“Maybe we should try to get some sleep,” Y/N said quietly, waking up with concern in her eyes. ‘I don't know what I would do if they ever walked in on us.’

George let out a long-suffering sigh, his limbs trembling in protestation for not giving in. “Alright,” he agreed, even though he felt an overpowering urge to demand more. They kissed one more time and then lay gently beside each other, their limbs touching in the darkness of the bed where they slept.

The night was full of insomnious, restless whispers and secrets of lips pretending not to ache for each other. They found themselves lying side by side, and the distance that separated them seemed enormous.

Each time George moved in the bed, it made a squeaky sound, and this made them realize the importance of keeping quiet. They would go to bed and only wake up in the wee hours of the morning with the air between them pregnant with desire.

The next day, like all the previous days, the vacation by the tropical sun had arrived with no special warning, different from the fact that it was the last of the vacation, and the day felt weighty with the expectation of what was to come.

They packed their bags, the mundane task feeling almost erotic as their eyes kept darting toward each other, silently acknowledging the unspoken tension.

On their way to the airport, George’s hand lightly touched Y/N’s thigh in the back of the taxi, which sent a spark between them. She gripped his hand tightly, her knuckles white, and he knew she felt the same desperation. The flight home was torture; each minute seated in the plane was a silent plea for satisfaction.

The feeling only grew more intense once they got to their flat in London that they shared with Chris and Arthur Hill.

As soon as they both stepped inside and the door shut, George pushed Y/N against the wall and went in for it, kissing her fiercely as he had been wanting to for the past two days. She moaned, overly aroused, the suppressed passion of their vacation reacting.

”I need you,” George repeated softly in her ear, his teeth lightly touching her tender skin.

Y/N immediately grabbed his chest and shoved him backward with such force that it made him stumble. “No, not here!” she replied with a passion that radiated throughout her body.

George stared at her, his expression feral and filled with desire. “Let them hear,” he whispered, the possessiveness clear in his voice. “Make sure they understand that they belong to me.”

Y/N’s breath caught at the blatant demand in his voice. She realized he was correct; they had to give in now; they couldn't wait anymore. They fumbled down the hall, their clothes torn off in a frenzy as they moved. The door to their room banged shut, making the flat resound with the sound.

Their kisses became more passionate as they collapsed onto the bed, desperate to make contact and to take possession of each other. George’s hands traveled all over her, familiarizing themselves with every bump and hollow, every plane and line. It walked its long fingers up her dress, past her hips, his eyes locked with her the whole time.

In his mind, George was already preparing a symphony of sensation for them to get erotically lost in. He wanted to feel her completely, hear the moans of passion, as he thrusts in her. The idea of giving into their desires, giving in to their perverse passion was like a drug to his mind; he became dizzy with all the feelings that stirred his inner conscience.

Y/N’s legs tightened around his waist as he placed her on the bed; the springs of the mattress squeaked gently. He did not mind if the whole house heard them; what mattered to him the most was the present, the touch of her body. Their lips met once more; this time he reached down near her hips and touched the softness of her thighs through the delicate material of her underwear.

“You are stunning, so, so beautiful,” he murmured huskily, running his eyes over the curves of her figure. " I dreamt about this every night."

Too excited to breathe properly, Y/N stared at him, her breasts rising and falling rapidly. "I wanna know what you’ve been dreaming about." She whispered seductively into his ear.

George tried to hide the darkness in his eyes as he whispered against her ear, leaning closer to her. ”I’ve dreamt of you open and spread for me, begging me to take you,” he said as his hand traveled higher up her thigh. “I have dreamt of your sweet cries echoing in the room as I continue to fuck you until you cum all over my cock.“

Y/N’s core tightened at the sound of his voice, a thrill of desire pulsating through her. She reached out her fingers around his hard erection, the warmth of it pulsating with his carnal need. “And what do you want now?” she whispered, her lips quivering with lust.

Obsession blazed in George’s gaze, his eyes fixed fiercely on hers as if he desired nothing else in this world. “Now,” he growled, the desire saturating his voice, “it is time to turn these dreams into reality.” Placing himself at her pussy, the head of his cock lightly pressing against her moist lips. “Are you ready for me?”

Again, Y/N’s eyes rolled back, and she let out a small moan. “Oh, much more than ready,” she exclaimed, burying her fingers into his muscles as he thrust deep into her. The feel of him inside of her was something she was yearning for. She moaned as she felt the fullness in her stomach.

The room was filled with their lovemaking: the sound of skin against skin, the creak of the mattress, the ragged panting. It was sweet music that only the two of them heard—an opera that unfolded within the confines of the room they both occupied. The zeal of their love deepened with every touch, with every kiss and every murmured endearment they exchanged.

”Scream for me,” George encouraged, his words heavy with passion as he thrust into her. His large palms were covetous, grasping her, possessing her, as if he had to stake out his claim on her.

Y/N closed her eyes, surrendering to his dominance effortlessly. She threw back her head, her nipples rubbing against his bare skin, and cried out as he hit the spot within her that seemed to make her shudder with delight. It was a sound that rang through the silence of the flat, a proclamation of happiness that appeared to shiver the pillars of their existence.

At the sound of her moans George began to rotate his hips even more exaggerated. He could sense it constricting around him, her thighs clamping around his middle as she clung to him. The pressure was intense, the tension that had accumulated on their trip was finally being set free, and George felt that he was close. He stretched one hand towards her, and his fingers quickly located her clit, pressing on it firmly but lightly.

"You are so wet," he whispered with a throaty growl that revealed how much he desired me. "So fucking wet for me."

Y/N blinked slowly, and her eyes were wide with desire as she gazed up at him. “More,” she pleaded, sulky and breathy, her tone sending a bolt of pleasure straight to his cock. "Tell me what you want to do to me, George."

Panting heavily, George followed the demand to release, his voice turning into a deep and monstrous growl. “I want to fuck you until you cannot walk straight,” he whispered, his hips thrusting into her with renewed vigor as the bed frame creaked. “I want to tear you apart and hear you scream my name as if it is the most important thing in the whole wide world.”

Y/N’s eyes rolled back in her head, her body reacting to his every word. "Harder," she begged, digging her nails into his back. "I want it all, George. Every inch of you."

George felt his stroke become more strained, his words dirty to the rhythm of their bodies. "You take it all in," he told her, his voice a whisper. "Every fucking inch." She felt him stiffen against her, his breath coming in short, sharp gasps. "You'll come so hard, you'll see fucking stars."

Y/N’s moans grew louder, filling the room with the sweet sound of her pleasure. "I'm so close," she admitted, her voice shaky and hoarse. "I'm going to cum all over your cock."

George's eyes darkened with desire at her words. "Do it," he demanded, his voice a rough command. "Cum for me, baby. Show me how much you need it."

Y/N’s body reacted to his command, her orgasm crashing over her like a wave. She screamed his name, her walls clamped together, her nails driving into his back. The feeling was too much, too perfect, and he knew this was just the beginning of their reunion.

"Yeah," George sighed, letting his release run out. "That's it, baby. Take it all." He leaned over and captured her lips in a crushing kiss, drowning out her screams as their bodies moved in perfect unison. The words that left his lips were a mixture of love and lust, a promise of all the dirty things he wanted to do to her.

"I'm going to fill you up," he whispered, his teeth brushing against her earlobe. “I want to hear you beg for more. Tell me to never stop fucking you.”

Y/N gasped, the words sending shivers down her spine. “Yes,” she gasped. Her voice was barely audible over the sound of their bodies clashing. “I need you, George.”

He moaned, and his voice echoed in her chest. “You are so fuckable,” he muttered, his hips thrusting deeper into her with every thrust. “I love how you feel this way, so wet, so hot, so perfect.”

Y/N's eyes rolled back into her head as she felt the pressure increase again. With her core tightening around him, "Come on, darling," she whispered, her voice barely audible over the sound of their bodies slapping together. “I want to feel you fill me completely.”

Those words were like a catalyst for George. His body responded to the primal urge to fill her up. To mark her as his own, he thrusted one last time. His cock throbbed as he released his seed deep inside her. The feeling was almost overwhelming. A sense of ownership that sent shock waves through his body.

Y/N felt it too. Her body trembled with pleasure as he poured into her. It was a time of pure connection. Moments that seem to last forever.

"Fuck," George said to himself, planting his head on her shoulder. "That was…"

"Perfect," Y/N told him precisely. Her body was still trembling with the shivers of pleasure. Together, they lolled there for a moment, their hearts beating as one, their breathing the only sound in the room.

The following days raced by in a haze of lust and gratification; every opportunity they got, George and Y/N would find a remote spot to give in to their insatiable lust for each other. It could be a quickie in the kitchen or a marathon in their locked-door bedroom listening to music. Whatever it was, they made the most out of it.

*****

Taglist~

@gvf23 @xxkatxgracexx @kneelforloki

[paucubarsisimp]

heyyyyy❤️.

I love your imagines . Can I request a Lamine imagine where you guys are dating and you go to Coachella together and have a good time with the other Barca Boys and y’all are just lovey dovey 🤍.

Thank You

coachella

pairing: lamine yamal x reader

summary: in which you go to coachella with lamine and his friends

warnings: pda - a LOT of pda

you never thought you’d find yourself at coachella with five of barça’s brightest stars—and definitely not with one of them as your boyfriend. but here you were: sun on your skin, glitter in your hair, and lamine’s arm wrapped tightly around your waist like he never wanted to let go.

the moment you stepped onto the festival grounds, it felt like something out of a movie. giant art sculptures towered over you, music pulsed from every direction, and the air smelled like sunscreen, dust, and something sweet you couldn’t quite place. you could barely take two steps without someone snapping a picture of the boys—though they tried to stay lowkey in hats and sunglasses, it was very hard to hide five gorgeous footballers.

lamine leaned in close. “wanna disappear from everyone for a bit?”

you smiled up at him, heart fluttering at how soft his voice got just for you. “only if you hold my hand the whole time.”

he grinned, that boyish sparkle in his eyes, and laced his fingers with yours.

you snuck off behind one of the main tents for a little quiet, only to be interrupted by pau calling out, “lamine! stop sneaking off for kisses, we see you!”

you giggled and tried to hide your face in lamine’s shoulder, but he didn’t care. he pulled you right in for a kiss anyway—slow and sweet, like the world around you had faded to silence. he rested his forehead against yours after. “they’re just jealous.”

“obviously,” you whispered, making him laugh.

back with the group, fermín had laid out a blanket near the ferris wheel and was attempting to build the world’s most chaotic picnic with random snacks from the vip lounge. “this is dinner,” he declared proudly, holding up a box of churros and an avocado.

pablo rolled his eyes. “that’s a crime against food.”

“i don’t see you doing anything,” fermín shot back.

meanwhile, héctor was on a mission to document every moment—camera in hand, climbing onto things he probably shouldn’t be climbing on for the perfect angles. he caught a candid of you and lamine dancing, and when he showed it to you later, you barely recognized yourself. you looked…happy. glowing. like the main character in a sun-drenched romance movie.

and lamine—he looked at you like he already knew that.

throughout the day, the two of you were basically attached at the hip. he kept stealing kisses when no one was looking—though honestly, sometimes when everyone was looking, too. at one point, he just straight-up pulled you into his lap during a set while pau complained, “can we go five minutes without pda?”

“no,” lamine said simply, and kissed your temple.

you ended up buying matching heart-shaped sunglasses, dancing together barefoot in the sand near one of the smaller stages, and slow-dancing to an acoustic set while the sun dipped low. the boys teased you both mercilessly, but not even pablo’s dramatic gagging noises could ruin the way lamine looked at you under the orange-pink sky.

later that night, when everything had cooled down and the desert air turned chilly, you all curled up on the big blanket again. fermín passed around hoodies (pablo grumbled about lending his to pau, but still did it), and lamine tucked you into his side, your legs tangled with his under the blanket.

“i know this sounds cheesy,” he said softly into your hair, “but this is kind of perfect.”

you tilted your head to look at him. “only kind of?”

“okay, really perfect.” he smiled, and in that moment, the lights of the ferris wheel reflecting in his eyes, he looked like everything good in the world.

you rested your head on his chest, the sound of his heartbeat mingling with the distant thrum of music and the quiet laughter of your friends. his hand found yours again under the blanket, fingers intertwined.

“i love you, you know?” he said, voice almost a whisper.

you smiled against him, heart full. “i know. i love you more.”

“impossible,” he whispered back.

taglist: @barcapix, @universefcb, @nngkay, @joaosnovia, @ilovebarcaaaa, @levidazai, lmk if you want to be added!

[ironstrange1991]

Safe Place

Pairing: Doctor!Strange x Fem!Reader

Synopsis: Things don't always go the way we want. The reader learns this the hard way and Stephen is the only one that can make her feel better.

Word Count: 2,5k

Warnings: None.

A/N: Another self-indulgent fic inspired by another bad day. I'm just really happy to have something to post. I hope you guys like it and have a good read ;)

Tears had been streaming down your face and soaking your pillow for what seemed like hours since you had gotten home after a terrible day where everything had gone apocalyptically wrong. You were relieved to be home in the first place, but at the same time you were disappointed enough that you didn't feel right about being there.

You knew that you had placed too much expectation on that day and that it was your fault for expecting too much from luck when you knew very well that in your life luck had never been with you. You just wanted to disappear. You wanted a hole to open in the ground and swallow you, but all you could do was cry your eyes out and that was exactly what you did until you fell asleep and woke up to the touch of a trembling hand in your hair and the baritone voice calling your name.

"Sweetheart" You heard Stephen calling you. "I barely saw you today. I didn't know you were already here. Are you hiding from me?" He dismissed the question with a light and caring tone, but you knew he was worried. You didn't look at him as you answered.

"I want to die, Stephen." You said, giving in to the tears and hiding your face in the pillow.

"Oh sweetheart! Things didn't work out the way you expected, huh?" He asked and you felt the bed dipping.

"It's my fault. I should listen to MJ and stop putting so much hope into things that I know will never happen. I always get disappointed and never learn."

He let out a heavy sigh.

"Come here." He asked, touching your hair and you crawled so you could lay your head in his lap. "Why don't you tell me exactly what happened?"

But you didn't want to talk about it. It was like by doing so you were accepting it was real, and you didn't want it to be real. So you just shook your head.

"Okay. How about I tell you about my day? Would you like that?"

You nodded.

"Well, Wong and I spent the morning training a group of masters who are going on a mission for the first time. They are good, they just need to gain practice, and the mission is not that difficult. I believe everything will be fine." He said as he gently ran his fingers through your hair.

"After that, I got a call from Stark asking me to come over there to help identify a magical artifact they found in the hands of Hydra. It was an ancient relic that disappeared from the London Sanctum hundreds of years ago. You can imagine Wong's happiness when I took it straight to the Kamar Taj."

You could feel the lump in your throat getting less tight as he spoke. Not only was his voice soothing and pleasant, but you enjoyed listening to him talk about his sorcerer stuff. It was another world entirely and at that moment all you needed was to distance yourself from your reality and to be immersed in his.

"Let me see what else..." He said and you waited. "Oh, I almost forgot! Stark is throwing a party at the end of the month and he insists that we both go. I could have said that I'll be on a mission, but I know you like spending time with your Avengers friends, so I confirmed our attendance. Did I do wrong?"

You shook your head and he chuckled softly. "I knew you'd want to go. Let me see... what else? I had cold pizza for breakfast and I ventured into the kitchen to make something for lunch because I was starving."

That caught your attention and you waited for him to tell you what he had cooked.

"Tuna spaghetti. It didn't turn out as good as yours. I think I overcooked it. It was sticky, but it was what I had and it satisfied my hunger. You know I'd rather eat your food anyway and at least I didn't burn the house down."

You smiled to yourself and turned around to look at him. Your eyes were still wet with tears, but you were calmer and the heaviness in your heart was replaced by warmth. "I love you." You whispered reaching out to touch his face. There was a frown on his forehead that slowly faded and he smiled back.

"I love you too, sweetheart." He replied as he continued to caress your hair. "Feeling a bit better now?"

You nodded. "It's amazing how you can do that."

He cocked his head to the side. "Do what?"

"Change my mood just by talking to me."

"And caressing your hair. That sure helps." He said with a cocky smile.

You smiled back at him. "You're the best thing that's ever happened to me. Did you know that? You found me at my lowest and changed me forever. I know I'm not an easy person, that this anxiety and mood swings are constant and that I make you worried most of the time..."

"Sweetheart..."

"Let me say this. Please." You asked, bringing your fingers to his mouth to shut him up.

"I know I need you much more than you need me. I know I shouldn't say this, but I feel like I can't live without you. Or maybe I can, but I don't want to have to find out."

You sighed deeply, trying to contain the wave of emotion that was threatening to spill over your eyes. "Today was a horrible day. Everything went so wrong that it would be comical if it wasn't so fucking annoying and heartbreaking. But at the same time I know that no matter how bad things get, I will always have this home to come back to and when I say home I'm not talking about the house, I'm talking about you. You are my home and my comfort, Stephen. My safe place and I love you with all the strength of my being and if for all this love you give me I have to pay by cooking you a decent meal, I'm more than happy with the bargain."

"Can I talk now?" He grumbled and you took your hand away from his mouth. He was trying to keep the same confident face as before, but there was a whole world of emotions behind his blue eyes and you saw his throat bobbing a few times. "First of all, you'll never have to figure out whether or not you can live without me because, sweetheart, I'll never leave and I'll never let you go." He sighed, trying to compose himself, and then continued, "Secondly, I want you to know that you're not a burden to me and I don't think you need me any more than I need you. You say I saved you at your lowest, but you forget that you've saved me from myself so many times. I changed you? You've changed me too, love. You've made me a better man, you've taught me that love can be a good thing and that I don't need to be in control of everything all the time. You've made me let my guard down and allow myself to love and be loved. To care for you and having you care for me is the greatest achievement of my life. You're my home too, sweetheart. My love, my best friend, my everything. It's safe to say that neither of us are easy people." He finished with a smirk. "We just complement each other so well."

You nodded, feeling your eyes fill with tears again, but you smiled. "Thank you."

His smile widened, "You're welcome, sweetheart. Now get up and go take a shower and I'll order some food. I'm sure you'll feel better after that."

You sat up and stretched before standing up. "I'm already feeling better, actually." You answered honestly. "If you're not in a hurry, I can cook you something. You must be dying to eat some decent food."

He seemed a bit surprised by your offer, but smiled happily. "Really? And what will you do?"

"It'll depend on what's in the fridge."

He nodded, "Okay. I'm in."

"But there's something I want in return." You said, taking his hand and pulling him to stand up. You pulled him close to you, letting him tower over you, and rested your hand on his chest.

"And what is it?" He asked, already knowing the answer very well.

"You. I want you to come take a shower with me."

He hummed, lifting your chin to make you look directly at him.

"I thought you were sad," he teased.

"I am. And really mad, that's why I need some physical love. You know?"

He chuckled. "Alright, love. I think I can provide that for you."

You barely waited for him to answer and dragged him into the bathroom with you. Your mood swings sometimes confused even you, but if there was one thing that was certain about your depressive crises, it was that they always ended in sex. It was your body's way of balancing things out, exchanging cortisol for oxytocin, and you were fine with that. More than fine, in fact.

After the shower - and what ended up becoming a long lovemaking session - the two of you got dressed in comfortable pajamas and ended up in the kitchen. You wanted to prepare something decent and nutritious, after all Stephen was a tall and strong man and you knew that his body needed more than the empty calories of two slices of pizza and some tuna spaghetti, but when you looked in the fridge you realized what you had already feared. You were practically out of food.

"Oh Stephen, we forgot to go to the grocery store." You said dejectedly, but your eyes found a piece of bacon and some cheese and you sighed in defeat. It seemed that the nutritious food would have to wait for tomorrow.

"I can make mac & cheese. It has bacon, we can fry it really crispy and add it to the recipe. I know it wasn't what you expected..."

Stephen approached, hugging you from behind and taking advantage of the fact that your hair was tied up, he gave you a little kiss on the back of your neck. That never failed to give you goosebumps.

"Anything you prepare for me will be delicious, I'm sure. And I love mac & cheese. It's fine by me."

You turned to look at him "Are you sure? There's still time to order food if you want."

He shook his head "I'm sure. Unless you changed your mind. I know you've had a long day, sweetheart."

But before he finished speaking you were already grabbing the necessary ingredients from the fridge. "I did, but I'm feeling much better now. Your mac & cheese will be ready in fifteen minutes, and I promise it will be way better than your sticky tuna spaghetti."

He chuckled, letting go of your waist and stepping away, opening a cabinet door and grabbing one of your ceramic pots. "I'm going to put the water on to boil. I don't think you can go wrong with that." He informed and you let out a soft laugh.

"Don't forget the salt." You said as you grabbed a knife and began to chop the bacon into small cubes.

"Before or after it boils? I never remember."

"After." You replied, watching as he turned on the stove. It was quite a sight: Stephen Strange dressed in nothing but pajama pants, his hair wet from the shower, his back marked by your nails, his neck marked by love bites you had left on him, doing banal and domestic things in the kitchen. He may have been a sorcerer, a master of the mystical arts, and protector of the Sanctum, but what made you fall more and more in love with him each day were those little moments when he was completely ordinary.

You got distracted while finishing chopping the bacon and cheese and were surprised by his arms wrapping around your waist. He didn't say anything, he just hugged you from behind, gave you a kiss on the back of your neck and laid his head on your shoulder, and that act made you melt. You continued your task with a deliberate slowness so that you wouldn't have to move away from him, but eventually you finished chopping everything.

"Steph... I need..."

But he held you tighter in his arms, humming, "Just one more minute. I just want to stay like this for one more minute."

You chuckled, dropping the knife and reaching your hand up to his hair, stroking it slowly. "As if you didn't have me for an hour in that bathroom." You said, and he groaned as if the memory of what you did was too good to mention.

"It's not the same, sweetheart." He said, lifting his head to speak in your ear, "Sometimes I just want to be close to you like this. It's not sexual."

You felt your heart flutter in your chest and your knees went weak. "Does that mean the great Doctor Strange sometimes needs cuddles?"

He gave your ear a light nibble to tease you back, "Sometimes... yes."

You nodded, turning to look at him and cupping his face. "You deserve all the cuddles in the world, Steph. But right now you need to decide what you want more. Cuddles or mac & cheese?"

He sighed exaggeratedly. "Such a hard choice." He said, pretending to think, "But I think I'll have to choose mac & cheese." He responded with a smirk and let go of you. You stood on your tiptoes to kiss his lips and then stepped away, returning to your mission.

Fifteen minutes later, the two of you were sitting at the table to eat. Stephen had chosen a bottle of red to open and you allowed yourself a glass that he generously poured before pouring his own and sitting down.

"It's always so rewarding to sit at the table to have dinner with you after a day of doing the things I do." He confessed, sipping from his glass and allowing himself a bite of the mac & cheese. "Oh this is delicious!"

You smiled as you watched him devour a second bite. This was your favorite part of cooking for him. It might have been a little weird, but you really loved watching him eat, especially when it was something you had cooked for him.

You allowed yourself a bite too and smiled contentedly. "Okay, this is really good."

"I told you!" He said, smiling, and you found yourself thinking that it was possible to endure the bad days and the terrible days, as long as you had Stephen by your side. After all, he was the only one who could make you feel good even when everything around you seemed to be falling apart. He saved you from the world and especially from yourself, and you could see yourself going on as long as he was there for you.

Reblog please! Leave a comment if you liked it. Interact! I will love to read all of your comments and opinions. It inspires me to keep writing!

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[ataraxixia]

hiii can you write abt ratio and sunday w a reader who gets overstimmulated at parties or just hanging out with friends and they get really mean when overstimmulated <3 like how would they help their partner out yk

  ❦  𝐒𝐘𝐍𝐎𝐏𝐒𝐈𝐒. how they help you out when you're overstimulated ❧ tags. Ratio x reader, sunday x reader, fluff, comfort, sfw ❧. a/n. of course, and thank you for your request, love <3 btw i'm not familiar with what it's like to help an overstimulated person so I did some research before writing- I apologize if I wrote something wrong

𝐕𝐄𝐑𝐈𝐓𝐀𝐒 𝐑𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎

"By the Aeons, do you people ever shut up?" you spat to a group of young students, meaner than you intended to, but you couldn't really help it at the moment. The hall was full to the brim- packed with endless members of the Intelligentsia Guild. There were just too many- bragging loudly about their scores of their last exams or simply discussing different subjects with no end. Without saying anything to the students, you quickly walked to one of the corners, covering your ears to shut out the noise. You had difficulties focusing, and the discomfort was creeping up your whole body. You tried to calm down, taking deep breaths and imagining being back home in your cozy and quiet living room. Yet, the constant talking, laughing and arguing made it entirely impossible.

You slumped down the wall, sitting down and resting your head between your legs. You groaned as you shut your eyes, not noticing the person standing beside you.

"―? What are you doing?" they asked. "Why do you care?"

"Because I'm your boyfriend, obviously."

You let out a noise of confusion before you lifted your head and looked to the side, seeing your boyfriend, Veritas, leaning on the wall and focused on you. He crouched down beside you and placed his hand on your forehead, a frown appearing on his face. Your face was pale yet your forehead was quite hot.

"Why didn't you say anything earlier? I would've brought you home." he said, removing his hand. Your gaze shifted to the side, your fingers twitching a little. "I didn't find you. There were a lot of people." it was the truth. From the moment your senses became a bit heated, you looked around, walking from venue to venue to find Ratio, yet it seemed like he just disappeared into thin air.

"I was looking for you as well. Figured out you didn't like it here." Ratio held you by the arms and helped you stand up straight, steadying your body with his from falling down. "Let's go home now." You thanked the Aeons as you nodded, and the two of you made your way to the exit.

"Ah, Dr. Ratio!" one of the members shouted. "I wanted to tell you about the integrals of inverse tri-"

"Your integrals of inverse trigonometric functions exam, in which you barely passed with 71%? I'd rather not. Now excuse me, we're making our leave."

Well that shut him up quickly, you thought.

-

"..." Veritas stayed silent when you were back home. The two of you sat on your shared couch and he massaged your back gently, never pressing anywhere too hard to help you relax. he also made something to drink and some snacks for you, but you simply stayed still as you relished in the massage. It always seemed to calm you down.

"Thanks, I feel better now."

𝐒𝐔𝐍𝐃𝐀𝐘

"I'm fine, I already told you!"

The other members of The Family looked at you with wide eyes as you snapped at Sunday. He noticed you behaving rather different today and wanted to make sure you were okay, but after asking if you were feeling well- that was your last straw.

You quickly made your way, left through one of the many halls in Dewlight Pavilion and shut the door behind you vehemently. When you weren't hearing any chatter anymore, you relaxed a tiny bit, yet you couldn't stop fidgeting with your fingers, the voices of The Family lingering in your mind, still.

Being the lover of the head of the oak family was no easy matter by itself. Doubt amongst The Family members and the locals of Penacony occurred overnight and the feeling it left you with wasn't pleasant- not at all. Now, a gathering with all members of The Family, where the majority didn't like you and talked behind your back, was too much. You lost your focus at the very beginning already and the meltdown just now was what you needed to actually leave.

You sat down on one of the many couches that were scattered across the Pavilion and took a deep breath, focusing on you, and you only, your head hanging low. You had noticed the Origami Birds on the railings and thanked them in your mind for not chirping- or making any noise at all, actually.

"I apologize, I didn't mean to make you feel angry."

You recognized your lover's voice and sighed, shaking your head softly as you mumbled, "don't. I was just..."

Sunday sat beside you and draped a blanket over your shoulders. A weighted one, you noticed. He took your hand in his softly as he traced some circles on the back of your hand, the gesture making you actually quite calmer.

You focused on his hands and let relief wash over you with time- it must have been at least 10 minutes since he arrived and yet, he didn't stop, nor did he say anything in the time. You smiled to yourself as you felt your mind becoming clearer, shifting your gaze from your hand to his face.

"Thanks, I... really needed that." you said and he shared your glance, a small smile plastered on his lips again. "Just tell me if you need more time to relax. I'll give you all the time you need."

[rocknrolldecadence]

hii, can you write something about reader being friends with benefits with early glam era Slash like drunk sex after or between sets at a gig, please and thank youuu

˖⁺‧₊˚ ˚₊‧⁺˖✮-------------------✮˖⁺‧₊˚ ˚₊‧⁺˖

better than ever

hooking up with slash after a gig 😋😋

warnings: drunk sex (DONT DO THAT GUYS), drinking etc etc

a/n: soz i keep disappearing guys. this is lowk bad but it’s the longest fic i’ve ever written so far (954 words 🤯) so oh well

backstage was always your favourite place to be. sure, it was a trek to the bar if you wanted a drink, but there was something about staying backstage that just felt brilliant. it was calmer - the walls muffled the sound of whatever band was playing and there was no drunken crowd you had to be a part of if you wanted to enjoy the performance. being backstage allowed you to enjoy the night without all the hassle that normally came with listening to live music.

tonight, guns n roses were playing. well, not technically. they were opening for some glam rock band the sunset strip seemed to love, one you didn’t care to remember the name of. you’d read it on the bill as you walked into the bar, but didn’t pay it any attention, instead focusing on the small lettering that read ‘GUNS N ROSES’.

slash, guns’ lead guitarist, had invited you here. you had known him for a few months, and you had become friends with benefits. it worked perfectly for the both of you - you weren’t looking for a relationship right now, and neither was he. and the sex was great.

you traversed through the winding corridors of the venue’s backstage area until you found a dressing room with the names ‘slash’ and ‘duff mckagan’ written on a piece of paper stuck to the door. you knocked on the door and went in.

“hey guys!” you greeted the two men. duff was sat by the mirror, seemingly making some final adjustments to his makeup before going onstage. his hair was as tall as could be, the blonde mass teased and hairsprayed so much it was almost laughable. slash was standing in front of another mirror, just finished putting in a star-shaped dangly earring. he looked over at you and smiled.

“hey. you look good.” he said, looking you up and down. duff turned round in his chair, before doing the same and agreeing with slash.

“yous excited for the gig tonight?” you asked.

“it should be good,” slash replied, “i hope so, anyways.”

“what makes you say that?”

“do you not remember the last gig we played here? i don’t know *what* happened but i think it was the worst show we’ve ever played. i’m surprised they let us back again.” duff answered. his reply jogged your memory, and you started to remember just how bad that gig was. you giggled as you recalled the group’s drunkenness as they stumbled about on stage, barely able to play their instruments. they were nearly always drunk on stage, but something about that night must’ve just been… insane.

you chatted with them for a while before they had to go onstage. as they were leaving, slash pointed to a corner of the room you hadn’t noticed.

“take anything you want.”

he closed the door and you looked over to the corner where he had pointed. you don’t know how you didn’t notice it, considering it was stacked full with bottles of drink. every sort of hard liquor you could imagine was there - whisky, vodka, gin, etc. of course, there were mixers too. not to mention a few beers. ‘what a treat’ you thought to yourself as you reached for your favourite. you searched with your eyes for a glass but didn’t find anything. shrugging, you opened the bottle and drank straight from it.

and that was how you spent the next hour and a half, just drinking. you knew you shouldn’t, but when you had all that on offer for free, you couldn’t resist.

it was late when slash came back to the dressing room. he was drunk too, clearly having spent some time at the bar to celebrate the gig. he laughed as he came in, seeing you sprawled on the sofa with a bottle in hand.

“enjoying ourselves, are we?” he smirked, coming over to sit on the arm of the sofa.

“what? you gave me free reign.” you retorted.

“you drank those beers? warm?”

“they were nice.”

he laughed again.

you started asking him about the show. you’d been listening, but the audio was significantly damped by the dressing room’s door. it had been good, not the band’s best, but nothing went wrong.

“well, i’m glad you had a good time out there.”

suddenly, slash leaned in and kissed you. this was normal for you guys - a makeout session could spring out of nowhere. you kissed him back, setting your bottle of beer on the ground as you did so. you settled into his lap as the kiss intensified. soon, your hands were in slash’s hair, and his were roaming down your sides. then, he started to fiddle with the button of your jeans. you smirked, knowing what was about to come.

it must’ve been an hour or two you spent in that dressing room with slash, but it passed by so quick. it was relatively quiet, except for the sounds of your skin meeting his and moans & groans that came out of your mouths. like every time before, it felt like heaven. not to mention, since you were both drunk, it feel even better. every time you felt slash hit that deep point inside you, you were entering another dimension. you could barely take it anymore, but it felt too good to stop. it seemed like slash could last forever, as his steady (albeit drunken) thrusts continued.

when you both came, it felt amazing. you could almost cry as your high washed over you.

as slash pulled out, he asked you “was that good?”

“better than ever.”

[charliegyrth]

Alex Gets Soft - Part 22 (FINAL)

Our Big, Fat Epilogue

Read Part 21 here.

Twelve months later, Alex and I returned to the beach where it all started. We walked down the same path, though our pace was much slower now.

We hadn’t been here since that fateful day when our lives changed forever. I’d really wanted to return, but I knew that all the walking would be difficult, so we agreed to save it for a special occasion: the day Alex passed 350.

Well, that day finally arrived, and here we were. The breeze stroked my skin. The sun shined off the sweat streaks that ran down Alex’s bare chest.

Once again, everyone stared as we passed, but this time, they weren’t just staring at Alex. They were staring at us both. The muscle god and the double-belly blob.

Throughout the year, I’d continued pushing myself further in the gym. A month after my Chicago trip, I got a subscription to LA Fitness because I needed something more than the equipment and weights that we had at home. This was a big game-changer for me, mostly because I made a new group of friends who gave me both pointers and encouragement.

For a few months, I got a bit obsessive. (I even considered steroids, but Alex thankfully talked me out of it.) I’ve calmed down since then, but I still lift weights as often as my body allows. Because of my increased size, I’ve sacrificed some flexibility in favor of strength. This affected us a bit in the bedroom, but as always, we were able to adapt.

Now, I’m 230 pounds of solid muscle. I’ve developed a lumbering walk, my arms constantly spread to my sides. I can no longer lift my arms straight up, either, because my shoulder muscles get in the way. My neck has completely disappeared and my abs jut out into what looks like a belly but is really just muscle over muscle. Ropey veins cover my arms and legs. It took a lot of time (and a lot of pep talks from Alex) to get me to accept those.

And my shortness is no longer something that embarrasses me. In fact, it feels like a secret weapon. Muscles grow faster on short guys. And I enjoy my overall stumpy look. I feel compact.

“I… need another break,” Alex wheezed. He leaned against me as I took him to a bench. The wood creaked as he flopped down. While he gasped for air, I pulled a thermos out of my backpack. He’d gone five minutes without stopping, so he deserved a treat.

I jogged in place, waiting for his breathing to slow down. Once it finally did, he downed the thermos in a single gulp.

He expected me to give him another, but we were just a block away from the ice cream shop.

But when he looked at me with his puppy-dog eyes, I couldn’t resist. I swapped his empty thermos for a full one. We still had plenty more in my backpack.

Those shakes had become an addiction for him. I lost count of how many he finished in a day. I did 100% of the cooking and food-prep myself, so I liked to surprise him with different flavors. This batch was weight gain powder, butter, heavy cream, and rocky road. He usually drank them too fast to notice the flavor, though.

As you can imagine, those shakes were a huge factor is his journey to 350. So were all the boxes of snacks. For a while there, he was eating more of those than we could afford, even with my higher salary. To slow things down without losing calories, he started dipping each one in either syrup or cream. This left the couch and table constantly sticky, but it worked.

And of course, he continued with at least three massive meals each day. After I returned from Chicago, he stopped making the same dinner every night. (He stopped cooking entirely.) Instead, we tried to switch things up each day. Sometimes, I encouraged him to scarf things down as usual. But usually at dinner, I made him go slower. I worked hard to please him, and I needed to know that he tasted at least some of my food.

Other than that, we hadn’t changed our food strategy too much. I just made sure to slowly increase the amounts.

Oh, and I stopped feeding him while he slept. It was fun while it lasted, but we discussed it and decided that it was better if he knew everything that went inside him.

That was the other aspect of this past year, probably the most important one: Our constant communication. It’s hard at times, but we try to be mindful that our lives are more than just eating and working out. We have friends and hobbies and jobs (though Alex works exclusively from his bed now). We go to the movies once a month. We watch reality shows. We even visit the community swimming pool (the one physical activity that Alex could still do without struggling).

We’re happy.

And throughout this journey, Alex has grown into the sexiest man I could ever imagine. I know that 350 really isn't a lot for someone of his height, but trust me, it is. The raw numbers have never accurately reflected how he looks.

His arms are decorated with hanging flab that sways at the slightest movement. His thighs are the texture of the moon with the softness of a pillow. His ass slopes outward and down (mostly down), a victim of both gravity and constant sitting. His cock has been swallowed up by a fat pad that is so much fun to bury my face in.

And his belly is unlike any you’ve ever seen. His belly bottom is covered by his upper fold, creating an oven-hot crevice that I can’t stop exploring. His lower belly drapes into two dangling lumps that meet directly under where his belly button used to be. That’s the softest, most grabbable part of his whole body, the area he’s most proud of. They merge with his side flab. Not quite love handles anymore, just a continuation of his overhang. And all the skin from his glorious tits to his waist is decorated with wide, pale stretchmarks.

All these changes have piled onto him in quick succession, and I expect more rolls and dimples to develop in the near future. What I don’t expect is for his face to ever change. His cheeks are a bit rounder now and his jawline has softened, but he still has the face of a skinny guy. (Well, at least the face of a chubby guy.)

No other 350-pound person looks quite like him.

I looked down at my work of art, my soulmate, and help him back to his feet. We both knew that more people were staring at us. At about 300 pounds, Alex noticed that people had become more obvious with their stares. They didn’t even bother glancing away or pretending to be looking at something else. He liked that.

We continued all the way to the ice cream shop. Alex wanted to stop one more time, but I made him keep going. By the time he collapsed onto the two chairs I had positioned for him, he was back to gasping.

“What should we get?”

“Ice… cream,” he panted.

So I got twelve different flavors. All larges, except for a medium strawberry for me. The worker helped me carry them all to the table outside. She obviously expected me to have a whole group of people waiting for me, rather than one huffing mountain of draping flesh. Her smile disappeared as she placed the tray onto the table. Then she scurried back inside.

I think she was the one who served us over a year ago.

Alex, who hadn’t used a spoon for a while, scooped up his first bite.

“Remember, Alex. Slowly. We’re savoring this.”

He gobbled it down and scooped again. To him, that was slow.

“Syrup, please.”

I emptied our syrup bottle onto the ice creams.

Three bowls later, a familiar voice shouted at us from the distance. “Alex! Jake!”

It was Rob, rushing over with his four-year-old trailing behind. The kid shook my hand like a tiny businessman. I don’t know. I’m still not a kid person, but this one was growing on me.

“I didn’t expect to see you guys here!” Rob said. He still had his mustache, but now he’d gone bald. His buzzed hair only covered the sides and back of his head. “Terry! Look who I found!”

Terry lumbered toward us, tanned and proudly shirtless. He’d only grown a little since we saw him last month, but this was my first time seeing him shirtless since his twink days. I hadn’t realized how prominent his beer gut had gotten. Packed tight. Not a single bit of jiggle.

He’d beaten Alex to 350 by a few weeks. (They had a barbecue to celebrate.)

Alex looked up from his ice cream, his eyes wide. “You look just like him.”

“Who? Oh, him.” Alex had told them many times about the guy at the beach, the man who had changed our lives completely without ever knowing it. “Thank you. And I mean that. All your advice, you helped me get reach my goal.”

Rob patted his husband’s gut. That was about as affectionate as they got in front of their kid. (Though Braxton was already inside, picking out ice cream flavors for his dad.) “So what do you think?” he asked Alex. “Isn’t he the perfect man?”

I waited anxiously for my boyfriend’s answer.

Alex reflexively grabbed his belly hang and molded it under his ice-cream-coated fingers. “He’s solid. But I prefer something a little different.”

The End.

Thank you all so much for reading! This was the very first gainer story that I had the courage to publish, and I'm stoked that so many of you stuck it out to the end. It was an absolute joy to write, and it went in a much different direction than I had planned. (The narrator's body transformation kind of surprised me as I wrote it.)

Like everything I write, this story will always be free on Tumblr, but you can also buy the full ebook (with a bonus story) if you're interested. 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 21 22

And you can find all my stories here.

[arealphrooblem]

A Good Roommate Is Hard To Find

Synopsis: Civilian has harbored a secret crush on his roommate for a long time, only to find out that said roommate is the newest villain on the scene during a robbery at his job.

CW: death threats, knives

There was only one thing worse than having a crush on your straight roommate: having a crush on your straight villain roommate. 

Actually worse than that were rent prices, which kept Civilian from running as far in the opposite direction as he could get after he gave his statement to the police. 

A statement that contained a big, gaping hole. 

Because it couldn’t be true, right? It had to be a coincidence. Lots of people had weird, star shaped birthmarks on their ribs. It was a huge leap of logic to assume that the villain who had just tried to rob the bank that morning had the exact same birthmark as Civilian’s roommate for the past two years. 

Or maybe he just imagined it. It had been a very traumatic day. Civilian went home after the police released him and had a massive panic attack in the shower for about forty five minutes and then pressed two weighted blankets on him in bed like a panini grill. 

Having a group of villains stride into your workplace, guns blazing, would do that to you. As would getting stuck in the crossfire between said villains and the Hero from behind a desk, praying a stray bullet or laser beam wouldn’t hit and kill you. 

It was only a coincidence that Civilian had seen the birthmark. Near the end of the fight, one of the villains had been thrown over the very desk Civilian cowered behind, hitting the wall hard enough that even Civilian winced in sympathy. 

He laid there for a moment, dazed, half his torso exposed from a rip in his clothes, that stupid, undeniable birthmark on full display. Civilian could only stare at it, head dizzy as if he also took blunt force trauma to it. The villain groaned and sat up. 

For one agonizingly long second their eyes met. Civilian felt like a kitten spotted by a hawk. This was it. His time was up. He’d be just another statistic on the news -- 

But the villain just put a finger on his lips -- a silent command for silence -- that Civilian could only nod helplessly at. Then the villain slipped away in the chaos and disappeared. 

And besides, it couldn’t be his roommate because his roommate was in Colorado, visiting some online friend of his and going mountain biking or whatever. 

Two days after the attack, Roommate burst through the front door, dumping his duffel bag onto the floor and stepping towards Civilian with a scary single minded determination. 

It took every ounce of control not to flinch when Roommate cupped his face, gaze roving over his features as if looking for injuries. 

Roommate himself looked untouched from the fight. It almost made Civilian second guess himself. But he hadn’t spent the last two days analyzing every detail his love-sick brain had filed away for the last two years to doubt himself now. 

That villain and his roommate were the same person. 

“I saw the news,” Roommate said. “Are you okay? Did you get hurt? I tried to change my flight but this was the soonest I could get in.”

The lie hurt. Obviously Roommate hadn’t been mountain biking in Colorado for the past few days so it begged the question: what else did he lie about? Was this concern just an elaborate play at innocence? But if his roommate was taking the time to craft this act of concern, then he must not think Civilian knew. 

And if Civilian valued his life, he’d have to keep it that way and force normalcy. 

“I’m fine,” he said, trying for a smile and coming up with a grimace. “I mean, I’m not fine. It was fucking scary, but I didn’t get hurt. So there’s that. Work’s given me a week off and then. . .”

Roommate scowled. “And then what? They can’t possibly think you’d be okay working there again after only a few days off? You should quit.”

“Quit?” Civilian’s eyebrows raised. “And we both get thrown out on our asses? We’re lucky enough to have this apartment as it is.”

“I have enough savings to get us through for a few weeks while you find another job,” Roommate insisted. 

“I thought you blew it all on Colorado,” Civilian joked weakly. 

And where the fuck did those savings come from? he wanted to ask. But he didn’t dare. 

“Not all of it. Seriously. You should think about it.”

Something gleamed in the roommate’s eyes, like a warning. Civilian swallowed thickly and nodded. 

“Okay. I’ll think about it. I just . . .I think I’m going to go lay down for a bit. It’s good to have you back. You’ll have to tell me all about it when I wake up again.”

Roommate’s face lit up with a smile and Civilian’s heart twisted in his chest. “I have so many good photos. It’s beautiful out there.You should come with me next time.”

“Yeah sure,” said Civilian thoughtlessly, thinking only of the dark safety of his room. 

“Get some rest.” Roommate nudged Civilian towards the hallway. “I’ll order us pizza.”

Civilian nodded and forced his steps to slow as he made his way to the bedroom. Once the door shut and the fan turned on, he buried his head under his pillows and tried to get his breathing under control. 

Faking normalcy was going to be harder than he thought. 

"Oh you're starting dinner already?"

Civilian jumped at the sound of his roommate's voice, the knife slipping and nearly cutting  into his fingertip. A quick glance over his shoulder showed his roommate leaning against the opposite counter, arms folded loosely over his chest. 

Just a casual chat. And yet it felt like a fist suddenly gripped Civilian's heart. Even after three days, it still felt like walking the knife’s edge every time they were in the same room together. 

"I, um, got bored," he said, thankful to be facing away so his terror wouldn't show as he fought it back down. "I didn't know you'd be home so soon."

"I took a half day at lunch. Did some shopping. I got you more of that tea. It seemed to help you sleep."

A hint of guilt colored his roommate's nonchalance. Or maybe Civilian just imagined it. 

"Thanks," Civilian said.

Focus. Focus on the potato. Cube the potato. Be the potato. 

Heart thudding in his ears, his concentration on chopping vegetables, Civilian didn't hear the movement until his roommate's head appeared over his shoulder. 

"What are you making?" he asked. 

Civilian swallowed down a lick of sudden hysteria. 

Get a fucking hold of yourself he thought. There is no reason why he'd be suspicious unless you're acting like a lunatic!

"Soup," he managed to croak. "The, uh, kind at the Italian restaurant you like."

A bribe. A hope. A way to remind himself that he knew his roommate, right? They've lived together for two years. 

And true to form, his roommate's eyes brightened. "Oh excellent! We haven't had that in ages."

"That's because chopping all these vegetables is a pain in the ass."

A thick tension rose and tightened between them. Civilian concentrated on chopping, trying to ignore the heat at his back as his roommate didn't step away, didn't leave. Just watched him. 

"You're using the wrong knife, you know," the roommate said softly. 

" . . .what?"

The roommate reached over Civilian's shoulder to the knife block on the counter and pulled one out. It was small and two fingers wide, short and wickedly sharp. Fear clenched Civilian's throat with icy hands. 

"You're using a butcher knife," his roommate murmured against Civilian's ear. A shiver fluttered down his neck. "That's for cutting meat. You need a paring knife for vegetables."

" . . .Oh." Was it just him or did the kitchen suddenly feel low on air? "I'll . . . remember that . . .for next time. . ."

"Why don't I take over? At least for the chopping."

Civilian tightened his grip on the knife, an instinctive gesture he had no control over. But even though Roommate had offered help in the kitchen many times, that same instinct screamed not to let him. Something felt different this time. 

"I got it," he said, forcing lightness in his tone. "You know you're hopeless in the kitchen."

"I'm good with knives, though." Civilian swallowed down another spike of cold terror. "It's the least I can do if you're making me my favorite."

The paring knife rested just inside Civilian's peripheral, deceptively harmless. 

"Why don't you put the gnocchi on to boil," he said. "I'm almost done here."

His roommate sighed, a rush of air against Civilian’s cheek. "You're always so stubborn," he said with sad fondness. 

The paring knife moved like a flash and suddenly it's cold steel pressed light as a kiss just under Civilian's jaw. 

His breath froze in his lungs. 

"Drop the knife, Civilian."

" . . .Roommate?" It wasn't difficult to pitch his voice high in uncertain fear. To pretend shock. "What are you doing?"

"I know that you know."

"Know what?" Civilian breathed and then cringed at how unbelievable it sounded even to his own ears. 

He only had room in his head for one secret,  it was hard to sound convincingly ignorant when every cell screamed at him to run away. 

"You've tried so valiantly to hide it, but I know you too well." Roommate's murmured against his ear.  "You're afraid."

Civilian dragged a shaky breath into his lungs. "You have a knife to my throat."

"And you are nowhere near as shocked about that as you should be." Roommate twisted the knife until the flat of the blade lay against Civilian's skin -- and then he dragged it, achingly slow, over Civilian's jawline to rest against raw bitten lips. 

A wave of dizziness gripped him, driven by fear mixed with the heady, dangerous edge of want, the desire Civilian struggled with for so many months wrapping its claws around his chest. 

"Be a good boy and drop the knife."

Breath came fast and heavy as he willed himself to relax his fingers, to release the knife. Not that he would have even thought of it as a weapon and not a kitchen tool until his roommate demonstrated it. But with one having danced so close to his pulse, letting go of his own felt like a death sentence. 

The second he dropped the knife, his roommate twisted a hand into the fabric of his shirt and hauled him across the kitchen to pin him against the fridge. The smiling tomato magnet they grabbed as a joke at a yard sale clattered to the floor and broke into pieces. The roommate  doesn't so much as flinch, their gaze like stone, the knife never wavering from Civilian's neck.

He swallows thickly against the panic, never more afraid in his life than in this moment. He never thought death would look like his favorite person in the world ready to slit his throat with a paring knife. 

And yet the desire still thrummed beneath it all, a twisted hunger being fed from such close contact, like his body forgot to stop yearning in light of what his mind knew. But the stone-cold glint in his roommate’s eyes twisted his face from comfortingly familiar into dangerously unrecognizable. 

Seeing it shattered something in Civilian just like that stupid magnet. His eyes prickled and stung; the roommate's face turned blurry. Humiliated, he darted his gaze to the window, focusing on the speck of green of the neighbor’s tree swaying in the breeze. 

And waited for death. 

Time stretched long and excruciating between each heartbeat. Then the coolness of the knife disappeared, replaced by warm fingers that nudged his gaze back to his roommate’s.

“Hey,” the roommate said softly. 

That granite hardness of his gaze had melted into soft concern. The exact kind of look he gave Civilian each time a migraine flared up. The reminder of that felt as dangerous as the knife. It couldn’t be real. 

“Hey, it’s okay.”

The words hit him like a slap to the face. 

“Don’t say that!” Civilian hissed. “I didn’t do anything and you’re going to kill me.”

He flinched from the hand that raised up, knocking his head painfully against the fridge. But Roommate only brushed a stray tear away with his calloused thumb. 

“You’re right,” he said pensively. “You didn’t do anything. And I’m not going to kill you.”

He turned and tossed the knife into the sink. Civilian did not feel any safer, however. He felt like a bug under the shadow of a boot,  even as Roommate smoothed his hands over Civilian’s chest in a display of casual affection he would have died for a week earlier. 

“Here is what I am going to do,” he continued. “I’m going to finish dinner. You’re going to compose yourself in a long hot shower and when you get out we are going to eat and have a discussion about the way things are going to be from now on. Is that alright?”

Civilian nodded, not trusting his voice. What other answer could he possibly give?

Part two here

[psychohoneywhiskey]

I'm not a writer, and English isn't my first language but I can't get these men out of my mind so:

Wade has been through some shitty situations in his life, being turned into a cancer-ridden monster, seeing his girlfriend being killed in front of him, and let's not even get started with his childhood trauma. But, by far, the worst moment of his life was the feeling after his roommate/partner/love of his life looked at him with a face full of hatred after he confessed his feelings to him.

Damn, he would have preferred if the man laughed at his face, got angry, or just straight up ignored him. But seeing that amount of hate, disgust, directed at him, is something he truly feels he will never recover fom.

He tried his best, fuck, he really did. He woke up, made him his favorite breakfast, bought nice clothes for him, bought him flowers, and treated him to a fancy dinner in an Italian restaurant Logan mentioned he wanted to go to a few weeks ago. And he should have known better, dammit. He is a mercenary, a broken, disfigured attempt of a person with more issues than attributes but fuck, did it hurt.

Logan stood up, and left the restaurant. And hey, the worst he could have done was reject him and move on, right? Right.

When Wade arrived home, everything that belonged to Logan was gone. His clothes, cigars, books (that of course Wade bought for him), even his fucking liquor, just disappeared.

He tried to look for him, damn, he tried. He went to every bar and motel in the near area, called Laura, and even went to the X-mansion. And after weeks of looking for him, he received a message with a photo attached, of Logan, kilometers away from the apartment kissing an unkown man outside of a shitty motel room.

And Wade, just gave up. What else could he do? Even if he acted as a dense fucking idiot all the time, he was sharp and smart as very few people out there. He knew how to take a hint, and fuck if Logan didn't make it fucking clear that he didn't even want to look at Wade. And that disgusted stare will follow him to the end of his very, very, long days.

So he closed up; he stopped meeting with his friends, his playful, childful, stupid attitude completely changed. He only talked to Althea and cared for Mary Puppins and then, when he distanced himself and none of his 'family' reached out to him, he finally understood he was the only one who cared. And they only tolerated him, for pitty or convenience, who fucking cares. He was tired, so fucking tired of being everyone's walking mat and at the end, receiving nothing. Being treated as a piece of shit at best.

Weeks pass, and someone knocks on Wade's door. Since he was not expecting anyone he warily opens the door. The TVA offers him a well-paid months-long mission to bodyguard an anchor being who had to leave his universe after being hunted down by a group of powerful criminals there. And well, he has nothing else to do so he accepts.

Only to regret it after he arrives to the TVA quarters and sees who the anchor being is. Of. Fucking. Course. It had to be an alternate Logan's version, and not any version, Patch.

And to make matters worse, the TVA explains that he will have to stay on a house with him for the future, what? Five fucking months, at least? Dammit. Him and his fucking bad luck.

The next months are going to be awesome, right? Right.

I love to daydream about Wade spending time with other Logan versions and just pissing everyone off. Cause let's be for real, most people treat him like shit and just expect him to take it and accept it and damn it if it doesn't piss me off.

I won't be writing more of this but I like to imagine Wade leaves a lot of money for Althea for her to take care of Mary Puppins and herself and leaves for months, only for everyone to see him appear on the news battling against some powerful aliens, criminals, whatever it is. Looking better, bigger, healthier, more lethal, fighting alongside Patch as natural as if they were one and everyone being surprised and regretful. And Logan being as remorseful and jealous as possible.

Maybe him leaving his universe for years just to heal and spend time with Patch, I don't know, endless possibilities.

I don't know why my brain does this, I love them being disgustingly sweet and then when I write anything is just pure angst, fuck.

[nawoken]

Ơ v Ơ

Thanks for liking my post guys, I appreciate it. So I will start spreading my mind when I don't have anything better to do from now on then.

Hm, today will be... a reader from Gravity Falls, who got transported into TWST world. Oh, reminds me of those good old days, when we still had a bunch of good-quality cartoons.

(T vT)

You can be a friend of Dipper and Mabel, who joined them on their trip to Gravity Falls. Or the town's resident, who has always known about this place's weirdness but most of the time, when you bring it up, no one actually believes you. You can even be the twins' sibling, or well... Lil Gideon's dogsbody (no one want this right?)... That's your choice.

I want to build a reader who has enough understanding of those mystery creatures so it's better if you have a few links with the main cast :")))

After the defeat of Bill Cipher, a few years went by in peace. Until one day you wake up in a whole different world that has magic. Great, it's cool, you're fine, nothing too bad yet, it can be worse, right? After all, you used to encounter many more strange things than this.

Maybe, after not being able to contact you for a long time, Dipper will realize your disappearance and find a way to help you. Or..., the headmage in front of you can do something like he said.

Nope, you're wrong, he is useless, that's what you realized after staying there for a while. That biscuit doesn't even care about finding a way back for you! So, you have to find another way while facing a bunch of other overblots.

You've never really told anyone else about stuff you used to face back in your world, mystery creatures, monsters, and a Dorito from different dimensions.

Mostly because when they asked why you can face all this "transport to another world" or "fighting some gooey inky monster" things so calmly. Or why did you act so aggressively about making a deal with Octoville Housewarden. You told them how you used to fight this triangle entity from different dimensions, that planned to destroy your world, but they would just brush it off or say that you have a wild imagination.

You feel a bit sad when it happens, but you get it. Some magicless people can fight off a Dream Demon that can control space, matter, and even time? That must be hard to believe. So you just let it be.

~~~

But, out of nowhere, mystery creatures start to appear around the Isle of Sages.

What do you mean you saw Gnomes with a red cap and blue outfit running around in the jungle? And there is a whole island that suddenly appeared overnight?! Some scientists tried to approach it and it arose from the river, appeared to be a freaking giant head?!

It's all too familiar to you. After all, you had gotten into a bunch of trouble with them during your stay at Gravity Falls. It must be that this island has some kind of connection with that town!

Then, you just have to find that connected point to open the dimensional portal, and come home, right? Maybe, the twins with their uncles will get to you before you even have to do all that.

So, you just acting like normal. But your friends don’t want that. Mostly Grim, Aduece, Epel, and Ortho when they took an interest in the mystery thing that recently appeared inside NRC. Jack and Sebek tried to protest, saying that it was stupid but got provoked by “Why? Are you scared?” from the others.

You got dragged in, mainly because you worry for them. Even when they have magic, you still have more experience with this than them. You don't have the Journals with you but you used to spend quite a lot of your time studying and understanding them alongside the Pines twins. So, you’ve memorized most of it, if not all.

~~~~~~

The moment your groups step into this strange part of the forest, with some big red mushrooms with dots and some floating shiny orbs come straight out of a fairytale. You know this is a "Gnome Forest".

Before you can get everyone out of this place to avoid meeting those creepy creatures that have an obsession with finding a Gnome queen. You see Jade, observing and taking note of the mushrooms.

Jade: What a pleasure meeting you guys here.

Deuce: J...Jade-senpai?! What are you doing here?

Ace: Ye, and where is Floyd, is he sneaking also around?!

Jade: Fufu... don't you think it a bit rude to ask questions without stating your reason for being here?

Jade: But, as you can see, I'm studying these delightful mushrooms. And, no, unfortunately, my brother isn't into this kind of thing so there's only me.

Jade: ... Then?

Epel: W...what? Oh, we're here for the mystery creatures that been lurking around.

Jade: Oh, from the rumors?

Epel: *Nod* Yes.

Ace: Hm, you must be here for a while, have you seen anything yet?

Jade: Sadly, no. However, I do hope that I can encounter one of those, Azul might take an interest in them (For business thingy, I guess). Hm,... do you mind if I join you guys?

Deuce: Uh, no...

Jade: Great! ^v^

(Okay, that is, I'm out of brain juice for that conversation. Hope that is not too Ooc (XvX))

You stood aside, looking around worriedly while Ace bickered with Deuce due to letting Jade join. Jack felt your restlessness, mistaken that you're scared so he tried to comfort you. Sebek saw it and loudly said something about how weak humans are.

That's when some shadows dash by, Jade, Jack, Ortho, and Sebek become more alert while the others are a bit startled. Grim screaming something about not wanting to be eaten and clinging onto Ace's face though.

Looking back and forth a few times just for you guys turned to Epel, and saw a Gnome right next to him with a flower in hand. You know that shoot, Jeff! And! seeing his action, you also realized what come next.

Epel: ...For me?

Jeff: Yes, for you, my... future queen! (I can't, this is too much, I'm dying)

Gotta say, your friends have a good laugh except for Epel, who looks about to explode and Jade has this amused smile. If not for how bad the situation actually is, you might laugh as well.

Y/N: Guys, we should go.

Jeff: WAIT!!! Let me introduce myself first, I'm Jeff, Gnomes' leader. And, we are looking for a new queen...blah blah... (sorry)

At some point, Epel blew up, and he started throwing spells and that's when they knew what Jeff meant by them. 1000 Gnomes running out from God know where merged into a huge Gnome then chased them after their fail attempt of fighting it.

Ace: WTF is that?!

Deuce: How can we fight it if it keep merging?!

Grim: Wroahhhh, It's so fast!

Ace: You should just accept their marriage proposal!

Epel: WHAT DID YOU SAID?!

Jack: Why did I agree with this...

Sebek: I KNOW THAT I SHOULDN'T LISTEN TO YOU GUYS!

Ortho: This is quite fun, isn't it?

Others: NO!

You are tired of running, Jade has already gone out of sight the moment that thing compiling. You tried to reach inside your backpack, you were prepared for this after all! Your dog whistles. You just need to find it from the pile of things you quickly stuffed into your bag.

Finally! You quickly told everyone to cover their ears, mostly for Jack and Sebek due to their sharp hearing, and blew the whistle. That giant Gnome started to fall apart, and those Gnomes quickly ran away, far from the noise that hurt their ears.

Ace: Uh... What was that?!

Epel: Prefect, h..how can you do it?!

Grim: Haha, good job my henchman, I know you can do it.

Y/N: Gnomes, they have enhanced hearing so they can't bear high-pitch noise.

Deuce: But, how did you know that? Did you read about it somewhere?

Ortho: I don't think so, I've scanned them and I don't find any research about those creatures. So, prefect, where do you study about it?

Jade: I also want to know. (^v^)

Sebek: Where are you coming from?!

Y/N: Guys, just calm down. About those creatures, of course, I know about them. It's from my world after all.

Others (minus Jade): What?!

Jade: Oh... that's really interesting.

Deuce: Why have you never told us this story?!

Y/N: *stared back at him unamused*

Ortho: Hm... I do remember they used to say something about fighting supernatural entities.

Ace: But, I thought that just some jokes!

Y/N: Well, now you know it not.

Epel: Wait, so you did fight those?!

Y/N: Yes.

Sebek: Hm, maybe you're not as weak as I think, human.

Jack: Is that why you're worrying then entire time?

Y/N: Yes, I just don't know how to warn you guys since you're not gonna believe me.

Others: Sorry...

It can be said that everything ends happily. You guys talked to Crowley and he has to start doing some research about your theory of the connection between Isle of Sages and Gravity Falls (Ramshakle dorm).

You become a storyteller for the first-year gang, Jade (he wants to know all the information), and you might not know but also Rook, who observed your groups from afar the day of the exploration. Telling them about those creatures that you've faced, the journals, the Pine twins, their uncles,... and even about Bill Cipher.

You tell them, they tell the others. The famous magicless Prefect used to fight paranormal and supernatural entities that have been lurking around lately?! Only your friends actually believe in it, but that's enough for you.

Until they started to find you for more information, so Ortho helped you create a blog to spread some, not every single of them though. Should start some business by solving mysterious things. Talked to Azul and he might help you, you used to help him so he wouldn't trick you with his deal,... right?

Well, who knows? You know quite clearly the consequence of making a deal without thinking right?

______

EBIIL LIA COFBKA

JFPP JB?

Why is it this long?! I just want to type something fun and spread some idea but then it turns into a whole ass rambling :')

I still have more for it, but I'm lazy, my brain might or might not die at this point and I can hear light, see noises... I should sleep but I'm hungry. :'))))

English is my second language so there might be some confusing things in my wording, let me know if you feel there is anything that needs to be corrected, thank you.

I also haven't had a chance to finish Gravity Falls' series and it also has been a while since the last time I saw it. I've tried my best to gain more information about it when wrote this but if I am wrong about something, please tell me.

Anyway, I might do part 2 for this if I'm in the mood. See ya!

Oh, Also, Idia found this CD. It's old, yes. But it's an old game CD! Might be worth a ton this day. But, most importantly, he wouldn't say no to ancient games. An otome game about dating a pink-haired high-school girl... (I changed her ending a bit I guess).

[mountainashes]

Hii!! Just saw one of your posts so, how do you think that the ud characters would be postgame?? Like, how do you think that the Blackwood events affected them?? (I hope you understand what I'm saying)

Omg hi! So, really I haven't got any solid postgame hcs, but I have a couple-

Jess and Em get past their arguement and become friends again. I think this a pretty common one but I can't imagine continuing to hate ur friend after going through all that.

Jess never turns her back to windows anymore, and generally keeps her distance from them. She slowly gets past this but it takes years.

Emily doesn't like the dark anymore and refuses to go into rooms without the lights on.

Emily mostly tries to keep on but definitely struggles, she goes to therapy.

Sam straight up disappears for a while after Blackwood, just goes away for a few months. She does come back, but most of her friends don't know where she was for that time. (Got this one off a friend I was talking with).

Sam is mostly deaf in her right ear after Hannah screamed right into it.

Jess was really injured, and she spent a while in hospital. She sometimes uses crutches. (Again, a kind of common hc but I like it alot).

Sam had some burns from the lodge exploding.

Em (if bitten) has to go to hospital as well and is on antibiotics and all sorts because her bite gets infected. (I dread to think how much bacteria and filth was in Hannah's mouth considering her diet). Em's bite becomes a scar eventually. (I have a few thoughts abt Em's bite, I might talk abt that some time).

Ashley struggles to sleep, and barely leaves her house for the first few months after. She spends most of her time in her room writing in notebooks, trying to process what happened and venting. She also draws a lot, again to try process what she saw.

Mike tries to keep on as normal- goes to college, gets himself a job and tries to stay in contact with everyone. He never lets himself be alone.

Mike does get a dog eventually.

Matt becomes much quieter, but kind of like Mike he just tries to keep going. He does stay off college for a while though, and goes to counselling. He mostly hangs out with Mike and Em and Jess. He also checks in on Ashley alot when shes still at her worst.

Matt becomes very afraid of heights.

Matt spends a lot of time with Jess while she's still in hospital, usually with Em there too because she's always there.

Chris' sprained ankle takes a while to heal, and acts up easily even when it is healed.

Chris spends most of his time sleeping so that he doesn't have to think.

Ashley is the first person to visit Chris and he only really hangs out with her for months before he speaks to anyone else from the group.

I'll shut up now, I hope these r ok! Thank you for the ask, it was super fun! :D

[one-lucky-day]

Squid Game AU, where everybody I liked lived in Season 1, and they decided to stick together (this was after the tug-of-war game). Then there's Gihun, who feels responsible for everyone (Sangwoo, Saebyeok, Ali, Ji-yeong, Mi-nyeo) because he was the one who convinced them to leave the game. At the same time, Oh Il-nam just straight-up disappeared, so he's worried sick and trying to find the old dude. Oh Il-nam ends up paying for their debts so their lives aren't in danger, but they're still piss-poor, so cue shenanigans of them trying to make money in various ways.

And by some miracle, they manage to stay freaking alive after almost three years. So then they hear about a new game about to start, and Gihun gets this dumb idea to stop people from getting recruited by the Salesman, and he straight-up just ends up taking them in some way (Dae-ho, Gyeong-seok and his daughter, Hyun-ju, Geum-ja, Yong-sik, Jun-hee, Young-mi, and Gihun’s freaking best friend, Jung Bae). Just imagine him bringing all those people into his already cramped and crowded home.

Sangwoo: Hyung...what’s that?

Gihun: *With a group of people behind him, holds up the snack in his hand* Gimbap?

Lol, and the Salesman and In-ho just being freaking fascinated by Gihun because this sopping wet cat not only convinced people to leave the game from three years ago, he also convinced people not to play in the current year's game. So, of course, they want to get closer to him. The Salesman is always popping up where Gihun is, In-ho takes up a civilian identity, Young-il, and decides to help Gihun and his friends by giving them legit jobs. This, in turn, catches Jun-ho’s attention because he obviously freaking recognizes his own brother and doesn’t know what In-ho is playing at. So he goes to see what this Gihun person is all about and finds himself getting drawn to Gihun too. So Gihun has these new men in his life trying to get his attention. Meanwhile, Sangwoo, who also has feelings for Gihun, is wondering where the hell these men came from and is fighting for his life not to push any of them off a high place or something.

And Gihun is completely oblivious. He is just freaking oblivious about the whole thing. He has no idea that four men are into him.

But the others know. The others are fully aware, and they are all invested. They keep scores, and if the person they are betting on scores higher than everyone else by the end of the week, they get to order the others around.

Jung Bae, for the life of him, cannot fathom how his friend could be so clueless.

In-ho/Young-il: I bought this ring for you because the diamond reminded me of the sparkle in your eyes.

Gihun: Ha ha. Thanks. What a nice boss.

Jung Bae: How!!? How can you not see that!?

Gihun: I do see the ring! It’s already on my finger!

Jung Bae: *flips a table*

[dark-elf-writes]

Can you imagine the reaction of Lily learning about Demigods? Seeing these children gearing up for a war? Hearing their fate and feeling so much anger?

It’s towards the beginning when she first sees them, the groups of children wearing armor that looked like it was straight out of 300 and carrying strange, even by the afterlife’s standards, glowing weapons. They couldn’t be more than fourteen. They’re laughing and bumping into each other in the way that kids do as they wave to the gate demons and make their way toward the resident elevators.

“Training with the legions again?” One of the demons asks.

One of the kids laughs and raises a glowing spear. “Someone has to show you giant assholes what it means to train halfblood style! You can’t even be hurt by the lava here! It’s why you’re all so soft.”

The demon hefted his giant battle axe, showing just how “soft” he was, but the kids only laughed again. Unafraid. Teasing.

Lily had seen enough soldiers in her life to know how the different branches teased each other, and this… this was so similar that she stepped away form her desk after the kids had disappeared into the break elevator and made her way toward the blue skinned demon with the axe.

“What’s up with them?”

He blinked, then a dawning look of realization bloomed across his face. It was cute in the “clueless puppy” kind of way, which Lily wouldn’t have thought was possible for someone who cared an axe taller than she was but Hell had proved her wrong plenty of times before and would continue to do so.

“Oh! Right you’re new! Those are the demigods. They tend to stick to the underworld since Elysium throws some killer parties, but every so often some of them come down to train with the legions. They say it keeps them from getting rusty.”

Lily blinked. “But… they’re kids.”

The demon’s smile faded a little and one of his giant hands moved to rub the back of his neck. “Yeah. Demigods… they’re live a rough life up top. The monsters there are drawn to them, so they have to learn how to fight young. Most of them… well, you won’t see many adult demigods walking around the universal hallway if you get me. We all try to do what we can to help them out and the training with the legions is one of those things.”

Horror, grief, and anger flooded her.

Did Persephone know? Well, duh of course she knew but…

How many demigods were in the afterlife, forever teenagers and laughing as they wielded their weapons? How many were younger?

She felt sick.

A broad shoulder nudged hers, and the absurdity of seeing the demon she had been talking to nearly bent double to manage the move snapped her out of her horror, at least for now. “You can take off for the day if you want, Ms. Lily. We know learning about the demigods is… a lot.”

None of the kids who had passed through hell’s gate had been older than fourteen. And all of them had walked with the experience of soldiers.

“Yeah… yeah I think I’m heading out. Tell the others I say bye, would you?”

Lily didn’t wait for an answer, mindlessly patting the demons massive bicep before making her way back to the elevators that would take her up to the universal hallway.

She had a friend she needed to have a chat with.

[quilloftheages]

Chapter 1: A Night in Vienna - Hans Landa x OC (1st Person)

Premise 

Set in the Inglourious Basterds universe, Elizabeth Acton, the daughter of an Oxford diplomat, is studying history at the University of Vienna in the 1920s. After an unexpected encounter with the enigmatic detective Hans Landa, their lives intertwine in a passionate romance. Despite a loving marriage and idyllic life together, Elizabeth's world is shattered when Hans mysteriously disappears, leaving only a note. Heartbroken and alone, she embarks on a journey to Paris to rebuild her life and confront the haunting question: why did Hans leave? And will she ever see him again?

Story: 

Chapter 1

Vienna, in the late 1920’s, had a certain magic to it. It was a city of art, music, and intellect, where the streets echoed with the footsteps of philosophers and dreamers. I had arrived here from Oxford, together with my family. My father’s career as a diplomat meant he was stationed in the city, and though Vienna was a world away from the rolling green hills of England, I found myself captivated by its allure. The university of Vienna was renowned for its history program, and studying here seemed the perfect way to carve out my future. 

But if I’m honest, I was just drawn to the idea of escape. Oxford, for all its charm, had always felt like a cage. My father’s expectations, the stifling formality of our lives – it all felt so scripted. Vienna, on the other hand, promised something different. It was a city alive with possibilities, and I was determined to take advantage of every one. 

In the evenings, after long days of lectures, I’d attend French lessons with my friends, Elise and Margot. The lessons were my ticket to the next dream: Paris. I’d always imagined myself walking the boulevards, teaching history at a lycée, living among the poets and artist. It was a romantic vision, perhaps, but at eighteen, I had no reasons not to dream big. 

One night, after our French class, we decided to stop at a bar near the city center. It was a cozy little place, dimly lit with a warm glow from the gas lamps and the gentle hum of conversation in the air. The scent of tobacco smoke mingled with the sharp aroma of schnapps and beer, and the clinking of glasses felt like the pulse of the room. We took a seat in a corner, practicing our French while laughing at Elise’s attempts to order wine In the language. 

It was then that I saw him for the first time. 

He stood near the bar, dressed in a dark, tailored coat, his posture straight and confident. There was something striking about him – sharp cheekbones, piercing eyes that seemed to take in everything around him without giving anything away. His gaze moved across the room and paused on us, or more specifically, on me. 

I tried not to look back, but curiosity got the better of me. our eyes met, and a flicker of smile played at the corner of his mouth. Something about it unsettled me, though I couldn’t quite put a finger on why. Still, I felt drawn to him. 

Elise noticed my starring. “He’s a handsome one. Though I must say perhaps a little too old for you.” She teased. Margot noticed what we were talking about and chuckled. “Good for you, Liz. He’s handsome and older. Every woman’s dream” she teased. I chuckled at both of them. Margot was the flirt of the group. Every man wanted her, and every woman wanted to be her. 

“Not interested,” I lied as I took a sip of my glass of wine, trying to escape the conversation. Elise sent me a small smile while Margot just chuckled, “If you say so,” she teased back. Our conversation flowed until suddenly I noticed a presence standing by our table. I looked up and spotted the man from before. Up close he didn’t seem tall, but he had a commanding presence. 

“Good evening, ladies,” he said in flawless German, tipping his hat politely. My German was rudimentary, but I caught enough to understand his greeting. His voice was smooth, carrying an air of authority. “May I join you?”

Elise glanced at me a bit unsure. But Margot, always the bold one, nodded. “Of course,” she replied. 

He pulled out a chair, sitting down with ease, his attention now fully on me. “Hans Landa,” he introduced himself, extending his hand. 

I shook it, trying to suppress the shutter of nerves. “Elizabeth Acton,” I replied in English, my German too weak for conversation. 

“You’re not from here,” he said, switching effortlessly to English. It was more of a statement than a question. 

“No,” I smiled, a little surprised at his fluency. “Oxford, originally. My father is a diplomat, stationed here for now. I’m studying at the university.” 

“Ah, a student of history in the city of history and culture.” His smile widened, though there was sometime about it that remained enigmatic, unreadable. 

“How did you know I studied history?” I asked baffled, not having told him that. He sent me a wolf-like smile. “Intuition,” he replied, making all of his chuckle. 

“What brings you to Vienna? Aside from your father’s work?” he asked. 

“I wanted to study here. It seemed… different. And I’m learning French. We all are, actually.” I paused, feeling self-conscious under his intense gaze. “I’d like to go to Paris someday.”

“Paris is beautiful,” he said, leaning back slightly. “But Vienna has its own charm. You may find it hard to leave once you lived here long enough.” 

Our conversation drifted into safer topics – Vienna, my studies, the little things about the city that charmed me. Hans listened attentively, nodding at all the right moments, his dark eyes never leaving mine. There was something magnetic about him. He was older, more worldly, but that only made him more intriguing. 

As the evening wore on, I found myself relaxing in his presence. He had a way making you feel like you were the only person in the room, as if your words mattered more than anyone else’s. And yet, there was something guarded about him, something he held back. 

I was drawn to that mystery. ______________________________________________________________

It had only been a few days since that night at the bar, but Hans Landa had already lodged himself in my thoughts. There was something about his presence that lingered, like a faint scent you couldn’t quite place but couldn’t forget. His attention was exhilarating.

After another evening of French lessons, my friends and I decided to take a different route home. The bustling square near St. Stephen’s Cathedral was vibrant with life – street vendors packing up for the night, the smell of roasted chestnuts in the air, and couples hurrying off to their favourite cafés. And then, as we turned the corner, I saw him. 

Hans stood leaning casually against a lamppost, his hat tipped slightly forward, watching the world pass by. His eyes flicked toward me, and I felt my heart skip. 

“Good evening, Miss Acton,” he greeted me with a slow smile, ignoring my friend, focusing solely on me. 

I was momentarily stunned that he remembered my name. “Mr. Landa,” I replied, hoping my voice sounded steadier than I felt. 

“Vienna is small, after all,” he said, his English accented but fluent. “We seem to be crossing paths again.” 

He gestured toward the street. “May I walk with you? Unless, of course, I’m interrupting.” He glanced briefly at Elise and Margot, but it was clear he was only asking out for politeness. 

I hesitated, glancing at my friends. Margot just smirked, while Elise gave me a knowing look and whispered. “Go ahead. We’ll see you tomorrow.” 

And just like that, I found myself walking with Hans through the twilight streets of Vienna, the atmosphere between us buzzing with curiosity. We talked – well, mostly he asked questions, and I answered. I found myself telling him more about my studies, about Oxford, my father’s work, my childhood. He listened with an intensity that made me feel seen. 

“I’ve been meaning to ask,” he said as we neared my street. “How are the French lessons going?”

I smiled sheepishly. “I understand much more than I can speak. My accent is… rather terrible.” 

He chuckled, and the sound warmed me. “Perhaps I could help.” 

I looked up at him and smiled. “I would like that very much.” 

The next week, Hans appeared outside the university as I was leaving my class. His presence was becoming less of a surprise and more of an expectation – one I wasn’t sure how to feel about, yet undeniably looked forward to. 

“Miss Acton,” he greeted, falling into step beside me. “I’ve been thinking about your French. If you’d like, I could assist with your lessons.” 

I raised an eyebrow. “You speak French?”

“Fluently,” he said, with a touch of pride. “After all, I’ve spent some time in France during my travels for work.” 

I was hesitant at first. Hans was a detective, a man with a mysterious aura, and this offer felt oddly personal. But I agreed. 

And so, our meetings took on a new routine. We would meet after my French lessons, and Hans would quiz me, correcting my pronunciation with gentle patience. It was strange – he was often so sharp and perceptive, but with me, he was careful, as though he didn’t want to rush anything. 

One evening, after correcting my imperfect “R” sound for what felt like the hundredth time, he looked at me with a teasing smile. “If you wish to speak with Parisians, you must soften your tongue. Let the language move through you like music.” 

His voice was so close, his breath warm against the evening air. I tried to phrase again, and he nodded approvingly, his smile lingering just a bit longer than usual. 

A few weeks later, after one of our informal lessons, we stood on the street corner, neither of us quite ready to say goodbye. 

Hans shifted, his eyes narrowing in thought before he spoke. “Elizabeth,” he began, using my first name for the first time, the sound of it unexpected and somehow intimate. “I’d like to take you out. Properly.”

I blinked, caught off guard. “You mean… as in a date?” 

His lips quirked into a half-smile. “Yes, a date. Tomorrow evening? There’s a small café near the Danube. Quiet, warm…I think you’d like it.” 

I hesitated for only a moment before nodding, with a smile. “I’d like that.” He smiled charmingly back which made my heart flutter. ______________________________________________________________

The café Hans had chosen was quaint, tucked away from the busy streets of Vienna. It had wooden tables, candlelight flickering in the soft breeze, and a view of the river that was simply enchanting. We sat by the window, the city reflecting off the water in soft hues of gold and blue. 

Hans seemed more relaxed than usual, the guarded air he often wore like amor fading in the candlelight. We talked about everything and nothing. I told him about my life in Oxford, about my younger brother, James, who was still in school. In return, he shared snippets of his life – he’d grown up here in Austria, in the Alps to be precise. He had travelled widely for his work, but seemed to evade anything too personal. 

As the evening drew on, there was a brief silence. Hans reached across the table, gently placing his hand over mine. 

“Elizabeth,” he said, his voice lower, more serious. “I enjoy this. Being with you. I… don’t often feel this way.” 

I felt my heart quicken. “Neither do I.” 

We walked along the Danube afterward, the stars reflecting off the water. When we stopped by the river’s edge, Hans turned to face me fully, his eyes dark and unreadable. For a moment, he simply looked at me, his gaze intense, as if weighing some unspoken decision. 

Then, without a word, he leaned down and kissed me, his lips warm and soft against mine. 

The kiss was gentle, tentative, as though he was testing the waters. His hand came up to cradle my cheek, his thumb brushing lightly across my skin. I responded instinctively, letting my eyes closed as I melted into the warmth of his touch. The city seemed to blur around us, and for that brief moment, it felt like we were the only two people in the world. 

When we finally pulled away, the air between us was thick with unspoken emotions. I looked up at him, trying to gauge what he was thinking, but Hans, ever the enigma, simply smiled softly and took my hand, guiding me away from the river. ______________________________________________________________

The weeks that followed were filled with long walks, secret glances, and quiet conversations. Hans was unlike any man I had ever known – intelligent, mysterious, and yet gentle with me in ways I never expected. He was thoughtful, bringing me books from his personal collection, surprising me with small gifts like pressed flowers or an ink bottle from Paris, knowing I dreamt of going there. 

Our time together felt stolen, as if we were living in a world apart from everything else. We would meet in the afternoons after my classes, sit in a café or stroll through the gardens. There was always a tension beneath the surface, something deepening between us that neither of us could ignore. 

It was late one evening after dinner, and we were sitting in a quiet park beneath the glow of the streetlamps. Hans had been quieter than usual, his mood more intense, his eyes following me with a kind of hunger. I felt it too – the pull between us, the unspoken desire. 

We talked, but it was the only surface-level, both of us skirting around what we were really feeling. Finally, as the conversation died down, Hans turned to me, his expression unreadable. 

“I’ve been holding back, Fräulein,” he admitted, his voice low and raw. “But I don’t think I can anymore.” 

Before I could respond, he kissed me again, but this time there was nothing tentative about it. His lips pressed harder, his hands pulling me close, and I felt the full force of what had been simmering between us. I returned the kiss with equal intensity, my arms wrapping around his neck as the world spun around us. 

When we finally broke apart breathless, the air between us had changed. We didn’t speak, but there was no need. We both knew that things had shifted. I smiled up at him, and he smiled back. And in that moment, he seemed to me to be the most beautiful and charming man, I had ever met. ______________________________________________________________

It didn’t take long after that before Hans suggested to meet my family. My parents were cautious, particularly my father. He was sceptical of Hans, though polite. 

Dinner with my parents was a formal affair, and Hans, to his credit, handled it well. He charmed my mother with his knowledge of art, and even managed to get a laugh out of my younger brother, James, who was typical shy around strangers. My father, however, remained distant, his questions sharp, probing Hans’ background and intentions. 

After the meal, when Hans and my father retreated to the study for a private conversation, I was left with a knot of anxiety. My father was protective, and though he rarely interfered with my life, I could sense his concerns. 

When they finally emerged, Hans looked calm, though my father’s expression remained unreadable. Still, when he shook Hans’ hand, there was a sense of grudging respect. 

I followed him to the door, and while I really wanted to kiss him, I couldn’t with my parents lingering close by. He smiled at me and winked as he left, making me chuckle. 

That night as I went to bed, I had a smile on my face and dreamed of Hans. 

We continued like this for months. He would help my study, take me on walks, to see museums and art galleries. He had come over a couple of more times to dine with my family, and in time my father seemed to like him more and more. 

Even after all of this it still took me by complete surprise. I came home one evening after class, expecting the house to be quiet. Instead, I found Hans sitting in the Parlor, his hat resting on the table beside him, his coat neatly folded over the chair. My heart raced in surprise. 

“Hans? What are you doing here?” I asked, stepping into the room, confusion clear on my face. 

He stood, walking over to me with a serious expression. “I’ve just spoken with your father.” 

My stomach flipped. “About what?” I asked in concern. 

Hans took my hands in his, his grip firm but gentle. His eyes locked onto mine, and for the first time since we’d met, I saw something like uncertainty in his gaze. 

“My liebe, Elizabeth,” he said softly, his voice thick with emotion. “I’ve asked your father for his blessing to marry you.” 

The air seemed to leave the room, and I stared at him, trying to process what he had just said. 

“I love you,” he continued, his hands tightening slightly around mine. “And I want to spend the rest of my life with you. If you’ll have me.”

For a moment, I couldn’t speak. Tears pricked at the corners of my eyes, and all I could do was nod. 

Hans smiled then, a rare, genuine smile that made my heart soar. He pulled me into his arms, and as he held me close, I whispered, “Yes. Yes, I’ll marry you.”

We kissed again, and this time, there was no hesitation, no uncertainty - just the promise of a future together. 

Just a few short months later, I graduated from the University of Vienna. Hans was there, sitting in the audience with that same proud smile that made my heart flutter. The diploma in my hands felt like a culmination of years of hard work, a symbol of the life I had dreamed of building. But the moment I walked across the stage, my eyes found Hans, and I realised in that moment that the future was no longer just mine – it was ours. 

Our wedding followed soon after. It was a small, intimate ceremony in a charming Viennese church, attended by my family and friends, and some of Hans’ friends. My mother fussed over every detail, while my father walked me down the aisle, his expression soft with emotion. Hans waited at the altar, looking more handsome than I’d ever seen him, his dark eyes flowing with affection and promise.

The ceremony was simple but perfect. The moment we kissed as husband and wife, I felt a swell of love so strong that it left me breathless. I knew my life had changed forever. ______________________________________________________________

After the wedding, I moved into Hans’ apartment – a beautiful, sunlit space in the heart of Vienna. The rooms were filled with the warm, earthy scent of wood and leather, and large windows overlooked the bustling streets below. It was smaller than my family’s home, but it felt infinitely cozier. We spent our first days as newlyweds either in bed or arranging the apartment to make it our own, combining our lives piece by piece. 

Life settled into a peaceful rhythm. I found work as a teacher at a local girls’ school, a position that fulfilled me more than I could have imagined. The students were eager to learn, and I found myself pouring my heart into every lesson. 

Hans’ work as a detective kept him busy, but when he was home, we filled our time with quiet dinners, long walks through Vienna’s parks, and cozy nights reading together by the fire. He would often surprise me with flowers or a new book, and I loved the small ways we cared for each other. We were happy – truly, blissfully happy. 

A year or so into the marriage, my father received word that his posting in Vienna was coming to an end. My parents were being re-stationed back to England, and though I knew this day would come, it still felt like shock. 

The evening before their departure, my family gathered for a final dinner at our favourite restaurant. The air was thick with emotion – my mother trying to hold back tears, my father quieter than usual, and James, now taller and more mature, struggling to say goodbye. 

“I’m proud of you,” my father said, hugging me tightly. “And I know you’ve made the right choice.”

I watched them leave the next morning, waving until their car disappeared from view, tears streaming down my face. Vienna felt emptier without them, but I still had Hans. And that was enough.  ______________________________________________________________

Hans I had tried to start a family, but as the years went by, our hopes began to fade. Each month brought fresh disappointment, and I started to fear that the fault lay with me. Doctors confirmed my worst fears – something about my body, something I couldn’t fix, made it difficult, perhaps impossible, for me to conceive. 

I wept often during that time, feeling a deep sense of failure. Hans, ever gentle and patient, would hold me, his hands stroking my hair as I sobbed into his chest. 

“We’ll be fine,” he whispered, though I could hear the sadness in his voice. “We heave each other, my darling Elizabeth. That’s all I need.” 

He never blamed me, not once. But I couldn’t help but feel like I had let him down. 

To lift our spirits, Hans surprised me with a trip to Paris – the city I had always dreamed of visiting. We arrived in spring, the city blooming with life and colour. The air was warm, the streets lively with music and laughter. Paris was everything I had imagined it would be – romantic, vibrant, and a full of history. 

We spent our days strolling along the Seine, visiting art galleries and historical landmarks. Hans took me to a charming little café, the same one we had spoken about on one of our first dates, and we sat for hours drinking wine and watching the world go by. 

One evening, as we stood on a bridge overlooking the river, the lights of the Eiffel Tower sparkling in the distance, Hans pulled me close. “I promised you Paris,” he said softly, pressing a kiss to my forehead. “And here we are.” 

It was a perfect moment. I felt as though all my dreams had come true, even if the path was different that I’d imagined. 

Years passed in a contended blur. We had settled into a comfortable life in Vienna, one filled with love, even if it wasn’t the life I had originally planned. I was happy teaching, and Hans was content in his work, though he often spoke of darker times looming in the political sphere. 

One day, I came home from work, expecting to find Hans waiting for me, as usual. Instead, the house was eerily quiet. On the dining table, there was a single note, written in his familiar, neat script. 

I’ve been called away on urgent business. Fear not, I will return soon. Trust me. I love you, mein liebe, Elizabeth. 

I stared at the note, my heart pounding in my chest. Hans had never left like this before. His work as a detective sometimes required long hours, but he had always kept me informed. Now, he had disappeared with only a cryptic message. 

As I ate my supper I could not shake of the feeling of loneliness. I spent the rest of the evening reading but found myself often looking at Hans’ chair and felt sad. As I went to bed that night, I wore one of Hans’ shirts in hope that it would quench my longing for him, but it did the exact opposite. I only found myself missing him more. ______________________________________________________________

The days without Hans turned into weeks, and those weeks into months. At first, I tried to carry on as if nothing had changed. I went to the school, taught my students, and returned home to an empty apartment. I pretended I wasn’t watching the clock, that I wasn’t waiting for the sound of his footsteps on the stairwell or the creak of the front door.

But the silence grew unbearable. 

His note lay where I had left it, on the mantle above the fireplace, the ink faded but still legible. I must have read it a thousand times, hoping that somehow, if I stared hard enough, the words would change, or that they would reveal some hidden meaning. But there was nothing. Just the same cryptic message, and the same growing fear gnawing at my insides. 

Where had he gone? Why had he not told me? And – worst of all – was he ever coming back?

I had tried to remain strong, but Vienna no longer felt like the vibrant city I had fallen in love with. Every corner of the apartment whispered of our life together – the quiet breakfasts by the window, the evening spent reading by the fire, and the late nights when Hans would pull me close and hold me as if I was the most precious thing in the world. Without him, those memories were like shadows, haunting me with their absence. 

It wasn’t just his disappearance that hurt. It was the not knowing. Hans had always been so careful with his words, so precise, and yet this time, he had left me with nothing but uncertainty. His work as a detective had always involved secrets, but this felt different. This felt personal. 

One evening, I visited his office, my hope dwindling with every passing day. His colleagues gave me nothing but blank stares, polite refusals, and vague promises that they’d look into it. But they didn’t seem to care. Hans was just another name on a list of officers, one who had apparently gone off on some undisclosed mission. I was his wife, yet it seemed as though I knew the least of all. 

Trust me. 

How was I supposed to trust him when he had left me like this? ______________________________________________________________

I began to write to him. At first, it was just a few words on paper, trying to make sense of the chaos in my mind. But as the weeks went by, the letters grew longer, filled with everything I couldn’t say aloud. I told him about the school, about my students, and how they were thriving in their history lessons. I wrote about Vienna, the city we had both loved so much, and hot it now seemed to reflect the emptiness inside me. 

I even wrote about my dreams – the ones we had shared, the life we had planned. I told him how much I wanted to see him, to hold him, to hear his voice again. How I missed the warmth of his touch, the way his eyes would soften when he looked at me. 

But there was no address to send the letters to. no place where I could reach him. So they remained in a drawer, growing in number, waiting for the say when I might have the chance to give them to him. 

After months of waiting in vain, something inside me snapped. It wasn’t an act of anger or frustration, but rather a quiet, aching realisation that I could no longer stay here, trapped in a life that had once been filled with love and now felt like a prison. 

I began to pack my things, carefully folding away the clothes and trinkets that had once made up our home. The books we had collected together, the small souvenirs from our trips around the city – everything seemed to carry the weight of what had been lost. I left the ring Hans had given me on the bedside table, the one reminder of the love we had shared, but I couldn’t bear to wear it anymore. 

My final goodbyes were said to the few friends I had made, those who had watched me as I slowly crumbled under the weight of Hans’ absence. They offered me sympathy, but no one had any real answers. Vienna had become too painful for me to stay. 

Paris had always been my dream, and now, in the absence of everything, it seemed like the only place I could go. 

I booked my passage on the next train to France, leaving behind the life I had built, the one I had hoped to share with Hans. The city I had once loved felt foreign to me now, its streets empty without him by my side. As the train pulled out of the station, I looked back one last time at the skyline of Vienna, the domes and spires that had been the backdrop to my happiest moments. 

But I knew there was nothing left for me here. Not anymore. ______________________________________________________________

Paris was everything I had imagined it to be – the cut of lights, of romance, and art. But it was also a city of ghosts, filled with reminders of the life I had once dreamed of having with Hans. Every corner café, every bridge across the Seine, every street vendor selling flowrrs – all of it reminded me of the promises we had made to each other, the life we were supposed to build together. 

But Paris was also where I began to heal. 

I found a small apartment near Montmartre, not far from the artists and musicians who brought the street to life with their creativity. It was nothing like the apartment Hans and I had shared in Vienna, but it was mine. A space where I could start over. 

Teaching had always been my passion, and I found work at a local school. The children here were different – more worldly, more curious. They asked questions about the world beyond France, and I found myself telling them stories of Vienna, of the history I had studied so passionately. In a way, it felt like I was teaching them about the life I had lost. 

Days turned into weeks, and slowly, I began to find some measure of peace. The ache of Hans’ absence never truly left, but it become more bearable with time. I still thought of him often – wondering where he was, whether he was safe, and if he ever thought of me. But I no longer let those thoughts consume me. 

Paris became my sanctuary. It wasn’t the life I had planned, but it was a life, nonetheless. And for the first time in months, I felt like I could breathe again. 

I still had the letters, tucked away in a small box at the back of my closet. I hadn’t written to him in a long time, but I couldn’t bring myself to throw them away. They were a record of my grief, my longing, my hope. 

Sometimes, late at night, I would open the box and read through them, imagining what it would be like to see Hans again. I wondered if he would still recognise the woman I had become – the one who had been broken by his absence but had somehow found strength to go on. 

Perhaps one day I would find the courage to let him go entirely. But for now, I held on to the memories, the love we had shared, and the hope that somewhere, Hans was thinking of me too. 

I wasn’t sure if I would ever hear from him again. But I had learned to live with the uncertainty. After all, life in Paris had given me something precious – myself. 

Everything was getting better – until the war began. 

[blue--ingenue]

"Repentance"

Summary: for the prompts, "I've seen the way you look at me when you think I don't notice" and "I fucking hate you!"

Author's Notes: to the anon who requested this, the combo you picked gave me so many ideas for angst 😭 i got a bit carried away with this one. i hope you like it!

Sebastian fiddled with the sleeves of his dress robes for perhaps the hundredth time since they began their walk from the common room to the Great Hall. Ominis, the picture of polite nobility, had insisted on escorting Anne all the way to the dance. Sebastian had hung back a few paces in order to give the happy couple a wide berth. Without turning his head, Ominis called back to him.

“You know, you could have avoided all this sulking if you had just asked her to the ball,” he commented idly. Sebastian smoothed his curls and adjusted his coat. “Asked who?”

He had never been good at lying to Ominis, and even less so with Anne. His friend only sighed wearily while his twin gave him an exasperated look over her date’s shoulder. It was equal parts pity and ‘I told you so.’ He set his jaw and gazed stubbornly back at her. “She made her decision,” he stated matter-of-factly. By now their group had reached the entrance. The ceiling had been bewitched to bear a gentle fall of snow. Wisps of white descended from silver clouds and disappeared just before they met the floor. Gone were the house tables. A lively waltz poured from the orchestra of enchanted instruments floating in place of the faculty table. Tables laden with food and drink, pastries and pies, hugged the far walls, while smaller tables and chairs set up a perimeter around the dance floor. Already couples were dancing, some with more grace than others, as more students arrived. 

Anne held his gaze and looked like she was about to say something when her eyes widened and locked on something behind him. “Oh Sebastian, she’s beautiful,” she whispered.

He almost didn’t dare to turn around. The witch in question - the only one that she could possibly be referring to - was already the most divine beauty he had ever beheld. He didn’t know how she could surpass perfection. He didn’t think it was possible, but suddenly he needed to know. When he turned around it he felt as though he’d taken a Depulso straight to the stomach.

She was radiant. Her dress fit her perfectly. Everything, from the colors that complemented her complexion to the dainty ruffled sleeves that draped from her elbows just so, stole the breath from his lungs. When they were young, their mother would read Sebastian and his sister muggle fairy tales. He’d loved imagining himself as the dashing prince saving the princess with windswept hair and a charming smile for any occasion. Those days were long gone, but seeing her descend the stairs like his very own storybook dream was enough to break him from his trance. Suddenly he couldn’t remember why he hadn’t asked her in the first place. All he knew was that he needed to be near her.

It felt like he’d been holding his breath and each step closer was a desperate kick to the surface, a burning need for air. Her head dipped in his direction and she smiled. A soft, sweet thing that crinkled at her eyes and tipped up the corners of her lips. They were but a few strides from each other. Giddy, he offered her a hand and lightly bowed. Like a dream, she reached out to place her hand in his. His chest was filled with a warm, honeyed happiness. Gracefully, she reached the last step, offered her own hand - and placed it in the waiting palm of Garreth Weasley. 

Sebastian froze, arm still held aloft. Weasley kissed her hand and bowed. She smiled down at him - her date - Sebastian’s jealous mind spat, and reached into his coat pocket for his wand. He flicked his wrist and produced a bouquet of crisp white roses. She laughed, a light and airy sound reserved only for him. He spoke without thinking.

“Actually, she likes foxglove,” he asserted. The startled Gryffindors snapped their attention to him and he could practically hear Ominis’ disappointed groan behind him. She seemed to notice him for the first time that night and several emotions flitted across her pretty features in quick succession. Shock, confusion, the flash of a blush, and finally irritation. 

“They’re your favorite flower,” he explained uselessly. Gods, the last time he’d been at such a mortifying loss for words he had fallen asleep in Potions and half-assed his way through a verbal presentation. His Gryffindor parted her lips to speak, but it was Garreth who spoke first.

“My apologies, I’ll make sure to pick foxglove next time,” he replied easily. Sebastian couldn’t decide what he hated more: the sickening sincerity of his apology, or the fact that he thought there would be a next time with her. In classic Sebastian Sallow fashion, his mouth moved faster than his mind. 

“There won’t be a next time,” he growled. For once in his life Garreth didn’t appear to have a witty remark at the ready. “I -”

His friend placed a soft hand on his bicep and smiled with forced composure. “Why don’t you find us a table, Garreth? I’ll join you in just a moment,” she supplied. With a polite nod to Sebastian he shot his date a grateful look and disappeared into the ballroom. As soon as he was out of earshot his Gryffindor let slip her mask of composure and whirled to face him. Shit.

“What the hell are you playing at, Sallow?” she seethed. The rational side of him was screaming for him to apologize for being such a cad. But the irrational side, the one that felt the urge to whip out his wand at the very thought of Weasley touching her again, had no interest in reason.

“Of all the eligible dates in our year, how could you choose him?” he demanded. She took a step closer to him in a manner that said no amount of fitted silk and lace could keep her from blasting him across the hall. 

“Because he asked me!” she shouted. Several heads turned in their direction, but neither of them cared. They were always like this, pushing each other to the brink of destruction until one of them - or both of them - fell over the edge.

He opened his mouth to retort, but she wasn’t finished. “Garreth is kind and funny and caring. He is a gentleman, and that is more than I can say for you right now.”

He laughed, a cold and punched-out sound. “So he’s the best you pull?” Stop! His inner voice urged him. He could feel himself crossing the threshold of saying something truly cruel. Something seemed to click for her. She tilted her chin and looked him dead in the eyes.

“You’re jealous,” she said simply. She can’t know, he thought to himself. If she knew how much he cared and didn’t reciprocate his feelings, he didn’t think he could bear it. He couldn’t lose her.Never her. No. It was much better to keep her at arms’ length than not keep her at all. He scoffed and the lack of confidence in his voice was clear even to his own ears.

“What could I possibly be jealous of?” he snapped. She took another step forward so that she was mere inches from his face. He looked down and saw the same look she wore when she had cornered her opponent in Crossed Wands. “You’re jealous,” she began, lowly, “because Garreth asked me and you didn’t.”  She was close, so close that he could smell the peppermint on her breath. His thoughts ran in a thousand different directions. She was tantalizingly close, she was completely correct, couldn’t let her find out. He panicked, grasping for a response to distance himself from the truth. He was hers, utterly and completely. What’s the farthest thing from love? he asked himself. He said the first thing he could think of, shouting it in a blind panic. 

“I fucking hate you!”

His words shocked himself. He didn’t dare to breathe. She physically recoiled as though he’d struck her. Her pretty eyes were wide with shock and for a moment Sebastian thought she would hex him. Instead a sob punched from her chest, wrending his heart in two, and she ran past him and through the doors leading away from the Great Hall. 

“Wait!” he called, desperately. As though his pitiful plea could overcome the knife he’d wrenched into her heart. He had to find her. He needed to fix this.

-

She hadn’t made it far in her uncomfortable heels. She was sitting on one of the stone benches near the aqueduct gardens, shivering amid the snowfall. The silence was broken occasionally by her sniffles and sobs. Sebastian’s heart ached for her and he cursed himself for being the one to cause her such pain. He called her name and she went rigid. He spoke softly as though he were approaching a wounded animal. Cautiously he sat on the far end of the bench and let himself look at her. Her eyes were red from crying and her lip trembled, stilling only when she sniffled. She wouldn’t meet his eyes, and he couldn’t blame her. He had to be the last person on earth that she wanted to talk to, and for good reason. Sebastian was mustering up the courage to speak, digging through his heart and soul to find the right words, when she spoke. Her voice was so soft, barely more than a hoarse whisper - ”I’ve seen the way you look at me when you think I don’t notice.”

She looked up at him then, eyes full of betrayal yet so resolute. “Or at least, I thought I did,” she said with a shake of her head. “I see now that I was just being foolish. Some part of me hoped beyond reason that you shared my feelings. That you loved me even a fraction of how much I love you. I see now that I was wrong,” her voice caught on a sob at the last word, but she pressed on. “You needn’t worry about me going to the ball with Garreth. And I promise you won’t have to spend another second in my presence,” she finished. 

She loved him. Every fear he held onto, of her abandoning him, rejecting him, seemed so stupidly utterly foolish. She loved him. And he was about to lose her. Sebastian surged forward, kneeling in the snow before her and taking her hands in his. Desperate and with nothing to lose, he spoke quickly.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it. I could never mean it. Not to you,” he implored her to listen. “You can hate me, hex me, do anything you want with me, but allow me a moment to speak.” She met his eyes and nodded weakly. He sighed at the smallest of victories.

“I could never hate you. And you were right about all of it. I was jealous. I was a jealous, cowardly git because I was too afraid to ask you myself. And when you accused me of it, I panicked. I thought of anything to say to keep you from seeing the truth of your words and I hurt you. I wish those words had never passed my lips, but they did. And for that I am so, truly sorry. You’re my best friend and the most extraordinary girl I’ll ever meet. I know I don’t deserve you, but regardless, I love you.”

Her brow furrowed. “You don’t have to say that just because you feel sorry for me,” she huffed. Sebastian was gobsmacked. He’d bared his heart to her and had no idea what to say now. But Sebastian Sallow had always been a man of action more than words. He gently brushed the tears from her cheek and brushed a stray lock behind her hair, moving his face closer as he did so. His lips hovered before hers, giving her the chance to recoil. 

“May I?” he breathed. She stared deep into his eyes and whispered, “Please.”

He pressed his lips against hers. They were impossibly soft and so warm despite the snowfall surrounding them. He gently pushed against her and she pushed back. His nerves were on fire. He pressed a hand to her waist, pulling her closer, and slid his other hand behind her neck to deepen this kiss. He held her like something precious, like she was breathing life into his starved lungs. When at last they pulled away blinked a few times before a tear slid down her cheek.

For the hundredth time that night, Sebastian panicked. Had he misread the situation? Had she not wanted to kiss him? “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable. I’ll just - ” she cut him off by pressing her lips to his. The kiss was soft, fleeting, but effectively cut off his stream of panicked thoughts.

Inexplicably, she laughed. “I accept your apology,” she whispered. And Sebastian was sure that the smile she gave him was warm enough to disperse the gentle storm above them. He grinned, but the dregs of guilt lingered in his chest. 

“Is there anything I can do to make it up to you?” he asked. She pulled him up so that they were both sitting on the bench. “Would you just…hold me?” she asked, tentatively. 

He couldn’t have obliged faster. She spread out on the rest of the bench with her head in Sebastian’s lap. He angled his head forward to shield her from the falling snow. She gazed up at him as he stroked her hair, and the silence was comfortable. It was as though even the night knew that something fundamental had shifted. “Sebastian?”

“Yes?” he answered. She smiled up at him, and he felt his world right itself on its axis. “You were a git. But I love you.” 

He chuckled softly, being careful not to disturb her head where it rested. “I am. But I’m your git, and I love you. So very, very much.” She laughed and suddenly he couldn’t remember why he’d ever been afraid in the first place.