#maybe i will finish this later. but for now take this

[izzih22]

i love to see paige just spoiling azzi and giving her whatever she wants and maybe getting teased by the team for it

Whatever You Want

Note: I like this one tbh

It starts with fruit snacks.

Or maybe it started way before that… before the team even realized they were watching a slow descent into Paige Bueckers, star of the team, succumbing completely to the gravitational pull of Azzi Fudd.

But the fruit snacks make it obvious.

“Bueckers,” Caroline calls from across the locker room, holding up a packet. “Why do you have these in your hoodie pocket?”

Paige, casually peeling tape from her ankle, barely looks up. “They’re for Az.”

Azzi, sitting two lockers down, blushes a little. “I didn’t ask for them.”

“You don’t have to,” Paige says without missing a beat. “I know what you like.”

There’s a beat of silence.

Then Ice cackles. “Whipped.”

⸻

It only gets worse from there.

Azzi mentions her legs are sore after practice? Paige volunteers to carry her.

Azzi forgets her charger before film? Paige’s already holding one out.

Azzi yawns once in the locker room, and somehow Paige disappears for twenty minutes and comes back with her favorite drink and a muffin.

“I said I was tired,” Azzi murmurs, eyeing the muffin.

“You were also hungry,” Paige says, pressing a kiss to the top of her head like it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

“You guys,” Jana groans. “Get a room. Or at least let the rest of us get a partner who’d sprint across campus because we yawned.”

Paige just shrugs, wrapping an arm around Azzi’s waist. “Sorry you set your standards too low.”

Azzi giggles and leans into her, muffin forgotten in her hand.

⸻

The thing is Paige doesn’t even notice she’s doing it most of the time.

She’s just wired like that when it comes to Azzi.

She knows what kind of hair ties she likes. Keeps extras in her bag.

Knows which flavors of protein bars she’ll actually eat and which ones she pretends to like but never finishes.

Knows how her voice dips when she’s tired, how she hums quietly when she’s nervous, how her eyebrows scrunch when she’s focused and how to make her laugh just to see them lift again.

So yeah. If Paige can make her life even one ounce easier? She’s doing it.

Every time.

⸻

The teasing hits a peak on a team trip.

They’re at a hotel, waiting in the lobby, and Azzi forgot something in the room.

“I’ll grab it,” Paige offers immediately.

“What is it?”

Azzi’s already pulling up a mental list. “The hoodie I left on the chair. And my slides. And maybe the scrunchie on the bathroom counter oh, and the charger…”

Paige’s gone before she finishes.

The entire team turns and stares at Azzi.

“What?” she says, flustered.

“Nothing,” Ice says, grinning. “Just watching Paige act like your full-time assistant with a credit card and no self-respect.”

Azzi blushes so deep it hits her collarbones.

“I didn’t ask her to do that.”

“No,” Caroline agrees. “But she loves to do it.”

“Lowkey romantic,” KK admits. “In a mildly concerning way.”

When Paige returns five minutes later, arms full, holding the charger between her teeth and the hoodie folded over her forearm, no one says a word.

They just watch in stunned silence as she kneels and sets Azzi’s slides gently at her feet.

Azzi looks like she’s about to melt into the marble floor.

“Whipped,” Nika coughs.

“Say that louder and I’ll order matching pajama sets with her name on them,” Paige fires back, smirking. “Don’t tempt me.”

The thing is… they do have matching pajama sets.

Azzi just smiles and threads their fingers together.

⸻

Later that night, alone in the hotel room, Azzi’s curled up under Paige’s arm, hoodie draped over her legs, slides kicked off neatly by the door.

“You know you don’t have to do everything for me,” she says quietly, voice warm and sleepy.

Paige glances down at her, brushing a curl off her forehead. “I know.”

Azzi shifts, half on her chest now, looking up. “Then why do you?”

Paige takes a breath.

Because you’re it for me. Because I’ve never wanted to give someone everything before. Because taking care of you doesn’t feel like effort it feels like breathing.

“Because I want to,” she says softly. “Because you’re mine.”

Azzi smiles, cheeks pink. “That’s a little possessive.”

Paige grins, tugging her closer. “Not sorry.”

[ghostedgwen]

inside her fantasy | s.black

notes : so, finally a very long 8.6k words fic for Sirius. I had scrapped this many many times, changed plots like 4 times and even tried to just eat my keyboard while writing this but FINALLY I finished!! Thank u for 900 followers, ily all!!! somuch!!!!!

warnings : reader has an ancient blood curse with no cure, based on sleeping beauty- loosely, LOTS and LOTS of angst, the first wizarding war plot line, character death(s), mention of war and grief and loss, marauders angst (yk the rest)

Sirius Black never thought he would ever stop playing and offer his heart to someone else until he met her, but how does a man out of time keep a girl awake and within his reach? In which a girl is cursed to fall asleep, never to wake, and Sirius is hopelessly in love with her.

. . . Trends change, rumors fly through new skies but I'm right where you left me.

It starts with a dare, like all good stories involving the Marauders do.

You swap a fellow Hufflepuff's pumpkin juice for firewhisky before breakfast, right under the nose of three Prefects and a hovering ghost. You flash your friends a triumphant grin, and the moment the poor bloke takes a gulp and splutters across the table, you let out a laugh that makes heads turn.

One of those heads belongs to Sirius Black.

He doesn't laugh like everyone else. No, he watches for a moment, assessing, then leans over to James with a smirk. "Think we got ourselves another pranskter."

You catch it. Of course you do. You raise an eyebrow across the table and say, loud enough for him to hear, "You say that like you own the rights for pranks, Black."

James snorts. Sirius pretends to be wounded. "And here I was, thinking I was being complimentary."

"Don’t strain yourself," you say. "You might pull a muscle patting yourself on the back."

Something flickers behind his eyes. Interest, maybe. Or the thrill of not being immediately adored - he was too deep in his and his friends' adventures to truly notice everyone else. Specially that you wore a yellow robe, too forgetable for him.

James grabs his arm. "We’ve got practice, mate. Come on."

He stands, but he throws one last glance over his shoulder before he leaves. Right at you, you give him a mocking wave and you get a shit-eating grin in return.

You were caught sneaking back in from the Owlery.

He was caught hexing Filch’s office door so it screamed every time someone knocked.

Now you’re side by side, polishing trophies that haven't seen the light of day since 1903. Your fingers are smudged with Brasso. The room smells like lemon and resentment and old.

"So," he says, halfway through a plaque commemorating a Gobstones champion, "what’s your best detention story?"

You grin. "I once convinced McGonagall that Peeves framed me. Drew a whole diagram and everything."

Sirius lets out a laugh that bounces off the marble. "That’s impressive. I usually just take the blame and try to look roguish while doing it."

"That explains the ego," you reply, smirking.

He narrows his eyes, mock offended. "You’re not as clever as you think you are."

You pause, toss him a sideways glance. "And you’re not as clever as you think you are."

There’s a beat.

Then he grins. Wide and wolfish. "Then I’ll have to try harder, won’t I?"

And just like that, the dynamic begins.

The pumpkins explode in perfect sequence: one after the other, like a line of golden-orange fireworks down the centre of the Great Hall.

Everyone cheers. The Marauders look vaguely shocked, for once caught off guard by a grand prank -

Because the original plan wasn't supposed to work that well. And definitely not with the added effect of floating bats that shriek "Boo!" in different languages.

You had overheard their plotting. Tweaked a few spell matrices. Subtle improvements. You're not a glory-hog, but thought to add your own flair.

Sirius corners you near the staircase hours later, after the chaos has started to die down - he looked like he had been hunting you since it all went off.

"You meddled."

You feign innocence. "I improved. There’s a difference."

"You should join us."

You raise your brow. "I work alone."

Nevermind the fact you just tinkered with their pranks, you decided against joining their little band of Marauders as you didn't fancy being the only girl in their little boys group.

You'd rather do your own thing.

Moments later, Filch comes stomping down the corridor, waving a list of suspects. You grab Sirius's hand without thinking.

"Hide."

He doesn’t question it. He lets you drag him to the small, tight place between walls where a statue was located, you squeezed yourselves behind it.

He whispers, "You really are a menace."

"Takes one to know one, Black."

Your breath fogs in the silence. His eyes catch yours. For a moment, the world shrinks. Just the sound of your heartbeat and the feel of his coat brushing your arm.

He doesn’t kiss you.

But he wants to.

He asks you like it’s nothing. Like it’s a joke, and perhaps it was. He had insisted so, justifying it in his head.

"Fancy a trip to Hogsmeade? I hear Honeydukes has a new licorice wand."

You smirk. "Only if you’re paying. And I want a scone. With clotted cream."

He blinks, not expecting you to say yes. He half-expected you to make fun of him for it or perhaps hex him at his audacity.

He broke into a grin at that, unbelievably successful. "Done."

You go. It’s cold and overcast and perfect. Sirius has managed to shrug James off who whined non-stop about being left alone for yet another date.

James Potter ever the brat was complaining that, "Mates before dates!" but Sirius left him.

You tease each other the whole way there, and the whole way back.

Inside the tea shop, he stares at the way you scrape the jam across your plate and says, "You’re not like anyone else, you know."

You tilt your head. "That sounds suspiciously like a line - am I supposed to swoon now?"

He sighs, knowing you'd respond with a bite like always. He leans back. "It’s not. I just meant - "

"I’m not interested in being Sirius Black’s next conquest," you interrupt, quiet but firm.

For once, he has no retort.

For once, something cracks in his expression. Just for a second, that you barely caught it.

Then he masks it with a grin. "I’d never break your heart."

You don’t believe him. But you wish you could.

The tower is asleep - but as always, one Gryffindor is out of bed.

Sirius sits on the edge of his bed, candle flickering low beside him. His parchment is blotchy with crossed-out lines.

He thought about practising it first, writing down his thoughts and feelings and words he dared not say on parchment before he blurts them out to you.

In fear that he'd say it wrong - or you wouldn't take it too well. He resorted to writing his feelings down, it made him feel almost embarrassed. Almost.

I don’t know why I keep thinking about you.

Maybe it’s because you don’t make it easy.

Maybe it’s because when I’m around you, I’m not just ‘Sirius Black’ - I’m something I don’t hate.

He finishes the letter at that after many revisions, numerous lines crossed out and ink droplets staining the edges of the texts. He stares at it, blinks once -

Then he folded it, tucked into the bottom of his trunk. Probably not to be seen ever again by any other soul, specially not the person it was written for.

He went to bed with a heavy weight on his chest.

Your friends surprise you with a pile of sweets and a stack of cards. Someone charms the banner to say Happy Birthday, You Absolute Legend. There’s music, and dancing, and laughter that lights up the whole room.

You were against them throwing a whole party but they insisted. Your dormmates had birthdays outside of school, right during holidays and summer breaks so they insisted on celebrating yours.

You couldn't dodge out of it any longer and it soon turned into a big thing with other people from the other houses piling into your common room, all invited, to celebrate your coming-of-age.

Sirius gives you a wrapped package the size of a wand. Inside is a quill - you eye it with distrust as it couldn't be that simple with him.

"What does it do?" you ask, raising a brow with a coy grin.

He smirks. "Try it."

You scribble your name across a napkin. The quill shimmers, then begins writing compliments beneath it: Wittiest girl in the castle. Eyes like midnight mischief. Dangerous in the best way.

You laugh so hard at the words that you felt tears in your eyes.

During the festivites, you decided you have had enough and snuck out so effortlessly, you climb the stairs to the Astronomy Tower.

Sirius follows, wordlessly, you didn't even mind him following you in there. Much too happy by everything that had happened to feel anything but pure happiness.

The stars are out, constellations drawn out to scatter across the night sky. You can feel the cold wind brushing past you, but you’re warm.

Must've been the Firewhiskey.

He stands beside you, watching how the moon illuminated your face. How the white light cast an almost blue hue across your features, like you were a painting come to life.

He leans in, despite himseld and you immediately caught it. Pressing a hand to his chest to stop him, your palms staying flat against his jacket. You give him a small smile.

"Not yet," you whisper.

He doesn’t push, he just slowly nods, accepting the rejection.

"Seventeen feels. . . big," you say, eyes on the sky, turning away from him before you could reject pushing him away before he could even close the distance.

"You’ve got time," he tells you.

You smile, soft. Sad, somehow.

"I know."

The library was unusually silent for a Thursday evening. You knew that most students had already left to their common rooms or gone to dinner, escaping the biting chill that had settled over the castle.

Even the ghosts, those eternal spirits who haunted the halls, seemed to have retreated into their own restless slumber, leaving the space in a fragile, almost sacred silence. Rows of towering bookshelves stretched into the shadows, their dark wood and brass fittings gleaming faintly in the low glow of the lanterns, like silent sentinels guarding ancient secrets.

You sat curled in one of the oversized armchairs near the far window, your legs tucked beneath you, a pile of books and loose parchment spread across your lap.

Your ink-stained fingers moved furiously, scribbling notes, ideas, or perhaps just trying to clear your mind. Your quill tapped rhythmically against your lips as you thought, lost in the world of your own making, unaware of anyone else’s presence.

The truth was, you weren’t supposed to be here. You hated the library on principle - so quiet, so organized, so full of reminders of work you’d rather avoid. But tonight, it was a refuge of sorts, a quiet space where you could escape the chaos of school and the pressure of exams.

Besides, you liked the solitude. It was easier to think when no one was around.

Until you felt that familiar, restless energy stir within you.

You weren’t sure what it was exactly - maybe boredom, maybe the need for distraction. Maybe a desire to defy the dull routine of school life. Whatever it was, it made you glance around and contemplate your options. Perhaps a little mischief. A quick prank to liven things up.

You shifted slightly in the chair, lifting your quill and preparing to scribble a note to yourself or perhaps an amused doodle. That’s when you noticed him.

Sirius Black.

He was leaning casually against one of the bookshelves, his dark hair falling into his eyes, a crooked grin curling on his lips. His eyes flicked over you with a teasing glint, as if he knew exactly what you were thinking. You tried to ignore him, but you knew better.

He sauntered over, boots silent on the stone floor, a devilish smirk on his face. You could see the glint of mischief in his eyes, the way he always looked at you when he was about to do something he knew you’d hate.

"Well, well," he drawled, voice low and amused. "What do we have here? A little angel hiding in the library after hours?"

You rolled your eyes, pretending to ignore him. "Not your concern, Black."

He chuckled softly, leaning down slightly so his face was level with yours. "Come on, don’t be like that. I thought we were friends."

You didn’t want to give him the satisfaction, but you couldn’t help the faint smile tugging at your lips. Sirius always knew how to push your buttons - in the worst and best ways.

He reached out, fingertips grazing the spine of a dusty, leather-bound tome on the table next to your chair. His eyes gleamed mischievously. "Thinking of a little prank, are we?"

Your heart skipped a beat, and you quickly looked away, trying to hide your grin. "Not this time, Black."

He leaned closer, voice lowering to a whisper. "Come on, I know you’re dying for some trouble. Just one little thing."

You hesitated. You knew he was right - your usual impulse was to stir up chaos, to shake things up. But tonight, you felt something different. A flicker of unease, maybe. Something about the way you were feeling - restless, distracted, almost jittery - made you pause.

Sirius, however, was relentless.

He reached for the nearest book on the table - an enormous, dusty volume - and grinned wider. "How about I give this a little shove? Bet it’d make a hell of a noise."

You rolled your eyes. "You’re hopeless."

He chuckled again. "You’re just afraid I’ll beat you to it."

You shook your head, trying to focus on your work again. But then, something caught your eye. You felt it before you saw it: the strange stillness in your body, the way your fingers suddenly refused to move, the sensation that your mind had gone quiet, almost as if you’d fallen into a trance.

You didn’t realize until a moment later that you’d gone completely still, your eyes fixed on a point far away.

Suddenly, Sirius’s voice broke through your concentration. "Oi, princess," he said softly, crouching down beside your chair. "You’re gonna fall asleep in the library like that? Not exactly the look you’re going for."

You didn’t respond. For a moment, you didn’t even blink. The silence stretched, heavy and oppressive.

He nudged your shoulder gently. "Come on, wake up. Hey."

Nothing.

Your heart fluttered - an odd, sinking feeling you couldn’t quite place. You were alive, weren’t you? You felt your chest rise and fall. But something was wrong. You couldn’t move. You couldn’t speak.

Sirius’s brow furrowed. "Oi, what’s going on?" he asked softly, reaching out to shake you more firmly. "This isn’t funny."

Still, you remained frozen, eyes staring blankly ahead. Your head lolled slightly to the side, your body slack in the chair’s embrace. A shiver ran down your spine; a primal instinct told you that something was terribly wrong.

He reached out, fingers trembling slightly, and gently shook your shoulders. "Come on, talk to me. Wake up."

No response.

His heart hammered in his chest. You weren’t responding. Your body was limp, unnaturally still.

"No, no, no," he whispered, voice cracking. Panic rising. His mind raced - what was happening?

He pressed his ear as close as he dared to your chest, listening desperately for a heartbeat. There it was, faint but steady - faint, slow, like a distant drum. You were alive, somehow, but not present. Not really.

His breath hitched as he stared at you, helpless.

"Please, no," he muttered, voice thick with emotion.

Without thinking, Sirius slid his arms under your body, lifting you carefully, cradling you against his chest as if afraid you’d shatter. Your head lolled against his collarbone, limp and unresponsive. His heart pounded harder now, pounding so loudly he was sure you could hear it.

He sprinted through the rows of books, knocking over stacks in his haste, ignoring the startled shouts of Madam Pince, who hurried after him.

"Help! Somebody, I need help!" Sirius shouted, voice echoing down the corridor as he burst out into the hallway.

The hospital wing smelled like lavender and antiseptic, a familiar blend that didn’t bring comfort tonight. Madame Pomfrey was at her desk, meticulously organizing vials and bandages, when the doors swung open with a gust of wind and Sirius burst in, clutching you carefully.

Her eyes widened in alarm at the sight of you, unconscious and limp in his arms. "What happened?"

"I don’t know," Sirius gasped, pounding his fist against his chest as he tried to catch his breath. "She was just sitting there. She wouldn’t wake up."

Pomfrey hurried forward, her hands deft and sure. "Bring her here," she ordered, taking you from Sirius’s trembling grip and laying you gently onto a bed.

"She’s alive," Pomfrey said, brow furrowing. "But she’s not sleeping. This is . . . different."

Sirius clenched his fists, helpless and desperate. "What do you mean? Is she hurt?"

Pomfrey shook her head slowly. "It’s not a physical injury. This is magical. Or perhaps. . . something darker."

He looked at her, eyes wide with disbelief. "A curse?"

She nodded grimly. "Most likely. A very old, very powerful one."

Sirius felt the ground shift beneath his feet. "A curse? How? Why? I - "

Before he could finish, the door swung open again, and Professor Dumbledore entered with his usual calm grace, his robes flowing behind him like a gentle wave. His blue eyes, however, were sharp with concern.

He moved swiftly to your bedside, examining you with quiet precision. His fingers hovered over your brow, then traced down to your wrist.

"Leave us for a moment, Sirius," Dumbledore said softly, voice calm but firm.

Sirius hesitated, his jaw tight. But he nodded, stepping back into the corner, watching helplessly as Dumbledore’s gaze flicked over your still form.

He could hear the whispering of Pomfrey’s concerned murmurs, see the way her brow furrowed as she studied you.

Finally, Dumbledore turned to Sirius, his expression grave. "This is no ordinary sleep," he announced.

"You said it’s a curse," Sirius pressed. "Can you fix it?"

Dumbledore’s expression darkened, the lines around his eyes deepening as he folded his hands in front of him. “I wish I could. But some magic was forged not to be broken. This is a blood curse - ancient.”

Sirius stared at you. At the way your head lolled to the side, still tucked in close to your shoulder like you’d just drifted off mid-sentence. Your hand was still curled around your quill, ink smeared at the base of your palm. You looked so alive. Too alive to be cursed. Too alive to be gone.

But you weren’t breathing right. Not deeply, not the way you did when you fell asleep in the Common Room after a long patrol. He would’ve teased you for it, if this were different - how you snored just a little when you were really knackered, how your mouth always parted like you were in the middle of some secret dream. But there was none of that now.

Just stillness. Just silence.

“She was fine,” he said again, voice quieter this time. "She was laughing at McGonagall’s robes in Transfiguration. Making that bloody stupid joke about animagus hats. She was fine.”

Dumbledore looked at him, and there was no comfort in his eyes - only something impossibly old. “These curses often lie dormant until they are triggered. A moment of emotional intensity. Prolonged exhaustion. Sometimes even something as simple as turning seventeen. We don’t always know what wakes them.”

Sirius blinked hard. His throat was starting to close. “And now what? What do we do now?”

Dumbledore sighed. “We wait.”

“No,” Sirius snapped, too quickly, voice breaking on the edge of it. “That’s not- that’s not good enough.”

The air around him tightened, buzzing beneath his skin like he was about to explode. He’d lived his whole life under someone else’s control - his family, his bloody name, the rules of the castle, the limits of what magic could and couldn’t do - but this was different.

This was you. You weren’t supposed to fall asleep in a library and never wake up.

“This isn’t happening,” he muttered, raking a hand through his hair, pacing like he might wear a hole through the stone. “She’s not some fairytale. She’s not some . . . cursed maiden locked in a tower. She’s her. She’s stubborn, and she hates studying, and she always steals the last bit of toast when she thinks I’m not looking - she’s real.”

“I know,” Dumbledore said, quiet as ever.

“She can’t just - ” Sirius’s voice cracked again. “She can’t just go.”

“She’s not gone.”

“But you don’t know when she’s coming back.” The words scraped out of his throat like they’d been broken inside him. “You don’t know if she ever will.”

Silence.

And then, Dumbledore spoke again - gently, but with the weight of someone who had seen too much. “This curse runs in her family. Passed through generations. Few survive it more than once.”

Sirius’s hands curled into fists. “She didn’t even know.”

“Perhaps not,” Dumbledore allowed. “Or perhaps she did. But she hoped, as many do, that it would skip her.”

Sirius stared down at you, at your fingers, still ink-stained and human. “So what now?”

“Now we care for her,” Dumbledore said. “We wait. And we love her, even if she doesn’t know we’re here.”

“No,” Sirius said, shaking his head. “No. That’s not enough. That’s not me. I’m not going to just sit and watch her fade. There has to be something. Anything.”

Dumbledore hesitated.

And that hesitation - that split second - was all Sirius needed.

“There is something, isn’t there?” he said, stepping closer. “You’re holding something back.”

“It’s not something that can be done,” Dumbledore said slowly. “Not the way you think. This curse. . . it only yields to love. Not infatuation. Not obsession. Something older. Something that holds its shape even when time doesn’t.”

Sirius’s chest burned. “Then I’ll do it.”

“You don’t understand what you’re saying.”

“I don’t care.”

“You would have to remain, Sirius,” Dumbledore said. “Through months. Years. Decades, perhaps. And never know if she’ll wake. Or if she’ll remember. You’d have to love her in silence. Without promise. Without return.”

“I already do.”

The words were out before he could stop them.

The air felt different after that.

Dumbledore didn’t speak for a long time. Then he said, “If that is true, then you may be the only hope she has.”

Dumbledore sent word to your family within the hour.

Sirius wasn’t in the room when they arrived - Dumbledore had gently, firmly suggested he give them privacy - but he could hear the voices. Muffled through stone and spellwork. Raised. Bitter. Desperate.

They’d known. Not everything, but enough.

It had happened once before - a great-aunt, long dead, whose name had been scrubbed from the family tree out of shame or grief or maybe both. You were supposed to have been spared. A healer had sworn it dormant. A ritual had been done when you were a baby. There’d been no signs. You were bright, brilliant. Uncursed.

They’d believed in the lie because it was easier than preparing for the truth.

You woke up just after 4 days. Those 4 days were spent with Sirius visiting you in between classes, meals, Quidditch practices. His friends were growing worried for him as they also worried for you.

He looked changed in just a span of 4 days. 4 cruel days spent on your bedside begging you to wake up, begging you to come back to him.

Promising you grand pranks you could pull together, more alcoholic concoctions to throw up in the morning. He offered everything to see your eyes flutter open.

It wasn't fair. He was just beginning to know you, to love you - it all felt to fresh and raw and real - this cannot be happening to him.

When you woke up, it was so sudden.

Just a sharp inhale that jolted your whole body and the whisper of your name as Dumbledore caught your shoulder before you could fall out of the bed in shock.

You blinked at the light, slow and sluggish, as if waking from years instead of days. You reached for your wand first - you did not find it. Then your face. Then the necklace under your collarbone. None of it had changed. But everything had.

They cried - your parents. But not the way Sirius thought they would. Not relief, not love, not wild, stupid joy.

No, they cried like cowards. Quiet, ashamed, as if your waking made it worse. As if the confirmation of the curse meant the whole thing had been real all along. Like you were some buried secret they couldn’t keep hidden anymore.

Sirius watched it all from the hallway, fists clenched, pacing outside the Hospital Wing like he was about to be sick.

The door creaked open. Madam Pomfrey slipped out. “She’s awake.”

He didn’t wait. Didn’t even think.

He was inside the room before anyone could stop him, blood still thrumming in his ears. You were sitting up in bed, hair a tangle, voice raw as you said his name - confused, hoarse, like you hadn’t said it in years. “Sirius?”

He didn’t answer. He crossed the room and pulled you into him like you were drowning and he didn’t care if he sank too.

You tried to push him away after that.

It started the moment you woke up, dry-mouthed and weak, in the Hospital Wing. Four days. You'd lost four days of your life to a sleep you hadn’t meant to enter, and everything had changed.

You saw it in your parents’ eyes first. The shame. The quiet devastation. You saw it in the way Pomfrey didn’t scold you for trying to stand, and in the way Dumbledore couldn’t quite meet your gaze.

But most of all, you saw it in Sirius.

When he ran to you and pulled you into a hug, like holding you meant that it was all real. He just breathed like he'd finally surfaced from drowning.

You couldn’t look at him too long. Because the guilt hit harder than the fear. You hadn’t meant to become a problem. A burden. A question mark in someone else’s future.

So you did what you always did. You joked.

"You should probably date someone with a better track record for staying conscious," you said over breakfast the next morning, stirring your porridge like it might give you answers.

He didn’t laugh.

You tried again in the corridor. "Seriously, Sirius, you don’t have to do this whole loyal boyfriend routine. I know it’s been a weird month. I give you full permission to run."

He didn’t even blink - not even when you finally addressed him by first name. A progress to your now, very complicated, relationship.

"You think I’m staying because I feel bad?" he asked one night, voice low and raw. "You think this is pity?"

You shrugged, but your fingers clenched around the edge of your sleeve. "I think I wouldn’t blame you if you left."

And that was the truth. The quiet, aching part of it. That you didn’t think you deserved someone who stayed. It was a burden you could never ask of anyone.

He stepped closer then, close enough that his words landed right against your ribs.

"Don’t you get it?" he said, voice shaking with something bigger than anger. "I'm not going anywhere. I’ll be here when you wake."

It should’ve comforted you. It only made your chest ache harder.

Because you didn’t want him waiting around like some tragic romantic figure. You didn’t want to be the girl people wrote poems about after she vanished too soon. You wanted to be solid. Reliable. Here.

But you weren’t. And he's decided to stay anyway.

Even when you stopped meeting his eyes.

Even when you flinched in the middle of a sentence, panicked that a yawn might spiral into something worse.

Even when you stopped touching him entirely, afraid that if you reached for his hand, it might be the last thing you ever did.

Still, he stayed.

And he started leaving you things.

A tiny mirror charm on your nightstand, bewitched to show cartoon dog ears on your reflection when you frowned.

A chocolate frog with a note tucked inside the box that said, Still here. Always here.

A prank exploding parchment that poofed glitter in your face during a Charms study session and made you laugh until you nearly sobbed.

Sometimes it was just small things. A folded jacket over your chair when you forgot it was cold. A sugar quill tucked into your books.

It should have been too much. But it never was.

Because you missed him. Desperately.

You missed the ease. The banter. The feeling that you were someone he chose, not someone he pitied.

You missed before.

But there was no going back.

One afternoon, you found him outside the library, sitting on the floor with his head tipped back against the wall.

He wasn’t doing anything. No mischief, no plotting. Just staring up at the ceiling like he was trying to stay still. Like the world had moved on and he was trying to figure out how to follow it.

You hadn’t seen him all day.

And somewhere in your chest, the idea that he’d finally given up had lodged itself like a splinter. The relief that washed through you at the sight of him was nauseating.

He looked up when your footsteps stopped.

You opened your mouth. Closed it. Then, finally: "I’m sorry."

Sirius blinked. His expression shifted from surprise to something softer.

"For what?" he asked, sitting up straighter.

"I don’t know," you said honestly. "Everything. Pushing you. Making you wait around for someone who can’t promise anything."

You hesitated.

"I wish you could love someone with less complications."

He stared at you for a moment, like you’d just said the dumbest thing he’d ever heard. And then, suddenly, he laughed.

A real, full-bodied laugh. Like it startled even him.

You blinked, thrown off by the sudden bark of laughter that escaped him out of nowhere. "What?"

"If this were easy," he said, still laughing, "I’d think it was some grand prank. I’d assume Moony and Prongs were hiding behind a tapestry ready to jump out."

You snorted despite yourself.

"Merlin, you’re so stupid."

And then you kissed him. Not planned. Not careful.

Just raw.

You kissed him like you were terrified and desperate and alive. Like if the curse took you tonight, you wanted this to be your last memory.

He didn’t pull away. Just froze for a breath. And then he was kissing you back with that same terrified urgency.

You pulled away after a second, just enough to murmur: "Just in case I don’t wake up tomorrow."

Sirius cupped your face with both hands then, thumbs brushing under your eyes like he was trying to memorize them.

His voice was soft. So gentle it hurt.

"Don’t worry about tomorrow," he whispered. "You’re awake right now."

You nodded. But your lip trembled."I’m so scared of falling asleep."

There. You said it. Finally voicing out the thought that haunted you at night. Bags hung under your eyes from nights you desperately tried to stay awake.

Your dormmates have all tried their best to offer any help they could. The whole castle knew your predicament by now - nothing ever stays a secret at Hogwarts.

You appreciated them, but nothing helped.

And when you finally said it, he didn’t flinch.

He just pulled you in again. Wrapped his arms around you like he could protect you from the unknown. From the curse that ran through your veins, as old as your magic.

"I know," he said. "I’m scared too."

And then he kissed your temple. Your forehead. The corner of your mouth, he wished he could kiss every inch of you.

"Don’t worry, love," he murmured. "I’ll be here when you open those pretty eyes."

And the thing is, you believed him. Even if it still hurt.

Even if you still woke every morning unsure if you'd made it through the night or it was some dream you have landed into.

He was always there.

And slowly, you started reaching back.

They didn’t have forever - so they started pretending like they did.

By late February, your hand had found a permanent place in Sirius’s.

He joked that the skin might fuse together if you weren’t careful, and you’d laughed - really laughed - for the first time since you’d woken from that cursed sleep. He’d grinned like a fool then, pride blooming in his chest just for being the reason your shoulders weren’t tight with fear, just for chasing the shadow from your eyes, even for a moment.

You’d made it through March. Barely. Some days your legs dragged beneath you like your body already knew the sleep was coming. Some nights Sirius had to shake you awake from dozes you didn’t remember falling into. But you were still here. And so was he.

Hogsmeade in spring felt like a stolen miracle.

He took your hand outside Honeydukes, lifting it to his lips with a boyish smile. “So, what’ll it be, darling? Chocolate frogs or a full day of snogging behind the Shrieking Shack?”

You rolled your eyes. “If I die in the Shrieking Shack, Sirius Black, you better be ready to fight off some angry ghosts.”

He beamed. “Then it’s a date.”

You weren’t hiding anymore. He’d told everyone. James had fist-bumped you and said it was about time. Remus had congratulated you as well, making a sarcastic remark that "Pads can finally stop moaning about how much he wants you now that you can snog him into silence." Even Peter had hugged you with the kind of gentleness that meant he’d heard. That he understood.

And the pranks - oh, the pranks.

It started with your idea, actually. A tiny hex that made Filch’s boots click like tap shoes. The look on Sirius’s face when you suggested it - pure, lovesick awe.

“Marry me,” he said, half-joking.

You tilted your head. “Better wait until I survive the school year.”

The boys had welcomed you into their chaos without question. You were a natural. A little louder than James, a little sharper than Remus, and exactly Sirius’s brand of reckless.

When you came back one night covered in soot and giggling from a dungbomb gone wrong, Sirius tugged you close on the couch in the Gryffindor common room, kissed your temple, and whispered, “You’re brilliant, you know that?”

But he was the brilliant one. The constant. Every night, after curfew, he would draw the curtains of his four-poster and you would curl beside him. The other boys never said a word - not one complaint, not even a tease.

You were terrified to sleep alone. And they understood.

Some nights you fell asleep tangled together, his arms around your waist, your breath uneven against his neck.

Other nights, sleep wouldn’t come. You’d lie awake listening to his heartbeat and whisper nonsense into the dark. Sirius would hold you tighter, thumb brushing lazy circles into your spine.

And every single night, he would say, without fail:

“Tomorrow will come for you, love. For us. I’ll be here, handsome as ever when the sun rises.”

You pretended to believe it. Most nights, you even did.

April crept in like a thief. The scent of rain on stone, blossoms blooming beside the lake, the castle lit with gold and promise. Exams were approaching. So was the end.

So was the sleep.

And then - you didn’t wake up.

It was a Thursday.

You’d said goodnight. You’d kissed him. You’d whispered your usual lie: “See you in the morning.”

And then - nothing.

The Healers said it was the curse reasserting itself. That your body was fighting to stay, but the magic was older than any potion. There was no way to stop it. No one knew how long it would last.

Sirius didn’t move from the Hospital Wing for a week.

James brought food. Remus sat with him in the early mornings. Peter left chocolate frogs on the table beside your bed. But Sirius - he stayed. He barely slept. He wrote letters and folded them beneath your pillow. He spoke to you like you were just resting.

“You’re not gone,” he said one night, voice cracking. “You’re just late. You’ve always been late to things, remember? You’ll wake up and tell me I’m being dramatic.”

But you didn’t wake.

You missed the N.E.W.T.s. Missed the way Remus clutched his results in trembling hands. Missed James and Lily getting into a blazing row about the future and making up in the courtyard two hours later.

You missed the last Gryffindor breakfast, the daisy chain crowns, the class photo with everyone laughing too hard to stand still.

You missed graduation.

Sirius didn’t walk. He refused. Said he wouldn’t cross a finish line you hadn’t.

By July, he was different. Gaunt-eyed. Brittle-tempered. The war had begun - the real one - and he joined the Order like his blood was already boiling for vengeance.

But still, he wrote you letters.

He left them at St. Mungo’s when you were transferred there in August. Left chocolates, enchanted notes, silly doodles. He threatened the mediwitch who tried to call you a lost cause.

“She’s not gone,” he snapped. “She’s just waiting.”

And then - autumn came.

And you woke up.

The world smelled different. Crisper. More distant.

You were eighteen now. But the world had moved on without you.

Your body was slow to respond. Magic flickered in your hands but didn’t sing the way it used to. You blinked against the sterile light of St. Mungo’s, head pounding, heart aching.

And then the door opened.

Sirius stood in the frame.

Older. Sharper. Shadows under his eyes, jaw tighter, arms crossed like he’d forgotten how to relax. But still - him. Still yours. Always yours.

He stared at you for a moment like you were a ghost.

And then he was at your side, sitting on the edge of the bed, brushing your hair back with shaking fingers.

“You missed a war,” he said, voice rough.

You tried to smile. “Did we win?”

He didn’t answer that. Just leaned forward and pressed his forehead to yours.

“And I missed you,” he whispered. “Every damn day.”

You moved in together. Shared a flat with creaky floors and mismatched furniture, patched together like your hearts. You tried to build a life between sleep and fear - fleeting moments of normalcy suspended in the quiet before sirens, the hush before screams.

The flat became a fragile sanctuary. You lit candles during power outages and cooked dinner over the radio’s static updates. Some nights you danced in the kitchen just to remember joy. Other nights, you held each other in the dark, neither speaking, just listening to the wind press against the windows like a warning.

You kept a journal now - small and leather-bound, pages inked with memories of what you missed, what he told you, and what you dreamed when you were gone. You wrote down things like: his laugh this morning, like something untouched by war. Or: he said “stay safe” like he meant “stay alive.”

You lived like it might all vanish again. Because it would. Because war takes everything, even the things you think are untouchable.

You both tried to power through it, despite the raging war around you and the brewing danger that curled like smoke under your door. Each day was a risk. Each night, a relief.

You were worried for him - for the way his name appeared in whispered conversations, for the work he did in shadows. But you knew it was right. He was trying to change the story.

Sirius sometimes talked about stopping. Once, after a long silence over cold tea, he said quietly, almost ashamed, “I barely get enough moments with you, with all this happening - what if I just get less and less time?”

You reached across the table, grabbed his hand like it was the only steady thing in a world falling apart. You shook your head, firm. “No. You don’t get to give up. You’re fighting for a good cause. Let’s be on the good side of history when people look back on this time.”

His eyes searched yours - tired but still burning - and after a breath, he nodded. “You’re right. You always are.”

So you both joined the Order.

Not because you weren’t scared, but because you were. Because fear can hollow you or harden you - and you chose to fight.

Then one night, in a small and quiet gathering of Order members - tired, battle-worn, but still fighting to hold onto something human - Lily stood up.

She brushed a strand of hair behind her ear, and smiled - truly smiled, not the brittle one she'd worn through grief and fear, but something bright and real, like the girl she used to be before the war.

“I’m pregnant,” she said.

For a moment, the room was still - stunned into silence. And then it erupted like spring breaking through frost.

James laughed so loudly it startled the portraits on the walls. He beamed like the sun - the kind of joy that doesn’t ask permission. Remus stood and clapped him on the back, his eyes glassy with tears he wouldn’t let fall. Sirius made a strangled noise, like a laugh and a sob at once, and buried his face in his hands.

When he looked up, his grin was crooked and wild. Peter smiled too, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes - there was something distant in his expression, like he was somewhere else entirely. You noticed. But you hadn’t been around long enough to know what was normal for Peter anymore, so you let it slide.

The Marauders buzzed with pride, their joy loud and golden, filling every dark corner of that war-battered room. Your found family, in all its ragged glory, clung to joy wherever it bloomed - because joy was a form of resistance too.

Later that night, after the toasts and the storytelling and the laughter worn thin from overuse, the others drifted away. Candles burned low. The room emptied, settling into silence.

That’s when Sirius pulled you aside.

He looked different in the low light - softer somehow. His usual fire had banked into something slower, more careful. There was a tremble in his hand as he reached for yours, not from fear, but from urgency.

“I’ve been thinking about this a lot,” he said. His voice was low, stripped of bravado. “I don’t want to wait. Not with everything going on. Not with how time keeps. . . stealing you.”

Your heart caught. Because he was right. Every day was a borrowed page, every goodbye heavy with the question: will there be another? Will tomorrow really come?

He pulled something from his pocket - a ring, simple but quietly extraordinary. It shimmered like starlight, charmed with a magic that whispered permanence in a world that promised none.

“Marry me,” he said.

There was no speech, no preamble. Just those two words. And then more: “I know it’s selfish. I know you’re scared. But I don’t want anyone else. It’s you or nothing. It’s always been you.”

You opened your mouth, the beginnings of protest forming. You wanted to say he might regret it. That the war could tear you away, again. That love like this didn’t always get a happy ending, not with your curse anyway.

But he saw it all in your eyes and stopped you before the words could shape.

“All we have is now,” he whispered. “Say yes. Say yes while you’re here.”

And something in you - some quiet, aching truth - answered him before your lips did.

So you said yes.

You were so afraid but you said yes despite yourself and the clawing fear. Because love, in this world, wasn’t a promise. It was a defiance, and in some fairy tales, love is how you beat war.

Your wedding was held shortly after his proposal and it wasn't big at all.

There were no grand halls or gilded arches, no glittering lights or towering cakes. Just a windswept clearing in the woods near Godric’s Hollow, with wildflowers bowing in the breeze and magic humming softly through the air like it recognized something sacred.

Only friends were there - the people who mattered, who had bled and laughed and fought beside you. The ones who’d become family when bloodlines stopped meaning anything.

Remus officiated, because of course he did. He stood in worn robes, clutching a piece of parchment he barely needed to glance at, his voice steady despite the tremble in his hands. He kept it simple, heartfelt. There were no flowery vows, no overly rehearsed speeches - just truth spoken between people who knew how precious time had become.

Lily cried, openly, beautifully - tears glinting in the sunlight as she clutched James’s hand. James looked at her like she hung the stars, then raised a glass and made a toast full of wit and warmth, ending with, “To love that fights, even when the world’s falling down.”

Sirius kissed you like a vow, like he could stitch you into the present with just his mouth on yours. There was no audience in that moment, no war, no future - just the weight of his hands on your face, the steady rhythm of his heart beating beneath your palms. A promise sealed in the kind of silence that means everything.

Afterward, when the sky began to burn gold and purple at the edges, and laughter floated over shared food and spiked cider, you pulled him aside. Looked him in the eyes.

“Don’t regret this,” you said.

He smiled at you - not the cocky grin he gave the world, but something gentler, quieter. A smile made just for you.

“Never,” he said. “Not in any lifetime.”

And for a while, things were good. The war kept brewing but you stayed awake, greeting him like it's the best surprise every morning. Only, he greeted you now as his Wife.

Then Harry was born - tiny, wrinkled, and loud enough to shake the walls of the cottage with his arrival. The kind of scream that said, I’m here. I survived.

You were there. In the still-soft hours after, Lily handed him to you, her eyes rimmed with exhaustion and something fierce and unbreakable.

She placed him in your arms like it was the most natural thing in the world - like she was giving you hope in human form.

He was beautiful. Small fists curled in sleep, a shock of black hair, his father’s stubborn chin already making itself known. And those eyes - not James’s, but hers. Green and bright and knowing.

For a moment, you all forgot there was a war. Just long enough to believe in a future.

You and the Marauders became the babysitters.

It wasn’t official, but it was understood. Harry would grow up surrounded by magic and mischief and unbreakable love - even if the world outside was falling apart. You rocked him to sleep in Lily’s favorite chair, humming lullabies that didn’t quite belong to you.

Remus read him stories in soft, calming tones, changing his voice for each character until the baby would babble back in delight. Peter would bring sweets and toys, always a little awkward, like he was trying to earn a place in a world that had started to drift just beyond his reach.

And Sirius - Sirius made him laugh. Real, belly-deep baby giggles, the kind that echoed through the house and made even the darkest thoughts scatter for a while. He barked like a dog, of course. Poked his tongue out. Pulled ridiculous faces that turned Harry red with laughter and left James wheezing from the couch. Harry adored him.

One night, after the baby had worn himself out and fallen asleep curled in James’ arms, the fire crackling low and quiet in the hearth, Sirius turned to you. His hair was mussed from Harry’s tiny fists, and his smile was soft - the kind that only came out in quiet moments like this.

“He’s so bloody cute,” he whispered, watching the baby’s chest rise and fall. “I think I want one of my own.”

Your breath hitched.

The air felt too still, too sharp. “Sirius - ”

You didn’t have to finish. He saw it instantly - the fear blooming behind your eyes. Fear of the future. Fear of hope. Fear of losing again.

He reached for your hand, lacing his fingers through yours like he was anchoring you.

“It’s alright,” he said gently. “It’s just a thought. We don’t have to. I just. . . I love this. I love you. And I’d never let anything happen. You hear me?”

He touched your cheek then, eyes full of that same vow he’d made the day you married. “If you ever fell asleep again, I’d hold the world steady until you came back.”

You nodded, even as your heart clenched. Because that’s what Sirius Black did - he made impossible promises and meant every one.

And time passed. Quietly, quickly. Like a thief.

Then came the mission.

Just another assignment with the Order. Nothing you hadn’t done before. Nothing worth fearing, not really. But Sirius was tense. He lingered at the door, kissed your forehead too long. Held your hands like they were glass.

You kissed him that night, trying to lighten the mood, trying to be brave for both of you. “If I don’t wake for a while,” you whispered, smiling softly, “tell me you’ll wait again.”

He kissed you back like he was sealing a spell, like he could pour every ounce of magic he had into your skin.

“Always,” he said. “Tomorrow will come for you, love. For us. I’ll be here - handsome as ever - when the sun rises.”

It did not go well. You encountered a death eater and was severely hurt, still alive and fighting but through your fight to stay alive - you slipped into the darkness.

Tomorrow came, and you didn’t wake.

Not the next morning.

Not the next week.

Not when Lily and James were murdered in their home, his body in the hallway leading to the nursery, her body found crumpled over a crib that somehow still held a crying child.

Not when Sirius found them first. Not when he fell to his knees on the floor, screaming James’ name so loud it broke something inside him forever.

Not when Peter turned traitor and vanished in the smoke of his own destruction.

Not when Sirius was blamed - framed - and hunted like a beast. Not when they cornered him on that street and stripped him of everything.

Not even when they dragged him to Azkaban.

You didn’t stir.

He screamed your name in that prison cell. Whispered your promises to the cracks in the stone. Waited for the sunrise that never came.

And still, you didn’t wake.

Not until three years into his sentence, when the war was over, the dead buried, and the child orphaned.

You had promised to be there when the sun rose.

But this time, time didn’t keep its promise.

you left me no, you left me no choice but to stay here forever. . .

end. masterlist

[the-witty-pen-name]

Not Just a Neighbor (2)

Simon "Ghost" Riley x PlusSize!F!Reader

Word Count: 1.2k

Summary: When Simon is home from deployment, all he wants to do is sleep, but noise from the apartment next door keeps him tossing and turning- his cute new neighbor's puppy.

Request submitted by anon. Thank you for your request!

Warnings: 18+ MNDI; eventual smut; language; mostly fluff; mentions of PTSD & anxiety

Series Masterlist

The next time he sees you, he’s coming back from the gym. It’s early in the morning and he sees you out with Sarge as he approaches the building. It’s been about a week since his first encounter with you and he hasn’t been able to think about anything else but you since. 

If he thought he was a goner when he saw you in your pajamas, he didn’t realize what it would do to him seeing you in leggings that fit your legs like a second skin. Leggings, and a form fitting workout jacket is enough to make his brain short circuit as his eyes wander over your curves. 

Sarge no longer has his cone, and you're waiting patiently for him to finish sniffing the tree directly outside the front door so you both can presumably start your walk. Simon immediately notices the bright yellow collar Sarge is wearing. He chuckles when he gets closer and he sees that it says NERVOUS in bold font across the fabric. 

As he walks towards you both, Sarge begins to bark, making your eyes flick up towards the direction Sarge is looking. Your eyes soften as you smile recognizing Ghost immediately. He pushes his hood off of his head and like Sarge recognizes him immediately the barking subsides. 

“Hi neighbor,” you greet, cheerily- despite how early in the morning it is. 

“‘Morning,” his voice his gruff, and it’s when he realizes despite being up for hours he hasn’t actually spoken yet today. His voice was still laced with sleep like he had just woken up. “Sarge,” he says, nodding towards your dog. The gesture makes you giggle, and the sound makes his knees almost weak. 

He made you laugh. He already wants to hear it again. 

“Good workout?” You ask, making conversation. He nods, but quickly realizes he’ll need to say more if he wants to keep you here. 

“Yeah, leg day,” he replies, his own version of trying to drag out the conversation as long as he can manage. It’s not in his nature to be talkative. He just wants to keep talking to you. “You’re up early.” 

“Yeah, don’t remind me,” you joke, “I’m on his schedule now, I’m not the morning person- believe me.” 

He can’t help himself, he lets himself picture it. You bundled up comfy with the blanket tucked under your chin, burrowed in the comfort of the his bed and he kisses you goodbye while he goes to work early in the morning. Maybe a few hours later when you’re awake you’d send him a text, annoyed he let you sleep in again… 

He needed to pull himself together. 

“Did you hear me?” You ask, and he feels panic set in like somehow he’d be caught. 

“Oh, no. Sorry, love,” he says, hurriedly. He doesn’t miss the way you smile at the term of endearment. You don’t seem annoyed by it thankfully, as you brush it off. 

“No that’s okay,” you grin. You take a breath, and he wonders if you’re as nervous talking to him as he is talking to you. “I wanted to know if you got any sleep last night?” 

Honestly, he didn’t and not because of Sarge. He didn’t hear anything when he went back to his apartment last night. He laid on his back and basically stared at the ceiling, because everytime he closed his eyes all he saw was you. 

“Yeah, yeah, I did. Thank you,” he lies. 

“I’m glad to hear that,” you reply and he can tell you’re sincere. 

The little dachshund walks over to Simon, and begins sniffing around him. Despite his legs burning from his workout, he squats down to see if the dog would approach him. Hesitantly, Ghost holds out his hand and Sarge licks it. Witnessing it makes you so happy you could cry. 

“Careful,” you say gently, watching your dog like a hawk. You were bracing yourself to jump and scoop Sarge up in case he starts to act up, but it’s very obvious he adores Simon. It melts your heart. 

He stands up, and somehow Sarge liking him is giving him a confidence boost. He looks back to you, and he watches the way you’re looking at your little dog. The way you care for the little guy makes him like you even more. 

“Listen, um- I was wondering, would you want to get dinner or something… with me?” He asks, rubbing the back of his neck- a nervous habit. 

“Oh, Simon- I would love to, honestly. I wish I could say yes.” 

He’s never felt more defeated in his life. 

“I just- I can’t go out anywhere and leave Sarge home. He’s not well trained enough yet. This isn’t an excuse, I swear. I would love to go out with you, but I just can’t- not until he’s able to be left alone.” 

He feels the little spark of hope bubble up in his chest again. You wanted to to go out with him. He looks down at Sarge, the cock block, and he starts to formulate a plan. He needs to make a dog friendly date happen. He can do that, easily. He’d make it work. If Sarge comes as part of the package he’s more than willing to take that on if it means getting a chance with you. 

He spent the remainder of his morning off googling restaurants with dog-friendly patios, trying to figure out which one could accommodate Sarge best. He calls around, speaks to managers, trying to pinpoint the absolute best place to take you. He wanted to have everything researched and ready before asking you again. 

A few hours later, when he finally makes his decision, he’s so eager to tell you that he immediately rushes over to knock on your door. 

“Simon?”

“I found us a place- there’s a restaurant downtown that’s dog friendly, and has a really nice outdoor patio. There’s a corner table that’ll be more quiet and the manager said we could have it, and they’ll even play softer music for us if you think it’s necessary…”

“Sarge is…”

“Special, I know… I filled them in about it, and they said it won’t be a problem. We’ll go in for an early lunch when they aren’t busy and he can just stay right with us.” 

“You really went through all this trouble just for me?” You ask, looking at him in awe. 

“It wasn’t trouble,” he replies, and he means that. Calling a restaurant is nothing- doesn’t even scratch the surface of what he’s willing to do for you. “What do you say?” 

“I’d love to go,” you smile, making his heart ache at how badly he wants to kiss you. 

His eyes linger on your lips, you’re just too tempting. Not when you’re so happy, not when your eyes light up like this. He needs to feel you. He takes a tentative step forward, slowly bringing a hand up to cup your cheek. His thumb strokes your soft skin. His eyes scan yours, and he sees the way they flicker to his lips and then back to him. 

He leans in and kisses you, gently, like if he’s not careful you’d break. You kiss him back and he knows he’s going to be thinking about this kiss for a long time to come. It’s dizzying in the best of ways, and he swears he feels sparks- something he never believed was real. 

[monstersflashlight]

Commission for Anna

Request: Would you be able to do some like, plus size body positivity fluff mixed in with some nsfw? Like a girl who feels too big until she meets a monster who's very big and he thinks she's soft and perfect?

Let’s make a deal

Orc x chubby fem!reader || (light) body worship, oral sex || tw: fatphobia

“I don’t want to do this,” you tell him again you let out with a pout. He looks down at you with the most adoring smile you’ve ever seen, your legs getting a bit weak.

He presses his hand a bit harder against your lower back, guiding you inside the awful store. “But you need to, you know you do. It’s your friend’s wedding, come on.” His reasoning is solid, and you know it, but going shopping at a normal mall with your size… Not the best experience.

You wanted to order it online, but you couldn’t find anything good enough so he suggested the mall… And maybe bribed you with the promise to buy any books that caught your attention if you were a good girl and tried on the dresses you like. Who were you to refuse that? He was offering to buy you books… So you accepted.

And now you are regretting it.

“But… They are all going to look stunning and I’m going to look like a sausage covered in lace or something.” You try to cover it as a joke, but you are really worried about it. You are worried you’re indeed going to look awful next to all of your thinner friends in their pretty dresses.

To your surprise, he continues your joke: “I’d eat that sausage any day.” You chuckle, and then burst out laughing when he adds: “Wait! I do eat her out every day,” he whisper-shouts making the lady at the front turn her head with her nose furrowed as if the comment was disgusting.

Her look brings back all your worries. You bite your lip, doubts overpowering your amusement. “I’m serious. I’m going to look so fat in the pictures. All the other bridesmaids are dainty and thin and I’m going to be the fat friend… again.” You try not to sound bitter about it, but you’ve been the fat friend your whole life, never the pretty one, never the hot one, never the sexy one… And it just hurts to be.

His eyes soften, and his hand caresses your cheek as he tells you: “Okay, let’s make a deal.”

“Another one?” You ask, remembering the book deal you make. You are definitely not forgetting about that one, you’ve been eyeing a couple hockey romances you want to have real bad and he’s going to pay for those.

“Another one,” he repeats with a soft smile. He lowers his voice to make his offer: “If you try on four dresses, I’ll make you come so many times later that you’d be dehydrated by the time I finish.” Your whole body thrums with anticipation.

“And if I don’t?” You tease.

“Then I’ll be a good orc boyfriend and let you sit on my face until you are too tired to feel bad anymore,” he states with a very serious face.

You break down laughing, doubling in the middle and holding your belly as you do so, tears in your eyes. “How is that a deal?”

He arches an eyebrow: “You don’t want it?” He extends his hand and you look at him intensely for a beat. Your heart feels so full you feel like it’s going to explode. He’s just so fucking perfect, always having the best words, the perfect words… Fuck, you love him so much.

“Yeah. Yeah, okay. Deal,” you tell him with an amused smile as you grab his too big hand and shake it.

You end up in the dressing room with four dresses that you aren’t sure are going to fit either your boobs, your belly or your ass… But you’ll give them a try because your boyfriend insisted. You aren’t sure how they are going to look over all your fat, probably awful, but you take a deep breath and try the first one. It’s a no go, as soon as you try to pull it down your body it clings to your boobs and doesn’t go down.

You take it off with your heart beating too fast and your mood souring instantly. You knew this was going to happen, and still you are feeling worse and worse.

The second dress fits… very badly. It sticks to parts of your body that you don’t want it to, making you feel, as you pointed out earlier, like a sausage.

The third one gets over your boobs and belly, but the second you try to pass it down your hips it gets stuck, leaving you feeling like Winnie the Pooh as your eyes fill with tears.

Your boyfriend asks how is it going three times, as if he knows you are struggling. You tell him you are trying them on, you’ll be out in a sec… As you wipe the single tear that runs down your cheek as your whole brain starts vibrating with self-doubt and self-deprecation.

You want to leave, you don’t want to try more dresses… But there’s only one left, only one pretty emerald dress that looks so pretty you know you are going to be devastated when it doesn’t fit. But you try it either way, the willingness to make good on your deal powering you through it.

To your utter surprise, the dress fits, the corset like upper part hugging your waist and your boobs and making you feel like a princess. The skirt flows around your hips almost to the ground, and a deep cut up your leg makes it feel sexy. You look at your reflection in the mirror and feel something in your chest bloom.

“I think… I think this one is good,” you say as you open the curtain to find him leaning against the opposite wall.

His mouth falls open completely, his green cheeks turning pink as his eyes travel down your body. “You look… wow.” He takes a deep breath, covering his mouth with his hand as if to wipe saliva out of his mouth. “Wooow,” he repeats as if he can’t believe it. Your heart is pounding like crazy in your chest.

“What?” You ask, feeling self-conscious as his eyes travel up and down your body over and over, mouth still agape.

“Absolutely ravaging,” he finally lets out. The blush that covers your cheeks burns as hot as your body when he looks at you like that.

But because you are you and can’t deal with emotions, you joke around: “You are just trying to gain my favor to get your dick sucked.”

He smirks at you, the corner of his lips reaching almost the tip of his tusk. You sigh adoringly as he chuckles. “I don’t need to compliment you to get my dick sucked,” he states.

“Oh, yeah?” You tease, feeling cheeky.

“Yes. Because I know my little human loves to do that. I don’t need to convince her.” You let out an accidental moan at his rough tone. His eyes darken before he’s guiding you back inside the dressing room: “Take off that dress, we need to get home now.”

“But the bookstore…” You try to argue.

“I’ll let you pay your whole online wishlist with my card if you get out of that dress and sitting on my face in the next thirty minutes.” Your big orc eating you out and all the books you want? Yes.

You change in a hurry, almost throwing the cash to the rude girl at the counter as you do, but you don’t fucking care. Your orc is grabbing your hand and pulling you along to the parking lot, his dick clearly hard in his pants. Some people stare, but neither of you worry about them.

You make it home in record time, pulling off your clothes as you run to the bedroom. He arrives before you, laying down on his back and staring at you squirming next to the bed. You are still feeling a bit self-conscious after the dress-fitting.

But the heat in his gaze makes you shiver. “Come here, darling.” His voice is rough and pure sex. You approach the bed, kneeling next to him. “I promise to give you orgasms until you pass out, so come sit on my face and let me rock your world.”

You instantly shake your head. “I’m too heavy for that.”

“No, you’re not,” he says with a growl that makes your clit tingle as he grabs your hips and pushes you down until you are straddling his face.

His tongue darts out as you try not to push too much of your weight on him, but he’s not having any of that. He growls and grabs your hips again, pushing you completely down until his face is smothered against your pussy and his tongue can reach your welcoming heat. His nose is rubbing your clit, and you let out an involuntary cry of ecstasy at the sensation. Fuck, that feels phenomenal.

Before your body could react, he was making out with your pussy until your brain felt like cotton candy and your hands are tangled in his hair as you ride his face with abandon. Your pussy is making obscene noises against his face, so wet it’s almost embarrassing, but the way he’s moaning under you blows away all your doubts. The pleasure overriding your fears of crushing him as he devours you, moaning like a bitch in heat against your pussy lips and making you crazy with desire.

He eats you out like he’s a starved orc, and good goddess if you aren’t living for it. His hands find your belly, your ass, your boobs… He’s groping around your body, making you feel more secure about yourself as you’ve ever felt. He’s just so fucking perfect, always making sure you feel like the goddess he believes you are.

And right now, with your hands in his hair and your clit, rubbing perfectly against his nose, you believe him, too.

He keeps going until your thighs are trembling against his ears and your pussy is gushing around his tongue as you come for what feels like an eternity, your full body shaking over him until you can’t think straight anymore.

And then he does it again.

And again.

Until you are begging for him to stop because your clit feels too tender and you don’t think you can hold yourself up anymore. He chuckles between your thighs, helping you to your back and caressing your cheek, kissing your forehead as your eyes close very slowly.

Before you pass out, he lets out a soft “I love you,” and you melt completely against his warmth and his love, feeling like a goddess.

[just-call-me-by-yn]

TORNADO WARNINGS - spencer reid

Pairing: Spencer Reid x fem!reader Content warning: angst, first person pov (most of the fic), swearing, y/n used twice, micro mention of typical CM violence Word count: 2.4k Summary: years pass, but the love you have for Spencer doesn’t disappear. Even though he left you a long time ago and you haven't talked since… until now. a/n: my first truly angsty fic so please be gentle with me. I was playing with this concept for a while and finally got the courage to sit down and finish it recently. hope you like it!! 🤍

I’ve been thinking a lot lately, and I came to the conclusion that love is like a flower, it dies over time. But what if the hypothetical flower would be fake? What if it was made out of plastic or some other durable material? That would be true love. One that’s everlasting.

“When the last flower dies, I’ll stop loving you” he said with a shy smile passing me a fake flower bouquet. “I– JJ said it would be more romantic to give you fake flowers and say that phrase instead of giving you roses or some other fresh flowers, so I just-”

“They’re perfect, but just so you know, I will have to throw them away if they’ll die.” I replied, my tone was playful in hopes that it would calm his thoughts, which I simply knew were running at sonic speed.

The flowers made out of plastic lose color with time, the vibrance of the petals washes away and the pigment of the leaves turns into a gray-ish tone of green. But the reminder of what used to be great and strong, colored and saturated is still there.

My hand reached for the blend of fake flowers, a grimace appeared on my face. It’s been years since I’ve even talked to him. The thought came to my mind of how I shouldn’t feel this hurt after over half a decade from the break-up. I am well aware that I shouldn’t keep the flowers, not even when they bring me comfort on lonely nights, smiles on awful days, just to make me uncontrollably sob later. I know it isn’t healthy. They were the sign of empty promises. Lovely words from a liar's mouth. But I still couldn’t push myself to take them off the shelf. Throwing them away would also mean that my part of the promise would be broken as well, and I just needed that safety net to keep up the peaceful state of mind. They didn’t die yet. Sure, maybe a couple of leaves have broken off and the petals started to tear, but the fake plant was still mostly intact.

My heart didn’t feel like it was going to be mending any time soon. I wasn’t obsessing over Spencer, but when I had a rough day at work, I used to put earbuds in and play any old voicemail recordings he had left for me. The most beloved one was of him telling me how proud he was of me. It was recorded after I announced that I got promoted.

“It’s not going to work out” he muttered under his breath as he pinched the bridge of his nose. “I am not interested in seeing you anymore.”

My whole body froze. Did I hear him properly? Was this a nightmare or maybe a cruel joke?

“Excuse me?” the question came out of my mouth faster than I could process it.

“I am sorry, it’s not because of you, it’s me. I just can’t continue this relationship.” he looked everywhere but not at me, which felt like opening a wound that hasn't had any time to heal.

All I could do was choke out a weak, surprised laughter as I blinked away the tears.

“It’s so cliché. You can hear it in most romantic movies.” my voice sounded like it didn’t belong to me, oddly strange.

“Actually according to Merriam-Webster the phrase was originated by Zachary Spence in a newspaper as a sporting reference, though it morphed into a break-up line in 1991, but it was widely popularized in 1993 by– what?” he answered finally giving me his attention, confused as why I couldn’t stop looking at him, but I was taking every second to let his image sink into my memory.

“It’s just that- I’m going to miss your constant rambling, the oversharing” The corners of my mouth twitched as I tried my very best to smile, even if it hurt like hell.

And I do, still, after six years, going strong with a hollow chest. The moment I took off the ring of my finger felt like a punch in the gut, though a little piece of me knew that he wouldn’t leave me without a strong, fundamental reasoning.

Now, every time I read an article about god knows what I keep asking myself: does Spencer already know that? What I tell myself, is that he is a walking encyclopedia, of course he would know. But I shouldn't care, right?

My friends repeat “life goes on” like a mantra, and my parents say “it’ll get better”. But it’s not that simple.

Not when we were planning our future together and all of a sudden it gets thrown, like pawns off the checker of a chessboard. Game over. Start again. Good luck next time… with someone else.

Of course our relationship wasn’t perfect. Though constant worrying probably has reduced my life expectancy by a long run, I would gladly rather live less with him by my side than spend eternity without him.

Then a sudden knock at the door shredded all the thoughts that occupied my head, just to replace them with a question of who could it be? It was already getting dark out early and chilly rain was hitting the windows, quickly running down the glass panes, making a calming sound.

I took one… two… three careful steps out of the bedroom, another five to the front door. My fingers touched the cover of the peephole that I was instructed to set up by Reid when I was living in my former apartment. His story about a 'murderous peeping Tom' case (which was my name for it) got stuck in my mind, so this item was the last thing I took from my old place and the first thing I installed in the new home.

A quick stare through the viewer made me stumble backwards, turn around from the door just to cover my mouth with a shaky hand and place the other arm around my stomach. Suddenly I felt the heat run through my body, that couldn’t contrast more with the weather outside. I felt sick. I closed my eyes, took a deep breath and before I could regret the decision I was about to make I unlocked and opened the door.

And there he stood in all his glory though his face was drained of emotions, he had dark circles under the eyes and a shadow of stubble, quite honestly he just looked like he had seen better days. But it was still Spencer.

“How did you–”

“Garcia.” I nodded at his response. “May I come in?”

As a silent invitation I just moved away from the door frame letting him pass me in the threshold. I could feel my hands begin to tremble, my nostrils started flaring and then there was a bitter taste caused by his presence, that somehow felt like venom in my mouth. All I was thinking of at that moment was that I couldn't hold it in any longer, and that the best outlet I could think of was the door, which I slammed as hard as my strength would have let me. A loud thud filled the apartment making Spencer flinch and his hand to fly to his chest almost instantly.

“How fucking dare you, huh?” I blew up.

It was weird how quickly my emotions could change. I didn’t know that I could be this sour, until the time I heard him speak, telling me that his friend from BAU basically stalked me down, for him to walk right into my safe haven, and make all the ghosts of memories disappear and for him to stand there, flesh and blood.

“You have to hear me out. Please." He was very hurt, I could even hear it in his voice as he pleaded, but it didn’t make sense to me. At least not at first, not until he explained it to me later.

“Spencer, you broke up with me, and that was years ago. What? Did you come by to get a cookie for breaking my heart? Like goddamn it.” I was clenching and unclenching my hands, open hand to fist, again and again.

“Let me explain,” he pinched the bridge of his nose, as if the words he was about to speak were slowly causing him a headache “It wanted to protect you, and I am sincerely sorry for hurting you. You have to understand that it was all for your safety. It wasn't my intention to cause you pain.”

“What are you even talking about?” my anger was slowly washing away to let the confusion take its turn.

“I had too. There was this one unsub, when we started getting in his way he decided to target the people who were close to us . I got worried when he-” he paced around the room and he looked like he was struggling with what words to use to make it all make sense.

“When he what?” I demanded an answer.

“We found his letter addressed to us and you were on the list. It was a hit list. Breaking it off with you was the only idea I had besides trying to have someone watch over you when I couldn’t. If I told you, you would have been trying to find another way to make it work. I know you, y/n. You would try to fight and risk your life. I couldn’t let you be so reckless”

“And what took you so long to tell me about it? It’s been years” I grabbed my shirt right around the collar and crinkled it in my first. My heart was burning in an unknown sensation, that was something I couldn’t describe. I wouldn't be able to do it even now.

“He was on a run for all those years. Just leaving breadcrumbs. We finally got him a few weeks ago,” His eyes were looking everywhere but mine and it felt like agony, though it didn’t cut deeper than betrayal. “y/n you have to know I did it all because I care about you, and it hurt me as well.”

“You know, I never… never truly found anyone, I couldn’t move on and it’s all because of you. It’s because you wrecked me Spencer. Ruin me for everyone else. Because a piece of me still loves you. A piece of me waited, but-” He reached with his hand to touch on my arm “don’t you dare touch me! You have no right to just walk back in and expect me to act, as if I wasn’t lonely and feeling unwanted for over half a decade”

I couldn’t hold back tears any longer, saying those words made me finally acknowledge the feelings I felt for so many years. And it made me ache, like someone ripped my soul out, stomped on it solely to put it back into my body again.

“We were engaged for God’s sake!” I tried to stay calm. I really did. However, yelling out my feelings made me think clearer. “And I tried to be a bigger person, tried to give you space. Forget about it, but it’s hard, when you told me it wouldn’t work out, out of the blue.”

“I tried to keep you alive y/n! And I am genuinely sorry. I am not begging you to forgive me because I know it feels like it was ages ago when we were together. I just want you to consider us and try to make it through this.”

“You sound like a crazy person right now,” I shook my head in disbelief, my mouth flew agape “lying to me, hiding the truth when omitting the fact that someone was planning to take my life, one way or another… I fear this is not something I can get over Spencer.”

From the perspective of time this wasn’t the greatest fear of mine. The thing I was frightened by the most, was that I would give in too easily. I knew I was able to forgive him, deep down I was sure I would bend if he asked me again.

“Okay,” he nodded, almost like he suddenly dissociated himself completely from being present. It felt like he mentally disappeared though his body still stood tall in front of me. He was no longer confident in what he believed in after my words, like all his will to fight for the relationship that we used to have, exited his being with a single lonely tear escaping his eye. He wiped it off immediately with the back of his hand. “I better get going then.”

"I think it would be better for the both of us, if you did." The emotions started to settle in my gut. I couldn't make him stay.

"Alright. goodnight." he said those words, probably hoping this wouldn't be our last goodbye. "Just think about it, okay?"

I nodded as I opened the door before him. When he left the tears started to flow down my cheeks again. This time they were like waterfalls of my broken heart and they were running wild. I just dropped to the floor. The loud sobs were echoing through my apartment as I curled myself into a fetal position.

"So…" you started not knowing what else to say "what do you think?"

The woman on the chair next to you carefully removed her glasses and set them on the table, along with a notepad.

"I think this story you just told me is a very unique and tragic love story," she said confidently "and a very unfortunate one at that"

You shifted uncomfortably on the couch you were sitting on for the past thirty minutes. You were nervously playing with your hands and chewing on your already puffy lips. Dumping the trauma was tiring you even more than your lack of sleep, due to the situation you were still digesting.

"Then, what should I do?" you ask looking up at the therapist, expecting a clear direction.

"I am not here to tell you what you should or shouldn't do…" she said in a calm voice and took a sip of whatever was in her white mug. "My only input here is supposed to be helping you understand your emotions, however, I can tell you to trust yourself and what you decide to do, the instincts usually don't lie"

my masterlist ♥

[anemoia-org]

Sys game #3 answers

🦴 I'm sort of dating one of our members, I won't say her name here because I don't know if she's comfortable having her information on our public Tumblr. She hasn't been around much anymore because she went through something awful, we've had a lot of severance from her lately. We're the only couple I know of.

I miss her.

💀 Not really, we don't have many fictives. We've had several introjects of an OC that was based of the character Nagisa Shiota from Assassination classroom and a lot of severance from those members. I'm one of them.

We just develop past our source because we're people.

🪦 A lot of us have real weird kinks and fetishes that I won't go into here. Breach of privacy. I'm weird myself.

⚰️ Yes. At least one many of us know of. His name is Sunny.

🕷️ Depends what you mean. Some of us are for example obviously autistic like Alex who presents like a savant. Most of us are apparently very distinct as “alters” according to our close friends. Can't exactly measure who's the most distinct from everyone else, there are at least 50 seperate people in here.

🕸️ We either choose our names, help each other with our names or have intuitive names from somewhere.

☠️ Many. I'm one of them. I won't go into all of my individual body modifications though bodily we have 5 piercings, one tattoo and blue and purple hair.

🔪 Not very. Not everyone wants to or remembers to. We have very bad amnesia.

🧿 LMFAO this is so mean. Merrow complained about being thrust into our last rep's life but that's totally fair.

🎃 Eh no not specifically? We don't categorize ourselves based on introjection, we're all still people not fictional characters. We don't treat anyone differently based on introjection.

They do get to keep their source names though. Most of the time.

👻 Our last rep was scrolling on Tiktok and came across a video on structural dissociation. I'm cutting a lot of information out from that story for privacy. It basically just kickstarted our research, we got a specialized therapist and then got diagnosed.

🩸No introjection isn't a big deal for most of us. The very few who care and who we know of don't hate their sources.

🦇 No not really. We're a large system and very distinct so there's nothing we all share in common other than our body and our life. I really like the song "A Sardine Grows From the Soil" though, it reminds me of my favourite game (which is part of my source). And Fences.

🐈‍⬛ Yeah. At least many used to. I don't know if they still do. I'm a German Shepherd therian but it's not a big deal for me. Many of us aren't human but that's who we actually are, not therianthropy.

🔮 There's no system (hah) we have for it. The handlers take care of everything as best they can and if they need help they ask for it. Then someone else might start take control for them.

🧟‍♀️ Those of us who know us externally say I am. I'm a dragon and I'm very confident, I generally assert myself a lot but I'm never mean!

Internally other members say they admire me. We're most intimidated by a member named Dog. She's a vigilante and very protective. And defensive.

🕯️Our cubs aren't present often though when they are some use baby talk. Or just younger kid talk. They are children after all. They do that verbally though online I can't remember the last time any of them were. So I don't know if they do so digitally.

⛓️ Don't have one right now. If I think of one I'll put it here later. We don't keep of track of what we say. Maybe me telling my girlfriend “You're an alcoholic.”

⬛️ I don't know what's considered a non traditional role. Our roles aren't generally hyperspecific, we have a lot of agency and do many things. Our roles are just contexts for some of our behavior, experiences and instincts. We have some sexual roles specific to our experiences I won't go into.

🪳Those of us who draw tend to draw ourselves though we usually don't finish those drawings because whoever switches out. A lot of the time we find images that we feel represent us as profile pictures. I'm considering using picrews though and editing them because jeez we don't have many good pictures specific to what we look like.

Basically our get to know us!

If some of the language I used was confusing, check here!

System Ask Game #3

🦴 - Is anyone in your system dating? If so, who is the strangest pair?

💀 - Is there a particular source you have a lot of fictives from?

🪦 - Who has the strangest habits?

⚰️ - Do you have any nonverbal headmates?

🕷 - Who is the worst at masking?

🕸 - How did your headmates get their names?

☠️ - Do you have any headmates with colored hair,piercings, or tattoos?

🔪 - How consistent are you with logging switches?

🧿 - Is there anyone who spends most of their time in front complaining?

🎃 - Is there anything specific you do to help introjects feel more comfortable?

👻 - How did you discover your plurality/systemhood?

🩸 - Is there anyone who absolutely hates their source?

🦇 - Are there any songs that you associate with systemhood/plurality or your system as a whole?

🐈‍⬛- Is there anyone who identifies as otherkin/therian?

🔮 - How does your system determine who handles certain tasks/responsibilities?

🧟‍♂️ - Who is the most outwardly intimating? Are they viewed the same way within the system?

🕯- Do your system's littles use "Baby Talk"?

⛓️ - Funniest quote out of context

⬛ - Is there anyone who has a unique/ non-traditional role?

🪳 - How do you visualize your headmates? (Drawing them,picrew,etc)

[tsunodaradio]

to be honest ⛐ 𝐀𝐀𝟐𝟑

“i’m sorry i had a machine hooked up to me and i couldn’t lie.” 

ꔮ starring: alex albon x girlfriend!reader. ꔮ word count: 1.4k. ꔮ includes: romance, fluff fluff fluff. inspired by and references the Does Alex Albon think he is No. 1 at Williams? | The Lie Detector video, secret (not for long, sucker) relationship. ꔮ commentary box: this idea has been clanging in my head for two weeks now, i fear 🐈‍⬛ 𝐦𝐲 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

Alex had asked—begged—you not to watch the lie detector test video. 

You agreed, but not without teasing him about divulging some embarrassing secret. You figured it was something along those lines. Maybe they made him choose his favorite cat or reveal his ridiculous pre-race routine. Either way, your boyfriend seemed pretty serious about not wanting you to see that particular piece of content. 

Except it’s been impossible to avoid. 

Your algorithms are unsurprisingly fine-tuned to anything and everything Alex. Clips of his radio messages on Instagram reels, edits of him to Hamilton songs on your TikTok For You page. You’re idly scrolling through your Twitter feed when one particular post catches your attention. 

It’s not even the concept of a reveal that catches your attention. No, that was to be expected. 

What did they mean—Alex asked for it not to be mentioned? 

It’s one thing to keep you from watching. It’s a completely different situation to ask everybody else to stay mum, as if purposefully keeping you out of the loop.

That would make no sense. You try to shake the thought out of your head, try to go back to doom-scrolling, but it nags in the back of your brain. Alex wasn’t the type to hide things from you. The two of you were a secret to the rest of the world, sure, but there were no secrets between you. 

Right? 

You set your phone on Do Not Disturb. You scrub the kitchen clean. You take a scalding hot shower. None of it helps. 

By the time you’re back on your couch, red-faced from the heat of your bath and something else entirely, you make an executive decision. It’s easier to ask for forgiveness than permission, you decide. Alex has given you grace for much worse. 

You pull the video up.

The guilt you’re feeling ebbs at the familiar lilt of Alex’s accent. My heart is gonna be, like, two hundred.

He’s not even on the screen yet, but you can imagine the way his boyish smile would curve around the words. He’s not due to visit until much later, so this six-minute video will have to tide you over the feeling of missing him. And your curiosity. That, more than anything. 

For a moment, you nearly forget why you’re watching. It’s so easy to be distracted by Alex’s sheer expressiveness, by the way he’s always just a bit breathless when he’s laughing. You want nothing more than to reach into your phone and will him to be seated right next to you, alleged reveal be damned. 

Have you ever sat on the toilet so long, your legs fell asleep?, he’s asked, and you simultaneously snort with on-screen Alex. 

Many a times, he answers, and it’s registered as the truth. But it’s more because that’s my time to watch TikTok.

You’re all-too aware of that habit. The petty arguments of you slamming on the bathroom door, demanding for your turn, only for Alex to shout back that he’s finishing part 32 of some movie cut up into several videos, and he’ll be out soon, he swears. It’s the type of domestic image that paints how comfortable the two of you have been this past year, even if there was nobody else to see it. 

Did you have a celebrity crush growing up? 

Yes, on-screen Alex responds. When prodded, he adds rather sheepishly, Erm… Emma Watson. 

You knew that, too. When you first found out, you made Alex sit through the fourth movie so you could tease him relentlessly. Fed up, he had tackled you down onto the mattress during the Triwizard Tournament’s Second Task. The ensuing makeout session had been both heated and playful. A part of you can still feel it thrumming beneath your ribs, months later. 

You’re scheming how to orchestrate another Harry Potter marathon just as two things happen at once. 

First, the Alex on-screen gets asked—baited, more like—with a query of And does your girlfriend compete? 

Then, your front door swings open. The man himself calls out like he always does, “Honey, I’m home!” 

It’s an inside joke, one you can’t really dwell on. Your attention is halved. 

You’ve started out of shock, and your phone is playing on full volume. Just enough for your boyfriend to hear his own sputter of My—my what? from what you’d been watching. 

There’s the sound of something crashing in the entryway. Later, you’ll discover it’s Alex having dropped his duffel bag in his own panic. 

He’s at the mouth of the living room in the next second, but you’re too busy going slack-jawed at the scene in the challenge. The polygraph shoots up. The examiner shakes his head amusedly. The man on the screen fucking laughs, goading Alex, So there it is! You’ve got a girl, Albono?

“You’re watching the video!” Alex shrieks accusingly. 

In return, you screech, “You told everyone about me?!”

Alex darts forward. You mentally curse his racer reflexes and his long legs as he throws himself on top of you. He’s blissfully unaware of his own weight, and so you feel winded amid your attempts to fight back. 

“I didn’t—tell about you,” he argues, his arms flailing as he tries to wrestle your phone out of your hands. “That’s all I said!” 

Which is a damn lie, of course. You don’t even see your screen anymore, but you can hear the video playing out. 

Alex being asked, Would you say this is your soulmate? 

Alex, without missing a beat: Yes. Without a doubt, yes. 

The Alex on top of you groans. He buries his face in the crook of your neck like he might be able to run and hide from his answer, especially as the examiner declares, He’s not lying. 

You relent, hitting pause and casting your phone aside. It lands somewhere by the foot of the couch. “I can’t believe you watched it,” your boyfriend petulantly murmurs against your skin. 

“I can’t believe I’m your soulmate,” you shoot back, and he pinches your side in retaliation. 

“Seriously,” he huffs, adjusting his positioning so that he’s not crushing you too much. “What happened to trust, huh?” 

“Slow down, Gabriella Montez.” 

“Stop being a nerd. It makes me want to kiss you.” 

You’re giggling as Alex rolls off you, flopping to the other end of the couch. He’s all lanky limbs and furrowed brows, his glare fixed on your phone like Sky Sports has personally wronged him. You reach out to rub his ankles, and he instinctively relaxes as if his body is fine-tuned to respond to your touch. 

“I’m sorry for watching the video,” you say. 

Alex frowns. “You’re not sorry.” 

You’re not. 

He heaves out a long-held sigh. “I had to do this whole thing,” he grumbles absent-mindedly. “Hid my Instagram story from you and all that…” 

“You what?” 

“Anyway. Anyway.” Alex clears his throat, his frown curling into a thin pressed line. It’s a rueful kind of grin, one that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. His tick for when he’s guilty. “I was going to tell you.” 

“I bet you were,” you hum. 

You’re not mad. Not really. You know he’s been itching to go public, has wanted you in the Williams hospitality suite for God-knows-how-long. That laminated ID card that would proudly proclaim Guest of Alex Albon.

“They still don’t know you,” he offers. This time, he’s reaching out for you. Preemptively trying to soothe some imagined annoyance. Alex tugs you gently until you’re resting between his legs, his face burying in the back of your hair. 

“All they know is that you exist,” he adds, “and they don’t have to know anything else.” 

You feel a pang in your chest, one put there when you’re reminded of just how lucky you are to have somebody so patient. Someone so willing to set aside his wants for your comfort, your peace of mind. 

“Okay,” you say, voice now softer that Alex has his chin hooked over your shoulder. “It’s alright.” 

“I’m sorry I had a machine hooked up to me and I couldn’t lie.” 

You laugh. “As long as you promise to never lie to me,” you note, nudging his ribs lightly. He lets out an exaggerated howl. 

“I would never,” he grumbles, and you know—you know that’s the truth, too. 

You tilt your head slightly, catching the complicated expression on Alex’s face. There’s that hint of insecurity, that touch of guilt, that flash of impatience. But all of it eases up when you lean in, and you kiss the doubt away. 

“I believe you,” you breathe against his lips, and he’s already smiling before he pulls you in for more. ⛐

BONUS —

[darlingdaisyfarm]

First of all, Loveeeeee your work SO MUCH!! Your works are so comforting to me. Your writing is phenomenal every time. I’m not even really a Stan girlie (Ford girlie for life) but I still read your stuff with Stan because it’s too dang good to skip.

✨ANYWAY: I loved your Stan and Ford reacting to reader getting hurt post. I was curious if you had any thoughts on how they would react to you getting hurt specifically during an *intimate* situation if you will. ✨

Once again, LOVE your work! Don’t feel obligated to answer this if you’re feeling too stressed or overwhelmed at the moment 😌 take care of yourself above all else

𐔌 . how Stan & Ford react when you use your safeword or get hurt during intimacy .ᐟ ₊ ꒱

a/n: idk if it’s the universe or what, but literally right after finishing my last hcs i had this little thought like “hmm what would Stan & Ford do if you used your safeword??” and THEN. i kid you not. i got TWO asks about it!!! i have some mental connection with you people or what?? you are literally reading my mind!! AND THANK YOU SO MUCH SWEETHEART, FOR UR KIND WORDS. im so so happy u like my stuff<333 uve lifted my spirits so much rn <33

another ask said: How would stan and Ford react to their so getting hurt during sex? Nothing serious maybe they bump their head in the headboard of the bed or smth lol

STANLEY

♡ oh damn. Stan knows he’s big, and he knows he gets carried away, especially when you ask for it. when you say “harder” he takes it personally. that man pounds you non stop if u let him

♡ you flinch just a little, and he sees it. and it hits him like a brick wall. he was doing so good, he was so into it, he thought he was making you feel good and now you’re wincing and it’s like the floor drops out

♡ the instant the safe word leaves your mouth, no matter how turned on and panting and deep he is inside you, he freezes, “whoa, whoa. sweetheart, sweetheart, hey” his voice would change in a heartbeat. hoarse and full of fear. he’s yanking back, sliding out so fast it’s a little messy, grabbing you like you’re made of glass

♡ next thing you feel is how both hands of his are cradling your face, one sliding over your back protectively, his thumb stroking your temple. you’d feel how hard his heart’s slamming in his chest because it scares the shit out of him that he could’ve pushed you too far. “you’re okay. you’re okay. fuck, i’m sorry. talk to me, honey, please, i’m right here, ain’t goin’ nowhere.” Stanley would not care if he was still hard or close. nothing. all of him would go into comforting you, wrapping you up in his big arms, rocking you side to side a little, kissing your forehead over and over

♡ later when you're calmer he’d probably be like ”shit, got carried away, didn’t i? fuckin’ old dog like me shoulda known better.”

♡ but he's also MEGA PROUD OF YOU. making sure you feel safe, adored, and so, so good for knowing WHEN to use your safeword.

♡ “you did perfect, sweet thing,” he’d murmur against your temple, “you tell me anytime it’s too much, okay? that's good, good. that’s my smart, fuckin’ perfect baby.” while stroking ur hair <3333

♡ if you're hurt from him reaching too deep (we all know he will) and you whimper like “too deep, Stan, c-cant. your too big” HIS FIRST REACTION IS FEAR. “oh SHIT, baby. did i hurt you?? fuck fuck, we’re stoppin’. i’m so sorry, i didn’t mean to” he physically recoils from you. freezes up with this overwhelming rush of horror and guilt, eyes huge like a kicked puppy. cupping your cheek with his hand still warm from where it was on your hip a second ago

♡ but also. . . if you go “it just went too deep, hurt for a sec, baby, please continue” and give him a half-lidded look through your lashes??? OH THAT OLD MAN WILL BE DOWN BAD!!! he’s like “wait. you’re tellin’ me i got that far in you? i’m that big?” and you’ve created a MONSTER. he goes from worried boyfriend to puffed-up cocky perv in five seconds!!

♡ uhhh will later brag about how he “tapped that cervix by accident” but still, next time he’s gentler. slows down and watches your face more. asks “this okay? this angle better?” every couple minutes. he learns and listens. he’s rough only if you want it <3 Stan is obsessed with making you feel safe

♡ sometimes you end up squashed under his full chest when he gets overexcited. just absolutely buried in chest hair, gold chain, his weight. and when you squirm, groaning, “babe, air, i can’t breathe,” he yanks back, mortified.

“m’sorry! i’m crushin ya, huh?” and then starts kissing your face all over like you’re a lil pancake he flattened <3

♡ but Stan can also go too fast and you get overwhelmed, so suddenly you’re a little dizzy, overstimmed. he probably notices it not by the sounds but by your grip, when your fingers curl too tight on his shoulder, or your thighs twitch too sharp. he knows and stops, breathing ragged, and Stan just presses his forehead to yours. “you need a break? talk to me, baby. don’t try to take more than you wanna.” his voice is gutted, yeah, he feels guilty even though you begged him to go harder in the first place

♡ but then he rubs your clit real slow instead <33 fingers soft and gentle, praising you, kissing your shoulders and neck, “lemme getcha there without makin’ it worse, ‘kay?”

♡ when his back gives out mid-thrust, he just pauses, winces, and goes “okay hang on. hang on. fuck. my back.” honestly he gets so vulnerable and cute that way, you can't help but giggle softly. “don’t laugh at me,” he murmurs, still inside you, trying to twist his hips, searching for the least painful position. “do you need to stop?” you ask. “what? no, absolutely not,” he grunts, rolling his shoulders although his face obviously speaks otherwise. “i just need a second. maybe a pillow. and a painkiller. and a heating pad. and— don't look at me like that, i’m still hot.” you kiss his forehead and tell him he’s the hottest man alive <333

♡ aaaahhhhg im going insane i CANT I NEED TO GET THIS MAN PREGNANT. JUST IMAGINE your getting railed like it’s the last night before the world ends. and it always starts in missionary so his gold chain keeps dangling in your face. it’s hitting your chest, sliding against your neck, catching in the sweat between your collarbones. Stanley doesn't wanna stop but he pauses, noticing this thing causes you trouble. “shit, babe, lemme take this off” and your hands are already on his chest like “no. don’t. it’s hot. keep it on.” that makes Stan grin. “yeah? y’like that?” so it’s a little tangled now. doesn’t matter. you damn love it because he looks even hotter like that. the gold flashes every time he moves, and you’re thinking about it for days. the chain’s choking him more than it is you but he’s too deep in it to care

♡ and when you bump your head on the headboard, Stan absolutely hears the bonk 😭 “what the—? sweetheart, y’alright?” honestly your not, but you're too horny to care. you’re seeing stars but trying to wave it off, and Stan’s like “nope. nuh-uh. i wanna be the one smacking my head, not you. i need your brain intact, ‘kay?” he guides you off gently and lies back instead, smiling at you. “get on top of me, gorgeous. ride me. no concussions this time.” you’re already climbing on, too cock drunk to care when he adds, “yeah, that’s it. take your time. safety first, baby”

STANFORD

♡ Ford is obsessed with feedback and you may not notice it but he keeps eye contact on you, even when your own eyes are closed. so if you're shifting your legs slightly? data. your breathing quickening? important. a stuttered whine? log it. that's cuz hes constantly analysing how you’re taking him because he’s so scared of going too far

♡ so when you gasp too sharply or your body jerks away, he panics. “w-wait, what was that? did i hurt you? please be honest. was it the angle? did i overstretch you?”

♡ imagine accidentally getting his glasses knocked crooked or smashing your forehead into his chin during a particularly frenzied thrust :(( he'll get so flustered and embarrassed. “i-it’s fine. i didn’t need to see that clearly anyway!”

♡ but i also think he's so attuned to you that honestly? he might notice something’s wrong even before you say it. but the second he hears the safeword, he’s pulling out, “darling! i’m stopping, i’m stopping“ his hands immediately go to your face, your shoulders, trying to touch you everywhere at once to calm you

♡ will check on you. like visibly scan your body with his hands and eyes probably saying something as “i’m checking for swelling. you feel tender here? here? what about this side?”

you’re like “Ford it’s okay i’m fine” and he says “NO I MUST BE CERTAIN.”

♡ even during most passionate intense sex, once you whimper your safe word or say “stop” he’d immediately withdraw, whispering “i'm sorry, i'm stopping. you're safe, you're alright, my darling” and he'd tuck you into his arms, checking your face, brushing your hair out of your sweaty forehead, kissing your cheeks

♡ lowkey his cock is deep-reaching so there’s a real chance he’s unintentionally hit your cervix at the wrong angle once or twice. you yelp, making Ford get a full existential shutdown. he wont continue. will sit on the bed with his face in his hands like “what kind of animal am i. . . i promised myself i’d never be reckless with you. . . i lost control. . . im horrible. . .”

♡ “i hurt you. that’s not acceptable. please, guide me differently”

♡ always kisses your hands first. then your forehead. then he wraps you up in the blanket, tucking it all around you to keep you warm even though he’s sweating too, whispering, “it’s alright, sweetheart. you’re safe. i promise you, you're safe with me.”

♡ has definitely tried to apply pressure to your hips or thighs to help reposition you and ended up giving you a bruise :(( ouchh he feels so much guilt!! will leave a handwritten note to you later that says “i saw the mark. i’m so sorry. i’ll be gentler. i love you.” because he gets too shy or awkward to tell you it in real life

♡ and if we're talking about clumsy sex. . . hmmm. Ford has zero business being that hot and that stupid when it comes to lab safety during sex

♡ so when you’re half-stripped on his cluttered workbench, legs around his waist, moaning into his shoulder and there’s a glowing crystal under your ass or some quantum device two inches from your foot, you both don't give a fuck because well, you just want to fuck each other. or make love as how Ford calls it. but that's the problem because when you lean back and suddenly SCALDING HEAT— your palm lands on a freshly soldered piece of alien tech, you yelp.

♡ he freezes and stops moving, asking “what happened. what did you touch. where. tell me exactly which object it was. does it have residue? how hot? do you feel faint?” already running to the emergency first aid kit

♡ then Ford is already holding your hand under the faucet. “you got minor surface heat exposure. i’m sorry. i should’ve cleared the workspace”

♡ but he learns quick! for example, you scrape your leg on a weird lab corner or get a bruise on your hip from a bad angle?? next time he gently positions your limbs, holding you, while pressing inside, kissing your cheek, “does this feel aligned? what about now? no strain? optimal angle?” so yep <33 you get chart-level care. but also intense eye contact the whole time, Ford gets even more tender when you’ve been bruised. your pain makes him want to worship you twice as hard

♡ believe me, he takes this seriously. might even start reorganising the lab after you leave. his smart ass probably thinks of making a “safe sex zone” in the corner with blankets and lead-free surfaces. pervert

♡ sex in the forest while anomaly hunting? Ford finds it so damn hot. but you both forget its literally dangerous too. and not because of the anomalies or some dangerous animals. what's worse is when he presses you up against a tree and forgets it’s covered in sap :') now your back is sticky, your hair’s tangled in pine needles

♡ hes so into the outdoors you’re getting laid where deer nap. or maybe it's some suspiciously lumpy patch of earth? but the result is: you’re getting laid on the ground. everything is good and sexy until your bare knee finds a rock, making you wince, “ow. that’s- there’s a literal rock, Ford. hurts :(” AND FORD IMMEDIATELY GOES “my darling you’re about to be on my coat” he shrugs it off, spreads it beneath you with, gets leaves in his hair though. but stays so focused, whispering in your ear, “i’ll carry you back if you can’t walk” because he knows you can't walk straight for some time after he's done with u. but he says this while literally having twig scratches on his shoulderblades :')

♡ and about back pain. . . he will NOT admit he’s hurting, not a single word. but halfway through he starts going weirdly slow and unsure. knowing your man's age and health, you go “is your back okay?” and Ford tight-smiles, saying “everything’s fine” but it's not because then you move a little and he flinches. turns out he threw out a vertebrae ten minutes ago and was trying to “focus through the discomfort” so yeah. . . eventually collapses and goes “ow ow OW, darling, please get off get off im gonna pass out.”

♡ not gonna lie, but you also love to give him head when he's working in his lab, meanwhile you take him in ur mouth, being under his desk. and yeah, shit happens. you bump your poor head on the bottom of the desk. hard enough to make a dull thud sound and jolt his whole spine. Forc gasps. “are you alright?! my love, did you hit your skull? do you feel disoriented?!” his hands are suddenly in your hair, on your cheeks, checking your pupils. “i should’ve made a better clearance. why is this desk shaped like this, it’s unsafe!” he looks at you and thinks, ur poor thing. he should’ve thought this through. you’re too precious to be bonking your head down there. no more injuries under Ford's watch!!

♡ so next time, when you’re back between his legs, eyes locked on his face while your mouth drives him insane, his big hand slides down. Ford finds the exact spot you bumped your head last time and he keeps it there, resting on the crown of your head, fingers curving protectively around it, shielding you. “there. right here. good. safe.”

♡ if you bump your head on the wall / shelf / headboard, Ford instantly goes into guilt. “no no no, we’re stopping. ill never forgive myself if u bruise. i love that head. u use it for thinking” you’re dazed, naked and being wrapped in his coat while he mutters something about using a pillow. then kisses your temple. “im so sorry. i can, well, i can pleasure you with my mouth. that doesn’t involve blunt force trauma.”

[lakesparkles]

Why are you here? (One shot)

I finished the niche oneshot scene with Thanos and Seo-wan!

Please read it below, if you want:

(NOTE: This is an AU that may make sense only to me ^^’. Everything between [ ] is Thanos speaking English)

 That was a good day. Yes, it was.

 Thanos walked around, almost aimlessly, repeating that same phrase in his head. He even brought his thumb to his lips, biting his nail lightly in concentration.

 What he knew was that there were good days and bad days, no matter your situation.

 He'd heard about that a long time ago. When he was a kid, very young. He had vivid memories of that time, not being able to stand spending an entire day inside a classroom. He wasn't usually a good student: skipping class in the bathrooms to smoke weed; running away from school when the staff didn't pay enough attention; taking out his frustration, even in a good-natured way, on people who didn't deserve it.

 When he started coming home with a black eye more often than not... It started to become a problem.

 It was around that time when he heard about the good days thing.

 He heard that from…

 Thanos stopped in mid-step, suddenly frustrated. He could remember the conversation itself perfectly, but not who he was talking to. It was an adult, yes. Someone much older than him. He put his hand on the back of his neck, frustrated by how the gesture hadn’t been able to make his memories clearer.

 It was with... His mother! Yes, of course, who else would it be?

 Then he started walking again with slightly unsteady steps.

 That day, years back, his mother had explained how necessary it would be for him to know the difference between a good day and a bad day. Thanos didn't pay much attention, because he thought he was about to get another scolding. However, what she explained was that a good day didn't always feel like one. It just needed to be better than a bad one. If he didn't feel terrible most of the time, it would be good enough.

 And now, at that moment, he was having a good day too. His heart was beating a little faster than usual. He was sweating cold, but only a bit. He felt nervous, but not too much.

 So it was a good day.

 "Mr. Choi!"

 He looked back reflexively, regretting it a second later. With a grunt, he lowered his shoulders and started walking again.

 "Mr. Choi? Are you okay?"

 He knew those nurses too well to know that this one wouldn't give up until she got an answer:

 "[I'm great, perfect even!]" He spoke in English, still with his back turned, but waving his right hand in the air. "I'm just going straight to my room, nothing else, señorita!"

 "When you say it like that, I think you're up to something," The nurse said with a small laugh.

 "No way! Me? Never!" Thanos laughed back, increasing his pace so that she wouldn't catch up with him. "[Goodbye!]"

 He arrived in the room a few moments later, satisfied that he had managed to (literally) escape a conversation. He just didn't feel like it. Not at all. To tell the truth, his head started hurting again, so it seemed like a good idea to just go back to his room.

 Without thinking much, he walked over to his bed, throwing his weight on it and feeling the bed frame creak. Some roommate - he didn't care enough to remember his name - complained about the noise, saying that he would end up breaking that thing.

 Thanos paid it little attention, ignoring him and stretching as dramatically as he could. An involuntary yawn even came out of his mouth, it was as if he yawned more often every day.

 Something about that place was that they always tried to keep their patients busy. Maybe so that they wouldn't even have time to think. Thanos had a theory that it would fix him, but in the end, he managed to appreciate the little free time he had in the afternoon. He didn't have a damn thing to do, but he could sleep.

 After five minutes, he realized that he wouldn't be able to sleep.

 So he sat up awkwardly on the bed, rocking his body from side to side.

 He felt like his head was about to explode. He could barely keep his eyes open, so he grunted loud enough to make it a problem for everyone there. Apparently, that automatically caught someone's attention.

 "Were you cursed too? It happened to me on that last mission, remember? Next time, it's better not to cross that bridge," The man in the bed closest to his own spoke in a neutral tone, but clearly confident about what he was saying. 

 That was the funny part! So Thanos smiled, turning towards him:

 "Oh yeah, dude? Do you know if the nurses would give me a healing potion twice in the same hour? It's a healing potion you say, right?" Thanos scoffed, even though he knew that Seo-wan (one of the only names he memorized from there) would take everything completely seriously.

  "Nurses?" The other seemed confused, however. "What are you talking about, bard Su-bong?"

 "Su-bong!?" Thanos exclaimed with the same intensity as someone who just received a slap in the face. "My brother, I already told you that I'm Thanos!"

 "You are not," Seo-wan laughed lightly. "Thanos is just a fictional character, I think you're a little confused.

 "Huh? That you are aware of- Ah, fuck it!" Thanos cut himself off and preferred to move on to the next subject before he got bored.

 First thing, however, he got up from his own bed, pretending that his legs were not wobbly and weak. In a few steps, he reached the other's bed, making himself comfortable and sitting next to him with a smile. Seo-wan returned it with the same gesture, despite poorly disguising his discomfort with the sudden proximity.

 Seo-wan could always maintain the appropriate posture, but Thanos was good at observing people. Even though he'd known Seo-wan for a few days - a little over a week -, he could capture all the little details: the way his shoulders tensed; him changing the focus of his vision to a random point before returning to Thanos out of pure politeness; how he licked his dry lips, something he rarely did.

 Seo-wan couldn't say that explicitly, but he didn't want Thanos there. That fact wasn't enough to make Thanos leave, but it didn't feel good either.

 "Are you bored too?" Thanos began, elbowing him lightly. "I tried walking around, there's no shit to do."

 "I kinda like it," Seo-wan shrugged. A simple statement, with nothing more to add.

 "How so? Damn, I feel like-"

 "Why are you here, bard Su-bong?"

 Thanos opened his mouth to answer, but he was too surprised to form any coherent thought. Since he had been admitted to that place, he hadn't seen Seo-wan acting like that - so direct. His gaze was fixed on Thanos, who had no choice but to stare at his dilated, almost intimidating pupils.

 "What are you-"

 "You're not like this!" Seo-wan didn't even allow him to finish his meaningless question. "I know you'd rather be hunting wild boars during these hours. Or anything else. You're always in someone's company for that too."

 "You're talking nonsense," Thanos looked away, not really knowing what the hell he meant. Usually, Seo-wan's analogies were weird, but understandable. If he tried a little, he could translate half of the words in his mind. Today, his head hurt like hell. "And, like, duh! Now I'm in your company, nothing new, right? Why are you surprised? Do you happen to like watching me?"

 "A little, yes," To his surprise, he received an immediate confirmation. "You're one of the only people here who can hear me too!"

 "Everyone here can hear you, man, they just pretend you don't exist," Thanos shrugged only to finish after a short pause. "Because you're a fucking weirdo."

 "That's not true!" For the first time, Seo-wan raised his voice. "The sorceress told me about everything they did to me! She gave me some instructions on how to end this specific spell... But I still haven't managed to fully unravel the enigma..."

 "Sorceress, [right...?]" Thanos remained serious, unimpressed. "Come on, man, do you know what I mean? It's impossible to understand anything you say!"

 Seo-wan seemed to give up on the little argument, making an impatient "tsk" as he lifted his chin and closed his eyes, to see if Thanos would simply stop existing.

 Thanos was about to make another joke, but suddenly stopped.

 It was a simple gesture.

 For a few seconds, Seo-wan raised his hand to his nose, scratching it lightly. There was something in the way he did it, mixed with the way his nose moved... Even Thanos's head stopped hurting for a second.

 He had to admit to himself that Seo-wan always made him feel strange. It was like that ever since he first saw him sitting around in the halls of the psychiatric ward. His gaze met his and Thanos noticed every detail at once, from his faint freckles to the way Seo-wan always kept his hands moving, restless. He was stupidly familiar, and Thanos knew why.

 It was at that moment that he realized that maybe that wasn't going to be a good day after all.

  "Hey, Seo-wan... Wizard, whatever," Thanos remained seated in the same place, even though he looked away and forced a more serious tone of voice. "Why are you here again?"

 Seo-wan hugged his legs and rested his chin on his knees, a little distracted during the short time Thanos had been silent:

 "Hmm? I'm just a little tired."

 "No, that's not it! Not in this bed, why are you here in general?"

 "In this region?"

 "That 's it."

 "I need to defeat the fire dragon, I thought I already told you that."

 Thanos nodded slowly, his gaze completely unfocused. But, of course, he didn't find much sense in what he heard, so he continued:

 "And why do you need to do this anyway?"

 "Isn't it obvious? It destroyed everything I had!"

 "The fire dragon…?"

 "Of course! I've been training for years, I don't think I've ever been so close to achieving it! That excites me, you know? I've focused on this for so long that I don't even know what I'm going to do next. Trying to figure it out thrills me even."

 "I see," - Thanos lied, despite being entertained. He hadn't even noticed the small smile that appeared on his lips. Now that he looked at him, he realized that Seo-wan seemed to be relaxed for the first time that afternoon, even releasing his legs from his own embrace and sitting up straight next to the other.

 "And you, bard Su-bong? Why are you here?"

 With a sigh, Thanos took the weight off his shoulders, already anticipating that very question:

 "Look, there's not only one reason."

 "I could notice."

 "Fuck you," Thanos pretended to be upset. "Dude, I have a huge list. Do you want it in alphabetical order or what? Sure, man, if you don't mind listening to me for a long time! Such an honor, I know you won't mind!"

 Fulfilling his goal, he heard Seo-wan laugh lightly. It didn't necessarily sound like his laugh, but it was close enough to make his heart ache.

 The comparison hadn't been a good feeling. Nor a bad one.

 And the worst part was that Thanos wasn't just lying for the sake of it. He really didn't know how to answer Seo-wan's question. ‘Because it's the first time I've spent more than a week sober in the last decade' could be a good start, but he didn't have the patience to go into any details. He didn't want to tell him more about his headache that wouldn't go away. Or about the chills he still felt days later. Or how ironically he felt exhausted and discouraged all the time. Or about all the times he'd yelled at some nurse when he regretted having gone there in the first place.

 It wouldn't be worth it.

 So maybe he could tell Seo-wan about everything he'd been through until he got there, but it wasn't like Seo-wan would understand or even believe it. Sometimes, even Thanos wondered if his memories were true. If he hadn't created another reality just to pretend that none of that had happened to him in the first place.

 However, what ended up coming out of his mouth was:

 "I miss someone."

 It wasn't the answer Seo-wan was expecting, he could judge by his mouth slightly open in confusion:

 "Really? Who?"

 "Uh..." Thanos scratched the back of his neck in reflex, not sure if he wanted to be honest. "A guy I met a few months ago. You don't know him."

 "I know but... He ended up here in this village? Are you looking for him around here?"

 "That's not exactly it," Thanos knew he was nowhere to be found. Not anymore.

 "Are you running away from him?"

 "No!"

 After realizing that his answer was louder than expected - even making Seo-wan's eyes widen slightly - Thanos stood up with a quick movement. Standing up, he dramatically cleaned an invisible mess from the hideous pants he was forced to wear there.

 "Bard Su-bong, did I say something that-"

 "[Relax, man, you're fine!]" Thanos raised both arms in the air, doing a few turns and turning his body in the same place. "He has nothing to do with you! I'm going to sleep now, okay? Or my head will disintegrate for real."

 He knew that Seo-wan knew he was lying. And he knew that Seo-wan knew he knew. Even so, he walked to his own bed and threw all his weight on the mattress again. Then he buried his face in the pillow and remained still. He couldn't see anything around him anymore, but he heard Seo-wan sigh and clear his throat, probably changing position and going to lie down too.

 But Seo-wan didn't say anything.

 This was wrong, it wasn't supposed to be like this.

 With another sudden memory, Thanos remembered how Nam-gyu would have followed him at the same moment, complaining and whining for Thanos to spill the beans. Nam-gyu could be insufferable when he wanted to, he lost count of the last time he could even think without that bastard's voice ringing in his ear nonstop. If Nam-gyu were there, he would have a worse headache and could already give up on his possible nap.

 But Seo-wan didn't say a single word, too polite to bother him.

 This bothered Thanos immensely.

 He thought about how Seo-wan had the same hair color as Nam-gyu, only much shorter. He also had the same faint freckles. He scratched his nose the same way. He sighed like him.

 But he was far from being Nam-gyu.

 So he concluded that his mother was right all those years ago. Today was indeed a good day.

[alltimecharlo]

may i selfishly request jealous will?

like maybe one of will's bros is hitting on mack (bcs mack's pretty lbr) and will is so close to homie-cide lenogabe are actually worried

yessss of course! fic under the cut :)

Mack doesn’t even realize it’s happening at first.

He’s leaning back against the sticky kitchen counter of Will’s frat house — which smells like beer and Axe body spray and something faintly burnt — sipping on a plastic cup of whatever godawful concoction someone poured for him. He’s mostly trying to survive the party while Will finishes up a game of beer pong out in the backyard, but he doesn’t mind watching the chaos. He’s always found something weirdly charming about these messy frat events: people doing keg stands, loud pop music, someone yelling about shotgunning a seltzer like it's a medal-worthy event.

Then someone slides into his space a little too close.

Mack shifts slightly, just a step. But the guy — tall, built, blonde in a surfer-douche sort of way — doesn’t get the hint. He grins, a little too confident, a little too familiar.

"You Will’s friend?" the guy asks, tipping his chin like he already knows the answer.

Mack raises an eyebrow. "I’m Mack."

"Right, right — hockey guy, yeah? Will’s mentioned you. Didn’t say you were this hot, though."

Mack blinks. "Uh."

The guy smiles, all teeth. "What, can’t handle compliments? Don’t worry, I’m not exactly subtle. I like what I see."

Somewhere across the house, a glass breaks. Mack barely hears it over the sudden ringing in his ears.

“Cool,” he says, stiffly. Then tries to sidestep.

The guy steps with him. "We’ve got this afterparty thing, upstairs, quieter. You should come."

Mack opens his mouth to say something — anything — when there’s suddenly a presence at his side, warm and crackling with energy.

Will.

Who looks like he’s about two seconds from murder.

“What’s going on?” Will says, tight and smiling the way a wolf does before it rips out a throat.

The frat guy, completely oblivious or maybe just stupid, grins wider. "Just inviting your friend here to hang out later."

Will slides in front of Mack fully, not pushing but definitely blocking.

"Yeah, see, that’s not going to work for me."

The guy laughs like it’s a joke. "C’mon, man. You don’t own him."

Mack, who has one hand now lightly on Will’s back, leans in. "I’m his boyfriend."

That finally wipes the smug off frat guy’s face.

Will steps forward, just a hair. "Yeah, and I don’t take kindly to people trying to sleaze on what's mine."

"Dude, chill," the guy mutters. "Didn’t know."

"Now you do."

The guy slinks off, muttering something about crazy hockey players.

Will doesn’t move until he’s disappeared into the crowd.

"You okay?" Mack asks, a little amused now, a little turned on, too, if he’s honest.

Will huffs. "I was this close," he holds up two fingers, "to homie-cide."

From behind them, Gabe says, "We were placing bets on it."

Leno nods solemnly. "I had five bucks on Will decking him by the bathroom."

Will turns to glare. "Why didn’t either of you stop him from hitting on Mack?"

Gabe shrugs. "We wanted to see what would happen. Also, you looked hot when you got all territorial."

"You’re the worst friends," Will mutters.

Mack loops an arm around Will’s waist, tugging him in. "You are kinda hot when you’re jealous."

Will glares up at him. "Shut up."

Mack grins. "Make me."

Will kisses him. Right there in the middle of the grimy kitchen, plastic cups and loud music and all.

Gabe groans. "Gross. I’m going upstairs."

Leno follows. "Let us know when you’re done being disgusting."

Will flips them off behind Mack’s back, then leans into him with a sigh. "Next time I’m keeping you on a leash."

Mack just smirks. "Kinky."

Will groans again. "You’re the worst."

Mack nuzzles against his cheek. "Still yours."

And that, Will can’t argue with.

♡

[bonniesbluee]

Drew Starkey x bimbo!reader - friends with benefits situation

drew was just finishing an interview after the success of OBX season 4. obviously, he and his friends had to celebrate. and what better way than to celebrate with some boobs on their faces. they were going for the plenty options of women, but him? he was going for someone special.

his pretty little stripper. he has been seeing you each time he has time to spare. he met you in an occasion just like this, a celebration! and since then? he hasnt slept with anyone else. you have him hooked, from your flirty banter, to how you match his freak, to the way you turn into a softie after sex.

both of you have an unspoken friends with benefits dynamic, and you seem to be okay with that! specially since he's so busy, he wont have time for an actual relationship. but he would be lying if he said he didnt want you out of that job. he wanted to be with you at all times. show you off, take you to galas and red carpets, introduce you as his girl, as his. he would do anything to give you a better life, and he will. eventually.

when he and his friends walk in the club he starts looking for you, telling his friends he needs to go to the restroom. he spots you in a pole, dancing so sexually yet so elegantly. he loves seeing you doing what you do best. he chuckles to himself, walking back to his friends. "yo, where the girls at man?" one of them ask. he simply rolls his eyes and sits down, "be patient, they're coming." he knows they are.

a few minutes pass and he sees you walking down the stage, he doesn't bother excusing himself before he's already behind you. he embraces you from behind, obviously making you flinch before feeling his big hands on you and realizing who it was. you turn, giggling. "oh my goddd!" you squeal, hugging him tightly. "i missed you so much baby." he sighs against your hair, his hands hooking underneath your knees to hoist you up.

you wrap your arms around his neck, pressing soft kisses against his cheek, leaving red marks against his skin. "mm me too, why didnt you tell me you were coming?" you pout, glossy lips glistening against the clubs lights. "i had to surprise you." you laugh before kissing him softly. "you came here alone?" you ask while he puts you down, his hands going up to cup your cheeks. "nah, came here with my boys." he nods behind him, and you hum in response.

"actually, now that you mention it." he smirks, kissing your forehead before pulling you with him. "mind getting one of your best girls for them? for this special occasion." he leans down to whisper in your ear. "maybe then we could get some alone time." you smile at his words, nodding. "alright then." he gives the meat of your ass a squeeze before you rush away into the dressing room. he sits back down, and before any of his friends get the chance of questioning him, he talks. "dont worry, the girls are coming."

you come back minutes later with 3 more girls. they're all in their best revealing attire, from glittery thongs to see through bras. he doesn't see that tho, he sees you. he watches as you and the girls approach the table. "hello boys," you say as you stand infront of the table. hands on your hips. "these will be girls that will be, hopefully, making your night." you wink, giggling softly. you give the girls a nod and they pick a boy of their choosing before they walk away to private rooms. you do the same, grabbing drew's bicep and pulling him to a room.

the moment the door is shut he kisses you desperately, his hands going to your cheek, his other one going down to your ass. "its been so long," he mumbles against your lips. "too long." before you know it your face is deep into the cushion of the couch, practically screaming his name. "i-i-im gonna-" he slaps your ass before burying his face into your neck. "im gonna fill this pretty hole up.." he groans, grabbing your neck and turning your head. "look at me while you come, i want to see you.."

afterwards, you lie on his chest, eyes closed, body sweaty and spent. his hands card through your hair to make sure it doesn't bother your face. "i cleared up my schedule for a week, you could...spend the week at my place?" he whispers. taking note of all the bite marks he left on your hips. "is it even a question?" you giggle, and he smiles. "i guess not." he hugs you softly, hands cradling you against his chest as if he wasnt balls deep inside of you less than 5 minutes ago.

[plasticflowersinahistorycemetery]

please diva stop starting things and never finishing, i'm dying re reading all over your fics and this sounds like a hate message but actually it is, i hate u! finish all ur fics now so i can sleep in peace at night i can't this feels like an addiction! i open ur page and hope that u posted but u posted something new THAT U NOT GOING TO FINISH we are in a toxic relationship, im sorry if u always give and i always take but i can't i try to find another writer that it's better than u but not of them have what u have but they finish everything and u write masterpieces but let me wanting more I CANT DEAL every time u post a new fic i just know u not going to finish it so i read with a hole in my heart

okay i think this was satire (i hope??) but waking up to it still kinda stung ngl 💀

just for the record, bestie: i do finish most of my series! the only open ones right now are malevolence and eyes too close to let me, and even those are in-progress, not abandoned, i swear. inviolable and don’t lie to me were completed—i just got inspired to maybe add a final part to them later. the colour!/lustre! series is a little more spontaneous, but that’s the nature of it.

i’ve been quiet lately because i’ve been slipping back into depression after a two-month stint of pure mania, where writing felt like a full-time job (which was amazing but also, uh, definitely not sustainable). so if it feels like i’m starting and not finishing—i promise it’s not neglect, it’s just me trying to recalibrate and not burn out. <3

i love that people care about the stuff i write (i love that you care about the stuff i write!!!) this much, but i also need space to take care of myself between posts. pls know i’m still here, still writing, still planning to finish things—just a little slower than before.

also!! the new series i just started—it’s a cruel summer—is something i’m genuinely obsessed with. it’s made me feel excited and motivated to write again, and i will be finishing it as soon as i can. i’m already deep in it and loving every second. so pls don’t worry—this one’s not going anywhere.

i love you guys so much. really. i’m sorry if it ever feels like i’m letting you down—that’s never my intention. thank you for caring, even when the delivery is unhinged lmao. <3

edit: i just need to add that i do also have a job that i have to work on behind the scenes, as well as a 4 year old son i'm raising. so this blog is kinda, my safe space... which means i am already spending all of my free time pumping out fanfic.

[yuma-mukami-garden-god]

The diaboys seeing their s/o pole dancing drunk!!!!!

(lemme know if you want me to expand on any of these guys)

Shu:

He lifts an eye lazily from his spot, sighing. “You’re seriously doing that in front of everyone?” He doesn’t even move at first—he’s too used to your antics. But the second someone else starts enjoying it, he’s off the couch and dragging you down mid-spin. “You’re mine, not the crowd’s entertainment.” His voice drops an octave as he pins you to him, whispering darkly, “You want attention? Fine. I’ll give it to you, all night.”

Reiji:

He’s furious. Not just irritated—seething. He storms over, yanking you off the pole with sharp, practiced force. “This is vulgar and unbecoming. I raised your standards better than this.” His grip bruises, his eyes flash with authority. “We’ll be discussing this thoroughly. In private. And you will apologize for this shameful display. Then… you’ll learn what it means to behave.”

Ayato:

“Oi, what the hell do you think you’re doing?” he barks, storming forward, practically fuming. You were his, not some showgirl! He’s torn between embarrassment and arousal, so he grabs you mid-twirl, tossing you over his shoulder. “If you wanna perform, do it for Ore-sama, not these extras.” Later, in private, he’ll tease you with a smirk, “Heh… You actually looked kinda hot up there.”

Laito:

He’s amused at first—very amused. “Nfu~ Such a naughty little kitten~” He watches the performance with a lazy grin until someone else dares to whistle. Then he’s beside you, sliding a hand possessively around your waist. “You were doing so well, but now I’m jealous. Let’s take this private, Bitch-chan… You owe me a personal show.”

Kanato:

He freezes. Eyes wide. Lips trembling. “Why… are you doing that? Are you trying to make them love you more than me?” The hurt mutates into rage, and he shoves everyone aside, screaming. “Don’t look at her! She’s mine!” He’ll drag you away, whispering to his doll, “She’ll be punished, right, Teddy? She made everyone look at her…”

Subaru:

Subaru sees you and just—malfunctions. He blushes, growls, and tries to look away… until someone catcalls. Then the vampire in him snaps. He punches a hole through the wall, storms up to you, and scoops you up like a bride. “You’re drunk and making a damn fool of yourself.” His voice is low and trembling. “Next time, dance for me… only me.”

Ruki:

His expression turns ice-cold. “Livestock… what exactly are you trying to prove?” He steps in, stopping your show mid-way, calm but suffocating in dominance. “This body belongs to me. You don’t parade what’s mine.” He’ll escort you out, arm firm around your waist. “Your punishment will be thorough. Maybe then you’ll remember your place.”

Kou:

Kou’s smile stays plastered—but his eye twitches. “M-Nyan~ What a scandalous kitten you are~” He lets you finish one spin, just enough for people to gawk, before sweeping in with sugary venom. “You’re such a tease… Do you want everyone to want you? Or are you just desperate for my attention?” Behind closed doors, his tone drops. “Time to put your body to better use.”

Azusa:

He watches in silence, fingers clutching his bandaged arms tighter. He walks slowly to you, voice soft. “You… want people to look at you? Does it… make you feel wanted?” His gaze is sad but intense. “You don’t have to do that… I want you already…” He takes your hand gently. “Please… don’t give yourself away like that… it hurts…”

Yuma:

He’s halfway through a drink when he spots you on the pole and chokes. “What the actual—Oi!” He stomps through the crowd, lifts you off the pole like a sack of potatoes. “You’re damn lucky I got to you first.” His voice is rough in your ear. “Next time you wanna act like a stripper, you better do it for me and me alone.”

Carla:

He watches in silence. His expression unreadable. Then, calmly, he approaches, commanding attention with presence alone. “How disgraceful,” he murmurs as he stops the music with a snap of his fingers. “A queen should never debase herself for common eyes.” He pulls you close, his voice lethal. “Your body is sacred… and only I have the right to witness its worship.”

Shin:

He’s livid. “Are you out of your damn mind?” he snarls. He’s instantly beside you, pulling you down roughly. “Do you want attention that badly? From them?!” His fangs flash, and his possessive streak burns. “You’re mine, dammit. You want to dance like that? You’ll do it for me—with a collar on.”

Kino:

Kino finds the whole thing hilarious… until it isn’t. “Whoa~ That’s bold, babe. You’re really letting loose tonight, huh?” He’s smiling… until someone else ogles you. His aura shifts. “Okay, game’s over.” He’s suddenly dead serious, plucking you off the pole. “You’re hot when you’re wild, but next time, let’s keep the audience exclusive—just me.”

[mission-light-if]

Mission Light - Lawyer Path Part 2 - Out Now!

Hello guys, it's me again :)

First of all, I know I said that I would try to upload the update by the 8th of April, but yeah, that didn't happen, obviously.

Before my top surgery, a lot happened, and I had no time to finish everything.

I also lost some of the things I had written because I was careless.

I was frustrated about that, and after the surgery, I needed some time to recover. I also had a few complications, and university started again.

By now, I've managed to rewrite a lot of what was lost, but not everything.

Since I finally want to put something out there, and it's been six months since I originally wanted to finish the lawyer prologue, I've decided to upload what I have so far.

Which, in itself, is also a lot—I'd estimate it to be around 170,000–180,000 words :)

Now, there are still about 3-4 things missing, but when you play the new update, you'll notice that I added a short text/info when that's the case.

I will add those sections in the future. There are also some more minor things I want to add here and there, so my work on the lawyer prologue isn't finished yet.

However, since I have worked on it so much, I’m really tired of seeing it at the moment. So maybe I'll start working on the next chapter first and then get back to what’s missing in the lawyer prologue later on to regain some motivation/fun in writing. I've been wanting to start the next chapter for so long; I finally want to write all the scenes I've been planning and more.

Honestly, it’s been an up-and-down process. Sometimes I was really motivated, sometimes I wasn't, and there were just parts I kept putting off because I had no fun writing them, but I needed them for the progression of the story. So, the quality of the writing may differ in some parts.

I also have to fix the scaling and the relationship/flirt points for some characters/parts, but that's something that only concerns me for now since they aren’t really relevant at the moment, but yeah.

Starting now, I want to do weekly updates. That means, at the end of every week, I’ll upload a new version with everything I’ve written and done during that week, so please remember that. It could be a new choice, just one new paragraph, or maybe a lot of new content.

I will always tell you what I added/changed, though.

If you find any bugs/code problems, please let me know on Tumblr :)

I also try to answer the remaining asks at some point, but it may take some time since I have an important exam coming up that I can’t fail because it's my second-to-last chance to pass.

Nonetheless, I’m really proud of what I’ve achieved.

It’s been almost a year since I started working on this project, and even though I would have liked to have published more by now, I’m really happy with what I’ve done so far.

The way it’s going right now, I’ll probably be writing this for like 5 more years, but that’s okay—art takes time, and I know I function differently than others, in the way I work, think, and how my energy levels work.

I’ve worked for at least three hours almost every day on this project, at least on the days I was home and not out, and it's the most, the longest, and the most consistent thing I’ve ever done.

Even if my writing, storytelling, progression, and choices aren't perfect, I’m happy I started this. Otherwise, it would have forever remained a dream of mine.

This is the project I always wanted to do: writing, game mechanics, my art, and my characters. So, I think this will be sort of my life project.

It's really, really far in the future, but at one point, I would love to add maybe a mini webtoon, mini-games, a better sidebar, more lore, game mechanics like a diary or letters, a timeline, some voiced lines, etc., stuff like that, and maybe even a character creator drawn by me, where you can create your own character.

That way, when I finish everything, I’ll truly have my dream work of art, incorporating all forms of art I like and everything I mentioned before.

I am grateful for every person reading and liking my story; it means so much to me.

Now for the update

This update includes:

Updated Prologue and First Part:

I changed a lot of the writing/internal struggles of the main character

I added the possibility to play matchmaker between Hongyu and Marcos/Maria

I added more depth to the main character's past with Noel and the lingering effects

I also changed a lot of the choices and their outcomes

I added a new system for Noel and the main character's dynamic (hate him, believe in good/nostalgia, afraid of him)

The New Second Part:

Meet Noel again and deal with him in different ways

Learn about your coworkers' superpowers

Pick one of two choices, leading to two entirely different fight paths

Awaken your own powers

Decide how to approach the fight with Noel (on both paths), leading to many individual fight outcomes (the two different broader paths with 4 main splits and even more choices on one, and 2-3 splits on the other)

Meet another agent, Min, in the aftermath of the fight and deal with everything that happened

Ask more questions and figure out more about what’s going on and went on behind the scenes

Prepare/start to get ready to confront Noel and his group in the next chapter to finally end things once and for all

Meet more agents (Sinan and Nayla) in the end and meet your group's pet dog, Vin :)

That’s it for now :)

Take care,

Jakob

Play here

[goose-duck]

Hey there Goose hope that your day is going well, and if it isn't, I hope your week gets better. I was wondering if it was possible for you to write something for Ronin from Killer Chat?

If so, the the idea I had is Ronin with a completely Burned out Reader? As in- completely drained Burned out. I've personally been trying to finish a 30k fic at the moment and the feeling of burn out is real.

Thank you for reading.

I feel this about school extremely hard, so low-key, I'm just gonna project my problems onto this 😭

I hope that's okay ♡

~~~~~~

•You've recently been pretty much dog piled with work.

•Absolute miserable shit.

•Project after project. Story after story. It feels as though it'll never end.

•It's driving you absolutely crazy.

•You get irritated with everything, even the birds having the gall to chirp while you're trying to get work done. Never mind if a person dares interrupt you.

•You feel like you're losing your mind, and every shred of sense of self to this gruelling work.

•This doesn't go unnoticed by Ronin at all. In fact, he notices it fairly quickly.

•He's having to remind you to do basic shit, like eat, drink water, or even just bathe.

•He notices the signs quickly and doesn't hesitate to help you.

•He's not gonna say something like, "Just take a break." Or anything as unempathetic as that. He knows what it's like. You need to get this done, or it's over for you.

•He doesn't mind reminding you to do simple things. If that's what'll keep you afloat, he'll do it.

•He suggests helping you with your work.

•If you agree? Great, he'll do half and you'll do half.

•If you disagree? He'll accept it and just stick to making sure you take care of yourself when you can.

•Crying at night from the stress of it all? He's there, holding you close in his arms. He holds your head to his chest, ear right over his heart.

•"Listen to it, baby. Focus on that. Yours is still beating like that, too. You're still alive, and you still will be when it's over. I'll make sure of it."

•He holds you until you can sleep. If you don't sleep, he'll hold you until you say no more.

•You get upset with him for interrupting you while you work? He won't get offended. Later, when it's over, he'll likely try to have a chat with you about it. However, in the moment, he'll just leave you to it.

•If he hears you yelling, damaging things–yourself–he knows he won't be able to stop you. Normally, that would prompt him to leave you to it and clean you up after. However, with this? No way.

•He's smart enough to know that anger + stress = minimal self-control.

•You could do something you can't come back from. He'd know. He'd know better than you may anticipate.

•If he can talk with you, he will. He'll try every peaceful way he can to stop you before something bad happens.

•"Baby..? Let's talk, yeah? Instead of... this..?"

•If peace doesn't work, he will just reprimand you.

•He'll hold you in his arms and not let you go. You can scream at him, cry, hit him, he won't let you hurt yourself ovr something he can help you fix. He'll just hold your fists in his hands and tell you he loves you and that he's there.

•"Darling- hey- hey- no- shh... shh. It's okay, I've got you. I'll help you, okay? Anything you need; I'm here. I'm here for you. I love you."

•He'll pepper you with soft kisses, gentle reminders that you haven't fallen into a hole you can't escape. Reminder's that you're not your work. You're just you, a human, a person.

•If he has to–to make it all stop–he'll go straight to your manager, boss, whoever is causing all of this grief for you and deal with them himself.

•He'll do what he has to to keep you sane.

•Just talk with your boss, maybe threaten them, kill if necessary. Whatever it takes to see you smiling again.

•When it's finally over, through means of you getting everything done, or him bringing your boss to their untimely end, he's still there.

•He helps you take care of yourself. You've been neglecting yourself for so long; now you're paying the price.

•He'll help you with everything. Anything you're too tired to do yourself. He'll handle it all for you.

•Think of it as a Ronin mandated vacation, where every employee at the resort is Ronin himself.

•He's there for you when you can't move.

•He's there for you when you can't think.

•Whatever you need; he's there.

•"I'll handle it, baby. If you'll allow me?"

•He's not overbearing, just there when you want him.

•"I love you, Darlin'. Just wanna see that perfect smile on your sweet face again. I'll do whatever it takes to help you feel alive again. I promise you that."

[twicehaneul]

the first meet

pairing: choi seungcheol x twice added member' oc

genre: fluff, first meet, slow burn, acquaintances to friends to lovers

warnings: none

if you want to be in the taglist, please leave a message! 🤍

June 2, 2017 — Music Bank, backstage

Comeback week was always a blur — one long, breathless sprint between makeup chairs, camera takes, and half-eaten meals squeezed into the minutes between costume changes. The hallways of KBS Music Bank pulsed with noise: staff shouting into earpieces, stylists sprinting with steamers and rollers, idols bowing in quick succession as they rushed past one another like waves crashing and retreating.

TWICE had just finished their pre-recording for SIGNAL. The air backstage was thick with humidity and hairspray. As soon as the final camera light flicked off, the girls had dispersed — some to fix makeup, others to rehydrate or sneak in a selfie. Haneul, ever the quiet type when she wasn’t performing, slipped into a corner just off the main hallway and crouched down, retying the laces of her white performance boots. Her legs ached from the choreography, her chest still heaved slightly from the intense dance break. But she welcomed the stillness.

Her sweat-dampened hair stuck to the back of her neck, but she didn’t care. It was a small moment of peace — one she knew wouldn’t last long.

It didn’t.

“Ah—wait, hyung!!”

She barely had time to process the voice echoing from down the hall before a blur rounded the corner at full speed. There was a thud — not from her boots, but from a person slamming into her like a fullback on a mission.

They both went stumbling, Haneul hitting the wall with a soft oof, arms braced on instinct. A body pressed into her for half a second — too close, too sudden — then stumbled back.

“Oh my god—are you okay?! I didn’t see—!”

Her eyes met his.

Tall. Broad-shouldered. Chocolate-Brown hair swept back in a way that was effortlessly messy. Panic in his face — not the kind that was about image or reputation, but the kind that came from genuine concern. Behind him, another boy stood awkwardly, arms slightly raised like a cartoon caught mid-fall.

Haneul blinked, still trying to catch up.

“…Minghao?”

His face lit up. “Haneul? Wow — it’s been forever!”

Before she could respond, a third voice piped up.

“Hyung tackled a TWICE member?! This is it. We’re finished. Pledis will bury you.”

A fourth person popped into view, hands over his mouth in exaggerated horror. Haneul recognized him immediately — Seungkwan.

“Yah, Seungkwan—” the tall man turned back, exasperated, then returned his gaze to her. “I’m really, really sorry. That was… I swear I was trying to help Minghao avoid crashing into a staff cart. And then he slipped, and I kind of redirected the impact, and…”

“…slammed into me like a human wrecking ball,” she finished, raising an eyebrow but fighting the smile pulling at her lips.

A beat passed. Then Seungkwan chimed in again. “A very apologetic wrecking ball.”

That did it.

Even Haneul let out a breathy laugh, the tension cracking like ice on a lake’s surface.

A moment later, Mingyu skidded onto the scene, out of breath and confused. “Did someone die?!”

“No, but Seungcheol-hyung nearly flattened Haneul-noona,” Seungkwan replied far too cheerfully.

Mingyu’s eyes widened in sheer horror. “Hyung?! Oh god. Haneul-ah, I swear he’s not usually like this. Please forgive him.”

She rolled her eyes fondly. “Relax, Mingyu. I’ve survived worse. Just… maybe tell your leader to slow down next time.”

Seungcheol — the name clicked now — still looked mortified. He lowered his head slightly. “I really do want to make it up to you,” he said. “Let me know if there’s anything I can do.”

Haneul tilted her head, half-curious, half-teasing. “Maybe don’t tackle me twice in one week?”

His ears turned red.

June 3, 2017 — Music Core, backstage

TWICE had taken the win today.

The trophy was still warm in Haneul’s hands as they stepped offstage, cameras flashing even as the applause died. Her cheeks ached from smiling, but it was a good ache — the kind that came with effort paying off. Still, now that the adrenaline was fading, exhaustion crept in like a slow fog.

She found her way back to that same quiet hallway near the dressing rooms, her safe corner in the chaos. Sitting on the bench this time, she bent forward to adjust the buckle of her boot, catching her breath before the next wave of interviews and encore chaos began.

Footsteps approached, slower this time.

“Hey.”

She looked up.

Seungcheol stood there, his hands in his jacket pockets, a lopsided smile playing at his lips. He looked much calmer today — or maybe just more intentional.

“Seungcheol oppa?.”

The boy was doing so much effort on trying to hide his sudden blush of the angelic way that the female idol called him.

“Hope I’m not bothering you. I just… wanted to apologize again. Properly. Yesterday was… chaotic.”

Haneul let out a soft laugh. “You mean when you body-checked me into the wall?”

“Yeah,” he said, sheepish. “Still my worst first impression ever.”

“It was memorable,” she said, standing.

He chuckled, then hesitated. “Look, I know we don’t know each other, but… I was thinking, maybe we could start over. As friends. Less accidental-impact, more actual conversations.”

She blinked at him, surprised.

He rubbed the back of his neck, awkward but genuine. “I’m going to literally knock someone off their feet, I should at least get to know them. Mingyu said you’re one of the kindest people in the industry. And after yesterday… I don’t know. I guess I just wanted to talk. No pressure.”

It was more candid than she expected. Most people in this business didn’t open doors unless they had something to gain. But he stood there like he wasn’t trying to impress her — just be real.

“You want to be friends,” she said slowly, eyes narrowing in amusement.

“Well,” he smiled, “I figured if I’m going to literally knock someone off their feet, I should at least get to know them.”

There was silence — not awkward, but contemplative. She thought of the headlines she had avoided for years, the emotional walls she’d built after the breakup that still echoed in the back of her mind. She wasn’t ready for anything messy. But a friendship?

That sounded safe. Warm. Human.

“Alright,” she said, rising to her feet. “We can be friends. But if I catch you charging down a hallway again…”

He held up both hands. “I solemnly swear to walk — not sprint — in all backstage hallways.”

She gave a small smile. “Good. Also, congrats on yesterday’s win.”

Seungcheol blinked, surprised. “That means a lot. And congrats on today — you guys deserved it.”

Their eyes held for a beat longer than necessary. Not loaded. Not heavy. Just a moment of quiet understanding.

As he turned to leave, he offered her a small wave.

“See you around, Haneul-ssi.”

She watched him go, then exhaled — not heavily, not in frustration. It was more like a release of something tight that had lived in her chest far too long.

Maybe, just maybe… this was the start of something good.