#this is the first time I’ve tried this and I’m really enjoying myself lol

[dracolilhoe]

To Love Again (Severus Snape x Y/N)

Severs Snape x fem!reader

Main Masterlist here -> DracoLilHoe

Harry Potter Fandom Masterlist here -> HP Masterlist

Warnings: Starts off a little dark but becomes more light hearted, soft/out of character Snape, mostly fluff, female reader, use of Y/n

Words: +7.5k

Summary: (Based off a request <3)

If you find mistakes please tell me! I'm not a perfect writer so please just let me know. Happy reading! :)

A/N: So this took a lot longer to write and was wayyyy longer than I expected it was gonna be lol but I really enjoyed how this turned out (other than the fact that I kind of gave up toward the end. my birthday is on the 4th bro I was js trying to get this shit completed 😭) and this was a my first request so tyms!! (Im really sorry if this didn't turn out how you envisioned i tried my best! <3) -> Request

1995

As I stir awake, a sliver of sunlight slips through the dark curtains and lands right in my eye. Somehow, this is the best sleep I’ve had in months—and I’m not even in my own bed. With the news of Voldemort’s return and the Ministry scrambling to cover it up, Dumbledore decided it was time to bring the Order back together. He even added a few new members. Myself included.

The house is quiet, which is strange considering how many people are packed into it now. I hear faint movement downstairs—probably Molly making breakfast or Moody pacing like he always does, paranoid that the place will be ambushed any second.

Joining the Order wasn’t something I planned, especially so close to Christmas. But when you see what I’ve seen—what he’s capable of—you don’t stay on the sidelines. You pick a side. And I’ve picked mine, even if that means being a double agent with my husband and putting our lives at risk. I sit up slowly, removing Severus' arm wrapped tightly around my waist, the old bed creaking under me.

I ease out from under the blankets, careful not to wake him. He rarely sleeps this soundly, and I know better than to steal that from him. War has carved deep lines into all of us, but with Severus, it’s in the way his jaw never unclenches, the way he listens to silence like it’s saying something. Right now, though, he looks almost peaceful. Almost.

My feet touch the cold wooden floor, and I shiver. This house, Black’s ancestral home, feels like it’s holding its breath. Grimmauld Place is nothing short of oppressive, but it’s the safest place we’ve got.

I pull on my sweater and head for the hallway, avoiding the floorboard near the door that always groans. The air smells like dust and old wood. Downstairs, I hear a pan clatter, followed by Molly’s low murmur.

There’s a tightness in my chest I haven’t shaken since Dumbledore brought us in. Every morning feels like a countdown. To what, I’m not sure yet. A raid? A betrayal? A message that someone didn’t make it through the night?

I reach the landing and glance back at the room, at Severus. He’d never admit it, but he’s scared. We both are. But fear doesn’t mean you back down. It means you move forward anyway, and I’m already halfway down the stairs.

The stairs creak beneath me, old wood groaning like it resents being walked on. Every sound in this house feels amplified like the place itself is watching, listening. I pass the umbrella stand with the decapitated troll leg and the row of portraits that used to scream every time someone so much as coughed. Someone, probably Tonks, finally found a silencing charm that sticks. Small victories yay!

In the kitchen, the air is warmer. Molly’s at the stove, wand in one hand, spatula in the other, humming something soft and familiar. Her shoulders are tense, though, and she keeps glancing at the clock with all the moving hands, none of which point to “Safe.” She brings it with her everywhere and it's starting to freak some of us out.

She turns when she hears me, a tight smile already on her face. “Morning, dear. Hope we didn’t wake you.” “You didn’t,” I lie. “I slept fine." She studies me for a beat too long, like she knows exactly how heavy sleep has been lately. But she lets it go. “Tea?”

“Please.” I slide into one of the worn chairs at the table, the wood cool under my fingers. There’s a plate of toast already laid out, and I realize just how hungry I am, not just for food, but for something normal.

Voices echo from upstairs, Remus and Arthur, maybe. Something about a meeting. Another day, another strategy session, another list of things we can’t control.

Molly sets a chipped mug in front of me. “Are you managing all right?” It’s not just small talk. It’s the kind of question people ask in war when they want to know if they need to start preparing for grief. I give her a nod and take a sip of tea that’s too hot. "Yeah. I'm managing.”

She pats my hand once, gently, like she knows better. The door creaks open behind me, and I hear the heavy, uneven footsteps of Moody. “Meeting in fifteen,” he growls without looking up. His magical eye swivels toward the corner, “Dumbledore wants everyone.”

Molly sighs and starts clearing the stove. I drain my tea and stand, feeling the weight settle back onto my shoulders. This is what it means to be part of the Order, quiet mornings laced with tension, polite conversation sitting beside secrets, and always, always the knowledge that we’re just one step ahead of darkness.

"I'll fetch Severus."

I head back upstairs, hoping to grab my wand and maybe splash some cold water on my face (and to wake Severus). I pause at the top of the stairs. The hallway is dim, lit only by the pale morning light leaking in through dusty windows.

Our bedroom door is still cracked open. I step inside quietly. Severus hasn’t moved much. One arm still rests where I left it, the other now tucked under his head. His brows twitch like he’s already halfway back in a fight. I get it. Sleep doesn’t come easy when you're always watching for betrayal, even in your dreams. I watch him for a second longer, then turn to the dresser and grab my wand.

The silver handle feels cold in my hand. Familiar. Steady. I tuck it into my sleeve and catch my reflection in the mirror: circles under my eyes, hair pulled back in a lazy knot, an expression I don’t fully recognize anymore. There’s a version of me before all this before the meetings and the lying and the long, quiet looks exchanged over war maps, but she feels like someone I used to know, not someone I still am.

I walk over to the bed shaking Severus awake. "Sev. Sev!" He groans rolling over his eyes opening slightly. "Moody needs us for a meeting in fifteen." "At this bloody hour?" He groans sitting up, a bit of his hair falling into his face.

"Yes, unfortunately. It must have something to do with the children coming for Christmas." I walk over to the dresser grabbing a pair of jeans and a sweater. I jump as a pair of arms wrap around my waist.

"We could just stay a bit longer up here darling, they wouldn't even notice we're gone." I chuckle as he plants a few kisses along my neck. "Put your damn clothes on we are here because they need us Sev."

-

The kitchen is louder now, more voices, chairs scraping, the familiar hum of wizards and witches trying to sound normal in a house built on bloodlines and curses. Sirius leans against the fireplace, arms crossed, jaw tight. He barely acknowledges me. Not out of rudeness, he’s just locked in his own storm.

Remus nods at me as I slip into a seat. “We’re just waiting on Alastor and Snape.” I give a short nod. “He’s coming.” The door opens again, and Moody limps in, muttering to himself. “Too quiet out there. I don’t trust it.”

“When do you ever trust it?” Sirius says dryly. “Exactly.”

I glance toward the door just as Severus walks in, silent and unreadable, cloak billowing slightly as he takes the last empty seat beside me. His eyes meet mine for a fraction of a second, no smile, no nod, just a flicker of shared understanding.

There’s a soft pop, and Dumbledore appears near the hearth, robes trailing, eyes sharper than usual. The chatter dies instantly. “Good morning,” he says, voice calm but firm. “We have a lot to cover.”

And just like that, we’re back in it, talking names, safe houses, coded messages, wand movements, Ministry leaks. Everyone contributes, and everyone listens, but the air hums with the knowledge that everything we’re planning could fall apart by nightfall.

Kingsley runs a hand down his face, looking like he hasn’t slept in days. “We’ve confirmed sightings near Ottery St. Catchpole. Three Death Eaters, possibly more. No casualties, but they’re testing the perimeter spells now.”

Murmurs ripple around the table. Molly stiffens at the mention of her village. Arthur reaches out, touching her arm just briefly. Dumbledore raises a hand. The room stills again. “We’ll need to rotate guard shifts more frequently,” he continues. “We can’t afford to let our protections go stale. Severus," his gaze shifts, “any updates from your end?”

Severus leans forward, elbows on the table, voice low. “They’re looking for something. He hasn’t said what. But there’s movement in the Inner Circle. Lucius is growing reckless. Bellatrix… worse.”

I feel his words like a draft through a crack in the walls. Everyone does. No one asks what “worse” means. No one wants to know. Sirius snorts from the fireplace. “So we’re still dancing blind while they’re planning gods-know-what?” Remus shoots him a warning look. “We’re doing what we can. That’s more than most.”

Dumbledore’s expression doesn’t waver. “We’ll hold ground where we must. But we have another matter to discuss.” A rustle of parchment. A name appears in glowing ink on the air, suspended like a ghost: Draco Malfoy. My stomach knots. Not out of surprise—but because I’ve been waiting for this.

Severus doesn’t move, but I see the way his jaw tightens beside me.

“He’s being watched closely,” Dumbledore says. “Lucius is desperate to keep him protected, but Voldemort has begun to take interest in the boy. If Draco is drawn in, we risk losing whatever leverage we have left with the Malfoy family.”

“And what exactly are we supposed to do about it?” Moody growls. “We’re not babysitters.” “No,” Dumbledore agrees. “But we need eyes on him. Discreet ones.” There’s a silence heavy enough to choke on. I speak before I even know I’m going to. “I can help.”

All eyes turn to me. “Lucius knows me. He trusts me or did. Enough to talk. I can get close to Narcissa.” Severus turns to me, his expression unreadable but something behind his eyes flashes sharp, alarm, maybe. Or something closer to fear.

“I’ll be careful,” I add. “I know how far I can go.” “You’re already too close,” he says under his breath, barely audible. But Dumbledore catches it. He watches us both, eyes thoughtful. “You wouldn’t be alone,” he says gently. “And I trust you to know the difference between risk and recklessness.”

That’s the thing about trust in this house, it’s not a gift. It’s a burden. You carry it like a second skin. The meeting drags on, plans stacking atop each other like unstable towers. Assignments are given. Timelines drawn. When it ends, it does so abruptly, and we’re all left trying to remember how to breathe again.

"Oh and one last thing," Dumbledore says as all eyes turn to him, "Severus, Y/n, Remus, and Sirius when the children come I would like you four to teach and aid them in their dueling skills," We all nod exchanging glances.

Chairs scrape back. Sirius disappears into the hallway without a word. Arthur and Molly exchange quiet words near the sink. Tonks fidgets with a broken spoon. And Severus... Severus doesn’t look at me I just follow him up the stairs.

Inside our room, he closes the door and just stands there for a second. Silent. Still. His back to me. “You shouldn’t have volunteered,” he says finally, voice low. Controlled. “Not for that.”

“I can handle them,” I answer, just as quiet. “And you know it.” He turns slowly. “That’s not the point.” I meet his gaze. “Then what is?” He doesn’t answer right away. Just looks at me like he’s measuring something—distance, maybe. Risk. What it costs to love someone in wartime.

“They’ll use you,” he says finally. “The way they always do. And when it comes down to it, Dumbledore will sacrifice you if it means tipping the scale.” “I know,” I say. And I do.

But I also know that I’d do the same if it meant saving even one of those kids who’ll be walking into this house later with their trunks and their scarred hearts, pretending it’s still Christmas. “I picked this side,” I remind him. "Your side."

He steps toward me, slow and deliberate like we’re back on a battlefield. Maybe we are. “Then let me protect you,” he murmurs, voice almost breaking. “You already do.”

And in the silence that follows, in the quiet ache of the room, I let him pull me in because out there, it’s strategy and secrets and sacrifice. But in here, for just a breath, it’s something else. It’s what we’re still fighting for.

-

The front door creaks open sometime after noon. Laughter echoes down the hall—too loud, too bright for this house—but welcome all the same.

I’m halfway down the stairs when I hear Harry first. “Same miserable wallpaper. Same creepy elf heads.” His voice is tired but dry, amused. “Glad to see nothing’s changed.”

“Don’t get too comfortable,” Ron mutters behind him, dragging his trunk over the threshold. “Mum’s already got a to-do list longer than my arm. And Moody's breathing down everyone's neck like it’s a sport.”

Hermione follows just behind, trying to wrangle Crookshanks back into his carrier with one hand and hold her bag with the other. “Honestly, Ron, it’s not about comfort. It’s about safety.”

“Comfort would be nice too,” Ginny cuts in, brushing snow out of her hair. “One Christmas where no one gets cursed, cursed at, or nearly killed would be an improvement.”

From the landing, I catch Harry’s eyes. He blinks up at me, then offers a small smile. A tired one, but real. “You look taller,” I say, stepping aside to let them through. It’s something to say, something normal.

“Not sure about taller,” he replies. “Just older.” He’s right. They all are. You don’t come back from this fear-stricken world like this and stay untouched. Even Ginny, always quick with a quip, has a shadow behind her eyes. I've only ever met them all once before, so we aren't that familiar with each other, but they all seem like lovely kids.

Molly rushes in from the kitchen, apron on, arms open. She gathers them up one by one, fussing, scolding gently, hugging too long. The hallway fills with warmth and voices, boots thudding, trunks scraping.

Severus appears beside me silently, eyes sweeping the chaos with practiced detachment. But I catch the way his fingers twitch near his wand when Fred drops something with a loud crash.

“Relax,” I murmur. “That was just a box of—” “Exploding Snap cards,” Fred calls from the floor. “No actual explosions this time, promise!” Severus doesn’t smile, but the corners of his mouth twitch just slightly. “Merlin help us all,” he mumbles and vanishes back down the hall.

By dinner, the long table is packed, mismatched chairs pulled in from other rooms. The kids eat like they haven’t had a full meal in weeks—which, judging by the state of Hogwarts, might not be far off.

There’s laughter again, real this time, layered over the clink of plates and the smell of roast chicken. For a few brief moments, it almost feels like Christmas.

But underneath it all is the quiet hum of what’s coming. Dumbledore hasn’t said it outright, but we all know this is the calm before another kind of storm. The kids are safe, for now. But safe is a temporary state in this war. And Grimmauld Place, for all its wards and silencing charms, can’t keep the world at bay forever.

Later that evening, Remus gathers them in the drawing room. “Tomorrow, we start dueling lessons,” he says, voice calm but direct. “Not because we want to turn your holiday into homework, but because the world outside these walls won’t wait for you to grow up.”

“Too late for that,” Harry says under his breath. Hermione nods. Severus steps in from the shadows. “You’ll be paired. Rotated. Watched. No improvising.” He casts a look at Fred and George. “No fireworks.”

“Who, us?” George grins.

Sirius lounges in the armchair, legs kicked out, watching everyone like he’s not sure whether to feel proud or protective. Maybe both. I take a seat on the edge of the sofa and pull out my wand. “Tomorrow, we’ll test your reflexes. For tonight, just don’t hex each other over the last mince pie,” I tease. Ginny raises a brow. “No promises.” They laugh. It’s light, but underneath, I feel it again—that tightness.

-

The dishes are mostly cleared, the fire’s burning low, and the rest of the house is beginning to settle into a wary kind of peace when I feel a tug on my sleeve. It’s Harry. He doesn’t say anything at first, just jerks his chin slightly toward the hallway. Away from the others. Away from the low murmur of Sirius and Remus arguing softly about training plans. Away from the way Severus is pretending not to listen from the corner of the room.

I nod once and follow him. The hallway is dark and cool. The only light comes from a lone, flickering candle floating near the ceiling. Harry leans against the wall, arms crossed, the worn fabric of his jumper stretched tight across his shoulders.

“I didn’t want to ask in front of everyone, and I since we don't know each other that well I know you won't lie or try to protect me like everyone else does,” he says, voice low, a little rough around the edges. “But... how bad is it?”

I exhale slowly. There’s no point pretending. Not with him. Not with everything he's seen already. “Worse than the Prophet says. Worse than the Ministry will ever admit.” He kicks the heel of his boot against the floor once, a sharp, frustrated tap. “I figured.”

There’s a silence between us that isn’t awkward. It’s heavy. Real. He looks up at me then, green eyes fierce under the mess of his hair. “Are they going to come for us here?” I could lie. It would be easy. Safer, maybe.

But I don’t. “They might.”

Another beat. He absorbs it like someone learning to live with a wound that won’t heal. “Good,” he says finally. It startles me a little, and my eyebrows raise. I frown. “Good?”

He straightens off the wall, jaw set. “I’d rather they come here. Where we’re ready. Where we can fight.” There’s something in his voice—not bravado, not anger exactly. Just a grim certainty. A kind of steel that shouldn't belong to someone so young, but here it is anyway.

“You’ll have to be smarter than them, not just braver,” I warn. “Dueling lessons aren’t about flash and showmanship. It’s about surviving. It’s about finishing the fight before they even know it’s started.” “I know.”

And I believe him. God help me, I do. I study him for a second longer, the stubborn line of his mouth, the tension in his shoulders, the bone-deep tiredness he wears like armor. “You’re not alone in this, Harry.”

He shrugs one shoulder. “Doesn’t always feel that way.” “No,” I agree. “It doesn’t. But it’s still true.” A shadow crosses his face, something raw, unspoken. I think he wants to ask something else. Maybe about Voldemort. Maybe about the parts of this war, no one wants to say out loud.

But instead, he just nods and says, “Thanks,” before slipping back toward the drawing room, shoulders squared against whatever comes next. I stand there a moment longer, alone in the hallway, listening to the fire crackle faintly behind the door.

-

The next morning breaks cold and grey. No surprise there. Grimmauld Place never really feels like it’s breathing, even on good days. By the time I make it down to the drawing room, most of the others are already there. The furniture’s been shoved to the edges. Rugs rolled up. Floor cleared. It looks less like a home and more like a dueling arena. Which is exactly what we want.

Harry, Ron, and Hermione are lined up, wands in hand, faces set. Fred, George, and Ginny flank them, fidgeting with nervous energy. Molly’s hovering at the doorway, wringing her hands until Arthur gently steers her away with a whispered, "Let them be."

Severus is standing near the fireplace, black robes sweeping the floor, arms crossed like he’s already judging them. Which, to be fair, he probably is. Sirius is pacing. Restless. Coiled tight like a spring.

“All right, listen up!” Sirius says, clapping his hands once. “First rule of a real duel: you don’t wait for your enemy to bow. You strike first.” Severus’s mouth curls into a cold smirk. “A philosophy befitting a reckless Gryffindor.”

Sirius turns, already ready to bite. “And what's your tactic, Snape? Bore them into submission?” “Enough,” I cut in, stepping between them before either one pulls a wand. “This isn’t about you two chest-thumping your old grudges. It’s about them.” I jerk my chin toward the kids. “And whether they survive what's coming.”

Sirius’s jaw flexes. Severus’s eyes narrow. But both stay silent. “Pair up,” I call. “Two across from two. Wands at the ready.” Harry and Ron square off instinctively. Hermione and Ginny trade a quick look before taking opposite sides. George hesitates until Fred claps him on the back and steps into position.

I walk the line, pacing slowly like Moody taught me. "Spellwork first. Control before power. If you throw a curse without discipline, you're not just endangering your enemy. You're endangering yourself."

Sirius snorts quietly but doesn't argue. “Stunners to start,” I say. “Basic shield spells allowed. No counterattacks until I say.” They nod, faces tightening with focus.

“On three. One… two… three—” The room explodes into motion.

Bolts of red light crisscross the room. Shields flash up. Shouts echo off the high ceiling.

George’s shield charm shatters instantly under Fred’s hit, and he goes sprawling backward with a yelp. “Get up!” Severus snaps from the fireplace. “You think a Death Eater will wait for you to dust yourself off?”

George scrambles up, face burning.

“Focus, George!” I say, softer but firm. “You’re better than you think.”

Harry’s already adapting, side-stepping Ron’s stunner and sending one back with a twist of his wrist that would’ve made Moody grunt in approval.

Hermione’s quick too, blocking Ginny’s shot neatly—but she hesitates a second too long to counter. In a real duel, hesitation kills. “Don’t wait for permission!” Sirius calls. “If you’ve got a shot, take it!”

Severus tenses visibly. "And get yourselves hexed into oblivion by lunging like amateurs? Typical." "Better to fight like hell than cower behind a textbook!" Sirius barks back. "Better to win," Severus hisses.

The kids freeze between them, caught in the crossfire of something that has nothing to do with today's lesson and everything to do with a history they can't see but can definitely feel.

"ENOUGH!" I snap, my voice ringing off the stone walls. Silence crashes down. Sirius glares at Severus. Severus stares back, cold and cutting.

I look at the kids. Their faces are pale and tense. This is not what they need.

“This is real training," I say, voice steady. "Not a pissing contest. Learn from both styles, because out there, you’ll need every edge you can get.”

I turn back to them fully. “Again. Harder. Smarter. And this time, move like your lives depend on it.”

I shoot a sharp look at Remus. He catches it, understands immediately, and steps in front of the kids. “All right, pairs switch!” he calls out smoothly, clapping his hands to break the tension. “New partners. Keep your guard up!”

The kids hesitate, glancing at us, but Remus waves them on. Slowly, they shuffle into new pairs, wands up again, throwing cautious spells under his steady watch. I grab Sirius and Severus by the elbows and haul them toward the far corner of the room, out of earshot.

The second we’re out of range, I round on them. “What the hell was that?” I snap, keeping my voice low but lethal. “Are you both mad?” Sirius opens his mouth, but I cut him off with a glare sharp enough to slice.

“No, you don't get to explain. You don't get to excuse it.” I jab a finger at his chest. “This isn’t about you and your teenage grudge against Severus. This is about them—” I jab toward the kids, where Harry just barely blocks a hex from Fred. “—learning to survive a war!”

Sirius’s jaw works furiously, but he doesn’t speak. Good. He knows he’s on thin ice. I turn slightly toward Severus. “And you,” I say, voice cooling but still hard. “You’re not off the hook either. If you can't keep your disdain on a leash, get out of the room.”

Severus inclines his head stiffly, dark eyes flashing once, but he says nothing. No argument. No excuse. I whirl back on Sirius, stepping in closer. “You're supposed to be better than this, Sirius. You're Harry’s godfather. Do you think he needs to see you losing control like some first-year who can't take a slight? You think that’s what will keep him alive when Death Eaters are throwing real curses at him?”

He flinches slightly at that—barely—but I see it. Good. Let it sting. “You want to protect him? Then act like someone worth following.” Sirius stares at me, breathing hard, hands clenched into fists at his sides. But he says nothing. And that's the only reason I don't rip into him even worse.

I step back, my chest tight. “This is bigger than your pride,” I say, voice quieter but sharper. “Bigger than your hate. You don’t have the luxury of grudges anymore.” Severus shifts beside me, mouth twitching in something quite like a smirk, but I barely catch it.

“And you,” I add, giving him a pointed look, “don’t mistake his mistakes for your permission to be a bastard.” A faint raise of Severus's eyebrow. A very slight, almost imperceptible, nod. Across the room, Remus calls out a correction to Hermione’s footwork, completely ignoring us. Bless him.

“Now,” I say, voice cutting final. “Get your shit together—or get out. I won’t let you two tear this place apart.” I hold their gazes for a beat longer, daring either of them to argue. They don't.

Without waiting for a response, I turn on my heel and walk back toward the kids. They need focus. They need strength. Not whatever bloody mess Sirius and Severus have been dragging around like a ball and chain.

Behind me, I hear Sirius mutter something under his breath, but it’s low and bitter and meant for himself, not for me. Severus follows a second later, silent and dark-eyed, slipping back into the shadows near the hearth. The kids don’t even look up. They’re too busy ducking and blocking and casting.

Remus gathers them back into a circle after another round of sparring, his voice calm but carrying weight. “All right,” he says, lowering his wand. “Change of plan. You’ve practiced defense. Now it’s time for offense.”

The kids straighten instinctively, a ripple of energy moving through them.

I cross my arms, watching.

Severus stays leaned against the wall, silent but alert. Sirius lingers near the fireplace, brooding, but at least keeping his damn mouth shut. “New exercise,” Remus continues. “You’ll work in pairs. Your goal is to disarm or disable one of us—me, Snape, or Y/n—before we disarm you.”

A few eyebrows shoot up. “Wait—us against you three?” Fred asks, incredulous. A rare smirk flickers across Severus’s mouth. “If you find that unfair,” he drawls, “you may want to reconsider your odds in actual combat.”

Remus only smiles, patient. “You have surprise on your side. Use it.”

Ginny’s eyes spark with something dangerous. Harry’s jaw sets. They’re ready. Or as ready as they’re going to be. Remus and I exchange a quick nod. He moves to the center of the room.

Severus shifts lazily from the wall, his wand sliding easily into his hand.

I roll my shoulders once. Let’s see what they’ve got. Remus gives a sharp whistle. “Begin!”

At first, it’s cautious — they scatter, dodging between broken chairs and rolled-up carpets. Whispered plans. Quick glances. But then Harry moves—fast. A sharp flick of his wand sends a bright stunner toward Remus, who parries it easily.

Ginny dives low, rolling behind an overturned settee. Fred and George create a distraction, hurling smoke bombs that erupt with a loud bang and a cloud of purple mist. Typical. But clever.

I raise my wand, clearing the smoke with a slicing spell—and that’s when I see her: Ginny, darting from the side. Before I can fully block, a hex hits my wand hand—not strong enough to disarm me, but enough to jar my grip. Impressive.

I fire a mild shield charm in return, forcing her back, but out of the corner of my eye— Harry. Moving like a shadow. I pivot, readying a block—too slow. His Expelliarmus hits me dead-center. My wand flies from my hand, clattering across the floor. For half a second, the room freezes.

Then Sirius lets out a sharp bark of laughter. “Well, I’ll be damned!” Remus smiles, lowering his own wand slightly.

Severus’s face is unreadable, but his black eyes flicker toward Harry and Ginny, calculating. I retrieve my wand with a small bow of my head toward Harry and Ginny. "Well played." Harry looks stunned for half a breath like he hadn’t believed he could do it.

Ginny just grins fiercely, panting a little, cheeks flushed. Fred whoops from across the room. “That’s our girl!” "Oi!" George elbows him. "And Harry!" Remus raises a hand for quiet. "This," he says, voice steady, "is what survival looks like. Not bravado. Not reckless spells. Strategy."

Harry and Ginny glance at each other, something solid and unspoken passing between them. Severus speaks finally, voice soft but cutting. "Next time, aim for the throat."

I laugh, and Sev cracks a smile. It’s brutal. It’s honest. And exactly what they need to hear. The room stays still for a moment longer, the fire crackling in the silence. This isn’t about winning practice duels. It’s about preparing for the night they won’t be warned first.

"All right let's take a quick break and meet back here in about an hour." The others break off —Fred and George tossing mock insults, Ron rubbing his shoulder and muttering about “bloody insane stunners”, Ginny and Hermione chatting low and fast.

I’m gathering the leftover dueling mats when I feel someone hovering behind me. “Can I—uh—can I ask you something?” Harry says, voice a little rough, a little awkward. I straighten, nodding once. “Of course.”

He hesitates, running a hand through his already-messy hair. His wand is tucked loosely into his belt; he looks younger now, out of the heat of the fight. More unsure.

“It’s about... Snape.” He says the name like it tastes strange. I stay still. Careful. Neutral. “What about him?” Harry looks around once, making sure we’re alone. Sirius and Remus have disappeared into the hallway, voices low. Severus is nowhere in sight. Good.

Harry shifts his weight. “You trust him." It’s not quite a question. Not quite an accusation either. Just raw curiosity. And something sharper underneath hurt maybe. Fear. I don’t answer right away. I slip my wand into my sleeve and lean back against the table, crossing my arms.

“I trust him with my life,” I say finally. “I trust him with yours, too.”

Harry’s brow furrows, suspicious, almost wounded. “But why?” His voice cracks just slightly on the last word, and I realize this isn’t about Severus. Not really.

It’s about everyone Harry’s ever trusted letting him down. He wants a reason not to hate. He wants a reason to believe. I meet his eyes fully. “He’s not your friend, Harry. He’s not here to make you feel safe. He’s not here to like you. But he is here to keep you alive. And in the end, that matters more.”

Harry’s mouth twists like he wants to argue but can’t quite find the shape of it. “He’s risked more than you know,” I continue, voice steady. “More than he’ll ever tell you. And he’s still risking it. Every time he steps back into that world, every time he sits at a table with monsters and pretends to be one of them, he’s betting his life that we’ll win.”

Harry looks away, jaw tight. “It’s not about liking him,” I say, softer now. “It’s about understanding the price he’s paying to stand here on this side of the line.” He drags a hand through his hair, rough and frustrated.

“I just... it’s hard to forget everything.” “I know.” I pause. “You’re not supposed to forget. Just don’t let it blind you.”

He looks up at me, and for the first time I see it—the crack running down the center of him, the fear underneath the anger, the hurt underneath the defiance. He’s still just a boy.

But he’s carrying the kind of burdens grown men would break under.

“If I didn’t believe he was on our side,” I say quietly, “I wouldn’t be here either.” Harry lets out a shaky breath.

"Okay," he says finally, voice low. Not quite convinced. But willing to try.

It’s the best anyone could ask for. I reach out and squeeze his shoulder once, brief but firm. “You’re allowed to be angry, Harry. You’re allowed to hate what he’s done. Just don’t hate what he’s doing now.”

He nods again, sharper this time. More certain. Without another word, he turns and heads toward the stairs, shoulders hunched against everything still waiting for him. I watch him go, my chest tight. One day soon, he’s going to understand just how much Severus has sacrificed for him. And one day soon, it’s going to cost all of us more than we want to give.

But not today.

-

The hour flies by faster than expected. The kids trickle back into the drawing room, looking a little more rested—and a little cockier after their earlier success.

Fred’s juggling two cushions with a Wingardium Leviosa charm, George is trying to distract Ginny with a fake wand that keeps sprouting daisies, and Ron looks suspiciously like he’s hoping to skip this next round entirely.

I’m adjusting the ward lines along the floor when Severus sweeps in, black robes billowing, a fresh scowl already carved into his face like he’s thrilled to be doing this again.

“Ready to embarrass yourselves?” he drawls, voice slicing the room neatly in half. Sirius lounges against the doorframe, arms crossed. “You know, Snivellus, you could try encouragement sometime. Might stop people from ducking when you enter a room.”

Severus doesn’t even look at him. “Your continued breathing is encouragement enough.” Fred snorts loudly. Hermione coughs to cover her laugh. I roll my eyes and step between them before it escalates.

“All right. Same drill—defense first, offense later. And no funny business,” I add, staring pointedly at Fred and George, who try to look innocent and fail miserably.

We spread out. Remus waves his wand, conjuring more padded mats across the floor. “Standard stunners and shield charms to start. Nothing lethal, thank you.” We pair off. Ginny with Harry. Hermione with Ron.

Fred and George.

Severus is stalking the edges of the room, wand drawn, barking sharp corrections. "Elbow in, Weasley!" "Stronger shield, Potter!" "Granger, less hesitation—your enemy won’t be patient."

I stand off to the side, arms folded, letting them get into a rhythm before I join in. That’s when it happens. Fred and George—because of course it’s Fred and George—start sparring a little too wildly. One of them fires a rogue hex that ricochets off Hermione’s shield, bounces off a mirror, and slams into me and Severus simultaneously.

For a split second, there’s a blinding flash of white-blue light. A sound like a rubber band snapping through time. When the smoke clears, the room goes dead silent.

Because standing where I had been— —and where Severus had been—

—are now two very confused-looking teenagers. Severus is skinny, sharp-angled, with a mop of greasy black hair nearly falling into his narrowed black eyes. His school robes are rumpled and his wand arm tensed like he’s ready to hex first, ask questions later.

I glance down at myself. I’m 15 again too. Brilliant. “What the—where the hell are we?” I snap instinctively, patting myself down for my wand (still tucked in my sleeve, thank Merlin).

Severus whirls toward me instantly, all tension bleeding out of him in one second flat. "Y/n?" he says, voice shockingly soft compared to the venom he just spat at Sirius minutes ago. "You okay?" he asks, stepping toward me, frowning like the world might actually end if I’m hurt.

The kids look like they’ve been hit with a Confundus Charm. Harry’s jaw literally drops open. Hermione makes a tiny squeaking noise.

I blink at Severus. He looks... young. And worried.

And very much not the terrifying man everyone knows him as. "Yeah," I say, breathless with surprise. "I'm fine. Are you?" He relaxes fractionally at that, lips twitching into what could almost be a smile.

"Wouldn’t leave you alone in this dump even if I was bleeding out," he mutters under his breath, voice so low only I hear it. Heat creeps up my cheeks.

Because fifteen-year-old Severus Snape is ridiculously earnest under all his prickly armor. And I’m realizing with horrifying clarity that this is how we must've fallen in love the first time.

Meanwhile, Sirius is staring like he’s seen a ghost—and he does not like it.

“What the bloody hell is this?” he demands, pointing at us. Severus instinctively steps half in front of me. Protectively. I glare at Sirius, stepping up beside Severus.

“Maybe if you weren't such a reckless idiot, we wouldn't be standing here, Black, and god did you not age well!” Sirius bristles instantly. “Oi—”

“Touch her and I’ll hex you into next week,” Severus says, deadly calm.

Sirius actually looks offended.

Harry tugs at Remus’s sleeve, whispering frantically. “Is he—? Are they—? Friends?” Remus looks absolutely delighted. “More than friends, if you ask me.”

Meanwhile, Hermione is scribbling notes on a scrap of parchment like she’s documenting a rare magical phenomenon. Ginny nudges Harry. “I think she just made Snape smile. I didn’t even know he had the muscles for that.”

Severus scowls at the room at large, still staying close to me like he’s ready to throw curses at anyone who looks sideways. I nudge him lightly with my shoulder, forcing a teasing smile onto my face to hide my complete and utter panic at the situation.

“Um, what exactly is happening?” Ron asks, looking wildly between me and Severus like we’ve sprouted extra heads. “It appears,” Remus says, with the kind of forced calm that only makes it funnier, “they’ve been turned back into their fifteen-year-old selves. They seem to remember some things, but I think the longer they stay like this... the more they’ll forget.”

“Oh, brilliant,” Harry mutters. “So, what—are we supposed to just pretend everything’s normal?” Across the room, Severus glances around, unimpressed. “Is this some kind of pathetic club meeting?” he sneers, arms crossed but still hovering a little too close to me like I might vanish if he blinks.

“No,” I cut in before he can get more acidic. “It’s dueling practice, genius.”

He perks up immediately at that, dark eyes lighting with interest. “Finally. Something worth my time.”

Fred nudges George. “Ten Galleons says he forgets he’s supposed to teach and just hexes someone for fun.” George snickers. “Make it twenty.”

Remus, wisely, just sighs and raises his hands. “Carry on, then.” Severus spins toward me, tilting his head with mock seriousness. "Partners?"

I raise an eyebrow. "Obviously." He offers me a dramatic little bow, smirking the whole time. It’s stupid and its so out of character for him but it's still adorable. It’s very much not the Severus Snape these kids know.

I can feel the students gaping behind us. Hermione whispers furiously to Ron, "He bowed to her! When has Snape ever bowed to anyone?" Ron just makes a helpless, strangled noise. "Alright, let's begin before these two start to forget everything," Remus announces.

Sirius stiffens, about two seconds away from launching himself across the room. I shoot Sirius a razor-edged grin. “What’s wrong, Black? You finally met someone who doesn’t find you charming?” I say sweetly.

Ginny loses it, barely muffling her laughter into Hermione’s shoulder. Even Harry looks like he’s struggling not to smile. Sirius scowls like he’s been personally insulted by the universe. Fred whispers to George, "I love her."

George whispers back, "Same."

“Enough talking!” Severus snaps, but there’s no real bite to it. “Wands up!”

He faces me, and for a second there’s nothing but fierce, electric focus between us.

Then—wham—he fires a nonverbal hex that I barely block. “Ooh, dirty move, Snape!” I laugh, countering with a spell that sends him staggering back a step.

He grins—grins—and lunges right back at me, fast and graceful and clearly holding back only because he doesn’t actually want to hurt me.

The kids watch, stunned, as we spar.

It’s fast. Fluid. Almost like a dance. No hesitation. No cruelty. Just two people who know exactly how the other moves. “You know,” Hermione whispers to Harry, “this is the least miserable I’ve ever seen him.”

Harry watches Severus, who ducks a hex from me with an easy, boyish laugh—completely different from the rigid, scowling professor they know. “Yeah,” Harry mutters back. “It’s... weird. But kinda cool.”

Meanwhile, Sirius keeps grumbling under his breath, “He’s showing off. He’s absolutely showing off.” At one point, Severus ducks behind me to dodge a fake curse from Fred.

Sirius, meanwhile, looks ready to hex a wall. Through all of it, Severus just gives me a look—half dare, half devotion—and I feel my stomach flip the way it hasn’t since I actually was fifteen. We’re a disaster.

We’re going to be an even bigger disaster the longer we stay like this. And Merlin help everyone because neither of us is anywhere near ready to admit it yet.

The next half hour is absolute, glorious disaster. Fred and George keep "dueling" each other, but really they’re just trying to sneak closer to eavesdrop on me and Severus.

Hermione’s still trying to organize actual drills, bless her, but Ron keeps getting distracted every time Severus "accidentally" brushes his hand against mine again. Ginny’s full-on cackling now, pretending to duel Harry but missing half her shots because she keeps looking over her shoulder and whispering, “Did you see that?! Did you see what Snape just said to her?!”

Harry, to his credit, is trying very hard to be mature about it. He mostly fails. Meanwhile, Sirius is about two seconds from combusting. He stands off to the side, arms crossed, glaring daggers at young Severus like sheer force of will might turn him into dust.

“Unbelievable,” Sirius mutters, loud enough for everyone to hear. “Absolutely unbelievable. He's flirting. Snivellus is flirting.” “And doing a better job than you ever did,” I shoot back without thinking.

Dead silence. Severus outright laughs at that—sharp and rare, the sound surprising even him. He flashes me a grin so quick, so private, that I feel it like a hook behind my ribs. Sirius looks personally offended.

Remus just sighs deeply like he’s aged ten years in two minutes. “All right, enough,” Remus says, stepping between us with a forced, strained smile. “Maybe... maybe we should take another break.”

“You said that an hour ago,” Fred points out, trying to keep a straight face and failing. “This time I mean it,” Remus says through clenched teeth.

He pulls out his wand and mutters a diagnostic spell under his breath. Golden threads of magic swirl around me and Severus, flickering slightly at the edges. "Hm.”

“Hm?” Hermione asks sharply, lowering her wand. Remus hums again. “The age-reversal spell is... strengthening. They’re slipping more into their fifteen-year-old selves the longer it holds.”

“Meaning?” Harry presses, stepping forward. "Meaning,” Remus says, looking slightly pale, “we need to reverse it. Soon. Before they forget everything—including the Order, Voldemort, and what side they’re supposed to be on.”

Severus perks up at that word. “Voldemort?” he repeats, frowning deeply. “What’s he got to do with anything?” I frown too, my forehead creasing. The word sounds familiar, important. But it doesn’t click the way it should.

Remus scrubs a hand over his face. “Right. Right. Definitely time to fix this.”

He pulls Sirius aside, murmuring rapid instructions about fetching some old counter-curse tomes from the Black family library. Sirius grumbles but stomps off, clearly glad to have an excuse to leave the room before he says something that’ll start a duel of his own.

“Are we... are we sure we want them to turn back?” Ron whispers to Hermione. Hermione looks torn between horrified and fascinated. Before any of us can say more, Sirius bursts back in, slamming a huge, dusty spellbook onto the table. “Found it!” he snaps, flipping through pages aggressively. Remus leans over his shoulder. “Hurry.”

Sirius flips through the spellbook with the kind of frantic energy normally reserved for full moons and house fires. “Counter-curse, counter-curse, bloody hell, where is it—?” “Page 394,” Remus says calmly without looking.

Sirius glares at him but flips anyway—and sure enough, there it is.

Meanwhile, Severus has moved closer to me again, shifting nervously from foot to foot like he’s working up to something he’s never said out loud before.

A blinding flash of golden light erupts from the table where Sirius and Remus finally cast the counter-curse. I feel it hit me like a tidal wave—yanking me forward, back, spinning through a lifetime of memories slamming into place.

The Order. The war. The betrayal. The blood. The love. The weight of everything we fought for. I gasp, stumbling, catching myself on the edge of the dueling mat.

Severus staggers too, clutching his head for half a second before straightening—taller now, leaner, sharper. Older. Haunted. He blinks once, twice—and his face slams shut like a vault. All softness gone. All vulnerabilities locked away.

The room is dead silent. I stare at him, heart still racing, memories crashing over me like surf. I remember. He remembers. Everything.

Severus exhales slowly through his nose, cold and composed again, tugging his robes straight like a shield.

Behind me, I hear someone—Fred, maybe—whisper, “Merlin, that was brutal.”

Harry looks stricken. Hermione bites her lip so hard it goes white. Sirius, bless him, mutters, “Still the same miserable git.” But I see it. In the flicker of Severus’s dark eyes.

“Right,” I say briskly. “Practice is over. Everyone out. Now.”

The kids scatter like birds, even Fred and George not daring to joke right now. Sirius lingers just long enough to shoot Severus a filthy look before Remus drags him out by the elbow, murmuring something about giving them space.

Finally, it’s just me and Severus again. And the vast, bruised silence between us.

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[ms-ninja-crab]

Soooo my old copy of Howls Moving Castle disintegrated itself

I have an extra paperback copy but my old copy is super sentimental and I wanted to try to save it. Sooo I looked up some DIY bookbinding tutorials. I’ve been using the tutorial by Abound Bindery which has been really simple to follow. And it’s been super easy so far!

The cover pages (double sided card stock) that I cut down to size with an xacto knife:

The head and tail pieces, which according to the tutorial I’m using are optional but 1) they look nicer and 2) since the spine of my old copy is damaged, I’m hoping they’re useful to hold some of the spine together at the corners:

The end pages and end pieces are drying right now in my jerry rigged “book press” (i.e., a few of my giant Berserk volumes)

very high tech I know

In the meantime I’m sketching out some cover concepts that I can iron onto the hardback cover that I’m going to start on after the glue sets 👍

[fingertipsmp3]

They need to invent a knitting socks that doesn’t make me want to stab myself in the eye

[whowrotethenote]

𝐁𝐢𝐠𝐠𝐞𝐬𝐭 𝐅𝐚𝐧

Rating: 18+ minors DNI

Summary: What starts off as a regular Spring Break attending Wrestlemania for Alana, takes an unexpected turn, landing her in a fantasy come to life. The Tribal Chief is in need of unwinding after his victory and he chose her.

Pairing: Roman Reigns x Black Fem OC

Warnings: NSFW // Smut // Age gap // Profanity // Adultery

Word count: 8.9k (sorry lol)

Inspo: Biggest Fan by Chris Brown

A/N: This took way longer than it should've, but I'm actually proud of myself for finishing. Y'all don't know how many times I've started writing something in the past and never finish. There's drafts of unfinished everything on my laptop.

This is my first time posting my writing on any platform. I hope y'all like it. I tried to proofread as much as I can, but I'm honestly tired of reading it lol. I feel like I'm going to realize its shit and delete it all.

Disclaimer // Part Two // Biggest Fan Masterlist // Roman Reigns Masterlist // Join My Taglist // Main Masterlist

“I wonder if the Usos will come out.”

“Yeah, probably,” I respond to my roommate Demi, only half as concerned as she is. The Usos are the last thing on my mind. They’re her choice of poison. I’m here for one man and one man only.

I survey the crowd of strangers surrounding us. All in Bloodline gear waiting for the same thing. The Main Event. They all probably spent a fortune months ago just to be in the very same spot she and I stole tickets for.

It wasn’t on purpose. We originally had nosebleeds. We were lucky to even have those, seeing as we snagged them just days ago. The frail older man outside the doors waving a chunk of tickets in his hand, was an angel in disguise. He waved and waved until two tickets went flying into the thick crowd of people all pushing to just get into the main doors of the building. 

Demi and I searched on hands and feet for those tickets that no one else seemed to be looking for. Imagine our disbelief seeing them all dirtied and stepped on by the door and they read floor seats. Not just any floor seats. The ones located directly next to the entrance ramp with a clear shot of the ring. Fucking jackpot.

don’t be acting all fanned out when he walks by either

I smirk reading the text my brother sent. Yeah, right. Maybe three years ago, a young Alana would’ve woke up tomorrow morning with no voice from losing my shit, watching the Roman Reigns walk by me. But it's not five years ago. I’m not a teenager in my room waiting at the TV with my golden glove on, throwing my one’s up and giving an acknowledgment he couldn’t even see. 

Who am I fooling? That teenage girl, although buried deep, still lives within me. Otherwise I wouldn’t even be here. I wouldn’t have spent the two thousand my dad gave me to enjoy my spring break on a plane ticket to LA, a hotel and tickets to Wrestle-mania 39. I’d be like the rest of the Juniors at my university. Bar hopping in Mexico or in Miami half naked strutting down Collins Ave.

I go back and forth between scrolling on my phone, daydreaming, and loosely watching the matches that come. Before I know it, the moment I’ve been waiting for all night and damn near all my life rises to the forefront.

The lights dim and the first beats of the drums ring loud throughout the stadium, matching the acceleration of my heartbeat. This is really happening. He’s about to come out and walk right past me. Everyone around me pulls their phones out on the ready, accompanied by a roar of screams just as loud as the orchestra performing his music. 

Too concentred on the entry way anticipating his figure, I forget I even have a phone. No, I need to feel this thoroughly. No middle man between me and this unforgettable experience.

We all wait in collaborative angst until his tall figure emerges and my breath gets caught in my throat. The aura and the energy he carries is all consuming, demanding the attention of every person present, even his haters. Solo and Paul flank behind him following his slow and steady pace until he comes to a hard stop. 

The cameraman is dangerously close as he kneels to catch him from an angle down below. This is so surreal. On cue his pyro lights fire, upping the excitement from the crowd if even possible. Everyone is already losing their minds. Even Demi’s screams threatened to take out my right eardrum despite her main infatuation resting with the Usos.

His mesmerizing eyes scan the crowd with a slight nod of approval and then they land on…me? Time stills and I can’t hear the noise around me. Was he staring at me? 

As much as I want to look around for confirmation that his eyes are indeed locked on me, I’m hypnotized. The slight scrunch of his brows and his dark pupils paralyze me in place. Jesus, Lana. Move. Smile. Wave. Shit, do something.

He’s fucking beautiful. Carved from stone. Kissed by the sun. Hair wet and hanging. Ula Fala draping perfectly around his neck. Full beard with a hint of greying. And his chest. God, his chest. His abs rippled perfectly. I’m scared to even blink, at the risk that I’ll miss something.

A thick pink tongue slithers out over his lips and I heat up from the inside out. My god.

In a flash he looks onward to the ring on the move again and the world returns to its original state. 

I turn to face Demi whose eyes are wide like a saucer. “Biiiitch,” she drags out and we break into a fit of laughter.

“Okay, so I’m not bugging?” My brows dent. 

“No. No, I saw it too,” she assures me. “That man was definitely eye fucking you.” My face heats replaying the scene back in my head. “That was so surreal. He’s so much bigger in person…” Her voice trails off once I get lost in my thoughts watching him hold his titles up in the center of the ring. He moves like a king. Like everywhere he goes he expects everyone to bow gracefully and fall at his feet. It makes him even more attractive than just what the eyes can reach. Fuck me. This is going to be a long night.

Demi got her wish. The Usos came out but their stunt didn’t last too long due to an appearance from Sami and Kevin. Somehow, Roman still took home the win. Still the champion. Still on top. Still the man.

The whole match, I could only half way focus on him and his god-like figure moving about in the ring. The other half of me was still stuck in the moment we shared during his entrance. Was he really staring at me?

Call me delusional, but I swear he looked at me two more times. Once during the match, when he kicked out at the last second of Cody’s pin. He struggled to his knees and rested back on his heels to scan the crowd. He stumbled to his feet, but not before those eyes bore a hole into mine for a quick second. Then again, when he won. He held up his titles, chest heaving up and down, then he looked my way with a squint.

“I can’t believe he still won,” Demi practically has to yell as we ease our way through the crowd to leave. “I was sure it was game over when Sami gave him the boot.”

Simultaneously we push through the back entrance doors and let them slam behind us. The slightly chilly night air of April hitting. No more screams. No more crowds. But the rush and aura of the night still lingers on us.

“My man doesn’t take L’s,” I tell her matter-of-factly with my chin up.

“I see,” she laughs.

We were smart. We took an Uber and told him to let us out from almost three blocks away. We follow that same pattern now to avoid the rush and traffic of everybody trying to leave at once. Towards the opposite way of the parking lot, away from the crowds, we start our journey to a quiet block to call the Uber. 

“Wanna hit it?” Demi extends her hand that holds a lit blunt in between her fingers. I shake my head.

“How the hell did you even get that thing in?”

“Tampon,” she informs before pulling from it. Of course. She’s been sneaking weed into parties that way since we were freshmen.

“Excuse me! Ladies!” An authoritative calls from behind causing us both to stop in our tracks. I know that voice. “Excuse me!”

Demi and I lock eyes and at once we do a complete one-eighty to find him practically chasing us down.

“What the fuck?” I hear Demi murmur before he stops in front of us winded.

“Ladies,” he offers one firm nod. “My name is—’’

“Paul Heyman,” we finish for him in unison. 

A smug smile adorns his chubby face. “That’s right.” He holds a hand out and we both just stare at it for a while. After several seconds of an awkward and shocking silence, Demi abruptly shakes his hand and I follow her lead, still trying to make sense of this moment.

“I’ve been sent to relay a message. The Tribal Chief has requested your services for tonight.”

“Services?” The line between Demi’s thoughts and what comes out of her mouth has always been very blurred.

“Yes,” he confirms. In unison we turn just our heads to each other with equal expressions of confusion and disbelief. “You see, The Tribal Chief likes the comfort of company while he’s on the road from time to time.”

“Company, huh?” I catch Demi’s smirk.

“Especially on nights like tonight. You know?” I raise a brow. “All the adrenaline, excitement, and energy from tonight’s match. It's good for him to uh… blow off some steam and unwind.”

I lose count of how many times Demi and I have to exchange looks tonight. Since I’ve met her we’ve always spoke a nonverbal language only we understand. A subtle head nod in the direction of a cute boy in the room, an eye roll when somebody says something problematic, or wide eyes when someone spills tea that we know we’ll have to debrief about later. Tonight, our eyes dance in a mutual agreement that can’t be any clearer. “Hell yeah,” I speak for the first time. 

Demi tosses the lit blunt and we both advance to follow him. “Oh no, I’m sorry. Just you.”

“Me?” I ask with a finger to my chest. He grins slyly nodding.

“I— I don't know.”

“You don’t know?” Demi slaps my arm.

“I’ll need an answer now. Gotta get you to his bus before the real crowd emerges. There’s a few things you need to sign.” Sign? Oh god. This is getting serious.

“M—maybe this is a mix up. Are you sure he asked for me—”

“Bitch.” I’m interrupted by a firm push from Demi toward Paul. My eyes meet her wide ones that scream, “go.”

I look between the both of them. “You’ll be fine getting to the hotel?” I’m not all the way certain how tonight will go, but I have a feeling I won’t be seeing her until tomorrow.

“Girl, don’t worry about me. I’ll always get where I’m going. I should be the last thing on your mind.”

“We can wait until her Uber comes?” I eye Paul who eyes his watch briefly.

“Sure.”

So we wait in silence. The whole time, I bounce the idea of just saying never mind and pussying out, back and forth like tennis. Reading my mind, Demi would eye me and mouth “don’t you dare.” So many things can go wrong. I’m not even entirely sure I know what the hell Paul is talking about. Company? Services? It could mean so many things. Does he want to talk? A massage? Am I going to just sit there on his lap while he watches TV? What if he’s one of those foot guys? Is he going to touch himself while I sit there barefoot? Oh god, please don’t have a foot fetish.

With the exception of tonight, I’ve only ever seen him through a screen. Playing a character. I don’t know him. That’s the reality of it. Am I really about to follow a stranger, Paul Heyman, to accompany another strange man?

After checking that she has the right Uber and sensing she will be safe alone with him, I let her hand go. She gives me one final look before I let her shut the car door. “Make him remember you, bitch.”

Like a farmer leading its cattle to slaughter, I follow him as he leads me up the steep steps of the bus. A pit of something stirs in my stomach the deeper we walk. Equal parts angst and doom. Like the end of something and the beginning at the same time. We pass the driver’s seat. The floors are a shiny mahogany wood, matching the cabinets of the kitchen area we end up in. Although small, it feels grand. Definitely doesn’t seem like a space this chic belongs in a bus trailer. I guess only the best for the best.

In the midst of admiring the space, I look over to see Paul shuffling some papers around.

“Alright! So I’ll need you to sign this.” He separates one stack from the main one and slides a pen out for me. “Just something that says we’re not responsible for any items lost, damaged, or anything like that.” Everything in me screams to read the thick stack thoroughly before I dare sign my name on the dotted line. I do it anyway, because who even has time for that? Paul is already moving about like he has somewhere to be.

“And this here,” he pushes the signed paper out the way and slides another stack in its place. This one much thicker than the former. I raise a brow. “Don’t worry. It's just a non-disclosure. Nothing discussed, seen, or heard after you sign can be shared with any other persons.”

I look for the expiration date of the legal document and don’t find one. I search and my eyes land on the word indefinitely.

“Indefinitely, huh?” I think deeply about what I am about to agree to. I would only even want to tell Demi and a few other girls from our bookclub maybe that watch WWE. My eyes land on the seven figure lawsuit terms if the NDA is breached. I weigh my options. Spill tea and get fined or secretly get intimate with the man of my dreams…

The pen is smooth as it glides along the dotted line and I cap it before handing it back over to Paul. “Perfect.” He takes it and reorganizes the papers. I blow out a breath looking around again. There’s a grey curtain blocking off the rest of the bus, which I assume holds a bedroom of some sort and a bathroom.

“Is he already here?” I lean to try and get a peak of whats beyond the curtain.

“Nope. He’s doing a bit of press and wrapping some things up backstage. You’ll wait for him here. The driver is inside the building. Probably won’t be back until late tonight. Roman should be back soon.”

“I’m expected to stay here overnight?”

“Totally up to you. I’m sure you and him will figure it out. It’s not like him to spend the night alone though.”

In that moment it becomes clear what I am here to do. My heart lurches at the thought of just sharing a bed and possibly cuddling with him. His big muscular arms wrapped around me. The heat of his breath on the back of my neck and the hardness of his di—

“This wasn’t on the NDA you just signed, but,” he held his hand out between us. “I’m gonna need that phone before I leave.” Of course. I almost change my mind. “Don’t worry. You’ll get it back as soon as it's all over. Definitely before you leave.”

Fuck it. I retrieve my phone from the back pocket of my jeans and he gladly takes it. I don’t need it anyhow. I can’t imagine being in the presence of him anyway and my phone stealing the show. I would forget I even had one.

It's not long before he’s packing everything up, preparing to leave me. A small part doesn’t want him to go. He served as sort of a comfort. Truth be told, my heart is in my ass.

He pulls the curtain back to reveal a chic bedroom set up. If I didn't know any better, I would think we are in a five star hotel and not a bus trailer. 

Everything is a sleek grey with undertones of black. Glossy black wood dresser chest and a matching nightstand. Black wood bed frame and headboard. I run my hand along the dark grey duvet thats just as soft as it looks. 

“I’ll be on my way. You’ll probably see me tomorrow or later tonight. If not someone else will give the phone back.” He waves my phone and turns, but not before pulling the curtain back to close.

I’m all alone now. Theres a flat screen mounted opposite the bed, but the noise won’t do anything but make me more anxious. I want to be able to hear everything going on.

I have the weird urge to go through his suitcase I see sitting upright by the wall. I shake the thought away knowing it's an invasion of privacy. I opt to go through the dresser chest instead. Its empty. I guess he didn’t get a chance to  unpack.

I turn and rest my butt on it, crossing my arms. Minutes go by, and what seems like an hour passes before I hear movement outside the bus. Deep voices talking and then I hear heavy steps heading my way. I straighten up. No, too formal. I sit on the bed legs crossed. No, what am I? An escort?

I stand again and take my original place leaning on the edge of the dresser, just in time for the curtain to pull back. The sight of his large stature so much closer to me than he was in the arena takes my breath away.

He doesn’t say a word. Just looks at me and walks right by me to his suitcase. Then he’s in the bathroom. The sound of him peeing is loud followed by water running. 

Big, tan and burly, he emerges again. He moves with power just oozing off of him, with an authority that just screamed, “I’m in charge.” It's not just a ring persona. Thats just him.

My eyes never leave his tall frame maneuvering around the small space as if I’m not even standing here. He kicks the Jordans off his feet to slip into his slides. His Nike hoodie comes off next and he tosses it on the small loveseat in the corner. His big and cut arms now in full view.

He relieves himself of the contents in his pants pockets. Wallet, keys, some loose change, and a small folded paper all fall on the dresser. He stops for a moment holding out his left hand. He twists the black band off his ring finger and places it in the drawer instead of on top of the dresser with the rest of his things.

Our eyes snag and I immediately shift my attention to my fingers. Twisting and untwisting. Picking at the acrylic on my nails. Anything but looking him in the eye after witnessing that. It's not too late to change my mind. I can stop this. I should, but do I really want to?

The sound of his slides lets me know he’s on the move again. I find him by a minibar area I hadn’t noticed earlier. 

“Is it cold in here?” His deep voice cuts through the silence. It's then I notice I was holding and rubbing my arms as if I was cold. So, he is paying me some kind of attention. Truth is, I’m just trying to keep the goosebumps from a slight panic attack at bay.

“No, it's fine.”

“You feeling alright?” He twists slightly with a raised brow. Probably trying to figure out why I haven’t moved an inch since he walked in here. He’s so calm and cool. I don’t know what I was expecting, but the calmer he is, the more anxious I grow.

“Yeah. Y—yeah, no I’m fine.”

“You spoke to Paul already?”

“Yeah—yes,” I correct myself and clear my throat. I don’t know when it became so damn dry.

I was speaking to his back. The muscles still making themselves known even through the fabric of his black tee. Hair sleeked back into his signature bun. My eyes trail down to his ass. For a man, he has a nice one. I image how he’d look with nothing. The intimacy of him walking around with absolutely nothing on. The afterglow of sex on him. Rock hard abs and tribal tattoo as his only decoration. His manhood swinging freely, semi-hard even after just laying serious wood—

“Then I assume you know why you’re here,” his deep voice cuts my nasty daydream short. 

I can hear him maneuvering glass, but I couldn’t see exactly what he was doing over his big frame. I was too shell shocked to move too much, afraid I might wake up from this fever dream.

“I do,” I answer him. 

If my father knew when he gave his only daughter, his princess, money to enjoy her spring break, that she’d end up alone in the bus of a man who was over ten years her senior, the money would’ve never made it into my hand in the first place. I’m sure this isn’t what he had in mind, but truly this was the best way a young girl could enjoy spring break. An unexpected encounter with an older and wealthier man. My idol. I watched him on TV for years. Gawked at the screen. Liked thousands of edits on Tiktok and Instagram. Dreams of this very moment knowing it couldn’t possibly ever come true. And now here he was. Big in stature and energy right here in front of me. Talking to me. 

Hell yeah, I know what I’m here to do. Even if he didn’t utter a single word and just stripped and nodded to the bed, I’d still get the job done with no shame. What girl in her right mind wouldn’t?

I can hear them now. But he’s married. He has a family. He’s old enough to be your father. They just won’t understand. Demi would. Demi would get it. She always gets it and she always gets me. Having lost her father and sister in a car crash just weeks before moving into the dorms for college, taught her that life was indeed too short. Live freely and take risk, because you don’t know when you won’t be able to. Shit, we’re all gonna die anyway. That’s the mantra she lives by. She’s different and that’s why I attached myself to her. She’s not like everybody else who lives like they’ve already walked the steps to heaven.

This was a more than seldom, once in a lifetime opportunity. I’d think about this night when I’m grey and depleting on my deathbed. I won’t let my head play tricks on me with the opinions of anyone who would do the same thing put in my position. 

It's silent again. I hear liquid being poured for a second. I wonder if Demi made it back to the hotel okay. She’s probably blowing up my phone with a thousand texts trying to figure out whats going on.

So deep in my thoughts I don’t realize he’s making his way to me until he’s right here already. I have to look up to meet his gaze as he stares down at me over the bridge of his nose. He’s so big. He smells divine. It's a masculine type of musk with a cleanliness to it. My breath gets caught in my throat, realizing exactly how close we are. Our shoes were just shy of an inch from touching. My chest rises and falls in anticipation of his next move. 

Without any words, he holds a glass filled with brown liquid out closer to me. I look down at it with just my eyes. I’ve only been twenty-one for two weeks. Didn’t even get the opportunity to sit at a bar so a man could offer me a drink before trying to sleep with me. Who would’ve thought the first offering would come from him. Roman Reigns. Just at that thought, something in me ignited.

I took it, with the intention meaning more than just accepting the drink. I’m accepting the situation. Drawing a line in the sand and disposing of any doubt if there even was any left. I’m doing this. All complications pushed to the back. Tonight he’s not Joe Anoa’i, the married man with five kids. He’s Roman Reigns, undisputed WWE Universal Champion, The Tribal Chief, Main Eventer, Head of the Table…And I’m his biggest fan.

I throw the contents of the glass back, trying my hardest not to make a face from the burning sensation. He gets it down in one big gulp, putting me to shame, as I can’t help watching his Adam’s apple bob up and then down. He’s still just inches from me. I can see every hair on his beard. The slight greying ones are my favorite.

It's so weird seeing him in this state. So lax in his own space. No ring gear. No mean scowl. No Ula Fala around his neck. No championship belt around his waist. Just him. Black tee and sweats to match.

He takes the glass back and places them both behind me on the dresser top. Without warning, he’s on me. His tongue shoves past my lips saying to hell with formalities. No warm up. Straight to business.

“Mm,” I groan from shock. My natural instinct from being so caught off guard is to create some space, but a firm hand gripping the base of my neck keeps me in place.

He immediately asserts dominance, caressing every part of my body his hands can reach like he owns it. My neck, my shoulders, my back, and all the way down to my ass with a firm squeeze that separates my pussy lips. All the while still assaulting my mouth with his warm tongue. The tang of the alcohol still lingering. I fight for some control in the kiss but it's no use. He’s too much for me.

Everywhere his strong hands make contact, it leaves a spark until my whole body feels like it's on fire. Damn, that drink was strong. He pulls away from the kiss completely after one last soft, open mouthed peck. Like a magnet, my eyes find the thick bulge in his black sweats and I grow even more excited. 

He drops to his knees in front of me and my breath hitches when his cold fingertips find their way up my shirt. A trail of kisses with a slight tickle from his beard follow up and up until I raise my arms for him to take the shirt off completely.

He’s back on his feet, turning me so my back is facing him. My breathing grows erratic. This is really happening. 

“Lights,” his voice rumbles behind me. The bright lights turn off but there's little lamps set up in the small space allowing a cast bright enough to see still.

The black lace bra I wear is unhooked in a matter of seconds. Who knew when I put it on this morning, that Roman Reigns himself would be taking it off come night. With a firm grip on my hips he turns me back to face him. 

Being well endowed up top from such a young age, my natural instinct is to cover myself. I always thought they were a bit big for my body. Standing at five foot seven, I was only one hundred and fifty pounds. A lot of my weight being carried up top from these double D’s. When all the girls in middle school were just filling in, I was a full D cup. I noticed how boys would stare. Older men too. It would make me uncomfortable. Always thinking of ways to cover them or make them appear smaller.

Avoiding eye contact is useless. His eyes are like magnets. Like the sun. Just beaming down on me, making them impossible to evade. So I stare back at him. We stay like this for a while. Just watching one another in silence. The air is smoky with lust and pure ecstasy. 

His hands cover mine and slowly drag them down to reveal my breast. Round, surprisingly perky, with fully erect chocolate nipples, creating a contrast to my caramel complexion. They steal the show as his eyes shoot to them immediately while he breathes deep from his nose. 

I can feel his energy shift from passionate to pure animalistic. When his entire mouth covers one nipple, I lose all my sense. My head rolls back and instinctively I bring a hand to the back of his head. A rough hand cups and caresses my breast while he’s still latched on. I watch in awe as his thick tongue sticks out to flick and play with it before sucking again.

He’s expertly unbuttoning my jeans with his other hand as I feel the snag of him trying to pull them down. I step out of my shoes to help him and reveal the black thong I am not even accustomed to wearing. I’m more of a a boy shorts or Walmart pack panties kind of girl. I just so happen to have forgotten to pack them and had to borrow a pair from Demi. 

Bending down must be uncomfortable, since he grips the back of my knees to hike me up like I  weigh absolutely nothing. He gives more attention to my chest, sucking until my nipples are sore, before his tongue is in my mouth exploring again. We’re moving now, I assume towards the bed. With every step, his erection rubs against me leaving me clenching and needy.

My back meets the unbelievably soft bed. I practically sink into it, watching him rear back to remove his shirt and show off that god-like body. Mountains and valleys of muscle in his abdomen placed perfectly like someone sculpted him with their bare hands. His bun hangs a little looser now.

His long fingers loop the waistband of my panties and we lock eyes. His stare is intense saying what his lips didn’t. I nod once. I’m doing this.

Almost in slow motion he pulls them down my legs, his eyes not leaving mine until the very last second. His attention is stolen by the sight of me down there.

“You’re soaking.” He uses the butt of his thumb to circle my clit. I jump slightly at the sudden contact. “That’s all for me?” He locks eyes with me again, expecting an answer and all I can do is nod frantically while biting down hard on my bottom lip. I can’t keep still. My body is on fire under his touch and his gaze. Eyes dark with passion, he squints watching me squirm every time he speeds the rhythm of his thumb up or down.

“Fuck,” I move my hips to the rhythm of his hand and grab one of my breast.

His thick tongue snakes out to lick his pink lips like he did earlier in the arena and I almost cum on sight. I look on in shock watching how he licks his thumb clean like he just ate Doritos and he’s discarding the remnants of them. A small groan of pleasure leaves his throat. I must be dreaming.

Climbing off the bed hastily, he tugs his pants and red briefs down at once and his dick pops up on recoil. My pussy clenches around nothing in anticipation for her next guest. Long, thick and tanned just like the rest of him. Mouthwatering. I never had the urge to taste something so bad in my life.

I can tell there’s no time for that though. He’s anxious now. I can feel the heat and need radiating off his body as if his stiff, vein-filled dick didn’t already tell on him.

With a tight grip on my ankle, he flips me over abruptly. Of course. Missionary would’ve been way too intimate for the circumstances.

On instinct I get up on all fours, deepening the arch to an almost painful degree so the view is nice for him. A smack so hard I jerk forward a bit, lets me know he’s satisfied with what he sees.

“All this ass,” he mumbles rubbing my behind in circles and even giving it a little shake. 

He runs his long fingers up and down the slickness with ease. A groan leaves my throat as I grow impatient. I know I should want this to last as long as humanly possible, but I can’t fight this storm inside of me. I’ve wondered too long about it, daydreamed about it, and even touched myself in imagination before at the thought of this man I only knew through a TV screen.

I sway back and forth slightly waiting and listening to the sound of a wrapper and a slight pop. I have no time to prepare. The bed dips with the weight of him back on it. His thick head is at my opening, rubbing from my clit to almost my asshole. He only does this three good times before I’m practically ripped apart.

“Ouu!” A mix of a moan and something I’ve never heard from myself fills the room. He roughly takes the hand I thought I would use to push him and pins it behind me.

My throat goes dry. God damn. He’s fucking huge and unforgiving. Even with the slow pace he’s pushing into me combined with my wetness, it still feels like he’s breaking me apart from the inside out. 

“Breathe,” he coaches. If possible a gush of wetness rushes out from the sound of his voice, bringing me back to the situation at hand. I have to make it work for him. 

I bite down on the expensive grey covers as he pulls completely out and then back in. “Mm!” 

He finds his rhythm, as he’s able to glide in and out. I try to match him once the pain subsides. I glance back to catch his full bottom lip caught between his teeth. The muscles in his chest working as a sheen of sweat starts to form.

I work harder now. The sight of him turning me on more than ever, opening me up like a wildflower. 

“Let me hear you. I wanna hear you,” he grunts out almost desperately. The vulnerability in his rough voice drawing more heat and wetness from my core. I moan louder than I intended and shock myself. I’m not usually verbal in bed. Maybe a little cry or whimper here and there. This shit feels too good to be demure and delicate about. 

I obey his order and release the moan that I didn’t even know I’m suppressing. It's not forced or fabricated. I genuinely feel so good in this moment I can only moan in response. 

His strokes are primal. Animalistic like a lion in the wild taking whats his. And he’s so fucking big. In aura and size. The ways his body envelopes mine makes me feel smaller than I really am. His thickness stretching me in a way I didn’t think was possible.

“Oh, fuck!” I yell out. His hand tangles in my hair and stretches my gaze up, giving him full view of my desperate face.

“Tell me how good it feels,” he demands. 

“Oh my god,” I pant. “It's so fucking good,” I struggle to get out. Every thrust steals my breath. He aims for the perfect spot every time and doesn’t miss. The smack of our bodies colliding ring loud in the silent space.

“Louder, baby,” he grunts diving deeper.

“I can feel you everywhere. You feel so good! Unh!”

“Atta girl.” The rumble of his voice sends a vibration straight to my core. My pussy clenches down from his words. To add insult to injury, a large and slightly calloused hand finds its way up my stomach to cup my breast. He pinches, twists and rolls my nipple around like he’s playing with a toy. As if my pussy isn’t becoming dangerously wetter already.

He removes the hold in my hair, trailing to my hip. His thumb presses down hard while guiding me back and forth on him. He gives me his all and I return the favor, using the unstable grip I have on the duvet to leverage me as I throw my ass back on him to catch.

The friction of his balls slapping sloppily against my clit built up enough pressure for a pending orgasm. With one strong hand still on my hip, he uses his free one to shove my face down to the bed making me lose any power I had in this fight.

His front collides with my ass, causing a consistent slapping. Anyone walking on the bus could easily tell whats going on now. His grunts, my pants, the consistent slapping. These were sounds of fucking. 

“Fuck me! Yesss!” I don’t recognize myself. He’s awakening something in me. A familiar tinging stirs in the pit of my stomach. If he keeps on, it won’t be long until I explode all over his thick dick.

“Yeah?” He whispers.

“Yeah,” I whimper in response.

He goes harder than ever before, his strokes less uniform and more wild. My mouth falls wide open at the intensity and perfect mix of pain and pleasure.

His hips continue to snap against me and if possible I feel him grow harder inside me. His fingertips dig into me so hard I know there’ll be bruises tomorrow. 

“Urghh!” A guttural moan erupts from him, urging me to fuck him through his release even as his movements slow. I study his facial expressions and record them in my brain to take home with me as a souvenir. He stretches his neck with eyes shut tightly. That fucking tongue. Whisking out to flatten over his top lip before he bites down on his bottom one. Chest heaving up and down with the muscles in his abdomen flexing with every breath. 

“So fucking good,” he says more to himself. He delivers another hard spank to my ass before I feel him ease out of me, hissing slightly at the sudden disconnect and absence of him. The pit of my stomach heavy still with the lingering orgasm that was cut short. 

I’ve had sex with guys before and never got to finish. I’d leave unsatisfied and almost regretting the encounter completely. This is different. I’m here for him. I’d fulfill his needs and drain him even if it meant I left with nothing but a wet ass. 

The bed creaks a little, letting me know he got up completely. Just when I think the night is over, my mouth falls open at the sensation of his hot mouth covering my entire pussy. His tongue slithers out to graze my distended clit.

“Mm, shit,” I cry out, shaking. I’m so sensitive. Any little sensation sends my body into overdrive. Every lick draws a mini release. When I finally get to the edge I know I’ll fall completely apart. The hair from his beard tickles me, only heightening the sensations. I feel nothing but pure pleasure.

A strong hand comes down on my left ass cheek and I whimper on impact. He squeezes it in a firm gip to move me up and down in a steady rhythm on his flattened tongue.

“Oh, fuck yeah,” I cry. I let my head hang down unable to keep it up any longer. All I can do, feel, and think about in this moments is how good he feels to me. Guys my age always need a crash course on how to eat pussy. Always too much spit, they couldn’t find my clit, or the torturous shaking of the head like a rabid dog.

Roman is eating me like I’m his last meal. Touching spots I didn’t even know a tongue could reach. With the way he’s grabbing me and rocking me on his stiff tongue, he’s damn near fucking me with it. We’re two complete strangers. The power dynamic is completely off. He’s the billionaire WWE superstar and I’m the underpaid and overworked fan in college. Somehow he’s still taking the time to worship my body and give me his all as if he’s the one who has something to prove. 

The dick was mind-blowing. Oh, but the head will be the death of me. That same tongue he wags and flicks on live television, exploring me. Tonight is an absolute fairytale. If I didn’t know any better, I would think he could read my mind. He knows exactly what I want and how I want it.

In only a matter of seconds a tornado of heat swirls in my core. I rock back and forth on his mouth before he sucks relentlessly on my sensitive bud nonstop.

“Unnhh!” An uncontrollable shake erupts from me as I see stars. The world goes completely blank for a while as I relish in the ecstasy of my orgasm granted by the Tribal Chief himself. Tonight, I acknowledge him and his mouth.

“Oh my god,” I whisper in between pants coming to my senses. A small laugh leaves my throat at the way I just lost myself in front of him.

I turn to find him in the middle of snatching the cream covered condom off. His big dick bobs up and down from the snatch, fully erect again. 

We got one night only.

Like a lioness on the prowl in the jungle, I eye him, crawling to the edge of the king bed where he stands. I stop just in front where my mouth aligns to his thickness, still eyeing him, making sure it's okay. He nods giving me the green light and even holds the base in his strong hand to bring it closer to my lips.

I let a glob of spit form and fall freely on his thick mushroom tip. Before it can drip, I catch it on the underside and lick from tip to base, to the tip again. His hips push forward impatiently. 

“Open.” It's not a question so I don’t test him. His face is hard, but his eyes are desperate. As soon as my lips part he shoves himself all the way in like he owns my entire mouth. He draws out and I hallow my cheeks to keep it in as long as possible until I release him with a pop. 

“Stick your tongue out for me.” I oblige and he slides his heavy dick across it gathering spit before pushing back down my mouth. A pulse grows in my clit again. A revival from seeing the remains of the mess I made in his thick beard.

“It's so good,” I tell him while slapping it on my tongue for him, earning a groan. The skin of him is soft as he stretches my mouth. I can taste the salty precum and I cant wait for the rest of it. I never trusted a man to release his bodily fluids in me in any way. It kind of grossed me out. Oh, but not tonight. He can release wherever he chooses.

Using one hand to twist in tandem with sucking him, I study every change in his expression, every pattern of his breath to record what feels the best to him.

“Go ‘head,” he urges in a low guttural tone. “Just like that. Take it all the way down. Don’t stop, babygirl.” That’s all I need to hear. 

The eye contact is so deep it puts me in a trance. In a constant and fluid motion I take him in and out, making sure he reaches the back of my throat every time. In and out. In and out. In and out. The sounds of spit and his heavy breathing take charge of the room.

His body stiffens a bit and I can feel him get harder on my tongue. Deliberately I take him as far as possible and stay there until I make myself choke. The contracting of my throat around his thick head sends him completely off the rails. He breaks our bubble, throwing his head back to the ceiling.

“Mmm. Aw fuck!” A strong hand grabs a fistful of my hair, making it impossible for me to move.  Thick ropes of his warm cum shoot down my throat and all around my mouth. “Ahh,” he groans out with a hiss jerking his hips forward a few good times. “Oh my god,” he blows out a heavy breath and lets his hands rest on his hips. 

I’ve made dean’s list, honor roll all throughout high school, medals of all kind from track decorate the walls of my bedroom in my parents’ house. None of those accomplishments compare to the sight I just witnessed. The Roman Reign’s spent and sexually exhausted because of little ole me.

“Let me see,” he whispers while watching me suck the last of it out. I open wide and stick my tongue out so he can see his cum on it. His massive dick jumps at the sight. I feel the warmth of some of it seeping out and running down my chin.

“Don’t move,” he instructs. Like his obedient soldier I stay put, only looking around with one good eye. The other shut tight so none of his cum could invade it.

When he emerges again, he has a wet cloth in hand. Gently but still firm he wipes my face clean of him and my tears that slipped from the intensity of choking. Who knew the Tribal Chief is into aftercare?

A squeal escapes me from being lifted into the air and over his broad shoulder. I’m hanging as he moves us about. There’s no way that any of this is happening. 

The shower starts to run. Even upside down I can see the marble walls and waterfall shower head raining down.

“You care about your hair getting wet?”

“No,” I strain to get out with his shoulder digging into my stomach. He chuckles so softly, I would’ve missed it if I couldn’t feel it from being on him. 

He fucks me for hours in the shower. My back against the wall. In the air. Face against the tiles. On all fours again. I guess older men carry more stamina. The water cascaded from up top on us both while we locked tongues passionately, breathing in each other’s air. 

He was in control the whole time. He flipped me every way he wanted me to go. Told me what to do, never asking. I’m left a wet, quivering mess at the end of it all.

I don’t realize how exhausted I am until he asks if I want to stay the night. I think about getting dressed and leaving, but the bed is impossibly plush and the sight of him naked still is impossibly sexy. Even better than I imagined.

I threw cuddling out the window once I seen his stoic nature and how he moved about earlier like this was just a business deal. He lays in the bed, still naked on his back with muscular arms slightly stretched. I lay on my stomach beside him trying to get comfortable. My heart thumps out my chest knowing he’s still here with me and so accessible. We literally just violated each other in the nastiest way possible and now we lay in bed not even touching.

His heavy breaths and light snore fill the room in no time creating a sort of white noise for me to descend to. 

Some time in the middle of the night, I don know how, but those light snores ended up right in my ear. His breath hot on top of my head, accompanied by a very heavy arm over my hip. 

My heart smiled and my face caught fire. It was so intimate. Undeniably my favorite part of the night. I shifted as quietly as I possibly could, inch by inch, until I was facing him. His bun fell completely apart, leaving his dried and fluffy curls cascading over his shoulders and the plush pillows. I make out what I can in the dark of his sharp features. I never seen him so relaxed. In the ring he’s always tense, always painted with tyranny and stress, but not right now. He almost looked like an angel.

I make a mental image of him. This is exactly how I want to remember him— how I want to remember this unpredictable night. This is the part that even if I could tell it, I don’t think anyone would even believe me. Burying my face into his chest, I breathe deep, trying to imprint his smell into my brain like ink on the skin. 

The loud voices of men I don’t recognize, serve as my alarm clock. Eyes still shut, flashes of the night before and the soreness of my body, warp me back to reality. Oh, shit.

I shoot up from the pillow to scan the room, keeping the covers close to my naked chest. His suitcase still stood in the corner, but there’s no trace of him. No water running. His slides are gone. The thick curtain shields me from the rest of the bus.

6:07 AM flashes on the digital clock of the now cleared nightstand. 

It's not like I was expecting this grand goodbye. The man didn’t even say hello to begin with. I thought I could at least see him one last good time before I leave LA for good.

I attempt to rise up, but something crinkling under my palm stops me. I grab the sheet of notepad paper and rub my eyes before reading the contents of it.

Thanks for last night. Joe. 

Short and simple. In the corner, two cursive R’s as a signature. I neatly fold the paper and drop it into the pocket of my jeans I find folded on the chest dresser. I want that paper with me everywhere I go. A small piece of the whole experience. A subtle reminder of the best night of my life.

Every part of me wants to feel bad. How could I let him just use me for his needs for a night and then discard me like it was nothing? I should feel low. Cheap. But thats not even the kind of girl I am. The glass is always half full to me. Last night was arguably the best night of my young life. I’ve never known such adventure. I never felt more free—more like a woman.

I flop down in my bed still in a daze from the events of last weekend. Demi had a million and one questions. The NDA kept me from spilling. Even if I could’ve given her a play by play of how the night went, I don’t think I would’ve. Demi and I have the kind of bond thats void of any secrets. But that night with him was so special to me, I want to keep it for myself. Something for just me and him. It makes it more magical when only we know what happened. I just want to soak and bathe in it all. 

Light as a feather I stare at my ceiling, letting the flashbacks corrupt me. The feel of his soft skin. The smell of him. His grunts and pants. His hands caressing and gripping my ass. The warmth of his tongue filling my mouth. I blow out a breath getting worked up again. I’ve touched myself countless times since that night to the memory of his voice and his energy. He was just so damn good. So much man and dominance, but still gentle and cautious. 

After we touched back down in New York, it was back to reality. But that didn’t stop me from walking on a cloud. You can’t tell me shit. I fucked the Roman Reigns. Drained him and swallowed the aftermath. How’s that for a spring break?

It's currently Thursday. Almost a week has passed since the greatest night of my young life. I just got back from the gym with Demi. She’s pressed me every single day since that night, but I won’t budge. The confines of the NDA keeping me stronger than I normally would be. 

Tomorrow is Smackdown at the Garden, but it's unclear if Roman will even be in attendance. He takes so many hiatuses it's really a hit or miss with him. Demi asked if we should go, but I declined not wanting to spend the money I didn’t have just for him not to even show.

A sudden dread came over me knowing that he couldn’t possibly be thinking of me even half as much as I’ve thought of him. He’s overridden my mind. I’ve obsessed over every little detail and played it back a thousand times, while he doesn’t even know my name. 

Paul said it himself. He likes the comfort of company while he’s on the road. All the times he has to travel for work, cameras in his face nonstop, and body aching from all the physical exhaustion, I’m sure he always has to release the tension somehow. I’m just one of many. 

I knew that going into it. I know I’m not special, but I tried my hardest to be. I did what I could to make him remember me. Constant eye contact, carrying out his every command, throwing this ass back as hard as I could and sucking the soul out of him.

A violent buzz of my phone snaps me out of my daze. I feel for it on the covers. My eyebrows dent at the message notification from a number I don’t recognize, causing me to unlock it.

Your Tribal Chief has requested your services again. 

Sorry for that long ass disclaimer lol. It’s a shame I even have to include that, but I literally watched a girl argue with an author on here about promoting adultery and cheating simply because a character was cheating. Like, it’s a story?? It’s a fictional character?? Don't read it??

If you read it or even just parts of it, I really am appreciative. Pls like or reblog. Feedback is greatly appreciated. Please remember I am an artist…and I’m sensitive about my shit lol 💋

banner credit:  @animatedglittergraphics-n-more

[of-a-chaotic-mind]

Cuffed

Summary: Eddie has been ignoring & avoiding his best friend, Reader, for weeks now. Buck can’t stand it anymore & enlists Tommy to help him in his scheme to get the two of you talking again. 

TW/CW: Eddie Diaz x Reader, Get Together

Requested?: No 

Word Count: 2,215

A/N: This is entirely inspired by a dream I had. I’ve been watching too much 911 & simping over Eddie so I’m not surprised lmao. Hope you enjoy! Much love to all & REQUESTS ARE OPEN! P.S. I almost took this in a different direction & made it longer but couldn't bring myself to do it lol. If any smut writers wanna do it justice & finish it for me, be my guest!

[A/N: This dork makes me smile...]

--- Third Person POV --- 

     "Evan, do you really think it's a good idea to use Chris as bait so we can kidnap Eddie?" Tommy asks, rubbing his forehead at his boyfriend's scheme. 

     Buck looks at Tommy with an exasperated expression before turning to look at Chris who is sat at the kitchen table doing homework, "Chris can we use you as bait to get your dad and (Y/N) to talk again?" 

     "Whatever it takes, even if you have to kidnap me instead," Chris responds not even looking up from his papers. He too is just as frustrated with his father as Buck is, as everyone is. It has been weeks since the two previously inseparable best friends had any semblance of an interaction. Not for lack of trying on (Y/N)'s part though. She had tried and tried to get Eddie to at least acknowledge her existence, but he kept avoiding and ignoring her. She gave up and decided it was best to let him come to her. 

     Buck looks back at Tommy and gives him a pointed look to which the older man simply rolls his eyes, "Fine, what do you need me to do?" 

     Buck grins triumphantly, "Call (Y/N) and tell her that Chris insisted on going to her house because he doesn't want to be here. I'll call Eddie and tell him that Chris ran away to (Y/N)'s house. Carla is already on her way here to keep an eye on Chris." 

     Begrudgingly Tommy pulls out his phone to dial (Y/N)'s number. It rings once before she answers, "What's up pilot friend?" 

     "Pilot friend?" Tommy asks confused. (Y/N) is always coming up with silly nicknames for all her friends but this one is her worst yet. 

     "It's been a long shift, okay? That's the best I got right now," she admits. 

     Tommy looks at Buck who is bouncing on his tippy toes, trying to patiently wait for his turn. Tommy sighs, "Look, Chris insisted we take him to your house." He notices Carla enter and join Chris at the table before continuing, "He said something about being mad at his dad again and not wanting to be here." 

     On the other end of the line (Y/N) sighs, "Okay, I'm leaving now. I'll be there soon." With this she hangs up. 

     "She took the bait," Tommy says motioning to Buck who whips his phone out so fast he nearly throws it across the room. 

     Buck taps on Eddie's number and in no time, he answers, "What, Buck?" 

     "Nice to speak to you to, Eddie. Look we tried to stop him, but he took off to (Y/N)'s house," Buck sighs dramatically making Tommy roll his eyes for what feels like the umpteenth time. 

 ��   "What? Why?" Eddie asks concerned. 

     "I don't know, man. Said he was mad at you again but wouldn't say why," Buck answers possibly a little too excitedly since his plan seems to be working. Eddie is quiet on the other end, so Buck asks, "Do you want us to meet you there?" 

     Eddie sighs, "Yeah, maybe if he won't listen to me when I tell him to come home then he'll listen to you." 

     "Alright, we'll see you in a bit," Buck tries to say but Eddie hangs up before he can get the first word out. Staring at his phone with an annoyed look he instead says, "He hung up on me." 

     Tommy is already heading for the door waving goodbye to Chris and Carla, so Buck quickly follows suit. They have to make it to (Y/N)'s house before she or Eddie does. Minutes later they're waiting patiently at (Y/N)'s kitchen counter bickering because Buck hadn't thought this far ahead. All he had was a plan to get them there and handcuffs to make sure they stay. He has no clue how to get them in the same room. 

     As (Y/N) pulls into her driveway, she wonders if the boys called Eddie but decides it doesn't matter, he'll just take Chris and leave if they did. She makes her way into her house to find Buck and Tommy standing at the kitchen counter. She drops her bag at the door and makes her way over to them, dropping her keys and phone on the counter when she does, "Where's Chris?" 

     Quick on his feet Tommy replies, "He's in your room. Pretty upset and won't let us in." 

     (Y/N) tilts her head at them, "Why is he in my room?" 

     Buck chimes in, "He said he felt safer and calmer in there." 

     (Y/N) runs her fingers through her hair and sighs, "Okay, I guess I'll go talk to him. Maybe he won't pull a stunt like his father has for weeks." She makes her way down the hallway to her room but thinks nothing of the fact that Buck and Tommy are right on her heels. She doesn't notice Buck pull a pair of handcuffs out of his pocket behind her back. (Y/N) knocks on her bedroom door before opening it slowly. She looks around the room and even under the bed, but Chris is nowhere to be seen. She turns around to her friends with confusion on her face but before she can say a word Tommy is sweeping her up onto his shoulder and plopping her onto the end of the bed as Buck immediately cuffs her left hand to the metal footboard. She looks up at them in pure confusion and shock, "What the hell?!" 

     Buck shrugs, "Sorry (Y/N). This is the only thing I could think of to get him to talk to you." Before she can say, "How exactly is this gonna help?" Tommy wraps the bandana he swiped from the top of her dresser around her head and ties it, covering her mouth to keep her quiet.  

     Buck gives his own look of confusion but Tommy shrugs, "Figured we don't want her warning him." (Y/N) glares up at her friends but Tommy simply ruffles her hair before pulling Buck out of the room. 

     Outside the closed bedroom door Tommy dishes out instructions, "Listen, same thing we did with her, except he's gonna see her when he opens the door and know it's a set up so we have to be quicker. Also, handcuff him to her other hand not the bed," Buck nods and the two return to the kitchen. 

     Moments later they repeat the process as planned and soon have Eddie handcuffed to (Y/N). Buck grins triumphantly and Tommy can't help but adore how happy this has made his darling boyfriend; he just hopes it works. Their two friends glare up at them. Eddie is the first to speak, "Why is she gagged?" 

     "Oh yeah, sorry about that (Y/N). Here let me," Buck removes the bandana and the three men look at her waiting for her to say something but all she does is glare up at them with her jaw clenched. 

     Without pulling his eyes away from her, Eddie chuckles, "She's not speaking, you guys are dead men walking." At this, (Y/N) turns her head to glare daggers at Eddie. 

     Tommy begins pulling Buck from the room, "I think we might all be dead when she gets loose," he admits closing the door behind them. 

     It's silent for several heart beats before Eddie finally speaks up, "I should've known this was a set up." 

     She grinds her teeth, "What so you could just avoid me even more?" Eddie sighs and looks down at where their hands are cuffed together. He knows he's upset her, but he can't bring himself to explain why. He looks up at her face to find her still glaring at the door Buck and Tommy left through. He finds her jaw so clenched it looks like it hurts.  

     With his free hand he reaches up and gently massages his thumb against her jaw, "You're gonna crack your teeth." She says nothing. He sighs and rakes his fingers through his hair.  

     It's silent for a few more moments before she finally speaks, "There's a paperclip in my side table drawer holding some pictures. Give it here so I can pick these cuffs." 

     Eddie looks over at the drawer but stops to think for a moment. He can't stand it anymore, "No." 

     She whips her head around to glare at him now, "What do you mean no? That's what you want isn't it? To be as far away from me as possible?" 

     He locks eyes with her and can see the hurt hidden away behind her anger, "Not at all." 

     Her gaze softens just the slightest bit and finally her jaw relaxes, "Then why?" 

     She doesn't need to specify, he knows exactly what she's referring to, "Because I'm a dumbass." 

     She laughs softly and looks away, "Can't argue with you there." Eddie lifts his free hand again to place it on the other side of her face and tug her to look at him. When she does, the anger is gone and all that remains is the pain. He mentally scolds himself for hurting her so badly. That's never what he intended to do. 

     He takes a deep breath, "I'm sorry. I-" something inside him tells him to just stop talking and leave it at that, perhaps fear, but he refuses, "I thought that by distancing myself from you I'd be saving both of us from getting hurt." 

     Astonishment etches her features, "What are you talking about, Eddie?" 

     He lets her face go and looks down at where his hand drops in his lap, "I thought if I distanced myself from you then these feelings would go away and I wouldn't risk losing our friendship but apparently I've risked it anyway." 

     With the hand that is cuffed to his she reaches up to tug his chin toward her. When they lock eyes again, she asks, "What feelings? What do you mean risk losing our friendship?" 

     He swallows hard before willing the words out of his mouth, "I love you (Y/N). I have for a while now. I know you don't feel the same and I didn't want to risk making it awkward between us." 

     Her facial expression goes slack, "You're really are a dumbass then huh?" His confusion prompts her to continue, "I love you too, idiot. It started as what I thought was a little crush the first time I met you, but god has it snowballed into more." 

     He can't think of anything to say in this moment. He doesn't want to think. All he wants to do is kiss her until they're both struggling to breathe. So, he does. His lips clash with hers and she doesn't pull away. Encouraged by this he swipes his tongue across her bottom lip to which she happily obliges. His free hand ghosts up her body to cup her jaw. She fumbles with their connected hands before finally managing to get her arm around his neck pulling him closer and letting his hand dangle from her's. It feels like eons later when the two finally part for air, but Eddie thinks it wasn't long enough.  

     She runs her thumb up and down his jaw, their faces still so close that their breaths fan each other's lips. She's the first to speak, "I wanted to yell at you. I wanted to scream until my lungs gave out, but I can't. All I want right now is your lips on mine." 

     "These cuffs make it a little difficult huh?" he chuckles tugging their connection. She nods, laughing as she unravels her arm from around his neck. He leans toward the side table and sure enough finds a paperclip binding together pictures of them and their team. He returns to her side and hands it to her, allowing her to unlock the cuffs around their wrists. Just as she gets it unlocked, he grabs her hand and gently takes the paperclip back. She looks at him in shock as he frees his wrist and returns the paperclip to its job of binding together the photos, leaving her other wrist still locked to the end of the bed. 

     When he returns to her side, he peppers kisses along her jaw and neck. Her free hand automatically finds itself in his hair, but she jangles the other in frustration, "Eddie-"  

     He pulls away and shushes her with a finger against her lips before she can finish, "You're not going anywhere, Mi Amor." 

     She pouts as he leans into her making her back touch the bed. Sneakily, she grabs the other pair of handcuffs from where they absentmindedly left them on the bed. His return to her neck is cut short when she clicks the cuffs around his right wrist that has found its way to her hip. He pulls back just barely to look but that's all the space she needs to pull his hand up and attach it to the metal right beside hers. He looks between their hands and her face in surprise. 

     She grins mischievously, "You should've turned me loose." 

     He sighs and drops his head to rest on her collarbone, "Okay, but now I can't reach the paperclip." 

     Her grin gets wider as she places her hand on the back of his neck and tugs lightly on the ends of his hair, "Exactly." 

Masterlist

More 911

[lovecla]

IF YOU LOVE ME, LET ME KNOW | jack hughes.

chapter ten:

<last chapter> <epilogue>

➴ warnings: none :)

➴ word count: 1k

➴ author’s note: and finally, the last chapter of IYLM,LMK. this one’s a bit shorter but i wrote a longer epilogue for you guys :) i’ve been writing stories since i was ten years old but this is the first time i finish the entire thing and actually like it. don’t know how to thank each and every one of you for reading what i write and for appreciating it as much as i do. but thank you.

liked by jackhughes, tyla, nicohischier and 3,798,012 others

sophiamontenegro make me yours is officially, well, yours now!!!!

every time i release something i feel extremely lucky and grateful, no matter what. today, i'm more than happy to share this part of me with you all. we've been working on this album for a whole year now and it's insane how much things can change in such a short amount of time.

i've learned a lot about myself during this whole process and it's crazy yet so rewarding. this album is a message to everyone i love and to young sophia, specially.

hope u enjoy!!!!! 💙

View all 13,086 comments

morgan.grace Soph, i can’t tell you how PROUD i am. I’ve known you for almost six years now, and i pray every. Single. Day. That we have the rest of our lives together. I love you so much! Happy horny album day! 💙

sophiamontenegro morgan.grace i love u

user1 I LOVE YOU SO MUCH

user12 Jack can u fight lol

ellievlasic woaaaaaaah

njdevils sophia MONTENEGRO 💜

_quinnhughes Congrats Soph!

sophiamontenegro _quinnhughes thanks quinny!

lhughes_06 _quinnhughes sophiamontenegro Y’all coming for dinner tonight ?

_quinnhughes lhughes_06 You could’ve just texted

sophiamontenegro _quinnhughes jack and i are coming!!!

user5 sophiamontenegro yeah i bet u are

user3 I’m so in love with this album, horny sophia is my favorite sophia

user11 thats that me espresso indeed

jackhughes I wonder who inspired you to write these songs

user67 jackhughes crazy shit to say tbh

— ♡

IN the beginning of January, you started writing your sixth album. Well, you started writing it officially, with the help of your songwriters and producers, because truthfully, you’d been writing it since you and Jack started seeing each other— just some random lines here and there in your Notes app on your phone, that quickly turned into songs.

Months passed and life got extremely busy. People seemed to be very interested in your relationship with Jack, in a weird, almost comical way. Several social media managers have already contacted your team to ask for your participation in YouTube videos, interviews and TikToks, but you refused most of them.

You didn’t mind about talking about Jack or spending time with him in studios, but you knew it wasn’t his cup of tea— even if he never said anything— so you just tried to separate your love life from your career.

The New Jersey Devils failed to make the Stanley Cup Playoffs, and Jack was really upset about it, just like Luke, Nico and the rest of the team, because despite what happened back in November, they all worked really hard.

Time passed after that, and it was summer again, one year since you and Jack started seeing each other. Sometimes, sitting on the bench at his and Quinn’s summer house, you ask yourself if things weren’t moving too fast. In less than a year, your life changed in ways you never even imagined before and you didn’t know if it was scary or not.

But whenever you thought of Jack, you remembered his thick, beautiful lashes, blond hair decorating his arms and legs, blue eyes that brought the ocean to you, smile that brightened the world.

You remembered how he took care of you, how he’d listen to your songs and recommend them to people, how he’d go to your concerts whenever he had the chance, and how he was often seen wearing your merch around town whenever the two of you weren’t together. How he’d watch you perform and congratulate you every time. How he’d spontaneously post pictures of you on his Instagram account, and how he’d reply to some of your fans' comments.

You had been right all along; Jack is your forever. He’s it for you.

You feel the sweet, cold breeze hit your face and you smile, watching as Jack, Quinn and Luke played with each other inside the lake, while Hischier talked with Ellen and Jim.

“Can you believe this is our life?” You asked, quietly.

“Actually, yeah, I can,” Grace replied beside you, laughing. “The only crazy thing about this is us falling in love with hockey players. Didn’t see that coming.”

“Right,” you nodded. “I can't imagine myself with anyone else though. That’s bad,” you joked.

“I don't know if it is that bad,” she shrugged. “Jack loves you a lot. That man can’t stop staring at you even when you’re ten feet away from him.”

You laughed, turning your head back in Jack’s direction, finding those blue eyes you loved so much immediately, who was now running towards you, with his body drenched.

“No, Jack, stay away!” You yelled, getting up quickly and running away from him.

“Soph!”

You started laughing, which made you lose your pace, making it easier for Jack to wrap his wet, cold arms around your body, wetting your white dress.

“Jack, stop, you’re making me wet!”

“That’s what she said,” he whispered in your ear, picking you up and making you wrap your legs around his waist. “Hi, Soph.” He smiled.

You gave in and kissed his lips, smiling softly as he kissed you back.

“Hi, Jack Hughes.”

He put you down and turned you around, wrapping his hands around your waist and resting his chin on your head. “I think this is the happiest I’ve ever been.”

That surprised you, and you felt yourself smiling even wider. “Not when you joined the Devils? Not when I won a VMA? Not when I gave you a blowjob just this morning—”

“Okay, okay,” he laughed, kissing your cheek. “Those are all super happy moments but right now, here with you, baby… I’ll never be this happy again.”

A few years later, you’d look back at that moment and think, oh, Jack, baby, that’s just the beginning. Because he would say the same thing years later, when he kissed you at the altar, or when he held your daughter for the first time.

“I get what you mean,” you snuggled closer, ignoring the wet clothes. “I’ve been happy before. I am happy. But this… this is different.”

“Yeah,” he whispered. “So different.”

“Will I ruin the moment if I say I need to go pee?” You bit your lip.

Jack laughed out loud and picked you up again. “I love you, Sophia Montenegro.”

“I love you more, Jack Hughes,”

“Well,” he kissed your cheek. “I think that’s up for debate.”

“Well. Maybe.”

— ♡

liked by sophiamontenegro, morgan.grace, ellievlasic and 219,983 others

jackhughes lucky fella. sophiamontenegro

View all 1,990 comments

morgan.grace saurrrr cuteeeee I love you guys

user83 ADOPT ME PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE

user86 imma start doing cocaine…

user1 i wanted to hate on them so bad but they lowkey fire asf :/

user7 soph when u hug him, remember you’re hugging my whole world…

nicohischier ❤️

user8 Ain’t no way he can handle all of that

trevorzegras user8 he can’t.

jackhughes trevorzegras fuck off

[togrowoldinv]

Pour Me

Milf!Wanda Maximoff x Reader

You meet an intriguing woman while you’re bartending

Note: This is a quick little fic about milf Wanda because I love her lol. Enjoy it!

Wanda Maximoff Masterlist, Main Masterlist

You never expected to meet the love of your life this way. You never thought that the woman of your dreams would walk through the door as you poured drinks behind the bar.

But there she was. She had a quiet reserve about her. The friends that were with her were the ones who spoke to you first.

“This one here,” a redheaded woman said, “just got a divorce. We’re pouring them out for her.”

“Yeah, so pour them strong!” a blonde woman added.

“Can do, ladies,” you said.

You poured their drinks, and they tipped you. It pays when pretty girls come to the bar almost as much as it does when men do. But you much prefer when women come in. The other women walked away and left you alone with the woman at the bar.

“I’m sorry about your divorce,” you told her.

“It’s okay,” she said. You thought you picked up on a slight accent. It’s intriguing. “I’m better off.”

“I’m sure you are, ma’am. I didn’t get your drink order. What would you like?”

“Oh, um- what do you suggest?” She asked.

“I’ve got just the thing,” you said.

She watched as you got to work behind the bar fixing her a drink. It was what you always made when someone didn’t know what they wanted. Nothing special, but she sipped it like it was heaven in a glass.

When you asked her if she wanted another one, she said no. Her friends had convinced her to go out, and she didn’t really like to drink all that much.

“Your friends might end up shutting this place down,” you said to her.

The beautiful woman looked around and back at you. She smiled shyly.

“I’ll tell them we need to go,” she said, grabbing her purse.

“Oh, no you can stay,” you said. “I just need to start cleaning the bar up and I didn’t want you to wonder why.”

“Well, what if I help you?” She asked.

“I couldn’t allow you to help, ma’am. It’s my job,” you said.

“Oh, please it’s nothing. I’ve got two boys at home, so cleaning is my forte.”

“Come on over then,” you said, a smile on your face.

You walked to the open slot in the bar where you let the woman inside. She smiled as she took a rag and wiped the counter with you. She helped you clean for almost an hour before you asked her to help you restock the bar.

“It’s nice back here,” she said, admiring the office you built.

“I designed it myself,” you told her.

“I’m impressed.”

You picked up some crates filled with bottles and the woman watched the way your arms flexed under the weight of them. Really, she had been watching you all night.

“So, how old are your boys?” You asked her, trying to make small talk as she watched you move crates from the office to the bar.

“Ten,” she said. “They’re twins.”

“That’s so cool!” You said.

She grinned and showed you a few pictures of the boys. They looked like her and you couldn’t help but feel like you knew her already.

After you finished with the crates, you leaned against your desk. The woman looked at you intently.

“I should probably get back out there and close the bar,” you said, breaking the silence.

“Oh right,” she said.

You stood up and walked past the woman, but she grabbed your hand. You looked back at her and she looked like she could cry.

“Are you okay?” You asked her.

“Could you- would you- forget it,” she said, pulling her hand away.

“Hey, what is it?” You asked. You have gotten some odd requests working at a bar, but nothing this woman could say to you would be the craziest.

“Would you kiss me?” She asked.

“Oh, I don’t know if I should,” you said.

“Right. Of course. I’m sorry,” she tried to leave the room, but you grabbed her hand this time and pulled her back into your arms.

You looked into each other’s eyes before you leaned in and kissed the woman. The bar noise faded out and the only thing you could feel was her lips against yours. Her sweet, soft lips. You wondered how anyone could ever lose her, and when was the last time she was kissed like this. She was perfect.

The kiss ended when the woman’s friends knocked on the door to your office.

“I should drive them home,” the woman said.

“Ah, you’re right. It was nice to meet you,” you waited for her to fill in her name.

“Wanda,” the woman said. “I’m Wanda.”

“Y/n,” you supplied.

“Y/n,” she tried it out her tongue. Her friends called for her again. “Thank you for tonight. Really.”

“Sure,” you said. You opened the door for her, and her friends pulled her into their arms.  “Hey Wanda, come back sometime?”

“I will,” she promised, a glint in her eye.

And she did come back. She came back every weekend for three months before you asked her out.

And she stands across from you now three years later ready to become your wife. You thank goodness she walked into the bar that night.

[iamnmbr3]

Any chance of another excerpt of the drarry letter writing fic? hope you post it soon

Oh. Sure. He's a bit that takes place a little after the first excerpt. At this rate I'll end up posting the whole thing on tumblr lol. Anon is referencing this.

Potter,

Yes, yes, how very devious and Slytherin of me. I’m sure no noble and chivalrous Gryffindor would ever dream of doing something so convoluted and scheming. 

I know what a telephone is. I even know what to do when it starts making noise (now). I talk to muggles quite a lot, actually, as I live in a muggle neighborhood. They all seem to think I’m a refugee from some foreign country where we did things very differently. I’ve received many compliments on my English, which is, I’m told, nearly perfect. 

I’ve told them there was a war, that bad people tried to seize power and do terrible things, so I suppose they all think I was very brave and clever to have escaped and hidden myself here since they don’t know I was on the wrong side. Much of the wizarding world doesn’t want to have anything to do with me so it’s rather nice to be around people who do not know who I really am. 

I have also been trying to learn more about the groups and viewpoints I was raised to despise. I wonder now whether much of the hatred of muggles was born, not out of a sense of superiority, but out of fear. What they have accomplished without magic is truly incredible, though I still don’t understand half of it. And I’ve gotten much better at blending in, though they do still look at me strangely sometimes. How was I to know cars aren’t pulled by invisible animals? What makes them go then? 

Did you really get into trouble that often when you were growing up? I should have known, given all the detentions you got when we were at school (though not as many as you should have – I still don’t know how you managed to get out of half of them). I suppose I always imagined your family had been fairly indulgent with you, given your background. 

Most of my detentions were because of you. My parents were not pleased. (You never even thanked me for not saying anything about that stupid dragon in first year by the way).  And for the last time, letters should be written on a clean piece of parchment. Not on the back of someone else’s note. You’re supposed to save correspondence for future reference. Not send it back like it’s worthless. 

Yours,

Draco 

P.S. I don’t think your single mistake quite matches the magnitude of my own grievous errors. Especially as I had tried to use an Unforgivable on you at the time. And I’d nearly poisoned you and two others not that long before. I think about that a lot. If you’d all drunk at once, all three of you could have died. And what would have happened then? There would have been no one left to stop Him. Because of me. 

***

Draco,

You might be surprised. I was actually nearly sorted into Slytherin. The Sorting Hat only put me in Gryffindor because I asked it not to put me in Slytherin.   

I like walking around muggle London too. Nobody stares at me. It’s nice. But it’s also a little strange that no one knows about the war. It’s like it never happened for them. Do you get out into the wizarding world much anymore? What have you been doing with your time these days?

Auror training is hard, but I like it more than school in some ways. All the classes are practical and I can see the use of everything I’m doing. I never much enjoyed essays or theory lessons in school when I couldn’t see how they connected to my life. 

You asked about my childhood before Hogwarts. I was brought up by my Aunt and Uncle; they didn’t like magic - or me - very much. It’s not something I talk about that often. 

 More importantly though, you did say something about the dragon. And then Ron and I got blamed for making it up in order to try and get you into trouble. McGonagal took so many points off Gryffindor that no one would talk to us for weeks. (Snape would never have taken points off of Slytherin like that.)

I hope you like this parchment. I bought it specially today in Diagon Alley just for you. 

Harry 

P. S. Sometimes I think about all the things that could have gone so much worse during the War too. And all the things that could have gone better. I meant what I said at your trial though. I think you wouldn’t make the same choices today. And I think you deserve a chance to prove that. I know Dumbledore thought so too. 

P. P. S. I liked your story about the muggle cars. For future reference there is a special liquid inside them called petrol that makes them work. I don’t really know how either. I do know they have to add more regularly or the car stops working. My Uncle used to complain a lot about how expensive it was. 

***

Harry,

The Hat nearly put you into Slytherin?! That would doubtless have been a disaster. Though you are certainly cunning enough. I never worked out how you were cheating at potions in sixth year. I’m curious though. If you didn’t grow up knowing much about our world, what made you ask not to be sorted into Slytherin?

I know what you mean. The muggle world feels very refreshing but there is so much they don’t know about that I never fully feel a part of it. Of course, these days I don’t feel that I really belong in our world either. But maybe that’s good and means our world is changing for the better.

What have I been doing with my time? Not as much as I would like to be honest. Shockingly, proudly espousing abhorrent views and having been associated with a fanatical cult of bigoted murderers does not improve one’s job prospects. You’ll probably laugh but I actually thought about becoming a Healer. I passed all the required N.E.W.T.s last year but of course who in their right mind would ever hire me? 

You’ll definitely laugh at this but I’ve opened up a specialty repair shop for complex magical artifacts. Even in Knockturn alley there are people who don’t want to be seen talking with a (former) Death Eater so I take commissions by owl and floo call about half the time. The work itself is surprisingly interesting. (I was actually quite good at Charms in school. I probably would have gotten an O on my Charms O.W.L. if you hadn’t sabotaged it.) Do you like Auror training?

Of course Snape would never have taken points off Slytherin if he could help it. That’s why he was clearly the superior Head of House. I read the interview you gave about his role in the war. I suppose his dislike of you was just an act then, to throw us all off? I should have known. No one could know you and dislike you that much. And there I was thinking he actually favored me. 

As for the dragon, I had to give some excuse for being out that late at night when I got caught by the scariest Professor in the school. And the truth was the first thing I thought of. However, I would like to remind you that Ron Weasley left a rather imprudently specific letter from his brother in a book I borrowed from him. That’s how I knew where to find you. And I never showed it to anyone. So really I think thanks are in order. 

Draco

P.S. Your aunt and uncle sound like they held the muggle equivalent of my own family’s attitudes. You deserved better.

P.P.S. Using thestrals sounds a lot more practical. 

[peachesofteal]

Hi!! I just caught up on Raspberry Girl (I was waiting for a day off to read it because I didn't want to rush myself between the few hours of sleep between shifts lol) and AAHHHHHHHHH it's so good!!! I can't stop thinking about just how understanding and doting Ghost is!!

I feel like, despite him being softer than we see in the games, he's still so in character with the way you write him! Like, he's mellowed out a bit since becoming Captain and has had more time to process his feelings/trauma. It's so deeply authentic and it just makes it that much more believable when he wants to/thinks about caring for Raspberry Girl like AHHHHHH. I'm gnawing on this like a dog with a bone. I haven't been following you for very long (since about chapter 5 or 6 of Simple Math) and I've been in love with your work ever since.

I reread your works all the time but I get shy to comment (this is my first step in trying to overcome that bc I want you and other writers to know how much I love and appreciate y'alls qork), so I just want to say thank you so much for all you do and the amazing things you write. I always look forward to updates and posts from you ^^ your work is so inspiring and I hope you know that

Thank you so much! It means a lot that you took the time to send this to me, it’s always really great to hear things like this and makes writing fic feel rewarding! I’m enjoying writing Simon in this older/softer iteration, I’ve really tried to paint him as a more healed version so I’m glad you see that too. 🩵

[sickficideas]

Hello it’s me Rui again! You’ve been so good to me recently for absolutely no reason at all but your own kindness. But I’m here to share some sickfics with you and the wonderful lurking community that looks at your page. 

In my opinion, I think that finding good bsd sickfics is actually really hard. So many of them are too short, not enough buildup, emit enough suffering… you get the idea. I tend to find that sickfics are best (in my opinion) when there is good buildup and absolute suffering that then elicits care :]

I have 411 (mainly soukoku) bookmarks, that vary between hurt/comfort and sickfics. (Most are hurt/comfort because sickfics that I like are hard to find). I’ve spent an unholy amount of time going through thousands of bsd fics to find satisfactory sickfics, and I thought I’d share them here for anyone else who struggles finding them <3

Mainly focusing on emeto fics for this blog because that’s what the central topic here is lol. I hope you enjoy some of my stash! If you end up liking it, maybe I can share my larger stash of hurt/comfort. I wish this category wasn’t so sparse.

» Nothing || Fraink5 - https://archiveofourown.org/works/11365941

A sadder fic with a bit less emeto. TW for major character death. I know it’s not exactly emeto, but it has its moments, and I find that this short little fic provides some of the same things that standard emeto fics do. Definitively worth the read if you’re in the right headspace for character death.

» Nebulous || way1203 - https://archiveofourown.org/works/37985296

Beautiful Chuuya sickfic oneshot. It’s about the aftermath of corruption. There’s a lot of delirium, sometimes it is hard to suspend my disbelief, but I still enjoy this one a lot.

» You’re a Canary, I’m a Coal Mine || PlayRough - https://archiveofourown.org/works/37985296

One of the more popular bsd sickfics writers, but I found myself needed to include this fic. It is quite long, but it’s basically just Dazai suffering from sickness and Chuuya assisting him. I’m ashamed to say this has become one of my bedtime stories.

» surely i’ll go bite the dirty dust || lizzielovessharks - https://archiveofourown.org/works/36533236

I can confidently proclaim this as one of the most criminally underrated bsd sickfics I’ve ever had the honour of discovering. Chuuya and Dazai are severely injured after a mission, Chuuya can hardly walk, and he’s sick. They just get so tormented but there’s so much comfort in this short and sweet fic. The ending always makes me smile, and I find myself coming back to this one very often.

» In Sickness and In Heath || TheShortestAlchemist - https://archiveofourown.org/works/48006802

Chuuya taking care of Dazai :]

Less emeto but still provides much comfort for the soul. 

» I’ll Take Care of You || Anonymous - https://archiveofourown.org/works/49949443

Sorry this one isn’t emeto either… but it’s chuuya being torment by Arahabaki so much that he gets a migraine that renders him unable to do anything. Still fulfills many sickfics desires.

» Poisoned Valentine || Wolf___Spirit - https://archiveofourown.org/works/53768785

Someone tries to send Chuuya home with poisoned chocolates with the intent to kill. However Dazai ends up eating them first, thus causing him to endure a lot of pain. (Read this honestly it’s wonderful)

» Burning Out || Trinity_of_Madness - https://archiveofourown.org/works/18899161

Long term corruption side effects… that’s all I’m gonna say. Take it or leave it as you see fit :] (it’s very fluffy, however it is quite bittersweet in case that’s not what you’re looking for)

» crimson headache, aching blush || kaiunkaiku - https://archiveofourown.org/works/24344119

More post corruption. Chuuya really needs a hug. He gets one. (Recommend reading lol)

» Underwater || TheGreatCatsby - https://archiveofourown.org/works/24344119

I’m so sorry. Not as much of a sickfic, but gosh it has to be one of my favourite comfort oneshots to ever exist. Chuuya does have a small emeto moment though. Ahhhh I’m so sorry for getting off track in these recommendations, I just have so many 🪦

» A Joyless Ride || calmlb - https://archiveofourown.org/works/55224694

This one is beautiful. I personally love the motion sickness Dazai headcannon. And this does a perfect job at demonstrating it. Dazai and Chuuya are on a mission, but they have to escape via Chuuya’s motorcycle. Dazai gets motion sickness that Chuuya had not considered.

» on standby for you || lonelydoctors - https://archiveofourown.org/works/48558496

Chuuya is hit with a virus ability and Dazai has to take care of him while he suffers. I really enjoyed this one. 

» Flashover || affectropia - https://archiveofourown.org/works/35640841

Bittersweet concept that is the reason behind this fic being a sickfic. However, it has a fluffy ending, and is only the care taking half of it. 

» beating drums and piping flutes - as they play the rain will fall || saanoir

This fic has to be another criminally underrated one. It’s the insomniac Dazai headcannon, except he starts feeling badly. All alone, he remembers a promise him and Chuuya made years ago. Hurt, even more comfort.

» I Think I’ll Just Collapse Right Here, Thanks || huntersserenity - https://archiveofourown.org/works/27219268

Chuuya has a drink poisoned. He is disoriented and not very functioning, but Dazai is there to assist him like he always is. (Very good, underrated, highly highly recommend)

Andd that’s all I got for now! Aside from another wonderful writers works that I didn’t include. Their username is ringingmaybelles and they make very very quality sickfics. Definitely read their work if you want the best there is to offer.

I’m sorry for the long list, I hope it is helpful/enjoyable. Sorry to come back and bother you with this essay. Thank you for letting me share these for the fellow sickfic enjoyers 😭😭😭

(Apologies in advance for the links not working I’m sorry ahh, you’d have to put it into your browser qwq)

RUI!!! You have no idea how much I appreciate you doing this for us 💖💖💖 hehehe...you're so sweet🙈🙈

I know a lot of people on this blog loooove SKK as well, and you've included many sick Chuuya fics here which I find more difficult to come across...this hand selected list is so beautiful and I really appreciate all of the effort you went through to give this to us 🥺💖

It took me a little bit to get to this ask chronologically between all the asks in my inbox but here are clickable links compiled for everyone's ease, since tumblr asks took yours away hahaha!!

I've included short summaries from the fic's original summaries along with Rui's descriptions, but please head the warnings and tags on the fics themselves!

Enjoy and share with fellow SKK sickfic enjoyers :))) I haven't read many of these and I'm so excited to dive in 🙏 let me know if any of the links are wrong so I can fix them, and if any of these authors see this and want to be tagged on tumblr ;)

Nothing by Fraink5

"Chuuya wakes up with a terrible fever--except he can't stay awake. Dazai is determined to keep Chuuya from losing consciousness, but how long will it last?"

Nebulous by way1203

"Chuuya struggles with the aftermath of using Corruption too many times and Dazai helps him through it."

You're a Canary, I'm a Coal Mine by PlayRough

"Super self indulgent Dazai sickfic."

surely i'll go bite the dirty dust by lizzielovessharks

" "Come on Chuuya," He muttered quietly as they felt themself having to pull Chuuya harder and harder to keep up, "Just a little bit further." -- or more Chuuya angst :) "

In Sickness and In Health by TheShortestAlchemist

"Dazai is sick and Chuuya takes care of him like the loving bf he is~"

I'll Take Care of You by toucheslikethesun

"Dazai walks into the ADA to find a desperate and distressed Chuuya looking for him, haunted by Arahabaki and having been unable to sleep for a long time."

Poisoned Valentine by Wolf__Spirit

"On Valentine's Day, Dazai steals and eats some chocolates that were given to Chuuya in the mafia. Turns out they were poisoned chocolates."

Burning Out by Trinity_of_Madness

" “Chuuya… We have to go…” Dazai whispered and pulled him up unwillingly. -- Chuuya held his hand, followed his guide with his usual smile on his face. Dazai’s chest tightened painfully at the sight, and he couldn’t stop himself from pulling him into a tight embrace."

crimson headache by kaiunkaiku

"the aftermath of corruption is its own kind of hell."

Underwater by TheGreatCatsby

"Chuuya has never liked water, but he never thought about why."

A Joyless Ride by calmlb

"Dazai hates motorcycles but right now he doesn’t have a choice. It does not go well"

on standby for you by lonelydoctors

"Chuuya gets hit by a virus ability and Dazai has to take care of him"

Flashover by affetropia

"Dazai tried again. Now, he gotta to deal with the pain, and Chuuya is there. He always is there when he needs."

beating drums and piping flutes - as they play the rain will fall by saanoir

"Dazai, in the midst of suffering another bout of insomnia, remembers a promise he made to Chuuya a long time ago -- to go to him when he's feeling bad."

I Think I'll Just Collaspe Right Here, Thanks by huntersserenity

" ‘ ‘Samu,’ Chuuya groaned. ‘Wanna take a nap.’ -- ‘You can’t nap right now, darling,’ Dazai said." "

The end 🏁 Enjoy!!

[bruhstation]

Hello Senja! I’ve been following you for a while, and I absolutely love your art style. I also do some TTTE fanart myself and have a few questions I’d love to ask you.👉🏻👈🏻It seems like you’ve been drawing TTTE for quite some time, so I’m curious—when and why did you start creating TTTE fanart? Also, I feel like TTTE fanart isn’t that popular, so how have you managed to keep going with it? I often feel discouraged because of the lack of attention,/supports，and sometimes I think about quitting fanart altogether, but I really want to keep my love for it and keep creating. (Also, I’m not very familiar with the aesthetic standards in the Western fanart community, and it’s been a bit of a barrier for me.) Do you have any advice? Thanks so much for your help!🥺

hello, anon! first of all, thank you for sticking around. looking at the archives, I’d say I started posting around may 2022! I launched this blog with my now-dusty pokemon mystery dungeon AU… I started bruhstation because I’ve been watching ttte clips to cope with the harsh high school dormitory life of 2022-2023. “wouldn’t it be silly if I made thomas gijinkas for fun lmfao” fast forward 3 years later. it doesn’t matter that ttte fanart doesn’t always make it big — I’m enjoying myself here and I’m sure the same goes for nostalgic folks coming to take a peek

as for followers… I never really chased after that high ever since I started high school? I prioritize my education first. also because I have a pretty sizeable following so worrying about followers is one of the last things I have in mind. from my observations, my blog exploded when I actively posted about casa tidmouth’s story… so that’s that. I kept wracking my brain coming up with their backstories and characterization and engaging with my inbox.

getting into your questions; what kind of arts are you making? fanarts in general? or are you making AUs? find a good balance between comedy and insightful characterization. too much comedy will make your story incoherent like “lol random humor XD”. too much tragedy will lessen the impact of serious moments in the story. yes, you are free to make whatever art you like, but once you start wanting an audience, you might have to treat your stuff with a little bit more dignity. also if you really watched tommy and the pals show you know how stupid some of these engines can be

people would often say “make art for yourself! who cares what others think?” but it’d be nice to be noticed once in a while, no? it’s very human to desire inputs and attention from others. everyone wants their work to be appreciated. I don’t know you nor the content you make, but keep improving bit by bit every day. watch lots of speedpaints. study coloring values and canvas composition. use references and try techniques you never tried before. don’t just draw characters smiling in a white void in the same 3/4th facing angle. make them interact. have beef. your circus your monkeys

[genderqueerdykes]

Hello, I’ve got a long winded request for advise that I’d like to ask from you (if you’ll give me a year in advance to ramble lol).

Would just like to state first off that this was something I spent half an hour on cycling between the thoughts of “this is horribly offensive” and “who better to ask” due to some of your posts and because I commonly enjoy and trust your opinions to be at least honest. I know you aren’t obligated to answer this ask but I’d really appreciate it even if it’s simply just a “AITA?” “YTH” situation.

I’ve had an issue recently where I am being ridiculed for making choices for my body and its appearance. The choice is losing weight. I’ve lived my entire life so far as a fat person, for the last 13 or so years I was well above the “class 3 obesity” threshold, right now I’m sitting in the low end of the first class. I don’t really like it, but when I was in the overweight category (I haven’t been an average weight since I was 5, a little more on that later) I got told that by losing weight I was being inherently fatphobic and making other fat people uncomfortable.

I know dieting and the likes can be an uncomfortable topic in general but I never brought it up except for rare mentions of my weight loss, mostly because I was proud of my progress. I’m not wanting to be “thin, “skinny,” whatever etc etc, I would just like to be in the middle of the average category with some visible muscle mass. I was shamed so much that I put myself back up into the obese category, and I’m all for body positivity but it’s not working for me when I know what I want my body to look like. I’m neutral on my body and its functions in general but I’m uncomfortable with the gain I didn’t want and the knowledge that I was on my way to a point of comfort.

As I said before, I haven’t been an average weight since I was 5. That’s because I developed severe binge eating disorder due to trauma. My weight gain was uncontrollable and made me uncomfortable for over a decade. Now that I have some control and a sense of body neutrality, I would like to lose what I gained from my disorder. Not all of it ofc, I’m an adult now and I want a healthy adult body, but I want to be able to make the choices and changes to put my body back into the average weight that I feel was “stolen” from me.

I suppose those thoughts could be considered fatphobic from a certain viewpoint but to me my binge eating disorder and obesity are/were things that I feel the need to heal from. I don’t have these thoughts about anyone else. I don’t want anyone to lose weight if they don’t want to. I love fat bodies. I just want to have the choice to lose weight myself without being considered a bad person.

Do these thoughts and feelings make me a bad/fatphobic person? Does losing weight make me a bad/fatphobic person? I genuinely just want what I believe is best for my body.

Thank you for your time. Stay well.

i have a lot of feelings on this sort of topic, so i appreciate you sending an ask like this, because it's one of the most nuanced, complicated discussions i've tried to have with people recently and a lot of people do not understand the distinction. i'm going to try to break this down to have it make sense to as many people as possible

first of all, people have the right to choose what weight they want their body to be at, so long as it's not causing genuine harm, especially permanent harm. losing weight is not inherently evil, the thing is, a lot of people either need to lose weight or choose to do so for good reasons. i was very heavy at one point, 360 lbs, and i was starting to get new pain i hadn't experienced before. it was hard to stand for any period of time. i couldn't walk much.

after i started walking around the neighborhood and losing that extra weight, that pain went away. i feel a lot better having less of that weight on me. i gained weight in a very unhealthy manner during this time, mostly by not eating well for my dietary needs, sleeping excessively, no exercise, and so on. the thing is that we have to take care of our total health and not everyone who is fat is unhealthy, but some people can and do put on weight that impairs their functioning or health and it's not good to ignore that this is a thing that can and does happen

you're allowed to decide what you feel your body should look like especially if you are not taking this to extremes. i like to keep my weight below a certain range, myself. i keep a close eye on it. fortunately it's easy to stay around a certain healthy range for my body because i cook a lot of meals at home and i mostly eat vegetarian food and fish due to allergies and digestive issues. i'm still about 311 lbs but it's in a much healthier configuration for my body

weight is a complex conversation. both thin and fat bodies are stigmatized. we need to drop our obsession with body image and let people be the arbiters of their own weight, at least, letting people express what they want and helping them reduce harm and find ways to achieve that goal realistically in a healthy manner. shaming people doesn't work. we've proven this decade after decade. shaming skinny people doesn't work. shaming fat people doesn't work. shaming anyone doesn't work

dieting is a very specific thing. everyone's diet is 100% unique to their body. your digestive system works different than the person next to you's. you may not metabolize nutrients as well as someone else. you may process fats and proteins differently. you may need a lot of electrolytes. you may not be able to digest fiber. you may struggle with fructose, glucose and other sugars. you may not be able to eat any meats at all. you may need lots of fruits. it will depend greatly on who you are

it's best to work with your body than against it. you are allowed to decide what weight range you want to be within. best thing you can do is attempt an elimination diet to see if there are foods that just don't do your body any favors, these can and should be done very slowly with one food at a time. but i'm not a health professional, so that's just a suggestion.

either way good luck, i don't like when people try to boil this down to "this is good" or "This is bad". there are good and bad things to all of this. it's worth discussing both sides of that. i hope this helped you in any way

[bitethedevil]

What annoys you about fandom culture

Oh that’s a spicy question.

Had you asked me a couple of years ago, my answer would be very different from today. I was a proud member of the SuperWhoLock fandom on here as a kid (I still shudder to think about it), and that was usually what I first thought of when the word “fandom” was uttered.

I think I’ve had a pretty negative view on it for a very long time. Mostly I saw fandom culture as cringe. I later got diagnosed with autism and found out that many of the things I found awful and cringe about fandoms, was me internalizing the insecurity I had about my own hyperfixations and I was projecting that onto other people who were obsessed or passionate about certain subjects.

Now “cringe” is a term I’ve tried to kill in my own life. It has been difficult for me to be really unashamedly into something, but you’re on this blog, so you know I’ve certainly gotten somewhere with it lol. I also first and foremost would never put someone else down about their interests, no matter how borderline obsessive they might seem and how they express that obsession. Because if it happened to myself, I know how things like that would crush my enjoyment when I was younger. It’s a very “let people enjoy what they enjoy”-sort of mind set I’ve tried to develop.

Now, if there is something that annoys me, a part of it is related to the statement above: don’t yuck other people’s yum. It’s not too bad on tumblr (in my limited experience). A few negative posts might make it into the tags every now and again, but I don’t mind that too much. You’re allowed to hate the characters I love.

Any kind of media should be open for whatever interpretation the viewer/reader gets out of it. I even like reading Raphael-hate sometimes if the person has some arguments that I haven’t heard before. As you might have noticed from my humongous list of analyses posts, I like picking things apart, and I like seeing other people doing the same, even if it might be in a negative light.

What I don’t like is when it’s: “fuck this character! how can anyone like this character”. Like sure, fair, but don’t tag that specific character (I know that my examples have been pointed towards Raphael, but I know that some Raphael fans have done the same the other way around). I don’t particularly like the Emper*r, but I’ve tried my best to make sure those posts don’t end up in their tags.

These are things across characters though, but it happens within a specific fandom too. I’m not a huge fan of the posts that are like “this character would never (insert statement)”. I don’t like when a version or an opinion of a character becomes canonized through the fandom and presented as fact. This ties back to the thing about me liking to hear about multiple interpretations and that I think all of people’s personal interpretations are valid. It makes it so that media becomes set in stone and then you are unable to gain anymore from it. It ruins it. You don’t agree with a specific version of a character? Then don’t read it. Or do, and maybe gain a new perspective.

My other points would be those that are obvious: don't harass voice actors or any other real life people because you like a specific media or character. Don't be silly.

I also want to be fair and say that this is the first fandom that I have been super active in in years, and I've said again and again that I love this fanbase for how open and kind it is. I think it's the perfect fit for me tbh. I have dipped my toe in other, more popular fandoms but I have quickly found them too overwhelming, because you have to cater to very specific interests in order to even be heard if you are making content, which quickly creates a very limited eco-system and thus some of the problems above might emerge. Here there is a little bit of everything and when you type in the "raphael bg3"-tag, it isn't loaded with thousands of pages of content anymore. That makes me more curious about things I wouldn't normally be into and that broadens my horizon a bit. I like that.

(Thank you for the ask <3)

[jenyifer]

Help I need to figure out what Danmei to suggest my friend read next.

Now so far I’ve read SVSSS Pet Fish CaseFile Thousand Autumns and I’m currently on vol 5 of Erha I’ve also tried reading heavens official blessing and am reading the mdzs comics (not finished them idk why I’ve also watched the show and anime but stop after the flash back I think it’s my resolve idk or too little focus). But I own basically all of seven seas English Danmei I just haven’t gotten around to reading all of them.

Now! I’ve made my friend read SVSSS cause it was my first and my fave mxtx. But she is enjoying it. Likes Shen Yuan’s antics. But very weary of Luo Binghe which idk if that will go better as she gets into vol 3 😬

So I told her I’d give her a healthy couple next.

Initially I was thinking thousand autumns because pure Enemies to Lovers and while there are boring bits the romance in my opinion is beautiful.

However the more I read of Erha the more I keep saying to myself this is one of the best Fantasy novels I’ve read English or Danmei. I think the way the plot moves with the flashes of Mo Ran and Chu Wanning’s lives is fascinating. I also really do love their relationship. It’s also surprisingly very funny and I rarely put down my highlighter when reading because I am having such a good time. I’d rate every book a 10/10. However healthy couple??? Debatable it is meatbun. I mean I read Casefile before it maybe I’m desensitized? But I think by book 2 you learn to love the relationship they have fully and it keeps getting better. (As far as I know)

Anyways what would you suggest? I’ll put the series I own in the tags. Would really appreciate some feedback.

PS. what series should I start next (I’m torn between Stars of Chaos and Peerless of course after reading Erha and Casefile I’m tempted to say fuck it and read Remnant of filth OR REALLY I SHOULD FINISH EITHER HEAVENS OFFICIAL OR MDZS)

@bravecupcake this is our friend so I need your feedback too lol

[veekayl3ee]

MY VOID STATE ROUTINE.

** this routine is just my personal preference and what works for me!!!

ON A SCHOOL DAY -

- after school i do my work that i haven’t completed while listening to my subliminal playlist (my playlist isn’t long it’s just a void state inducer, manifestation sub, and a booster) and i listen to it only 1-2x.

- affirm a few times when i want to (i HATE robotic affirming bc i feel like that makes me not believe it in(?) but no hate to ppl who like to robotic affirm)

- meditate but i rarely do this, not rlly necessary i just meditate when i want to or if i’m stressed lol

- get into the void state and i ALWAYS get really obvious symptoms

WEEKENDS -

- same thing on a school day but i affirm a lot more but then again, when i want to.

- listen to my playlist 1-2x (when i want to)

- and then i enter the void state!

ADVICE + RANT

i’ve noticed throughout my years of trying to get into the void state i was doing every method and challenge i wasn’t comfortable doing and it felt like a CHORE. i didn’t realize that you should do things within your preference, what YOU are comfortable with.

i would say im the type of person that likes to do things when IM in the mood and when I want to. for example - you’re doing the dishes without your parents yelling in your ears telling you to do it, don’t u ACTUALLY enjoy it? like you feel way more calm and have the energy to do it? vs. when your parents are yelling at you and forcing you to do the dishes, you’re irritated, don’t even feel like doing it and you have ZERO energy. let’s put that into shifting/trying to get in the void state or manifesting in general- you’re forcing urself to do methods that are draining u and don’t have the joy doing it.

i used to do every method i found on tiktok that were popular but i didn’t realize that i had to find something that i actually enjoyed doing and wasn’t irritated then fell asleep

so when i found out about the distraction method to enter the void state i was like “oh my god, this method is actually for ME!” bc i’m usually a person who daydreams almost every second of the day no matter where i’m at! so when i tried out the distraction method for the first time, i was so HAPPY! like i honestly found joy in it bc most of the methods i tried before required focusing and counting and i always got distracted and started making up scenarios in my head and forced myself to stay on track but i just couldn’t .

so moral of the story - do something you actually find joy in doing:)

[chilschuck]

Can I maybe get a platonic thing where reader is dating one of Chilchucks daughters (probably flertom) but is also an adventurer themselves and join the party hoping to get their girlfriends dad to like them?

`✦ ˑ ִֶ 𓂃⊹ hi anon!!! ofc you can! <33 i hope this turned out okay, i wrote it in between clients at work, LOL. it’s short but sweet, and i had fun imagining chil being protective!

— CHILCHUCK (& FLERTOM): platonic!chil x gn!reader hcs.

꒰ warnings: ꒱ none! sfw + chil being protective dad, lol.

꒰ wc: ꒱ 627

✦ going insane bc tumblr deleted it right as i was about to post it. sobs. but i hope you enjoy it!! (;;w;;)

✦ When you first joined the party, it was under the guise that you just needed a group to help you get to the lower levels. Laios being who he is, was more than happy to get your help with the rest of the members.

✦ You had an ulterior motive, one you wouldn’t be revealing so soon: the goal to get your girlfriend’s dad to approve of you. Flertom had told you before that it was totally fine, and that you shouldn’t worry yourself too much over it. She loved you, and that’s all that should matter. Yet, you found yourself unhappy to know that not only did he not know of your existence in her life, but that he hadn’t given you his blessing.

✦ Making sure not to let too much slip, you did your absolute best to get the man to like you. Whether it be staying out of his way while he worked or by showing your own worth, you worked extremely hard to get on his good side.

✦ Occasionally you’d talk about your girlfriend, mainly how much you adored her and that she made you really content. Chilchuck would hum, mulling over everything you said. It never occurred to him that you’d be talking about his daughter of all people, but he’d give you advice once in a while about certain things.

✦ Chilchuck thought you were a good asset. You stayed in your own lane yet brought about your own skills, something he valued. Your interest in his work made him a little happy as well, and it was nice to have someone around his daughters’ age in the party. It made him miss his own kids a lot.

✦ It had been a good while of you being in the party, and you felt it was finally time to show your true motive. You waited until Chilchuck was relaxed, enjoying a drink as everyone made camp.

“You know, there’s something I haven’t told you about myself,” you began, a tinge of nervousness in your voice. You had worked so hard to build up the reputation you had with him, and didn’t want to tear it all down in one sitting.

Chilchuck raised an eyebrow at you, taking a sip of his drink. His silence was a push to keep talking.

“I’m… My girlfriend is Flertom.” The words weren’t rushed, in fact they left you in an exhale of relief that they finally were spoken. Meanwhile, you felt the fear return to your chest when Chilchuck choked on his drink.

After his coughing fit, the half-foot banged on his chest, turning to look at you incredulously. “My daughter is your girlfriend? This whole time, it’s been her?!”

✦ After that talk, he didn’t speak to you for a little while. It was discouraging, but you tried your best to give him the space he needed. When you seemed down more than usual one day, he turned his attention to you and sighed.

✦ “You know, I’ve been thinking… I guess if you’re the one with her, it’s not too bad… You’re an okay kid.” You immediately perked up at his words, before he stuck out an accusatory finger at you.

✦ “But! If you hurt her, or break her heart, or anything like that, you’re gonna have to go through me. Got it?” His voice came out in a tone that had you glued to the floor, but you nodded as quickly as you could. You’ll definitely keep that in mind.

✦ Chilchuck thought back to the letter he had received, with how happy Fler had seemed with you. Well… He guesses that if it stays the way it is now… He’d be fine with it.

✦ For now.