#and you should not begin mentally preparing to keep getting back up no matter how much it hurts

[solar-wing]

⚣ Paralyzed 🕷️

⚣🕷️ A/N → so the yandere/whump fic starring our very own Miguel O'Hara becomes a reality. watching his scenes back in the movie really gets you thinking. Either way definitely will be doing more content with him. WARNINGS: 18+ MDNI | Yandere Miguel O'Hara | Darling Male Reader | Reader is Spiderman in their dimension | Abduction/Kidnapping | Forced Paralysis |Bondage | Emotional & Mental Manipulation |

⚣🕷️ Summary → He should've seen the signs. Should have paid attention to the warnings. If he'd been aware of what he was capable of, he could've been prepared, or at least gotten away safely. Then again, an obsession was something people didn't just give up easily, especially Miguel O'Hara.

⚣🕷️ Words → 2.6K

REBLOGS & replies are greatly appreciated, please! 💛

⚣ ENJOY 🕷️

The signs were clear from the beginning.

All he could think about as his body lay limp was how he missed, or rather ignored every single sign that led to this. Every red flag that was warning him of this moment as the cause of his current paralyzed state kneeled behind him, propping his body up while fastening and securing the scarlet-red web bonds around his body.

“No more running. No more hiding. No volverás a escaparte de mí, cariño.”

The words were not met without merit. From his securely tied legs to the red webs wrapped around his body keeping his arms trapped to his sides, his captor took away any possibility of an escape attempt. He'd lost him once, and he would allow even the slightest chance of losing him again to exist in this dimension or any other for that matter.

It didn't stop him from trying though as he struggled, doing his best to will his body into healing and purging the paralytic toxins from his blood so he could regain his mobility. But, it was no use.

His fate had been set in stone as he was lifted off the ground and placed on the hulking man's shoulder, carried out of the motel room he’d been hiding staying in, the last view of his freedom slipping away farther and farther. Now, it was back to a life of captivity and restrictions all around him, bound to someone he would never love, but who would never not love him.

Had Y/N known Miguel O’Hara, aka Spiderman 2099, would have turned out to be an obsessive and demented mental case, determined to live out his failed love life through him, he'd have thought twice before accepting the Spider's invitation to join his team. Heck, he never would've even showed up to that damn fight with that anomaly on his Earth all that time ago that led to all this.

*13 Months Ago*

Y/N could hear the static noise from the police scanner that was in his book bag, ears perking at the voice coming on the other side detailing an incident or attack at Madison Square Garden, where his dad and other police were working security detail for an event. From the description, it sounded like Kraven, only Y/N couldn't think of a reason why he would attack such a massive event when his usual goal was always to capture him.

However, when Y/N arrived on the scene after getting the police and his dad out of harm's way, he was surprised to see that whoever the Kraven that he knew was not the Kraven attacking the event center. In fact, he wasn't even sure this was Kraven, though he had the same attire. This guy was massive, built like a giant, and dressed like a caveman or Neanderthal.

He apparently shared similar abilities to the hunter he knew, able to track him and move fast, but unlike his usual counterpart, the one in front of him seemed to be stronger. And it would seem he knew him too or at least another version of him if the way he started screaming "Spider! Spider! Spider," over and over again, switching his focus from attacking random attendees and venue staff to now trying to catch him.

Of course, different person, with different tactics, ones Y/N was not used to as he leaped, dodged, and fought with the primate Kraven in the event center, the guy seemingly trying less to straight up kill him and more trying to capture him. Maybe not that different from his Kraven at all.

After some more time and failed attempts, the primate hunter seemed to realize he wouldn't be able to catch him or his web the way he was trying and instead changed tactics, making a break for the door. Panicking at the thought of this guy getting loose in his city, he without thinking rationally went after him only to fall right into hunter's trap when he found himself getting tackled into a wall after the guy jumped out of his hiding spot when he realized his lure worked.

His mind was fuzzy as the hunter held him against the wall by his neck, his feet not touching the ground. He was struggling to breathe and was trying to free his wrists from the tight grip they were being held in.

"Caught you, Spider," the hunter chuckled, squeezing tighter, his large fingers digging into the flesh of his neck as he lifted him off the wall and held him in the air. Y/N's eyes were wide with fear, his hands holding on the wrists of the hunter as he struggled to breathe and keep himself up.

Suddenly, he was over the hunter's shoulder, his vision blurry from the lack of oxygen and the rapid movement.

"Let me go!" He heard a raspy voice shout, and it took him a minute to register that it was his own. He was kicking and fighting, but the hunter held him tightly, not allowing him any chance of escape.

The hunter walked slowly through the empty hallways of the arena as the sound of police sirens rang outside, seemingly overwhelmed by all the noises around him but still looking for something. "Den. Home. This not home," he grumbled, his voice deep and low.

"No kidding," He mumbled, continuing his struggle as he was carried.

The hunter's hand gripped the back of his knees, squeezing slightly in warning. "Find den. Go home."

When they made it to the stadium center, Kraven stood at the top of a staircase looking around while the Spider looked for a way out. While he was looking, he found himself abruptly, on the ground and no longer being held by the hunter, who seemed to be having some uncontrollable, tweaking moment.

Weird, but convenient until the Hunter grabbed him again before he could web away to a safe distance. Suddenly, just behind where they came from, something bright and wide appeared in the middle of the path, swirling with colors, like a portal.

"What the..." He didn't get a chance to finish before the hunter turned around to also observe the phenomenon, a loud whirring coming from it before a red and blue figure suddenly shot out of the portal, tackling the primate Kraven, causing him to drop the Spider again.

Serves him right.

When Y/N made his way down to the floor, he came across his savior, standing up from the ground with a digital cape that dematerialized as he stood up to his full height. His head turned slightly to the approaching Spiderwing behind him cautiously.

"Okay, weird and spontaneous entrance aside, and thanks for the save, but who the heck are you?" Y/N asked.

"Classified," the man, Miguel said, his voice was gruff, and his demeanor overly serious and imposing.

Y/N held a hand to his chin, analyzing the man before him, "Blue Assassin?"

"No," the man replied.

"The Red Caped Crusader?"

"No, I'm–"

"Attitude Dracula?"

"No, stop–"

"Cyber Luchador?"

"No, I'm from a different dimension," Miguel interrupted, his irritation growing.

"A different dimension?" Y/N feigned shock, "Yeah, that's not as shocking as you think it is, big guy."

Miguel raised an eyebrow, "I'm sorry, what? How are you not freaked out by this? I just came out of a dimensional portal in the middle of a public arena and you're not surprised?"

"Dude, I got bit by a radioactive spider, got superhuman abilities, and fight crazy idiots on a regular basis who come up with all sorts of hair-brained schemes. Plus, I watch a ridiculous amount of SCI-FI and supernatural shows and movies. Different dimensions are really not as plot-twisting as you think it is. Now, back to the important questions...Emo Daffy?"

"Not funny," The man interjected, "My name is Miguel O'Hara, also known as Spiderman in my dimension like you are in yours."

"So, not Emo Daffy then? Huh, that name would've suited better," Y/N smirked, earning a glare from Miguel as he looked him over, noticing the watch on his wrist, "Oh, nice watch. That how you dimension hop?" He asked, reaching for the watch.

"It's much cooler than a watch," Miguel replied, reaching his wrist back to keep the smaller Spider at bay.

"Yikes, sensitive much? Well, nice to meet you, Miguel. But, there's a confused and brutish caveman hunter probably stomping around, that I should get back to dealing with, so if you don't mind," He pointed toward the direction they came from.

"From what I saw before I came in, better you stay out of the way.. I'll take it from here," Miguel responded, not so subtly shading him for his earlier 'position' with the hunter, who speaking of, was slowly creeping up behind the red-and-blue masked Spider.

"No problem, knock yourself out," Y/N said leaning to the side.

"Huh, why are you saying it like that?"

Y/N stepped to the side as a very pissed-off hunter charged and tackled him from behind, chuckling a little when Miguel yelled at him for not being funny before going to help.

With the added backup now (not that he needed it), Y/N could better focus his attacks now that the hunter's full attention was on him. And since his sudden new partner seemed to know more about this than he did, he got a little more context.

This version of Kraven was from a dimension where they indeed still lived like primates or cavemen, but still had their own developed societies. That world's version of Spiderman was this Kraven's target, that part remained consistent.

However, the reasons he was trying to capture the Spider may have been a little different than what Y/N was expecting. Suddenly, he found himself a bit more grateful for Emo Daffy's appearance.

But, despite their initial introduction, the two Spiders were able to work well together, and with this Kraven having no experience against their weapons and abilities, especially Miguel's, they were able to take him down fairly quickly. Y/N had missed the part where the Spiderman from 2099 used a more special ability to incapacitate the hunter, making it easier to handle him since he couldn't move.

After Miguel had properly secured the hunter, he used the same watch Y/N was ogling earlier to open another portal. Before he left, he delivered some unexpected news to the Earth-6998 Spider.

"Well, that's that. Nice working with you, Spider. Try not to almost get captured next time," he said, in a sarcastic tone.

"Can't help it that I'm such a prize in their eyes," Y/N said.

Despite his joking tone, an air of suspense could be felt by the smaller Spider. Y/N couldn't tell due to the mask, but there was a quick, almost fleeting moment where he could feel Miguel's gaze on him, staring him down. It made the hairs on the back of his neck stand up.

"Yeah, you are," he finally said.

Though, it was definitely plausible that he could've said that in a completely unserious, sarcastic manner as he'd been doing the entire time they'd spent fighting the hunter who was currently hanging over his shoulder (ironic), it didn't feel like it. There was something else there, a hint of emotion that Y/N couldn't pinpoint.

"Yeah, we'll see you around, I guess. Thanks for the help," Y/N said.

"Hold on," the older Spider interjected, "I know you just met me, but have you ever wondered exactly how many others like you are out there?"

"Like me? You mean other spiders? I mean, yeah sure. Pretty sure everyone has had that thought at some point," the younger man joked, "What's your point?"

Hence, the beginning of a new journey in the young Spiderwing's life, and the first warning sign ignored.

Miguel decided to take the scenic route home, wanting to enjoy the relieving feeling of finally having his love back in his arms safe. There was nothing wrong with him wanting to relish in his victory a little.

He did have to bite him again when Y/N's healing had managed to rid enough of his venom from his blood, giving him enough control back over his body to fight against his hold. Despite the warnings Miguel tried to give him, Y/N wouldn't listen, still trying to free himself, even if it wouldn't accomplish anything due to his restrained state.

And while it did hurt him to see his love fighting so hard to get away from him, Miguel couldn't deny the pleasure he got from forcing him into defeat. When the young Spider knocked himself a little too hard into the side of Miguel's head, the Earth-982 reveled in sick joy grabbing his prize off the ground, pressing him against the brick surface, and forcing his head to the side so he could sink his venomous fangs into the delicate skin once more.

He only injected a small dose, not wanting to leave any permanent effects on him, but he enjoyed the feeling of the smaller body squirming against his own until it eventually went limp once more. The sounds of his moans and whines as he bit and kissed his skin, tasting his flesh, was a delicious symphony to his ears.

"If I were you Y/N, I would quit it with the defiant behavior and escape attempts. I may have been easy on you since I was so relieved at finding you safe, but don't think I'm above handling you with more forceful methods. Especially considering my unaddressed grief from your long disappearance. All that to say, no me presiones, cariño," Miguel whispered into his ear, a threat and a promise.

Miguel's elongated claws pressed into the helpless Spider's body, eliciting more whimpers from the paralyzed man. Even in his powerless state, the brawny Latino could feel the distress and panic from the smaller Spider, which accomplished nothing but turning him on.

He could've taken him right there in that alley. Could've forced him on his knees and fucked his mouth, or pressed his face against the wall and taken him from behind, his cries muffled against the cold bricks, the fabric of his suit torn to expose parts of his body from their earlier scuffle in his motel room.

He was already half-hard in his suit, his member twitching and aching to be released, missing the tight heat of his love's body. But, he was a patient man. He could wait until the time was right.

Miguel looked down into the orbs staring up at him in hatred and fear, feeling his gut twist unpleasantly at the sight. He do something about that in the future, vowing to earn his love's affection and respect, to make him happy, and to show him that the life he wanted to give him was worth the freedom and choices taken away.

But, for now, he was content to accept the docile and forced submission from the Spider, his expression in defeat but the defiant spirit in his eyes still there. He'd take care of that too in time.

Y/N stared up at the man towering above him, truly seeing him as the monster and villain that he hid from everyone around him. This was the real Miguel O'Hara, a sight that lived in his nightmares before and would continue to with this new memory burned into his mind for ages to come.

"Let's go, mi amor,” Miguel said, hoisting the paralyzed man onto his shoulder once more, "Nunca volverás a estar lejos de mí, mi amor."

☀️ | Miguel O'Hara/Spiderman 2099 | ☀️

☀️ | Masterlists | ☀️

[samkerrworshipper]

acl’s | sam kerr x reader

this is me trying to work through my devastation but it’s 3am, i’m crying and writing this on my phone. :( it’s a blurb btw

you have to admit the timing of the call should be a little bit of a shock.

it doesn’t cross your mind when your girlfriends contact pops up on your phone, but in hindsight it probably should.

it’s not odd for sam to call you multiple times a day when she’s away on camp, if she has a spare minute here or there, so you are delighted when you see her face pop up on your screen.

you press the green button almost immediately, pulling your phone up to rest at your ear.

“Hiya chook, how’s the weather treating you?”

When you don’t get an immediate response you become a little bit worried, but nothing abnormal.

“Y/n? It’s Emma here.”

It’s when the voice of your fiancés coach hits your ears that you are immediately worried.

“Emma, what can I do for you?”

You’ve talked to Emma hundreds of times, but you can tell from her voice that this is different.

“Look, Sam’s just come off the pitch after a little incident, it’s looking like she’s done her ACL.”

Your gut wrenches, and it takes all of your power to stop your lunch from pouring out across the dining table your sat at.

“What?”

Your head immediately begins to reel, 9 months. That’s the Olympics, Emma’s last season at Chelsea, so many things that Sam has over this year that are now done.

Your mind goes back to Sam’s previous ACL injury, how she’d talked about how it had been the hardest thing mentally and physically for her, that it was almost the end of her career.

“It’s not looking good, we’ll have to wait until she’s had scans to confirm the severity but both her and our doctors are fairly certain it’s her cruciate ligament.”

You take a deep breath, fuck.

“Okay, okay. Is she okay?”

It’s a stupid question, of course she isn’t okay, she’s done her fucking acl, but your concern goes further than her obvious injury.

“She’s in a lot of pain, and she’s pretty torn up. Millie has been keeping her company but all she wants to do is talk to you.”

You nod your head, you know you shouldn’t have to prepare yourself to talk to her but you take your time to take a deep breath, keep yourself strong for her.

“Can you put her on for me please, Emma?”

You hear some bustling around.

“Of course, she wanted me to call you to get the facts straight, but i’ll put her on now.”

You hear a little bit more bustling before complete silence, and that seems to be your queue.

“Sammy, honey?”

You hear a deep, laboured breath crackling from the other side of the phone.

“I’m here.”

Her words are strung out, you know that Sam will be trying her hardest to keep it together, she simply isn’t one to be publicly over emotional, no matter the situation.

“Hi honey.”

You know the best thing right now is to leave her to talk about her injury, you leave ghe ball in her court.

“My whole year is over.”

You hear her voice break, and you know that she’s crying even though you can’t hear any sobs or evidence of tears.

“I’m right here chook, so are all the girls, whatever you need.”

When you hear a sob, it takes everything you have to not start crying with her.

“Need to see you, need you here.”

Sam’s not a needy person, so to hear her asking for something like this is concerning to you.

“How about I turn on facetime chook, will that make you feel a bit better?”

When you hear a little murmur of a ‘yes’ you click the button, waiting for it to connect once she accepts the request.

It’s a matter of seconds before you are met with the visual of Sam, her head resting on Millie's shoulder on a physio bed, tears cascading freely down her olive skin.

“Oh Sammy honey.”

She only begins to cry more, and you are fairly certain once this call ends you’ll be rushing straight to the bathroom to expel all of the bile that’s built up in your throat.

“I’m supposed to be captain, I need to be okay, I need to play the olympics, I couldn’t play the fucking world cup. This could be my last major tournament.”

You want to tell her that she’s being ridiculous, but it would achieve nothing, Sam needs to feel validated in her feelings right now, not like you and the whole world are against her.

“Sam this isn’t your fault, you couldn’t have avoided it, it was just a stupid freak accident, unfortunately it happens in the sport you play.”

Sam looks so broken, Millie’s matching her energy, the normally energetic blonde looking very sullen.

“What if this is it for me?”

You resist the urge to roll your eyes, it’s a stupid statement but a very real feeling that Sam has.

“Sam, how about I come to Morocco? I’ll catch the next flight out, and i’ll come and be there for you, is that something you want?”

You don’t want to step over her boundaries, but just the look on her face tells you that she needs to be comforted, she needs to cry and whilst her teammates are great, Sam is never going to be that vulnerable in front of them.

“You don’t have to.”

Her own statement contradicts every single feeling you can see inside her.

“I want to.”

Sam’s tears only begin to fall heavier.

“Please, I need you.”

[bandgie]

Pretty Boy

idol!BangChan x sexworker!reader

a/n: I have another fic in the works, but enjoy this one plz

synopsis: Christopher is a stressed guy. It doesn't matter what he tries to do to relax, he always finds himself planning and nonstop thinking. In an act of desperation, he finds himself in a sex club, wishing for someone to help him turn off his brain. You're more than happy to oblige...for the right price.

cw: NO MINORS 18+ ONLY, PIV, unprotected (no!), sub!chan, light degrading and praising, oral (m!receiveing and mentions of f!receiving), handjob, pullout method (no!), sex club.sex worker (obvi), mentions of alcohol, not proof read lmao, Chris's face is hidden, playful teasing, overstimulation (m!receiving), slight cum eating

4.7k words oops

No one will find out, no one will see you. It's a mantra Chris finds himself repeating as he makes his way towards the low lit building deep into the night. He wears all black, a beanie and mask covering his face hoping that it'll disguise him. His hands are shaking as he open the doors, immediately hit with the smell of booze and smoke.

He should leave. Coming here was a bad idea to begin with, but the thoughts in his head were too loud, too persistent, he had to do something about it. There's no way he could keep staying cooped up in the studio, his room, that godforsaken building. It was his heaven, but his hell all at the same time.

The place Chris found himself at was a normal club, people sweaty and rubbing up on each other. He didn't come here to dance though, he came here to forget, to make bad decisions. Chris didn't know this place directly, but he's heard about it from Lee Know who tended to frequent here when he got stressed. If he went to the bartender, asking for a certain someone and pulled a good amount of cash out, they would let him though the secret doors. To the place where real deprived people went.

People like Chris.

So he walked through the bodies of people, ignoring how some touched and groped him. The decision he was about to make further solidified when he stood in front of the bar, watching the three bartenders who were busy mixing drinks. Make sure to ask for the bartender with black hair, Lee Know had instructed. The other ones don't know about the hidden rooms, I had to learn that the hard way.

Then he stopped the bartender with pitch black hair. They had no piercings, no tattoos unlike the their coworkers. They look unassuming, boring, the perfect disguise. The bartender noticed Chris's staring, their eyes snapping to his. They walked over to Chris, carefully setting down the served drinks to a nearby group.

"What can I get you?"

"Uhh..." Chris hesitated. This is his last and only chance to back out. Maybe it would be better to get a normal drink and get drunk with the sea of people around him. No, he came here for a reason. Chris didn't do all this mental preparing for nothing.

"I'm here to see Aphrodite," Chris managed to speak. He watched at the bartender's eyebrows went up, a lot of surprise on their face. "I think you have the wrong person," they replied, taking a few steps back to indicate that they were done with the conversation.

They'll probably ignore you at first, Lee Know predicted. Show them the money, and say Rino sent you. 'Rino?' Chris had laughed at the nickname. 'Yeah dude, can't use your real name at places like those.'

"No," Chris spoke firmly to the bartender, "I think I have the right person." With that, he discreetly pulled out his wad of cash. Korean wons bundled up nicely in his hands. The bartenders eyes went wide, practically turning into green upon the sight.

"Rino sends his regards."

That was enough for the dark haired bartender to tell their coworkers they were stepping out for a bit. They went around the counter far from Chris, beckoning their head in a come here motion. Chris shoved the cash in his pocket and followed the bartender to the back.

They walked until they were at the employee only bathroom, which was surprisingly empty. They both entered the restroom which looked normal at first, save for the weird paintings on the wall. Before Chris had the opportunity to question the bartender, they held out their hand expectantly. The money.

Chris shoved his hand in his pocket and put the money in the hands of the bartender who looked overly pleased.

"The sunflower painting is the door. When the person asks for the code tell them 'in the east.' You're good to go." The bartender didn't spare Chris another glance, instead counting the money they had. Chris took a deep breath, shaky fingers prying the sunflower painting back which revealed a small hallway.

He followed it, shutting the door behind him as he continued on. He was soon enough met another door, knocking on it loudly. The door slightly opened, showing a large man who seemed rather displeased on seeing him. "Where does it look?" The guards voice was gruff, annoyed.

"In the east."

The guard stepped aside, allowing Chris the entry he so desperately waited for. Chris debated on saying thank you, but he was too shocked by the secret room that he didn't have the chance to contemplate. The actual club was dirty, smelly, hot. This room was almost sophisticated, even in how the people dressed.

Women and men were dressed in fine clothing, Chris felt underdressed. Worse than that though, he stuck out like a sore thumb, something he was trying to avoid. The people nearby on sofas looked at him with disgust, it made his skin crawl. On instinct, Chris looked upwards to the ceiling to avoid their judging gaze, and that's when he finally noticed the women in the skies.

The were in large bird-like cages, performing in their exotic outfits. Some cages were lower than others, allowing the men and women below to throw cash at them. When Chris walked even deeper into this room, the women in cages were nude. He was thankful for his mask that hid his blush.

Chris was overwhelmed, his heart was nearly in his chest. He was thankful when he saw a nearby bar, this one much less populated from the previous one. He made his way towards it and took a seat at the booth, asking for a vodka on the rocks.

"First time I take it?" The bartender asked. He served Chris in a smaller sized cup, eyes attentively on his. "Is it that obvious?" Chris asked before taking a sip at the drink. The bartender chuckled, "Very obvious. What are you here for? Gambling? The shows? The drinks? The sex?"

Chris almost choked at his beverage, wiping his mouth as the bartender smiled. "Ah, so it is the sex then," he laughed. "No worries friend, no judgement here. A private room will cost you a lot, but if you ask for a low-grade woman I think they do it cheaper." The bartender then handed him a sheet of laminated paper. On it were names, and prices with so many zeros it made Chris's head spin.

"The backside has the women more in your price range I assume," the server guessed. "A lot of men come here asking for the main girl, but they waste their money too fast. Can't have your cake and eat it too ya know?" Chris nodded at the man's words, thankful for his insight.

Chris scanned the names, guilt eating at him for ordering women like food. The names were all from Greek mythology which a description of how they were like when it came to their service. It made his excited and nervous all at the same time.

It took a few minutes before Chris decided on a woman named Nyx. He didn't know much about the goddess, but he liked the description he read;

Nyx, the goddess of night, who prefers to be in charge. Don't let her sweet face trick you, she's all for the darkest dreams you have. A night with her will make you fly high.

Chris handed the 'menu' back to the bartender, tapping on the name. "Is uh...that a good option?" Chris anxiously waited as the bartender pursed his lips, thinking. "Nyx is not an easy woman to tame," he advised. "Most men like to take the lead, Nyx won't let that happen." Chris sighed in relief, "That's perfect."

It didn't take long for the arrangements to be made, for you to be alerted of your new customer. Your boss told you he was waiting in the room nearby, and to hurry up on getting ready. You ignored your boss, used to his annoying antics.

You applied your lipstick, ignoring the excitement in your belly. It's been a while since someone has requested you, since you've seen a new face. Most of the men that see you are older, too old to actually do anything than lay there. You needed something new, something that wasn't a fossil.

So when you heard that the man who requested you was in his mid 20's, you beamed with glee. A small part of you, though, was nervous. You have encountered men that came with the intention of making you submit, liking the challenged you proved to be. You would never though, unless they paid extra.

Still, you were hopeful that he wouldn't be like that. That this man, whose name is supposedly 'Koala', would let you do your job properly. It's why you dressed up extra nice, spraying your expensive perfume, and wearing your favorite heels.

You looked at yourself in your vanity mirror, satisfied. You left your room with the sound of your heels clicking, making your way to the room with the man you were going to have sex with. Once you approached the door, you gently knocked, waiting for the nervous come in that soon followed.

He sat on the edge of the bed, rubbing his hands on his black jeans. He straightened up upon seeing you, his eyes scanning your body. You closed the door and smiled sweetly at him, "Hey there 'Koala', how's it going?"

You walked towards him, sitting on the bed. Oliver, the bartender that told you about you client, informed you that it was 'Koalas' first time. Basically saying to take it slow, to not scare him away. Even without Oliver telling you, you could tell it was his first time. He wore dark clothes, kept his face completely hidden save for his brown eyes that peeked through.

"Uh, ya know, it's going," he laughs dryly. You hum, gently placing your hand on his shoulder. He stiffened under you, not daring to look your way. "I get it, you're stressed," you purr. "How about a massage? Do you wanna start there?" It took a moment for him to nod, pulling of his shirt and leaving it on the floor.

Your jaw almost dropped to the floor seeing his physique had it not been for your Nyx persona. He was well-built, strong. He had lean muscles that trailed over his body. It took a second for you to take your place behind him, carefully kneading his shoulders. Still, he had his mask on.

"Are you gonna keep that on the whole time?" You asked. You moved your hands lower down his back, pressing your thumb into the parts that seemed tense. God, his skin is so smooth. He nodded, "Yeah, if that's okay." It was a dead giveaway that he was someone popular, someone with a big name. A lot of the people that came here were famous, but took off their mask once alone in the room.

"Of course that's okay," you soothe. "It does make me wonder why though. Do you think you're unattractive?" You leaned down to kiss his back, letting your lips linger on his skin. He sucked in a breath, "I don't think I'm...pretty." You kept giving him kisses, noticing that he shivered when you were on his neck.

"Do you normally care what people think about you that much?" You pressed. Your hands were exploring his backside, his arms. "Yeah, I do," he confessed. You were surprised to hear him admit that, but you took it as a sign that he's getting more comfortable with you.

You nodded, applying some pressure on his shoulders to lay him down on his back. The man let you maneuver him, his hands placed by his sides. "What a stressful way to live," you fake sympathy. You're positioned yourself over him torso, pressing kisses to his abdomen. "Is that why you called for me? Wanted someone else to take control of your life for a night?" You didn't see him nod his head, too busy with tasting his skin.

'Koala' had gotten less tense, even sighing contently you met the waistband of his pants. You unbuttoned the top his pants and he lifted up his hips to make it easier. You pulled them down to see his boxers, slightly tented up. You smiled, moving downwards to be face to face with his half hard on.

With gentleness you touched him through his boxers. He was warm even through his clothing, and happily rubbed him in appreciation. He groaned, thrusting his hips up to get more friction. You bit back your laughter, pleased with his desperation. It makes it all easier on you to take control. Not that you needed to try hard anyway, he was more than willing to let you take the reins.

"Do you want me to take these off baby?" Your voice was slurty. With a breath caught in his throat, he nodded. "Nuh-uh," you tsked. "I wanna hear you say it." 'Koala' lifted his head up his hooded eyes meeting yours. "Please take them off. Nyx, I need you to do whatever you want to me. If I don't like something I'll let you know, but you're doing amazing so far."

That's all the permission you needed to strip him nude. His words left you flushed, even speechless. It's been a while since someone complimented you in such a way, as if they depending on you. It was a weird power trip, but you indulged in it nonetheless. You placed yourself between his legs, grabbing his length in awe. His cock was a pretty color, slightly darker than his torso. His tip was flourished in pink, eager to be played with.

You weren't even touching him much, gentle hands squeezing and stroking. It must've been a very long time since he's been with someone because of how much he was moaning. A part of you felt pity for the man, it's obvious how lonely he's been. You start to wonder what type of job he must have, how isolating it must be.

Since when I start caring about their personal life, you snap out of your thoughts.

With his heavy cock in your hands, you angled it to your mouth. You let your hot breath waft over his dick, watching 'Koala' squirm from the sensation. A part of you wants to tease him, to ghost around him and drive him crazy. You know better than to of that though, he needs unbearable pleasure to forget his life, even if for an hour.

So you lick a stripe up his length, running your tongue over his sensitive head. He whimpered, a beautiful sound that encouraged you do to more. "I can't believe you don't think you're pretty. You should hear the sounds you make. So pretty," you praise him. The man responds well, smiling lazily.

You feel his hands shift onto your head, gently stroking your hair. Ah, he's the romantic type, you think. You place the head of his cock into your mouth to ket your mouth adjust to his shape. He tastes clean and you find loving his musk. You moan on his dick, pressing your head down a little further until you feel your throat tightening.

Chris keened at your lips as he pulled your hair back in a make shift pony tail. He watched as your head bobbed up and down in a fluid motion. He knew his cock was a little thicker than average, and to see you so desperately fit in all in your mouth was more than enough to make him want to finish then and there.

He can tell were trying not to gag around his cock, instead having your eyes water at the stretch. You called him pretty? You should see yourself. Lips red, swollen, glossy as you roll it over the head of his cock. How your waterline threatens to have tears spill every time you blink up at him. The way Chris can see the head of his cock poking out of your cheek. Yeah, you should be the one called pretty.

With his cock wet and hard, you've decided that it was enough to get to the main course. It took strength to pull away from him as your mouth begged to be full again. The man below you missed the touch too, he whined and thrusted his hips up to get you back on his dick. You giggled, using your dominant hand to give him a couple of good stroked before you sat up.

Your customer's eyes never left you, and despite being the only one who still wore clothes, you felt nude. He was looking at you, a person; not you, the object. It made you feel confident, nervous, shy, respected. Maybe it's the fact that because his eyes are all that you can see, it intensifies his gaze more. Still, it was a feeling you hadn't experienced since taking on this job.

"You having a good time baby?" You don't really need to ask. You can tell how eager he is when you straddled him, pinning his chest down with your hands. He reach up to kneed your ass, squishing the soft flesh. "Fuck, you have no idea," he moans. It was then that you notice a slight accent, information you'll tuck away for later.

"I think I do," you challenge. "Look at hard you are, you got my little pussy all wet just from sucking you off." To prove your point, you lifted the little flimsy skirt you had on to flash your cunt. You used one hand to separate your folds, showing your arousal to the man before you.

On instinct, he moved his hand from your ass to touch you. He literally moaned merely from touching you, playing with the wetness. "Shit," he swore. "Is that all for me?" A sudden rush of heat bubbled in your stomach and chest. He must've said it in the heat of the moment, but you couldn't stop the blush in your cheeks from forming.

You bit your lower lips and nodded. You pulled your hand away from your pussy and placed you fingers in your mouth. 'Koala' watched as you tasted yourself, his eyes desperate and wanting. "I would offer you a taste, but I don't think that can happen, can it?" You teased. A look of regret flashed in his eyes for a second. "Don't tempt me," he played right back.

You laughed softly with him, lifting your hips up to finally put his cock where it belonged tonight. You grabbed the base of his cock the angle is towards your entrance, rubbing it to mix your essence. You should wear a condom. You always wear a condom with customers, this man should be no exception. Still, you can't find it in yourself to stop just to grab a rubber. Next time, you promise yourself.

If there is a next time.

Chris clenched his teeth under the mask as you slowly sunk onto him. It was only his tip that was in and he could already feel how tight you were. His eyes were on you as you placed your hands on his torso, carefully relaxing onto him. He heard you loudly hum when you finally took him all in, cunt clenching sporadically around him. A blissful sound left Chris's lips. The feeling of being warm, hugged in all the lewdest way possibles was almost emotional.

Now that you were finally full of him, you rocked against him experimentally. He was girthy, much more than ones you were used to. 'Koala' let you adjust to him, keeping a firm hand on your sides as you grind on him. He really is letting you take fun control, your own personal, warm dildo. You could get used to that.

Your walls were finally accustomed to his cock. You could feel how your pussy molded with him inside pretty much perfectly. You started with gentle bounces, warming up your legs. It was already known that you client was pretty vocal, but you underestimated just how loud he could get. How much he could groan from mere seconds of your riding.

The man cursed, heavy breathing to a point where you thought the mask might be a hazard. "Fuck...shit! I'm s-sorry, it's just so- oh-" he cut himself off with a series of whines. Yeah, there's absolutely no doubt in your mind that he hasn't been getting any in probably years. Instead, you comfort him, something you wouldn't normally do for pathetic customers. "That's okay babe, just means I'm doing a good job huh?"

He nods frantically, half listening and half in a different headspace. It doesn't take you long to start riding in a rougher manner. You could hear how your ass slaps against his thighs. It does take a lot power to keep your composure. To not get lost in the pleasure this man is so willing to be for you. Even in this state, you need to keep it at least somewhat professional.

'Koala' just feels too good. With how his raw dick is sliding easily in and out of you, how he stretches you out in pleasurable angles, when his head hits the very deepest parts of you. Being cowgirl has usually given you the advantage in most cases. Like this, you're able to have your customer not fully settled in, just having a maximum of half their cock inside until they finish. With this guy, you just had to have all of him inside. It was a need.

Your knees were planted on the bed, your hands now placed to hold spill your boobs from the bralette you wore. You cupped your breasts, playing with your nipples as you rocked on him. The man below you groaned, using one hand to move up to also play with your chest. He gently squeezed you, feeling how you settled against his palm. When he decided he had a good feel, he moved his fingers to your nipples.

Not that you could see, but he was salivating. Mouth so desperate to taste at least some of you. He wanted to take your bud in his mouth and bite, lick, suck. You would sound so good, so pretty. You already did, truthfully. He could tell you were holding back though. You tended to barely keep your lips parted as you signed in pleasure. Your moans were soft, careful. He wanted more, he needed to hear how good you were feeling.

You weren't about to let him do that though, not when you bringing him so close to orgasm. His dick was turning an angry red with the blood flow and his hands had gotten more possessive. He helped you with your ride, bouncing you up and down on his cock even though you both knew he wasn't supposed to do that.

Still, you let him have an ounce of control. Plus it helped hit him deeper in your pussy.

"You feel it baby? Gonna come inside my pretty little pussy?" You were breathless as you spoke. You were sure he didn't even hear you with all the groaning he was doing, but he actually began to nod his head. "Fuck yeah....So deep," he whined. "Gonna give you all of it." With determination, he thrusted upwards. You squealed at the impact, biting your lower lip to suppress the moans you wanted to release.

His grip was strong on you, but you knew better than to actually let a man raw dog you and cum inside. You're not in love with him or anything.

So imagine the cry he let out when you grabbed his wrists to rip off your sides, lifting yourself completely off his wet cock. You feel empty without him, but it's a sacrifice you have to make. With your hand, you jerk him off. His dick is slippery and warm, like a trophy of the pussy you gave him.

Chris fisted the sheets, back practically arching off the bed as your soft hands stroked him. It hurt, he was overstimulated. So much pleasure that it was unbearable, especially on the head of his cock. You were merciless and you knew that you were giving him too much. Still, he couldn't stop the deep sob from his chest. The cum the shot through his cock onto his chest, your hands.

You purred at the sight, slowing your strokes at collect his orgasm. He was still crying under you, his pretty eyes glazed with tears. "Oh what a good boy," you praise. "All this for me?" You mocked his earlier words. He laughed, though it sounded more like a sigh.

"Maybe I could have a taste." With that, you leaned down to place you mouth on his semi hard dick. He hissed at the contact, showing how sensitive he was. That didn't matter, you still sucked a little harder than you should've. You could taste his cum in your mouth, surprised that it didn't taste bad. He's staying hydrated at least.

You let a few more licks take place before pulling away. The poor man looked like he was silently begging for you to stop and continue all at once. You wiped the cum off your hands on your skirt, and you felt somewhat guilty for wasting it. Your customer was still catching his breath when you hopped off the bed. You went to the bathroom, grabbing a rag and wetting it with warm water.

You didn't need to wipe yourself that much, it was really for your customer.

You made your way back to the room to see 'Koala' sitting up, seemly dazed. You knew that look, it was pretty common to see when you first started here. It was a look of disbelief. The 'I just really paid for sex with a slut' type of look. You sat besides him, rubbing the cloth in gentle motion on his tummy.

Snapping out of his daze, he looked at you. You glanced up at him, then back to your task. "You doing okay?" You asked. He leaned back so you could get a better view of his mess. "Yeah," he nods. "I was just thinking." You hum in understanding, "The post-nut clarity." His eyes go wide, as if feeling bad for making it so obvious.

You shake your head, "I get it, really. It's not a big deal. Just letting you know though, I'm not giving you back the money just cuz you regret it."

"No!" He almost shouts. "No I mean, I don't regret it. And I wouldn't make you give me back the money. It was good, you were great. It's just been a while for me."

You finish wiping, holding up the cum rag to show him. "Yeah, I can see that it's been a while." 'Koala' embarrassingly laughs, his hand reaching up to play with his ear. Suddenly, you grow curious about what he looks like. You can tell his hair is a dark color, but is it straight? Curly? Wavy? Not that it matters, he got his lay. He probably won't be back again.

"Well, we got about 15 minutes left pretty boy. Anything else you wanna do?" You question, flopping back down on the bed suggestively. He smiled under the mask, and you can tell by the way his eyes crinkle. "Actually yeah, I really wanted to eat you out." His answer leaves you a little shocked, but you recover quickly.

"Is that so? And how are you gonna do that with your mask on?" You playfully interrogate. His eyes blink a few times, then he comes to a resolution. "You have to promise not to look." He pauses. "You just can't look."

Damn, he must really be well known. "Fine," you give in. You grab a nearby pillow and hold it to your chest. You law down on the bed and open you legs. You can hear 'Koala' practically fall to his knees on the ground, his hands encasing your waist. It sucks that you have to have the pillow blocking his face. He would look so pretty with your pussy in his face.

"Let's see what you can do in 15 minutes."

a/n: hheeyy so this my first kpop fic lmao. took a while to write, I really wanted to make it realistic as possible, but that's hard. anywho, sorry about my updates being slow. I got strep throat lets gooooo. feedback is appreciated!

update: second post to this story here! update 2!: third part here

taglist: @whatamidoing89, @panda-wolf, @fatgumsbby, @nekohollowsychogoth

[mybutcheredtongue]

I'll Love You 'til the Grass Around My Gravestone is Deceased

post azkaban sirius black x fem!reader

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN (see full series list here)

1994

Two nights before Harry's big Ministry hearing, you sit at the kitchen table with Sirius, talking about nothing in particular, easily slipping into your old routine of sitting and talking with each other for hours on end. No matter who you meet, no matter how long you've known them, there's no one that seems to just get you like he does.

Mrs Weasley wipes down the counters in the kitchen, her usual routine before heading to bed, while her husband fiddles with a Muggle children's toy you'd given him. It's one of those things with the metal balls inside, and you have to shake and tilt it to try and get them to fall into place in the holes, usually on the top of a bottle of bubbles.

"Fascinating!" Mr Weasley exclaims happily, shaking it enthusiastically and watching in wonder as the balls miss every hole completely. "And Muggle children play with this, yes?"

You nod, smiling. "Keeps them entertained for a little while. I never liked them growing up — I was never patient enough.”

He continues to play with the toy, his face the picture of wonder and interest. You're glad he's there, really, because you hate the tension between Sirius and Mrs Weasley ever since Harry's return. Neither one of them have decided to apologise to the other — and though sometimes you think about saying it to Sirius, you feel it really should be Mrs Weasley who apologises, considering the awful things she said about his place as Harry's godfather.

You're still on good terms with Mrs Weasley, despite how her words still sit stinging in the back of your mind, but you'd rather forget about it and move on amicably than suffer through this suffocating awkwardness.

A knock on the kitchen door grabs the attention of the room, and you stand up to answer it, surprised when Dumbledore is on the other side of it.

"Dumbledore!" you exclaim, opening the door wider for him to enter. "Wasn't expecting you tonight."

He steps inside, smiling politely at you. "Yes, I do apologise for coming unannounced… Sirius, I would like a word with you, if you don't mind."

Mrs Weasley drops her cloth into the sink, brushing off her hands and seizing hold of Arthur's arm quickly. "It's getting late, we should be getting to bed. Goodnight, everyone."

"Night," you say to them, watching as they scurry out of the basement kitchen as quick as possible and close it behind them. Glancing between Dumbledore and Sirius, you feel a slight awkwardness creep through you. You clear your throat. "Should I go?"

"No," they say at the same time, eyes focused on each other.

Great.

You mentally prepare yourself for the argument that's bound to begin when these two start talking. You busy yourself in the kitchen, doing nothing really but pretend to look occupied as Sirius starts the conversation.

"Well, what did you want to talk to me about?"

"Harry's hearing on Thursday," Dumbledore replies, as you mindlessly adjust cups in the press without them needing it.

"And? What about it?"

There's a pause, the only noise being you clinking cups against each other aimlessly. "I expect you would like to accompany Harry, but I am afraid I must tell you that I do not think you should."

"I can't say I'm surprised to hear you think that," Sirius says, a slight bitterness lining the edges of his voice. "But I'm sure you understand that I think I should. He's going to a Ministry hearing, he could do with the moral support."

"He will have moral support from Mr Weasley, who will be bringing him to and from his hearing," Dumbledore answers calmly. "It is far too dangerous for you to leave this house, Sirius, even in your animagus form."

"I'll be careful. I just want to help his nerves — "

"I cannot let you," Dumbledore says, more firm this time. "Not only do I think you shouldn't, I know you shouldn't. It is not worth the risk."

You look up as Sirius glances at you, and Dumbledore follows his eyeline expectantly.

"I'll go with him, Sirius, don't worry," you say with a sympathetic smile. You know how much he was looking forward to getting out of the house. "I'll make sure he's alright."

"I am sorry to say I must tell you to stay here as well, professor," Dumbledore says slowly, and you blink at him in confusion.

"I...I don't understand. I'm not on the run, why can't I go with my godson?"

"Suspicions will be raised if you are spotted within the Ministry," Dumbledore says, looking at you. The prolonged eye contact is making you uncomfortable, and you nervously avoid his gaze and focus on the wooden table before you. "It is best that Harry's visit draws as little attention as possible."

"Then I'll wear a disguise," you reply simply.

"As who?"

You bring yourself to meet his eyes, blue and expectant as he silently waits for you to offer an answer: one that you don't have. "As...uh, a Ministry worker bringing him to his hearing, of course."

You think you might imagine the slight surprise that widens Dumbledore's eyes by a fraction, but it's gone when he shakes his head. "Too risky. I direct the two of you to stay here during his hearing, and not to go with him."

You look at Sirius, your eyes communicating every frustration you're currently feeling — he looks the exact same. You're so sick of having arguments and never getting what you want out of them.

You bite your lip, sighing defeatedly. "Right, fine. We'll stay."

✧⁠*⁠。✧⁠*⁠。

After a disgustingly early start on Thursday morning, you wish Harry the best of luck in his hearing and watch as he and Mr Weasley leave the house for the Ministry. You make an effort to keep yourself and Sirius as busy as possible, working on cleaning and redoing the drawing room again.

You run a cloth along the piano, catching the dust and revealing the shiny black surface hiding beneath the grime. You sit down on the bench, pushing it closer to the instrument with your heels and start to play whatever comes to mind, an old classical tune you've forgotten the name of.

When you finish, Sirius comes to join you, placing his hand on your shoulder. "Beautiful. What's it called?"

You shrug, smiling sheepishly at him. "I forget. I'm a bit rusty, to be honest."

"Doesn't sound like that to me," he says, motioning for you to scoot over so he can sit beside you on the bench. "Could you teach me something?"

"You never played?" You say, surprised. "I would've thought this was here for you to play."

Sirius chuckles softly, shaking his head. "It was more my mother. She always wanted me to play, but I refused, of course. Regulus was far better than me — he used to play while she did her embroidery."

You scoff. "Her embroidery? It was the 70s, not the 1800s."

"My parents did not get the memo, apparently." He nudges you with his shoulder, smiling playfully at you. "Come on, teach me something, professor."

You spend the next hour teaching him the basics, gently placing your hands on his and slowly leading him through a simple piece, laughing at the intense look of concentration on his face.

"What are you giggling at?" he says with a grin, looking back at you.

"Nothing, you're just so concentrated," you giggle, beaming.

"Well, it's actually quite difficult, you know...everyone has to start somewhere!" he says in mock offense.

You hum, pouting dramatically at him. "And you're starting off very well." You peck his lips, patting his shoulder as you swing your legs over the bench and stand up. "Come on, Mozart, I think I heard the front door open."

When you enter the kitchen, the atmosphere is very much celebratory as Ron high-fives Harry hard, a great big grin on his face.

"Cleared!" Harry says to you and Sirius, beaming, "of all charges!"

You feel the weight lift from your shoulders and grin at him. "Oh, wonderful, Harry!"

Sirius claps Harry hard on the back, beaming proudly at him. "Knew you'd pull through."

When Harry turns away, however, you don't miss the way Sirius's smile falters and is replaced by a small look of disappointment, before he regains his composure and smiles again. You find his hand and squeeze it comfortingly.

"Listen, you guys, Lucius Malfoy was at the Ministry — " Mr Weasley starts, and you both immediately turn your attention to Arthur.

"What?" you say sharply.

"Yes, we saw him talking to Fudge on level nine, then they went up to Fudge's office together," Mr Weasley replies. "Dumbledore ought to know."

"Absolutely," Sirius says. "We'll tell him, don't worry."

Lucius Malfoy. If Fudge stopped to think for a second why Lucius Malfoy keeps donating so much gold to the Ministry, surely he'd realise that it's not out of the goodness of his lovely pureblood heart?

Dinner passes pleasantly, everyone in high spirits after Harry's great escape from expulsion. Sirius, however, seems more downcast than usual and you're pretty sure you know the reason.

He heads to bed much earlier than everyone else, finishing his meal and bidding everyone goodnight. While everyone else celebrates and chats happily at the table around you, you chew on your lip thoughtfully.

You wait a while before heading up to bed after Sirius, wanting to give him time to himself to think over everything. However, when you open the door to his bedroom you find it empty, and immediately go looking for him. It's only when you enter the master bedroom, where Buckbeak is being kept, that you find your husband, sitting on the floor next to the hippogriff, stroking his feathers absent-mindedly.

"Here you are," you say softly, shutting the door behind you. "Hello, Buckbeak."

Buckbeak cocks his head in your direction curiously, clicking his beak in greeting.

Sirius looks up when you enter, clearing his throat. "Hello."

You make your way over, sitting next to him on the floor. You don't say anything for a few moments, the room quiet and still, before you take a deep breath and start talking. "I know you're disappointed Harry is going away to Hogwarts again."

He doesn't respond, sighing.

"But it was going to happen," you continue, your voice soft and gentle. "That's where he's happiest."

"I know," he says quietly. "I know that. I just...hoped I'd get more time with him. Longer than a few weeks."

You hum, laying your head on his shoulder. "Me too."

"But you'll get to see him anyway," he continues. "Come September, you'll both be gone back to Hogwarts."

You shake your head, offering him a small smile. "I'm not going back to Hogwarts in September, Sirius. I'm staying here."

His expression brightens for a moment, before he seems to remind himself of something and shakes his head. "But you love your job. You're always talking about how much you love teaching."

"I do," you answer truthfully. "But I love you more. I could never live with myself if I knew I had the choice of going back to work or being with you, and I chose my job. I've had a good thirteen years of working there, and I'd like to make up for all the time we have missed out on together instead."

Sirius looks at you as if it's taking every bit of resolve in him to say this. "I want you to go back."

"You don’t seem too convinced.”

He exhales deeply, closing his eyes for a moment. "I want you there, to look out for Harry. To keep him safe."

"Hogwarts is where he's safest, Sirius," you say. "Dumbledore will be there, he knows best how to protect him — "

"But he's not you," he says simply, his eyes serious. "Dumbledore can protect him, sure, but Harry trusts you. He knows he can go to you for anything. I think that's what he needs most this year."

You sigh, kissing your teeth quietly. "I don't want you to be alone."

"But you know I'm right."

You chuckle humourlessly, shaking your head. "I hate it when you're right."

He pulls you into him, kissing your temple. "I know."

✧⁠*⁠。✧⁠*⁠。

"So, any girls, Harry?"

Sirius raises his eyebrows at the boy, everyone else in the room distracted by their own separate conversations and activities. They had previously been discussing Harry's life at the Dursleys, and now Sirius thinks it is high time for him to impart as much (god)fatherly wisdom he can on the lad.

"What?" Harry's face is the picture of confusion.

"You can't tell me there isn't someone you've got your eye on," Sirius continues with a cheeky grin. "Girl, boy, maybe there's more than one — so come on, tell me, what's going on?"

Harry laughs nervously, shaking his head. "There's no one."

Sirius raises his eyebrows at him, unbelieving.

"Okay, there's one girl."

Sirius grins triumphantly, laughing. "I knew it! You make any moves yet?"

"What? No."

"In that case, let me impart some of my endless wisdom," Sirius says theatrically. "Now, Harry, if you're going to listen to anything I say to you now, it best be this: never lie to a woman. Okay? Simple." He brings his hand up to begin listing things off his fingers. "It'll never work, they always know. And if they don't know straight away, they'll find out you lied eventually, and then it'll be even worse for you. It never ends well. I mean — have you ever tried to lie to my wife?"

Harry thinks for a moment, shaking his head. "No?"

"Think again, you're sure you've never lied about your homework or something like that?" Sirius pushes.

Harry thinks again, remembering the time he tried to lie to you about his scar being painful in fourth year. "Wait, I have, actually."

"And did she believe you?"

"No."

Sirius nods gravely. "She is impossible to lie to. I don't know how, but she just sees through it every time — it's impressive, really."

"I hope you're not gossiping about me."

Looking up, Sirius spots you sitting down into the chair beside him, just returning from your guard duty that night.

He smiles. "Never, darling."

You hum, giving him an unimpressed look. "Nice try."

Sirius looks at Harry, raising his eyebrows with a laugh. "See? I told you." He shakes his head, smiling at you. "I've just been giving Harry some advice on girls, that's all."

You snort, giving him an incredulous look. "Girl advice? Sirius, please, you know nothing about women."

"What? I know plenty!" he says defensively, but still in good humour. "I knew enough to get you to marry me."

You smile sympathetically at him, patting his cheek. "That's actually not true, I'm afraid, because I married you for your money."

"Oh, really?"

"Uh-huh."

You look at each other, grinning, before bursting into laughter. When your chuckles finally subside, you look at Harry again. "Seriously, though, Harry, don't listen to Sirius. You don't want to do anything he or your father ever did to get a girl to like them."

"It still worked!" Sirius defends. "We both got to marry the women we loved."

"What did my dad do?" Harry asks curiously, and you laugh.

"What didn't your dad do?" you say. "Actually, do you want to hear the story of how I even became friends with your dad? And Sirius too, by connection — but it was really all James's doing in the end."

"I want to hear this too!" Hermione chimes in, who before had been talking to Remus with Ron.

"What's this?" Remus asks, a curious smile playing on his features.

"How we became friends in fourth year," you explain, and Remus instantly nods in acknowledgment.

"Oh yes, James and his ways."

You clear your throat, grinning. "Now, if I can have your full attention..."

♡*⁠。♡*⁠。

January, 1975

You walk along the corridor, a letter clutched in your hands, making your way to the owlery when a voice calls your name.

You recognise the voice, and with an agitated sigh, you continue walking and ignore it. He calls again, before you hear his footsteps pounding along the floor behind you and he skids to a stop beside you, bumping your shoulder.

"Potter? What do you want?"

James Potter falls into step beside you, grinning, his face red and his glasses askew from running. You can't say you're particularly fond of him, considering how he annoys Lily every single day and bullies her friend, Severus. Any enemy of Lily's is an enemy of yours.

"So quick to anger!" he exclaims dramatically. "So demanding!"

You grit your teeth. "What do you want, James?"

"Listen, listen..." he places a hand on your shoulder, pulling you aside. "Now, you and I haven't always seen eye-to-eye, for reasons unknown — "

You scoff.

" — but despite this, I have a trade — a proposal, if you will — of a lifetime to offer you!"

You raise your eyebrows at him again, thoroughly unimpressed.

"I suggest this — trade me a date with Lily, and I'll send you an invitation to the wedding. Sound good?"

He stretches out his hands, wiggling them theatrically and you burst into derisive laughter, shaking your head.

"Oh...you're funny, James, I'll give you that," you say, moving to walk away when he grabs your arm again.

"Wait, wait, listen to me," he says desperately. "Look, I really like Lily, and you're the only one who can help me. You’re her best friend.”

"What about Alice?"

He frowns, rubbing the back of his neck. "She used some…colourful language to tell me she will not be helping me."

You nod. "Sounds about right." You sigh, rubbing your forehead. "Look, James, if you really like Lily then stop being such an ass about it."

"What?"

"You're too cocky, James, and you're mean," you say. "Just actually talk to her yourself, no bullshit. And let Alice and me get some peace, yeah?" 

You finally manage to leave him now, turning and making your way up to the owlery to post your letter. 

If there's one thing about James Potter, it's that he doesn't know how to follow good advice. Sure, talking to Lily would be all fine and dandy if she wanted anything to do with him, but unfortunately for James, she did not. No, to James, this romance is a multi-level scheme, a plan, and you were key to his success.

The best friend angle, he calls it. If he can convince you that he's a decent guy, good enough to date Lily, you can then convince her to go out with him! All he needs is one teeny, tiny little date and James believes that Lily will fall head-over-heels in love with him, and they'll live happily ever after for years to come. 

But he can't go talking himself up to you — you'd never believe it for a second. So he sends the next best thing: his best friend. 

One morning, on your way to Potions, your bag decides to unceremoniously rip and fall to the ground, sending your belongings skittering along the dungeon floor. 

"Oh, no! Do you want some help?" Alice asks, stopping in her tracks. 

You shake your head, glancing at your watch. "No, it's fine. You'll be late — save me a seat!" 

Alice and Lily quickly head into the classroom while you throw everything back into your bag, cursing at the textbook that's now been covered in ink from one of your inkwells and how you've got dark ink all over your hands now. You repair your bag with a wave of your wand, and hurry into the classroom. 

Professor Horace Slughorn looks at you in surprise as you enter and you smile sheepishly. 

"Sorry, professor, my bag split..."

"Nothing to worry about, my dear! Take a seat," Slughorn booms cheerfully. 

You look around, trying to locate Lily and Alice and the seat they were supposed to have saved you, only to find it's been taken by someone else — conveniently the boy Alice has been pining over for the past few weeks. You stare, betrayed, at Alice, who shrugs and mouths, "I'm sorry!"

You scoff quietly, glaring at the boy and wandering to the only empty seat left, which happens to be right beside Sirius Black. He looks up, raising his eyebrows and smirking at you as you sigh, dropping into the seat beside him. 

"Well, aren't I lucky to have you sit beside me?" 

"Truly." You glance around and click your tongue thoughtfully. "Trouble in paradise, Sirius? Looks like your girlfriend kicked you out."

You point at James, who is sitting beside Peter and Remus on the other side of the room.

"Is there something wrong with wanting to sit with someone new?" Sirius says, lowering his voice as Slughorn begins his teaching. "A very pretty someone, might I add."

"Save it for James," you mutter, unimpressed. This isn't the first time Sirius has tried his charms on you, and you're not in the mood for it right now. 

"Today we will be brewing a hair-raising potion," Slughorn says, smiling happily at the students. "Now, we'll start by chopping up 5 grams of porcupine quills — "

"Speaking of James..." Sirius starts, ignoring Slughorn. "What do you think of him? What are your thoughts?"

"I think he's a git." You turn pointedly away from him, focusing on Slughorn again. You give him a confused look when you notice he's not paying attention to Slughorn at all. "Don't you want to find out how to brew this potion?"

He shrugs casually. "I've already made it before, it's not difficult."

Though you really want to ignore him and listen to Slughorn, your curiosity gets the best of you and you turn to him again. "Why have you made a hair-raising potion before?"

He grins at you. "We put it in Filch's goblet on Halloween. Although, we may have gotten some measurements wrong — "

"That was you?" You say in disbelief, a shocked laugh escaping your lips. "You're the reason Filch lost half his hair?" 

"Well, me and James — and also Peter and Remus," he replies, grinning proudly. 

You sigh, shaking your head with an amused smile. "Right. Well…I haven't made it before, so if you don't mind, I'd like to listen to my teacher now."

" — next, add the rat tails slowly, mixing the potion counter-clockwise as the tails are added, and it should turn to this sort of blue colour — cerulean, I would say...or perhaps it is more of a sky blue — " 

"Really, though, about James..." Sirius interrupts quietly, distracting you again. "He's a good guy. Got a good heart, a real romantic. Don't you want Lily to go out with someone who really cares about her?"

You scoff. "Did James set you up for this? Seriously? He's more desperate than I thought -- "

"Which just shows how much he cares," Sirius says, ever the loyal friend. 

"It shows how much of a coward he is," you hiss, your face the picture of attention when Slughorn's gaze flits to your desk to make sure you're listening. "He's too scared to talk to Lily himself."

"Because she hates him!" He sighs, looking at you, eyes big and pleading. "You just need to get to know him, then you'll see — what about this? Hang out with us tomorrow. Spend the whole day with us, and then tell me what you think."

You raise your eyebrows at him, shaking your head. 

"Unless..." a smirk tugs at his lips. "Unless you're scared of being wrong. Scared that you might actually like us."

And, despite knowing that this is definitely not worth your time, despite knowing that he only said that to goad you, you bite. 

"Fine. One day, that's all you get," you relent, and Sirius grins triumphantly. "But — if I don't like him by the end of it, you have to do my potions homework for a month!"

"Done." He holds his hand out for you to shake, grinning smugly at you, and you take it, letting go quickly. "And when I say the whole day, I mean the whole day. You can't go running off to Lily and Alice at all, you're stuck with us."

You give him a pained smile, gritting your teeth. "Can't wait."

♡*⁠。♡*⁠。

"You make me sound so bad in that story," Sirius complains when you finish and you laugh.

"That's how you were!" you defend. "Right, Remus?" 

Remus smiles appreciatively, nodding. "I'm afraid so."

"Did it work?" Hermione asks curiously. "What did you think of James by the end of it?" 

You laugh, grinning at her. "Oh, nothing changed, and Sirius had to do my Potions work for the month, as agreed" — Sirius rolls his eyes " — but I did have a lot of fun, and we became friends. By fifth year, we were all as thick as thieves." 

"Did you really not like my dad?" Harry says, brows furrowed. 

You give him a reassuring smile, shaking your head. "Not at the beginning, no. Lily didn't like him, so I didn't like him either. But after that torturous day spent with the lot of them, he really grew on me and now I can't picture Lily with anyone else. You really wouldn't meet another couple more perfect for each other."

"Except for us, of course," Sirius adds. 

You nod, an obvious look on your face. "Oh, obviously. We are unbeatable." You tap your chin thoughtfully, racking your brains for another story to tell. "What else can I tell you..."

"How about the time you punched Lucius Malfoy?" Remus offers, casually taking a sip from his goblet. 

The trio's jaws drop, and you turn and stare at Remus accusingly, who smiles innocently at you over his goblet. 

Sirius laughs beside you. "An excellent story!"

You shake your head frantically, glaring at Remus. "I really don't think this is the story they need to hear — "

"We wanna hear it!" Harry says, grinning and nodding at his two friends. 

"I — I don't even remember — "

"I do," Sirius says, smirking at you. He clears his throat dramatically. "Your godmother hated Lucius Malfoy at school, Harry. Absolutely hated him, and for good reason too, 'cause he was a prick — but one day he was picking on her, trying to wind her up, and he said something bad about Lily and bam, she just punched him right in the middle of Herbology, no hesitation."

Harry, Ron, and Hermione stare at you in shock and you wince, shaking your head. "That makes me sound awful."

"One of the best days of my life," Sirius says with a proud grin. "You broke his nose, didn't you?" 

"Yep," you nod, kissing your teeth. "Got myself a month's worth of detention, too. Professor McGonagall was furious with me."

"Wicked," Ron says in awe. 

"You should've seen the look on his face," Sirius continues gleefully. "He was too afraid to speak to her for weeks."

You shake your head vigorously. "I'd like to stop talking about this."

"Oh, stop pretending like you regret it," Sirius says with a scoff, laughing. "You're proud of it — and you should be, he needed to be taken down a peg."

"Oh, well…” you glance at Remus. “At least I didn't eat a butterfly."

Remus stares back at you in shock, his cheeks reddening. "I was six! And I told you that in confidence!"

"You...you ate a butterfly?" Harry repeats and Remus hangs his head in shame. 

"I'm not proud of it. It was an accident and I cried for a month after it happened. I...I can never look at butterflies the same."

You and Sirius burst into laughter, while Remus scowls, his face a dark shade of crimson.

He gives Sirius an accusatory look. "You can't say anything, Sirius, when you only took O.W.L. Astronomy because she was taking it."

You snort, looking at Sirius in surprise. "Really? I thought you liked it."

"Hated it," Sirius admits. "I thought it'd be nice and easy, looking at stars and planets and all that but it was actually pretty difficult, and you loved it — you used to go on these long excited rambles about astronomy and I never had any idea what you were talking about."

"I really thought you liked it!" you say sheepishly. "If you didn't like it, why didn't you tell me? Could've escaped my rambles."

He shrugs, smiling at you. "I liked hearing you talk."

You raise your eyebrows, folding your arms. "Didn't like hearing me talk when you put that potion in the showers, did you?"

Remus and Sirius grin at each other. 

"It's not like you were the only target!" Sirius says defensively, still laughing. 

"What?" Harry asks, puzzled, and you give the chortling Sirius a shove. 

"The boys thought they were so funny." You scowl at Remus, though you don't really mean it. "One day, they slipped a potion into the Gryffindor showers that caused anyone who used them to have to walk around with a giant bubble around their head for the rest of the day. It was awful."

Ron and Harry start laughing and you sigh, shaking your head. 

"It was very funny, to be fair," Sirius says cheekily and you roll your eyes. 

"Oh, shut it." 

You, Sirius, and Remus spend the rest of the evening telling the kids the best stories of your school days, and your chest burns from laughter by the end of it. 

"Remember the night we snuck out?"

"Or when James sneezed and nearly fell off his broom!"

"You can't forget the time Alice tripped, fell into Flitwick, and knocked him over!" 

When Mrs Weasley finally puts a stop to your story-telling and makes the kids go to bed, you linger, sitting contentedly between Sirius and Remus. You drape your arms across their shoulders, pulling them into you with a sigh. "I love you two, you know that? I don't know what I'd do without you."

You mean it, too. You're so happy to be back to some semblance of normal, where you get to see Sirius every day and wake up next to him after so long apart, where you finally get to tell people these stories without worrying about what they'll think, where you get to laugh and joke with Remus and talk about nothing at all. 

You're with your family again.

✧⁠*⁠。✧⁠*⁠。

“I thought we’d have a little party, not a sit-down dinner,” Mrs Weasley says cheerfully, as she hangs a scarlet banner over the dinner table that reads: Congratulations Ron and Hermione — New Prefects.

The kids had received their book lists this morning, the last day of the summer holidays,  which you find quite odd as the book list is usually out far earlier in the year. With the lists, Ron and Hermione had received shiny new prefect badges and Mrs Weasley has been on cloud nine ever since. When you joined her in Diagon Alley to get everyone’s books and supplies, she talked and talked of how proud she is of her youngest son and how wonderful it is that he was chosen. You think it’s sweet.

The town was bustling of course, with parents and children scrambling to get their books and school supplies before the term starts. You met several of your students and their parents and stopped many times to chat and catch up with them – even spending a good while talking to Neville and his grandmother, who has always struck you as an interesting woman. She was one of the few people who had actually trusted you after Sirius’s imprisonment and always appreciates the time you spend visiting Frank and Alice in St Mungo’s.

“Your father and Bill are on the way, Ron, I’ve sent them both owls and they’re thrilled.”

The table is piled high with food and drink, the room buzzing with celebration and cheer. Remus approaches you and Sirius, goblets in hand for the both of you. 

“All set for tomorrow, then?” he asks you, handing you your goblet. 

“Think so,” you answer with a shrug, taking a sip from your wine. “I’m glad I went to Diagon Alley weeks ago, it was absolutely mad today — all the good parchment and quills were gone.”

Nearby, Moody sets his normal eye on Ron and growls, “Prefect, eh? Well, congratulations. Authority figures always attract trouble, but I suppose Dumbledore thinks you can withstand most major jinxes or he wouldn’t have appointed you…”

Ron looks quite startled at this view and quickly leaves to go welcome Arthur and Bill Weasley, who have just arrived, accompanied by Mundungus in a weirdly lumpy overcoat that he seems adamant to keep on — no doubt housing another unique business venture in his pockets.

“Well, I think a toast is in order,” Mr Weasley announces, once everyone has a drink. He raises his goblet, beaming. “To Ron and Hermione, the new Gryffindor prefects!”

You grin at the pair of them, drinking to them and then applauding. As you reach for something to eat on the table, you beam at the pair of them. “Congrats, you two. I was never a prefect myself, that was Lily’s job — our teachers reckoned I wasn’t a good fit.”

“Why did they think that?” Ginny asks curiously. 

“‘Cause I found rules impossible to follow.”

Ginny laughs, and Hermione looks unsure of whether she should smile or frown at this, and instead chooses to take a large gulp from her butterbeer and chokes on it. 

“What about you, Sirius?” Ginny says, thumping the coughing Hermione on the back. 

Sirius lets out a bark of laughter, shaking his head. “No one would have made me a prefect, I spent too much time in detention with James. Remus was the good boy, he got the badge.”

“I think Dumbledore might have hoped that I would be able to exercise some control over my best friends,” says Remus. “I need scarcely say that I failed dismally.”

Soon, Ron is gushing about his new broom to anyone who’ll listen. His mother had bought him a broomstick as a present for his new status. “Nought to seventy in ten seconds, not bad, is it? When you think the Comet Two-Ninety only does nought to sixty and that’s with a decent tailwind according to Which Broomstick?”

“Why didn’t Dumbledore make Potter a prefect?” Kingsley Shacklebolt is saying quietly to Remus, though his deep voice is audible even in chatter. 

“He’ll have had his reasons,” Remus replies. 

“But it would’ve shown confidence in him. It’s what I’d’ve done,” Kingsley continues. “Especially with the Daily Prophet having a go at him every few days…”

You think that perhaps it’s best to keep Harry out of the limelight as much as possible. Your heart aches with sympathy for him — an orphan boy raised with his spiteful relations, without any knowledge of the wizarding world until his eleventh birthday, and then being thrust into a world where everyone knows his name and his story better than he does. A boy who met two different versions of Voldemort in his first two years, then watched him come back to life at fourteen, and witnessed the death of his classmate. A boy who is currently being vilified by the media and the government simply for telling the truth, and a boy who has to live in fear for his life all because he survived death as a baby. 

At the end of the day, he’s just a boy. He’s just a child. 

If you could take it all on for him, you would. You would do it in a heartbeat. 

“You alright?”

Sirius taps the tip of your nose gently with his finger, looking inquisitively at you. You shake yourself out of the thoughtful daze you had gotten yourself in, and smile at him. 

“Perfect. Just thinking, that’s all.” 

“About what?” 

You glance at Harry out of the corner of your eye, who catches your eye and looks away quickly, acting as though he wasn’t eavesdropping as he makes his way over to Moody. You turn back to Sirius, placing your hands in the back pockets of your jeans with a shrug. “D’you remember all the things the prefects used to get? The fancy baths in the bathroom, the private compartment on the train, the mitching class for meetings…”

“Didn’t need to be a prefect for the last one, did we?” Sirius says with a cheeky grin, and you chuckle. 

“Well, we certainly didn’t, no.”

After a while, everyone begins to filter out of the basement and upstairs to their beds. You follow Moody as he hobbles down the hallway towards the doorway. 

“You’re welcome to stay, y’know,” you whisper, conscious of the sleeping portraits on the wall. 

Moody leans on his staff with both hands, raising his eyebrows at you. “And wait for that house-elf of yours to strangle me in my sleep? No thanks.”

You snort, scoffing. “If Kreacher was going to strangle anyone in their sleep, what makes you think it’d be you?” 

“I’ve seen the looks he gives me — there’s murderous intent in those eyes,” Moody growls, good eye wide in warning. 

Sirius shrugs. “He has that intent for everyone, trust me — “

He stops as a muffled yell is heard from upstairs, and without hesitating you sprint up the stairs to the drawing room with Sirius, Moody, and Remus following close behind you.

“What’s going on?” 

Running into the room, you freeze when you spot Mrs Weasley cowering in the corner of the room, her hand trembling violently as she points her wand at a figure in the middle of the room: Harry, lying dead on the carpet. 

Remus pulls out his wand immediately, saying, “Riddikulus!”

Harry’s body vanishes, replaced by a shiny full moon hovering in the centre of the room. Remus waves his wand once more and the moon vanishes. 

Mrs Weasley breaks into a fit of sobbing, her face in her hands as her body shakes. 

“Molly,” Remus says bleakly, striding over to her, “Molly, don’t…”

You stare at the patch of carpet where the boggart pretending to be Harry’s lifeless body had just been, fighting the urge to vomit.

“It was just a boggart,” Remus says soothingly as Mrs Weasley buries her head in his shoulder, sobbing. “Just a stupid boggart…”

“I see them d-d-dead all the time!” she cries into his shoulder. “All the t-time! I d-dream about it!”

You force yourself to tear your eyes off the carpet, shaking your head to remove the image of Harry dead, but it sticks sickeningly permanent in your mind despite your efforts. Looking around, you see the real, alive Harry standing, panting, at the side of the room. You feel a rush of relief at the sight of him alive. 

“D-don’t tell Arthur,” Mrs Weasley chokes, rubbing her eyes desperately with her sleeve. “I d-don’t want him to know…being silly…”

Remus hands her a handkerchief and she blows her nose loudly. 

“Harry, I’m so sorry, what must you think of me?” she says shakily. “Not even able to get rid of a boggart…”

“Don’t be stupid,” Harry says with a weak smile. 

“I’m just s-so worried,” she says, tears streaming down her face. “Half the f-family’s in the Order, it’ll b-be a miracle if we all come through this…and P-Percy’s not talking to us…what if something d-dreadful happens and we had never m-made up? And what’s going to happen if Arthur and I get killed, who’s g-going to look after Ron and Ginny?” 

“Molly, that’s enough,” Remus says firmly. “This isn’t like the last time. The Order is better prepared, we’ve got a head start, we know what Voldemort’s up to…”

She gives a squeak of fright at the name. 

“Oh, Molly, come on, it’s about time you got used to hearing it — look, I can’t promise no one’s going to get hurt, nobody can promise that, but we’re much better off than we were last time. You weren’t in the Order then, you don’t understand, last time we were outnumbered twenty to one by the Death Eaters and they were picking us off one by one…”

“Don’t worry about Percy,” you add gently. “He’ll come round. He’s still young and he hasn’t gotten the chance to realise that he needs his family more than his job yet.”

“And as for who’s going to look after Ron and Ginny if you and Arthur died,” Remus says, smiling slightly, “what do you think we’d do, let them starve?”

Mrs Weasley gives a watery smile. “Being silly.”

“Come on, Molly, why don’t you come downstairs and let me make you a cup of tea to help you relax?” you offer soothingly, leading her out of the drawing room. 

When you slip into bed some twenty minutes later, sleep escapes you for quite some time. The image of Harry’s unmoving body burns in your mind, a seed of worry gnawing at your gut. You dream of Harry’s corpse on the drawing room carpet and of Cedric’s lifeless face on the dewy grass of the quidditch pitch.

✧⁠*⁠。✧⁠*⁠。

-> all kinds of interaction appreciated ♡

thank you for all your patience, I know this chapter was a little slower than usual to come out. also sorry to anyone who read like half of this chapter because I accidentally posted it before it was finished and didn't realise for ages. love you all <33

HUGE thank you to my incredible taglist lovelies:

@mothraantics @wholelottalove05 @izuoyarmin @devoid-swanky @carpe000diem @mooonyxoxo @hyperspeedo @idkman5335 @elanna-elrondiel @murielisacertifieddilf @penelopied @jennifer0305 @imgondeletedis @wooyoungsrightsock @wolfdragon0424

[noaltbruh]

Hey! If you do request right now could you please do bucci gang’s (+trish if you want to) s/o reacting to them coming home badly injured after failed misson, and s/o’s like “alright, lemme just love and comfort you♡."

(づ ᴗ _ᴗ)づ♡

Have great day/night!❤️

Hi there! 😊 This request is very sweet, I really enjoyed writing this :)♡

(Why do I always get so carried away in Fugo and Narancia's bits Istg)

[Also, it gets rather sad at Abbacchio's part...Sorry]

Bucci gang being comforted by reader after a rough day <3

Giorno 🐞

Giorno is a perfectionist at heart, he knows what he has to do and is only projected on reaching his goal, no matter what it may be.

So, when he realizes that his mission was a failure, he feels absolutely devastated. How could he have screwed up so bad? How could he have ruined such an important task? How is he supposed to be a good Boss of he can't even take care of a mission.

As soon as he comes back home, he'll immediately shut himself down, he doesn't want you to be a part of his failure, to know about how incompetent he was, he knew you'd be disappointed in him.

Me may not even greet you once he arrives, only heading straight towards the bathroom to take care of his wounds.

You're not deaf, however, and you quickly notice that someone else is at home. When you knock on the bathroom door, he may hesitate a bit before admitting to be in there.

He asks you not to come here, which greatly alarms you. When you try to question if everything is okay, he answers with a simple "yes", hoping to calm you down.

It doesn't work obviously

So, when you step in and see him healing himself, you can't help but feel your heart breaking a little. Why would he hide for you when he needs help?

Then, it hits you that it's exactly because he needs your aid that he didn't want you to notice him. You ask him if it was about that mission he had to take care of, and he mostly just nods in response, not having the courage to admit through words that he couldn't do it.

When you start insisting on helping him feel better, he immediately declines, claiming that you don't need to worry and that it's his fault of he ended up like this, so he needs to handle it.

Despite this, you refuse to leave and gently take a sit next to him, assisting him in any way during the healing process. Giorno doesn't have the heart nor the energy to tell you to let him be, even though he wishes you would.

After you're done, you invite him to take a rest while you go and prepare something for him. The golden boy isn't able to argue with you further in the mental state he is, and just accepts to make you happy.

When you come back with a cup of tea and a blanket, he softly thanks you for your kindness and takes the mug, slowly taking small sips out of it.

You untie his hair and begin to play with it, you know he loves it just as much as he loves caressing yours. If you look closely, you will probably notice him blushing a little...He doesn't like to be so vulnerable around anyone, he hates this weak side of his.

He doesn't understand how you could be so nice to him even after he failed, he just...Doesn't think he's worthy of love, if he's not the best all the time.

Yet, even if he doesn't get it, he's deeply grateful to have you by his side. The thought of you leaving him if he shows you how miserable he is still haunts his mind, but your care for him helps him push it away, even just for a while.

Bruno 🤐

If Giorno couldn't accept failure, Bruno is no better than him.

He feels ashamed, he's supposed to be the Capo and make sure that everything goes well. What sort of leader can't even do his job right? How can he help anyone if he can't even take care of himself?

Shame and disappointment walk right beside him, as he pitifully comes back home. He hates for you to see him like this, he's supposed to protect you and keep you safe...Yet he barely made it out alive of something he should be able to handle with his eyes close.

Once you come to greet him and see him in such conditions, he tries to play it cool, since it aches his heart to see you worry about him. He won't be telling you anything about the result of the mission, it's better if you don't get involved in this subject.

It's not hard for you to read the situation though, and can tell that something clearly did not go as planned. Even so, you decide not to push it and simply invite him to relax a bit, hoping to take his mind off whatever may be troubling him.

One of the best way to help Bruno calm down would be to prepare a bath for him, maybe adding some perfume or special oils to the water to create a more enchanting effect.

However, convincing him to let you do so will not be an easy challenge. He will try to hold you back, to tell you to go back to what you were doing before and that he can handle himself. He doesn't want you to waste energy in putting him out of the pathetic state he ended up in, simply because he wasn't strong enough.

Even so, his insistence may cause him to get even more exhausted, backfiring at himself. Staring to zone off, he'd instinctively lay his head on your shoulder, letting you guide him to the bathroom.

Once everything is settled and you two get inside the bathtub, Bucciarati doesn't have any force left to try and oppose. He simply watches you, feeling his eyes getting heavy as you wash his hair and maybe even kiss his wounds.

Being the head of the team is hard, and everyone needs a moment to rest. Taking breaks doesn't align with the life style the man is accustomed to, but for once...He lets you handle it all, he lets you be in charge...Of him.

And he'll always cherish your care.

Mista 🔫

Mista doesn't take failure as seriously as his two friends. He knows that mistakes can be made and doesn't condemn himself nor the ones around him for screwing up from time to time.

Even then, it was kind of a punch in his ego's guts to mess up like this, the pistols always do a great job with taking an enemy down. He's annoyed that things turned out this way, but at the very least, the stand user was eventually tracked down and he got out of it alive, so it could have gone worse.

What really bothers him is how heavily he's injured, dude can barely stand on his own two legs and is bleeding quite badly. All that he wants is to go home and relax a bit, before he freaking dies from blood loss.

When he does so and you come to open the door for him, you're taken aback by the conditions the boy has ended up in, and the gun covered in red surely is not a good sign.

With that being said, he does have a tendency to get heavily hurt every time he's given an assignment, so you're confident in being able to help him.

He doesn't try to avoid the subject and just seems a bit reasonably annoyed when telling you what happened.

You tell him to wait for you while you go and grab something to patch him up with, to which he agree with no big deal. He thanks you and gives you the biggest grin his aching body allows him to muster up.

Mista is that kind of person who loves to show off, to demonstrate how tough and confident he is. Even so, he must admit that, maybe even just once in a while, being the one who gets spoiled with attention does not feel bad.

After, at the very least, the wounds have been taken care of, the two of you will probably order some take out while watching pretty woman for the millionth time together.

He loves physical contact and the feeling of having you so close to himself does make him feel quite nice. You won't be letting go of each other all night long, the Pistols will most likely be the ones to answer the door in your place.

You can see Mista's satisfied smile as he makes himself comfortable on you, putting his head on your shoulder and taking off his hat to feel more comfortable. He just adores the feeling of your bodies being so close to one another.

If you were to caress, or even just touch his shoulder, you'd basically see him melt into your arms. He'd close his eyes as the noise of the Tv slowly drifts away from his mind, letting him enjoy the moment of pleasure as much as he can.

Soon enough, the rough day he's been through is nothing but a past memory.

Narancia 🍊

Although it may surprise you, Narancia takes succeeding in missions very seriously. He wants to show the others that they can trust him, that he isn't some...Stupid good for nothing.

So, when he fails and probably someone else has to step in to finish the job, this boy feels useless. He doesn't even think about how badly he got hurt on the spot, all his mind is focused on is what a disappointment he is.

Despite how optimistic he usually tries to be, he just keeps on murmuring to himself on the way home how he always screws up everything, and can't do a single thing without needing help.

When he finally steps in, it takes you half a second to realize what happened. Seeing your boyfriend being under the weather is a rare circumstance, but a horrible one too.

You can guess that the reason why he's feeling this way is because of how the mission went. So, you don't ask him any questions and simply tell him "welcome back", trying to comfort him with a sweet smile.

He forces a little grin in return, not wanting to make you worry too much, but his body language speaks in his place, as he basically lets himself collapse on you. You're probably going to have to carry him to the nearest couch, and go get something to handle his wounds.

Once you do so, Narancia is just laying there all sleepy. As soon as you sit next to him, he immediately cuddles up in your chest, with his eyes half closed, just wanting to feel your warmth.

Be gentle with him while he's like this, this is a threat.

He doesn't say a single word, he just lets you aid him, feeling like he doesn't really deserve your affection, but not being able to say no to it.

Once you're done with his scars and bruises, he mumbles a quiet "T-Thank you..." and looks up at you with a living glance.

Rubbing his back, kissing him, caressing his hair...It doesn't matter how you decide to comfort him next. He just wants you to hold him, feeling the warmth of your touch and the comfort of your voice.

He clings to you as tightly as he can, just enjoying the sensation of being safe in your embrace. Narancia doesn't need anything but to know that you're there and that you won't leave him, even if he messes up.

The way you shower him with love and don't look down on him for being so clingy truly makes him feel special. He can't put in words how glad he is to have you in his life.

So, for once, the chatty and outgoing Nari just...Stays quiet and still, slowly dozing off as you keep on cuddling him to sleep.

Fugo 🍓

Sadly...Fugo is not new to failure. Having a stand like Purple haze sometimes feels like nothing but a weight on his shoulder. His friends fight bravely and risk their life, while he has to worry about not killing himself with his own power.

Mix his self-doubt with his anger issues, and you get a deadly combination. After the disastrous mission and before heading home, he's going to have to keep himself from fucking up anything or anyone in his range.

Filled with frustration, he'll let out a desperate scream of rage, before finally getting in the car and driving, risking to break something in it with any out of control movement.

He won't even greet you when he comes back to the villa. He'll probably try to distract himself reading something, only to realize that he's not able to focus on a single word due to his wounds and his mental state, probably tearing the pages apart in the heat of the moment.

You hadn't noticed the sound of the door opening before, but the noise of the poor book being destroyed surely did not go over your head. As soon as you walk in the living room and see your boyfriend, you instantly rush in his direction.

You put your hand on your cheek, not worrying about his agitated state, just wanting to comfort him as soon as possible.

Preoccupied, you ask him why he hadn't told you he had come back, to which he replies with a look of shame and avoiding eye contact, trying his hardest not to lash out at you.

You notice some of his blood had stained your hand, he might have even died if he didn't treat those wounds now, what was he thinking?!

You run up to bathroom as fast as you can, coming back with a first aid kit, alcohol and too many bandages to count.

He tries to tell you to stay away from him, that he's not seriously hurt and that you shouldn't be near him as he's still feeling enraged for what happened.

Despite his warnings, you continue with what you're doing, not even actually listening to him, as all your attention is set on making sure you don't miss a single wound on his body.

He annoyingly asks if you're even hearing what he's saying, but in the moment he realizes he's starting to raise his voice, Fugo just sort of...Shuts down.

He doesn't want to accidentally harm you or risk taking his anger out of you when you're just trying to help. He'll be damned if you suffer just because he's incapable of emotions in check.

Still refusing to look at you once you're done, he tries to find the courage to speak up and thank you for everything you've done, when suddenly you just...Leave.

The gesture leaves him confused. Did he say something that hurt you? Were you mad at him? Did he come off as ungrateful for not showing a bare minimum of appreciation for what you had just done?

Before his thoughts can take the hold of him, thankfully, you come back with...A bowl of strawberries?

You set it on the coffee take and take one with a small fork, sitting next to him once again. You thought some fruit would have helped cheering him up, and might have restored his energy, even just a little bit, considering how exhausted he seemed to be.

You hold him close to yourself and invite him to open his mouth for you to feed him. To no one's surprise, this highly flusters him, and he appears a bit reluctant to do what you say.

After some persuasion, he accepts and lets you do whatever you want. He'd never say it out loud but...He actually really enjoys you caring for him so much.

The way you don't let his anger stop you, the way you're always ready to offer him a hand when he needs it, the way you love him with all his flaws...

He may not like himself, but you do, from the bottom of your heart...And as long as this doesn't change, that reflected love will be enough for him.

Abbacchio ⏮️

Let's be honest, I can't help but think that Abbacchio also feels some sort of hate for his stand. Maybe not as much as Fugo does, but he sees it as a distant reminder of his guilty past and his uselessness in battle.

Despite how much he hates it, he can't be anything more than support for actual competent people, while all he can do is just watch from the sidelines.

Because of this, failure is not something he hasn't dealt with in the past. There have been plenty of occasions where Moody blues just...Wasn't enough.

And this hurts him, it hurts him deeply, more than he could ever put into words.

Yet, he's so used to it that he just...Stays neutral. Once the task has been handled by someone else, he doesn't say or do anything. He's just...Apathetic, and very, very tired.

He doesn't want to see or talk to anyone in this state, so when he comes back to the villa, he simply grabs the first wine bottle he can find and starts drinking it from top to bottom, non-stop.

As no one had come to greet you, you found it suspicious how there seemed to be sort of of noises coming from the kitchen. Walking into the room to check what was going on, you just stood shocked at the image of your heavily hurt partner chucking down a whole bottle of alcohol.

At the spot, you're not sure of how to react, you only approach him and try to take the liquid away from his hands, to which he resists, giving you an empty stare. He just wants you to leave him alone and let him drown in his self-humiliation.

When he sees the worry and desperation in your eyes, however, Abbacchio finally starts to feel something: remorse. It felt like your gaze was just begging him to let you help him, and it hurt even more than his failure.

As soon as he puts the bottle down, you don't waste any further time and drag him to the bathroom to take care of all his wounds. How could he just ignore them like that? They were even deeper than you had thought at first, if you hadn't done anything, there may have been some...Serious consequences.

Once you finish, he still doesn't react, you can't tell what he's feeling or thinking, so you just...Hug him, tightly, not aware if you're trying to comfort him or yourself.

Slowly, but surely, you can feel his own arms wrapping gently around your back, you could have sworn you almost saw him cry. At last, he finally murmurs a "I'm sorry" and doesn't let go until you do.

After this, the two of you head to your shared bedroom. You had made sure to warm the entire villa before he came back, you wanted him to feel cozy since you knew this mission was stressing him quite a lot.

This happens to be one of the very few times were Abbacchio accepts being comforted, or just...Receiving love in general. Physical contact greatly weirds him out, and he's usually the one to be cuddling you, not the other way around.

So, when you actually take the lead this time, the man doesn't really oppose, but it takes him a while for him to get habituated to it.

You pull out his pair of headphones and the two of you start to listen to his favourite tunes together. You knew this was his favorite playlist and he always listened to it if he needed a break from everything.

Everything, but not everyone.

Because at the end of the day, although his words or actions may sometimes leave you on the edge, it takes nothing but a glance in his eyes, to realize that truly, he's deeply thankful for your love, even if he keeps on screwing up.

Trish🎙

Personally, I don't really think Trish would become part of Passione after meeting the rest. Don't get me wrong, she'd still 100% live with them, and with you, but I believe she'd rather pursue her career as a musician than a mafiosa.

With that being said, let's say that, for example, as a one time thing, the boys were to ask her for help during a mission, and she accepted.

...Boy, she won't take it well.

This is because she saw this request as a way to prove herself. After spending so much time being sheltered and protected, this was the perfect chance to remind everyone that she could handle herself perfectly fine.

And she failed.

As soon as Bruno and the others interfere to keep her from getting harmed any further and kill the enemy... She may even start crying. Not out of pain, but out of sport for how incompetent she is.

It doesn't matter how much she tried, how much she thought she had grown, she still needed someone to do what she couldn't on her own, she was weak.

Despite their attempts at comforting her, Trish brushed them off and heads home before anyone else, wiping the tears off her face because there's no point in crying over it.

You greet her with a warm smile when she steps in, excited to know how the task went. Her cold "hi" and the bruises on her, however, already give you all the answers you needed.

You try to ask her if she needs anything, if she wants you to help her with her scars, but nothing. After a quick "I'm fine", she storms off and goes to get the first aid kit herself.

You knew she could be stubborn and that she shoved you off like that, it meant she really didn't want to be bothered. Even then, you couldn't bring yourself to just...Stay there and do nothing, it almost felt like abandoning her at her lowest, even if it's what she thought she wanted.

You softly knocked on the door and walked in, only to find her struggling to patch herself up due to any other wounds hurting as soon as she tried to handle a single one.

She couldn't help but blush in embarrassment in the moment the saw you, she felt like an inept, not being able to even cure herself, especially after it was her fault she ended up like this.

Again, you ask her if she needs any aid, but this time, more aggressively, she yells at you to let her be, that she's tired of asking other people for help, that she's...Strong on her own.

...Needless to say, tears start forming in her eyes once that last bit leaves her mouth. Pained by seeing your darling in such distress, you gently hold her tight and tell her that it's okay not to be able to overcome everything on your own, that you'd always be there to support her and that you think she's already strong.

As an answer, she just...Softly sobs on your chest, handing you the alcohol and everything else, holding tightly to you as she feels her pain slowly disappear.

After that is settled and her tears are dried off, Trish already feels a lot better, her green eyes look a bit brighter than earlier.

You carry her to bed as she gives you a small, sweet smile. Once you put her down and lay next to her, she lets her head fall on your lap, giving you permission to rub hair hair, despite usually preferring not to.

Some beauty masks and painting each other nails while watching something cheesy on Tv will lift her spirit up like nothing else. From the relaxed expression on her face, you can see that her doubts and worries have started to dissipate.

Gaining her full trust may not be easy, and it is a matter of fact that she does close herself off and pushes everyone, even her loved ones away when she feels threatened. Yet you never give up on reaching out to get, because you know that despite her denial, she just wants for nothing more to tell her that she's enough and doesn't to prove herself to anyone.

[deathmetalunicorn1]

May I ask an extremely less sensitive teen! Reader with the RoR family finally having a mental breakdown, like reader is always extremely logical for their age and unhinged but slowly starts to crumble under mental pressure cause that's exactly why children shouldn't worry about adult matters

-You were considered a bit of an oddball by your family, you were always so levelheaded and calm, always seeming to have everything together.

-Under pressure or stressful situations, usually at school, you were the same, facing everything with levelheaded coolness.

-Many in your large adoptive family admired that about you, seeing that you were always calm, no matter what, but certain members were beginning to see the downside to that.

-Adam was the first one, followed quickly by Odin, when you were balancing school, personal life, and a part-time job, giving most of your paycheck to your ‘parents’. When he asked why you were giving most of your paycheck to them, rather than spending it on things you wanted, you just smiled, “I heard you guys talking about how food cost was rising and it was getting harder to buy certain things.”

-While you were at school, there was a family meeting, discussing what you had told Adam that morning. Nikola looked worried for you, “She shouldn’t be worrying about things like that- we can handle things.”

-Zeus agreed, giving a small nod, “Children shouldn’t have to worry about the problems of adults. Y/N should be out having fun- not worrying about bills.”

-You were surprised when you arrived back home and Odin gave you your money back, putting it back in your hand. You were confused, “But don’t you all need this to help with bills?”

-Odin lifted his hand to your head, ruffling your hair gently, “Don’t worry about it- keep your money for you.”

-Odin wasn’t prepared for you to start crying, you calm façade leaving you as you panicked, “But- but I want to help!” he could easily see what you were trying to do- you were trying to prove to them that you were useful and contributing to the household. With him refusing it, refusing your help, you were taking it that you were a failure, not able to help them.

-Adam was quick to rush to your side when Odin sounded the alarm as you were quickly panicking, panting heavily almost to the point of hyperventilating, trying to plead with them that you could help them.

-Your family was quick to realize how anxious you actually were, always helping others and going above and beyond to help because you wanted to feel useful. You had it in your head that you were only useful if you were helping others, and being unable to help, or others, like your family, rejecting your help, made you panic and feel like a failure.

-Beelzebub ended up having to sedate you, as they weren’t able to calm you down and your family had another, emergency, meeting, that they needed to make sure you weren’t doing things like this to yourself.

-Once you were awake and Kojiro prepared you a mug of hot herbal tea to keep you calm, as you were ready to burst again, your family told you and assured you that you did plenty to help out around the house and that you didn’t need to give them your hard earned money from your part-time job. They would be able to survive without it and it was for you to spend on things you wanted.

-It took a while, a couple of weeks of gentle but firm reassuring from your family to help you relax a bit as well as Odin, Zeus, and Adam telling you to enjoy your youth and not worry about things like bills just yet.

-You were so happy to have such a supportive family in your corner, supporting you just as you support them.

[breelandwalker]

not sure if anyone else has asked this recently but my internet is too slow to do a deep dive in the archives rn so - do you have any advice for avoiding/preventing/dealing with a lot of 'backsnap' from spells? i.e. the wave of exhaustion/general physical and emotional crumminess after doing some heavy work. it's entirely possible that this specific instance i'm experiencing could be allergies or an oncoming cold, but since it hit me right after i spent an evening doing the first serious amount of spell-casting i've expended effort on in months, i'm inclined to connect it at least a little bit. now i'm wondering how best to bounce back or prevent it from hitting so hard in the future (aside from obvious health-boosting things like rest, water, vitamin c, etc). is it just a matter of exercise makes the muscle stronger or should i really not be neglecting to ward up first in my impatience to get to the fun part?

Good question!

This is something I hear about frequently enough that I feel comfortable calling it a common occurrence. Doing heavy, involved, or prolonged spellwork is taxing in the same way that any other task requiring a lot of focus or mental or emotional energy might be. I don't know that there's a way of wholesale avoiding it, per se, but you can mitigate it in a few ways with a little bit of preparation. You've got the right idea here, so allow me to offer just a few additional tips.

Set up your workspace ahead of time and make sure you have all your materials ready to go and within easy reach. Try to eliminate distractions and as many potentials for interruption as you can. The less frustration, distractions, or derailment you have during a casting, the easier it is and the less exhausted you'll be afterward.

Make sure you're rested, hydrated, and not running on empty or heading for a caffeine crash or the tail end of a medication cycle if you take dailies. Take a few minutes to calm yourself and focus on the task at hand before you begin. If you have any preferred grounding and centering techniques, definitely employ those. I've found that just taking a moment to bring myself into the present and sort of zoom in on what I'm doing has helped more than casting extra wards just for the sake of one spell.

If you're feeling ill or overtired or like you're on your last spoon, maybe do your spell another day. I know magical timing is a thing some witches rely upon, but there's almost always a way to spin timing to your benefit, and spellcasting should NEVER take precedence over your health.

Keep in mind, all of this is to MITIGATE the post-casting crash, not prevent it. It's still a good idea to rest afterward, maybe have a snack and hydrate again. Just make sure you clean up anything that needs cleaning, extinguish all fire hazards, and put up any materials that you don't want kids or pets getting into or that might be a trip hazard. (You do NOT want to skip this step and end up cracking a toe on your cauldron the next morning, TRUST ME.)

It does get easier as you go on. There's a reason we call witchcraft a practice - it takes PRACTICE. Doing small-to-medium spells and periodic exercises may help things go more smoothly, since you don't have to think about it as much once you've got the hang of things. (I try to do a little something every day and I have easy charms built into my schedule for this purpose.) Large, involved castings will still wear you out, not much to be done about that.

I have some other tips for battling inspirational slumps and blockages and helpful hints for your spellwork here:

My Intuitive Spark Feels Low - How Do I Get It Back?

I’m In A Slump - How Do I Get Out Of It?

I’ve Reached A Stopping Point - What Do I Do Next?

How Do I Make A Magic Circle For Spellcasting?

What Happens If I Get Interrupted While Casting A Spell?

Do I Need To Maintain Positive Vibes For My Spells To Work?

Hope this helps! 😊

[imtrashraccoon]

Hello amazing people! This one might be a bit of a stretch but oh well...

Thanks to @scrambledmeggys once again for the prompts!

First Day, Previous Day, & Next Day

Day 6: Coffee Shop

You filled the kettle up with water from the tap and set it on the stove to boil. With each passing day, you found yourself missing your favorite coffee shop more and more. While you weren't a religious coffee drinker like some people, you could appreciate a well brewed cup of joe. It was something special you allowed yourself every now and then.

While you could make yourself coffee, you tried not to once it got late in the day as the extra caffeine was never a good idea. Monster coffee also had a different flavour from any kinds you'd tried on the surface, but you weren't enough of a coffee snob to care. They did make good teas though, which was what you were preparing now.

You'd seemingly made a full recovery from the injuries you'd sustained from the fall over the few weeks you'd been here. This was probably thanks to the healing properties of monster food, which you were still completely blown away by. On the surface, you probably would've been confined to the hospital or at the very least on bed rest for a couple months. Then again, you weren't sure how bad your injuries had really been in the first place.

Unfortunately, your mind now turned to what you should do next. You'd promised to keep Frisk safe no matter what happened, but you'd also made another promise to yourself the day you'd fallen down here. That being, to get back to the surface or at least get Frisk back to the surface.

You hadn't mentioned it to Frisk but you'd had your doubts from the beginning that you two would make it this long. Then, you discovered Frisk's ability and your survivability had improved, but you didn't feel right relying on Frisk to constantly reset. It would be terrible for their mental health to constantly witness your death and you knew it already had affected them. Still, you wanted to do what was best for them and let them live a normal life again.

Suddenly, Papyrus was standing next to you and had reached over to remove the whistling kettle from the stove. You hadn't even noticed it was boiling with how focused on your thoughts you'd been. It was actually slightly embarrassing if you were being honest.

Papyrus proceeded to wordlessly pour the hot water into your mug as well as one he'd grabbed from the cupboard for himself. After setting the kettle down on the stove again, he slid your mug closer to you and added some sugar to his own.

You added some sugar to your mug and waited silently for the tea to steep. You didn't really know what you should say or if you should say anything at all. So, you just opted for a quiet, "Thank you," for the moment. Papyrus nodded, but he seemed to be having a similar problem as you, or maybe he just didn't feel up for conversation.

"oh come on, kiddo!" you heard Sans grumble from the living room, accompanied by the distinctive sounds of furious button mashing.

You peeked into the living room to find both him and Frisk engaged in what you thought was a game of Mario Kart, although you weren't an expert on retro video games so you weren't entirely sure which version it was. Maybe Mario Kart 64? Either way, they looked like they were having fun and you couldn't help but smile at the sight.

"Frisk Seems To Like It Here," Papyrus commented quietly.

Slightly surprised, you looked over at him. "I guess so?" You went back to the counter to remove the tea bag from your mug as it was likely steeped properly by now.

Papyrus put his hand on your shoulder when you turned back around and gently guided you to sit down at the kitchen table. He sat down across from you and took a sip from his own tea.

"Is That So Surprising?" he finally asked, his scarlet eyelights never leaving your face as he spoke.

You stared down at your tea and frowned slightly. He was right, Frisk did seem happier lately, yet you couldn't help but feel conflicted. They deserved to be free to experience all the things a child their age would, not being confined indoors all the time.

They should go to school to learn and explore the great wide world before it was too late. They should make friends their own age, not just weird adults. They should discover themselves and figure out what they wanted to do with their life.

It wasn't fair. You would do anything to give them the best in life. In fact, you would give up your very life at this point just so they could have a shot at being happy.

"I... I don't know what to do," you murmured. "You and your brother have been so kind but I worry for their future. It'll become suffocating for them as they grow up, don't you think?"

Papyrus frowned and leaned forward slightly in his chair. "If You Are Saying That You Think Frisk Would Be Happier Back On The Surface, There Is Something You Need To Know. It Is Impossible For Anyone To Cross The Barrier On Their Own. The Only Known Way Is If You Absorb A Monster Soul, Meaning You Will Have To Somehow Kill King Asgore. However, Even If You Could Kill Him, It Would Only Work For You And Not Frisk, Unless They Were The One Who Absorbed His Soul Instead."

The kitchen seemed to grow icy as he spoke and yet you couldn't bring yourself to look away from him. You swallowed thickly, feeling your palms grow sweaty and your heartbeat beginning to echo in the back of your skull.

"The Only Other Way Is If The Barrier Is Broken, But We Need Two More Human Souls Before That Can Happen And I Do Not Want You Two To Be Those Souls." Papyrus sighed and clenched his fists slightly before continuing, "You Were Able To Convince Me And Sans, But You Will Not Be Able To Just Talk To The King. He Will Kill Both Of You And You Will Not Be Able To Do Anything..."

"Why are you telling me all this?" you asked quietly. "We've always known the stakes but we pushed through anyways."

"Because, We Have Become Rather Fond Of Both Of You. I Am Suggesting That You Consider Staying Here More Permanently."

Papyrus hesitated for a moment before continuing. "I Want You To Stay, Rihanna. No, I Need You To Stay..." His eyelights quivered slightly and the tone of his voice was rough with emotion.

You stared at him, trying to figure out if you'd heard him correctly. There was something there that he hadn't said out loud. Whether he had the strength to do so or not, you couldn't decide.

"Alright, we'll stay..." you muttered. "I'm not making any promises though, okay?"

While he was right, you weren't fully convinced it would be as impossible as he'd made it out. Surely there was another way to get back to the surface...right?

[nebulablakemurphy]

Through Love And By Love (Pt. 18)

Summary: Twenty-Two years ago, Draco Malfoy used the imperius curse to slow Voldemort’s rise to power. No good deed goes unpunished. Warning: this series contains mature subject matter surrounding use of the imperius curse (dub-con), discussions of trauma and mental illness; reader discretion advised.

Part 17

Rosanna is no longer in her bed, or even in her house. The surface beneath her is hard and unbearably cold, but she doesn’t dare move.

“I’m going to finish preparing the room. Bring her once she’s up.” A voice echos off the walls.

“She’s bleeding everywhere.” Another voice, this one she knows.

“Come on, Goyle, don’t tell me you’re afraid of a little dirty blood.” The door clicks shut and Rosanna is dragged upright.

Forcing her eyes open, Rosanna finds herself face to face with Gregory Goyle, Draco’s childhood friend. They’d grown up together, he spent countless hours in her house, he held her children.

He-

Rosanna rears back, slamming her forehead against his hard enough to make him stumble away.

“Damn you,” he whispers. “More trouble than you’re worth, McVay. I’ll never understand what Draco sees in you…besides himself.”

She claws at him this time, like she means to gouge his eyes out.

“Come on, it’s just a joke. I’m here to help you.”

“Help me how?” She whispers.

“Got a plan, don’t bugger it.” He hauls her to her feet, fingertips digging into the flesh of her upper arm.

Goyle leads her through the door, to the adjoining room. Mostly empty, save for an array of lit candles, a circle, a rope, and a knife.

“Welcome! So kind of you to join us.” Theodore? Theodore Nott? “I suppose introductions are in order, it has been a while.”

“I know who you are.” Rosanna jerks her arm free of Goyle.

“Wonderful, that saves time.” Theodore grins, “you may be wondering why you’re here…unless you already know that as well?” He cocks his head to the side. “Must be why you and Granger get on so well, two peas in a pod. Although they couldn’t make you the minister, with a death eater’s cock shoved up inside you, could they? No, there has to be consequences for that. Though clearly they’re not opposed to using you when it benefits them.”

Rosanna glares. Don’t let him get in your head.

“It was almost too easy to distract you, with the files, and Delphi, then Rabastan. You just couldn’t keep your head on straight.” Nott muses, quite pleased with himself.

“How’d you get the files?” Rosanna wonders.

“I surely don’t have access to such sensitive information within the ministry. We don’t all get golden girl privileges. Some of us had to atone for our sins, some of our fathers went to Azkaban for life. Some of us got tossed away like we were nothing. I don’t think that’s fair, so I decided to do something about it, the imperius curse came in handy. I know you’re familiar.” Theodore begins pacing in the circle, drawn on the floor in what Rosanna assumes to be blood.

“Just kill me then and be done with it.”

“Did it ever occur to you that there is a reason great wizards throw themselves at you?” Everyone from Harry Potter to Lord Voldemort. “That you are, in some way, exceptional. A conduit for magic. Had you not chosen to spend your life with someone who does not value it, you would know that. Draco keeps it locked inside you, wasting away, but I can fix it. I can teach you how to use that power, I can make you the greatest witch whoever lived. In return, you will serve me. Reduce the world to ash and rebuild, as it should be.”

“No thanks,” Rosanna shrugs. If she can just stall long enough for Goyle’s plan to take action, or even to figure out what the circle is for…

“I wasn’t asking.” Theodore purses his lips. “There is one matter that must be attended before we proceed in making you mine.”

Rosanna narrows her eyes, daring him to go on.

“I bare no relation to the Malfoy family. Therefore what is bound, must be unbound. Let’s bring him out. The man of the hour, here to save you.” Theo drags Draco into the room, feet bloodied, his pajamas torn.

“Leave her alone.” Draco seethes, hands behind his back, magic knitting them together.

“No, I don’t think I will.” Nott taunts, pushing Draco to the ground, just outside the circle. “Got a bit of a mouth on her, but that can be fixed.”

The floor quakes beneath them, rumbling as though it might break away.

“Was that you?” Theodore laughs, his eyes flickering to Rosanna, a vision in her silk golden nightgown, dripping in her own blood. “You are a pistol, aren’t you?”

“Let her go.” Draco fires this time, but the magic is unhinged, no way to direct it.

“You know this is even better than I imagined! Your magic is bound to Draco, who doesn’t have a clue how to use it. Bravo, Mr. and Mrs. Malfoy, you’ve outdone yourselves. Now if you’ll just keep doing exactly what you are doing, this circle has all the enchantments we need to untangle your magic.”

Rosanna swipes a hand over her face, smearing the blood beneath her nose. Without a word, she looks to Goyle. What’s the plan?

“What’s the matter, dove?” Nott calls her attention. “Not in the mood? That’s alright, I’ll inspire you. Crucio!”

Draco writhes, howling in pain.

“Stop.” Rosanna takes a step forward, only to realize that she can’t move outside the circle.

“I’m just getting started.” Nott grins.

“Stop!”

“No.” Theodore growls, hitting Draco with the cruciatus curse a second time.

She feels the wall, between the magic she has access to and what lies beyond. She doesn’t run at it head first, that doesn’t work, because the wall is Draco’s. Not her own.

But she knows his mind…

“I was never truly happy until I met you.”

She knows his heart…

“You have always been and will always be the deepest, most desperate desire of my heart.”

And she knows his soul…

"There is no me without you, keeping you alive is as self preserving as it gets."

Using her magic to save him isn’t dangerous, it’s self preservation, and there is nothing Draco wants more than to keep her safe.

The windows shatter, the door comes away from its hinges. She’s vaguely aware of the fact that Goyle is yelling. Tossing his wand to the floor near Draco.

Rosanna can’t make out what he’s saying over the ringing in her ears. The magic courses through her now, consuming her and she sees red. There’s not a spell in the world that will be punishment enough for what Nott has done.

He used the imperius curse to leak Draco’s file from the ministry.

Crucio. No, that isn’t enough.

He tried to recruit Delphi to do his dirty work.

Reducto. No.

He used Rabastan and his sick obsession to distract them.

Avada Kedavra.

He came into their home.

Avada Kedavra.

He hurt Draco.

Avada Kedavra.

They need him alive, at least for a while, to make sure this ends with him.

And so Rosanna thinks of the spell, one that will kill him agonizingly slow, if no one intervenes.

“Sectum Sempra.”

Theodore’s skin flays open, much faster than Draco’s had all those years before, when Harry struck him the lavatory. Down to the muscle, in no time.

Someone is screaming.

Telling her to stop.

But she can’t stop.

She doesn’t want to stop.

Goyle isn’t beside her anymore, he’s moved away. Blown back against the wall. Did she do that?

“Rosanna, stop!” Hermione? Hermione is there and telling her to stop, pleading with tears in her eyes.

“Why do you care about him? He tried to-”

“I don’t! I don’t care about him!” Hermione shouts back, “I care about you!”

Rosanna draws back. Taking in the scene before her. Draco is there, on the floor, twitching with the after effects of the cruciatus curse. How long was Nott torturing him? How long has she been flaying Theodore open?

Harry is over Nott now, assessing the damage. It’s bad. Even with the counter spell, he isn’t sure he’ll live. Not that it matters, but they can’t try a dead man.

Help Draco, save Draco. Rosanna’s head is pounding furiously, as she collapses at his side.“Draco?”

Draco curls himself around her, lips quirked with the hint of a smile. “Do you know the worst part about all of this?”

“Hmm?”

“Your magic listens to me as well as you do. Rarely, if ever.” He clarifies, “perhaps never at all.”

Rosanna chokes out laugh, “I listen to you. This is self preservation, just like you said.”

“This is not what I meant.” There’s blood, too much blood, staining her golden nightgown crimson. Her eyes have no whites to them, all broken blood vessels and blown pupils, threatening to swallow her brown irises. “This was foolish, highly irresponsible-”

Rosanna’s lips are on his then, silencing any further ranting. “I will always take care of you, Draco. No matter how foolish or irresponsible that makes me or how mad you get, I will never let anyone hurt you. My only regret is that I couldn’t do it sooner. I wish I could go back and stop anyone from ever hurting you.”

Draco’s eyes search her face, “we need to get you to a healer.”

Rosanna doesn’t fight him on that. “My brain is on fire.” She feels it now.

————————————————————————

Six days later, under the florescent lights of St. Mungos hospital, Rosanna wakes. She turns and vomits onto the floor, rousing the man in the chair beside her.

Draco.

Draco.

Draco.

“I’ll get you some water.” He says, casting a quick cleansing spell over Rosanna and the floor.

There’s nothing to do but wait. Eventually he returns, cup in hand.

“Thank you.”

Draco gives a curt nod.

“You’re pissed at me.” Rosanna accepts the offering, chugging it down.

“I…” Draco chokes out. “I am beyond angry. I am beside myself with worry for you.”

“Draco, I’m so-”

“Don’t,” he warns, “don’t you dare apologize to me. You’re not sorry, you told me you’d do it again!”

“Come here,” Rosanna insists, grabbing his arms and tugging him onto the cot with her. His shoulders are shaking, the entire length of him rigid. As though he’ll break if he softens. “I’m sorry. I am. I’m sorry to worry you, I’m sorry that I upset you. I’m sorry for everything I’ve done.”

The dam breaks and Draco sobs, unabashedly against the crook of her neck. “Please, Rosanna, I am begging you, please don’t do this to me again.”

“I love you.” She continues feebly, “I love you so much and when I saw you…when I saw him hurting you, I lost control. But I’ll learn to reign it in. I’ll learn, I promise. Give me time and I’ll-”

Draco says nothing.

“It’s like you said, to my bones I am yours. I mean that. Do what you want with me. Take my magic, hide me away, keep me to yourself, if that is what you need. I’ll never complain. I have caused you so much heartache, let me give you peace.”

“The only thing I want is a long life with you, quit trying to rob me of it.” Draco breathes, allowing her fingers to card his hair.

“I owe you more than that.” The words to hang between them for a moment before Rosanna amends her statement. “I want to give you more than that. I want to give you everything.” I want to be your solace. I want to give back a fraction of what you’ve given me. “I want to fix this.”

Draco draws back slightly, his forearms on either side of her head, caging her in. Keeping her safe. “Sweetheart, this isn’t broken. It’s ours. You are mine and I am yours. It can never be broken.”

Rosanna nods, tears slipping from her eyes.

“Don’t cry, Ro. I’m tired of making you cry.” His thumbs skate over her cheeks, drawing the moisture away.

————————————————————————

Their friends and family trickle in and out of the hospital, until they are released a few days later.

Even Goyle comes to visit, after they’ve returned home, to some sense of normalcy. “You buggered it,” is all he has to say to his friend’s wife. “I’d been working on Nott for weeks, earning his trust, I even tipped off Draco and Potter. I had it under control. Then you fucked the whole plan right up the arse, put me through a wall, for no bloody reason.”

“Any plan that includes my husband being tortured is a shit plan.” Rosanna cocks her head to the side.

“Would’ve spared you the brain damage.” Goyle says, bitterly. He’s never been particularly fond of Rosanna, but he doesn’t wish her dead.

“She doesn’t have brain damage.” Draco snarls, “I had them check a dozen times, her scans are normal.” He’s struck a nerve.

Rosanna puts a hand over his, squeezing lightly. “I had a brain bleed and some swelling, the only thing affected is my short term memory. But the healer is hopeful that even that is temporary.”

Draco’s fingers twitch beneath hers. “Talk about something else.”

So they do.

Part 19

[randomhuman-bean]

THE HOLLOW KNIGHT'S HALLUCINATIONS - A short story I wrote bc I was bored :P

Wasn't able to go to sleep the other day so I wrote this to pass the time. I really liked it so I spent more time cleaning it up. ------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The Pale King stands on a balcony, staring out into the vast distance. The view is beautiful, it's almost hard to believe it's real. The white sky compliments a beautiful garden that consists of dark green grasses and beautiful flowers, the many distinct colors can keep someone's eyes wandering for hours. Silver bushes covered in thorns adorn fences that clearly need to be touched up. The sound of construction hums in the background, he smiles to himself when he feels something- no- someone, slightly readjusting themself at his side. He looks down, despite knowing that it was just the Pure Vessel by his side. He has always wanted a child- a child of his own, between him and White Lady, and this was it… Only, this one had a purpose, and despite how much he wanted to care for them as if they were his own, he couldn’t.  

Minutes pass, The Pale King has sat down, losing himself to thoughts in head, he gently taps his foot against the ground as he thinks. The Pure Vessel sees him sitting down, and sits down as well, staring off into the distance at nothing. They just followed their father’s orders. A gentle tap on his shoulder pulls the King out of his thoughts. He looks behind himself, seeing what tapped him. A small bug, two wings lifting it off the ground, a hammer in one hand, and a journal in the other. 

“Your Greatness, the buzzsaws have arrived. They expect you to sign this.” 

He hands the journal over. The Wyrm silently puts his signature down, and hands it back to the bug. 

“Thank you, Great Wyrm. Construction on the path should begin soon, I will update you as I get information.” Without saying bye, the bug flies away. Once the Wyrm had been left alone, he realized that he had spent a longer time on the balcony than intended. He stands up and turns toward the Vessel, absentmindedly offering them his hand to get up, as he would do to Hornet.  

The Pure Vessel feels a bit of warmth spread through their body. Was this happiness? Compassion? It didn’t matter, because the feeling disappears almost instantaneously. Even if it didn’t go, they didn’t have a mind to reflect on it anyway. They reach out for their father’s hand, except that isn’t what The Hollow Knight finds. They grasp at nothing.  

The scene fades… 

Peace and tranquility are replaced with pain and desperation, a sharp nail digging into their back, a nail that wasn’t their own. What had happened? Looking around from the ground, they see that they are no longer chained up. Unfortunately, there isn’t much more time to linger on what happened, the nail from before finds itself back in The Hollow Knight’s body. Against their will, their one arm lifts them up off the ground until they are standing up straight. They throw their head back, a loud, unyielding screech emanates from their body. They begin carrying themself towards the Ghost that attacked them. They try to resist it, but it’s hard to after so long of being worn down psychologically, mentally, and physically. 

It’s a battle of mind, the mind The Hollow Knight wasn’t supposed to have. They are hardly able to focus on the fight against Ghost as they struggle against the Radiance. Tears of amber streak down their face and onto the floor, creating quiet thunks that can’t be heard over the overwhelmingly loud fight. Nails clash, infection bubbles pop and spread, spells are cast, and the Radiance can be heard through the vessel’s body. Ghost relents, taking a break to heal. The Hollow Knight brings their nail up, slowly walking towards the Ghost, preparing to strike. 

For a moment, their will overpowers Hers, and they bring their nail down on themself instead. It makes disgusting squelching and popping sounds as it goes through the heart of the infection on their body. They pull the nail out, and stab again. And again. And. Again. It’s all in rapid succession, the desperation can be felt in the very air around them. Every stab feels just as painful as the last, a sharp, stinging pain that refuses to go away, lingering, spreading all throughout their body. Eventually, they slump down as their eyes close, exhausted from the effort. 

When they open their eyes, they see something strange, their father's hand outstretched for them to grab. Had he come back for them? To save them, and bring them back home? They slowly take their hand off the blade and reach out for The Pale King’s hand. When they attempt to grasp his hand though, nothing happens, it just phases through. Tears well up in their eyes as they wave their hand through their father’s incorporeal form. “Please” They think, though, the more they swat, the farther he gets from them, and it may just be their head, but it looks like he gives them a disapproving look. As he gets further away, the full picture begins to unfold…   

The Pure Vessel looks up at their father, reaching their tiny nub of a hand up to him, and placing it in the King’s. The Hollow Knight couldn’t believe it -nor did they want to. Who was that?? Was that them? It couldn’t be! 

The two begin to walk off, agonizingly slow, forcing the tortured knight to watch each. Individual. Step. They reach out again, trying to get their father’s attention, wanting to scream, but only being met with the Radiance’s screeches. They begin to go silent once they see the two phase through the door. They weren’t even real. Any will to fight that they had, got destroyed in that instant. They just slump down further, grabbing the nail implanted in their torso, and pulling it out, their orange eyes growing brighter…

[lovelyyandereaddictionpoint]

Yandere Himbo Househusband: Morgan Jox

“I got this baby! Rock the world, lovebug!” 

Ever supportive and Ever enthusiastic 

Muscles either completely exposed or practically tearing past his small t-shirt

He sends you off with more energy than your caffeinated drink

He waits until your out of sight

Going through his schedule to decide which intensive workout he’s doing before his chores

After his squats or pull-ups he prepares for another daily exercise

Pulling up the recent picture of you either working out or still sleeping as he left for his morning run he’s fully ready

“(Y/n)!!! IS THE PERFECT HUMAN BEING!!!”

“THEIR EYES ARE THE MOST ATTRACTIVE OF ALL!”

“MY (Y/n) IS MY (Y/N)!!!”

He so loud the other housespouses can hear him

He makes it a routine to shout about all the awesome things he sees in you

He would do it to your face but you get so embarrassed he can’t really do it around

So this how he gets his fix

He’ll also replay the most recent memories of the last time you had intercourse

Then he begins his chores

Gentle with the appliances because he knows he can be rough

Lightly going through your laundry so he doesn’t rip anything

Carefully planting your favorite flowers in the yard

And he’ll either order or start some meal prep 

but once that's done he’s heading to his underground  ring:

“Nice ta see ya again Jox!” 

“Rapstley, you know not to use that name here.”

“Sure sure.”

Despite the twitch in his smile he hugs the ratty coach before proceeding to focus on properly lining his knuckles. 

“..h-hey y-ya sure ya want ta do this? He’s just trying to emb’rrass ya, I don’t thinks he really wants yer uh love bug or anythin’”

Morgan tested his grip tightly closing his fist as he recalled the maddening threat before letting his typical smile shine deviously on his face. He kept his eyes on his ebony knuckles as he mentally filled his head with his favorite moments of you before meeting the anxiously creased eyes of Rapstley. 

“Nope. I’ve made up my mind. As their husband it’d be stupid if I didn’t defend their name Besides–”

He waited at the beaded doorway watching his opponent jump around to the reaction of the crowd. His smile twitched but remained unshaken as he set his sights on the teeth of his opponent.

“I’ve already decided that they're mine.”

Ding* Ding*

“Weeeellll members of our underground audience the Behemoth is still smashing this guy—what's his name? Nevermind doesn’t matter—is getting his head mashed into human slush! Sounding like a pretty good snack right now, this is why you–?

*DON’T THREATEN LOVEBUG!!!!*

“That’s right folks! Behemoth should– Never. Be. Tested. Or rather keep doin’ it because weeee lovelovelove your—?”

*DEMISE*

“As promised, Behemoth will be going home with that million dollar cash prize!!! See ya next time folks!” 

__________________________________________

“B-babe?! Why did our joint account go up to three million? Is this a mistake? Who do we call–?”

“No no lovebug! Remember my friend at the gym? He needed a trainer and he was…particularly generous this time around.” 

“T-that’s crazy! D-did you thank him?”

“Of course baby, I fixed him one of those famous protein shakes!” 

“Oh that's really sweet, that is if it's as expensive to make as the rumors say.”

“Don’t worry about it Lovebug! Now will you help me do my push ups.”

“Y-you mean by sitting on you’re back?”

“Yup! C’mon Lovebug, make my day…or we can do another workout…”

[wolveria]

The Raven’s Hymn - Ch 11

Pairing: SCP-049 x Reader

Series Warnings (18+ only): Eventual smut, dubcon, slow burn, violence, horror, monsters, human experiments, dark with a happy ending

Chapter Summary: Judging by the Site Director’s expression when you were led to a small room with an interview table, he was pleased with the results. As you were forced into a chair and chained to a loop on top of the table, you couldn’t relate.

Chapter Warning: Human experimentation

AO3

You were given a total of fifteen minutes to remain in your cell with a tray of food and told to prepare for the next phase of testing. You ate what you could stomach and rested while you could, because the guards were at your door all too soon.

No one told you where you were going, but you paid attention to the levels and containment zones. It wasn’t much comfort when you were led to Light Containment, as SCPs that were simple to contain didn’t necessarily mean they were harmless.

But when you went into a simple testing chamber and an orange blob that quivered with delight waited behind a glass door, you nearly sobbed with relief. You did end up making some kind of noise that was almost a laugh when the creature wiggled with the pure, simple happiness of a puppy spotting a new playmate.

You wondered if this was Dr. Puli’s doing, that perhaps he had brought SCP-999 to the testing chamber for psychological soothing. The Site Director certainly didn’t care about your mental welfare, and you didn’t know what other reason there could be for bringing in—

Leahy’s voice cracked over the intercom.

“Next test, begin. SCP-049-3, make physical contact with SCP-999 using your hand.”

The glass door parted, and with more speed than one would think of an entity without legs, the orange blob zoomed across the room and begged at your feet to be petted.

“Why? What’s going on?”

999 might be one of the nicer SCPs at the Foundation, but the Site Director being involved meant this wouldn’t end well.

“SCP-049-3, make physical contact with SCP-999 using your hand,” he repeated, his tone indicating you wouldn’t like what would happen if you disobeyed.

Wishing the Site Director would drop dead already, you reached out to the SCP, knowing as soon as you touched it, all negative thoughts would fly from your head to be replaced by pure joy. SCP-999 had the particular effect of filling those it met with love and happiness. No matter how violent the creature or person, being “cuddled” by 999 would make you the most docile, gentle being in existence.

When you contacted the warm, gelatinous surface, you knew something was wrong. Not only was the happy euphoria absent that should have accompanied the touch, but SCP-999 made a whimpering noise and sank into an amorphous pile of orange goo.

What?

You’d come into contact with 999 before—it was routine after a certain amount of time in order to keep spirits and morale high on the staff. It wasn’t allowed full rein of the facility as it had at other sites, but it did sometime have free roam of the staff areas while being monitored.

“You may release SCP-999,” Leahy ordered unnecessarily. You’d already done so, horrified you’d hurt the harmless, friendly SCP. But as soon as you broke skin contact, it sprang back up and made an inquisitive chirping noise. It tried to rub against your thigh like an especially large friendly cat, and it looked up at you with puppy-dog eyes when nothing happened.

Nothing. Not a thing. No happiness or joy, no warm feelings of knowing everything would be all right in the world.

Despite no pain or torment being involved with this experiment, it still felt like a horrific experiment had taken place when the guards hauled you away. What was happening? What had they done to 999 to make it this way?

Your struggles were met with the butt of a riffle jammed into your stomach, causing you to double over and gasp for breath. You stopped resisting after that. It was better to wait and see what came next, because you certainly weren’t getting away from highly trained security carrying P90s.

The next room you were dumped wasn’t familiar, but it had a simple design of four plexiglass walls reinforced with titanium corners. The space around you appeared to be empty, but that didn’t necessarily mean it was.

“Next test, begin. SCP-049-3, are you able to see anything in the room?”

You’d backed into a corner and were huddled in a defensive position, not wanting to be attacked from behind.

“No,” you answered, too tense to give him anything more than that.

“Keep looking.”

You didn’t want to. You wanted to do the opposite, cover your face with your hands and pray it was all a nightmare, or if it wasn’t, that it would be over soon. If the Site Director would just tell you what SCP you were being forced to face, then you could at least prepare yourself, but that would defeat the purpose of a clean test. Especially if it was a type of SCP where your knowledge of it could change your perception of it.

Now you knew how it felt to be a D-Class.

You focused on one corner of the room and held your breath. Only when your focus was wholly on one spot did you sense it. Something in the upper left corner of the cubed room. Watching. Observing.

You buried your face in your hands, ignoring the Site Director’s commands to open your eyes and watch. You couldn’t bear to look at the thing that was going to end your life.

But… nothing happened. You sensed the SCP watching you, but nothing else, and over time the fear drained from your mind. Your breathing slowed as did your heart, calmness settling over your body. You knew it wasn’t going to hurt you, though you didn’t know how you knew.

With your face still pressed to the top of your knees, you carefully stretched out one arm, palm facing forward. You kept it there, but you couldn’t quite understand why. It seemed the right thing to do.

Light skittering noises came from the glass as the SCP moved down the wall, nearly silent clicking claws as it reached the concrete flooring. Something thin and flexible tickled your hand, as if curiously exploring it.

You forced yourself to keep still and silent. After several seconds heavy in anticipation, something smooth bumped against your palm, resting there. The texture was cool and hard, reminding you of some kind of shell.

You cautiously raised your head and stared at the SCP. It had several stick-like limbs, a glossy green carapace, and feelers that stuck out from either side of its head that wavered, testing the air.

Its head was pressed against your hand, very much like an animal demanding attention, and it made a clicking noise in response to eye contact. Only then did you realize what it was, and it had taken you this long to recognize it because technically, no one had laid eyes on it apart from glimpses and shadows.

SCP-372.

“Are you getting this?”

The insect flinched and raised its antennae, the clicking noise becoming a startled screech, and it skittered away. As soon as you broke contact, it vanished into thin air. In truth, this SCP didn’t vanish, it simply vibrated at a frequency that allowed it to flicker at a rate that was between the neural impulses that go from the eyes to the brain. It literally hides within plain sight.

At least, until you’d touched it. Why it had even allowed you to touch it, you didn’t know.

Judging by the Site Director’s expression when you were led to a small room with an interview table, he was pleased with the results. As you were forced into a chair and chained to a loop on top of the interview table, you couldn’t relate.

With the Site Director himself present, you expected this to be some kind of interview following the experiments.

Instead, a junior researcher you recognized entered the room. He was carrying a wooden box, and while he didn’t say anything to you directly, Kenneth gave an apologetic wince as he placed the box directly in front of you and opened the lid.

A jade ring lay inside. Though you hadn’t seen it in person yourself, you recognized SCP-714. Another relic of Site-19 after it was shut down.

“You may go,” Leahy said, dismissing the only friendly face you’d seen in… how long had it been? A week? Less?

Kenneth mumbled a “yes, sir,” and left the room, sending you one last glance of regret. It gave you hope that not all of your old colleagues saw you as a test subject like the Site Director clearly did.

“Put on the ring.”

No formal announcements of tests this time. Leahy didn’t even have any notes or his tablet. He simply watched, two-armed security personnel flanking you on either side of your chair.

Not that they would be needed. If 714 worked as it was supposed to, you’d be as sedated as if you’d received a dose of muscle relaxant with a chaser of morphine.

“Please,” you tried one last time, your voice cracking. “Tell me what’s going on.”

Leahy stared straight through you. He wasn’t going to answer, and there was no point in testing his patience.

One benefit to wearing SCP-714, you wouldn’t care much about anything in a moment.

That is, if it worked correctly.

You picked up the jade ring, beautiful in its simplicity, and slipped it on your finger. It was too large to fit, but as soon as you pushed it down all the way, it shrunk to the perfect size.

It was as if all the lights in your brain were flicked on at once, and each of those bulbs had the power of football stadium lighting. Your thoughts expanded, your mind racing as your eyes darted around the room. Alert was an understatement; you took in the whole of the room and catalogued every detail of it perfectly, down to each of the Site Director’s eyelashes.

“What are you experiencing?” he asked, his voice slow and muddled to your ears. Already you took his question and manipulated it like clay, tearing it apart and turning it over to shape it into something that revealed the truth.

You had an anomalous effect on other SCPs. It wasn’t just SCP-049, though it was perhaps the first. You seemed to either negate the anomalous effects of SCPs, or even stranger, caused them to create the opposite of their intended effect.

You’d make the ever-joyful 999 sad. You’d pinned down the elusive 372. The jade ring had plugged your brain into an overloaded socket that would have been overwhelming if your mind hadn’t been able to keep up, filing away the details of each of your senses and documenting every complex thought that sprang upward like an errant weed.

And SCP-049: instead of it killing you, it had cured you, and while in contact with it you negated its lethal touch.

The Foundation was studying you, not because of 049, but because you were being evaluated as an SCP.

You came to this conclusion as Leahy finished saying the word: “experiencing.”

Rising to your feet, you moved so fast you broke the handcuffs binding you to the table. Both men on either side of you aimed their guns at your head—but you hadn’t meant to do it, your body was functioning on another level, and you had to adjust—

The guards were yelling at you now, screaming at you to put down the “weapon.” Your anger was as quick to appear as your new intelligence.

Your left hand struck one guard in the throat, causing him to stumble as you sent a kick back into the stomach of the second guard. Grabbing the gun from the first guard, you pulled it apart in your hands, ripping off the barrel from the body of the weapon.

The second guard had almost rallied by the time you took his gun and smashed the butt downward into his helmet, sending him dropping to the ground.

The first guard held up his now-empty hands, terror bleeding from his cowering posture even if you couldn’t see past his visor.

But you weren’t going to kill the guards. No, you spun to face your true target—and took two wired prongs to the chest.

Pain erupted up your body, coursing through your rib cage and down your limbs. Your knees gave way and you collapsed, twitching as the flow of electricity finally stopped.

Leahy stood over you, the other end of the wires attached to the spent taser in his hand. He reached down and pulled the ring off your numb finger, placing it back into its wooden box.

His lips were pulled into a sneer of triumph, but there was a reflective shine to his forehead. You might no longer possess the photographic memory you did while wearing the ring, but you could still remember with satisfying details of the mask of terror he’d worn when you’d broken free of your restraints.

The guards didn’t drag you from the room this time. Doctors in white lab coats entered the room, and you were lifted onto a gurney. The sting of a needle was at your neck and the prongs removed from where they’d been embedded in your sternum.

The last image you had were the fluorescent lights passing overhead, one bar after another, hypnotic. Your eyes fluttered closed, and you were dragged down into the darkness where more horrors awaited.

Next Chapter

[arty-ffxiv]

💖Just a gentle nudge to remind you that you're not just existing—you're thriving, even on days when it doesn't feel that way. You're a one-of-a-kind force in this world, bringing light and love in ways you might not even realize. You've overcome so much, and you should be proud of every step you've taken, no matter how small. The world is better with you in it, and you've already made such a difference just by being you. Keep going, keep growing, and never forget how important you are💖

Thank you, who ever you are. This message warmed my heart and has been a well needed reminder ♥

I've not advertised it much, but I've been on a FFXIV/ Tumblr hiatus for the past ~5ish weeks; this blog has been running on old, queued content since then. I'm feeling quite drained and burned out, and frustrated as I'd just gotten back into my creative outlets again.

It's the longest time I've taken away from the game, and I didn't want to step away so soon from the FFXIV Tumblr community again after returning from another long hiatus.

Putting more under the cut, for those interested in IRL stuff. Otherwise, please know that I'm ok, just taking a break.

I've been in a bit of a strange place mentally, since before Dawntrail dropped.

In the week leading up to the expac's early access release, I was made redundant from a job role that I really loved. I'd been in limbo regarding my role for a number of months, and hadn't anticipated any movement or news for at least another few months- things move slowly in the community services world.

I had a week of annual leave booked for the expansion release- I was keen for the break, and excited to be going into the new adventure with the new friends I'd made within the Tumblr FFXIV community.

2 days before I was due to go on leave, I was told I was having a meeting with HR and my line manager. I was advised to bring a support person.

My anxiety sky rocketed, and the next day I was given the news of my redundancy. I was given some options to mull over for the next few days- redeployment to another site, putting in an application for a more senior role with no guarantee I'd be successful, or to leave the organization.

As you can imagine, this put a big dampener on my excitement for Dawntrail. I'm grateful that the news came when it did, so at least my leave was spent with something to focus on instead of just moping about, but it just fucking sucked.

I was spending most of my time on leave in game, trying to keep my mind off work and the mess of emotions and confusion I knew I'd be coming back to. I enjoyed the expac- at least the first half. I wasn't emotionally prepared, or ready, for the second half.

I won't be going into details for those who have yet to finish the MSQ, nor to upset myself further.

The second half of the story was just too much; I spent my time in the last zone consumed with the thoughts of I'm not having fun anymore, I'm not enjoying this, let's just rip this fucking bandaid off and get through it, we can process all the feelings this is dredging up for us later.

Since finishing the MSQ, I've not really done much else in-game or really logged in again. I've been reflecting on it, and I think the ending of the expac triggered some deep-seated traumas for me. This, coupled with the grief and mixed emotions of moving into a new work environment, has really exhausted me.

I'm 5 weeks into my new workplace, and I'm enjoying it but am just so exhausted. While I'm still in the same organization, my workload is more than it was previously and I've lost the motivation I'd only recently gotten back for FFXIV and creating.

Hopefully now that I've gone through the motions of resettling and learning the ropes in this new space, my creativity will begin to come back. I can only hope.

[aggrus]

Theme: Cream

Setting: The Archive

\Resonance: [STABLE] \Attunement: [MEDIUM] \Variance: [LOW] \Begin: Y A book titled "101 uses for dragon" written by [____] and from initiality [____]. The chosen page today, as all others are misaligned, is the recipe for "dragon's milk." A relatively simple concoction provided one can find the ingredients. Let us begin the transcription.

"Ah dragon's milk. A treat for all ages really, even if some [____] want to think they're too "ascended" for it nowadays! Back when I was just a wee sprot it was always so nice to go to the ma's house, pull up a chair with some nice and bad friends, and help them make the dish. Of course some of youse reading this might gawk at letting any sort of sprot, finling, or todder around such a potentially dangerous dish but that's just how it was back then. The taste of ichor really did add to the flavor, ha, ha! You're free to keep it out of this version of the recipe though. I've gone through extensive research and brainplumbing to acquire the simplest, most pure version for y'all to try for yourself. Now let's stop the gabbing and get to it."

"Keep a pot of water at 180 decins exact for at least 30 tin. The temperature will burn out any spiritual impurities in the water. Of course if you can get your hands on a few salvos of already clarified water feel free to use that but do put it on the heat for a little to help with the emulsion. Next you'll need to take 25 sR (Salve-ratio for those who don't know. Check the conversions at the beginning of the book for help!) of tonic sap and put that on the heat as well. The heat doesn't need to be exact but bubbles do need to form on the surface of the mash! If you don't have two heating implements (I know the difficulties) just be sure to stir the sap for the entire time the water is attaining clarity. That should provide enough stimulation to get what we want out of the sap."

"While you wait (if you can take your eyes off the water that is!) you can prepare a few other ingredients as well. Since this will be a bare bones version of dragon's milk you won't need to get anything especially difficult like duck's hoof or carmon. We'll save those for the other version later in this book! No all you'll need is a bag of wrot. Not even the whole bag. Just 5 caches from it. Whisk lightly until fully dusted then set aside. Next you'll need 1 sprig of fallila. You don't need to do anything other than leave it out to get ripe while we prepare everything else."

"Once the water and sap are ready mix them together into a separate pot so you don't contaminate either with impurities. Toss the fallila and wrot inside. Now it's time for the most important ingredient. 3 shedscales from a dragon. The exact variety won't matter much for the actual baking but will drastically change the flavor profile. For a more tart taste, go with any color from ochre to crimson. For something more "refreshing", a cerulean scale does wonders. Don't use any scale below 4 lums without treating it first or you'll need some extra steps from the more advanced recipe later in the book!"

"Preparing yourself mentally, toss the scale into the mix and quickly cover up the pot. If you have latches, use them to keep it closed. If not, well, that's why I always ate with friends when I was younger, ha, ha! No matter what do not remove the lid until the activity in the pot achieves a more mellow burbling rather than the frantic thrashing it will be doing. This should, on average, take only 5 tin but it can take longer. Once it's died down, go fetch a large bowl (We used to use the one for hopgrass) and pour the now finished dragon's milk inside. Feel free to eat with just a spoon but I've become partial to using it as a dip. Just be sure the dragon's milk doesn't bite you while you do! Now onto our next tasty treat."

What drivel. Honestly I don't understand the curiosity with eating. I've never done it and I'm fine.

\End: Y

[carpehistoryandthepens]

Legacy (what is a legacy?) Part 4

It’s planting seeds in a garden you never get to see I wrote some notes at the beginning of a song someone will sing for me

Hamilton, the world was wide enough. LMM.

one, two, three

Summary: Mike is 13. Born May 2009. Sid didn’t know he had a son. All Mike had was hope and a prayer for his and his half-sister’s safety.

(Sid is a dad of a teen he didn’t know about AU) Sidgeno.

Warnings: (for the total story) post-child abuse (all off-screen but it affects things and is spoken about often), learning how to parent, panic attacks, anxiety, based on last season, OCs?, realization about sexuality. Post breakups. Desperate lack of in-depth research for CPS in both PA/CA, melodrama?, kidfic, angst, slowburn, playing fast and loose with the law for drama/storytelling purposes.

-

Taking the ice for practice the day after talking to Geno over lunch, Sid felt much more centered than he had the day before. He was ready for this season. He could face the public, his team, his enemies, other teams, the media, kids being adorable with the Little Penguins. No matter what happens, he was prepared for this season.

Talking with Geno always helped get him in the right mindset for a season. That had been true since the moment they met in Mario's home. 

Geno was already in the locker room when sid got there, which would have been a surprise, but some fans had cornered Sid on the way in. While Sid had been stuck signing various hats, cards, and jerseys, Geno had blown past him in one of his super small, fast cars. 

Geno shot him a confident smile when they stepped onto the ice, immediately grabbing the puck sid was going for and starting to play keep-away. Sid felt that grin to the bottom of his toes. They could do this. They could take on anything.

The practice is still open to the public. The Return-to-Normal season operations was a relief. It was weird during the pandemic not tohave fans in the stands for most of training camp. Sid had long learned to ignore the people in the stands, which made their absence even more glaring. As the team warmed up and got ready for whatever Sully would throw at them that day, Sid looked around the stands. 

Having games and practices in arenas with no one to watch in person was even more bizarre than just practice rinks. It seemed like a punishment rather than protection. He understood, mostly - some of the Covid rules were just stupid, but Sid followed them as a good leader should.  

He was glad that the pandemic was past the first few years. Sid kind of missed going out with the masks, though. It had been a long time (if ever) since he had been that incognito in Pittsburgh. 

Sid pushed past the returned novelty of fans in the stands for training camp and focused on what Sully was saying. He could both be happy the fans were back and still frustrated that all he saw was families. Today was a good day to remind himself why he loved to play for people, even if they included people who got to live parts of life he never would. 

The next time he looked up and focused on the people surrounding the ice, the practice was half over. He paused to lean on the boards near the benches and get water from a waiting Bio Steel bottle. Sid frowned at it for a second before he took a swig. He hated change, and this was a big one. Sid couldn't help his mental expression at the new branding could be summed up as ">:("

As Sid gazed out at the stands, he took note of the people who had come. Many reporters, obviously, a few families were watching the practice, and a few WAG hopefuls all styled up and attempting to catch the attention of the rookies without looking too desperate. Some of the rookies had parents in the stands. Sid nodded at the group.  

It was a school day, so as Sid expected, there were fewer kids than yesterday. Sid put his water bottle down and reminded himself that he should give some of the younger ones a puck or two before he got off the ice at some point. He might be dying for kids now, and interacting with them hurt on some level, but he wouldn't ignore some hopeful young hockey fans. He took one long look around to take stock of the age group – that would determine if it was a puck or a stick he gave away – but Sid's eyes locked on the kid directly opposite the bench in the stands. 

It was the same kid as yesterday, looking even more exhausted and rumpled and staring at him with familiar eyes framed with bruises. The kid was wearing the same clothing as the day before, and now that Sid was looking at him closely, there was a faded black eye and a cut on his face. The kid's wary expression let Sid doubt that the enforcer look was only because of hockey. At least not the U16 he was thinking about yesterday. 

The boy looked even more tired than the day before, and the girl was running around playing with a worn stuffed unicorn, and Sid saw a small, purple child's size luggage sitting next to the overstuffed hockey bag. The boy wasn't wearing a jacket; his - or at least Sid assumed it was his – was wrapped around the girl as she moved along the benches of the stands, making her seem smaller than she probably was. 

Something about them set off every bell in Sid's head. The teen tempted the girl into eating a pretzel from the snack counter and drinking from a blue shaker bottle with a Superman emblem and about a dozen stickers. 

Sid kept an eye on them for the rest of the practice. It was the last rep he finally got close enough to take in all the details about the kids. What he saw nearly made Sid trip over his skates. 

Littering the skin up and down the teen's uncovered arms were bruises in various stages of healing. Sid had spent too long in the hockey world not to know the timeline of most bruising like the back of his hand. Most of the bruises that decorated the kid's face looked at least a week to two weeks old but were deep. 

There was bruising on the boy's face, and, when the oversized jacket sleeve slipped down, there was bruising along the girl's arms, and fading black eyes on both. Sid felt his stomach drop; The girl couldn't be over four years old. The teen was young too. Hell, Sid might be optimistic about calling the kid a teen. He didn't know. 

One of the WBS defensemen stole the puck from him, and Sid jerked his attention back to the drill. He won the puck back and nearly scored. Jarry's creative swearing let Sid know the goalie was ready for the season. 

The moment he could, Sid broke off and caught the attention of one of Tag's practice assistants and a trainer. The assistant is in school to be a counselor – a sports counselor but a counselor, nonetheless. The trainer was back up. Anthony and Charlie. At the moment, Sid did not remember which was which. All he could hear was the blood rushing in his ears as he realized what might be going on. 

Sid had to do something. And this was the best idea he had on short notice. 

The two walked away; Sid attempted to force his attention back to the practice entirely. He kneeled with the other guys at center ice and listened carefully to Sully's instructions. He did his best at the 'actual last, I promise; I'm planning on working you hard for the game tomorrow' drill. 

Sid did his best not to look back at the bench where Anthony and Charlie were still talking to the kid and his sister during the rest of practice. 

He wasn't successful by the side eyes most of the team gave him. They shuffled him along as they returned to the center ice to stretch and cool down. When the team let him settle down, Sid had a clear view of the conversation happening in the stands, even if he couldn't hear it. Rinks never had good acoustics for conversation - just the sound of pucks hitting boards and blades scraping on ice. 

Sid looked around at his team, annoyed to be so blatantly caught. Geno smirked at him, delighting in his pout. "Why the ring around the Rosie?" Sid bit out, trying to keep his eyes away from the small group off the ice. He failed with a quick glance at the stands.

Rusty laughed a little under his breath. "Sid. You kept getting distracted." That got a lot of mummers of agreement from the guys. 

"Yeah," Carts said from across the circle, "Dude, whatever you're planning on doing, I'm sure it will be accepted. You are Sidney Crosby." That got a roll of laughter from the team. 

Sid didn't want to explain, at least not on the ice. "Fine, if that's what you think, Cartsy, you can lead the team in stretches." Sid put his captain's voice on to ensure the conversation ended. 

Jeff grumbled jokingly but did as he was told, taking the cue from Sid to drop the topic. 

For now. 

Sid knew his team and was unsurprised when he was inundated with questions when they were off the ice and back in the practice rink's locker room. Their voices were a loud happy cacophony that Sid could bearly make out individual questions from. 

"Sid, what's up?" 

"Who's the kid, Sid?" 

"Whatcha planning?" 

"Ooo, are you going to steal some kids, cap?" 

"Nah, he's going to make a kid's day, rookie!" 

Sid watched his team gently chip him over his actions as he always did. Sid let the group go on for a while they all got changed and ready for the showers. The team video review wasn't until after lunch, and that wasn't for an hour. 

Sully seemed pleased at how the team skated during practice, so he hadn't followed them into the locker room to finish getting his points across. 

The team was feeling it, and Sid was happy just to let the atmosphere of the room wash over him. Geno draped himself over his shoulder despite his locker being across the room. He was mostly undressed from his kit and had a towel wrapped around his broad shoulders. Sid wanted to bite them like always, but the feeling wasn't new or uncommon around the rink, so Sid didn't think of it too much. He always felt like that around a good set of shoulders - jealously or envy, he had long attributed it to. "Now, Sidney Crosby, help all the kids. He does not just steal one." Geno crooned. 

Tanger snorted disbelievingly as he passed toward the showers, and Dumo and Rusty gaffed as they trailed behind him. 

"G." Jake said as he pulled off the last of his gear and walked away from his stall, "You know the WAGs have a standing suggestion to new parents to the team that if their kid goes missing, just call Sid first? That they are most likely with him?" 

Sid shook Geno off in protest and glared at the room. He pulled off his jersey and gear, saying, "That was once! With Duper's kids! Twelve years ago!" Sid had a distinct impression that he squawked, but he refused to admit that in the room. To do so was to admit weakness and allow the sharks (Geno, Tanger, Rusty, Dumo, Jeff, Petey…. well, his whole damn team, now that Sid thought about it) to take advantage. While he was just one of the boys, the key was not to be too obvious. 

Geno laughed as he walked away from Sid's stall and toward the showers. "Anna has that too!" he said, completely selling out Sid's occasional 'Can I borrow your son?' outings with Nikita. "He always brings back." 

So sue Sid, they didn't happen often but often enough that Anna has called Sid before. Rarely…. But it has happened. Nikita was a delight. 

The team laughed and didn't stop the chirping until most of them were well into the post-practice showers. 

Sid glared at Geno, mostly jokingly, in a good mood after the worry Sid had carried all practice. But making Sid happy was Geno's goal as he grinned at Sid as they washed off. So, Sid did his best to plot instead of admitting how happy Geno's attention made him.

While Sid couldn't believe Geno would sell him out like that, he knew it was meant in a good place. So, Sid would have to do something to get Geno back appropriately. Nothing too bad, but something that let Geno know that it was not ok just to sell him out to the team like that. 

From Geno's smirk in the showers, Geno could feel Sid's thought process. Which now made it a challenge for Sid to prank Geno. This was the game they had been playing for years, and Sid was looking forward to it. 

Sid was grateful that the reporters wouldn't be allowed into the room post-practice for another week. That meant he could be there with the boys and their post-practice chirping. 

When Sid finally got washed off and returned to his stall, the trainer's assistant and Jen entered the room. 

Immediately the loud, boisterous chatter of the boys' post-practice died off as attention turned to the pair. When Jen came into the locker room - one of them had media, and they wouldn't be able to fight it. Her people only called her in when they needed the big guns. 

"Sid," the trainer said in an odd tone; Anthony, Sid remembered, Tag's assistant was Charlie. That's right. "Can you come with us?" 

Sid didn't even wait, "Is it about the kids?" 

Anthony hesitated a weird expression on his face. 

However, Jen didn't pause. "Yes. Can you come?" she said firmly. Her ability to hold an even expression is one of the reasons she was so damn good at her job, but around her eyes, there was a hint of disbelief and shock. 

Sid didn't think most of the team could see that except him, Tanger, and Geno. The ones who had been with her the longest. 

The sudden pit in his stomach was growing with each passing word. Something was up. 

God, he hoped he wasn't right, 

"Just let me get dressed," Sid said, rapidly reaching for his street clothes.

"Come on, G, you know you want to make a kid's day," Tanger called from across the room, sounding unaffected in a way that belied how his eyes were worried. He was mostly dressed and fixing his hair. 

Geno laughed, nearly genuine – if someone hadn't been with the man damn near daily since they had been teenagers, like Sid, Tanger, or even Jen had been, "Yes. Make day; see me!" 

That broke the team's silence. The rest of the team fell back into the regular routine of getting ready for lunch and video review; Sid sped through getting dressed. There was an odd atmosphere to the chirping and yelling. Everyone on the team saw something was up and followed Sid's leadership in acting normally. 

Jen didn't protest, but Anthony looked like he might. Most of the team missed Jen's slight nod but not the core. 

Sid was officially weirded out by this and had to know what was happening. 

Tanger and Geno flanked him as they followed Jen and Anthony into a trainer's room just off the practice ice. Sid had been in the room several times; it wasn't the principal trainer's room in the practice rink – closer to the locker room – but it was smaller but fully stocked. 

It usually wasn't occupied by two kids, and a woman Sid had never seen before but had a badge around her neck with Child Welfare Services written on it and her name directly underneath, Helena. 

Sid opened his mouth to greet the kids in a standard meet and greet, but something stopped him. Maybe it was the boy's baby fat or the way he stood as he met Sid's gaze and steeled himself, but the kid looked just like Sid did in the photos and videos of interviews from when he was young. 

Tanger and Geno filtered into the room as Sid stepped through. It was crowded in the small office now, but by the stern look the CWS rep gave him, something more important than fire codes or sitting places was up. 

"Sid," Jen said, then paused, seemingly unable to find the words. 

Charlie took over. "Sid, this is Michael Hernandez and his sister Marisol Hernandez-Diaz." He gestured to the boy and the little girl. 

"Hello, Michael. Hi, Marisol." Sid said, finally putting on his 'meet and greet with kids' face. He likes kids, and it was close to the genuine smile any of his media smiles got. 

Michael didn't respond beyond just staring at Sid, but that sometimes happens, so Sid chose not to worry too much. 

His sister waved a hand excitedly in the air. "Hola!" she sang out, taking her attention away from her brother for a moment. There was a Spanish accent to her words. Whomever her parents were, they were teaching her to be bilingual. 

Sid offered her a hand to shake. And she took with delight, her smile bright and wide. 

"Mike! Water p'r favor." she asked when she looked away from Sid. 

Her question shook Michael from his staring, “Claro, Mari, aquí está tu taza,” he said in Spanish. He held out the blue shaker bottle. Marisol took it carefully and didn't spill anything as she drank. 

Sid didn't understand the words, but he did understand the motions. He watched them interact with a deep longing that he didn't expect. Sid pushed the smile on his face a little harder. He would not mess this up for the kids just because he wanted to be a father. 

"Sid," Jen said again. 

Sid turned, and Jen gestured to the chair next to her. "You might want to sit down for this." 

Sid raised an eyebrow but made no move to the chair, choosing to remain standing. "What's up?" he wasn't injured. So why had she asked?

"Michael here," Jen said bluntly, "He thinks you are his biological father." 

Sid hadn't fainted in years, not since the worst of the concussion, but he came damn close. 

He stumbled and nearly collapsed into the chair that Jen pointed out. 

Behind him, Tanger and Geno hurried forward to flank him in the chair. Geno put a hand on his solder to keep Sid from leaning too far forward. 

Michael was watching him react. He was staring at Sid with an expression that Sid could read, mainly because it was a Forbes expression from the bones. Literally. He had Sid's cheek and pre-surgery jaw. Hope and fear. Like he didn't know how he would survive if he got what he wanted, good and bad. 

The last time he had seen that expression, his sister had told him of the college she was going to for hockey. It came from his mother's side of the family. 

And Michael looked just like him. 

But also, Sid's eyes were staring back at him with that expression. 

Oh. 

Oh shit.

[serenofroses]

some random short snippet because writing block and motivation ran away. putting my embarrasing writing under cut. very heavy canon divergent imperial agent because fuck canon.

"Keep your eyes out--these patrol droids will come around by any minute."

The former Dark Councillor stepped into the unattended office within the Archive, with Marr stood by the door watching Jadus approach the terminal and set to work, the zabrak took this indication to remain on guard-readying their lightsaber incase.

The probe droids were active and alerted by unidentified intruders. What they're doing was borderlining into a breach of security as files of many agents and datas left uncompromised.

But neither Sith care about that matter after Ania's files were leaked to the mysterious group and Jadus had a pretty good guess to whom was responsible for this.

All they needed to do was find any intels about Ania's link to the brainwashing program and get out undeteched.

Marr hid their emotions and thoughts well--Ania had been on their mind since she left them a recording. They're worried for her, wondering how she's coping mentally and emotionally.

“For what it’s worth," Jadus spoke up, breaking the silence between them, "I’m glad it’s you.”

Marr blinked in disbelief hearing this confession as they turned around to face the former Dark Councillor at the desk while remaining on guard, “Come again?”

Jadus’ attention was glued onto the terminal as they continued to search for files linking to the brainwash program left behind by their predecessor, “I don’t need to repeat myself.”

“Except I needed some elaboration on that.” Marr prodded for explanation.

It was then Jadus decided to glance up from the screen to stare at the masked warlord with a heaved perplexed sigh.

“You took Anastasia under your protection after Tenebrae ordered for her execution while I was imprisoned–guess that wasn’t obvious enough.”

Jadus had to bit on their tongue to finally admit this since Marr broke them out of Nathema prison, "You were the only Sith I respected the most than anyone else."

Marr was surprised by their confession, "That's... not something I would expect to hear from you."

Jadus clicked their tongue, "Don't be surprised--you were there for her when I was absent at the time, which was a costly error on my end. I should had protected her... that was my promise."

"An error?"

"Losing her to you was... humiliating as it is." Jadus scoffed, recalling the taunts from the warden who sought to rise a reaction out of them, "At least she's under your political protection."

Marr remembered the conversation they had with Ania while the ship's in hyperspace enroute to Alderaan to recuperate their strengths. Ania opened up to them about her relationship with Jadus.

They recalled her showing them the ring box.

"Would things had been any different if she accepted your marriage proposal?"

Jadus paused a moment to think about this.

If things had been any different, had they waited a little longer before departing for the Dominator to begin the terror network but time wasn't a factor back then. Or perhaps, they had wondered if they should've proposed to her and married her in secret before Ania was sent to Hutta for a mission.

The terminal pinged alerting the Sith's attention, disrupting their thoughts.

"Found something." Jadus announced, "My predecessor was a fool to hide this intel from me."

"What did you find?"

"Files of recordings linking to Castellan Restraints. Most of these were arranged on per argeement between my predecessor, the Minister and Sith scientists."

The two Sith ceased as the siren started to raise alarms, blared loudly throughout the building. Marr cursed--not expecting this to be turned out differently than they predicted. But breaking Jadus out of prison had dire consequences.

"I trust you are prepared for this, Lord Marr." Jadus warned them as they began to download the files from the terminal, "Because it won't be long enough for our presence to be discovered by one of our own. The Imperial Guards will be on high alert and brand you as a traitor for your involvement with me."

"Gather everything we need." Marr unclipped their lightsaber from their belt, "Then tell me when you're done. I trust that you have an escape route planned."

"What makes you think I have an escape route?" Jadus raised their brow at them.

Marr stared at the former Dark Councillor for a moment, "There is an alternative exit, right?"

"Marr..." Jadus said with an amused tone, "The only way out of this Archives was through the same way we came in. There isn't any alternative exit out of here."

"You're joking... there's no other way out?" Marr spoke with a deadpan expression.

"Unless you're more willing to squeeze yourself through the vents?" Jadus smirked at the thought of the famed warlord crawling through the air ducts, "That'll be a sight to see."

".... Fuck."