#failed. absolutely failed. not working at all

[destinysbounty]

One thing I find unexpectedly fascinating about Monstrosity is that when you think about it, it'd really only work with Kai as the protagonist. And I don't just mean that because Rusty could only be awakened by a fire elemental, and without Rusty Kai would've died at the spooky death-siren lake - although that's definitely a part of the equation. What I mean is that Kai's specific personality was vital to not only his survival, but also to the retention of his humanity, and that likely wouldn't have been possible if almost any other character was swapped into his position.

Let me elaborate.

Although it's certainly true that not all timeskip scenarios were created equal, and that the Merge treated some people better than others (cough cough Cole), it's also worth noting that each character's experiences are heavily defined by their own unique personalities, strengths, and flaws. If you shuffled everyone around into different post-Merge outcomes, you'd have a vastly different story.

For example, Cole absolutely flourished in the Land of Lost Things, but not everyone would - Pixal in particular would really struggle there. She's normally someone who is always on her A-game so long as she has a goal to accomplish and a clear path towards doing so, and it's rare for her to face a lot of internal conflict over her motivations/ideals. But if you put her in a situation where she has to choose between leaving the Finders to reunite with her friends, or forsaking her friends to protect the Finders...I think that no matter which option she chose, she'd be deeply troubled by it, and would not cope with that conflict of interest nearly as well as Cole has.

Whereas Lloyd, if you placed him in the stasis pod instead of Pixal, would suffer just as greatly. As much as he struggled emotionally in his years of isolation in the monastery, I think it'd almost fuck him up even more to find out he slept through the Merge entirely - and has (in his eyes) failed to keep his team safe and intact. That they've had to fend for themselves without him around to do his job as the leader.

And so on and so forth. You get the general idea. (Honestly, it's kind of a fun thought exercise to explore how everyone would cope if they all got switched around into different scenarios. You should definitely try it!)

Of course, Monstrosity in particular is a fascinating case study of this. If you put any other ninja in this story, you'd get a drastically different one - and in a lot of fundamental ways, it just straight-up wouldn't work.

See, the core theme of the miniseries is about balancing ruthlessness and mercy, knowing when to fight and when to show compassion, and how to fight monsters without becoming a monster yourself. And honestly? Kai is arguably the only person on the team who could effectively navigate that balancing act.

On the one hand you have characters like Pixal, Nya, and Jay - characters who would most likely fall too far onto the ruthlessness side of things and lose themselves.

Pixal is a very determined person - as mentioned above, so long as she has a goal and an action plan, she isn't prone to giving up or losing hope. She will keep trudging along her chosen path until it is accomplished, never stopping to let anything slow her down. Sure, she'd definitely be haunted by her choices after the fact, but in the moment I don't think she'd ever let herself slow down long enough to introspect in that way. She's too busy getting back to her family to think deeply about the moral implications of her actions, or to reflect on who/what she's becoming. She'd definitely be haunted by her choices, sure, but that's not to imply she would ever meaningfully deconstruct or process those feelings at all. She is, of course, an alumni at the Zane Julien School of Processing Trauma.

Nya is similar to Pixal in a lot of ways, but she's also naturally a very ruthless person with a teensy bit of bloodlust to her (affectionate). She also has at least one canon instance of sacrificing her humanity to save her family. This isn't new to her. Daidan would tell her that she can't survive in a land of monsters without becoming a monster herself and she'd go "bet", then proceed to beat the shit out of anything that looks at her wrong. Not to mention that the weird death-siren lake would probably fuck her up in a lot of really complicated Seabound-related ways that I don't think she'll ever be ready or willing to unpack.

My placement of Jay on this side of the spectrum may face some scrutiny, but hear me out first. Although Jay acts very lighthearted and goofy in front of others, it's canon that this persona is a facade he wears to save face and hide how anxious he really feels. On some level, I would argue that Jay subconsciously self-sabotages whenever he's fighting in a group, deferring to the strength of others out of insecurity/codependency rather than trusting his own skill. But when he's on his own and has no audience left to perform for, we see Jay's full potential shine through - we see him be strong, and clever, and even a leader. And on rare occasions, usually when Nya or someone he loves is in danger, he can even be brutal. Jay would absolutely have an awful time in Monstrosity, don't get me wrong - but he'd also exhibit a level of competence and efficiency only ever seen during elimination seasons. And that same efficiency would be his downfall. Jay loves his family, he loves Nya, and he also really hates dying. I don't have a doubt in my mind that he would do whatever it takes to make it back to Nya, even if he's miserable the whole time.

Of course, that's not to say that the rest of the team has it any better. Just because Cole, Zane, and Lloyd tilt pretty far onto the "mercy" side of the spectrum, doesn't mean that's necessarily a good thing in this situation.

Cole is extremely community-oriented, and he is constantly making friends and forming meaningful connections everywhere he goes. With Chen's other prisoners, with Yang, with that not-so-random baby he found, with Krag, with the Upply, and now with the Finders. If Cole cannot find a community, he will create it. On the rare occasions that he is alone, it is usually a dire situation involving extremely poor mental health. When his isolation is self-inflicted, it's usually out of grief. And when circumstances forcibly isolate him....well, go rewatch DotD and MotO, and watch how Cole handles just a few hours of forced isolation from his family. I can't imagine he'd handle several weeks alone in the Land of Monsters without becoming completely unglued. Cole's biggest strength is his social sturdiness - not just as the rock his team relies on, but as the foundation upon which everyone he meets can cultivate a sense of community. But in isolation that strength becomes a double-edged sword, and I believe the brutal emptiness of the Land of Monsters would leave him in an even worse emotional state than Kai.

Zane is no stranger to being stranded in foreign realms, armed with nothing but the singular objective to return home. But I think he would be so paranoid about falling into old routines that he would overcompensate too far in the other direction, rendering him too soft to make it through the Land of Monsters in one piece. That's not to imply he was going to make it out in one piece to begin with, of course. This is Zane we're talking about. I'd be surprised if he goes three days without dying horribly in some way or another. Whether it's out of self-sacrifice or because he pulled punches where he shouldn't have and paid the price, that man is not lasting more than a week.

Lloyd...honestly, he's arguably the closest anyone gets to matching Kai's balance on this issue. The case could certainly be made that Lloyd would effectively replace Kai in Monstrosity...but idk, I personally don't buy it. If you ask me, I think he veers a bit too much into the "too afraid of being like his dad to let himself become a monster" spectrum. This would go one of two ways: 1) he goes the way of Zane and/or Cole, and over-softens himself out of paranoia; 2) he initially tries to over-soften himself, but everything gets to him until he eventually snaps and goes full Oni Mode. Personally, I've got my money on option 2.

The takeaway here isn't that any member of the team is inherently better or worse than the others, just that they all have particular strengths and weaknesses that serve them well in their given scenarios. But those scenarios would only work with them as the main character, and nowhere is that more apparent than with Monstrosity. Zane could never withstand Lloyd's years of isolation in the monastery, just like Jay would become an anxious mess if he had to be responsible for the Kragglings' civil war, just like Kai would absolutely have the worst time if he got stuck in the Administration, just like Nya would go stir-crazy in the Land of Lost Things.

Monstrosity is fundamentally a Kai storyline, down to its DNA. And I think that's part of why he comes across as so beautifully written in this miniseries. There is no aspect of it that you can separate from Kai without changing the fundamental core of the story itself. He's the only one on the team who could do something like this. The only one who could survive in the Land of Monsters without either dying horribly or losing himself along the way.

And idk, I just think that's neat.

[gay-dorito-dust]

Mateo is all for the cuddles, especially if you've been having an off day, letting you cuddle into his side and stay there for as long as you want while he sits with you and keeps you company; for he knew that his calming presence were all that you needed amidst the chaos.

He probably laughs whenever you call him comfy or cosy like a blanket, even when your half asleep but yet your grip on him is strong like steel, finding it hilariously ironic that you were calling him -a blanket- comfy as if that wasn't the purpose of one in the first place; he passes this off as you being half out of your mind thanks to sleep that he knows you've been depriving yourself of recently.

Davi and Stitch are there to offer you their inanimal support in these trying times.

mateo will most likely soflty talk you into a sweet slumber and without realising it as well until he's noticing that you weren't responding to him and were leaning more against him as well, only to smile soflty and keep you in whatever position that granted you the most comfort; pressing a kiss to your forehead like it's a wish on his behalf for you to wake up well rested.

'you're comfy like a blanket.' - you 'well i am a blanket, that's kinda the point of one don't you think?' - mateo

'no! you're the better blanket, no other balnket can top you in terms of comfort, my favourite for a reason.' - you

Eddie and Volt couldn't be more different from one another and yet it works in their favour oddly enough. It's apart of their charm in a way.

Volt would make a show of his care for you but that doesn't mean it wasn't any less genuine then Eddie being reserved of his care for you and showing you more or less when it's just the two of you, behind closed doors preferably, but that didn't mean it was becuase he didn't care for you when he very much did.

Volt would talk about how much he adored you, holding your face between his hands, and forcing you to look him in the eyes while he continued his playful torment of showering you in sweet words; loving how you tried to fight the smile that graces your lips but failing at every attempt. Volt makes it an attempt to make you smile often, he thinks it's the highlight for the rest of his day, wearing a matching smile himself in pride of his accomplishment.

Betty is hellbent on keeping you with her, mornings be damned, you needed more rest and what's better then her holding you close to her chest?

Eddie on the other hand would make you smile in smaller ways that were just as meaningful as words were. He makes life just a little bit easier for you by doing little things-he hates not doing nothing- so he makes himself useful by doing acts of service, such as making sure things were within view for you, or making you your favourite drink for he knew it like the back of his hand amongst knowing how you like your things in specific places as to avoid distress when you can't find what you need.

He might not say much of his love out loud, but that doesn't mean there wasn't any love at all.

Betty knows you better then most -seeing as she is literally your bed and all- so she likes to think that in due to that she has your favour, she is absolutely right in that regard for who were you to deny her her when she entices you to come to bed, especially when she uses her voice to her advantage.

her voice is your weakness and she know it.

Work and any other prior engagements you may have be damned, you're staying with her in bed, resting from the ruthless hours you've already worked.

Not that you're complaining in the slightest, you'd love nothing more then to spend time with Betty however you could, even on your days off you could be found resting with Betty and looking as though you had made it to heaven.

Curt and Rod are two gossipy bitches, so if you ever were to bring them gossip from someone you know, whether it's at work then these two were sat.

They want all the details so spare no expense for them and give them what they want, they could tell there are things you wanted to get off of your chest the second you got home and they were running out of gossip themselves, so Curt and Rod saw this as a win win for you all.

They will laugh at the blatant stupidity and scoff at the obvious favourtism also, making passing comments about how that shouldn't be the case within the workplace before allowing you to continue, very much taking your side in most -if not all- cases. Needless to say their roasting of your hated coworker was more then enough for you to destress enough for you to join in on the roasting yourself.

Sure curt and rod love to take the piss out of you or the other objects in the house, but if they see that your not in it or just don't look to be in the mood to engage in a back and forth with either of them, then they wont and instead focus on the cause of your soured mood. So your weird pyjama combo will be ignored for a temporary amount of time until they can't let it slide anymore, while it's sleepwear it's hideous sleep wear and they both will let you know immeditely you were back to normal.

'those pants with that shirt? seriously?' -curt

'no one is going to see me in this, who the fuck am i offending with it?' - you

'us. you're personally offending us.' - Rod

'and you're personally offening me by getting inbetween me and my sleep, so fuck off.' - you

lyric

He makes you as lost in the stories he makes up as much as he gets lost in the multitude stories he often reads.

So after a not so great day you're feeling less inclined to enjoy a good book, your mind elsewhere with the negatives of what had taken place previously, still fresh and new as they haunted you to the point of annoyance.

Lyric would read a tale that he himself had written in his spare time, a mixture of classic and mordern that was oddly well put together, but that much was to be expected from the literal embodiment of every ounce of literature you had within your house. And yet with the obvious set aside, you couldn't help but be captured by eveything that left his lips, quickly finding yourself on the edge of your seat in wanting to know what came next as eveything that had once bothered you had been replaced by excitment and a need to know more of Lyric's short stories.

So when he tells you that they weren't finished yet, you pretty much pester the poor man into having him read them to you when they were finished. His eyes went wide a little but relaxed as a small smile graced his lips, holding his quill against his chest. 'you'll be the first to know.' He says softly as he makes it his responsibility to finish off those short stories for you, just to see you brighten at each and every word that left his mouth, thankful that you feel as strongly about the power of literature as he was.

[science-hoes]

Robby is a physician. He’s a brilliant physician. He was ranked number one by every single emergency program he applied to for residency and fellowship.

So he shouldn’t be so frustrated that he can’t come in you.

It’s all so new to him. After you and Jack and Dana and just about every other loved one in his life suggested he go to therapy, he visited a psychologist and didn’t hate it. The psychologist prescribed him an SSRI for his anxiety and depression, and it’s been a miracle drug to him.

His days are brighter, his jaw is unclenched, and the back of his neck finally has a break from being rubbed raw as a nervous tic. There’s only one problem.

After a couple of months adjusting to the medicine, he’s fucking you, pounding his hips into yours over and over and over and over. But he doesn’t come. It’s like his finger is on the trigger, pushing down as hard as he can, but the gun will not fire.

At first, you both brush it off as a particularly stressful day. The next time it happens, you both blame the wine from dinner. But the third time? Robby is fucking pissed.

His only reason for living most days (aside from loving you) is to fill you up with his cum, watching it drip out of your weeping pussy, dreaming of the day your IUD expires and his seed finally takes.

You blame yourself for a while, worried that he isn’t as attracted to you, or you’re unable to stimulate him to release. Robby nearly strokes out at the presumption that you don’t make him feel good. You’re what brought life back into him. Every squeeze of your pussy and rock of your hips drives him absolutely insane. He spends the better half of that night assuring you that you make him feel good.

Luckily, Robby is a man of science. When the experimental protocol fails, troubleshoot. There are several failed attempts: roleplay, extended foreplay, asphyxiation, bondage. None of which brought him over the edge.

Until you have your IUD removal appointment without telling him. When you ride him that night, a smirk crawls onto your face. “I got my IUD removed today.”

The admission alone is enough to make Robby’s hips stutter. “You- what?” He croaks.

You roll your hips harshly against his, taking every generous inch of his cock into yourself. “My IUD is out. Means you can fuck a baby in me now.”

It was like you were dangling a raw, juicy steak in front of a wolf. He was literally salivating at the thought of getting you pregnant. “You wanna have my baby?” He asked, brow furrowed, eyes glimmering with hope.

You bounce faster, your hands pressed against his soft abdomen for balance. “I wanna have your baby, Michael.”

That’s enough. A whole month of pent up cum blasts into you. It catches you both off guard, the way his entire body convulses. His screams are vile and drug from the depths of his core, trembling underneath you. His cum leaks out of you before he’s even finished unloading, pulsing for a good while after you’ve finished rocking your hips. It’s so much fluid, negating any friction that existed before. Your eyes roll back at the absolute fullness.

“Jesus, Robby.” You moan, falling forward into his arms.

Robby just pants, keeping you close against his chest slick with sweat. “I’m sorry, kid.” He grumbles, letting out a struggled cry as his cock pulses again.

You peppered his neck with butterfly kisses, matching the flutters of his length inside you. “Don’t apologize.” You whispered. “I think you came enough for it to work the first time.”

[manjarundirpakdingo]

Sick Sylus that's too weak to switch TV channels. So all he can do is groan and roll over as you force him to watch reality TV.

But there's no escaping the reality tv allure. Not with real housewives, not with love is blind and definitely not with 90 day fiancé.

Maybe the bitter meds are actually melting his brain because why is he enjoying this. He finds himself peeking an eye open as Big Ed shows up on the screen. He's disgusted by that man, but Ed also has his full attention. He's watched the whole spin off series on him now, he refuses to believe the man is that pathetic. He refuses to believe he has a fiancé and he absolutely fucking refuses to believe people watch this crap.

He also thinks Love is Blind is really stupid. But it's damn near brilliant how they keep getting nonsensical people just bound to fail. Well, he admits, it is heart-warming when occasionally couples actually make it to- wait.

He needs to stop. Cancel that Bravo and Netflix subscription- actually he needs to throw the whole TV set outside.

The next time when you visit, he's feeling better. You step in the room waving the homemade bento, "wake up big guy, I got you crystal meth."

Sylus grunts in his sleep, "Nice try Brandi."

His eyes fly open the moment he realises what he's said. A nervous sort of silence filling up the room and he can practically see the way the ends of your mouth twitch up,

"you were watching Real Housewives." you say

Sylus considers denying it. He thinks of making a quick joke and evading the truth but he's still so sick. It's too much work to think up of a comeback. He looks at you with red-eyes still feverish, "Brandi thinks Kim was doing crystal meth in the bathroom. I kind of agree."

You grin. "And?"

Sylus sighs into his pillow, "you have to tell me if Zack and Bliss end up together or I'm not watching that season of Love Is Blind."

[attabxy]

Hi :D I saw your hc for erik was open, and I wanted to ask for erik x clingy reader ones if that's okay? Thank you!

With a Clingy Reader - E. Campbell

Pairing: Erik Campbell X Reader (romantic, gender-neutral).

Media: Final Destination Bloodlines.

Content Warning(s): Mentions of anxiety and mental health, these headcanons are a bit on the shorter side, the nickname 'sweets' is used.

(Author's Note: Hi, Anonymous! I hope you enjoy these headcanons, and I'm a bit nervous to write them because I've never written for a clingy reader. HOWEVER, I'll still try my best with these, and still get them out in a timely fashion [within four days; I started writing on 06/15/2025]. As well, I hope this is a correct representation of being clingy correct, because I'm actually the opposite of such tehe).

So, let's say you're clingy. Great, Erik is as well!

I'm of the belief that Erik will absolutely deny the fact that he's clingy, then proceed to cling to you like a koala.

It's a common occurrence for him to wake up to you clinging to him. An arm around his shoulders, leg wrapped around his waist to effectively trap him.

He's not mad about it, since you act as a comforting weight to him. He might be annoyed if he didn't sleep great or had a rough night, but he understands that's just how you are.

He once tried to pull your limbs off of him. Failed miserably.

"Sweets, I need to get up." Erik told you, his voice thick due to just waking up.

"Too bad."

He's a big fan of hugging you from behind as you're cooking. He'll probably say something cheesy like, 'what's cooking, good-looking?'

He won't realize that he's leaned into your hug until you point it out. He'll deny it, but secretly loves it.

He's found himself wanting to cuddle on the couch after you accidentally fell asleep on him. If you were a cat, you'd be purring. If he was a cat, he'd be purring from how content he was.

If he's driving, he'll rest his hand on your thigh to let you know that he's there and he's paying attention to you.

If you're driving, his hand is on yours as it rests on the gear shift. This is especially comforting if you find driving stressful.

Let's say you're anxious, so you cling to him for comfort. He may not even realize you're anxious since you like being close to him, but his love language is physical touch.

Maybe it's an off day for you, you're feeling down or just not right. Erik doesn't realize it, but he still let's you cuddle next to him as he's working on a tattoo design or playing video games.

It eventually hits him that you need him. He pauses the game, puts down the sketchpad, and his attention is focused on you.

Erik probably didn't realize he had clingy tendencies himself until he began dating you.

Not that it's a bad thing that he realized such when dating you, but more of he's never been in a serious relationship and didn't have the opportunity to realize his tendencies.

I headcanon that Erik suffers from some anxiety disorder. Not from anything traumatic that happened, rather it just popped up out of nowhere.

He usually won't tell you if he's feeling anxious, but he secretly takes solace in your touch. It grounds him, just as much as his touch grounds you.

(Author's Note: I'm not exactly too proud of this one. Maybe it's my own anxieties talking here, but I'm worried that I totally misrepresented being clingy because I'm not a clingy person and I sometimes draw from my own experiences when writing. But if you, Anonymous, are happy with this, then I consider this a win! I apologize for the slower release of this; my mental health has been in the trash and I've had non-existent motivation. However, I'm slowly getting better. Also, I've almost made it to 100 followers, so I thank all of you so much for giving love to my silly blog! If you're interested, I made a post yesterday about what to do to celebrate, so go check that out if you'd like!

Signing off for now,

-Libby)

[barabaraoranges]

volt & eddie appearance headcanons

"i don't like them," the man says through gritted teeth, after spending three hours on developing appearance headcanons for them

spoilers for eddie and volt's route. spoilers for realization (will tag this one). everything below the cut

i am also interpreting volt and eddie as being chronically ill/disabled.

volt

6'4". i don't think he's necessarily muscular, just broad shouldered. while he has slight visible abs, it's not due to muscle, it's just due to him being lean and his weight distributing to his thighs and shoulders area.

.... i do think he has a flat ass in dateviator form. he can't have it all, that just isn't fair.

in-game, i think there is some progression with his appearance to hint that things are going bad for him. like, he starts off just fair skinned when you first meet him, but slowly you start noticing things aren't okay. heavy foundation and concealer that doesn't quite cover up his pale neck. streaks of electricity that show underneath the makeup, no matter what he does. an undeniable exhaustion on his face.

on the last night, his skin is quite literally almost translucent with heavy blue undertones and, instead of blood, you can see electricity flowing through him. he failed to consider how the the spotlight would show through makeup.

if he's exhausted, his eye bags are a dark, dark blue and ripple faintly with electricity just underneath his skin. on especially bad days, you can see the edges of his lips turn a faint blue.

during the story progression, i would imagine this would be noticeable, so he wears especially heavy eye makeup. once the story concludes, however, he wears noticeably less eye makeup

on rough days, you can watch him quite literally breathing out sparks like he's about to overexert himself from just standing. this is especially common when it's raining or storming or there's particularly bad weather out. he needs convincing to not open the bar for the night and to rest.

after playing their route, i actually can't stop thinking about frankenstein-like volt. i think he's got heavy surgical scarring on everything that isn't covered, especially on the torso area. heavy evidence of poorly done stapling and stitching work around the stomach area, going down into the thighs and ankles. scars healed a grayish-blue color, but it's difficult to tell if it's from his own internal electricity or a result of how they healed

trans guy. top and bottom surgery, with a full phalloplasty. compared to his other surgical scars, they are far more neat. his copper bracelets cover the phallo scarring on his left wrist

i don't know how electricity works, but i think he could tie his hair up with a wire or something if he really wanted to.

his pubes and armpit hair are electric like his hair. overall hairless, but he does have a modest happy trail and bush.

fangs. uses them shamelessly to flirt. happy to expose them with a smile.

realized version (spoilers), i imagine that he still has some degree of chronic illness/pain when he becomes a human. stays in if he doesn't absolutely need to go out. he wears out quickly and needs to take breaks often so he doesn't burn himself out. he's still fair skinned and still has his body scarring, but they look like normal, faded scars now. he has been able to put on healthy weight and maintain an exercise routine to handle his pain. while he doesn't have abs, but he does have a fantastic ass now. owns a nightclub (quickly becomes a gay club) that ends up becoming popular very quickly, fantastic owner and people are constantly desperate to work at his bar.

eddie

5'7". he's really not built at all, fairly average weight, if anything underweight from illness. very soft core area, stretch lines and loose skin. stretch lines are most notable on his hips and ass. really the only muscular part of his body as his arms and shoulders, but even then they're more lean than anything

heavy scarring on his hands and arms from electrical work. a lot of them look like ferns on his arms. palms are prone to drying excessively and painfully cracking. if he wasn't constantly getting his arm hairs singed, they'd be fairly hairy

essential tremor in his hands. gets worse under stress and anxiety. hands tend to be swollen from arthritis from overworking himself.

struggles deeply with joint, muscle fatigue, and overall body fatigue. needs to take a lot of breaks, all of which volt stresses over on the daily. there's a bed in the closet for him to sleep in, fitted with heated blankets. he also can't stand for an extended period of time and usually sits in a chair

recognizes he needs a cane and finger splints but doesn't want volt to stress over him even more

also a trans man. top surgery but no bottom surgery.

thin layer of chest hair, but a generous happy trail with some stomach hair.

fangs. he doesn't make them as noticeable as volt does, but he definitely pays attention when people notice them. uses them shamelessly for flirting, to his advantage.

realized version (spoilers), he finally officially retires! volt's nightclub makes enough money that he can stay at home and take care of himself. he gets bored, though, so he picks up maintenance around the house. puts on healthy weight and finally gets mobility aids. i'd imagine his disability would translate into some form of arthritis, so he'd be put on an arthritis treatment regiment.

[thenickgirl]

BABY BLUES

જ⁀➴ 𝖽𝖺𝖽!𝗇𝗂𝖼𝗄 𝗑 𝗆𝖺𝗅𝖾!𝗋𝖾𝖺𝖽𝖾𝗋

requested: yes

type: blurb/os ✩ genre: fluff ✩ pov: third ✩ wc: 1.3K

⚠️ warnings: none

a/n: saurrr, i actually got this request a while ago, but the idea for it only just hit me today, so i apologize for the long wait. this is loosely based off my experiences with my nieces. first thing i’ve really been proud of in a minute. i thoroughly enjoyed this, i literally wrote it all the way through from beginning to end, purrr. i hope you like it. happy reading! ✩

The wailing sound of Aliyah’s cries bounced off the walls in the Sturniolo home. Nick swore his brothers could hear her from their respective houses down the block. Was she sick? Was she hungry? Was she tired? Whatever it is, she wasn’t having it, and everyone was going to know.

Nick was sitting on the couch, Aliyah pressed to his chest as he rocked her back and forth. He was trying his best to soothe his distressed daughter, but all his usual methods were failing.

“C’mon, bunny, what’s wrong?” Nick sighed as he rubbed her back.

He was just about to start humming a sweet lullaby when his phone rang. Looking down to see his husband calling from work. A faint ‘thank god’ falling from his lips as he picked up the phone.

“Hey.” Nick said breathlessly into the phone.

“Hey! How’s my girl?” His husband asks cheerfully, unaware of the absolute chaos going on in his home.

“Not good.” Nick starts, and the man on the line could hear his baby girl crying her heart out in the background.

“I don’t know what’s got her so upset. She’s been like this for hours. I’ve tried everything!” Nick huffed, and his husband could tell that he was at the point of exhaustion.

“Hm, she has been drooling more lately too, maybe she’s teething?” His husband questioned, and Nick's brows furrowed in confusion.

“Teething? At six months? Are you crazy??” Nick says in disbelief, shaking his head while he chuckles.

The man on the phone laughs, “Hey, my nephew got his first tooth at six months!” He defends.

Nick rolls his eyes, “He was also eating rocks and chalk sticks at the last family function. I’m sorry, but I don’t think he’s a good example.” He says, cradling Aliyah.

“Whatever. If she’s not hungry, or sleepy, then she must be uncomfortable from something.” Nick’s husband explains, “Actually, I think there’s a teething ring in the nursery somewhere. Put it in the freezer, and just see if she’ll take it later.” He suggests, trying to be as helpful as possible even though he wasn’t there.

Nick huffs, “Okay, we’ll see.”

“Alright. Well, I gotta go, babe, I have a meeting, but text me if you need to. Love you!” The man says, and Nick could tell he was beaming even through the phone.

Nick smiles softly, “Love you too, bye.” He says before ending the call, only to be left with Aliyah’s cries once again.

Nick sets Aliyah down on his knee, bouncing her as he takes a good look at her, “There’s no way you’re growing teeth already, I'm not buying that.”

Nick gets up from the couch, placing Aliyah on his hip as he makes his way upstairs into the nursery to find the teething ring. With Aliyah crying on his side, he used his free hand to dig through a bin filled with medical items, like syringes and thermometers until he found one. It was light pink, and resembled a mini mochi donut.

Nick frowned as he stared at it. “Does this look like something you’re into?” He looks over at his daughter propped securely on his hip, and she just cries harder in response. “Didn’t think so, c’mon.” He sighs as he trots back downstairs to the kitchen, putting the teething ring in the freezer.

Aliyah continued to fuss and whine for the next hour. Nick tried walking around with her, bouncing her gently on his shoulder. He even got out the stroller and pushed her through the house, but nothing was working.

“Okay, let’s try everything one more time for good measure, otherwise, I'm gonna have to call the storks or something, I don’t fucking know.” Nick says as he pulls Aliyah’s high chair from the corner, setting her inside of it, and she screams.

“I know, mama, I know. Just give me a minute.” Nick scurried to the pantry, grabbing a couple of her infant snacks, and a jar of baby food.

He placed them on the counter, grabbing a spoon from the drawer before carrying everything over to the kitchen table. He pulls the high chair with Aliyah in it to the table, and sits down, opening the first snack. He puts a few banana puffs on the high chair and she swipes them away, screaming once again. Nick nods, opening the next snack, only to be met with the same results.

“Alright, so you’re not a snack kinda girl, that’s fair. Let’s see if you’ll like this.” Nick says while he opens the jar of carrots, dipping the spoon into it, stirring it before scooping a decent amount. He points it towards Aliyah’s mouth, and she frowns. Her little hand reaches up and smacks his own away, sending the spoon and mushed carrots flying.

Nick’s jaw drops for a second, surprised by how strong she is, “Okay, so you don’t like carrots either. I can get behind that.” Nick chuckles as he bends down to clean the spilled carrots on the floor. Upon getting up, his head hits the underside of the high chair and he yelps.

“Oww! FUCK!” Nick screams, his hand flying to his head, rubbing it to ease the pain, and Aliyah giggles.

Nick glares playfully at her, "Of course, the moment you stop crying, it’s to laugh at me.” He laughs along with her.

“Dada,” Aliyah babbles. Her blue eyes are still wet, but they sparkle, and Nick smiles, his heart melting at his baby girl.

“Yeah, dada’s pretty funny, huh? It actually paid for this house.” Nick jokes, whispering the last part.

For the next few minutes, Aliyah continued to giggle while Nick made silly faces, and played peek-a-boo.

“Hi, pretty girl!” Nick laughed with her until suddenly, her smile faded, turning into a frown.

“Oh…oh no no no. We were doing so good, plea-“

Aliyah began sobbing before he could even finish his sentence, her head thrown back, and little tears streaming down her face.

Nick sighed deeply, sitting back in the chair, defeated. He wondered if he should just join her. After the day he’s had, he wanted to cry too. He wiped her tears while cooing at her, trying to get her to calm down when he noticed something on her gums.

As Aliyah cried with her mouth wide open, he saw a speck of white peeking out of her gum. Nick’s eyes squinted as he tried to get a better look in between her screams.

“There’s no fucking way…” Nick whispered.

He looked again, putting his index finger on her gum where the speck is, and it was sharp to the touch. Nick’s breath hitched, he couldn’t believe what he was seeing. A tooth coming in, right in the front.

“Holy shit…He was right.” Nick says, before quickly getting up, shuffling towards the freezer and grabbing the now frozen teething ring. He takes it to the sink, running it under warm water so it won’t be too cold for her.

“I think this might help.” Nick says to her as he places the cool ring in her mouth, right on her gum, and she grabs it, holding onto it. Aliyah’s cries subside as she bites and bites on the teething ring.

“Oh my god, it’s workinggg!” Nick squealed, picking her up from the high chair and walking back into the living room, where he plops down on the couch.

Aliyah is finally content and quiet as she sits on his lap while biting on her teether. Nick grabs the remote, turning on Bluey, and they sit and watch together.

Hours later, Nick’s husband arrives home, and the sight before him makes him smile widely. Nick was laid out on the couch, a light snore falling from his lips, while Aliyah was nuzzled safely in his arms. The tall man shook his head, before grabbing a blanket from the basket in the corner, laying it over them.

He leans down and presses a soft kiss to Nick’s forehead before whispering:

“Seventeen years, and six months to go.”

—

a/n: lowkey wanna name nick’s husband, cause trying to not say that over and over made me wanna pull my damn hair out lmao. what y’all think? 🤔

🏷️: @muwapsturniolo @mattslolita @freshloveforthefit @sturniolossss @sturniioloslut @guccifrog2 @freshloveee @asherrisrandom @dumbf2ck @maliaforstvrns @emely9274 @marrykisskilled @ksturnz @tyummyz @idrk2292 @blushsturns @trevorsgodmother @chrisspussygang @conspiracy-ash @imgoing-backto505 @chrepsi @mattslilies @sturns-mermaid @fentiesturns @jacksonsturniolo @nickssidewitch @kier-with-a-k

[msnmnt]

Wrapped Up In You

Summary: Just a short little bit of fluff because who doesn’t want Mason cuddles after a long week. 🥰

Your week had dragged.

Long hours at work consisting of back to back meetings, your inbox overflowing with urgent demands, and to top it all off, your boss who couldn’t tell the difference between setting expectations and pushing you to the brink had been on your back the entire time.

When Friday evening finally arrived, your brain was foggy and your body physically ached with the kind of exhaustion that only sleep could fix. Every bone in your body craved rest, and all you really wanted to do was sleep. 

You were slouched on your sofa, the end of another episode of the rubbish you were watching on Netflix signalling that it was definitely time to get ready for your date with Mason.

Even through your exhaustion, the thought of him stirred something inside you. It was still early days, but you knew there was something special about him. You had never met a man so warm and kind, and that only added to the attraction that had been there since your first date.

Cancelling had crossed your mind more than once, but the idea of disappointing him, of giving the wrong impression, made your stomach twist. You didn’t want him to think you didn’t care. You did - more than you were willing to admit at this early stage.

You had just about managed to drag yourself over to your dressing table, trying to gather the strength to start applying your makeup when your phone vibrated. 

Mason Do you mind if we take a rain check on the restaurant? I’d still love to see you - how’s a cosy evening in at mine sound? x

You stared at the message, rereading it before letting out a sigh of relief. It was like he knew just what you needed, and if you hadn’t already been halfway to falling for him, that might’ve just done it.

By the time you arrived at his place, your body was still tired, but you felt lighter. The weight of your week hadn’t vanished, but you had managed to put it to the back of your mind, excited to see the boy who you had been thinking about an embarrassing amount since your last date.

It had only been a week since you’d last seen Mason, but in the early stages of something new, something that felt like it had weight and potential, it had felt like a lifetime to you, and you hoped it had for him too.

Mason had been away for a midweek match, and you’d tried not to miss him, failing miserably.

When the door opened, he was standing there in a hoodie two sizes too big, slouchy shorts and a pair of socks. His hair was a little messy, his smile even softer than usual, sleepy - the kind that made your heart skip a beat. He looked the most casual you had ever seen him, and your insides swarmed with butterflies at how comfortable he clearly felt around you.

“Hey, darling.” He murmured, arms already reaching for you. “Come here.”

You stepped into his embrace, and for the first time all week, your body truly relaxed, melting into his.

The hug didn't last too long before Mason pulled away, keen to show you around. His home looked like something out of a high-end magazine - open plan, perfect finishes, furniture that you could only dream of owning. It was massive, the kind of place you might have felt out of place. But somehow, Mason had managed to infuse it with warmth. A combination of the soft lighting and the faint scent of something herbaceous - it felt lived in, and you felt at ease.

After giving you the obgliatry house tour, the pair of you finally settled in his living room.

The fire crackled gently in the corner, a single candle placed on the coffee table gently flickering.

"You didn’t have to do this, Mase.”

"Wanted to make you feel comfortable." Mason spoke, sitting himself down next to you and the feel of his bare leg gently rubbing up against yours made your heart skip a beat. "I’m sorry we’re not going out, I just - to be completely honest, I’m absolutely shattered and all I wanted was to do was stay home and have you cuddled up in my arms.”

Your heart stuttered in your chest, knowing his intentions for the evening were just as pure as yours. 

The film was pretty much just background noise to your quiet conversation, your shared laughter and stories about your day exchanged between soft silences. Mason sat a little distance away from you at first, one leg folded up on the sofa, before getting closer as you got more and more comfortable which each other till his arm was wrapped around you, his hand lazily drawing shapes on your back while you leaned into his chest.

The conversation naturally died down, and Mason noticed you stifling a yawn into his chest.

“Long week for you too, huh?” He asked, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear.

“The longest,” you mumbled. “It was like you read my mind, postponing going out for dinner. I think I would’ve fallen asleep in my food.” You gave a soft chuckle and Mason tutted. 

“You could’ve cancelled, you know.” His voice dropped a little lower, showing he was serious. “I mean, I’d have been gutted, but I would have understood.”

“I wanted to see you.” You said quieter than you meant to, your voice catching slightly at the end. Your cheeks warmed instantly, and you avoided his gaze for a beat, unsure if you’d said too much too soon.

“Me too. I missed you this week.” Mason spoke surely, his voice not faltering at all which made your chest feel a little tight in the best way.

You shifted slightly, angling yourself so you could tuck more comfortably into him, your face resting against the side of his hoodie. 

He moved with you, one arm curling around your back, the other finding your hand under the blanket, his fingers slipping easily between yours.

All the outside noise disappeared, and all you could focus on was the rhythm of his breathing, the warmth of his body against your shoulder and the way he held you like it was the most natural thing in the world. You adjusted your position, curling further into him until you found that perfect fit - your head resting beneath his chin.

He found your hand with his once again, his fingers automatically intertwining with yours.

You didn’t speak after that, feeling yourself get more and more sleepy as you allowed yourself to close your eyes for just a second too long.

The moment you started to drift off, Mason felt it. Your breathing evened out against his chest and your grip on his hand loosened slightly. He looked down at you, gaze soft, and couldn’t stop himself from smiling.

Mason’s thumb grazed the back of your hand gently, careful not to wake you, just wanting to keep the contact.

He debated carrying you into his bed where he knew you’d be far more comfortable, but decided against it. You hadn’t had that conversation yet, about taking the next step and staying the night, and he didn’t want to assume that you’d be okay with spending the night in his bed. He definitely didn’t want to risk messing anything up.

So instead he shifted carefully, reaching behind him for the thick throw on the back of the couch. He slowly wrapped it around you both, making sure your entire body was covered. He pulled you a little bit closer, and that’s when you stirred.

“Mason?” Your voice was rough, filled with sleep and vulnerability.

He stilled before soothing your arm with his hand. “Shh, you’re okay, baby. Go back to sleep.”

You murmured something he didn’t quite catch and nestled yourself closer. Your cheek pressed against his chest, the beat of his heart steady in your ear.

He bent down and gently left a feather light kiss to the top of your head.

A few minutes later, Mason’s breathing evened out, his arm snug around your waist, his fingers resting protectively against your hip. Every now and then they twitched, like his body was still holding you even in his dreams.

And just as you let sleep consume you completely, you were sure you had never felt so safe in someone’s arms.

You smiled against his chest, your lips barely pressing a soft, silent kiss to the fabric of his hoodie, and let the rest of the world fade away.

[vaginalvr]

Can I request a Spencer x reader where he's just masturbating to the thought of her? Like he's a mess for her.

content warning: Masturbation (m), obsessive thoughts, dirty talk (internal monologue style), unprotected fantasy sex, praise kink, slight innocence kink, tension and pining, voyeuristic imagination, soft desperation

a/n: guess whos FINALLY getting through her asks, me me me!

word count ~ 1k

REQUESTS ARE OPEN!

Spencer had always prided himself on his self-control. His intellect, his rationality, the way he could compartmentalize even the most disturbing crime scenes. But that discipline had crumbled the moment you’d started working at the BAU.

It was your laugh. Your mouth. Your mind. The way you chewed your pen when you were thinking. The way you said his name when you wanted him to explain something, all breathy and curious.

You didn’t know what you were doing to him.

And now, alone in his apartment with the lights off and the door locked, Spencer lay sprawled on the bed, hand already wrapped tightly around his cock, trying—and failing—not to say your name out loud.

“Fuck,” he hissed, voice raw. His hips flexed up into his hand automatically, his mind feeding him another image of you in your tight slacks, the curve of your ass when you leaned over his desk. He had a photographic memory. And that was absolutely ruining him right now.

He squeezed the base of his shaft and bit his bottom lip, exhaling hard through his nose.

It had started so innocently. A casual touch here, a warm smile there. The way you held eye contact just a little too long. You called him "Spence" sometimes, and it made his pulse skyrocket.

And then there was yesterday.

You’d bent over in front of him, trying to grab a folder off a lower shelf. Your blouse had ridden up just enough to expose the smooth skin of your lower back. He'd had to bite the inside of his cheek just to stop himself from groaning right there at his desk.

His brain hadn't let it go since.

“God, you have no idea,” he whispered to the dark, voice shaking. He stroked himself slowly now, almost reverently, thumb brushing over the leaking head. “You’d kill me if you knew I was doing this.”

But he couldn’t stop. Couldn’t not imagine the way your lips would part if you saw what you were doing to him. Would you act shocked? Embarrassed? Or would you crawl up on the bed, straddle his hips, and take him in hand yourself?

“Bet you’d look so pretty,” he murmured, voice dropping lower, like you were in the room with him. “On your knees for me. So eager to make me feel good. God—please…”

He whimpered, hand speeding up, hips stuttering. His thighs trembled.

He was so hard it hurt.

Every nerve in his body was tuned to the idea of you—your scent, your touch, your voice. He imagined you whispering filthy encouragements in his ear, telling him how good he looked stroking himself like that, how much you wanted to taste him.

The rhythm of his hand turned frantic. Slick and tight.

He could practically feel you under him, the phantom weight of your thighs wrapped around his waist, your nails dragging down his back, your lips hot on his throat.

“You’d take me so well,” he whispered, completely gone, eyes shut tight. “So warm… so tight around me, fuck—I’d fill you up so good.”

He was panting now, the muscles in his stomach trembling as his orgasm started to coil low and tight. His hand didn’t stop—couldn’t. He was chasing it, chasing you, chasing the image of your mouth parting in a moan as he slid inside you for the first time.

“Say my name,” he begged the ghost of you in his mind, voice cracking. “Say my name when I fuck you.”

And then it hit.

His entire body bowed off the bed, a strangled cry slipping from his lips as thick ropes of cum spilled over his hand and belly, hot and sudden and so much. It felt like everything he’d been holding in for weeks came rushing out in one desperate, electric wave.

He collapsed back onto the mattress, chest heaving.

The only sound in the room was his ragged breathing, the soft rustle of sheets under his twitching thighs.

“Jesus,” he whispered after a moment, wiping his hand with a nearby shirt, still a little dazed. His cheeks burned with embarrassment and release. His heart still hadn’t slowed.

All of it—for you.

Always you.

[crimsonvictory]

it’s late, clock ticking in your quiet kitchen. the snip of your freshly sharpened scissors filling the gaps every so often. you don’t do this much, only when simon feels comfortable enough for you to get close to him right after a grueling mission.

your late night barber sessions have become your favorite. simon’s hair is a lot longer than when you first started cutting his hair. it was something he never cared about. just a blunt buzz that grew out all lopsided in the years he didn’t know you.

now, it rests in his eyes, in desperate need of your nimble fingers. he was way past a haircut, you should’ve snipped his hair a deployment and a half ago. but now is a good time. simon’s present, hulking frame sitting on one of your kitchen chairs. he has it non traditional, resting his large forearms on the back of the chair. his eyes are closed, relaxed as his chest rises and falls. he’s dog tired.

you had been dozin’ on the couch, waiting his arrival. simon had arrived home, little bird sound asleep. not wanting to wake you, but damn his tired body. failed him in so many ways. dropped his keys when trying to hang them up on the hook, accidentally slammed the door shut when he bent down to unlace his boots, even knocked into the coffee table when trying to place a kiss on your forehead.

you had startled awake, confusion etching into your features before settling back in comfort.

“sorry dove,” he had almost whispered, voice holding a hint of sheepishness.

“need a haircut,” you mentioned sleepily, reaching out to run your fingers through his hair.

“I know,” he huffs. “‘s late.”

“that’s okay,” you yawn, pushing off the couch to grab your scissors.

you come back a moment later, padding into the kitchen and turning on the overhead light. your clock is ticking, the minutes going by into the quiet night. it’s currently a little bit past one.

“sit,” you gesture with your scissors.

simon had pulled the balaclava off as soon as he closed the door, it resting near his duffle. he takes the opportunity to strip his shirt, throwing it alongside his belongings. his hair is sticking up in all directions. you take a moment to wet his hair with a spray bottle as he rests his chin on his crossed arms.

“hair’s gettin’ long,” you murmur.

you comb through, making sure each strand is saturated.

“mmm,” he grumbles, lip twitchin’ into an almost smile.

“what we thinkin’?” you ask, measuring his new growth inbetween your fingers.

there’s at least two inches of hair growth since the last time. simon huffs, thinking for a moment.

“‘tever you think is needed.”

your turn. you shake a few strands through your fingers, seeing where it lies when it falls. you personally like his hair a bit longer. it’s starting to curl around his ears.

“s’cute,” you murmur, sliding a strand behind his ear. “i’ll only trim this time.”

he nods, closing his eyes and letting you get to work. you place a quick kiss to the top of his head. you repeat the process of combing, measuring, trimming. going around the crown of his head and fanning out to the longer layers near the nape of his neck. his hair falls around his bare shoulders, clinging to the divets of his collarbones. the silence is comfortable. something you’ve grown used to being with him.

not much of a talker, absolutely exhausted from traveling the past couple of days. simon takes pride in these moments. where he’s able to let his guard down and let you in close. he peeks an eye open at you, notices how furrowed your brow is in concentration. has to stifle a laugh.

“proper hairdresser now,” he quips.

“should be at this point. your hair grows so quick.”

you finish by razoring around his ears and the back of his neck, the warble of the clippers buzzing against his skull. he wouldn’t let you do this for awhile, guess it brought up something he didn’t want to think about.

his face is relaxed now, eyes fluttering closed again as you brush off the small hairs on his face and shoulders.

“all done,” you smile, walking over to grab the broom from the pantry.

you sweep up as he gets up, placing a kiss on your head before heading to the shower. it’s just a quick rinse, he’ll shower better in the morning. just so he’s not itchy. you put your broom up after dumping the excess hair, little curls in the bottom of your trash can.

simon emerges from the shower, smelling clean, water droplets clinging to his still damp skin. his hair still curls a bit, one particular piece curling on his forehead. he examines your job in the mirror. you appear behind him, curious to your handiwork.

“up to your satisfaction?” you ask, looking at him through your joined reflections in the mirror.

“always. perfect as ever. just like you,” he praises lowly, a tired smile on his face.

you match him, squeezing his bicep.

“lets go to bed. lots to catch up on tomorrow,” you murmur, tugging him along.

simon follows behind, dropping his towel when he reaches your shared room. you’ve got his favorite pair of pajama pants folded on the bed - a slouchy grey cotton. he slips them on, a hum of contentment leaving his lips.

you both crawl into bed, simon slotting both of your bodies together, warmth from the shower seeping into your back.

“glad you made it home safe,” you yawn, wiggling back to get closer to him.

“for you dove, always,” he says into your hair, squeezing your midsection as he closes his eyes.

i love the mundane 😌

[thatguywrites]

Hi!! Absolutely LOVE what you do. I spend HOURS just looking for x male reader and even longer for ftm masc. Thank you for all your hard work!!

for req… I was thinking maybe Frank Langdon is with the reader but it’s very private. People always ask about Frank’s love life since his divorce, but he always brushes it off. Reader is an EMT that was contract working at Pittfest and is wheeled in as a victim. Frank fully loses it, all forms of professionalism out the window and he runs to attend his partner.

Thanks!! 🩷🩷

Healing together

Fr I got so tired of looking for male reader content I decided to start making it

Should I make a pt 2 of this of Frank's out patient and reader's recovery?

Frank Langdon x EMT!Reader

He was thankful that you were stationed at PittFest when he made his walk of shame past the ambulance bay holding all of his belongings. You had complained about being stationed there, saying you could handle more than dehydration and exhaustion, although you did end up driving a guy to the hospital after he got crushed by a pole.

But he's glad you're out there dealing with those every day issues, and couldn't see the tears that slowly escaped his eyes as he sat on a bench just down the street of the hospital. He sat frozen on the bench for about an hour, debating what to do. Should he hide away in your shared car, and have a good old fashioned mental break down before he's inevitably fired? He didn't want you to find out like that though, to find your boyfriend a mess in the back seats of your car.

Frank was snapped out of his spiral by the sounds of sirens, a lot of sirens. Ambulance after ambulance pulling into the hospital, which had clearly prepared for the onslaught. Frank got up and began rushing towards the hospital, he could guess what had happened. There was only one place that so many people would be coming from. And he could already guess the mechanism of injury.

He may be an addict, but he's still a doctor, and he couldn't just sit by and not help with a mass casualty event. He entered through the ambulance bay, searching for the vehicle that you had set out in that morning to no success. As he threw himself into treating patients, his eyes couldn't help but to whip to the doors every time new patients came into the hospital. He saw Robby try and fail to save Leah. He couldn't let that happen to you, he couldn't see you with a black and white band on your wrist. He asked the other EMTs if they had seen you when they were at PittFest, getting confused answers from your coworkers who didn't think he would know your name, and checked his phone every ten minutes, but no news.

He quickly got lost in his work, checking his phone less, and asking around less, but his head still snapped to the door, hoping to see you bring in a patient, but dreading to see you as a patient. He was in the middle of completing a makeshift crike on an otherwise stable patient when his head yet again automatically snapped to the door, but this time, he was not so quick to look back. Dr. McKay figured out the situation quite quickly, and took his tools out of his hands, nodding her head towards the door which his eyes had not yet left, as his entire body had gone completely still.

The sight made him sick to his stomach, your black pants and light blue shirt that he himself had seen you put on that morning, were now torn open to reveal a gunshot through your abdomen. Your left hand was clutching your side as you cried, and he caught a glimpse of your name badge, now covered in blood, face id barely legible. Your co-workers wheeled you into the red zone, keeping pressure on the wound and calling out for supplies.

Frank felt his tounge get unstuck from the bottom of his mouth, and his feet began to move on autopilot. "Y/N? Y/N! LET ME THROUGH!" He pushed his way through the red zone, assessing your injury and calling out for blood and Dr. Garcia or Walsh, but before he could put new gloves on, Dana was pulling him away. "No, no" he gasped out, "That's my boyfriend, Dana, Dana I need to- I- Dana you don't get it that's my boyfriend, I need to help him, I- I can't just-"

Dana manhandled him around, his hands too shaky and weak to fight back as she maneuvered him to lean against the nurses station, grabbing a juice box and shoving it into his hands. "Yes, I can guess, you love him, that's your boyfriend. But that means you cannot work on him. Robby and Abbot will help him. Walsh will be back and can fix him up, but if you work on him, you'll make a mistake." Frank opened his mouth as if to argue, but his eyes flickered back to your bleeding body and any words got lost in his fear. Frank drank the juice under her supervision breathing heavily, eyes unable to look away from the gurney in the middle of red. Walsh had made it down, and Abbot was working on you too. He managed to take a deep breath, you were in better hands than his own. Dana gave him a sad smile, "Stupid kid, go work in yellow, send Mel and Santos over here, ok? We'll call you when Y/N is stable, and you can visit him. I promise"

Franks breathing slowed, as he nodded and went over to share the message. He worked methodically throughout the night, not thinking beyond you and his patients. Robby came up to him in an attempt to talk about their previous conversation, but he simply broke down in tears at the thought that you may not survive to see him get better. That he wouldn't even get to tell you, to be honest with you.

Eventually Dr. Abbot brought him upstairs to sit by your side, along with bringing him some clothes to replace his blood stained scrubs. Dr. Walsh came in an explained you condition, the bullet had gone into your lower abdomen, and they'd had to take it out and repair your digestive system, you you would have to rely on a feeding tube for some time. She told him to get changed and shower, that you may be there for a while, before silently shutting the door behind her. Frank was silent as she left, only moving to hold your hand to his cheek, tears falling down onto your hand.

He spent the next day holding your hand, and reading a half finished book that McKay had brought from your flat. He barely managed to eat the food that Yolanda brought to him and tried to guilt him into eating. He also refused her attempts to get him to shower, or go outside, terrified that you would wake up the second he left the room. 'He would want you to take care of yourself' doesn't work as well when you're holding as much guilt in your chest as he is. Despite how much it clawed at him, he didn't tell your resting body what had happened the day before. He told himself again and again that you would wake up and he could tell you then that you would be upset if he told you when you couldn't respond.

When you finally woke up, it was before the sun rose two days after PittFest. Frank was still asleep, cradling your left hand next to his face with tear tracks being all that was left of all the crying he had done for that past two days. Bringing your hand up to cradle his face, you couldn't help but smile, all you'd gone through, you still had your Frank.

The movement awoke Frank with a startle, as he looked up into your eyes for the first time in almost two days, looking dazed, and as if he couldn't belief it, and he looked as if he was yet again going to burst into tears with just one look.

"You're awake"

"It's seems so, yeah"

Tears began to flow as he pulled you into a loose hug, still scared to touch you healing wound, and wet cries of how he thought he was going to lose you escaped his mouth as he sobbed into your shoulder.

When Walsh came in to explain your condition and the process of healing and returning to work, Frank didn't leave your shoulder, only looking at her to hear how to take care of you at home. On her way out, she looked back at him, "Congrats, by the way. Really kept it secret. Dana won the staff betting pool. And Frank, Robby says 'to tell him', real ominous vibes."

Frank's face paled, he'd been thinking about how to tell you for the past day, but now that it was the moment, he didn't know what to do. As he looked up into your eyes, he could see the concern and love that you held for him, and he felt like he was about to break all of that.

The ensuing conversation resulted in Frank's head resting on your lap as you played with his hair while you talked. You agreed that he would start an outpatient program while you healed so that he could help around the house, before then doing some inpatient and going back to work. When you told him you wouldn't leave him, and that if he would be with you through your injury, you would be with him through his rehab, he began sobbing on your lap.

Throughout the day Garcia, Dana, McKay and Robby all came up to visit the two of you, and Frank finally began to eat the food that Garcia brought, as he could take her guilt tripping, but not your actual disappointment. Dana thanked the two of you for being gay and coworkers, her personal bet, and gave you her number, so that you could update her with any health issues, and any blackmail she could use on Frank.

When you and Frank were finally able to go home over a week later, there was an entire parade bringing you out, your fellow EMTs, the surgeons, and all Pitt workers on staff all bidding you farewell, and wishing you well healing as Frank wheeled you out.

Taglist: (Comment or DM to be added)

@koalapastries @op-81-lvr-reblogs

[maomao-words]

Can I request where windbreaker boys got jealous over s/o (us) like simping over fictional characters, I wanna see their reaction getting sulking or jealous 8(>_<)8

Not me exposing my own list of hubbies in these headcannons /ᐠ｡ꞈ｡ᐟ\

I hope your tastes match mine, and you enjoy!

No TWs. Fluff with some crack sprinkled around.

Wind Breaker: How the boys react to you simping over fictional characters (Sakura, Kiryu, Endo).

Haruka Sakura:

No. Sakura does not get jealous over fictional men.

He does not sulk, lower lip jutted in the most adorable of pouts, whenever you joyfully yell each time Satoru Gojo comes up on screen. He definitely does not clench his jaw each time you delve into an unstoppable tirade over how strong the white-haired sorcerer is, how attractive his hands are, and how beautiful his blue eyes look.

Sakura absolutely does not try to distract you by holding onto your waist, as shyly as his nerves allow him to, and burying his face into the crook of your neck.

The fact that these moments of affection from Sakura coincide with Gojo's training scenes has nothing to do with your boyfriend. Or so he claims, voice close to a whisper, and eyes avoiding yours as much as possible.

Each time you catch Sakura frowning at your phone's home screen, which is evenly split between a fanart of Gojo's fingers held in his signature move and a candid picture taken of you both during one of your latest dates, you would simply laugh at his facial expressions.

How adorable, you would say, as you gently cup his cheeks and peck him once, then twice, and thrice. Once Sakura busies himself with hiding his blushing face, you turn around, resuming your dive into Tumblr for more posts about your fictional hubby.

Provoking your lovely boyfriend's jealousy is easy. But a soft smooch accompanied by your prettiest smile never fails to melt his icy facade, rendering him unable to leave your side, while you continue admiring Gojo's beautiful features on screen. Little did Sakura know that your favorite sorcerer shares almost all of his own traits. Starting from the feathery white hair, the gem-like eyes, to the incomparable strength and dominance, Sakura does not stray far from Gojo, which is what made him appeal to your eyes in the first place.

But, hush now. With how adorable Sakura behaves, you do not wish to divulge this secret to him.

Oh, and if you notice Sakura smiling once you mention the end of the JJK manga, you do not go down quietly. Needless to say that your lovely boyfriend had to spend the rest of the week sleeping on the couch, alone and grumbling about how unfair you were acting.

Kiryu Mitsuki:

Yes. Kiryu is jealous that you have eyes for no one but Rafayel from LADS.

Actually, scratch that, dearest. Hell fucking yes, Kiryu is beyond jealous that your main husband is a rich, attractive, and highly bewitching merman, whose voice seems to be the only way for you to relax as you fall asleep at night.

"Noo, keep your eyes on me, cutie," Kiryu cooes at you with a voice sweeter than honeyed cakes, his hand cupping your face and guiding it away from the latest trailer featuring Rafayel.

You pout at your boyfriend's ridiculous attempts and gently swat at his hand to focus all of your attention on the phone in your hand. Kiryu gasps, an exaggerated sound colored with indignation and shock, before he moves in one smooth move to smother you with his entire body.

You gasp, phone clattering on the floor away from you at the sudden jolt, while you struggle to handle your boyfriend's weight on you. Nothing was new about Kiryu's behavior. Each time Rafayel comes up on your screen or tongue, talking about a new banner, showing him a work of fiction you recently read, or an amazing fan art you spotted, Kiryu's affection would spill over.

His touches, already consistent and plentiful, double in intensity and frequency. A hand on the small of your back to guide you away from your friedn's collective fangirling over Rafayel, long fingers gently tapping over your arm to distract you from staring at your fictinal's husband lethal face, or in extreme cases, tight hugs that envelop your entire figure before he swallows your protests with a tender kiss that takes your breath away in a heartbeat.

Your foolish boyfriend never stopped to wonder why you picked Rafayel out of everyone else. He never seemed to connect the dots; a rich man, with pink hues and angelic shades, and hands that are impossibly gentle to you. Each one of Rafayel's features, traits, and "cutie" never fails to bring Kiryu's face to mind.

But seeing Kiryu's dramatic pouts, hearing his near-teary complaints, and enjoying his tender embraces, you simply couldn't bring yourself to tell him the truth. So, each time he complains, you pretend to sigh and think long and hard, before you loop your hands around your beloved's neck to pull him closer to you.

Oh, and if anyone ends up finally asking, you end up revealing that it's always Kiryu offering his own card and encouraging you to spend as much money as you want to bring your merman home.

Endo Yamato:

Endo's first reaction to seeing your phone's home screen, on the afternoon of your second date, was a loud laugh that nearly caused you both to be kicked out of the coffee shop. His arm was loosely wrapped around your waist, the other lazily slung across the back of your chair, as you pulled your phone and unlocked it to show him the cute dress you bought the day before.

But the minute Endo's green eyes landed on the now-unlocked screen, his body moved without hesitation, and he doubled over in laughter. After facing your wrath (a weak punch to his arm), Endo was finally lucid enough to ask the burning question on his tongue: is that a fucking clown?

That question ended up costing him a third date with you.

Because no, Hisoka Morow is not a clown. Well, when it comes to pure technicalities, he is one, but he is your favorite in the HunterxHunter world, and you refused to sit by and watch anyone make fun of him.

Endo never understood your obsession with Hisoka, but he never really felt gracious enough to stop making his typical comments to you. Relentless in his teasing, Endo's affectionate bullying extended to the small charms attached to your keys, the stickers on the back of your laptop, the lavender hoodie with Hisoka's figure on the front, and even your tiny notebook decorated in the magician's palette.

You pouted, shut him up using kisses, and laughed alongside Endo's teasing attempts. You were firm in your attachment to Hisoka, and Endo's playful attitude suited you just fine, as long as you were left to your own devices, free to love what you loved.

Yet somehow, along the way, you noticed a subtle change. Each time Endo caught you tearing up over the seemingly endless hiatus of the HXH manga, fangirling over the latest official art of your hubby, or rewatching the anime from start to finish, he would sweep you in an embrace that never failed to take your breath away.

Whenever your friends called and spent hours fangirling over the entire cast, Endo became glued to your side on the couch. With both arms wrapped around you, his head nestled in the crook of your neck, he would distract you from the conversation with his own whispers and comments. Laughing each time you swat at him in annoyance, Endo would only tighten his hold on you.

Your joy was indescribable the day Endo half-admitted he felt jealous of how much affection and attention you were pouring over that clown. You snorted, face flushing with the exertion of hiding your laughter, while Endo remained impassive by your side. You came closer to your lover, lips drawn in a soft smile, as you cupped his cheeks with your hands. Soft promises that confirmed your endless love for your boyfriend, and assurances that Hisoka's presence will never overshadow his own, were finally enough to return the lopsided smirk on Endo's face.

A smirk that disappeared as soon as it had appeared, however. Endo ended up sleeping on the couch that night for daring to call your hubby a clown. Again.

[sharkbitten-sailor]

hii! can you do forsaken x red panda user? (red pandas are my favorite animal lol)

it's okay if you can't! have a nice a day :3

[forsaken] dusekkar & taph x red panda!reader headcanons .ᐟ

a/n; ooh red panda? i think they're absolutely adorable. this is such a sweet request to work on, thanks anon <3

genaral hcs - small but fast, compared to other survivors, you’re definitely on the shorter side, but that just means you’ve got speed on your side! - your signature features? a big, cozy tail, small curved ears, and sharp claws. well, retractable claws, of course. handy for climbing, fighting, or just making a statement! - sleep schedule? completely unpredictable, causing nighttime chaos before crashing like a rock in the morning. (limbo time, as always) - climbing is second nature. whether it’s scaling trees, escaping danger, or using high surfaces for jukes (like in pirate bay), your claws are perfect for maneuvering. though half of the time it nerfed you... - blankets and pillows in short supply? no issue at all, your tail provides all the warmth and comfort you need. - everything you find precious or intriguing? marked. claw marks, scent traces,... you leave a little piece of yourself behind wherever you go, making sure everyone knows what’s yours.

dusekkar - finds you fascinating and feels bad that a creature like you got thrown into this game at the same time. thanks to it. - since i hc they have a soft spot for animals, he sometimes seeks you out in the cabin, not always to talk, sometimes just to sit in quiet company. - they really enjoy your presence, even when conversation isn't their cup of tea. your rambles, though? he likes them, actually. silly, nonsensical, fleeting thoughts, yet enough to ease the weight of hard times. - he asked, as polite as can be, if he could pat your head. you stared, blinked once, tilted your head just a fraction. - "…your ways are strange, yet not unkind. does touch hold meaning to your mind?" - half of the time you don't know what he really meant. through time spent with him, you start to catch their meaning,,, well kind of. you still need some time to piece it all together,,, - during rounds, he's extra careful with you, like a father tending to a child that strayed too close to the edge. always watching, always guiding. - even when he knows you've got this, he swears he's on the verge of a heart attack every time you say you're going to distract the killer. alone. - he's not particularly fond of your sleep schedule. wait... does it even exist? - because like, imagine him dragging himself out in the dead of night just to haul you back to the cabin or resorting to his staff to knock some sense into you. pain. - and the morning after,,, brace yourself. not only do you have to sit through his lecture, but also his endless rhymes. - ...you brought this upon yourself… no complaints. - he lets you in his room when he's not busy, and, without fail, you manage to mess up at least one thing every time/pos - surprisingly, though, he finds it quite amusing… even endearing.

taph - wait? what did you say? what- RED PANDA?? - straight-up obsessed/pos. wings twitchy. brain going brrrrrr. - at first, he just sits with you. silent. vibing. either absorbing your rants with the world's most serious thumbs-up, or just enjoying the quiet. not like you’d understand the rest of his signing anyway,,,, - he did try to teach you them once. it lasted three minutes before you got your mind wandering somewhere else. he hasn't tried since. just exaggerated gestures and drawings now. - he’s definitely thought about petting your fur. so soft. but every time, his hand just hovers,,, before he panics and pretends he wasn’t doing anything. - his wings? twitchy mess. every time you show up, they’re flapping like they’re trying to send morse code for 'what is this feeling'. with question marks,, - he tilts his head at you so often it’s like a reflex now. you say 'hi'? tilt. you drop a trinket? tilt. you exist? full head rotation like a confused raven he is. - 'best friends' happened casually. after committing mutual idiocy and surviving several questionable decisions. it just,, made sense(?) 'match my freak' kind of thing,, - you’re starting to understand his signs. 'thanks,' 'good job,' and the ever-popular 'SEND HELP IM DYIN-' - now he’s allowed to pat your fur. acts chill about it but he's melting inside when you purr and lean into his touches. - regularly uses your tail as a mattress. says nothing. just flops. it’s a routine at this point. - you once caught him trying to rate your purrs in a notebook. one page literally said '8.9/10 - warm, fuzzy, accidental snort at the end = bonus points.'/ref - drops his feathers on your nap spots. always at least one tucked neatly in your fluff. - if you misplace it? cue dramatic sulking. offer a hug? back to joy mode. - spectates when you’re distracting the killer like it’s reality tv. wings folded. mildly entertained. - once the rounds are done, you find silly and nice drawings tucked somewhere in your room. sometimes they're pinned to the wall, other times hidden under your pillow. - he once wrote 'red panda supremacy' on a wall with chalk. no explanation. refuses to admit it was him, even though you literally saw him do it. - he enjoys blowing up the killers' faces, yes, but if you're there? suddenly it’s all shits and giggles. he sets off a flashbang and turns to see you clapping like a seal. perfect day. - bonus points when he's setting traps and you’re just,.. sitting there. wide-eyed. watching like a suspiciously silent owl. sometimes you’re acting as lookout. - you’ve also definitely body-blocked a killer mid-trap setup once. you hissed. he waved. killer backed off. successful teamwork.

a/n; had a vc with my friends while playing forsaken and it was so fawking funny i can’t even type like a proper human anymore🥲🥲 also lost my voice from laughing too hard/nf btw the last part where raven boy’s setting a trap and reader body-blocks for him that was me and my friend using guest ヾ(≧▽≦*)o

[hebezuart]

HI ITS ME THE GUY WHO SAID I WANTED UR TENNA DESIGN DESPERATELY AND FOLLOWED IT UP WITH A WOOHOO I LOVE YOUR MTV AU AND I THINK THE DESIGNS ARE ABSOLUTELY GORGROUS. ITS RLLY IN CHARACTER AND ID LOVE TO HEAR ANY MORE THOUGTS YOU HAVE RELATING TO IT IF YOU HAVE ANY AT ALL. PENNY FOR THE POOR , PLS MAY I HAVE SOME MORE, ETC, OK THNAK YOU . I FEEL LIKE I SHLD SIGN OFF BUT I DONT KNOW WHAT TO DO,. YOU PICK IF YOU WANT

Ooh, a returning customer!! (/silly)

Y'know, since you sent this ask, I actually have had quite a few thoughts about the AU. Which, funnily enough, are mostly pertaining to various theoretical gameplay mechanics. I highly, highly doubt this AU will ever become a ROM hack of any kind (seeing as how I... don't know how to make those), but pondering stuff like this is still really fun anyways. Lemme talk about it.

Their party is relatively similar to that of the Fun Gang's, in terms of specialty diversity. MTT is the lighter weapon user, mirroring Kris and their sword. His attacks can be strong, but usually that honor goes to Mads, the heavy hitter, much like Susie. With her brass knuckle boxing gloves, anything she hits is gonna hurt hard. And Blooky is the group's magic user, like Ralsei. Although, they're definitely not as skilled with it as they'd hope... we'll get into that in a minute though. Let's break each character down.

Starting with Mads, she's basically a mashup of Sonic the Werehog and an ARMS character. Her body parts are able to detach like they did in Undertale, so she uses the sports tape around her arms as a tether to rocket her fists forward for long range, hard hitting punches. This applies to her head, too: She can take it off and hold it in her hands, shooting her arms forward to use her teeth as an attack.

An extra strong attack that costs a lot of TP would entail something like spinning around like the Tasmanian Devil and dealing major damage to the entire enemy team, but taking a chunk of recoil damage in return. Despite this, she'd be one to attack as often as possible and quickly spend big chunks of TP for her finishers.

MTT is, for lack of a better term, a complete fail boy. Whereas the other two has some sort of intuition about how to use their weapons, MTT is completely out of his element. That element being... staying inside and doing nothing. His weapon is meant to be used like a spear, being long and pointy and used to keep your distance from enemies. However, he ends up using it half like an axe, and half like a sword. Swinging with wild abandon in fear, or trying to bang enemies on the head with it to little results.

He eventually starts to get the hang of it, of course, but most of the time opts for defending and gaining TP, letting Mads and Blooky do most of the work. However, with enough TP, he's able to do an attack that supposedly deals an insane amount of damage... with a 50/50 chance that that damage lands back on him instead, knocking him down instantly. He's a bit of a glass cannon.

Blooky I think was my favorite to come up with ideas for (aided too by my friends in the server we share). They're a magician, so they have both the magic from their wand and whatever they can pull out of their hat. The wand works like you'd expect, casting spells for both attacks and healing, all at a relatively low TP cost, but in turn, a relatively low-powered spell.

By saving up a little more TP, they can flip off their hat for a random event. Dubbing this the Hat Roulette, a number of things can emerge from the hat. A rabbit that heals a single party member, a flock of doves that does significant damage to the enemies (although, it has a small chance of doing that same damage to the party), and a host of other things. What comes out of the hat is completely up to chance, making Blooky really weigh their options before spending the TP.

I have lots of other ideas of course, but I'll keep it contained to just this for this post. This AU has already been loads of fun working on :)

[samazing0831]

How to Break a Curse - Fred Weasley x Reader

Fred Weasley has always known how to flirt - except with you. Because with you, it would've meant something. Too much. And so he kept quiet. Even after the war. Even after you'd both survived everything but the truth.

But when a compulsion curse forces Fred to speak every truth he's ever buried - including the ones he's hidden from himself - you're called in to help. What starts as magical diagnosis becomes an unraveling of everything between you: school memories, missed chances, and the love you both spent years refusing to name.

Now the spell is breaking. But what if you're not ready for what comes next?

What if the truth is still too big to say?

6.1k words

A/N: This fic is for the Fred girlies who like emotional damage, slow-burn mutual pining, and the catharsis of finally saying the things that have gone unsaid for years. If you love accidental confessions, ancient magic, post-war grief, and the slowest of slow burns - this one's for you.

Fred Weasley never told you how he felt.

Not when you bandaged his hand after a failed fireworks charm in fourth year.

Not when Snape paired you together in Potions and you spilled Amortentia all over his notes - and he didn’t care, because your laugh sounded exactly like the fizzing of a sweet joke just before it exploded.

Not even after the war, when you’d grown into your own kind of brilliant, training under the best curse-breakers while he rebuilt the shop and himself at the same time.

You were always in his orbit. Close enough to touch. But never quite his.

He flirted with everyone. Everyone except you.

Because it would have meant something. Too much.

So he didn’t say it.

Not until the day the curse made it impossible not to.

The last thing Fred remembered before the spell hit was the sound of George saying, “You absolute idiot, don’t eat that -”

Then:

Snap.

Spark.

Dark.

Then:

Truth.

The owl arrived with an irritated rattle of wings and an urgent red seal.

You barely glanced up at first - still hunched over a centuries old scroll, ink smudge on your fingers, neck aching from the angle you’d been craning for hours. You were in the middle of translating an ancient ward-breaking glyph from a Celtic tomb, halfway between brilliance and burnout.

But then your eyes caught the Ministry mark.

You unrolled the parchment with growing unease.

“Urgent magical accident. Diagon Alley. Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes. Spontaneous compulsion spell - patient unable to lie. Curse-breaker assistance required immediately.”

When you saw the name, you cursed under your breath - not because it was Fred Weasley.

But because it was Fred Weasley.

You muttered something unprintable under your breath, grabbed your satchel, and Disapparated without even changing out of your work clothes.

Wind whipped at your scarf the moment you reappeared on the cobbled edge of Diagon Alley. The early evening air was brisk, tinged with wood smoke and the sugary scent of something exploding several doors down.

You climbed the stairs to the flat above with dread curling low in your stomach. You hadn’t seen Fred in months - not since that mutual friend’s wedding, where he’d danced like a man trying to forget something.

You hadn’t forgotten anything.

The door creaked open before you knocked.

“Of course it’s you,” Fred groaned, flopped across the old settee with one hand over his eyes. “Of all the curse-breakers in Britain…”

You dropped your bag by the fireplace and gave him a once-over: flushed cheeks, twitchy fingers, and a slightly panicked glint in his eyes.

“You look like hell,” you said flatly.

Fred blinked. “You smell amazing.”

A pause.

Your brow raised.

“I - I mean -” He turned desperately to George, who was seated on the armrest with a half-eaten Cauldron Cake. “See? I’m broken.”

George choked on his cake, coughing through a laugh. “Oh, he’s so broken.”

Fred didn’t stop talking for the next ten minutes.

It wasn’t that he meant to - in fact, you could see the moment he realized he couldn’t help it, eyes wide with horror as each confession tumbled out of his mouth like a poorly warded truth serum.

“I used to doodle your name and mine in the margins of my Charms notes but made them invisible.”

“I definitely faked a nosebleed once to get you to fix it. You touched my face. It was a whole thing.”

“I flirted with Angelina to distract from the fact that I was in love with someone else. Obviously, it didn’t work.”

You stared at him.

“I -” he began, horrified, “I didn’t mean to say that. Wait. No. I did. I just didn’t mean to say it now.”

You slowly closed your diagnostic journal and looked at him - not the patient, not the prankster, but the boy you used to pass notes to in the library. The boy you tried so hard to ignore, even when he sat two rows over, turning your insides to jelly every time he laughed.

“Well,” you said, rising to your feet, “this is going to be interesting.”

The day faded into a dusky blue-gray outside, street lamps flickering to life below the window. You’d stayed longer than you meant to - partly for professional reasons, partly because Fred had finally stopped talking and fallen asleep, and partly because…

Well.

Because being in that flat again felt like stepping backward into something half-familiar and half-forbidden.

You moved quietly through the room, setting up the last of the diagnostic wards around his bed for overnight monitoring. A soft glow followed your wand tip, encasing the mattress in a protective shimmer.

That’s when you saw it - a photo, old and curling at the edges, tucked just under his lamp.

You reached for it without thinking.

It was one of those enchanted prints from Hogwarts: you and Alicia laughing on the lawn, books open but forgotten. Behind you, Fred photobombed with both thumbs up, mid-wink, grinning like he knew a secret.

He’d cut the photo unevenly to frame just you.

He caught you looking.

“I’ve had that since sixth year,” he said softly. “I never showed anyone. George would’ve never let me live it down.”

Your fingers lingered on the edge of the photo. Something in your chest tightened - an old, bruised feeling you’d never let surface until now.

You remembered that day.

You remembered the way Fred kept circling, teasing Alicia, always just barely brushing by you.

You thought it was a coincidence.

But now… now you weren’t so sure.

Truth, unfortunately, doesn’t sleep.

You’d only been back at the Weasley flat for one day and already regretted not charging triple.

The spell was something you hadn’t seen in years - an ancient truth-compulsion enchantment originally designed by paranoid Ministry officials during the early wizarding trials. It latched onto emotion. Instinct. Buried thoughts.

It wasn’t just a compulsion to speak.

It was a pressure point in the soul - twisting at instinct and memory, unraveling the threads people usually kept hidden. The deeper someone buried a thought, the faster it rose to the surface. Emotion made it worse. Shame made it impossible. The spell clung to those things like a bloodhound with a grudge.

In short: Fred was a live wire with absolutely no filter.

And he hated it.

Morning light spilled through the window of the flat like a spotlight on bad decisions.

You were in the sitting room again, running another scan - wand calibrated to a specialized focus stone, fingers ready, voice neutral. Fred sat on the edge of the couch, slouched forward slightly with the grim posture of a man preparing to embarrass himself in real time.

He was trying not to look at you.

Bad idea.

“Honestly?” Fred muttered as you hovered a spell-focus over his chest to measure magical resistance, “I can feel your hand through my shirt and it’s killing me. Thought you should know. For science.”

You didn’t blink. “Noted.”

“You’re very professional. That’s frustrating.”

“You can stop talking any time.”

“I really can’t,” he said miserably. “Also, your hair looks really soft today.”

You dropped the focus on his stomach.

He wheezed.

You stepped back calmly, scribbled a note, and pretended not to notice the color blooming at the tops of his ears.

By mid-afternoon, the flat had grown stifling - too small, too loud, too filled with unsaid things that Fred might accidentally say. You relocated to the front of the shop under the guise of needing open space for magical threshold testing, but really, you just needed to breathe.

George had roped Lee Jordan into helping restock a shipment of Fainting Fancies, while you and Fred camped near the warded entrance with a stack of charm protocols and a battered diagnostic wand that sparked if you angled it wrong.

It was mostly boring.

Until you added a layered pressure charm - subtle, but enough to press against the edges of his aura, and casually asked, “How do you feel under magical strain?”

“Terrible,” he said automatically.

You nodded, taking notes.

He paused.

“Also I think about kissing you at least once a day, and it’s so inconvenient.”

You froze.

Fred’s eyes widened. “That wasn’t supposed to come out.”

You didn’t move..

“It’s not new,” he rushed on. “Since sixth year. That stupid Amortentia lesson Snape had us paired up in? Yours smelled like ink and cloves. Mine smelled like you.”

You looked up sharply.

Fred winced. “See? This is awful. You’re going to run back to the Ministry and leave me to rot.”

You let the silence stretch for just long enough to make him sweat.

Then, finally: “I’m not leaving,” you said, quiet but certain. “But you do need to shut up before you give yourself a heart attack.”

“Too late. Already dying. Will definitely haunt you.”

You shook your head, trying very hard not to smile. “You’re ridiculous.”

He smirked. “But charming.”

“Unfortunately.”

That night, the flat settled into a soft quiet - the kind that only comes after a day spent pretending not to feel what you’re feeling.

You stayed in the spare room, door slightly ajar. Moonlight filtered in through the window, painting silver lines across your notebook as you sat cross-legged on the bed, journal open, mind racing.

Fred had always been flirtatious - you knew that. He’d turned it into an art form. But this… this wasn’t practiced lines or clever banter. It was too raw. Too uncertain. Too honest.

He wasn’t performing anymore.

He was unraveling.

You traced the edge of the page in your journal, half-distracted.

You’d written his name dozens of times today.

Across the hall, Fred lay on his back, arms folded behind his head, eyes fixed on the ceiling like it might answer all the questions he was too afraid to ask out loud.

Somewhere between blurting out his feelings and realizing you hadn’t run screaming for the hills, something had shifted.

You weren’t just a memory of laughter in a Gryffindor common room anymore. You weren’t just a ghost from a chapter in his past.

You were here. Now.

And the truth was out in the open.

Fred wasn’t sure if that terrified him or freed him - maybe both - but one thing was certain:

He’d waited years to tell you any of this. And now that the dam had cracked, the only thing he wanted was to keep going.

Even if it killed him.

The day had been nonstop mayhem.

One of the Pygmy Puffs escaped. George accidentally sold a pair of reversible boxers that swapped genders and houses. And Fred? He knocked over an entire display of Banshee Buttons with his elbow, triggering a five-minute wail so loud it shattered two Sneakoscopes and scared a tourist into buying one.

You barely had time to recast the floor-warding spells before locking up.

Now, hours later, the three of you collapsed in the flat upstairs. The lights were low, the fire warm, and half-finished bottles of Firewhisky and butterbeer were scattered across the floor like trophies. You were curled up on the loveseat. Fred sat on the rug nearby, back against the sofa, legs stretched out. George was perched on the windowsill, swirling a cocktail that glowed faintly green.

“This batch might actually kill people,” he said cheerfully. “Which means it’ll sell brilliantly.”

You raised your butterbeer. “To war crimes in candy form.”

Fred clinked his bottle against yours. “Cheers.”

You were all exhausted, a little buzzed, and laughing in that slow, golden way that only happened late at night, when the chaos finally settled and the quiet came.

Which is exactly when George decided to ruin it.

“So,” he said casually, not looking up, “how long did your little school crush on Freddie here last?”

You blinked. Fred turned his head toward you, eyebrows lifting.

You scoffed. “What?”

“Oh come on,” George said. “Everyone knew. Back at school - all those stolen glances over cauldron smoke. The time you tripped over your own robes when he winked at you in Transfiguration?”

“I tripped because Ron threw a Quill-Chewing Chizpurfle at my head,” you muttered.

George smirked. “Right. Sure you did.”

You rolled your eyes. “It wasn’t a big deal. Everyone had a crush on Fred back then.”

Fred raised an eyebrow. “Did they?”

You waved it off, too quickly. “It was school. We were sixteen. It didn’t mean anything.”

The silence that followed landed like a hex.

You didn’t notice it at first - not until Fred sat up straighter. His drink hung forgotten in his hand.

When he spoke, his voice was too quiet to be casual.

“I certainly didn’t have a crush on you.”

You blinked. “What?”

He looked at you - really looked - and in the firelight, his eyes weren’t playful. They were glassy. Raw.

“It wasn’t a crush,” he said again. “A crush was what I had on Angelina in fourth year. It lasted three weeks and ended when she jinxed my eyebrows off. I had a crush on that Slytherin in fourth year who looked like she’d stab someone with a sugar quill.”

He gave a single, humorless laugh.

“You?” He ran a hand through his hair, searching for words. “You were different.”

George, to his credit, said nothing.

Fred turned back to you. His voice steadied - low, but certain.

“I noticed you before you ever noticed me. You were the one person I couldn’t joke with the same way - not because I didn’t want to, but because I didn’t trust myself. Because you mattered.”

Your breath caught.

“I used to memorize where you sat in class,” he said with a crooked smile. “So I’d know where not to sit. Being near you made me forget punchlines.”

Your heart was thudding now, traitorously loud.

“And during the Battle…” His voice faltered. “I didn’t see you at first. And then I did. You were hexing a Death Eater - twice your size, might I add - with your arm bleeding down to your fingertips, and you still yelled at me to keep moving.”

His voice cracked on the last word.

“I thought I was going to lose you. And that night, when you limped past me holding your wand like it was the only thing keeping you upright - I wanted to say something. Anything. I even wanted to kiss you. But I didn’t.”

Silence.

Then:

“I’ve been in love with you for a long time,” Fred said softly. “And now this bloody curse is dragging it out of me like some sort of humiliating game and - Merlin, I wish I’d just told you before. When it was mine to give.”

You stared at him, the past rewriting itself behind your eyes.

George stood quietly. “Right. I’m suddenly feeling very much… like I shouldn’t be here,” he muttered, disappearing down the hall with his drink and saintlike timing.

You were still staring.

“I thought you were just… Fred,” you said finally. “Friendly. Charming. Untouchable.” 

He looked at you then - broken open, not smiling.

“You were always the untouchable one.”

The flat was still.

Outside, Diagon Alley lay hushed beneath a soft coat of snow, the lamplight glinting off frost-laced eaves. Inside, the fire had dwindled to embers, casting sleepy gold shadows across the floorboards. Fred was curled on the couch beneath a frayed Gryffindor blanket, hands wrapped around a mug of cooling tea.

You sat beside him - not touching, but close enough to feel the space between you hum with everything unsaid.

Neither of you had spoken much since George had retreated to bed with an overly dramatic yawn and an oddly well-timed exit. That conversation - that confession - still hung in the air like dust, impossible to ignore.

You could feel Fred watching you from the corner of your eye.

But you didn’t look.

Not yet.

You were flipping through your spell journal, feigning focus, when Fred flinched.

Your head snapped up. “What was that?”

He winced, one hand going to his side. “Just a flare. Feels like something’s… pushing out.”

You shifted toward him instinctively. “You didn’t say anything earlier.”

“I didn’t want to -” He stopped, then gave a crooked smile. “Didn’t want to interrupt the awkward silence.”

You rolled your eyes, already tugging the blanket aside. Your fingers brushed the hem of his shirt.

“Lift up,” you murmured.

He obeyed.

Beneath his ribs, magic shimmered faintly beneath the skin - a bruised glow ripping with each breath.

You pressed your wand gently to its edge. “This’ll tingle.”

Fred didn’t flinch.

“I trust you,” he said.

You froze.

Just for a second.

Those words landed deeper than they had any right to.

Whether Fred noticed or not, he didn’t let on. He just watched you - quiet, steady, while you worked.

When the charm finished settling and the light faded, you lowered your wand and leaned back with a quiet breath.

“Thanks,” he said, still watching you like he wasn’t quite ready to stop.

“You should’ve told me it was getting worse.”

He shrugged. “I figured if I ignored it, it might go away.”

You gave him a look. “Has that ever worked?”

He huffed a soft laugh. “No. But that didn’t stop me from trying. With everything else, too.”

The fire crackled. SIlence stretched - not uncomfortable, but fragile.

Fred set down his mug, slowly, like it had become too heavy to hold.

“I thought if I told you,” he said, his voice quiet and raw, “I’d lose you.”

You didn’t move. Couldn’t.

“Back in school. After the battle. Even when you walked in yesterday. I thought if I said something real, it’d break whatever version of you I still had.”

You stared into the fire. Your chest ached.

“But now…” Fred exhaled, low and shaky. “Now I think I’m losing myself instead.”

You turned toward him.

Really turned.

Fred Weasley - the one who always had a joke, a smirk, an escape route - looked worn thin. Like the weight of years, of unspoken truths, had finally caught up.

“I didn’t want it to be a curse that made me say it,” he murmured. “But it did. And now you know. And I don’t know what to do with that.”

You hadn’t realized you were leaning in until you noticed the shift in his gaze - down, briefly, to your mouth.

His breath caught.

So did yours.

And for one suspended heartbeat, you both leaned closer.

Heat. Tension. Gravity.

But then -

Fred paused.

Just enough to pull back.

“Sorry,” he whispered, his eyes dropping.

You eased back too, your heart aching and alive.

“No,” you said softly. “Don’t be.”

Because you weren’t ready. Not yet. Not tonight.

But your hands still tingled from touching him.

And your chest was still tight from almost hearing everything you’d once told yourself not to hope for.

The room went quiet again.

But this time, the quiet wasn’t empty.

It was full of maybe.

And maybe it was almost loud enough to believe in.

The library at Grimmauld Place smelled like parchment and ghosts.

Dust curled in the corners. Enchanted books drifted lazily above their shelves, still dutiful after decades of neglect. Overhead, the chandelier flickered with an eerie blue light, casting shadows that shifted with the turn of every page.

You and Fred sat opposite each other at the long oak table, a fortress of books stacked between you - most cracked open to smudged entries on psychological hexes, emotional compulsion spells, and ancient, half-forgotten curses. The kind of magic people whispered about, but rarely wrote down.

Fred’s hair was a mess, and his jumper had a new hole scorched into the sleeve from a misfired detection charm. He looked exhausted.

You weren’t faring much better.

But there was something about this - about being here, late, together - that made the silence feel full rather than empty.

You ran a hand through your hair and murmured, “Found something.”

Fred glanced up.

You slid a battered tome across the table. The page was marked with a shaky scrawl and a rust-colored fingerprint. The entry read:

Spell Type: Veritas Malefica

Often mistaken for a standard truth compulsion. Rooted in grief-based magic.

Enchantment reacts violently to emotional suppression - not lies told to others, but lies told to oneself.

Fred blinked slowly. “What does that mean?”

You swallowed. “It means… the more you try to bury what you’re feeling - especially from yourself - the worse it gets.”

He leaned back, the realization settling like stones in his chest.

“So I’ve been making it worse,” he said, voice hollow. “Every time I pretended it didn’t matter. Every time I told myself it wasn’t -”

He didn’t finish.

You looked down at your hands. “You’re not cursed because you lied to other people, Fred. You’re cursed because you’ve been lying to yourself.”

The silence that followed wasn’t sharp - it was heavy. Knowing.

Then Fred laughed - just once. Bitter and tired.

“Of course it’s emotional repression. I couldn’t have just accidentally swallowed a cursed sweet like a normal idiot.”

You almost smiled. Almost.

But then: “There’s something else.”

He looked over.

You hesitated, then pushed forward. “I think I’m the trigger.”

His brow furrowed. “What?”

“Every time the curse flares - it’s when I’m nearby. When I ask you something real. When we’re close.”

Fred stared at you.

Still, you didn’t stop.

“I’m not saying I’m bad for you. I’m saying… I’m the one person you’ve spent years pretending you didn’t feel anything for.”

His eyes dropped away. “Because if I didn’t pretend,” he said quietly, “I wouldn’t have been able to handle it.”

You nodded. “I know.”

Silence settled again - quieter now. Expectant.

And then you said it.

“I liked you too, you know.”

Fred’s head lifted. His gaze found yours - sharp. Breathless.

You weren’t smiling. You were just honest.

“I used to sit two rows behind you in Charms and laugh at your jokes - even the terrible ones. I’d take the long way to class if it meant running into you. I noticed when you stopped joking with me after sixth year. I noticed everything. But you never said anything, so I thought…”

“That it wasn’t real,” Fred finished, barely above a whisper.

You nodded.

A beat passed.

And then - Fred said the thing that mattered most:

“I think that’s when it started. The lie. The one I kept telling myself - that I didn’t feel anything. That you were just… someone I missed a chance with.”

Your breath caught.

Fred leaned in, just slightly, voice raw.

“And the more I lied, the worse it got. The more I smiled and flirted and joked like it didn’t mean anything… the louder it got inside my head. Until the curse made it impossible to ignore.”

You didn’t speak.

And, for once, neither did Fred.

He just looked at you - unguarded. Quiet. Like he was finally allowing himself to be seen.

The silence between you wasn’t heavy anymore.

It was warmer now.

Not because anything had been fixed.

But because nothing was hiding anymore.

The day after Grimmauld Place, something shifted.

Not in a catastrophic way. No slammed doors. No shouting. No curses gone awry.

Just… distance.

You weren’t cold. You weren’t avoiding him - not outright. But Fred felt it. In the extra beat between your replies. In the way your laughter skimmed the surface but never quite sank. In how your hands were always busy - labeling jars, reorganizing shelves, rereading the same page for the third time.

And Fred - who had spent most of his adult life performing noise in place of honesty - didn’t know how to survive the quiet.

So he filled it.

Poorly.

By midday, he was back to tossing out jokes. Half-hearted ones. Ones with all the punch of a wet sparkler.

“Careful with that,” he said, nodding at a crate of Sneezing Sparkles. “Wouldn’t want you bursting into glitter again. Not without warning me first. I need time to emotionally prepare.”

You didn’t look up. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

Fred winced. He couldn’t tell if you were irritated, distracted, or just… elsewhere.

He hated it.

He hated not knowing.

By the time you’d locked up for the night, the air between you was taut - stretched thin by all the things unsaid.

Fred lingered behind the counter, pacing. You were counting inventory. Precisely. Methodically. Like precision could protect you.

“You’re not… avoiding me, are you?”

You glanced up. “No.”

He nodded too fast. “Right. Cool.”

You went back to counting. “I just needed space.”

“From me?”

You hesitated. “From everything.”

Fred leaned against the doorframe, scrubbing a hand through his hair. “Is this about what I said?”

You didn’t answer.

Which, of course, made it worse.

Fred smiled - the brittle kind, the kind that hurt to wear. “Because I can take it back, you know. If that’s what you need. The curse is still having a laugh - I’ll probably say something worse tomorrow. Might as well get ahead of it.”

You closed the ledger. “Fred -”

“No, seriously,” he cut in, too fast, too loud. “We’ll pretend none of it happened. I’ll go back to flirting and making things weird in a fun way. We’ll rewind. Reset. Or maybe -” He laughed, sharp and thin. “Maybe I’ll just stop talking altogether. That seems safer.”

You stared at him. “That’s not fair.”

“Oh, I know,” he said, voice rising. “But neither is falling in love with someone who’s not ready to hear it.”

The words echoed - harsh and hollow.

Fred froze, eyes wide, as if he’d just heard himself speak.

You swallowed. “Fred…”

“I didn’t mean to -” He stopped. Exhaled. Then, quietly, “No. I did. I meant to say it. I’m not sorry.”

You didn’t move.

“I think I’m in love with you,” he said again, softer. “And I hate that I didn’t say it years ago. Before the shop. Before the war. Before I was a complete and total jackass to you in school. Before I let a damn curse speak for me.”

The room went still.

And you?

You didn’t say it back.

Not because it wasn’t true. Not because you didn’t want to.

But because you weren’t ready.

The words were there - somewhere beneath your ribs, curled like a secret. But they hadn’t found their shape yet. They hadn’t learned how to stand.

And Fred - as much as it ached - deserved more than almost.

So you looked at him - open, aching, real - and said:

“...I can’t say it right now. Not like this.”

Fred didn’t speak. Just nodded. Once. Slow and sharp, like something cracking.

Then he turned away.

That night, the flat was quiet again.

But this time, it wasn’t full of maybe.

It was full of waiting.

The ancient ritual site felt like it was holding its breath.

A ring of weathered stones stood half-sunken in the frostbitten earth, their surfaces carved with runes long faded by time but not by meaning. The clearing was silent, save for the whisper of the wind through the bare trees - a hush that felt less like absence and more like reverence.

You stood with Fred in the center of the circle, boots crunching softly against brittle grass rimmed with ice. The winter air curled at your sleeves and stung your nose, but the real chill came from the magic itself - thick and waiting, like fog with a heartbeat.

Above, the sky stretched iron-gray, heavy with unshed snow. The clouds did not move. The world did not move. It was as if everything - time, wind, fate - had stilled to bear witness.

You turned to him, wand at your side. He hadn’t spoken since you both Apparated. Just stood beside you, solid and tense, like he was bracing for something he couldn’t name.

“This is the last chance to back out,” you said softly.

Fred shook his head, jaw tight. “I don’t want to be forced anymore. Not even into the truth.”

You searched his face, looking for doubt. All you found was exhaustion - and resolve.

“Even if that means you don’t say it again?” you asked, voice low. “Even if that disappears with the spell?”

A beat passed.

Then: “I’ll say it again,” Fred said, almost in a whisper. “I’ll say it as many times as you can bear. As long as you let me.”

It nearly undid you - the quiet certainty in him. The gentleness. How hard he was trying not to sway you.

You raised your wand.

Your hand trembled as you drew the final rune, its golden light blooming to life beneath your feet. A delicate warmth pulsed outward - soft, not showy. No sparks. No lightning. Just a subtle kind of release, like a breath held for too long finally leaving the body.

Fred gasped - once, sharply - and staggered a step back. Then stilled.

The pressure - that slow, suffocating undertow he’d learned to live with - had vanished.

No more tug beneath his magic.

No more invisible leash between his chest and his tongue.

It was gone.

And what remained was just him.

Unfiltered. Unbound.

Uncertain.

He looked up at you, and something in his face had shifted. Not dramatically - but undeniably. His eyes, usually full of mischief or guarded deflection, were open in a way you hadn’t seen before. Vulnerable. Luminous.

Like someone standing in the wreckage of something invisible but heavy - and trying to figure out what to do with the air that came rushing in.

You didn’t speak.

Neither did he.

Because the spell was broken.

But the moment wasn’t.

You didn’t want to rush it. Didn’t want to shutter the fragile, aching stillness. So you stood there, breathing the same winter air, magic still humming faintly beneath your boots, waiting to see what - if anything - would come next.

Nothing did.

Fred offered a faint, searching smile - one that didn’t ask for anything, only promised.

Then he turned, and you followed him home.

Back at the flat, the silence continued - softer now, but not without weight. You sat on the edge of your bed, coat still buttoned, staring at the floor like it might offer answers.

Fred had gone to his room without a word. Not out of coldness. Just… to give you space. To let the choice be yours now.

And that was what gutted you most.

Because for so long, he had been the one stuck between wanting and not being able to say it. He had been cursed, compelled, uncertain.

Now, he was free.

And you were the one who didn’t know what to say.

You paced the length of your room, again and again, like maybe motion could organize the ache in your chest. Like maybe you’d trip over the answer in your own footsteps.

The curse was gone. You’d done what you came to do. You’d given him back his voice.

So why did it feel like you were the one unraveling?

Because he hadn’t said it again.

Hadn’t kissed you.

Hadn’t needed to.

And still - still - you felt the gravity of him in every breath. Still, your bones ached with the pressure of something half-formed.

The truth?

You wanted to run to his door and say it first.

But you didn’t know how.

The words lived inside you now - no longer curled and waiting like they had been. They were restless. Rising. Trying to find shape in a mouth that wasn’t ready to give them sound.

You pressed a hand to your chest. It felt like mourning something you hadn’t even lost. Like standing at the edge of a choice so big, you couldn’t see where it ended.

Because the spell was broken.

But your heart was still spellbound.

And for the first time in all of this…

The choice - terrifying, impossible, real - was yours.

The snow had stopped sometime after sundown, leaving Diagon Alley blanketed in a hush that felt almost reverent. The night sky stretched out in every direction — wide, open, impossibly clear — the stars above pricking like tiny wounds in navy velvet. Below, the last shops were shuttering, the alley buzzing faintly with the warmth of distant laughter and clinking glass.

But up here, it was quiet. Up here, it was just you and him.

Fred stood near the edge of the rooftop, his hands tucked deep into the pockets of his coat, his breath curling into soft clouds that disappeared into the night. He looked different now — not visibly, not in any way you could point to — but something in his posture had changed. It was like he’d dropped something heavy that had been pulling him sideways for months, and now he was learning how to stand up straight again.

He didn’t hear you at first. Or maybe he did, and just didn’t know what to say.

You let the silence stretch.

It was the first time in ages he wasn’t being pulled by magic — wasn’t under its thumb, its push, its pressure. For the first time, everything he felt was real. Every look. Every word. Every breath between us.

And that meant he had to choose now. Really choose.

You stepped closer.

He turned at the sound, his gaze finding yours fast — startled, raw, searching. Like he wasn’t sure what he’d see when he looked at you. Like part of him was still afraid you wouldn’t come.

But you had.

“Hey,” he said, soft.

“Hey.”

You moved to stand beside him, your coat brushing his, your fingers twitching at your sides with nerves you hadn’t expected. The wind had teeth, but you barely felt it.

The weight between you wasn’t a curse anymore. It was something else now. Something human.

“Cold up here,” he said, his voice too casual, too quiet.

You smiled faintly. “Didn’t think you’d mind. You used to say the cold made you feel alive.”

He huffed a laugh, something wistful and a little hollow. “Yeah. That was before I knew what feeling alive actually felt like.”

You turned to look at him — really look. “How does it feel now?”

Fred hesitated. Then, slowly, he met your eyes.

“Loud,” he said. “Like everything’s louder. Brighter. Sharper.”

“And scary?”

He nodded once. “Yeah. That too.”

You could see it — the flicker of uncertainty. He wasn’t hiding behind jokes or masks. There was no spell smoothing the way, no magic buffering the vulnerability. It was just Fred. Scared. Honest. Free.

“You don’t have to say anything,” you said. “I just wanted to be here. To see you. You.”

Fred blinked, jaw tightening. “But I want to say it.”

Your heart skipped.

“I’ve wanted to say it for a while,” he continued. “Even when I wasn’t sure if it was me or the curse talking. And when we broke it, I thought… if it was real, it would still be there. And it is. It is.”

He took a shaky breath. “I love you.”

The words fell out in the quiet like they belonged there. Like they’d been waiting for the right moment to land.

You didn’t answer right away.

You stepped forward, slow and steady, until there was barely space between you. Then you slipped your hands into his coat, fingers wrapping around his — solid, grounding.

“I know,” you said gently. “And I believe you now.”

Fred’s eyes filled. He laughed — a watery, disbelieving thing — and then leaned his forehead against yours.

“No magic,” he whispered.

“No magic,” you echoed.

Just breath and cold and stars. Just you and him and the night around you holding its breath.

And then, you kissed him.

Soft, certain. Real.

It wasn’t a rush or a rescue. It wasn’t a promise or an apology. It was a beginning — honest and slow, stitched together with everything you’d fought for.

Fred kissed you back like he finally had permission to feel — really feel. His hands rose to your waist, your cheek, your jaw, not desperate but careful. Like he didn’t want to forget a single detail.

When you finally pulled apart, just enough to breathe, your foreheads stayed pressed together. You could feel him smile, wide and shaky and undone.

“Still cursed,” he said, voice barely there.

You blinked. “What?”

He smiled wider. “Hopelessly. By you.”

You laughed against his lips. “You idiot.”

“You love me anyway,” he said.

You kissed him again.

Not because a spell told you to.

But because you’d fought for this.

And it was yours now.

All of it.

[prosypepper]

lesson in anatomy

pairing: professor!suguru geto x fem!student!reader

summary: okay, so, cheating on your test technically worked out—but what happens when your super hot professor calls you in his office?

content warning: nsfw but no smut, dubcon themes, blackmailing, coercion, inappropriate student-teacher relationships, misuse of power, reader shows thighs to said professor, don’t say i didn’t warn u okay, 18+ mdni!!

pepper’s notes: uh! yeah this is kinda messed up but i wanted to use the cool skeleton pictures i found, pls notice them.

“i’m impressed with your test score from today.”

legs crossing, you stare at your anatomy professor across from his desk, nestled in the corner of his office. suguru hasn’t looked up from his laptop, typing away and scrolling through various pages, a white reflection in his glasses.

“okay—”

“however,” geto cuts you off, turning his laptop around to face you, “i find the difference in all your scores from before to now a bit concerning.”

your eyes scan over the screen, red lines all below one green one. it’s your test scores from his class, all 20’s, 30’s, 40’s, and then one 97% at the very top, shining amongst your other failed attempts.

you gulp.

“well, i’ve been doing extra tutoring for this class, y’know—with yuuji. you set me up with him,” you counter, tilting your head to the side with your eyebrows furrowing.

feigning innocence.

“i understand that,” he starts, tugging the black-rimmed glasses off his face, “but a twenty-six to a ninety-seven in two weeks? a bit suspicious, no?”

“yuuji’s a really great tutor, sir,” you try to reason, eyes flittering to suguru’s forearms as they rest on his desk. soft eyelashes blink at him, trying to maintain your façade of a girl who’s been putting in the work.

“is that so?”

“yes, sir.”

“his grade is worse than yours,” suguru almost laughs, a devilish grin creeping onto his face, “if i didn’t know any better, i’d think you’ve been cheating.”

you’re left speechless, for a moment, caught red-handed in something of a lie. eyes flicking down, you look at your thighs—where the permanent ink sits right under your jeans, with answers you’d struggled to keep up with.

and the fact you went to the bathroom twice during the test isn’t helping your case either.

“uhm, sir—i don’t—i have not,” you lie through your teeth, face heating up with the fact you’re now stuck in your dishonesty.

“no?” he teases, standing up from his desk, slyly strutting around to you and resting his palms on either side of your chair. geto’s face becomes dangerously close to yours, eyes searching yours for the dead giveaway that you’re lying. you swallow, thick and dry, craning your head as far away from his as possible.

“no, sir,” you breathe, eyes widening.

“your ‘tutor’ already gave you away.”

suguru wants to chuckle at the change of expression in your face, going from surprised to absolutely defeated, eyebrows sinking in, asking for forgiveness immediately.

“i’ve been teaching for ten years, you’ll have to do better than write on the inside of your thigh if you want to cheat,” he asserts, backing away and propping himself up on the edge of his desk with his palms.

“i’m sorry, sir, i just—i can’t take this class again, i already failed last year and they won’t pay for it again if i retake it,” you apologize, fingernail digging into the side of your thumb from nerves, “i’m sorry—i’ll do anything, please don’t fail me.”

“you know we have a zero-tolerance policy for this kind of thing, hm?” suguru says, voice smooth and calm as ever, “you’ll need to do quite a lot of make-up work to make up for this, even if all i do is fail you on the test.”

“i know—i’ll do it, anything, you name it,” you assure, a spark of hope coming back into your eyes.

“anything?” he repeats, taunting.

“anything.”

there’s a pause. you look at your professor, who’s contemplating too much in his mind—knowing how messed up it would be to make his pretty student do such terrible things for a flimsy grade. then, there’s also greed eating at his mind, remembering the lewd scenarios he’d had in his head over you, since the day you walked into his room two semesters ago to take his class for the first time.

“show me.”

your eyebrows furrow again, confused—what does he mean?

“show you what?” you question, tilting your head to the side once more. surely he didn’t mean—

“your answers. show me.”

oh, no. it’s exactly what you think.

“sir—i don’t—i can’t, that’s so—,”

“so what?” suguru interjects, “inappropriate? what’s inappropriate is my student cheating.”

you falter, lost for words. there’s no defense here—you can’t lie your way out of it. and even if you do as you were told, you’d only prove your professor’s suspicions correct. either way, you’re fucked.

“what are you going to do?” you breathe the question out, almost feeling lightheaded from the stress you’re being put through. suguru waits for a moment, thinking over his words in his mind before speaking.

“i’m feeling generous today. so, i’ll give you two options,” he says, holding his pointer finger up, “one, you don’t do as i say, and i report you to the dean. then, you get to go through all the motions of appealing and probably getting tossed out anyway.” his other finger comes up, motioning for the second option, “two, you do as i say, and i won’t say anything. i’ll even offer private tutoring lessons, professor to student.”

your expression falls to one of disappointment, pursing your lips and looking at the long-haired man, dissatisfied.

“you’re going to blackmail me into showing you my thighs?” you deadpan, hoping to work some sort of reverse psychology on the man.

“precisely.”

“why?”

“because, dear,” he starts, leaning forward just a little to connect your eyes, “i simply can.”

“and what if i report you?” you almost threaten, eyes narrowing with a challenge.

“oh please,” suguru waves his hand at you, brushing off your threats, “i see the way you look at me, and, your study buddy outed you on that, too.” he’s laughing again, smiling at your density.

was yuuji a fucking spy or something? jeez.

thinking for a moment, you remember everything you accidentally spewed to yuuji about your professor. okay, yes, he was hot—but everyone else thought the same thing! really, girls all around you never shut up about professor geto, always swooning over the way he asked them a question or looked at them in class.

and sure, you may have had a little bit of a crush on him—but guys your age were all immature and noncommittal. what’s the issue with wanting something you can’t have? at least your heart couldn’t be broken that way.

yet, unfortunately for you, the one man you thought you could never attain was practically risking his career for you—and also threatening yours.

what the hell!

“you’re lucky you’re hot,” you spit, standing up with such fervor you almost pass out.

“thank you.”

you hastily unbutton your jeans and push them down, revealing the ink sloppily written across the inside of your thigh. just as he suspected—no, just as he knew. suguru burns the image into his mind—taking extra note of the lacy panties you wear, almost like you planned on this happening.

“here. happy?” you retort with a disgusted look, immediately yanking your jeans back up and over your hips.

“very,” he responds, a satisfied grin etching into his features, “you’re free to go now. tutoring will be tuesdays and thursdays at 6, since you don’t have any classes then.”

“and if i don’t show up?”

“then you’ll fail,” he states simply, walking back over to behind his desk and sitting down, “and don’t try pulling this again. i won’t be as forgiving next time. you’ll get the extra help if you know what’s good for you.”

you’re baffled, truly. and your professor just turns his laptop back around, continuing to type away like you aren’t there anymore. you whip around and walk out of his office, contemplating too much to even comprehend—like, what the fuck just happened?

and, well, you’re afraid you don’t really have a choice.

you have a new tutor.