#Betty likes art in my eyes

[venluming]

Meltdown (Petrigrof)

Wordcount: 2.05k.

Type: One-Shot, SFW

Warnings: None, really.

Summary: After a long, stressful day, Simon has a meltdown and Betty helps him through it.

Extra Notes: Hello, hello! I’m writing again, yay!! I felt proud enough to post this little one-shot of Petrigrof! I don’t see enough fics that depict Simon as autistic, so I wrote one myself! And… it’s him having a meltdown, haha— but hey, it’s something! This is also based on a personal experience of mine, so there’s that. Anyway, hope you enjoy!

With the gentle pattering of rain against the window and the warm air flowing through the heater in the corner, Betty sank into the covers of her bed, bundled up in her favorite brown, woolen blanket. Beside her was a hot mug of lemon balm tea that she occasionally sips to help her go to sleep.

In her hand, she held a sketchpad with small sketches of random objects around the room, assumingly for an art project, or maybe just as general practice. She had recently begun picking up this hobby again, as she had been so busy with other things, such as her expeditions and research papers for other minor classes she had. Betty enjoyed making pieces for herself, although she very seldom mentions her love for art to others for reasons of… well, no one really cared enough to ask.

Well, all except Simon.

Speaking of Simon…

It’s just about 8 PM right now. It’s pretty dark, and Simon still hasn’t come home from his afternoon class. Betty mused on where he might’ve gone. Perhaps working a bit later than usual, which was a somewhat common occurrence with him. He’s known to be quite the workaholic…

‘I wish he wouldn’t push himself so hard…’ Betty thought, frowning slightly.

No matter, she’ll have to give him a good “scolding” when he arrives home.

…Well, not an actual scolding. He hated getting those, as it always triggered his PDA.

After a bit of time passes, she’s finally finished and decided to put a pin in it for tonight. Her main worry seems to be her lover who still hasn’t arrived yet. What was he doing?

“He’s probably just working a little late, Betty. Nothing to worry about..” Betty mumbled, taking a sip of her tea and letting out a soothing hum. What a wonderful, serene-feeling taste.

Just then, Betty heard the front door slam from downstairs. Betty quickly turns towards the bedroom door and begins to climb out of bed but pauses when heavy footsteps start trudging up the stairs, then stopping momentarily. She waited quietly for any sudden movement when the quiet steps grew louder as they approached the door.

As expected, the door swung wide open, which startled Betty a little. Standing there was a… sopping wet cat who seemed to have, unfortunately, been caught in the storm of the hour. His clothes were drenched in rainwater, dripping onto the floor. His tousled hair cast downward as it stuck to his cheeks and forehead— but he desperately wiped the stray hairs away from his wet face. He looked… terrible —with his vest and shirt slightly unbuttoned to where the collar barely touched his neck, his bow tie clenched tightly in his hand.

Simon stood in the doorway for a moment with his head hung low. It felt like, as soon as he stepped through, he just… fell apart. His hands found his head and he gripped a fistful of dark brown locks, then an exasperated and strangled groan tumbled out of his throat. Betty immediately ran to his side, attempting to touch his face but he jerked back from her, vigorously shaking his head. Betty was a little confused and slightly perturbed at first, but upon observing him more, his body language told her everything she needed to know. The way he trembled in front of her, arms up in a more defensive position like a scared little kitten despite having his hands tangled in his hair. Betty knew what this was.

“Okay, no gentle touching, alright.. uhm ,” Betty made her way to one of the lamps in her room and turned it off. “Here, I’ll turn off some of the lights for you, okay?”

Simon nodded, running a hand through his soggy locks. Glob, he was so glad to be home, home to his lover. She always knew what to do when he had these moments. Moments where his body shut down and wouldn’t cooperate with him no matter how hard he tried. Moments where every single article of clothing on his body felt like sandpaper scraping against his skin. How much it hurt to utter a single word. No matter how much he might’ve wanted to, it felt like walking barefoot on pins and needles while everyone else but him came prepared with steel-toe boots.

Simon’s wet clothes clung to his shivering body. He hated the feeling of wet clothes, he hated it. He desperately peeled the clothes off his body and they hit the floor with a gentle ‘thump ’. Betty scrounges around in the closet for his favorite blanket while glancing back at her lover every few minutes. She could feel him trembling from afar, even as warm air encircled him, and in those moments, she wished that she’d been there when this first started so she could have helped him through it.

“Okay, let’s get you wrapped up,” Betty pulls out the navy blue blanket and scurries over to him. He seemed to have already stripped himself of his clothes, to which she wrapped the soft blanket around his shivering body and led him to their bed. “I’ll get you some water… do you want some water?”

Wiping his tear-stained face, Simon nods and tries to bask in the warmth of his blanket and the heat from the heater, now that he laid closer to it. Betty opens the door and glances back at Simon with a gentle smile before closing the door and running down the stairs.

Not long after, Betty comes back with the water and places it on his bed stand. He seemed to have dove under the covers again with only his head poking out from his blanket. Betty chuckles, climbing over to the other side of the bed and laying beside him. Upon observing him closer, his scleras were bloodshot red, like he’d been crying for a while. Simon scooted closer and stared into her eyes for a moment before looking at the sketch pad in the space between them. Betty slowly turned to the book and picked it up, placing the pad in his lap. She figured he might want to say something without straining his voice since he’d gone non-verbal.

Simon’s hand snakes out from beneath the covers and he takes the pencil attached to the pad then flips to a blank page. Betty watches him curiously as he begins to write something down in a slow, gradual manner, his face softening the more he writes. He flipped the page over and she couldn’t help it when the corners of her mouth rose to her cheeks.

“Thank you, I love you”

Betty resisted the urge to take him into her arms and pepper his face with kisses. Alternatively, she takes his free hand and squeezes it firmly.

“I love you too, Simon.”

Simon flips the pad back around and begins scribbling something else.

“I need more pressure”

Realizing what he meant, Betty nods and begins climbing on top of him, aligning the side of her face with his own, and dropping most of her body weight onto him.

“Howzzat? That enough for you? Twice for no, once for yes.

Simon taps her once and she smiles against his face. She looks to him for permission, which he does give, then proceeds to wrap her arms around him and give him a firm squeeze. A small giggle escaped his lips as Betty held him in her arms.

After a while, Betty found herself growing more drowsy by the hour. Really, she had only been rambling to Simon about her day and other miscellaneous things. Only after a few minutes of talking did she hear the gentle snoring of the man who’d curled up beside her with the slow rise and fall of his chest. She thought that now it might be a good note to end off for tonight.

Leaning over the sleeping man, she pulls the cord to their dimmed lamp light then snuggles up against him. With a soft glittering of her eyes, she drifts into a soundless, serene sleep.

────────────────────

“Mmhh… five more… minutes…”

A chuckle escaped the man’s lips as he shook his lover once more. Betty stirred but her eyes stayed shut. After a few more gentle shakes, Betty groaned, rubbing her eyes before sitting up slightly and opening her groggy eyes to look at him. She sighs and gives him a tired smile.

“Ah, morning… how’d you sleep?”

Simon pressed his lips against her forehead. “I slept alright, you?”

Betty’s smile only grew when she heard his voice. Ever since last night, he’d been quiet as a church mouse, so hearing his voice again, it quelled that lingering anxiety she didn’t realize she had inside.

“Heyyy, you’re talking again! And I slept alright myself. I’m assuming you’re feeling better after your meltdown last night…”

“Indeed,” Simon lays against the bed frame, his bare chest exposed to the warmth of their room. “Thank you, again… last night was really… stressful— for me. I—uhm… glob, I was suppressing that for a while…”

Betty pouts, gently jabbing him in his side. “You dumb-dumb, why did you suppress it? You know that’s not good and… you can step out of class, you don’t need to prioritize your work if your nervous system is donking out!”

“Ahm— I was doing another presentation, and a lot of smaller things kept building up… and before I knew it, it almost happened— in the middle of it. That same guy threw another… book at me today. Starting to reconsider this whole thing, honestly…”

Betty huffed. “Again?? Who was it, was it the same guy? I should really teach that guy a lesson—“

“No, no… it’s okay,” Simon waved his hands. “You don’t… it’s fine. Please don’t.”

“No, because what’s this guy’s fascination with throwing shit at you??”

Simon shrugs. “No idea, but it’s fine. I’ll manage.”

“Simon…”

“I promise it’s fine, dear. If it’ll make you feel better, the next time it happens, I’ll give them a lecture on presentation etiquette, how does that sound?”

That was mostly a joke.

“You sound like you want a book to be thrown at you.”

Simon chuckles, scratching his nape. “Alright, bad joke.”

Betty chuckles right along with him until they’re both laughing at his really stupid lecture joke. The laughter soon died down though as the two climbed out of bed, raising their arms to stretch.

It only took Simon a few seconds to realize he wore only his underwear, which he remembered was a result of yesterday where his damp clothes lay bundled still near the doorway, so he made his way towards the closet to search for his spare PJs he’d leave here in her room.

Betty, being her usual self, stares lovingly at his backside, especially towards the lower region. She folds her arms and smirks to herself.

“Hey, are you working on your glutes?”

Simon blinks, trying to process what she just said. He slowly turns around, perplexed. “What?”

“Like… glute exercises.”

It took him a minute, but it finally clicked and his cheeks began to burn at the question. He rolls his eyes, a smile tugging at the corners of his lips.

“Oh, haha . Ass joke, funny. I don’t… workout, that’s just how it naturally looks.”

“That just makes it better!”

“Betty.”

Betty giggles, embracing him from behind and nuzzling into his cheek. “Okay, okay… I get it, too early…”

He huffs. “Way too early…”

“Apologieees— I’ll go make us some breakfast while you change . What’re you in the mood for?”

Simon finally finds his blue and white-striped pajamas. He slips on and buttons the shirt and then the pants. “Pancakes.”

“Cool, cool!”

As Betty quickly exited the room, Simon stood beside the closet, pondering over the events of last night. How fast she was able to catch onto his symptoms, how loving and caring she was during the ordeal, how safe he felt when he finally let himself break down in front of her, which he hadn’t done in a while.

His lips curled into a warmer smile, feeling content.

He’s really happy to be with such an amazing person. He wouldn’t trade her for anything else in the world.

“I should help her with breakfast…” He finally said, closing the closet door and making his way downstairs to his soon-to-be wife.

[moomeecore]

the key ingredient is you <3

[jonahmagnus]

Unblinking

[whatfallsforever]

[chisatowo]

The sillies of all time

[magicbungelic]

Finding fanart of you that's so beautiful and perfect and just you in every way and just aaaaa

Yes that's me !!! You just drew me !!! How I really look !!!! Thank you !!!

[cottagecore-moss-king]

Not so Artificial Intelligence

Inspired by This prompt: HERE  by @corkinavoid No beta we die like Danny and Jason. Do not steal, take, or repost my writing without permission, I do not consent to my art being used in AI training. 

Tim had just finished attaching the wires of the speaker into the bat computer for Betty when the speakers began to crackle. 

“What is this? Wait, can you hear me?” The voice that echoed out of the speakers was very distinctly not robotic, or mechanical. It very much had human intonation… and a mid-western accent???

The gathered family froze and stared in shock. Dick and Stephanie were here as a joke, Babs, Tim, and Bruce were there as the techies, and despite Damian’s protests, he was also standing besides Bruce. Despite the gathering of bats, none of them could have expected this. A few hands went to emergency beacons and cellphones, before pausing.

“Hello Red Robin!” The voice cheerfully called. Taking steps back and glancing around the cave at Babs, who stared at Bruce, who stared at Tim as he clicked his super beacon. 

“Betty?”

“I mean, you do know me as such, but I actually prefer Danny, he/they.” Babs pointed at Bruce, who looked at Tim, who lamely motioned towards Babs. 

“Who uh. Who installed you?” His voice was most certainly not squeaky thanks for asking. 

“Oh, well uh, technically no-one, I accidentally did it myself.” The screen turned on and started to glitch out to a camera. It eventually settled on the sketching program, which popped a smiley face onto itself.

“Who are you” Bruce growled, as he switched into batman mode. Damian was glaring at the screen and the rest of the family had inched into a defensive formation. 

The entrance door entered and Superman walked out of it. 

“What seems to be the issue B?”

“OMG It’s superman! You’re like, my second favorite hero!”

“Oh, uh, than-er” Bruce glared at him, with no idea of what this entity was, it was always a good idea to follow fey rules. “That’s very much appreciated. Who is your first?”

“Martian Manhunter obviously.” Betty, or Danny as they were now referred to as, began to sketch out something on the app. 

“I got into a fight with a technomancer. I figured I could just phase out but he did some magic and now I’m stuck. Very rude if you ask me.”

“Ah, I see.” Supermans face implied that he very much did not see. “So, are you a martian perhaps? With the phasing and Manhunter as your favoratie.”

“Oh no, I’m ahhhh….” The cheery tone died as Danny tried to find the words, “I’m like a spirit, yeah, I guess that’s the right way to put it right now.”

“Were you human before this?” butted in Tim. Now that the seeming threat had passed, (you could never be too careful, no shut up Nightwing he is not paranoid, just cautious) the family had relaxed their stance and Barbra had rolled over to the computer screen. 

“Technically???” 

Danny did not sound so sure of himself.

“It’s not a problem if you aren’t, you can tell that we don’t really care if you are human or not.” 

Superman floated carefully down to the ground besides Bruce, but without actually touching down. Perhaps he simply forgot that they were friends with non-humans.

“Tell that to the gov.” he snarked back, and that was definitely teenager snark. 

“Wait shit. No, no no no, I take that back, don’t tell the government anything, I didn’t say nothin’!” he gasped and staticed out. 

“What do you mean tell it to the government?”

“NOPE, NUH UH. I DIDN’T SAY ANYTHING YOU CAN’T PROVE IT, I WANT MY LAWYER!”

“Alright,” Bruce pacified putting his hands up “Let me just call a friend and they can get you out.”

“Wait really? Where’s Mr. I’m so dark and broody tell me everything?”

Yep, that’s teenager snark right there, Bruce thought as his eye twitch and his kids snickered. 

“Sooo, how did this technomancer trap you, Danny?” Dick strolled over to the chair in front of the computer and flopped down spinning around in lazy circles. 

“Oh, well you see it started when…” Danny's voice faded off as Bruce took his league communicator out and stepped around a corner with Kal to call up Zatanna. 

“Hey Batman! What’s up?”

“We need you down in the batcave, some seemingly civilian has been trapped in the computer for a couple weeks now, and we’ve only just gotten into communication with them. They say it was technomancy.” He rumbled. He would have to suit up and manage to get Danny not to spill any of their identities, this just turned into a major headache to deal with. Batman hates magic. 

Once all of the children were suited up and Danny had been given an explanation, they were all patently waiting for Zatanna to arrive. 

The zeta tubes finally lit up with her arrival as she walked towards the gathered group holding her bag.

Halfway through greeting she paused, and stared blankly the screen. Everyone else shot curious glances, backwards, some more obvious than others. Did Nightwing seriously need to turn his head like that, he swears his eldest has bones, but sometimes he seriously starts to doubt himself. 

On the screen is a smiley face with a hand emoji. And a little drawing of a stick figure with white hair, green eyes, and a black suit. 

“Hello! I am Danny, I’m so sorry you had to come all this way to help me, I’d offer you something but I don’t even have a body right now.” One awkward laugh later, and Bruce wanted to have had his head in her hands. 

“I don’t worry, I can fix this. It’ll be a pain, but I can.”

While Zatanna sat up the spell and sent Kal out to go to Metropolis, (less suspicious for him to be buying things than Gotham), Bruce decided to stand around in the shadows while waiting to be useful. His kids, were off making friends with the strange person in the computer however. Laughing and teasing, he’s almost certain that Stephanie and Dick are trying to convince Danny to stay around and get adopted, despite Danny and Damian’s protests. 

After thirty minutes, Zatanna was ready to do the spell, and Danny was saying goodbye. 

As the light shone through the sigils written on the board and Zattana continued her muttering and waving, Danny added one last thing. 

“And I added a file of something for you guys to look at, please please please look into it! I hope I can see you soon!”

And with a final flash, Danny was gone, leaving the batfam without their lovely AI/new friend. Zatannna wrapped things up and Batman escorted her back to the Zeta tube with Clark, thanking them briefly. And with that, Clark and Zatanna left with Two flashes of light. 

Now, time to see what that file was that Danny had added. 

[sadnymi]

August p2

[Mattheo riddle x reader] [part-one]

Summary: all y/n wanted is to love and to be loved to see the beauty of the world and to be happy even if that's mean she will have to hide away, until that summer the summer she talked to mattheo riddle.

Words: 9k

Warnings:, Angst , fluff, strong language, light smut.

It was like I found myself in the middle—I couldn't go back to what I was and I still couldn't move forward. There was only one thing on my mind: anger, anger, anger, anger.

My thoughts broke as I heard Professor Snape assigning us to pairs for a dueling exercise. I lifted my head from my book and found a pair of green eyes on me—Betty. She was watching me so intently that she didn’t notice I saw her staring. When she realized, she shook her head and looked away, her hands trembling.

"Miss Y/L/N," Professor Snape called my name, and I got up, walking to stand behind him, waiting for him to call the other student I would have to duel.

"And. Riddle, come please," Professor Snape said.

My expression remained unchanged, though my heart felt like it was about to leap out of my chest. My anxiety was high, my blood pressure rising, and the anger—the endless anger—but I stayed calm, looking unbothered, like a frozen child. It was an art I was well-versed in, thanks to my father.

Everyone gasped and couldn't stop talking. I looked up to meet his brown eyes, the eyes I told myself I hated every day to remind myself of their betrayal.

I didn’t look away. I met his gaze head-on, staring straight into his eyes as if trying to pierce his soul. He didn't deserve my avoidance; he deserved to feel my anger.

Professor Snape spoke—at least I guess he did—but my mind was elsewhere. All I could think about was anger and anger and anger, water drops and brown eyes, betrayal.

Mattheo stepped back, taking his place, and I did the same. I raised my wand, but he kept his lowered. I looked him in the eyes and cast the first spell. He dodged it but didn’t fight back. He wasn’t trying to fight.

My anger grew. I moved faster, casting spells more quickly and aggressively. He kept dodging but never retaliated.

I could see the way Professor Snape looked at him, and the way Mattheo’s friends called out to him, urging him to defend himself. But he didn’t. He just kept dodging, fueling my rage.

"Fight back, you fucking coward!" I yelled, angry, but he didn’t.

With a swift flick of my wand, I disarmed him, sending his wand flying across the room. up in alarm as I advanced on him, faster and angrier. I hit him in the chest.

"Coward, fucking coward," I said. Professor Snape called my name, but I didn’t stop.

I hit him again. "Selfish, arrogant, deceitful," I continued, my words venomous.

Professor Snape finally pulled me away. "You always made everything about you, Riddle, didn’t you?" I screamed.

"Miss Y/L/N," Professor Snape began, his tone icy. "This behavior is unacceptable. You will serve detention for this outburst."

I glared at Mattheo. "Oh, believe me, I have nothing better to do,"

One of the students, a Slytherin boy named Mark, snickered and muttered loudly enough for everyone to hear, "Guess Riddle's got a soft spot for Backup girl."

I looked at him sharply. No—don’t—just go away—hide, Y/N, hide. Don’t let them see you. That’s enough. No.

I stepped forward, my voice steady. "Say it again, Mark."

He looked taken aback, but his bravado held. "I said, Riddle's got a soft spot for Backup girl."

"You know," I said, my voice cutting through the air, "I’ve been quiet, but not blind. And I didn’t have much to do this summer but sit at the beach and watch. And I watched a lot."

I turned to look at the faces around me, the same faces that had called me a slut, a whore, a homewrecker. They were all watching me now, some with curiosity, others with apprehension.

"I could say that one of you sitting there cheated on her boyfriend with all three of his friends, and they’re sitting right next to him right now. But I didn’t, did I? Should I?"

The room filled with gasps and whispers, eyes darting around to see who I was talking about.

"And I could say that one of you had a very interesting make-out session with his stepmother this summer. But I won’t do that." I paused, looking around. "Hint: he’s a Hufflepuff. Go with that. And wow, didn’t know you had that in you, if I’m being honest."

I saw more shock and outrage spread through the crowd, people trying to figure out who I meant. I continued, enjoying their discomfort.

"I could tell you that another one of you, who’s sitting there looking all innocent, spent the entire summer sneaking out at night to hook up with their best friend’s boyfriend. And yet another had an affair with their cousin’s fiancé, not caring about the wedding that was about to happen. Should I go on?"

The whispers grew louder, people trying to piece together the gossip. Professor Snape called my name again, more harshly this time, but I ignored him, taking a step back.

The room was buzzing now, everyone trying to figure out who the guilty parties were. I could see the fear and anger in their eyes.

"Maybe it’s time for everyone to stop judging others and take a good look at themselves. Maybe next time, you should think twice before you start throwing stones."

Professor Snape finally reached me, his hand gripping my arm tightly. "Enough, Miss Y/L/N. That’s quite enough, you will go to Professor Dumbledore’s office immediately."

"Of course, Professor."

I walked out, glaring at Mattheo on my way. There was a ghost of a smile on his face, and I wanted to smack it off. I wanted to say more, to hurt him, to make him feel the same agony tearing through my soul.

A week had passed, and the gossip had finally died down. The whispers and judgmental stares began to fade. The looks of disdain I received whenever I walked down the corridors diminished. It was as if everyone had finally moved on to the next scandal.

I was sitting alone under a tree in the courtyard, trying to read a book but barely absorbing the words. The shadow of someone approaching made me glance up. It was Enzo. He sat down next to me with a casual smile. "Hi, Y/N."

I didn't respond, keeping my eyes on the page.

"Okay, I get it. You hate me too now," he said, sighing dramatically.

I still didn't acknowledge him. He tried again, "Y/N, I’m—"

"Unwelcome," I cut him off sharply, closing my book with a snap. "Now leave."

He chuckled "Ouch, that stings. You know, that cold shoulder of yours is kinda cute," he said, leaning back on his hands. "I always did like a challenge."

I rolled my eyes but didn’t respond, unwilling to engage.

"I won't defend my brother. Even I didn't know it was a break. It seemed serious, and I really thought they broke up this time. Honestly, I wished they did."

I finally looked up at him, my expression guarded.

He continued,"Mattheo and Betty have known each other their entire lives. She was always there for him, and he for her. They faced the darkness of our world together, and I think somewhere along the way, the lines blurred between them. They hurt each other in ways no one else could. They always break up and then get back together within a week. It’s a fucked-up situation, and they keep running it into the ground, thinking they're saving it. Maybe they don't want to lose each other, but that isn’t love. It’s—"

"It doesn’t matter," I interrupted. "He knows, and that’s enough."

"I didn’t know it was just a break, but I was angry because I didn’t think he should get involved with someone else so soon after."

I glanced up, catching sight of Mattheo standing a short distance away, watching us. His eyes bore into mine, intense and filled with an emotion I couldn’t decipher. He then shifted his gaze to Enzo, and I felt a surge of tension, almost palpable in the air. Mattheo’s expression was a mix of anger and something deeper, more primal. His presence was overpowering, and for a moment, I felt heat creep up my neck.

Enzo sighed, running a hand through his hair. "I know you’re angry, and you have every right to be. But Mattheo... He’s not the villain in this story either. He’s complicated, broken even. And I can’t say what he did was right, but he’s— he’s not as heartless as you think there’s more ."

I glanced up again, and Mattheo was still watching us, his gaze burning.

"But he’s never been happier," Enzo finished, his words hanging in the air.

"Never been happier," Enzo repeated softly, his eyes searching mine. "It means something, doesn’t it? Despite everything, it means something."

"i have to go , but thanks Enzo," I said softly, walking away without looking back.

As I made my way toward the dormitory, I felt a presence behind me. My grip tightened on my bag, and I quickened my pace, hoping to outdistance whoever it was. But the footsteps behind me only grew louder and more determined.

Adrian Pucey appeared, sauntering over with that cocky grin Slytherins seem to be born with. "Well, well, if it isn’t the infamous Y/N Y/L/N," he said, falling into step beside me as I made my way to my dorm. "Mind if I join you?"

I didn’t answer, keeping my eyes forward, hoping he’d take the hint and leave me alone.

"Silent treatment, huh?" Adrian said with a chuckle, clearly not deterred. "You know, that only makes me more interested."

I sighed, quickening my pace slightly. "Go away, Pucey."

But of course, he didn’t. Slytherins never could take a hint. He leaned in a little closer, lowering his voice to a conspiratorial whisper. "You know, I’ve always had a thing for girls who don’t care what anyone else thinks. You’ve certainly got everyone talking."

I ignored him, still refusing to look up.

"Come on, Y/N, don’t be like that," Adrian pressed, his tone light and teasing. "You’re just going to walk away and let me bore you? I thought you were more fun than that."

Finally, I lost my patience. I stopped dead in my tracks, spinning on my heel to face him. In one swift motion, I pulled out my wand and pressed it under his chin. "I said, go away."

Adrian didn’t flinch; in fact, his grin widened. "You know, you’re even more beautiful when you’re angry."

I rolled my eyes, about to push him away for good, but then Adrian said something that caught me off guard. "For what it’s worth, I don’t give a damn about what they’re saying at school. People talk; it’s what they do. But I prefer forming my own opinions."

I paused, the wand still under his chin, studying his face. He looked sincere, in his own way—at least as sincere as a Slytherin could be.

"And what’s your opinion, then?" I asked.

"That you’re more interesting than any of them. And that I’d rather be here getting cursed by you than be anywhere else."

I couldn’t help it—I laughed. It wasn’t the reaction I expected, but something about his audacity and the ridiculousness of the situation just got to me.

Adrian raised an eyebrow, clearly pleased with himself. "See? I knew you had a sense of humor."

I shook my head, lowering my wand. "You’re insufferable, Pucey."

He took a step back, giving me a mock bow. "Thank you, I try."

Despite myself, I found the corners of my mouth twitching into a smile.

There was something disarming about him, and from that moment on, we fell into a sort of reluctant friendship. He had a knack for making me laugh when I least expected it, and I found myself tolerating his presence more than I would have admitted.

Days passed and we get even more closer he was the first friend I ever had besides Riddle ( we agree not to talk about him in this house).

It was strange, almost welcome, having someone who didn’t treat me like I was fragile or a pariah. As much as I hated to admit it, Adrian’s lightheartedness was exactly what I needed, a distraction from the complicated mess my life had become.

Adrian caught up to me in the corridor, a smug grin plastered on his face. "Y/N, you’re not going to believe what happened last night," he said, his voice full of mischief.

I didn’t slow my pace, only glancing at him briefly before looking ahead again. "Do I even want to know?"

He laughed, clearly delighted by my disinterest. "I hooked up with a Gryffindor."

I raised an eyebrow, not bothering to hide my skepticism. "Congratulations. I’m sure that’s a new personal best for you."

He opened his mouth but I was faster, already knowing where this was going. “Adrian, you don’t need to broadcast every conquest.”

He rolled his eyes at my sarcasm but didn’t seem bothered by it. "Stop walking for a second. I need to see your reaction when I say the next part."

I sighed, finally coming to a halt and turning to face him. "Fine, what is it?"

Adrian leaned in, his grin widening as if he was about to reveal the juiciest piece of gossip. "Haven’t you heard? Your pretty boy and—"

I cut him off, correcting him for what felt like the millionth time. "He’s not my boy, Adrian. And for your information, if he heard you calling him 'pretty boy,' he’d cut your tongue out."

Adrian laughed, not at all intimidated. "Not if I used 'your' before it."

"He’s not my boy," I repeated firmly, crossing my arms over my chest. "And he has a girlfriend too, so that’s disrespectful."

"Dammit, if you’d just listen for once," Adrian said, throwing his hands up in mock exasperation. "And you say you’re a good listener."

"I am a good listener."

"Good listener, my ass," Adrian muttered, shaking his head. "Anyway, back to what I was trying to say—Riddle and Betty broke up."

His words hung in the air, and I blinked, trying to process what he’d just said. "What?"

"They broke up," Adrian repeated, more slowly this time, as if I hadn’t heard him the first time.

For a moment, I felt a pang of confusion, but then Enzo’s words echoed in my mind, along with what everyone always said about them.

"They always do, Adrian. Give them a week."

He cut me off this time, his tone more serious. "No, they did break up. For good this time. She was kissing Cedric last night, so it’s official. They’re done. I don’t know how people do that—stay friends with their exes."

I blinked, processing his words,but I kept my expression neutral. "You’re still friends with half of your exes."

Adrian shrugged, not missing a beat. "And I never said it’s a good thing."

I let out a short laugh, shaking my head at his honesty. "You’re a piece of work, Pucey."

He grinned, clearly enjoying the banter. "I try. Speaking of which, there’s a big game this week. You should come see me practice. I want to show off a bit. Everyone else has a girlfriend in the stands—I want to prove I’m at least capable of getting my friend to watch."

I narrowed my eyes at him, suspicious of his intentions. "You’re just trying to get me and Mattheo in the same place, aren’t you?"

He chuckled, unashamed. "A little scheming never hurt anyone. But no, I really do want my friend there."

I hesitated, not really wanting to get involved, but Adrian’s persistence was hard to ignore. "I don’t know, Adrian…"

"Come on, Y/N," he coaxed, his tone playful but with a hint of sincerity. "It’ll be fun, and I could use the support. Plus, you can make fun of me if I screw up. It’s a win-win."

I rolled my eyes, but a small smile tugged at the corners of my mouth. "Fine. But don’t expect me to cheer or anything."

Adrian’s grin grew wider. "Deal. I knew I could count on you."

After classes, I made my way to the Quidditch pitch, feeling a bit out of place as I climbed the stands to watch the practice. It wasn’t something I usually did, and the familiar tension in my chest was a reminder that I was here because of Adrian’s persistence, not because I actually wanted to be.

I settled into a seat, scanning the field. It didn’t take long for Adrian to spot me. He grinned widely, waving enthusiastically from his broom. I couldn’t help but wave back, but my eyes weren’t really on him—they were on Mattheo.

He was standing off to the side, his broom in hand, looking between me and Adrian with a gaze that made my heart skip a beat. His jaw clenched, his expression darkening the moment he noticed me there. The intensity in his eyes was undeniable, and I could feel the weight of his stare even from across the pitch.

The practice started, but it felt like it was just background noise to the tension simmering between us. Every time I glanced down, Mattheo’s eyes were on me, glaring with an intensity that made it hard to breathe. I tried to focus on the game, on the way Adrian was zipping around the field, but my attention kept drifting back to Mattheo. The way his muscles tensed, the way his grip on his broom tightened—it was clear that something was brewing under the surface.

And then it happened. As the players flew around, Mattheo’s aggression grew, particularly toward Adrian. Every move he made was sharper, more forceful, like he was aiming to prove something. Adrian noticed it too and finally had enough. After one particularly hard shove from Mattheo during a pass.

"What’s your problem, Riddle?" Adrian snapped, his voice loud enough to cut through the sounds of the practice.

Mattheo’s response was a slow, sinister smirk, the kind that sent a chill down my spine. "You’re in my way, Pucey," he said, his voice dripping with malice.

Adrian narrowed his eyes. "What’s the matter, can’t handle a little competition? Or is it something else?"

The coach called out their names, warning them to get back in the game, but neither of them listened. The tension between them was palpable, thickening the air around us.

Their friends, Theo, Enzo, and even Draco, walked over, trying to diffuse the situation, but it was clear Mattheo wasn’t in the mood for peace.

"Careful, Riddle," Adrian taunted, leaning in slightly as if sharing a secret. "Wouldn’t want anyone to think you’re losing your edge."

Mattheo’s smirk widened, his eyes flashing with a dangerous light. "Maybe you should keep that big mouth of yours shut before I shut it for you."

Before anyone could react, Mattheo’s fist connected with Adrian’s face, sending him reeling backward. The blow was quick and brutal, and Adrian barely had time to recover before Mattheo hit him again, this time with his broom handle, right across the jaw.

Adrian staggered, blood dripping from his lip, but he still managed to look up at Mattheo with a defiant grin. "That all you got?"

Mattheo didn’t reply with words. His eyes gleamed with that same dark amusement as he struck Adrian again, this time even harder. The crack of the impact echoed across the pitch, drawing gasps from the other players.

"Enough!" the coach roared, finally reaching them and shoving the two apart. "Both of you, out of here, now!"

Adrian wiped the blood from his mouth, glaring at Mattheo. "Always knew you were a psycho, Riddle," he muttered under his breath.

Mattheo just smirked again, his eyes briefly flicking up to meet mine before he turned and walked off the pitch, leaving chaos in his wake.

I sat on the common room sofa, gently pressing a cold ice pack against Adrian’s bruised cheek. His face scrunched up in pain, and he let out a frustrated groan. "For fuck’s sake, Y/N, he’s crazy."

"Yeah, so I noticed," I muttered, not really looking at him.

Adrian smirked, despite the pain. "He was jealous. I know it." His grin widened. "How cute is that, huh? Jealous over our friendship, baby?"

I rolled my eyes at him. "You’re so delusional, Pucey."

He winced as I pushed the ice pack a bit too firmly against his cheek. "Ouch! Careful, you’re supposed to be helping, not making it worse."

"Maybe if you stopped running your mouth, you wouldn’t be in this situation," I shot back, pushing him away.

He clutched his chest dramatically. "Oh, the betrayal! First Riddle, now you! And after I took a beating for you ? I’m wounded, Y/N."

Shaking my head, I stood up. "You’ll live."

I left the common room, needing to clear my head. The hallways were mostly empty, the late hour ensuring that most students were either in their common rooms or asleep. I walked with purpose, looking for him.

It didn’t take long to find Mattheo. He was outside, leaning against the cold stone wall, a cigarette between his fingers. The flame from his lighter flickered as he lit it, the orange glow briefly illuminating his face. He looked up when he heard my footsteps, his eyes darkening with recognition.

I didn’t hesitate. I marched right up to him and slapped him across the face.

Mattheo’s head snapped to the side, but when he looked back at me, he was smiling—almost as if he was amused. He licked his lower lip, that dangerous smirk still playing on his mouth. "Nice to see you too, darling."

I glared at him, my hand still stinging. "What the hell is wrong with you, Riddle? You think you can just go around punching people because you’re pissed off?"

He chuckled softly, taking another drag from his cigarette. "I think you’re overreacting. Pucey can handle himself."

"I don’t care about you or your bullshit. But you better stay away from me and my friends."

He tilted his head slightly, his eyes narrowing as he studied me. "Your friends?" he echoed, a mocking tone to his voice. "Or just Adrian?"

I froze for a split second, then recovered. "Stay away from Adrian."

His expression darkened, jealousy flaring in his eyes. "So, it’s Adrian now, is it?" His voice was low, dangerous. "He’s not good for you."

I almost laughed at the absurdity of it. "And who is, Mattheo? You?"

His jaw clenched, but he said nothing. I shook my head, trying to push past him. "I can’t even look at your face right now."

Before I could get far, he grabbed my hand, pulling me back with enough force to spin me around and shove me against the cold stone wall. My breath caught as the rough surface bit into my back.

His face was inches from mine, his grip on my wrist firm but not painful. "You don’t get it, do you?" His voice was low, dangerous, but there was a desperate edge to it that I hadn’t expected. "Adrian is a womanizer. He’s got a new girl every week, Y/N. Is that the kind of friend you want?"

I scoffed, yanking my wrist out of his grasp. "And you’re any better?You’re no saint."

Mattheo’s eyes flashed with something dark, and he leaned in even closer, his breath warm against my skin. "No I’m not."

I stared at him, trying to make sense of the whirlwind of emotions in his eyes. He was so angry, so desperate to convince me that Adrian was bad for me.

"And he has a small dick," Mattheo muttered, almost as if it was an afterthought.

I blinked, my brain struggling to catch up with what he’d just said. "What?"

Mattheo’s expression didn’t change. "You heard me. He’s got a small dick."

I stared at him, utterly baffled. "How do you even know that?"

He shrugged, his tone completely nonchalant. "Changing room. We play on the same team remember?"

I couldn’t believe this conversation was actually happening. "Mattheo, what the actual fuck? I don’t want to talk about my friend’s dick. That’s just… weird."

But Mattheo didn’t respond, his eyes still locked on mine, his gaze piercing through the tension that hung between us. I could feel my breath hitch in my chest, and when I finally spoke, my voice was low and strained. "You’re starting," I said, the weight of our past heavy in my words.

He nodded, his voice equally subdued. "I’m starting."

I tried to push him away, desperate to put some distance between us, but he caught my wrist gently, his touch both tender and firm.

"I wish I didn’t stop that night and left you on that road."

Mattheo didn’t blink, didn’t try to interrupt me. He just stood there, absorbing every word like a punch to the gut.

"Do you know what happens to people like me when they get their hopes up? They pay. And I did."

The pain of those days, of that heartbreak, surged back, choking me as I tried to continue.

"No one blamed you. No one called you the things they called me. And I—" My voice cracked, and I couldn’t bring myself to finish. The words were too heavy, too raw.

"I lied," he admitted, his voice thick with emotion.

"I know you—" I began, but he cut me off, his words coming out in a rush.

"No, I lied when I said I knew we were on a break. We weren’t. It was really over. I lied to you that day in my house. That was the only time I lied to you," he said, and for a brief moment, I almost believed him. But then I remembered everything—the pain, the betrayal, the way he’d left me shattered. I pushed him away, shaking my head.

"I don’t believe you," I said, my voice hard, trying to build a wall around my heart.

"I know you don’t," he replied, his tone soft, resigned. "But I’m not playing games with you. I never did —“

I started to walk away, trying to block out his words, trying to keep my heart from breaking all over again. But his voice stopped me, laced with a vulnerability I hadn’t expected.

"For a long time, I thought I knew what I wanted, but I didn’t. Even for someone like me, I tried to play it safe, and dammit, you were no safe choice."

His words confused me, and I turned to look at him, my brow furrowing. "What?"

He took a step closer, his eyes never leaving mine. "You made my heart beat faster. You made my breath hitch with just a look in your eyes. You made me feel things I didn’t want to feel, things I didn’t know I was capable of feeling."

I stood frozen, trying to process everything he was saying.

"You were everything I didn’t know I needed," Mattheo continued, his voice trembling slightly. "But all I did was hurt you. And I hate myself for it."

"Mattheo…"

He closed the distance between us, his hand reaching out to gently cup my cheek.

I wanted to pull away, to protect myself from the whirlwind of emotions his words were stirring up, but I couldn’t move. His touch, his words—they held me in place, and all I could do was stand there, my heart pounding in my chest.

His thumb brushing away a tear that had escaped down my cheek, I searched his eyes, looking for any sign of deception, any hint that he was just saying what he thought I wanted to hear. But all I saw was sincerity, raw and unfiltered.

Then he kissed me.

It wasn’t soft or tentative—it was fierce, urgent, like he was pouring all of the things he couldn’t say into that kiss. His hands roamed down my back, gripping my waist as he pressed me harder against the wall, and I felt my resolve crumbling with every passing second.

I couldn’t think, couldn’t breathe—there was only Mattheo and the heat of his mouth on mine, the feel of his body against me. His tongue traced my bottom lip, and I opened up for him, a moan escaping as he deepened the kiss, his hand tangling in my hair.

The intensity of it all was dizzying, making my head spin as I gave in to the raw, unfiltered desire between us.

Every touch, every kiss, only fanned the flames higher, and I found myself wanting more, needing more.

But then, reality crashed back in.

I pulled away abruptly, gasping for air, my heart pounding in my chest. "No," I whispered, shaking my head as I backed away from him, my hands trembling. "I can’t—I shouldn’t…"

I had to get out of there, away from him, away from the mess of emotions he stirred up inside me.

Without another word, I turned and ran, my footsteps echoing down the empty hallway as I fled from the confusion and the undeniable pull he had over me. My chest was tight, my mind a whirlwind of conflicting feelings as I put as much distance between us as possible.

But even as I ran, the taste of his kiss lingered on my lips, a reminder of the fire I couldn’t seem to escape.

The next day, I found myself sitting in the common room, staring blankly at the fireplace, my thoughts a jumbled mess. I was trying to focus on anything other than the way Mattheo's lips had felt on mine, or the fact that I had practically bolted from him like a coward. But just as I was about to lose myself in those thoughts again, Adrian plopped down beside me, his face twisted in a mix of disbelief and outrage.

"He said I have a small dick!" Adrian practically shouted, his voice echoing off the walls. "Can you believe that? The nerve!"

I blinked, trying to process his words. "What?"

Adrian waved his hands around dramatically, still caught up in his rant. "Mattheo! He said I have a small dick! That’s a fucking lie!"

I stared at him, fighting the urge to laugh at the ridiculousness of it all. "Adrian, really? That’s what you’re focused on right now?"

Adrian didn’t seem to hear me. He was on a roll, pacing back and forth, gesticulating wildly as he continued his tirade. "I mean, where does he get off saying that? He thinks just because he’s got that whole brooding, bad-boy thing going on he can go around spreading lies"

"Okay," I said, trying to cut in, but Adrian was too worked up to be interrupted.

"And it’s not even true!" he exclaimed, as if I needed convincing. "I mean, who does he think he is? Mr. Big Shot Riddle with his—"

"Adrian," I tried again, louder this time.

But he was still going. "I swear, I’m going to hex him next time I see him. No, I’m going to curse him. I’m going to—"

"Adrian!" I finally snapped, and he paused mid-rant, looking at me with wide eyes.

"What?"

"I believe you," I said, my voice firm. "I swear, I believe you. But can we focus, please? I’ve got bigger problems than Mattheo’s opinion on your… anatomy."

Adrian huffed, crossing his arms over his chest as he flopped down beside me again. "Yeah, fine. Whatever. But seriously, what an ass."

I rolled my eyes, trying to push aside the urge to laugh. "Dammit, Adrian. Focus."

He sighed, finally calming down. "Alright, alright. What did you want to talk about?"

I hesitated, the memory of Mattheo’s kiss still fresh in my mind. "That he… he kissed me."

Adrian’s eyes went wide. "Wait, what? He kissed you?"

"That’s what I was trying to say."

"Yes, but can we get back to the part where he called my dick small?" Adrian cut in, as if he couldn’t let it go.

I groaned, covering my face with my hands. "Adrian, for the love of Merlin—"

"Fine, fine," he grumbled, finally dropping it. "But for the record, that’s total bullshit."

Even though Betty and Mattheo still looked close, like the good friends they always had been, something had shifted. It was official—they had broken up. Their nearly lifelong relationship, which had been a toxic whirlwind of drama and passion, was finally over. Betty seemed fine, maybe even relieved, but I couldn’t shake the feeling that she was better at hiding things than I was.

Cedric, on the other hand, was the exact opposite of Mattheo in every way. He was calm, reliable, and safe. It made me wonder how Betty could jump from someone like Mattheo to someone like Cedric without a hitch.

She had spent so much of her life tangled up with Mattheo, and from what I’d heard, it hadn’t been easy. It had been intense, full of ups and downs, yet here she was, seemingly unscathed. I wished I could say the same for myself.

A week passed, and things were surprisingly... quiet. Well, except for Adrian, who couldn’t stop yapping about "that fucker trying to spread misinformation about his dick." It was a constant source of frustration for him, and honestly, the way he went on about it was almost comical.

Every time we crossed paths, Adrian would find some way to bring it up. “I mean, seriously, Y/N,” he’d start, completely exasperated, “the audacity of that asshole! He’s out there spreading outright lies! I should charge him with defamation or something.”

I couldn’t help but snicker. “Defamation?”

“Of character!” Adrian insisted, as if he’d been gravely wronged. “Or defamation of… of something! It’s not just about the dick thing, it’s about the principle!”

“Right, the principle,” I’d say, trying to keep a straight face.

He wasn’t having any of it. “This isn’t funny, Y/N! Misinformation like this can ruin a guy’s reputation!”

Despite his outrage, it was hard to take him seriously when he’d throw phrases like “my honor is at stake” into the mix. I kept telling him to let it go, but that was like asking a Kneazle not to pounce on a mouse.

Meanwhile, I was doing my best to avoid two things: my father’s letters and Mattheo. The former had been piling up, unopened and ignored, on my bedside table. I just couldn’t bring myself to deal with whatever he had to say, not when everything else felt like it was spiraling out of control.

And then there was Mattheo. Every time I saw him in the hallways or across the common room, my heart would start racing, and I’d immediately look away, pretending I hadn’t noticed him. But I could feel his eyes on me, heavy and dark, following me even when I wasn’t looking. There was a tension in the air between us, thick and electric, like the calm before a storm.

It wasn’t just his stare that I noticed. It was something else, something impossible to ignore. Strawberries. Every meal, whether it was breakfast, lunch, or dinner, Mattheo would go for the strawberries. He’d pick them out with careful precision, eating them slowly, almost deliberately. I tried to ignore it, to push the thought out of my mind, but it lingered, nagging at me every time I saw him reach for the fruit.

In the common room, I’d catch him staring at me from across the room his eyes made my skin prickle. He’d lean back in his chair, casual and confident, as if he hadn’t a care in the world, but there was always a hint of something more beneath the surface—a challenge, a dare, as if he was waiting for me to crack.

And I hated that it worked. That I’d feel my heart race, my breath catch, every damn time.

But I wasn’t about to give him the satisfaction. So I kept my distance, kept my focus on anything but him.

And so the week dragged on, with Adrian’s indignant rants and Mattheo’s silent, smoldering presence, the tension between us building like a storm ready to break.

As I was lost in thought, Adrian suddenly popped up beside me, completely oblivious to the turmoil brewing in my mind. “Hey, Y/N,” he started, his tone unusually chipper. “I need you to do me a favor.”

“Not now, Adrian.”

But Adrian, being Adrian, was persistent. He grabbed my arm, a grin spreading across his face as he practically dragged me down the corridor. “Come on, it’ll only take a second.”

“Adrian, what are you—” I started to protest, but before I could finish, he had pushed me into an empty classroom. I stumbled inside, annoyance rising in my chest.

“What the hell, Adrian?” I snapped, turning around just in time to see Mattheo stepping into the classroom as well, looking equally confused. The door slammed shut behind him, the sound echoing in the silence.

Realization hit us like a freight train.

I bolted for the door, but it was already locked. Panic flared in my chest as I fumbled with my bag, searching for my wand, only to realize it wasn’t there. Adrian. I closed my eyes, vowing that once I got out of this room, the lies he’d been spouting about his dick would be the least of his worries.

I turned back to face Mattheo, opening my eyes. “Your wand,” I demanded, holding out my hand.

He raised an eyebrow, a smirk playing at the corner of his lips. “Are you planning to kill me, love? I’m sure Enzo would be more than willing to help you out, so it wouldn’t be much of a surprise.”

His voice was dripping with that infuriating confidence, and the way he called me “love” sent a shiver down my spine. I scowled, refusing to let him see how much he affected me.

“Don’t act like you didn’t know this was going to happen,” I shot back, my voice laced with anger.

He leaned against the wall, crossing his arms over his chest, as calm as ever. “You think I planned this?”

“Who else would’ve put Adrian up to something so stupid?” I spat, my frustration bubbling over.

Mattheo chuckled, shaking his head. “You give me too much credit. But if I had known, I wouldn’t have let him lock us in without a proper plan.”

“Like what?” I snapped. “Driving me insane until I can’t take it anymore?”

He took a step closer. “You’re already there, aren’t you?”

I clenched my fists, trying to keep my composure. “Yes, Unfortunately.”

He was close now, so close that I could feel the heat radiating off his body. His voice dropped to a low murmur, sending a thrill through me despite myself. “But you’re not as immune to me as you like to pretend, are you?”

I glared up at him. “Don’t flatter yourself, Mattheo.”

His smirk widened, and he leaned in even closer, his breath warm against my ear. “I don’t need to. You’re doing it for me.”

“So you say you didn’t know this was going to happen?”

He shrugged, still infuriatingly calm. “I didn’t know, but I’m not exactly complaining. We seem to keep finding ourselves in situations like this, don’t we?”

I glared at him, anger flaring up inside me. “This isn’t funny, Mattheo. I’ve had enough of your games.”

“Games?” he repeated, his voice dropping to a low, dangerous whisper. “Who said anything about games, Love?”

“Maybe I’m just trying to make the best of a bad situation,” he murmured, his eyes locked on mine with that intense, burning gaze that always made it hard to think straight.

I clenched my fists, trying to hold onto my anger, but it was slipping through my fingers like sand. “You always think you’re so clever, don’t you?”

He was closer now, so close I could feel the heat radiating off his body, the scent of him—his cologne and something darker, more dangerous—wrapping around me.

“Maybe I am clever,” he said softly, his voice a low purr that sent shivers down my spine. “Or maybe… I’m just desperate to be close to you.”

“Is that so?” I finally managed to say, my voice barely more than a whisper.

He nodded slowly, his eyes never leaving mine. “It is,” he murmured, his voice low and rough. "So if you’re going to kill me, love, better do it quick… because every second I’m this close to you knowing I had you once and then lost you, I’m burning alive.”

I shoved him away with all the strength I could muster, my anger boiling over. "I feel sorry for you, you know that?" I spat out, my voice trembling with the intensity of the emotions I was barely holding in check.

He didn’t say anything, just stood there, watching me with those dark, unreadable eyes of his. And that only made it worse. “You didn’t even apologize, Mattheo,” I continued, my voice rising. “You didn’t even try. And you know why? Because you don’t know how. You don’t know how to say you’re sorry, how to admit when you’ve messed up. You don’t know how to do the right thing. It must be exhausting being a disappointment all the time.”

I wanted to hurt him, to make him feel just a fraction of the pain he’d put me through. But as the words left my mouth, a sharp pang of regret sliced through me. I hated the look on his face now—the way his eyes clouded over, the way he blinked and looked away, as if trying to shield himself from the weight of my words.

But I wasn’t done. “You have no idea how hard it was, Mattheo. To let you in, to let you see me—the real me. I showed you everything, all my scars, all my wounds. I trusted you with them. And what did you do? You added more. You just kept adding more and more until I couldn’t take it anymore.”

He finally looked at me, something in his expression shifting. Slowly, he sat down on one of the desks, the smirk that usually played on his lips completely gone. It was like a mask had dropped, and all that was left was the raw, vulnerable truth beneath.

“Yeah,” he said quietly, his voice barely above a whisper. “It is exhausting.”

His words hit me like a punch to the gut. I stopped, taken aback, staring at him in surprise. This was different—he was different. There was no bravado, no arrogance. Just… Mattheo.

“So the worst part was letting you down,” he continued, his voice full of a sadness that I wasn’t used to hearing from him. “I was raised by anger and loud voices. But you�� you’re so quiet, so pure. Dammit, Y/N, I don’t know how to love, but I know I love you.”

I opened my mouth, the anger flaring up again. “You cheated on—”

“No, Y/N, I didn’t,” he cut me off, his voice firm. “It was over. I would never do that to you, or to her. It was really over, I swear it was.” He looked me straight in the eyes, pleading silently for me to believe him. “I did go to tell her. I hated the idea of her finding out from Inez and not me. We weren’t together, I swear we weren’t.”

He paused, searching my face for any sign of understanding. “We did get together after, because we both were heartbroken and we didn’t know any other way to fix it but it wasn’t the same. It was never the same—not after you.”

I swallowed hard, the lump in my throat making it difficult to speak. “So I was the other woman, then?” The words tasted bitter on my tongue, the implication of what that meant, of what I had been to him, cutting deeper than I’d expected.

He shook his head. “You weren’t the other woman, Y/N. You were the one who made me realize what I wanted, what I needed. You were the one who showed me that there was more to life than just be angry, than just doing fighting for everything. You made me want more—made me want to be more. I didn’t cheat on you, because in my heart… it was you. Even when I didn’t realize it, even when I was too much of a coward to admit it, it was you. It’s still you.”

He took a deep breath, his voice softening as he continued. “I won’t lie to you, and I won’t pretend that I’m not messed up. But what I feel for you… it’s real. It’s the most real thing I’ve ever felt in my life.”

I looked at him, my breath hitching in my throat as I tried to keep the tears from spilling over. "I was raised by anger too, Mattheo," I began, my voice trembling. "But not the loud kind. It was quiet and slow, like a poison that seeps in and stays with you. It was the kind of anger that doesn’t shout but whispers, making you question everything, making you feel like you’re never enough."

I paused, struggling to get the words out, the emotions too raw, too painful. "And then you came along. You were loud, you were the voice in the silence, the one who made me feel something other than that suffocating anger. You—" My voice caught in my throat, and I couldn’t finish. Instead, I just sat down too, the weight of everything crashing down on me.

For a moment, we just sat there in silence, both of us lost in our own thoughts, in the wreckage of what we’d done to each other. Then, I started again, my voice softer, more vulnerable than it had been before.

"I lived for the hope of what was between us. I wanted so badly for it to be real, for it to be serious. I cancelled plans, stayed up late, made excuses just to see you, to be near you. I was always waiting, always hoping that this time, you’d see me, really see me. And when you did, it was like nothing else mattered. It was like you were the only thing that mattered."

I swallowed hard, the lump in my throat growing tighter. "But every time I got my hopes up, I paid for it. I paid for it with every tear, with every sleepless night, with every second I spent wondering if you felt the same, if you cared as much as I did. And when it all fell apart, when you walked away, no one blamed you. No one called you the names they called me. I was the one who paid the price, while you… you just moved on."

Mattheo was silent, his gaze fixed on the floor as he absorbed my words. Finally, he spoke,"I didn’t know how to love you properly, because I didn’t know how to love at all."

He paused, his voice breaking as he continued. "But I know I love you. Even when I didn’t want to admit it, even when I tried to convince myself that I didn’t, I knew. And it scared the hell out of me. Because you deserve better, you deserve someone who knows how to love you right, who doesn’t screw it up every chance he gets."

He looked away, his hands trembling slightly as he spoke. "But I tried. Dammit, Y/N, I tried. I tried to be what you needed, what you wanted. But I failed. I failed because I didn’t know how to be that for you. And I hated myself for it. I still do."

I stared at him, my heart aching at the raw honesty in his voice, the pain that I could see etched on his face.

Tears streamed down my face, the weight of everything crashing down on me all at once. I couldn’t stop shaking, couldn’t catch my breath. The room felt too small, the air too thick, and all I wanted to do was escape—to run from everything, from him, from the pain that seemed to swallow me whole.

"Y/N… love?" Mattheo’s voice broke through the haze, soft and filled with desperation as he knelt in front of me, trying to get me to look at him.

"Look at me, love. Look into my eyes. You love doing that, don’t you? Come on, just breathe with me, okay?"

But I couldn’t. My whole body was shaking, and it felt like the walls were closing in on me. I couldn’t catch my breath, couldn��t think straight. All I could feel was the panic, the overwhelming fear that I was drowning, that I was going to fall apart completely.

"I’m so sorry. I’m so fucking sorry for everything I’ve put you through. I never wanted to hurt you like this. I never wanted any of this to happen."

His hands moved to cup my face, his thumbs gently brushing away the tears that continued to fall. "Please, forgive me," he whispered, his voice trembling. "Tell me what you want, and I’ll do it. Anything. I’ll do anything for you, baby. Just name it."

I tried to focus on his words, tried to let them ground me, but it was so hard. The pain was so deep, so consuming, and I didn’t know how to make it stop.

"Please, Y/N," he continued, his voice growing softer, more desperate. "I need you. I need you to know that you’re the one I want, the one I need."

I felt his hand move to the back of my neck, his touch gentle as he tried to steady me. "You’re the one I love," he whispered, his breath warm against my skin. "The only one. There was no one else. I swear it."

"When I went to see Betty that night, it was over between us. It had been over for a while and I told you that love i didn’t lie about that I swear. I just… I couldn’t let her find out from someone else. I wanted to tell her myself. I didn’t want her to think… to think that I had been lying to her, that I had been with you while I was still with her. I wanted to be honest with her, with you. But I swear, Y/N, I didn’t cheat. Not with you, not with her."

His eyes searched mine, pleading with me to believe him. "You have to believe me. I know I messed up, I know I hurt you, but I never meant to. I just… I didn’t know what to do. I didn’t know how to handle everything. And I’ll do whatever it takes to make this right. I swear it."

Tears streamed down my face, the weight of everything crashing down on me all at once.

"I’m so sorry," he whispered again, his lips brushing against my hair. "I’ll never hurt you like this again. I promise."

I felt the tears well up again, but this time, they were different. They weren’t tears of fear or anger, but something softer, something that felt almost like relief.

"I’ll do anything for you, baby," he repeated, his voice tender. "Just tell me what you need, and it’s yours."

The door creaked open, and I jumped slightly, still nestled in Mattheo’s arms. I quickly wiped at my face as Adrian stepped inside, a smirk plastered on his face.

"Please tell me you got him begging on his knees," Adrian said, his voice dripping with amusement.

Mattheo stiffened beside me, his expression darkening. He was up on his feet in a flash, and I knew that look—he was ready to kill Adrian. I quickly grabbed his hand, holding him back. "Don’t."

Adrian’s eyes widened in mock fear, holding up his hands as if to surrender. "Whoa, easy there, killer. I’m just here to check if my best friend needs any emotional support after dealing with, well, you."

"Do you have a death wish?" Mattheo growled, taking a step toward him.

"Mattheo, calm down," I said firmly, tugging on his hand to pull him back. I could feel the tension in his muscles as he glared at Adrian.

"You know," Adrian continued, seemingly oblivious to the danger he was in, "I’m just saying, I’ve never seen Mattheo Riddle on his knees for anyone. If I had a camera, I’d have snapped a photo for the history books."

"Adrian, shut up," I said,"You’re not helping."

"I think I’m helping," Adrian shot back with a grin. "In fact, I’m the best help you’ve got. What are you gonna do without me, Y/N? Cry on Mattheo’s shoulder all day? Please, that’s my job."

Mattheo looked like he was about to lunge at him, but I squeezed his hand.

Enzo suddenly appeared in the doorway, leaning against the frame with a bemused expression on his face.

"Did I miss the show?" Enzo asked, raising an eyebrow. "I heard something about Mattheo begging?"

"I was not begging," Mattheo snapped, shooting Adrian a murderous glare.

Adrian shrugged, still smirking. "You say ‘not begging,’ I say ‘finally showing some humility.’ Same difference."

"Do you have a death wish or something, Adrian?" Enzo said, shaking his head with a grin.

"I’m just saying what everyone’s thinking," Adrian replied, crossing his arms. "Besides, someone needs to keep Riddle here in check. Can’t have him getting too full of himself."

"I can take care of that myself, thanks," I said, rolling my eyes at the two of them.

Mattheo finally relaxed a bit, though he still looked ready to strangle Adrian. "You’re lucky she’s here," he muttered darkly.

"Yeah, I know," Adrian said, giving me a wink. "I’d be toast without her around."

Enzo chuckled, pushing off the doorframe. "Alright, enough with the macho posturing. We’ve got better things to do than watch you two flirt-fight."

"Who’s flirting?" I shot back, crossing my arms.

"You," Enzo said, grinning. "And him." He pointed between Mattheo and me. "And for the record, you’re terrible at hiding it."

"Like I’d ever flirt with this asshole," I said, though my cheeks heated at the insinuation.

"Oh, please, Y/N," Adrian said, rolling his eyes. "You’re practically batting your eyelashes at him right now."

Mattheo finally smirked, his anger dissipating. "See? Even Adrian can see it."

"I’m going to kill you both," I muttered, but there was a smile tugging at my lips.

"Hey, that’s my line," Mattheo said, looking down at me with a soft grin. "But you’re cute when you’re mad, so I’ll let it slide."

Adrian snorted. "Wow, she’s got you whipped, doesn’t she?"

"I’m not whipped," Mattheo shot back, though he didn’t sound too convincing.

"You kind of are," Enzo said, laughing.

"And for you information Riddle that my dick is perfectly average-sized so stop spreading rumors, thank you very much!"

"It’s not a rumor if it’s true."

Adrian’s face flushed with annoyance. "That’s bullshit, and you know it, Riddle! Quit trying to spread misinformation about my buddy!"

"Adrian,Now, can we please focus on something other than your you know for five minutes?"

"Five minutes is all I need," Adrian quipped with a wink.

"Five minutes is all it’ll take for me to bury you six feet under," Mattheo Said.

"Alright, alright. Calm down, Romeo."

Adrian threw his hands up in exasperation. "I’m just saying, that kind of rumor could ruin a guy’s reputation!"

"Yeah, because that’s exactly what I was trying to do," Mattheo said.

I rolled my eyes and tugged on Mattheo’s hand, pulling him toward the door. "Let’s get out of here before I have to deal with any more of this."

"Good idea," Mattheo agreed, following me out of the room. "Before I decide to actually kill them."

Adrian called after us, "You know you love us!"

As we walked down the hallway, Mattheo turned to me with a lopsided grin. "So, I’m forgiven?"

I glanced up at him, trying to suppress a smile. "We can work on that," I replied, teasingly.

His grin grew wider, and he leaned in closer, his voice dropping to a low murmur. "You know, seeing you all flustered and cute when you’re mad really does something to me."

My cheeks flushed red, and before I could respond, he captured my lips in a quick, heated kiss. It was so sudden that I barely had time to process it before he pulled away, smirking at my dazed expression.

"You can’t just kiss me like that out of nowhere!" I exclaimed, trying to sound stern but failing miserably.

"Well, I sure as hell will," he said confidently, his eyes gleaming with mischief. "If I get to finally call you my girl, then I’ll be going around showing off and making sure everyone gets the message."

I raised an eyebrow. "What message?"

"That you’re off-limits. No one gets close to you, and no one says a damn word that could upset you."

"No?" raised an eyebrow, teasing him. "And if they do?"

Mattheo’s eyes darkened, and his lips curved into a dangerous smile. "Let’s just say I don’t think they’d want to try that again."

My eyes widened in realization. “Wait, are you telling me you’ve been hitting guys who talk bad about me?”

He didn’t deny it, just gave me a sly smile, and suddenly, I couldn’t help the rush of excitement that went through me. The thought of him defending me like that—it was kind of a turn-on.

I smirked, stepping closer to him. “Okay, fine. That was such a turn-on. You can kiss me now.”

He didn’t need any more encouragement. His hand slid to the back of my neck, pulling me closer as he pressed his lips to mine again. This time, the kiss was deeper, more passionate, and I melted into him, forgetting everything else.

When we finally pulled away, breathless and slightly dizzy, he grinned down at me. "I’m going to love showing everyone that you’re mine."

I rolled my eyes, but my heart skipped a beat at his words. "Just don’t go overboard with it, okay?"

"No promises," he murmured against my lips before stealing one more kiss.

[cappycodeart]

JOURNAL ENTRY XXX "You won’t BELIEVE what I’m about to write! Recently I’ve moved back into my hometown to find more information on the whereabouts of my research and why it's been kept hidden from public eye. However, upon my arrival, I noticed something particularly disturbing: an apparition. Some glowing, ghost-like creature that fizzled in appearance and walked among men. What particularly struck me about this thing is that, well… it looked exactly like me! Or, a much older-looking me. But WHY me?! How long has this thing been in my hometown impersonating me? I don’t have an answer for that and, due to the risky nature of my investigation putting me at odds with government officials, I don’t want to make a scene about it. I suppose all I can do for now is keep track of its whereabouts and figure out its motives. But it mustn’t know I’m watching it. I wonder if it has anything to do with the investigation I’m conducting. This could either be a magnificent discovery… or foreboding of a conflict to come in my near future."

Something of a side-development during Itchy's time in that Betty's universe. Turns out she has a Simon of her own (though they haven't met... yet...). Will Itchy's interference ruin their destined meeting? Only time will tell...

Bonus: Some colored art of them both! I've nicknamed them Plaidtrigrof, :)

[ask-the-koopa-family]

((STORY))

A long time ago, in the koopa kingdom, young Bowser and his little sister Betty spent a sunny afternoon playing together. Their laughter echoed through their castle's garden as they stacked blocks to create their own fortress.

“Look, Betty!” Bowser exclaimed, placing the last block on top of their creation. “Our fortress is almost finished!”

Betty, her eyes shining with excitement, placed a small flag at the top of the wall. “It’s amazing, Bowser! But it still needs some details. We should add traps!”

Bowser nodded eagerly. “Yeah, but we don’t have enough blocks for traps.”

At that moment, a soft blue light filled the room, and Kamek appeared, floating in mid-air. The old magician, who was like a grandfather to the children, looked at them with a warm smile.

“What are you two up to?” he asked in a gentle voice.

“We’re building a fortress!” Bowser replied proudly. “But we need more blocks for the traps.”

Kamek thought for a moment, then looked at the children with a twinkle in his eye. “Well, perhaps I could help with my magic. How about that?”

Betty burst into joy. “Oh, yes! That would be amazing, Kamek!”

The magician waved his wand, and blocks appeared as if by magic around the children. Blocks floated around them.

“Here you go!” said Kamek with a smile. “Now you have everything you need to add traps and details to your fortress.”

Bowser and Betty thanked Kamek warmly. They immediately got to work, using the new blocks to create moats and impenetrable walls.

Bowser’s father, a grand and powerful king, entered the room with an amused smile. “So, what’s going on here?” he asked, seeing the fortress grow.

“Dad!” Bowser exclaimed. “We’re building a fortress with Kamek! He helped us with his magic.”

Bowser’s mother, gentle and caring, joined her husband. “It’s wonderful to see you so creative! Don’t forget to make a little place for us in your fortress!”

“Of course, Mom!” Betty replied with a smile. ��You’ll be the honored guests!”

Kamek, still smiling, turned to the children’s parents. “You have truly talented children. It’s a pleasure to see them grow and have fun like this.”

The parents exchanged a tender glance. “We’re happy to see that Kamek is always there for our children,” said the father. “It’s like he’s part of the family.”

Kamek nodded with a satisfied air. “I will always be here to watch over them, as I always have.”

The day continued in joy and fun, with Bowser, Betty, Kamek, and their parents enjoying their time together. The fortress soon became a masterpiece of imagination, a symbol of the love and friendship that united this unique family.

The end !

Art and ocs are mine dont copy/repost!

[sunlightmurdock]

The Odyssey | Prologue | Bradley Bradshaw (18+)

Masterlist | Next Chapter

Bradley wakes up in a foul mood, your ego takes a hit. A deal is struck to ensure that you’ll be able to graduate.

warnings: enemies to lovers, power imbalance (professor / student relationship), age gap (22 / 33), will be smut, virgin reader, swearing, infidelity. warnings to be added on a chapter by chapter basis. 18+ minors dni, wc: 3.1k

…

Nine weeks into Spring semester, six to go. Six more weeks of having scalding coffee, missing tastebuds and a fucking freshman girl ranting into his ear all before the clock even hits 8am. Bradley’s sunglasses sit perfectly across the bridge of his nose, gold-framed Ray-Ban caravans that hide how late he was up last night. This means that sweet, little freshman Bettie O’Riley can’t see the look that he’s giving her as she jogs along to keep up with him.

Hallowed halls, filled with young adults that either reek of cheap beer or Daddy’s money, all signs would suggest that Bradley isn’t supposed to be here. Only thirty-three, sitting at that awkward age that makes him neither a frat boy nor a balding tenured ex-businessman turned lecturer. And yet, his brown leather shoes hit these aged floors every morning on the way to his first class of the day.

Beige, almost cream-coloured, wide pleated dress pants and an untucked blue shirt, rolled up at his forearms and missing the top button. His messenger bag draped from his shoulder, his tie balled into the hand holding the to-go double shot espresso.

Six more weeks until he’s in Italy for two months, teaching during the mornings, free as a bird in the evenings. Sun on his face, limoncello on his tongue; good books, women who don’t just giggle and twirl a strand of their hair at him. History. All funded by the Cornell school of Arts and Sciences. He damn near sighs at how badly he wants to be there now.

“Bettie, I already told you,” He sighs, adjusting the gold-framed sunglasses and shooting a look down at her and her wispish black, curled bob. “I can’t curve your grade, it was a C minus.”

She speeds up and steps in front of him, walking backwards now. “Please, Professor Bradshaw. I’ll do anything.”

Professor Bradshaw rarely draws a reaction from him these days. Only his bosses and parents call him that. He makes a point of scrawling it across the chalkboard at the beginning of each semester, but he’s usually still reminding kids a couple of weeks in to just call him Bradley.

Still, both he and Bettie O’Reilly know that it isn’t her method of address that makes him scoff at her. He stops walking and pushes his sunglasses up into the feathery brown curls that adorn his face, staring down at her like she’s even younger than she is. She swallows, regret flooding her. The other professors usually lean into the kind of virginal, good-girl, bad student thing that she’s got going on.

“Bettie,” Bradley speaks slowly for her, pink lips against tanned skin. Warm eyes against a cold stare. The hallways are full around them, standing stationary in the steady stream of students. “Don’t come onto me like that again. Study.”

“Yes, Sir.”

“Alright, come to my office tomorrow morning, I’ll give you an extra credit assignment,” It’s more lenient than he should be with a girl who just propositioned him before he has even finished his morning coffee, but Bradley knows not to blame little Bettie. With those thick, rounded glasses and dark freckles, he knows that she gets a lot of attention from her other professors. The culture they’ve created in this school isn’t her fault. Neither is the fact that Bradley’s class is notoriously hard to pass. “We’ll talk through what an A grade paper should be looking like. Do me a favour and don’t talk to me until then.”

He steps around her and continues; she’s swallowed instantly by the sea of bustling students. In the run up to the end of the semester, people start showing up to class again as it hits them that their professors might actually fail them. There aren’t too many F’s floating around in a school like Cornell. Its stats are exceptionally high, especially these past few years. It would seem that, in a school like Cornell, a passing grade quite simply has a price tag on it.

Three minutes before his morning class is due to start, and having woken up on the wrong side of his bed, Bradley drops his sunglasses back down over his eyes as he strolls into the lecture hall. It’s surprisingly full for a Monday morning. The gossiping never stops when he walks in — he’s not that kind of teacher. He allows the whispering to continue while he sets up his supplies.

There are six people in this room that Bradley has not seen since the first week of class. Every single one of them has a parent that is a benefactor to the university. Front and centre, surrounded by a group of excitedly whispering, well-dressed young women, there’s you. He knows you vaguely, knows that you’re coasting on high B’s. He hasn’t seen you since January, you won’t be passing this class.

“God, look at that rock!” The blonde to your side fawns, grabbing at your hand and lifting it up towards the light to get a better look. Setting his sunglasses down on the desk, Bradley looks too. There’s a silver band with a big diamond on it around your ring finger. You’re beaming. Dressed in a white turtleneck and fitted blue jeans, Bradley’s got his assumptions about the family you come from, and the family you’ll be marrying in to.

You’ve been taking his classes for the full three years that he has been teaching here. He knows your boyfriend. Malcolm something something the third. Maybe fourth. His Daddy paid for the science wing refurbishment last year. Bradley remembers the night that your Prince Charming ditched you out in the snow, drunk out of your mind. You probably don’t remember that night.

“Good morning.” His booming voice obliterates the pleasant chatter coming from your friend group. You cross one leg over the other and look downwards at the glimmering rock on your finger.

Six more weeks until you’re out of this hellhole. An apartment in Manhattan all lined up and Mac’s place with his father’s firm long confirmed by now, it’s all coming into place. You’ll have a summer wedding at the end of August, and then you’ll truly begin your life.

“Tell me all about it! Did he get down on one knee?” Veronica nudges her white tennis shoe into yours and leans across to you, tapping her pen against the white-lined page of her notebook. Between the two of you, Catherine readies herself to take down notes that you’ll copy later.

A decent string of A to B grades and a diploma, that was the agreement, and then your life is all yours. That was all your father had held you to. You hadn’t ever promised to do something with the degree he had paid for.

Why would you? — Your mother hadn’t. She had studied literature, made friends for life, and met her husband. Then, she began her life. Having her children, shopping in the afternoon, tennis on the weekends. Bliss.

“Of course he did!” You confirm eagerly, leaning over Catherine to continue the conversation.

The first five minutes of a lecture determines everything. If he loses their focus now, then he might as well leave now and take an especially early lunch. He starts off with a quick reminder of their upcoming exam, and a nod towards last week’s discussion of Roman literature.

His attention is quickly diverted to the excited whispering happening six feet from him, right in the front row. Your friends aren’t bad students. You weren’t ever a bad student. It has just become clear that you were in college to find a husband, and now you’ve found one. Bradley’s eyes narrow in on you and your preppy, little friends, giggling at the front of his class.

Exhausted, overworked and underappreciated, Bradley stares at you calmly. You conversation comes to a slow stop as an awkward air of silence fills the lecture hall. He’s just standing at the front, staring right at you, waiting for you to shut up.

“Sorry, Bradley, somebody just had some exciting news.” Catherine smiles shyly at him. He knows her the best out of the three of you. She TA’d for him last year. Great girl, really bright future — to generous when it comes to grading. It’s because of his respect for her that he doesn’t jump to humiliating you right away.

“I can see that, congratulations,” His tone is dry, broad shoulders squared, his face unamused as he looks to you. You stare back at him calmly, giving a curt nod — less than polite in your mannerisms. “Now, if those of you that still have a chance of passing this class could please turn your attention back to me, we’ll give the blushing bride her moment afterwards.”

He opens the little brown, leather bound book in his hands and clears his throat, assuming that your rude interruptions are done for the day. Somehow, the awkward silence that sits heavy in the room grows to an even deeper low after you retort.

“Excuse me?”

“You’re excused.” Bradley deadpans, bored. You squint at him, six feet between the two of you and a lifetime of differences. Unimpressed by his joke, you roll your eyes right away.

Sitting there, you cross one leg over the other and sit forwards, frowning at him. He doesn’t fit in around here and you do, perhaps that’s where his problem with you stems from. Perhaps it’s the lack of ring on his own finger. “Why would you assume that I wouldn’t pass your class?”

As much as he knows of you, you know of him too — he’s supposedly a jackass. “Because you missed half of the semester. That includes two quizzes and a term paper. There’s no way for you to achieve a salvageable grade in this class.”

When you’re around Malcolm, sometimes he says things that are just so entitled that you’re wincing before he’s even done talking. He can’t help it. He means well. With the amount of time you’ve spent at his family home in the past few weeks, it’s no wonder that words you would normally wince at are spilling from your own lips, “I was planning a wedding, what do you expect from me?”

“Attendance.” Bradley snips. He raises his eyebrows slowly, waiting for you to pack up your pretty, coordinated stationary and walk yourself out of his class.

“But—“

“Goodbye, Mrs. Ashworth. Congratulations again.” Bradley speaks harshly, calling you by a name that isn’t even yours yet like it’s an insult. Like he’s better than you, somehow.

Your pencil slams down onto the half desk in front of you, eyes ablaze. Perhaps the first time you’ve ever been told no. “If you fail me, there will be consequences.”

The silence that fills the classroom this time isn’t awkward. It’s just anticipation, baited breaths, waiting for Bradley to lose his temper. He walks a few paces closer, close enough to smell the cherry scented perfume on each of your pulse points.

His eyes darken as he dips his head just slightly, meeting your gaze. “You’ve got me shaking in my boots, honey. Now, stop wasting my time and get the fuck out of my class.”

There are certain lines that a professor does not cross when working at an Ivy League. Swearing at the daughter of someone with more lawyers than Bradley has living family members, was not his brightest idea. Still, your father is an amicable man — he keeps on saying that — and he wants to work this out. Bradley gets to keep his job, you get to graduate. Everybody wins.

“Classics majors work closely with individual professors in their areas of expertise, often in small classes, and have many opportunities for independent research and travel,” Doctor Kazansky’s voice is calm, teetering on the edge of cold. It’s growing increasingly difficult these days to put up with snotty parents and their snottier children. “I’m sure you understand why attendance would play such a strong part in succeeding in such a major.”

Bradley braces himself against the radiator, glancing down at the watch on his wrist. Real Italian leather that a girl’s grandfather had made for him a few years back. He’s missing happy hour for this circus.

“Of course I understand, Doctor Kazansky,” Your father might as well be a parrot for how well he has learned to mimic tone. You cross your legs at his side and sit up a little straighter. The way you tense up at his voice is so routine, it’s almost Pavlovian. Bradley watches wordlessly. “Just like I’m sure that you understand that in this university’s hundred year history, it has never failed a member of my family and my daughter will not be the one to tarnish our impeccable reputation here.”

You glance up quickly, catching the look on Bradley’s face. He squints disapprovingly at your Charles Dickens villain of a father.

“What can she do to bring her grade up?”

Now that, admittedly, does come as a surprise. This isn’t the first meeting that Bradley has been called into where someone’s parent demands a better grade. It is the first where he hasn’t seen them resort to bribery before they finally blame their kid.

“She missed over half the semester,” Bradley answers perhaps too quickly, still hot from the way you had spoken to him earlier. He gives a nonchalant shrug of his shoulders and looks at your father rather than you. “Two quizzes and a term paper. Even if I gave her extra credit, she couldn’t pull her average above a D.”

Your father’s face doesn’t react at all to this information. Instead, he turns his attention back to the Dean and rests his hands on the armrests of the chair, slowly raising his eyebrows.

“What about the Italy trip?” Doctor Kazansky looks to Bradley, sitting back in his chair. Bradley stares blankly back at him. “There were two empty spaces from what I remember. Is that correct?”

“For research assistants,” Bradley’s tongue drips venom, his brown eyes dark and his arms folded across his chest. You narrow your eyes at him, knowing that an insult is coming next. “She can’t research what she doesn’t even understand.”

“But, if she were to complete extra credit for the rest of the semester and then accompany you for your research, she would have enough credits to pass your class and then graduate.” Doctor Kazansky explains, more for your father’s benefit than Bradley’s. Bradley already knows this.

He grits his teeth, eyes darting across to you. His only solace is that you look just as dismayed about the proposal as he does.

“I’d graduate late.” You point out.

“Better than not at all,” Your father intercepts, pushing his chair back and standing. He carries himself like a man much taller than he really is. “Thank you, Doctor Kazansky. We’ll be in touch about this research opportunity.”

“You can’t just choose to do it, there’s an application process.” Bradley’s tone is far from professional, it’s downright snarky by this point. He doesn’t care. He can’t imagine anything worse than lugging a brat like you around Italy with him for two months, just for you to fail anyway.

You stand to follow your father, ditsy white loafers on the dark oak of Doctor Kazansky’s office floor. Bradley remains where he is, leaning back against that wall with his arms crossed.

Your father smiles across at Bradley and then shoots a look back towards the Dean. It’s smug, knowing. That process doesn’t apply to him. “We’ll be in touch.”

There’s a final look shared between you and the oaf that just cost you your summer in Manhattan — the first time that the two of you have agreed on anything, a silent exchange. Neither one of you wants you to join him on that trip.

He watches you leave, following blindly after your father like a child, then whips his head around to his boss.

“It’ll be good for her, maybe you can actually teach her something.”

“My expertise unfortunately lacks when it comes to setting the table by seven sharp and getting the kids to bed before her husband makes it home.” Bradley scoffs, pushing himself away from the wall and shaking his head as he straightens up.

“Is there something offensive to you about a woman being a homemaker, Professor Bradshaw?” Thomas Kazansky has two daughters. One, is a wife with two beautiful children of her own. The other, is a doctor. Bradley’s been over to their house a few times and he knows that Tom makes a point of it to be equally proud of them both.

“Oh, give me a break,” Bradley rolls his eyes at the notion, despite the subtle truth it holds. He shakes his head. “She deserves to fail and you know it.”

“Well, we’ll see how she does at the end of summer. I’ll be the first to admit my defeat, if she fails.” Tom gives a small smile and a shrug of his shoulders, always too calm for his own hood these days. Apparently he has mellowed with time, Bradley hears that he used to have quite an attitude in his early career.

Pressing his tongue to the inside of his cheek, the younger professor tries to stare his boss down. Tom knows how much these trips mean to Bradley, he takes his work so seriously. Still, Tom just stares back at him, calm.

Squinting, it takes a few moments for Bradley to give up. He turns and growls in frustration, letting the door to Doctor Kazansky’s office slam behind him. His shoes echo through the halls as he storms out of the building and across the quad. Not even Bettie O’Reilly would dare to interrupt his when his face looks as stormy as it does now.

He shrugs his bag off of his shoulder and throws it into the back of the bronco, then shoves his hands into his pockets in search of his keys.

“Do you even understand how hard I have worked for you to have the opportunities that you have had?”

Bradley glances up. He isn’t surprised to find that you’re the one being yelled at. He almost snorts — good, it’s about time someone reigned in that attitude of yours.

You stand, tearful, at the side of your father’s expensive Porsche, your head bowed in shame. Bradley unlocks his truck and pulls himself into the driver’s seat. He figures you probably cry a lot when someone’s telling you no.

“I mean it! — If you ruin this opportunity, don’t even think about coming back. Hopefully Malcolm’s family like you, because they’ll be all that you’ve got, I swear.”

Bradley turns his head slowly. Swallowing to keep from sobbing in the parking lot, shame burns through you as you meet his gaze. Your father towers over you, demanding to know if you’re even listening to him.

Bradley turns the engine on, his brown eyes looking decidedly less scary when he isn’t glaring at you. There’s something else. Maybe it’s pity — you aren’t used to that. He turns his head away and reverses out of the spot.

…

Tags: @thedroneranger @batdanceq @wkndwlff @sunflowerziva @cassiemitchell @himbos-on-ice @bradshawseresinbabe @damrlova @fudge13 @xoxabs88xox @mak-32 @sihtricswife @callsignvenus @callsign-joyride @harper1666 @sheisanangell

[just-my-latest-hyperfixation]

Sol Invictus

A @strangerthingsreversebigbang fic

Word Count: 14,183

Archive Warnings: Creator chose not to use archive warnings

Rating: E

Pairing(s): Steve Harrington/Eddie Munson; Tommy Hagan/Steve Harrington (unrequited)

Character(s): Steve Harrington, Eddie Munson

Tags: Alternate Universe - Fantasy; Alternate Universe - No Upside Down; Alternate Universe - Royalty; Royal Steve Harrington; Jester Eddie Munson; Guard Tommy Hagan; POV Alternating; Alternating Timelines; Childhood friends to lovers but not quite; More like mutual unhealthy obsession from childhood; Possessive Behavior; Intrigue; Blood and Violence; Eventual Smut; Secret Relationship; Master/Servant

Art by @waldosakimbo: Link

Fic by @just-my-latest-hyperfixation: Link

Beta reader: @flintandfuss

Dividers by @sourw0lfs

Second fic by @betty-boom

Summary:

The prince smiles and plucks the lute from his limp fingers, carefully setting it down next to the bed. Eddie can’t recall when he stopped playing. “Look at you. Not just easy on the eyes, but smart to boot. Knew I made a good choice with you.”

Those graceful fingers are on his face now, caressing his cheekbones on either side, slipping into his curls, and Eddie’s insides are warm and light.

“My prince—” he starts to say, but that pretty face twists into a scowl and a soft finger pushes against his lips.

“Let’s try something new, Just Eddie.” Those beautiful eyes are alight with mischief, a temptation dangling just barely within reach. “When we're like this … Can I be Just Steve? Do you think you can do that?”

Something inside Eddie coils.

“Steve,” he whispers against pink lips. The name is sweet nectar, the juice of forbidden fruit on a hot summer day, a sin and a secret and an oath.

Steve smiles and the sun rises in the moonlit room.

Eddie says his name a thousand times more on that night and the nights that follow. 

---

In a world where the king is worshipped as the living embodiment of the sun itself, two boys learn to navigate life in their golden cage.

[moomeecore]

BETTY!! i love being soso inconsistent w how i draw characters <3 especially her

[xxvalkyriesxx]

Flying Changes - Chapter Four

A Nessian Equestrian Fic

Masterlist // Previous Part // Next Part

Read on AO3 or below!

Horses

CW: Mentions of alcohol abuse and drunk driving, mentions of family members being hurt bc of addiction. Cassian is indeed an ass in this one. So is Mor.

“Look, Nesta. You got yourself into this. You’re the one who drove drunk to the cemetery last month where you knew your sisters would be there. It’s almost as if you wanted to be caught, falling into a trap they didn’t even set.” He shook his head, looking out the nearby window.

“You’re lucky you didn’t kill someone.” Eris huffed as he ran a hand through his hair.

“I know I might be asking for a lot. But I can’t stand it here, Eris.” Nesta said, crossing her arms.

“You’re asking for something that I can’t do. The judge will not lighten your sentence. In fact she may double down. Or better yet throw you in jail.”

“Maybe it would be better.” Nesta mumbled.

Eris rolled his eyes. “My hands are tied. You put yourself behind that wheel. There's no excuse for that in this world.”

Nesta remained silent, her foot tapping against the table’s leg. The probation officer leaned back in the opposing chair staring.

“Sorry chick-a-dee. You should have known better.”

Her eyes raised until she met his gaze. Glaring from her silver blues to his browns. A smirk rolled with his lips. He leaned down, closer to Nesta. “Careful, pup .”

Eris shot a glare at the officer. “Watch your tone, Bellius. That’s my client you’re speaking to.”

Bellius lifted his hands up in mock surrendering. “Sorry, Eris. Bitch got my tongue and all.”

Nesta snarled shooting up from her chair, but Eris caught her wrists before she could do anything. 

He leant down to her ear. “If you want a punishment worse than what you have now, by all means, continue.”

Feeling Bellius’ stare, Nesta yanked her wrist from Eris’ grasp.

“I’m done for today.” 

Nesta marched out of the tackroom in a silvery blaze.

**

Bits of the citrus peel came under Nesta’s nails as she finished peeling the clementine. Eating one at a time, Nesta took out her phone, shuffling a playlist to listen to. Her head bobbed to “Stone Mother” by Joise & Laurel. The folky country music played in her earbuds where cellos and violins made art with their bows. Drums in the back and piano as the melody she sang along softly to the music. The sound helped soften her thoughts from earlier with Eris and Bellius. It was something she didn’t want to think about; how she ended up here.

Looking up, Nesta watched the horses from the therapy barn graze. By now she was learning who was who despite not working with them. The two terrasen cove horses were Sundrop and Starlight.They trotted around the area, playfully annoying one another. At first glance it wasn’t easy to tell who was who, but if she looked closely, Starlight’s forelock was a brownish color compared to the rest of his mane that was whitish blond like Sundrop’s.

Grazing near the pasture fence was the nidaros draught named Betty. Cassian mentioned he wanted to call her Betty Brown Eyes but everyone vetoed the name. The horse looked up, watching Neta. She could maybe see where Cassian was coming from, however she would not ignite that man’s ego.

The sun was setting in the late August sky as Nesta’s gaze traveled from horse to horse. It was so natural looking at them, studying their markings and their behaviors that she didn’t notice that different music was playing.

Until she heard the soft violins play the instrumental version of a song about a summer’s cruelty. Her eyes widened at the sounds as she remembered it all; riding Flame in the Grand Prix freestyle in her first Olympics at sixteen. Flame performed the piaffe gorgeously, his body in elegant trot. But what stole the show and earned them the bronze medal were the smooth transitions of the flying changes in his canter strides.

Naturally Nesta’s posture changed from muscle memory. Back straightened, eyes forward, hands steady. Her attention was solely on the music so her gaze unfocused from the world around her. Colors of the sky and grass and horses blended together. Her face stayed neutral as if she was still performing.

Then the music stopped as the wire to her earbuds were yanked. Startled, Nesta scrambled to stand, meeting blonde hair and glaring brown eyes. She stood up fully, tucking her phone back in her pocket, the clementine on the ground.

“Can I help you?” Nesta asked.

“You can help the ranch. Breaktime is over.” The woman said.

 Nesta recognized the designer logos on the woman’s outfit and accessories. Who the fuck brought Barbie Karen out here?

“Excuse me, but you don’t order me around.”

“I do when my cousin owns this ranch. I do when my best friend has had to suffer from not just alcoholic parents, but a sister too.”

Guilt slid right to her heart at the mention of her family. Shifting left, Nesta stared at the woman in front of her. She looked oddly familiar, remembering her on Feyre’s instagram. Ranging from posts featuring the City of Starlight to late night stories. Her stomach twirled with slight envy whenever they appeared on her feed. She raised an eyebrow at the woman as she tried to recall her name.

Michelle? Monica?  

Nesta glared. “I don’t know why you’re being such a busybody? And in any case, I follow Cassian’s orders.”

The woman glared right back. “Cass and Az went to the tack shop a few towns over to buy more feed or whatever.” She glanced down at her manicured nails before continuing. “It doesn't matter. Cass put me in charge of you. As a reminder, you were sent here to work. Not to look at ponies all day.”

The guilt dried out as anger brewed over it, swelling in Nesta’s stomach and mind. Her hands curled into fists. As emotions rose, so did the familiar wanting waves of liquor Nesta knew she should ignore.

“Fuck off.” Nesta snapped, her tone bitter to the bite.

The woman stood unphased. “Cassian mentioned you would be stubborn as Rhys’ mule. Get back to work, Nesta.”

Nesta moved back so she was leaning against the nearby tree. “I think I’m quite content to stay right here actually. And clearly you know me, but I don’t know you. Although you seem oddly familiar.” The desire to drink grew with every word she spat.

“I remember my sister hanging out with an alt-righteous bitch. Megan was it?” She spoke without missing a beat.

“It’s Morrigan.” The blonde snarled. “And last time I checked, the alt-righteous bitch was the one who almost killed her own sister by driving drunk.”

Time swirled as Nesta was no longer standing near Morrigan on that damn ranch. No, she was behind the wheel of her car, familiar blue eyes looking at her in fear, wincing for the impact to happen. The guilt rose and overlaid her entire soul as engine smoke blew into her lungs. 

Cold deadly rage bolted Nesta from the tree, her body barely inches from Morrigan.

“You know nothing about that day.”

“I know enough.”

The rage grew sorrowful in its course through Nesta’s heart. Her desire to defend herself lay defeated in between them. Nesta silently walked past Morrigan, bumping her shoulder with the blonde’s.

“Where do you think you’re going?” Morrigan called out.

Nesta stopped, looking over her shoulder. “I can’t stand you if I’m sober.”

She walked away, every step in wrath and grief. As Nesta came near the house, spotting a bay mare trotting around uneasily. Her body language came off as scared almost. Don’t I know the feeling?

Turning her head, Nesta continued walking down the dirt driveway making it all the way to the mailbox before turning on the two way road, heading to the right. Her phone was her only companion whose battery life ran dangerously low as the sky only grew darker.

**

Nesta was unsure how long she was walking for as she made her way down the road. The urge to drink was clutching her throat, needing the taste of smooth cold vodka. Her nails scratched her left arm, trying to suppress the urges that she fed willingly for the last several years. Body aches and a pounding headache merged not long after, her symptoms starting to come back in high tide.

Fuck that bitch. Fuck Morrigan. She doesn’t know anything. None of them do! Nesta thought to herself as her mind stayed focused on all of these thoughts. Her guilt had drained entirely but only to be replaced with anger. It was like this for years, no one knowing the truth, and Nesta knew she shouldn’t be surprised, but it bothered her. It bothered her to her bones, as they carried her trauma.

A car going the opposite direction came over a hill, its headlights blinding Nesta for a moment where she walked on the narrow shoulder. Large fields were all that she could make out as she stopped walking. A slow dread curled into the pit of her stomach. Where the hell was she?

She peered up to the sky, the once oranges and pinks and purples were now the shades of blackish blues. The sky was littered with stars, however their names she never could recall. Feyre was always good at remembering the constellations, their names and where they were in the sky.

The thought of her baby sister made the pit grow bigger, anchoring her to the stop. She squeezed her eyes shut, not wanting to think of Feyre. Reaching into her pocket, Nesta drew out her phone that’s battery was at five percent. Panic strode deep within her, hands shaking. Quickly Nesta unlocked her cracked screen, moving on autopilot as she found the last number she called that was several weeks ago. The phone dialed, her anxiety growing.

I shouldn’t have called. She’s busy. She has her life. She doesn’t need me. But I–

“Hello?” A voice Nesta recognized far too well spoke on the other line.

Nesta struggled to speak, but her anxiety pushed through with a tail flare of courage. “Ellie?”

An old nickname for her first younger sister. Growing up they called each other Nessie and Ellie, a duo that survived their mother’s laws and father’s absences. The other day she didn’t want to think of her, but now she clung to her sister’s voice in this endless sea of darkness.

“Are you drunk?” Elain accused.

Startled by the accusation, Nesta’s pitch shot high. “W-what? No. Listen it’s a long story, but I walked off the ranch and my phone is dying-” 

“What!? Where are you, Nesta? What are you even thinking? Are you asking to join our parents now?”

Hurt slammed into Nesta like the wind was knocked out of her. But she pushed it down, all the way to the rage she grew familiar with living with. The rage everyone saw.

“Fuck you, Elain. I was just trying to talk to you.”

“Well excuse me for not knowing the difference. I don’t think I’ve spoken to you sober in almost two years, Nesta.” She sighed before continuing. “And the last several times you called, all you did was apologize to me while drunk.”

“You got yourself into this mess, Nesta. Figure out how to get back on your own.”

Her words ironically mirrored Nesta's conversation with Eris. Before she could hiss or cry out, the line went dead. Nesta pulled her phone away from her ear, the black screen filling the void. Numbly, Nesta walked, her anxiety and hurt and rage clung to the ground making her steps heavy as she pushed forward.

Her eyes stung with tears as Nesta continued walking. She sniffed, hoping to bottle these feelings away. She hated crying. Hated looking weak. Hated how she could be taken advantage of with tears. As sadness brewed into a simmering rage, she suddenly stopped. Lights of a nearby store shined, an open sign flashing in the corner of the window. Then it hit her.

“I also live down the road from the House of Wind. I run the general store down the way. If you make a right out of the ranch and keep going down, you’ll find my place eventually.”

Before Nesta knew it, she was running. Her lungs heaved at the sudden exercise as Nesta pushed open the door, almost falling face first into the wooden floor. Trying to regain her breath, Nesta gazed around the shop area. There was a counter filled with crops probably from local farmers. Nearby was an entire shelf dedicated to the local honey, ranging from honey in a bottle to honeycombs. On the other side was local pet food and toys. There were a few spots that held snacks and drinks for customers.

As Nesta approached the cashier counter, news clippings of barrel races that were so old the paper was an ugly hue of a brownish yellow. There were actual photos along with magazine cut outs. Then in an old wooden frame behind the counter was a photo of a woman who looked like Emerie. Her smile was big as she stood next to a bay colored horse. The horse wore western tack as it seemed genuinely content with the woman.

“We’re about to close, so make it fast–Nesta?” A voice came out from a nearby backroom. Her new friend stood with her hair in a braid like the other day. Emerie lifted the hatched to cut through to the store area.

“What are you doing here? I thought you said that you were…what’s wrong?”

Nesta shook her head, but felt the sting of water in her eyes threatening to fall. She rubbed her eyes roughly, pushing the tears away. She took a breath, then another one. Her hand still over her eyes as she spoke.

“I..I got lost.” She sheepishly shrugged. “Didn’t want to be alone.” She mumbled the last part.

There was weight on her free hand. Pulling the hand away from her face, Nesta cast her gaze downwards. Emerie’s hand laid on top of her’s.

“These roads can get pretty scary at night if you’re not familiar.” Emerie said, before pulling her hand away, ushering Nesta to the backroom. With a little encouragement, Nesta stepped forward going. Most of the room was taken up by shelves, back-stock items. At the end of the room was a desk with a computer and a phone.

“Make yourself at home.” Emerie pointed to a chair as she walked to the desk.

Nesta sat comfortably in the cozy armchair. It was worn down by the years with scratch marks and stains, but the golden velvet stood out like a sore thumb. It was the brightest item in the room, possibly on the store level. Nesta raised an eyebrow at the chair.

Emerie grinned at her expression. “I live upstairs, but sometimes I like to read down here when the shop is closed. My dad’s family has had this shop for decades. My mom helped with this store ‘til the day she died.”

Her brows furrowed, lost in a memory. A moment passed before Emerie spoke again. “He wasn’t a good father or husband, but that chair was the one thing he allowed my mom to have.” Emerie shrugged. “Having the chair here is like having her down here too.”

Glancing down at the chair, Nesta’s fingers traced the left armrest. Her gaze returned to Emerie as her new friend stared at her own tattoo on her arm. Emerie traced the words inked into her skin.

“It was something she said to me every day, even on the day she died. ‘I love you Emerie, more than the mountains, the moon, and Mars .’” Emerie’s voice cracked slightly when she finished the quote.

“I’m sorry about your mom.” Nesta’s mother appeared in her mind. Her stare mirrored Nesta's eyes, watching with unrestrained coldness. Rubbing her arms, Nesta tried to draw warmth from the friction of her hands.

“Thank you. Also I’m sorry, I tend to leave the AC blasting down here all of the time.” Emerie apologized as she tossed a blanket from a nearby basket.

Nesta caught the thow, noticing all of the different horses scattered around. A similar one flashed from a childhood memory. Quietly, she breathed looking back up.

“Is your dad still around?”

Emerie laughed, although there was little evidence of humor. “No. He died two years ago. Had a heart attack while running the store…When I found him.” Emerie tapped her fingers against the desk, shifting. “It was like a weight had been lifted.”

Nesta moved so she sat cross-legged underneath the blanket, mindful to slip off her boots beforehand. “I felt similar when my mother died. I was already traveling to shows by then, but when my dad called me to tell the news, I felt…I felt clear, if you ever felt that before.”

Emerie nodded. “I have.”

Standing up, Emerie opened the mini fridge near her desk. She pulled out two glass bottles that resembled beer. Nesta voiced concerns, but stopped short when Emerie handed one to her, a colorful label she’s never seen before. 

Cola Cold  - originally made Smite Hill.

“Smite Hill?” Nesta puzzled, staring at the logo.

“It’s a small town south of here. They’re not friendly, as you could guess by the name, but they make all sorts of craft sodas and strangely enough neat rabbit statues.” 

Emerie took a sip. “Their cola is far by the best in the world. And it’s a twist cap, so don’t even worry about asking for a bottle opener.”

Nesta hummed, twisting the cap off.

The first sip hit her with something fizzy, sweet, tangy, and maybe even citrusy. 

A small smile appeared as she took another sip.

“See? It’s good.”

“It’s fine.”

“Liar!” Emerie grinned.

The two smiled at one another, clanking their bottles together.

After a moment, Emerie asked. “You wanna tell me how you got here?”

Nesta took a sip of the soda. “Not really, I don’t wanna talk about me right now.”

Emerie didn’t push, taking the hint. Settling into her desk chair, she reached for a book near the computer when Nesta gasped.

“Is that The Seven Lords and Me ?”

“You know Sellyn Drake?” Emerie’s eyes sparkled with a devilish delight.

“I’ve only read that one from her. What else do you recommend?”

“Oh Nesta Archeon, you have no idea of the pandora box you just opened.”

As the truck turned off, Cassian had an uneasy feeling nestled inside him. Everything was fine up until Azriel and him were on their way back from the store for horse feed and other necessities for the barns. He spotted Mor’s convertible in the lot in front of the house. Grabbing the bags from the tailgate, Cassian began walking to the therapy barn first. He winced slightly with the added weight on his shoulder.

But as he walked, Cassian didn’t see the braided golden brown hair he’s grown familiar with over the last two weeks.The newest horse over in the corral was moving uneasily. She kept trotting and cantering, changing her gaits.

Where was Nesta?

“Cass?” A feminine voice called out. 

Cassian turned to see Mor coming out of the house.

“Hi Mor. What’s up? Have you seen Nesta?”

Mor picked at her nails. “You didn’t see her on your way home?”

“On the way home?” Cassian shook his head. “What the fuck happened, Mor?”

“I asked her to finish her break and return to work. It’s what she’s here to do after all. We got into a little spat, and then…” The words trailed off as her hands struggled to empathize. 

“Then what, Morrigan?” 

It was rare for Mor’s full name to be used within the family. It was even rarer from Cassian.

Mor disappointedly shook her head, caught off guard by the use of her full name. “I don’t know…She said something like going to drink or something. Then she just walked off the ranch.”

The world froze as Cassian’s mind went over everything that Mor just said to him.

“And you…You, you didn’t stop her?”

“I didn’t think she was serious and then 15 minutes went by, and…I’m not sure where she went...”

Panic rustled in his chest. “Alright, and you saw her walk out the ranch, not anywhere else?” He shifted, handing Mor the feed. “And here, put this food in the barn. Just leave them inside the feed room. I’ll get to it later.”

Mor grunted, the heaviness catching her slightly off balance. “Where are you going?” 

“To find Nesta. Unless you want to call Feyre on how you lost her sister.”

His friend quickly turned around, heading to the barn. 

His foot tapped, thinking.

Nesta couldn’t have gone far…Downtown is about a twenty minute walk from here. It’s the closest place to buy a drink.. 

Cassian pulled out his phone, calling her. It went straight to voicemail.

“Shit.” He dialed a second time, but was left with the voicemail again. He sighed as he stayed on the line.

“Hey Sweetheart, I don’t know where you are, but you need to get your butt back over here at the ranch…I’ll see you soon.”

His hand pulled at the ponytail from the half-up half-down look. Biting his lip, Cassian raced through his options. He could call the cops, but that could make everything worse for Nesta. And after her AA meeting earlier in the week, she seemed to be doing a little better. Was this all for nothing? His other hand hovered over Rhys’ name in his contacts.

Fear brewed as Cassian recalled that he had faced this before, losing someone out in the field during a battle. But what started as a rescue assignment turned into a recovery mission. The fallen soldier was eventually found far out west of the base. The state of his body…Cassian shook his head, not wanting to relive it again.

I’m not there anymore. He took a deep breath before running up to the house. As he ran, Azriel came flying out of the door.

“Emerie just called.” Azriel said, sounding a little breathless.

“Emerie as in Rip’s daughter, Emerie?” Cassian questioned.

“The only Emerie we both know who has the ranch’s number. Nesta’s with her.”

Cassian blinked, the shocked settling in. “She knew how to get there?”

Azriel shrugged. “Maybe Emerie mentioned it at AA. But we can discuss that later.”

The brothers hopped into the truck before taking off down the road.

**

The door to the truck flew open as Cassian jumped out. Standing on the store’s porch was Nesta. Behind her stood Emerie. 

“Where the fuck have you been?” Cassian shouted. Frustration and worried mixed, but it was only anger that dripped from his words. His gaze titled down, finding two glass bottles on the ground.

Cassian’s body shook, unable to hide his wrath. “You were drinking?!” 

Nesta looked down, not saying anything. Her arms crossed over her chest.

“Nesta, get in the truck.” Azriel called out, climbing out the driver seat. His black stetson hat blended with the night sky.

Nesta didn’t look back as she got in through the passenger door side, sliding to the middle. Cassian began to sneer when Azriel approached him.

Emerie glared at Cassian. “She was with me the entire time, Valyrian. She hasn’t had one sip. You know this is a dry store.”

Azriel nodded, picking up one of the bottles. “We would’ve smelled the alcohol on her. This is pop. She isn’t drunk, Cass.” His tone was almost a warning to his brother.

Cassian wrestled trying to find the right words. His ears shaded pink in embarrassment.  “I’m sorry, Emerie.” He stood as the regret of his words sunk deep. “Thank you for looking out for her.” He spoke gently to Emerie. “I’m sorry that I yelled and accused her of drinking.”

Emerie rolled her eyes. “I don’t care that you yelled, I care that you accused my friend. And more importantly you should be apologizing to her. Not the other way around, General .” Cassian’s old nickname from high school rolled off her tongue like it was nothing.

Cassian mumbled, agreeing with Emerie before he and Azriel got back into the truck.

The truck ride home was the most silent 2 minute car drive Cassian had ever been on. Not soon enough they pulled up onto the long driveway. Cassian didn’t spot the red car in the lot anymore. Mor must have left then. Probably for the best..

The three left the truck. Nesta stormed away, heading to the house. Cassian started to follow, reaching for her hand, but Azriel stepped in front of him, blocking his path. At this angle he could see the slight differences in their height.

“Leave her alone tonight. It’s been a long day for everyone. Talk to her in the morning.”

Cassian sighed, his anxiety spiking. 

“Let’s take care of the horses for now. It’ll distract you.” Azriel moved past him, but soon turned around. 

“You may also want to take your lessons and learn from them. Whatever you said about the damn horse in the corral, apply it to Nesta. She’s not broken, but no one becomes an alcoholic for shits and giggles. You of all people should know that.”

Cassian grimaced, the toll of his emotions from the evening wearing him down like rocks under water. He felt his brother’s hand on his good shoulder.  

“Let her come to you, Cass. When she’s ready.”

“When did you become the smart one?” Cassian questioned, cocking his head to the side.

His brother let go of his shoulder, heading towards the barns.

As Azriel walked he called out. “I have two very idiotic brothers. Someone has to be the smart one out of the three of us.”

Cassian agonized replaying the moments with Nesta in his mind. The emotion was so much, the dull familiar pain in his shoulder ached. He groaned, massaging his bad shoulder. The chronic aching had returned like clockwork. 

Glancing up the meadow of stars above him, a soft voice called out from his memory. The voice felt almost like it was from a different lifetime, combing through the ridges of his childhood.

“Today was bad, Cassian. But that means tomorrow can be better.”

Cassian turned, his gaze settling onto the mare in the corral. She wasn’t pacing as much, but she refused to stand still. Her big brown eyes watched him, as if something or someone was communicating with him.

“And if the next day is bad, you don’t give in. Keep reaching for tomorrow.”

Tag List (let me know if you’d like to be added or removed): @chairofchaos @blueunoias @velarisdusk @c-e-d-dreamer @jsmelodies @inkedinshadows @wolfnesta @lilah-asteria @highqueenmorrigan @daughter-of-lethe

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General Tags》 #sc: forest fables — #sc:ff Lore Tag》 #sc:ff lore Character Tags》 #sillybilly — #musemoose — #fiestyfoxy — #oli owlet — #smiley snailshell — #swirlysquirrel — #betty bucktooth — #fred froghop — #poempony — #horatio spectō — #kaiza kickboard Asks / Annon Asks》 #sc:ff ask — #sc:ff asks Polls》 #sc:ff poll Art / Work in progress Tags》 #sc:ff references — #sc:ff art Writing / Stories》 #sc:ff writing Fanart》 #sc:ff fanart

「 ᨒ↟⸙ 𝑴𝒂𝒔𝒕𝒆𝒓𝒍𝒊𝒔𝒕 ⸙↟ᨒ 」

-{ The Crew }- (W.I.P.)

Red — MuseMoose (He/Him)

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Orange — SillyBilly (He/Any) — This is SillyBilly, the goofy, childish, comedian of the crew! He is always there to lighten the mood with his jokes, big or small, and even if the jokes dont land, he is willing to make a fool of himself for the benefit of his friends. He brings joy, and sorrow to those that listen.

Yellow — FiestyFox (She/Her)

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Green — Fred Froghop (He/They)

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Blue — SwirlySquirrel (He/She)

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Purple — Smiley Snailshell (They/Them)

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Pink — Betty Bucktooth (She/Her)

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White — Oli Owlet (She/They)

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-{ The Guests }- (W.I.P.)

Beige — PoemPony (She/They) — A talented poet, PoemPony is better expressing their feelings with a pencil than with their voice, and their friends know that underneath that shy and nervous look there's an artist big and shiny like ink on a page.

Aqua — Kaiza Kickboard (Any/They/Them)

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Lime — Horatio Spectō (He/They) — 'In my mind’s eye' is how Horatio starts most of their lectures, those that always tend to fall on deaf ears since that is their curse and their blessing; while he can see and perceive far more than the naked eye and be as wise as an owl, their shrill tone and dismissive attitude end up making people skeptical of their knowledge. Something that frustrates them a lot, but there is special providence in the fall of a sparrow, or in this case, of a parrot.

-{ Special Editions }- (W.I.P.) Joke)

Black — HomicidalHonk (He/Honk/It)

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「 ᨒ↟⸙ 𝑪𝒓𝒆𝒅𝒊𝒕𝒔 ⸙↟ᨒ 」

》 Green Dainty Chains》 Cafekitsune

》 @novalizinpeace for PoemPony's art & ref

》 @novalizinpeace for Horatio Spectō's art & ref

》 @itzsharks-3am-thoughts Creator of Kaiza Kickboard

[valiantstarlights]

[The Proposal AU]

Inspired by: @voukkake 's art, and what @valeriianz wrote.

I have totally forgotten that I said Betty White's character should be played by Destiny. 😂 And while I changed my mind about the blanket just now, I'm still pushing for him to do the forest ritual scene. 💃 Anyway, here's my contribution to the dreamling The Proposal AU. 🖤

"Hey, are you both decent?" Johanna, Hob's younger sister, calls out as she raps a quick knock on the door of Hob's bedroom.

Hob, currently lounging on the bed and reading a novel, rolls his eyes and says, "Dream has never been decent once in his entire life, but I suppose we're both fully clothed at the moment."

Dream, who is getting some editing work done at Hob's desk, glares at him from the corner of his eye.

Hob beams at him as the door opens and Jo enters with one hand covering her eyes, while the other held out a wrapped package for either of them to take. "Just delivering this," she says. "Gran said it came in the mail this morning."

"It's already open," Hob notes, putting his book down as he moves to take it from her. "Who is it from?"

"Oh, uh, the entire Endless family? There are a lot of signatures on the letter."

Dream notices an envelope peeking out of the package, and it, too, has been opened. He stands quickly and slaps Hob's hand away before grabbing the letter himself.

"Well, okay, that's all," Jo says mysteriously as she turns back towards the door, trying to navigate her way out of Hob's room with one hand still placed firmly over her eyes. "I'm gonna go and find my noise-cancelling headphones and some duct tape. Just give me like a ten minute headstart, okay? Please? For my sanity?"

"I have literally no idea what's going on," Hob says to the room at large: to Dream, who is reading the letter accompanying the package with a furious look on his face, and to Jo, who is using her other arm like a blind man's cane as she exits the room.

"You'll know soon, Hobsie!" Jo calls out as she crosses the threshold, and immediately slams the door shut. Hob then hears her tearing down the corridor to her room like the hounds of hell are chasing her. "Remember: ten minutes!" she yells out. "Not one second earlier!"

Helpless, Hob turns to his boss. Fake fiancee. Whatever. "Wanna clue me in on why my sister is acting weirder than usual?"

In response, Dream holds up a hand, nonverbally telling him to wait until he finishes reading the letter. A few seconds later, he scoffs in disgust and throws the letter towards Hob, who scrambles to catch it.

"The last paragraph," Dream spits, tone utterly disgusted, then stalks back towards the desk. When he starts typing again, it sounded like he was manifesting for his fingers to turn into hammers so he could destroy the keyboard. "And once you're done reading, burn both the letter and that..infernal package, will you?"

Hob, mystified at what the fuck is actually going on, turns the paper over to read the last paragraph.

'We are sending this letter with The Babymaker, which, if you have already forgotten--like you have forgotten all about our entire family's existence for the past few years--is the Endless family blanket that has been passed down through the generations, in the hopes that you and your fiancee will be blessed with many children.'

Hob chokes on his spit as he reaches the end of the paragraph. "What the fuck?"

"Precisely," Dream says bitterly. "No doubt my parents and a couple of my siblings find this entire situation amusing."

"Okay, first of all," Hob says, very gingerly setting both the package and the letter with the envelope at the farthest corner of the room from the two of them, being very careful not to touch the blanket's fabric, "Who the fuck names their blanket The Babymaker? And second of all, of all the heirlooms to pass down to your children, it has to be the blanket that each and every ancestor used when they fucked? Really?"

"Now you understand why I do not interact with most of my family members," Dream says. "This is not the first time they have gone to great lengths to humiliate me, although sending the blanket to potentially humiliate me in the eyes of my soon-to-be in-laws stink of desperation."

The more Hob learns about Dream's biological family, the more he wants to punch them in the face. No wonder Dream acts like he's under attack all the time. Heck, if Hob grew up in a home where he was treated like shit, he wouldn't emerge prickly and wary. He'd be a full-blown bastard who punches first and talks it out never.

"We could send them a letter back," Hob offers, a little cheekily to infuse some humor in the situation. Dream is clenching his jaw so hard, and a small, miniscule, microscopic part of Hob wants to run his thumb gently over where the muscles are bunched up. Dream was having a pretty okay day before all this. Like, sure, he was muttering that the writer whose work he's currently editing is an idiot, but that's his usual thing. And Hob likes listening to him rant and read ridiculous passages from the manuscript.

(He'd never admit that, of course, but...he's come to like it. He sometimes even looks forward to it.)

"And what shall we say, hm?" Dream challenges, hostility stiffening his shoulders. "That we are grateful for their gift and we are keen to invite them to our wedding? Because this entire thing might be a sham, but I would rather eat hot coals than have either of my parents walk me down the aisle, or my twin siblings be part of the wedding party."

Hob gives in to the temptation and walks towards his desk. He ignores the way Dream sits up even straighter, like he's ready to get into a physical fight, and gently runs his thumb over Dream's jaw.

Immediately, as soon as Hob's thumb makes contact with Dream's jaw, Dream's eyelashes flutter, and his brows furrow. He looks utterly confused. Was he expecting Hob to hurt him? Hob grits his own teeth at that, but takes care not to let the sudden flare of anger show on his face.

When Dream looks up to meet Hob's gaze, Hob could still see the guarded way he holds himself, but there's also yearning in the line of his neck. Hob rubs his jaw again, and does not remove his hand from where it cups Dream's face. He could feel Dream lean infinitesimally closer, and he wordlessly lets him, continuing to run his thumb back and forth in a comforting gesture.

"Disclaimer," Hob says softly, at the sudden hush of the room. "What I'm gonna say next is a joke at your family's expense, so please don't commit violence against my person."

Dream's eyes actually sparkle at that, and the corner of his lips lifts the tiniest amount. "Go on, then," he says. "I welcome jokes at my family's expense. I will even give you bonus points if you make fun of my parents and my twin siblings."

Well. Alright then.

"I was thinking," Hob says slowly, "maybe we should write back and say we didn't need the blanket at all, since I totally got you pregnant weeks ago when we fucked at your place, just after you gave the most romantic proposal ever. The doctor said we're having twins, and since I'm a total simp for you, I will allow you to commit all sorts of crimes, including not letting our children meet your parents and your twin siblings, and burning the Endless family's precious blanket heirloom at the very first opportunity."

"You would dare invite the wrath of the entire Endless family, both the living and the dead, just to please my arsonist tendencies?" Dream asks, but his eyes are crinkled in laughter, and he's actually smiling.

"Yeah," Hob says, suddenly feeling a strange, tender sensation in his chest. Dream absolutely looks breathtaking when he smiles. "Absolutely."

"Then come," Dream says, and stands. Hob watches him pick up the package holding The Babymaker, as well as the envelope and letter that Hob had set aside. "We still have an hour before dinner, and I would rather not sleep in the same room as this wretched thing."

Fuck, Hob thinks inanely, mind still replaying how Dream's smile widened as Hob talked shit about his family. They were really gonna burn The Endless family's highly inappropriate and very disgusting heirloom.

"Hob," Dream says, now on the threshold of Hob's room. One eyebrow was raised in a manner that should definitely not make Hob's nether regions interested. "Are you coming?"

"Yeah," Hob says quickly, and rushes to Dream's side. He feels like he's gonna trip at any moment. "It could prove cathartic for you," he says, a little stupidly. He has to say something so he doesn't think about Dream's smile and his imperiously raised eyebrow. "And symbolic. Like watching bad memories burn and be reduced to nothing."

Dream hums and takes Hob's arm as they walk down the stairs to go outside. It's a bit chilly out, but not too much. Apparently, it's more important to Dream that they burn the damn thing than pause for a second to don a jacket. "Reword that, and I'll allow you to use it in your novel."

"Great," Hob squeaks out at Dream's fond tone. "Definitely will remember that one."

He has already forgotten what he just said, his entire being focused on Dream's warm hand on his arm, and the scent of his own shampoo.

"I will remember for you," Dream assures him. "Eidetic memory, remember?"

Hob was about to say that that is something he will definitely not be forgetting any time soon, except it was at that moment that they hear Jo holler all the way from her room, "Finally found my noise-cancelling headphones! The two of you can fuck now!"

Their eyes meet, and there is a moment of silence, before Dream lets out the most frightening laugh Hob has ever heard, except all he feels is giddy and fond and slightly off balance, like something huge just happened, and his entire world has been changed irrevocably.