#I don’t think there’s anything wrong with casual relationships and I am having fun but i can’t help but wonder if i’m being selfish

[shibe]

Im going to ramble because I don’t know how to put this into words, but when I first started reading bell hooks’s works, I found myself resistant to some of her messages. Her advocation for men, that love is inherently selfless, that being a “giver” isn’t a moral high ground��In all about love in the chapter about honesty, she explains how many women pulled back from the feminist movement once men started to talk about how they also wanted to be seen as fully human as well and when I first read that, I was confused. I knew the patriarchy hurts men, but it always felt like they’re own doing. Why should I have to do more labor for a system you uphold? Im slowly realizing that that isn’t what she meant at all. As I build friendships and relationships with men in my life, I would be doing a disservice to them and myself if I were to categorize them in the traditional “man” role and if I were to put myself into the “woman” role. I cannot love with the expectation that they will do same. I love because I want to. I give because I want to. I take what they are willing to give me. Their emotional needs may differ from mine and what I expect them to need, but to shame them for that is dishonest. There are no “roles” that need to be inherently filled.

[nereidprinc3ss]

come on home

in which the only person who can comfort you after your breakup with spencer reid, is spencer reid

inspired by the song "summer's end" by the artist currently known as phoebe bridgers

wc 2857

warnings: gn!reader (correct me if im wrong), minor mommy issues, angst, happy ending

a/n: thank you to the person who requested this:) u r an angel and I listened to this song the whole time i wrote (if you haven't heard, listen!!) i sincerely hope you enjoy, i like this one a lot<3

She hung up on you. 

Forty-seven minutes of being insulted and berated after you’d called her looking for comfort, and you put up with every single cruel word—just for your mother to hang up on you. And it’s exactly the kind of thing she’d do, so you shouldn’t be surprised. An ache, you’d expect—but it shouldn’t sting like this. You thought you knew better. 

Now you’re in a ball on your couch, clutching your phone to your chest and crying. There’s no point hiding it. Your roommate is out with her girlfriend for the evening—which is too bad because even though you feel like being alone, you’re sure that’s the wrong call. Your other friends are out having fun tonight, too. They’d even invited you, but you turned them down. Look where that had gotten you. Obviously, your mother is not the person you’re about to run to for comfort, either. 

You try to pretend, while you’re thinking of all these people who have ever cared for you, that Spencer Reid isn’t on your mind at all. You try to pretend like you don’t care that the person who loved you until you believed you actually deserved it is a contact going stale deep in the bowels of your text cache. With bleary eyes you scroll down, looking for your conversation where it gathers dust—the end of your relationship was a mutual decision, and you’re friendly, but you haven’t texted in a few weeks. Probably because every time the conversation starts to feel a little too easy, or the phone call lasts a little too long, that aching void in your chest gets worse and worse. Like pain in a phantom limb, you become acutely aware of what you do not have and how much it hurts.  

So blame it on the tears, or the mind-muddling melodrama of your relationship with your mother, blame it on anything but the truth—when your thumb drops on that call button like the plunger on a syringe, you don’t regret it.  

What you’re not expecting is for him to answer after the first ring. 

“Hi,” you say with a snuffle before Spencer can get a word in. There’s a brief interlude, in which you pick at your nails, comfortable to just sit in silence if that’s what he wants. As long as he’s there. 

“Hi.” Hearing his voice instantly melts a bit of the weight you hadn’t realized you were carrying. Another pause, for which you remain silent, because you can feel him formulating a question—and you’d like to hear him speak again. “...am I allowed to ask if you’re okay?” 

Your lips purse and twist to the side, pained and comforted by how easily he can tell that you’re distraught. One word across a tinny connection, and he knows. 

“No. Yes. I mean... I guess that’s why I called you. But you don’t have to ask me about it.” You sniff again and take a deep breath. “How was your day? What state are you in?” 

“I’m in the district,” he answers after a moment, easing into a casualness that he likely doesn’t feel for your sake. Wind crunches through the speaker. He probably just got out of work. “My day was... it was good. I got to talk about my job to a bunch of elementary schoolers, which is always a confidence boost.” 

You chuckle, still laying on your side on the couch and watching storm clouds gathering outside. 

“Nice, nice. What else?” 

“Let’s see... I forgot lunch, so I had three oranges, and they were actually pretty good. I reread Game of Thrones—I don’t know why I did that. I’m never going to like that book.” 

“Masochist,” you smile. He laughs, and you hear the sound of a car door opening. 

“Oh! I talked to my mom. Believe it or not, she says hi.” 

A completely inadvertent snort constitutes your response. It’s not what you meant to do, and out of context it’s sort of mean, but you actually think it’s incredibly endearing that he still talks to his mother about you. He scrambles to explain himself. 

“I swear, we barely talked about you this time. Mostly we talked about her new boyfriend Leonard.” 

“No, no, that’s not... I’m sorry, I’m not laughing at you or your mom. That’s really sweet, actually. Tell her I say hi too.” 

When he next speaks, you can hear the smile in his voice. 

“I will.” Another long pause. You imagine him sitting in the parking lot at Quantico, keys vertical in the ignition of his old car and feeling the silence just as much as you are. He surprises you by not ending the conversation—instead he asks a question. It is concern, poorly disguised with nervous humor. Or maybe you just know him too well. “Do I get to find out what’s on your mind, or are you leaving me in suspense here?”  

You bite the inside of your cheek. 

“Um... well, actually, I just got off the phone with my mom, too. It didn’t go so well,” you laugh halfheartedly, “I know it was dumb to try and have an actual conversation with her, but... you know me. Always following blind optimism to the depths of hell.” 

“Why’d you call your mom?” he asks, so gently it brings a fresh round of tears to your eyes. Still, you attempt to put a cheerful affect on your strained voice. 

“Mm, you know. Just needed someone to talk to.” 

Spencer’s knowing sigh does little to make you feel better. 

“You know you can always talk to me, right? I know it’s... it’s different now, but... I care about you a lot. And, you know, I receive very few phone calls, so the line is pretty much always open.” 

Your laugh quickly devolves into a cry. 

“I appreciate that, but I can’t talk to you about everything.” 

“Why not?” he pleads immediately, voice thin and desperate like it’s his most burning question. A million lies dance over the tip of your tongue. A million things that feel safer to say than the truth. But in the end, it comes out anyway—choked, and so quiet, but aloud nonetheless. 

“Because I’m trying really hard to stop missing you so much.” 

Another long beat of silence. The back of your throat feels dry and hollow—a cage for your hummingbird heart. 

“If it hurts too much to talk to me, you don’t need to do that to yourself. But I also don’t want you to hurt yourself thinking you’re alone. You are... so important to me. I will always try to take care of you the best I can—whether that means staying away or being at your front door. If you ever need me, or even... vaguely want me, I will be there.” 

Each word caves your resolve. Each syllable is a slap in the face to progress you’d been pretending to make. You can be strong—you've proven that over the past ten weeks. You can be stone-faced and slash at your heart until the scar tissue is thick and jagged, and eventually it won’t hurt anymore. But maybe, by letting someone tend to the wounds, they’ll heal a little nicer. A little kinder. Even if you can’t undo the damage, maybe one day you’ll be soft again. 

“What if I vaguely want you right now?” you sniffle. 

Finally, you hear the silver jingle of keys turning. The sputter and rumble of an old engine coming to life. 

“Then I’m on my way.” 

Twenty four minutes later, there’s a soft knock at your door.  

After the call had ended, you’d wondered if you made it all up. Surely your ex-boyfriend wasn’t actually about to show up at your apartment. Someone you’ve grieved for can’t just come back—there are countless horror novels and movies based upon that very tenet. Does it matter if they ever actually died? How long is ten weeks, really? It feels like a lifetime. 

You shuffle across the room, wiping under your eyes with your already damp sleeves, and undoing all the locks Spencer had conditioned you to start using. When the door cracks open, and you see Spencer standing there, windswept and concerned, for the first time in months, it hits you like a tidal wave. You are, beyond a shadow of a doubt, still just as in love with him as you ever were. The relief that floods your veins as he looks down at you with so much care in his eyes is like sinking into warm water. It’s a dead giveaway, and maybe it makes this whole thing a terrible idea, but you can’t seem to care very much. You open the door wider, and he enters, and he stands in your kitchen with his hands in his coat pocket as you shut the door and he’s perfect. It dawns on you that for the first time since the breakup, you feel safe. Like you don’t have to be a stone pillar anymore. This, of course, translates into even more tears, which you try to hide as you face away, re-locking the door.  

“Sweetheart...” he sighs, because you can’t hide anything from him. Hearing the resonance of his voice so close to you once more is overwhelming. In an instant you’re rushing into his arms, and he accepts you without hesitation. You bury your teary face in the vetiver safety of his button-up and slip your arms under his coat, as if you could absorb his warmth and forever hide from the world that way. He pulls you even closer. It’s terrible and cruel how much he is exactly what you needed. “What’s wrong? What did she say?” 

You shake your head and gasp a small sob. 

Truthfully, you’re not really crying about the petty insults from your mother anymore. You’re back to square one, the reason you’d called your mother to begin with—you miss the man whose arms are currently wound around your shoulders. 

His hand smooths over the back of your hair. 

“Okay. That’s okay. We don’t have to talk about it.” 

You stay like that—content even as you cry because being with him feels so much safer than being alone. It feels right—or perhaps it’s just familiar. You don’t know which is worse.  

Spencer is rubbing soothing lines up and down your back as you cling to him, soaking him up in all his ephemeral, comforting glory. He surprises you by chuckling—it vibrates through his chest, buzzing against your ear. 

“Nice Magritte print. I bet the person who bought that has fantastic taste.” 

“Are you gonna ask for it back?” you mumble into the fabric of his suit jacket. He is, of course, referring to the painting you’d more or less stolen from his apartment seven months ago. You really don’t want him to take it home. It’s the most overt Spencer memorabilia you’d allowed yourself to keep in plain sight. 

“No, baby. You can keep it.” The words are low, and kind, and they settle you some, but you can’t seem to get him close enough. “What can I do?” he whispers after a moment, helpless as you take a shuddering breath. “Can I make you tea? Have you eaten?” 

“Will you just... stay for a little bit? I’ll—I promise I’ll stop crying.” 

There is an unexpected lull where you thought you’d receive pretty immediate agreement, but before you can pull back and ask what’s wrong, he murmurs, “yeah. I can stay for a while. But you have to kick me out before it gets too late.” 

You wonder if you’re imagining the double-entendre that seems to underline his words in bold red ink. Spencer is too smart to have not noticed a thing like that. You don’t mention it—it all boils down to the same unspoken idea. 

Don’t let me stay, because I might not leave. 

“I will,” you sniff, finally stepping back and wiping your own tears. It hurts to lose his touch, but at least you know he’s not going anywhere for the next few hours. This, as opposed to everything else lately, can be a beginning instead of an end.  

At least, until he goes home. 

Three and a half hours later, after tea, an impromptu dinner comprised mostly of cheese and crackers, and several vinyl changes on your record player (which served only as background noise for your long, ambling conversations), things are seeming to wind down to a natural stopping point. Which you hate. The whole time you’d had a dull ache in your chest because talking to him was easier than breathing and you knew it wouldn’t last. There had been one or two false bottoms already—the first when you’d yawned around nine, and the second when you’d gotten up to do your skincare and brush your teeth half an hour later. Even then he’d just leaned against the doorframe, watching your reflection above the sink as you talked for fifteen more minutes. Now you stand across from each other in the kitchen, plates restacked and everything in order. Of course he’d insisted on helping you clean up. 

“I should go,” he says, with a soft sort of finality in his voice.  

“Is your carriage turning into a pumpkin?” you tease gently, to hide how much you don’t want him to leave. He smiles—a small, weary thing—but genuinely and endlessly charmed by you. 

“That among other things.” 

“Would you—would you walk me to my room first?” 

The hesitance is clear in his eyes and the way his lips part as if to say, ‘I don’t think that’s a good idea’, but you're sure he’s really going to leave in a moment and you’re also sure he won’t deny you this one small thing before he does. 

“Okay.” 

It’s a short, silent walk through the living room and down the hall to your bedroom door, but you can feel him trailing behind you the whole way. You stop in front of your open door, turning face to face with him.  

“Thanks,” you murmur.  

His lips pull into a melancholy smile. 

“Anytime.” 

There’s nothing left to do but wrap your arms around each other once more, tuck yourself into the you-sized space between his head and shoulder and hold on for as long as he’ll let you. The hug lingers for longer than is wise. Spencer adjusts his arms looped around your waist, pulling you closer, and you nuzzle against his neck, grateful that at least he seems as reluctant to let this end as you are.  

But eventually, it relaxes. Your hold on each other loosens. His face is just inches from yours, and you get to study every plane and valley and line like you’d thought you never would again. It seems he’s doing the same—losing himself in the luxury of seeing you up close. 

“Will you kiss me goodnight?” you whisper, unable to muster any self-consciousness though you know it’s a fool’s errand. Spencer strokes your waist. 

“I can’t do that, honey.” 

“Why not?” 

His voice is just as quiet as yours. It falters slightly as he speaks, so gently, so patiently. 

“Because we’re not together anymore.” 

“Why not?” 

Your feeble, desperate supplication sounds pitiable even to you. You’re not proud, but you can’t find it in yourself to be ashamed, either. All you want is an answer. But it’s like a child asking why the sky is blue, or the earth is round. There is a definitive explanation, but mostly, the adult will shrug, and say, that’s just how it is. 

Spencer’s eyes squeeze shut. His head tilts down. 

“We can’t do this again, sweetheart. You know why we’re not together.” 

In theory—yes. You’d had so many conversations when you’d broken up. It had been a long, painful process, spanning multiple all-nighters at his kitchen table, nursing coffee and trying to convince each other and yourselves that it was the right choice. But it just feels like a horrible, horrible mistake. You feel desperate to explain this to him before he slips away again—the words come out flustered, inelegant as you cling to him.

“But I don’t think I’m getting better without you. I tried, I tried so hard to be good on my own, but everything is worse and harder and—and we weren’t sure about it then, and I don’t think it was the right choice, because I still really need you. Like, all the time. I’m—it’s not getting better without you. Nothing got better.” 

He swallows, eyes darting between yours for an infinite second. You’re breathless and your heart is pounding after your confession—you can feel your eyes stinging with the few tears that managed to escape as you spoke. 

“Everything is worse,” he agrees shakily. “Everything. I’m—I’m getting disciplinary infractions from Hotch like I’m a child because I can’t focus on anything. Game of Thrones is the most complex literature I can comprehend right now. I had to use a calculator the other day.” 

You want to laugh, but nothing is funny until he’s yours again. 

“Then come back. Please come back, Spencer.” 

Finally, he leans closer, until your heads are pressed together, and his nose bumps yours, feather light. You're dizzy. You exhale. He inhales. 

“I don’t think I knew how to leave in the first place.” 

When he kisses you, it feels like home. 

[mywhisperingwords]

am i what you wanted? | fred g. weasley

summary: casual. no strings. just something to forget the loneliness. right? word count: 7.6k masterlist

The air at the party feels heavier than usual, like everyone is trying too hard to pretend they’re having a good time.

You’ve spent most of the night nursing a drink you don’t particularly like, offering polite smiles to people you barely know. It’s not your scene, but you came anyway because that’s what friends do—they drag you out, convince you it’ll be “fun,” and leave you regretting it by the second hour.

You’re just about ready to slip away when you spot him—Fred Weasley.

He’s leaning against the kitchen counter, casual and effortless as always, but there’s something different tonight. The usual spark in his eyes is dimmer, his smile not quite as wide. He’s talking to someone, but his gaze keeps drifting, like he’s only half paying attention.

You consider leaving without a word. After all, you’ve spent years perfecting the art of avoiding him. Not because you dislike him—quite the opposite.

Your stupid schoolgirl crush on him hasn’t quite fizzled out, no matter how much time has passed.

And of course, there was the matter of his latest relationship, a whirlwind romance with someone you considered a friend, Leah.

It would be wrong to approach him now, wouldn’t it?

But then Fred’s eyes land on you, and there’s no escaping. He gives you a faint smile, a shadow of his usual grin, and lifts his drink in a lazy sort of greeting. It’s an invitation, subtle but unmistakable. Against your better judgment, you cross the room.

“Fancy seeing you here,” he says, his voice low enough to cut through the background noise without effort.

You shrug, trying to seem unaffected. “Alicia dragged me out. Said I needed to get a life or something.”

Fred huffs a quiet laugh, looking down into his glass. “Sounds like something she’d say. George said the same to me, actually. Guess misery loves company.”

The comment surprises you. Fred doesn’t usually talk like that—so openly, so vulnerable. It’s enough to make you pause, to glance at him more carefully. “You don’t seem miserable,” you say, testing the waters.

He doesn’t answer right away. Instead, he takes a long sip of his drink and stares past you, like he’s trying to find the right words. “You’d be surprised,” he finally says, his tone softer now.

It’s an opening, one you hadn’t expected but can’t ignore. “What happened?”

Fred glances around, his expression unreadable, before gesturing toward the balcony. “Do you mind? It’s a bit loud in here.”

You follow him outside, where the night air is cool and quiet compared to the chaos inside. He leans against the railing, staring out at the city lights, and you stand beside him, unsure of what to say.

“She left,” he says abruptly, and it takes you a moment to realize he’s talking about her—his ex.

“Oh.” It’s all you can manage.

Fred smiles faintly, but there’s no humor in it. “Yeah. Not the dramatic kind of leaving either. No big fight, no slamming doors. Just… stopped caring, I guess. Said it wasn’t enough for her.”

The confession stirs something in you, a mix of sympathy and something sharper, harder to define.

You’ve never known Fred to be anything but confident, self-assured. Seeing him like this—guarded, almost uncertain—it’s disarming.

“I’m sorry,” you say quietly, and you mean it.

He glances at you then, really looks at you, and for a moment, it feels like he’s seeing you for the first time. “It’s funny, isn’t it? How loneliness sneaks up on you. One day you think you’re fine, and the next, it’s like you can’t breathe.”

You nod, because you understand more than you’d like to admit. “Yeah. It’s awful.”

Fred studies you for a moment longer before offering a faint, almost wistful smile. “You get it.”

The words settle between you, warm and unspoken, and before you can overthink it, you say, “Maybe we’re just terrible at choosing the right people.”

Fred laughs then, a soft, genuine sound that eases some of the tension in your chest. “Maybe we are.”

It feels like an unspoken agreement, a quiet acknowledgment of shared pain. And when he leans just a little closer, his shoulder brushing against yours, you don’t pull away.

&

The door slams shut behind you both, barely closed before Fred’s hands are on your waist, pulling you closer. His mouth is on yours again, urgent and consuming, and the world outside this moment ceases to exist.

You’re not sure how it started—or maybe you do—but you’re too caught up in the feel of him, in the way he kisses like he’s unraveling a part of himself he’s never shown anyone.

Your back hits the edge of the couch, but Fred doesn’t stop. He moves with you, stumbling through the dark like neither of you can think beyond each other.

You barely make it to the bedroom. A trail of discarded shoes and jackets marks the path, forgotten in the haze.

He pauses only briefly, just enough to catch his breath, his forehead resting against yours. “This…” he begins, his voice rough, barely a whisper. “This is what I needed. Something… easy. No expectations.”

The words are quiet but land with a weight that sticks somewhere in your chest. You know what he means—casual, uncomplicated, something to dull the ache of loneliness he spoke of earlier.

Your heart lurches, but your mind, clouded with want and the intoxicating proximity of him, nods before you can think it through. “Yeah,” you murmur, barely above a whisper. “Me too.”

The lie tastes bitter even as the kiss resumes, as his lips trail down your neck, as his hands find your skin. You tell yourself you’re fine with this. It’s Fred, and it’s what he wants. Isn’t it better to have this than nothing at all?

When morning comes, he’s gone.

You’re not surprised—he doesn’t strike you as the type to linger—but the silence in the room feels deafening. The sheets are cold where he was, and you stare at the ceiling, replaying his words in your head.

Something easy. No expectations.

Your agreement, muffled and uncertain, rings louder now. You agreed. This is what you signed up for. So why does your chest ache? Why does it feel like you’ve made a mistake you can’t undo?

You sit up, the mess of the night scattered around you—a shirt draped over the chair, an overturned glass on the table. It’s all so mundane, yet it feels like the air has shifted in your room, like the walls are pressing in.

You bury your face in your hands, letting out a slow, measured breath. Maybe this wasn’t the right decision. But you can’t change it now. Fred was what you wanted for so long, wasn’t he? Maybe this is all you get.

Maybe this is all you’re allowed to have.

You hope you can convince yourself of that.

&

The pub is buzzing, laughter and conversation spilling out from every corner as you sit wedged between Alicia and George.

Fred is across from you, casually leaning back in his chair, a pint of beer balanced between his long fingers. His laughter blends with the noise around you, effortlessly charming, as always.

It’s easy to forget, in moments like this, that this is supposed to be casual. Easy.

You catch yourself watching him longer than you should, noting the way his hair falls into his eyes when he laughs, the way his smile lingers just enough to make your stomach twist.

You remind yourself to look away.

The conversation circles back to someone’s recent breakup, a natural segue into a casual remark about Fred’s ex.

It’s Angelina, sitting two seats down, who says it without malice—just an innocent mention of the girl who was once by his side.

“You were so into her, Fred. Thought you two were endgame, honestly,” she says with a smile, tipping her glass toward him.

Fred’s expression flickers, just for a second, but it’s enough to change the energy at the table. The easy grin falters, his fingers tightening around the glass. “Yeah, well,” he says, voice light but guarded, “things don’t always work out the way you think they will.”

The group catches on quickly, steering the conversation elsewhere, but you can’t take your eyes off him. There’s something in the way his shoulders tense, in the way he avoids eye contact, that makes your chest tighten.

The rest of the evening is a blur of noise and small talk. You find yourself gravitating toward the bar, needing space, needing air. But you don’t get far.

Fred appears beside you, leaning on the counter with a quiet sigh. His eyes are darker now, shadows of something unspoken behind them. He doesn’t say anything, just glances at you, and suddenly the air feels heavier.

“Come with me,” he mutters all of the sudden, so low you almost don’t hear it.

You hesitate, your heart skipping, but you follow.

He leads you down a narrow hallway, past the kitchen, until you’re standing outside the bathroom door. He checks once over his shoulder before pulling you in, locking the door behind him.

“Fred, what are you—”

He cuts you off, his mouth crashing into yours with a force that takes your breath away.

It’s messy, hurried, like he’s trying to drown something out. His hands find your waist, pressing you against the cold tile wall, and you can feel the tension in his grip, the desperation in the way he kisses you.

It’s different this time—more frantic, less controlled. There’s no room to think, no space for words, just the heat of him against you and the quiet hum of the pub muffled beyond the door.

When it’s over, you’re both catching your breath, the silence settling around you like a weight. Fred’s forehead rests against yours, and for a moment, it feels like he might say something—something real, something vulnerable.

But then he steps back, adjusting his shirt, his eyes not quite meeting yours. “Thanks,” he mutters, almost too softly, and the word hits you like a slap.

You blink, trying to find something to say, but he’s already unlocking the door, slipping out like nothing happened.

You’re left standing there, the cold tiles against your back, your pulse still racing. You stare at the empty space where he was, your mind replaying the moment in vivid detail.

Something about this feels wrong. But then again, wasn’t this what you agreed to?

&

It’s late. Later than late, really, with the kind of stillness in the air that only comes when the rest of the world is sleeping.

But you’re wide awake, perched on the edge of your couch with a half-empty glass of wine in your hand, listening to the faint hum of the city outside.

You don’t know why you’re waiting.

Or maybe you do, but admitting it feels like giving it more weight than it deserves.

It’s been a few days since you saw Fred—since he showed up at your door for the first time, with that crooked smile and a cocky, unspoken challenge in his eyes.

You hadn’t known what to expect then, and you still don’t know now. But when you hear the knock at your door, your chest tightens in anticipation anyway.

You set the glass down and cross the room, opening the door to find him leaning against the frame, his hands stuffed in the pockets of his jacket.

“Bit late for a social call, don’t you think?” you tease, though your voice wavers just slightly.

Fred grins, that easy, practiced grin that always feels like it’s hiding something. “Thought you might say that. But then, you’re still awake, aren’t you?”

You roll your eyes and step aside, letting him in. He walks past you, his steps slow and deliberate, like he’s taking his time to assess the space.

It’s not the first time he’s been here, but he looks around like it is, his gaze lingering on the small details you’d never think to notice.

“You always keep it this tidy?” he asks, turning to face you with a smirk.

“I knew you were coming, didn’t I?” you shoot back, closing the door behind him.

Fred laughs, the sound low and warm, and suddenly the room feels smaller.

It’s always like this with him—this electric push and pull that leaves you feeling off-balance and exhilarated all at once.

He shrugs off his jacket, tossing it carelessly onto the back of a chair, and then he’s sitting on your couch like he’s been doing it for years.

You join him, keeping a safe distance between you, but it doesn’t matter. The tension fills the space anyway, a quiet, unspoken thing neither of you is willing to address.

“So,” Fred says, his eyes flicking to the wine glass you left on the table. “Drinking alone, are we? Rough night?”

You laugh softly, shaking your head. “Not rough. Just… quiet.”

Fred hums, leaning back and stretching an arm along the back of the couch. His fingers are close enough to brush your shoulder, but they don’t.

“Well,” he says after a beat, “I’m good at making noise. Want me to liven things up?”

You turn to look at him, arching a brow at his choice of words. “That depends. What exactly do you have in mind?”

He grins again, wider this time, and before you know it, you’re caught up in one of his ridiculous stories—something about a prank that went wrong back at Hogwarts and ended with George covered in soot and screaming about cursed cauldrons.

You’re laughing so hard your sides hurt, the kind of laugh that feels like it’s shaking loose all the tension you’ve been carrying for days. Fred is laughing too, his head thrown back, his shoulders shaking.

And for a moment, it’s easy to forget the doubts gnawing at the edges of your mind.

But then the story ends, and the laughter fades, and the room feels too quiet again.

Fred’s laughter dies in his throat first. He turns his head toward you, the space between you charged, his expression softening as his eyes flicker to your lips.

“You’re staring,” you whisper, trying to keep your tone light, but your pulse betrays you.

“Am I?” he murmurs back, his voice low and teasing, but there’s something in his gaze that makes it hard to breathe.

You don’t know who moves first—maybe it’s him, maybe it’s you—but suddenly, the space between you disappears. His mouth meets yours in a rush of heat and hunger, and your body reacts without thought, your hands tangling in his hair as he pulls you closer.

He tastes like mint and something else, something unmistakably Fred, and for a moment, it feels like the rest of the world doesn’t exist.

It starts like it always does—feverish and desperate, hands searching, breaths stolen. Fred’s hands find the hem of your shirt, tugging it over your head, and your back hits the cushions of the couch before you even realize you’ve moved.

But somewhere in the middle of it—between the hurried kisses and the whispered curses—something shifts.

His touch slows, his fingers trailing along your skin with an almost reverent softness. He presses his forehead to yours, his breath warm against your lips, and for a fleeting moment, it feels like there’s more to this than just a casual arrangement.

Your chest tightens, and you open your mouth to say something, anything, but the words catch in your throat.

Fred pulls back slightly, just enough to look at you, his eyes searching yours like he’s trying to figure out if you feel it too.

But then the moment passes, and he closes his eyes, shaking his head like he’s dismissing some unwelcome thought. He presses a lingering kiss to your collarbone before shifting his weight and standing, grabbing his jacket from the chair.

“Leaving already?” you ask, your voice barely above a whisper.

Fred hesitates, his back to you. “Yeah,” he says, his tone lighter than the moment calls for. “Gotta keep you wanting more, don’t I?”

The grin he throws over his shoulder is forced, you think, but you don’t call him on it.

You watch him leave, the door clicking shut behind him, and you’re left alone again, your chest tight and your mind racing.

This is what you signed up for, you remind yourself. Casual. Fun. No strings attached.

So why does it already feel like so much more?

&

The party isn’t much different from the last one. A haze of laughter and music hangs in the air, the dimly lit living room thrumming with energy as bodies mill about. You’re leaning against a wall, clutching a drink, when you spot him across the room.

Fred.

Your breath catches—not because you didn’t expect him to be here, but because it’s the first time you’ve seen him like this since everything began.

In the few weeks since that night, he’s always shown up at your door under cover of darkness, a secret that slips away before the world wakes. Now, he’s here, among friends, out in the open. It feels… surreal.

His eyes catch yours, a flicker of something unreadable crossing his face before he looks away. You should probably do the same, pretend he’s just another person at the party, someone you barely know outside of shared jokes and casual conversations.

But something about seeing him here, the same Fred everyone else knows, tangles in your chest.

The game between you feels different now. Riskier.

You manage to avoid each other for most of the night, though you’re painfully aware of him. The way his laugh carries over the music. The effortless charm in the way he leans against the kitchen counter, surrounded by people.

But it’s when you least expect it that it happens.

You’ve slipped into the quiet hallway, hoping for a moment to breathe. He appears from nowhere, leaning casually against the wall a few feet away. His hands are shoved in his pockets, and he looks at you like you’re the only person in the world.

“You’ve been avoiding me,” he says, low enough that no one else could hear.

You swallow, refusing to meet his gaze. “You’ve been avoiding me too.”

A ghost of a smirk crosses his face. “Fair enough.”

For a moment, neither of you speaks. The silence stretches, filled only by the distant hum of the party, the bass thudding like a heartbeat. Then he shifts closer—too close, considering the thin walls and prying eyes just a room away.

“This is risky,” you murmur, though you don’t move away.

“Since when do you mind risky?” he counters, his voice teasing but quiet. There’s a flicker of warmth in his tone, a reminder of those moments when he’s let his guard down just enough to let you in.

You should push him away, but you don’t.

Instead, you glance up, and for the briefest second, he looks at you like he’s about to say something important. Something real. But he doesn’t. He’s Fred, after all.

Instead, his hand brushes yours, a fleeting touch that sends a shiver down your spine. “You know I shouldn’t be here,” he mutters, more to himself than to you.

You hesitate, your chest tightening. “Then why are you?”

He doesn’t answer right away. His fingers graze your wrist, light and hesitant, before he steps back, creating a distance that feels far too wide.

“I shouldn’t be,” he says again, as though repeating it will make it true. Then, softer, “But I am.”

The air between you feels heavier than it should. He’s pulling away again, retreating into the shell of secrecy he’s so carefully built. It frustrates you more than it should.

“You don’t have to make this so complicated,” you say, surprising even yourself.

Fred’s jaw tightens. He glances at the door leading back to the party, his gaze distant, before his eyes flicker back to you. “You think it’s that easy?”

You don’t answer, because you don’t know how to.

Instead, he leans in, his voice a whisper. “Careful. Someone might see us.” His words are teasing, but there’s an edge of something sharper beneath them.

And then he’s gone, disappearing back into the crowd as though nothing happened.

You’re left standing there, your heart racing and your thoughts tangled in ways you can’t quite unravel.

The rest of the night passes in a blur. You don’t see him again, but his presence lingers like a shadow, like a secret you can’t escape.

And when you finally leave the party, stepping out into the cool night air, you can’t help but wonder if this game you’re playing is one you’ll ever win—or if it’s one you’ll lose before it even truly begins.

&

It’s been days since the party.

Days of wondering if Fred will show up again, if you’ll hear that familiar knock on your door in the dead of night. He doesn’t call, doesn’t send any owl—not that you expected him to. But his absence still gnaws at you.

When the knock finally comes, it’s past midnight. You hesitate for a moment, standing barefoot in the hallway, staring at the door like it might vanish if you blink. Then, as if on instinct, you reach for the handle.

Fred is there, leaning against the frame, his hair tousled, his expression unreadable. He doesn’t say anything, just steps inside, his hands finding your waist almost immediately.

It’s fast, like always. A trail of kisses down your neck, murmured words you can barely catch, and then you’re stumbling toward the bedroom. It’s almost routine now—the way he knows exactly how to pull you apart, the way he leaves before the sun comes up.

It’s the same pattern, the same urgency, like he’s trying to chase away whatever’s haunting him.

Only this time, he leaves without saying much of anything. A quick glance back, a muttered “I’ll see you,” and then the door clicks shut behind him.

The quiet that follows feels heavier than it should. You sit on the edge of the bed for a long time, staring at the empty doorway, wondering why the familiar ache feels sharper tonight.

&

Alicia’s offer couldn’t come at a better time. “You need a reset,” she says, twirling her straw in her iced tea. “Seriously, this guy is perfect. Smart, funny, normal. Give it a shot.”

It’s not like you have anything better to do, so you agree.

The date is fine. Fine. Paul is nice—charming, even—but there’s no spark. By the end of the night, you’re both laughing about how you’d make better friends than anything else.

It’s late when you finally get home, the streets quiet and dimly lit. You’re fishing for your keys when you notice the shadow near your door.

Fred.

He’s leaning against the frame, his hands stuffed into his pockets. He looks up as you approach, his gaze flickering to the key in your hand before settling on your face.

“You’re out late,” he says, his voice casual.

“I had plans,” you reply, matching his tone as you unlock the door. You don’t elaborate, and neither does he.

Inside, the tension follows you, crackling in the air as you set your bag down and turn to face him. He’s watching you, his expression neutral but his shoulders taut, like he’s holding something back.

“How were the plans?” he asks, his voice steady, but there’s an edge to it you can’t quite place.

“They were fine,” you say. “We’re better off as friends.”

He nods, his lips pressing into a thin line, and for a moment, you think that’s the end of it. But then he’s stepping closer, his hands finding your waist like they always do.

This time, it’s different. His kisses are rougher, his grip firmer, but there’s something else underneath it—a quiet desperation, like he’s trying to claim something without admitting it. His hands linger longer, his lips move slower, and you let yourself lean into it, pretending not to notice the shift.

Afterward, he’s quiet again, lying beside you in the dark. The air feels heavier, and you can sense the walls going back up before he even moves to get dressed.

As he pulls on his shirt, he pauses, standing by the door with his back to you. For a moment, it seems like he’s about to say something, but instead, he runs a hand through his hair and exhales softly.

Then, just before he leaves, he glances back over his shoulder, his gaze flickering to yours. “Let me know when you’re too busy.”

It’s barely a whisper, so quiet you almost miss it. But there’s something in the way he says it, something unsaid lurking beneath the words, that lingers long after he’s gone.

You sit there in the dark, replaying the moment over and over, wondering why it feels like he just said goodbye.

&

Angelina’s birthday party is already in full swing by the time you stumble through the door, only half-committed to being there. The laughter, the music, the clinking of glasses—it’s all too loud, too bright, too much.

But you came anyway, maybe out of habit, or maybe because part of you hoped you’d find a distraction in the chaos.

Fred is here. You noticed him immediately. He’s impossible not to notice, leaning against the bar, his easy smile tugging at something in your chest you’ve been trying to ignore. He hasn’t come near you, hasn’t even spared you more than a glance. But that glance—it felt like it saw too much.

You bury your feelings in your drink, letting the bitterness of it settle the knots in your stomach. It doesn’t help.

“Alright, what’s with the face?” Alicia’s voice cuts through the noise as she drops onto the couch beside you. “You look like someone just ran over your cat.”

“I’m fine,” you lie, swirling the last of your drink. “Just…thinking.”

“About your nonexistent love life again?” she teases, nudging your shoulder. “Seriously, you need to loosen up. Or at least stop picking all the wrong people.”

You force a laugh, but it feels hollow. Alicia doesn’t know. No one does. You’ve kept Fred a secret, just as he asked. The weight of it presses heavier tonight, threatening to spill over as you down the rest of your drink and reach for another.

As the night goes on, the alcohol blurs the edges of everything. Faces blend together, voices turn to static, and you’re left moping in the corner, the ache in your chest louder than any song playing.

Fred’s there, somewhere. You’ve caught glimpses of him—his easy posture stiffened, his smile more strained than usual. But he doesn’t approach, and you don’t give him the satisfaction of looking too long.

By the end of the night, most people have left, and the crowd has thinned out. You’re sitting on the couch, staring at the bottom of your empty glass, when a shadow falls over you.

“Let’s get you home,” Fred says, his voice low but firm.

You look up at him, the alcohol dulling your usual instincts. “I don’t need your help.”

“Yes, you do.” His tone leaves no room for argument, but there’s something gentler in his gaze, something that makes your chest tighten.

You don’t resist when he helps you up, his arm steady around your waist as he guides you out the door. The walk home is quiet, the chill of the night air biting at your skin. Fred doesn’t say much, and neither do you, but the silence feels heavier than usual.

When you finally reach your flat, he helps you inside, sitting you down on the couch as he disappears into the kitchen. He returns with a glass of water, kneeling in front of you.

“Drink,” he says simply.

You take the glass, your hands shaking slightly as you bring it to your lips.

“Fred,” you start after a moment, your voice barely above a whisper. “Stay.”

He looks at you, startled by the request. “I—”

“Please.” The word spills out before you can stop it, raw and pleading. “Just for the night. I don’t want to be alone.”

He hesitates, his expression flickering between something unreadable and something achingly vulnerable. Then, finally, he nods. “Alright.”

Relief washes over you as he helps you to your feet again, guiding you to your bedroom. He’s careful as he tucks you into bed, his hand lingering briefly on your shoulder before he steps back.

“You’ll stay?” you ask again, your voice softer now.

“I’ll stay,” he promises, his voice low and steady.

You don’t remember falling asleep.

When you wake up, the room is quiet, the sunlight streaming through the curtains. For a moment, you lie there, disoriented, the haze of last night still clinging to your thoughts.

Then you notice it—the bed is empty.

Your stomach drops, a hollow ache blooming in your chest as you sit up. The other side of the bed is cool to the touch, and for a moment, you wonder if he left as soon as you fell asleep. The ache sharpens, and you feel foolish for believing he’d actually stay.

Swinging your legs over the side of the bed, you bury your face in your hands. Of course, he left. Of course, this is what it always is with him—half-hearted promises and fleeting moments that never mean as much as you want them to.

It’s only when you lower your hands that you notice it.

A glass of water and a small packet of painkillers sit neatly on the nightstand.

Your breath catches as you reach for the glass, the pieces falling together in your mind. The bed might be cool now, but the faint warmth lingering on the pillow tells a different story.

And then you hear it—the faint click of your front door closing.

Your chest tightens, your heart pounding as you realize the truth: Fred stayed. He kept his promise.

The ache in your chest softens, replaced by something you can’t quite name. It’s not relief, not entirely. It’s something more fragile, more complicated.

He stayed.

And for now, that’s enough.

&

The pub feels suffocating tonight, the air heavy with laughter and music that’s a touch too loud. You’re sitting at the edge of the booth again, nursing the remnants of your drink while the conversation at the table flows around you. Fred is there too, only a few feet away but worlds apart, as always.

At least, that’s how it’s supposed to be.

But tonight, something is different. You’ve caught him looking at you more than once, a flicker of warmth in his gaze that lingers just a moment too long before he turns away.

And then there are the little things—how he slid the drinks menu your way when you couldn’t reach, the casual way his hand brushed yours when passing the salt, and the faint smirk on his lips when you dropped your napkin, like he found your clumsiness amusing.

It’s maddening. These small, almost imperceptible gestures that would mean nothing if it were anyone else, but with Fred, they feel like everything.

You glance his way now, trying not to linger. He’s leaned back in his chair, his long fingers drumming lazily against the table, his attention seemingly on George, who’s telling some animated story about a prank gone wrong. But then, as if he feels your eyes on him, Fred looks up.

The corners of his mouth twitch, and there it is again—that fleeting, private smile that feels like it’s meant just for you.

It’s a cruel kind of softness. The kind that makes you want more.

“Leaving soon?” His voice pulls you back, low enough that it barely cuts through the noise, and you realize he’s speaking to you.

Your heart skips. You shrug, trying to feign indifference. “Maybe. You?”

His smirk deepens, something unreadable flickering in his eyes. “Not yet.”

The words hang between you, unspoken but understood. The plan forms, unspoken as always. You’ll leave first, and he’ll follow.

When the clock creeps toward midnight, you push yourself up, offering the table a vague excuse about an early morning. Fred doesn’t look at you, but you can feel the tension, the way his fingers still against the table as you grab your things and step into the cool night air.

The sharp contrast of the quiet street is a relief at first, but it doesn’t last. Your thoughts churn, the familiar mix of guilt and longing rising to the surface. You shake your head, trying to focus on the walk home when you see her.

Leah.

She’s leaning against the wall just outside the pub, her arms crossed, the faint glow of a cigarette in her hand. She looks up when she hears you, her face illuminated by the streetlamp above.

“Hey,” she says, her tone casual but her gaze sharp.

You freeze, your chest tightening. “Hey.”

Her lips quirk into something that’s not quite a smile, and she takes a slow drag of her cigarette before exhaling, the smoke curling into the air between you.

“You’ve been quiet tonight,” she says, tilting her head slightly.

She must’ve watched you—you hadn’t even noticed her in the pub. Had Fred?

You force a shrug, your voice tight. “Long day.”

She hums, her eyes narrowing just a fraction. “Fred seemed to have been distracted too. Must’ve been one of those days for everyone, huh?”

The mention of his name sends a jolt through you, but you keep your expression as neutral as you can manage. “Yeah, maybe.”

Leah watches you for a moment longer, her gaze unsettlingly calm. She takes another drag before flicking the cigarette to the ground, crushing it under her heel. “You two seemed friendly tonight.”

Your stomach twists, but you don’t falter. “We’re all friends, aren’t we?”

Her lips press together, her expression unreadable. “Sure.”

The pub door swings open, the sound spilling into the street, and your heart sinks as Fred steps out. His hair is a little messy, his face flushed from the warmth of the pub. He glances around, his eyes landing on you almost immediately.

“There you are,” he says, his tone light as he steps closer. “What’s taking so long? I thought you’d—”

His words die as his gaze shifts, landing on Leah.

His smile falters, and for a moment, the easy confidence he always carries slips. “Leah.”

“Fred,” she says smoothly, her tone neutral but her eyes sharp as they flick between the two of you.

He straightens, shoving his hands into his pockets as the tension thickens.

“What’s going on?” he asks, his voice tighter now.

You feel like the air has been sucked out of your lungs. You glance between them, your chest tightening. You can’t do this. The weight of the secrecy, the guilt, the unspoken accusations—it’s too much.

“I was just leaving,” you say quickly, your voice steadier than you feel.

Fred’s gaze snaps to you, his brow furrowing. “Wait—”

“I’ll see you later,” you cut him off, stepping away before either of them can stop you.

You won’t see him later, you’re sure of it.

The last thing you hear as you walk away is Fred’s voice, quieter now but still tinged with something you can’t quite place.

“Leah, we should talk.”

You don’t look back. You can’t.

&

You’re lying in bed, staring at the ceiling. The faint hum of the city outside is no comfort tonight. It’s too quiet, too still, and your mind refuses to stop racing.

You picture them together—Fred and Leah. You imagine their conversation, her calm but sharp gaze and his uneasy expression. Maybe they’re sitting close, voices low and familiar, smoothing over the jagged edges of their breakup. Maybe they’ll work things out. Maybe they’re already back together.

The thought is a knife to the chest, twisting deeper with every passing second. You roll onto your side, pulling the blankets tighter around you, but it doesn’t help. The ache is relentless, carving itself into every corner of your heart.

Hours pass. The clock on your nightstand glows faintly, marking the time you’ve spent wide awake. 2:47 a.m. Your body is heavy with exhaustion, but your mind won’t let you rest.

You try to reason with yourself. Fred never promised you anything. This was always supposed to be casual, meaningless—a fleeting distraction for both of you. You knew that. You agreed to it.

And yet.

A sharp knock cuts through the silence, jolting you upright. For a moment, you freeze, your breath catching in your throat.

Another knock.

You stumble out of bed, heart pounding, and shuffle to the door. When you open it, Fred is standing there, his hair disheveled, his shirt wrinkled like he’d left in a hurry. The faint light of the hallway casts shadows across his face, but his eyes are clear, intense.

You can’t speak. You just step aside, and he walks in without a word.

The door closes behind him, the lock clicking softly into place. He turns to you, his gaze searching, but whatever he’s looking for, he doesn’t say. He just steps closer, his hands brushing against your arms before they settle on your waist, pulling you toward him.

There are no questions, no explanations. Just his mouth on yours, slow and deliberate, like he’s memorizing the way you feel.

It’s different this time.

The usual rush of urgency is gone, replaced by something quieter, softer. He touches you like you’re fragile, like he’s afraid you’ll slip through his fingers if he’s not careful. His hands linger, tracing patterns on your skin, and his lips trail down your neck with an almost reverent slowness.

When he lifts you, carrying you to the bed, it’s not hurried or thoughtless. He lays you down gently, his weight pressing into you as his lips find yours again.

It’s almost too much. The tenderness, the quiet intensity—it’s overwhelming in a way that makes your chest ache.

Somewhere in the back of your mind, you wonder if this is goodbye. If this is Fred’s way of ending things, giving you something to remember before he walks away for good.

The thought makes your throat tighten, but you don’t stop him. You can’t.

When it’s over, you lie there in the dark, the sheets tangled around you, his arm draped loosely over your waist. His breathing is steady, his body warm against yours, and for a moment, you let yourself pretend that this is enough. That this could be enough.

But then he stirs, pulling away.

You turn to watch him as he sits on the edge of the bed, running a hand through his hair. He doesn’t look at you as he stands, gathering his clothes and pulling them on with quiet efficiency.

Your chest tightens, but you don’t say anything. You just watch as he moves to the door.

He hesitates, his hand on the knob, and for a moment, you think he might say something. But he doesn’t. He just turns back to you, his expression unreadable, and steps closer.

He leans down, pressing his lips to your forehead in a soft, lingering kiss.

It’s the kind of tenderness he’s never shown before, the kind that makes your heart break even as it swells.

When he pulls back, his eyes meet yours for a brief moment. There’s something there, something unspoken, but before you can grasp it, he’s gone.

The door clicks shut behind him, and you’re alone again.

You lie there, staring at the ceiling, the ache in your chest heavier than ever.

This is goodbye, you think.

You close your eyes, but sleep doesn’t come.

&

The weeks without Fred are a blur of emotions, each one more exhausting than the last. Some days, you manage to feel like yourself again, like the world might not actually end without him. Other days, the grief hits you like a wave, dragging you under with the weight of all the unsaid words and the things you wished could’ve been.

Your friends help, of course. Alicia keeps you busy with plans you don’t want to make, and Angelina sends you pep talks at odd hours of the night. But there’s a hollow ache they can’t touch, a space inside you carved out by Fred and left empty when he walked away.

You try to fill it with distractions—new books, long walks, even the occasional half-hearted date—but nothing works. Because no matter what you’re doing, your thoughts always circle back to him. To the warmth of his hands, the sound of his laugh, the way he looked at you that night before he left.

The worst part is the silence.

For weeks, there’s no word from Fred. No knocks at your door, no teasing notes slipped under the frame. He’s just… gone. And while you tell yourself that’s what you wanted—that it’s for the best—you can’t stop wondering where he is. What he’s doing. If he’s with her.

And then, one day, the silence breaks.

It’s mid-afternoon, and you’re home, though you have no memory of how you spent the morning. The hours have blurred together in a haze of restless pacing and half-formed thoughts, none of which have brought you any peace.

When the knock comes, you almost don’t hear it. It’s soft, tentative, like the person on the other side isn’t sure they’re welcome.

Your heart stutters.

You tell yourself it’s probably Alicia or Angelina, or maybe even Leah. But when you open the door, it’s Fred.

He looks different in the daylight. There’s no mischievous grin, no late-night bravado. Just him, standing on your doorstep, his shoulders tense and his hands shoved deep into his pockets.

“Hi,” he says, his voice quieter than you’ve ever heard it.

You stare at him, unsure whether to laugh, cry, or slam the door in his face. “What are you doing here?”

Fred shifts, glancing past you into the flat before meeting your gaze again. “Can I come in?”

You want to say no. You want to tell him to leave, to take all the chaos and heartbreak he’s brought into your life and walk away for good. But instead, you step aside, letting him in.

Fred moves to the middle of the room and stops, his eyes scanning the space like he’s trying to memorize it. He doesn’t sit, doesn’t relax, just stands there, his weight shifting from foot to foot.

“I didn’t know if you’d let me in,” he admits after a moment.

“Why are you here, Fred?” you ask, crossing your arms over your chest.

His eyes flicker with something you can’t quite place—guilt, maybe, or fear. “I needed to see you. To explain.”

“Explain what? That you left? That you couldn’t give me what I wanted? What I needed?” Your voice wavers, betraying the anger you’ve been holding onto for weeks.

Fred flinches but doesn’t look away. “Yes. All of it.”

For a moment, neither of you speaks.

“I was a mess when we started this,” he says finally, his voice low and steady. “Leah and I were over, but I wasn’t okay. I told myself I didn’t want anything serious, that I couldn’t handle it. And then you…”

You hold your breath, waiting for him to continue.

“You made me feel like I could handle it,” Fred says, his gaze dropping to the floor. “And that scared me. It made me feel wrong, like I was moving on too fast. Like I didn’t deserve it.”

You blink, his words sinking in.

“I pushed you away because I was scared,” he admits, meeting your eyes again. “But that doesn’t excuse what I did. I hurt you, and I hate myself for it.”

You swallow hard, your throat tight. “And now? Are you still scared?”

“Yes,” Fred says without hesitation. “But I’m more scared of not being with you. Of letting you slip away because I was too much of a coward to fight for this.”

Your breath catches, your chest tightening with a mix of hope and fear. “And what happens when it gets hard again? When you start to feel like it’s too much?”

Fred takes a step closer, his expression earnest. “Then I’ll tell you. And we’ll figure it out together. Because I’m done running, and I’m done pretending this doesn’t mean something.”

The sincerity in his voice is almost too much. You look away, your hands trembling as you try to keep your emotions in check.

“What are you asking for, Fred?” you whisper.

He hesitates, and for a moment, you think he might not answer. Then he reaches out, his fingers brushing yours. “I’m asking for a chance. To do this right. To give you what you’ve always deserved.”

You close your eyes, his words washing over you like a wave.

“Okay,” you say finally, your voice barely audible. “But we take it slow. No more secrets, no more running. We do this the right way.”

Fred nods, a small, relieved smile breaking through his tension. “Slow. Got it.”

He steps back then, extending a hand like he’s meeting you for the first time. “Hi. I’m Fred. Nice to meet you.”

You laugh, the sound a little shaky but genuine. “Nice to meet you, Fred.”

For a moment, you let yourself smile, the tension in your chest loosening just a little. Then you glance at his outstretched hand, raising an eyebrow. “Though I have to say, you look a lot like this guy I used to know. Total pain in the arse, but surprisingly charming when he wanted to be.”

Fred grins, his eyes lighting up in that way that always makes your heart skip a beat. “Well, I’m hoping I’m nothing like him. He sounds awful.”

“He was,” you say, shaking his hand firmly. “But I think you might be an improvement.”

Fred laughs, the sound warm and unrestrained, and for the first time in weeks, you feel like you can breathe again.

[buddietommy-week]

You voted for them, they are here! I am pleased to release the official prompts for BuddieTommy Week 2024.

You'll find four prompts each day, including one NSFW and one line of dialogue. You can use as many of the prompts (yes, even just one) or create as many works as you wish.

Day 1: Hurt/Comfort /(Over)Protectiveness | First Time in a Poly Relationship/Figuring it out | Size Queen | "X! I swear to god, put me DOWN!" Day 2: Bodyguard AU | Secret Relationship | (Consensual or not) Somnophilia | "If you really think we don’t feel anything for you, then you’re more stupid than we thought." Day 3: Soulmates | Competency Kink | Praise Kink/"Good Boy" | "Okay, don't be alarmed, but I may or may not have been shot." Day 4: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics | They brag about each other when the others are not around | Bondage | "Care to join?" Day 5: BDSM Dynamics/AU | Carrying/Being carried | Body Worship | "Why not both?" Day 6: Call Gone Wrong | Fake Relationship | Sex Toys/Object Insertion | "Get your hands off him." Day 7: Sugar Daddy/Sugar Baby | Borrowing Clothes | Cockwarming | "Oh, don't mind me. I'm just enjoying the view."

If you feel disappointed that a certain prompt didn't make it, don't worry, the bonus week is for you. Below, you'll find a smaller list of prompts. You're not obligated to choose these, they're merely there for those who'd prefer to be confined to a set of prompts. You can draw inspiration from the list of prompts here.

Have fun creating!

Bonus Week (optional):

Day 1: 5+1 Things | “Casual/Public sex is normal” AU/Voyeurism/Exhibitionism. Day 2: Werewolves/Vampire AU | "How's the nervous breakdown coming along?". Day 3: Crime Lord/Mafia AU | "Actually, you look kinda hot in heels." Day 4: Porn Star/Stripper/Sex Work | "I'd never regret choosing you." Day 5: Hiding Injuries | Possession Kink. Day 6: Friends with Benefits | Monsterfucker. Day 7: Sharing a bed | "He doesn't know, does he (/they)?"

UPCOMING SCHEDULE:

BUDDIETOMMY WEEK: August 5 ��� 11, 2024 Bonus Week: August 12 – 18, 2024

This event will be accepting any and all late works, including those posted after the Bonus Week. Simply mention us @buddietommy-week and your work will be reblogged. The AO3 collection will also remain open and ready to welcome any of your creations all year around.

Questions? Comments? Check out our RULES and FAQ, or send us an ask.

[physalian]

Character Types: The “Fixer”

Oh look it’s another chance to bring exposure to casual traumas in real people thinly disguised as writing advice heyyyyy

The “Fixer” is the character who puts everyone else before themselves, but isn’t quite so self-destructive as the jaded loner—this person’s whole schtick is that everyone else’s needs and emotions come first, which will usually end up with them behaving and appearing very extroverted, fun, and kind.

They have no idea they’re doing it, either, and see nothing wrong with their behavior or what logic there is in saving a little slice of the pie for themselves. They’re not self-loathers or angsty abusers and if there are parts of themselves that they don’t like, they probably think of these aspects as “what can you do? Oh well” with zero motivation to exercise their demons, because they don't see them as demons but something they deserve to suffer with.

Or, they know exactly what they’re doing and cannot see the merit at all in themselves deserving a piece of the pie, as if they’re inherently lesser than everyone around them for Reasons they cannot articulate, Reasons that, if their friends or loved ones share the exact same traits, they’d bend over backwards and make excuses for. They have normalized their existence that there’s nothing left to angst over. “I am lesser” is just. A statement of fact.

These characters come in several flavors:

The parental figure (possibly single) or “mature” one in the family who’s always prepared, always has the big backpack with bandaids and wet-naps, probably the first to say “we’re family, all’s forgiven” in effort to keep the peace.  They’re the person who literally eats last or not at all, even when conserving food isn’t necessary, usually with the smallest, now-cold serving. Also can be the parentified sibling.

The person in a romantic relationship doing a whole lot more giving than receiving, whether it’s physically or emotionally, insisting that they’re fine, that their partner need not go out of their way to do XYZ for them, but is incredibly in tune with anything and everything that their partner might need. They’re likely to be in an abusive relationship, either emotionally or physically, or both, because a sensible partner who loves Fixer as much as the Fixer loves them wouldn’t let Fixer get away with an unfair share of back-breaking emotional labor. The abuser takes full advantage of it and laughs when they’re not looking.

The “mom” of the hero team/friend group, similar to the actual parental figure, but in this dynamic, everyone’s about the same age. The Fixer probably isn’t the leader, but second or third in command, as they don’t think themselves capable of making the Big Decisions and prefer running support. They take the most cramped bedroom, the most undesirable odd jobs, and do far more than their share of the chores and other tasks, probably without the rest of the group realizing it until something happens to them. No one asks this of them, they automatically assume this is their burden and don’t even think to suggest equal shares.

Alternate case:

They’re the “leader” because no one else wants to do the job, pretending to be way less stressed than they are and habitually protecting their team from the worst of it with little white lies, to the point where no one has any idea how much they’re suffering in silence until they eventually break. As opposed to a properly communicative leader who regularly delegates important tasks and is very transparent in all their decisions. They might also be the leader because they don’t think anyone else in their team could perform as well under pressure, pressure they’ve been under their whole life.

I actually wrote two of these, the Original, and then the Original Who Went to Therapy, between two different WIPs.

Original was the second in command of a plucky space crew in the sci-fi WIP I always mention, who was very versatile and OP and thus took it upon himself to take the lion’s share of the work around the ship because he could do it quickly and delegating the tasks to the rest of the crew was, to him, objectively pointless. He was also an empath with an ability he couldn’t turn off, literally stuck doing the emotional labor far and above normal human conditions.

He was a firm believer in “if I can, I must” and repeatedly put himself in dangerous situations because he’s the only one who could escape them alive, and to not act would be selfish, and above all else, he feared looking selfish. This all came to a head when Magical Shenanigans ensued and his own powers turned against him, stressing him to the point of his body going “we are taking a Break” and he got bedridden until he learned how to talk about his feelings and let people in.

While he was sick, him Not Being There for when the rest of the plot carried on without him meant that  his team very badly felt his absence because he did so much without them realizing it, and they did not handle it well, picking a different character to shovel all the labor onto, until they too overstrained themselves, and an intervention was necessary.

He was the friendliest character of the team to their newest member, their only cheerleader when the whole rest of his team was skeptical. He was also quite desperate for validation and approval, to the point where he made a bunch of little white lies that quickly caught up with him, pretending to be something he’s not so people would like him.

—

When I ripped the above character out of that WIP and tossed him and another character into Eternal Night, he got an upgrade and a whole bunch of therapy.

Enter Dorian. The main difference between these two is that Dorian can actually stand up for himself and establish boundaries, and got a friend/girlfriend who went “I can fix him” and actually did. He’s still very much a Fixer with a Martyr complex, a vampire who only turned to make sure the people he was stuck with held up their end of a deal and did not expect to keep living after the deal was done…for about three hundred and fifty more years.

This is a character who was a parentified Fixer, sixteen years older than his oopsie little sibling, and did not handle it well when they were separated. He’s very obvious to everyone who knows him, especially when those people have known him for centuries, and know “yeah give that one a little kid to protect and he will predictably fall on his own stake”.

One of his love interests (he’s poly), the “I can fix him” girlfriend, is not at all afraid to call him out on his martyr bullshit, or when he’s bending over backwards trying to save people who don’t want to be saved, or risking his own sanity, health, and reputation for people who insist they don’t want his help.

I specifically designed and introduced Kymiria to look and act like a stereotypically jealous mean girl who doesn’t want to share her man with the protagonist. Except. She’s right. About everything. She knows Dorian extremely well and got him through some awful shit and isn’t about to stand by and watch him break himself again for someone who she thinks doesn’t deserve him (and she’s also right on that point). How she goes about protecting him is totally different.

But for the mortals who live with his coven, he’s the most popular vampire around and the favorite by all the children for a country mile. No one who hasn’t been living with him for decades has any idea that there’s anything traumatic behind his smiles.

—

I like writing Fixer characters because I don’t get to see enough of them. They’re not as popular as the Angsty Sad Boy and certainly not as popular as My Trauma Excuses My Aggression Boy. People who have suffered tend to fall on either end of two extremes: Either they continue the cycle of hate and abuse or they make absolutely certain no one in their life will ever suffer what they did. I like writing and reading the latter, particularly when they're men as most “fixers” we think of emphasize “womanly” traits of kindness and nurturing.

These characters are also their own worst enemies. Their inability to treat themselves as deserving of respect and forgive themselves continuously gets them into sticky situations that they wouldn’t be in if they were just a little bit more willing to put their own needs first.

—

If you're interested in reading my take on Fixers in a bona fide novel, check out Eternal Night of the Northern Sky!

[talaok]

Hey. I have an idea for pedro and reader

The reader's ex calls her in the middle of the night begging her back to him and the reader gets out the bedroom trying not to wake pedro up and avoid any fight but he wakes up and gets jealous and angry

Jealous Pedro is my own personal curse lol, I genuinely don’t get why you like him. But for you? Anything babes. Also, happy ending won in the poll, but thanks to an anon I've decided to write both endings bc I'm an asshole

warnings: jealousy, angst

Pt.2

Oh fuck please not again.

Your phone buzzed on the nightstand, and you didn’t even need to look at the caller to know who it was.

Only one person would call you at 4:45 am. the same one that had been flooding you with texts and calls for a week now.

You had been ignoring him, telling yourself that “It’s just a phase” and “it’ll pass”, but god, had you been wrong.

You and Jason had broken up two years ago now, and casually, just when you had finally made your relationship with Pedro public, he felt the need to connect with you again.

That's not how Jason had always been, he was once caring and fun and everything you needed... until he wasn't.

He hadn't taken your breaking up with him well, and you tried to be understanding of it, god knows you had been in the same position too once or twice, your heart broken, your mind confused- but then when after two months he'd still call you crying, you decided to give him a little tough love by texting him something that could be summarized in "I know you're hurt but this is getting kind of ridiculous at this point" and by blocking him.

Somewhere after that, for some godforsaken reason, you had decided to unblock him, and to really show off your decision-making skills, you even answered the phone when he had called you last week, finding him in tears, begging for a second chance.

If you were anyone to judge, this call wasn't gonna be much different, but this story had to end at one point, and as you got up from the bed, sneaking out of the room as Pedro breathed soft snores into the air, you decided the time had come.

"Jason?" you whispered, tiptoeing to the living room.

"baby? Oh my god it's really you, I've been trying to call you"

"yeah I saw" you stated, not short of sarcasm

"Oh t-that's ok, you were busy I jus-"

"no Jason I wasn't busy, this is inappropriate"

"Wha-what are you talking about baby, I love you" 

there went the tears again

"Jason I'm sorry alright, but I don't, I have a boyfriend, I'm happy"

"no you don't understand babe I can't live without you, I love you more than life y/n, more than anything... I- I need you"

"Jason we broke up a long time ago. It's over. It has been for a while now"

"you don't mean that baby, we love each other, remember how good we were together? I know you do"

"stop calling me baby and stop calling me in general Jason. I don't love you and I don't want to get back together" Your voice raised to a whispery-yell as you got more frustrated.

"Why are you whispering- Is he there? Let me talk to him"

"why would I do that? What would you even want to tell him?"

"I'm sure I can make him understand, man to man y'konw-"

"oh shut up" you rolled your eyes "Jason stop calling me"

"but bab-"

"No. No buts, it's over. we're never getting back together. Now if you'll excuse me, I'm going back to sleep, and I suggest you do the same"

"y/n please- I love you, I need you I-"

"goodnight Jason. Don't call me again" You didn't give him time to finish as you hung up, throwing your phone on the couch and closing your eyes as you took a very well-deserved deep breath.

Fuck this shit man.

"Who was it?"

You jumped on your feet, a shiver of fear running down your spine as you turned towards the ominous voice.

"Pedro-" you sighed, taking in his sleep-filled expression.

"Sorry, didn't mean to scare you" he apologized, with a soft chuckle "Who were you talking to?"

shit

"uh- don't worry, it was no one"

"I don't think it was no one if you got up at 4 in the morning to answer, did something happen?"

"no-no nothing like that, it's stupid, don't worry"

He frowned as he studied your expression, clearly confused at your secrecy.

"Who was it?"

Your eyes focused behind him at the glimpse of your room the opened door granted.

Everything was fine just 10 minutes ago...

"It was Jason"

Pedro paused a moment, taken aback by your answer

"Jason as in your ex-boyfriend Jason?" he asked "And why exactly was Jason calling you in the middle of the night?"

"it's not what you think" 

This was why you didn't want him to know.

He had a history with unfaithfulness, the woman before you had cheated on him multiple times and left him hurt and bruised, and it was hard for him to fully trust you - or anyone for that matter- after that.

you didn't want him to close off again, you trusted each other, and you feared this would have given him a reason to get back to old habits.

"It's not? 'cause it sure looks like it"

"no, let me explain-" you got closer to him.

"I'm so fucking stupid" he huffed, not listening to you 

"no you're not, just-listen to me" you said, putting a hand on his chest in an attempt to calm him down

He watched you, hurt and anger in his eyes, but he took a breath, nodding as he grumbled a "fine"

"He's been calling me for a while-"

"is that supposed to make me feel better?"

"Baby, let me talk" you reminded him, and he gave you another non-enthusiastic nod "He's been calling me since I made our relationship public, saying that he wants to get back with me and that he loves me..." you paused, glancing at the way he tightened his fists by his side "and I've been ignoring him because-" your lips turned into a soft smile as you reached for his hand "...well because I've got you, and I don't want anybody else in the world except you"

You intertwined your fingers with his and brought his hand up to your mouth to leave a quick kiss on it.

"and the only reason why I answered tonight is because I was sick of it, and I wanted to tell him once and for all that we're done because I love you, and only you Pedro" You stood on your tiptoes to kiss his cheek "I promise"

You saw the way your words affected him.

And as much as he tried to fight it, you were always the only one able to calm him down, even when his worst fear came to life. Because he loved you, but most importantly... he trusted you.

"are you telling the truth?" he finally asked, as if in his mind he wasn't praying for you to be doing just that.

He didn't want to lose you, he couldn't.

"I am baby. I swear" 

His eyes left yours for a second as he took a deep breath

"why didn't you tell me? I would have done something, I would have gone have a talk with that asshole"

You let out a small laugh

"yeah, a talk" you teased, raising your eyebrows "And besides it didn't matter, it was just a stupid thing not worth your time"

he took your other hand in his, shaking his head

"if he, or anybody else, does this again you tell me, ok?" 

As much as you wanted to joke about how many crazy exes he believed you had, you decided this wasn't the time.

"ok" you smiled "I promise"

"good" he nodded, bending down to ghost your lips "Now let's go to bed so I can remind you of a few things I'm sure I'm better at than Jason"

__ __ __

or... (angst with no happy ending)

__ __ __

"It's not what you think"

"It's not? 'cause it sure looks like it"

"It was just a phone call Pedro, just let me explain"

"A phone call with your ex-boyfriend"

"yes, exactly my ex-boyfriend"

"This is unbelievable," he huffed, passing a hand through his hair in a frustrated gesture "I fucking trusted you. You made me trust you, and then... then you go screw that fucking asshole behind my back"

"I'm not screwing anybody"

"sure you aren't" he turned to walk away, but you grabbed his arm.

"Listen to me"

"To what? more lies?" he snapped 

"No Pedro I can explain if you just let me talk"

"I don't need an explanation, I know exactly what's going on, just- leave me, I'll go"

"Just like that?" you questioned "You don't even wanna hear me out for a second? You so easily lose all the trust you had in me?"

"Can you blame me?" 

"This is ridiculous, I've answered the phone to tell him to stop calling, that's the only reason why! I'm not cheating on you" you spoke, your tone getting louder "And the fact that you came to that conclusion so quickly is fucking insulting"

"right" he snickered "so you answered the phone at four in the morning to tell him to stop calling, very believable y/n" he shook his head "and to think you're a fucking actress"

"fuck you Pedro" you spat out "You know what? I deserve someone who trusts me, who lets me fucking speak and explain myself, not someone who at the first mistake throws me out like trash"

"And I deserve someone who's not a cheater. Guess we both deserve better"

"I guess we do"

[jesuistrestriste]

hey sorry if this is tmi but i also have vaginismus and i found that out when i was about 15 with my first boyfriend and i can't use tampons and stuff. I'm 20 now and a virgin still and I've basically not touched someone since, and i basically just thought casually hooking up with someone was off the cards because of it. i think a lot of it is in my head I'm like.... no one i just meet on an app or in a club who doesn't know me is going to take the time to do what i need to mean i have a good time because of the vaginismus. I've basically just been telling myself that it will be okay because if i get in a relationship they'll care enough to help me work through it, or they'll like me enough that not having penetrative sex wont be a deal-breaker. I was just wondering if you had any advice about navigating hookups with vaginismus or anything because I'm not getting in a relationship anytime soon and i can't not be having sex any longer. I am in desperate need lol. thank u sm <33

hey lovie:) !

i totally get it; i was formally diagnosed by my obgyn when i was 19 but im pretty sure i had it since i was an early teen bc i was petrified of tampons and couldn’t get one in comfortably. i always experienced some sort of pain/discomfort when it came to penetration of any kind, sexual or not, so i knew something was up.

here’s kinda how i navigated that stuff once i decided that i wanted to be intimate with people:

if you don’t know the person incredibly well, ie you haven’t been friends or anything for a while, i think it’s really important to sus them out and make sure they’re someone you feel comfortable being open with— and make sure theyre someone that you feel would respect your boundaries in bed.

sex should be fun and enjoyable ! and sex doesn’t have to involve vaginal penetration ! when you’re with a partner for the first time and you two are getting ready to get down to it, you can just tell them straight-up that you don’t want to have ‘sex’. i know it can be kinda awkward to say this, but know that nothing is wrong with you and that it’s totally okay to state that boundary. in fact, it’s much better for overcoming vaginismus if you don’t force yourself into penetration — that’ll just reinforce the idea in your brain that penetration = pain/discomfort. better to experience pleasure down there and let your brain get used to that idea instead ! (i personally found that most people who i told were super chill and kind about it, or just didn’t rlly mind, so don’t stress yourself out too much over this).

if you’re into cis het men, i’ll be honest, there’s always a chance that they’re gonna be somewhat ‘pushy’ or ‘confused’ if you say that you don’t want to have penetrative sex. if you’re in this situation, you could explain to them that it hurts/is painful and wouldn’t be pleasurable. of course, you don’t owe him an explanation by any means— you’re 100% allowed to just not want to be penetrated, and anyone should accept that at face value— but educating someone never hurts. instead, you could list some other things that you’re open to and would be pleasurable for you; ie oral, kissing, touching, etc.

**** Don’t ever, ever, ever feel pressured to have penetrative sex if you don’t want to. if someone doesn’t accept that, you should end the hookup right then and there. you owe it to yourself to protect your body and your mental health. if they get mad/upset/sad, that’s their issue. and dont let them guilt trip you ! ! ! ! i know it can be tough, esp if you’re someone who’s prone to people pleasing, but trust me when i tell you that if they don’t respect your boundaries they will NOT respect your body.

it’s definitely possible to have really enjoyable, intimate, and tender sex that doesn’t involve penetration ! i promise u. the outcome is mostly dependent on whomever you’re being physical with.

i know vaginismus can make you feel like you’re broken, or unsexy, or that you’ll never have ‘proper sex’; but you are NOT a lost cause and you are NOT broken in any way and it’s totally possible to gradually overcome it with some time and patience. plus, a lot more people have this than you’d think and they just don’t know it/don’t talk about it. but you’re not alone !

in terms of healing from vaginismus, here’s some things that helped:

- refraining from engaging in penetrative sex if i didn’t feel ready or comfortable enough to try (obviously)

- diaphragmatic breathing (breathing into your belly instead of your chest) when trying to insert anything— look this up ! it’s supposed to help stimulate a nerve in your body that assists in relieving anxiety/tension/stress

- using dilators (look these up too— they help to gradually get your body used to the sensation of penetration)

- ^^ using dilators when i was relaxed, and i’ll be so honest it really helps if you’re turned on loll. this will get your brain to associate arousal w penetration, and it might even start to feel good after the first couple times using them !

- listening to my body. this is so, so important. if you’re trying to put something inside of you, and it’s really burning/stinging/painful, you should stop. it seems like that would be obvious, but i think a lot of us w vaginismus feel the need to push through the pain in order to get results quicker, but it’ll just set you back. go slow, but be consistent with it — every week, or every day- that sort of thing. be gentle with yourself ! <3

i hope this helped anon !! sending much love to you, and if u wanna talk my messages are open :)

[carefulignorantghost]

We Meet Again

You realize you’re pregnant, but only after you and Alex have broken up. 6 years pass and you’re looking for a house cleaning job and Alex becomes your boss unknowingly.

Warnings: breakup and pregnancy discussions

You stared at the pregnancy test. It read positive.

You had symptoms such as a missed period and nausea, but you didn’t think you were pregnant. You had always been careful with Alex; he always used condoms. But you broke up a few weeks ago.

“Y/N, how the fuck do you think I feel? I don’t want to do this, but I just don’t love you anymore.” Alex said frustrated, with his hands in the air. “I don’t love you anymore!” He yelled. “I’ve moved on from you, Y/N! I want something casual; I don’t want a relationship anymore.”

You just stared at him in shock. You had been together for 3 and a half years; since you were both 14. Yes, he was acting distant, but you thought he was just stressed.

“When did you fall out of love?” You asked him, stepping forward.

“It’s been a few months. How did you not notice?” Alex said coldly.

You looked away from him. “I thought you were stressed, Al.”

“Well, you were wrong, Y/N.” He looked down at you.

“I didn’t say anything because I didn’t want to come off as the clingy girlfriend who worries about everything!” You yelled.

“You already were the clingy girlfriend. And now I want to be able to have fun without you clinging onto me.”

Alex walked out the door.

And here you were; staring at the pregnancy test, unable to look at anything else.

What was gonna happen now? What were you gonna tell your parents?

You weren’t going to tell Alex. You figured he wouldn’t care.

***

Your parents were upset when you told them.

“How could you be so careless, Y/N?!” Your mom yelled, standing up from her seat. Your dad sat beside her, still in shock.

“Mom, I swear we were careful! Condoms don’t always work!” You said exasperated.

“Well, obviously! You’re fucking pregnant, Y/N!” Your mom said.

***

Your mom came in your room later that night.

“Honey, it’s ok if you choose to keep the baby.” She sat down on the bed and reached to hold your hand.

“But what about university?” You questioned.

“We’ll figure it out. It’s ok. You’re gonna be ok.” She hugged you.

6 years later.

You had moved to Los Angeles to focus on modeling. You worked two other jobs to support you and your daughter. But you weren’t getting booked and your modeling agency fired you.

Your daughter, Lila, was asleep and you were on your computer, looking at house cleaning jobs. You were laid off a couple days ago and desperately needed a job.

You saw a really high offer local to LA.

You clicked on it.

“I need someone who can clean my house and run errands for me. You can move into the guest bedroom if you’d like. Will pay $200 per day. No extra water and electricity fees.”

You immediately messaged the person.

“Hey, I’d love to work for you. I have a 6 year old daughter and would need to move in. Would that be okay?” You sent the message and waited for a response.

The person replied almost immediately.

“No problem at all. My name’s Al, by the way. The address is ——. Are you able to move in next week?”

“Yes, I am.” You responded.

***

You had just dropped off your daughter at school. You stood outside Al’s place with your luggage. He lived in a mansion in North Hollywood. The mansion was a modern style with sharp angles and lines. It looked about three stories tall, and had a huge balcony.

You walked up the pathway to the front door and rang the doorbell.

You heard the door unlock and open.

You were greeted by a familiar face.

Alex.

You stared at each other, making sure this was actually happening.

Alex looked just the same but brand new to you. His hair was gelled into a quiff and his features were even more angular. Alex wore a black leather jacket and tight jeans.

“Wow, erm- I-“ Alex began.

“How are you?” You asked, trying to stay calm. Seeing him brought up so many feelings and questions. You thought you had gotten over him, but the hurt he caused just settled into your bones.

“Come in, come in.” Alex said ignoring your question but motioning for you to come inside. He lead you to the living room before sitting on the couch. You sat on the chair opposite him.

“God, Y/N. It’s been fucking forever. How are you?” Alex said worriedly.

“Umm… There’s a lot that’s happened. I worked as a model for many years up until recently. Brands weren’t booking me, so my agency fired me.” You paused. “That was a week and a half ago. And now here I am.” You explained. It was difficult for you to talk about what you had previously thought Alex would be with you for.

“Oh my God, Y/N, I’m so sorry.” Alex furrowed his brow.

“And how have you been, Al?” You asked. How did it come to this?

“Life’s been going pretty well. The Monkeys and I have been releasing albums and going on tours. We’re actually working on our fifth album.” He said shyly.

“I’m really happy for you, Alex.” You said genuinely. But you wondered what your life would’ve looked like if you were still together.

“Thank you.” He smiled at you before pausing.

He then asked cautiously, “And you have a 6 year old daughter? When did that happen? I never saw you with another guy…”

You didn’t speak for a few moments. “Alex, put the timeline together.” You crossed your arms nervously.

Alex thought for a few seconds before he figured it out.

“Why didn’t you tell me, Y/N?” He looked hurt.

“We didn’t exactly end on the best terms, Al. And you wanted to have the typical college experience and I get that. I really do.” You recalled his words.

“And I didn’t want to burden you by telling you I’m pregnant with your baby.” You said bluntly.

[bisexual-queenie]

Could you please write more BNHA Pro Heroes as Incorrect Quotes. I need a Pt.2

OMG Im so happy that someone wanted a part 2 to one of my favorite posts that I made!! Here yall go!

(Few trigger warnings before we begin: Use if swearing, and mentions of violence an alcohol. Let me know if I missed anything!)

Ships mentioned (Vaugley and outright): Erasermic, Edgejeanist, Nightmight, and Kamui x Mount Lady

—————————————————————————

Eraserhead: You have to apologize to Takeyama.

Midnight: Fine.

Midnight: 'Unfuck you' or whatever.

All Might: You often use humor to deflect trauma.

Nighteye: Thank you!

All Might: I didn't say that was a good thing.

Nighteye: What I'm hearing is, you think I'm funny.

Present Mic: Do you remember that horrible roommate you had back in college?

Eraserhead: You mean you?

Mount Lady: Sometimes I feel like dying.

Kamui Woods: Wha-

Mount Lady: And then I remember that I won't be able to see you if I do.

Kamui Woods: *blushes*

———————————————————————

Best Jeanist: Sometimes I feel like dying.

Edgeshot: Good for you.

Miruko: Do I look nice?

Fat Gum: You look like you're about to set someone on fire.

Miruko: Perfect.

Present Mic: A fistfight CAN be romantic.

Miruko: And you know what the worst part is?

Ryukyuu: That you're having to process your pain without vodka?

Miruko: No.

Miruko: Yeah.

Midnight: If you found out you only had one day left to live, what would you do with it?

Eraserhead: Say goodbye and mend my relationships.

Present Mic: Something illegal.

Shirakumo: Accept my fate.

Tensei: I would message ten people saying that if they didn't forward the message to 10 other people, I would die tomorrow.

Eraserhead: What?

Shirakumo: That's fucking awesome. Can I change my answer?

Eraserhead: Hizashi, just GO TO THE HOSPITAL

Present Mic: Who's stab wound is this???? Is it OUR stab wound???? No! Stay out of it!

Hawks: I'm the proud owner of an IQ of 5 (and a half)!

Endeavor: Not for long.

Hawks: Please. It's all I have.

Present Mic: "Ladies and gentlemen" is unnecessarily gendered, overly formal, lengthy, and honestly I'm falling asleep already.

Present Mic: "Cowards", on the other hand, is inclusive to all genders, casual and fun. Short and to the point, exciting, and dramatic.

Nighteye: You look like a corpse that was just pulled out of the river.

Present Mic: Wrong. I look like a cool rock star who just OD'd in their own pool. Big difference.

Gang Orca: I made lightly fried fish fillets for dinner.

Edgeshot: Kuugo, It’s 1:15 am, what the fuck.

Gang Orca: Do you want the lightly fried fish fillets or not.

Edgeshot: Well, I mean yeah.

Gang Orca: So come downstairs while they’re still hot.

Best Jeanist: Wait, you just made them?

Gang Orca: Yeah, I wasn’t tired so I decided to make lightly fried fish fillets.

Edgeshot: Say lightly fried fish fillets one more time Kuugo.

Present Mic: *speaking Spanish*

Eraserhead: I know, I know.

All Might: You speak Spanish?

Eraserhead: No. I just know the phrase, 'this is all your fault' in every language Hizashi speaks.

All Might: I would never say that Mirai is a bitch and I don’t don’t like him. That’s not true…Mirai is a bitch and I like him so much!

Edgeshot: Sometimes, I don’t realize an event was traumatic until I tell it as a funny story and notice everyone is staring at me weird.

*Present Mic sneezes*

Eraserhead: Hizashi, are you sick? Here, let me wrap you in a blanket and hand-feed you some warm soup while singing you a lullaby!

*anyone else sneezes*

Eraserhead: Oh my god. Shut the hell up.

Hawks: Uptown Funk would've made it into the Shrek Soundtrack.

Miruko: That's the truest statement I've ever heard.

Fat Gum: Hey Sasaki?

Nighteye: Yeah?

Fat Gum: What's your favorite color of the alphabet? True or false?

Nighteye:

Nighteye: ...What.

Ryukyuu: So, what's it like living with Hakamada?

Edgeshot: They once referred to sand as "heterosexual glitter."

Ryukyuu: ...

Edgeshot: I love them so much.

Fat Gum: I’m sorry, I really flew off the handle back there. It was like the handle was a bald guy going really fast, and I was his toupée.

Someone interviewing the Lurkers: What are the hardest things to say?

Mount Lady: I was wrong.

Edgeshot: I need help.

Kamui Woods: Worcestershire sauce.

Eraserhead: You’re drunk.

Present Mic: Correction: drinking. Present tense. Grammar, Shouta.

Endeavor: How did none of you hear what I just said?!

Hawks: I've been zoned out for the past two and a half hours.

Best Jeanist: I got distracted halfway through.

Edgeshot: Ignoring you was a conscious decision.

Hawks: If you put a milkshake in one yard and crack open a cold one in another yard, which yard would the boys go to?

All Might: Schrödinger's boys.

Miruko: FUCK!

Present Mic: What about cracking open a cold milkshake?

Nighteye: As we all know, the milkshake brings the boys to the yard. The presence of the boys is a prerequisite for the cracking open of a cold one, but cold ones do not have any inherent boy-attracting abilities. Milkshakes, however, do.

Nighteye: All else being equal, the boys would proceed to the milkshake yard. While it is possible to announce the presence of cold ones in the hope of attracting some boys, the pull of the milkshake is much more powerful by comparison.

Hawks: ...

All Might: ...

Miruko: ...

Present Mic: ...

Nighteye: Mind you, all of this nonsense hinges on whether or not the boys are back in town.

[holocene-sims]

next // previous

august 26, 2021 5:00 a.m. paradise hotel

[henry] hello! good morning, sunshine.

[grant] did i wake you up?

[henry] i was already up. and yes, i know my eyes are closed. it's just so i can go back to sleep at some point.

[henry] anyway, i dreamed about a hockey stick knocking out my teeth, which woke me up, and then remembered i have a dentist appointment in a couple weeks, so i decided i should floss my teeth all of a sudden to impress them.

[grant] they’ll still know you haven’t been doing it!

[henry] lalalalalalala, i am refusing to listen and learn.

[henry] so, how was it with cool shoes singer girl?

[grant] oh yeah, it was nice.

[grant] did you intend for that to happen?

[henry] nope. i didn’t care what you did. i just didn’t want you to not speak to her and restrict yourself because of some weird internal logic or because i was there.

[henry] if you can talk to someone because they seem interesting, you can flirt with someone for the same reason.

[grant] she is was cool. super interesting person. and, uh, i never like to comment on these things because it seems wrong and entirely disrespectful, but she is beautiful.

[grant] now i feel kind of like an idiot for not even trying to get her number, but also…

[henry] man, it’s not a huge deal. this is a thing most people do, flirting for fun. it doesn’t always have to be, “i won’t speak to you unless you’re prepared to marry me in two years.”

[henry] okay, i'm the wrong person to tell you that because that’s what happened with soobin, but trust me, most people are not as serious about flirting! flings are a thing.

[henry] and seriously, it’s not like you led her on. you didn’t fulfill your fear. she initiated things, so she could have followed through if she wanted to.

[grant] that, yeah. i got the feeling she wanted to follow through somehow, but she seemed really nervous, i guess, when the opportunity came up.

[henry] oh, at the end?

[grant] yeah. i don't think she knew what to say. i definitely didn't either. i was a little paralyzed.

[grant] i was thinking in the moment, like, it would be very irresponsible for me to do anything beyond flirt with someone, no matter how strong that desire to not be alone long-term is.

[grant] you know what i mean? there are probably very specific things i'm doing that get me into messy relationships or ones doomed to fail, and i haven’t even gotten there in therapy. i don’t want to subject anyone else to whatever those issues are.

[grant] but i didn't know how to let her down because i knew she was waiting for me to do something or say something, and then i felt bad about the idea of letting her down because i did like her and she genuinely seemed like a nice person.

[grant] and i wasn't expecting either of us to...fuck, man, i don't know, like each other so much. so, i didn't have a whole ending speech planned or anything. i seriously thought we'd just have a coffee or something and then part ways.

[grant] ugh. this is why i don't do casual things. it's too much. i never understand how to deal with all the feelings. i'm not super sure i'm securely attached enough to flirt casually, you know?

[grant] but she really was...

[grant] anyway! alright, well, we have an hour left to sleep, so.

[henry] night night.

[grant] ugh, i don’t want to get up.

[grant] my back hurts and in the lie down way, not the walk around and kind of sort of briefly fix it way.

[henry] don’t even think about sleeping within 13.75 inches of me.

[grant] okay, commencing movement to within 13.74 inches of you.

[henry] no, you can sleep here. i don’t mind.

[sleepingdeath-light]

first time dating a guy hcs ; hunter

requested by ; anonymous (11/04/23)

fandom(s) ; the owl house

fandom masterlist(s) ; main | hunter only

character(s) ; hunter wittebane

outline ; “Hi, How are Doing? The Owl House Finale has got me MESS UP, to say the least. I was wondering if you could do a Hunter x Reader, where its Hunters first time dating a guy. It Can be SFW, NSFW or both, I am completely fine with whatever you choose. I'm new to tumblr so if I did anything wrong then I'm incredibly sorry. Have a Wonderful day!!”

warning(s) ; none, just fluff!

hunter in general has basically no experience with relationships, which goes tenfold when it comes to relationships with men because he gets a bit too flustered to properly flirt with them

uses ‘partner’ and ‘boyfriend’ interchangeably in private but turns red if anyone calls you his boyfriend first — not in a bad way he’s just very easy to fluster when it comes to romance

enjoys casual pda like handholding and kissing the back of your hand whilst holding it — but if you kiss his cheek or cuddle against him then he’s going to turn pink and lose his ability to speak

his main pet names for you are ‘handsome’, ‘pretty boy’ and ‘babe’ — used interchangeably depending on his mood

he ends up spending a lot of time around willow’s house to seek guidance/advice from her, as his friend, and her dads, as an older and very much so in love gay couple

makes a point to tell you he loves you when you wake up and before you go to sleep — whether that’s in person or over text

loves it when you visit the workshop and you’re 100% waffle’s favourite person

del and darius call you ‘son’ for different reasons but it’s the same vibe — del because you’re always around and that’s just what he calls young lads, and darius because you’re basically his son in law in all but name

hunter loses the capacity to speak if you smile at him because he thinks you look so very handsome and it makes him forget whatever he was trying to say

very protective of you and won’t tolerate any negative treatment or judgement from others

his friends lovingly rib him about how whipped he is and amity and luz in particular will make jokes about you being his ‘awesome boyfriend’ to parallel their own dynamic

but don’t misunderstand they all love you to bits, they just also love making fun of your boyfriend

[deadbeandrop]

This is campy-mccampface, I just don’t feel like asking from my main lol.

Any ships?

ok actually let me go over the stuff i've been interested in exploring in general here...

i'm going to classify all of this in two different ways: the level of relevancy to the "canon" storyline i'm working on, and the interest i have in things in my own little side zone where i am smushing dolls together like everyone else for fun

i also don't feel like getting into all the appeals of things rn but i might come back and add/update that here in the future

within the boundaries of the actual "canon" i'm trying to build, i think i want to stay away from too much explicit romance, just as a preference and because my brain works in a very specific picky-and-choosey way, and that's what feels correct in the plan to me right now... of course, there are still teases and hints of romance that i have planned, but i'm still working out the details on how they'll actually come across, as i am also a big fan of vaguely defined and non-traditional relationship presentations. so, when i say i ship something here, it's definitely notable for me to say that might not always look the same way or be about established Dating relationships, just tyat there is Something going on there and i'm explorimg it. sometimes i think it's more fun even for me to just do a little wink and a spin and let everyone else take what they want from it, as you would when actually writing a show. so, there are also things that do capture my interest even though i know i couldn't really "fit" them into what i'm doing, and occasionally my brain will sort of play tug-of-war with that, because even if i'm not adhereing fully to canon canon, i usually still stick hard to some kind of internal rules for myself and i can get a little caught up in that. alas, i wish to play...!

so...

Lumpus x Slinkman ▪︎ Involved in Canon / I ship it

everyone should know how i feel about this one by now...! obviously, they are my favorite ever, but they didn't always have a semblance of a happy ending planned out!

at first, i actually used to be quite adamant about not "shipping" them (as in, describing that as what i was doing) or wanting them to end up together in the end, partially due to early story ideas i was messing around with, and partially because I was worried it was Problematic in some way to do so. however, when you really get into it and look at what I'm doing here, i really don't think that's the case in the slightest. i was just, like, 15 years old. or whatever. still, they are for sure a complicated pair, but i have a lot planned out for them to show how much they mean to me ^_^

in terms of "canon", the majority of it comes from early implications and an absolutely insane batch of emotions on lumpus' end, as well as a lot of casual domestic stuff that very purposefully but also humorously evokes the feeling of "old married couple". they already live together, y'know. ultimately, i have them down as life partners, with some kind of a romantic friendship situation, but there's a good chance they will practically end up "together". my post-finale plans are essentially a "a break up, one party is about to be kicked the hell out, and now they have to win their partner back" plot! the thing is just that i'll probably spend a lot of time not "saying" anything out loud, but plenty of things will speak for themselves, really

Lazlo x Edward ▪︎ Potential to be Implied/Teased in Canon / I ship it

absolutely classic dynamic. i simply can't go wrong with it, honestly. i enjoy their relationship either way, and depending on how things go plan-wise, there may be some moments between them, at least. (you're going to hear that a lot on this post)

Patsy x Lazlo ▪︎ Involved in Canon / Sure!

a one-sided crush i am definitely keeping, if only for how much i like patsy!

for this pairing, it's still on the table for me to have a few different paths to it, and it's another case of mostly just finding their relationship in general interesting rather than being super invested in the fact that it's romantic. and i'll definitely be exploring lazlo's feelings on patsy's intensity and such, to the point of writing patsy with control issues there. the crush won't be reciprocated during the main summer plots, but i can imagine myself playing around with them post-finale in middle school or in high school for an amount of time, since that's something i've decided to probably have arranged. i'll see!

the thing is, i am one of those people who can't for the life of me decide how i feel on lazlo's sexuality, because i like pretty much every option! so that could always play into it too, who knows...!

Lumpus x Jane ▪︎ Involved in Canon / I don't ship it

of course i couldn't be throwing this one away either. regardless of anything else, i am always down for watching lumpus be a dumbass about jane, it's always fun and endearing to me.

however, as i've said on here, i really don't see a world where they work out that also isn't personally agonizing for me. or boring. or that doesn't feel borderline misogynistic. with how i envision things, it would either crash and burn immediately, or they would enable the worst in each other. it's almost inherently kind of depressing with how i view both of their characters, even if their dynamic in general to me is interesting! and of course, i do always have room to explore stuff like that, but i think not having it work out will always be for the best here.

i especially want to take the wedding plot in canon and do it justice, primarily for jane, because it's really unfair for her. it'll still have a similar premise of jane and lumpus getting engaged, but things will go wrong enough to put a stop to it before it all happens, and jane will actually be able to swing back from it all here.

Jane x Ms. Mucus ▪︎ Not Exactly Involved in Canon / TBA

i've gotta think about this one more, but i have already drawn them before a few years ago. ms. mucus in general i sort of need to reserve some time for myself to think about in-depth. still, they've already fit snugly into the Paralells zone, i feel like one-sided feelings from ms. mucus are totally believable, and for the aforementioned lumpus and jane wedding, it'll be ms. mucus who crashes it, which is inherently a little 🤨

Chef McMuesli x Slinkman ▪︎ Potential to be Implied/Teased in Canon / IDK!

i've just got a lot of thoughts about jane's sexuality, too, and by the end of things i think she really needs a break from any sort of romance...

ah, how far we've come...

as i mentioned, it took me a bit to come around to lumpus and slinkman, and this is what i was doing in the meantime. originally, it was these two who i was going to try and write something about and to have slinkman end up with, but, a lot of things have changed since then...!

i've also realized that since i was building this from scratch, i also don't really have a great foundation for it at the moment. i do absolutely still think they have the potential to be cute, but i'd have to sit and think about it again with more of a focus on the "whys" there, because, as it stands, lumpus and slinkman will ultimately be more fun and interesting to me and that's why they inevitably took over my entire brain

even so, in current plans, mcmuesli does still play a bit of a part between lumpus and slinkman, so depending on how things work out, there may still be a bit of a "tease" for them as well, just because of the parts of all those original plans i think i should keep. i do also have some old art of them i'll post eventually

Lumpus x The Bear Waiter from Beef Lumberjacks (I STILL WANNA CALL HIM TARSON) (I NEED TO MAKE A POST ABOUT THAT LATER) ▪︎ Potential to be Implied/Teased in Canon / I ship it

i won't lie i have been thinking about this something awful LOL

in the post-finale plans, one of the highlights there is lumpus actually branching out a bit and trying to make some kind of new friends because he's pushing middle-age and has barely had any in his entire miserable life — so this guy ends up being one of them ^_^ of course, the early-series encounter of hostility at beef lumberjacks comes first, and i can imagine him being involved in another thing or two with lumpus before the finale as well

(frankly, i just think the character is fun and i want more of him, and this is an extremely convenient way to do so)

and unfortunately i have become an absolute sucker for lumpus experiencing the most insane mix of emotions of his life in the presence of this guy, who's like twice his size, relatively unpredictable, and also has really taken a liking to him. and he's a real Guy friend, y'know, they're going fishing and hunting and watching football and stuff together and for once lumpus is not providing even half of the energy here, he's often the one getting dragged around. and it's unlocking stuff in lumpus he didn't even know he could feel, cus i sure love when lumpus is pathetic and reduced to a blubbering mess 😁

and once again the rest of the thoughts on this situation not, in fact, allowed to go on this blog— (SWIFTLY DODGES THE FALLING ANVIL ABOVE MY HEAD

Ms. Lawson (Scoutmaster's Assistant in the 80's) X Sheri (Lumpus' Mother) ▪︎ Implied/Teased in Canon / I ship it

when i post my little paragraphs and stuff on the era, it'll make a bit more sense in context of what's going on here. basically, at a certain point in time, ms. lawson is having to make phone calls home about lumpus, and she accidentally ends up in long-winded conversations with his mother, who is lonely and also has too much time on her hands. over the summer they end up chatting about other things, and she actually ends up calling regularly, and there's a sense of connection there that both gives ms. lawson a different insight on lumpus' situation and distracts her from what all the kids are actually up to out there LOL. they're sort of a "not meant to be" thing, at least at the moment, but it's really funny to make affair jokes about them as emotionally that's almost what it becomes when the idea started to begin with as a romantic-coded dynamic. and there's a few paralells as well between lawson-sheri-howard and slinkman-lumpus...!

Slinkman's College Girlfriend ▪︎ Involved in Canon / TBA

i'm kind of planning on throwing college-era slinkman briefly into like a roger/jessica thing and giving him a girlfriend for a little bit, for a few reasons, including that i think it's kind of funny and i have ideas for how that can play out with, y'know, lumpus being around,

the details on this one are still in the larva stage though. i also have a post about my many thoughts on slinkman's sexuality that have evolved over the years in my drafts

Edward x Nina / ???

once again still thinking about this, from nina to edward. i feel like it could be fun for an episode if i absolutely had to write another crush across the camps. i think it would be interesting for her to be weirdly and accidentally charmed by his "tough" demeanor that is also obviously demonstrated to be a cover-up. idk!

Slinkman's Parents ▪︎ Involved in Canon / I ship it

as well as other obviously established couples. they are honestly relevant enough in things and i enjoy them together enough that i can say i guess i "ship" them as well LOL i hope everyone enjoys them too when i finally share them, i think they are so very cute

ok that's about it i think. for now. i would joke about my self insert x lumpus and slinkman, but i'm not actually too big on self shipping in like an actual relationship or anything. i am in the cuck chair and i am alright in the cuck chair ❤️

[itspileofgoodthings]

maria i don't watch ted lasso but i need you to tell me everything it's doing wrong, i trust you

Chelsea!!! You sent this so long ago and I’ve just been mulling it over in my head ever since. First of all, thank you for your trust, I am honored lol.

But also, I probably don’t have a great answer as I am out of practice speaking coherently on something’s issues! But I’ll try.

I mean, I think it gets a lot wrong. if I had to break it down! I think there’s two main things wrong. The first one is that there’s a core of rot behind its core principles. And that always leeches through eventually in a tv show, and in this one I think the specific way it does that is its refusal to question any of its moral principles or even just engage with them honestly. And this makes for really boring television. In a certain sense, you always know exactly where a storyline is going to go or the thesis statement that a set-up is going to land on before it goes there. It never surprises you. Too many examples to name but one of their basic moral principles is that a one-night stand/casual sex is not only fine but good and healthy. So every time that happens on the show you know that the characters are going to be praised/reassured for it and/or if any complications do arise it’s made VERY clear that it’s not the casual sex’s fault. And it’s not like I’m going to agree with most shows about this (it’s so evil!!!!!! It destroys people!!!!!!! It is damaging and devastating the romantic landscape!!!!!!!!!!!!!) but there are ways of engaging with it as a storyline that are so much more honest than anything Ted Lasso will ever dare to do. (Friday night lights, which is the show’s antithesis in every way, frequently has casual sex and without preaching and probably even without meaning to honestly traces the consequences of it in exciting and real ways.) and basically that’s the problem with the show over and over. It professes to want to say something profound about morals and culture and life but you know beforehand exactly what you will see and learn. You can see the moral “punchline” so to speak coming from the second they open their mouths. And there are better and worse ways that that can play out. The show’s belief that taking care of your mental health/talking about it and the importance of men specifically sharing their emotions is a) valid and b) can play out in some cute and funny ways. But even then the show is still not going to surprise you. Ted will call up the diamond dogs, they’ll talk about what’s wrong, there will be some quips and they’ll end on one of them saying some therapist-speak (mostly) truth and everything will be resolved. So even when I enjoy it (and I do! I like pretty much all of the mental health conversations) it is never as brave as it thinks it’s being.

The second thing is that the show just hates romance! Or, the problem is that the show is so committed to surprising its audience (derogatory) when it comes to the romantic relationships that it will torpedo perfectly good ones and give you no resolution or closure. And tv couples are NOT the place to put your “surprises.” Like. They broke up Roy and Keeley. Which. Why? Put it back! This is so dumb! And they’re clearly not going to let Ted and Rebecca get together because they want to avoid doing that. Which is okay! But it’s like—then give us something else instead. Give us some kind of resolution/satisfaction. Just? It’s so tired and again not nearly as exciting or unpredictable as it thinks it is. They’re not actually interested in the romances themselves, just what they can say about them to the audience. Which seems to just be a vague lecturing about wanting the leads to get together romantically. It’s annoying!

There are some things I like. A lot actually! I love the cast pretty much entirely. Jaimie is so fun and funny. The team dynamics are so fun and sweet. Rebecca is wonderful. (The show’s best storyline was the first season—her trying to sabotage her husband’s team and then realizing she’s sort of accidentally found a family instead.) And there are some good friendship dynamics—particularly Rebecca and Keeley and Roy and Jaimie (sp?). But even those dynamics are held back by the show’s repetitive storytelling. They will never have a conversation (specifically the girls) where they’re not saying some girlboss mantra you could read on Twitter. But anyway back to the positives. It can be funny and have some great one-liners. I love Ted’s similes and references and metaphors. The team is great and they’re fun to watch. I actually really like how they handle the sports side of it and the balance of wins and losses and how that isn’t really the point. (They should focus on it more.) And Ted and Dr. Sharon are a really wonderful pairing where a lot is unpacked. But they drop it and don’t take it as far as they could. So the whole affect is just meandering? Even when it’s fun.

TLDR: I think it’s more surface-level than it thinks it is (something I hate) and it hates romance and clear storytelling and will mess with both for no clear discernible reason. It also has an agenda. Which, good or bad, is not a substitute for complexity and honesty and they often try to use it as one!

[acacia-may]

Here is a fruit basket 🍎🍊🍋🍏

Aww thank you so much, Little Fan! 🥰

🍎 Is there anything you straight-up won’t write?

I will not write anything NSFW. It's just not for me. I'm the most vanilla person to have ever vanilla-ed (and actually get all blushy even writing about a couple kissing, which is why they often just don't in my stories even when they are technically romance. 😅 My sister often teases me that I can really only write one (1) kiss scene which is basically just a line like "And then they kissed." 🙈 I have been trying to prove her wrong and write a little more kissing into my stories but I'll never be the type to write anything steamy. It's just not my personal cup of tea).

🍊 Who’s a character you don’t write for that often, but keep meaning to write for more? (They’re so interesting! But maybe you have trouble pinning them down, or keep getting distracted by another blorbo…)

I answered this here if you want the full discussion, but long story short poor Gordon. I never did finish that story wip in his POV and feel like I really dropped the ball with him even though he was always one of my favorites. (Sorry Gordon!)

I've always wanted to write more Walter too--just kind of diving into Rill's relationship with him as more of a father figure than just a butler and especially how Walter is totally going to step in as "Grandpa" if/when Rillmy ever has kids. ^^

🍋 What’s your favorite spicier trope to write?

Again I am beyond vanilla and don't write anything spicy ever, but (and I'm about to embarrass myself here...) my sister swears the spiciest thing I have ever written is a line in which the POV character remembers a multilingual character unwittingly switching languages during a particularly (ahem) heated moment.

And I do like that trope 😳 (though not just in a spicy way!!) [which is why I put that line in there (even though nothing happened on screen in this fic, I swear 🙈)]. As a linguistics major, I've always been fascinated with the science behind the multilingual brain and how it has actually been proven that multilingual people will unconsciously switch languages especially when expressing something with a deep and/or passionate emotion behind it. In this particular instance, this character actually professed his love in Spanish which (at least for him) meant more than expressing it in English because he used "Te Amo" which is a really intense "I love you" (for like your immediate family or your spouse or your soulmate) rather than "Te Quiero" which is more of a general "I love you" for everyone else (i.e. less close family, friends, people you're casually dating ect.). Whereas in English there's only one word for love so it gets overused and its multiple meanings/uses can easily get misinterpreted.

I think my sister's point in saying this is my spiciest line (beyond just poking fun at me for being vanilla & this not being very spicy at all) is that this was an intimate thing to say and this character chose to say this very intimate thing during a heated moment which in itself was intimate therefore making the whole thing even more intimate (or, you know, spicy). But that's about as much as I can do in terms of spicy tropes, I think. 🙈

🍏 Is there something you overuse, whether it’s a certain phrase, trope, or piece of punctuation?

I definitely overuse em-dashes. I usually write "stream of consciousness" so my sentences just run on and on and on. I should probably try to shorten them or at least vary the structure now and then. 😅

I think I also overuse certain phrases specific to whichever character I'm writing (especially if they are the POV character). For instance, Vanessa winks a lot, Langris' mouth twitches in the corners (to show that he's actually having a good time in spite of himself), Finral sheepishly scratches the back of his neck, or my most recent pitfall something aches in Hero's chest every couple of sentences (because he's sad 😔), and I have to edit those out. It's hard for me not to fall into the habit of using the same descriptors for the same characters over and over again.

[my-head-is-an-animal]

Problems With The Heart

Greg House x Dr Anna Harding (OFC)

Story Masterlist

Chapter 13 - Cameras

I didn’t honestly know what to do about House. I didn’t want more from our relationship, but I really didn’t want to stop what we were doing. I liked him and I liked the way we were together. He was fun and we had a good time.

‘Yeah, but if it doesn’t develop into anything then what’s the point?’ Wilson asked when I went down to his office for advice. ‘You can’t just pretend you don’t love each other and you can’t keep telling him no without being truthful.’

‘I know. So, what do I do?’

Wilson gave me a look that I recognised immediately. ‘I think you already know what you need to do.’

‘What if I don’t want to?’

‘Then I can’t help either of you.’ Wilson shook his head sadly.

I gave it a few moments of thought before I finally left.

I went over to his house at the end of the week and took a deep breath as he opened the door.

‘Hey.’ He grinned, stepping to one side to let me in. I felt my courage failing.

‘I think we need to stop, Greg.’ I blurted out. House didn’t seem that shocked by it. ‘I think this isn’t going to end well and I’d rather stop now before one of us gets hurt.’

‘Okay.’ He nodded but didn’t move.

‘You get what I’m saying, this is over.’

‘I heard you.’ He nodded again.

‘And you’re accepting of that?’ I frowned.

‘I accept that you want things to end.’ He confirmed.

‘Okay, well, I guess I should go.’ I stepped towards the door behind him.

‘You want a beer?’ House asked, casually, heading towards his kitchen.

‘What?’

‘I was gonna have a beer, seeing as you’re here, thought you’d want one too.’ He shrugged opening his fridge. ‘Or I’ve got vodka if you prefer?’

I folded my arms and scowled, unimpressed. ‘I feel like you’re not taking this seriously.’

‘I am taking this seriously.’ He told me. ‘You say you want this to stop and I said okay. Seems perfectly reasonable.’ He grabbed a couple of beers and placed them on his kitchen counter. ‘Come on, one beer isn’t going to change anything and you came all the way over here.’

‘I was expecting some resistance.’ I reasoned. ‘Why aren’t you angry or upset or anything?’

House handed me the open beer and half smiled. ‘Do you think that would convince you I think you’re wrong?’

‘No, but-‘

‘Me neither. Cheers.’ He clinked his bottle against mine and went to sit down on the sofa. I didn’t quite know what to do, but he spiked my curiosity.

‘Okay, what’s the game here?’ I challenged him, sitting at the other end of the sofa.

‘No games.’

‘I don���t believe you.’

House looked at me, his blue eyes held my gaze. ‘I can’t do anything about that. You wanna watch tv?’

House just turned the tv on and out his feet up, settling down to watch some weird documentary on penguins. I decided to wait him out, he’d eventually say or do something that told me how he was feeling. It was just a waiting game.

‘But she said she wanted to end things?’ Wilson frowned, not understanding his insane logic. ‘That means she doesn’t want to be with you.’

‘I know what it means.’ House rolled his eyes. ‘But she didn’t mean it, so I chose to ignore it.’

‘Of course, ignoring what someone says in order to serve your fantasies is always the right way to go.’ Wilson said, sarcastically.

‘She wants this to be more, she just has difficulty saying it.’

‘Have you told her you love her yet?’

‘She knows how I feel-‘

‘So, you haven’t told her?’

‘Not in so many words.’

‘Not in any words by the sounds of things and you only need to use three to let her know she isn’t wasting her time.’ Wilson dropped his pen, focusing on House. ‘Look, I get that you guys are a little different to most people, but you have the same needs and so far you’ve only supplied the physical, you need to do better House or you really will lose her.’

House breathed deeply and thought about it. Wilson might have been right, but he preferred his own way of dealing with things.

House spent the next week doing small, subtle things for Anna, she knew something was up, but she didn’t know what. He met her before her shifts with coffee, made time to consult for her team and kept his name out of the paperwork, but made sure she knew he’d helped. He asked her if she wanted to go to lunch a few times and the rare times she said yes, he kept things innocent. He was on his best behaviour constantly.

He hated the camera following him around, everyone was afraid to look stupid or wrong and that wasn’t helpful to him. Everyone except Anna, who was good ignoring the cameras and just getting on with things, especially when the kids heart was involved.

‘So, you and Dr House are close?’ The producer asked as Anna was skimming through files at the nurses station outside Cuddy’s office.

‘Define close?’

‘You’re friends?’ She asked.

Anna’s eyes flickered towards him, she had a beautiful smile threatening to creep in. ‘Yeah, we’re friends.’

‘More than friends?’

‘No and that’s a very personal question.’ She frowned, but she wasn’t angry.

‘Dr Harding, I need a consult.’ House interrupted. She gave him a thankful look and wandered over to look at the file he was holding. He couldn’t take his eyes away from her.

‘Thanks for the save.’ She said, focusing on the file.

‘No problem,’ he nodded. ‘You wanna head to the track after work?’

Anna inhaled deeply and finally looked up at him. ‘Are you asking me out?’

‘I’m asking if you want to hang out as friends.’ He clarified. He was aware he was standing a little close. ‘No strings, no catch, no games.’

Anna smiled and nodded. ‘Fine. As long as you’re intentions are pure, we can continue to hang out.’ She went to walk away with the file, but he gently stopped her.

‘Thanks for helping with this.’ He said, her frown was evident. ‘I mean it.’

‘Any time.’ She nodded, still smiling. He let her walk away and took a moment to watch her.

House caught sight of the camera watching him and rolled his eyes, pretending to be annoyed and headed for the elevator.

‘Dr House.’ The producer caught up to him. ‘You and Dr Harding make a good team, how close are you?’

He half laughed, pushing the button again. ‘Ah, yeah, we’re friends.’

‘Seems like a little more than friends.’ The producer pushed a little.

‘No, she’s… she’s just a good friend.’ He let his eyes wander behind them to roughly where Anna was treating a clinic patient. ‘Don’t you have a sick kid to film?’ He went back to deflection but hoped his point was made.

Cuddy watched the preview with House and he couldn’t stand it two minutes in, getting up and leaving. Cuddy continued to watch and saw how House’s gaze would linger on Anna, he smiled when she laughed, he stood a little closer than normal, she realised that House was completely in love with Anna. It was amazing to watch.

‘What’s going on with House and Anna?’ She asked Wilson who was about to take a bite out of his sandwich in the cafeteria.

‘Why? Did something happen?’

‘I’m just asking.’

‘Okay, well, last I heard, she told him she wanted to end things.’ Wilson out his sandwich down.

‘It doesn’t look like they’ve ended things.’ Cuddy frowned.

‘No, well, he’s House and he’s in love with her so you can imagine he didn’t exactly take no for an answer.’ Wilson had a point.

‘Why did she want to end things?’

‘I don’t know, I didn’t ask, I’m staying out of it.’

Wilson seemed defiant on the subject. Cuddy settled for his answer and moved on to other things that needed to be done.

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[sweetmusingss]

Katie shook her head at you, trying to wrap her head around everything and process it. “What do you mean, you are ‘supposed’ to be with him? It didn’t work out for a reason, right? I know you say that I am a hopeless romantic but I don’t think that running to another guy when you are thinking about someone else is a good idea. That wouldn’t be fair to Max either.” She was happy for you that you had gotten there with Charles a whole three times and she knew if that was her, she would be chasing the guy she experienced that with. “Don’t rush into something with Max just to forget about Charles. It has to mean something that it was that good with him. And in the car, it sure looked like it was going to happen again..”

Charles furrowed his brows when hearing what Lando said. Sure, he had always acted like a playboy and he had a lot of casual hookups but it was really starting to bother him that he had this reputation as a fuckboy. There was something making him irrationally angry at the thought of the two of you hooking up and Max being the one you would settle down with. Charles wasn’t a relationship guy, he knew that, but it still rubbed him the wrong way. Besides, he was enjoying his time with you and while he wasn’t looking for a relationship, maybe he could be the one to entertain you while you were around. Over his dead body was it going to be Max. “Even if something were to happen, I would not let any of you know. You would just be acting like a bunch of teenage boys and Pierre would find out. He would beat my face in if he found out I had a night or two of 'fun’ with his sister. You’re right, Renee wants someone steady and that is not me,” he said, annoyed with this whole conversation. He glanced your way, his whole body tense. He could not have anyone on to the two of you or he would never get you in his bed again like he so desperately wanted.

“I am not the type of girl who is looking for something casual. I’m not a stop along the way, I’m the destination, and Charles is only looking for pit stops. I can’t get my feelings involved with him... he’ll just destroy me when I inevitably end up falling for the prick and he tells me what I already know - that he isn’t looking for anything long-term.” I shake my head, “Sex is sex. Charles just happens to be really good at it... probably because he’s had so much practice considering he’s probably bedded half the country of Monaco. We have this crazy chemistry, yes, but it’s fueled by hate. This isn’t the beginning of some magical fairytale rom-com, Katie. It’s the beginning of a smutty dark romance where they both end up dead probably because if Pierre ever finds out... I can’t even imagine the carnage.” 

Lando was a bit shocked when Charles snapped at him like that, taking a step back from his friend with his hands up in surrender. “Damn, Leclerc, I’m sorry for even bringing it up.” He crosses his arms, shaking his head, knowing he shouldn’t keep pushing Charles so he was going to lay off the jokes... for now. “It makes sense that she would go after you, though... you have all this intensity and passion. She and Max used to always fight about his laid back personality, she wanted him to be... well, more like you are right now. All tense and broody and staring at her from afar as if you can’t let her out of your sight. Just saying, it all makes sense. But what do I know?” Lando scoffs before turning his attention to a row of shoes.

__

“Nah, I am just trying to fulfill my duty of being your dream girl,” I giggle softly before leaning forward and kissing you sweetly, smiling against your lips. “It was easy to put this all together. I just worked on my vocals and time flies by when I have my music on. I love doing stuff like this and taking care of you in any way that I can.” I knew your last ex didn’t show you that she cared and was so withdrawn from you. I was actually obsessed with you though and so in love with you that this kind of stuff came very easily to me. I wanted you to always feel cherished and adored. I liked putting a smile on your face and reminded you how much I loved you. I didn’t understand how anyone could ever treat you so terribly but I wasn’t going to let a day go by without showing you how loved you were. “That was so embarrassing for me but I am really grateful for it. And for Don bringing me to your bar so he could set us up,” I smile at the memory before eating a strawberry.

Seb had never felt so taken care of besides when he was little with his mom. He didn’t understand how you did all this stuff or how you came up with the ideas to do it all, but he was grateful none the less. You were like your own personal walking Pinterest board and he loved it about you. “I will forever be in Don’s debt for bringing you to the bar... I would’ve just continued being broody about the pretty girl who ruined one of my white shirts. But then you showed up looking all cute and sexy and drinking your little sweet cocktail, how could I not fall head over heels for you?”