#Not a happy ending

[lynnuvo]

Of Course a Prince Needs a Princess

Characters: Yandere Prince x Female (Y/N) In which you reincarnate into a fairytale where Yan!Prince wants his happy ending too

𝑃̲𝑟̲𝑜̲𝑙̲𝑜̲𝑔̲𝑢̲𝑒̲

Having a second chance at life in exchange for the death of your previous one came with a crash. You weren't sure how it happened, but you luckily retained your memories and your wit.

It didn't take long to find out you were in a world akin to Cinderella's story--from the stepmothers to the talking mice to the royalty the citizens praised. Unfortunately, you weren't looking to live in a grand castle. Or maybe you were, but not with being married to a man you don't have feelings for. The original couple got together so quick, yet they barely knew each other. That story was definitely as it was: a work of fiction

Your new plan? Put up with the stepsisters, find a job elsewhere, and make enough bank to live comfortably in the village away from your family. You've never heard of laws in Cinderella's fairytale, but you were certain that the kingdom couldn't possibly force citizens to live with toxic family members.

𝑇̲ℎ̲𝑒̲ 𝐵̲𝑎̲𝑙̲𝑙̲

After spending a few months doing chores and odd jobs around the village (the latter for some extra cash), your family finally received news of the fated ball.

You initially didn't plan on going, but you deserved a break. You didn't bother asking for permission to go; your stepmother definitely wouldn't allow it. The main problem was summoning Fairy Godmother.

Luckily, she couldn't tell the difference between fake tears and real ones. You behaved as close to the actual Cinderella as you could recall, and POOF!

With your new attire and coach, you made your way to the most gorgeous castle your eyes have ever fell upon.

It didn't take long for the prince to notice you, but this is where you drew the line at this fairytale life. You rejected his proposal to dance, shocking the other guests. You had to resist a smirk at your step-family's reaction.

Flabbergasted, the prince left you swiftly and moved onto another fair maiden. You indulged yourself in the catering happily, but after your stomach was filled, the stares of passerby began to discomfort you. The prince was occupied with another dance, so you wasted no time leaving the palace early (much to the confusion of the knights who stood guard).

The spell broke while at home with no evidence of your night out, not even the glass slippers. When your stepfamily returned, they bragged about their time and briefly talked about you (luckily not knowing you were the one who was "stuffing their face like a pig starved."). After that day, life returned to normal.

Or at least what you thought was going to be normal.

𝘙͜𝘶͜𝘯͜𝘢͜𝘸͜𝘢͜𝘺͜ 𝘊͜𝘪͜𝘯͜𝘥͜𝘦͜𝘳͜𝘦͜𝘭͜𝘭͜𝘢͜

Beginning that night, Yan!Prince thought about you often. He never imagined a young lady would ever reject his proposal to dance, though he didn't hold it against you. It was just a shocker.

Despite that, you appeared in his mind before bed and after he woke up, while he ate and while sharpening his combat skills. Even if he told himself that that one incident was nothing more than a brief interaction with a citizen of his kingdom, he couldn't forget the color of your hair, your pretty face, and how you paid oh so much attention to the food his family prepared just for that ball.

Upon overhearing the chefs gush about their gratefulness towards their food being appreciated so much, he made up a personality for you: kind but forward, honest, valuing true intentions and love over gold and high status.

Too bad for him, gold was your highest priority. While he began going on strolls into the village in search of you under the impression of catching up with the townsfolk, you continued job-hunting and tending to the house. You even decided to cater to your stepfamily as best as possible--subtle enough so they wouldn't think you were trying to suck up to them.

Surprisingly, your relationship with them improved just a bit. But it was what you needed to get permission to work at a bakery in the village.

Once you discovered he was visiting the village often, you did your best to avoid the bakery window while working and hurry home once your shift ended.

Unfortunately, you both ran into each other just as you closed up shop. In a small panic, you inquired about him for the sake of courtesy. While you two spoke, he couldn't help but notice a striking resemblance between you and the lady who turned him down at the ball. You could tell from his facial expression he was piecing things together, so you abruptly bid farewell and ran away.

He would visit you a lot. After replying to his inquiry that you weren't the girl at the ball, he'd joke about it a lot (there was no other gal in the village like you). It didn't take long for rumors to spread amongst the kingdom that the prince had taken a fancy to you. You hated it. He didn't mind it. In fact, it no longer mattered whether you were the girl at the ball. Something about you pulled him in like a hook. Perhaps it was the determination he observed through the window. Perhaps it was the way you handled children while taking a breather outside as he ate inside. Perhaps it was destiny.

As time passed, you grew more tolerant of him. While you didn't want him to be your romantic partner, you guessed you were okay with being his friend. As time passed, he grew more frustrated you weren't his. His father took note of his unusual agitated self, but he waved it off as stress when thinking of a future bride.

"What about that lady the people are saying you like?"

"Oh, her? She has....a way with herself. It seems that she's not interested in me."

"Perhaps you both need a bit of a push."

Since then, the King made a few visits to the bakery to chat--no marriage mentioned. He wanted to see what you were like. Although you were a kind girl, he confronted Yan!Prince with the truth that he probably wouldn't have a spouse who didn't want him. It broke his heart to hear, but he wasn't ready to let go yet.

You were already preparing your escape long before the ball, but the pace of your plan sped up now that the prince was on your trail. You found out about the closest kingdom from acquaintances and saved up funds to use on your journey.

When the prince discovered you had quit your job via a disappearance, he visited your home. Your stepfamily was in shambles (literally. The place was filthy.) and shared that you had disappeared overnight with your belongings. There was no mistake in it: you had abandoned him.

Framing your escape as a possible kidnapping, he ordered guards and encouraged the rest of the kingdom to search for you. All of his efforts was on the search.

Photography didn't exist, so you were fortunate that the description he gave out about your appearance was vague. Somehow, you made it to the nearest kingdom with a plea to the guards that you made your way there in search of a better life. The Queen was kind and sponsored a place for you to stay for the first five months while you adjusted to your new life in exchange for you finding a job. It didn't take long to do so with your desperation.

In no time, you were living a much happier life in your home, with your new friends, and even someone who kept catching your eye. Talk of the nearby kingdom's drama was entertaining, even more so with the subject amongst them.

Meanwhile, the prince's mental and physical wellbeing deteriorated. Some say the search took a lot out of him. Some say he was so heartbroken, he had no will to live. Maids in the castle whispered about the prince being locked in his room from the outside because he grew violent--so out of character! Disturbed, the King confided in only those closest to him about his woes. Whatever did that woman do to infatuate his son so much! No one could approach him anymore. He ate and drank only when he needed to. His room became a mess. How did such a sorrow fall on the family of royal blood when there was so much potential for happiness to look forward to?

Anyone could guess that were was no point in a happy ending for romantic fairytale if there was no romance to begin with.

[rebelspykatie]

Robin convinces Steve that Eddie is interested in him, just based on how frequently he flirts with Steve. Uses the same logic that Steve deployed to convince her to give Vickie a shot. Except, there��s no doubt about who Eddie could be attracted to. He’s gay and doesn’t really flirt much with women, keeps it more surface level. 

But with Steve, he’s all over him, getting in his personal space, tapping his chin, batting his eyelashes and draping himself over his lap during movie nights. Steve’s confident in his newly discovered attraction to men, and subtly tries to turn up the charm on his end. Flirting back, giving as good as he gets, but it never seems to affect Eddie. 

Steve’s gotten used to striking out. Never really catching anyone’s attention these days, what with the lackluster attempts at being interested in the mundane things some of the girls drone on about, to being afraid to sleep over for fear of a nightmare tearing him from sleep, to the way no one makes his skin buzz. He’s given up the pursuit of anyone else, setting his sights on Eddie, pushing gently at the boundaries that barely exist between them. 

Until the first time Steve and Robin are invited to see Corroded Coffin perform at the Hideout. He watches from afar as Eddie bounces across the room before the show. He hasn’t spotted them yet as he makes his way over to the bar. There’s a cute, older guy bartending, probably in his late twenties, buzz cut hair, ripped leather vest accentuating his arms. 

Steve watches in what feels like slow motion as Eddie leans over the counter to get as close as possible to this guy. That mischievous smirk that Steve’s used to seeing pointed at him is out in full force. Eddie is saying something, looking up at this guy, reaching out to squeeze a bicep and getting playfully batted away. Eddie lets the guy tuck a strand of hair behind his ear, almost a caress along the side of Eddie’s face. 

And there’s a moment where Steve feels like he’s floating on air, suspended in a moment in time before a catastrophic shift changes his trajectory. He’s careening to the ground at break neck speed and crash landing all in a matter of seconds. A vice-like grip squeezes his heart, reminding him that he’s not special. He’s dissecting every memory of Eddie flirting, finding nothing consequential there in the wake of this discovery. 

How stupid could he have been to think that it meant anything? That must be why Eddie never reacted to his advances, they were just a blip on his radar. He’s got this guy wrapped around his finger, just like he’s had Steve. Except Eddie’s never blushed like that around him, or let Steve tuck his hair away. 

As much as he wants to turn around and get the hell out of here, he promised he’d come to Eddie’s show, even if looking at Eddie right now feels like a shot straight through his heart. That inexplicable draw to Eddie doesn’t just disappear. He wants to cross the room and drag him away from this guy, but what right does he have to do that? 

He feels Robin’s hand slip into his, turns to look at her, sees a mirror image of how she looked on the grimy bathroom floor of Starcourt, letting Steve down gently. Their friendship past the point of needing to verbally communicate anything. Robin gently tugs on his arm to convince him to sit at a table, clasping his hand underneath it tightly when Eddie finally spots them and Steve has to pretend like he’s fine. And he is fine. 

But he’s also not. His heart is cracking open with each note Eddie sings, the fault line growing until it feels like he’s split in two, bleeding out on the floor of this disgusting bar. When is he going to get it right? When is it his turn to feel wanted? Nancy and Robin hurt, but he feels blindsided by this one. He was so confident he was right, that this time it was reciprocated. 

But maybe he’ll always be the fool.

[noname-404s-blog]

[infin1ty-garden]

HOT BLOODED

ೃ⁀➷ summary: figure skating au! after a falling out you and lando have to perform a routine together and old feelings start to come back ೃ⁀➷ pairing: lando norris x fem! reader ೃ⁀➷ warnings: none ೃ⁀➷ word count: 565 ೃ⁀➷ author note: a little rushed bc i had writers block in the middle of writing this

masterlist.

How could this have happened? For the exhibition gala of the European championship you and Lando have been scheduled to perform. It wasn't secret that you and Lando don't get along. The public is aware that there had been a falling out between the pair, as it's uncommon for pair's to split up, but what actually happened stayed behind closed doors. Even your coach isn't exactly sure what happened.

In 2019 is when the split happened, you also decided to change coaches and your new partner became Carlos Sainz, which you later found out was one of Lando's close friends. Carlos promised that whatever happened between you two, wouldn't affect his skating.

carlossainz55 has posted!

liked by y/n_l/n, charles_leclerc and 45,341 others

carlossainz55 It is an honour to announce that I'll be working with the amazing y/n l/n. I hope we see gold in the near future.

You two worked perfectly together like you'd been training since you'd been born but now you were being asked to skate with Lando for the first time in four years. It's for the fans. The choreographer showing you the elements to the dance.

His touches were overwhelming and brought back memories you would rather forget. But they were intoxicating. "I bet he doesn't make you feel the way I do." His face was inches away from yours. You could have kissed him.

Then the voice of your choreographer brought you back to this reality, a reality where you and him could never happen.

Lando shouldn't feel jealous of Carlos especially now. He fucked up and he had to live with the consequences even if that ment seen you with another partner. His body felt like it was on fire and an uncomfortable feeling in his chest wasn't going away.

It was like someone was punching him over and over again. Yet he couldn't look away. The way Carlos looked at you like he'd ravage you if he had the chance. He wanted to wipe that look off of his face. Once you got off the ice and your score was counted.

Placed second. The podium made everything feel like a nightmare. His hands around you. The crowd cheering you and him on. It didn't matter that he was one of the winners when he was touching you. This isn't healthy or sane to think about someone like that.

Lando felt like an obsessed psycho. That's why he pushed these emotions down. Everything is fine. He's just overreacting. These feelings don't exist. He tried to convince himself that Lando was on the ice with you. His hands around you as you waited for the music to start.

In wildly different costumes then the ones in the competition. The cheers of the crowd disappeared as the only thing he could focus on was you....and the music. His body is perfectly in sync with yours. The same affection he had for you started to come back. Warming his chest and setting his cheeks ablaze.

He has been telling himself for the longest time that they don't exist. It's been easier than facing the possibility of you not having the same love for him. Before he could ponder any longer the song ended. The world came back into focus as the crowd cheered.

Leaving the space illuminated by reflectors like a spell broken.

Thanks for reading!

[autumnweeen]

Dramione Month | Day 4 | Sectumsempra

@dhrmonth

This one is an excerpt from a chapter of a WIP I’ve been fleshing out since February. Chapter 1 was posted as a one shot and hopefully chapter 2 will be posted by the end of the month.

(Forgive the typos, please! I made this while half awake 🥴)

[shojizbae]

Memory Lane

Adult! Tom Kaulitz x Reader

“Ich bin nervös, bist du?”

“Ja eine kleine.”

The studio has a chilled doctor's office waiting room feel, with an all-white background, boring gray chairs, and gigantic LED panels. It’s been ten years since Tom and I broke up, so Vogue wanted us to tell our story. We’re both wearing smart blazers, although Tom has paired his with some slacks and leather sneakers. Mine is paired with a slim dress and some utility boots.

The crew is finishing up micing us and doing a final mic check before the camera starts rolling. The director calls us on, and we take our seats. At least the chair is comfortable.

“So it’s been ten years since the two of you separated.”

“Ja, well, we tell our friends it’s been 10 years since we ended our sexual relationship.”

“Ja, well, we are still excellent friends.” I agree and pat Tom's knee

“So, how did the two of you meet?” the producer asks. He looks very stereotypical, with his crossed pensive arms and all-too-self-important expression. He even has his finger on his lip like Jeff Goldbloom.

“Well, Tom met me when I started touring with them as their opener, but I met Tom through the band. I got a CD of Schrei the day it came out. So working with them was like a total dream come true.” I explain, gesticulating the whole time.

“And Tom, what was your first impression of (Y/n)?”

“Well, they put us in a meeting to discuss her work with us and showed a video of her shredding her bass, and I thought, wow, this girl is so hot and so good at playing. And the. We met her in person, and Bill will say I followed her like a puppy, but she made the first move. And yeah, I always thought she was so cool and talented, and she was just so pretty.” He finished his rambles by looking at me

“Aw, thank you, Tommy.” You cross your legs and await the following instructions. The producer hands you an ornate-looking scrapbook. They instruct you to open to the first page, and it shows the first tabloids to sniff out your and Tom’s relationships. Pictures of the two of you strutting around Berlin, hand in hand.

“Oh, sehr kleine!” I looked at the pictures as the memories came flooding back—the first few weeks when we were so excited to be in love with each other. I had a pout and enormous sunglasses clouding my face, and Tom was smiling proudly and holding up our interlaced hands.

“Woah, we were so. Gott, you were so skinny.” Tom mentions

“Do you want to explain these photos?” The director asks.

“This is-this is 2006.” I look right into the lens. “We, I think, had been dating for a month at this point.” I point to a picture of me readjusting Tom’s dreads on a park bench.

“Poor Georg and Gustav, they were so sick of my shit at this point.” Tom points to an infamous photo of the two of you making out of a sofa between the boys, and their faces are completely annoyed. I laugh at the picture. Everything about it reminds me of being young. I’ve got Tom’s hat on, and his hands are sliding under the hem of my shorts.

“Yeah, we’re little animals.” I agree. My eyes scan the bag one more time. The dramatically patterned zip-up hoodies and the DC sneakers were just beautiful.

“Alright, you can turn the page.”

The next page shows more pictures of us walking around town, on vacation, and on stage together. I whoop when I see the photo of Tom and I playing guitar back to back.

“Woah, I remember this night.”

“Ja, the crowd was just electric.” Tom reminisces

“It was electric, and everything just worked out. We were supposed to be late to the venue for traffic, but it cleared out. Mic checks were shady, and one of Gustav’s drum heads almost ripped, but this was an incredible night.”

“I remember your singing being extra special, too. " My heart flutters, and I brush my hand over the photo. When I look at my hand, I see the tattoos and my promise ring.

“What a good night.”

“Alright, now that we’ve got some background, we’re going into your more notable fashion moments.” On the next page were some of our most ridiculous statements. The time Tom wore 3 hats on a red carpet. At the time, I performed in a bra and underwear. The two of us wearing Dirndl and Leider Hoisen. And most famously, the handcuff belt accident.

“Oh, this is when we performing at the worldwide German convention.” I point to pictures of me and the band dancing around in traditional German clothes. We couldn’t have been older than 18 at that time.

“That night was so fun. We all bought these matching steins, and we nearly went through a keg of beer.” Tom recalls. I tried to recall that, but after I got off stage and we started drinking, my memory fogged up.

“Who is the better drinker?”

“Well, technically, Bill is the best of the band because he could put back as much hard liquor as he wants and then roll out of bed and sing, but I think that night,”

“Nein, it’s totally Georg; he had the body mass to soak up all the liquor.” Before we knew it, Tom and I argued in German about the best drinker.

“Well, if we want to talk about this picture,” Tom recenters the focus, pouting at the page, “(Y/n) can drink any of us under the table when it comes to beer.”

“I think you guys are intentionally ignoring one pair of photos.”

“And which ones would those be?” I play coy with the producer

“Why don’t you turn the page.” The next page is just many zoomed-in shots of the two of us wearing my infamous handcuff belt. I wore it on a four-month tour of the United States in almost every show. But during one show in Fort Lauderdale, it had been damaged very distinctly. I was in a post-show interview showing it off, so everyone knew the handcuff belt had two big scratches on the left side. Which was all fine and dandy until I got home to Germany, and I hadn’t seen my famously horny boyfriend in four months. And, of course, we took to the first private area we could find. I can't remember if that was a car or a hotel, but in the evening, a photograph of Tom in a handcuffed belt with two scratches on the left side was circulating every drama outlet and tabloid.

“Oh, nein, why would you circle it?” Tom holds the book up to show close-up shots of me performing and him giddily strutting down the sidewalk.

“I don’t know why this photo got so much attention at that moment because we shared clothes all the time,” Tom said casually as if that would save this. “I think once I was on stage, a pair of your panties fell out of my pocket. Everyone knew what we were doing.”

“Did you ever steal Tom’s clothes?” Someone on the crew asks. It’s difficult to see beyond the panel of lights

“Did she? Sheiße, she wore my underwear more often than she would wear her own.” I hid my fave in my hands, knowing that when Tom’s voice pitched up like that, we were in for a rant, “Anytime we shared a hotel on vacation or for work, I would leave clean clothes on my bed for after my shower. I would go in the shower rubba-dub-dub. And when I got back, my boxers were gone. Where did they go? I would scratch my head for twenty minutes until (y/n) got out of the shower, and she toweled off her hair in a big t-shirt. That big t-shirt was usually mine, by the way, and when she would lift her arms, I could see that she had taken my underwear!”

I could feel the blood racing around my face under my skin. Tom started rubbing circles on my back.

“You seem to be overhearing. Why don’t we turn the page?” I’m still reeling from embarrassment, so Tom flips the page.

“Oh mein maus.” Tom coos under his breath.

“Was?”

“You be got to look at these.” He placed a hand on my wrist. I scan around the page, and it looks like a true scrapbook photo with twisted angles and stickers everywhere. I run my finger over a photo of me on a skateboard and Tom facing me, holding both my hands. I feel a lump forming in my throat. Our smiles were completely taking over our faces. Photos of us on dates to the mall and the roller ring. Tuning each other's guitars and cuddling on tour buses. In one picture, I was completely knocked out on a couch, and Tom was under me with his face scrunched up like he had eaten a lemon.

“Why did you look like that?” I point at his I-just-stubbed-my-toe-face

“You were sleeping like an angel, baby.” I was lying on his chest, and his hand tangled in my hair.

“When even was this?” I mutter somewhat to myself

“I think it was the music festival in Italy.” He replies in German.

“Oh Ja, I can see the hem of my stupid leather pants. Hottest day of a southern Italian summer, and I decided to wear leather leggings. They were so sweaty. My whole body was like wet.”

“That’s probably why you fell asleep. I think I remember peeling those pants off you and giving you some boxers to sleep in.” I remember waking up in red checkered boxers with flaming skulls on them. “They were dripping sweat,” Tom confirms

“That’s gross.” I groan. “Wait, who took this picture?”

“Es war Bill.”

“Aw wie geht it ihm?”

“Gut.”

“Gut.”

We chatter about pictures taken as we walk from the cinema, shots of us performing together, pictures taken sneakily on vacation, and some god-awful photos of us on the red carpet. We talk about our styles and how they’ve evolved. Obviously, Tom’s the most, as he no longer wears pants that could house a small village.

“But I feel like your style has changed a lot. And when we got older, you dressed a lot according to the trends.”

“Yeah, there was a time in 2012-2013 when I was as obsessed with wearing colorful, like, pastel skinny jeans with pumps. And then just a tank top and a blazer.”

“Oh, Ja,” Tom flips over to a picture of the two of us. You looked nice—like a little business lady.”

“I was a little business lady. I just don’t like how they looked on my thighs.” I heard Tom scoff next to me. “I’m glad the fashion pendulum has swung back to baggier, more relaxed-fit jeans.”

“I do enjoy being more easy breezy.” Tom wiggles his hips around on his chair, “I didn’t like wearing skinny jeans. I felt like everyone was staring at my dick.”

“I was,” I smirk, and we reminisce about our early 20s, and I feel pity for the girl stomping around Manhattan in her pumps with the boys she’s in line with because she has no clue she only has two years left with him.

“That’s when you had the cornrows and wore a lot of flannel and scarves.” We reminisce about his switch to slim-fit jeans with little leather patches from his embroidered diesels.

“Alright, and we’ll finish things with a bang.” The producer states and tells us to turn the page. On the next page is my biggest embarrassment. For a few months, Tom and I had a running gag. An overly intrusive interviewer was nearly interrogating Tokio Hotel, and I came into the studio just at the wrong time. The journalist had asked the boys about their hobbies while some were walking around. Naturally, as we had been dating for a year, I stood near Tom as he paced. When they asked him what his hobby was, he replied, “This,” and grabbed me by the hips and dry-humped me a few times. At first, I spun around and slapped him on the chest, non-seriously.

I loved how horny he was for me.

Later, I was being interviewed, and a different journalist asked me what my favorite pastime was. As the boys were lingering behind the camera crew, Tom decided to wander in and bend over in front of me, so I grabbed him by the hips and dry-humped him. He topped off with dramatic moans and crossed eyes, but seeing the journalist completely flushed made us laugh.

“I would say that’s my favorite pastime. Or maybe writing music.” For the next few months, we would take any opportunity to pretend to fuck each other on red carpets, on the street, or on stage. Going so far as to write a single called “sexsüchtig” or sex addict so I could have Tom sit on a wooden chair and give him lap dances on stage. There was a smattering of images of us just being promiscuous everywhere. One picture showed me in chunky platform heels and a lacy mini skirt, sitting on a wooden chair with my head tipped back, singing. I had a foot on Tom’s shoulder while he fake ate me out, kneeling in front of me. I even wrote the song with a verse of just runs that sound like moans.

That was a crowd favorite when I would perform it.

“Alright, we’re going to have you guys watch some edits that people make of you on TikTok.”

“Oh, nein.” I groan

“Are you on TikTok?” The producer asks

“I’m not. But I know everyone else is. And some of that stiff bleeds over to Instagram. And so I see it there. But I try to stay off social media.”

“And you, Tom?”

“I’ve seen some stuff, but Ja, I’m most just like Instagram.”

“Ok so for the most part, you haven’t seen these?”

"Nein because Gustav's daughter sends them to me." At one, they hand Tom a giant iPad and open the photos app with a few edits loaded up. They began a screen recording and showed what they had learned to be a standard edit of Tom. Some clip of him saying something, and then they would splice photos of him over some sexual song called "Do you wanna fuck”. I smiled down at it in memory.

“Woah, you’re such a baby. You can’t be more like than 15 in some of those.”

“Ja, I was young.”

“It’s kind of weird that people wanted to fuck you if you’re so young.”

“In all fairness, it’s not like I wasn’t having sex at the time these pictures were taken.” He smiled. “All right next!”

The next edit was of me to a sir-mix-a-lot song, and out came blasting, “but I got to be straight when I say I wanna huh-ooh til the break of dawn.” It played a clip of me rolling my eyes. God, I used to wear so much eyeliner. There are more pictures of me at suggestive angles.

“God, you’re so hot.” Tom laughs. “look at you and your hot pink guitar”

“This is super weird to watch. It’s impressive, but I’m just slightly jarred.” We watch more individuals before they switch over to some nonserious clips of us essentially chirping at each other. They caption the videos with 'goofiest couple' or 'cutie patooties.' I enjoyed the videos of us being children having pillow fights in hotels and making weird groans.

"Alright, and finally, we're going to finish the video with one final edit of the you two." Tom clicks the final play button it's a slowed-down edit of the two of us while in the era of me giving lap dances. The pure eroticism of us grinding against each other. The look of it. His eye as he studies me singing. And how I stared into his soul while I sang about how good he fucks me.

It wouldn't hurt to climb into his lap again. I love his wife, Heidi, but I miss him. After 3 years with my boyfriend, Gregory, and no engagement ring in sight, just this shitty promise ring. That was the whole reason we split. After dating Tom for a decade, I was ready to get married. Sure, we were only 24, but I only wanted him. And that wasn't what he wanted, so we split.

Now, ten years have passed, and I'm still not married.

He's right next to me, and I miss him.

[toadstoolwriting]

Star Crossed Masterlist

He appeared one night at your job. Something just drew you to him. You couldn't leave him there in the office. You should have called the cops. You should have turned and left. Had someone else come to deal with it. But now here you were trying to help him and hopefully help yourself understand this unexplainable connection you felt to a man, an alpha, who didn't even speak the same language as you.

______________________________________________________________

Chapters:

Prologue

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Status: Ongoing (unedited)

______________________________________________________________

Notes: This is an omegaverse, but it will only be partially focused on that, at least in this specific fic. This will not have a happy ending because I want to make this "book" canon-compliant. I plan on making two "books," and Bucky will get his happy ending in the second one. Also, this is written in the second person but has nothing like "Y/N" because I hate when fics have "Y/N." It won't be very descriptive to you, except you're female and an Omega; you're welcome.

[annabellasruin]

There is a scene in Lonely St that tickled my brain and I wanted to extend upon it.

Hope this makes sense.

Waking in an unknown space was not unusual, in fact it was becoming a daily occurrence.

But this, this was different.

He was cold.

Very cold.

Oh, and he was basically in a box.

Since waking he had touched every part of the four-by-four prison he found himself in. The walls were glass, frosted but not fully, he could just see through and make out the space beyond the prison.

Light came from far above, the walls extending high up, far too high for him to even attempt to climb. The source of the light was hard to make out, it was too bright for him to look at for long.

So he spent his time looking out, trying to see beyond, trying to find a way out, wondering if he was going to be alone the whole time or if someone would come.

Someone always came.

One of them.

It was just a matter of who in this world it would be.

Maybe it would be the one he was searching for.

The one jumping right along with him, always ahead, never behind and only sometimes glancing.

But he doubted it because they hadn’t once met again in all the time they had been moving through worlds.

Moving from one wall he ran his hand over the cold glass, looking through, searching for the least frosted part, trying to get a clearer view beyond the box when a shadow fell across the outside and he pulled back startled.

Recovering quickly he moved back, both hands on the glass as he looked through, searching, wishing the wall was clearer to see through.

A flash of blond hair and pale skin and he knew.

Fingers clawed against the glass as a name left his lips.

He followed the other as they moved around the box, fingers against the glass, but not once did he look up at him, as though he couldn’t see in, as though the glass to him wasn’t see through.

Speaking again the name he hardly even dared to think he crouched down to be the same height as the other, the inside of his prison higher than the floor outside of it.

Fingers moved to the exact spot of the others hand and they both stilled as something surged through them both.

Eyes wide he stared at the blond outside his prison.

It was him.

Not another.

Not a clone.

It was really him.

“Lix.” He whispered, his hand fully pushing against the glass now just as Felix did the same, their hands separated by the cold hard prison.

The blonde’s lips moved and he made out his name but there was no sound.

He stared, taking in the other, the blood on his cheek, the bruising, the bandages on his hand.

Who had hurt him?

Why?

“Felix.” He says again, louder now as Felix moves from looking at his hand to looking right at him, again the blond lips move saying his name.

“I’m here... it’s me.”

Something suddenly causes Felix to turn, his hand leaving the box.

“No,” he whispered, then, “Felix,” he almost shouts, his hand clenching and hitting the glass hard.

Felix turns back to the box, eyes wide, hand moving to reach back up but he again turns away, obviously hearing something he couldn’t.

“No, no, please, wait.” He does shout this time, again hitting the glass but Felix doesn’t turn back this time, his attention fully on what had caught his attention.

“Felix!” He shouts, fear clawing at his chest as Felix starts to move away.

“Please...no!” He now screams as Felix glances back at the box before running.

“No.” He whines, his forehead falling against the glass, tears building as his heart starts to break.

He was so close.

Right there.

This wasn’t fair.

Tears fall as he collapses against the glass, moving to sit in a corner, knees coming up as a sob escapes his lips, his hands covering his face.

He wraps his arms around himself as he let’s himself fall into despair.

This was never going to end, this was going to always be the way.

Chasing him across worlds, always behind, never ahead, and only sometimes glancing.

The light above suddenly starts to dim and he glances up and notes how dark it now looks beyond his prison.

He sighs, understanding why Felix ran.

Jumping worlds hurt.

It wasn’t easy and if he could, he would run too.

But this time he had no choice but to wait as the light above continued to dim until darkness fell fully.

Pain laced through his head, his body tensing as it felt like his cells were ripped apart and he was once again forced to jump to the next world.

[vomits0cutely]

“Cooler in theory, but not if you force it to be. It just didn't happen” But it’s Jegulus.

[ok555ficideas]

This is it, isn't it?

They were fighting again. Neil didn't even know what about, but all they did this past few months was fight and Neil was getting tired. He didn’t know what had gotten into them. They were supposed to be okay. 

They had steady jobs that didn’t make them fly all over the country since they both retired a long time ago. Andrew was working at the youth center, helping kids who reminded him of the little boy he used to be. It was triggering at times, but Neil could see how much it healed the broken kid inside of his husband. 

Neil coached a little league team. He paid his debts to the Morianas with fifteen years of his professional exy career. He had gotten a lot of offers to coach pro or college teams, but he didn’t want that. Although Andrew and him decided a long time ago that they weren’t going to have any kids of their own and neither of them has regretted that decision, they both found a type of katarsis in shaping young minds. They were giving these kids the chance that was given to them too late and healing parts of themselves in the process. 

They were far from okay at every single stage of their lives no matter how much they helped each other grow. They were foxes after all, but lately it seemed that no matter how good of a day it was the moment they were both home it turned into a bad one. 

“What are we even fighting about here, Andrew?” Neil said interrupting Andrew’s furious monologue about not putting knives next to spoons in the dishwasher. 

Andrew looked like he was about to continue and emphasized his point about proper placement of utensils, but after looking at Neil decided against it. 

“I don’t know.” He said, suddenly looking as tired as Neil felt. 

They both flopped on the couch and stared into nothingness, neither daring to break the silence. It was the calmest they have been around each other in months and Neil sighed with relief. His hand found Andrew’s and he interlocked their fingers without saying a word. 

Andrew squeezed his hand three times and Neil responded with the same gesture. It was something they started doing even back in college. Back when Andrew still kept insisting that there wasn’t anything between them. Neil told him that he was tired of being nothing and Andrew said that he couldn’t give Neil what he wanted. 

Neil saying that Andrew was what he wanted was only met with a glare. They didn’t speak to each other for a week after that. Neil was giving Andrew his space and patiently waited. He was scared that it was over, but after one of the night practices Andrew dragged him on the roof and told him that they were something. 

“I’m not going to say it again and that is as much words as you are going to get from me on that matter. Take it or leave it.” Andrew said to him with a blank expression. Over the years his face would gain more and more emotion, but back then, on the roof of the fox tower it remained empty. 

“I don’t need you to say anything to me Andrew. I just–,” Neil wasn’t sure what he wanted from Andrew exactly. “Maybe just don’t deny it so much?” No, that didn’t seem right. Neil didn’t mind the denials, he knew almost every time what Andrew really meant by them. 

“I used to do this thing with my mom.” He said suddenly after some thought. “When we were hiding and couldn’t speak to each other. She would squeeze my hand three times to let me know that everything was okay, that she lo–,” Neil stopped abruptly and cleared his throat, “That she was there and I would squeeze back.”

Neil knew that his slip up was noticed by Andrew. He was prepared for the blonde to walk out the door and never speak to him again, but Andrew took his hand gentler than he had ever touched Neil and squeezed it three times. Neil was mesmerized and almost didn’t squeeze back. 

“What are you thinking about?” The current Andrew ripped him away from his thoughts.

He tilted his head to the side and looked at the hazel eyes staring back at him.

“About the first time we did that.” He said while raising their intertwined hands.

“It seems like a memory from another life.” Andrew whispered with a sad expression. 

“Yeah, we were so young. Who would have thought that we would still be together after all this time.” Neil said with a smile that didn’t reach his eyes.

He felt tears starting to form in his eyes and he had to look down for a second to not start crying. They survived so much, together and separately. They helped each other in ways no one else could. 

They were both self destructive so it was not a surprise that they would both hold on to each other even if it physically hurt them. 

But Neil was done being a martyr. He was done hurting himself to survive. He knew what needed to be done, but that knowledge didn’t make it any easier for him. He looked back into Andrew’s eyes and said through the lump in his throat. “This is it, isn’t it?”

Andrew’s hand left his. The blonde closed his eyes and took a couple deep breaths. Neil saw every emotion leaving his husband’s expression. He wanted to scream at him to not shut him out. Not now. But what was the point? He had no right to Andrew’s emotions anymore. 

As the hazel eyes opened again, Neil was met with a blank expression he hadn't seen directed at him in what felt like forever. The voice that came out of Andrew’s mouth sounded almost unrecognizable. “This is it.” 

Neil couldn’t help the tears from falling down his cheeks. He wanted to curl up on the couch and never get up again, but if Andrew was going back to his old habits, maybe Neil should as well. 

He reluctantly got up from the  couch and after grabbing his keys and putting on his running shoes he was out the door. 

It was cold outside and he didn’t put any jacket on, but he didn’t care. He was running and he didn’t even know where. Everything disappeared. There was only him and the road ahead. After all, that was all that mattered. Neil was stupid to think , even for a second, that there was anything more in store for him.

[myfeetrcolddd]

We used to love each other... now it's only me.

Imagine you and the love of your life are together. From the starts its always been the both of you, you've always loved each other and neither of you thought you could love anyone else, you were sure that even if you had the choice you would both choose each other.

Life was good, you were planning to propose, maybe you were already engaged. Their the love of your life and you theirs.

But then tragedy strikes. They get into a terrible accident, sending them to the emergency room and into a week long comma.

You spend every waking moment with them, you barely even sleep, not wanting them to be alone when they wake up. When they do wake up you're over joyed. You rush to them, hug them and start talking about how happy you are that they're finally awake, how you love them and asking them if they need anything, are they okay?

When you finally pull away, giving them space to breathe you see the look on their face. Your smile falters at their confused frown, you call their name but they don't respond and there's no recognition, not to their name and not to you.

"W-who are you?" Is the first thing they say, sounding unsure about their voice and you're struck with horror. Your heart plummets.

No, you think, no this can't be happening. "Baby, it's me..." You say slowly, on the verge of tears, because this wasn't happening, this kind of thing wasn't something that happened to them, this only happened in movies and tv shows and books. Not real life.

"I-I don't know you." Their voice trembles and tears gather in their eyes, you heart cracks at the sight, "I-I, I'm sorry, but, I d-don't know you." Your heart cracks even more because even without their memories they were doing something they would constantly do.

Not knowing what else you can do and panicking you call for the doctor, or a nurse, anyone.

Then it all happened so quickly, they all rushed in, rushed to your lover, helping them out and they stared at the nurses and doctors in wide eyes panic, a panic you had been accustomed to over the years, one that you had learned how to calm and it took everything in you not to go over there, barge back into the room the doctors and nurses had forced you out of, and help them.

It went against everything you knew. It felt wrong, illegal that you had to be out here while they were in there, not knowing what was going on, that you wanted to help but you knew there was no way you could. Not without freaking out your lover more than they probably are.

Over the course of weeks they were integrated back into society, they got basic memories back, after about a month and a half they were able to go back into the real world, back to their job, they just couldn't seem to remember anyone. They knew things about their life, going to school, experiences they had, but everyone in those memories were muted.

The people in their memories had no faces, no voices, no names, only a silhouette, they could remember their family though, only a few of them, their mother, a cousin, a grandmother.

You tried to get them to remember, you refused to give up because you loved them, they were the love of your life and all you wanted to do was to help them remember they loved you too.

But then, over time, you realized they weren't going to remember you, it hurt like hell but you wanted them happy and they only seemed to be uncomfortable whenever you tried to get them to remember you, and guilty, and you hated making them feel that way.

When you didn't bring up the past that only you and others seemed to remember the both of you got along well, and if you let yourself forget it felt like the old times.

You two would banter and tease and joke, you would laugh and just talk about anything and everything. Because before you two started dating you were friends first, and even when you did start dating, it was like you two only got closer, a new layer of intimacy added to your friendship.

This realization only made the reality of things much worse, because it made you hope, that maybe with time things would go the same way it did in the past, but then you force yourself to come to terms with the fact that that kind of thing only happens in fiction.

But was there any harm in hoping?

There was harm.

While you had been pining and hoping for something that wouldn't happen they were out meeting new people, making new friends and meeting someone.

They were hesitant to tell you, to introduce you to them, but they did. And it was horrible, you felt horrible, it was like someone took out your heart, stomped on it, put it through an incinerator, mixed it into some water, froze it shattered it and tried shoving the sharp pieces of ice back into you.

But you tried, you pretended to be happy for the both of them, and you were, not for the fact that they were dating someone else, you were to selfish to do that, but you were at least happy that they were happy.

Slowly you drew away from them. Watching from afar as the person you were sure would be the only person you would ever love fell in love with someone else. As someone else fell in love with them for the same things you did.

In the end, they were still the same person you fell in love with, they still acted the same, those quirky little things that only they did were still there, they were still the person you loved and would always love, and you were someone they would only ever know as a friend.

You tried to keep the friendship, and so did they, but it was too painful, for them to be so inherently them, and for you to not be able to pull them into your arms, to not hold them the way you used, to be held by them, for you two to talk about the future, but not the future where the two of you were married with three children and a dog, in a quiet town with a big yard. Instead separate futures instead they were with their new lover and you were talking about a future with someone who you could only imagine as them.

It hurt even more to know that they still seemed to want the same thing, that they would get those things with someone else, someone who wasn't you and you wouldn't get them at all.

Because you didn't want anyone if it wasn't them.

You knew it was over, but it felt wrong.

Your family and theirs had tried to set you up with someone else but even the thought felt like you were cheating.

Even though they didn't love you, even though they loved someone else and were in a relationship with someone else, in your mind, in your dreams, in your heart, you were still together.

Sometimes you'd get dreams about the life you two could've had, though you didn't know if they were dreams or nightmares, because when you woke up, you were in tears and it felt as though there was a weight on your chest and there was a longing for something that was never real, and never could be real.

[bechloeislegit]

Trigger Warning: This is about domestic violence and is a bit heavy; it doesn’t have a happy ending.

Chapters: 1/1

Fandom: Pitch Perfect (Movies) Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Relationships: Chloe Beale & Beca Mitchell Characters: Beca Mitchell, Chloe Beale Additional Tags: Sad Ending, Domestic Abuse mentioned, Major character death - Freeform Summary:

Beca Mitchell always kept her promises, and she expected others to keep theirs. That's why she would get so pissed at Chloe when she constantly broke promises to Beca.

[novankenn]

I'm Sorry...

(Heroes make sacrifices... unwelcome ones.)

Pyrrha was spent and broken. She knelt on her knees, looking up at the wicked woman as she slowly drew back on the sting of her bow. So many regrets danced in Pyrrha's head, chiefly among them were all the wasted chances she had with Jaune. She was a coward, several times over. Unwilling to take the chance and now throwing it all away... but... but at least he would be safe. He could continue on and became the man she knew he would be.

Cinder smirked as she pulled the string of Midnight to full draw. This was it, everything was falling into place. With Nikos removed, Ozpin's plans would be gutted, even more so than they already were. More importantly, the shadow of Nikos, the girl who had everything that should have been hers, would forever be removed from Cinder's world.

Cinder felt like she had been hit with a sledgehammer as she was suddenly, and violently carried sideways, he well aimed arrow flying past Nikos' head harmlessly.

"Jaune?"

/=/ Moments earlier /=/

Just before the rocket locker could launch, Jaune drove the edge of his sheath into the side of the door, jamming it into the seal. Expanding the relic from the great War, the door screeched and the safety systems activated. The door was breached, causing the count-down to abort. Twisting his Heirloom weapon, using it like a pry bar, he forced the door open further. He was frantic, he knew what Pyrrha was planning to do. He couldn't let it happen like that.

He was just moments behind her, and while she used the ruined elevator shaft to rise up to meet her destiny, Jaune struggled to climb. Pushing his weary muscles past their limit. Making the top of the shaft, he took a minute to gather himself. He watched the one-sided battle between Pyrrha and the murderess, and he made his decision. Pulling out his scroll, he prepared to enact his plan.

/=/

"Jaune!" Pyrrha screamed as she watched her crush, crash bodily into the exposed side of Cinder. He was unarmed, using his very body as a weapon. "JAUNE!"

The breath was knocked out of Cinder's lungs at unanticipated impact, and it took a couple of seconds for her to understand that she was being bodily carried away from her target.

Jaune knew he didn't have the skills or abilities to help Pyrrha. If that wretched woman was so easily dealing with Pyrrha, someone who was leagues beyond him in skill, he had no chance in facing her... normally. But he quickly knew what he could do. What tools he had that she may not be able to counter... surprise and mass.

"NO! JAUNE!" Pyrrha screamed as she fought to rise to her feet, the searing pain of the arrow through her heel causing her to collapse and watch in horror as Jaune carried himself and Cinder over the edge of the tower.

Cinder flailed about, calling upon the Maiden's powers and her own semblance to free her. But it was too little too late as the extra weight carried her over the edge and pulled her towards the ground... far... far below.

/=/

"I found this, when I picked you and Ruby up." Qrow spoke softly as he held out his hand, an active scroll held gentle between his fingers.

With a shaking hand, Pyrrha reached out and took it. Nora and Ren closed about her. Qrow pressed his lips together and slowly walked off, giving the broken team some privacy. They all saw the icon indicating that there was an unsent message. Whimpering, Pyrrha shakily reached out and touched it.

"Hi." Jaune spoke, his trademark smile, weak and strained. "If you're watching this, then I guess it worked... or at least I hope it did."

"Jaune." Nora choked out as Ren squeezed her shoulder.

"I don't expect anyone to understand or be happy with what I've done, and I'm sorry, and I wish I was there for you to all yell at me like I deserve... but I guess this will have to do."

"Jaune..." Ren broke and sobbed.

"People always looked at me funny when I said I wanted to be a hero. They told me I didn't know what I was talking about, but I did." Jaune's image gave a broken half-hearted smile, "I know what a hero is... they give their all to help those around them make a better world. They do so without hesitation. They're willing to sacrifice themselves for the chance at a better future for those they care about."

"No... Jaune... you shouldn't" Pyrrha couldn't continue, her sorrow grabbing her heart and crushing it.

"To protect those I love, I will do what I can, and I do it willingly, because I know that if whatever Ozpin has gotten us involved in..." tears could be seen in Jaune's eyes, "If... if Remnant has a chance at a better future, it's with all of you..."

The trio could say nothing as they watched as Jaune looked up, his eyes obviously watching something they couldn't see. Pyrrha whimpered, as she could easily guess at what that was, by the pained look in her crush's eyes.

"I don't expect you to understand, or forgive me. Just know I did the only thing I could to make sure you guys could save everyone else." Jaune's eyes returned to look into the camera. Tears were beginning to roll down his cheeks, as his voice was getting choppy with emotion. "I love you all... I always will. I'm sorry."

"Jaune!" Pyrrha screamed in anguish as the video stopped. Ren and Nora wrapped their arms about the shattered spartan. Their own hearts torn with grief. "Jaune... Jaune... Jaune.... "

[hlizr50]

I cried when I came up with this.

I cried when I was writing this.

I cried when I proofread this.

**MAJOR FOURTH WING SPOILERS**

As I was rereading Fourth Wing, I found myself extremely heartbroken that I never got to see more than the little flirty suggestions about Liam and Jesinia. So here it is.

Tell Jesinia…

Read on AO3

Fandom: Fourth Wing

Pairing: Liam Mairi/Jesinia Neilwart

Read a snippet under the cut!!

His fingers were moving, as if by their own volition. “You came.” Jesinia nodded, and she might have even smiled at him. It was hard to tell with the hood casting her in shadow.

“First years aren’t supposed to be gallivanting between quadrants,” she answered. Perhaps she was nervous about meeting him, after all. But Liam grinned.

“I won’t tell if you won’t.”

The scribe lifted her hand, covering her the breathy giggle that escaped between her lips.

“Do you always wear the robes? Even if you’re not on shift?” He signed. It would be a blatant lie to say that he hadn’t wondered what the pretty brunette might look like in figure-hugging pants and a casual cotton shirt. That he hadn’t hoped to get even the slightest idea of what she was hiding under the bland swaths of cream-colored fabric.

“I hadn’t gotten around to changing,” Jesinia answered, and Liam decided to accept the explanation, though it was pretty late in the evening. Instead of arguing, he chose to boldly pursue.

He kept his eyes locked with hers as he asked, “Could you lower your hood? It would be nice to see your face.”

The scribe hesitated, clasping her hands above her heart as she contemplated his request. Jesinia regarded him with a curious gaze, as if trying to understand why he would ask such a thing.

Especially since they could communicate with their hands.

The rider gave her an encouraging smile and shrugged, the faintest heat warming his cheeks. “I think you’re pretty, and I’d like to see you in the light. If that’s alright.”

I’m not even sure who to tag, so we’re just gonna guess:

@headcanonheadcase @mystical-blaise @daevastanner @vikingmagic33 @foreverinelysian @captain-of-the-gwynriel-ship @freyjas-musings @beaumaismortel @renxzs @aldbooks @sunshinebingo

[autumnweeen]

Hananaki Disease Dramione

Summary: Hermione Granger is dead, but that is not the story.

The tragedy is that she didn't have to be.

Fanart by @boopsy