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thedensworld · 4 months ago

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And No News | J.Ww

Genre: angst, est relationship

Summary: Wonwoo can't reach you all day and he was worried.

Wonwoo tapped in the passcode and slipped into your apartment. The place was dark, only a sliver of streetlight filtering through the blinds. You weren't home yet. He glanced at his watch—11 pm, and still no sign of you. His jaw tightened, frustration simmering beneath his usually calm demeanor. He ran a hand through his hair and sighed deeply before dropping onto the cold, untouched couch.

He fished out his phone from his pocket and stared at the screen. None of his messages had been delivered. Maybe your phone had died, or worse, maybe you turned it off on purpose. He didn’t know, and it bothered him more than he wanted to admit. It felt like you were shutting him out, like he was some shadow lurking on the outskirts of your life, some afterthought you remembered only when it was convenient.

Wonwoo knew it was petty to think that way. You were busy; he got it. He had his own responsibilities too. But he always tried to carve out space for you, for this—whatever it was that you two had. Yet it was starting to feel like he was the only one doing any of the carving, the only one bending and compromising until there was nothing left of himself. He hated comparing, but lately, it seemed like he was the only one trying to keep your relationship from crumbling into something unrecognizable.

The sound of the door code beeping startled him from his thoughts. He glanced at his watch again—it was past midnight. An hour had slipped by without him even realizing. He looked up as you stepped in, calling his name softly, like you hadn’t expected him to be there. You noticed him immediately because of the faint glow of the lamp he’d turned on.

“Hey,” you greeted, your voice weary as you dropped your bag and keys on the coffee table. Wonwoo watched you silently, his gaze following you as you shuffled toward the bathroom without another word. No explanation, no apology, not even a simple how are you? The door clicked shut, and he let out a breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding.

Of course, you were probably tired. You always were these days. But so was he.

When you finally emerged, fresh-faced and changed into your pajamas, you walked over to him, crossing your arms as if bracing yourself for something.

“What are you doing here?” you asked, your tone neutral, almost distant.

Wonwoo didn’t answer immediately, his eyes scanning your face, searching for a sign—any sign—that you cared even a fraction as much as he did.

“What time is it?” he asked quietly.

You glanced at the clock and sighed. “Yeah, it’s late.”

“It’s past midnight,” he repeated, his voice tighter this time. “What were you doing out this late?”

You shifted uncomfortably, taking a small step back. “I was working… then I had dinner with a friend.”

Wonwoo swallowed hard, his throat dry. He hadn’t eaten because he’d been waiting, sitting here like some idiot who believed you’d come home in time. But that wasn’t what bothered him. No, it was the way you didn’t even think to inform him, the way you assumed it was okay to leave him hanging.

“I tried texting you all afternoon,” he said slowly, holding up his phone. “But your phone was off.”

You rubbed your face, exhaustion lining your features. “Sorry, I forgot to charge it.”

Wonwoo let out a humorless laugh. “You always say that. It’s not the first time your phone’s died while you’re working, and it’s not the first time I’ve been left wondering where the hell you are.” His voice rose slightly, unable to keep the bitterness out. “I was worried about you all day.”

“I’m sorry, okay? I’ve been caught up with a project we need to finish by the weekend. I lost track of time and got distracted.” Your voice was pleading, but it only made the irritation in Wonwoo’s chest flare hotter.

“‘Lost track of time,’ ‘forgot,’ ‘I’m sorry.’” Wonwoo’s eyes blazed as he leaned back against the couch, staring up at the ceiling as if it held all the answers he was searching for. “Last time, you said sorry too. But you still did it again. Every. Single. Time.”

“I know—” you began, but he cut you off, sitting up abruptly.

“No, you don’t know!” he snapped, startling both of you. “You don’t get it. I’m tired too. I have things to do, responsibilities to take care of, but I’m always here, aren’t I? Waiting for you, making excuses for you, forgiving you before you even apologize—if you even bother to apologize at all.”

“Wonwoo, please—”

“Please, what?” he demanded, his voice breaking a little. He stood up, towering over you, his eyes filled with something raw and painful. “I’m tired of always coming second. Of always being the one who has to understand. You say you’re sorry, but you don’t change. You never change.”

He took a deep breath, trying to calm himself down, but his emotions were spiraling. He looked away, jaw clenched. “Sometimes it feels like I’m the only one trying to keep us together. Like I’m… I’m the only one who even cares.”

“That’s not fair,” you whispered, your voice shaking slightly. “I’m doing my best. It’s just work—”

“It’s always work,” Wonwoo muttered bitterly. “You know what? I get it. Work is important. I would never ask you to choose. But… would it kill you to make a little more room for me? For us?”

Silence fell between you two, heavy and suffocating. You looked down, your lips pressed into a thin line, and he knew then that whatever he said, however much he begged, it wouldn’t change a thing.

“Forget it,” he muttered, brushing past you and heading for the door. “I should go. You’re probably tired, right? Just get some rest.”

“Wonwoo, wait—” you called, reaching out to him, but he was already halfway out the door.

“Goodnight,” he murmured softly, and before you could respond, the door closed behind him with a quiet thud. And you were left standing there, alone, with the apology you never got to say stuck in your throat.

Wonwoo never got mad—really mad. And last night was the first time you’d heard his voice rise like that, cracking through the usually calm and unshakable persona he carried like armor. Sure, you two had argued before. Little things here and there, petty misunderstandings that fizzled out almost as soon as they started. It was always resolved with one of you giving up or simply brushing it aside, pretending it hadn’t happened in the first place.

In the beginning, you were the one who used to pick fights. His calm and quiet demeanor had frustrated you to no end. You couldn’t understand him, couldn’t read him, and the constant absence—both physical and emotional—drove you insane. He was always caught up in his work, giving little time for you two to sit down and have a real, heart-to-heart conversation.

You used to demand updates, craving any tiny piece of information that would give you a sense of closeness. Where was he? Who was he with? Why couldn’t he spare a second to reach out? Wonwoo was a terrible communicator, leaving you grappling to hold onto the loose threads of your relationship. But he had changed for you. Little by little, he’d learned how to make room for you, even if it meant stepping outside of his comfort zone. You’d seen his effort, and that had made you fall for him even harder.

But then things flipped. You were the one who got busy, swept into the whirlwind of your new job at an event organizing company. The endless meetings, sleepless nights, and back-to-back projects consumed your time. You thought he’d understand since he had always been the busy one. Yet as you dove deeper into your career, it was as if you’d unknowingly turned into the very person you used to resent him for being—distant, preoccupied, forgetting to even check in.

Wonwoo’s patience was unraveling thread by thread, the steadiness that had once drawn you to him now cracking under the weight of your absence. It was almost as if he were fighting an unseen rival—your job, your responsibilities—jealous in a way that confused you. Did you like his attention? His sudden need to know your every move, to constantly check up on you? Yes, you did. But you had so much on your plate that you assumed he’d understand, just as you had tried to understand him before.

Now, standing in the cold bathroom light, you were doubled over the sink, the sour bile of your dinner clawing its way up your throat. You retched violently, but nothing came out—only a bitter, acrid taste lingering on your tongue. The pain in your stomach was relentless, searing hot, and spreading like wildfire. You clutched the sink’s edge, trying to steady yourself, but your vision blurred as a wave of dizziness crashed over you.

Your knees buckled, body folding as you slid against the wall and slumped onto the cold tile floor. You tried to take a deep breath, but your lungs felt constricted, and each inhale only made the pain worse. Every nerve screamed in agony, and your entire body felt heavy—like it wasn’t even your own anymore.

Fumbling blindly, you reached for your phone on the bathroom counter. You didn’t know who else to call, who else would drop everything for you at a moment’s notice. Your fingers trembled as you dialed the one number you had on speed dial—Wonwoo’s.

It rang once, then twice, and for a moment, dread crept in. What if he didn’t pick up? What if he was still too upset, too angry with you?

Finally, the line clicked, but instead of the familiar warmth you usually heard in his voice, you were met with a cold, strained tone. “What is it?”

His indifference hurt more than you expected, but you couldn’t dwell on it. You squeezed your eyes shut, forcing out the words between ragged breaths. “Can you come…?” Your voice was a weak rasp, barely audible even to yourself.

“What’s wrong?” His tone changed instantly, the sharp edge replaced by alarm. “Where are you?”

You leaned back against the wall, your body sliding further down as your grip on the phone loosened. “I think… food poisoning,” you managed to whisper, feeling the world start to tilt and spin around you. “I think I’m going to pass out…”

“Wait, what?” Wonwoo’s voice grew louder, panic bleeding into each syllable. “Where are you? Are you home?”

“Yeah,” you breathed out, struggling to stay conscious. The phone slipped from your grasp and hit the floor with a soft thud. You could faintly hear Wonwoo’s voice calling your name, his words frantic and urgent, but it felt like it was coming from somewhere far away, almost as if you were underwater.

“Hey—stay with me! Can you hear me? I’ll be there in ten, okay? Just hang in there!” His voice cracked, the desperation palpable.

You tried to nod, to say something, anything, but your vision was darkening, the pain in your stomach swelling until it felt like you couldn’t breathe. Cold sweat trickled down your face, and you fought to keep your eyes open, to stay awake for just a little longer.

“Wonwoo…” you whispered weakly, but your voice was swallowed up by the crushing silence of the bathroom.

Then everything went black.

Wonwoo sat quietly in the waiting room, eyes fixed on the floor as the doctor examined you. The sterile, cold atmosphere of the hospital did nothing to ease the storm of thoughts swirling in his mind. The moment he got you to the emergency room, all the anger and frustration from the night before had drained from him, replaced by an overwhelming sense of guilt. This was his fault—he was sure of it. You were lying there, weak and suffering, because he couldn’t understand you, couldn’t meet you halfway.

He was selfish. He knew that much about himself. From the moment he met you, you were everything he had ever wanted—smart, beautiful, independent—but deep down, he feared that he couldn’t be enough for you. He’d always been terrified that his flaws, his shortcomings, would eventually drive you away. But you had changed him. You had shown him how to grow, how to be better, and he wanted to be better—for you.

But last night… last night was different. He lost control. He let his insecurities get the best of him, raising his voice at you for the first time in your entire relationship. It felt wrong, and yet, in the heat of the moment, he couldn’t stop himself. He knew now that you weren’t the only one at fault. You had been caught up in your new job, excited and busy with the demands of a new career—exploring everything you could bring to the table. And more than anything, you were happy. It was written all over your face when you talked about your work, a joy you hadn’t had in your last job.

He should have understood that. After all, he had been in the same position not too long ago. When work consumed him to the point where he couldn't find time for anything else, including you. How could he have forgotten that?

The realization made his chest tighten with regret. He had no right to say half the things he’d said last night. The harsh words, the accusatory tone—they were driven by his own insecurities, not by any real fault of yours. He had projected his fears onto you, punished you for doing the same thing he had once done, and now you were lying in a hospital bed because of it.

The sound of footsteps pulled him from his thoughts, and he looked up to see the doctor approaching. “It’s food poisoning,” the doctor said, his voice calm and professional. “She’s been treated, and once she wakes up, she should be fine. It wasn’t anything too serious, but she’ll need some rest.”

Wonwoo exhaled deeply, a rush of relief flooding through him. It wasn’t something worse. You were going to be okay. But still, the weight of guilt sat heavy on his shoulders. He had almost lost you, not just because of the food poisoning, but because of how badly he had handled everything. He realized now that his anger wasn’t truly directed at you—it was at himself, for not being able to keep up, for not being the partner he thought you deserved.

As he waited for you to wake up, Wonwoo made a silent promise to himself: he would fix this. No more insecurities, no more resentment. He would try harder, be more understanding, and give you the space you needed to grow. Because, in the end, all he wanted was for you to be happy—even if it meant stepping aside and letting you thrive.

“Wonwoo...” your voice was weak, barely above a whisper, but it snapped him out of his anxious thoughts. He immediately turned to you, his heart skipping as he saw your eyes flutter open. Without hesitation, he dashed to your bedside, his face softening with relief.

“Do you need anything? Are you okay?” he asked urgently.

You mumbled, “Water...” and he was quick to get some. As he gently helped you sit up, holding the glass to your lips, the sight of you drinking, of you finally awake, allowed the tension in his chest to ease.

“How do you feel? Is your stomach still killing you?” Wonwoo's voice was full of concern, his eyes searching your face for any sign of lingering pain.

You shook your head slowly, “No, I’m fine now.” Your voice was hoarse, but steady. “What time is it?”

He glanced at his watch. “It’s just past lunchtime. You’ve been out for about two hours, baby.”

You sighed, leaning back against the pillows. “I must’ve scared you when I called this morning.”

Wonwoo shook his head, leaning closer to reassure you. “No, don’t worry about that. Honestly, I’m just relieved you called. I don’t know what I would’ve done if you passed out and I didn’t know.” His voice was soft, but there was an underlying fear that hinted at how much the morning had rattled him.

You nodded, the weight of everything from last night pressing against your chest. “I’m sorry...”

“Don’t be,” he quickly interrupted.

“No,” you insisted, looking him in the eyes, “I’m sorry for last night, and for... all the other times. I made you feel like you were being neglected.”

Wonwoo sighed, lowering his gaze. “It’s not just that. I was being childish. I let my frustration get the better of me. I was wrong, too. I was selfish. I’ve been so caught up in my own feelings that I didn’t stop to think about how hard it must be for you... waiting for me while I was busy all the time.” His voice cracked a little as he finally admitted the guilt he’d been carrying.

You reached for his hand, your touch warm and reassuring. “But still, I shouldn’t have made you feel like I was ignoring you. I wasn’t trying to push you away. It’s just... I’ve been feeling so overwhelmed with work lately, trying to prove myself, trying to manage everything.”

Wonwoo looked at you, his thumb brushing over your knuckles. “I know. I get it now. And I don’t want you to take anything I said last night to heart. It was just... I was angry, and I didn’t mean it. I promise.”

You gave him a small smile, one that held both forgiveness and exhaustion. Then, with a playful stretch of your arms, you said, “I want a hug.”

Wonwoo couldn’t help the soft chuckle that escaped him, and without hesitation, he wrapped you in a warm embrace, one that seemed to melt away all the lingering tension between you. It felt right—like this was where you both needed to be after everything.

“Let’s get lunch after this,” Wonwoo murmured, his chin resting on the top of your head. “Anything you want.”

Your ears perked up, and you pulled back just enough to look at him with playful curiosity. “Anything I want?”

Wonwoo chuckled again, his smile soft and full of affection. “Yes, anything you want.”

He leaned down to press a gentle kiss to your forehead, lingering there for a moment before whispering, “I love you. I’ll always love you, no matter what.”

As his words sank in, you felt a warmth spread through your chest, and for the first time in days, everything felt at peace.

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oh-my-damn · 5 months ago

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Cat Behavior

Pairing: Astarion x Female!Tav/reader

Summary: You've noticed certain behaviors in your vampire lover. And it's adorable.

Wordcount: 1600

Warnings: None. Pure, unadulterated fluff. Fun and sassy (and in love) Astarion. Astarion being a kitty-cat.

Masterlist

The best part about getting that damn worm inserted in his head was the fact it took away some of the side effects from being a vampire.

Astarion had never been able to enjoy the benefits of being one - for 200 years he was forced to do his masters bidding, always hiding in the shadows and being fed rats to sustain himself - if he was allowed to eat, at all. That's without even mentioning the things he was forced to do, the matter of his consent not even an afterthought in Cazadors mind.

But the tadpole had taken away those issues, even if it was only temporarily for now, which allowed him to enjoy the things about himself he hasn't been able to for the past 200 years. Those things included his speed and agility when fighting, using his fangs as both a weapon but also as a way to taste the sweetest nectar he could ever imagine. Nothing quite compared to sinking his teeth into your beautiful neck, the little shivers in your body as he drank from you.

Except maybe one thing.

The tadpole allowed him to be in the sun, again.

When the nautiloid first crash landed and he was thrown from it haphazardly, he thought it would be the end of him. He woke up on that beach, and he immediately felt heat - something he hasn't felt in several lifetimes. He thought that would be the end; that he would perish right there, on some disgusting beach surrounded by smelly fishermen and even smellier mindflayers, burning in the sun.

But when his scarlet eyes popped open after minutes of feeling that heat but no pain, he realized that whatever had been done to him must have had an affect on his vampirism, in some strange way.

And since then, he has cherished being in the sun – almost as much as he cherishes being around you.

You've noticed how he tends to gravitate towards the sunny spots wherever you go. The first time you took note of it was in Grymforge. Astarion had managed to find the only spot in your entire camp where, despite Grymforge being in the Underdark, a small beam of sunlight had made it's way through the rubbles.

You chose not to comment on it, though. It didn't surprise you to learn that he wanted to enjoy the sun for as much as possible, after hundreds of years of lurking in the shadows. Seeing him in that spot in your camp reminded you of the first time the two of you spent the night together - or rather, it reminded you of the morning after the two of you had spent your first night together.

Waking up to see him standing in that clearing, his eyes closed and head tilted backwards, soaking in the warmth of the sun. You hadn't fully realized what it meant at the time, being so early on in your acquaintance, but you understood now.

Which is why you've never mentioned it to him when you notice him subtly moving around whenever you're in camp, to try and find the best patch of sun to sit in. Part of you is unsure whether he is even aware he is doing it - it starts out with him leaning towards where the sun is moving, and then shifting short distances when it moves too far; all while still reading his book, or talking with the others, or drinking his wine.

The one time it does annoy you, however, is during times like today.

You're all back at camp, enjoying a well deserved half day off, and the sun has been beating down on you for most of the day. The afternoon is lurking, which means the sun is slowly moving across the sky, preparing to set for the day.

You're sitting around the un-lit campfire with the others, Karlach and Wyll sitting at your left, Gale and Shadowheart at your right, and Halsin and Jaheira straight across.

Everyone is talking casually or reading a book, seemingly all enjoying an afternoon of quiet resting before your next big confrontation interrupts it.

You and Astarion are sitting on a blanket, each of you with a glass of well deserved wine in hand. Well, perhaps sitting is not the right word; he is leaning back on his hands with his legs in front of him, and you're resting your head on his thigh. He's deep in conversation with Halsin, and you wouldn't have considered Astarion to be as interested in the druid as he seemingly is, if it wasn't for the fact you suspect he might be just a teensy bit attracted to the beefy elf.

You're having a conversation with Karlach and Wyll, the two of them asking questions about your past and defending their inquiries with the fact that you know so much about them and they barely know anything about you.

You're replying with chuckles and smiles for the most part, indulging them, carefully taking sips of wine with your head leaning on Astarions thigh.

The sun moves slightly on the blue sky, as it always does this time of day, and you want to curse at yourself for not seeing what happens next coming in advance.

Just as you're about to reply to one of Karlach's questions, your pillow (Astarion's thigh) is snatched away from under your head, resulting in it thunking against the grass. Your boyfriend shifts away, completely oblivious to what just happened as he lets out a delighted laugh at whatever Halsin tells him.

Your let out a hrmpf at the impact, your brows pulling into a frown when you sit up, rubbing the back of your head with your fingers, "Ow."

Karlach and Wyll both watch you with widened eyes, their gaze bouncing between yourself and Astarion, the latter still completely unaware of how he just moved away from you to accommodate for the moving sunbeam he always chases.

"What just happened?" Karlach muses, tilting her head. The question makes Astarion glance over at her, taking a sip of his wine, "What do you mean?"

You narrow your eyes when they find your lover, letting out another disgruntled noise, "My head just hit the grass, you oaf!"

You push at his shoulder (gently) to make your point, making him spill af few drops of wine, "Hey, watch it! This is a perfectly balanced red!"

You glare at him, his scarlet eyes searching your face in confusion, "Astarion!"

"What?!" He exclaims, looking utterly confused as he looks between you and the others, "What is it?"

"You made my head hit the ground when you moved, you doofus!" You exclaim in exasperation, scooting closer to him to get back to your former position, your lips forming a pout, "Apologize."

That makes him frown instantly as if the notion of apologizing is obscene, his nose wrinkling as he glances down at the blanket, "What are you talking about, I didn't even move?"

"Yes you did!" You exclaim, and Karlach chimes in with a "Yeah, you did," which makes you look at him pointedly.

Astarion's expression only gets more confused, but he glances at the others who look equally confused yet entertained by whatever is happening between the two of you right now.

You let out a dramatic sigh, sitting up to point at your former spot, "We were over here, now you're over here. See? You always do this."

"Do what?" He asks in annoyance, "I don't even remember moving."

"I know," you quip, grabbing his glass of wine out of his hand to take a sip, "But you always do it. As soon as the sun moves, you do too."

He blinks in surprise, and the others around you snicker in response.

"What do you mean?"

"You move with the sun, vampy," you jest, cupping his confused face in your hands, "And normally it's real cute, but not when I'm using you as a pillow. Got it?"

His eyes search yours, his lips lifting slightly at your teasing expression, but he looks a little embarrassed when he asks, "I move with the sun?"

"Uh-huh," you nod, ruffling his hair and making him sputter in protest, "Whenever the sun moves so you're no longer in it's direct path, you move to wherever you need to in order to get back in it. It's very cute, all things considered, but it's not very practical when I need to use your milky thighs for resting. Okay?"

He pushes your hands off at your little comment, making the others chuckle, and instead he reaches up to curls his hand around the back of your neck. He smirks, clearly embarrassed and a little flustered but trying to hide it as he pulls you closer, "All right, I think we all got it. I move with the sun."

"Yep," you quip, "Just like a kitty cat."

His eyes narrow as the others laugh, and then the two of you have a staring contest, each refusing to back down. Your smile turns wider, enjoying the teasing banter between the two of you, your previous gripe already forgotten.

"Are you calling me a cat, darling?" He asks, his voice lowered, "Is that what I am to you?"

"Yes, just a cute kitty. Like Halsin!" You muse, glancing over at the wood elf. Astarions eyes dart over to look at him momentarily, and you can tell he gets even more flustered when the large elf only smiles back at him.

"You hear that, Astarion? Guess we have more in common than we thought."

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rosesareredrosa · 6 months ago

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You Don't Know Me Anymore but that Can Change

Theo x fem reader

Summary: Where Theo neglects his relationship with Y/N due to spending too much time with his friends. Realizing his mistake, Theodore promises to change and starts making efforts to reconnect.

Authors note: I have no clue what to write please send in requests

Word Count: 988

The dim light of the Leaky Cauldron flickered as Y/N sat at the corner table, swirling their drink absentmindedly. The place was bustling, but it felt like they were in a world of their own. They glanced at their watch, sighing as the minute hand inched closer to 8:00 PM. Theodore was late. Again.

Just as Y/N was about to give up, the door creaked open and Theodore Nott slipped inside, his eyes scanning the room until they landed on Y/N. A guilty smile tugged at his lips as he hurried over, planting a quick kiss on their cheek before sitting down.

"Hey, sorry I'm late. Blaise needed help with something," he said, running a hand through his dark hair.

Y/N forced a smile. "It's fine, Theo."

Theodore studied the menu briefly, then closed it with a satisfied nod. "I already know what I want. How about you? You like this place, right?"

Y/N bit their lip, looking away. "I used to."

Theodore's brow furrowed. "What do you mean 'used to'?"

Y/N took a deep breath, finally meeting his gaze. "You don't even know me anymore, Theo. You're always with Blaise or your other friends. We barely spend any time together."

His eyes widened in surprise. "That's not true, Y/N. We're here now, aren't we?"

Y/N shook their head. "One dinner doesn't make up for all the times you've been absent. Do you even know what my favorite drink is? Or how my day went?"

Theodore opened his mouth to respond but closed it again, a look of realization dawning on his face. "I... I guess I haven't been around much, have I?"

"No, you haven't," Y/N replied, their voice tinged with sadness. "You used to be my best friend, Theo. Now I feel like I'm just an afterthought."

He reached across the table, taking Y/N's hand in his. "I'm sorry. I never meant to make you feel that way. I've been so caught up with everything else that I didn't realize how distant I've become."

Y/N's eyes softened, but they didn't pull their hand away. "I miss you, Theo. The real you. Not the one who's always busy with everyone else."

Theodore squeezed their hand gently. "I'll make it up to you. I promise. Let's start over, right here, right now. No more distractions. Just you and me."

Y/N felt a glimmer of hope at his words. "You can change if you mean your word no empty promises."

He nodded earnestly. "I do and I will change, Y/N. Every little detail."

A small smile tugged at Y/N's lips as they finally felt the walls around their heart begin to crumble. "Okay, Theo. Let's start over."

The evening carried on, but this time, it was different. Theodore listened intently as Y/N talked, and for the first time in a long time, they felt truly seen. It wasn't a perfect fix, but it was a start. And that was enough for now.

Days turned into weeks, and Theodore kept his promise. He showed up on time for their dates, texted more often, and made an effort to be present. He started paying attention to the little things, like Y/N’s favorite flowers or the way they liked their coffee.

One Saturday afternoon, Theodore surprised Y/N with a picnic in a secluded part of the Hogwarts grounds. The summer sun bathed the landscape in a warm glow as they settled on a checkered blanket. A gentle breeze rustled the leaves overhead, and the sound of the Black Lake's gentle waves created a soothing backdrop.

Y/N looked around, taking in the thoughtful details. "You remembered I love picnics."

Theodore grinned, a bit of pride shining in his eyes. "Of course. I’ve been paying attention."

They unpacked the basket, laying out sandwiches, fruit, and Y/N’s favorite chocolate-covered strawberries. As they ate, the conversation flowed easily, filled with laughter and shared memories. It felt like old times, and Y/N’s heart swelled with a mixture of relief and happiness.

After they finished eating, Theodore leaned back on his elbows, gazing up at the sky. "I've missed this," he admitted. "Just being with you, no distractions."

Y/N looked at him, their heart aching with a mix of emotions. "I’ve missed it too. But I need to know this isn’t just temporary. I need to know you’re really here for me."

Theodore sat up, taking Y/N’s hand in his. His expression was serious, sincere. "I know I’ve messed up, Y/N. I let my friendships and other things get in the way of what’s really important. You. Us. I’m not perfect, and I’ll probably mess up again, but I promise to always try to make it right."

Y/N studied his face, searching for any hint of doubt or insincerity. All they saw was the boy they fell in love with, the one who made them feel special and cherished. "Okay, Theo. I believe you."

His smile was radiant, filled with relief and joy. "Thank you. I won’t let you down."

The rest of the afternoon was spent in a blissful haze, talking about everything and nothing, simply enjoying each other’s company. As the sun began to set, painting the sky in hues of orange and pink, Theodore wrapped an arm around Y/N’s shoulders, pulling them close.

"This is just the beginning," he murmured. "I want to make new memories with you, ones we can look back on and smile."

Y/N nestled into his side, feeling a warmth spread through them that had been absent for too long. "I’d like that."

And as the stars began to twinkle overhead, they knew that this time, things would be different. They were both ready to put in the effort, to make their relationship stronger than ever. Together, they would navigate the challenges and celebrate the joys, side by side.

#theo nott x reader #theodore nott #theodore nott x reader #slytherin x reader #theodore nott imagine #theodore nott x you #angst with a happy ending #light angst #fluff

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goldsainz · 29 days ago

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# JB9 — NUMBER ONE GIRL !

MASTERLIST !

REQUEST !

001. SUMMARY !

✯ on a rainy night, you reflect on the growing distance between you and joe, wondering if it’s time to let go.

002. WARNINGS !

✯ angst, emotional distance, talks of self-worth.

003. NOTE !

✯ i loved rosé’s album, and i feel like i haven’t seen enough people praising it??? idk i thought it was spectacular and so beautiful… this is my first written fic for joe so let me know how it is/or leave any feedback!

word count : 1,4k

The city lights blurred through the rain-streaked windows of your apartment. You stared out at the streets below, hands clutching a lukewarm cup of tea that you hadn’t taken a sip from in over an hour. Somewhere in the distance, the faint hum of sirens and car horns echoed, but your mind was locked on a single, unshakable thought—Joe.

The last time you saw him was two weeks ago, when he’d kissed you goodbye on his way to another game. You remembered the way his fingers lingered on your cheek, the way he’d promised to call as soon as he landed. And he did. At first. But as the days passed, the calls became shorter, less frequent. Now, you found yourself checking your phone obsessively, the growing silence between you heavy and suffocating.

You pulled the blanket tighter around yourself, trying to shake the chill that had settled in your chest. It wasn’t just the distance; it was the feeling that you were slipping further from his world with every passing day. His life was so big, so public, and yours felt so small in comparison. It wasn’t jealousy—at least that’s what you told yourself. It was the gnawing fear that he didn’t need you the way you needed him.

You thought back to when you first met. It wasn’t under the glittering lights of his fame, but in the quiet hum of a coffee shop on a rainy afternoon. He wasn’t the Joe Burrow everyone knew then; he was just Joe, a boy with an easy smile and a laugh that felt like home. You fell in love with his humility, his quiet confidence, the way he made you feel like you were the only person in the room. Back then, his world didn’t feel so far out of reach.

But as his stardom rose, the cracks began to show. The late-night calls where he’d vent about the pressures of the game turned into hurried messages about flights and schedules. The weekends you spent tangled up together in your tiny apartment became rare, replaced by distant conversations and fleeting visits. You’d watch him on TV, surrounded by adoring fans, and wonder if he still saw you the way he used to.

You remembered the fight that changed everything. It was a few months ago, after he missed your birthday. You’d tried to be understanding, telling yourself that his career demanded sacrifices. But when he called that night, his voice distant and distracted, something inside you snapped. You’d told him that you felt like an afterthought, like you were holding onto something that was already slipping away. He’d gone quiet, his silence cutting deeper than any words. When he finally spoke, his voice was soft but firm. “You know how much this means to me. I thought you understood that.”

You’d cried yourself to sleep that night, the weight of his words pressing heavily on your chest. Since then, things had been different. The love was still there, but it felt frayed, like a thread stretched too thin. You wanted to believe that you could find your way back to each other, but the distance—both physical and emotional—felt overbearing.

Now, as you stared out at the rain-soaked streets, you couldn’t shake the feeling that you were losing him. And the worst part? You weren’t sure if he even realized it.

The faint buzz of your phone jolted you out of your thoughts. His name flashed on the screen, and for a brief moment, your heart soared. But as you answered, the noise of a busy room greeted you before his voice did.

“Hey,” he said, his tone warm but rushed. “How’s it going?”

You swallowed the lump in your throat, forcing a smile he couldn’t see. “Good. Just the usual. How about you?”

“Busy,” he replied, the sound of laughter and clinking glasses in the background. “We just finished a team dinner. I wanted to check in before it got too late.”

“I’m glad you did,” you said softly, but the words felt hollow. The call already felt like an afterthought, something he’d done out of obligation rather than desire.

“How’s work?” he asked after a pause.

“It’s fine,” you replied. “Same old, same old. Nothing exciting happening here.”

“I’m sure you’re still killing it,” he said, his voice softening a little. “You always do.”

You smiled faintly at the compliment, even though it felt distant, like he was saying it out of habit. “Thanks. How’s the team? Everyone holding up okay?”

“Yeah,” he replied. “Everyone’s been putting in the work. I think we’ve got a real shot.”

“That’s great,” you said, genuinely meaning it, but the words still carried a tinge of sadness. You wanted to be more excited, to share in his joy, but it was hard when you felt so far removed from his world.

There was another pause, longer this time. It felt like he was debating whether to say something. “Listen,” he started, “I might not make it back this weekend. Coach wants us to stay focused, and there’s some extra training we’re doing.”

You nodded, even though he couldn’t see you. “Yeah, I figured. It’s fine.”

“You sure?” he asked, his voice dipping slightly, like he knew it wasn’t.

“Yeah,” you lied, forcing a lightness into your tone. “I get it. You’re busy.”

“I’ll make it up to you,” he promised, but the words felt like they were on autopilot. How many times had he said that now? And how many times had you let it slide, convincing yourself that next time would be different?

“Okay,” you whispered, unable to muster anything more.

“Hey,” he said, his voice softening further. “I mean it. I hate being away this much. It’s not fair to you.”

Your throat tightened at the sincerity in his tone, but it only made the ache worse. “I know you’re doing what you have to do, Joe. I just… I miss you.”

There was a beat of silence on his end. “I miss you too,” he said finally, and for a moment, you let yourself believe it. “As soon as I get a break, we’ll do something. Just us. Okay?”

“Okay,” you murmured, even though you weren’t sure you believed him.

After the call ended, you stared at the phone, the screen dark and reflective. In it, you could see the faint outline of your face, tired and drawn. You thought back to the early days, when Joe’s attention felt like sunlight—warm and consuming, leaving no room for doubt. But now, the shadows had crept in, and you couldn’t shake the feeling that you were fighting for a space in a life that had outgrown you.

The rain outside grew heavier, the droplets cascading down the glass like tears you refused to shed. You wanted to call him back, to tell him everything—how lonely you felt, how much you missed the way things used to be. But what would that change? He was Joe Burrow, star quarterback, the golden boy of a city that adored him. And you? You were just the girl waiting for him to come home.

With a sigh, you set the phone down and turned away from the window. Maybe it was time to stop waiting. Maybe it was time to figure out who you were without him. But as you curled up on the couch, the thought of letting go felt like the hardest thing in the world.

The ache in your chest deepened, and a single tear slipped down your cheek. Maybe it wasn’t just time to figure out who you were without him. Maybe it was time to let him figure out what life was like without you. And maybe—just maybe—he’d realize what he’d lost.

You glanced back at your phone one last time, half expecting another call, a message, something—but the screen remained blank. In the silence of your apartment, you allowed yourself to wonder: if you walked away now, would he even notice? Would he fight for you the way you had always fought for him?

As the night stretched on, the doubt lingered, and the loneliness settled in like an old friend. Because deep down, you feared the answer more than the silence.

#*ੈ✩༄ my works !#joe burrow x reader #joe burrow #joe burrow x y/n #joe burrow x you #joe burrow fan fic #joe burrow fic #joe burrow fanfic #joe burrow angst #joe burrow one shot #joe burrow imagine #nfl #nfl x reader #nfl fanfic #nfl angst #nfl x you

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foxymoxynoona · 8 months ago

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Amended Series Masterlist

(complete; 670,676 words) ➝ Police officer!Jungkook x Childhood Friend Single Mom OC

Getting into a bar fight is the least surprising part of Isabella’s return home. She sure doesn’t expect to run into her childhood friend turned high school enemy, now not just surprisingly a law-abiding citizen but a police officer. Things seem to be going great for him, but Isabella is struggling with more than a bar fight. A single mom with a sick grandmother, an alcoholic mother, an abusive ex, and a short fuse herself, matters are not helped that Jungkook seems to be everywhere. All the time. Especially every time Isabella messes up. Can she really believe him when he says he just wants to help?

Read on AO3 | Read Chapter 1 on Tumblr See ao3 tags for content warnings

⟹ Footnotes & Afterthoughts ➝ Ongoing collection of one shots related to Amended, may focus on side characters/pairings Read all on AO3 | Read on Tumblr:

- JK & Isabella are ready for a baby - They learn the sex of their baby - Hallowen Night: Zombie Parents Edition - An Afternoon with Namjoon & Sylvie - Wisdom (Teeth) Lost - Taehyung & Kristin: Friends - Pregnancy Announcement #1 - A Domestic Morning - JK & Lily: Ready to Roll - Welcome to the World, Kai - The Milk Murders - Baby Depot

#jungkook ff #jungkook fanfic #jungkook smut #jungkook x oc #jeon jungkook x oc #stepdad jungkook #dad jungkook #friends to lovers #enemies to lovers #police officer jungkook #jeon jungkook fanfic #jeon jungkook fluff #jungkook angst #bts fanfic

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flowerfreya · 6 months ago

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Best 3/4

Part 9 of the office AU

Masterlist

The boys figured that they need to lay off reader and the best way to do that is to back with their ex (boys are dumb)

Pairing : Poly!141 x reader

A/n: sorry there’s a lot of Simon x reader , he’s my comfort character and my fav trope is I har everyone but you and he gives that so much. I’m not the best writer so I have trouble with flow sometimes so bare with me

You’ve been working for 141 industries for about 2 months now, it’s nice to have your own. Own money, your own car, and your own apartment. You think that the boys have gotten back with their ex, and that is making you feels some things that if you didn’t care you shouldn’t feel.

Their ex only seems to like all of them except for Simon , he seems almost like an afterthought to her. She rolls in the office, always leaves the front door open and just waltzes into John’s office , without even an ask to see if he’s in a meeting.

“I’m sorry ,he’s in a mee-”, she interrupts you with a wave and a fake smile, goes in and shuts the door and closes the blinds. You huff out a breath and look up to see Simon staring at you , letting out a small shrug. Simon and you both stand up, it’s lunch time. Everyday at the same time , you get up and eat lunch , whether that is in the breakroom or getting something to eat at a fast food place. Simon started joining you a little over two weeks ago, you noticed that Simon doesn’t really bring lunch just eats shit out of the vending machine.

You started making and packing extra food for him.

“I have extra food today, if you want some”, you sit down at the same table next to him.

“`M good”, as he opens a bag of chips.

“Please just eat, I always make too much food”, shoving the food towards him. He gives you a look and you give him a small smile and nod your head towards the food.

“So, how long have you guys been dating”, you wave your hand in a you know who gesture.

He makes a hum noise, “who?”

“The women in Price’s office” .

“Oh,I guess our girlfriend”.

“She doesn’t seem to like to hang out with you”

“Yeah, well I’m not the best guy”.

“I beg to differ”, you think that Simon is the nicest guy you’ve met. He helped you when he really didn’t have too and likes to eat lunch with you and appreciates your food too.

You hear a shrill , “Receptionist”,she can’t even remember your name. She kind of slaps the table like she’s hitting a bell. You see her just standing there , waiting for you.

“Yes”

“I need you to clear John’s schedule for tomorrow afternoon”

You turn to look at John in office with the door shut, focused on his computer,”Uhh does John now about this”, you question.

“Of course, sweetie”, she is using her fake customer voice , you know because you are using it too.

“ I think, I’m going to ask him , just in case”, you start to move in the direction of his office. No way he really wants to clear his schedule, you’ve never seen him take lunch. A whole afternoon off, no way.

You knock as you push the door open, “Hi, Mr.Price, just trying to fig-”,

“Not now”.

“Oh well I was-”

He looks up then with a harsh brown and a closed mouth speaking through his teeth , “Not now”.

It shocks you, he’s never talked to you like that but you have been talked to like that a lot. Your natural response is to quiet down and get out the way. You quietly back out the room and sit back down at your desk.

You look up at her still waiting for you to clear the schedule, “I guess it’s fine”

“Wonderful” , she has such a wide smile and is so pretty. You think you hate her.

“Opps almost forgot”, she walks to Soap and gives him a big kiss and you can definitely see tongue. You want to look away but you can’t help it , it’s enticing. She lets out a little giggle and wipes her mouth and then saunters out the door.

Simon is sitting there, no kiss received, and is staring at you.

#task force 141 #simon riley x reader #poly!141 #soap x reader #gaz x reader #John price x reader #reader is very confused if she wants a boyfriend or 4 #let’s pretend that society doesn’t care if you have 4 boyfriends

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cooltmoney95 · 6 months ago

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Got my eyes set on this beauty next! I just have to finish DoY first.

#afternoon afterthoughts #avatar the last airbender #the chronicles of the avatar #the yangchen novels #the legacy of yangchen

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kissmenkillmen · 2 months ago

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⎯ ♥︎⚔️ ， word count. 1,162 . . . ⎯ ♥︎⚔️ ， f!reader x yuta okkotsu bf. sfw — domestic fluff. post-it love notes. soft morning moments. sweet little gestures. mutual appreciation. love through actions.

It was the kind of quiet afternoon that felt like a cocoon, where the outside world faded into an afterthought. The apartment hummed with a peaceful stillness, broken only by the faint rustle of turning pages and the occasional creak of the couch beneath you. Yuta was stationed at the dining table, his head bent low over a cluster of books and notebooks. His glasses perched precariously on the bridge of his nose as he scribbled notes furiously into the margins of a well-worn textbook. He looked utterly absorbed, the faint furrow in his brow betraying his usual intense focus whenever he was in research mode.

Meanwhile, you were nestled comfortably on the couch, one leg tucked beneath you, a cup of tea cooling on the coffee table as your eyes flitted across the pages of a novel. The world around you seemed to exhale in unison, letting the two of you bask in the kind of companionable silence that only comes with deep understanding and love.

You were mid-sentence, just about to turn the page, when a small flash of color caught your eye—a scrap of paper sticking out from the corner of the table. A post-it note. You tilted your head in curiosity, setting the book aside as you reached for it. The adhesive was faint, the corner curling slightly, but it held fast enough for you to carefully unfold it.

The familiar, slightly messy scrawl of Yuta’s handwriting greeted you: “Take a break soon, I’m making lunch. Love you.”

Your lips curled into a smile, warmth blooming in your chest. Yuta had always had a knack for the small things, the quiet gestures that spoke volumes without fanfare. This note was no exception. He’d probably written it hours ago, a subtle reminder for you to take care of yourself, even when he was too wrapped up in his work to say it out loud.

You glanced over at him, still engrossed in whatever mystery he was trying to untangle in his notes. His brows knit together in concentration, completely unaware of the discovery you’d just made. Rather than interrupt him, you carefully set the note back where you found it and turned your attention to a plan of your own.

Quietly slipping into the kitchen, you opened the cupboard where Yuta kept his favorite coffee blend. The rich, earthy scent filled the air as you prepared a cup, adding just the right amount of cream and sugar—exactly how he liked it when he needed a pick-me-up. While the coffee brewed, you noticed another post-it on the refrigerator door.

This one was a bit cheekier, with a tiny heart doodled next to the words: “Don’t forget to drink water!”

You couldn’t suppress the laugh that escaped you. Yuta’s thoughtfulness always found a way to sneak into even the most mundane moments. Balancing the coffee carefully, you returned to the table and set the cup down beside him. At first, he didn’t notice, his pen scratching furiously against paper, but as the aroma reached him, his movements stilled. His gaze flicked to the steaming mug, then slowly trailed upward to meet yours.

Before he could ask, you slipped a note of your own from your pocket and placed it next to his coffee. His brow quirked in confusion, but the soft, curious smile tugging at his lips betrayed his intrigue. He unfolded the small square and read the words aloud: “You’re the best. I’m proud of you.”

The flush that rose to his cheeks was instantaneous, spreading like wildfire across his fair skin. He looked at you, wide-eyed and a little flustered, before breaking into a soft laugh. “What’s this for?” he asked, though his voice carried more affection than confusion.

You shrugged, your grin betraying you. “Just thought you deserved a reminder,” you said simply. “You’re amazing, Yuta.”

For a moment, he didn’t respond, the weight of your words settling into the spaces between you. Then, with a tenderness that always caught you off guard, he reached for your hand, his thumb brushing over your knuckles as he pulled you closer. “I’m proud of you too,” he murmured, his voice low and sincere. “You have no idea how much.”

The next morning dawned with the same quiet intimacy. Yuta had risen early, the soft clink of the kettle pulling you from the edge of sleep. By the time you padded into the kitchen, still rubbing the last vestiges of sleep from your eyes, he was already at the table, surrounded by his usual chaos of notebooks and scribbles. His hair was adorably tousled, his glasses slipping low on his nose as he scribbled something furiously into the margins of a notebook.

“Good morning,” you mumbled, leaning down to press a kiss to the crown of his head. The smell of fresh tea and the faint remnants of his aftershave filled your senses, grounding you in the comfort of home.

“Morning, princess,” he replied, his soft smile enough to make your heart skip. “Did you sleep well?”

You nodded, moving to the counter to fix yourself a cup of tea. As the water boiled, your gaze wandered, eventually landing on a small post-it stuck to the refrigerator door. Peeling it off, you read the words written in his neat, slightly slanted handwriting: “Have a great day today! Don’t forget to smile. Love you always.”

Your chest swelled with affection, and as you sipped your tea, you began to notice more of them. Little notes tucked into corners and crevices, each one carrying a fragment of Yuta’s heart. One on the coffee maker reminded you to drink water. Another hidden in a picture frame declared you his favorite person. The trail of post-its felt like breadcrumbs, each one leading you closer to the quiet, enduring love he wove into your everyday life.

Smiling to yourself, you decided it was time for payback. Grabbing a pen and your own stack of post-its, you wrote your own notes in return. One on his laptop encouraged him to believe in himself. Another on his notebook teased him about his cute handwriting. You even slipped one into his hoodie pocket, knowing he’d find it later when you weren’t around: “When you see this, know I’m thinking about you.”

By the time Yuta returned to his desk, the post-its were waiting. You watched from the doorway as he sat down, the note on his laptop catching his eye. The soft laugh that escaped him was music to your ears, and when he turned to you, holding the note with an expression that could only be described as glowing, your heart soared.

“Payback, huh?” he teased, but his voice was thick with affection.

“Just making sure you know you’re loved,” you replied, grinning as you walked over to him.

He pulled you into his lap, his arms wrapping around you as his forehead rested against yours. “I think I know,” he murmured, his lips brushing yours in a soft kiss. “But you can keep reminding me.”

And so, the post-it wars continued, each note a reminder of the small but infinite ways you loved one another.

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charmed-quill · 26 days ago

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Burrow Bound// Bill Weasley x Reader Chapter 3

Authors note at end.

Original request by: @littlegreenteacup

Summary: Y/N, an American half-blood witch newly arrived in Muggle London, stumbles into the warmth of the Weasley brothers after a serendipitous meeting in Diagon Alley. Drawn into their world, she finds herself at the Burrow more often than not. Meanwhile, Bill Weasley is learning to navigate life as a single father, relying on his mother’s help to care for Victoire. Though their worlds orbit each other, Y/N and Bill’s paths never seem to align—until one evening when fate finally draws them together. Will it be the start of a love story, or will they be left with nothing but heartache?

word count: 3.5k

Last Chapter

Next Chapter

The letter had arrived on Thursday afternoon, the parchment folded haphazardly and shoved into her mailbox like an afterthought. Y/N frowned as she unfolded it, immediately greeted by the nearly indecipherable scrawl.

“We will pick you up after work and show you the best spots in London. Be not afraid.”

She tilted her head, squinting at the messy handwriting as if it might magically rearrange itself into something legible. It took a full five minutes of deciphering before the message became clear, and even then, it felt more like a command than an invitation. The tone practically oozed Fred and George, and she couldn’t help but grin.

By Friday, her excitement had built to an almost unbearable level. As much as she loved her job, the endless hours of cataloging artifacts and poring over dusty records could be mind-numbing. The thought of an evening with Fred and George, as chaotic as it was likely to be, felt like a breath of fresh air.

When the clock finally struck five, she bolted from her desk, her bag slung over her shoulder as she made her way to the museum’s grand entrance. The cool evening air greeted her as she stepped outside, but it wasn’t nearly as refreshing as the sight that awaited her.

Fred and George were waiting, just as they’d promised, or rather, threatened. George stood near the museum steps, pretending to study the architecture with an air of mock seriousness. Fred leaned casually against a lamppost, his arms crossed and a crooked grin on his face that spelled trouble.

“There she is!” George called, raising both arms like he was greeting a celebrity.

Fred, who had been leaning casually against a lamppost, straightened up and strode toward her with exaggerated pomp. “The woman of the hour! Ready for your initiation into proper London life?”

“Does this initiation involve any hexes?” Y/N asked suspiciously, crossing her arms but unable to suppress a grin.

Fred draped an arm around her shoulders as if they’d been friends for years. “Only if you insult the queen,” he said seriously. “Or refuse to join in our pub crawl.”

George sidled up on her other side, his grin matching Fred’s. “It’s very British, you see. Pints, laughter, and us guiding you through the evening like the stellar role models we are.”

“Role models?” she repeated, raising an eyebrow. “Are you sure about that?”

Fred gasped dramatically. “Y/N, you wound me.”

“But she’s not wrong,” George said, shrugging. “We are notoriously terrible influences.”

Y/N rolled her eyes as they began to walk, the twins on either side of her like an overly enthusiastic escort. “So, what exactly is the plan?” she asked, trying to hide her amusement.

“Simple,” Fred said, holding up a finger like a professor giving a lecture. “Step one: we take you to a pub that has the best chips this side of the Thames.”

“Step two,” George continued, “we dazzle you with our unparalleled charm.”

“Step three: you laugh so hard you cry,” Fred added.

“And step four: you tell everyone back at the museum how much fun you had with your two favorite Brits,” George finished with a wink.

Y/N couldn’t help but laugh, shaking her head at their antics. “I think ‘fun’ is one way to describe this.”

They led her through the bustling streets, their constant chatter making the city feel more alive than ever. Every few steps, Fred or George would point out something random

“That’s where a pigeon attacked Fred last year,” or, “Don’t go in there, their pies are cursed, and not in the fun way” keeping her laughing until her cheeks ached.

As they reached the first pub, Fred held the door open with an exaggerated bow, and George ushered her in with a flourish.

“Ladies first,” George said, grinning.

Y/N fanned her face with her hand, batting her eyelashes in a dramatic display. “What gentlemen,” she declared, “who said chivalry was dead?”

Fred and George exchanged a look, their matching smirks spelling trouble.

“Well, we do our best,” Fred said, puffing out his chest. “Someone’s got to uphold the honor of the family.”

“Yeah,” George added, giving her a once-over. “We’ll just pretend we don’t see the dirt on Fred’s shoes.”

Fred kicked at George’s shin, missing entirely as Y/N snorted, trying to suppress a laugh. Together, they ushered her into the pub, which looked nothing like the bars she was used to back home.

The room was dimly lit, with the warm glow of sconces and a roaring fire casting long shadows on the stone walls. The wooden beams overhead sagged slightly, as if they carried the weight of centuries of stories. The smell of ale, roasted meat, and something faintly herbal hung in the air, a far cry from the overly sanitized bars she’d frequented in the States. It was old, ancient, even.

Wherever they were now, she hadn’t even caught the name of the place, it looked like it belonged in a medieval village rather than the bustling city of London.

The mismatched chairs and uneven tables were packed with patrons, some laughing raucously, others bent over quiet games.

A smoky jukebox in the corner belted out a peculiar mix of jazz and folk music.

“What do you think?” Fred asked, steering her toward the bar.

Y/N glanced around, wide-eyed.

“I feel like I’m about to be accused of being a witch,” she said finally, her tone dry.

Fred laughed, clapping her lightly on the shoulder.

“Oh, don’t worry. If anyone starts yelling, we’ll just point at George and claim it’s all his fault.”

“Oi,” George protested, nudging Fred with his elbow. “I’m clearly the innocent one here.”

“Sure you are,” Y/N said with a grin, sliding onto one of the bar stools.

The bartender, a stout man with a beard that looked as old as the pub itself, approached them. His sharp eyes flicked over the trio, his expression softening as he saw the twins.

“Weasley trouble tonight?” he asked, his voice gravelly.

“Always,” Fred said brightly. “We’re initiating our friend here into the fine tradition of British pubs.”

The bartender nodded knowingly, wiping a glass with a cloth.

“First time, eh? Better start her off with something light.”

“Or,” George interrupted, leaning conspiratorially toward Y/N, “you could try the Dragon’s Breath.”

Fred’s eyes gleamed. “Ah, yes. Bold choice. It’ll definitely be memorable,.”

Y/N arched a brow, looking between the two of them.

“Sounds like a trap.”

“It’s not a trap,” Fred said, holding a hand to his chest as if offended. “It’s an experience.”

“Fine,” Y/N said, laughing. “I’ll take the Dragon’s Breath, but if it’s awful, you’re both buying me dessert.”

“Deal,” George said without hesitation, flagging down the bartender.

As they waited for their drinks, Y/N continued to take in the pub’s surroundings.

“So,” Fred said, pulling her attention back to them, “what’s the verdict so far? Are you utterly dazzled by our superior culture?”

“I’ll admit it,” Y/N said, leaning her elbows on the bar. “This place is pretty great. Though I don’t know if that’s the pub or you two.”

George grinned. “Oh, it’s definitely us.”

The bartender returned with her drink, a frothy amber pint that shimmered faintly.

Y/N hesitated, lifting the glass to her lips. The first sip was smooth, almost sweet, then the spice hit. Her eyes widened, and she coughed, thumping her chest as a fiery heat spread across her tongue.

Fred and George erupted into laughter, doubling over as she reached for a glass of water. “What—what did you give me?” she choked out, her voice half-scolding, half-amused.

“The Dragon’s Breath,” Fred wheezed. “We didn’t lie!”

“Welcome to Britain,” George added, raising his glass in a mock toast.

Despite herself, Y/N couldn’t stop laughing, even as her mouth burned.

The more she sipped her drink, the easier it became. The initial fiery burn of the Dragon’s Breath mellowed into a pleasant warmth that spread through her chest. By the time she reached the dregs of her glass, Y/N felt the first flickers of alcohol loosening her limbs and her laughter coming a little easier.

Fred and George jumped to their feet, practically in unison, and Fred tossed a handful of Galleons onto the table with a flourish. “Thank you for the hospitality as always, Aloc,” he announced, giving the bartender a theatrical bow.

“Yes, yes, so many pubs, so little time,” George chimed in, his grin wide as he took Y/N by the arm and steered her toward the door.

“What’s next on the agenda?” Y/N asked, stumbling slightly as they stepped out onto the cobbled streets. The alcohol was definitely working its way through her system now, leaving her pleasantly buzzed and warm.

“You’ll see,” George answered, shooting Fred a conspiratorial grin.

The Lamb & Flag was a narrow, historic pub hidden in the winding alleys of Covent Garden, its timeworn exterior glowing under the warm light of nearby gas lamps. Stepping inside felt like stepping into another era—one of Dickensian London, with its low, dark wooden beams and walls lined with faded paintings and ancient-looking maps. The tables were small and uneven, their surfaces polished to a shine by centuries of use, and the air buzzed with laughter, clinking glasses, and the occasional shout from the bar.

“This place has history,” George said, his voice reverent but his smirk betraying his true intentions as he led Y/N toward a corner booth. “Proper, real history. They say Charles Dickens drank here.”

“Charles Dickens?” Y/N repeated, looking around with wide eyes.

Fred leaned closer as they slid into the booth, his tone low and conspiratorial. “Yep. He wrote A Tale of Two Cities right in that corner.” He pointed to an empty chair by the fireplace, his face the picture of seriousness.

Y/N blinked, her gaze flicking to the chair, before narrowing her eyes suspiciously. “Really?”

George grinned. “Nope, but it sounded good, didn’t it?”

She laughed, shaking her head as Fred returned with three ciders. He placed one in front of her with a flourish. “Here you are. The second-best cider in London.”

“Second-best?” Y/N asked, raising an eyebrow as she took the glass.

Fred winked. “We save the best for last.”

The first sip of cider was crisp and refreshing, a welcome change from the fiery intensity of the Dragon’s Breath. Y/N leaned back in her seat, letting the buzz in her veins settle as the twins launched into another one of their ridiculous stories.

“So there we were,” George began, gesturing dramatically, “testing out one of our new prototypes, Weasley’s Wheezing Whistlebombs. A flawless invention, if I may say so.”

“It wasn’t flawless,” Fred interrupted, smirking. “You set your own hair on fire.”

“Details,” George said, waving a hand dismissively. “Anyway, this Muggle cop shows up, thinks we’re up to no good, which, fair enough, and Fred here decides to tell him we’re part of a street performance act.”

“It worked, didn’t it?” Fred said, grinning.

“Only because you juggled three fireworks while quoting Shakespeare!”

Y/N laughed so hard she nearly spilled her drink. “Wait—what did the cop do?”

“Oh, he was completely charmed,” George said smugly. “Even asked for tickets to our ‘next performance.’”

Fred raised his glass in a mock toast. “To the Weasley charm. Works every time.”

“To not getting arrested,” Y/N added, clinking her glass with theirs.

The cider went down smoothly, and Y/N found herself settling further into the warmth of the pub and the company of the twins. By the time they left the Lamb & Flag, the streetlights outside had come to life, and the crisp London evening felt charged with the promise of more mischief. Y/N looped her arms through theirs as they led her to the next stop, her laughter echoing down the cobblestone streets.

The George Inn was tucked away in Southwark, its sprawling courtyard glowing under strings of fairy lights. The creaking wooden floors and galleried balconies made it feel like a portal to another century. Y/N tilted her head back, marveling at the place as they stepped inside.

“This is like something out of a fairytale,” she murmured, taking in the lantern-lit beams and packed tables filled with patrons laughing over mugs of ale.

“Fairytale?” Fred scoffed, leading her to the bar. “This is real history. Shakespeare probably downed a pint here.”

“Or twenty,” George added, grinning. “He seemed like a party guy.”

They handed her another drink, this time a lighter ale. “This one’s easier,” Fred assured her, tapping his own glass. “A beginner’s choice.”

It was smoother than the last, but Y/N was feeling the effects now, her balance less sure and her laughter louder. The twins took full advantage, making increasingly ridiculous jokes about the "ghost of Shakespeare" sitting at the next table.

By the time they left, Y/N was leaning heavily on Fred’s arm, her cheeks red from both the alcohol and constant laughter. “I’m not sure if I’m drinking or just inhaling your nonsense,” she said, giggling as George led the way to their next destination.

“Both,” Fred said, grinning. “It’s the Weasley special.”

The Mayflower sat perched along the Thames, its timbered exterior glowing softly under the moonlight. Inside, the pub was dim and atmospheric, with wooden beams overhead and a crackling fireplace in the corner. The walls were adorned with nautical artifacts—old ropes, ship wheels, and faded maps that told stories of seafaring adventures.

“Now this,” Fred said as they stepped in, “is a proper pub. Oldest one along the river. They’ve been serving pints since before America even existed.”

George leaned toward Y/N, his smirk widening. “Feeling patriotic yet?”

Y/N rolled her eyes, laughing as Fred ordered them a round of stout. When the bartender slid a glass her way, she hesitated before taking a cautious sip. The dark, malty brew was rich and intense, and she blinked a few times as the flavor settled. “Wow. This one’s... strong.”

“Strong like us,” George said, flexing his arm dramatically.

“Or our ability to hold our liquor,” Fred added, clinking his glass with hers.

As the stout worked its way through her system, Y/N’s laughter became even freer, her words a little more slurred. She found herself caught up in the cozy atmosphere, watching the flickering firelight dance across the room as the twins bantered back and forth, keeping her in stitches with their antics.

By the time they left the Mayflower, Y/N stumbled slightly as she stepped outside, gripping George’s arm for balance. “You two,” she said, her voice a mix of exasperation and affection, “are going to ruin me.”

Fred grinned, looping an arm around her shoulders. “Ruin you? We’re upgrading you.”

“Cheers to that,” George added, leading the way to their final stop of the night.

The Spaniards Inn, perched on the edge of Hampstead Heath, seemed to glow in the moonlight, its old, crooked exterior oozing charm. Inside, the warmth of a roaring fireplace greeted them, and the scent of mulled cider mingled with the faint smokiness of the wood beams overhead. It was quieter than their earlier stops, with soft murmurs of conversation and the occasional clink of glasses adding to the cozy atmosphere.

Fred led the way to a corner booth, helping Y/N settle into the seat with a dramatic flourish. “Here we are,” he said. “The final chapter of tonight’s adventure.”

George returned moments later, carrying three steaming glasses of mulled cider. “The perfect drink to end the night,” he said, setting one in front of Y/N.

She took a cautious sip, the spicy warmth spreading through her like a comforting hug. “This is amazing,” she murmured, wrapping both hands around the glass as if she could soak up its heat.

“Best in the city,” Fred declared, leaning back in his chair.

As the night wore on, the cider worked its magic, loosening the last of Y/N’s inhibitions. Her laughter came easily, and her cheeks were warm—whether from the fire, the alcohol, or the company, she wasn’t sure. At some point, she leaned forward, resting her chin on her hand as she gazed at Fred and George with wide, glassy eyes.

“You know,” she began, her voice a little too loud and her words slurring slightly, “I don’t think I’ve ever met anyone like you two.”

Fred arched an eyebrow, his grin teasing. “Well, you’re not wrong. We are one of a kind.”

“No, I mean it,” she insisted, her hand wobbling slightly as she pointed at them. “You didn’t have to do this, taking me out, showing me around, making me feel... like I belong. But you did. And... and I’m just so grateful.”

George chuckled, leaning on the table to rest his chin in his hand, mirroring her. “Aw, Fred, she’s gone full sap on us. We’ve broken her.”

Fred nodded solemnly, raising his glass. “A masterpiece of our making. To Y/N, the sappiest American in all of London.”

“Stop it!” Y/N cried, though she was laughing as she swatted at him. “I’m being serious. You’ve made everything so much better. I didn’t think I’d find anyone like you here, and... and now I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

Fred and George exchanged a look, their grins softening. Fred reached over, giving her hand a light squeeze. “Well, you’re stuck with us now. No refunds.”

George raised his glass with a warm smile. “To Y/N, our new favorite stray kitten.”

“And to the best pub crawl in history,” Fred added, clinking his glass with hers.

Y/N beamed, her eyes misty as she lifted her glass to meet theirs. “To you two,” she said softly. “For being the best.”

Everything after the last pub was a blur. One moment Y/N was laughing uncontrollably with Fred and George in the middle of London, their arms linked as they stumbled down cobblestone streets. The next, she was waking up in an unfamiliar bedroom, her head pounding like a drum and her mouth as dry as parchment.

The midmorning sun poured through the window, mercilessly bright, forcing her to squint as she rolled over. Blinking a few times, she took in her surroundings—wooden beams, mismatched furniture, and a distinct homey clutter that she vaguely recognized. Voices floated up from somewhere below, muffled but distinctly cheerful.

Dragging herself out of bed, she shuffled to the door and twisted the knob, stepping out onto the landing. That’s when it hit her. The hallway, the stairs, the smell of something delicious wafting from the kitchen—she was at the Burrow.

Her foggy mind pieced it together as she descended the stairs, one hand gripping the banister for balance. By the time she reached the living room, three familiar grinning faces were waiting for her, their expressions far too smug for her liking.

“There she is,” Charlie said brightly, stepping forward and thrusting a mug of dark blue liquid into her hands.

Y/N didn’t bother asking questions. Trusting Charlie’s easy smile, she tipped the mug back and downed it in one gulp. The concoction was bitter and slightly fizzy, but as it went down, the pounding in her head began to ease almost immediately. She let out a long sigh of relief, her shoulders sagging as the tension melted away.

“Better?” Fred asked from his spot on the sofa, his head tilted lazily against the armrest as he grinned at her.

“So much better,” Y/N agreed, setting the mug down on a nearby table and giving Charlie a grateful nod.

“We thought we’d killed you last night,” George announced, leaning back in an armchair with a dramatic sigh. “You went down faster than a Quaffle through a goalpost.”

Y/N smiled sheepishly, rubbing the back of her neck. “Sorry, I probably should’ve mentioned I’m a bit of a lightweight.”

“A bit?” George repeated, his grin widening. “Lightweight is an understatement. You only had five drinks!”

Y/N shrugged, her smile turning playful. “What can I say? You two are a terrible influence.”

Fred sat up, clutching his chest in mock offense. “Us? A terrible influence? We were nothing but supportive of your pub crawl journey!”

“Supportive?” Y/N laughed, crossing her arms as she leaned against the doorway. “You gave me a drink called ‘Dragon’s Breath’ and said, ‘You’ll probably survive.’ That’s not supportive.”

George snorted, shaking his head. “It’s a rite of passage. You should be thanking us.”

“Thanking you?” she echoed, rolling her eyes but unable to stop the grin tugging at her lips.

Charlie chuckled, leaning against the back of a chair. “Well, you survived. That’s what matters. Welcome to the Burrow’s hangover cure services.”

“Much appreciated,” Y/N said, rubbing her temples for good measure before plopping down into an empty chair.

Fred and George exchanged a look, their grins widening. “So,” Fred said slowly, “ready for round two tonight?”

Y/N groaned, throwing a cushion at him. “Not a chance!”

The room erupted into laughter, and as Y/N sank further into the cozy atmosphere of the Burrow, her headache gone and her heart full, she couldn’t help but feel a little grateful for the chaos these Weasleys had brought into her life

a/n: this is most definetly a slow burn bc what do you mean its 10k words and the main love interest has been mentioned by name once? Okay so i really really promise that the next chapter is actually going to move the plot along im just such a sucker for relationship building. also i got the ides for this chapter based on a pub crawl i did in prague with this random american woman i met that same day, also i get extreamly sappy when I'm drunk lol.

#harry potter #bill weasley angst #bill weasley fluff #bill weasley x reader #bill weasley fanfiction #bill weasley #charmed writes 🖤

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starmocha · 8 months ago

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the day bleeds into nightfall [Zayne/MC ★ 1242 words ★ Masterlist ★ Series Index ★ AO3] She was coming home soon. A/N: So, um, you know those text messages you get from the guys when you don’t sign in for 30 days or more? Yeah…this stemmed from that…oops.

She was coming home soon.

It had been over a month since she was assigned a mission in another town. Zayne always worried whenever she was taken far away from him, though he knew she was a strong, capable fighter able to hold her ground against any wanderers no matter how big or small.

He couldn't help it. It was in his nature to always worry about her, to fuss over her, nag her—love her.

To assuage his worries, he kept up the text message exchange, finding solace in sharing tidbits of his mundane life with her as he waited for her to return home.

She was coming home soon.

Zayne passed a poster, pausing to examine it before he snapped a photo on his phone.

He typed out a message:

They're holding a new Kitty Cards event next month. Didn't I promise you a rematch last time?

He attached the photo and hit sent. He took another glance at the poster, and resumed his walk home, already seeing her seething across from him when he would, without a doubt, win again.

She was coming home soon.

It seemed his schedule as of late had been packed with surgeries after surgeries. He hadn't been home much recently, choosing to sleep in his car or office for a little bit instead out of mere convenience. When he needed sustenance, the cafeteria food would suffice or he would stop by one of the eateries near the hospital. For some reason, lately he didn’t care too much for taste, finding no pleasure in the meals he ate. He simply needed food from a biological standpoint, desiring only the energy they would give him to carry on with his life.

Remember to eat and sleep on time, he sent the message at noon and then reclined the seat in his car for a few minutes of shut eyes before his next scheduled surgery.

She was coming home soon.

Zayne mindlessly scrolled through the suggestions of movies on the TV's streaming app, finding nothing particularly interesting. He passed the different movies displayed, not reading the titles or even registering the thumbnails, but eventually he finally settled on a random psychological thriller, though his attention continued to remain elsewhere.

As the opening credit started, Zayne looked down at his phone, already typing away a new message for her:

The movie you wanted to see should be released by the time you come home. I'll buy us tickets. Hurry back.

She was coming home soon.

It's going to rain next Thursday. Dress appropriately, and don't dilly-dally in wet clothes.

He stared at the sent message, and without thinking, sent another one as an afterthought:

I can't always stay by your side.

She was coming home soon.

One day, after a particularly long meeting with the hospital's esteemed medical staff, Zayne returned to his office and noticed the potted plant on his desk near the window.

He settled into his seat, grabbed his cup of water, and poured the remaining liquid into the pot. He looked at the growing plant fondly before snapping a single photo to attach to his message:

The daffodil we bought together is thriving. Hurry back so you don't miss its flower.

He leaned back in his chair, chuckling softly at the memory of her mistaking garlic bulbs for daffodils.

She was coming home soon.

He visited the bakery near the hospital, the very same one where they had run into one another during an afternoon rain shower.

As he stared at the assortments of delectable pastries in the glass display case, he found that they did not brighten his mood as usual. In the back of his mind, he could hear the different voices competing to be heard.

Zayne breathed in sharply, wanting the voices to be silenced, and ordered one mille-feuille, not noticing the workers' surprised expression, unused to seeing the sweet-toothed doctor order so little.

When he returned to his car, Zayne opened the cake box and scooped a single forkful into his mouth.

If I have something sweet, I'd be happy, even if it was a bad day.

He dropped the plastic fork and broke down in his car.

That evening, he sent her another text:

Have you eaten yet? There is a new hot pot restaurant that opened downtown. Hurry on back to me. I'll let you indulge to your heart's content.

She was coming home soon.

He heard the hushed whispers, caught the sympathetic glances from his peripheral vision.

Greyson told him it was okay if he needed to take time off. All of the doctors at the hospital were ready to cover all of his shifts for as long as he needed.

At first Zayne dismissed everyone, baffled by their unusual reactions. It was just another normal day. Patients were in and out of the hospital like clockwork. There was no time to waste with small talks like this.

It was just another normal day. Like yesterday, and the day before, and the day before that, and the—

Zayne froze in the middle of the operation, his hands shaking as he heard the staff around him fall into a state of panic as the fifteen-year-old patient started experiencing Evol-related complications during the cardiac surgery. Normally level-headed, he found that he was unable to will his body and mind to act accordingly. He stood there, watching through blank eyes, this perfectly crafted world of his crumbling as the memories of the past three months stared him down in the surgery room in a cruel taunt.

She was coming home soon.

She was coming home soon…

At first, he couldn't hear any of the yelling from the surgery staff. Everything and everyone sounded like they were underwater, just muffled voices competing to be heard. Even everyone's movements seemed sluggish, as if time had slowed down, prolonging this hellish moment.

When Greyson rushed in and yanked Zayne away from the surgery table, screaming in his face, he immediately snapped out of his daze, and moved quickly to stabilize the patient, barking out orders to the staff.

By the end of the grueling, nerve-wracking hour, the young patient pulled through to everyone’s relief. Within twenty minutes, Zayne put in his request for an extended leave and offered his sincerest apology to the patient's family for his carelessness.

As he quietly left Akso Hospital, he heard the hushed whispers again, seeing the sympathetic glances from his peripheral vision.

He wished he was deaf and blind.

For the first half hour, he drove aimlessly through Linkon City before he found himself leaving behind the neon lights and heading to the cliffside on the outskirt of town overlooking the city. On the horizon, the colorful lights of the city competed for dominance with the bright stars in the night sky.

Zayne pulled out his phone, his fingers were already typing out a message for her, recalling his earlier incompetence. Halfway through the message, his eyes landed on the past conversations. He shakily scrolled up, reading the familiar one-sided conversation with an increasingly fast heartrate.

His breath hitched when he finally found one message from her, dated three months earlier:

Zayne, when I come home, let's make up for lost time! My treat!

He dropped his phone and screamed.

Three days later, he placed a small bouquet of jasmine for her.

“I miss—I love you…”

She was not coming home.

#love and deepspace #love and deepspace zayne #love and deepspace fanfiction #lnds fanfics #x — fanfics #lnds series — someone you loved #happy monday #i wrote angst #here to bum everyone out like zayne's new myth did to me

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ridox · 1 month ago

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Xavier’s Apartment — 1:02 AM

Xavier was awake, he already was when he heard the roar of a motorcycle engine cutting through the silent corridors of the night. Xavier was wide awake when he pulled back the translucent window curtains that did nothing to shield his bedroom floor from the morning light and he was awake when he watched you merrily skip out of the apartment building, white hair and red eyed man in tow.

Xavier has been losing sleep lately. At first it didn’t come as a bother, something he thought only came as a result of his countless mid-afternoon naps. He thought maybe this was normal, that him staying up late at night willing that no man show up to whisk you away was just an afterthought of what physical reason was causing his insomnia. But then his nightly visits became more frequent and Xavier couldn’t help but find himself silently watching night after night as he helped you get on his midnight motorcycle if only to whisk you away into secrecy of dusk.

The crowned prince was not none the wiser, he knew who he was, knew the crimes he’d been punished for in his home planet of Philos. He’s heard stories of the fiend that reaps vengeance against corrupt officials and knows just how he has willingly spared him on the rare occasions their paths did cross.

Of course, the fiend also knows of him. He knows how the crowned prince have found himself solace and refuge in the apartment just above yours and he knows the role he plays as your partner in a job that constantly risks exposure of his sworn secrecy. Coincidence was barely an afterthought, he had more pressing matters to attend to especially after his informants told him that the crowned prince’s own men were already after him.

He wouldn’t consider them anything but acquaintances but he does recognize the kindredness of their own spirits. He’s heard stories of a young girl back in Philos that occupied the prince’s heart which ultimately made him turn away from his sworn princely duties. He’s never met her, of course, only having heard whispers while he sat bare inside the cell they’ve thrown him into. Besides that, Sylus has more grace and tact than people would like to admit and to use other people to get his vengeance is just not something he would stoop so lowly into. The girl merely existed as an extension of the prince and if he’s being quite honest — Sylus doesn’t have anything against him.

But Sylus is aware of the keening eyes that followed him and his person all through the night. He has been ever since he first found himself in your building, hoping to whisk you away from some unnamed task he and his own henchmen could definitely finish on their own. He’s acutely aware of how a pair of eyes gently traced your outline as you skipped to his vehicle in utter bliss and complete unawareness.

It was the same for tonight. Xavier found himself standing in front of his balcony door. It has only been a quarter of an hour before he heard the creak of the building’s entrance and the muffled footsteps that trudged on the otherwise silent foyer.

Xavier watched briefly before you came into view and his eyes traced your entire person noting that you’re safe, you’ve no injury, you’re happy and you’re willingly following the fiend into the darkness of the night.

He watched you even when Sylus followed behind you, red eyes trained on yours but once again aware of his own watchful ones that came from the balcony just above yours. Sylus smiled softly before helping you with the helmet you gently prod at his arms, fastening it tightly before giving the top a teasing knock.

Xavier’s breath hitched when he saw the dark red swirls that suddenly appeared by the fiend’s fingertips, his sword made of light almost materializing in his palms, before he realized he was only using it to help you get on. The prince’s eyebrows furrowed before he willed his sword away and continued to watch.

There was a burning sensation clawing from underneath his chest, right where his heart should be. He feels it screaming at him, begging him to do something. He clutched his palm over it, steeling himself as he continued to watch you smile. Smile so softly at the white haired man, smile so bashfully as he whispered a quip, smiled contently when he finally walked to the other side, grabbing his own helmet to put in place.

Sylus paused momentarily to glimpse at the balcony window above yours. You were too busy settling yourself to even notice the breath of a whisper that carried itself through the wind. Xavier glanced back at him, not surprised with his direct regard of his watchful eyes. He nodded at him, an unspoken understanding shared only between the fiend and the crowned prince. And he nodded back up, a silent agreement to keep you safe from whatever lurks in the darkness of the night.

That was the first time Xavier and Sylus ever regarded each other. The crowned prince stood at his balcony window until Sylus got on the vehicle and drove you straight into the night. Only a silhouette of who once were remained at the empty streets below.

Xavier sighed, still feeling the suffocating clawing at his chest and yet he willed himself away from the balcony window, away from you, away from what should’ve been, away from what could’ve been. He thinks to himself that this is what he deserves, that self-punishment is only befitting for those with pasts like he. The dawn is still far away and sleep would not visit the crowned prince that night, but he finds comfort in the thought of you being happy — even if it’s the arms of another.

#i’m back #yes prior to being a sylus crash out acc i used to write fics #(more like word vomit them intermittently)#anyway! if i open requests do you think anyone will actually send stuff in #thoughts thoughts thoughts #love and deepspace #l&ds #lads #lds #lnds #xavier #xavier angst #xavier x reader #sylus #sylus angst #sylus x reader #ridox notes

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