#all this to say i love the way clara says his name

[mauvecardigans]

Mcflyjuly drabble, and again and again and again~

Day 4: Picnic

---

"Just go talk to her."

"It's not that simple!" Doc hisses. "You know as well as I do the dangers -- "

"Yeah, but Doc --" Marty waves the 1955 photo (Doc dismisses it, scoffing) " -- we already know this is okay!"

"Marty, nothing in that photo is okay."

"C'mon, Doc. Just go talk to her."

Doc glares, softens, then begins hesitating his way across the square.

"Excuse me," he says at his destination, "I wonder if you would do me the honor of joining me for a picnic."

"Oh," Clara says, her twinkling eyes meeting his. "Emmett, I'd love to."

[bussyslayer333]

There was something ‘bout you

summary: bradley bradshaw didn’t fall in love, especially not with uptight girls in his english lit class and especially not the ones being forced into tutoring him. college au

pairing: fratboy!bradley x tutor!reader

word count: 9.2k

warnings: swearing, mentions of drinking, mentions of blood, teeny amount of violence, smut (oral and pinv), bradley sucks so bad but he’s cute!! MDNI 18+

Bradley knew girls liked him, loved him even.

He once had a girl leave him a love letter after a night together. It was a sweet touch, the pink paper and the gel pen she’d written it in, he slept with her once more after that but had to cut her off once he caught her snipping a little bit of his hair off in the middle of the night.

Anyways, what Bradley had concluded is that he was an attractive guy. Not too classically like his roommate and best friend Jake with his blonde locks and ken doll looks. But in a boyish charming way with his “big brown puppy dog eyes” or whatever that girl had written in the letter.

So when his Eng Lit professor had told him he was going to be tutored by a girl in his class he was pretty excited to say the least. Truth be told, the only reason he had picked this Eng Lit class was because he knew there would be an abundance of girls in there, sure they were probably a little more intellectually advanced than the girls he would usually go for but maybe that was what he needed. Some girl obsessed with like gothic literature, Jake had assured him they were the freaks he needed to bag.

He’s already started tuning out Professor Clarke’s spiel on getting his grade up and started imagining all the hot girls in his class who could possibly be tutoring him. There was Clara, she was the kind of gothy Jake was on about, he could definitely be into that. Or even Natalie, she was who Bradley usually went for, pretty brunette and what Jake would call in his omniscience; a colossal rack.

“Bradley, are you listening to me?”

Bradley pulled his mind from the depths of analysis of the girls in his class and hummed,

“Yes, Professor.”

“So you know who I’m assigning to tutor you?”

Bradley winces apologetically and watches as Professor Clarke runs a hand down his face.

“Please, Bradley. I’m just asking you to try and put some effort in, she’s only gonna be able to do so much to help you, you need to help yourself.”

Bradley sighs, “who is it?”

When Professor Clarke gives Bradley your name and tells him that you’ll meet him after class tomorrow his first thought is “who the fuck is that?” and his second one is in mourning of being in forced proximity of a hot goth chick or one of the girls who he’s already slept with.

Bradley walks back to his house slightly dejected, if he couldn’t even recognise you from your name there was probably not a huge chance you were going to be the ‘bad boy gets taught in a different way by his tutor’ wet dream he was hoping for. When he finally gets back he finds Jake lounging on the couch with another one of his frat brothers Reuben.

Jake looks up from where him and Reuben are watching this weeks football highlights on the TV to meet Bradley’s moping gaze.

“You good bro?”

Bradley replies with a whine, “Professor Clarke is making some girl tutor me.”

Reuben snorts and shovels another handful of chips into his mouth, “hot.”

Bradley rolls his eyes and flops onto the couch in between his two friends. He says your name to the two boys and begins, “do you know her?”

Jake’s eyebrows furrow in thought for a moment before he smacks Reuben on the back of the head,

“Bro?” He whines.

“It’s the library chick!” Jake exclaims.

Reuben looks confused for a moment before he realises, “oh shit yeah!”

Jake and Reuben looks happy for themselves for a few moments before Bradley interrupts again, “When the fuck have you ever been to the library?”

Jake frowns, “I’ll have you know that I read, the classics are my favourite!”

“What classics?” Reuben scoffs.

Jake smiles, “You know, the classic ones?”

“Where’s Waldo isn’t a classic J,” Bradley smirks.

“Shut the fuck up, okay I was trying to impress this girl in my econ class.” Jake admits, “she’s very well read.”

Bradley mutters something about Jake being pussywhipped before deciding he needed to get back to the problem at hand. You.

“Okay, so library chick. Do I know her?”

Jake racks his mind for a minute, scowling at Reuben’s loud chewing sounds.

“Fuck, yeah okay, do you remember last year? She dropped that massive encyclopaedia on your hand after you whistled when she was bent over sorting out books.”

Bradley cringes in recollection. In his defence he did think he was complimenting you… albeit with not much class or subtlety. You were cute. Maybe a bit nerdy, but you clearly had guts which he appreciated.

“Shit.. yeah.”

Bradley hoped you weren’t one for grudges.

You weren’t for the most part, and when Professor Clarke had told you who you would be tutoring you had decided last years incident could be water under the bridge. You figured he didn’t even remember you, he hadn’t acknowledged your presence in the one class you shared either way.

However, when he came sauntering down from his seat right at the back of the lecture hall and paused in front of you by Professor Clarke’s desk you were already becoming mildly irritated.

Bradley could tell, and he also knew that he was goading it on by making eye contact with your tits before your eyes and then saying,

“Hey, beautiful.”

He watches as you scoff and mutter something that sounds similar to “fucking prick.” It makes him smile.

Professor Clarke sighs loudly and speaks directed towards you, “I trust you’ll be able to help Bradley, Lord knows he needs it.”

Bradley’s smile drops, “Hey! I literally submitted my last assignment in on time!”

Your face drops in shock, is that seriously what he considers a win?

Professor Clarke looks at Bradley and sighs once again, “you sent me a gif of a rat dancing and made the subject of the email “The Great Ratsby”.”

Bradley sputters slightly but clears his throat feeling the weighted stare of Professor Clarke still on him. The older man smiles thinly as you thank him for his time and move towards the door. Bradley is hot on your tail, and he rounds on you once the reach the corridor.

“So…. how are we doing this angel?”

Bradley can’t control how his lips quirk upwards at you apparent distaste for the pet name. He can’t help but wonder what you’d appreciate more; maybe sweetheart or baby or something cute like bunny. He’s snapped out of his thought process by you waving your hand in front of his face.

“Earth to Bradley?” You quip.

He shakes his head a smiles, “Sorry what was that sweetheart?”

He notices how your brows furrowed once again before you start up, “I could book a study room in the library? Wednesday at 6?”

Bradley nods, “Sure, can I get your number?”

You’re taken aback slightly before Bradley clarifies, “So we can text about when to meet?”

“Oh. Right, yeah of course.”

Bradley reaches for his phone in his hoodie pocket and hands it to you, opening it up to his contacts. Before you can type in your number you can’t help but notice the sheer amount of girls in his contacts. All with specific names.

cass (toothy ❌)

natalie (.)(.)

samantha (screamer ✅)

It makes you’re stomach churn in mild horror, which your push down in favour of finally typing in your number. You hand his phone back to him and watch as he chuckles whilst writing your contact name. He doesn’t let you see it before shooting you off a short “hi” text to send his number to your phone.

Bradley stares at you for a moment before whistling, “right… so I’ll see you Wednesday?”

You smile awkwardly back at him, “yeah.”

He readjusts his cap and nods in a goodbye before turning to leave the building. You try to ignore the sinking feeling in your stomach as you walk out the exit opposite.

It’s 6:45 on Wednesday when Bradley finally shows up. He’s wearing black joggers and a top that you presume is a few sizes too small with a cap placed backwards on his head.

He felt kind of shitty about being late, he was leaving to get to the library at 10 to 6 when Jake and his other frat brother Mickey called him over whilst they were playing COD, he thought he could squeeze in a game and not be too late. Evidently, he was wrong.

You’re reading a book which he doesn’t recognise when he finds you in the study room and begins to apologise.

“I’m sorry for being late sweetheart-”

“Yeah. Whatever Bradley, let’s just start.” You breathe out, not having the energy to listen to his excuses.

Bradley’s pissed at that. He came in here willing to apologise and you think you can make him feel bad? Not likely.

“There’s no need to get bitchy? I literally said I’m sorry.” Bradley snorts, pulling a chair out opposite you with a loud scrape.

You scoff, “seriously? I’ve been waiting for you for almost an hour!”

“Yeah and I said sorry!”

“That’s not the point-”

You catch yourself before you carry on, he wasn’t worth the waste of breath.

“Look it’s fine. Let’s just get started.”

Bradley pokes his tongue against the inside of his cheek and leans back.

“Alright.”

The session is as productive as you can make it with your significantly shorter period of time. You find out that Bradley knows little to nothing about any of the texts that you’re studying and enjoys annoying you deeply. You’re not sure whether he hates silence or just loves the sound of his own voice. You figure it’s the latter.

“You’re glasses don’t fit you properly.” He points out after you push them up your nose for the third time in the past minute.

They’re slipping down your nose as you look down to read over some notes Bradley had made.

“Sure they do.”

Bradley shrugs and leans back again. You can feel his heavy gaze on you as you push your glasses back up again. He doesn’t say anything. Just smiles.

You’re cute, for sure. He kind of digs your chunky cardigan library assistant vibe. Maybe if you loosened up a little he’d like you even more. Bradley starts to wonder what you’d be like at one of his frat parties. He doesn’t think he’s seen you anywhere outside of class or the library. Maybe you’d go absolutely buck wild after a few of Reuben’s infamously too strong drinks. He figures you’re probably his friend Bob’s type, you’re both sort of nerdy and cute in a mousy way.

Bradley doesn’t realise he’s been zoned out looking at your face for the past two minutes until he sees a book being dropped down on the desk in front of him. It gives him slight PTSD from the encyclopaedia incident. He picks up the book and looks at you, confused.

“What’s this?”

You laugh with an almost unbelieving look on your face.

“Shakespeare? Romeo and Juliet? We’ve just started going over it in class?”

Bradley picks up the book of various Shakespeare plays and skims through it until he reaches Romeo and Juliet.

“Yeah, my bad, I think I recognise this.”

You cringe inwardly at the amount of work you’re probably going to have to put in to stop Bradley from failing.

“Great.”

Bradley smiles at what he thinks is praise from you and goes back to reading the first scene of the play. You’re blessed with a blissful silence for a moment whilst Bradley reads and you send off a few texts to you roommate Maya about how the tutoring session is going.

maya 😘😘

how is it???????

you

he’s an idiot

i’m pretty sure i saw him read dickens on the reading list and snort and then mumble “dick” under his breath

maya 😘😘

LMFAO

the cute ones are never smart

you

ew

maya 😘😘

shut up you’d hit

you

i find that offensive

Before you can send off another annoyed text to your friend, Bradley speaks up again.

“Do you like, read and shit?”

You stifle a giggle, “what?”

“Like books?”

“Are you seriously asking the girl who works at the library-”

Bradley chuckles, “Okay! I see my mistake, what’s you’re favourite book then?”

You hum whilst staring at him, it was an oddly thoughtful question.

“Probably Wuthering Heights. It’s by Emily Brontë.”

You’re not quite sure why you told him the last part. There was no doubt in your mind that Bradley Bradshaw did not know who the Brontë sisters were.

He cocks his head to the side, “what’s it about?”

You’re not sure whether Bradley genuinely wants to know about you and your interests or if he just doesn’t want to actually study, Bradley is equally confused because he’s asking his question in earnest.

“It’s about this guy called Heathcliff who gets adopted into this family and falls in love with his sister Catherine, he grows up to find out that she’s a married another man and basically becomes obsessed with avenging what could have been his.” You try to explain as simply as possible.

“HIS SISTER?” Bradley exclaims with a laugh.

“It’s not like that-”

“Babe, I didn’t realise you were into that freak shit.”

You can’t control your laugh at the absurdity of his words. Bradley really likes that sound, and the way that your eyes crinkle. It’s weird, he suddenly feels like he wants to be the only person to make you do that.

Once you’ve calmed down you look back up to see Bradley staring at you once again. You quirk an eyebrow up questioningly before looking at the clock behind him.

“Shit, we need to go. I only booked this place till 8.”

“What! I swear I only just got here!”

You snort, “Yeah well if you’d been on time…”

Bradley pouts at you, “Baby, please. I’m sorry.”

It’s half mocking, but the way he’s staring up at you with wide eyes makes your stomach flutter slightly. You shake your head as if to banish the thoughts and begin picking up your books.

“Just be on time next week, please.”

Bradley stands, moving round the table and pats you on the head.

“Of course, sweetheart.”

The gesture makes your frown slightly, but it served as a reminder for how you suppose Bradley truly feels about you. You’re not friends, and he doesn’t like you in any romantic capacity. You’re just the girl forced into tutoring him.

The next few tutoring sessions go somewhat the same. Bradley has a short attention span but tries his best, he’s nice enough to you that you can sometimes forget he’s slept with half the girls in your class.

You’re sat next to him in the study room doing some quick flash card recap questions. He’s fiddling with a thread at the end of your long sleeve shirt, it feels kind of intimate but you don’t want to look into it too hard. It’s been like this over the past few weeks, touches that last too long and his incessant usage of pet names. But, every time you begin to let yourself feel special you’ll catch a glimpse of a girls name flash across his phone screen and your predicament hits you right across the face with a loud crack; shattering the hope you’ve been building.

Bradley moves from playing with the thread on your top sleeve to your fingers, mumbling a correct answer to one of your questions. He keeps finding the need to be close to you, and not even always in a sexual way which shocks him the most. Don’t get him wrong, he’s definitely thought about it a few times in the shower, or in his bed or even when he was fucking Natalie last week and he suddenly thought about how cute you’d look with your glasses sliding down your nose whilst you’re sat on top of him. He had to look away from Natalie for the rest of the time she was there, he felt too guilty.

The morning after when Natalie had left surprisingly early, Jake (who had been noticing the lack of girls flowing in and out of his shared room on Bradley’s part) had an inkling as to why.

“You like her.” Jake declares as he plops himself down in the gaming chair in his room, spinning to face where Bradley is lying on his bed.

“What?”

“The library chick. The one who’s been tutoring you.” Jake expands.

“What do you mean?”

“You like her!”

Bradley huffs, annoyed at Jake’s insistence, “yeah, she’s cool.”

Jake rolls his eyes, “no, you like like her.”

“You’re 12, and no I don’t!” Bradley removes his hands from behind his head and moves to sit up straighter against his headboard.

Jake clicks his tongue, “okay so you wouldn’t mind if I fucked her?”

Bradley cocks his head to the side but doesn’t say anything.

“I’ve been thinking about it for a while now, she’s kind of hot.”

Jake watched as a muscle in Bradley’s jaw ticks. He knows he’s struck gold.

“Maybe we’ll do some roleplay, she can be my sexy teacher and I’ll bend her over the desk.” Jake wraps his knuckles against the desk behind him and chuckles, “sturdy.”

Jake knows he’s almost got Bradley as he watches him clench and unclench his fist.

“I mean that ass, it’s insane really I’ll tell you how it feels afterwards if you-”

“Shut the fuck up! Fuck! Fine okay I fucking like her, what do you want me to say?!”

Bradley’s outburst doesn’t surprise Jake in the slightest. In fact, it puts a smile on his face.

“Nothing. I just wanted to know.”

Bradley rubs a hand down his face, he’s pretty sure he’s never felt like this before. It kind of scares him to be honest.

“You should invite her here on Friday.”

Friday. For the party. Bradley thinks about it for a second, “Bro, not if you’re going to try and fuck her.”

Jake chuckles, “she’s all yours, her roommate is the girl from my econ class so if anything this is selfish of me.”

Bradley smiles, “alright.”

After Bradley answers another question correct you smile at him brightly.

“Looks like somebody’s been hitting the books!” You poke, setting your flash cards down on the table.

Bradley warms at the praise and looks at you for a moment.

“Will you come to my party on Friday?”

You study his face for a moment, he looks almost nervous.

“I don’t know Brad, it’s not really my scene and I wouldn’t really know anyone,” you smile apologetically at him.

“You know me!” Bradley reasons, pulling your hand into his.

“And you’re gonna spend the whole night sitting with me? You’re funny.”

Bradley thinks about how he’d definitely do that if you asked him to.

“Bring your roommate! Maya is it? I’m pretty sure Jake is in love with her.”

Bradley’s words make you giggle and you consider for a moment, when you look back to Bradley he’s got an adorable pout on his lips,

“Please don’t make me beg, angel.”

Although the idea of Bradley on his knees begging is tempting, you’re not that cruel. You pretend to think for a moment more before answering.

“Fine. But only in the name of Jake and Maya.”

Bradley is pleased with your answer, “Thanks, angel.”

You smile, “whatever.”

You check your phone and find that you’ve spent the last 10 minutes of the session just chatting with Bradley.

“We need to go,” You remind him.

Bradley looks a little crestfallen but stands anyway. He helps you gather your books and puts them into your tote bag for you.

“Thanks.” You mumble as he hands the bag to you.

He scratches the back of his head for a moment before speaking, “Can I, like, walk you back?”

His gesture makes you smile, as well as his sort of nervous demeanour, “Little old me? Bradley Bradshaw wants to walk little old me home?” you tease.

The familiar smirk makes its way back onto Bradley’s face at your prodding. “Shut up, I’m being a gentleman or whatever.”

“Well then, who am I to decline?” You smile at him.

“Dork.” Bradley mutters under his breath as he opens the door for you.

Bradley takes your bag off of your shoulder and places it on his own, once he feels the weight settles down he looks at you shocked,

“You carry this shit around everywhere?”

The confused look in his eye makes you laugh, “yes?”

“This is so heavy? What are you even carrying?”

“Books? My laptop?”

Bradley laughs, “Shit, maybe I need to start coming to these sessions more prepared.”

Bradley pushes open the main door to the library and the cold night air hits you unexpectedly, making you shiver in your long sleeve tee. He looks down at your attire and rolls his eyes.

“Hold this for a sec.” Bradley drops your bag back into your hands and begins to pull his hoodie up over his head.

You go to protest but your mouth falls open awkwardly at the way his t-shirt rides up, exposing his toned lower abdomen and the sprinkling of hair that leads all the way down-

“Angel?”

“Yes! Sorry, what?” You stutter out with a chuckle.

Bradley gestures for you to hand him back the bag and hands out the hoodie with his other hand. You take it and pull it over your head, revelling in the smell of it. It’s partly his cologne and the rest something uniquely him.

“Ready to go?” Bradley asks, looking down at you.

“Sure,” You smile up at him.

Bradley feels his stomach flip, looking down at your frame drowned in his hoodie. Before he can even process what he’s doing Bradley has slipped his hand into yours. You don’t say anything in fear of him retracting it but the smile that sits on your face is blinding.

You walk in a comfortable silence for a few minutes, Bradley squeezing your hand every now and then in reassurance. You turn a corner and watch as you apartment complex comes into view. Squeezing his hand you look up at him and speak,

“This is me.”

Bradley pouts a little, “You don’t want me to walk you all the way in?”

You giggle and shake your head, “No don’t worry.”

You reach for the hem of the hoodie and begin to pull it up when Bradley stops you.

“Keep it. Please. It looks better on you.” He almost whispers.

You flush at his words and look at him with furrowed brows, trying to study his expression. Whether he’s being truthful or not. He hands your bag back over to you and nods.

“If you’re sure.” You smile, “I’ll see you Friday?”

Bradley winks, “You better.”

“Night Bradley.”

“Goodnight, angel.” Bradley hums.

He watches your retreating frame until you’re inside of your building before spinning on his heel to walk in the opposite direction back to his house.

Bradley pulls his phone out of his pocket, checking through his messages as he walks. He finds himself deleting almost all of the irrelevant numbers from girls that had been littering his contacts without much thought. Once he’s done he goes to pocket his phone again before it vibrates in his hand.

angel ❤️‍🩹

thank u <3

Maya has been ready to go for the past half an hour as she sits on your bed and watches as you pick up various dresses and items of clothing before discarding them on the floor.

You’ll admit you probably look ridiculous stood in your underwear with a full face of makeup on and your hair pulled up into a styled ponytail but it was not your priority at this second.

“I have nothing to wear! I’m not going Maya, just go without me!”

Maya sighs and walks towards you’re closet, rifling through the particularly skimpy dresses you had purposely avoided. She pulls out a short blue halter neck dress and shoves it into your hands.

“Go put this on.”

You roll your eyes at her tone, “okay, mom.”

“And don’t ruin the makeup I did!”

You wander into the little bathroom and begin to pull the dress over your head when Maya opens the door with a tiny scrap of fabric in her hands.

“You are not wearing those granny panties,” She looks pointedly down at the cotton panties with flowers that you have on.

You pout, “They’re comfy.”

Maya struts over and places the lacy garment in your hand, “Bradley can thank me later.”

“Shut up!” You exclaim, trying to hide your smile.

“I’ll be in here if you need me,” She giggles,

“Wait! Maya you didn’t give me a bra!” You whine.

She rolls her eyes, “I know.” Before closing the door behind her.

You strip out of your comfy underwear and look down at the baby blue lace and sigh, at least you’d shaved. Pulling the dress over your head whilst trying to maintain Maya’s artistry was hard but not impossible you found, and when you pulled the dress the rest of the way down you realised you didn’t need a bra anyway. You spin a little, looking at yourself in the mirror. You looked good.

There’s a new found confidence in your walk as you make your way back to your bedroom where Maya is sat fiddling with the buckle on a pair of wedges in her lap. When she looks up she hollers at you,

“Damnn! Twirl for me gorgeous!”

You laugh at her antics but indulge her anyway gasping in faux shock when she slaps your butt playfully. She hands over the wedges and your eyes widen slightly at the height.

Maya laughs at your expression, “baby don’t worry I’m sure they’ll be in the air more than they’ll be on the ground anyway.”

“You’re relentless!” You swat at her before bending down to do up the shoes.

You gather your phone and some lipgloss before linking your arms in Maya’s.

“Let’s go?”

“Let’s go.” She confirms.

You check your phone once your a block away from Bradley’s frat house. There’s a few messages from him that you’ve yet to respond to.

brad 🙃

when are u getting here??

i miss u angel

you

almost there :)

You snort at how needy Bradley sounded, there was probably enough girls there to keep him entertained.

It’s not hard to miss Bradley’s house, there are people littered around the front yard drinking and the music could be heard from at least a block away. As you walk up the steps on the front porch you wobble slightly on your wedges and Maya steadies you, she sees the anxious look in your eyes and smiles,

“You look so hot right now babe,”

You roll your eyes but let the nerves sink down as she grips onto your hand tighter.

The house is pretty packed with girls in tiny outfits and an unnerving amount of shirtless dudes. Maya leads you through the crowds to where there’s a group of dudes playing beer pong. As you get closer you recognise Jake and Bradley and a few other guys from their frat.

Jake spots you both first, nudging Bradley. You’re not sure why you’re so nervous when Bradley makes eye contact with you and starts making his way over, much to the disappointment of the frat bro he was playing with. You look to your side to find that Maya has already made her way over to Jake and when you look back Bradley is right in front of you.

He’s still tall enough that you have to look up to make eye contact with him, and his cologne clouds your thoughts. He takes your hand and drags you over to a quieter corner of the room. Bradley’s eyes rake over your form hungrily, you drop your hands in front of your stomach almost on autopilot.

“You look incredible, angel.” Bradley speaks earnestly.

He takes both your hands in his and holds them up so he can stare at you again.

You can feel the heat emanating from your cheeks as you look up at him, “You think?” You ask somewhat coyly.

Bradley nods, tongue poking out of his mouth in concentration, making you giggle. He takes one of your hands and spins you around just slightly and whistles lowly,

“Can I take a picture?”

You roll your eyes and spin back around to face him, pushing lightly at his chest, “Shut up.”

He raises both hands in mock defence and shrugs, “worth a shot.”

You move to stand to the side of him, back against the wall and take a moment to look at him. He looks handsome, as always, but you can tell he’s put extra effort in. He’s wearing a thin shirt with two of the middle buttons done up and dark jeans. You’re sure he could have forgone the shirt with how much of his skin is exposed but you can’t complain seeing how tightly it fits around his biceps. His hair is tousled but in a way that looks purposeful and he smells incredible.

Without realising, you’ve inched closer to Bradley and his cologne hits your nose in a pleasant surprise. When you meet his eyes you find that he’s already looking at you.

“You smell good,” you murmur.

Bradley leans down so that you can hear him clearly, “thank you, angel.”

His lips brush against the shell of your ear so delicately that you could almost pretend that you imagined it, but the way a shiver runs down your spine tells you otherwise. Before you get a chance to compose yourself Bradley is imposing on your personal space again and speaking into you ear,

“Do you want me to get you a drink?” He nods towards the kitchen on the far side of the house.

You consider for a moment, then nod.

“Please.”

Maybe it would help calm your nerves.

“I’ll be back in a sec.”

Bradley departs from his space next to you with a wink, his lack of presence already making you frown. Instead of moping, you survey the surrounding area for Maya, hoping to check in with her.

You finally catch sight of her when her hot pink dress catches your eye as she ascends the main staircase with a tall blonde who you can only recognise as Jake. You giggle, swiping open your phone to send her a text.

you

use protection 😘

You can only hope she reads your message.

After a few more moments of scrolling through your phone you look up to realise Bradley still hasn’t made his way back to you. First you consider the fact that this is a party that he is hosting, he could have been sidetracked by any one of his numerous frat brothers or friends.

So, you decide to make your way to the kitchen, just so you could retrieve your drink of course.

What you’re not prepared to see is short brunette girl kissing Bradley, because of course that’s what held him up from getting your drink. It serves as a reminder of the fact that he is not your boyfriend and had no intention of being so, you figure he probably got tired of waiting for you to put out so he moved onto the next girl. You see that someone had lined up a few tequila shots on the counter nearest to you and knock back the few closest, wincing as the liquid warms the back of your throat all the way down to your stomach.

You close your eyes and breathe out, stomach churning from the shots and sight you’ve just seen, you spin on your heel to walk away from the counter but stumble whilst turning around too quickly. You probably would have hit the floor if it wasn’t for a strong grasp, steadying you by the waist.

“Shit, you okay darlin’?” The person who saved you from near embarrassment drawls out.

You steady yourself with hands on his surprisingly hard chest and look up into his blue eyes. He’s handsome, even with his wired frame glasses slipping down his sloped nose. He’s not less attractive than Bradley, just in a more refined way.

“God, I’m sorry, I’m not used to wearing shoes this high yet.” You mumble sheepishly, frustrated that you’ve managed to embarrass yourself in front of another freakishly attractive man.

“I’m Robert or Bob or whatever you want to call me,” Robert smiles down at you, speaking somewhat loudly to combat the thumping bass of whatever song was currently playing.

You give him your name and he smiles brighter if possible, almost as if he’s shocked you’re still talking to him.

“Pretty name for a pretty girl.” He charms, watching you giggle.

His words almost make you forget what you had seen in the kitchen, the memory making you frown ever so slightly. Robert mistakes this for annoyance at his words and quickly adds on,

“Sorry, that was stupid and-”

You’re quick to silence his anxieties, “No, I liked it.” You speak in earnest, propelled by liquid courage.

Robert scratches the back of his neck and cocks his head to the side, “Do you want to dance?”

His question makes you smile, because yeah you do want to dance and fuck Bradley Bradshaw.

“Totally.” You beam up at him.

Robert pulls you toward the living room where people are crammed together dancing, sweaty bodies moving on top of each other in some cases almost obscenely.

The music seems to be vibrating off of the walls and the familiar voices of Rihanna and Bryson Tiller fill your ears. Robert seems somewhat apprehensive but the tequila buzzing through you makes you confident as you turn you back to him, grinding your ass back subtly as to test the waters. Robert’s hands move to grip at your waist, aiding you in grinding back onto him. You move one of your arms to rest around his neck and you giggle as you hear him groan quietly into your hair.

Bradley returns to where he’d left you flustered and annoyed carrying two red cups. Natalie had cornered him in the kitchen and tried to kiss him. He was furious, he’d sent her a text a few days ago apologising and letting her know he wasn’t interested in seeing her again. Clearly, that didn’t matter to her. After she had forced herself on him, he shoved her off somewhat awkwardly and told her firmly that he wasn’t interested. Bradley realised she was clearly already plastered and retrieved one of her friends from nearby to look after her.

He felt bad for leaving you on your own for so long but he hoped that if he could explain you wouldn’t be too annoyed.

However, when he gets back he finds that you’re not there. Initially, he worries that you’d left to go home. But after scanning the large living room packed with people, he spots you, grinding back onto his friend Bob.

Bradley’s stomach drops watching how you giggle at something Bob has whispered into your ear, how his hands and wrapped around your waist and how your ass is grinding back onto his crotch.

Without realising, Bradley has began to storm through the clumps of intoxicated people, dropping the drinks on a side table nearby. Fuelled by anger and jealously he pulls at one of Bob’s arms wrapped around your waist.

Bob stumbles back and turns with brows furrowed,

“Bradley? Are you okay-”

Before he can finish his question, Bradley’s fist hits the side of Bob’s nose with a sickening crunch, pushing him to the ground before raising his fist to hit him again.

The people who were previously dancing have made a circle around the commotion, drawing the attention of Bradley’s frat brothers Reuben and Mickey who push to the middle of the circle and grab Bradley before he can cause anymore damage.

“What the fuck man!” Reuben scolds in his ear, pulling him from his anger induced trance.

Bradley stops struggling against Reuben and Mickey’s grip, and instead looks down to see you tearfully wiping at the blood spilling from Bob’s nose in copious amounts.

Your watery eyes are looking up at him with so much anger that he feels bile rising in his throat. He runs a bruised hand through his sweaty hair and sighs. He can hear Mickey trying to get everyone to disperse, clearly not wanting his friend’s dirty laundry being aired out in front of everyone they know. Bradley can’t focus on any of the words being spoken to him, just the utter look of disappointment on your face.

A few hours later almost everyone has left the house. You’re sat on a bench in the backyard knees tucked under you and wedges removed and on the floor. Maya and Jake are sat next to you, they had returned to find an almost empty house save for you and Jake’s frat brothers.

Bradley had stormed out following Reuben and Mickey’s intervention, he couldn’t handle looking at your sad face and being the one who caused it.

“I just don’t know what the fuck he wants from me!” You exclaim to Maya.

Her and Jake had been filled in by you and Jake had the decency to look sheepish. It was his idea to invite you tonight, he knew how Bradley felt about you but it wasn’t necessarily his place to say.

You didn’t know how to feel, you were still upset from seeing him kiss that girl, confused as to why he punched Robert if he clearly wasn’t interested in you. Maybe it was some strange frat bro mentality, he didn’t want you but he also didn’t want anyone else to have you? It was all too confusing for 2am.

Maya’s hand is comforting on your back, rubbing circles and trying to alleviate the stress radiating off of you. Guilt is eating at Jake’s stomach and he’s about to spill everything he knows when he hears the glass patio doors opening from behind him.

He turns back and makes eye contact with Bradley, trying to non verbally say “not the time.” But you’ve noticed his presence before Jake can save him.

“Fuck off, Bradley.”

Bradley winces, he deserves your anger.

“Angel, please. Hear me out?” Bradley pleads.

He looks awkward, scratching at the back of his neck, nervous for your answer.

You look to Maya and she shrugs. She thinks you should hear him out, of course she does.

You sigh, “Fine.”

Jake and Maya exchange words silently and move to leave. Jake pats Bradley on the shoulder, he knows how shitty Bradley feels about how tonight went down and he also knows that he’s just been at Bob’s apartment apologising profusely.

Bradley sits down on the bench next to you, he wants nothing more than to pull you into his lap and tuck his chin on top of your head, but he knows that probably wouldn’t go down too well right now.

“I’m so fucking sorry angel.” Bradley breathes out.

You raise your eyebrows, “I don’t get you Bradley!” you huff out, “You walk me home and call me ‘angel’ and you have no concept of personal space but then I see you kissing some girl in the kitchen whilst you’re supposedly getting me a drink and then as soon as I-”

“I wasn’t kissing anyone!” Bradley cuts in, confused.

“Bradley there was only one person in that house wearing a floral button up and he was kissing a girl in the kitchen when I went to check on you.”

Bradley racks his brain for a moment before he realises what you’re talking about.

“Oh shit. Natalie.” Bradley concludes, mostly to himself.

You roll your eyes, “Great to know you caught her name before you let her shove her tongue down your throat.”

Now you knew her name you recognised her, she was in your Eng Lit class. Natalie was gorgeous to make you feel even worse.

“Angel, I didn’t want to kiss her.” Bradley sighs, “she was wasted and pushed herself on me.”

You look at him sadly, wanting so badly to believe him, “really?”

Bradley shuffles closer towards you, placing his hand over yours resting on the faded wood of the bench.

“I wouldn’t lie, angel.” Bradley promises, squeezing your hand.

“Still doesn’t excuse you acting like a fucking neanderthal and punching Robert, he didn’t deserve that. He’s sweet.” You’re not willing to fully forgive him yet.

Bradley feels anxiety pool in his stomach, at the thought of what he’s going to have to say to you.

“I know and I told him how sorry I was. I just, you make me crazy you know?” Bradley laughs out, “the first time I met you, you dropped an encyclopaedia on my hand. Do you remember that?”

You giggle slightly at the memory, “You deserved it.”

“Yeah well the thing is sweetheart, I deserve a lot of shit. I know I kind of fucking suck, but one thing I really don’t deserve is you.” Bradley smiles nervously.

“You’re so smart, and I’m such an idiot because I thought I could try and pretend that I’m not in love with you.”

Your eyes widen at Bradley’s confession. He looks pale with anxiety, he doesn’t think he can remember a time where he’d ever been nervous when talking to a girl. But this was so much different. Because it’s you.

Bradley can’t help the word vomit that seems to be pouring out of his lips, “You’re so beautiful, but that’s not the reason I love you. I love how smart you are and how you’re funnier than me and all my friends combined. I love the way you make me feel when I’m with you. I know I’ve probably completely fucked this up tonight but I just wanted you to know how I feel.”

The vulnerability in Bradley’s words makes your heart clench, the way his eyes are staring at you so deeply, shining in the moonlight like he’d do anything for you. You can feel the tears pooling in your lash line.

“Oh Bradley.” You give him a watery smile, reaching your free hand up to cup at his jawline.

“I love you too, you dick.”

Bradley laughs, loud. Relief is sweet but not as sweet as how you look, staring at him with wide eyes and pouted lips.

“Can I kiss you?” He whispers.

You nod and surge forward, hands coming to rest around his neck. Bradley pulls you into his lap and connects your lips. He thinks about the cherry chapstick you always carry in your bag and how he can taste it on you now, how soft your lips feel against his. His tongue pushes against your lips tentatively, you grant him access and sigh contentedly at the feeling of him.

One of Bradley’s hands is soft at the back of your head, guiding you against him gently whilst the other is tracing circles against your hips rhythmically. You trace your nails in patterns against the short hair and the back of his head and smile into the kiss as he moans at the feeling.

Bradley goes to deepen the kiss once again but is stopped abruptly by a noise coming from behind him.

“We should check on them, oh-”

You pull back from Bradley sheepishly with a wet saliva caused noise and make eye contact with Maya. Then Jake.

Jake is the first to laugh, “I told you they’d be fine.”

You wake up before Bradley at noon the next day. You’re lying in his bed draped in a large t-shirt of his.

The sun is streaming through his thin curtains and you’ve been swapping your gaze between a shirtless Bradley and something that caught your eye on his bedside table.

Bradley begins to stir with an aggressive yawn and stretch that almost wipes you out. You whack his arm out of your face and lean down kiss his forehead.

“Morning, sleeping beauty.” You giggle.

Bradley groans and smushes his face into your boobs,

“I’m tired.” he mumbles, muffled.

You thread a hand through his curls and speak tentatively,

“I have a question.”

Bradley sits up at that, moving so he can look at you properly.

“When did you get this?” You reach for the book on his bedside table, it’s a copy of Wuthering Heights with an old receipt sticking out at around the half way mark being used in place of a proper bookmark.

Bradley’s cheeks flush slightly, “Like, I don’t know. Maybe a few days after that first session in the library.”

Your cheeks hurt from trying to suppress your smile. You reach forward and kiss him sweetly, handing resting on his toned chest.

When you pull back he chuckles, “I wanted to impress you.”

“That is the sexiest thing anyone has ever done for me.”

Bradley cackles at your emission until he realises how deadly serious you’re being.

“Angel.. we need to change that.” He smiles, lifting at the hem of his shirt on your frame.

You hum and connect your lips again, slipping your tongue into his mouth as he begins to pull at the t-shirt.

You separate for a moment to let him pull it off you fully. On reaction your hands reach up to cover yourself but Bradley catches them before you get the chance. He manoeuvres you so that he’s now the one on top and stares down at you hungrily.

“Jesus christ, angel.”

His hands reach for you breasts, squeezing them appreciatively. His thumbs flick over your pebbled nipples, smirking upon seeing how you preen into his touch, back arching up off of the bed.

Bradley moves to kiss down from your lips to you collarbones, paying specific attention to your pulse point, tongue lathing at where he sucked a mark too harshly. He can feel the blood rushing to his cock, straining against his boxers, at the sounds of your little whimpers and moans.

Bradley attaches his lips to one of your nipples, swirling his tongue in circles, revelling at how your breath hitches.

“Fuck, please Brad,” you whimper from underneath him.

He unlatches his lips and rests his head on your stomach.

“What do you need angel? Anything.” He promises.

Your teeth bite into your bottom lip as you consider, “your mouth?”

Bradley smiles at your request and shucks the covers off from his back, he moves down the bed slightly and sits back on his knees. His hands reach forward to grasp at your panties, pulling them down your legs. You lift your hips to aid him and giggle at how he holds them appreciatively once they’re off.

“These are cute.” He admits.

“Thanks, babe.” You giggle, make a mental note to tell Maya.

“But this. This is fucking incredible.”

Bradley lifts your legs over his shoulders, head dipping down to look at your pussy. He blows a cool breath onto your glistening folds and smirks at how your squirm at the feeling.

“Does me reading seriously make you this soaked?” Bradley chuckles.

You buck your hips up and whine, “yes! It’s cute you wanted to impress me.”

Bradley laughs and decides to put and end to your waiting, licking a stripe up your folds. The sound you make is music to his ears. He swirls his tongue around your clit, arms holding your thighs from closing around his head.

He licks at you languidly and moans against your pussy, “you taste amazing.”

Bradley’s words make you whimper, a shiver of arousal running down your spine.

“Keep going, baby please.”

Bradley’s tongue dips into your hole, fucking into you for a moment before coming back up to swirl at your clit. He’s moaning almost as much as you, the vibrations making your hips jerk up against his hold. You reach a hand down to grab at his hair making Bradley whimper. The noise shocks you slightly and makes you gush, pleasing Bradley to no end.

He sucks at your clit, spurred on by your hand grasping at his curls.

“Fuck, I’m close Brad please.” You whimper out.

Bradley flicks at your clit once more then pulls away, tongue poking out to lick at your juices that have accumulated around his chin.

You whine at the loss of contact and the pout on your lips almost makes Bradley cave, before he speaks up again.

“I want to feel you around me angel.”

You shiver at his words and nod, pulling him up by his chin to kiss him. You can taste yourself on his tongue and you can tell he knows it too by the way he smiles against your lips.

He pulls back only to reach for a condom from a drawer in his bedside table. He hands it to you to open whilst he pulls off his boxers. Although, you’re sort of hypnotised by how handsome he looks in the sunlight peaking in through his cheap curtains. His skin is tan and he has a few moles dotted around his chest, but most importantly there’s a sprinkling of dark hair that spans from between his pecs all the way down into his happy trail. When you catch sight of his cock your mouth waters slightly and Bradley laughs.

“It’s rude to stare, angel.”

“It’s rude that half the girls on this campus have seen the snake between your legs, Bradley.”

He snorts at you short streak of jealousy and moves to cup your cheeks with his hands.

“You’re the only one for me, angel.”

He sighs against your lips as he feels your small hands wrap around his dick. He looks down and groans loudly at the sight of you slowly stroking him before ripping open the condom he had given to you.

You let go of him so that he can roll the condom down his length, shuffling down so you can lie with your head resting against the pillows. Bradley sits on his knees between your thighs, staring down at you intensely.

“You’re so beautiful, angel.”

He leans down to connect your lips quickly and pulls back only slightly so he can watch your features as he guides his cock towards your entrance, dripping in arousal.

He pushes in slowly, smirking as you whimper quietly. You roll your eyes at his expression and whisper into his ear,

“Fuck me like you mean it, Bradshaw.”

Bradley laughs and hikes your legs up higher around his waist. He plunges into you without warning, revelling in how you squeak in surprise. His thrusts are deep and calculated, hitting at the right spot almost every time.

You moan out gutturally, “shit, right there Brad.”

The way his name rolls off your lips make Bradley grunt in pleasure, speeding up his thrusts if even possible. You feel incredible around him, squeezing at him just right. Bradley continues his ministrations but reaches a hand down to toy at your clit, smirking at how your moans increase in pitch. He makes circles around the bundle of nerves and feels his eyes rolling to the back of his head at the way your walls are pulsing against him.

You reach a hand down over Bradley’s to swirl at your clit, he groans loudly at the sight, head dropping down to stare at where he’s fucking in and out of you. He moans a little pathetically but can’t feel it within himself to be embarrassed when you tighten so deliciously around him.

“I’m really close, angel.” He groans, leaning down to breathe into your neck.

“Me too, baby.” You whine, kissing the top of his head, “please cum for me, Bradley.”

Your words were all Bradley needed to reach his peak. His hips stutter against yours as he spurts into the condom and the feeling combined with your fast swirls against your clit shoots white hot pleasure through you, pushing you over the precipice as well.

Bradley is a panting mess above you, his skin sticking to yours with sweat. He pulls out of you slowly and ties off the condom. When he flops down next to you, you kiss all over his face, squealing when he grabs your face and smushes your lips together. He pulls away from you and stares at you in your sweaty post sex glow and smiles.

You catch his eyes and hum, “you’re so pretty, Bradley.”

His lips quirk as he reaches to stroke his thumb over you cheek.

“I’ve not heard that one before.”

Bradley eventually ventures downstairs to retrieve you a glass of water and makes eye contact with Reuben as he goes to ascend the stairs again.

Reuben flips him the bird without looking, “you’re fucking loud bro.”

Bradley can’t find it in himself to care.

No one is more surprised on Monday morning than Professor Clarke when he sees you walk into his lecture hall with Bradley Bradshaw wrapped around your waist, your usual large tote bag now slung over his shoulder.

He watches in amusement for the hour as you note diligently and raise you hand as usual, however there was now the addition of Bradley. Pointing at your notes when he wanted something explaining or whispering something in your ear after you made a good point that makes you smile.

Professor Clarke finds it sweet, albeit slightly confusing considering the tension that surrounded the two of you when you’d been introduced.

Once your class has finished Bradley helps you pack your things up before putting your bag over his shoulder once again,

“You know I can carry my own bag?” You tease, poking at his bicep.

“Then how will everyone know you have a super strong and handsome boyfriend?” Bradley rolls his eyes playfully.

As you’re descending the stairs you spot someone walking towards you and Bradley from the corner of your eye.

“Natalie, hi.” Bradley speaks awkwardly, placing a comforting hand on your waist.

“Hi Bradley… I just wanted to apologise, I was fucking wasted on Friday and I didn’t realise you have a girlfriend and I should have read your texts properly and I’m really embarrassed to be honest,” she chuckles out awkwardly.

You smile at the girl, sensing her guiltiness. You look to Bradley who has a small smile on his face as well.

“It’s cool,” Bradley speaks truthfully.

She nods and sends you another apologetic smile before making her own exit from the classroom.

Once she’s out of earshot you turn to Bradley,“That was nice of her,”

Bradley nods and threads his hand in yours, leading you down the rest of the stairs. As you walk past Professor Clarke’s desk he calls out your name. He gestures down to where you’re holding hands with Bradley and jests,

“I’ll admit this was the last outcome I was expecting when I asked you to tutor Bradley here.”

You can feel Bradley’s smirk from next to you and roll your eyes, “He’s not so bad.”

a/n: HERE SHE IS LADIES AND GENTS!!!!! fratboy!brad and his angel 😭😭😭

my apologies for how sucky he gets BUT HE MAKES UP FOR IT PROMISE

also apologies for making him deck bob LMFAO

as always i love to hear feedback so pls comment, reblog or send me an ask and tell me what you think!

thank u for reading!!!

- honey <333

[violentdelightsandviolentends]

Cherry Blossom. aka - Cherry, Part Four.

a night of conversations, kisses and long awaited confessions.

pairing - bestfriend!steve harrington x female reader

warnings - cursing, kissing (but no real smut).

word count - 2.6k

authors note - the babies are back!! no smut in this one - it was getting too long. but don’t you worry… there’s gonna be so much smut in part five !! sorry for the cliffhanger. love u <3

as always, reblogs, comments and feedback (even anonymous feedback!) are immensely appreciated!! your reblogs are the only way to circulate my fics, which keeps me going <3

series masterlist. main masterlist. inbox.

The smoke from the bonfire is stinging your eyes, ash sticking to the strands of your hair. Orange embers burn rapidly, dry wood being occasionally thrown on top by drunk boys with red cups in their hands.

The music is way too loud for a forest party, but no one seems to care. Someone’s haphazardly strung lights between the trees, creating a surprisingly cosy ambience. The atmosphere is alive, charged with the electricity of being out later than curfew.

“M’lady!”

You laugh, accepting the drink from Eddie’s outstretched hand.

“Thank you, kind sir,” you say as you curtsy sarcastically, making both of you laugh harder. “Hey, you didn’t bump into Steve on your way over here, did you? I haven’t seen him for like an hour.”

The curly haired boy kicks the toe of your sneaker with his.

“Saw him with that Clara girl, talking by the lake.”

You take a steadying breath, pretending it doesn’t bother you in the slightest.

“You should go and check if he needs rescuing,” Eddie jokes. “God knows she can talk for hours without coming up for air.”

You smile at him, pulling at one of his curls.

“Good idea. Just in case.”

“Just in case,” he winks, pushing you in the right direction.

You saunter down towards the water, spotting your best friend instantly. He’s stood with his arms across his chest, weight on one hip as he tries to listen to whatever Clara has to say. The minute he sees you, his posture is straightening, lips quirking up at the corners.

Clara turns around to see what Steve is looking at, her face falling when she recognises you.

“Hi. I don’t mean to interrupt! Just wanted to check if you needed another drink, Stevie.”

The boy grins, beckoning you closer with a nod of his head. When you’re near enough, he leans down and presses a sweet kiss to your lips, all affectionate and tender.

Oh.

You don’t do that.

The two of you have kept your romance completely behind closed doors, up until now. It hasn’t got a name, never mind a label, and you don’t need people asking questions when you don’t even know the answers yourself.

You could blame it on the alcohol, but you know Steve’s on his first drink. With your head spinning, you look up at him as if he is the sun and all things warm. He looks down at you the exact same way.

“I’m gonna go see where my friends are,” Clara says a little too loudly, strutting away with as much confidence as she can muster.

You have a sudden feeling that you’re the villain in her story, but you’re not entirely sure why.

“How many drinks have you had?” Steve asks as he pulls a strand of hair away from your face.

“This is my second. I was nursing my first one, Eddie says.”

The boy laughs, and you grab onto his bicep for support. The sound of it is enough to buckle your knees.

“This is my first. It’s not doing much for me.”

“You want something different? I’m sure Robin has that beer you like in her bag.”

“Nah, I’m okay. Don’t think I’m gonna drink any more tonight.”

Steve slips his hands into the back pockets of your jeans, pulling you in closer and keeping them there.

“You sure?”

“I’m sure.”

“Okay,” you whisper.

“Okay,” he whispers back.

And then he kisses you. Again. It’s slow and careful and so romantic that you think you might start crying about it.

“What time is it?” he asks when he pulls away as if nothing happened.

“Eleven thirty.”

“You wanna stay a bit longer?”

“Not if you don’t.”

Steve presses his lips to your forehead, hands cradling your cheeks.

“I kinda wanna go home.”

You smile at him, all soft and sweet.

“Then let’s go home. I’m getting a little cold, anyway. And I didn’t bring a jacket.”

“Will you ever learn?” he laughs, slinging an arm around your shoulders.

“If it means I have to stop wearing your jackets that I know you bring to parties just for me? No, I won’t.”

You weren’t supposed to say that out loud, but the way Steve chuckles soothes the sting of the accidental wound.

“Let’s go home, Cherry Baby.”

Home. The assumption that the two of you will always be returning to the same place makes your heart so full, you wonder how it doesn’t spill over.

✵  ✵    ·　 ✵ 　　 *  · ✵

“You good?”

“Feet hurt.”

This happens every single time the two of you go to a party, so you feel as if you’re reliving a memory.

“Hop on.”

“Steve-”

“Cherry. Come on. We’ll get home quicker this way.”

You can’t argue with that. Steve crouches as you jump onto his back, his hands wrapping around your thighs to keep you steady. You wrap your arms around his neck from behind, resting your head on top of his.

“Comfy back there?”

You hum, the noise of agreement enough for Steve to start walking.

The two of you chat each others ears off on the way home, talking about nothing and everything. You laugh so hard at something he says that you end up with a mouthful of his hair, which he in turn finds hilarious.

“Have you thought any more about what I said the other day?”

“You say a lot of things, Steven.”

He chuckles, shaking his head and giving your thighs a squeeze.

“About college.”

You go quiet for a moment, and Steve wonders if he’s chosen the wrong time to have this conversation.

“I’ve been thinking about it.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“Let’s talk about it later, okay? When I’m not constantly worried I’m gonna accidentally trip and kill you.”

You nod, and he feels it. You know it needs to be a discussion sometime soon, but perhaps having it when you’re being carried down the street on your best friends back isn’t all that practical.

“Love you,” you mumble into the crook of Steve’s neck.

He shudders a little at your lips on his skin, leaning his head sideways to rest against yours.

“Love you, Cherry Pie. More than anything.”

You let Steve piggyback you all the way to his front door. Neither of you say anything else. Neither of you feel the need to.

✵  ✵    ·　 ✵ 　　 *  · ✵

Steve bumps his hip into yours as you both brush your teeth, laughing at your shocked reflection in the mirror.

“Are you okay?” you ask as you place your toothbrush back in its holder, right next to his.

“Yeah, I’m good.”

“You sure?”

You hop up on the bathroom counter, sitting up so you’re eye to eye with the boy in front of you. He takes a step forward, standing between your legs as he splays his cold hands over your thighs.

“Why’d you ask?”

You trace over his fingers where they rest on your skin, quiet for a moment.

“You seemed pretty eager to go home tonight. It’s unlike you. You love a party. Leaving at eleven thirty is like… unheard of, for King Steve.”

“King Steve would rather be at home with you than at a party with all those people.”

“Really?”

“Really. Clara was going on about something or other, the music was too loud, and I could feel the chill coming in. It hit me, all of a sudden, that I’d rather be in bed. Or, anywhere else, as long as I was with you.”

You lean forward to rest your head against his chest, sighing when he starts playing with your hair gently.

“You’re a softie,” you mumble into his shirt. “And a mind reader.”

“It’s my one talent,” he chuckles. “I wish reading your mind was a college major. I’d be the best in the world.”

You shake your head, laughing like you can’t help it.

“If I don’t move soon, I’m gonna fall asleep on this bathroom counter.”

“Want me to carry you?”

“Contrary to popular belief,” you tease as you hop down, “my legs actually do work.”

Steve gasps, all theatrical and exaggerated, which only makes you laugh harder.

“Come on, sleepy girl. Let’s go to bed.”

✵  ✵    ·　 ✵ 　　 *  · ✵

“We’re not talking about stuff.”

You whisper it into the darkness, the trees rustling outside Steve’s window serving as the only sound you can hear.

“Hmm?”

Your legs are tangled with his, tired head resting on the boys shoulder as your sides are pressed together. You’re both lying on your backs, staring at the ceiling.

“We keep saying we’ll talk about stuff, but we haven’t been. It’s not like us.”

“You mean, like, feelings?”

“Yeah.”

All that can be heard now is two sets of heaving lungs. Steve’s hand finds yours under the duvet, fingers intertwining.

“Is there something specific that’s bothering you?”

“Not bothering me as such. I just… I think the more we don’t talk, the more complicated things become.”

There’s silence for a moment, before Steve speaks.

“I’m scared, Cherry.”

The tone of his voice is paper thin and vulnerable, and you will yourself not to cry about it.

“Of what, Stevie?”

You squeeze his hand, tucking yourself further into his side until there isn’t an inch of space between you.

“Of… everything changing. You’re my best friend in the entire world, and I know that what we’ve been doing isn’t typical… best friend stuff. I just…” he takes a deep breath, exhaling carefully. “I worry that something will happen and we’ll break up, and I’ll lose you forever.”

His voice cracks on the last word, fear seeping through his pores. Yet, he continues.

“I’d die without you, Cherry. I really would. I don’t know what it’s like to live in a world where we’re not… us.”

You turn onto your side to face him in the dark, reaching up to cradle his cheek softly. You rest your forehead against his temple, pressing a kiss into his skin.

“I’m scared too. I have been ever since that first night in my room. Not because I don’t trust you, or because I don’t feel that way about you… but because I don’t want to lose you either. More than anything, I don’t want to lose you.”

“Why didn’t we talk about this sooner?” he laughs, throat thick with emotion.

“Because we’re us. And whether we talk or don’t talk, we know we’ll figure it out. We always know we’ll be okay.”

“I love you,” he whispers into the dark. “More than all the stars in the sky.”

“I love you,” you whisper back. “More than all the grains of sand on all the beaches in the world.”

You press another kiss into his temple, letting your lips linger on his soft skin. He smells so familiar, so warm, so yours… you can’t help but inhale, chuckling when he shudders.

You continue to leave kisses across his jaw, over his ear, down his neck. He tilts his head to give you better access, groaning when you nip at his throat with your teeth, licking over the scrape to soothe him.

Steve pulls you in as if you weigh nothing, moving you so you’re lying on top of him. You sit up, straddling his lap, as he does the same so you’re chest to chest. Running his hands under your shirt and over the bare skin of your back, he rests his forehead against yours.

“You look so pretty like this,” he hums against your lips. “Prettiest girl in the world.”

“You wanna talk about pretty?” you tease, running your fingers through his hair. “My pretty, pretty boy.”

Steve’s hips buck up into yours, making you giggle.

“Oh, you like that? You like it when I call you pretty? Or do you just like it when I call you mine?”

His hips buck again as his cheeks flush pink.

“I am yours,” he murmurs. “Always have been.”

You thought you had the upper hand for a minute, but now you just want to cry. You’re overwhelmed by the way you feel about the boy underneath you, unsure of how to process it without bursting into tears.

“All mine,” you whisper, tracing the features of his face with your fingertip.

Steve takes a deep breath, watching your eyes as they look over him again and again, taking him in as if it’s the first time. He decides it’s now or never.

“Cherry?”

“Stevie?”

Your voices are low and careful, irregardless of the fact that you’re alone in the house.

“I’m in love with you.”

Your heart stops, and so does the world outside. Everything pauses, the two of you suspended in this moment in time.

Steve takes another breath, exhaling it carefully before meeting your eyes and continuing.

“You don’t have to say it back. Now, or ever. I just - I needed you to know.”

You blink back tears as you watch his face, biting your lip to stop them from falling.

“Steve-”

“Hey, I told you. You don’t have to say anything, babe. I know-”

“Shut up.”

“What?”

“Just-”

You surge forward and kiss him with all the affection you can muster, trying to express your feelings. You grip his hair, plastering your bodies together where you sit in his lap still. He wraps his arms around you, pulling you in as close as he can.

“If you let me talk,” you say when you pull away, all breathless, “you’d hear that I have something I’d like to say.”

Steve smiles, humming in acknowledgment and encouraging you to keep going.

“I’m in love with you, too.”

The boy looks shocked to hear it, as if it’s news to him.

“What’s that face for?” you laugh.

“I just… I didn’t expect you to say it back.”

“Steve,” you chuckle, looking at him sternly. When you realise he’s being serious, you double down. “I’ve been in love with you for as long as I can remember. When we were kids, and someone would say the word ‘husband’, I always pictured you. I was so convinced it was always going to end up being you and I.”

“Why… why didn’t you say anything sooner?”

“Why didn’t you?”

He laughs, and the sound makes you feel as if you’re on cloud nine. You can feel his heartbeat where his chest is pressed to yours, frantic like he’s just ran a marathon.

“Fuck, I love you.”

He leans up to kiss you, all saccharine and honey sweet.

“Say it again,” you whisper against his lips.

“I’m in love with you, Cherry.”

“Say it again.”

“I, Steve Harrington, declare that I am completely, utterly, ridiculously in love with this girl right here. I always have been. I always will be.”

You can’t help but throw your head back with laughter.

“And I love you. So much.”

The words you’ve always said mean so much more now. It’s a welcome change, one you never thought you’d see happen.

“Hey Steve?”

“Hmm?”

You lean in, nosing at his jaw as you murmur into his ear.

“Want you. So bad.”

“Fuck, honey,” he groans, all low and rough.

“Please. Want it to be you.”

Looking up at you with big eyes, he searches your face for any kind of hesitation.

“Are you sure?”

Smoothing his hair away from his face, you trace your thumb over his bottom lip.

“I’ve never been so sure of anything.”

“Okay.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” he grins. “I’m about to rock your world, Cherry Blossom.”

@psychicnerdcat @allcheesemelts @valerievortex @swiftsgirlfriend @steviespookie @betweenstarsandsatellites @mrsjoequinn @internallysalad @saucypeanuttt @empathyroad @niceskyler @spookysins @theoraekenslover @7minutes-tomidnight @xx-all-purpose-nerd-xx @clairesjointshurt @livsters @diffrent-spokes @regular-joe-shmoe @ihatepeanutss @ladyburberry @thenonweeknd @abarelyexistentbeing @jennaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa @slut4gaga @hopelessromanticwriter @mgchaser @wintrsoldrluvr

[someonegoood]

MY WHOLE LIFE pt. 3 ✫ mason mount

part 1, part 2, final part.

in which after everything you gave, you're not sure if you're going to keep going. (brother’s best friends troop).

CONTAINS: brother’s best friend troop, angst, some smut (not really explicit) & fluff ! age gap, arguments...

AUTHOR'S NOTE: here's part 3 ! final part for my first two works, I'm proud of how it came out

taglist: @girlidekanymore @sunflower-tia @nicolesainz @chilwellspulisic @anotherfan07

inspired by taylor swift's songs.

The feeling of freshness —the wonderful smells, the damp feel of leaves falling down the trees, the breeze and the rain on your skin. The sound of rain is wonderful: not just between a hard roof and leaves, but you can hear it on different types of trees and hedges.

The flowers, which look like they were painted by Monet himself, have colours so rich that no one can even attempt to imitate them. From the smallest weed to the grandest stalk, they are all beautiful in your eyes.

Around you are your friends; some are talking or enjoying the countryside air. You had decided to take me on a little vacation before returning to the routine of the busy city of London.

No distractions, no disturbances, especially without him. After seeing how Mason smiled at that blonde standing next to him and Debbie's painful look in the boat, you knew all these years were in vain.

The moments when you took care of him after he vomited from all the alcohol he had consumed at the party, when you covered him so he could go on dates with different girls and other things you had done for him.

The last time Mason saw you still burned in the back of your mind, the little stolen glances he gave you while you were wearing a pink t-shirt, the one that you had left back in a drawer in the Mount's house. Stacey had told you the t-shirt drove him crazy.

It had been weeks, and you still couldn’t understand why nothing went your way. Was it you? Had you done something wrong? Had it been you that caused the gulf?

—Babes, how could you ever think it's your fault? Clearly, he is out of his mind. —Clara talked. You and your friends were sitting on the porch in the extensive field that belonged to your grandparents.

Then Adelaida, who was resting her head on your lap, suddenly stood up, leaning on one elbow and said: —Please don't think it's your fault, you would be lowering yourself to his level.

Everyone had been adamant that it wasn’t you... even your mother. But even with those words of affirmation, it didn’t change the internal feelings, the heartbreak that felt it was never-ending. 

All you ever wanted was that connection, that string, that feeling that pulled you to another person, that proved he was the person meant to be for you. It was devastating to think back and know he wasn’t. 

Even though you were angry at him, you knew that when you saw him you would act like a little girl, crazy in love.

On the other side, Mason was in the kitchen, picking at the leftover food on the tabletop as everyone else was in the living room. His mother walked into the kitchen as he took a bite of little meatballs that looked delicious and she laughed at the pieces of meat that had fallen onto the kitchen counter.

—That’s definitely not the way to eat —she smirked knowing his son wasn't the type of person to sit down and eat properly.

—But you love me anyways, mom. —Mason flashed his puppy eyes as his mum laughed at his actions. It had been a long year for Mason. He stopped turning to family events when he knew you would be there.

—Mason Tony Mount, I gave birth to you, I know you better than you know yourself-

—Mom. —Mason sighed. —Don't start this whole speech about her, please.

—Dear, I don’t even need to say her name... it will always be her. —She smiled, sadly, as she walked over to her son and placed a hand on his cheek.

—She's happy, from what I heard. —he scoffed again.

—So then you know you’re being an ass, right?

Mason's eyes widened at his mother's question but she just laughed and waved him off. —After all the years she spent after you, dear, it would be cruel for you to not let her be happy.

That sentence shattered his heart. You weren't the little girl who ran behind him in search of attention anymore, you were a woman with maturity, feelings and beauty.

—But what if I’m not happy? —he asked his mum. Debbie felt her heart clench at his words, it was never good for a mother when they saw their son being at his lowest.

—Do you love her?

There was no answer.

—See, that would be very cruel. Mase... either you love her or you’re jealous. Just remember that she's a second daughter to me and I know her like the palm of my hand. I'm certain that she’s fragile when it comes to you.

After a week in the countryside with your friends, you were back in the city, at a party the english players were throwing in celebration of their team winning the last few games.

Every time he looks at you, it’s making him go mad. It surprises him how much influence you have on his night out. He actually believed he could handle it, seeing you after a while. Normally he’s the one who takes you to the football after-parties because you begged him like crazy. But not this time.

Did you wear a white dress on purpose tonight? He doesn’t know. You look beautiful and he wishes he had the nerve to tell you how great white looks on you. He remembers the time you almost kiss in the box, you in the white sweatshirt with his number. The guy talking to you on your right was Foden. Did you wear it for him? He doesn’t believe that, he doesn’t think he deserves that. 

Mason sighs. This is one of the hardest nights in his life. He shouldn’t have messed it up. If he didn’t follow what Ben said to him, he would probably be the one talking to you. Fucking Ben.

At the same time, you don’t know what’s bothering Mason. You thought he would be coming to the afterparty with Daphne, but his friends confirmed that he forgot her quickly. He didn't even kiss her. Neither touch her.

It surprised you, you were afraid he would show up with that beautiful model. A part of you felt really happy.

You feel his eyes burning into you while you talk to Foden. You quickly take the cocktail out of Phil's hands, while thanking him in the meantime. He shrugs it off. 

—What’s up with you? —He asks you after you take a few sips. 

—What do you mean? —You ask him. Is he noticing your bad mood? You tried hiding it, but maybe you failed.

—You seem distracted. Did something happen? —he goes on. You take a sip of your cocktail, thinking about your response. Could it be a bad plan to tell him about Mase? They’re friends after all. But on the other hand, it would be nice to talk about it to someone. 

—It’s him, isn’t it? —Foden answers his own question. You didn’t even realize you were looking at Mason until Phil spoke. You nod towards him, —Let’s go outside.

Then, you're sitting on a wooden bench outside. The white dress doesn’t give you much warmth, so you embarrassingly start to shiver. Before you can notice it, Phil drapes his jacket around your shoulders. 

—Fuck... —he says, regretting. —I knew it would be a bad plan to invite you. —Mutters softly, —I thought it was a good idea to make you feel better, now I just got Mount to get angry at you.

You laughed, thinking that was very cute. —That’s not true, Phil —you try to comfort him, —you can’t help me being an idiot.

—To be fair, Mason and you are both idiots. —Foden laughs, —Definitely unaware idiots-

But before he can explain to you anything, Mason shows up in front of you. 

While walking back to his car, he notices the sound of people talking outside. He thinks he’s recognizing your voice. He must be going insane, he thinks tiredly to himself. But still, he walks towards the sound. Quickly seeing you and Phil sitting together... fucking hell, why are you wearing his jacket? 

Before he realizes it himself, he stands before you and his teammate Foden. The chattering stops directly, did he interrupt something? He feels awkward with you and Phil looking at him amusingly. How can he fix this awful situation? 

—I uh... I wanted to say bye to you. —Mason said, ignoring the existence of Phil. —I am supposed to bring you home or will Phil...?—He stutters eventually, not wanting to finish his question.

—Wait, Mase, can we talk? —You react before Mason turns around and walks to his car in a rush. He nods.

—Of course.

The silence was sharply awkward.

—Don’t forget your jacket, Foden —Mason quickly says, —she can wear mine while we’re outside.

Phil, who no longer was sitting on the bench, laughed for a bit at his hopeless friend. Then he walks up to you, and takes his own jacket from your shoulders, while Mason quickly takes off his. You give Phil a quick hug to thank him, before getting into Mason's jacket.

—Don’t be an idiot to her —says Phil toward Mason whispering in his ear. You smile shyly, flushing with Phil's comment. 

Mason doesn’t know how to watch the interaction between his friend and you. He doesn't know where to look when you turn your attention to him. The white dress quickly grabs his attention once again.

Silently, both of you walk to the parking lot where his fancy Mercedes-AMG was parked. You had always made fun of him because the car was too posh in your opinion, although every time you needed a ride home you always ended up in his car.

Firstly he took the car keys out of his pocket and then he opened your door for you. He had always been a gentleman. The situation is unexpected, yet influenced by the tension that’s been built between you two through the last couple of months. 

—So, what do you want to talk about? —Mason asks you. You lasted a few seconds thinking about how to answer his question.

—Why were you ignoring me today? Why didn’t you come up to me and Phil to say hi? —You fire multiple questions at him, —did I do something wrong? Are you upset with me? —Your words cut through the thick air inside the car.

—I thought the two of you were busy with each other. —Mason mutters.

You scoff, this was unbelievable. —That’s bullshit Mase, you know I always make time for you.

—God!, I just wasn’t in the mood to see you two. —He said, elevating his tone, trying to sound casual but deep down, jealousy was gnawing at him like a relentless beast.

You don’t know what to say to Mason. You don’t even know what the boy means. He wasn’t in the mood to see you? Since when could that happen? 

—Why? —You barely dare to ask him. You have no choice, so you repeat your last question —why, Mase? —Your eyes start to fill with tears.

Mason sighs, —You won’t get it.

—You don’t know that. Try me.

—I just... I just don’t like seeing you with other boys —he confessed. You doubt for a bit. Should you tell him you were relieved he showed up alone instead of coming with Daphne? You decide not.

—Oh, come on Mason! You can't say that! —You almost shout. Mason's eyes open like plates. You had never raised your voice at him like that, so angry.

—Why not? —He, as well, says almost shouting.

—Because you don't have the right! It's-it's just that you can't say that as if my feelings were so simple... —You tried to calm yourself, you could lost everything now.

—Mason, I've been with you since the beginning and you know that. I'm your biggest supporter and deep inside you know I’ll always cheer for you. I’ve spent my whole girlhood- Fuck. —Tears start scrolling down your delicate face. He looks at you as if you were graceful.

—I wanted to be with you tonight, —you eventually say after a long silence—but you looked at me as if I didn’t matter.

—I know.

You sigh. Can't the boy say anything else? You feel obligated to talk further: —Why aren’t you telling me what’s wrong?

You don't get any answer. Looking at the ceiling of the car, you try to keep your cool.

—You know what? I’m going back to the party. Call me when you can explain at least something. —You want to undo yourself from Mason's warm jacket, but he stops you directly by grabbing your arm.

—I know you deserve to know what’s going on, but I don’t want to lose you. I know it’s a shitty excuse which makes everything even more unclear, but please don’t go back inside. —Mason talks soft and fast —and please keep the jacket on.

—What’s so important about the jacket? —You ask with a small smile, trying to lighten the mood a bit. 

—Your dress distracts me and I don’t want to see you in anyone else’s jacket again. —This time he is direct with his words. Almost harsh. You wonder why your dress distracts him. Does he find it ugly?

 —Don’t you like the dress? —You ask.

 —I fucking love the dress. —Mason says. At that moment you feel something clicking. Despite his short explanation, you wonder if Mason may return your feelings.

—Just give me time. Everything is happening so fast and the fact that I'm just realizing that all these years all I've been doing is hurting you makes me go mad angry at myself. —He says, without breathing. —And... I'm sorry. I'm truly sorry for everything I've done, for the countless times I've hurt you. I promise you will have a proper explanation. —He tried to smile, with tears in his eyes.

—That's the Mase I know... —You laugh lightly and Mason just stares at you, sweetly. —Now take me back home, probably my brother is already wasted.

What you didn't know is that that day Mason Mount started falling in love with you.

A few days after you were your house, sat in the cozy familiarity of the your couch while your mother flipped through the pages of a weathered photo album resting on her lap. Each turn of the page revealed a snapshot of your brother's and your past, a journey frozen in time.

—Look! You're wearing my glasses! —Said your mother, with clear emotion in her voice. She turned some pages that had photographs of your childhood: when you were born, your first tooth fell out and many more memories.

Your cheeks flushed with nostalgic warmth, a subtle testament to the innocence and joy captured in each photograph.

Among the sepia-toned memories and faded polaroids, there was a page filled with pictures where Mason and you, both still little children, intertwined in laughter playing in the park.

Your mom pinched your cheek. —Someday you will realize that everything you did was not in vain, on the contrary, it was all worth it. —She stopped to take a breath. —Because golden loves are like that. They stay with you forever.

—How beautiful, mom. —You ironized. She laughed.

—It will, darling... Come here. —And then you hugged her. You hugged her with all your might as you felt her warmth on your face. She giggled, breaking the embrace.

—You'll need a spell to make Mason realize what a fool he is.

—Mom!

A couple days later, you were back at Stamford Bridge once again. As you approach the stadium, you can feel the excitement building. The streets around the stadium eagerly anticipate the game ahead.

Inside the stadium, the dominant colour is blue. The stands are filled with supporters adorned in their team's jerseys, scarves, and signs that say "Pride of London".

—Call her Mason, I’m sure she's in the stands —said Ben, while putting on the new shirt they played in today. Mason held his cell phone, sitting on the bench in the large locker room.

Today was Valentine's Day and Mason had a game. Your brother told Mason he was going out on a date with his girlfriend but you would go in his place, as usual. He didn't know if you were coming, so Mason was nervous, especially with the talk you had in his car.

You had called Debbie in the morning, asking her if you should come to the game, and she told you that Mason would be more than happy to see you there. You wondered if he knew what you were up to if your brother had kept him in the loop.

Pick it up.

Pick it up.

The third tone rang while Ben tried to hold Mason, about to faint from anxiety. In the background, music was blasting from the speakers while the guys on the team began gathering in the locker room for their last talk before the game started.

Reece James leaned closer, curious why his teammate was sitting with his phone in hand, bouncing his leg nervously.

—What has got Mount that nervous? I've never seen him like this —he says to Ben, seated next to Mason, fixing his shoes.

—It's his girlfriend-

—She's not my girlfriend! —Mason interrupted Chilwell, with an expression of fear. You still haven't answered him and the fact that his friends were bothering him added to his anxiety.

—Give me that shit. —Suddenly Kai Havertz appeared out of nowhere, grabbing Mason's phone and putting the call on speaker. Everyone's attention was on the tones ringing, hoping you'll pick up. The team had witnessed your situationship since Mason had joined Chelsea, so they knew you quite well.

—Hi? Mason?

Kai, standing on the bench in the centre of the room, had the phone in his hand so everyone could hear. His eyes widened and his mouth also opened, in surprise. Everyone stood up while Mason's blood pressure went down.

With a jump, Havertz handed the cell phone to his friend so he could answer you. There was a silence between your response and his because his teammates were signalling to him, guiding him in his response.

—Yes? —That was the only thing he could think of at that moment.

—You... you've just called me minutes before your game. Is everything okay? Do you need something? —For you, it was strange that Mason called you, especially right before his game. Mason's teammates melt with your response, you seemed like a worried girlfriend.

—N-no, I was calling to know if you're on Stamford Bridge. —He stuttered, nervous about your answer. You smiled a bit, already seated between the blue tide of fans.

—Of course! I wouldn't miss a game for anything Mase. —And that was the end of him. He said goodbye saying that he had to go out and play and hoped you liked the game, while all his friends were shouting acknowledging that probably by the end of the year, they would have a new addition on their team.

The match ended with Chelsea winning by two goals and the assistance of Mason. You couldn't be more proud of him and after the exhilarating victory at Stamford Bridge, you made your way to the cooldown room, where players and staff often gather to unwind after the match.

As you entered, you spotted Mason, the hero of the game with his crucial assist. A sense of pride swelled within you as you approached him. He was putting something in his backpack, distracted.

—Incredible game out there, —you said, startling Mason. He turned with a smile, recognizing your voice without seeing your face.

—Thanks, this means a lot to me... —Mason replied, his face beaming with satisfaction. You both exchanged a few more words about the match, sharing our favourite moments and the atmosphere at the stadium. Then, out of the blue, Mason's tone turned slightly more serious.

—You know... —he said, pausing for a moment. —I've been thinking. We've been through so much together, your support has meant a lot to me.

You nodded, feeling a sense of tenderness with him. Mason took a deep breath before continuing. —Listen, I was wondering if you'd like to grab dinner later. Just to say thanks for always being there, you know?

Surprised by the unexpected invitation, you couldn't help but smile. —I'd be honoured to join you. —You said, laughing out of nervousness.

A couple hours later, Mason kept his hand on your lower back as he led you through the restaurant, your body settled into his side. His hand slid around your waist while opening the door, a shiver already wracking your body. You gasped at the white snow starting to lay outside, thick flakes slowly falling from the sky.

—Look there! Mase, it's snowing! —You tugged a little on Mason's hand on your waist, the heat replacing the cold feeling on your fingers. There was already a pretty thick layer on the ground and you wondered briefly how long it had been snowing. —It's so pretty.

Mason watched your smile widen when he was paying the bill, as you tilted your head back, eyes squinting as the flakes cascaded down. He'd never seen anyone get so excited over snow.

You looked so good under the twinkling lights, the candle in the middle of the table illuminating half of your face. He was having an amazing time, already realizing he mad in love with you.

From the way you keep your hair in a messy ponytail to the way you are surprised by the snow. Everything about you was perfect for him.

—Do you want to go for a walk before I take you home? —He slid his hand over your jaw, his thumb stroking away the little flake on your cheek. You gave a small nod, flushed since all of this was new for you. He grinned before stepping back and holding his hand out to you.

—M'lady?

You looped your arm through his and the two of you started off down the street, his gaze darting between you and the falling snow. You snuggle as close as possible to him to steal some of his natural body heat.

Snow was falling and settling into Mason’s hair, individual flakes dropping onto his eyelashes and you were certain he’d never looked prettier.

—Remember the time I tried to sneak out and you caught me? That time I was actually grounded for fighting with my brother and I wanted to buy the new console game you were so interested in. —You said, recalling those silly things.

He didn't know if his cheeks were flushed pink from the cold or from what you'd just said.

—But that game was so expensive!

—I know! I just wanted to give you something for your birthday. That's why I didn't have any presents for you at your birthday party.

Mason caught your gaze, head cocking curiously at the sudden shy look that had taken over your features. You let your eyes wander from him to the snow-filled street around you. You slowed to a stop, right against the barriers of the little lake and you leant against it, the two of you facing each other, your hand still clasped in his.

All you wanted was to grab him and kiss him, you didn’t care who saw or if you got a cold, you just wanted to kiss him in the snow.

After a silence, he said: —You know I want you, right?

You looked at him. Surprised. Self-conscious Scared. But above all, in love.

—I've been thinking and I can't help falling for you now. I’m not jealous because you have other people in your life, I’m not a fucking kid. That time with Phil, at the party, made me realize that I want you with me... By my side. I want to be the one you say 'I love you' to, I want to be the one that cuddles you, that-

You interrupted him. —Mase, I… I don’t know how to say this… —Voice uncertain as you watched for his reaction, for any flicker of emotion that stated he didn't want that.

His face fell, and he retracted his hands from the barriers that before were trapping you between his body and the barriers. Ready for rejection, he looked into your eyes.

—I… I like you too. —You looked down, feigning sadness. When you looked up, he was squinting at you. —I don't know how are you convincing my brother you're good enough for me...

—I'd probably invite him to one of my games and we could go for dinner after the game? I'll book somewhere for us. —You matched his smile with a nod, shoulders relaxing slightly after the confession as you pulled your hand from his so you could settle your arms around his neck instead.

—Sounds amazing. Deep inside he's a West Ham fan, y'know. — Mason's face contorted a little when he bumped his nose against yours, lips lightly brushing together.

—Oh shut up, —he muttered into your lips, —let me kiss you.

And you obeyed, your hands resting nervously at his neck as he ravished you, his tongue begging for entrance. You allowed it, moaning into his lips as they intertwined perfectly. His hands travelled from your hair to your waist where he pushed you closer to him.

You indeed had waited your whole life for this.

[khaylin27]

Clara Bow

pairing: oscar piastri x daughter reader; lando norris x niece reader; y/n norris-piastri x daughter reader

series: the tortured poets department

synopsis: her whole life, olivia lacey piastri-norris has always been compared to family members.

warnings: none

author's note: i had to write clara bow as y/n and oscar's daughter 😭 hope y'all love it. thank you for supporting this mini series from the tortured poets department. now it's time to work on the actual stories on ttpd. if you want more content from this story please don't be afraid to ask on my 'ask me anything' tab.

"You look like Clara Bow in this light Remarkable All your life, did you know You'd be picked like a rose"

November 6, 2024

f1news BABY PAPAYA: After the Brazilian GP, the McLaren driver, Oscar Piastri, and his wife Y/N Norris-Piastri welcomed a baby girl into the world. Congrats to the Piastri family.

user1 THE PARENTS FINALLY BECAME PARENTS 🥹

user2 i already know lando is going to be besties with his niece since their birthdays are a week apart

user3 CARLOS MISSED WHAT HE COULD'VE HAD

user4 can we not bring up carlos for once. let this couple have their moment for once

After the Brazilian Grand Prix, Oscar and Lando went straight back home as soon as they could. Y/N was currently 42 weeks which is 2 weeks past her due date. Baby Papaya wasn't ready to be out in the world.

"Why does your daughter hate me?" Y/N squeezes Oscar's hand really tight as she pushes the baby. Tears falling from her face from the pain she was experiencing from pushing the baby.

"She doesn't hate you honey." Oscar reassures Y/N as she continues to push. "You're doing great honey. She's almost here." The couple hears not Y/N's tears, but the tears of their baby girl.

****

"Where's my niece?" Lando says as he enters your private room in the hospital. It's been 4 hours since Y/N gave birth to their baby girl.

"She's sleeping in her bassinet right now." Oscar says as he's snuggling you in the hospital bed.

"What's her name?" Lando asked admiring his beautiful niece sleeping.

"Olivia Lacey Piastri-Norris." Y/N says as she slowly gets up from the hospital bed to walk towards her brother. "She has her daddy and uncle's letters in her name. I had to put your name somewhere in her name. She wouldn't be here without you." Y/N and Oscar laugh while Lando admires his niece.

"She's so beautiful." Lando says then gives his sister a hug. "Thank you for the best early birthday present."

yourusername olivia lacey piastri-norris ✨🧡 my little rose

tagged oscarpiastri

oscarpiastri she's so perfect. she looks just like you.

yourusername no she looks like you 😭 landonorris y/n she looks exactly like you!!! charlesleclerc that means she looks like you lando 💀 landonorris why do you say that like it's a bad thing @/charlesleclerc 😭

racerbia omg baby papaya is here!! i can't wait for the boys to tell me stories about her in the office 🥺😭🧡

liked by yourusername

alexandrasaintmleux can't wait to meet her in the paddock next year 🥹

liked by yourusername

oscarpiastri baby papaya is here 👶🧡

tagged yourusername

mclaren WE LOVE YOU BABY PAPAYA 🥹🧡 congrats @/oscarpiastri @/yourusername @/landonorris -mclaren team

yourusername why is @/landonorris tagged on that comment @/mclaren he didn't give birth to her 💀 landonorris without me olivia wouldn't be here yourusername technically it's my husband sperm . . .

user1 Y/N IS SO UNHINGED I LOVE IT 🤣

danielricciardo another aussie!! congrats you two!

liked by oscarpiastri and yourusername

logansargeant can't wait to teach her my american ways 🦅

landonorris HELL NO YOU'RE STAYING AWAY FROM MY NIECE user2 just the two L named uncles beefing over teaching olivia cultures 😭

landonorris I'm the favorite uncle. it's a fact 🧡

yourusername you're supposed to watch her lando not fall asleep with her 😭

landonorris it's called multitasking sister ✨ user1 they're both unhinged

carlossainz55 congrats on becoming an uncle camprón

landonorris thanks man. user2 carlos what are you doing here? 😃

user3 he says congrats to lando but not even to the woman who gave birth to his niece.

"You look like Stevie Nicks In '75, the hair and lips Crowd goes wild at her fingertips Half moonshine, a full eclipse"

Growing up with her dad and uncle as F1 drivers, Olivia was always interested in becoming an F1 driver. Not only did Olivia go to races her dad and uncle were racing in, but she would go to the F1 Academy races with her mom.

Olivia and Y/N were currently in Miami supporting Oscar, Lando, and Tita aunt Bianca. "You know I told your Uncle Lando I was pregnant with you after his first win." Y/N tells Olivia while she was watching her Tita aunt Bianca doing Free Practice 1. Y/N sighs as she sees that Olivia wasn't interested in what she was saying and was focusing on the race. "I'm going to see if your brothers are awake." Olivia nods and sees that her mom leaves to check if her twin brothers were awake.

While Olivia was continuing to watch, she gets spooked by none other than her Uncle Lando. "What the hell Uncle Lando!" Lando laughs at how scared Olivia got. "I hate you."

"We all know you couldn't hate me." Lando smirks while Olivia roles her eyes.

"What are you doing here anyway? Aren't you supposed to be doing press interviews?" Olivia asks Lando.

"I wanted to see if you wanted to join me. It would be good press for you." Lando asks knowing Olivia was racing in F4.

"Fine, I'll join you." Olivia lightly slaps her Uncle before Lando pulls her into a side hug.

****

"So Olivia, has anyone told you that you look like your uncle?" The interviewer asks Olivia.

Olivia lightly laughs at the interviewer's question. "Yes, I actually get told that a lot. Since my mom is my uncle's sister, they have similar facial features. It isn't a surprised that they got passed down to me since I look like my mom. My brothers look more like my dad."

"How do you like your time in F4?"

"I love it. Of course F4 is rooted in my family since my Uncle raced there when he was young. I love the Jensen team so much. They're like my second family." The interviewer then asks if Olivia sees a future out of F4. "Yes I do. Since the Jensen team and I decided not to extend our contract, I've been offered many contracts in F3."

"Have you finalize a contract with any of the teams? When are you able to share?"

"Yes I have. After looking at many contracts with my family, I've decided that I'll be signing with Carlin F3 team next year." Olivia smiles at her response. "My uncle raced in team Carlin when he was F4 and now I have an opportunity to do the same thing."

"That's very exciting for you and your family. Congratulations Olivia on making it to F3."

Once the interview was done, Olivia sees her Uncle talking to Carlos Sainz. Olivia knew the history with her mom and Carlos. It's sad that her mom had to go through that relationship but she's happy that she met her dad because of it.

"OLIVIA! OLIVIA!" The crowd goes wild as they see her walking out of the paddock to walk to her Uncle and Carlos on the track. Olivia waves to the fans.

"The crowd goes wild at your fingertips little Lando." Carlos says as he gives you a side hug. Since Carlos is very close to Lando, he somewhat became your Tio uncle. Oscar and Y/N were fine with it since it's all in the past.

'I know. It's wild how they went from half moonshine, to full eclipse since I announced my contract." Y/N smiles at them before it was time to leave the paddock for the day.

f1news FAMILY TRADITIONS: Olivia Lacey Piastri-Norris, daughter and niece to both the McLaren boys, has announced her contract with Carlins F3 team. She's following the foot steps of her Uncle Lando.

user1 she looks so much like lando 😭

user2 she's working late cause she's a driver ✨

user3 following the footsteps of her uncle lando 🥹

oliviapianorris CONGRATS UNCLE LANDO ON ANOTHER WIN IN MIAMI 🥺🏝️🧡✨

tagged landonorris

landonorris thank you pookie 😸🫶

oliviapianorris never put that on instagram ever again user1 she's definitely her mother's daughter yourinstagram @/user1 that's a fact user1 OMG HI MOTHER liked by yourinstagram

user2 at this point this is lando's home race not logan's😭

oliviapianorris call me an honoree floridian 🫡🦅 logansargeant YES I'VE TURNED U INTO AN AMERICAN landonorris you're going too far @/logansargeant oliviapianorris be nice to each other@/logansargeant @/landonorris

user3 did you film this whole weekend for your youtube channel 😭

oliviapianorris yes i did! coming out on friday!!

"You look like Taylor Swift In this light We're loving it. You've got edge she never did The future's bright, dazzling."

mclaren Olivia. Lacey. Piastri. Norris. 👏👏👏 Our baby papaya has grown up and won her very first World Championship! 🧡🏆 Just like her dad and uncle.

tagged oliviapianorris

oliviapianorris thank you mclaren family 🥹 love and appreciate everything you've done for me and my family.

yourusername @/oscarpiastri I CAN'T BELIEVE OUR BABY IS GROWN UP AND BECOMING LIKE YOU AND @/landonorris

oscarpiastri olivia went from playing barbies at the mclaren office to now working for mclaren landonorris I'M NOT OKAY WITH MY NIECE BEING SO GROWN UP 😭

user1 the piastri-norris family has always belonged in mclaren 😭

user2 olivia is like oscar but with more edge!!!

user3 everyone is loving olivia in this light!

oliviapianorris the future's bright, dazzling 🏆🧡✨

tagged mclaren

mclaren our baby papaya forever and always 🧡💫

liked by oliviapianorris

user1 THE TAYLOR SWIFT LYRIC OH MY GOD

taylorswift dazzling ✨✨✨

liked by oliviapianorris

racerbia congrats on your wdc magandang babae pretty girl 🥹🧡✨

oliviapianorris thank you tita aunt 🥹🫶

carlossainz55 congrats mini lando 🏆

oliviapianorris thank you tio uncle carlos! thank you for giving me tips before the race! user2 y/n and carlos were never meant to be but im glad carlos became a second uncle to olivia and the piastri twins!

landonorris MY TWIN 👯��

liked by oliviapianorris

oscarpiastri she might look like you @/landonorris @/yourusername but she's my twin on the track 🏎️💨

oliviapianorris except i got more edge on the track then you 😉✨ oscarpiastri you got that from your mom and uncle lando yourusername 🥹🧡✨

tagged: @omgsuperstarg @splaterparty0-0 @2pagenumb @c-losur3

[genderqueerpond]

You know, I think Clara knew about Amy.

Not at first, of course, but Clara grew up with her --- that is, grew up reading Amelia Williams books. And they were precious to her, books she's read many times over the course of her childhood -- how else does she know exactly which chapter holds what in the book she gave Artie? Perhaps she has always felt connected to her, this moderately obscure children's fantasy author, following in the footsteps of E Nesbit; this contemporary (and sometime friend (oh yes!) ) of Edward Eager's; although not nearly as widely known as either of these. Perhaps because of her choice to publish openly under a "woman's name", thus, in the time in which she lived, relegating her books to the inferior realm of "girls' books", despite the more than equal balance of male viewpoint characters.

But Amelia Williams is different from these authors too -- often fantasy, but sometimes more like early science fiction, a barely- recognized pioneer in both genres. Her views were feminist and daring. In so many ways she was ahead of her time, and the innovations she imagined! almost as if she knew what the future would hold.

And if Clara knows and loves her books so well, she can hardly fail to recognize the most frequently repeated character archetype in them. especially after she rereads a few on a subconscious hunch, during that summer after the Maitlands found a permanent nanny and she insisted that before anything else, she go off and fulfill her original travel plans from 101 Places To See. (The Doctor purported to leave her alone to forge her own way with this, but was in actuality very bad at that, and kept popping up nearly every place she went.) She's Clara, she's clever, how can she fail to look up from her book and notice that the person who's just appeared out of nowhere to stand in front of her with a plate of jammie dodgers and a goofy smile has stepped directly out of the pages?

And then of course, there are the dedications. Sure, there's normal stuff like "to my daughter", "to my loving and patient husband", and "to my parents, who are children now" which is rather weird and whimsical, but fits in with the fantasy author's signature style of dream-like imagination.

But the majority of Amelia Williams' dedication pages say things like "to You", "to My Doctor", "to My Raggedy Doctor" "to my raggedy man" (weird but clearly connected to the other variants), and, cryptically, over and over again: "to you", "to you", "to you", "to you (wherever in time and space you are)".

There's "to my imaginary friend" and "to my imaginary friend, and to all children who have an imaginary friend" and "to my imaginary friend, and every child in the universe who's ever met him, or ever will". Nerds and English teachers have occasionally debated what, if anything, she meant by all this, and now Clara thinks she knows, but she can never say....

And then there are the nights that the Doctor wakes up crying out for "Amy!" and then refuses to talk about it when Clara asks, refuses to acknowledge ever even knowing an Amy, "well everyone shouts random things when they're asleep, it doesn't mean anything" and "I don't remember." if pressed for details about his dreaming. And later he might go off somewhere and cry quietly, reading a book he never lets Clara see.

And then he regenerates, and calls out for "Amelia!", "the first face this face saw."

There's newborn twelve, with his Scottish accent, letting her name slip. It's the first - and only - time he's spoken of her while awake and not actively dying. And Clara is too busy with the immediate threat to their lives to think about it in the moment, but at this point she at the very least has a hunch about the connection between him and the Scottish-American author with the rather opaque background --- that as far as anyone can trace it (although to be fair, no one really cares enough to try very hard) she and her husband just kind of appeared out of nowhere in pre-WWII New York. It seems kind of obvious, now, that the doctor would have had a hand in that.

And now with all the books everywhere, the library gradually migrating into the console room, what else is obvious is that he owns every single one of her books. multiple copies, first editions, last editions, signed copies, mass paperbacks, everything. There's a TARDIS key hidden in a well-worn, well-loved, tear streaked copy of The Cuckoo And The Doll's House, which Clara finds when she's cataloging all the locations of TARDIS keys, just in case she should ever need that information one day.

This all is enough for Clara to know. There doesn't really need to be any more proof, but there is. What totally and fully clinches it are the pictures. Tucked in the pages of another tearstained book (The Beast Below this time), are photographs of Amelia, looking just as she does in her black and white author photos, but younger, and in 21st century clothes. Elsewhere, later, she finds photo booth polaroids of a still younger Amelia, goofing off and smiling. Some of them feature another young man Clara doesn't recognize, and some of them feature the Doctor. He's wearing a tweed jacket instead of his purple wool, and no vest, but otherwise he is exactly the same as the Doctor she first met. The three of them hang off each other like old friends, like family.

idk how to end this.

[ohmerricat]

the main mistake that people who dislike s8 and put it low in their series rankings make is the belief that, like any other series (apart from s9), it’s a collection of standalone stories tied together by some vague throughline i.e. missy’s ‘heaven’. “oh, this episode’s mid, that episode’s bad” meanwhile it’s not about individual episodes at all. i firmly believe that it should be viewed as a singular long serial.

so grateful that i was extremely late to the party and binged it all in a week instead of watching every episode as they were airing, because sometimes the plots barely matter at all. do you remember what the skovox blitzer actually looks like or what it wanted with coal hill in the first place? hardly. i had to google its name. but what you do remember from the caretaker is twelve acting like an antagonistic prick towards danny, and that’s what matters. almost every villainous entity is some kind of soldier, the contempt twelve shows to everybody but clara becomes the source of their toxicity… in the forest of the night is pretty obviously rubbish scifi, but it demonstrates danny’s fundamental incompatibility with clara, as well as the scene in which clara is ready to sacrifice herself and her students for the doctor’s sake, foreshadowing their reckless, almost suicidal codependency.

point is, but it really does work best as a tightly woven tapestry. sure, some episodes succeed individually, but most of the individual plots are mildly exciting only in a ‘this is fun to watch for kids’ way… UNLESS you approach them from the overarching perspective. i.e. mummy on the orient express has wonderful style, a thrilling mystery, creative concepts and interesting side characters, but its story appeal hinges on the twelveclara failed breakup. listen is frightening enough, but its entire story appeal hinges on just how much clara affects the doctor’s values past and present, and whether or not she has a future with danny (she doesn’t).

what i’m saying is, the narrative in s8 is a non-negotiable package deal. buy one, get them all. and it has no skips. i hate the idiotic pro-life message in kill the moon as much as the next sensible person, but what the episode does well is really hammer home how much of a sanctimonious asshole twelve initially is, which is crucial to his future character evolution.

tldr; the correct way to watch series 8 is all in one go. series 8 is great. more love for series 8

[halcyonfawn]

the meaning behind "face the raven" theme in "wild blue yonder" and more

a continuation of this post. i need to talk about this otherwise i'll explode.

some people have also said that this theme is playing in "last christmas" and "hell bent" (thank you for pointing that out, i'm going to die) which makes it all even worse (better). therefore, this post is, more or less, destined to turn into capaldi's era brainrot. but not all of it, i promise.

you've been warned.

first of all, allow me to refresh your memory. let's look into the context of the scenes where we heard this music theme before.

"last christmas"

according to series 8 official soundtrack, this theme is a part of "every christmas is last christmas" and is heard quite clearly two times. they're both important scenes for the doctor and clara.

too late.

a moment full of regrets and nostalgia. the doctor thinking he's lost clara again, wishing he would have come back sooner. clara reminicing her life without the doctor in it.

"so no one matched up to danny, eh?" "there was one other man, but that would never have worked out." "why not?" "he was impossible."

it is (heavily) implied that "one other man" is the doctor. does the doctor himself realise that she's talking about him? open for interpretation. but what this small exchange truly does is showing a game of saying something without actually saying it.

"can you really see no difference in me?" "clara oswald, you will never look any different to me."

yet another way of dancing around words. there's something special and touching about this last line. it is sort of a confession of unconditional love. but the word itself - love - is never spoken out loud.

then again, twelfth might be face blind.

second chances.

now, this scene is a complete opposite of the one mentioned above. it's full of hope, anticipation, happiness. a beginning of a new arc. he is given a second chance and he takes it. the doctor asks clara to run away with him once again. and she says "yes" without hesitation, takes his hand, kisses him on the cheek.

conclusion? these two scenes are focused entirely on the doctor and clara's relationship. it is there to show their strong connection, how much they mean to one another. utter devastation at the thought of their time ending and the absolute joy of reuniting after being separated. a chance at a happy ending. which also makes the music that plays on the background their theme.

"face the raven"

"every christmas is last christmas" is now turned into "face the raven" and is asocciated with clara's death. it also makes the previous name even more heartwrenching since last christmas was literally clara and doctor's last hurrah. we can hear this piece of music appear in two scenes as well.

clara's monologue about facing the raven.

"if danny pink can do it so can i. die right. die like i mean it, face the raven. maybe this is what i wanted. maybe this is it. maybe this is why i kept running. maybe this is why i kept taking all those stupid risks, kept pushing it."

she's accepting her fate and aknowleges her recklesness all the way throught the season 9. it was meant to be. there wasn't enough space for two doctors in the tardis.

"i let you get reckless" "why? why shouldn't i be reckless? you're reckless all the bloody time! why can't i be like you?" "clara, there's nothing special about me. i'm nothing but less breakable than you. i should've taken care of you."

this scene is also about how a human life can be so very short compared to the time lord's and how easily it can end. it's fragile. and it's the doctor's curse: bearing the pain of losing his loved ones.

clara meeting her fate.

as she approaches the raven, ever so brave, the doctor watches her. he hears clara scream, then witness her collapsing onto the ground. it is extremely painful, but this is, i repeat, the doctor's curse: watching his companions leave. there's no use in running away from that pain, it haunts him every step of the way.

"hell bent"

next time, "face the raven" theme can be heard during the memory wipe sequence. there is no name given for the background music in this particular moment, but it's quite obvious it represents loss and... letting go?

the doctor is about to make clara forget their time together (does that ring a bell, anyone?).

it is worth pointing out that the music becomes the loudest at the exact moment the doctor says:

"look how far i went for fear of losing you. this has to stop. one of us has to go."

it is the culmination of their relationship. companions that push each other to extremes. together they might destroy the whole universe in order to keep each other safe. there's no other way but to separate. they've formed such a strong connection than one is ought to forget the other.

even though at first the doctor is determined to wipe clara's memories, he then admits she is right: it is unfair to take away all that wonderful time they had from her. so he gives her a choice. or, more like, an offer to play a russian roulette. it's either you or me. i'm not going to press that button. we will do this together.

to summarise: all of these moments featured a strong connection between clara and the doctor. it also tells us a story about how hard it is to lose someone you care about deeply, especially for the doctor.

how is it all connected to the doctor and donna?

memory wipe

the doctor has to make donna and clara forget about him in order to keep them safe. expect that he doesn't give donna a choice, wiping her memory almost instantly, without saying a proper goodbye to her. obviously, he didn't have enough time to think of a better way to solve the problem since donna wouldn't have lasted long. however, it is still a decision he regrets making.

from "the star beast":

"i'm so glad you're back, donna. it killed me, it killed me, it killed me."

if we take a look at clara's situation, it's a bit different. i've already mentioned it above: at first, the doctor wants to do the same thing to clara that he did to donna. make her forget. expect, this time he is confronted for doing so (even threatened, at some point).

"these have been the best years of my life and they're mine."

i think this line triggers something in the doctor. because this is when he realises that this is not the right thing to do. not exactly. he'd already done it once and he regretted it. so this time, he offers a slightly different solution. someone still has to forget, but they'll press that button together. it's a mutual choice.

now, i know it's not entirely related to the dialogue in "wild blue yonder", but i think it's worth mentioning that donna and clara's stories are somewhat similar. i'm sure it's been said before, but it's still important.

donna's story was incomplete because she wasn't given a choice. now, that she remembers, 14th doctor makes sure their time together is worth-while. a second chance just like in "last christams".

too alike

another similarity between these two stories is that clara and donna are not entirely humans. not anymore.

donna's half timelord. even though her head is still not big enough to fit all the doctor's memories, she still has a part of the doctor in her.

clara's frozen in time, that makes her practically immortal. she risks her life, she reverses the polarity of the neuroblock, she gets her own tardis, she's even reffered to as "clara who" at the end of "hell bent". she has become the doctor in a sense.

but there can only be one doctor. so where's the story heading to at this point, i wonder? but we'll come back to this question later.

"but what really happened?"

before i say anything, it is obvious that the doctor's silence before and after he says "a lot" is him reminicing all that'd happened to him during the 11th, 12th and 13th reincarnations. all of the loss and pain he went through.

but why "face the raven" theme of all things? it could be a general theme of grief/nostalgia/painful memories, nothing else implied.

but please let me be delusional for a bit longer!

just as that scene in "hell bent" brought the doctor back to the moment he made donna forget him, could it be that bringing back his best friend's memories in a whole universe that "he absolutely loves", also reminded him of another important person in his life with similar story? just like "hell bent" mirrored "the journey's end", "wild blue younder" gave us a reference to "hell bent".

this is where we get back to the question about the current story direction.

foreshadowing?

donna's story is not over. and there are a lot of possibilities how it can end.

say, there is a connection to clara's story here, i wonder if that's where the plot's heading. in one of the trailers, the doctor does say "i'm not sure if i can save you this time" to donna. and it worries me. then again, maybe they're just tricking us into thinking something bad will happen (oh the drama).

i'd say it's unlikely donna's going to die because that would be absolutely devastating after just bringing her back. at the very least, the ending wouldn't be completely "happily ever after". perhaps, sacrifices will be made in order to prevent something truly horrible from happening.

why did this face come back?

in "the girl who died" twelfth doctor finally realises why he got his face. it is a call-back to "the fires of pompei" (don't even get me started on its being the episode with 10th and donna).

the message the doctor was giving to himself turned out to be:

"i'm the doctor and i save people!"

but what is 14th trying to tell himself?

i think it's about donna and more.

he's fixing his mistake of erasing her memories and depriving her of the right to remember amazing things that'd happened to her.

it's a reminder to actually tell people how much they mean to him. as we can see, 14th's more open with his feelings and constantly shows signs of affection towards his loved ones, even breaking the "never say i love you" rule.

it's about being honest and open with people because they deserve to hear it from him and he deserves to hear it back. because "things happen and then it's too late".

again, take 12th doctor, for instance. he constantly represses his feelings. but in my humble opinion, the reason why he's changed by season 10 was clara. she pulled him out of the dark place. and even though her death almost threw him back to that state again, he is still a better man by season 10.

but there were things left unsaid. love and care were always there but it was never said out loud. kind of the same thing happened with 13th.

i strongly believe that donna is that person for 14th. they're best friends who love each other deeply. and after the doctor lost her and got a second chance to fix everything, he does, he's being affectione. he's finally open with his feelings.

conslusion: why did you make us read all fo this?

to answer the question in the title: it's all tied with how memories are important and priceless, fixing past mistakes, moving on and learning to treasure every moment with people you care about like it's your last.

it can also be a foreshadowing for something terrible, but i choose to hope for the better.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

aaaand that is the end of my doctor who rant. thank you for getting this far, if you did!

my feelings about all of this can be described with this one meme:

[headcanonsandmore]

Harry Houdini with every Doctor (1-15):

One: Something akin to professional curiosity. One starts chortling during a particularly daring escape, and Houdini decides he likes this stranger.

Two: Houdini flirts with Jamie who, of course, doesn't notice. But the Doctor does, and starts to wonder.

Three: This flamboyant peacock of a man explodes into Houdini's life. Having now understood what his predecessor was trying to figure out, Three takes no time in thoroughly having a lot of fun. Houdini is very happy about this.

Four: An interesting case. Less of a raw physical relationship and more like two colleagues who ended up lounging around each other and thought 'why not?'.

Five: They have tea together. Houdini is amused by the Doctor constantly bickering with the young Australian, whose girlfriend Nyssa is lovely. He isn't sure why the Doctor doesn't seem to notice this about the two women, though.

Six: More raw physicality again. Houdini got used to the coat after a while.

Seven: Houdini doesn't understand why the time lord keeps avoiding introducing him to his young friend Ace.

Eight: Whirlwind romance with lots of day drinking.

War: Houdini wonders why the Doctor hasn't visited in a while, and is faintly worried by the absence.

Nine: The time lord appears on Houdini's door one evening in the rain. They don't speak much at first, so Houdini just cuddles Nine. Sometimes he can see a deep grief in their eyes, and it scares him.

Ten: Houdini would like it to be physical but this face is somehow more depressed than the last. He wonders who this 'Rose' person is. The Doctor tells him to stay away from someone called... Captain Jack? Houdini doesn't understand, but he takes the Doctor at their word.

Eleven: They mostly talk about escapology. Eleven does kiss him once or twice, but they decide it's better to leave things at that.

Twelve: Surprisingly physical and tender. Whose are the names he whispers in quiet moments, seemingly without realising? Who is River? Who is Missy? Who is Clara?

Thirteen: The woman thing wasn't a big deal, but Houdini is baffled by the sheer intensity of the Doctor this time. She apologises whenever he gets close, saying that she isn't really into that at the moment. Houdini asks who this 'Yaz' is; the Doctor waves the question away, with a smile that doesn't reach her eyes and a blush that she doesn't seem to notice.

TenThree/ David Doctor/ Sorry-Mr-Tennant-I-can't-call-you-Fourteen: Houdini is happy that this face seems to have finally gotten some peace. His niece Rose seems lovely.

Fifteen: Houdini is physically reminded of the dandy again. In all the best ways.

[givemewallywestorgivemedeath]

Alright, gonna rattle off some Hazbin Hotel theories just to get them out of my system:

1) The Key that Lilith gave Charlie is the key to the pearly gates, aka a way into heaven. Which is why the cat didn't like Sir Pretentious until he was redeemable and why the key is the symbol used to depict the hotel on both the logo of the show and the logo on the hotel.

2) Lilith didn't just abandon everyone to vacay in heaven. Following my previous theory, she already had the key to heaven (likely given to her by Adam as a 'please come back 🥺🥺🥺' gift). From Charlie's recounting of the story, her mom loves hell and thrives down there so I'm really not buying this whole 'retire in heaven as Adam's rebound' thing. I'm going to say that Lilith infiltrated heaven under the guise of taking back Adam and being 'the good wife' again but she is 100% using her access to heaven to pull strings and get her grand plan going. She may have to keep Lute happy next season to keep her access, but it's not because she's a turncoat, it's because she's got motives.

3) Throwing this out there: I think it has something to do with Eve! I haven't even met Eve yet but I ship Eve and Lilith. Maybe Adam had Eve locked up somewhere and Lilith is trying to free her or, maybe Eve disappeared, hence why Adam wanted a new wife and Lilith is trying to find her or something.

4) Carmilla is Eve. Yeah, so the name Carmilla means 'Garden or Orchid', Carmine means 'Song or Crimson Red', she looks EXACTLY like Lilith except with a different color palette (and she's wearing angel steel ballet shoes and gloves), she styles her hair up to look like horns but she doesn't actually have any of her own, she killed an angel, she knew all about angel weaknesses and how to kill them, she figured out how to reforge angel steel into new weapons, and, most importantly, SHE HAS TWO KIDS THAT SHE IS VERY PROTECTIVE OF.

Now, part of me wants to say that Zestial, the confirmed oldest sinner in Hell, the super powerful demon that rules over the other overlords who cares immensely about Carmilla and vice versa, is actually Cain. Cain, aka Eve's son and the first murderer (and theologically rumored to be Lucifer's child which uhhhhh, the show kinda seems to be hinting at with Lucifer implying that him and Eve had a thing?) So yeah, I like the idea that Carmilla loves her son despite his flaws and is trying to keep him safe in hell (knowing that Abel is completely fine in heaven)

But I also kinda want to say that Odette is Abel and Clara is Cain? Look, Odette is wearing a headband with demon horns sticking out of it. Her horns look fake. Also, come on, Odette and Clara?? As in the lead characters from Swan Lake and the Nutcracker?? I'm not going to get into why renaming Cain after Clara from the NUTCRACKER is hilarious as it's pretty obvious. But renaming Abel after Odette, the princess with wings who literally dies and ends up in heaven at the end of the play, is also pretty obvious ngl. So I do also kinda think that Eve and Abel were chilling in heaven and then either Abel fell or Eve got word about the annual culling of sinners, and the two of them took on fake names and reunited with Cain/Clara. Eve is determined to do whatever it takes to keep her children safe and, while she does not like participating in violence, she will kill to protect her daughters. (And potentially Zestial is Clara's father? As Cain is rumoured to be either Lucifer's child or a demon's child)

EDIT: Okay I literally just realized that in the song "Whatever it Takes" she hugs her daughters and says that she will "be their keeper" which is a play on what Cain said to God after killing Abel. God asked where Abel was and Cain said "I am not my brother's keeper." So Carmilla in that song is vowing to keep her daughters safe by preventing war with heaven and being "their keeper".

5) Adam created all of the Exorcists from his ribs. Adam mentioned that he named Vaggie which either implies that Adam is Vaggie's father or that Adam created the entire Exorcist race. Considering Lilith and Eve were both created from Adam's ribs, all the Exorcists are women, they're called 'sisters', and all of them are bone white with 'angel blood' gold eyes, I think the dude just straight up made them all with his bones! Adam even offered a plate of ribs to Charlie when he was taunting her about killing off her citizens!

Anyway, these are my Hazbin Hotel theories. Let me know what you think!

[ghostaholics]

for soulmate au:

would johnn and reader cross paths again and if they would what would it look likee

would they maybe find a way to love eachother despite johnn's proffesion

𝒔𝒐𝒖𝒍𝒎𝒂𝒕𝒆 𝒂𝒖

here’s more on what happens between them

After their long talk, they decide to regrettably, but amicably part ways – neither of them like the circumstances, but they agree it’s for the best. She sends him off with a hug; they hold onto each other for a little bit longer than they should. It tides them over for maybe a week. Cue a whole montage of them in their respective places unable to adjust back to normal life for a while.

Then, as previously mentioned, it starts to hurt. At first, it starts off like a little twinge – a bones-deep sadness that comes and goes every so often but she tries to ignore the feeling. It gets worse not long after, a visceral chest pain that’s so awful it sends her straight to A&E; she thinks she might be having a heart attack. Who’s your emergency contact? they question. Don’t have one, she says, and it sends another stab of pain through her. The entire hospitalization is about a day-long affair. They run every test in the book, they give her clot-busters, vasodilators — hell, they’re contemplating cutting her open for invasive procedures even though the labs don’t say she’s had a myocardial infarction, just an EKG that had some anomalies but everything else was fine. Someone, a cardiologist maybe, has the sense to ask, How’s your soulmate? And she replies in a grim tone, ‘We don’t talk.’ Well, there’s the problem.

Price caves. He caves so fucking bad; calls her up (they’d agreed only to contact each other for emergencies), because to be honest, he wasn’t sure if it was just him or if she’d been feeling it too – emotional pain was never in the books but it seems like now it is. This is new. This is bad. His voice is gruff like usual but the concern is evident behind his words. And the second they hear each other down the line, there’s a weight that’s been lifted – the pain dulls. Relief. Not quite gone altogether, but more manageable. Neither of them feel like they’re on the brink of death anymore. And there are just shaky breaths being exchanged on both ends as they try to come to grips with what’s been happening. So, cutting all contact, going cold-turkey, is clearly not going to work for either of them. They know they can’t be doing this, but the more they talk over the phone, the easier it gets to breathe, to function normally. And so it begins.

Their relationship runs on a schedule; a loophole – every Sunday, 0600 her time. They count it down, too. Exactly one hour. Just enough for them to keep the pain at bay, to go about their lives until the next call. Sometimes longer when he knows he's about to go off-the-grid for a mission and won't make the usual Sunday time. They talk about anything and everything: she usually talks about her personal life, old stories from her past, what she’s making for breakfast, what her plans are for the week, and him – stuff about the 141 (never anything confidential or gory) like what sort of antics they get up to, spends an entire call telling her about Villa Claras and why they’re the superior cigar (kind of a nerd about those, whiskey, and the Reds, which she finds endearing – actually very knowledgeable regarding many things that he can talk her ear off about for hours). She falls in love with his voice first, the rest comes after slowly.

The more times they use this loophole, the weaker it gets. It starts off with him asking for five more minutes; yeah, he hears the alarm go off. Maybe a little bit longer will buy him more time throughout the week until the next call. Nothing they haven’t done before. But five turns into ten the week after, then twenty, and so forth. She says his name softly, interrupts him when they reach 0930 during one of their talks. I know what you're doing John. We can't. And here's the thing: it's a case of 'she fell first, but he fell harder.'

It doesn't last as long anymore; three days now until the longing starts back up again. And he calls her. He fucking calls her in the middle of the week on a Wednesday. John— She feels it too. I had to hear your voice again, he says with urgency. Because he just couldn't fucking help himself.

So they schedule something for Wednesdays. It'll help. It should. And it does, for all of two weeks until the same bloody thing happens again. This isn't sustainable. He knows that he’s not going to retire anytime soon, and even more that that – he knows that she shouldn't be doomed to live this kind of life. Not for for him, but most especially not fair for her. It's like she said, isn't it? She waited an entire lifetime for him. Why keep putting her through that? So he mentions this, kills him to do it: you deserve better; I know there's someone out there who can give you the things that I can't (Sunday mornings face-to-face over tea, to be near one another in a way where they can see the other's okay, where the hurt is non-existent; intimacy and affection and proper romance; marriage, growing old together, something quiet and normal.) She's already taken on his pain. He figures that it's his turn to bear it for the both of them now.

She tells him, without reservation, that it's the stupidest thing he's ever said. And before time's up for this call she uses the last few minutes to admit what's been on her mind lately. I don't want any of that stuff if it's not with you. What would be the point? It took me a while but I've finally figured out what soulmates are for; not for all the things you've said, as nice as they are – or would be; it’s simple, really. I was put on this earth to love you and I think that I've fulfilled my purpose. Nothing else matters.

She waits for his call on Sunday, 0600 on the dot – he's always punctual, she knows; this time is no different. But she doesn't even get a 'hello' out before he speaks into the phone: I'm outside.

[sunflawyer]

a little sunflawyer lore drop because its been too long since i did one!!

just as a way for me to show abby's personality better ☀️ it's about Abby and her patients.

its quite long though !!! (⁠⊙⁠_⁠◎⁠) but its sweet :3

abby is a psychologist who works at a clinic !!! her patients range from kids to adults :D so far the one that i would love to mention is Clara, a 9 year old girl who suffers from abvuse trauma. for clara's case, abby helps her to heal while jimmy helps bring justice for her by capturing the perpetrator.

recently i thought of a new patient!! this one is an elderly man named Sam who recently lost his wife. he goes to abby to help him cope with his grief. he tells abby everything about his marriage — the memories, the dreams, the moments... and sam's stories make abby think of jimmy. the same romance that sparkles between the two of them...

now, sam's wife's passing got her thinking about herself too. abby has a low blood pressure, which causes her to pass out quite often, and it always worries jimmy. she's afraid if something happens to her one day, jimmy will struggle to cope with it. and it terrifies her and haunts her mind for days until one day she can't take it anymore.

so one day, after she comes home from another session with sam, abby sits beside jimmy and asks him to make her cry. jimmy was taken aback of course — he never wanted to see abby cry, let alone being the one who caused it. but abby trusts him and says crying is a good way to cope with sadness to relief all of your bottled-up emotions. at work, she has to be tough for her patients, but today, she needs to ve vulnerable.

so, jimmy did. — he tells her about the day they met, about how he was instantly captivated by her the moment his eyes met hers. he tells her about their wedding day, how he was so nervous that he was the loudest to cry during their vows. he tells her the day tommy was born, the day tommy said 'mama', and the day when he first entered daycare. he tells her their memories together.

and she cried. of course not from sadness, but from happiness. they've been through a lot together. there were times when she doubted herself, and there were times when she was the happiest woman in the world. and she went through them with jimmy by her side.

he then pulls her into his arms and whispers, "its okay to cry, abby. i know you want to be tough for others, but with me, youre not just Dr. Abigail McGill, you're Abby. You're my wife, my best friend, the reason why I wake up with a smile everyday."

and he kisses her forehead, lingering there.

"you're a human, abby. a human with feelings. I'm here for you, to share your burdens with. i love you, no matter how you are feeling today, tomorrow, and the next day.

you're my heart."

[bananaofswifts]

Taylor Swift is giving fans more insight into her new album “The Tortured Poets Department,” thanks to a track-by-track experience with Amazon Music.

Fans can now listen to the album — which shattered streaming records after its release on April 19 — along with commentary from Swift breaking down the meaning of each track. To listen to “The Tortured Poets Department” with Swift’s commentary, fans can simply say to Alexa, “I’m a member of ‘The Tortured Poets Department.'”

Through the experience, Swift has revealed the inspiration behind songs including “Fortnight” with Post Malone, “Clara Bow,” “Florida!!!” with Florence + the Machine, “Who’s Afraid of Little Old Me?” and “My Boy Only Breaks His Favorite Toys.”

“‘Fortnight’ is a song that exhibits a lot of the common themes that run throughout this album. One of which being fatalism — longing, pining away, lost dreams,” Swift said of the album’s opening song. “I think that it’s a very fatalistic album in that there are lots of very dramatic lines about life or death. ‘I love you, it’s ruining my life.’ These are very hyperbolic, dramatic things to say. It’s that kind of album.”

Of “Clara Bow,” named after the silent film actress, Swift said the track is “a commentary on what I’ve seen in the industry that I’ve been in over time.”

“I used to sit in record labels trying to get a record deal when I was a little kid. And they’d say, ‘you know, you remind us of’ and then they’d name an artist, and then they’d kind of say something disparaging about her, ‘but you’re this, you’re so much better in this way or that way.’ And that’s how we teach women to see themselves, as like you could be the new replacement for this woman who’s done something great before you,” she said. “I picked women who have done great things in the past and have been these architypes of greatness in the entertainment industry. Clara Bow was the first ‘it girl.’ Stevie Nicks is an icon and an incredible example for anyone who wants to write songs and make music.”

“Florida!!!” featuring Florence + the Machine is one of the rare songs on the album that doesn’t see Swift directly speaking of a former lover. Swift said the inspiration for this track actually came from “always watching ‘Dateline.'”

“People have these crimes that they commit; where do they immediately skip town and go to? They go to Florida,” the singer added. “They try to reinvent themselves, have a new identity, blend in. I think when you go through a heartbreak, there’s a part of you that thinks, ‘I want a new name. I want a new life. I don’t want anyone to know where I’ve been or know me at all.’ And so that was the jumping off point. Where would you go to reinvent yourself and blend in? Florida!”

As for “Who’s Afraid of Little Old Me,” Swift revealed that she wrote the tune “alone, sitting at the piano in one of those moments when I felt bitter about just all the things we do to our artists as a society and as a culture.”

“There’s a lot about this particular concept on ‘The Tortured Poets Department,'” she added. “What do we do to our writers, and our artists, and our creatives? We put them through hell. We watch what they create, then we judge it. We love to watch artists in pain, often to the point where I think sometimes as a society we provoke that pain and we just watch what happens.”

Lastly, Swift broke down the metaphor within “My Boy Only Breaks His Favorite Toys.”

The song is about “being somebody’s favorite toy until they break you and then don’t want to play with you anymore,” she said. “Which is how a lot of us are in relationships where we are so valued by a person in the beginning, and then all of the sudden, they break us or they devalue us in their mind. We’re still clinging on to ‘No no, no. You should’ve seen them the first time they saw me. They’ll come back to that. They’ll get back to that.’”

[evenstar0600]

greetings name twin! loved your Tom riddle fic. it was super good :) could I humbly request some headcanons for how different doctor who characters would react to you cupping their face??? thank you :)))))

hello, my lovely. and fellow Jace. thank you for your kind words!

PLOT: the request

PAIRING: various!doctor who characters x gender neutral!reader

WARNINGS: biting, the master (they are a warning by themself), mentions of the time war, angst, fluff etc

AUTHOR'S NOTES: reader is female in bill's part and is half time-lord btw. and reader is female in yaz's part.

THE NINTH DOCTOR

mans is shocked

like 100% will freeze and just awkwardly stand there

he'll eventually melt into your touch

since the time war, he's closed off his emotions

upon cupping his face, he'll become emotionally vulnerable around you

ngl, he'd probably say 'fantastic!' or something like that.

THE TENTH DOCTOR

bless this sweet baby's hearts

since he's the polar opposite of his previous incarnation, he'll be all for it

i can picture him blushing and smiling (like in the gif)

you'd have him twirling his hair and kicking his feet

100% would give you forehead kisses and cuddles

would be a bit confused as he's got a thing with rose but y'know, for the sake of fanfic they're not together

THE ELEVENTH DOCTOR

baby. baby boy.

he'd be all smiles and shit like that

he loves you to the edge of the universe and back

in turn, he'd cup both your cheeks too

100% would catch feelings for you after this

deffo would snog you

amy ships it

river, who knows what happens in the future, just smiles contentedly and knowingly

THE TWELFTH DOCTOR

"what the hell are you doing?"

i can picture him saying that

like nine, he'd be frozen solid

for at least a minute or two

he melts into your touch

he comes off as a grumpy old man but he yearns for affection

he'll even kiss your palm softly and brush his nose against your thumb

like with clara in face the raven, he'd retract your hand and softly kiss it

THE THIRTEENTH DOCTOR

she's gonna say shit like "brilliant".

also, since she's fruity asf she'll blush

much like her previous incarnations, she'll blush

and smile

this bby is made of sunshine and rainbows

i love her sm

might pull a chris chibbers and not kiss you (# we were deprived of a thasmin kiss)

SIMM!MASTER

would bite your hand

like 10000000% would bite your hand

depends on his mood

he'll either nip your hand or maybe its a full-on chomp

we've seen him in "the end of time", he ate two whole ass people that episode

he's either biting you or straight-up killing you.

there is no middle ground

MISSY/GOMEZ!MASTER

it depends which part of capaldi's era

if it's in series 9, then she'll do to you what she did to osgood.

dead

deadeth

unaliven't

if its in series 10, she'll freeze.

she might cry

will need cheering up

so cuddles

she might shrug you off but then a couple hours later, she might cuddle with you.

either way, its death or cuddles.

your choice

DHAWAN!MASTER

crazy ass fucker

like simm, he gives bitey vibes

instead of having half a mind to eat you or some shit, he'll nip your hand

or he'd scoff at your and push you away

third case scenario, if he's feeling vulnerable, he'll demand a hug

and god, if anyone hears about it, they're dead

canon, i'm his eyebrow

ROSE TYLER

she's so pretty <33333

given the era she's from, she'd probs say "i'm not gay"

for the sake of fanfic, i reckon she'd smile and give you a hug

i can imagine her giving really good hugs

will take you out for chips after

MARTHA JONES

she's stunning <33333

would be a bit awkward given her crush on the doctor

for the sake of the fic, she doesn't fancy the doctor

she might cry

but its happy tears

melts into your touch

would probably develop feelings for you

DONNA NOBLE

"wot"

^what she's realistically say

given that her ex-fiancee tried to kill her or something, she's a bit wary

would probably say something like "you wot mate?" or "not my type, sunshine" idk

the doctor is probably standing in the background like "miss girl what is going on here"

wilf might smile or something. (love wilf sm)

RORY WILLIAMS

would be so awkward it's cute

he's so sexy in the roman uniform

given he's married to amy, he'd be like "no thanks"

or he'd say like "i'm flattered but i'm happily- moderately- i'm married"

(again for the sake of fanfic, he and amy aren't together)

he'd 100% blush

river is, once again, smiling the background

RIVER SONG

she knows all

when you first met the infamous river song, she told you that both of you were, quote on quote, "close" in the future

after the ordeal with the weeping angels, you were terrified.

she comforts you and you cup her cheek

she smiles, knowing that this is the start of something brilliant

would maybe cry a little but would kiss your forehead

years down the line, you'd both reflect on how that was the starting point of your marriage

AMY POND

100% would flirt with you

like i'm not even kidding

rory would be like "wtf" in the background"

theres an episode where she started flirting with herself so i'm not even suprised

maybe, just maybe, would give you a smooch

CLARA OSWALD

your impossible girl

would be a tad shocked but would smile

bisexual queen

kisses your hand

then kisses you

no middle ground

melts into your touch 100%

BILL POTTS

bill is a sweetheart and one of my favourite companions

if you cupped her face after a stressful adventure, she'd pause

time would literally stop for her

she'd smile

since loosing heather to the sentient oil, love had been off her mind

then she met you: the doctor's great-granddaughter, the daughter of susan foreman.

might, just might, end up in a kiss.

the doctor smiles, missy deffo takes a picture and nardole cheers.

YASMIN "YAZ" KHAN

yaz is SO pretty and you can't tell me otherwise

sapphic queen

if you cupped her cheek, she'd hesitate before metling into your touch

her face would heat up and her heart would beat at a million beats a minute

might develop budding feelings for you

sapphic queen (#we were deprived of a thasmin kiss)

[ninthcircleofprythian]

May Her Memory Be a Blessing

Pairing - Azris

Author's Notes - In Jewish tradition, when someone we love and cherish passes, it is not uncommon to say "May their memory be a blessing." This simple phrase is not just a condolence but also a reminder, to those who are still here earthside. Those that still hold the memory of their loved one inside them, to honor their life and legacy with acts of good deeds in their name and to continue to speak of them fondly. So that their name may never be forgotten by the passage of time and history.

I will not give you a summary of the fic I am presenting today. But I will tell you bluntly. This will hurt. This will hurt a lot. Proceed with caution.

Warnings - minor/side character death, funeral scene, mourning, grief, aging (and all the comes with it), yearning, pining, sadness, mating bond angst, general angst, emotional turmoil, this is hardly proofread and barely edited.

“Good Morning, my Lord.”

The bubbly brunette chirped as she handed him the sheet that required his signature. Pulling the fountain pen from his breast pocket and uncapping it with his teeth, Eris scrawled his looping name across the page without even reading it. How many signatures he had done the same thing for just earlier this morning, he didn’t know. Whatever had been handed to him had received the same care as he gave just now. Signed and slid back to its receiver. 

“Clara, I thought we agreed you could call me Eris,” he smirked casually at the young fae. 

“Oh. Right. I’m sorry, sir. I mean, Eris,” she fumbled with the paper he handed back to her, tucking it haphazardly back on her desk. 

“It’s alright,” Eris stated. “Just don’t forget next time.” He winked slyly at his own bad joke. Clara just stared, mouth slightly ajar, mouth quirking into an unsure attempt at a smile. Clearing his throat and straightening his suit jacket, Eris apologized. “I’m sorry. That was – I’m just a bit nervous is all.”

Clara nodded sympathetically. “Everything is all set for you, sir. I mean – Eris,” she stuttered once more. 

With a nod of his own, Eris departed from her desk and made his way down the hall. The familiar carpeting muffled his footsteps just as it always did, but did nothing to quell the drumbeat of his heart within his chest. Stopping before the solid wood door he was aiming for, Eris adjusted his jacket one more time. With a deep breath, the shadow that had slipped out to greet him was scattered and he opened the door. 

The large bed took up the majority of the space, large enough for Illyrian wings of course. The curtains were drawn back, bathing the room in the bright morning light and illuminating the figure sitting casually in the overstuffed armchair along the far wall, shadows hanging low over the arms of their master. 

“Ready to go?” Eris questioned as he stood in the middle of the room. 

Azriel swallowed the tea he was sipping, replacing the cup back on its saucer next to him without even looking. “Hmm?,” he hummed without looking up from the book that was occupying all his attention. “Go where?”

“To Rose’s funeral,” Eris answered softly, his voice not matching his rigid stance. 

“Oh. Oh, that's today,” Azriel startled a bit, snapping his book closed. “It must have slipped my mind.” Setting the book aside, he began to ease himself from the chair. Slowly. 

Eris stepped forward and offered a hand, heart lurching at the scarred hand that slipped casually into it and the tendrils of mist that surrounded them both. His chest ached with the thrum of the bond just as it always did at his mate’s touch. 

“Thank you,” Azriel smiled widely at him as he straightened. “Don’t get old. It’s not all it's cracked up to be,” he chuckled. 

That deep laugh had the bond thrumming harder as Eris cracked his own smile “I’ll keep that in mind.”

It was honestly something Eris seemed to forget until it was pointed out to him. Just how much time had passed. Eyes scanning quickly over the male in front of him, it was now clear as the morning sun outside. Once dark tresses were now a startling white. Even his own fiery red hair, while not gray, had faded into the color of crisp fall leaves leeched of their color by the sun. 

“I should probably change,” Azriel’s booming voice snapped Eris from his reverie.

“No, you look nice,” he said, taking in the outfit Az donned. The black button down shirt, tailor fitted for his large frame. Not as snug against bulging muscles as it once would have been but still filled out nicely. Dark trousers with black belt, ironed with a crisp line. “Maybe just a tie.”

Eris swiveled his body toward the closet, pulling open the door and looking through his choices. Grabbing a dark blue tie, he went to kick the door closed with his heel, knee popping loudly as he did so. Just another reminder of the passage of time and the aging of his own body. 

“How about this one?,” he queried, holding it up against Azriel’s shirt as he stood in front of the full length mirror along the wall. 

“Good choice,” Az responded with a smile. His fingers grazed the length of fabric without taking hold to it. “Could you?,” he met Eris’ gaze in the mirror. 

“Yeah,” Eris smiled as he swallowed thickly. “Of course.” Turning to grab the ottoman where the armchair stood he slid it behind Azriel’s knees. “Here. Sit.”

Easing back onto the seat, Az plopped the last few inches as his knees gave out, his large body rocking back and wings flaring to catch himself. With a steady hand to the center of his back, Eris halted his descent backwards. 

“Don’t get old,” Az chuckled again. 

“I’ll remember,” Eris whispered as his long fingers found their way to Azriel’s shirt collar. Slowly he pulled up the stiff folded fabric and notched the tie into place. Meeting his mate’s eyes in the mirror once more, Eris smiled a half smile and reached over the broad shoulders to adjust the lengths before beginning to wind them together. He didn’t need to watch his hands, he knew the movements by heart. Instead his focus was on the hazel eyes before him, watching the knot come together in the mirror. With one final tug and a little straightening, the look was complete. 

Those golden orbs glanced up, catching Eris’s sight in the reflection. “You were always better at that than I was,” Az smiled softly, reaching one scarred hand up to his shoulder and placing it atop one of Eris’ own that was resting there. 

That damned thrum hit Eris full force once more, this time pausing his heart. The need to draw a breath hit him before he could get the word out. “Az?,” he croaked out. 

“Hmm?,” Azriel hummed in response. Eris stared just a moment longer, willing those eyes to find his once more before the moment was broken. “Are we ready?,” Azriel asked. 

“Yes.” Eris shook his head slightly as he drew a deep breath. “Yes, the carriage is waiting for us out front.”

The short ride was made longer by the silence that filled the interior of the carriage, both males lost in their own thoughts. Azriel leaned against the window next to his seat, watching the passing landscape with that stoic neutrality the former Spymaster was known for. Opposite him, Eris stared down at the carriage floor, uninterested in the world passing by outside and instead fixated on the toe of a polished dress shoe pressed against the matching shoe of his own. As the carriage lurched to a halt, Eris’ attention was shaken from his thoughts. 

Climbing from the carriage and picking their way over the uneven ground took more time than it would have in centuries past but Eris had assured they would arrive first, allowing themselves the time to say goodbye in private if the need should arise. 

The plush velvet chairs were already set up along the graveside. Eris slipped into the front row, peering back over his shoulder to ensure that Azriel was following. 

Choosing the second chair from the end, he gestured to the end seat. “More room for the wings,” Eris smiled, although the emotion didn’t reach his eyes. 

“Ah, yes. Smart,” Azriel smiled genuinely in return, his own eyes crinkling a bit at the corners and deepening the wrinkles that had long been present there. 

Eris reached out his arm out of habit, helping to steady Az’s descent into his seat. His hand grasped it without thought as he once again plopped down, the action causing his night chilled scent to gust over them both. Eris rubbed at his chest with his free hand, the smell flooding his senses.

“It was good of you to come with me,” Azriel stated as his hands dropped to his knees and rubbed. “I hope you aren’t missing too much work because of me.”

“Nothing that couldn’t be missed.” Eris folded his hands in his lap, but not before rubbing lightly over his forearm where the sensation of large fingers still lingered. 

The silence that had covered them throughout the carriage ride fell once more, this time only broken by the whistling of songbirds off in the distant wood. Eris let the moment wash over him, the smell of the freshly turned earth at his feet grounding him to the present.

“She was a good friend,” Az’s voice crackled through the silence. Eris’ gaze whipped to his face, stark profile facing him, his gaze holding on the grave before him. 

“Yes. She was,” Eris whispered.

“She always remembered how I liked my tea.” Azriel slowly turned his head, hazel eyes watery with unshed tears latching on to the amber ones next to him. “We would sit in the day room most mornings and have our tea together. I’m going to miss her.” 

With a sniffle, Azriel turned his sight back to the mound of dirt before him, fingers gripping his knees as he rubbed anxiously along the joints. Eris watched the movement as that flare of the bond tightened in his chest once more. Before he could question himself too intensely, he reached out and grasped the hand closest to him, laying his slender fingers over the scarred hand and warming his palm gently in comfort. 

“I know,” Eris’ voice cracked as he cleared his throat. “I’m sorry for your loss, Azriel. She will be missed.”

The remaining hand left Azriel’s other knee and promptly landed itself on top of Eris’ own, sandwiching his hand between those of his mate. “May her memory be a blessing,” Azriel said with gravel in his tone before he too cleared the emotion from his throat. 

Eris stilled, wholly and completely, breath trapped within the confines of his chest which now pulsed with the bond and the emotion of the moment. The words of the temple priestesses from centuries past clanged through his mind like a bell, words spoken as a tribute to the dead in hallowed halls of worship. 

“May her memory be a blessing,” Eris repeated, barely at a whisper. Hardly louder than the trill of the songbirds in the distant trees. The words swept away in the gentle breeze that kicked up at just that moment. Eris tried not to think about that breeze ruffling through the stark white hair of his mate next to him, eyes glued instead to the hands still grasped along the other male’s knee. 

All too quickly, the others began filing past, finding their seats and passing their condolences onto the males already seated. The scarred hands pulled away as they lifted to shake those of the ones who approached with their well wishes. Folding his hands back into his own lap, Eris only nodded politely in response to their words. 

As the service began and then continued on, Eris sat primly. The words spoken hardly a drone in his ears, their meaning not even registering inside his mind. His mental focus was honed instead onto the figure at this side. Every sigh and sag of the shoulders was noted and marked, carefully watched and analyzed. 

“Would you like to say a few words?,” the dulcet voice of the officiant sounded. It wasn’t the question but the stuttering response that pulled Eris’ thoughts to the present. 

“Oh. Um, I don’t –,” Azriel stammered next to him.

Eris’ hand jolted out, landing firmly on the bicep of his mate, shadows swirling a churning path over his wrist. “You don’t have to. It’s alright,” he maintained soothingly.

The responding flinch away from Eris’ touch gave way to the anxiety that was beginning to spiral. Wild hazel eyes met his, the fear at being called to attention evident. 

“I don’t — I — maybe you should,” Azriel’s voice wavered. 

“I can. That’s fine. You don’t have to do anything,” Eris’ response rushed from his lips in an effort to calm the impending chaos next to him. “I will. It’s ok. Really, Az.”

The urge to brush his hand along his mate’s arm once more was nearly too much, but the flash of just a few seconds prior stopped him. Azriel had flinched. From his hand. But the sound of his name falling from Eris’ lips seemed to do the trick, calming Azriel into only slightly fidgeting.

Straightening himself to standing and brushing his nervous hands over his front, Eris instead tossed off the thought as a result of the emotionally charged day. Azriel wasn’t the only one on edge. It meant nothing, Eris told himself. 

Squaring himself behind the low podium at the front of the crowd, he purposely avoided meeting the eye line of anyone in attendance as his hands gripped the polished wood. Drawing in a cleansing breath, he began. 

“Rose was – a wonderfully kind female who never knew a stranger.” Tilting his head down slightly and swallowing thickly, he continued.  “Even after her memory began to fail her, everyone she came across was just another friend to be made. Yet, she was more than a friend to me. When I was first introduced to her by —- my mate,” Eris stumbled over his own pause. 

Mentally, he willed himself to forge on. “She told me, ‘When you find the one that can grow flowers in the darkest parts of yourself, you know it was meant to be.’ She knew,” Eris choked once more before clearing his throat loudly. “Shortly after that meeting – our bond snapped into place.” The wave of emotion that overtook him in that moment couldn’t be stopped, with a sob Eris spilled out, “She was right.”

Pulling his shoulders straight and proud and sniffling loudly, Eris pulled himself together. “She never judged. She was only ever kind. And for that alone she deserves to be honored. May her memory be a blessing.” 

He didn’t wait for a cue or a word or a look from anyone before he marched back to his seat and folded himself into it with ease. Closing his eyes and focusing solely on his own breathing, he tuned out the closing of the service.

The short ride was made shorter by the remaining emotions of the morning. The quiet felt heavier, Eris’ soul weighted with grief. This time it wasn’t the lurching of the carriage coming to a stop that jerked him out of his thoughts, but the voice across from him. 

Azriel, peering out the window as he had earlier, watched the building slide fully into view. The gilded letters etched into beautiful obsidian marble. “Rosehall,” he stated strongly. “Do you think it was named after Rose?”

Eris watched the curiosity bloom over the face of his mate, the furrow of his brow hidden slightly by that one lock of hair that always fell across his forehead. “As a matter of fact, I believe it was.”

“Hmm,” Azriel pondered, a small smile easing across his countenance. “I like that. I think that's a good way to remember her.”

Walking through the plushly carpeted halls inside, Eris trailed beside Azriel who walked confidently as he nodded to the others they passed.

“It’s nearly lunchtime. Are you hungry?” Eris offered as they passed the dining room. 

“I think I’d like to lie down for a while,” Az answered as he peered over at him. “It’s been a long morning.”

“Of course,” Eris responded smoothly.

Azriel continued down the hall assuredly, turning into the bedroom and closing the door behind Eris as he followed. Turning from the door, Az planted himself in front of the mirror, scarred arthritic fingers fumbling at the knot against his neck. 

“Let me,” Eris offered, not waiting for a response. Azriel’s hands dropped as Eris’ took over, nimbly untying the length of fabric and slipping if free. 

“Is your shift almost over?,” Azriel asked as he began to unbutton his shirt.

Face now hidden in the closet, Eris didn’t even try to hide his disdain at the question. “It will be as soon as I get you to bed.” Although he had been reminded again and again that going along with the reality that Azriel presented was the best course of action, it never failed to pain him. 

A sudden booming laugh crashed through that pain, as Azriel threw his head back joyfully, slipping the shirt from around his wings and off his shoulders. 

“Get you to bed,” he laughed once more. “I know that’s not how you meant it, but I have to say, in my much younger days you would have been just my type.” With a coy wink, Az released another shaking laugh and turned toward the bed. “At least you have plenty of time left in the day for that mate of yours,” he mused as he folded his shirt and slacks neatly at the foot of the bed.

The joke. The familiar neatness. The joy of his mate’s laugh. All of it had the bond within him thrumming, vibrating past the iron hold Eris had held on it all morning. Without even realizing, his shields slipped, sending a pulse of longing pain to the other end of that tether. As Azriel pulled himself slowly into bed, wings tucked tight and rolling on his side, Eris saw the grimace that passed over his brow. Slamming down his shields once more in haste, he fixed his own face into neutrality. 

“You miss them when you are here, don’t you?,” Az asked drowsily, punching his pillow into place before laying his head down. 

Moving forward, Eris gripped the edge of the covers as casually as he could, pulling them up to drape over the male stretched out before him. “Yes,” his voice sounded with a break. “I do. Very much so.”

The gaze between them lingered, Eris’ sad and yearning while Azriel’s was sympathetic. “I can tell,” Az noted, rubbing his knuckles along his breastbone. Whether intentionally or not, Eris couldn’t tell. 

The moment was broken as Azriel slipped one arm under his pillow, eyes drifting closed, weary with exhaustion. 

“I’ll just gather your laundry before I leave,” Eris offered into the space. Azriel only hummed in acknowledgement as his breaths evened out into slumber.

After emptying the hamper into the linen bag, Eris returned to the bedside and slipped the morning’s outfit inside as well. His mate remained still, deep breaths slow and even, face slack with sleep. The urge to climb into the space leftover made Eris’ skin tight and itchy. Just the memory of Azriel’s hard chest pressed to his back, muscled arms holding him from behind was enough to start the stream of tears along his face. He resisted, but his hand still reached out, sweeping that lone lock of hair from Az’s forehead before his lips followed closely behind. 

“I love you, Az. I’ll see you tomorrow, my love.”

“Oh, Eris. Good, you’re back.” The well dressed male approached carrying a stack of papers in his arms. “I left the reports in your office, but these should be seen as soon as you can.” The stack was held out to Eris as he walked through the entryway of Forest House. 

“Bastian,” Eris’ tone rang ominously. “I am your High Lord. And I expect you to address me as such.” The cruel droop of his brow as he glared at the male walking briskly beside him left nothing to be misinterpreted. 

“Yes, my apologies, my Lord.” With a nodding bow, Bastian continued alongside, holding the papers close to his chest. “Would you like me to take that to the laundry for you, sir?”

Eris’ grip on the strap of the linen bag tightened. “No. I’ll handle it myself. And please see to it that I am not disturbed for the remainder of the day.” He didn’t wait for another word as he marched down the familiar halls of his home. 

Reaching the door of his bedroom, Eris slipped inside and locked the door behind him. Slumping against the door, body weary and weighted, he scanned the room before him. The bed, large enough for Illyrian wings, stood empty. As it always did now unless Eris himself was occupying it. The books along the far nightstand, untouched and unread. With a deep sigh, Eris pushed his body into movement. 

Pulling the pillow from under the rumpled covers, Eris slipped it free from the shirt that surrounded it. Yanking at the drawstring of the bag at his feet, he produced its replacement. The dark button down worn just this morning, the old shirt shoved unceremoniously into the bag. Slender fingers and gentle hands worked at the buttons, fastening around the specially made pillow that Eris saved for just this purpose. As the last button was fastened, Eris ran his hand over the snug fitted fabric, heating his palm as if he just might believe that this time it wasn’t his own body heat behind it. 

Using the last of his waning energy to kick off his shoes, Eris fell into bed. Yanking the covers up over his head and burying himself in darkness as he curled his body around the Illyrian sized pillow. One deep inhale of night kissed cedar was all it took to unleash the emotions of the day. His breaths were neither deep nor even and slumber did not find him easily as Eris clutched tightly to what little he had left. 

@mybestfriendmademe @lilah-asteria @pit-and-the-pen @prythianpages @dusk-muse

@chairofchaos @daycourtofficial @wrongleverkronk

[thelightsandtheroses]

3. we can get away, palm trees, beach views ...

Let's Get Lost Chapter 3 | Frankie Morales x female reader

Summary: You and Frankie aren’t together anymore but you’re in a good place. However, spending a week together for your mutual friends’ wedding on a luxury resort might challenge that slightly and realising you’re still in love with your ex is a sure-fire recipe for disaster … Tropes: it was always you, getting back with the ex, beach!Frankie (you know *that* photoshoot) miscommunication, only one bed, good parent Frankie Chapter Warnings: 18+ MDNI, references to past drug addiction, references to food and alcohol, discusison of TF canon events, Frankie and the reader are parents to a toddler, past break-ups. Word Count: 2500 Notes: Thank you for the lovely feedback so far - it's meant so much to me and I hope you enjoy this update. I have a lot planned for this fic. The chapter title is from I Want You Around by Snoh Aalegra.

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You can hear the birds outside when you wake up. Soft, lyrical songs coax you awake and you hear yourself groan slightly.

There are thin lines of light streaming through the gaps in the shutters and you’re surprised you can’t hear your daughter. She’s usually awake by now.

“Clara’s still asleep,” he says in a low voice.

“That’s got to be a record,” you whisper back drowsily, quietly shifting yourself so you’re propped up by your pillows.

Frankie is bolt upright in bed, a book loosely clasped in his hands and you can see that the reading lamp by his side of the bed is turned on. Despite the dim yellow light you can still take in every detail of his face, the freckles adorning his neck, the laughter lines, his stubble.

“Mornin’” he says, meeting your sleepy gaze.

“Hi, what time is it?”

“About six?” Frankie stifles a yawn.

“Why aren’t you asleep still?”

“Just woke up early. Couldn’t - y’know …”

You look at the book in his hands, he’s a lot further ahead now than you remember him being when he placed the bookmark in last night.  You notice his worn eyes, the way he looks like he’s been awake for a while.

“How’s it shaping up?” you ask, indicating the book and leaning slightly over your pillow barrier.

For a second you’re not here, you’re back in Florida a few years ago and this is your usual morning routine. All sepia lighting, soft kisses, lingering touches and hot skin against you.

You remember awkward giggles about morning breath, the way he’d kiss you like he’d been waiting for years when it had only been a matter of hours. 

You return to reality with the sound of Clara’s soft snores.

Frankie smirks at you. “She gets that from -”

“Do not finish that sentence, Francisco.”

He raises his hands with an easy grin. “Full name, huh? So, do you want to try her for a bit at the kids’ club this afternoon? Get her used to it more before we’re deep in all the wedding events?”

“She’s been really excited about that and meeting the other kids,” you say. You often wonder how two introverted people produced such a gregarious child. You imagine maybe Frankie was that confident as a little boy; you can see it - all round cheeks, mischievous grin and open eyes.

“She just takes everything in her stride,” Frankie whispers.

“She’s strong.”

“Like you.”

“I meant, like you,” you say.

Frankie shakes his head but there’s the slightest hint of a twitch on his lips.

You could reach over and touch him - it feels natural.

You can remember what his lips felt like on yours - the way his hand would so carefully and lightly move down your waist in a movement so delicate you used to think of it as his fingers dancing down your body.

It’s just proximity, it’s just the proximity.

You need more pillows for the barrier.

You lean back against your chair, listening to the steady sound of the ocean in the distance.

You spent the morning exploring in the local town with Lia and Sophie. At first you felt slightly guilty to not be spending time with Clara, but she was excited about a morning with her tios before heading to the kid’s club. It is Lia’s wedding break after all and you want to celebrate with her.

It had been a really good morning; you’d found a great cafe, wandered around tourist destinations and most importantly had enjoyed your time with Lia and Sophia. The three of you kept laughing and joking and any doubt you had that you would feel out of sorts for being the only one of them who was an ex swiftly vanished. In fact, you hadn’t discussed men once. It had been great.

All of you have now met up for a late lunch back at the hotel before you drop Clara off at the kid’s club. You’re sitting opposite Frankie who today has bought out one of what you used to semi-affectionally dub his ‘loud shirts’. Frankie’s style has always ranged from simple, casual basics to the occasional louder shirt that you feel would be associated more with a PI than an ex-army pilot. It’s Frankie though. You seem to remember those shirts were pretty soft too.

You take a sip of your drink, enjoying the sweet and refreshing taste of the coconut flavoured cocktail.

Frankie catches your eye and smiles briefly.

You’re finally starting to feel a little relaxed; that nagging anxiety to check your emails or to just be ‘on’ all of the time is starting to abate.

Santi stands up and raises his glass. “Okay, I wanted to call out that we’ve got the team back together and it only took Benny here getting married for that,” Santi says cheerfully, “and it’s a double celebration today because we need to mark that Frankie got the official confirmation yesterday he’s getting his licence back.”

You watch Frankie’s face colour up with the attention.

“No fucking way,” Benny exclaims, “finally, Frankie! I’m so fucking pleased for you.”

He’s got his licence back? you think immediately, proud that he’s achieved this goal he was working towards. It’s another sign of his sobriety, of his recovery.

It stings though. He didn’t tell you. He couldn’t do this while you were together either.

He didn’t tell you. He could have told you this morning - did he not want to? Or is it just that in your new co-parenting role you don’t get to know these things immediately anymore. You’re not his girlfriend or fiancée, you’re not one of his best friends, you’re not sure where you stand anymore.

He meets your gaze and nervously nods at you, wringing his hands slightly as Benny swallows him into a one-armed hug, delicately balancing his drink with the other hand.

“That’s great news, Frankie, well done,” you say, your voice sounding clipped and cold even to you.

Will frowns at you and you feel your palms growing sweaty with embarrassment as you notice Santi shaking his head. You tighten your grasp around your oblivious daughter who immediately fidgets on your lap.

You’re doing this all wrong.

You shouldn’t be here anyway.

“I - it’s time I need to drop Clara off. I’ll uh - I’ll, um, see you all later.”

You feel Frankie’s eyes on you the whole time you’re walking away.

“Fucking really, Santi?” you hear Frankie say as you walk away.

You're not hiding. Not officially. You watch the waves ebb and flow in the near distance, scrunching your toes on the sand just past the terrace from your room. There's the faintest sound of laughter, of people enjoying their time on the beach.

You shut your eyes. How did you get the lunch so wrong?

The door closes behind you and you turn around instantly, caught in the headlights as you see Frankie standing there.

“Are you okay?” Frankie asks, hesitance clear in his voice. “You just walked off? I thought we’d take Clara to the club together.”

Another failing. Why do you keep getting this so wrong? "I - I just - crap."

He pulls the terrace door to and sits on the sand next to you, hugging his knees. "It's not a big deal, sw- it's not a big deal. Just - what's wrong?"

“You didn’t tell me,” you finally say, trying so hard to hide the hurt in your voice. Frankie doesn’t have to tell you things anymore, you know that. You just thought that maybe he’d want to.

You’re friends again, right?

Frankie looks down at the sand and exhales a heavy, poignant sigh. He seems to be stopping himself from saying something, probably that it is none of your business. You watch him open his mouth then close it a couple of times and wait patiently.

“I know.”

“Do you not want to tell me things anymore? I mean, I guess you don’t have to but I thought -”

“I didn’t tell you because I don’t know what I’m going to do,” he confides.

“What do you mean?”

“I’ve spent the past few years with this single mission. Get sober, get my licence again, get my life, or at least something like it, back.“ He pauses, looking at you and then away from you quickly. A question pops into your head and immediately dissipates - no, you can’t go there.

“Well, you’ve done it,” you say gently, placing a hand on his sandy bicep. He’s all sun warmed skin and you can smell the hint of sunscreen as you sit next to him too.

“I never thought about - about what would happen once I got those things,” he admits. “I guess, I didn’t want to jinx it, I didn’t think I’d even get it back.”

“You don’t know if you want to fly anymore?”

Frankie lives for flying. The passion you remember in his voice, the way his eyes light up when he talks about the technicalities, the detail of the science and data behind flying. He used to read flight manuals to Clara when she was sobbing with colic through the night, right before the relapse and Colombia. Every time you see a helicopter or a plane, you think of him.

Can you remember him talking about flying recently though? Can you remember that passionate, bright look in his eyes at any time recently other than when he’s with your daughter?

“The last time I was flying - I crashed it. Tom ended up dead,” he says, barely above a whisper and once again looking away from you. “It’s all on me.”

Automatically you squeeze his arm in sympathy, in the only consolation you can give right now. “Not in the crash though, you said -”

“If I hadn’t crashed it, if I had just said no to the extra weight, if I -”

“Stop, stop, Frankie.”

He looks over at you, finally meeting your gaze with wide, brown eyes. His eyes are a swirl of emotion; pain, achievement, memories you can never know, regret. There’s so much regret in his eyes now.

It’s funny, you stood in an airport baggage hall just days ago thinking he’d entirely glowed up since the break-up, but his eyes are telling you wildly different stories now.

“You can’t change the past; you can’t go over what ifs. It was - it was a tragedy but it wasn’t your tragedy, it wasn’t your fault.”

“What if it was?” he asks plaintively, “And I robbed a kid of their father, of my friend, if that’s true. Do you realise that? Can you even imagine that weight?”

“You were all grown-ups, all making your own choices that led to that exact moment. I know, I know there’s a lot about that time I don’t know, probably never will, and I don’t - I don’t want you to tell me if you don’t want to, or can’t, but know this, Frankie, you are a good man.”

“Am I?”

“Yes. For what it’s worth, I’d feel safe in any aircraft if you were flying it.  ”

He swallows, looking away from you for just a moment.

“You mean that?”

“Of course.”

He nods.

Your hand has slipped into his and he squeezes. It feels so familiar, so right at this moment.

“If you don’t want to fly,” you add, “that’s okay too.”

“I don’t want Clara to have a deadbeat dad.”

“She won’t. She doesn’t.”

“I don’t want know what I’m supposed to do other than fly.”

“We’ll figure it out.”

“Okay.”

It’s only later as you return to your hotel room that you realise you said we, that you made you and Frankie a unit again.

You still mean it too.

You feel awkward about what’s going to happen at dinner. Even though you’re walking in alongside Frankie, even though you know he’s going to demonstrate that the two of you are just fine, all you think about are the disappointed looks at lunch.

To your surprise, it hurts worse than leaving your daughter with a sitter.

You can only imagine what they must think of you right now.

They must think you’re becoming that stereotype of an ex - resentful and bitter and you don’t know how to say it’s not that at all. It’s that for some reason the confirmation you weren’t the first person he’d want to tell anymore cut a deep hole in your heart.

It’s hypocritical and stupid and risks ruining everything.

There’s a revelation low in your stomach you cannot let rise yet, you cannot voice because it really will ruin everything and you’re not ready for that. You’re not ready for this - things have just started to stabilise again.

You’ve prepared for dinner though. You chose one of your favourite outfits, doused yourself in your favourite perfume and spent time on your appearance for dinner. It’s armour.

Lia smiles when she sees you. “You look gorgeous,” she says in greeting, rising up and hugging you as you join them at the large table you’ve all now mentally claimed as your own throughout your stay.

She draws you in next to her. “How’s Clara? Did she like the kid’s club?”

“She did and she likes the sitter too.” You feel terrible about having a sitter on holiday but it’s novel to have a dinner with all of your friends in the evening. Besides, between you and Frankie, you’d both extensively researched and interviewed the hotel sitter so you felt as at ease as you could under the circumstances. It’s a family holiday yes, but two hours at the club and a sitter for a dinner hardly makes you and Frankie bad parents.

“That’s so good. It’s great having you and Clara both here, you know. I know work’s been a lot recently but I’ve missed you. I’m just - I’m pleased you made it.”

“Like I’d be anywhere else,” you say candidly. “You’re my best friend, Lia.”

“Ditto, just like, don’t tell my sister that?”

“Guide’s honour,” you say with a wink.

You’re grateful for Lia, she’s one of your closest friends and somehow she knows just what you needed to hear. You vow to be there more for her this week - it’s her wedding after all!

It doesn’t escape you that Frankie’s been sat with Santi and some distance from you and you are next to Lia. You wonder whose idea this seating arrangement was - Will’s perhaps, or maybe it was Sophia. You know they must be worried about a repeat of their wedding.

You take a long sip of your drink.  On the other end of the table, you can hear Frankie’s soft laughter. You can’t help thinking about your conversation with him earlier, the slight tingle in your stomach when you spoke this morning.

You broke up for a reason. You know that.

It was the right thing at the right time and it hurt that all that love you had for him, that you think he had for you, was changed by everything that had gone on them.

It has to go somewhere though, doesn’t it? It can’t just stay stagnant; you’re supposed to move on.

It’s just, you think that maybe you still love Frankie a bit. Maybe you never stopped.

This is a hideously unwelcome revelation, it’s inappropriate, it’s clearly unreciprocated. You’re supposed to just be co-parents.

There’s no just with Frankie though, there never has been.

You feel nauseas. It’s starting to look like once again you and Frankie are going to end up ruining another friend’s wedding. Your best friend’s wedding to make it worse.

Only this time, it will be entirely your fault.

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