#and my lovely beta-reader

[sophiahoppia]

✨Prove it✨

💕 #CastleInTheTime #LinJinyang #LiuJia 💕 power imbalance, realization of feelings 💕 4,1k words

📔 https://archiveofourown.org/works/58123747/

[villainbait]

Exclusive Favors

Pairing: Sylus x MC / fem!reader Rating: PG-13 Tags: who did this to you, hurt, comfort, hurt/comfort, injury, implied violence, brief violence mentions, angst, canon sylus behavior, blood mentions, kissing if you squint Summary: You barely survived a night on your own in the N109 Zone without the watchful gaze of certain Onychinus leader, but at what cost? Word Count: 1.5k

The dull sound of your door closing was like the snap of a final curtain call falling into place and you slumped against it, relieved to be safely in your own apartment. You had survived a night in the N109 Zone on your own, but it had been a near miss. One you wouldn’t be repeating, especially since the intel you wanted had been a bust, anyway. 

You touched your side, your breathing uneven, and you wince. You definitely have a cracked rib. You try to take a deep breath and pain radiates from your chest into your stomach, making you a little nauseous. Okay, maybe two.

You were trying to psych yourself up to move and trudge into your apartment to give yourself much needed medical attention when the reverberating shock of someone's forceful knock bounced you against your door-frame. You consider not answering the insistent caller on the other side, but a muffled, familiar baritone floats through the door.

"Open the door, sweetie."

A sigh left your lips at the demand and you tried to stifle the pathetic, painful whimper that your exasperation cost you. Of all the people on the other side of that door, Sylus was the most unexpected. Or maybe not, considering he boasted that he knew everything that went on in his territory. Maybe that’s why he was here and if it was, he wouldn’t leave until his curiosity was satisfied.

The door cracks open and you stare up at him through the hole you made, reluctant to allow him entrance and to partially block his view of the damage those thugs had caused when they mugged you in the alleyway earlier tonight. However, Sylus’s easy smile is nowhere to be found and the frown lines on his forehead are the deepest you've ever seen them. His large hand wraps around the door-frame so you can’t close it again and he pushes gently against it, but you don’t budge. 

"Who did this to you?" His tone is dangerously low.

You ignore his question, instead poking your head out to look down the deserted hallway of your apartment building. "Why are you here? It's dangerous." It was risky for Sylus to wander around Linkon City normally, even if he claimed many people didn't know what he actually looked like. However, the Hunter’s Association did and your building was crawling with employees at all hours of the day and night.

"You didn't answer your phone, so I got worried."

Oh right, you had forgotten they had taken that too. You sighed again, the pain of having to replace everything beginning to give you a headache. That key charm Zayne had given you for your birthday was perhaps the worst thing to have lost, maybe more than the phone itself.

"Let me in, kitten." Sylus’s voice is gently cajoling and you concede because you're too tired to argue with him tonight. So you open the door and  try to act normal, but your voice is far too lighthearted for how heavy your legs feel as you trudge into the apartment. 

“You know, if you keep frowning like that you’ll get wrinkles and people really will think you’re an old man.” 

He follows you in with a small chuckle, his eyes bouncing around the room as if the perpetrators could be hiding in the shadows. When you grabbed the first aid kit and sat down to tend to your injuries, Sylus was suddenly there, kneeling in front of you. His hands push yours out of the way and he silently takes over the job of nurse, and you think about fighting him as you watch him roll up his shirtsleeves but realize you were just too exhausted to care. 

“What happened?” He asks eventually and you realize you will have to tell him something. Lying won’t work, he’ll find out if he didn’t already know. 

“What often happens when you end up in the wrong place at the wrong time in the N109 Zone, Sylus.” You offer with a single shrug, doing your best to sit still while he cleans the wound on your arm. “You know that better than me.” 

“Were you wearing–” he was referring to the brooch that signified your status as protected. 

“They took that too.” His hands stilled on the bandage he was applying on your forearm. “Did they, now?” he murmured silkily and you saw a muscle in his jaw tick, though his expression was partially obscured by his unruly hair. “After all that trouble I went through, too.” You tried to make a joke to ease the tension which earned you a soft amused twitch of Sylus’s lips. He was too angry to truly smile and you could feel it radiating off of him in waves. Despite that, his hands were painstakingly gentle as he touched what was clearly a blossoming bruise around your wrist. Sylus’s tender touch lingers on your injuries and he checks each one with a thoroughness that feels as if he’s memorizing exactly where you were hurt. 

He orders some of your favorite food, helps you get cleaned up, and tucks you into your bed. He points to the notepad you kept by your bedside table that you sometimes scribble notes on when you took calls. “Make me a list of what they looked like, and then go to bed. I’ll take care of the rest.” Before you could protest, he left the room abruptly. You picked up the notepad and stared at the print of the cute little animals dancing around the top. You’d bought it on a whim after seeing how cute it looked in a stationary shop window near one of your mission sites. It seemed too obscene to write what would virtually be a hit list on such charming paper. 

Instead, you scribble all of the reasons you’re grateful for today. Right at the top was that you had survived all on your own in the N109 Zone and you were able to see the infamous Onychinus leader kneeling at your feet. The list grew as you included the tasty food you ate earlier, and the glimpse of a suspiciously familiar crow you saw on your way into work this morning. The page was halfway filled when the pain medication Sylus had convinced you to take started to kick in and you felt your eyelids drooping. 

Drowsily, you snuggle down underneath your covers and clutch the plushie Sylus and you had won at the arcade last weekend. When you hear the distant muffled click of your door opening, you try to rouse yourself but you felt so warm and your body felt so heavy that you couldn’t manage it. That doesn’t stop you from trying until a large hand gently smoothed back your mussed hair, and the sensation of soft knuckles trace the curve of your cheek. “It’s just me,” the familiar voice murmured and you tried to speak but he shushed you. “Sleep, kitten.” 

You swear you felt the ghost of his lips on yours before he was gone, but maybe it was just part of the hazy dream you had of crows, violence, and enchanting sanguine eyes. 

Sylus returns to the N109 Zone and finds himself staring at the “list,” a bemused smile on his face. He shakes his head and tucks the cutesy page into his pocket. You were far too adorable and it made what he was about to do that much more satisfying, sauntering into the abandoned warehouse where your phone had last pinged; deceptively calm. The screams and stench of death shuddered throughout the N109 Zone tonight, serving as a violent and bloody reminder to all that no one should dare to touch what was his lest they face the consequences. 

Sometime in the early hours of the morning, your fingers fumble for your buzzing phone and land on the familiar outline of the brooch, both in their normal places as if yesterday was just a bad dream. Through your sleepy daze, you realize your other hand is occupied���as is your bed. Turning, you’re surprised to find Sylus is fast asleep next to you, his hand intertwined tightly with yours. There’s deep circles under his eyes, but his normally furrowed brow is smoothed out in sleep. With a sleepy smile, you curl back up to let him rest a little while longer, tucking your joined hands against your chest, cuddling his arm.

You both doze off together, and you’ve never felt so safe.

[ruinix]

Thinking about dad!quinn who’s perfect not only with the newborn baby, but also with mama and he looks smoking hot walking out the hospital-💕

Hey there, lovely. Little confession, sometimes I just stare at my ceiling and think of Quinn and his future kiddos. He'll be such a great dad. I know it. I am a 100% believer of him being the best dad in the future. Do note that I have no idea how delivery rooms are...I've never been pregnant (thank goodness, i am not ready). This one ended up having a little bonus in your POV. As usual, you can skip it if you don't wanna read it... :> I hope you'll like this. 🥺🧎🏻‍♀️

His Little Princess

TW/CW: 18+ MDNI, Fluff, a bit suggestive tones. Pregnancy and birthing (Pregnant!reader; mentions of cravings, pain during labor, epidural), Quinn being a fussy partner and dad

Count: 3889 words (+ 942) | Masterlist | Taglist

You press a kiss on Quinn’s cheek, making him instantly turn towards you, his hands wrapping around you, so he can kiss you fully on the lips. Not so subtly, he runs his hands over the swell of your belly. His heart flutters in his chest.

“40 weeks, my Love,” he giddily reminds you, rubbing his nose against yours.

“Any time now,” you replied with a giggle. “Just going to sit on my ball.”

Without a word, Quinn escorts you to your yoga ball, his head filling up with worry at the sight of your waddle. He’s always concerned with how your center of gravity has shifted, with how your legs are probably aching, but he won’t dare try to touch you if you’re going to sit on it. You made it perfectly clear that you need your space when you’re doing that, especially when you caught him basically drooling over how your ass looked.

“You want something?” Quinn asks while you settle. “Apples?”

“Yes, please.” You nod happily. “No skin?”

“Anything for you, my Love.” He kisses your head before he turns to prepare apples.

Taking one from the fridge, from the fruit drawer that was brimming with Honey crisp apples, the one you have craved constantly throughout the pregnancy, which are perfectly red with splotches of yellow and green, he easily skins it. He never really knew how to do that before. He would always get huge chunks of apple flesh with the skin, but now, he can remove the skin in a continuous spiral.

“Can you give me a few slices with a bit of skin, Quinny?” you ask loudly as you turn on the TV to watch your show.

“How many?” He asks, finishing the first apple, slicing it into six.

“Just a few.”

Your vague answers don’t faze Quinn anymore. They never do. Before and during this pregnancy. But the way your ass moves right now though, it makes him gulp, secretly praying that you might ask him to help you get the baby out faster. That help meaning you and him gently fucking you, but you’re not. He can only sigh and swallow his horny thoughts.

It only leads to him getting worried and jittery. The baby might come any moment now. The problem is Quinn has always been so jittery all throughout your pregnancy. He tried—still trying—to appear so put together and calm. He must or else he will lose it in a frenzy of nerves. You don’t deserve him crashing out ever. Not when you’ve done so much carrying your—and his—child.

Catching you smoothen your hands over your tummy, he finishes up with your apples. He quickly places it on the table near you, then he softly runs a hand over your stomach, his cheeks burning when you press your hand over his, his soul lurching when the baby kicked right against his palm, his alarm ringing when he sees your wince after another kick.

“She says, hi,” you say in a tight voice.

“Are you okay?” He asks, kneeling on the floor, holding himself back from taking his hand away because you are clenching his fingers tightly. He watches you take deep breaths.

“It was a strong kick,” you sigh. “I’m fine.”

He cannot be contained. He is panicking. The baby kicking so hard had made you sore so many times, yet he cannot get used to it. He hates seeing you in pain.

 Slowly he leans down, pressing a kiss right where he felt the kick. He says, “Take it easy on mommy, Princess.” He kisses again, feeling a softer push just below. “That’s it. Gentle, sweetie.”

“She always listens to you,” you softly say, your eyes shining with tears. “Oh, Quinn, I wanna see her already.”

He reaches up, swiping the tears that fell with his thumbs, then he kisses your cheeks, over the tear tracks, on your lips. He already knows that you’re worrying about your little one “getting stuck” or past due, about pushing her out, about little fingers or toes missing because it’s possible. Anything’s possible and that worries you. It also worries Quinn. So much.

“Me too, my Love. She’s going to be fine,” he eases you. “She’ll be pretty and perfect.”

“What if—”

Quinn cuts you off with a small peck on the lips. “It will be okay. No matter what. She’ll be perfect.”

“Promise?” You stare at him with wide eyes.

“Yes. I promise.” He nods, offering you a slice of apple. The worry in your eyes dissipates as you accept it. “Scoot over so I can watch too.”

You grin, expertly maneuvering yourself, while he settles on the couch. He tries to watch the show, but nerves are bubbling up his throat. Something just feels off. Still, as usual, he settles, reminding himself that it would be okay. He keeps looking at you to ground himself. You look so peaceful while you watch the show and munch on your apple, taking little sips of your well-decorated water bottle.

Right now, you can easily get spooked, so Quinn keeps his worries to himself. Although, all he wants to do is hover over you, make sure you’re all safe and comfortable like he always did throughout the pregnancy. 

He does his best, because it’s what you deserve. Every craving you ask for—no matter how late you suddenly craved it, no matter how tired he was—is provided. The only thing he asked for was to press his ears and hands against your belly, to feel the little baby inside, even when she was still so small. When he was on the road, he would use Uber to get them for you or bribe your friends and his to deliver exactly what you wanted.

He wonders now if you need a massage. He loved doing that. Your feet. Your ankles. Your legs. Your back. Even your breasts. They’re always so tender. He makes sure to press kisses on your skin, right where you’re aching, muttering his apologies, and praises and compliments about how strong and amazing you are. Because you are.

His eyes follow your feet that are planted on the floor. You’re wearing the grippy socks that you bought online with cute bears on them. The sight of them makes him feel giddy. You have quite the selection of socks now. He always inspects them when he kneels and helps you into your shoes, doing your laces or straps. Sometimes he will mentally curse at the shoehorn that you purchased—technically it’s for both of you but he rarely uses it—while he also thanks its existence because it helps you whenever he’s not home.

The number of times you two went out shopping. He can still feel his excitement from those sprees. He took it upon himself to listen and be attentive to the quality of everything. Durability. Longevity. Comfort. He had taken out his phone as soon as the shop clerk finished explaining the features to look up reviews on YouTube or TikTok. Thank fuck for those apps. Nothing had hopefully escaped him. He would be so critical until you told him what you wanted with the reason being “just because”. Quinn gladly agreed—still will today—and bought whatever it is.

When it comes to clothes, he still feels mushy at the memory of the little pajamas, dresses, onesies, mittens, socks, bibs, and beanies. They’re all so fucking cute. Plus, the way you smiled while you were looking at them got him falling for you again and again. You just looked so at ease, so excited, so happy. He is happy too.

When you two shopped for maternity clothes, all the help he could do was to hold everything you chose and wait while you fit them all. Everything is so amazing on you. For every outfit, he felt his knees grew so fucking weak that he had to sit down, gazing at you with hearts for eyes, his chest squeezing at the mere sight of your beauty and at the sight of your tummy being showcased by the clothes. Every time you two came home, he would be severely attached to you. He cried his eyes out while he hugged you so tightly. He can’t help himself. He just loves you so much and you are carrying his child. Even now, you are wearing leggings and a flowery shirt that cinches under your breasts and flares like a dress. You are so effortlessly beautiful and hot.

When you stand up to get something from the kitchen, his eyes follow you. He wants to come up behind you and take all your weight with his big hands securely lifting your belly. He’s done it so many times after he saw it in TikTok and he will do it again. However, he just ends up staring at you from the couch, truly mesmerized. He always is.

Back to that app, it really helped him a lot. There are lots of mothers there that shared their experiences—in addition to the help he received from his Mom—which helped him prepare the hospital bags for you and the baby. Those bags are already in the car, waiting for the big day. On top of all that, he also finished stocking the nursery just a week ago.

Quinn is proud that he did his diligent research. Maybe, a tad too diligent, because when he offered you his servitude for your perineal massage—which he had heard about after he went into deep, deep scrolling through natural birth—he confused you so much. It was understandable because what the fuck is a perineal, right?

You thought Quinn was being fucking horny—which he is always. But then, after a lengthy doctor’s appointment, it was explained and suggested since you were in your 34th week. He wasn’t blind that you got embarrassed for not believing him and clearly you were expecting him to gloat. He didn’t. Why would he? It would’ve hurt you and him. So he said the same words he had said before when he was still suggesting it, “I will help you.”

The waterworks that day were long. He didn’t let go of you until your tears were dried, until you two fell asleep instead of starting the massage. You spent the whole next day trying to do the massage without you laughing at Quinn’s look of focus.

“I need to pee,” your voice breaks him out of his daydreaming.

“Do you need help?” He’s already standing when you shake your head. “Oh.”

“Oh,” you repeat, mimicking his voice. You laugh, making your cheeks flush. “You are so silly, Quinn.”

He watches you disappear in the hallway. His hands start to shake from the nerves. He needs a clear view of you. The need to stand outside the bathroom and wait for you is making him jumpy. He tries to settle himself, rubbing a hand over his chest, sitting down then standing back up again. He starts to pace. It really, really, really feels like something is off.

Minutes pass.

The feeling just expands and expands, festering the longer he doesn’t see you.

He needs—

Then he hears you call his name.

Quinn never ran so fast.

“What? What is it?” Quinn asks, opening the door so quickly. He finds you sitting on the toilet. Your eyes are so wide. Your calmness is the only thing that’s keeping him from losing it because for some reason, he knows. “What is it?”

“I thought I peed myself…but my water broke.” You carefully stand. “I want to change first.”

“Okay,” he nods.

He quickly supports you. He’s trying his best not to panic, but his hands are shaking as he helps you out of your clothes, into a new dress, into sandals. He’s dissociating. Everything is blurring and the only thing keeping him afloat is the feel of your hands gripping his. He can barely function as he does your seatbelt. He tries to calm down, but he is fraying, panting as he falls to his knees with his eyesight blurring.

“The stuff.” He grips your hand. “I need to get our—”

“Quinn,” you firmly say. Your other hand finding his cheek, urging him to look at you. He does. “You’ve prepared this car weeks ago. The bags are in the trunk. Get it together, Q.”

“I’m sorry,” he breathes out. He finally gets the strength to stand. “We need to hurry.”

He rounds the car, only to realize he doesn’t have his fucking key. He nearly bolts until your hand rests on his shoulder.

Softly and unhurriedly, you give him the car keys. “We have precious cargo, Q. Please drive safely,” you say, giving him a nod.

“I will.”

The car ride to the hospital is quick. Quinn takes that time to calm down, to ground himself. He manages that, not losing his head when your contractions started halfway through the ride. He didn’t spiral then. He has collected and tucked his frayed edges. He manages to get you safe in the hospital and now both of you are in a labor room with the bags stored on the couch.

He’s on you, gripping your hands when you let out a pained groan. He listens to the labor nurses, gulping down the panic that still tries to come up, because he will not stress you over him again. You are going through so much. You need him whole. And he is.

He attentively watches the doctor check the baby through an ultrasound, sighing in relief that the little princess is still in prime position and your cervix is slowly dilating. No C-section is needed. Just like what you wanted, but the contractions are truly getting to you. Every groan and moan of pain, every squeeze of his hand, every sob is getting to him. His heart squeezes in a painful way. Even more so, when your labor progresses, which means the interval of contractions is more frequent.

"It hurts, Quinn. Hurts,” you cry out, breaking his heart. "I need something. I can't. Make it stop."

You don’t need to tell him twice. He shouts for a nurse to get the forms. He understands that you’re asking for an epidural and you’ll get it. Whatever you need he’ll give it to you. As the nurse explains the consent forms, you grip his arms tightly, sitting up. He helps you change your position, on your knees and the headboard. The nurse sets up a bar for you to grip. 

“You’ll be okay, mama,” the nurse eases, tucking the forms into her arms, stepping out.

Quinn almost yells for them to hurry the fuck up, but the anesthesiologist appears to administer it. The yelp coming from you makes him twitch. He almost punches the specialist who explains it will work in ten-to-twenty minutes. Why the fuck not immediately? He wants to demand that. He just needs you not be in pain.

“I’m here, my Love,” he whispers, kissing your temples as you sag against him. He wipes your sweat with a soft towel. “You are doing amazing.”

“How are you so calm? You were panicking an hour ago,” you hiss, groaning as another contraction run through you.

Quinn isn’t calm now. He’s losing his shit. He worries about you. He worries about the little one. An hour. It has been an hour. He doesn’t know if that’s normal. He wants to search it up, but he doesn’t want you to see him fucking fumble with his phone when you’re doubling in pain. He wants to ask the nurse, but he doesn’t want to leave you. He wants to call his parents who are on their way to Vancouver and his brothers who are still in New Jersey.

He may have tucked away his frayed edges, but they are still unravelling. He is unravelling. Inwardly. He can’t tell you about it. So, he presses soft kisses on your shoulders when you shift to lay down.

“No words, Q?” You sigh in relief, your grip on him loosening. “It’s working. I think.”

“Yeah?” he asks. You nod, blinking at him. He knows you’re still waiting for his answer while he wipes away your sweat. “I’m okay. Don’t worry about me.”

“What if I don’t want more kids in the future?” You blurt out just as a nurse walks in. The nurse clears her throat, doing her business of checking your status. Your attention burns into his soul. “Q?”

“I’ll get a vasectomy,” he says in a low tone, clearly aware of another person’s attention. The nurse is a bit…nosy. Why is she not going away? What the fuck.

“What?” you ask, looking so confused.

“I mean it. You hated your birth control so you will not be going back to that.” He tucks your hair behind your ears. “If you don’t want more kids, then I don’t too.”

Ever since he met you, whatever makes you happy makes him happy. Genuinely. He is so attuned to you. Everything he does is for you. He needs you to be happy and be you. That’s all he wants. All he needs. Because you breathe life into him now. His heart beats inside yours. You’ve taken it from him since before you married, since before you accepted him as your boyfriend, since before you met each other.

Quinn doesn’t want to take his heart back.

It will be yours.

Forever.

Until you two grow old.

Until you two find each other in the next life.

“I mean it. Just tell me what you want. I’ll make it happen.” Quinn grips your hand. He leans for a kiss but stops when the nurse stands up.

“You two are so sweet, but you’re crowning now, mama,” the nurse announces.

Maybe Quinn spoke too soon. He is spiraling. The obstetrician and labor nurses come in. He’s helped into a hospital gown and a hair cap over his head. His ears are ringing as he holds your hand. He can’t focus on what’s happening. He’s just there. His lips are moving and whispering encouragement into your ear, but he’s gone.

Gone until loud cries break him out of the haze.

The little princess—his and yours—is so small as they bring her to your chest. Quinn’s heart tumbles at the sight of you cooing and welcoming her. Such a little one who is still wet yet so incredibly red, crying her eyes out, showing off her strong lungs. His eyes fill up with tears because she is so beautiful like you.

“You’re amazing,” Quinn sobs, kissing your head, kissing a soft peck on your lips. “I love you so much, my Love. You did it. You are so strong.”

“Oh, Quinn,” you sniffle. “She got all her fingers and toes.”

She does. Now you don’t need to worry. He doesn’t need to worry.

“Look at her ears. They’re so hairy.”

“Hairy? Just a bit fuzzy,” he thinks, gazing at his daughter’s ears. He can’t help but look between you and the baby. He can’t even hear the doctor announcing that you will be delivering your placenta next. He’s cataloging your shared features. “Nose. Definitely your nose. Your lips.”

While she also has your smile? Quinn hopes she does. You have the prettiest smile.

“She got a little birthmark behind her ear,” he says out loud. You and one of the nurses look. It’s the slightest birthmark. Just two shades darker than the baby’s complexion. It’s almost like…

“It’s like a little heart,” the nurse remarks.

Quinn nods. His heart almost melts when his little one finally stops crying, getting more at ease with the world. He quickly starts snapping some photos, smiling when you grin so proudly. You should be proud.

He almost jumps when it’s his turn for a skin-to-skin contact. He nearly vibrates as he made to sit down after you deliver your placenta and the baby is brought against this chest.

It finally clicks in his head how small his baby is. He can cover her whole back with his hand. When he reaches for the curled-up fist, he chokes at how little her fingers are.

Then those fingers just open and clasp around his pinky.

Immediately, he looks towards you. His tears fall in heaps. He can barely see you as he feels the soft steady breaths of the baby, her heart beating quite fast. Is it supposed to be this fast? He doesn’t fucking know. Maybe it’s just his heart? No. It’s not. His little baby’s heart. Oh, so precious.

He blinks hard, keeping the tears away, looking around to see if someone is panicking, but no one is. He hears snippets of words.

“She’s healthy baby.”

“Needs to get cleaned up.”

“You did well, mama. No tears.”

“Thank goodness. Quinn, did you heart that? The massages worked,” you say in a soft yet exhausted voice. That has him in full alert, watching you so intently. You still look pretty, but you are blinking so slowly. A smile is on your face as you reach for him. He stands, holding his daughter securely, giving her to you when your hand runs over her back. “Just want to sleep a bit.”

“Is that normal?” He asks the doctor and nurses who clearly see his distress as you fucking pass out. “My wife—”

“Is fine, Mr. Hughes,” a nurse says, giving him a reassuring nod. “It’s normal to be exhausted after you gave birth. She’s fine. No excessive bleeding. We will clean up and we’ll take your little one in a few.”

He nods, not knowing what else to do, so he leans closer to you, brushing your hair away, brushing his knuckles gently over the baby’s cheek. Oh, so soft. His heart melts when she tries to open her eyes. He gasps when she somehow manages. Just a quick flutter that exposes her eyes are the color of his. His. His baby girl has his eyes.

He starts crying again, sobbing into your hair.

He can’t help it.

He’s feeling so much love, and it comes out as tears.

At some point, he doesn’t know how much time has passed, but someone is helping him to calm down as his unnamed baby is taken away for necessary checkups. He knows she’s in good hands, so he stays with you, not even stepping out of the room so the forms are being brought to him. He feels guilty for being such a fucking diva for that, but he can’t leave you. He doesn’t think he can even step out of the room without crashing out.

Then he makes his calls, going through the list of his contacts, telling everyone about his perfect baby girl in whispered yet prideful tone. His hand is wrapped around yours.

“She got her nose and her lips, Mom. Got the fuzziest ears,” he sniffles. “So perfect.”

He finishes his last call. Gazing at you, he feels his emotions overflowing once more. For the last time before you wake up, he cries.

A promise forms in his heart, carving itself deeper that he will carry it every day of his life.

He promises to protect his little one and live for her.

He’ll love her as he loves you.

˚｡⋆ ❀ ˖ Bonus: Your POV ˖ ❀ ⋆｡˚

When it’s time to be discharged, you stare at Quinn who carefully helps you into a wheelchair. He has been fussing over you for the whole stay. His cheeks are still flushed when he notes your dress—as if he didn’t buy it with you—after his arrival from a quick trip to the car and the reception area for your discharge papers. He’s so cute. Always so gentle. Even more so now when he greets your daughter, calling her his princess, before he lifts her up from the hospital bassinet.

You heard and saw him cry so much. Your Quinn has been on an emotional roller-coaster as you have. He looks at you with so much warmth and affection, so much pride for you and your baby, so much love and adoration, so much want that you can’t even think about how different your body is now. You told him that you might not want another child, and he replied something about a vasectomy. He’s always putting you first. And it’s clear he will be putting your daughter first too.

You can already see her getting so spoiled but also keeping her well-behaved. Quinn has that air of being the perfect dad.

You just know it and you’ll be right next to him in caring for the little one.

Honestly, you don’t even know if you want another child or not. That’s okay. Never once in your life did Quinn rush you to a decision. Always so patient and kind. But the way he’s staring at you, you might be leaning on the former. He looks so hot in his white linen shirt and khaki shorts. If he doesn’t stop dressing like that, it will be a quick decision.

But you won’t say that just yet.

You just gave birth.

Again, there’s no use to rush.

“Here she is, my Love. All bundled up.” Quinn grins as he presents his baby girl.

“You swaddled her up so well, Quinny,” you chuckle, holding her securely, softly and lightly caressing the little mark behind her fuzzy ear.

It’s still so amusing to you how hard Quinn insisted that her ears are just fuzzy and not hairy. You don’t think that he knows that it will be gone in a few weeks. It’s always so refreshing knot that he doesn’t know everything, because this man had researched quite a lot. Sometimes it amazes you. Sometimes it annoys you. Because, seriously, how can someone—a first time dad—know so much more than you? Still, it’s what makes Quinn the best.

“All settled?” he asks, kissing your cheek, his three-day-old scruff feels so rough and nice.

“Yes. I wanna go home now. Our parents are waiting,” you remind him. You see the way he pursed his lip in a tight line, his eyebrows frowning, so you scold him, “You can’t monopolize our princess, Quinn.”

Luckily, all of your parents are understanding that you two prefer them not to visit in the hospital, that you two just needed the calm to settle your little one, but the three-day stay has you already wanting to show off your daughter. Quinn looks like he just wants to keep you and his baby to himself. Like a mighty dragon hoarding his golden treasures. Gosh, he’s so silly, hoarding you to himself after he gloated so much over the phone calls and video calls.

“Quinny,” you whine, pouting that has him immediately melting.

“Fine,” he sighs, booping your daughter’s nose which got her cooing. You two go still at the how delicate she moves which is barely since she is still sleeping. “They need to be quiet.”

“Quinn, you already told them that.” You chuckle as he grumbles while pushing the wheelchair.

He told everyone that they need to be quiet. He’s already getting too protective over the little one. He’s firm with the no-kisses rule, hand washing, and facemasks. You try to tell him that the masks can go, but he won’t have it. You saw how his hackles were rising and the panic in his eyes were doubling, so you agreed. You ended up consoling him for ten minutes, telling him that your and his parents agreed.

“Maybe they should stay at a hotel.” Quinn hovers over you as you stand up and place the little princess in her baby seat.

“We got lots of room, Quinny.” You let him secure the seatbelt, seeing the way he blinks his tears away. “She’ll be okay.”

“You’ll be okay?” He steps into your space, his arm going around you. “I don’t want them to overwhelm you. You need to rest.”

Oh, he’s worrying about you.

You reach up, your heart beating harder in your chest when he leans his head into your touch. “I’ll be fine. They’re also excited to meet our baby. I want them to see how she looks like you and did you hear? They’re preparing dinner for us. Our moms told me they got some tricks to show me.”

You can see his brain going into a full overload. He’s overthinking again, so you rest your forehead against his. You feel his shuddering sigh as you give him a small kiss.

“Just tell me if you get uncomfortable with anything.”

“Okay,” you say. It’s clearly not enough so you add, “I promise.”

A beautiful smile spreads on his face. He���s so handsome. Your stomach is filling up with butterflies. You swoon as he opens your door for you and do your seatbelt. You silently watch him round the car and enter. You can’t help but think that he’s so perfect and that you are so lucky.

[champion-of-love]

holly being a writer and cedar being a painter are cute details about them and i'm kinda sad that the show never paired them up together to work on a project or something. but i also kind can't see them collaborating since one of them has strong and disciplined morals (cedar) and the other does not (holly). cedar would ask a flower if it would be okay to paint them meanwhile the future rapunzel is out here blackmailing her school's headmaster and the next second writing fanfiction of her classmates. cedar would suggest making a memory book of their friends and holly would show up with a powerpoint presentation filled with evidence that raven's mom and apple's mom were in a toxic yuri situationship and that they should make a doujinshi about it. (when pressed on how she got so many details, holly admits that she only joined dragon games so she would be up close and personal with the two of them and get more material for the 500k word count fanfiction she's already been writing.)

[aerieinthenest]

Whose Shirt?

Sylus x MC Drabble

(Will be crossposted to my Ao3 too)

~

~

“Sy, it’s too hot in here!”

The whiny voice of his beloved came echoing down the hallway adjacent to his office. Sylus had been cooped up in the dim room for a few hours, trying to get through as much paperwork as he could before he was dragged out of work mode to do something with the owner of the voice, undoubtedly sprawled out somewhere in the lounge room a few rooms away.

It was true though, the base of Onychinus was utterly sweltering in the heatwave that had set upon both Linkon City and the N109 Zone. The Deepspace Hunter had sought refuge in his den, thinking she’d be saved from the crappy cooling system in her cheap apartment building; which Sylus has offered to buy and replace numerous times, to his girlfriend’s chagrin, but the heat and the humidity that swarmed the air had infiltrated every crevice in the two cities.

The humidity in the base even had Sylus wondering if he’d even had a state of the art cooling system installed, or whether he’d dreamt the whole thing up.

With a snap of his fingers, he willed his Evol to place a decently sized desk fan to appear by the young woman lounging on his couch in the other room, already blowing cold air onto her damp skin. There was a barely audible sigh of relief before a chipper ‘thank you!’ reached his ears, pulling a soft chuckle from his lips as he returned to his work.

He’d barely typed another page‘s worth of the report he was writing when soft footsteps drew his attention to the door. There she was, clad in nothing but a sports bra and a sinfully small set of pyjama shorts to fend off the uncomfortable feeling of clothes sticking to skin; his beautiful girl, staring at him with the most adorable pout on her lips and a frown creasing her brow.

She padded right over to his desk, rounding the corner of the ornate wooden frame as he swivelled his chair around to face her, and plopped herself right into his lap. Arms winding around his shoulders, she buried her face into his neck, sighing in dejection. Sylus found himself chuckling as he steadied her on his lap, holding her gently to his chest.

“Now what could possibly be bothering you now, kitten?”

Another sigh was huffed onto his neck, the woman wriggling slightly as his fingers caressed patterns on the clammy skin on her back. “…too hot.”

“And yet here you are, in my lap, in the middle of a heatwave.” Sylus teased. “I must say, sweetie, the inner workings of your mind truly fascinate me sometimes.”

There that pouty face came again, filling his vision as she retreated from her hiding spot. “I missed you.”

“I’ve been sitting in here the whole time, you could’ve joined me at any point in the last three hours.” He reasoned, cocking his head to the side playfully. His hunter frowned deeper, shaking her head.

“No, I mean that we haven’t seen each other in a few weeks because I’ve been swarmed with missions from Jenna.“ She explained, shifting to straddle his legs. ”And then the one weekend I can spend with you for the first time in weeks is the same weekend we get a heatwave.”

Sylus sighed, tutting. “You know that can be easily fixed, right kitten?”

“If you tell me to quit my job and come work for Onychinus one more time, I swear I will walk right out of this base and not come back.”

He roared with laughter, jostling the woman on his lap who glared at him playfully. “Alright, I concede. This time.” She gave him a pointed look that dared him to try it again, eyebrow arched high. “You’ll find in time that joining Onychinus is filled with perks, sweetie. Namely, seeing me all the time.”

“If we’re seeing each other all the time, I fear Onychinus might crumble under a negligent boss-man.” Sylus pinched her thigh at the sassy tone, raising an eyebrow of his own.

“That’s precisely why we have Luke and Kieran. We’ll just send them to do the dirty work while we lounge in bed all night and day.”

His beloved gasped in mock horror, glancing at the door while her palms covered his mouth. “Don’t let them hear you say that. They’d be heartbroken you only see them as pawns.”

“As opposed to viewing them as…?”

“Sy, anyone in your inner circle possesses enough eyesight and common sense to see you value those boys like your own.”

“Kitten, I think you’re projecting onto me now.” That earned him a pinch to his cheek. “Besides, my inner circle entirely consists of Luke, Kieran and you.”

“Well, you better make sure I keep my lips sealed then, hm?” She brushed her nose against his, eyelashes brushing his skin delicately.

Sylus leaned in out of habit, ghosting his lips over hers as she pressed herself closer to his chest. “That won’t be difficult.” He sealed his mouth over hers, kissing her deeply while she sighed from the contact.

Her lips disconnected from his after a moment, a frown on both of their faces. Sylus was not nearly close to finished with ravishing her mouth. “Kitten?”

Her fingers slid down from his neck where they had tangled in his silver strands, tracing softly down his shoulders until she reached the first button on his shirt.

“It’s too hot. Need to take this shirt off.”

Sylus leaned back, watching his hunter work diligently at the buttons.

“Sweetie, you are aware that this is my shirt?”

The devilish gleam in her eyes, coupled with the innocent smile on her face sent a thrill down his spine.

“I know.”

~

~

Based on this interaction i had with sylus today:

[haztory]

['sex' by the 1975]

⤷ atsumu miya x f!reader; best friends, references to infidelity, pining, sexual content (w.c 3.1k)

“it’s not sex.” he insists between mouthfuls. a drop of mustard dots the corner of his mouth. you stare incredulously.

“are you joking?” you ask. atsumu just shrugs his shoulder, intense focus saved for the burger held in his hands. practically inhaling a third of it in one bite as he brings it up to his mouth.

“‘s not like it’s the real thing.” he bobs his head side to side in consideration of the sandwich before he’s grabbing at the fries in your lap, “can i haf some.”

the carton lays practically emptied from his pilfering next to your abandoned chicken nuggets. three remaining, absent of consumption in favor of a bewildered stare at the man seated beside you on his bed. 

“fingering is penetration, that’s sex.” you say simply.

atsumu raises a brow, “yer gyno having sex with ya?”

“that’s different.” you level a stare at him, one that’s serious and fierce and that communicates everything you mean in the single look alone. he meets it with one of his own, familiarity and uncommunicated languages all the rage between the two of you. “she doesn't make me cum.”

“neither does yer boyfriend.” he shrugs, taking another large bite of his burger as you screech in offense. your hand meets his bicep with a sharp slap and he grabs at it in pain. “ow! ya were the one that told me that!”

”some people take a minute to figure it out.”

”sounds like its taking a lot longer than a minute.” he mutters to himself. “look, its a lost cause. just dump the guy before it gets anywhere. ya haven’t had sex yet, he’s got a weird face, dude cant tell a fake orgasm from a real one. why are ya fighting me on this?”

“fingering is sex! your body count would be zero if fingering didnt count.” you insist loudly and atsumu rolls his eyes. he crumples the foil his burger came in and throws it across the room, cheering loudly when it makes it into the bin in the corner of his room. 

his room is much the same since the last time you visited. photos of passing years sit framed on the desk— an image of he and osamu with their arms wrapped around each other, taken right before atsumu left for the olympics. another of you and atsumu placed right next to it, you leaning over his shoulder and him laughing loudly, beer bottles held deftly in hands and drunken flushes decorating your faces. momentos of faded high school memories, interspersed with flashes of young adult realities. 

its more sophisticated than it once was. minimal in furniture, and of the items that decorate the room they’re the perfect reflection of a twenty-four year old athlete. his closet is lined with designer gifted clothes, but his desk chair remains stacked with undone laundry, the basics of his everyday life found in the plush cushion more than on the hangers. the jacket you’re currently wearing was stolen from the top of that pile just after delivering a pointed comment at how cold he keeps his apartment. 

its a far cry from the bedroom he used to share with his brother, the one you remember at the dusk of previous memories. it was cramped and contained, lines between the two boys constantly blurred and you having to learn rather quickly where to step and when. but even now, as he lives on his own in a city a bit further from you than you’re comfortable with, not much has changed. you still sit on the left side of the bed and he takes the right; you still eat burgers on his bed and steal his jackets, and he throws papers into trash bins and insists he could’ve made it professional were he not already in volleyball; you still moan and complain about the woes of daily life and he still listens to them endlessly, interjecting the same amount of dumb enthusiasm as you know him to have. 

there is still much in common that remains between he and you. trusted familiarity, endless comfort; a bubble that remains whole and precious, unaltered despite life dealing its hand to you. you’re convinced there’s no one else in the world that gets you quite like atsumu does. 

there’s also no one in the world that works you up, quite like atsumu does.

atsumu stands from the bed, retrieving your own trash from your lap and chucking the rest of it in the bin. lithe and lean, he moves with a body that is sculpted to perfection as he turns off the overhead light and instead turns on the desk lamp, submerging the room in the lowly warmth of its glow. days are shorter now and the sun has just made it return home, leaving you to the dim luster of a pleasant comfort. 

its quiet, intimate. words entirely inappropriate to describe the weekly hangout with your best friend of seven years. 

pushing thoughts aside, you fight to remember what the whole point of the conversation was about. a boyfriend, right. your boyfriend.

right. 

“and he does not have a weird face, he’s just… interesting. it’s what i liked about him.” 

“revolting. i’m this close to spiking a ball in his face. it would be plastic surgery for the dud.”

“you’re being mean.” you tell him. 

atsumu scoffs loudly, “and yer being stupid! yer the one that’s complaining to me about it. yer really gonna date a guy who can’t figure it out when he fingers ya? what happens when ya actually have sex with the bozo?”

“it takes practice. i don’t blame him for not being able to get me there on the first try. i see him later tonight so i’ll talk to him about it. it’s hard to figure out how to turn someone on and then try to, you know, get me there—“

“woahwoahwoah—timeout.” atsumu hold his hands perpendicular to one another, forming a ‘t’. his eyebrows practically touch the hairline of his bleached hair. “he doesn't even turn you on?”

“not everyone is good at everything, like you.” you mean it sarcastically, but it comes out short and meek. it’s embarrassing to have to cover for the misgivings of your current beau, but there’s an obligation to. a point to make, especially to the man in front of you. 

you’ve met the ex-girlfriends, heard their feedback for the man before you. an average of six out of ten in boyfriend material, but he knocks the ball out of the park when it comes to the bed—or so you’ve heard. 

(aya, the most recent girl to have made her grand exit, followed you on instagram and asked you to not be a stranger. whether that was so she could have her in for atsumu or because she really wanted to be friends is still up for debate, but the gesture ended with a message in your directs.

[9:17] it sucks, he’ll always be more in love with volleyball than any girl he could ever date. and even if he didn’t, you’re his number two anyway, so there’s really no way i can win.

[9:20] i’m super sorry, aya. if it’s any consolation, i really liked you two together. he’s just slow, i’m sure you guys will figure it out.

[9:20] you were our biggest argument. 

[9:20] so no, i don’t think we will.

[9:21] i’ll miss that dick tho, best orgasm of my life. rip

there’s not much you can say to a message like that. there’s not much you can say to the surge of smugness that courses through you either, so you don’t.

you don’t tell atsumu about it.)

“alright. sit up then.”

his voice startles you. “what?” 

suddenly, he stands before the side of the bed, looming horribly tall over you as he peers down at you. he shoves his hands in the pockets of his gray sweatpants, the fabric unintentionally pulling down ever so slightly and the waistband of his black boxers peeking out in greeting. the light of the desklamp casts a halo over his silhouette.

your attention is drawn upward and it’s hard to deny the familiar pang that tends to strike through you every so often in times like this. the simple effect of being near him. atsumu is unfairly handsome, and while it’s hard to put a name to the feeling that pulses inside of you when the light catches him just right or when a smile is even more charming than usual, the ache is always the same.

it’s fleeting, you convince yourself. something you refuse to settle on for too long. contexts and suppressed hopes pushed to the back of your mind along with the other unspoken things.

“come on.” he gestures two fingers upward. “i’ll show ya how easy it is to turn a girl on.”

its curiosity that has you standing up on your knees on the comforter, nothing more. its the wonder of how exactly your best friend makes his move on women that leads you to be so close to him, chests practically touching. breaths intertwining as atsumu stares a kind of serious into you that you’ve never been in the receiving end of before.

“im gonna touch ya.” his voice is low and your heart beats erratically in your chest. you nod. 

lifting his right hand, cold fingertips run across the heated skin on the back of your arm. digits trailing upward as he paints a pathway up. and it’s nothing—just his hand on your arm, nothing new or different, and yet your breath hitches. innocent in theory, but something solidifies on atsumu’s face, the familiar signs of determination playing out on his face. it’s less babied now, more formed and angular with the growings of an adult man, but it’s the same focus in his eye, the same clench in his jaw. 

his fingers trail up then down, repeating a circular figure on your skin. the sounds of your mingling breaths the only whispers between you two. your eyes dart down to his lips, but his stay fixed on you. studying every flicker of your eye, every inhale. 

his fingers break from their pattern and trails down to your wrist, then your palm, then your own fingers. tracing them, dancing with them, intertwining them slightly only to pull them away. 

“we should stop.” you whisper after a moment of his caress.

“why?” he asks and a quick glance to his gaze reveals that he knows why. he’s just making you spell it out.

it’s unfortunate that the only reason you want to stop is out of principle, and not because you truly have any reservations about any of this. your boyfriend of three months all but an annoying buzz in your ear.

“this feels like cheating.” you tell him simply. atsumu cocks his head to the side, charming smirk pulling across his lips. 

“i’m touching yer arm. this isn’t anything, yet.”

“you shouldn’t be touching my arm like this.”

“why? cause it’s working, right?” his voice drops to a low rumble, words vibrating through you and shooting straight to your core. “see how easy it is?”

“that means this is cheating then, right?” the question is posed, but it’s obvious it’s more to convince yourself than him. because all that he’s done is touch your arm and you’ve felt the bubbling of that unnamed something heat within you. it feels the exact same as it did seven years ago when you met him; feels identical to the moment four years ago when a drunken night led to a drunken kiss that was forgotten about the next day; feels the exact same whenever he looks at you like he does now, like you're open for the taking. a pointedly very different response to the dread that comes when getting intimate with your actual boyfriend. 

and while atsumu may be doing this to prove a point, to rub it in your face that he was right and you were wrong, you don’t trust that you’ll be able to not carry this with you. to not want more than you should. 

“nah.” he says simply, knowingly. “if i kiss you then it’s a problem.”

“oh, so kissing is cheating, but fingering isn’t?”

“can you shuddup? always runnin’ that damn mouth.” he renders you quiet. 

satisfied with your silence, he brings his left hand to cup your jaw, thumb and index finger grasping your chin and tilting your head to the left, leaving your neck exposed. he leans in, nose tracing a line up the column of your neck until he meets the juncture between that and your jaw. it’s a simple movement, and yet it feels like eternity in his hands. his breath hits steadily against the expanse of your cheek as he whispers into your ear.  “does he touch ya like this?” 

the gasp you release is guttural.

the arm previously fiddling with your fingers quickly wraps around your waist, pulling you flush to him. you have no choice but to embrace him with your own arms, hands cupping the back of his neck to steady yourself. it’s impulse to run them down the expanse of his back, to feel the muscles that he’s worked so hard for, but you resist. keeping yourself locked on his neck and nothing more, as though you being pliant to his ministrations wasn’t jeopardizing enough.  

his thumb inches upward, stroking the corner of your lips sweetly. “does he take his time with ya? cause i would.” 

its then that his lips meet the skin of your neck, tingles erupting from the connection. all of its effects causing an inadvertent clench within you. “it’s not about shoving fingers inside and just doing it. its about doing it the way you like it. and i’d make ya tell me how ya like it. since yer always runnin’ that damn mouth, might as well put it to good use.”

its all-encompassing, the traitorous burn between your thighs. and yet, this is the unnamed something, all that you’ve pushed away.

“astumu—” you whine and its in that exhale of yours that he releases a sigh of his own. one that almost sounds restrained.

“tell me to stop.” he says quickly, lips mouthing against your neck as he utters the words. 

and you don’t want him to. not really. the desire is feverish, unlike anything you’ve felt before and to end this is to end the sweetness of something you’ve yet to taste. if it were to be with anyone you would want it to be with him.

you could take the teasing, the “i-told-you-so” from osamu, the obliteration of a friendship for the uncertain promise of something more. but it isn’t right. not like this. if mountains were to come to a head, you want it to happen because they were gravitated to each other, not because the earth told them to do so.

“stop.” you tell him, and it’s like a hot brand that strikes him. he’s immediately pushing away from, untangling his limbs from you and stepping back into the swath of darkness in the room. 

his breaths are deep and heavy, that much you can tell from the distance. shuttering exhales that wrack his chest. you can hardly make out his irises, only see the intensity of dark pupils. it’s hard to believe that he could be feeling the way you do, just from the simple touch alone. a quick glance down to his grey sweatpants proves otherwise. 

a moment, then two, pass by. ragged breaths filling the distance, words spoken in the silent language you’re both fluent in. 

“does this mean i’m easy then?” you ask quietly, an effort to ease the wall of tension. 

“no.” he shakes his head gently, “just means i know ya.”

he knows what he means to say, the words and all of their yearning practically knocking against his teeth to escape. it’s the long haul, almost a decade long game of carefully advanced chess pieces to get to this point. blocked, temporarily, by the appearance of the new guy. a boyfriend of yours that atsumu met once, a guy he barely attempted to learn the name of. for reasons of his own, their knowing pertinent only to him. held deeply within the urges of being seen, the desires of having you wholly, completely.

there are plenty of other ways that he could do this—probably be more eloquent about it. admit pushed away feelings when you’re not in the midst of ranting about how your boyfriend just can’t get you off. 

but the tension irks him. thick enough to cut a knife, always following the two of you in the long held stares and closeness in which you two gravitate towards each other. the answer to your boyfriend problem is standing right in front of you. he knows what he wants you to do when you see your boyfriend later tonight. 

there are certain shoes that atsumu is convinced he could fill better than your boyfriend.

your face is flushed, and the desk lamp makes you look angelic under the lowlights, and you're wearing his jacket like you always do in a way that makes him believe it was always meant for you. and he’s not entirely convinced, even without the cloud of lust that hangs over him, that you don’t want this just as bad as he does.

osamu once said that atsumu wouldn’t admit his feelings to you even if they hit him over the head. they’re here, now. settling in the distance between you two, bobbing in the capsizing waves of want. they ache to be spoken, knock repeatedly against his gritted teeth. 

but a choice is made in that moment, with you looking at him as wild as you are. atsumu will admit to the selfish and prideful part of himself, but this—you— aren’t something to just take. the taste of your neck, the feel of your body against him, it must be given to him, earned. not because he needs to make a petty point, but because you want him to. 

he cares for you too much to be reckless in how he plays his cards. even if osamu will bust his balls for it later.

you have a boyfriend. and he can’t force you to change that. it wouldn’t be right, he’s given you the taste, he hopes it will be enough.

“like that.” he says after a moment, pushing down his pride and long held desires for you. “tell him ya like it like that.”

a/n: why is it that whenever i stop writing for kuroo, the one i always want to write for is atsumu. also big ups for my beta who entertains me and proofreads me at all hours of the day. i love you sanju!!!!!!

[seleneprince]

0 | PROLOGUE

m.list

??? POV

They say that when you’re about to die, your whole life flashes before your eyes—like a fast movie. Or a TikTok reel, skipping through your childhood and toward the present.

Apparently, it's meant to show you the mistakes you made before that moment. The things you did—or worse, didn’t. So you can spend your last moments filled with regrets. Sweet, isn't it?

Personally, I don't think that's true. At least, not for everyone. When you're about to die, you spend the last minutes you have left retracing the steps and decisions that led you here, one by one. Then, the epiphany hits: this was always going to happen. You’ve been heading toward this direction all along.

I know because that's what's happening to me right now. I'm dying.

Well—not technically. A more accurate description would be: I’m falling to my death. I estimate five seconds, at maximum, until I hit the ground and my time is over. After all, how many people survive falling from a tenth-floor window? Not many. Unless you got superpowers or a parachute, which sadly, is not my case. I'm a just a regular human.

Well, scratch that. I’m stronger, smarter, and generally more capable than most humans. But I still have limits—unnerving, frustrating limits. The kind that come with... being just human. Like weakness against gravity. It's so annoying sometimes.

Now more than ever, of course. Oh well...not like it matters anymore, I guess.

It’s not my first time falling from a considerable height—or being pushed from one—but usually, I can grab unto something before the worst happens. Or, even better, push them off instead. But this time, as soon as I felt the window's glass shattering against my back, I knew there was no saving this time. No ledge to grab. No lucky balcony to break the fall. Just air. And gravity doing its job too well.

My body barely twists mid-air, still reeling from the blast that threw me out of the damn window in the first place. But because instincts are hard to turn off, my limbs flail on reflex, like it'll help, even when I'm plummeting to my death.

It's amazing, really—how the brain still tries its damn hardest to keep you alive, even when you’ve mentally accepted the end already. Muscles tighten. Hands flail uselessly. Eyes looking for miracles.

But I know there are no miracles for me today. Never again.

So instead, I use my last moments to think. Think about all the decisions that led up to this. The arguments. The ambitions. The mistakes. The betrayal. The familiar warmth of rage boiling in my blood when I lunged. The delicious rush of adrenaline as I made them bleed, as I took out all my frustrations on their bones until the end.

I think about how part of me knew this was how it would end. Not necessarily the fall, but what it led to it. That part had been a long time coming.

And weirdly... I’m not really scared. I’m pissed, that's for sure—and in a lot of pain. Mildly satisfied too. It's not like I wanted to die young, but I always figured that when it happened, I’d go out in a blaze of something cool. And a fragmentation-EMP hybrid bomb? Yeah, that's cool as fuck. Bond-movie level cool.

The fact that it was built from my own design just adds a special flavour of irony to it.

Shame I can't have this moment recorded in video. Make it slow-motion and it could be used as a sick-ass scene for an action movie's trailer. Or played for my funeral. That would be awesome.

After everything that's happened, it just feels right. The perfect goodbye.

And yet...there's something that bothers me. A lot.

As my body goes down faster and the icy realization of my uncoming demise crashes over me, I think of my mom. My little siblings. Alfred. Duke. Even my dad...not the biological one, but the first one I had. The only one I've had.

I think of my friends, my life, everything I built...and now I'm leaving behind. Unfinished.

I can see my mom crying when she finds out, sobbing in that way she hasn't allowed herself to since she got married. She’ll break. She’ll be told that her daughter—her firstborn, her pride—is dead. Torn from her. And no one will be there to hold her the way she needs. No one will be there to comfort her through her raw pain and grief.

Alfred will try, I know he will. But there are parts of her grief he won’t be able to reach. The twins—my baby siblings—they’re too young. They’ve never had to carry that kind of emotional weight. And my father…yeah, she'll be alone in this.

I can see my little brother and sister hearing the news. Alfred will have to tell them, because mom would've entered a state of shock. Or maybe she tells them herself, pulling through the sorrow to do what she must, as she's always done.

They'll be confused at first, would demand to know more. Marco will definitely ask to see the truth for himself, and my sister—god, my little angel. She will rage. Against who killed me, against the system, against the world, against everyone and anyone she thinks have played a role in my death. And then, she will break down. Marco will follow her as soon as the reality dawns on him. As soon as he realises that I'm really not coming back.

Dad might hear about it from Arkham. If the news makes it through. Maybe he’ll cry, too. Maybe he’ll kill someone for it. If things were different, he would be by mom's side when it happens, and she would someone to rely on, to share the burden.

Alfred will be sad too, in his own way. He doesn't show his emotions as openly, but I know he loves me. Loves us all. He's watched me grow, taught me so many useful things...shit, I'll miss him too.

And Duke...oh shit, Duke. My best friend in that house, my other brother. The only one of them that never made me feel like shit. The only one I have never wanted to kill at some point. We were supposed to go to the arcade today, after his patrol was over. He doesn't know I'm here—he planned to pick me up from my rehearsal after he was done. Now, he might be the one to find my body first when The Signal comes to assess the incident. Maybe he'll be the one to pass the news to my family.

Oh God.

And now—finally—I start to cry. Of course this is what makes me break down. Not the pain. Not the inevitability of death. But the sheer, overwhelming reality that I never got to say goodbye.

And it's not fucking fair.

I know that people rarely get to say goodbye in this line of work, because we never know when our time has come until it punches us in the face and breaks it. But still…I believed I’d get the chance. That maybe—just maybe—the universe would make an exception for me.

Guess Duke was right, after all. I can be a bit too arrogant sometimes.

He was right about a lot of things, actually.

My body finally crashes, and the pain—god, the pain—hits me like an earthquake ripping through every nerve ending I have. I feel my bones shattering and pressing against my insides. It steals the air from my lungs, leaves me speechless for solid minutes.

I can’t even scream.

It’s like my entire being is on fire, burning in pure, unfiltered agony. I’ve been through plenty of shit. I’ve endured enough pain to build a high tolerance to it. I’ve fought through injuries that would’ve taken others out for good. But this?

Fuck.

This is different. This is worse than anything I've ever had. It's torture. Every breath I take it's like stabbing my lungs. I already taste blood on my tongue. My own damn blood.

And all I can do now is hope it ends quickly.

As I lay there, motionless among the ruins and shards of the shattered window that came down with me, I realize I’ve landed in an alley. It’s quiet—eerily so. Not even rats scurry nearby.

Somehow, I muster just enough strength to turn my head and glimpse the sky. Still early, it seems. Weird. It feels like I’ve been stuck in that warehouse for days.

The twins' classes will be over soon. Will Mom pick them up today, or Alfred? And how long will it take the GCPD or paramedics to arrive?

I strain my ears, trying to catch the wail of sirens from afar, but even that miserable effort sends a wave of pain through me that makes me close my eyes.

It’s getting harder to breathe. My heartbeat’s slowing down. I know what this means.

I’m dying.

Minutes left—maybe less, if God decides to be merciful for once.

Somewhere far away, I think I hear children laughing in the street. And my mind—traitorous, gentle—drifts to the twins. My baby siblings. I wonder if they got into trouble today. I wonder how long will it take them to move on from this. I wonder what kind of people they'll grow up into.

I see Mom's face as well. Her beautiful smile, her eyes full of warmth just for us. The strongest, bravest woman I've known. My idol. The person I look up to the most. The one I strived to become.

I wonder how she'll receive the news. I wonder if she'll resent me from not listening to her and causing her this grief, after everything she's already lost. Or if she'll mourn me in silence just to keep her facade, for the twins' sake, because they still need her.

I wonder if she’ll decorate my grave the way she decorated my first room—lovingly, meticulously, pouring all her devotion into it like it is the only thing she can control.

I hope they're fine. I hope, if there's something else after this, that I get to watch them from afar. Make sure they're okay until we meet again.

But as darkness begins to cloak my vision, and my body grows heavier—sleepier—there’s a small part of me that wails. Crying out in desperation, because she doesn’t want to die yet.

She’s scared. Terrified. She’s not ready to leave this world behind. Not yet.

Not the people we love. Not the memories. Not the laughter, the warmth, the mess of it all.

She wants to live.

Even now, even here—she still wants to live.

I still want to live.

That's my last though before my eyes shut completely, with warm tears running down my cheeks, and the blood soaking my clothes.

...............

.......

What's that light at the end? Is it the sun, or the gates?

[fatuismooches]

Every time recruits were assigned to a Harbinger, they were required to give a speech to the new agents. It was simply the way the Fatui worked - everyone must be made aware and dedicate themselves to the Tsaritsa's will through working for the Harbingers. The experience varied from Harbinger to Harbinger - if one were lucky enough to be with the Captain, they'd be filled with a sense of pride and bravery, if they had the misfortune of working for the Balladeer, well... one could guess how that goes.

Dottore's orientations were also anxiety-inducing, no doubt, considering the kind of reputation he had. Most recruits prayed day and night not to be selected to work for him. It was a very popular rumor about how easy it was to end up as a test subject of Dottore's. However, what many recruits quickly realized was that... working for Dottore was not as bad as many claimed.

Sure, some segments were definitely more difficult to work with than others, but it was actually preferable to working for certain other Harbingers. Just continue to produce results, and you'll be fine. Surprisingly, there were a sizeable amount of agents who adored Dottore. They would rave about him at any given opportunity to anyone who was willing to listen, and that didn't even include their signature handbook. It was also said that if you truly impressed him, he wasn't picky about rewarding you. Unfortunately for new recruits, they were still unaware of this and were left to shiver with their hearts in their throats, awaiting their impending doom.

Even worse for those poor souls, was that a habit of the segments was that they were notoriously late to these meetings, diving deep into their research and discarding it until the last minute. You learned this through idle conversation with one such segment, Beta, who especially despised this baptism.

"So... you just stood there and gave a speech to them?" You couldn't help but find the idea very funny, considering the kind of man he was. "What are your speeches like? Are you motivational, Beta?" He scowled at your teasing and focused his frustration on his latest creation.

"I don't have the time to waste on foolish things."

"Isn't it a good thing to encourage your employees?"

"This is the Fatui. They know what's expected of them," Beta scoffed as if he hadn't turned certain agents into flying robots in the past.

"Aww, but it sounds fun! I would wanna talk to them like that," you sighed. Most of the time the agents would bow, stutter, and quickly make themselves scarce when they saw you. Certain ones would just stare at you in awe silently as if they couldn't believe their eyes, and then scribble something in their notepad. You were unsure of their motives.

"There's a reason why Prime has never attended one himself ever since he created his first segment. All of us fill up our schedules to avoid it," the segment grumbled. He was the one stuck with the duty today. You only hummed in amusement.

"So when is the next screening of new recruits?"

"Tomorrow morning. Hmm, Omega's turn this time too. He's best at these things, anyway." You smiled as you had a very good idea.

"I'm going to go!"

"Are you now? Have fun." Beta responded dryly. Now that he thought about it, if you were so eager, perhaps he should have brought you to do most of the speaking.

"I will. I'll get them to be the most motivated Fatui agents there is!"

—

For a small group of people, they were starting their mornings with possibly one of the most frightening experiences of their lives. It was only natural for them to whisper to each other, all huddled up.

"I wonder if the rumors about Lord Dottore are true. Is he going to dissect us if-"

"You know what I wonder? What segment of Lord Dottore we'll get assigned to. I heard-"

"He has segments???"

"Apparently, he cloned himself at different stages of his life, so we'll deal with numerous versions of him."

"... As soon as the time comes, I'm putting in a request to transfer out of here."

"And that will be your biggest mistake. Lord Dottore is far more generous than you lot make him out to be."

"Pardon?"

"Lord Dottore is quite frequently praised by many agents around here. You just haven't heard them yet. Furthermore, he'll always appreciate results, regardless of your actions." The Dottore defender passionately gripped his chest. The group looked unconvinced.

"Are you sure they weren't under duress or something...?"

"Well, I've met his spouse once too! And [Name] was as kind as-" The poor agent was interrupted by laughter.

"Spouse? The sun would sooner shine bright in Snezhnaya than Lord Dottore ever being married."

"Is he even capable of love?"

"It's not a lie. Many agents who work for our Lord know them! In fact, they-"

"Ahem! Attention everyone!" A voice sounded in front of the room, that was... definitely not Dottore's. There stood a person who was... definitely not Dottore either. The room went completely silent as they gazed upon your rather proud form.

"You all were expecting Dottore, but I, [Name], will start this thing off first!" The glint of your wedding ring became all too noticeable for the new recruits as your eyes scanned the crowd. "Oh, hey! You're that guy I gave directions to a while back! You really did transfer over, huh!" You gleefully waved to him as he scratched his head, in both embarrassment and honor, and the agents suddenly had a feeling that the man was not lying about Dottore's marital status.

"Anyway, I'm gonna ask you all the question I know you're all thinking about. You're absolutely terrified of Dottore, aren't you?!" You pointed at them while their throats were dry from the situation. After a few seconds, they glanced at each other before nodding awkwardly. You only chuckled as you puffed out your chest.

"Well, I'm going to erase all those fears right here, right now. As the person who knows him better than anyone, I can assure you he's a great Harbinger to work under! And to do that... I'm going to give you all a crash course on Dottore's segments! So go on, ask me anything and I shall deliver!" Your resounding confidence was met with blank stares, save for the new inductee into the fan club.

"Are they really Lord Dottore's lover?"

"Well, they have to be... no one can just walk around casually claiming to be married to him."

"I mean... if someone like Lord Dottore is able to fall in love, then he can't be too bad, right...? We should listen to them."

One by one the nervous agents asked you a variety of questions - how to deal with them, how to tell them apart, what to do if they were annoyed, a few quirks to look out for, the kind of work efficiency he valued, the kind of sweets they most favored when it came time to pacify them- the more you spoke, the more engaged the new recruits got. You were rather proud of your skills.

"And if that wasn't enough motivation for you, do it for him!" In the end, you pulled out your one and only pet, the strange blue fox creature who blinked at the crowd who was loudly clapping for some reason.

"You know, I feel a lot more confident about working here!"

"I told you all, you just didn't believe me," the one fan said, still over the moon. But even amidst the commotion, a pair of shoes neatly echoed throughout the room, causing everyone to nearly fall silent at his presence.

"Oh... that's Lord Omega, right? His mask is black." Said agent got elbowed by another for speaking, as they all bowed lowly in respect. The segment was more interested in what you were doing here.

"... [Name], what exactly is the meaning of this?" The segment studied you carefully - despite your sweet smile, he didn't exactly have the best feeling about this.

"I gave them a speech of course! You need to motivate them more, you know? For the results you love so much! I just decided to do your job for you." Your lover stared at you and then turned his attention to the group who were standing stiffly.

"Is that so?"

"Y-Yes, Lord Dottore."

"Then you are all dismissed." The group blinked before quickly shuffling out of the room, mostly in awe at how casually you spoke to the Harbinger. You really were married...

"Just trust me Omega, those guys will be some of your most hardworking agents!" Omega looked at you thoughtfully - their demeanor did seem much better than when he spoke. But he still had a lingering thought that bothered him.

"[Name], you didn't tell them anything potentially... inappropriate, did you?"

"Inappropriate? O-Oh, of course not, Omega. I merely boosted their spirits into working for you!" You smiled, ignoring how his gaze was boring into you.

"That's all?"

"Yes, that's all!"

"..."

"..."

"Well, actually, I-I may have told them about the sweets thing again- hey- don't get closer!"

[theswordmaiden]

𝐏𝐚𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐜𝐮𝐭𝐬

Larissa Weems x f!reader

“Come on,” Larissa tried again. “Talk to me. Please.” There was a crack in her voice this time, a pleading sound that she no longer could suppress. She hated this—the way you disappeared into yourself more often lately, leaving her stranded on the outside, only to look in. Hated how powerless she felt, how no matter what she said or did, she was never able to reach you.

∙ CW / Mentions: hurt/comfort, feelings of worthlessness, mental health issues, low self-esteem, emotional distress? r! is stuck in a depressive state. Should be it?

∙ Word Count: 2.8k | ao3 link in title

The rain drummed relentlessly against the windows of your small apartment, and each droplet seemed to echo the dull, insistent throb that had settled in the back of your skull. It made the panes rattle against the warped wooden frames each time there was a strong gust of wind. Everything was too loud, too overwhelming to handle. The curtains were drawn tightly shut. It did little to block out the dim light that filtered through the edges, but it was enough to keep the room dark enough so that it didn’t hurt your eyes.

You hadn’t moved all day. Not really. You were too exhausted to get out of bed. It didn’t help that the sheets clung to your skin, damp with sweat despite the noticeable chill in the air. They kept you trapped in its embrace, limbs twisted in the blankets. Your body felt… foreign, leaden, as if gravity had doubled its hold on you and wanted to keep you there. You hadn’t even bothered to open your eyes properly yet; instead, you lay there with them half open and stared blankly at the ceiling when you were not sleeping the day away.

It had been weeks—no, months—of this slow, suffocating descent. It started with the little things. Forgetting to take the trash out to the curb, skipping a meal, or neglecting to give yourself water. But now? Now it was everything. The dishes were piled up in the sink, you hadn’t showered in days, and you couldn’t find the energy to do anything about it.

You were always prone to these little bouts—it was only natural, you tried to tell yourself for the hundredth time. Surely everyone had bad days, right? This wasn’t just a bad day, not anymore. It was a relentless string of days after days where you could do nothing but fall into something deeper than you could describe. And now it felt like you were being swallowed whole by it, consumed by something unyielding. You hadn’t really been awake. You just… existed somewhere in that liminal space between consciousness and oblivion, where time lost its grip on you, and the sharpness of your surroundings softened and blurred.

Your chest tightened as that familiar hollowness settled in again—that little ache that wasn’t quite pain but wasn’t simply nothing either. It sat there trapped between your ribcage, heavy and unmovable as if you were dense stone.

Too lost in your spiraling thoughts, you hadn’t heard the front door open or Larissa’s voice as she softly called out to you. She had decided to take some time off of work to dedicate her time solely to you—which you would have known if you had ever bothered to check your phone earlier when she first texted you that she was coming over. Footsteps muted by stockings padded across the house, shuffling around in the kitchen.

You hadn’t noticed her approach your bedroom door, either, her figure framed by the faint glow of the bedside lamp. The dim yellow hue cast shadows across her features, accentuating the tension etched across them. Her brows pulled together as she frowned; the crease between them carved by worry, deep and persistent, as though it had taken a permanent residence.

From where she stood, Larissa could vaguely make out the outline of your body beneath the heavy blankets, tucked securely away from both her and the world. Her eyes followed the gentle slope of what she assumed was your shoulder, yet even that seemed defeated like the rest of you.

“Hi, my darling,” she uttered softly, her voice low to avoid startling you. The floorboards creaked as she slowly stepped into the room, and she cradled a mug between her fingers. Larissa sat on the edge of the bed beside you, a careful distance away. “How are you feeling? I made tea. I thought it might help with your migraine.”

The only response was the subtle rise and fall of the blankets—so slow and shallow that it seemed like even the act of breathing was too laboring for you, another unbearable weight that pressed you deeper into the mattress. Larissa’s fingers twitched as if she had to resist the urge to reach out and yank back the covers, to shake you from whatever dark place had wrapped its claws around you this time.

Her sigh broke the fragile silence, the sound heavy with helplessness. Larissa placed the warm mug on the nightstand before she ran a hand through her hair. She was a patient woman, far more than you thought you deserved, but it wasn’t enough for her. Not when her gaze flicked toward the blankets again to make sure you were still breathing. Not when every fiber of her being screamed at her to do something, anything, to pull you back from this funk you were in.

“Come on,” Larissa tried again. “Talk to me. Please.” There was a crack in her voice this time, a pleading sound that she no longer could suppress. She hated this—the way you disappeared into yourself more often lately, leaving her stranded on the outside, only to look in. Hated how powerless she felt, how no matter what she said or did, she was never able to reach you.

“I know you’re hurting, my love… But shutting me out like this won’t make it go away. I can’t help if you won’t let me in. . . You don’t have to say anything, just… can you at least let me see you? Just for a second?”

The silence that followed was deafening, and for a moment, Larissa thought she might have pushed too hard, said too much. Then came the shuffled movements from beneath the blankets. Slowly, cautiously, you tugged the fabric down just enough for your face to emerge. You looked so fragile—your eyes red and swollen, cheeks streaked with tears that dribbled down to your chin as it wobbled. 

“There you are, my sweet girl,” Larissa murmured, and her heart broke at the sight of you like this. A tender smile broke across her features—the kind only ever designated for you, the one that made her nose scrunch and her eyes crinkle in that familiar way that spoke of her love for you—despite the tears that welled in her eyes. She resisted the urge to reach out and cup your face, afraid it might startle you back into hiding.

Oh, but the gentleness of her voice, the tenderness in her eyes, and the genuine relief that settled over her once she saw you was enough to break something deep inside of you… It was too much and not enough all at once. A broken sob clawed its way up from your throat before you could stop it, and suddenly, the tears were spilling over your cheeks, hot and relentless. The sound of your cries tugged at her heartstrings terribly.

Larissa’s expression softened further when she saw the first sign of tears, now melted into something more tender and warm. “Come here, sweetheart…” She reached out to coax you closer, to welcome you in the comforting space between her shoulders. The distance between you dissolved in an instant as you leaned forward, and Larissa encircled her arms around you snugly to bring you closer to her chest. “I’ve got you. Let it out.”

The warmth of her body against your own was so comforting, and God, you needed this—needed her. Her embrace was firm but not suffocating, as if she knew exactly how much pressure you needed as she held you together like you were about to unravel on her entirely. Larissa didn’t mind when you buried your face deeper into the hollow of her neck or when your tears soaked into the collar of her dress. She didn’t mind when your sobs turned ragged and uneven, when your apologies poured out in broken words between hiccuped breaths.

No, she only pulled you closer, ran her fingers through your disheveled hair, and softly cooed against the outer shell of your ear until you settled down.

You sobbed against her chest until nothing more could come out and your chest no longer heaved with each breath. The palms against your back gently soothed you back down to reality, where your heartbeat finally began to settle. Larissa felt so gentle, so caring and loving.

When you inhaled deeply to try and grasp ahold of yourself, you were overcome by her familiar scent. It filled your lungs so heavenly, made you float off into the stars and bury your nose deeper against her skin. She smelt of jasmine, vanilla, and something so uniquely and intoxicatingly hers that made your head spin. It grounded you, reminded you that you were home within her arms.

“No more apologies, darling.” Larissa’s thumb came up to brush away a stray tear from your cheek as she coaxed your chin upward with gentle insistence. “Look at me and listen.”

Slowly, reluctantly, as if you feared to see disappointment lingering in her eyes, you lifted your gaze until it met hers. 

“You don’t have to be sorry for feeling this way,” Larissa said firmly. “You’re allowed to cry. You know I’d never be upset with you for something like that.” The back of her knuckles traced against your cheekbone as she spoke, and she smiled as you leaned into her touch. “It’s okay to be overwhelmed and shut everything out for a while, just… not forever.”

She leaned in to press a kiss against your temple, her breath warm against your skin. “Don’t shut me out. Please. You’re not a burden to me; you never have been. I don’t know what I’d do without you, and I don’t want to ever find out.”

Again, tears pricked at the corners of your eyes, and your throat tightened at her words—too many emotions at once poured into you that it was difficult to grasp. It wasn’t just despair; no, there was something else. Relief, perhaps, or maybe gratitude. You opened your mouth to respond but faltered, unsure of how to put everything you felt into words. Instead, what came out was meek and riddled with self-doubt.

“I don’t know why you continue to put up with me… why you don’t just give up and stop trying,” you admitted under your breath, your gaze lowering as shame crept up your spine. You were too much to handle, and you began to convince yourself that Larissa would be better off without you… “I don’t know what’s wrong with me anymore. I can’t figure out how to fix it. I don’t even know why I’m… why I’m still here.”

Your words were thick with guilt, that familiar, suffocating weight you slowly became accustomed to. Guilt for being like this, for dragging Larissa down with you, for being a burden, for being a waste of space…

Larissa’s brows knitted together in an expression that was somewhere between frustration and heartbreak—not at you, but at whatever had planted such thoughts into your head. She reached out and cupped your face between both hands, keeping you from looking away from her even if you tried.

“How could I ever give up on the person who means so much to me? I would not abandon you. Not now, not ever,” she spoke firmly, hurt laced into her words at the mere implication that she would leave you over something like this. There was no anger in her tone, just an aching kind of love that she wished you could see so that you’d know her heart is forever intertwined with yours. “Would I still be here if I didn’t want to be? If I didn’t care about you, even when you’re like this? My love for you is not conditional—it does not ebb and flow when you lose yourself.”

Her thumbs moved slowly as she brushed away the fresh set of tears that had spilled over your round cheeks, as if she wasn’t just trying to remove the dampness from your skin but also the guilt that accompanied them. Larissa’s fingers trembled slightly, betraying her own emotions. But she had to put on a brave face for you.

She tilted her head, and her eyes searched yours. “Do you understand me?” Larissa’s voice was soft yet firm as she tried to get through to you. “I am not here because I feel obligated to be. I’m here because I want to be. Because I love you. I will only ever choose you every single day, in every lifetime that we are together.”

You wanted to believe her words; you really tried to. A part of you did, somewhere deep down, yet the ache in your chest refused to relent. It gnawed at your conscience, and you hated yourself for siding with your thoughts instead of your lover. You tried to laugh, but it came out weak and hollow.

“I’m such a mess though, Larissa,” you rasped. The words felt jagged as they rolled off of your tongue, as if admitting them aloud would make them more real. Your eyes searched hers desperately, looking for something, anything, that would settle the brewing thoughts inside of you. Instead, more guilt festered in your chest for doubting her, for not being able to accept her love as easily as she gave it. “I’m not the person I was when we first got together, and I hate it. I’m just… broken, and I don’t know how to go back to the way things once were.”

It felt like the truth of your words, so raw and unfiltered, might crush you entirely. You hoped the floor would open and swallow you whole. At least then you could wallow in self-pity without having to drag Larissa down with you.

But Larissa’s gaze did not waver. It never did when it came to you.

“You are not broken,” she said firmly, her brows furrowed together as she took in the sight of your defeated face. “You’re trying to heal, and healing takes time—time that you have to first allow yourself to take and accept where you are right now. I’m here with you, always.” “But I don’t deserve this… don’t deserve you. You’re too kind, and. . and considerate, but I’m not getting any better, it’s just getting worse and—”

“You deserve this,” Larissa interjected softly. She didn’t want you to start spiraling again; that wouldn’t do either of you any good right now. Her thumbs soothed along your jawline, then trailed lower until she held your shoulders. “You deserve this and so much more than what you’ve allowed yourself to believe. You deserve to be loved and tended to, deserve to have someone hold you while you cry, deserve to be shown the same kindness that you so freely offer everyone else…”

The genuine sincerity in her tone sent a fresh surge of emotions through you. You tried to speak, to argue and deflect her words more, yet nothing came out. Your throat tightened painfully as tears blurred your vision, and all you could manage to let out was a pathetic whine of her name.

Larissa’s hands slipped away from you only so she could wrap her arms around you once more. She pulled you into her chest with a kind of determination that left no more room for doubt. Her hand found the back of your head, and she guided it to rest against her chest.

“Until you're able to see that for yourself,” she mumbled against the top of your head, her lips soft as they brushed against your hair, “I’ll spend the rest of our time together reminding you, my darling girl…”

You closed your eyes tightly as you tried to fight off the flood of emotions that threatened to overwhelm you again, and you let yourself sink fully into her embrace. Her hand began to trace slow circles on your back while she whispered how much she loved you against your hairline. 

It wasn’t as if Larissa and her love was a cure. She was, unfortunately, not some sort of sudden, miraculous miracle drug to aid you in your recovery. The rain still drummed against the window, the darkness still surrounded the room, and the uncomfortable weight in your chest was still there. Perhaps it would always be there, in the back of your mind, always nagging in your ear. But something had shifted. You still felt weighed down, yes, but it wasn’t as unbearable as before. As though her words were like a seed, something fragile, meant to nurture, that had been planted in the cracks where your self-doubt had taken root. And maybe that would be enough for now.

—

A/N: This isn't something I'd typically do, much less share, so I know this is probably the weakest piece I've done and won't be liked all that much from those who prefer nsfw. But that's alright. I wrote it in a single sitting while crying off and on, so bear with me if there are any errors lol — I have no one to beta my work these days.

I feel pretty shameful for my feelings, and this just happened to be the next best outlet to somehow deal with them. I did not sleep last night, so I'm also very sleep-deprived at the moment. Whoops. The next piece I post won't be like this nonsense, don't worry.

[cafechichay]

Paris, Texas

Pairing - Theodore Nott x Fem!Reader

Word Count - 19534 [2 to 3 hours of reading time - depending]

Content Warning - Slow burn Angst, Unrequited love, Pining!Reader, Being taken for granted, google-translated italian and french (i am an asian woman, i don’t know a lick of french)

Summary - Loving someone they way you want to be loved, doesn't always mean you will be loved the same way back

A.N. - Writing this whenever I got the chance (which also the same days that I don't speak a word of English). Thanks to ChatGPT for making this readable. Also dividers by @firefly-graphics <3

Poll Results: Literally everyone said to post this "now" (as in 4 days ago "now") but I ended up working 38 hours at my part-time since then so I apologise. Also this was also redrafted about 7 times because I wanted a realistic ending.

Enjoy! <3 (commenting and reblogging feeds the writing gremlin)

Wizards slowly began adopting Muggle holidays sometime around the 18th century. Those living in London found themselves enjoying each little tradition, each celebration the Muggles offered.

Valentine’s Day was one of the latest fads in the British-wizarding forums. Some had said a big-time French socialite had apparently introduced the tradition to his British amour, and since then, the excitement spread through the grapevine. From gifting beautiful, forever-blooming flowers to your beloved, to others frantically checking their Chocolate Frogs were not spiked with Amortentia — young wizards started basking in the celebration of young love (or platonic love for some).

Everyone, except you.

Classmates, dorm mates, and even your own best friends — Joycelin Sweeting and Astoria Greengrass — were ecstatic over the festivities. They had dragged you each weekend leading up to the big day to Hogsmeade and even trekked up to Diagon Alley for the perfect presents for their other halves. You were happy for them.

Truly.

They both had that beautiful twinkle in their eyes — and even though they were the most bubbly, fun-loving duo, you were almost 100% sure that their pupils turned into literal love hearts around their respective partners. Their hair was always curly or wavy (you had read in some book in the library that the magic surrounding a girl in love made their hair wavy for some reason), and their cheeks ached and flushed red with blush. You promised you were happy for them.

You had promised you were fine, telling Astoria to go on her date and reassuring Joycelin that you had more than enough on your plate. (That was a lie.)

The sun had barely risen but the time you sat in the Great Hall, the low chatter of students around you creating a hum that felt more distant than comforting. The flickering candles overhead cast shadows that danced lazily across the table, but you could not focus on the warmth. You felt the coldness inside you, a familiar emptiness that had settled in your chest ever since things had started to change. You could not help feeling sorry for yourself. Sitting here, on the morning of Valentine’s Day, seemingly the only student sitting alone. The dining hall was already quiet as it was, with many students opting for more romantic settings.

Your eyes flickered to the Slytherin table, your gaze inevitably falling on Theodore. He was there, of course, just like he always was, wrapped up in the world he had created around himself. The world that no longer seemed to have much space for you.

You could feel the ache settle into your bones, a quiet reminder of everything that had gone wrong—or seemingly, what seem to have disappeared over the winter break. It was not that he did not notice you; it was that he seemed to look through you these days. Every time you tried to get close, tried to bridge the growing chasm between the two of you, he had backed away, like you were not worth the effort.

And that was it. You were not worth the effort.

Theodore’s eyes did not meet yours now, and you were not sure if it was out of avoidance or simple disinterest. He had the same nonchalant air about him, speaking to the people around him in a tone that was not sharp, but cold enough to make you feel it in your gut. His friends, his fellow Slytherins, hung on the few words he said, laughing and teasing with ease. They did not know the quiet pain you felt just from being in the same room with him.

You turned your attention back to your plate, pushing food around without really touching it. The silence between you and him had become more deafening with each passing day. You tried to ignore it, to accept that it was what it was, but that did not stop the small part of you, the part that still hoped, from holding on.

A sharp pang of disappointment twisted in your chest as you watched a few girls from the other end of the table approach Theodore. Their laughter rang in the air, a sound that was light and carefree, like the weight of everything was irrelevant. You knew how they looked at him. You had seen it before. He was everything they admired—charming in a nonchalant type of way, and, for every reason you had been drawn to him in the first place, they couldn’t get enough of him.

A wave of frustration washed over you. You wanted to get up, leave this place where you felt so invisible, but the more you tried to retreat into yourself, the more desperate you were for Theodore to reach out for you.

But just as you were about to turn back to your breakfast, a voice broke through the quiet hum of the hall, this one different — more polite and genuinely warm.

Theodore was halfway through taking a bite of his toast when a voice rang out, light and sweet, carrying through the quiet of the hall, uninvited and unwelcome. “Theo, you are coming to the party tonight, aren’t you?”

The girl who spoke was one of those faces you often saw in the Slytherin corridor but never paid much attention to. A pleasant sort of girl, pretty enough, but always with a crowd. She had the kind of attention that came effortlessly, like a polished stone that had been smoothed by years of admiration. Her soft blonde curls bounced around her face as she leaned toward Theodore, her eyes wide with the warmth of something unfamiliar to you, something that felt a little too bright, too alive.

Her voice, though melodic, carried a subtle undertone of expectation. “It’s going to be fun,” she added with a smile, drawing the words out as though she was fishing for an answer. She did not care about the casualness of the conversation; she knew exactly what she was doing. Her fingers brushed lightly against Theodore’s sleeve as she spoke, and you could almost see the way her confidence bloomed in the space between them, wrapping around him as if they were already connected.

Theodore looked up slowly, his gaze flicking toward her, but the moment his eyes met hers, he seemed to settle into a practiced nonchalance. A smile tugged at the corner of his lips, but it was not the kind that reached his eyes. He gave a slight nod, still not meeting your gaze. “Yeah, I’ll be there,” he replied, his voice cool and flat, the same as it always was these days. Detached.

The girl beamed, as if the words were all she had wanted, but before she turned to go, she finally, almost reluctantly, glanced your way. Her eyes lingered on you for the briefest moment, as if she just remembered you were there, as if you had somehow faded into the background of the conversation she had been having with Theodore. It was not an unkind look, just distant — as though acknowledging your presence now was an afterthought.

“Oh,” she said, the pitch of her voice softening just a touch. “What about...” She slowly turned her head to your table. Her smile was kind, but it lacked warmth, like a perfunctory gesture more than a genuine inquiry.

You blinked, suddenly aware of the space between you and Theodore. The hall became so much larger than you had imagined, yet feeling narrower and overwhelming at the same time. You wanted him to say yes—better yet, walk down that endless hall to ask for your opinion. But you were also terrified. You did not want to admit that the very thought of being around people, of pretending to be something you were not, made your chest tighten. At this point, there was no telling what kind of relationship existed between you both. Your thoughts were swarming you these past couple of weeks— with one that had been quietly overcoming your mind for weeks, months now. You wanted to be seen— wanted to be wanted, even if just for a fleeting moment.

But before you could speak, Theodore’s voice cut through the tension, his words sharper than usual. “You know her,” he said, his tone distant and dismissive, “she’s not really a party person.”

And just like that, the words sank into your skin, prickling with discomfort. It was not a lie, not exactly, but it felt wrong. There was a bitter edge to it, something unspoken that settled over the dining hall like a growing storm. You were not a party person, no. But that was not the real reason you’d rather stay away. The truth was more complicated, more suffocating, and Theodore was too busy with his own distractions to notice.

The girl smiled again, this time with a hint of pity that stung more than it comforted. “I see,” she said, her voice dipping into something softer, almost apologetic, but you could see the beginnings of a smile on her lips. “I mean, no matter- we can always have fun for her. Right?”

She turned on her heel, slipping into the crowd of students with ease, leaving you in the quiet bubble of awkwardness that you had somehow found yourself in. The weight of his dismissal hung heavy in the air, suffocating you, even though he was not looking at you. His focus had already shifted to his friends, already lost in the rhythm of the day, and you felt the distance between you grow even wider.

You could not help but glance at him again, watching him talk to the group of Slytherins across the table, his face set in a way that looked practiced, familiar. His eyes never once flickered toward you. The indifference stung more than anything. He had done this before, turned his attention elsewhere, as if you were no longer worth the effort.

There was a knot in your stomach, tight and unyielding. It was hard to breathe around it, but you did not dare let it show. You did not dare let anyone see how much it hurt.

You knew better than to try and get his attention, though. You had learned long ago that when Theodore was not looking at you, nothing you did would change it. So you turned your gaze back to your untouched plate, pushing the remaining food around as if it could give you something to focus on, something to fill the hollow space.

The longer you sat there, the heavier the weight in your chest became — suffocating, relentless. The pitying look from that girl lingered in your mind, curling uncomfortably around your thoughts. It was not just the way she’d glanced at you like an afterthought — it was how right Theodore’s words had felt, how easily they’d seemed to confirm something you’d been trying to ignore for weeks.

You are not really a party person.

The words repeated in your head, twisting and distorting until they felt less like a passing comment and more like some unspoken truth — one you could not shake. It was not just that you did not belong at parties. It felt like you did not belong anywhere. Not with your friends, who had drifted into their own little worlds of whispered conversations and excited plans. Not with Theodore, who barely looked at you anymore — and if he did, it was only to find some way to push you further away.

And it was your own fault, was it not?

Your friends had tried — really tried — to keep you close. Joycelin and Astoria had spent weeks begging you to come with them — to Hogsmeade, to the common room, even just to sit with them in the Great Hall. They had coaxed you with warm smiles and reassurances that you’d have fun, but you never did. You could never quite shake the feeling that you were just… there. A shadow lingering behind them, dulling the brightness of their excitement.

It had reached the point where you almost felt guilty for saying yes — because each time you did, you could see it in their eyes. That flicker of hesitation, that subtle change in the air when you sat beside them. As though they were quietly waiting for you to dampen the mood.

You knew they loved you — you knew that. But sometimes love was not enough to stop you from feeling like a burden.

You wondered when it had happened — when you had become this person. The one who sat quietly at the edge of things, watching her friends smile and laugh from somewhere she could no longer reach. The one who had once been so full of warmth, now cold and withdrawn, retreating deeper into herself with each passing day.

It was not that you did not want to fight for what you once had — for Theodore, for your friends, for yourself. It was that you did not know how.

Because the truth was, you were tired — tired of trying to pretend that you were fine, tired of convincing yourself that this hollow feeling was not swallowing you whole. And most of all, you were tired of caring so much when it felt like no one seemed to care about you.

A dull ache settled behind your eyes, and you swallowed hard, blinking quickly to push the feeling down. You did not have the energy to fall apart — not here, not now. Instead, you kept your head low, eyes fixed on your plate as you tried to shrink into the silence, as if that might somehow make everything hurt a little less.

Just as you were about to sink back into your own thoughts, another voice broke through the fog of disappointment. The sudden shift in tone was enough to catch you off guard.

“Excuse me, are you… Y/N, right?”

The voice pulls you from your thoughts. You blink, not expecting to hear anyone speaking to you. When you look up, you are met with a pair of eyes. His eyes, a striking shade of blue, seem to gleam with an unexpected warmth. He stands there, leaning casually against the bench, his posture effortlessly confident. His dark hair, not quite as dark as Theodore’s but with a similar tousled quality, seems to catch the light in all the right places, and you can tell it’s the sort of hair that naturally falls into place, no matter what.

Adrien Delacroix.

His features are distinctively sharp, but there is a softness to them, too. He has a smile that feels almost practiced, easy, as if it is a shield he is worn a thousand times. His bone structure is different from Theodore’s—more delicate, with high cheekbones and a straight nose that seems to be chiseled perfectly. He’s stood there, looking down at you with an easy smile that barely hides his curiosity. He is tall—definitely taller than most guys in your year—and his gaze is steady, almost like he’s trying to read you.

The thought hits you immediately, almost involuntarily. What does he want?

You manage a quiet nod. “Uh… yeah. That’s me.”

You blink again, not sure what to say next, but Adrien doesn’t seem to notice your hesitation. You hate how small your voice sounds, especially compared to Adrien’s friendly tone. You immediately wish you could say something more—something to make this interaction feel less awkward, but your words feel like they’re stuck somewhere deep in your chest.

“I thought I… ah…” He pauses briefly, brow creasing as he searches for the right word. “Reconnu — recognised you,” he corrects himself, his accent curling softly around the syllables. He leans casually against the table, a faint smile playing on his lips. “I’m in a couple of your classes, and I’ve seen you around… but I’ve never had the chance to actually talk to you.”

He pauses for a moment, his hand lifting to push a strand of dark hair behind his ear with the same effortless grace that seems to define him. The way his accent lingers, slightly melodic and smooth as it dances in his words, makes you feel different. There’s something about him that feels different, refined—but not in an obvious, boastful way. Just in the way he holds himself, the subtle lift of his chin, the quiet confidence that lingers even in the simplest gestures.

“History of Magic, right?” Adrien asks, as if pulling you out of your thoughts. “You’ve been in my class the last few weeks… I think I sit behind you.”

Your heart beats a little faster, and a flush creeps up your neck. Adrien notices, a quick flash of amusement crossing his face, but he does not make a big deal out of it.

You force a smile, nervous and unsure. “I dunno… I sleep through most of it.”

His lips twitch as he laughs softly, his voice rich, and the sound catches you off guard. “Vraiment? Really?” he says, his grin widening. “You should definitely stay awake. It’s fascinating stuff.” His tone is teasing, but there’s something more in his eyes — something that almost makes you wonder if he’s being sincere.

“I—I’ll try,” you murmur, pulling your sleeves down further, hiding your hands in the folds of your robes. You are not used to this, not used to being noticed like this. Especially not by someone like Adrien, who seems to draw people’s attention without even trying.

You cannot help but notice the way his eyes linger on you for just a moment too long before he blinks and looks away. It’s a small thing, but it sends your heart racing, and you cannot figure out why.

He leans in slightly, his voice lowering a little. “You’ve got that quiet thing going on… makes you seem a bit… mystérieuse.” His lips twitch with a small smile. “It’s cute.”

The words hit you like a shockwave. Cute. The simplicity of it, the way it feels like a compliment that doesn’t carry any weight behind it, makes your chest tighten. It’s not an insult, but something about it makes you feel exposed, like you don’t deserve the attention he’s giving you. You’ve never thought of yourself as someone who could be “cute,” not the way the other girls are. You’ve spent so long hiding in the shadows, and now someone like Adrien is standing in front of you, treating you like you are someone worth noticing.

You do not know how to respond, so you just nod, suddenly feeling even more awkward. You can’t help it, your mind races with the thought that maybe he’s just being polite. Or maybe he’s just like the others who like to talk to you out of some weird obligation before moving on to something—or someone—else.

Adrien tilts his head, and for a moment, you are not sure if he’s trying to figure you out or if he’s just watching you. His lips twitch into a smile again, this time a little more knowing. “Well, if you ever need someone to keep you awake in History of Magic, I’m happy to help.”

You try not to smile, but the way his gaze lingers on you, the way he speaks, it’s hard not to. He seems genuine, yet you wonder how much of that is just the way he is—easy, charming, and unbothered.

“Or maybe we could catch up on what you’ve missed in the library?” He smiles, “I noticed you usually run off there as soon as Binns finishes.”

You shift slightly, the discomfort rising in your stomach. “I don’t usually spend much time in the library,” you say, almost apologetically, though you know it’s not entirely true. You’ve been there often, especially in the past few weeks, lingering in corners, trying to lose yourself in the quiet. You’ve seen Adrien there before, too, always focused, always absorbed in his reading. But you don’t mention that. It feels too intimate somehow, like acknowledging his presence would make this interaction even more real.

Adrien’s eyes soften as if he can see through your discomfort. He doesn’t push, and for a moment, you wonder if he’s actually paying attention to you—or just looking for something to fill the silence. He shifts, stepping a little closer, the air between you thick with something unspoken.

“I get that,” he says, his smile growing a little more genuine. “Hogwarts can be… eh… accablant… too much, no?” He chuckles softly. “I’ve only been here a little while, and I’m still figuring out where everything is.” His words are easy, his tone casual, like he’s trying to make you feel less out of place. You can tell he’s trying to make this conversation feel natural, but you can’t help but feel like you are failing at being natural, like every word that leaves your mouth is a stilted attempt to keep up.

You want to say something, to let him in, but the words feel wrong. Why is he even talking to me? You want to scream it, want to ask him why someone like him—who clearly fits in with all the bright, shiny faces at Hogwarts—would want to talk to someone like you. You are used to being on the outside, used to standing in the back while others take the spotlight. And here is Adrien, offering you a sliver of attention like it’s no big deal. You don’t know what to make of it.

But then he continues, his voice slipping back into that light, teasing tone. “I’ve been wanting to talk to you for a while, actually. I just didn’t know how to approach you though—thought it might be best find away to do it differently…”

You freeze, caught off guard by the statement. Differently? It feels like a compliment, but it also feels like a judgment. You never meant to be unreachable. Is he saying I’m weird? You can’t stop the flash of insecurity that rises in your chest. You are not sure whether to thank him for the words or shrink away in embarrassment. You barely know him, yet somehow, his words feel like they’ve carved into you in ways you are not ready for.

“Hey — I’m not trying to make you uncomfortable,” Adrien adds, as though sensing the shift in the air. “I just thought… maybe we could hang out sometime? I mean, I’ve seen you around, and you don’t seem like the type to just…” He pauses, brow furrowing slightly as he mutters, “Comment on dit… ah…” His fingers drum lightly on the table as he thinks. “Go with the flow?,” he finishes, a little unsure but still smiling. “You seem… hmm… like someone who thinks for herself. I thought it’d be nice to get to know you.”

The offer feels too big, too much for someone like you to take in, like a question you are not sure you are allowed to answer. You want to say no, to tell him it’s fine and you are used to being alone, but there’s a small part of you that wonders if maybe, just maybe, he’s being honest.

Before you can figure out what to say, Adrien’s smile softens, and he steps back, giving you a little more space. “I’ll see you around then?” His voice is lighter, not pushing, but still there, lingering.

You sit there, watching him walk away, still unsure whether his invitation was just a formality, something said to pass the time, or if he genuinely meant it. You don’t know. You don’t know him, not really, but the thought of being wanted, of being seen by someone like him, leaves you feeling both lighter and heavier all at once.

You can’t shake the comparison in your mind—the way Theodore’s presence always felt heavy, like there was something between you that you could not name. But with Adrien, it’s different. He’s easy. He doesn’t feel like a storm waiting to happen, like Theodore did. And yet, you feel unsettled, unsure if you should let yourself enjoy this attention.

But why would someone like him be interested in someone like me? You can’t shake the doubt, the feeling that this is all too good to be true.

The first few days after Adrien introduced himself passed with little fanfare. You found yourself thinking back to his words, but they felt like little more than a fleeting moment in the midst of your usual routine. School was still a whirlwind—lessons, assignments, and the ever-present hum of your friends dragging you along, their chatter and laughter filling up the corners of your days. You barely had time to notice the absence of anything new.

It was only in the quieter moments, when you found yourself alone with your thoughts, that Adrien’s voice would drift back into your mind. “It was nice talking to you.”

You weren’t sure why it lingered. He’d said it casually, a throwaway comment as if it was no different from any other greeting. But it was different. You weren’t used to being treated like that. It was a small thing, but in a life that had felt so filled with noise and obligation, it felt like a small light. Yet you pushed it aside. You didn’t know him. He was a stranger, no matter how pleasant.

Days passed, and you carried on as usual. You caught glimpses of him in the halls occasionally, but he never approached you again. You hadn’t expected him to, really. And you didn’t know what you would have done if he had.

But then, a few days later, you were walking down the corridor on your way to the library, a pile of books pressed tightly against your chest. You had your mind on your homework and what you had left to do that afternoon.

As you passed a corner near the library’s entrance, you nearly collided with someone. You glanced up, startled, and there he was—Adrien, his warm eyes locking onto yours as though he’d been expecting to see you. He stepped back just in time, allowing you to continue walking.

“Hey,” he said, his voice low, a smile tugging at his lips.

“Hi,” you answered, a little caught off guard, though you couldn’t quite place why. His smile was warm, genuine, and it did something strange to your heart—a soft flutter that you quickly buried under a sense of confusion. Why did it feel different when he smiled at you?

“I was actually heading to the library, too,” Adrien continued, his words stumbling slightly before he found the right phrasing. “I… uh… if you, uh, don’t mind, maybe I could… walk with you?”

His words came out with a slight hesitation, but his smile remained steady. You caught a soft ‘D’accord’ under his breath, as if he had been about to say something before stopping himself.

You didn’t answer immediately, unsure why it felt so difficult. But then you just shrugged. What harm could it do? It wasn’t like you had to say yes, but his offer felt casual enough—so you nodded.

“Sure, why not.”

The walk wasn’t long. You had a few moments of awkward silence, your footsteps echoing slightly in the hallway. But Adrien didn’t seem bothered by it. He didn’t try to fill the silence with pointless chatter, as some people would. He just walked beside you, the occasional glance in your direction almost like an invitation to speak, but never pushing for it.

When you arrived at the library, you felt an odd sense of… expectation. But why? You weren’t sure, and you couldn’t figure it out. He hadn’t even asked to sit with you. And yet, when you found a quiet corner, Adrien dropped down across from you with a casual air, pulling out a few books from his bag. You didn’t speak much at first, but the way he settled next to you, not intruding on your space but in a way that made you aware of him, was somehow comforting.

You focused on your work, but there were moments when you found yourself glancing up at him. His eyes were always so soft, always paying attention to the books in front of him, but you could tell that sometimes he looked at you, too. It was subtle, but it was there. He was careful, though, and never pressed you. You never felt like you were being watched. But there was something there, something unspoken.

It wasn’t like you’d thought anything would happen, but somehow, you felt a little lighter in the moments you shared with him, even if they were silent. You told yourself it was just the solitude of the library making it feel that way, nothing more.

The next few days followed a similar rhythm. Adrien continued to show up, not in an overwhelming way, but in the way of someone who was content with simply sharing space. You’d find him walking beside you in the halls, or—more often than not—he’d be sitting across from you in the library, quietly reading. Some days, he’d nod in your direction, offering a small, knowing smile. Other times, he would remain absorbed in his books, but you’d catch a glance his way, and his eyes would flicker toward yours before he quickly returned to what he was doing.

You still didn’t know how to feel about it. You weren’t used to the attention. It wasn’t anything grand or demanding, and maybe that’s why it unsettled you. Maybe it felt too easy. And maybe that was why you kept waiting for the moment it would end—waiting for the point where you’d both go your separate ways, like you always had before.

But that moment didn’t come.

A week passed, then two. Adrien didn’t disappear, but his presence began to feel familiar. Not in a bad way, but in the way that something small can slowly start to settle into your life without you quite realising it. You found yourself moving through your days in that strange mix of normalcy and anticipation.

By the third week, he’d started sitting next to you before you even had a chance to settle in. No longer waiting for an invitation, he simply dropped down next to you, book in hand. The quiet exchanges—small smiles, the soft rustle of pages turning—began to feel almost like a routine. Not something you had to think about.

And then, one day, he spoke up as you were gathering your things.

“I was thinking of going outside to study today,” Adrien said, looking at you as if the question were almost an afterthought. “Would you like to join me? The grounds look quieter with it being a little colder, no?”

You blinked, a little thrown off by the suggestion. You’d never thought of studying outdoors, especially when it was getting colder, but you couldn’t help but feel the soft pull of the invitation. There was something about the way he asked—it wasn’t pressure. It wasn’t forceful. It was simply an offer, the kind of offer you didn’t often get. No one had ever asked you to just be there, to sit in the open air and study without some ulterior motive.

“Uhm… yeah, sure,” you said, almost before you thought about it.

Adrien gave you a soft smile in response, and you noticed the faintest ‘Merci’ slip from his lips, as though he was thankful you’d agreed.

You couldn’t help but notice how your heart beat a little faster as you walked with him to the grounds, the soft crunch of leaves beneath your shoes, the crispness of the air making your breath visible in the autumn light. Adrien didn’t speak much during the walk, but there was an ease to it. A peaceful silence that you didn’t mind. You sat together on the grass, your books spread out in front of you, and for a few moments, the world just… slowed down.

The next few weeks felt much the same—slow, but different in a way that you couldn’t quite explain. You and Adrien started meeting more often, sometimes in the common room, other times out by the grounds. Conversations that had once felt awkward or forced now came more naturally. You weren’t always talking, but there was a sense of comfort in simply being near him.

You also started to notice the little things. Sometimes, when you were walking to class, Adrien would fall in step beside you. And not just to the library or the grounds, but even to places you didn’t have class together. You found yourself looking up, seeing his warm smile as he walked with you—just there, beside you. It wasn’t a big gesture, but there was something so simple and steady about it. You didn’t have to ask. He was just there.

Occasionally, he would notice you struggling with your bag or books, and without a second thought, Adrien would take them from you.

“Here,” he’d say, ‘Mon dieu,’ he’d mutter under his breath as he adjusted the weight, realising it was more than he anticipated. “I might have underestimated that.”

His touch was gentle, but firm, and his eyes always met yours with that same warm, effortless kindness. It wasn’t anything big, but it made you feel strangely cared for in a way you hadn’t expected.

And then, one day, you realised you were no longer simply meeting him in the library or on the grounds. Adrien had started showing up outside of those places, walking you to and from your classes. Even when you didn’t have class together, you’d find him walking beside you. Sometimes, you’d talk, sometimes not. But you always felt… lighter, more grounded with him by your side.

By the fifth week, something had changed. You were running late, as usual. You rushed through the hallways, trying to make it to Potions class on time, your bag slung over your shoulder and your books clutched tightly in your arms. You were almost there when you heard Slughorn’s voice, carrying through the door as he gave his typical greeting.

“Settle down, everyone!” Professor Slughorn’s booming voice echoed, followed by his characteristic chuckle. “We’re about to begin!”

You pushed the door open quickly, slipping inside the classroom and feeling a rush of embarrassment. As you entered, your eyes immediately searched for a spot. The room was buzzing with conversation, but the first thing you noticed was Theodore’s desk—his books already neatly arranged on the surface. He was speaking to a group of students, laughing softly, not yet noticing you.

Your gaze flicked over to the other side of the room, where Adrien was sitting alone. His posture was relaxed, his usual calm expression on his face. He seemed unaware of the subtle tension you felt, but when his eyes met yours, there was a flicker of warmth, a quiet understanding between you both that had grown stronger over the past few weeks.

You hesitated for a moment. Theodore’s desk was set up just a few feet away, and yet, it felt so distant. You swallowed, glancing back at Adrien, who was looking at you with that familiar, soft smile.

You took a few steps toward his desk, feeling your heart race a little. Your thoughts collided in a whirlwind—Should I? Will it be okay? You were almost at his side when you stopped, unsure. Was it too bold, too sudden?

“Is it… okay if I sit here?” you asked quietly, your voice small but sincere, the question almost slipping out before you could stop it.

Adrien’s face lit up, his smile widening with ease. There was no hesitation in his response. “Of course,” he said, his accent slipping through just a bit as he added, “It’s… it’s more than okay.”

The words had a warmth that settled in your chest. You nodded, feeling a strange sense of relief wash over you. There was something comforting about the way he made you feel, like you were exactly where you were supposed to be.

You slid into the seat beside him, your books still clutched in your lap, and glanced at the front of the room where Slughorn was still greeting the class. Your thoughts, however, lingered on the quiet space between you and Adrien. You couldn’t help but notice how easy it felt to sit next to him, how his presence made the world feel just a little bit softer.

Adrien shifted a little closer to his desk, leaning slightly in your direction as he began to unpack his things, but not too much—just enough to let you know he was there. It was subtle, but it made you feel less alone. You were here, in this moment, and for some reason, it felt like it mattered.

You settled into your seat, feeling the class start to hum around you as Slughorn continued his instructions. The words were a distant background noise now, and for a brief moment, you felt as though the world outside of this room had faded away. You were no longer rushing to catch up or trying to keep pace with your thoughts. You were just here, with Adrien, and it felt… easy.

The days had started to drag on, and with each one, the sense that something was off between you and Theodore Nott grew heavier. He couldn’t pinpoint it at first. There hadn’t been a single moment where you had argued or said anything that would cause him to doubt things between you. It was all the little things—the quiet shifts in your behaviour that he couldn’t ignore.

At first, he tried to brush it off, telling himself it was just the usual school pressure. Everyone was busy, and he knew you had other commitments, other friends. But the more he thought about it, the more something didn’t feel right. You hadn’t been by his side in the usual places—the library, the courtyard, the dining hall.

Theodore had always found comfort in those small, predictable routines you shared. The moments where you’d sneak into the library early, books scattered around the table as you both tried to get ahead on your assignments. The way you’d meet up in the courtyard after class, sharing a quiet moment before heading off to your next lesson. It wasn’t anything extraordinary, but it was your time, and it made everything feel familiar, safe, like the world around you could be chaotic, but at least you had that.

But now, it was as if those small moments had slipped away. You weren’t there waiting for him, and you weren’t with him when he expected you to be. At first, it was easy to ignore. But then, one morning, when he entered the dining hall, he caught sight of you. And his heart sank.

You were sitting with Adrien Delacroix.

It wasn’t that you weren’t allowed to sit with him—it was more that it was so different. You weren’t sitting with him like usual. You hadn’t even looked in his direction when he walked in. You and Adrien were talking, laughing, your heads bent close together as you shared some private joke.

Theodore’s eyes narrowed. Okay, he thought. It’s nothing. You were just talking to Adrien. He had no right to be bothered by it. It’s not like you weren’t friends with him. But still—something about it didn’t feel right. It didn’t feel normal.

He tried to ignore it as he sat down at his usual spot, forcing himself to focus on his food, but the image of you and Adrien stayed in his mind. He pushed it down, telling himself it was nothing, but the feeling lingered, twisting in his chest.

Days passed, and it didn’t get better. It only seemed to get worse.

Theodore started to notice more subtle things. Like how you always seemed to be in the places that were once yours—the library, the courtyard, the dining hall. And each time, you weren’t with him. You were with Adrien.

It wasn’t just that. You weren’t sitting where you usually did anymore. In the library, you used to sit next to him, always the quiet corner by the window where the light slanted just right. But now, when he walked in, you were already there—across the room, seated next to Adrien, books laid out in front of you both, engrossed in whispers of conversation.

The first time it happened, Theodore had walked in expecting to find you at the usual spot, but you weren’t there. He scanned the room quickly, his heart sinking when he finally saw you. And Adrien.

The feeling in his chest shifted—unsettled, uncomfortable—as he walked past you both, his gaze lingering for just a second longer than it should. You hadn’t looked up, not even when he passed. It was almost like you hadn’t noticed him at all.

The second time it happened, it was during lunch. The same table. The same seats. But again, you weren’t sitting with him. You and Adrien were deep in conversation, the two of you leaning toward each other, laughing about something that seemed to have nothing to do with him.

Theodore sat down, trying to pretend it didn’t bother him. He couldn’t bring himself to look at you. And when he did, his eyes would flicker to Adrien, to the way you smiled at him. It’s fine, he told himself again. You and Adrien were friends. But it didn’t feel fine. It didn’t feel right. He couldn’t shake the feeling of being pushed out of the space you once shared.

He couldn’t quite put it into words, but it hurt.

The courtyard was the same. He had always expected to see you there, waiting for him, ready to talk about whatever was on your mind. But more often than not, you were already with Adrien.

It was small at first—those little moments when you weren’t there—but it was consistent. It was happening so often now, he couldn’t ignore it.

Theodore’s eyes followed you from across the courtyard. You were walking with Adrien again, your arms swinging lightly at your sides as you exchanged easy words with him. It wasn’t just that you were walking together—it was how naturally it seemed to come to you. There was no hesitation, no wariness. You were laughing at something Adrien had said, your body language open and comfortable.

Theodore felt a twinge in his chest. It wasn’t jealousy—not exactly. Or maybe it was. He couldn’t quite sort through the jumble of emotions.

You had been so quiet with him lately. But here, with Adrien, you were lighthearted, carefree. So different. It stung.

He’d caught glimpses of this before, bits and pieces—your laughter a little louder when Adrien was around, your smiles more frequent. But seeing it like this, with the two of you walking side by side, so effortlessly close, made it feel… final.

The weight of the past few weeks pressed on him then—the subtle shift, the moments when he’d felt you slipping away without even realising why. You used to seek him out, find excuses to talk to him, to share your thoughts, even your silence. But recently… it had been different. More distant. More reserved.

And then, as if to confirm his suspicions, he saw you—laughing, your eyes bright as you interacted with Adrien and a group of friends. You were introducing Adrien to them, your hand lightly resting on his arm as you made some joke. Astoria and Draco were laughing along, their approval written across their faces. They exchanged knowing looks, their smiles stretching in approval at the ease with which you were interacting with Adrien.

Theodore stopped, watching from the edge of the group, unnoticed. His breath caught in his chest. You were so at ease around him. So different. Your laughter wasn’t strained or forced. It was free. Unburdened. It didn’t take much to see how much more comfortable you were around Adrien than you were with him.

You were surrounded by your friends—laughing, joking, pulling Adrien into the conversation with ease. Their eyes flickered between you two, and he saw them exchange smiles, clearly pleased with the dynamic between you. As if they were glad to see you so happy.

Theodore’s stomach twisted uncomfortably. Was this what you were becoming? The person you were without him?

The contrast was sharp. There you were, surrounded by people who seemed to appreciate you, who saw the side of you that he hadn’t seen in weeks. That he’d stopped seeing.

He couldn’t remember when things had started to shift. When had you pulled away? When had Adrien stepped into the spaces that were once his?

His heart ached with the realisation that you were no longer the person he shared these moments with. You weren’t the same. And worse still, it was clear you didn’t need him the way you had before.

But how had it happened? He thought, watching you, his mind spiralling.

By the time Potions class rolled around, the feeling had only grown worse. Theodore had arrived early, as he often did, hoping to settle in before the class began. He made his way to the table you usually sat at, gathering his books and preparing for the lesson, but he was soon called over by a classmate.

He gave the table one last glance before walking over, but something gnawed at him. He hadn’t seen you yet. Was she late again?

He thought nothing of it, you usually took a nap before Thursday’s potions class—often finding an empty nearby classroom to get yourself 20 minutes of sleep.

When Slughorn called for everyone to sit down, Theodore returned to the table, expecting you to already be there, as usual. He looked up, ready to greet you with a casual smile, only to pause to realise the seat was empty. He became confused.

Was she ill? Is she okay?

As he took his seat, he started twisting and turning, looking for all the other possible entrances—waiting for your hectic entrance. His heart dropped as his eyes landed on you—sitting with Adrien. Right there, on the other side of the classroom, with someone who wasn’t him. He blinked, almost thinking he had seen wrong, but no—the reality didn’t change. You were sitting beside him, your focus flicking between Slughorn and Adrien.

Theodore froze , his breath caught in his chest. At first, his mind registered the strange emptiness in his stomach, like something was missing. And then, his thoughts shifted.

She’s okay. Just not with me.

The words in his head felt like they were slowing down as he settled on his stool, trying to gather his thoughts. You and Adrien, already engrossed in a conversation, hadn’t even noticed him yet. His confusion only grew as he glanced at your table, trying not to show how the tightness in his chest was making it hard to breathe. Why weren’t you sitting with him?

Theodore’s grip on his quill tightened until his knuckles whitened. It had been weeks since you’d sought him out, and now… now, it was like he didn’t even exist in the spaces you once shared.

He couldn’t shake the feeling that something was wrong. Something had changed.

Theodore had never considered himself an impatient person. He knew how to wait. He had spent years perfecting the art of watching, observing, and keeping his emotions neatly in check, tucked away beneath layers of carefully constructed indifference.

But right now, sitting in this godforsaken Potions lesson, he felt like he was unraveling.

His grip on his quill was tight, the feathered tip bending slightly under the pressure of his fingers. He forced himself to focus on the instructions, on the slow, deliberate movements of slicing up the ginger roots in front of him. But his hands were tense, his shoulders stiff, his entire body wound so tightly that he thought if someone so much as breathed wrong in his direction, he might snap.

He had been watching you. He hated that he had been watching you.

But how could he not?

You were right there, just a few feet away, your head tilted toward Adrien, your expression soft in a way that Theodore hadn’t seen in what felt like a lifetime. The two of you worked side by side, close enough that your elbows brushed every now and then, and each time it happened, you didn’t flinch away. Didn’t seem to mind at all.

It was infuriating.

He didn’t understand it—this shift, this change, the way you had slipped out of his grasp so seamlessly that he hadn’t even noticed until it was too late.

Maybe that was the worst part.

He could still remember the way things used to be—the way you used to seek him out, even when he wasn’t looking for you. The way you’d drop into the seat beside him without a second thought, a quiet presence that had never felt intrusive, never felt unwelcome. The way you had once laughed with him, not the way you did with Adrien now, but in a way that had been just for him.

But that version of you was gone, wasn’t it?

Theodore’s jaw clenched, and before he could stop himself, his fingers tightened around his quill—too tight.

The wood snapped between his fingers with a sharp crack.

A few students turned at the noise, but Theodore didn’t move. He barely even registered the ink that dripped onto his parchment, spreading into dark, messy blotches. His pulse was hammering against his ribs, a steady, unrelenting rhythm that did nothing to soothe the weight pressing against his chest.

He had to get a grip.

He forced his fingers to relax, letting the broken pieces of his quill drop onto the desk. He exhaled slowly, but it didn’t make a difference. The irritation still clawed at him, sharp and unrelenting.

He was tired of this. Tired of pretending that it didn’t matter, tired of convincing himself that it didn’t get to him every time he saw Adrien carrying your books, or walking beside you like he had always belonged there.

Because he hadn’t.

That was Theodore’s place.

Or at least—it had been.

He hadn’t been able to talk to you properly in weeks. Not because he didn’t want to. He did. He wanted to find you alone, wanted to pull you aside, wanted to demand answers that he wasn’t even sure he could put into words.

But every time he tried, Adrien was there.

It was infuriating how easily the other boy had slid into your life, how effortlessly he had taken up space that should have been Theodore’s.

He had tried to tell himself that he was being irrational. That there was no reason to feel like this, no reason to let something as simple as your choice of company bother him.

But it did.

It fucking did.

And what made it worse—what made it unbearable—was that you didn’t seem to notice.

You didn’t notice how he looked at you when you weren’t paying attention.

Didn’t notice the way his hands curled into fists every time Adrien slung an arm around your shoulder.

Didn’t notice the way he had started walking slower in the hallways, lingering just long enough to see if you’d turn to him, if you’d say something, anything.

But you never did.

Theodore inhaled sharply, forcing himself to keep his expression impassive as he glanced toward you again.

You were laughing.

Not just a quiet chuckle, not the polite kind of laughter you gave when you were only half-paying attention. No, this was different. This was real. Genuine. The kind that made your eyes crinkle at the edges, that made you drop your head slightly like you couldn’t quite contain it.

And Adrien—fucking Adrien Delacroix—was looking at you like you had given him the best gift in the world.

Theodore’s fingers curled around the edge of his desk, nails pressing into the wood.

The sound of Slughorn’s voice cut through the air, signalling the end of the lesson, but Theodore barely heard it.

He was still staring at you, at the way you gathered your things with an easy, unbothered grace, completely unaware of the storm raging inside him.

He should say something.

Now.

This was his chance.

Before he could overthink it, before you could leave the room, before Adrien could whisk you away yet again.

But just as he stepped forward—

Adrien turned to you, saying something quietly, something just for you. Whatever it was, it made you smile, and then, just like that, you were walking toward the door with him, the two of you slipping effortlessly into the current of students flooding the corridor.

And Theodore—

Theodore was left standing there, fists clenched at his sides, frustration coiling tightly in his chest like a noose.

He couldn’t do this anymore.

This wasn’t just irritation. This wasn’t just some fleeting annoyance that he could brush off with a sharp exhale and a roll of his shoulders.

No—this was something else entirely.

Something heavier.

Something dangerously close to regret.

Theodore barely felt his feet against the stone floor as he stormed through the castle. His mind was racing, his pulse pounding, the frustration still simmering beneath his skin like an open wound.

He couldn’t shake the image of you and Adrien in Potions. The way the two of you worked so easily together, the way your elbows brushed when you leaned too close. The way he murmured something low, just for you, and the way your lips had twitched with amusement before you gave him that look. That soft, private look that Theodore hadn’t seen in weeks.

It was wrong. It should have been him sitting next to you, not Adrien. It should have been his shoulder brushing against yours. He should have been the one pulling your cauldron closer when you got distracted, the one smirking as you muttered something under your breath about how you hated Slughorn’s tedious assignments. He should have been the one you turned to with that easy familiarity, the kind that once belonged to him and only him.

But he wasn’t.

Because you had stopped turning to him at all.

And now? Now you had Adrien-fucking- Delacroix acting like he had any right to step into that space, like he had the right to replace Theodore without a second thought. Like you had simply let it happen.

His hands clenched at his sides.

He had to know. Had to understand why this was happening, why you had pulled away, why it felt like you had disappeared from his life without so much as a second glance. Because if he didn’t get answers soon, he felt like he might lose his goddamn mind.

He took the corner sharply, heading straight for Draco’s dorm.

Someone moved into his path.

“Theodore?”

It was the girl from before—the one who had approached him at breakfast, the one who had tried to invite him to the Valentine’s party some weeks back. The same girl who had looked at you with thinly veiled amusement, like you were some afterthought to her plans.

He didn’t care about her.

She stepped toward him with a bright, expectant smile. “I was wondering if—”

He walked right past her.

Didn’t slow down. Didn’t acknowledge her.

Didn’t even hear what she had been about to say.

Her voice faltered, her footsteps pausing behind him, but he didn’t bother looking back. He was already moving, already set on what he needed to do, already too far gone to stop now.

Draco was going to tell him what the hell was going on.

His patience had finally run out.

By the time he reached the door, he didn’t hesitate. He slammed his fist against it, hard enough that the hinges rattled.

“Malfoy,” he bit out, voice sharp, demanding. “Open the fucking door.”

Nothing.

His fingers curled into a fist again, his knuckles burning.

“If you don’t open it right now, I swear I’ll—”

The handle gave way easily beneath his grip. The door wasn’t locked.

He shoved it open, frustration spilling over—

And immediately regretted it.

Draco Malfoy was on his bed, half-naked.

Astoria Greengrass was also half-naked.

The sheets had barely been pulled over her, her blouse abandoned somewhere on the floor, her curls disheveled in a way that left absolutely nothing to the imagination. Draco was sitting up against the headboard, shirtless, his hair a mess, looking every bit like someone who had just been interrupted at the worst possible moment.

Theodore froze.

Astoria froze.

Draco blinked once, then exhaled like this was nothing more than an inconvenience.

For a full, excruciating moment, nobody moved.

Then Astoria let out a noise of sheer disbelief, scrambling for the sheets to cover herself. “Are you actually fucking serious, Nott?”

Theodore felt like he’d been dropped into hell.

His eyes snapped to the ceiling. “For fuck’s sake—” He turned sharply, facing the door, but didn’t leave. His fingers dug into his temples as he let out a slow, aggravated breath. “Why the fuck was your door unlocked?”

Draco just rolled his eyes, completely unbothered. “Didn’t think a lunatic was about to barge in.”

Astoria scoffed from where she stood by the wardrobe, still tying the belt of Draco’s robe around her waist. “Merlin, if I had a Galleon for every time a Slytherin boy had a meltdown in this room, I’d be rich.”

Theodore barely heard her. His patience snapped.

“What’s going on with her?”

Draco raised a brow. “Who?”

Theodore saw red.

Before he could stop himself, he grabbed Draco’s collar and yanked him forward, the frustration that had been simmering beneath his skin finally spilling over.

Draco barely reacted, unimpressed as ever, but before he could pry Theodore off—

Astoria grabbed Theodore’s collar.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” she groaned, physically pulling Theodore back with both hands, forcing him to let go of Draco’s shirt. “If you’re about to start some macho territorial bullshit, at least have the decency to do it outside where I’m not half-naked.”

Theodore barely stumbled, but his glare snapped to her. “Stay out of this, Greengrass.”

Astoria barked out a short, disbelieving laugh. “Oh, sweetheart, I wouldn’t dream of it.” She crossed her arms, gaze narrowing. “What the hell is your problem?”

“My problem,” Theodore hissed, shaking his head, “is that you two clearly know something and are dragging this out instead of telling me what the fuck is going on.”

Draco straightened his collar like nothing had happened, exhaling in exasperation. “I already told you—”

Astoria cut him off, rolling her eyes. “He’s too dense, Malfoy. Just tell him what your dear cousin is doing before he starts breaking furniture.”

Draco shot her an unimpressed look but obliged, sighing as he finally leaned back against the headboard.

“She’s seventeen, Theodore.”

Theodore clenched his jaw. “I know that.”

“Do you?” Astoria interjected, raising a brow. “Because you’re acting like it’s some great mystery why a girl like her is suddenly acting her age.”

Theodore snapped his head toward her. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

Astoria exchanged a slow glance with Draco, like they were having a silent conversation. Then she sighed dramatically, sitting on the edge of the bed and propping her chin on her palm.

“It means,” she said slowly, “that it’s embarrassing how blind you are.”

Theodore’s nails dug into his palms. “Watch it, Greengrass.”

“Or what?” she shot back, unimpressed. “You’ll shove me into a wall next? Gods, you are so obvious.”

Draco smirked. “She’s right, you know.”

“Of course I am,” Astoria said, tossing her hair over her shoulder. “Here’s the thing, Nott. If you wanted her to stay in your orbit, maybe you shouldn’t have acted like she was nothing more than some convenient little thing to have around.”

Theodore’s jaw ticked. “That’s not—”

“She’s moving on,” Draco interrupted, his voice eerily calm. “Because that’s what people do when they realise they’ve been wasting their time.”

The words landed like a slap.

Theodore swallowed, something bitter curling in his stomach.

Astoria hummed. “I mean, you didn’t actually think she’d wait around for you forever, did you?” She tilted her head, watching him. “Poor thing probably woke up one day and realised she was chasing after a ghost.”

Theodore’s hands curled into fists. “That’s not how it was.”

Draco gave him a flat look. “Wasn’t it?”

Theodore hated the way his stomach twisted.

“She’s not stupid, Nott,” Draco continued, voice cool. “And she’s not waiting anymore. She’s looking for something better.” He smirked, slow and sharp. “Someone better.”

Astoria whistled. “Brutal.”

Theodore exhaled harshly through his nose, shaking his head. “That’s not—” He stopped himself. His voice had wavered. Fuck.

Astoria’s expression shifted, like she had caught something in his face that he hadn’t meant to show. Then, to his absolute fury, she smiled.

“Oh, this is rich,” she mused, eyes flickering over him. “You actually thought she was always going to come back to you, didn’t you?”

Theodore froze.

Draco chuckled under his breath.

“She did, though, didn’t she?” Astoria continued, tapping a finger against her knee. “Every time you got too cold, every time you pulled away, every time you treated her like a second thought—she still came back. And now that she’s not?” Her lips curled, saccharine and cruel. “You don’t know what to do with yourself.”

The words dug in deep, cutting through skin and bone like a blade.

Draco sighed, stretching out his legs. “You’re pissed off because you thought you had all the time in the world.” He gave Theodore a lazy once-over. “But newsflash—you don’t.”

Astoria nodded in agreement. “Adrien Delacroix is looking like a much better option than a boy who can’t make up his fucking mind.”

Theodore’s breathing was sharp, unsteady. His mind raced, but his lips remained pressed in a tight, stubborn line. He refused to acknowledge the sickening feeling twisting inside him, the one whispering that Draco and Astoria were right.

They weren’t. They couldn’t be.

You weren’t moving on.

You weren’t choosing Adrien over him.

You couldn’t be.

“I never treated her like a second thought,” Theodore muttered, voice tight, controlled—barely masking the storm raging inside him.

Astoria let out a short, humorless laugh. “Oh, really?” Her arms crossed over her chest, her expression sharpening into something lethal. “Then what the hell do you call the past few months, Nott?”

Theodore’s jaw clenched. He opened his mouth to argue—

But Astoria gasped dramatically, her hand flying to her chest in mock horror.

“Oh, I’m so sorry,” she sneered, her voice dripping with sarcasm. “Did I say months? That was a huge mistake.” She took a step closer, her smirk turning cold.

She tilted her head, eyes gleaming with something vicious.

“Years.”

The words landed like a curse, slamming into Theodore’s chest, wrapping around his ribs like an iron vice.

His stomach dropped.

Astoria scoffed. “Yeah, years, Nott. Years of you keeping her close enough to touch but never letting her hold on. Years of her looking at you like you hung the fucking stars, waiting—praying—for you to see her the way she saw you.”

Theodore’s breath was coming in short, uneven pulls.

“But you didn’t, did you?” Astoria pressed, her voice razor-sharp. “Or maybe you did, and you liked knowing she’d never leave. That no matter how many times you ignored her, no matter how many times you pulled away, no matter how many times you made her feel like she was nothing—she’d still be there.”

Theodore’s stomach twisted violently.

Because she was right.

You had always been there.

And he had been stupid enough to take that for granted.

His throat felt tight. “That’s not—”

“That’s exactly what happened!” Astoria screamed, her voice cracking, raw with frustration. “She spent years orbiting around you like you were something fucking sacred. Like you were the fucking sun and she was just lucky to stand in your light.”

Theodore felt like he couldn’t breathe.

“But stars burn out, Nott,” Astoria spat, hands trembling at her sides. “And eventually, people stop waiting.”

His chest ached—something sharp, something unbearable, something he hadn’t even realized was there until this moment.

You had waited for him. For so long. And he—

He had wasted it.

Astoria wasn’t finished.

“And you know what the worst part is?” she demanded, stepping even closer, fury flashing in her eyes. “She never even wanted to say anything about it! She just took it.”

Theodore blinked. “What?”

Astoria let out a hollow laugh. “Oh yeah, she never complained. Never confronted you. Never demanded that you finally make up your fucking mind.” She sneered. “But Draco noticed, didn’t you?”

Draco exhaled through his nose, nodding, his expression unreadable.

“She never told me,” he admitted. “But I saw the red eyes. The tear-stained sleeves. The way she always looked away when she thought no one was watching.”

Theodore’s chest constricted, a sickening pressure building in his ribs.

No.

No, that wasn’t—

You had never—

Had you?

“She thought she was hiding it,” Astoria continued, voice filled with something dangerously close to disgust. “But I got her to talk. Eventually. And do you know what she said?”

Theodore couldn’t move. Couldn’t breathe.

“She said it didn’t matter.” Astoria’s voice softened for just a second, something bitter laced in her tone. “She said she was fine. That you weren’t doing anything wrong—that it was just how you were.” Her expression hardened again, her hands clenching into fists. “And do you know how fucking heartbreaking it is to watch someone shrink themselves into something manageable just so the person they love doesn’t feel guilty?”

Theodore’s hands were shaking.

“She acted like it was normal,” Astoria went on, her voice rising again. “Like it was fine that she spent years being treated like an afterthought—like she should just be grateful for the scraps of attention you gave her.”

Theodore felt like he was going to be sick.

She had hurt because of him.

She had cried because of him.

And he had never even noticed.

Astoria exhaled sharply, shaking her head. “And now you have the fucking audacity to stand here and act like she’s the one abandoning you?” Her voice broke, half a laugh, half something furious. “No, Theodore. You don’t get to do that. You let her go. And now she’s choosing to be happy.”

Theodore’s nails dug into his palms so hard he thought they might draw blood.

Because he saw it now.

Every moment he had let pass. Every glance you had given him that he had pretended not to notice. Every fucking time you had stood next to him, waiting for him to say something, to do something, and he had done nothing.

And now you weren’t waiting anymore.

His voice was hoarse when he finally spoke. “I care about her.”

Astoria’s laugh was vicious. “No, no, you fucking don’t.”

Theodore flinched.

Astoria stared at him for a long moment, her eyes still burning. Then, she exhaled and threw up her hands. “Oh, my god.”

Theodore swallowed hard.

Astoria turned to Draco. “Why are boys so fucking stupid?”

Draco sighed. “It’s genetic.”

Theodore’s control shattered. His pride was in ruins. He took a step forward, his voice breaking. “Please.”

Astoria blinked.

Draco raised a brow.

Theodore swallowed hard. His throat burned, his chest ached, but none of it mattered. Not compared to this.

“I can’t—I can’t lose her,” he said, voice shaking. “I can’t—” He cut himself off, jaw clenching as he forced himself to meet Astoria’s gaze. “Just tell me what the fuck to do.”

Astoria studied him.

Then she sighed, rubbing her temples. “God, you’re pathetic.”

Draco hummed. “Painful to watch, really.”

Astoria rolled her eyes. “Fine. Fine.” She took a step forward, poking a sharp finger into Theodore’s chest. “You want to fix this?”

Theodore didn’t even hesitate. “Yes.”

“Then stop thinking about it and do something, you absolute coward.”

Theodore exhaled shakily.

Astoria didn’t let up. “You don’t get to just show up and expect her to forgive you. You have to fight for her. You have to prove to her that you give a shit.”

Theodore swallowed hard.

Draco smirked. “Sounds like a grand gesture is in order.”

Astoria snorted. “Not even. Something consistent, Nott. Because trust me—Adrien is making it very, very easy for her to forget about you.”

Something flared hot in Theodore’s chest.

No.

You weren’t going to forget him.

He wasn’t going to let you.

And for the first time in his life—

He was going to fight for you.

Theodore woke with a start, the sharp knock at his door pulling him violently from the tangled haze of restless sleep. His head jerked up, and for a disoriented moment, the room swayed around him—stacks of parchment, ink-stained hands, the bitter taste of exhaustion thick on his tongue. His cheek had been pressed against his desk, the parchment beneath it crumpled, words smudged into an indecipherable mess. His body ached, stiff from the awkward position he’d fallen asleep in, and as he blinked blearily, the sight before him sank in with a slow, leaden weight.

His desk was an absolute disaster. Papers—so many of them—scattered across the wooden surface, some half-crumpled in frustration, others folded neatly, all of them failed attempts at something that should’ve been simple. Letters.

He had tried to write to you.

The realization clawed at him, dragging its nails down his ribs. The ink had bled through some pages, the sentences struck through with such force that they had torn, his frustration laid bare in every scratched-out word. Apologies he couldn’t get right. Apologies that, even now, felt meaningless. His own handwriting glared back at him in different variations of the same pitiful attempts:

I should’ve—

I never meant—

If you could just—

None of them were right. None of them would fix it.

A second knock echoed against the heavy door, firmer this time. He exhaled sharply, running a tired hand over his face before pushing himself up from the desk. The room felt suffocating, a mess of discarded pages, ink bottles knocked onto their sides, the air thick with the weight of too many unsaid things. He barely remembered falling asleep. He barely remembered anything past the spiral of last night—pacing the room, writing, tossing letter after letter into the pile, his mind a hurricane of words he could never bring himself to say aloud.

And now, someone was here.

Dragging himself toward the door, Theodore pulled it open without much thought. The sight that greeted him made his stomach drop.

Packages. Stacked haphazardly outside his room, almost comically abundant. A house-elf stood beside them, looking mildly unimpressed as he shuffled the last box into place.

“Delivery for Master Nott,” the elf announced, then, without another word, disappeared with a sharp crack, leaving Theodore standing there, staring at the pile of things he had—

Merlin.

His fingers twitched at his sides, a slow, creeping horror settling into his bones as he took in the sight properly. Wildflowers, their petals pristine and delicate, wrapped in deep green silk. A book—the one you had mentioned in passing months ago, the one you had run your fingers over in the shop window but never bought for yourself. You've probably found a way to read this already. Jewelry, carefully selected, gleaming in the light. And more—small things, tokens, pieces of something that, at the time, had seemed like they would mean something.

His gut twisted.

"Cazzo," he muttered under his breath, running a hand down his face, pressing his fingers hard against his closed eyes.

This—this was pathetic.

A short, breathless laugh left him, bitter and self-deprecating. He ran a hand through his hair, tugging slightly at the strands as if it might ground him, as if it might undo whatever this was. What had he been thinking? That he could throw money at this, at you, and somehow that would fix it? That he could neatly wrap up his guilt in expensive gifts and you’d just—what? Forgive him? Pretend none of it happened?

Theodore swallowed hard, his gaze darkening as it lingered on the unopened packages. The weight of it all—the sleepless nights, the letters he could never finish, the sharp edges of regret cutting into him—it crashed down with a force that made his chest feel hollow.

Because he saw it now.

You wouldn’t take any of this. You would look at the flowers, the book, the jewelry, all of it—and you would see right through him. You would see the desperation, the guilt, the pathetic attempt to mend something that was already broken.

He saw you standing there, just beyond the mess, your figure sharp against the blur of his exhaustion. The tilt of your head, the steady weight of your gaze—it was you. It had to be. You were right there, arms crossed, expression unreadable, watching him in that way that always made his chest feel tight.

For a split second, relief surged through him, raw and unfiltered. You had come. You had seen the mess, the letters, the wildflowers, the pathetic attempt at fixing things, and you had come anyway.

But you weren’t saying anything. You were just standing there, your eyes scanning the disaster around him, and when they met his, they weren’t filled with anger. They were filled with something worse.

Disappointment.

His stomach twisted, his throat tightening painfully. He opened his mouth, the words tumbling out before he could stop them. "I know—" His voice was hoarse, barely above a whisper. "I know it's not enough."

You didn’t move. Didn’t react. The silence pressed against him, heavier than anything he had ever felt.

He swallowed hard, shifting on his feet. "I just—" He let out a short, unsteady breath, raking a hand through his hair. "What the fuck was I thinking?"

Still, nothing. Your gaze didn’t waver, and that was what made it unbearable. It wasn’t cruel. It wasn’t cold. It was just… resigned.

"Cazzo," he muttered under his breath, dragging his hands down his face. "I should've—"

You can’t buy my forgiveness, Theodore.

The words weren’t loud. They weren’t cruel. But they might as well have been a curse, sinking deep into his chest, curling around his ribs like something inescapable.

He inhaled sharply, closing his eyes, willing the vision to disappear.

But when he opened them again—you were gone.

He exhaled sharply through his nose as if that could push the thought away. As if he didn’t already know, deep down, that you had every right to say it.

Because this wasn’t about the gifts. It was about everything before them. The years of taking you for granted. The dismissals, the avoidance, the ways he had let you slip through his fingers like something he had assumed would always be there.

And now, when he was finally ready to reach for you—you weren’t waiting anymore.

The realization hit harder than he expected, slamming into him like a punch to the ribs. His throat tightened, and for a long, unbearable moment, all he could do was stand there, staring at the mess he had made.

Then, with a sharp inhale, he turned away. The packages remained where they were, untouched, as Theodore shut the door behind him, pressing his back against the wood.

He needed to do better.

But for the first time, he wasn’t sure if it would be enough.

How was he supposed to reach you now? How was he supposed to even begin to fix this? He couldn’t just show up—not after everything, not after the silence he had let stretch between you like an uncrossable chasm. And yet, the thought of doing nothing, of letting this fester, made his stomach churn violently.

His hands curled into fists at his sides, his jaw tightening. He had spent so long keeping you at a distance, and now that you were truly out of reach, all he wanted to do was find you.

But how?

Theodore wasn’t sure how long he had been sitting there.

He had come out to the courtyard for a cigarette—just one, just long enough to clear his head. Long enough to pretend that he wasn’t unraveling from the inside out. But the hours had slipped by like water through his fingers, and now the sun was setting, casting the sky in deep purples and burnt oranges. His cigarette pack was almost empty. His fingers were stained with nicotine, raw from how many times he had burned each cigarette down to the filter.

The taste of smoke lingered thickly at the back of his throat, acrid and familiar, but it wasn’t doing anything to settle him. His nerves felt frayed, his thoughts tangled in a loop he couldn’t escape. The mess of the morning still clung to him—Astoria’s words, Draco’s sharp-edged amusement, the unbearable weight of knowing he had let you slip right through his fingers.

He didn’t want to talk to them again. Pushing harder would mean Astoria telling him to fuck off or worse—another lecture from her sharp tongue. And Draco? Draco was already entertained enough by this whole thing. No. If Theodore was going to understand what had changed, there was only one person who could give him that answer.

Adrien Delacroix.

The thought of Adrien gnawed at him. He’d noticed him the second he stepped into the courtyard, but Adrien had been here first. That should have meant something. Should’ve given him the right to ignore him, to pretend that he wasn’t watching from the corner of his eye as Adrien sat with his group of friends.

"C'est insensé," one of them muttered, shaking his head. "Tu as vu? Since—je ne sais pas, maybe une hour?"

Adrien exhaled through his nose, unimpressed. "Je sais."

The boy scoffed. "Mais pourquoi? What is his problem? He just—stares, like—like he wants to kill you."

Another boy chuckled, glancing over his shoulder. "You steal his girlfriend or something?" His accent thick but teasing. "He looks at you like... like you took something from him."

Adrien smirked, shaking his head. "Non. But maybe he thinks so."

Theodore’s chest tightened, his hands shaking, his cigarette burning down too quickly in his hand. He could feel the jealousy curling in his gut like a fist. The idea that Adrien could have anything to do with you—it shouldn’t matter. He knew it shouldn’t matter. But fuck, it did.

His teeth ground together, a bitter taste rising in his mouth. The laughter of Adrien’s friends, casual and light, sent a flare of irritation through him. He hated how Adrien made everything feel easy—like he was untouchable. It burned even worse when Theodore had to rely on him to understand what had changed.

And still—he couldn’t just let it go.

The thought of asking Adrien for help was almost unbearable. His pride bristled at the idea of begging, of needing someone like him for something. Adrien had a way of making everything feel like a game, like Theodore was just another piece on his chessboard.

But fuck, the thought of not asking him was worse. The knot in his chest tightened. If Adrien was the answer, then he’d have to go to him. And that was the last thing he wanted.

But what else was there? How else would he get to you?

Adrien laughed again. The sound caught him off guard—light, unbothered. It threaded through the crisp evening air like it belonged there. Theodore didn’t want to hear it. But somehow, it clung to him, stoking the fire in his chest.

"Merde," one of Adrien’s friends muttered, and Theodore’s stomach twisted. "Regarde encore— he’s still looking."

Adrien sighed, rubbing his temple. "Je sais."

Theodore’s shoulders tensed. The idea that Adrien could sense him watching—feel his gaze—made his blood boil. He dropped his gaze, flicking the last of the cigarette, trying to feign disinterest, but it was too late. The damage was done.

"Mais pourquoi?" the other boy scoffed, laughing in confusion. "What is his problem? Il te déteste ou quoi? He stares—like—comme un chien abandonné."

Theodore’s heart raced, the words biting deeper than they should’ve. He wasn’t staring—he wasn’t! Just watching. Just—he wasn’t sure what it was.

But Adrien—he huffed out a short, tired laugh, stretching his arms behind him. "Non. Mais—" He tilted his head slightly, like he was thinking, like he was weighing something. "Maybe he doesn’t know what he wants."

Another boy snorted. "C'est triste. Feels like he wants to fight you ou beg for something."

Laughter, casual, and it dug at Theodore, twisting inside him. He could almost hear the amusement in Adrien’s voice—like he knew exactly what he was doing to him. It was infuriating.

But worse, much worse, was the sinking feeling that had settled in his chest. Adrien was playing some game—he always did—but now, it felt different. Every second he spent here, just watching, was another second he was losing control. Losing ground.

Theodore ground his teeth together, the ember of his cigarette flaring briefly with the tightness in his grip. He wasn’t even sure why he was still here—still stuck in this courtyard, pretending he didn’t care. He didn’t need to care.

But you do, a voice in his head whispered, and Theodore slammed it down immediately. No. He didn’t need to do this. He didn’t need Adrien. Didn’t need anything from him. The thought was a bitter taste at the back of his throat.

His gaze had drifted again. Adrien was still there, still with his friends, still being him, laughing, existing like the world had nothing on him. Theodore’s eyes narrowed, but his thoughts felt like they were slipping away, growing foggy, distant. It wasn’t that he wanted to look—he didn’t, not anymore—but his mind wouldn’t stop replaying everything. Every word, every laugh, every glance.

Before he knew it, he was no longer paying attention to anything around him—just lost in the buzz of his own thoughts. Adrien’s presence was like a shadow he couldn’t shake, hovering at the edge of his mind, no matter how much he wanted to push it away.

That was when he felt it.

A shift in the air. A pressure building. Like the ground was vibrating, or the space around him had suddenly grown too small.

Theodore’s heart skipped a beat, a flutter of panic rising in his chest. He hadn’t heard any footsteps—hadn’t seen Adrien moving, hadn’t noticed him leave his friends.

But then—

Adrien’s figure appeared in his peripheral vision, and Theodore’s breath caught in his throat.

He didn’t know how to process it, how to even think about it. Adrien was walking straight toward him, cutting through the space between them like he had every right to.

What the fuck is he doing?

Theodore’s mind raced, panic flooding through him in an instant. He hadn’t planned this. He hadn’t prepared for this. His fingers tightened around the cigarette, and his pulse quickened as he tried to steady his breath. His thoughts crashed against each other, the sharp throb of confusion making him dizzy.

He didn’t know why it hit him like this. Adrien never approached him like this—never. Not without purpose. Not without making some fucking joke or saying something sarcastic. And now—

Is he coming to confront me? To mock me?

Theodore’s chest tightened at the thought. No. No, that can’t be it. He wouldn’t... would he?

His heart pounded in his ears as he fought the urge to stand up, to run, to hide, to do anything but stay frozen in place. Adrien was still coming closer. Still making his way to him with that effortless stride, like he had all the time in the world.

What the hell does he want?

Theodore’s mind screamed at him to stay calm, but the tension in his body was unbearable. He wasn’t hidden anymore. He couldn’t hide anymore.

And the worst part?

He wasn’t ready for any of it. Not for this moment. Not for whatever Adrien was going to throw at him next. The weight of everything he had been avoiding crashed down on him, and in that moment, all he could think was one thing: I’m not ready.

The frenchman stopped just short of Theodore, standing for a moment as if assessing the space between them. Theodore’s stomach twisted, every instinct telling him to look away, to say something, to do anything but sit there in silence.

Adrien didn’t seem to mind the quiet. With a casual flick of his wrist, he pulled a fresh pack of cigarettes from his jacket pocket and glanced at Theodore. “You got a light?”

Theodore hesitated, fingers hovering over his own lighter in his pocket - scratching at the engraving. The boy was giving him the most horrid once over - as if judging the sham-confidence that he was trying so hard to convince himself was real. He considered not handing over the lighter—to not say anything at all. But Adrien wasn’t waiting for permission, just standing there, waiting for Theodore to respond.

Finally, Theodore pulled the lighter from his pocket and handed it over. Adrien took it without a word, lighting the cigarette he was balancing between his teeth. As the flame flickered out, he sank down on the bench next to him, taking a deep inhale of the cigarette. He glanced down at the lighter and raised an eyebrow.

“Teo?” Adrien said, his tone teasing, yet genuinely curious. He turned it over in his fingers, inspecting the engraving. “Someone special gave this to you?”

Theodore’s chest tightened. He didn’t answer, couldn’t. The air felt thick, heavy, with Adrien just sitting there— just a a meter away, eyes flicking between him and the lighter, like he knew exactly how to get under Theodore’s skin. He took a drag from his cigarette, exhaling slowly.

“So,” Adrien said after a moment, the word hanging between them like a challenge. “What is it that you think I’ve done?”

Theodore’s heart skipped a beat. His instincts screamed at him to push back, to protect whatever was left of his pride, but he stayed silent. Adrien’s eyes never left him, his smirk widening.

“You’ve been staring at me like you’re planning my funeral. Is it that bad?” Adrien said casually, taking another drag from his cigarette.

Theodore’s grip tightened around his near-dead cigarette, the ember flaring with his barely restrained irritation. He should say something, anything, but the words were caught in his throat.

Adrien, sensing the tension, continued to poke at him. “Well whatever, it is, it must be bad enough that you've spent the last 3 heures burning holes into my head.”

Theodore’s jaw clenched. He wanted to fight back, to get under Adrien’s skin the way he was doing to him, but the silence between them felt like a trap. Adrien was waiting for something. A reaction. A slip-up. He was playing this game, and Theodore was losing.

The weight of it pressed against his ribs, coiling tight around his lungs, making every breath feel too shallow. The courtyard stretched vast and open around them, but the air between them was thick—choking, stagnant. Something waiting to snap.

A shift of movement. The subtle inhale of someone who had already made up their mind.

Adrien exhaled first. A slow breath through his nose, smoke curling from his lips before he flicked what remained of his cigarette to the ground. The ember sizzled faintly against damp stone, dimming instantly, disappearing.

He didn’t leave.

Instead, he lingered, rolling his shoulders back before tilting his head just slightly—casual, practiced ease masking something sharper beneath the surface.

"So." His voice was light, too light. A forced contrast against the weight pressing down on them. "What’s with the lurking?"

The silence that followed dragged.

It should have been broken by something natural—a scoff, a sigh, any acknowledgment that the words had even been spoken. But nothing came.

No response. No movement.

Just tension, settling deeper, embedding itself into every unspoken second.

Adrien’s fingers twitched. "You know," he continued, tone shifting toward something drier, "if you’re going to stand there and stare at me all night, you could at least pretend to have a reason."

Still, nothing.

Not a single flicker of acknowledgment, save for the way Theodore’s fingers tightened—so slightly it would have been easy to miss—at his sides.

The tell was small. But it was there.

Adrien hummed, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. "Long day?"

A pause.

Theodore’s jaw clenched, a flicker of tension in his shoulders so brief it could have been imagined.

Not an answer. But not nothing, either.

The corner of Adrien’s mouth curled—not in amusement, not really. It was too exasperated for that, too dry. "Or are you just like this now?"

That got a reaction. A sharp inhale, controlled but still noticeable.

Like the comment had landed.

Like it had hit somewhere.

The silence that followed was different. Sharper.

Adrien exhaled, running a slow hand through his hair, the weight of his own patience wearing thin. "Right." He nodded to himself, voice dipping into something lower, something edged with something just slightly irritated. "You’re really gonna make me work for this, huh?"

Another pause. Another beat of nothingness stretching too long, stretching so far it started to feel personal.

Adrien didn’t miss the way Theodore’s gaze flickered—not toward him, never toward him—but past him, around him, away from him.

Avoiding.

Not engaging.

Something about that settled wrong in Adrien’s chest.

Because why was this his problem?

Why was he standing here, trying, when the weight of what had gone wrong between Theodore and her had nothing to do with him?

He hadn’t been the one to pull away. He hadn’t been the one to let her think, even for a second, that she wasn’t important enough to fight for.

And yet, somehow, he was the one standing in the cold, dragging words out of someone who clearly had no intention of speaking first.

His fingers twitched at his sides before curling into fists.

Yeah. No.

"Right. You know what?" A step back. A shake of the head. "I’m not doing this."

He turned, already done, already moving.

Then—

"Wait!"

The word came rough. Unsteady.

Like something had slipped before it could be swallowed down.

Adrien stopped.

For a moment, he didn’t turn back.

Didn’t move.

Just let the silence stretch impossibly thin, let the weight of the word sit between them, heavy and unmistakable.

Then, slowly, deliberately, he turned.

The silence stretched between them, thick with something neither of them wanted to name. Theodore shifted, his jaw clenching as he exhaled sharply, forcing himself to meet Adrien’s gaze. The Frenchman, still standing with his weight lazily shifted to one side, raised a brow, unimpressed.

Adrien let out a breath of laughter, though there was no real humor in it. "What? You gonna keep staring at me like I stole your inheritance, or do you actually have something to say?"

Theodore's fingers twitched at his sides. He wasn’t in the mood for games, but he couldn’t blame Adrien for being like this. Not really. He had spent weeks resenting him, watching him from afar, convincing himself that Adrien was the reason everything had changed. But now, standing here, with no one else to turn to, he found himself swallowing the words that burned in his throat before finally forcing them out.

"I want her to know that I've made the effort—that I've changed. But how do I make her see that?"

Adrien blinked. For a moment, his expression was unreadable. Then, a slow, exaggerated sigh left his lips, and he ran a hand down his face. "Oh, mon dieu," he muttered, shaking his head. "You cannot be serious. Is this really happening?"

Theodore’s hands clenched into fists. "Just answer the question."

Adrien gave him a long look, and for a second, Theodore thought he was going to walk away. But then, the amusement in Adrien’s eyes dimmed, something steadier settling in its place. He tilted his head slightly, assessing him.

"Why are you asking me?" Adrien asked, his voice quieter now, less sharp. "You must have learnt something in the how many years she's been pining after you."

Theodore swallowed hard. "I—"

Adrien cut in. "You’re just hoping I’ll say something that makes it easier for you, aren't you?"

"And what, let me guess," Adrien exhaled, crossing his arms. "You’ve finally realized you’ve been acting like a complete idiot, and now you’re desperate to fix things. But you don’t know how, and instead of figuring it out yourself, you’re here, asking me for some magic solution to make it all better." He exhaled through his nose, shaking his head. "Incroyable."

Theodore stiffened. He deserved that. He knew he did. But the weight in his chest didn’t ease.

Adrien watched him for another long moment, then sighed, his frustration fading just slightly. "You want an answer? Fine. Here’s the truth. You don’t just tell someone you care; you show them. It’s not about words— it’s not about grand apologies or empty promises. It’s about actions."

Theodore stayed silent, absorbing his words.

Adrien’s gaze sharpened. "And you’re not just competing with me. You’re competing with yourself. The version of you she remembers - apparantly the only one she knows. The version of you that made her feel like she wasn’t enough. She needs to see that you’ve changed, not because you’re scared of losing her, but because you want to be better—for her, yes, but also for yourself."

Theodore’s throat felt tight. He had spent so long convincing himself that the problem was Adrien, that it was about who she was spending time with now, that he had ignored the real issue: himself.

Adrien sighed, rolling his shoulders back. "Look, I don’t like you," he said bluntly. "Not after what you put her through. And honestly? I wasn’t sure what kind of person you were. I’ve heard things—seen the way you act. I figured you were just another pureblood Slytherin with nothing real to say. But…" He hesitated, then gave a small shrug. ""She cares about you. For some stupid reason, she does. And because of that, I have to at least try to believe you can be better. But if you don’t—if you mess this up again—I’ll make sure there’s no coming back from it. She means a lot to me, Nott. She’s important. And if you sorting your shit out means she’ll be happy, then fine, I’ll entertain this. But if you hurt her again? I’ll personally make sure you never get the chance to fix it.""

Theodore exhaled, the weight of it settling deep in his chest. "And how do I do that?"

Adrien smirked, though there was a sharp edge to it. "Alright, Nott, let’s break this down. What exactly have you done so far to show her you’ve changed?" He leaned his head back over the bench, waiting. "Go on. Impress me."

Theodore hesitated. "I… talked to Astoria. And Draco. And I—" He exhaled sharply, rubbing the back of his neck. "I bought her stuff— apology stuff to show her I thought of her too..."

Adrien let out a slow, dry laugh. "Oh, merveilleux. Let me guess—flowers? Jewelry? Maybe a book she already read three times over?" He clutched his chest dramatically. "Mon dieu, Nott, how could she possibly resist such a display of heartfelt remorse?"

Theodore sat there in silence.

He scoffed, shaking his head. "And you—really—thought that would fix everything? Just throw a bunch of gifts at her and hope she magically forgets how much you hurt her?" He let out a sharp, disbelieving laugh. "Brilliant plan, Nott. Truly inspired. Nothing says 'I understand my mistakes' quite like expensive shit."

Adrien exhaled sharply, rubbing his temple. "Tell me, did you even put any thought into it? Or did you just grab whatever looked fancy and hope it would do the talking for you? Because if you think that stacking a pile of presents in front of her like some pathetic shrine to your guilt is going to fix anything—mon dieu, you’re even more clueless than I thought."

Theodore clenched his jaw. "That’s not—"

Theodore looked away, his grip tightening at his sides. The worst part was that Adrien wasn’t wrong.

Adrien sighed, rubbing his temple. "You don’t buy forgiveness, Theodore. You don’t hand her a pile of gifts and expect her to believe you suddenly care. If anything, that just proves you don’t get it. If you want her to see you’ve changed, then you actually have to change." Not just panic and start running to everyone around her hoping they’ll do the work for you. You need to show her—through your actions, not just whatever self-pitying monologue you’ve got running in your head."

Theodore swallowed hard. "And how do I do that?"

Adrien’s smirk returned, but this time, it was less mocking. "Now that, mon ami, is the real question."

The sheets were too warm. Or maybe not warm enough. Every time you tried to settle, your thoughts seemed to slip between the covers with you, circling your mind like an endless, insomniac spiral. It had been like this for days. You rolled over for the fifth time, trying to bury your head in your pillow and ignore the feeling clawing at your chest—frustration, loneliness, the unrelenting ache of missing something you weren’t sure you could have anymore.

You turned again, staring at the shadows that crept along the stone walls of the dormitory, the faint glow of moonlight filtering through the tall windows. Sleep wasn’t coming. It hadn’t come in a while.

Your fingers, cold despite the warmth of your blankets, brushed over the edge of your nightgown. Barefoot, you swung your legs off the side of the bed, toes brushing the cool stone floor. The chill hit you like a breath of wind. You stood, the muscles in your legs stiff from lying still for too long, and tugged your cardigan tighter around your shoulders.

A quick glance around the room showed no one else awake. Of course, no one else would be—most of the Gryffindors could sleep through anything. But you weren’t like them. Not tonight.

You moved as quietly as possible, pulling your cardigan tighter, but your bare feet met the cold floor with every step, making you wince. You could feel the stone floor beneath your feet, rough and unforgiving, as if each step was a reminder of how disconnected you felt, how off-balance everything seemed lately. The distance between you and the others felt wider with each step you took. Even the castle seemed cold and distant.

Your thoughts circled back to him—Theodore. Even now, after all that had happened, he was still a presence in the back of your mind, unwanted and persistent, like the cold drafts you could never seem to escape. You weren’t ready for anything between you two, not yet, not with all the unsaid things and the space that had grown between you.

Your footsteps echoed softly through the empty halls as you navigated the winding corridors of the castle, your breath a faint mist in the cold air. The walk, though short, seemed to take forever. You had been making this journey for days now, finding solace in the familiar warmth of the kitchens, a place where time seemed to slow down and the usual chaos of Hogwarts didn’t quite reach you. It was just you, and the promise of something warm—something comforting that didn’t require explanation.

The flickering torchlight on the walls illuminated your path, but the shadows of the corridors seemed to stretch endlessly in front of you, like the miles of unspoken words and unfinished conversations between you and Theodore. The thought of him made your stomach churn in the quiet stillness of the castle, but still, you walked. You had to.

When you reached the kitchens, the door creaked as you nudged it open, the sound sharper in the silence of the night. The faint smell of baked goods lingered in the air, mixed with the faint scent of warm milk, a comfort that almost made you forget why you’d come. You stepped in, the door falling gently closed behind you, and your eyes immediately sought the familiar space—the cupboards lined with ingredients, the shelves stacked with cookbooks, the little stove in the corner that you’d grown to love over the years.

Then you froze.

There, standing over the counter, was Theodore.

At first, you thought you’d imagined him, the shadows playing tricks on your eyes, but no, there he was. Theodore, his hair slightly messy from sleep, his eyes bloodshot, and an array of failed attempts strewn across the counter in front of him. Empty mugs sat in a sad pile, some clearly broken, others just abandoned, alongside half-opened packets of hot chocolate powder and bits of chocolate bars that had already started to melt.

Your heart skipped a beat, a strange, sudden mixture of anger and confusion tightening in your chest. Of all places, here. You weren’t sure if you wanted to run or stay. Maybe both. Your feet felt rooted to the spot, cold stone against bare skin, the weight of the situation too much to bear.

You blinked, suddenly self-conscious of your bare feet, the cold air seeping through the thin fabric of your nightgown. Your mind was racing—what was he doing here? Why tonight, of all nights? And why this?

Theodore froze at the sound of your steps, his hands hovering over the mess. He stepped back, raising his hands in a motion you knew all too well. “I—I wasn’t trying to invade your personal space or anything,” he muttered quickly, glancing over at you with wide eyes. “I just... well, I know how much you like hot chocolate, and I thought I could... I mean, if you want, I can leave, but I wasn’t trying to—” He trailed off, looking flustered.

The words hit you like a cold wave, leaving a strange, hollow ache in their wake. His presence here, in this moment, felt like an intrusion. You hadn’t asked for this. You hadn’t asked for him to come and try to fix things when there were still so many pieces of the puzzle missing, so many things left unsaid.

Your heart thudded in your chest, your wariness a familiar weight in your stomach. You didn’t respond immediately, unsure how to handle his sudden presence—especially given the quiet, unresolved tension between you. You didn’t want to talk about it. Not now, not here. You weren’t sure if you were ready for any of it.

Theodore took another step back, as if to give you space, but his eyes flickered to the counter. “I—I didn’t mean to make a mess. It’s just, well... I’ve never made hot chocolate quite like this before, apparently.” His voice was almost sheepish, as if embarrassed by the sight of all the failed attempts. The mess on the counter felt like a metaphor for everything that had happened between you two—disastrous, messy, and something neither of you knew how to fix.

Your eyes fell on the spilled milk, the chocolate that was now a mess on the counter, the empty mugs—each a reminder of how much he was trying. For a moment, you were torn between the nagging frustration that you still felt for him and the sudden realization that this, this, was a side of him you hadn’t expected to see. And despite yourself, you felt a small crack in the wall you’d built around yourself.

Theodore sighed, rubbing a hand through his messy hair. “I’m not trying to make things weird. Really. I just... I wanted to make it right.” He glanced at you again, his voice softer now. “You’ve been having a lot of... sleepless nights, haven’t you? I thought you might like this.”

For a second, there was a pause. The words hung between you like a fragile thread, neither of you willing to break the silence. The warmth in his voice didn’t match the cold in your chest, but it did something to you—softened the edges just enough for you to acknowledge how much you missed this. Missed him. But you couldn’t let that show. Not yet.

And in that silence, it almost felt like you were both standing in a space that didn’t quite belong to either of you, a place full of warmth, but also memories that were still too fresh.

You stared at Theodore, uncertainty gnawing at you. The kitchen was quiet again, save for the small sounds of his failed attempts, the clink of mugs and the soft, almost imperceptible hiss of milk being heated for another round. The awkwardness of the moment threatened to swallow you, and yet, there was something in his eyes—something familiar—that made you hesitate before retreating.

Finally, you asked, your voice low but sharp. "What are you doing here?"

Theodore blinked, momentarily caught off guard. He looked up, almost embarrassed, and fumbled with the mess on the counter. "Making hot chocolate," he said with a little shrug, like the answer should be obvious.

You shook your head, stepping closer, arms crossed over your chest. You weren’t going to let this go. "Theodore, why are you here?"

For a moment, Theodore just stood there, staring at the ingredients strewn across the counter. He seemed to lose himself in the mess, eyes flicking to the various packets of powder, the chocolate bars, the spilled milk. And then, as though pulled from some deep place within him, his voice was quieter when he spoke again, but no less meaningful. "You used to call me Teo," he said, almost to himself, as if the words were a soft confession.

You felt your chest tighten at the sound of the nickname, the one that had always seemed to carry weight with it. Teo. It was the name you’d whispered to him in a thousand different contexts: while studying, while making coffee, while talking about anything and everything. It had always been a small, simple thing, but hearing it now, in the thick of all this silence, made your heart feel heavy.

"Used to," you said quietly, your voice betraying the fragility you were trying to hide. "But that was a long time ago. It doesn’t—" You stopped yourself, unsure of what you wanted to say. It didn’t matter, but it did. You didn’t know how to untangle your feelings.

Theodore was standing still now, and his gaze was steady, meeting yours. The apology hadn’t come yet, but the way he looked at you made it clear he knew he owed one.

“I thought... I thought I could fix it,” he continued, the words spilling out now like he couldn’t hold them in any longer. "You remember fifth year? When you’d make me hot chocolate while we were studying for hours? You always insisted on putting all that extra sugar in it—whipped cream, marshmallows, the whole thing. I hated how sweet it was, but it was just... the way you made it, you know?" He chuckled softly, but the sound was laced with a touch of bitterness. "And I never had the heart to tell you. I just—well, I’d drink it anyway because you were the one making it. It just... felt like something we did together. Even if it was stupid and small, it was... something."

His voice faltered for a moment, and you could see him struggling to collect his thoughts, the words piling up in his mind. He shook his head as if trying to make sense of the mess, but nothing came out right.

"I guess," he continued, his tone quieter now, more serious, "I thought if I could do something like that again—if I could make you hot chocolate—maybe it would mean something. Maybe it would be enough for you to understand that I... I didn’t mean to mess things up. I know I did. I know I did. But I thought, at least... this... this would be a way to show you that I’m sorry. I don’t know. I just... I couldn’t think of anything else."

The words hung in the air, thick with all the things he hadn’t said, all the things you both had buried under silence and time. His hands hovered over the spilled milk, and for a moment, he seemed lost, his expression tense. You could tell he was trying, but there was no easy way out of this. No easy apology.

“I never thought I’d end up like this,” he continued, his voice thickening. "I know this doesn’t make up for what happened. It doesn’t fix anything. But... I thought, if I could at least do this—if I could make the hot chocolate you always made for me—that maybe it would be enough. At least... at least it would show you that I care."

There was so much emotion in his words—so much regret, so much rawness—that it made you want to look away, but you couldn’t. Your chest tightened, and the lump in your throat grew, because you didn’t know what to feel anymore. You wanted to tell him it wasn’t enough. That it couldn’t be fixed with something so small. But you were frozen, unsure of how to say it without everything else falling apart.

Finally, you spoke, your voice shaky, betraying the turmoil inside. "It’s not enough," you whispered. "Hot chocolate... doesn’t fix everything, Theodore."

He nodded, his eyes flicking down to the counter, avoiding your gaze. "I know," he said quietly. "I know. I just... I wanted to try."

The silence stretched between you both, thick and heavy, but not entirely unpleasant. The words weren’t enough, not yet, but maybe there was a chance now. Maybe, just maybe, this could be the start of something different.

The silence between you both felt different now. It wasn’t the oppressive silence of anger, but something quieter, more fragile. The air between you was thick, as though you could almost reach out and touch the distance that had always been there, but never this much. You could hear the soft hiss of milk heating on the stove, the clink of Theodore’s spoon stirring his latest attempt at hot chocolate—sounds that should have felt comforting, familiar, but instead, they only made the room feel colder.

You wanted to break the silence. You needed to. But the words felt stuck somewhere deep inside you, tangled in all the hurt and frustration you’d been carrying for so long. You had no idea how to untangle it all. It was easier to stay silent. Easier to keep your distance.

Your eyes stayed focused on the floor, avoiding his. Because if you looked at him, even for a second, you weren’t sure what you’d do. You could feel the anger still simmering beneath your skin, but there was something else, too. Something you couldn’t name. The ache in your chest grew heavier, but you couldn’t let yourself give in. Not yet.

For a moment, you just stood there, your arms still crossed, trying to gather the strength to speak. Finally, you let out a shaky breath. "I’m not saying it’s fine. It’s... it’s not. What you did... it really hurt, Theodore." The words felt like they came from someone else, but you knew they needed to be said. "I don’t forget things like that. It still hurts."

You could hear Theodore’s breath hitch in the quiet, and you knew he could feel every word in the depths of his gut. You didn’t want to hurt him, but the truth was, you were still hurting, too.

He stayed still, his eyes fixed on you, like he was afraid that if he moved or spoke, he’d make things worse. His mouth opened, then closed, like he couldn’t quite figure out what to say next. You didn’t give him a chance to respond. You couldn’t bear to hear another apology that felt empty.

You didn’t want to admit it, but the weight of everything you'd been holding back felt too much to ignore anymore. “I don’t forget things like that,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper, but heavy with the truth of it. “I don’t forget how easily you pulled away, how much it hurt when you didn’t seem to care about me at all. I didn’t expect it to be so easy for you to just move on.” Your throat tightened with the bitterness you couldn’t quite swallow, and you hated how raw you sounded, but it was too late to take it back. “I didn’t think you would just... leave me like that."

 "But, Theodore..."

The moment hung there, suspended in time, and you felt the rawness of everything you’d been holding inside finally bubble to the surface. You didn’t know if you could fully forgive him yet, but you weren’t sure you wanted to close the door on this... whatever it was.

You exhaled slowly, as if each breath took a little more of your resolve with it. "I don’t know what you expect me to say,” you murmured, your voice softer now, but still carrying the weight of everything you couldn’t say before. “It’s not just about the words you’ve said or the things you’ve done... it’s more than that. You can’t just make a grand gesture and think it’ll fix everything." You shifted your weight, suddenly unsure of how to make the rest of it come out right. "I... I need to see that this is something you actually care about. Not just in one moment, but over time. You’ve got to show me you can do more than apologize."

Your throat tightened as you struggled to keep yourself steady. "I don’t know if I’m ready to just... forget everything. Maybe I’ll get there, but not right now. I need to see if you really mean it... and I need more than just words."

You closed your eyes for a moment, your heart hammering in your chest, the silence wrapping around you like a second skin. It was terrifying. Letting yourself feel all this again. Letting him see the parts of you that you’d buried for so long. But you could see it in his eyes—he wasn’t just apologizing to make it easier. He was really trying.

"I’m willing to let you try," you whispered, your voice trembling slightly. "But if you leave me down again..."

Theodore was still. His entire body was taut, like he was waiting for something—your rejection, maybe. But when he spoke, his voice was steady, even if his words were tinged with an emotion you couldn’t quite place. "I won’t," he said, his gaze locking with yours. "I won’t let you down again. I promise. I... I’ll show you, every day—I’m serious about this."

Your breath caught in your throat. It wasn’t perfect. It wasn’t enough yet. But there was something real in the way he spoke, a sincerity you hadn’t seen in him for so long. And for the first time in a long time, you let yourself believe him, even just a little.

Theodore took a step toward you, but he hesitated, like he wasn’t sure if it was okay to move closer. He opened his mouth to speak again, his voice low. "I’m guessing... you’re still not going to tell me how to make the hot chocolate, are you?"

It was the first time in hours that you let a smile slip through. It was small, but it was real—an actual smile, not one you’d forced. "You’ve got to figure that part out on your own, Teo."

He laughed softly, the sound filled with relief and something lighter than the tension that had been hanging between you both. And in that laugh, you could hear the promise. Not that everything would go back to the way it was, but that maybe, just maybe, there was a chance for something new. Something different.

You didn’t have all the answers, and neither did he. But for the first time in a long while, you felt like you didn’t have to do this alone. And that was enough to let you take the first step, even if you weren’t sure what would come next.

[soulidarity]

pearly tears

rafayel x reader / mc | 384 words | hurt/comfort

after rafayel wakes up from a nightmare, he cant find MC

His hand felt heavy, rapidly moving against the weight of the water. Fighting an invisible force. For what? He wasn't sure. He just felt a sharp pain and anguish in his chest as he went against the tide.

Then he saw her. Slowly descending into the depths of the sea. Her eyes closed, mouth open. He reached out to her, she was almost in his hold when his vision was covered by sea foam.

Rafayel jolted awake. Sweat dripping from his forehead as he took in his surroundings. Right. He wasn't in the water, he was in his bedroom. The covers were sticking to him, a bit of the moon light creeping in from the courtains and his beloved was sleeping right next to him. He turned to see her.

Only to find an empty space.

The artist's breath quickened, his hand gripping the sheets that were supposed to be enveloping her. He looked around rapidly, searching for her. It was hard to tell what was going on now, his senses heightened yet he felt numb. His eyes observing but his vision was clouded. He didnt hear the bathroom door open.

Suddenly arms wrapped around him, holding him tight.

"Im here"

He turned around, cupping her cheecks in his hands to make sure she was real. His love wasn't dead. She was there. Rafayel burst into tears while she leaned into his touch. Her hand made its way to wipe them away as her facial expression changed to one of wonder.

"You cry pearls, how lovely"

Everytime she spoke it felt as if he was in a trance, her gentle voice a contrast to his desperate and anxious demeanor. But the comment only made him cry harder, the pearls growing in size. Quickly, the bed was covered in the shiny and soft object. The sound of them rolling off and hitting the floor was all that could be heard apart from the man's sobs.

Slowly, with her affection he started to calm down. Slim hands playing with his hair as soft lips kissed his jawline.

He moved to her lap, head in the crook of her neck as his arms tightened around her. The pearls had stopped flowing.

"Please... dont leave me..."

She smiled as she patted his back.

"Wouldnt even dream of it"

[villainbait]

Breaking Point

Pairing: Sylus x MC / fem!reader Rating: Explicit | 18+ Tags: angry sylus, playful struggling, teasing, dirty talk, smut, fingering, mc/reader is a brat, punishment, overstimulation if you squint Summary: You had almost cost Sylus something important tonight and for once, he's pissed. Word Count: 1.3k

The door to Onychinus’s base had barely clicked shut behind you before Sylus has you hoisted over his shoulder, his long strides taking you swiftly down the hallway towards his bedroom. Your heart flip flops uneasily in your stomach when you realize where he’s headed, and you start to struggle in earnest. His demeanor had completely changed the moment you arrived home, though the walk there had been more tense than usual.

“Wha- hey! Sylus, put me down!” You’re suddenly squirming in his grip, your fists drumming uselessly against his back and you lose a heel in the process; the forgotten ornament left behind on the floor. You only stop fighting when his hand slides under the slit in your dress to keep you from falling, and you forget how to breathe as you feel the heat of it between your thighs. Infuriatingly, Sylus hasn’t said a single word and it starts to sink in that you might have gone too far earlier tonight. 

It had started out as a simple game under the table at some business dinner he had made you go to. You were bored and he looked so good sitting across from you, but he wasn’t giving you any attention at all. Instead, he was talking to some other woman who kept touching him with increasingly lingering touches that made you reconsider what the definition of assault was. Worse, Sylus seemed to preen under her attention, his honeyed smile blinding in the soft ambience of the room. Jealousy had begun to eat at you and you were half-convinced he was doing it on purpose, but then you had the perfect idea of how to get back at him. 

It was time for you to play a little game of your own, kicking off your heel discreetly under the table and running your stocking covered foot underneath the tailored leg of his pants. He managed to keep his composure, his slight flinch of surprise only noticeable to you. When he turned to look at you you were already engaged in conversation with one of your own dinner mates, pretending to be oblivious. His eyes narrowed as your foot slid higher with every pass, coming dangerously close to a part of him that was quickly becoming uncooperative despite the ugly hag he was attempting to extract intel from. 

You had almost ruined it all and for once, Sylus was angry. 

He dumps you unceremoniously onto the bed and you try to scramble away but he’s on you faster than you can move. He captures and stretches your wrists over your head easily with one hand, his knee sliding between your thighs as he pushes you into the soft mattress. He slides between your thighs and his hips press against yours, trapping you. The warmth of his anger is radiating off him and you can feel how hot and hard he is despite how angry he looks. Had your antics earlier really affected him that much? 

You whine and futilely struggle against him until he looms over you and quells your struggles with a piercing gaze.

“Do you have anything to say for yourself?” His voice was low and dangerous, making you tense with anticipated dread. Oh, Sylus was furious. Still, you’d gone this far, you weren’t going to back down now. 

“Only that I didn’t finish the job.” You jut your lower lip out petulantly and his scoff is pure exasperation.

“Fiesty, kitten.” He almost smiles, but then he’s serious again.

“Did you really think I would enjoy the attention of that woman with you sitting across from me?” You refused to look at him and stared at the canopy above his bed, but nodded. “Really?” He murmured, a soft hint of incredulity creeping into his voice. The movement of him sliding against your core left you both gasping as the friction made you dizzy with need. 

“You’re the only one who does this to me.” He leans closer and draws your gaze to his, his lips inches from yours. “Only you.” 

He doesn’t kiss you. You haven’t earned that and Sylus won’t reward you for your bad behavior, so his lips skate along your jaw and down your throat, sending a shiver down your spine. Sylus will have you a begging, needy mess by the end of the night and you know it, suddenly a little nervous. 

“I’m sorry,” you blurted out quietly, but his derisive chuckle against your pulse told you it was too late for an apology–or too soon. His words confirmed it, his hot breath fanning across your skin. 

“Try being more sincere, and I might consider forgiving you sweetie.” The pet name drips condescension and you want to smack him, instantly regretting your words. You feel the punishing set of teeth against your throat with a sharp suddenness that leaves you gasping. Your back arches into him as your hands curl around the one that has you pinned, your nails digging into his skin. His mouth felt so good against your frantic pulse and you felt a little dizzy as he soothes the fresh imprint of his teeth with his lips. He peppers your throat in kisses and deliciously teasing love bites, taking his time until you’re writhing underneath him and softly pleading for him to touch you more.

He loves seeing you like this, flushed and wanting, eager for him to do whatever he wants to you. He’s ready to explode from all of the teasing from earlier and he grinds his hips roughly against yours, chuckling softly against your collarbone when you curse him between your gasps of pleasure. It’s been a long time since he's had you underneath him like this and Sylus isn’t known for being patient. But for you? He’d wait for a lifetime. In some lifetimes, he had.

However, tonight you need to be taught a lesson about what happens when you tease him too much and jeopardize his meeting. He almost lost valuable intel tonight, something important enough that if he had fumbled in obtaining it, a lot of people could’ve died; including you.  

His free hand slides between your bodies and he’s satisfied to find the front of your panties soaked. His fingers toy with the lacy edge and he has a thoughtful look on his face.

“Sylus, please.” You whine, brushing yourself against his knuckles shamelessly. It makes Sylus chuckle and he pushes them aside, his fingers gliding over your slick folds. One digit dips between them to glide over your clit and it’s agony. Before you can beg, Sylus slides two fingers deep inside of you and curls them over that sensitive spot he knows so well. He brings you to orgasm with a quickness that has your back bowed off the bed, his skillful fingers wringing the pleasure from your body. He does it again without letting you recover and you weakly ask him to wait, pushing against his hand that trapped your own. 

“Wait, please–” 

He withdraws his fingers and they glisten with proof of how much Sylus affected you, strands of your arousal clinging obscenely to them. His eyes never leave yours as he slides them into his mouth to taste you, his gaze heavy lidded with desire. He pulls them past his lips with a wet pop and his lips brush your ear, his breath fanning against your heated skin.

“Why? They went in so easily, kitten.” He purred into your ear. “Did you want it that much? I would’ve given it to you, you know.” He pushes a few strands of hair out sticking to your face and strokes soft fingertips along your temple and jaw. “All you had to do was ask, but you continue to insist on being stubborn.” He leans back and his lips twist into a sour expression. You know you’re in trouble and you want to take it back, but you also know conceding now will make the consequences worse. Sylus would prey on any weakness you showed now, and you could see it in the way he stared down at you. His smirk was dangerous and you whimpered.

“We’ll see how long that lasts.” 

[izzyy-stuff]

𝐊𝐈𝐃𝐒 - 𝐂𝐇𝐎𝐈 𝐁𝐄𝐎𝐌𝐆𝐘𝐔

bf!Beomgyu x fem!reader

in which Beomgyu never liked kids much. At least, until he met you and your little siblings. You were the reason he realized kids might not be as bad. It got him thinking, that maybe love can really change a person.

wc 2.4k

warnings a lot of kissing, making-out, reader has two younger siblings, established relationship, pet names, cringe-ly cute, some suggestive content I guess??

↪ izzy speaks... I am such a sucker for fluff why did I not write one in so long omg T-T. This is actually nothing new either and you can find it on my wattpad acc as it's originally been written for it. But this version has some small edits and also is written for x reader unlike the one on wp as I use my ocs there. But yeah, that's for behind the scenes of this one shot loll

“What are you still doing, love?” The brown-haired boy leaned over the counter, obviously bored already. “Your shift ended twenty minutes ago. Come on,” he whined, flashing you his best puppy eyes, pouting his lips a bit, but it only made you chuckle. When he saw you laugh, his smile dropped, and dramatically flopped down on the counter, his head resting right next to your arms.

You had to smile as you ran your fingers through his hair. “Alright, alright, let's go then,” you whispered, locking the cash register. The male jumped up, immediately full of energy again. “You’re just a tall kid, Gyu,” you shook your head at him, taking your bag so you could leave.

“No, I am not,” he argued, his hand reaching over to snatch your bag. “Would a kid take care of you like I do?” He grinned proudly. “Yes, in fact, my brother takes better care of me than you do,” you teased, letting him take the bag as you walked around the counter to him. “I’m kidding. You know you’re amazing,” you assured him, linking your arm with his. You knew better than to tease him for too long. He might even decide to go home alone if you continued. “Of course I am,” he rolled his eyes jokingly.

“Never mind, I don't want you to come over anymore,” You proclaimed, stepping away from him to prove your point. “I would much rather listen to Mina talk about her favorite clothes.”

Beomgyu fake gasped at your statement, grabbing your hand before you could stray further away from him. “You don't mean that.”

You shrugged, “Maybe I do, maybe I don't. Who knows.”

“I know. You love spending time with me,” Beomgyu stated, pulling you back. He wrapped his arm around your waist, leaning closer to place his lips on yours. You had to smile again when he did so. He was right. You loved spending time with him more than anything else.

“I love you, Gyu,” you whispered against his lips the moment you pulled away, causing a smile to spread on his face. “I love you too, baby.”

“Cutie,” you mumbled, slowly rereleasing his hand. “I’m going to tell my manager I‘m leaving. Wait here.”

“Will do, ma'am,” he said, saluting. You giggled at him, making him quickly burst into laughter.

“I’m sorry you had to wait for so long,” your manager walked back with you right next to her. Beomgyu just shook his head, saying it was okay. “Next time, just come tell me she refuses to leave work. I'll send her home so you two can go on a date,” she laughed, and you rolled your eyes. Gyu laughed, too, nodding. “It's fine. At least we’re leaving now,” he smiled, waiting for you to approach him so that the two of you could finally go.

♡⸝⸝

“Stop doing something all the time,” Beomgyu pouted again, watching you move around the room from his spot on your bed. For some reason, you found cleaning up your room more interesting than lying down next to him, and he wasn't a big fan of that. “But it's a mess,” you looked at him, a shirt in one of your hands and a book in the other. “I forgot to clean before you came, and I regret it now.”

“Love.”

You closed your eyes for a moment, sighing. “I know, I know. I just... I’m still not used to anyone except for my family seeing how messy I am just yet,” you admitted, walking to your table to place the stuff aside.

You approached your bed again, sitting down next to your boyfriend. Beomgyu sat up too, taking your hands in his. “You've seen how my room looks. There are clothes everywhere, and most of them aren't even mine! I don't care at all what your room looks like. I only care about you. So stop doing other things all the time and come watch the movie with me,” he shook your hands, making you laugh. “Thank you, Gyu,” you smiled, kissing him on the cheek. He smiled too, immediately stealing a kiss from you as he pulled you into a hug.

Somehow, your plan to watch a movie together turned into a makeout session instead. You were sitting on your boyfriend's lap, your hands around his neck, playing with his hair while he placed kisses and marks on your neck, his hands wandering across your hips and back. 

“I told you not to leave marks,” you complained, but honestly, you couldn't love what he was doing more. Even though you didn't want him to place marks on visible places because you didn't want to mask them up, you still fell in love with him a bit more every time he did.

“Mhm,” he mumbled but didn't stop kissing you. “But they look so pretty on you, beauty,” he proclaimed, leaving your neck for a second so he could kiss your lips again. “Beauty,” you repeated after him, smiling into the kiss. “I love it when you call me that.”

As Beomgyu placed his lips on yours, pulling you closer by your hips, the door swung open, making you pull away from your boyfriend. “Oh gosh, get your own room if you want to be all over your boyfriend,” Mina, your younger sister, frowned. She regretted not knocking immediately. “You’re home already?” Your eyes widened before you got off your boyfriend, sitting beside him awkwardly.

“Yeah, we ended sooner, so I picked up Sang too. It would help if you had told me you were bringing Gyu over. I would have knocked,” she sighed, throwing her bag on her bed on the other side of the room. “I, uhm, am going to help Sang change and...I guess we'll watch something,” she proclaimed, hesitating as she watched the two of you. Mina wasn't sure what to do. Her original idea was to run away as soon as possible and leave you two alone, but the more she looked at you, the more she got the feeling that it didn't matter anymore. It looked like she ruined your mood completely already.

“Thanks, Mina,” You smiled slightly at her, embarrassed. “We'll join you in a minute,” you assured her. “You don't have to,” Mina panicked again, getting embarrassed too. It wasn't like she did anything wrong. It was her room, too, but she still felt bad. “Don't worry about it, Mina, we'll be there right away,” Beomgyu smiled at her, trying to make her more at ease.

“I guess I'll see you later then,” she nodded, awkwardly glancing towards the door. “Yeah, this is weird. Have fun..., I guess?” She didn't even wait for your answer before walking out of the room again, closing the door behind herself as fast as possible.

You screwed your eyes shut, sighing. You rested your head on Beomgyu's shoulder, not saying anything as you looked at Mina's bed. The brown-haired male chuckled, wrapping his arm around your waist and resting his head on yours. “She isn't a kid anymore, you know. This probably isn't the first time she has seen people make out.”

“I just keep getting reminded that I need to get my own apartment.”

He didn't say anything to it, but a smile appeared on his face as soon as he heard your words. You gave him the perfect opportunity to finally talk about what he was meaning to mention for weeks now.

“But I don't want to live alone. I don't even know how to do that anymore. It's been fifteen years since I had my room, after all,” You sighed again. “And I would miss them too much.”

“Well,” he started, sitting up properly again, making you raise your head to look at him, a curious look on your face. “You don't need to live alone,” he stated. It didn't take much longer for you to figure out what he was talking about. You weren't dumb at all, and he knew that, so he was sure you would understand him without him having to say much, but somehow, knowing that you knew what he was talking about made him more nervous.

“Are you suggesting something, Mr. Choi?” You grinned, teasing him.

“I am,” he nodded confidently. “Find an apartment with me. I am tired of having Soobin's clothes everywhere I look,” he joked, making you chuckle.

“You want to move in with me?”

“More than anything,” he assured you, taking your hand. “I don't need anything big. All I want is to be with you.”

You couldn't control your smile no matter how much you tried to. Leaning closer, you pressed your lips against his. “Let's find something then,” you whispered against his lips as you pulled away. He smiled too, nodding before he got up, still holding your hand, pulling you along with him.

“You don't need to spend your afternoon with my little siblings,” you reminded him, not letting go of his hand. “I know this isn't how you imagine your Friday night to go.”

“Nothing is more fun than spending time with you. It doesn't matter to me if it's just the two of us or your little siblings too. You love them, and so do I.”

“You’re the best,” you smiled again, walking out of the room with him by your side.

The two of you got to the living room, and you immediately walked over to your little brother, going to hug him and say hi. Mina stepped back when she noticed you so she wouldn't be in the way. She glanced at the older male, mouthing a quick sorry before walking to him.

“You wanna go sit down and rest for a while?” He suggested, his eyes pointing at the dining table. The teenage girl nodded to him, glancing at her two siblings once more before walking away with him.

“Sorry, Gyu. I really didn't know you were coming over today,” she sighed, sitting down. He shook his head again, telling her it was okay. “I am the one who should be sorry. I probably should have locked the door,” he laughed it off, making a laugh escape her lips too. “That suits you way more,” he smiled proudly, and Mina had to roll her eyes. “I don't want to hear it. No speeches about me having to smile more today, got it?”

“Alright, alright. But you can still tell me about school today,” Beomgyu prodded her, and she had to sigh. Somehow, he was exactly like you when it came to this. She could see he cared about her as if she were his sister. It always made her appreciate him.

“Well, and what about you?” Mina asked when she finished her part. “Did you finally get the courage to ask her?”

“I did,” he admitted, his lips curving into a smile again. “She agreed, but I still feel like she will ask you for your opinion right when I leave.”

“Don't worry, I'll tell her living with you will be her best decision ever,” Mina chuckled. “I am the one who encouraged you to ask her in the first place, after all.”

“Yeah, you're the greatest younger sister.”

“Thanks,” she grinned proudly. “We should get back now, though. She is your date, not me.” He nodded, glancing over at you before standing up again. “Let's have a Monopoly night!” He called, smiling widely.

You finally took your eyes off your little brother and looked his way, beaming when you noticed him. “We're gonna play games,” you smiled at your brother again, laughing at how his whole face lit up. “I want to play with Beomgyu!” He yelled immediately, almost tripping when he jumped from the couch to run to him.

“You don't even need to do anything, and you're still their favorite,” you sighed, shaking your head. “It's another one of my charms,” he grinned confidently, picking Sang up when he ran to him. “I bet me being good with kids turns you on.”

“Get a room already,” Mina nudged his shoulder, rolling her eyes.

“We will, but monopoly first,” he answered, sticking his tongue out at her, acting like a little kid again. The four-year-old in his arms laughed, copying the male and sticking out his tongue at his sister too.

“That's not my fault,” Beomgyu said in defense when he noticed your warning look, holding back his laugh.

♡⸝⸝

After a few hours, when your parents got back home from work, you and Beomgyu disappeared into your room again, leaving the rest of your family alone in the living room.

“You didn't even like kids when we first met,” you said, sitting on his lap again, just staring into his eyes. He just shrugged. “I guess one changes a person.”

“You didn't like me either when we first met, and look at us now,” he reminded you, making you roll your eyes. “Well, you were a stranger hitting on me while I was just trying to do my job back then. And you didn't know what ‘no’ meant.”

“Because I knew you would end up falling for me.”

You had to shake your head at his confidence, but you couldn't disagree. You did fall for him. You loved him more than anyone you had dated before, and you had been dating a few people before. He was just different, better.

“I’m glad you never gave up on me, even when you had to go through rejection many times,” you told him, fixing his hair. “You definitely knew better than me back then,” you admitted with a slight smile.

That much was enough for Beomgyu to want to steal a kiss from you again. He pulled you closer to himself and pressed his lips on yours, his smile growing wider when he heard you giggle. He wrapped his hands around your waist, hugging you as you placed your hands on his shoulders, closing your eyes as you kissed him back.

“Now imagine how many of those kisses you can get once we move in together,” he whispered against your lips, grinning when he saw you lean closer again, announcing it wasn't over yet.

Your lips were swollen already, but you didn't mind anymore. You didn't care. All you wanted at the moment was to continue kissing him, so you did. You were going to kiss him for as long as you could.

“I love you so much,” You mumbled against his lips when you had to pull away to catch your breath.

“I love you more, beauty,” he answered, pressing his forehead against yours, his breath landing on your lips. “More than anything.”

⋆✶ izzy's tags @beomiracles @seoulzie @adel222 @inkigayocamman @flowzel @virgo-and-libra @love-be0m ✶⋆ want to get notified? join taglist here!

[fckbatmanhiskidsareminenow]

in my head jason doesn’t have proper causal clothes. like bro is constantly wearing a more chill version of the red hood fit. it’s even worse when he has his motorcycle helmet with him because it is also red. he’s got poor civilians like:

“omg! is that the red hood—oh no that’s just the wayne kid that like came back to life or something.”

[kayiieu]

how do we feel about harem boy!ness x empress!reader !!!

okay so !!! imagine reader who's the ruler of an empire the size of an entire continent and half, she and her ruthless soldiers charging into battle after battle ! ness was a gift given from the emperor of münchen, michael kaiser ( ruler a recently conquered empire ), as a symbol of respect to your empire. ( u even make THE kaiser shiver in his boots omg just who are u !! )

you never really cared for partners, both romantically or in bed, but the gift was accepted as a courtesy. you were hesitant to accept at first, but your political advisor, ( isagi ) recommended you to accept. ness seemed compliant, almost eager to be gifted (honestly, he was just ecstatic that kaiser viewed him valuable enough to be a gift) ! he was so sweet and kind to you ever since your first meeting, even if you paid little to no attention towards him ! that just pushes him to yearn for your validation even more <3

soon enough, ness realizes that he's not the only one desperate for your affection. your harem of 4 other men ( i have no idea who to pick so just imagine its ur other favs ) haven't SLEPT in the same bed as you in a couple months, and they're all yearning for u :( ness has to join the 4 to win your heart over, but how ?!

the others have tried pretty much every trick in the book; seducing you ( which never works, you're always too busy drowning in work ), trying to make you jealous ( you don't care enough to be jealous ), winning you over with gifts ( nothing they gift you can compare to the entire world you have in your hands ), everything ! every move they'll make will spare nothing more than a glance and an occasional laugh from you, never anything more.

so, ness is desperate to change that ! he'll do anything in his power to catch your fancy <33

[rax-writes]

↬ when night falls

Tywin Lannister x Reader

intended to be a sequel to the morning after, but it's not necessary that you read it prior to this

Warnings: Smut, MDNI, 18+ ONLY ⇆ P in V sex, unprotected sex, creampie, age gap, nipple play, bit of breeding kink, mentions of pregnancy, pregnant!reader

The journey from Winterfell to King's Landing took considerably longer than necessary, given the Queen's insistence that she travel in that godsforsaken carriage of hers. As such, five weeks after your marriage to Tywin Lannister, you were spending one final night in a lavish red and gold tent alongside your lord husband.

For the entirety of the journey, the two of you spent the entire day apart – your horse trotting behind your father and King Robert, and Tywin a short distance behind, alongside Ser Jamie. Occasionally, Arya would pester you into allowing her to sit in front of you on the saddle, as you quietly conversed with her and taught her how to control the horse. But, aside from that, you were alone with your thoughts all day, every day.

The nights, however, were spent in the arms of your lord husband.

The two of you quite quickly developed a very… peculiar dynamic. You had quickly learned and adapted to the way the fearsome Tywin Lannister operates – preferring you speak concisely and directly, vehemently uninterested in anything otherwise. Additionally, there was a degree of mutual respect, as well as a vaguely guarded openness to one another – but certainly no love, or any semblance of romantic feelings at all. In truth, you assumed there never would be.

But gods was there lust.

On your end, it was your first and only experience with sex, and it was undeniably good, so you were eager for it. On his end… you couldn't be sure. It could be that the man was pent up from years as a bachelor, but it would be safe to assume he had simply sent for a whore when the mood struck him. A more likely reason would be his pursuit of an heir, but surely he wouldn't have needed to fill your cunt nightly to achieve that goal. No, you were almost certain that he was simply enjoying fucking you – just as much as you were enjoying fucking him.

When Tywin entered the tent, you were sitting on the edge of the cot, toying with the goblet in your hands, already undressed to your shift. He met your eyes as he entered, but said nothing, that unreadable (but somehow always leaning toward annoyed) expression on his face. He silently began taking off his boots, then removed his sword and placed it beside the cot. He was in the middle of pouring wine into his goblet when you found the courage to ask your question.

"Will you stop bedding me when I become pregnant?"

Tywin said nothing, setting the pitcher down and turning to face you as he took a sip of his wine. He wore that calm, calculating expression as he stared at you – but you could swear there was a hint of amusement in his eyes. The golden goblet made a faint clank as he set it down before speaking.

"Do you ask because you wish for me to stop? Or because you wish for me to continue?"

"I wish for you to continue."

"Then I shall continue," Tywin stated, the ghost of a smile on his lips.

"Good," you replied, then added, "Because I am."

"You are what?"

"Pregnant."

The smile dropped and Tywin's eyebrows raised, making his forehead crinkle.

"Already?" he inquired dryly, surprised. Then, incredulous, he asked, "How do you know?"

It was a fair question. You had never been pregnant before, so perhaps you were mistaking soreness and fatigue from travel as signs of pregnancy. But no. You knew.

"I should have bled three weeks ago, but I have not. My breasts are extremely tender, and certain smells make my stomach turn."

Tywin nodded, then stated, "I do not doubt that you are right, but we will have a Maester provide his confirmation and look you over when we arrive in King's Landing. In the meantime, is there anything you need?"

A faint but wicked smile spread across your face, and you stood from the bed, setting the goblet down as you slowly made your way over to him. The metal of his armor was cold beneath your fingers as you idly ran your hands over his chest, before toying with the belt around his hips, looking up at him through your lashes.

"You," was your simple answer. But both of you knew that it wasn't meant in a romantic, sweet sort of way.

Tywin's hand reached up to cradle your face, somewhat harshly, hooking his thumb under your jaw to tilt your head up and kiss you. It was lustful and full of desire, accompanied by the scratch of his beard upon the delicate skin of your face.

When he pulled away, Tywin smiled quite faintly, then hummed lowly and said, "Well, what sort of man would I be to deny his pregnant lady wife her wish?"

The old lion made quick work of removing his armor and smallclothes, and relieving you of the thin linen shift you wore, before guiding you to the luxurious cot. Tywin continued to kiss you, eventually trailing kisses down your neck, until he reached your chest, unexpectedly taking one of your breasts into his mouth and swirling his tongue around it.

The sensation nearly made you shout, opting to take in a sharp breath instead as your back arched off the blankets. Eyes squeezed shut, you heard a low chuckle, and looked down to see a set of very amused, crystalline eyes staring up at you.

"Hm, I see you were not exaggerating about the sensitivity."

Electing to ignore him, you let your head fall back onto the pillow. However, it seemed he did not intend to grant you any reprieve, moving to the other breast and doing the same thing – prompting you to dig your nails into his shoulders and bite your lip to avoid crying out. Unfortunately, that made matters worse, as Tywin let out a low groan with his lips still wrapped around your nipple, earning a loud, pitiful whine from you.

Seemingly enjoying himself, Tywin began peppering your chest with gentle bites, which he soothed with his tongue afterwards, sure to become small little bruises by morning. Breathy moans and sighs of pleasure filled the tent, as he then resumed his ministrations on the hardened peaks of your breasts before snaking one hand down to toy with your clit, expertly rubbing it in small, steady circles. Astoundingly fast, your release washed over you, soaking his hand as you moaned and writhed beneath the Warden of the West – who only chuckled darkly at your quick climax.

Noticing that the continued kisses and licks upon your breasts began to make you twitch, Tywin captured your lips in a brief, rough kiss, before rolling onto his back. He then pulled you into his lap, with a strength one wouldn’t assume the older man to still possess – which was, admittedly, arousing. Your mind was still foggy from the orgasm, and your movements were not unlike a rag doll, eyes half-lidded and jaw slack, moving somewhat limply as you allowed him to maneuver you. He gripped his hard, leaking cock in one hand, then reached behind you to urge you forward with a flat palm on the small of your back.

A hiss through gritted teeth escaped Tywin, and you gasped lightly, head thrown back and hands flat on his chest. Although you’d already lost count of how many times he’d taken you, it still felt more incredible than anything you’d ever experienced. A passing thought reminded you of the fact that he seemed to share the sentiment, always hissing or groaning when he first sheathed himself inside you.

Tywin’s grip moved to your hips, prompting you to begin rocking them against his own, keeping your pace steady. However, he made no move to halt you when you eventually began to move faster, leaning back to rest your hands on his thighs as you fucked yourself on his long, thick cock. The sound of it alone would have made a Septa drop dead – a symphony composed of wet skin upon skin and gruff grunts intermingling with breathy moans.

He reached up to grasp and knead your breasts in his rough, calloused hands – but he then surprised you, his hands drifting lower, until they rested flat against your lower stomach. You thought perhaps he was focusing on the movement of your hips, but then his thumbs began to stroke across the soft skin of your belly.

At first, it seemed very sweet and sentimental. You thought that perhaps he was basking in the joy of another child being on the way – until you felt the way his cock throbbed, deep inside of you, as he stared intently at your belly. Immediately, you came to the realization that it must be arousing for a man to have successfully fucked a babe into his wife – stroking their ego and their pride to have done their husbandly duty, as well as show everyone that you belong to them.

Truth be told, you were surprised to learn that it aroused you just as much.

Tywin groaned as you clenched around him, and when his eyes flicked up to meet yours, it felt as though he knew you had been thinking the very same thing he was.

That seemed to ignite something within your husband, and in the blink of an eye, Tywin flipped you onto your back and began driving into your soaked cunt with a newfound ferocity. You bit down on your knuckle to keep quiet, but Tywin pinned both of your wrists down, his arms on either side of your head. The act did not last much longer beyond that point, both parties having already been too near the precipice of climax, and the pair of you met your releases in unison.

Tywin rolled off of you, breathing heavily, a light layer of sweat covering his chest, along with the small patches of silver hair. You allowed yourself a few moments of recovery, before moving to leave the cot in order to extinguish the candles, as well as tidy yourself up. However, Tywin grabbed your arm to stop you.

“Where are you going?”

“The candles –”

“Can wait,” Tywin interrupted, voice sounding unbothered as always, albeit with a hint of fatigue. He exhaled slowly, as he gently pulled you back down to lay upon the cot beside him. “One of the guards outside can see to the candles in a moment. You are carrying my heir, so you are to rest. As much as is feasible, from now until the babe is born. And if anyone questions it, they are to discuss it with me.”

Anyone possessing the sense the gods gave a mule knows “discussing” something with Tywin Lannister was just the opposite – it was not to be addressed at all, because what Tywin Lannister says, goes. A fact which made you smile softly.

“As my lord husband commands,” you replied, a hint of sarcasm in your tone, but you did exactly as he bade you, pulling some of the blankets over you and nestling into the pillows. You were already yawning by the time Tywin called for a guard, who extinguished the candles, and bathed the room in darkness as you drifted into a deep, contented sleep.