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rafestify · 3 hours ago

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need a rafe fic please where reader is part of the pogues, her and rafe have been on and off for forever obviously due to everything he’s done but deep down he’s so down bad for reader and maybe she’s pregnant instead of sarah and he doesn’t find out until morocco because the pogues are hovering over her idk angst fluff whatever you feel!!!

Two lines — Rafe Cameron

Summary : Fem!Reader is pregnant with Rafe’s baby, but he doesn't know until pope accidentally mentions her baby (season 4 ep 10 spoilers!! ⚠️)

Rafe Cameron x Fem!Reader

Warnings : mentions of vomiting & language (english is not my first language)

A/N : as requested 😉 hope u like it anon!

Two lines, and the father was long gone, off doing god knows what. Rafe was the last guy I'd hooked up with, and even after we broke up, we somehow kept finding our way back to each other, especially after the Kildare Enduro. He knew no one else could satisfy me the way he did, and so it became this endless cycle, break up, hook up, make up. What Rafe didn’t know was that I was pregnant. I hadn’t planned on telling him, at least not until we made up.

There I was, back on Rafe’s boat with my friends, setting off to Morocco in search of the Blue Crown and Chandler Groff. My friends had locked Rafe up, tying him down in a small room, just in case. We all knew better than to trust Rafe Cameron, not after everything he’d done.

I walked into the dimly lit room, carrying a tray with a glass of water, a plate of food, and a couple of aspirin for his black eye. The sight of him, bruised, tugged at something deep inside me.

“Here,” I murmured, setting the tray down on the table beside him. “I brought some aspirin, just in case you’re feeling dizzy or something…”

He snorted, cutting me off. “What? You’re just gonna throw it in my mouth like I’m a fuckin' seal?” He wasn’t exactly wrong, but his sharp tone made me bristle. “Nobody trusts you, Rafe,” I replied, my voice steady. “Not after what you did.”

His jaw tightened, and a flash of anger sparked in his eyes. “I saved your asses!” he shot back, his face flushing with frustration. “And not even a thank you was said.”

I took a slow breath, steadying myself. “I know, Rafe. I know,” I said softly. “Thank you, really.” I offered him a small, sincere smile.

He looked at me for a moment, his gaze softening just slightly. “You trust me, right?” he asked, his voice quieter, a bit more vulnerable. I bit down on my lip, feeling the pull he always seemed to have on me.

“Yeah,” I admitted, almost reluctantly. God, he knew exactly how to get to me.

He looked at the ropes binding his wrists and nodded toward them. “Then untie me. Get this shit off me.”

I shook my head, feeling a pang of guilt but holding my ground. “I can’t. I’m sorry.” I pressed my lips together, trying to keep my resolve. “Just… eat the food. We wouldn’t want you dying in here.” With that, I turned and walked out, the door closing softly behind me, leaving me with a sigh that I didn’t even realize I’d been holding back.

As I stepped out of the room, I was met by Kiara’s anxious expression, her arms folded tightly as she waited. The moment she saw me, her face softened slightly, though worry still flickered in her eyes.

"How’d it go?" she asked quietly, as if afraid to hear the answer.

I shrugged, trying to mask the mixture of emotions stirring inside me. "Same old Rafe," I replied, keeping my tone light, but my gaze drifted, unable to meet hers directly.

Kiara studied me for a moment before speaking again. "Soo... did you tell him?"

I frowned, genuinely puzzled. "Tell him what?"

She raised an eyebrow, giving me a pointed look. "That you’re pregnant, with his child."

Oh, right. That one.

I swallowed, feeling a sudden knot in my stomach. "Uh—no, not yet," I admitted, my voice barely a whisper. "I just… I don’t know how he’d react." My hands found each other, my fingers nervously fidgeting as I tried to imagine how that conversation would even go. "What if he doesn’t want to keep the baby?"

Kiara sighed softly and reached out, placing a reassuring hand on my shoulder. Her warmth grounded me, pulling me back from my spiraling thoughts. "Look," she said firmly, her gaze locking onto mine. "You have us. We’ll help you through every single part of this. That’s what friends are for, right?"

I looked at her, the tension in my chest easing slightly. Her words held a strength that I so desperately needed. "Yeah," I whispered, a small smile breaking through my worry. "Thank you, Kie."

She wrapped her arms around me, pulling me into a hug, and for a moment, the uncertainty and fear faded. In her embrace, I felt a flicker of hope—a reminder that I wouldn’t have to face this alone.

After battling fierce winds and waves, we finally arrived in Essaouira. The coastal city spread before us, its whitewashed buildings with blue shutters gleaming under softened storm light. Narrow streets twisted through the medina, lined with shops selling handmade crafts and drenched in a timeless, rustic charm.

The Atlantic crashed against the ancient medina walls, sturdy and weathered, while blue fishing boats bobbed in the harbor—just like the skiffs in the Outer Banks. The salty air and easy warmth of the locals, the slow rhythm of the sea, and the hum of daily life brought back memories of home, as if Essaouira was a Moroccan echo of the Outer Banks.

We continued to wander through the narrow streets of Essaouira, the sound of bustling market vendors and the distant call of seagulls filling the air. John B and Sarah led the way, their steps light and carefree, like they had no care in the world. Following behind them was Cleo, Pope, and Kiara, their conversations flowing easily as they walked, with JJ and I bringing up the rear. But it was Rafe who trailed behind, his presence almost ghostlike, like a lost puppy, following silently in our wake.

As we strolled through the maze of alleyways, I felt a sudden, sharp wave of nausea hit me. It was sudden, and intense, as if something in my stomach was threatening to rise up. I let out a soft huff, pressing my hand to my stomach, trying to hold back the overwhelming feeling of sickness.

JJ, who had been walking beside me, must've noticed the change in my posture because he looked at me with concern. "Y/N?" he called, his voice laced with worry.

"Oh god," I muttered under my breath, the nausea worsening, my head spinning.

"What's wrong? You okay?" JJ asked, his voice low, concern evident on his face.

I shook my head, barely able to focus on him. "No... I need to sit," I said, my voice strained. I felt like I was going to collapse if I didn’t stop moving.

JJ quickly guided me to a pile of carpets that were stacked outside a shop. The soft fabric felt like a relief under me as I sat down, trying to steady my breathing. The rest of the group quickly noticed, and soon I was surrounded by their concerned faces. Kiara dropped to her knees in front of me, her eyes searching mine, her hand resting on my knee in a comforting gesture.

"What's up? What are you feeling?" she asked, her voice soft and filled with genuine concern.

"I'm really nauseous," I managed to answer, my hand covering my mouth, just in case. I didn’t trust myself to hold it down any longer.

Cleo, who had been standing off to the side, stepped forward, her arms crossed over her chest. "She probably needs food. It’s been like two days..or what?" she said, her voice tinged with practicality.

"Yeah, the baby’s probably hungry too," Pope added, offering a casual shrug, as if it was just an obvious conclusion.

I froze, my stomach twisting. The mention of "the baby" caught me off guard, and suddenly, all eyes turned to me. Rafe, who had been hanging back, still distant, looked like he was suddenly paying attention. His gaze shifted from me to Pope and then back to me, his brow furrowing.

"What baby?" Rafe asked, his voice sharp, as if something about the situation didn't sit right with him.

Oh god, here we go.

Pope went silent, and I could feel the tension rise in the air, thickening around us. I glanced up at Rafe, who was now standing a few feet away, looking at me with an expression that was hard to read. His eyes narrowed as if trying to make sense of what he had just heard.

"No, seriously, what baby?" he repeated, his voice insistent, even stern now.

I took a deep breath, feeling the weight of the moment settle over me. There was no easy way to say it, but it had to be said. "I’m pregnant, Rafe," I said quietly, locking eyes with him. "With your baby."

The words hung in the air between us, like they were too heavy to carry. For a long moment, Rafe didn’t say anything. He just stood there, silent, his expression unreadable. The others were watching him closely, waiting for a reaction, but he remained eerily still.

I could feel the tension growing, an awkwardness settling in the space around us, as if everything had just shifted. My hands were shaking slightly, not from the nausea anymore, but from the weight of what had just been revealed. And Rafe, he was just staring at me, his mouth slightly parted but no words coming out.

"Go get her something to eat," Rafe suddenly snapped, his voice cutting through the tension that still hung thick in the air.

Without another word, he dug through his small waist bag, the leather creaking under his movements. I wasn’t sure what he was looking for, but then, with a small grunt of satisfaction, he pulled out a wad of cash—several bills, all stacked neatly together. As he unfolded them, I saw that he had about $400 in his hand, a small fortune for street vendors in Essaouira.

"Wait what?" JJ’s voice broke the moment of disbelief. He raised an eyebrow and shook his head. "They don’t take dollars, you idiot—"

"I said go," Rafe interrupted sharply, his tone hardening. There was no room for argument, no sign of hesitation in his voice. It was almost as if he was trying to regain some control over the situation, and in doing so, he completely dismissed JJ’s protests. His words were a command, not a suggestion.

The rest of us exchanged uneasy glances, the shift in Rafe’s demeanor catching everyone off guard. But without further discussion, John B, Sarah, Cleo, Pope, and Kiara reluctantly turned to start walking back toward the market, their steps unsure but obedient. JJ hesitated for a moment, clearly frustrated by Rafe’s abruptness, but eventually followed along as well.

Rafe’s eyes lingered on me for a second, his expression unreadable. He stood still for a moment longer, his gaze momentarily drifting over to the group before returning to me. He didn’t say anything else. His words had been clear, and I could tell that something about the situation had shifted for him.

"I don’t care whether you want the baby or not, but I’m keeping them," I said, the words tumbling out before I could stop them. My heart pounded in my chest, the weight of my decision pressing down on me. The truth was, I had made up my mind. I had to keep the baby, and nothing anyone said or did would change that. Not even Rafe.

Rafe’s eyes widened at my declaration, and for a moment, he just stood there, staring at me, his face unreadable. Then, he kneeled down, and he let out a sharp breath. "Hey, hey, hey—who said I don’t want to keep the baby?" His voice was calm, but there was an underlying tension to it, as if my words had hit a nerve.

I blinked, caught off guard by his response. The words seemed to hang in the air for a moment, and I wasn’t sure what to say next. His eyes were fixed on me now, intense, searching. It felt like something was shifting between us, and I couldn’t quite wrap my head around it.

"We’ll take care of them," Rafe continued, his tone softening just a fraction. "I’ll be with you throughout the whole journey, Y/N. You’re not doing this alone." His voice held a kind of resolve, as if he had already decided, as if he was offering something that felt almost too good to be true.

For a split second, it felt like the world around me had stopped moving. The noise from the market faded into the background, and all I could hear was the steady beat of my own heart. The words he said felt surreal, like they were echoing in my head. "I’ll be with you, 'aight?"

I blinked again, almost feeling like I was in a dream, like I had slipped into some alternate reality where everything suddenly made sense. But when I looked at Rafe, his gaze never wavering from mine, I felt a wave of disbelief wash over me. It felt like a nap dream, a momentary illusion that would disappear when I woke up.

"What?" I said, my voice coming out in a whisper of disbelief. "Sorry—"

Rafe seemed unbothered by my shock. He placed his hands on my knees, his movements deliberate. "You heard me, Y/N." His words were firm, and there was no mistaking the sincerity in them.

For a long moment, neither of us spoke. The air between us was thick with unspoken thoughts, and I could feel the weight of what he had just said settle in my chest. It was almost too much to process. I had always expected Rafe to pull away, to make this harder for me. But here he was, standing before me with something I hadn’t expected, a promise. A promise to be there. A promise to face this together.

My mind spun, trying to make sense of it. I glanced away for a moment, as if hoping the world would shift and reveal the truth. But when I looked back at him, his expression hadn’t changed. He was still looking at me with those steady, unwavering eyes.

"You’re serious," I murmured more to myself than to him.

Rafe didn’t flinch. "Yeah," he said simply, as if there was nothing more to discuss, as if the decision had already been made. "I’ll be there for you. For us."

For the first time, I didn’t know what to say. My heart was still racing, but for a different reason now. There was a part of me that wanted to believe him, to hold on to this moment, to trust that things might actually be okay. But there was also a part of me that was terrified of what this all meant, of how my life was about to change in ways I couldn’t predict.

I stared at him in utter disbelief, barely able to process the reality unfolding before me. It felt like some kind of miracle. My vision began to blur as tears pricked at the corners of my eyes, the emotions welling up and spilling over, probably caused by the pregnancy hormones, but I couldn’t stop them. I tried to blink them away, but they only gathered faster, until a warm tear rolled down my cheek.

Rafe’s expression softened when he noticed, his gaze never leaving mine. He reached out and wrapped his arms around me, pulling me close in a way that felt so natural, so steady. He didn’t hesitate for a second, and his embrace was warm, reassuring, holding me together when I felt like I was on the edge of falling apart, and God, it felt good to be back in his arms.

His hand rubbed gentle circles on my back as he murmured, “We’re gonna be parents.” His voice was soft, filled with awe and disbelief, as if he was speaking the words for the first time and couldn’t quite believe them either.

I nodded against his chest, clutching onto him as tightly as I could. The weight of his words settled over us, the reality of what lay ahead, and as much as I wanted to be brave, I couldn’t shake the fear that started to consume my mind. I let out a shaky breath, my voice coming out in a whisper, “I’m scared, Rafe.” The words felt small, vulnerable, but they were the truth.

He pulled back just enough to look at me, his hands gently cupping my face as his thumbs brushed away the stray tears still slipping down my cheeks. “I know,” he said, his voice barely more than a whisper. “I am scared too.” There was a flicker of vulnerability in his eyes that mirrored my own, a glimmer of uncertainty about the unknown future that lay ahead.

“But we’re in this together,” he continued, his voice growing stronger, as if he was convincing himself as much as he was reassuring me. “I don’t have all the answers, and I don’t know what’s coming… but I’m not going anywhere.” He leaned down and rested his forehead against mine, closing the space between us. “I’ll be there every step of the way.”

His words washed over me, filling some hollow place I hadn’t realized was empty. In that moment, his presence felt like a lifeline, pulling me out of my fears, giving me a glimpse of something that felt almost like hope. The future was terrifying, yes, but it felt a little less daunting with him by my side.

I looked up at him, my voice steadying as I replied, “I’m glad it’s you.” And as I said the words, I realized just how much I meant them.

He offered me a small, crooked smile, a warmth in his eyes that I hadn’t seen before. “We’re gonna figure this out together,” he promised. “One step at a time.”

I nodded, taking a deep breath and letting it out slowly. And in that moment, held in his arms, I felt a little less afraid.

Suddenly, as if on cue, the rest of the group appeared, each carrying an assortment of food and drinks. It was almost comical, watching them return all at once, each of them holding something different, John B with a handful of pita bread, Cleo balancing a bowl of yogurt, JJ carrying bottled water, and Sarah clutching a small bag of fruit, including a shiny red apple that she immediately extended toward me.

“Here,” Sarah said softly, her face easing with relief as she offered the apple. I took it gratefully, feeling the cool skin of the fruit in my hand, and took a tentative bite. The crisp, sweet flavor flooded my senses, soothing the nausea that had been twisting in my stomach. They watched with eager anticipation, and as they saw me begin to nibble, their worried expressions started to relax.

“Feeling better now?” Pope asked, his voice gentle but laced with concern as he studied my face.

I swallowed another bite and nodded, a smile creeping onto my face. “Yeah, yeah… thank you,” I replied, glancing at each of them.

They exchanged glances, visibly relieved, and a sense of warmth spread through me as I looked around at their familiar faces, each one showing their own brand of care. I realized then just how much I’d come to rely on them, not just as friends, but as family. I felt a comforting wave of gratitude for each of them, knowing they’d been there for me without question, supporting me in ways I hadn’t even thought possible.

As I took another sip of water, Rafe moved a little closer to me, his hand resting gently on my thigh. His touch was subtle, but the gesture was enough to let me know he was still there, holding his promise to stay by my side. There was something calming in his presence now, something steadying that I hadn’t noticed before.

The others began chatting among themselves, sharing their own stories of haggling with the vendors, laughing about who’d paid the most for what they’d brought. They were giving Rafe and me a moment, I realized, a chance to talk without the pogues’ attention fixed on us.

Rafe leaned down slightly, his face level with mine, his voice low and steady. “You really okay?” he asked, his hand still warm on my thigh.

I took a deep breath, the initial dizziness and nausea fading, leaving behind a feeling of clarity I hadn’t expected. “Yeah, I think so." I paused, looking up into his eyes.

He smiled, a soft, almost vulnerable expression, and for a moment, he seemed like a different Rafe—one who wasn’t weighed down by pride or bravado. “That's good” His voice was filled with a sincerity that softened something inside me. "Don't want our little one and her mommy to starve, do we?" He smiled making me let out a low chuckle.

In this quiet moment, I knew, deep down, that I wouldn’t want anyone else to be the father of my child. Everything just felt right. Despite all the chaos, the ups and downs, there was a steady comfort in knowing me and Rafe would face it together.

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slytherinsmuse · 3 days ago

Text

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾ Frayed | Theodore Nott ☾⋆⁺₊⋆

Pairing: Theodore Nott x Fem! Reader

Warnings: smoking, not proofread, characters are 18+, toxicity, violence

Summary: Anst/Fluff | Theo is trapped in a toxic relationship until a breaking point ignites a bond long overdue.

Word count: 6974

author's note: I wrote this after a dream I had the other night. My dreams have been so wild lately.

Sitting at the Slytherin table in the Great Hall, you tried to focus on your breakfast, though your eyes kept drifting to the scene unfolding across from you. Theodore was there, looking as though he’d rather be anywhere else, with his girlfriend firmly planted on his lap, practically wrapped around him. She was all over him, laughing too loud and tossing her hair as if her every move needed an audience.

You felt the familiar pang of irritation as she cut into yet another conversation Theo had been trying to have with Blaise. She leaned in, whispering something into his ear while casting a territorial glance at the others as if daring anyone to interrupt. Theo’s posture was painfully awkward, his shoulders tensed, his gaze dropping to his plate. He gave a few non-committal nods, visibly uncomfortable but too withdrawn to say anything about it. That spark of easygoing confidence you’d always known him for was nowhere to be seen.

Your stomach twisted. This was the same Theo who used to laugh with you at the silliest things, who’d always save a seat beside you at breakfast and swap notes with you during potions. Now, it was like he’d become a stranger. He barely spoke to you anymore, all because his girlfriend had made it clear she didn’t want you, or any other girl, around him.

Across the table, Pansy caught your eye, a look of pure annoyance mirrored on her face. She rolled her eyes, tilting her head toward Theo in silent solidarity. You returned a tight smile, but your grip on your fork tightened. You hated watching this happen—watching Theo become a ghost of himself, isolated even while surrounded by friends.

Just then, he looked up, his gaze meeting yours. A flicker of something softened his features for a brief moment—a hint of the Theo you knew was still there, just beneath the surface. But before either of you could acknowledge it, his girlfriend’s hand was on his jaw, pulling his attention back to her, and the moment was gone.

Blaise’s expression turned sour as he glared at Theo’s girlfriend, his jaw clenching in visible frustration. She had interrupted their conversation just as he’d been getting to the important part, and from the look on his face, he was done holding back his irritation.

He leaned over to Draco, muttering low enough for only him to hear. "How many times has she done this now? Theo might as well be in Azkaban with the way she’s got him trapped."

Draco gave a dry, humourless chuckle, casting a sidelong glance at Theo, who was looking down at his lap, his girlfriend chattering away like nothing was amiss. "It’s getting ridiculous." Draco replied in a whisper. "She won’t let him breathe. Remember last week’s boys’ night? He couldn’t even stay an hour before she was dragging him off."

Blaise nodded, his lips pressed into a tight line. "She’s poison,. he muttered. "And Theo just… lets her. Doesn’t even fight it."

They exchanged a look filled with shared frustration, helpless to watch their friend slowly shrinking under the weight of a relationship that seemed to drain the life out of him. Their annoyance was only half-hidden, and you could see the resentment simmering in both of them, like the beginning of a storm.

Mattheo leaned in, his tone dripping with annoyance as he joined Blaise and Draco’s quiet complaints. "You know what gets me? She just has to be there every single time. Boys’ nights, Quidditch practices—even when we’re just hanging out talking about girls. She practically makes Theo sit in silence while she listens in, like we’re some kind of circus act performing just for her."

Blaise snorted, a bitter edge in his laugh. "It’s maddening. We can’t even relax around him anymore without her hanging on his every move, demanding all his attention like it’s some kind of test."

Draco gave a small, wry nod. "And Merlin forbid we talk about anything she doesn’t approve of. It’s like she’s scared we’re going to lead Theo astray if she’s not there to monitor every conversation."

Mattheo rolled his eyes, casting a glance at Theo, who was currently enduring his girlfriend’s over-the-top attention, looking exhausted and defeated. "She’s sucked all the life out of him." Mattheo muttered, shaking his head. "He doesn’t joke around with us anymore, doesn’t even talk about anything unless she’s ‘approved’ the conversation first."

You could hear the exasperation in Mattheo’s voice, echoing everything you felt yourself. They were right; it was like Theo was a shell of his former self, bound to her by nothing more than her relentless possessiveness. The boys’ irritation was boiling over, their whispers growing just loud enough that you feared she might hear. But they didn’t seem to care anymore.

You did, though, and shot them a pleading look to try and keep the peace. Tensions were already stretched thin, and if something snapped now, you worried it would be impossible to fix. You only hoped Theo could see through it all before everything went too far.

As you glanced over at Theo, the change in him was painfully clear. He looked smaller, somehow. The easy smile he used to flash during breakfast was gone, replaced with a weary, distracted look. He’d gone from being the witty, lively one in your group to barely speaking, keeping his eyes cast down, his shoulders perpetually slumped. It was like watching a light slowly dim.

You took a steadying breath, trying to keep your own frustration from showing. It had become your role, somehow, to hold things together—to keep the peace. If Theo noticed the tension brewing among his friends, he said nothing, perhaps too worn down to add another battle to his day. But with every passing moment, it felt like something had to give.

Yet here you all were, trapped in the stalemate of your seventh year, a tense silence settling over the table as his girlfriend continued to laugh, completely oblivious to the waves of irritation rolling off everyone around her.

Pansy moved seats, sliding onto the bench beside you, her expression a mix of frustration and worry as she leaned in, her voice just a whisper. "Caught him smoking again." she murmured, glancing sideways to make sure Theo’s girlfriend wasn’t listening. "Poor guy’s practically hiding in the shadows just to get a moment to himself."

You sighed, feeling the weight of her words settle over you. It had become all too familiar—Theo sneaking off more frequently, finding solitary corners of the castle to light a cigarette in peace. He’d always been a social smoker, only indulging on rare occasions or during particularly stressful times. But lately, you’d noticed the lingering scent of smoke around him more often, his fingers sometimes stained with ash from hasty, hidden smokes.

"He’s getting worse, isn’t he?" you murmured back, glancing at Theo. He looked pale and worn, a shadow of the friend you’d known since first year. And the worst part? The very person causing his stress was also the one berating him for it.

Pansy nodded, her gaze softening as she watched Theo from across the table. "It’s like a vicious cycle. She’s the reason he’s turning to it, yet she’s the one who’ll tear him apart if she catches him again."

Your heart ached for him, watching the way he seemed to fade a little more every day. He’d once been the friend you could laugh with about anything, the one who always had a clever quip ready or some sarcastic remark that would have everyone cracking up. Now he barely laughed, barely even smiled, constantly stuck in a web of someone else’s making.

As everyone started getting up to head to class, Draco leaned over toward Theo, his voice casual but with a note of genuine invitation. "Oi, Theo, you up for hanging out before the party?"

Theo’s face lit up, a glimpse of his old self emerging as he looked up and started to nod. "Yeah, I—"

But before he could finish, his girlfriend’s hand was already on his arm, her eyes narrowing as she glared at Draco. “Actually, we have plans. So, you can move along, Draco.” she cut in, her tone laced with barely hidden disdain.

The room seemed to hold its breath, Draco’s jaw tightening as he held her gaze. He was clearly trying to keep his temper in check, but his patience was hanging by a thread. With an exasperated sigh, he shot Theo a look that spoke volumes—both an apology and a warning—before reluctantly turning back and leaving the Grand Hall with the group.

Theo slumped back, his expression defeated, all the excitement drained out of him in an instant. He didn’t even bother to argue. You could see the exhaustion etched into his face as he sank lower in his chair, as though he’d expected this outcome all along.

As you walked to D.A.D.A class, you caught Draco’s eye, and he gave a subtle shake of his head, his own frustration mirroring your own. There was a tension in the air that was impossible to ignore, and it was only a matter of time before something would break.

~~~

The usual Friday night Slytherin party was in full swing, the common room lit with a warm, flickering glow as laughter and conversation filled the air. You were all seated in your usual spots on the couches, drinks in hand, enjoying the rare moment of camaraderie that Fridays always promised.

For a while, things felt normal again—comfortable, even. But then, of course, Theo’s girlfriend wedged herself into the group, shifting the entire energy of the evening. The lively conversation dulled as she took over, barely concealing her disdain as she joined in. You could feel the collective irritation settle in, an unspoken understanding among friends that her presence was, as always, unwelcome.

It wasn’t as if the group had a problem with partners joining them; quite the opposite. Each of them had dated at some point, and their significant others were always welcomed with open arms. There was a quiet understanding that relationships brought new energy into their tight-knit circle, and everyone usually made an effort to include them. Some of the best nights had been spent with the laughter of new faces blending seamlessly with their own, adding stories and jokes to the mix without disrupting the balance.

But this girl was different.

She was the first one who seemed determined to force herself in, to overshadow conversations and steal away Theo whenever it suited her. There was no laughter, no blending of energy—just her cutting remarks and possessive glances, her presence casting a shadow over their usual ease. No one could relax when she was around, knowing that any moment of fun or camaraderie could be snuffed out by her biting comments.

It was as if she thrived on control, slipping her influence over Theo like a chain, pulling him away piece by piece from the friends he’d known for years. The group had tried, at first, to welcome her in, to treat her like they would anyone else. But it became painfully clear over time that she wasn’t interested in being part of their lives; she was only interested in controlling Theo’s.

As you looked around at your friends, each of them casting uneasy glances her way, it was obvious that everyone felt it. The tension that lingered whenever she was near, the way the entire room seemed to lose its warmth when she entered. She wasn’t just an outsider. She was the first partner to truly ruin things for them.

Mattheo, who had been rudely interrupted tonight, had less patience than the rest of you. He was midway through a particularly animated story about his latest near-miss with Professor Snape when she interrupted, rolling her eyes and sighing loudly. Mattheo glared at her, barely holding back his annoyance. "Do you mind? Some of us actually want to hear my story."

She scoffed, crossing her arms and leaning back with an air of superiority. "Oh, please. Nobody cares about your stupid stories, Riddle."

A tense silence settled over the group, but Pansy wasted no time in stepping in, her tone sharp. "Actually, everyone but you cares. Maybe if you didn’t make it your mission to ruin every conversation, you’d know that."

Theo shifted uncomfortably, glancing at his girlfriend as if he wanted to step in but was too tired to argue. Meanwhile, you could see the smirk forming on Mattheo’s face, his gaze locked onto her with barely contained satisfaction.

"Yeah." Mattheo added, raising his drink in mock salute. "Cheers to that, Pans. At least some of us know how to have a good time."

His girlfriend flushed, anger flashing in her eyes, but she stayed silent, perhaps finally realizing that the rest of the group had no intention of backing down. It was a rare victory, but it didn’t feel as sweet as it should have—not when Theo was sitting there, staring down at his drink, looking like he was carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders.

Draco let out a frustrated sigh, running a hand through his hair as he leaned back on the couch, grumbling just loud enough for everyone to hear, "Well, that’s one way to ruin a perfectly good night."

The comment was sharper than usual, carrying the unmistakable weight of weeks—months, even—of suppressed irritation. He didn’t bother to look at Theo’s girlfriend, who was already glaring daggers at him, her face reddening as her patience finally snapped.

Turning on Theo, she crossed her arms, her voice icy and accusing. "Are you really just going to sit there and let them disrespect me like this? Unbelievable." She looked around the room as if daring someone to disagree, but no one moved or spoke. It was clear where everyone’s loyalties lay, and that only seemed to inflame her further.

Theo’s shoulders slumped, his expression somewhere between exhaustion and quiet resignation. He opened his mouth, as if to offer a half-hearted defence, but no words came. The effort it would take to argue—yet again—was too much for him tonight.

With a huff, she whipped around, storming away from the couches, her heels clicking loudly against the stone floor as she disappeared through the crowds in the common room.Her exit was followed by a heavy silence as everyone’s gaze shifted to Theo.

He let out a long, weary sigh, the sound carrying the weight of everything he hadn’t been able to say. The group was quiet, each of you trying to process what had just happened, but it was obvious that no one wanted to break the silence.

Theo ran a hand over his face, looking down at his drink, and muttered, "I… I’m sorry, everyone."

Blaise cleared his throat, attempting a small smile to break the tension. "It’s all good, mate." he said, giving Theo’s shoulder a reassuring squeeze. "Honestly. No harm done." His tone was light, casual, like he was brushing it all off as if it hadn’t mattered at all. Blaise had always been the type to keep the peace when he could, trying to nudge things back toward their usual warmth.

But Mattheo’s face was another story, his jaw clenched tight as he glared at the door through which Theo’s girlfriend had just exited. He shook his head, muttering under his breath, "I’m getting real tired of this." his voice laced with barely controlled anger. His gaze flicked to Theo, and for a second, it looked like he might say something else, but he bit back his words, stewing silently.

The group sat there in uneasy silence, the usual lively atmosphere muted, everyone nursing their own thoughts. Theo’s shoulders stayed slumped, and you could sense the regret and frustration rolling off him in waves.

Just as the quiet began to settle, Pansy’s entire body tensed beside you. Her gaze was fixed on the far side of the room, her eyes wide. Following Pansy’s wide-eyed stare, your gaze landed on the far side of the common room where Theo’s girlfriend had reappeared, but she wasn’t alone.

Your stomach dropped as you saw her pressed up against another student from your house, their faces close, her hands running through his hair as she leaned in, kissing him with a brazen, shameless fervour. She didn’t seem to care who might see them, her actions loud and clear as if she were making a statement for everyone in the room.

A stunned silence fell over the group, each of you frozen in shock and disbelief. Blaise’s hand slipped off Theo’s shoulder as his jaw tightened, his earlier attempt at easing the mood now rendered meaningless. Mattheo muttered something under his breath, his fists clenched so tight his knuckles were white.

But Theo—Theo just stared, his face going pale as he watched her with that other guy, his expression a mixture of hurt and anger, mingled with a strange, hollow acceptance. It was as if he’d suspected something like this all along, yet seeing it unfold was a wound far deeper than anything he could have anticipated.

The tension in the room had reached a breaking point, each of you waiting for someone to say or do something, the air thick with disbelief and fury.

Theo didn’t say a word as he got up, his face blank, and headed toward the exit. You could see the tremor in his hands as he reached into his pocket, likely going for a cigarette to calm his fraying nerves. Without a glance back, he slipped out the door, leaving a heavy tension in his wake.

The second he was gone, you felt something snap inside you. Your fists clenched, and before you knew it, you were on your feet, ignoring the surprised looks from your friends as you made a straight line across the room, heading directly toward her.

She was still laughing with the guy she’d been kissing, completely unbothered, until she caught sight of you storming toward her. Her eyes narrowed, a look of feigned innocence crossing her face as she crossed her arms, almost daring you to confront her.

“What’s your problem?” she sneered, her voice dripping with sarcasm.

“What’s my problem?” you spat, the words tumbling out like fire. “What’s your problem, throwing yourself at some random guy in front of everyone when Theo’s just… just sitting there?” You could barely contain the anger shaking through you. “Do you have any idea what you’re doing to him?”

She rolled her eyes, scoffing. “Oh, please. Like it matters. Theo’s been a miserable bore for months. And who are you to talk to me about what I can or can’t do? Jealous, are we?”

A sharp, bitter laugh escaped you. “Jealous? No. I’m furious. Furious that you’ve taken someone who used to be happy and turned him into whatever you think he should be for your own ego.”

Her eyes flashed with anger. “You don’t know anything about us.”

“Oh, I know enough.” you shot back. “Enough to see you don’t care about him. He deserves better than to be treated like your possession, like some accessory you can throw away the second you get bored.”

The argument escalated, voices rising as the tension boiled over. Each accusation only fueled her anger, and she stepped closer, her voice venomous. “You think you’re so noble, don’t you? Acting like you know what’s best for him. Maybe he’s miserable because you all can’t let go of him.”

The room erupted as you snapped, the anger in you boiling over as you shot back, “You know what? You’re nothing but a manipulative bitch.” The words were barely out of your mouth before her face twisted with rage, and without warning, she shoved you hard, almost knocking you backward.

That was it.

Without a second thought, you lunged forward, colliding with her as the two of you stumbled, grabbing at each other in a flurry of fury. The next moments were a blur of shouts, hands, and the sharp sting of pulled hair and clawing nails as you both fought, neither one willing to back down.

Draco, Blaise, Mattheo, and Pansy were on you in seconds, surrounding the chaos, but looking caught between trying to pull you apart and staying out of the way. Blaise’s eyes widened, flicking between you and the girl as if he couldn’t believe this was actually happening. Draco stepped forward, arms out, calling your name, but the intensity of the fight kept him at bay.

“Bloody hell!” Mattheo shouted, looking between you and Draco, unsure whether to jump in or let you have it out. “Someone pull them off each other!”

Pansy, on the other hand, didn’t hesitate. She moved in closer, her voice sharp and commanding as she tried to grab your arm. “Enough! You’re going to get us all into trouble—stop!”

But the damned bitch was relentless, snarling as she tried to push you away, her eyes alight with rage. “Stay out of our business, you’re nothing to him! Just some desperate hanger-on!”

Fueled by her words, you managed to break free from Pansy’s grasp for a moment, lunging again, but this time, Draco and Mattheo grabbed you by the shoulders, dragging you back as Pansy stepped in between, raising her voice. “Stop it, both of you!”

The door creaked open, and Theo appeared in the doorway, cigarette in hand, eyes wide as he took in the scene unfolding before him. The shock on his face was unmistakable as he realized what had happened, confusion turning to something darker as he looked between you and his girlfriend, who was now dishevelled, panting, and glaring at you with venom in her eyes.

You stood there, chest heaving, adrenaline still surging through you as you tried to regain control. The room was dead silent, everyone too stunned to move, but your gaze was locked on her—bruised, bloodied and dishevelled, glaring up at you with a twisted smirk on her face.

“You think you’re so special, don’t you?” she sneered, her voice dripping with malice. “The only reason why Theo even stays close to you is because he pities you… and your pathetic dead parents.”

The words struck a nerve deep within, unleashing a storm of anger that washed over you like a tidal wave. Before you knew it, you’d pulled out your wand, rage blinding you, the incantation forming on your lips as the words seethed out, “Cruc—”

But before you could finish, a hand clamped over your mouth, silencing the curse in an instant. Theo had rushed behind you, his grip firm yet desperate, his wide eyes filled with panic, fear, and something else—something pleading.

“Enough.” he whispered, his voice barely above a murmur. His hand stayed pressed over your mouth, holding you back, while his other hand gently grasped your wrist, lowering your wand.

You blinked, the anger slowly dissolving into a mess of emotions, the weight of what you’d nearly done settling over you. Theo didn’t move, keeping his steady hold on you.Theo glanced around at the group, his expression a mixture of exhaustion, and protectiveness. Without another word, he took your hand, his grip firm but gentle, and led you out of the common room, past the stunned silence of your friends. Draco, Blaise, Mattheo, and Pansy watched, exchanging concerned looks but staying silent, knowing this was something only Theo could handle.

He guided you through the dimly lit corridor, never loosening his hold on your hand as he made his way to his dorm room. You followed in a daze, your heart still pounding as the adrenaline began to ebb, replaced by a confusing whirl of emotions—anger, shame, relief, all tangled up together.

Once you were inside his dormitory, he shut the door behind you both, locking it with a quick flick of his wand. The room was quiet, a soft glow from the lamps casting a warm light over his belongings, the familiar scent of his cologne faintly lingering in the air. Theo turned to face you, his hand still holding yours as he took a deep breath, his expression softened, though his eyes remained filled with a quiet intensity.

“You… you almost used Crucio.” he murmured, his voice a mix of disbelief and concern. His thumb brushed over your knuckles, grounding you, as he searched your face, trying to make sense of everything that had just happened.

You looked down, feeling a wave of guilt rise up, the weight of what you’d nearly done settling heavily on your shoulders. “I’m sorry.” you whispered, your voice barely audible. “I just… she went too far. She’s hurt you way too much, Theo.”

Theo exhaled, releasing some of the tension in his shoulders, and took a step closer, his gaze softening further. “I know.” he said quietly. “I’ve known for a while now. I just didn’t want to believe it.”

He let go of your hand only to gently cup your face, his thumb brushing softly across your cheek, grounding you, as he whispered, “But you… you can’t let her make you into something you’re not.”

~~~

Theo never officially ended things with his girlfriend. There was no formal breakup, no final argument, but it didn’t matter—everyone could see that it was over. She didn’t come around anymore, didn’t dare try to force her way back into the friend group after the scene you’d caused. The bruises you’d left had faded, but the message had been loud and clear, and it seemed she’d finally accepted it.

You’d earned yourself a month of detention for the fight, and though the professors had given you disappointed looks and stern lectures, none of it fazed you. You took the punishment with a sense of pride, wearing it like a badge of honour. If you had to do it all over again, you would. Theo’s well-being, his freedom, had been worth every second spent scrubbing cauldrons and rewriting parchments under Filch’s glare. You weren’t ashamed for putting her in her place; she’d deserved it and more.

The only lingering regret was that split-second decision to pull your wand, to nearly utter the curse that could have changed everything. That was the one thing that weighed on you, the reminder that, in your anger, you’d almost let her bring out the darkest part of yourself. But Theo had stopped you, pulled you back from the edge. And in the quiet moments of your detentions, it was that thought that lingered, his hand on yours, his voice steadying you when you’d needed it most.

Since then, Theo had been… different. Freer, lighter, as though the weight he’d been carrying had finally lifted. He didn’t say much about what had happened, but he was around you constantly, seeking you out, sitting beside you in classes and at meals, sharing quiet moments without needing to speak.

He never said it directly, but in the way he looked at you, the way he stayed close, it was clear. You’d been there for him when he’d needed it most, and he wasn’t about to forget it.

As the weeks passed, the group’s dynamic began to shift back to normal, the heaviness that had hung over everything finally starting to lift. The familiar laughter and banter returned, the camaraderie that had once been the foundation of your friendship rekindled. It felt like everyone could breathe again, like the unspoken tension had finally evaporated, taking with it the gloom of Theo’s toxic relationship.

The others hadn’t let you off easily, though. Ever since that night, they’d given you a new nickname, a playful jab that seemed to stick—“The Hitman.” Whenever you entered a room, Mattheo or Blaise would grin and say something like, “Look out, the Hitman’s here. Better watch what we say.” Draco would give you a mock salute, pretending to be wary of your next move, and Pansy would pat you on the shoulder, shaking her head with a smile and muttering, “Our very own bodyguard.”

They teased you relentlessly, but you didn’t mind. If anything, it filled you with a quiet pride. You’d earned it, and knowing they’d all be just as protective over you, had the situation been reversed, only strengthened the bond between you all.

Theo, meanwhile, seemed to have thrown himself back into Quidditch with renewed energy. Every practice was more intense, every play sharper. He channelled all his frustration, all the months of suppressed anger, into the pitch, his focus like a laser. Theo was back to being the friend you remembered—driven, concentrated, locked in on his own priorities, and finally unburdened. Watching him fly across the field with that fierce determination, you knew he was ready to leave the past behind.

And as he trained, you couldn’t help but notice the small glances he’d send your way after a particularly successful practice. When he’d make an impressive play, his gaze would drift toward the stands, where he knew you were watching, his grin just a bit wider when he caught your eye. It was as if he was finally himself again—fierce, focused, and free.

~~~

The final match of the season had the entire school buzzing, and you and Pansy stood shoulder to shoulder in the stands, bundled against the brisk wind, your hearts pounding with excitement. The atmosphere was electric, green and silver flags waving wildly in the air, cheers rising like waves as the players took their positions on the field. The Slytherin team was locked in, each player’s gaze fierce, and at the centre of it all was Theo—focused, determined, every bit the player you’d always believed he could be.

From the first whistle, the match was intense, a flurry of movement as players darted back and forth, Quaffles flying, Bludgers smashing through the air. Every play had you and Pansy gasping or shouting, barely able to stay still as the score climbed steadily, each team battling for dominance. Gryffindor’s Chasers were relentless, pressing the Slytherin defence with an intensity that sent chills through the stands.

As Gryffindor advanced toward the goal, weaving past Slytherin players with almost frightening speed, your heart raced. Theo was there, hovering near the posts, watching, waiting. The Gryffindor Chaser drew closer, feinting left before taking a sharp turn to the right, raising his arm to shoot. You held your breath, fingers digging into the railing as the Quaffle hurtled toward the left hoop, aimed with deadly precision.

But Theo was faster. With a sudden, powerful lunge, he darted across the goal, stretching his arm out just in time to deflect the Quaffle. The impact echoed across the pitch, and for a split second, everything was still. Then, the Slytherin section of the stands erupted in cheers, and you and Pansy screamed, jumping up and down, adrenaline surging through you.

“Yes! Did you see that?” Pansy shrieked, grabbing your arm as she laughed in pure exhilaration. “He saved it! He actually saved it!”

Your eyes were locked on Theo, who was grinning, his face flushed with triumph as he exchanged a brief look with Draco, who had already positioned himself higher above the pitch. The save had disrupted Gryffindor’s formation, and in the split second of chaos, Draco seized his chance, his eyes fixed on a flash of gold darting across the field.

“Go, Draco!” you shouted, your voice barely audible over the crowd’s roar. Your hands were clenched, and Pansy was beside herself, both of you leaning so far over the railing that you might as well have been on brooms yourselves.

Draco was a blur as he sped after the Snitch, his eyes narrowed, his entire body angled forward with singular purpose. Gryffindor’s Seeker was close behind him, pushing hard to catch up, but Draco had the lead, his broom slicing through the air as he reached out, his fingers grazing the Snitch’s fluttering wings.

“Come on, come on…” Pansy muttered, clutching your arm as you both watched, barely daring to breathe.

With a final lunge, Draco’s hand closed around the Snitch, raising it triumphantly in the air. The crowd erupted, the Slytherin side a sea of celebration as students cheered, shouted, and hugged. You and Pansy screamed, the exhilaration almost overwhelming, watching as Theo and the other Slytherin players surrounded Draco, lifting him onto their shoulders, their faces bright with victory.

Before you knew it, the entire house was rushing down to the pitch, flooding onto the field in a wave of green and silver. You and Pansy exchanged a breathless look before joining the charge, weaving through the ecstatic crowd, eager to congratulate the team.

The players were already on the ground, grinning, shouting, their faces flushed with victory as they clapped each other on the back. Theo, Blaise, Mattheo, and Draco stood in the middle of it all, surrounded by the crowd, practically lifted off their feet by their housemates’ enthusiasm.

You and Pansy finally pushed through, laughing as you spotted Theo first, his hair messy and his cheeks pink, looking more alive than you’d ever seen him. Without a second thought, you wrapped him in a hug, feeling his arms come around you tightly, the two of you sharing a moment of pure celebration, all the weight of the past weeks forgotten in the euphoria.

“You were amazing, Theo!” you shouted over the noise, pulling back to meet his eyes. His grin was wide and genuine, the happiness in his expression infectious.

“Only because I had the best fans cheering me on.” he replied with a wink, his voice filled with excitement.

Pansy immediately pulled Draco into a hug, shouting something about how he’d almost given her a heart attack with that final dive for the Snitch. Draco laughed, hugging her back before turning to you, and you threw your arms around him, congratulating him on the catch.

One by one, you and Pansy made your way through the group, hugging each of the boys, feeling the thrill of victory in every laugh, every smile. Mattheo picked you up briefly, spinning you around before setting you down, both of you laughing as he ruffled your hair. Blaise gave you a quick hug, still beaming as he clapped Theo on the shoulder, their shared pride shining through.

The air buzzed with joy and triumph as the celebration continued on the field, the Slytherin house united in victory, the players and friends all caught up in the moment, letting the adrenaline and happiness wash over them. This was the kind of memory that would stay with you forever—the kind of joy that felt limitless, boundless, and for a moment, everything was perfect.

As the crowd began to move off the pitch, heading back to the Slytherin common room with laughter and celebration echoing through the night, you felt a gentle tug on your arm. Turning, you found Theo beside you, his hand lingering on your wrist as he subtly pulled you back from the group. His expression was warm, his eyes softened with something quieter than the exhilaration of the victory, and your heart skipped a beat as you slowed to match his pace.

The others drifted ahead, too wrapped up in their own excitement to notice the two of you hanging back. Theo glanced around, making sure no one was watching, before he looked at you with a faint smile.

“I wanted to thank you.” he said, his voice low, barely audible over the lingering noise of celebration. “For everything. Not just for tonight.”

You felt a warmth spread through you as he spoke, his words carrying a weight that went beyond the game, beyond the victory. It was about everything that had happened—the support, the fight, the loyalty you’d shown him through the toughest moments.

“You don’t have to thank me,. you replied softly, smiling up at him. “I’d do it all over again if I had to.”

Theo’s eyes held yours, something unspoken passing between you. Then, without another word, he pulled you into a hug, his arms wrapping around you with a warmth and familiarity that felt like home. You could feel his heartbeat against yours, steady and strong, and for a brief moment, the rest of the world faded away.

As he pulled back, his face close to yours, he hesitated, his gaze flickering to your lips for the briefest of seconds before he looked away, a faint blush creeping into his cheeks. Clearing his throat, he grinned, the moment of vulnerability passing as he nodded toward the path ahead.

For a brief second, a tense, awkward silence settled between you, each of you unsure of what to do, the unspoken tension hanging heavy in the cool night air. You could feel your pulse racing, your heart hammering with the anticipation that had been building for what felt like ages.Theo cleared his throat, looking away for a moment as if to collect himself, but when he glanced back at you, his eyes lingered, conflicted yet intent. As if deciding all at once, he leaned in, his hand reaching up to gently cup your cheek, and before either of you could think twice, his lips brushed softly against yours.

The kiss was brief but electric, a quiet intensity that sent a thrill through you, leaving you breathless. But just as you began to process what was happening, he pulled back, his hand falling to his side as he looked down, his cheeks flushed with a mix of embarrassment and guilt.

“I… I’m sorry.” he stammered, his voice barely above a whisper. “I shouldn’t have— I didn’t mean to—”

You could see the regret in his eyes, the way he seemed to be bracing himself for your reaction, almost ashamed. He looked ready to pull away, to distance himself again. You felt a surge of determination rise within you. You couldn’t let him pull away, not when the moment felt so right. As he started to step back, you reached out, your fingers brushing gently against his hand, grounding him before he could retreat.

Without hesitation, you leaned forward, closing the small distance between you, and kissed him—slowly, deeply, allowing the tension and emotions that had built up to flow freely. This time, there was no awkwardness, no hesitation, only the warmth of his lips against yours, the steady beat of his heart echoing through the touch.

Theo stilled for a moment, his surprise quickly melting into something softer, more certain, as he responded, his hands finding their way to your waist, pulling you closer. The world around you faded, the distant sounds of laughter and celebration from the common room dimming as you both gave in to the kiss, the barriers that had held you apart finally breaking down. The kiss deepened, a magnetic pull drawing you closer until the world outside that moment ceased to exist. Theo’s hands traced a path up your back, sending a warmth through you that made everything else fade. His lips moved with a gentleness, a passion that left you breathless, a release of everything the two of you had held back for so long.

Somehow, amid the intensity, his Quidditch shirt slipped off, discarded in the haze of your closeness. When you finally pulled away, both of you breathless, he paused, his eyes dark with a mixture of affection and amusement as he looked down at the shirt in his hands. Without a word, he lifted it, slipping it gently over your shoulders, letting the familiar, slightly worn fabric settle around you.

The warmth of his hands lingered as he adjusted the shirt on you, his gaze softening as he took in the sight. You looked down, cheeks blazing when you caught a glimpse of his toned chest, the result of years of Quidditch training, each muscle defined and yet somehow perfectly understated. His eyes sparkled as he noticed your blush, a small smile tugging at his lips.

“Come on.” he murmured, his voice soft as he reached for your hand. He squeezed it, grounding you back to the moment, his thumb brushing lightly over your knuckles. With a gentle tug, he pulled you back toward the Slytherin common room, the warmth of his presence steady beside you as the night’s quiet secrets lingered in the air around you.

As you and Theo stepped into the common room, the lively energy of the celebration settled into a curious, knowing silence. Every eye flicked between the two of you—his shirt draped around you, cheeks flushed, Theo’s hair slightly tousled. It didn’t take much for your friends to put the pieces together, but no one dared to say a word, their smiles a mix of amusement and silent approval.

Draco raised an eyebrow, shooting a smirk in Theo’s direction, while Mattheo gave you a subtle thumbs-up, as though finally, after everything, a balance had been restored. Blaise’s grin was unmistakable, though he kept his comments to himself for once, nodding at you in quiet acknowledgment.

Across the room, Pansy caught your eye, her own gaze softened with pride and understanding. She gave you a small, satisfied smile, as if she’d known this was inevitable all along. You returned her glance, feeling the warmth of friendship and relief wash over you, grounding you in the moment.

Without a word, Theo’s hand found yours again, squeezing it gently. In that simple touch, everything felt right, all the struggles and tension finally giving way to a peace you’d both waited so long for. You looked around, surrounded by friends who had stood by you both, and for the first time in months, everything felt exactly as it should be.

And as you settled down into the couch beside Theo, your fingers still intertwined, a quiet contentment settled over the room, the unspoken promise of new beginnings hanging in the air.

Likes, reblogs and comments are always very much appreciated! ♡

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itsabouttimex2 · 23 hours ago

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What do you think would make Odysseus a yandere?

I think it would happen right after he drops Scamandrius from the walls of Troy.

That little baby, already so loved that he had inspired a nickname from his father, his people- “Astyanax”, detailing what he; as the firstborn son of Troy’s heir apparent, was set to become- king, ruler, overlord.

And Odysseus kills him.

Not because he wants to, but because he is, at the end of the day, just a man. A selfish man who loves himself and his soldiers and his home, but not nearly as much as he loves his son and his wife.

The only thing that breaks him from the harrowing thought that a like-minded man might be doing the same thing to his own son miles away is a broken wail cutting through somber silence.

Odysseus turns, feet heavier than his heart, hesitant to see not what, but who he already knows is behind him.

Andromache running towards him. He sees her, wrapped in loose white robes, arms held close to her chest, tears running down her face, closer and closer to him- barefoot and broken.

And realizes that she’s not coming at him, not coming for revenge or catharsis or some measure of score-settling, but instead she’s headed for the rim of the stone wall that her son was dropped from, intending to plunge the same misty heights and fade into the swallowing vale below.

She leaps in a blitz of white silk, looking so much like an angel descending that Odysseus nearly misses his chance to reach for her in a sort of awe- though her enthralling beauty pales in comparison to his Penelope, it spurs him to try and catch the grieving wife, mother, queen.

The Itchacan king reaches for her hands and snags a bundle of white instead, accidentally tearing it from her grasp and leaving her to plummet without whatever had been so dear that she would take it to the grave held against her heart.

And after the shock has worn off, after his soldiers have moved from wide-eyed gasping and into solemnly shaking their heads at the waste of good life, after Polites calls for him to please come down and come back to the ship, Odysseus takes a moment to unwrap that little bundle with a heavy heart.

Another child, even younger than the first, blissfully asleep in spite of the carnage and ruin around them.

This time, there’s no god or soothsayer or prophet to chime in his ear an order or command, leaving Odysseus on the edge of a very welcoming ledge, contemplating his decisions as the soldiers below grow anxious at the grief in their captain’s eyes.

Polites coaxes him down again, this time even more gently, so the king wraps you back up and heads for the stairs.

His second-in-command waits for him at the beach, having paid last respects to both Andromache and her beloved son, both wrapped in a tattered sail and covered in rocks to keep all but the most determined of predators away- he and his brothers-in-arms did what they could, and even now spill wine in the sand around them.

It’s not much, but they did their best. That’s all any man can do in this situation.

Eurylochus doesn’t like the haunted look in his captain’s eyes, how his fingers twitch around the bundle of cloth, how he can’t bear to look at the impromptu grave of two innocent souls.

Nobody does.

But the deed is done, the blood is spilled, and dawn breaks soon. There’s no time for questions, no time for further delays. Home is waiting.

Six hundred families are waiting for six hundred tired soldiers, hoping to welcome them with open arms and settle for boring times.

So there’s no hesitating or comprehending or deciding. The bundle doesn’t protest, and neither do his men. No one questions the impromptu addition to the crew.

A living reminder of all the children they orphaned, even if indirectly. Bringing you along is a form of penance that none confess to wanting.

Odysseus holds the infant close as he returns to the ship, wood creaking under the boots of soldiers boarding in lockstep, heavy as his conscience and heart.

…he’ll need to think of a name for you.

#Platonic Yandere #Yandere Epic #Yandere Odysseus #Polites #Eurylochus #Andromache #Astyanax #Scamandrius #Yandere Father

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ceaselesswatchersspecialboy · 2 days ago

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What happens when Ford eventually returns? I mean, Dipper and Mabel will have to get used to a whole ‘new’ Ford, and Bill is a chaos-god again, so meeting him in his real form will be interesting, will Bill just hang around?

To summarise: It isn’t great, for anybody.

In the case of Ford, it’s like he’s just woken up from sleep. In his mind, it’s like no time has passed at all, but instead 30 years has, and he has to come to terms with that. His paranoia is intense, and to make matters worse, he doesn’t just feel like a stranger in his own home, but a stranger in his own body. He honestly spends a lot of time around Stan, despite his lingering anger, as Stan is the only person who doesn’t look at him strangely, or make him feel like he’s the one who stole this body, that he’s the one who doesn’t belong. Stan’s familiar. He’s safe. Everything else is just… wrong.

He’s generally quite unsure around the twins, which is a mutual feeling.

Mabel wants him to feel welcome, she really does, but she’s struggling to cope with the feelings of confusion and betrayal, and though she does her best to put on a smile and get to know him, he always seems very far away. Meanwhile, Dipper thought he knew the Author for the longest time, but apparently, it was all a lie, and he’s hurt, they both are, but Dipper honestly handles it worse. He’s fixated enough on Bill’s pages in the journal to know he’s dangerous, that he did something bad to their real Grunkle Ford, and he’s relentless in finding out what.

It feels like walking on eggshells at all times. Their new Great Uncle Ford is jumpy, and he’s always looking at them like they’re going to attack him. He’s only ever really at ease when Stan is around. Speaking of Stan, he doesn’t blame his brother for being so on edge, nor is annoyed at Ford constantly trying to argue with Stan and prove Bill has manipulated him too, because to Ford, it’s the only possible explanation as to why Stan would protect him. And Stan gets that. Even now, he will never forget the anger he felt at seeing Ford’s body, how damaged it was, and how Bill laughed about it. But, unfortunately, he’s spent 30 years with Bill, 30 years Ford had taken from him, and that leaves everything painfully complicated.

Speaking of Bill, I haven’t decided exactly how he’s going to be present, either he’s completely back to hanging around the mindscape, or he’s latched onto Ford still somehow, either way, he hangs around.

I have a particular vision in mind of him entering the twins dreams sometimes, especially if they’re having a nightmare, and he and Mabel end up having a conversation one night.

I may make a full, coloured comic for it honestly, because it’s very clear in my mind, and Mabel asking Bill to lie to her for her own comfort… yeah.

(If anyone’s seen Buffy, it’s kind of based off the ‘Lie to me’ scene)

(One final note: I think DD&MD will still be the key to getting Ford to open up, but it’s something the whole family gets involved with, even Stan and Mabel, though they admit the game isn’t really for them, just to make him feel more comfortable around them, and break the tension a bit more. Dipper kind of figures out he likes it in the similar fashion of Ford seeing his die!)

#asks #gravity falls #gravity falls au #not who seems au #stanford pines #stanley pines #dipper pines #mason pines #mabel pines #bill cipher

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godmadeaterribleerror · 2 days ago

Text

It Was Smiling Down - A No Love Lost Bonus Chapter

Series Masterlist

Read on A03!

Author's Note: Ryan Butcher I'd die for you. If Eric Kripke EVER does you dirty he will have to answer to me personally. Title from San Francisco by the Mowgli's.

Word Count: 2.3k

Summary/Warnings: A Ryan pov Chapter! Takes place between Chapter 26 and Chapter 27. Usual warnings.

Tags: Soldier Boy/Supe!Female Reader, canon divergence, tooth-rotting fluff, slightly angst, pre-established relationship

Ryan Butcher doesn’t really trust people. As a whole, they haven’t proven themselves to be that trustworthy. They mostly lie to him, or hurt him, or yell at him things that haunt him when he can’t sleep. Things about how he hurts people, when he doesn’t mean to.

He never means to hurt anyone. It makes him feel heavy and sad and sick, and then the sizzle of flesh or crunch of bones has to be added to his nightmares, along with all the other faces that he did something bad to. Mom said hurting people was bad, and that we should treat others with kindness.

Dad said it didn’t matter. Dad said that people were like toys for them—the stronger, the better, the gods—to play with. That if Ryan broke one or two spines, or smashed four or five people into buildings, or punched a dozen people’s faces into their bodies, it didn’t really matter. The toy box was infinite, so they’d find a replacement. Dad said that humans couldn’t stop reproducing like cockroaches, so killing a few, or a lot, was if anything a favor to the universe.

Ryan had told Her that once. Not what his Dad had said—the mention of Dad always made Her face look sad, and Ben’s face look angry—but that cockroaches reproduced a lot. She’d been visiting him and Ben during training—all of them sitting on the floor, Ryan cross legged and Her leaning against Ben’s body—and Ryan had said it for a reason he couldn’t now remember.

She’d paused, frowning at her sandwich, then looked up at Ryan with a soft, curious gaze. “Do they? I mean, all bugs reproduce quickly for survival purposes, but I don’t think cockroaches are that remarkable at it.”

“I, I don’t know.” Ryan had mumbled, his eyes dropping to the mat. He didn’t want Her to be disappointed in him, even if she’d never been before. “I just heard it somewhere, I guess.”

“Huh.” She’d shrugged, reaching over Ben’s body to grab one of his fries that he always told Ryan tasted like fucking Styrofoam, but still brought every time she ate lunch with them. “Maybe I’m wrong-“

“No.” Ryan’s head had shaken nervously, because if Ben had taught him anything it was that She was almost never wrong. “I, I must have gotten it mixed up, I don’t know what animal reproduces the most-“

“Seahorses.”

Ryan had looked back up to Her, to see her grinning at him. All teeth and a warm affection that made the twisting feeling in Ryan’s gut fade. “Seahorses?”

She’d nodded, humming an affirmation. “Up to 2,000 babies at a time.” Then She’d twisted around to look at Ben, her face growing just a little brighter than it had been before as Ryan saw their eyes meet. “And the men give birth to them, Benjamin.”

Ben had scowled. “How the fuck is that my problem-“

She’d pouted at him, and Ryan had seen them do this a million times before. She poked him, and he poked back, and neither of them ever really meant it, and it would go and go until one of them—probably Ben, Ryan had seen Her talk circles around their whole weird little family all at once with breaking or faltering—gave in and shut the other up.

“Would you give birth to my seahorse babies, my love?”

“I’m not giving birth to fucking shit-“

“But would you-“

“No.” Ben had grunted, rolling his eyes. “Because men don’t give fucking birth-“

“Seahorse men do. Seahorse men get pregnant, and then give birth. Which is usually how that process goes, but in seahorse societies it’s considered masculine. The men give birth because they love their partners and don’t want them to be in pain-“

Ryan didn’t think that last part was true, but there was usually a point in these arguments where She started to tug at Ben’s shirt with a soft, teasing smile, and said words that didn’t need to be true, because they were almost always her winning blow. This hadn’t been any different, because She’d cut herself off with a small yelp as Ben pulled her further into his lap, leaning down to kiss her.

Ryan had found somewhere else to look for a few minutes. He’d gotten good at that, at reading when he had to pretend that his two trusted adults weren’t maybe seconds from having sex on the floor. They never did, and it didn’t really bother Ryan—they both smiled twice as much when they were done, and Ryan had seen a lot worse than the way they always seemed to be eating each other’s faces—but he still had to wait it out.

When it was preceded by one of their fake arguments, it usually lasted a little longer. The kissing would stop, and they’d just look at each for a minute or two until She turned back to Ryan and Ben’s arms locked around her stomach.

That was Ryan’s favorite part of this. How She’d keep talking to him with a wide, happy expression that Butcher had called Her ditzy fuckin Soldier Boy smile, and Ben would just look at Her.

Ryan really liked how Ben looked at Her. It was an expression of something soft and powerful that he’d only ever seen on Ben’s face, only ever directed at her. It was relaxed and adoring, but still solemn and firm in the only way Ben seemed to know how to be. Like She might be the only thing that Ben knew was real, and he wasn’t bothered by that at all.

It wasn’t like Dad had looked at Stormfront. That had been meaner. Like they were always in a fight—not one of Her and Ben’s play fights, which were more like a cat and a dog swatting at each other before the dog flopped over, and the cat climbed on top of it, but instead a violent, bloody war—and were trying to see who’d snap first. Dad had looked at Stormfront like he was waiting for her to stab him, but wasn’t sure she would.

Ben looked at Her like he’d handed her the knife to carve into his body, and She’d made a face and thrown it away.

Ryan hadn’t really ever seen Butcher look at Mom, but he hoped it had been a little like that. It was what Mom had deserved, even if Butcher could be a cock fuck bitch with his head tonguing his own ass, in Ben’s words.

But Butcher was getting better. He’d apologized for saying Ryan had hurt Mom—he hadn’t meant to, he never meant to, and he still had nightmares where Mom’s guts were spilling out of her body, and she looked right through Ryan like he was a ghost—and mostly didn’t talk to Ryan about Dad anymore.

Nobody really liked to talk to Ryan about Dad. Ryan knew She would, if he asked, but he didn’t want to ask. He’d never forget what Butcher had shown him—about Mom and Dad and Her—or how, for the first two months Ryan had lived with everyone, She’d been gone because of Dad. Because of Ryan.

Not your fucking fault, kid. She’d kill me if I let you blame yourself for your pussy fuck dad’s actions.

That was why Ryan talked to Ben about it. He didn’t coddle or lie or sweeten the truth, he just grunted words that—when Ben said them—always seemed to be the inherent truth. Dad wasn’t Ryan’s fault, and Ryan was getting stronger, and it was okay that Ryan got afraid because it he wasn’t a pathetic fucking dickless pussy about it.

Ryan asked Ben if it was okay to hurt people, and Ben told him if they fucking deserve it, but only if they deserve it, and Ryan decided that sounded right. And She said most people didn’t deserve to be hurt, and very few things were truly unforgivable, so Ryan could try to figure out what things were really wrong, and then hurt the people that really deserved it.

Dad deserved it. When Ryan wasn’t afraid of Dad, he was angry at him.

“Do you get angry?” He’d mumbled over a breakfast in Her and Ben’s apartment, and She’d hummed, tilting her head.

“I do. We all do. Anger is our brains telling us that something is unfair, and a lot of this isn’t really fair. So yeah, I get angry.”

Ryan had nodded slowly, turning to Ben as he approached the table from the kitchen. “Ben, do you-“

“Course I fucking get angry.” Ben had dumped three large pancakes onto Ryan’s plate, then two larger ones onto Her’s, then a smaller one onto his own, and ignored Her glare as he dropped into his seat. “This whole goddamn thing-“

She’d cleared her throat, eyes narrowed at Ben. “Benjamin.”

“What-“

She’d given a pointed look to his plate, then back to him. “You need to eat as well.”

“I’ll be fine, Sunshine, you and the kid need more than I do-“

She’d cut one of Her pancakes in half, moving the bigger piece to Ben’s plate, and he’d scowled. They’d both been silent, glaring at each other for almost a minute, and then Ben had grunted. She’d leaned back into her chair with a smug grin, and everything had moved on.

Neither of them had been mad, though. Ryan had thought that glaring and frowning was only about hatred, but when She and Ben glowered at each other it seemed to be more of a standoff. An act or show or contest of affection that neither of them ever seemed to be upset about losing.

They were never really mad at each other at all. Ryan had seen them yell at and taunt and mock each other, but there always seemed to be something under it that sounded like I love you. I’m allowed to call you a dumb dumb or pain in the ass, because I love you and we both know I don’t mean it, because I’m “fighting” with you, but I’m also holding onto you like you’re a buoy in the storm.

Ryan wanted to love someone like that. He wanted someone to love him like that. Because Ben never seemed to really think she was mad at him, even when she called him a cunt or idiot or asshole. Ryan himself didn’t think she was ever really mad at Ben, because he’d watch Her hit Ben’s arm with a fake pout or glare, but she’d never flinch or cower away from him. She was always touching Ben, and she was never afraid of him. Ben had hurt people, Ben was just as dangerous as Ryan was, but She only touched and looked at him like he’d fallen from heaven for her to have. She always kept her hand in Ben’s, or her body in his arms, or their legs pressed together. And she always looked for him. And She always seemed to be happier when she was talking to and looking at Ben, with just his presence never failing to make her smile.

And Ben loved Her. It seemed like love in movies Ryan had watched with Mom, or that he’d read about in books he’d found tucked in corners of Butcher’s apartment. But real. Ryan didn’t think Ben was capable of being really, truly mad at Her, and she seemed to know it. Ben would roll his eyes at Her, and grumble that she was brat, or glare at her in a way that would be dangerous if it wasn’t at Her. Whenever Ben glared at Her it was so painfully fake Ryan wondered if Butcher had been lying when he’d told Ryan not to mention love around those two twats, they ain’t aware that they’re fuckin obsessed with each other yet after She’d returned, because Ben didn’t seem capable looking at Her with anything but love painted over his features.

They certainly knew now. Everyone knew, because every third sentence out of Ben’s mouth was another declaration of love for Her. Every single thing Ben did seemed to be something for Her. Ryan would eat dinner with them, and he’d see Ben pass Her a fistful of stolen chocolate under the table. He’d watch a movie with them, and She’d would be holding Ben’s arms against Her, and Ben would kiss her in the dark and snort at her jokes and get Her and Ryan snacks whenever either of them so much as mentioned the word hungry. He’d train with Ben, and ask a question about punching, and Ben would grumble about how She said you could punch people and be a pacifist, like Muhammad Ali, and she was always fucking right about that shit. And She was a genius. And a better person than every other fucking pussy on the planet, so they should both fucking listen to her.

Ben carried Her in his arms wherever she let him, and She never stopped smiling at him, and Ryan had decided that if he ever loved someone—far in the future, when Dad was just a faint, reoccurring nightmare—he’d love them like Ben loved Her.

Ryan would never be like Homelander, because he’d never lock up or hurt people he loved. Ryan would be like Ben. And that felt easier, because Ben never demanded that Ryan follow in his steps. He was just there, and trustworthy, and Ryan wanted to be strong like him. He wanted to protect people and do things for them. He wanted to never speak or think of his Dad again, because really their family was Ben and Her, a stained hole that didn’t really matter and Ben wouldn’t let hurt them, and Ryan. It was Butcher forgiving Ryan, because he was trying, and She said the most important thing anyone could do was try to be better.

He was really trying to be better. Ryan didn’t really trust people, but he trusted Her and Ben when they said that this wasn’t his fault. He believed them when they told him what he knew, that Ryan really didn’t mean to hurt people.

And Ryan hoped that, after Homelander was dead, he’d get to have a life where they kept smiling at each other—and him—and Ryan never was made to hurt someone again.

End Note: Catch Ben in his Dad era, coming to a No Love Lost chapter near you (in all seriousness I hope you guys liked the extra pov! An outside perspective on how down bad they both are was very fun to write)

If you like this story, reblog, share, or leave a comment! <3

If you want to be tagged, just ask!

Taglist

@manicjk @lordofthunderthr @artemys-ackles @brtodd

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hazelira · 2 days ago

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rope to nowhere

ᴖ̈ ⋆˚𝜗𝜚˚⋆ ᴖ̈ ⋆˚𝜗𝜚˚⋆ ᴖ̈ ⋆˚𝜗𝜚˚⋆ ᴖ̈ ⋆˚𝜗𝜚˚⋆ ᴖ̈

You had always known Jay carried a quiet sadness with him. It was there in the way he looked at the sunset, a distant longing in his eyes as if he were searching for something that had slipped through his fingers. You should’ve seen it coming, but you convinced yourself otherwise, hoping that the warmth of his touch and the sweetness of his words were enough to make him stay.

You find him in the kitchen tonight, staring into the cup of coffee he’s cradling between his hands. The dim light casts a shadow across his face, highlighting the sharp angles of his jaw and the curve of his lips—lips that once smiled at you like you were the only one in his world. But now, there’s an emptiness, a hollow look you can’t ignore.

“Jay,” you whisper, your voice barely audible above the refrigerator's hum. He looks up, startled as if he hadn’t noticed you standing there.

You take a step closer, your heart clenching painfully in your chest. “Are you still thinking about her?”

He freezes, the unspoken truth hanging heavy in the air. You see it in his eyes, the guilt, the pain, and the lingering affection he’s tried so hard to bury but never reasonably could. He opens his mouth to say something, but no words come out. He doesn’t need to say it. You already know.

“She still has your heart, doesn’t she?” you ask, forcing the words out despite the lump in your throat. It’s a question you’ve been too afraid to ask, but the silence between you is enough to answer.

Jay’s shoulders slump, and he looks away, his knuckles turning white as he grips the cup. “I’m sorry,” he finally whispers, breaking the fragile hope you’ve clung to. “I thought I could move on—I wanted to—but…”

“But you can’t,” you finish for him, your voice cracking. The tears well up in your eyes, but you blink them back, refusing to let them fall. Not in front of him. Not when he’s already miles away, lost in memories of a love never yours.

He sets the cup down and reaches for you, but you step back. “Don’t,” you choke out, shaking your head. “I can’t—Jay, I can’t be her replacement. I can’t keep pretending I’m enough when I know you’re still in love with her.”

He looks stricken, his hands falling to his sides. “You are enough,” he says desperately, but even he doesn’t believe his words. It’s there in his eyes—the guilt, the regret, and the shadow of a love he can’t let go of.

You swallow hard, forcing a bitter smile. “If I were enough, you wouldn’t still be thinking about her.”

The silence that follows is suffocating. It’s the final nail in the coffin, confirming everything you feared. You take a shaky breath and turn away, leaving the room before the tears spill over.

Behind you, Jay doesn’t call out. He doesn’t stop you. And that, more than anything, tells you everything you need to know.

ᴖ̈ ⋆˚𝜗𝜚˚⋆ ᴖ̈ ⋆˚𝜗𝜚˚⋆ ᴖ̈ ⋆˚𝜗𝜚˚⋆ ᴖ̈ ⋆˚𝜗𝜚˚⋆ ᴖ̈ ⋆˚𝜗𝜚˚⋆ ᴖ̈ ⋆˚𝜗𝜚˚⋆ ᴖ̈

You find yourself standing in the hallway, gripping the edge of the doorframe as if it’s the only thing holding you up. The familiar ache settles in your chest, spreading like wildfire, burning through the remnants of your hope. It feels like a final goodbye, even though no words have been said. You can hear Jay’s soft, uneven breaths behind you, but neither of you moves. Neither of you dares to speak.

The memories come rushing back—nights spent laughing under shared blankets, the way he’d look at you like you were the only person in the room, the gentle brush of his fingers against your cheek as if you were something precious. You realize it was all borrowed time, a fleeting moment where you were allowed to pretend he was yours.

You take a deep breath, forcing yourself to turn back and face him one last time. He’s still standing by the counter, his shoulders slumped, his head bowed. The sight of him like this, broken and lost, would have once made you want to rush over and hold him close. But now, it only makes your heart shatter more because you know his sadness isn’t for you. It never was.

“Did you ever love me?” you ask, the words slipping out before you can stop them. You don’t want to know the answer to it, but you need to hear it. You need to know if there was ever a time, even for a moment, when you were more than a replacement, more than a temporary comfort.

Jay’s head snapped up, eyes wide and filled with a pain you’d never seen before. He looks at you like he’s drowning and searching for the right words to say, but there’s nothing he can offer to make this better. He opens his mouth, closes it, then opens it again, his voice trembling when he finally speaks. “I… I wanted to love you,” he admits, and it’s like a punch to the gut. You almost double over from its force.

You let out a bitter laugh, tears streaming down your cheeks now. “Wanted,” you echo, the word hanging heavy in the air. “But you didn’t. Not really.”

He steps forward, his hand reaching out as if to touch you, but you step back, shaking your head. “Don’t,” you whisper. “Please, don’t make this harder than it already is.”

His hand drops to his side, and the look of defeat on his face makes your heart clench. “I’m sorry,” he whispers again, and you hate how sincere he sounds. You hate how much you want to believe him, to tell yourself that this isn’t his fault, that he never meant to hurt you. But it doesn’t make the pain any less accurate. It doesn’t change that you’re standing here, pouring your heart out to someone who can’t love you.

“I thought I could be enough,” you say, barely more than a broken whisper. “I thought if I just tried harder, loved you more… that you’d look at me the way you looked at her.”

Jay’s eyes squeeze shut, his jaw clenching as he struggles to keep himself together. “You are enough,” he insists, his voice raw and desperate. “You’re more than enough. This isn’t about you. It’s me—I’m the one who can’t let go.”

“Then why?” you demand, your voice rising, the words spilling out like a torrent you can’t stop. “Why did you let me fall in love with you? Why did you make me believe we could have something real when you were never truly here?”

His eyes snap open, and for a moment, you see it—a flicker of something like regret, like he wishes he could take it all back. “I thought I could move on,” he says, his voice breaking. “I thought I could be the person you deserved. But every time I try… she’s still there. In my head. In my heart.”

Your breath hitches, the final confirmation tearing you apart. It hurts in a way you never imagined. It could be like you’re being split open from the inside out. You nod slowly, swallowing the lump in your throat. “I guess this is it, then,” you say, your voice hollow. “Nothing left for me to hold onto, is there?”

Jay’s eyes are wide, panicked. “Wait,” he breathes out, taking a shaky step toward you. “Don’t go—please. I can’t lose you too.”

You let out a shuddering breath, a bitter smile tugging at your lips. “You already have,” you say quietly. “You lost me the moment you couldn’t let her go.”

You turn and walk away, your heart breaking with every step you take. He doesn’t call after you this time. He doesn’t try to stop you. And somehow, that hurts more than anything else.

The door closes behind you, and the silence that follows is deafening. It feels like the end of a chapter, the closing of a book never yours. And as you walk into the night, the cold air biting at your cheeks, you finally let the sobs wrack your body, your hands clutched to your chest as if that could hold together the pieces of your shattered heart.

You loved him with everything you had, but it was never enough. The truth is, you were never the one he was in love with, and maybe you never would be.

ᴖ̈ ⋆˚𝜗𝜚˚⋆ ᴖ̈ ⋆˚𝜗𝜚˚⋆ ᴖ̈ ⋆˚𝜗𝜚˚⋆ ᴖ̈ ⋆˚𝜗𝜚˚⋆ ᴖ̈ ⋆˚𝜗𝜚˚⋆ ᴖ̈ ⋆˚𝜗𝜚˚⋆ ᴖ̈

The days that follow blur together in a haze of quiet loneliness. You bury yourself in work, in books, in anything that keeps your mind busy, hoping to silence the echo of Jay’s words. But they linger, a ghost haunting you in every corner of your thoughts. I wanted to love you. You repeat it to yourself like a mantra, but it doesn’t make the pain any less raw. You wanted to believe it. You wanted to believe that the love he offered, however fractured, was real. But now, all you feel is the hollow ache of unfulfilled promises.

You haven’t heard from him for a few days. The silence between you stretches out as if the space between you has become a chasm neither of you knows how to cross. Every time your phone vibrates, your heart races—until you see it’s not him. Memories flood your mind when you pass by places you used to go together. His laugh, his warm gaze, the way he gently brushed a strand of hair from your face, telling you everything would be okay.

You keep your distance, not because you want to punish him, but because you must protect yourself now. You can’t keep pretending you’re okay when every fibre of your being aches for something that isn’t coming. You told him you couldn’t be her replacement, but the truth is, you were never meant to replace her.

You weren’t supposed to have to fight for a love that was already spoken for.

A week later, you’re sitting on the couch, reading a book that doesn’t hold your attention, when your phone buzzes on the coffee table. You glance at it—Jay’s name flashes on the screen. You stare at it for a moment, your heart frozen in place. Then, with trembling hands, you pick it up, your thumb hovering over the message.

“Can we talk?”

You don’t know what you expect, but the message feels like a dagger to your chest. You stare at it, your chest tightening with every passing second. You’ve spent the last week telling yourself that you were done and couldn’t go back to someone who couldn’t give you what you needed. But here it is—his message, the bridge to the conversation you’ve dreaded.

You don’t respond right away. You let the minutes into hours until you’re sitting with a cold cup of tea, staring at the message as though it holds the answer to everything. You wonder if, deep down, you’re hoping for something—a spark, a sign that maybe he’s finally ready to choose you.

But deep down, you know it’s a lie. You know that whatever he has to say, it won’t change the truth. You were never meant to be his.

Finally, with a heavy heart, you type a response.

“What is it, Jay?”

The message sits on your screen for what feels like an eternity before the three dots appear—his response coming slowly as if he’s trying to find the words. You can feel your stomach twist in anticipation, in dread.

“I’m sorry. I know I messed up. I never should’ve let you get so close if I couldn’t let go of her.”

You close your eyes, the pain hitting you in waves as you read his words. The apology doesn’t feel like enough—not after everything. He can’t undo the past. He can’t erase the fact that you loved him with everything you had, only to watch him look at someone else with the same love you once craved.

“I understand.” You type, and your fingers are cold against the screen. “But you can’t keep apologizing for something you’re unwilling to change.”

You don’t know why you sent it. Maybe it’s because you’re tired of the back-and-forth. Perhaps it’s because you finally realize you’re worth more than this. The phone buzzes again.

“I wish I could be the person you deserve.”

Those words strike you with the force of a freight train. You let the tears fall, but they don’t feel like weakness this time. They feel like release. You’ve been holding on for so long, thinking that maybe, just maybe, he would turn around, but the truth is clear now: He’s not the person you deserve, either. You deserve someone who can love you without hesitation, someone who doesn’t keep their heart tethered to the past.

You don’t respond. Instead, you turn off your phone and set it aside, the weight of the silence now oddly comforting. You know it’s time to let go.

Later that night, you stand by your window, looking at the city lights, feeling the cold air brush against your skin. You allow yourself to breathe freely for the first time in what feels like forever. You didn’t get the love you wanted from Jay, but you’re learning to let go, to finally stop clinging to something that was never meant to be.

In the quiet, you find peace—not because you have all the answers, but because you’ve finally let go of the question.

ᴖ̈ ⋆˚𝜗𝜚˚⋆ ᴖ̈ ⋆˚𝜗𝜚˚⋆ ᴖ̈ ⋆˚𝜗𝜚˚⋆ ᴖ̈ ⋆˚𝜗𝜚˚⋆ ᴖ̈ ⋆˚𝜗𝜚˚⋆ ᴖ̈ ⋆˚𝜗𝜚˚⋆ ᴖ̈

As you stand there, the weight of everything pressing down on your chest, you realize you’ve been holding onto him like a drowning person clings to a lifeline that was never meant to save them. The rope, frayed and weak, slips through your fingers, but you keep gripping it, believing, somehow, that it will pull you to safety.

But in the end, it only drags you deeper into the water.

And now, as you finally let go, you feel yourself sinking, not into darkness, but into an ocean of cold, endless silence—where the only thing left to hear is the echo of your heart breaking.

#hazelira #enhypen #engene #enhypen angst #pov #kpop fanfic #x yn #enhypen drabbles #jay angst #enhypen jay #jay drabbles #jay enhypen #park jongseong #jay park #jay #enhypen comfort #jay comfort

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passengerprincessblog · 1 day ago

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“Off Track” ~ Pt. 3 Franco x Reader

Warnings?: lowkey NSFW. 🙈

Summary: As Y/N and Lewis wait at a fancy restaurant, a lingering sense of guilt fills Y/N as she recalls her recent interactions with Franco. When Franco arrives and takes the seat beside her, the tension intensifies as he discreetly pushes boundaries, all while Lewis remains blissfully unaware.

WC: 1,700?

The restaurant was everything you’d expect when Lewis Hamilton chose a place for dinner. Elegant, dimly lit, with an ambiance that whispered luxury. The manager hovered nearby, discreet but clearly attentive, eyeing Lewis every so often to make sure his famous guest was happy. I couldn’t help but feel a little out of place, yet Lewis seemed perfectly at ease, his fingers tracing lazy circles on the back of my hand as we waited.

“You look beautiful tonight,” he murmured, giving my hand a gentle squeeze. His thumb brushed over my knuckles, his gaze softening as he looked at me, and for a moment, I almost felt like we were just any other couple, sharing a quiet dinner together.

“Thank you,” I replied, offering him a small smile. His touch was comforting, familiar. But as he continued to hold my hand, a wave of guilt rippled through me. Because all I could think about was Franco.

The memory of Franco’s number saved in my phone burned in my mind, a constant reminder of how reckless I’d been. How reckless I felt, even now, sitting here with Lewis, knowing Franco was on his way. My heart raced, not with excitement from the man sitting across from me, but from the one I’d been secretly thinking about all night.

The door to the restaurant opened, and I looked up to see Franco walking in, scanning the room. He was dressed in a dark blazer, his usual race-day attire replaced with something refined, almost… I clear my throat. For a moment, I barely recognized him. I wasn’t the only one; Lewis looked surprised as well, clearly impressed.

Franco’s gaze landed on us, and his eyes lingered on me, a hint of something unspoken flashing in his expression. He looked me up and down, and I could tell he’d noticed the tightness of my dress, the way it hugged my curves. It was a thrill I couldn’t deny, the subtle heat in his gaze sending shivers down my spine.

Lewis stood, breaking the moment. He reached out, pulling Franco into a hug, patting him on the back. “You clean up well, Colapinto,” he said with a grin. “Almost didn’t recognize you.”

Franco laughed, his voice carrying a mix of excitement and pride. “Had to make an effort, you know? Can’t show up underdressed when I’m having dinner with Lewis Hamilton.”

He sounded so sincere, almost boyish in his admiration, and I felt my heart twist as I watched him. But then he turned, slipping into the seat next to me without hesitation, his arm brushing against mine as he sat down. I froze, my mind racing. Of all the seats, he chose the one right next to me… while Lewis was sitting across the table. I told myself I was reading too much into it; it was just a seat, after all. But the thrill that shot through me told me otherwise.

“How are you?” Franco asks me as he looks at me.

“Good… thanks…” I say softly, trying not to look too excited to be next to him.

“Pareces hambriento.. (You look hungry..)” he teases me.

My face heats up at the possibility of innuendo. I’m just glad Lewis doesn’t know Spanish.

As the evening went on, Lewis and Franco quickly fell into a lively conversation, discussing the chaotic race, upcoming circuits, and, of course, laughing over stories involving Lando Norris. They were both completely absorbed, trading jokes and stories, their laughter filling the air between sips of wine.

I smiled, laughed when appropriate, but I couldn’t shake the growing sense of isolation. Here I was, sitting between two men who commanded so much of my attention, yet I felt… invisible. Everything always seemed to circle back to Lewis—his stories, his accomplishments, his world. Even Franco, the one person I thought might make me feel seen tonight, was fully wrapped up in Lewis’s orbit.

I swirled my wine, barely listening to their conversation, my mind wandering back to that spark, that thrilling energy that Franco had brought into my life. It was ridiculous, of course, but I felt as if I were drifting further and further into the background, the invisible shadow beside the legend.

Just as I was about to retreat fully into my thoughts, I felt something warm against my thigh. My eyes widened slightly, my heart stopping as I realized it was Franco’s hand. He was sitting there, fully engaged in a story Lewis was telling about his charity work, but his hand was slowly inching its way up my leg, hidden beneath the tablecloth.

I glanced over at Lewis, my pulse quickening, but he was completely oblivious, too busy discussing his dog Roscoe to notice what was happening under the table. Meanwhile, Franco’s hand moved higher, his fingers pressing gently against my thigh, edging up with a confidence that made my skin tingle.

I shot Franco a quick look, and though he didn’t turn to meet my gaze, I saw the playful glint in his eyes as he continued to nod along to Lewis’s story. His fingers slid higher, grazing just beneath the hem of my dress, teasing me with every slight movement.

My face grew warm, my breathing shallow as I tried to keep my composure. My hand slipped beneath the table, gently covering his, letting him know that I wasn’t pulling away. His fingers stilled for a moment, then continued their slow, steady journey upward, venturing dangerously close to the edge of my lacy underwear.

It was maddening, the way he managed to act so composed, all while his hand sent sparks through me with every inch it climbed. I could barely focus on Lewis’s words, every nerve in my body focused on the touch, the thrill of Franco’s forbidden hand under the table.

“Y/N?” Lewis’s voice broke through my haze, snapping me back to reality. I blinked, looking up to find him smiling softly at me.

“Hmm?” I tried to sound casual, forcing a smile that I hoped didn’t look as strained as it felt.

“I was just saying,” he continued, squeezing my hand across the table, “I’m really glad you’re here with me tonight. It means a lot.”

My heart ached at his words, but the guilt only seemed to heighten the thrill of Franco’s touch. I managed a small smile, nodding. “I’m glad too, Lewis.”

And yet, beneath the table, Franco’s hand was a constant reminder that my thoughts were nowhere near as innocent as I tried to pretend. He was so close now, fingers brushing lightly against the sensitive skin of my thigh, his touch electrifying, as if he knew exactly how to drive me crazy without saying a single word.

Lewis turned back to Franco, starting on another story, and I let out a shaky breath, unable to focus on anything except the hand beneath the table and the butterflies raging in my stomach.

Franco’s fingers paused for a moment, and I dared a quick glance at him. His gaze flicked to me briefly, a subtle smirk playing on his lips. He didn’t need to say anything; the glint in his eyes was enough. He was enjoying this, the thrill of pushing boundaries, of playing with fire. And as much as I hated to admit it, so was I.

With a soft sigh, I leaned back in my chair, still holding Lewis’s hand on top of the table, while Franco’s hand continued its teasing journey beneath. It was dangerous, reckless, but in that dimly lit restaurant, surrounded by laughter and wine, I let myself indulge in the thrill of it.

Just when I thought he would stop, his fingers brushed the edge of my lacy thong, hooking around the band with a boldness that sent a jolt straight through me.

I sucked in a breath, the air catching in my throat as I shifted slightly, acutely aware of every inch of him against me, his fingers toying with the delicate lace, pushing boundaries I hadn't even imagined crossing tonight. My heart pounded in my chest, my mind spinning, trying to make sense of the sudden intensity of it all.

Lewis's voice cut through the haze, snapping me back to the present. "Hey, Y/N, remind me….. how's your Spanish these days? I could barely say 'hello' when I met Franco."

I forced myself to look at Lewis, blinking away the heat that had flooded my cheeks.

"Oh, uh... it's... it's okay," I stammered, my voice wavering just slightly. "I've... picked up a few things."

Franco's fingers pressed gently against my skin, just enough to send a wave of warmth flooding through me. He started tugging it down slowly, and I shifted in my seat, unsure of what was happening. As I lifted my hips slightly to help him .

I struggled to keep my voice steady, to hide the blush spreading across my cheeks as I met Lewis's gaze, feeling my face grow hotter with every second. My hand slipped from Lewis’s, my fingers tingling as I freed myself from his gentle grasp.

Lewis raised an eyebrow, clearly oblivious to my inner turmoil. "I should get you to teach me sometime," he said with a grin. "Maybe then I won't butcher it every time I try to say something to Franco."

"Yeah... maybe," I replied, my voice barely above a whisper. I tried to muster a casual smile, hoping it would be enough to mask the way my stomach was doing backflips, every nerve ending focused on Franco's hand, his fingers tugging at my panties, his intentions clear.

Lewis looks down at his phone as my heart races. I feel the delicate fabric slide down my legs. I shift in my seat, lifting my hips slightly to assist him. The cool air hitting my bare skin makes me shiver with anticipation.

I noticed Franco discreetly tucking my thong into his pocket, and my eyes widened slightly. The realization that he had taken such a personal item sent a thrill through me, and I found myself even more drawn to him. I knew I should feel guilty, but all I could think about was how much I wanted Franco to touch me again.

Franco leaned back slightly, his face calm and composed, but his eyes held that same teasing glint, the faintest of smirks tugging at his lips. He didn't look at me, but he didn't need to. The unspoken tension between us was enough, a silent promise hanging in the air, leaving me breathless and wanting.

The conversation continued around me, but I could barely focus, my mind swirling with the forbidden thrill of Franco's touch and the tangled emotions it stirred within me.

—————————————————

Okay! That was kinda ridiculous, but I just wanted to write it 🙈🙈🙈

I know I’m lowkey edging you guys but … relax I’ll put some smut in here hehe.

I was originally aiming for this series to have more fluff I think? Maybe mixture of lowkey smut and fluff idk…

Idk yet though… I can’t decide 😭.

Lmk in the comments 😇

#f1 x you #f1 x reader #f1 imagine #f1 fanfic #franco colapinto x you #franco colapinto x reader #franco colapinto fanfic #franco colapinto

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sarahreesbrennan · 2 days ago

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I think this is a lovely addition and I am so glad you feel that way. I hoped some people would! I knew not everybody would.

Under a cut to spare your dash, friends, some thoughts about villainy…

I don’t know that we differ in substance, though perhaps in style. I’d say that I agree with you… but it’s complicated.

Long Live Evil poses many questions about the nature of villainy, who is assigned villainy and who gets the sympathy and understanding. It’s about the experience of being assigned villainy, but also understanding the assignment.

Rae is absolutely going through something so awful. She is very understandably angry about it. Indeed, most of the main characters of Long Live Evil have been THROUGH it. That’s part of why they’re seen as villains - though this perception also exists on an axis of gender, class, race, sexuality, disability. These things affect how they’re perceived and how they’re treated and how they act, and there is almost no way to disentangle cause and effect.

‘Under the present brutal and primitive conditions on this planet, every person you meet should be regarded as one of the walking wounded. we have never seen a man or woman not slightly deranged by either anxiety or grief. we have never seen a totally sane human being.’ - Robert Anton Wilson

This world hurts people. And then it can be very harsh to hurt people. We’re blamed for our wounds.

I agree Rae is a more interesting protagonist to me. That’s why I picked her. But there are very, very popular protagonists in fiction I find absolutely dull as ditchwater. (Not saying I find Alice dull. I love Alice.) I’m still interested in why audiences like them, and as I would like to have many readers too, I think about why things are popular a lot. I learn rules… sometimes simply that I may break them.

You might think Rae’s plight would engender sympathy: and for some it does. For many it doesn’t. And I knew that would be the case. I’ve seen it happen in real life many times.

—Someone in my close circle of friends publicly made fun of me for my ‘terrible anger issues’ at a time I was literally too sick to walk and barely able to breathe. I know that person thinks she’s a good person who was good to me.

—this is a very common thing to happen to chronically ill people. Most of my mentees, especially my younger mentees, have been abandoned by many friends who would all confidently state that this is the patient’s fault for being a bad person.

—one woman I know had her ex accurately recount all her behaviour to his new girlfriend without adding the reason why she ceased intimacy, got irritable and didn’t help around the house.

Sick people are legitimately hard to be around sometimes, and they get blamed for being so because it’s easier to blame a person than a disease. Other people don’t want to be the villain, so they make you the villain.

And the making of a villain is an interesting thing to me.

Rae being sick and Rae being perceived as evil and embracing that perception are inextricable. As a society, we are not truly sympathetic to victims. I knew it would be this way, but I still found myself shocked by the way some readers responded to her - she’s so evil that bitch got Key killed, she’s not even evil enough so she’s something pathetic that can be dismissed, she’s cringe because she uses humour as a coping mechanism, everything is her fault, it’s disgusting how much this formerly emaciated by illness woman talks about her boobs. But then, did Katniss in the Hunger Games get as much sympathy for literally starving as Peeta did for having his feelings hurt? (Note: Peeta also had many legitimate problems and I really like both characters.) And then again, isn’t feeling any kind of way about a character a compliment?

This is one of the reasons Rae is a woman. Society is set up to dismiss women’s pain, and discourage empathy with them. (And yet at the same time, we can’t demand anybody likes any specific character, regardless of gender. We can only observe patterns.)

And listen, I am not equating being a gorgeous talented famous artist with being chronically ill, but there is a phenomenon my friend who’s a psychologist has observed, which is that audiences get tired of famous women after a certain number of years (seven at most) and begin to criticise their looks or say they’re annoying or problematic.

Anne Hathaway and Jennifer Lawrence, both relatively inoffensive women, just had to basically go away for a while, until audiences were ready to go ‘wait, is Anne Hathaway talented and beautiful?’ (Yes she has been the whole time.)

The only woman who I’ve seen not have to slink into oblivion for several years when the tide of public opinion turned is, actually, Taylor Swift - there’s a piece online called ‘Darling, Villain, Victor’ which covers this very well. I like Taylor’s songs because a lot of them are narratives. And it was interesting to me to see the way she engaged with the narrative - going ‘okay yes I eat men for breakfast but also they flee from me, I’m drowning in diamonds, I’m covered in snakes, I’m wearing the evil makeup but also the eyeliner is running down my face because I am HYSTERICAL’ - and people looked stupid for saying the thing she’d already said about herself, outsized. Someone who also does this is Dolly Parton. ‘Yes I am everything you say about me. Now what?’

I did find that inspiring. I did want to claim, for my vipers and myself, the beauty and freedom of that ‘Now what?’ Anger is how we survive. We will be blamed for anger and for survival. Okay. Now what?

Another inspiration is the Interview with the Vampire quote ‘evil is a point of view.’ Not one of the Time of Iron characters think of themselves as people who enjoy cruelty for cruelty’s sake. Sure, some glory in justified vengeance, but that’s okay, right…?

To be able to see yourself as the villain in someone else’s story is, in some ways, an act of radical empathy. It’s an early thing Key says that makes him fun to me - that he’s like oh yes, I am evil. He’s very clear-eyed about the fact that, say, many of the people at the glass blowers’ guild (relatively innocent pleasant individuals) were from their point of view flat out murdered by a homicidal maniac for no reason whatsoever. Still when he tells his story, Rae is sympathetic - and it is also the tale of an abused child and a pitilessly corrupt society.

Key isn’t human. And he’s not a sociopath. Key is a god. And actually, it’s considered morally acceptable for gods to raze cities or worlds for sinning, and even to kill their children. But if a god thought he was human and evil, then what? (Was Athena traumatised by her birth?)

Yet another inspiration for me is Congreve. ‘I love her with her faults. Nay, I love her for her faults.’ I did want the vipers to not just be misunderstood darlings but to commit crimes and have serious personality problems.

Does Rae deserve more sympathy than she gets? Sure. At the same time, I really wanted her to have hubris. I refer to Greek plays a lot - where the deus ex machina was invented, art designed for the audience to be rocked and purged by emotion - and it’s this classic failing, to be arrogant and think you can avoid destiny and get this outsize punishment for it. (And people haaate women to be arrogant, and I knew they would find that annoying about her.) Rae doesn’t want Key or Emer to be hurt, but they are both people of a lower class in her employ, whose lives she knows are only saved in the original narrative by another aristocratic woman - and she deliberately sets out to use them and that does put them in harm’s way. Emer is whipped. Key is whipped twice and killed. Rae is not corporally punished in the same way servants are. But then again, when death looms, what choice does she have? Is she the one ultimately responsible for hurting them? No. But does that mean she bears no responsibility at all, when she made a bargain with them? Do we get to hurt others just because we’re hurt? When is lashing out because of trauma okay, never or always? Well…

It’s tricky to discuss personality flaws, because some characters get more sympathy while others’ faults get magnified. I’ve seen Rae discussed as more privileged than Marius - Lord Marius Valerius, second-most powerful man in the kingdom, in possession of literal superpowers, and uh - very arrogant at times himself. (And I love Marius and he has many very legitimate problems!) They are both flawed people. Very few feel villainous to themselves. Very little of what the people we love do to others feels villainous to us. I will miss Octavian so much as an antagonist, because he was such a great one - never for a moment did he consider he was being anything but heroic, and I do think at bottom he was a very ordinary guy, with an absolutely normal capacity for empathy. Yet all that power and privilege and the empty assurance of others and fame ate him right up. He didn’t ever have to look through anyone else’s eyes, and see himself the villain.

But also, can you look at the abyss, and not be changed? Rae at the start of the story would not be capable of tossing a man off the battlements of a tower into a yawning ravine full of flame with a wild, mocking laugh. But she IS that person by the end - and some of us are with her! It’s a villain origin story, emphasis on origin.

So yes it’s wish fulfilment, and yes it’s about villainy, and about having different perceptions of villainy, and which sins and flaws are forgivable in which people... We all have different perceptions. I am posing the questions, but you may have a different answer than I - if either of us find any answers at all.

Still the questions are worth asking. I do believe that.

Truly, thank you for having sympathy with my viper queen.

I remember reading in one of your blog entries (years ago??) that in the new book you were writing, the main character's *sister* had cancer. Does that mean that Alice was originally the main character of Long Live Evil? Was she going to go into the book to save Rae, instead of Rae going in to save herself?

How extremely kind of you to remember!

No, that was actually a YA murder mystery that I wrote while ill, revised while recovering, and sent out into the world where it died on submission. (Which means we sent it out to about 12 editors and the editor either said no, or said yes and took it to acquisitions - a group of people at the publisher including sales and marketing - and acquisitions said no.)

One editor told me she really wanted and really tried to buy it. Another person who worked in publishing (and has since changed jobs, or I wouldn’t share this) said the response at her acquisitions was - if you like this writer, find the next her (implications about health and youth were made).

I was terrified my agent was going to ditch me too, but she said ‘We’ll sell that one day, for now let’s write the next thing.’

I remember another writer telling me she missed my work that wasn’t a tie-in, and I felt ashamed to tell her it wasn’t that I wasn’t writing other things - it was that I couldn’t publish them.

The tie-ins meanwhile were paying the bills (they still are tbh!) and I was and remain so grateful for them. But I also really loved writing them - especially my Sabrina tie-ins, you don’t forget the first, and it reminded me I want to write horror and poly one day - and how they got me to love and sympathise with so many fandoms.

I see the burnout of caregivers all around me, and I wanted to write the story of one. But maybe I also wanted to take a step back from cancer. I didn’t think I did, at the time. I had a whole lot of things I tried writing before Long Live Evil, and I think some of them were really good. One of my critique partners gave me a lipstick with the same name as someone in the murder mystery. There was a romance novel another critique partner said was her favourite thing I’d ever written. But none had someone with cancer at the heart of the story.

And even though Rae isn’t much like me, maybe I had to start there. You can’t make real magic using someone else’s liver. Maybe I had to wait to be brave enough to use my own liver.

I do get requests for advice on how to cope with rejection of your writing, and I always worried I didn’t have anything else to say, but I suppose my example says - if you can, (and I know it’s hard, you feel so terrible at writing and so useless) (and you love the work you’ve done so much and you don’t see a way forward to loving the next thing) (but still, if you possibly can) write the next thing.

Even if the first thing sells, you’ll want the next thing one day. Writing the next thing is more writing practise, so it’ll make you better. Write the next thing.

Ultimately I’m really glad Long Live Evil was my comeback book. I think it needed to be. It took the time it took.

But maybe it was a shade of that past book (where the heroine’s sister with cancer was six, so not much like any of the Time of Iron characters) that made me think of the YA version of this book, which I always had in my mind as something I was intentionally hewing away from - a more straightforward book, a book that might have sold better - in which shy reader Alice was the hero. She’s the one with the suggestive hero name - Alice through the looking glass - the heroine looks, and the more projectable-upon personality. She’d get called annoying less often (though still some, because she’s a girl), partly because she is (with love, Rae knows I’m right) a genuinely less annoying person. Much kinder, much sweeter, and much better at in-depth reading! Her sister being in trouble would’ve been a backstory, a catalyst point, and - you’re totally right - a great motivation for her to get the Flower. Saving a family member is a much more sympathetic and heroic motivation than saving yourself and one I do love (the Hunger Games, Labyrinth, Mahy’s the Changeover, and I write it a lot!). I think Snarky While Tragically Dying Rae would’ve been a pretty popular side character, too. I think it would’ve been a good book! Just not mine.

I love your question because I love thinking about POV, and all the decisions that are the building blocks of a story. To me, the Alice centric Time of Iron is a version that exists. As are several versions of the Lia centric Time of Iron. And versions centring other characters exist to me, too. (Eric, absolutely.)

Speaking of POV musing, I think Rahela the wicked stepsister featured more in the musical than the book. If the Time of Iron series ever became a TV show (and at this point in time I think I’d rather a movie because it wouldn’t… get cancelled…) and I got to write it (don’t know why I would…) I would start with the beginnings for three characters about to go on a journey to somewhere strange to them: Key in the Cauldron, Rae in the hospital, and Vasilisa in the icelands. There are so many possibilities! And I really wanted the sense that there were so many possibilities, too.

But I wanted the chronically ill one to be the centre of the story, and for it to be her villain origin story, and to ask a lot of questions (hence a lot of villains!) about who gets villainised and why. And I thought hers, to my mind, would be the most fun of all the possible stories.

So that’s the one I made. But Long Live Evil has a lot of origins. Thank you for remembering one of them! I don’t think I would’ve dared tell the story, if things hadn’t worked out for me (so far, fingers crossed).

And I also tell it to be clear my publisher was taking a RISK with me and Long Live Evil, and I really appreciate that, and I’m so happy it’s worked out for them (again so far, early days, fingers crossed, etc).

I hope some writers - whether in the process of submission, rejection or making the choices that are the building blocks of story - find this helpful, and some readers find it interesting.

Let this be one of the universes in which your story is told.

#Long live evil #congreve #iwtv #rae parilla #Taylor swift #anne hathaway #Misogyny

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thewritetofreespeech · 2 days ago

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Could I request Hades with a s/o who can go for several rounds of sex?

He never should have gotten involved with one of Aphrodite’s girls.

Hades was usually immune to the Goddess of Love & Beauty, and her entourage, but [Y/N] had struck a chord in him. He thought she was different. And, in many ways she was. Though beautiful and charming like all of them, [Y/N] was intelligent, engaged, and imbued with wit. He thought that because she was different from the others that she might be different in all ways. A foolish mistake.

“Come on…just one more time…”

[Y/N] cooed as she was already beginning to straddle his hips. Hade’s defeated body just a pliable mass beneath her as he’d expended all his energy in their several rounds before.

“My darling, I can’t.” He told her. “You’ve drained me completely. Can we not rest?”

“Oooh…but I can’t help it.” She rolled her hips against his cock. Her lower lips kissing it. He can feel the slickness, and his member tries to react, but cannot. “I just love your cock so much. It’s so big. It fills me up completely.” Hades groaned. Her flattery stroking his ego like her center against his cock. “Doesn’t the big, strong elder God have just one more to give me? I’ll be satisfied after that. I swear.”

A part of him wanted to tell her no, but another part of him, more primal, wanted to take this beautiful woman who seemed utterly obsessed with him. Hades urged his lover forward. Positioning her knees against the pillows by his head. His cock might not be working right now, but in the meantime his mouth worked. They could start there.

“Oh~! Oh yes Hades!” His beautiful nymph writhed against his face and tongue. Rolling those gorgeous hips against him as he lapped at her center. Her swollen clit a bead against his tongue that he played with while his hand tried to stroke his cock back to life.

“Oh! Oh Gods! It’s so good Hades….more…ah…you’re amazing….I’m gonna cum…I’m gonna ccuuummm!” Her walls seized around his tongue even as she squealed gleefully. Her juices coating his mouth and face with delicious honey.

She doesn’t bask in her climax for very long. She never did. Always in pursuit of more pleasure it seemed when it came to sex, [Y/N] looked back over her shoulder to see his cock back alive and grinned before she eagerly slid back down his body to claim it.

Hades groaned and gripped at her hips when she suddenly impaled herself on him. But his grasp does little against her, other than to keep her upright, as [Y/N] rode him in a breaking speed. “Mmm…oh yes…yes your cock! It feels so good inside me. I want no one else! I want your cock inside me all the time. Forever. Oh Gods! Oh Gods! Fill me up Hades!” The god held her hips tighter as he came one more, final time inside her. She shuttered in delight. A little orgasm from feeling his seed spill inside her, before she rode him the rest of the way to her final orgasm.

Completely and utterly spent now, Hades tried to catch his breath while his little lover laid beside him. Seeming unbothered and contented. Her fingers touching the spot where they had been connected and examining her fingers, coated in the two of them with fixation. “I have to go.”

“Go?” [Y/N] asked in surprise. “You do not wish to stay?”

“I have to work.” Though Hades did not know where he would find the energy for it, he did have his Godly duties to attend to.

[Y/N] pouted. Seeming a little disappointed and hurt. “Oh. Ok.” She lay in bed as he dressed but accepted his kiss when he came over to her. Clearly making attempts to pull him back down. “Will you come see me later?”

Hades knew that he should say no. This passion was clearly going to burn through them fast. He would not be able to keep this up forever; nor would his cock. Hades was beginning to realize that his beguiling nymph was more hungry succubus. He should break this off while he still had the will to. “I’ll come back later.” [Y/N] smiled, and all his worries seemed to float away as he left.

Later, while he was managing paperwork that had piled up in these long absences with [Y/N], if she had been a gift sent to him by Aphrodite or a curse. Time would only tell.

#;ask and ye shall receive (request answers)#record of ragnarok #record of ragnarok scenario #record of ragnarok imagine #ror scenario #ror imagine #hades #record of ragnarok hades #hades x reader #ror hades #female reader #record of ragnarok smut #ror smut

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chevelleneech · 1 day ago

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If Buddie happens, Buck being Eddie’s first and last is the only real outcome.

This is long, but if you read it, hopefully it makes sense.

Was reading a fic that made me think about the angst sure to come from Buck not wanting to date Eddie right away, because he’ll be afraid of what Tommy said, regarding someone’s first queer partner typically not being their last.

That has to come back around and mess with Buck, otherwise it was a cheap way to break them up given all the other reasons that would have made more sense. As such, if Buddie is the plan, that has to be part of the initial conflict keeping them apart.

However, I would also hope the story between them is resolved in a way that doesn’t paint Buck and Eddie’s individual queer discoveries with the same sort of brush strokes. Thus far, Buck kissed and man and was like, “Yeah, that makes sense. I’m a boy, girl, and everybody in between kisser.” Whereas Eddie is seemingly going to go through an experience where he either rediscovers his sexuality once he starts letting himself remember what it’s like to not be repressed, or he’ll be hit in the face with it and realize why he’s been so unhappy for so long. Either one is good.

What I’m looking for in terms of them getting together, if it happens, is Eddie getting to decide if Buck is his first and/or last. Because we know Buck will not want to ruin their friendship and be caught up in letting Eddie be happy and explore this new side of himself even though Buck never got to explore. (Unless they finally let him in 8x07 and 8x08). But, I’m getting g long winded. What I’m trying to say is, I would like to see Eddie decide exploration isn’t what he wants, instead of having it sort of pushed on him due to Buck’s insecurities.

I’d like to see Eddie understand his new sexuality, discuss it with Hen or Bobby or whomever he trusts, I’d even like to see him talk to someone in his family and ask them if they knew or had any inclination at all, because we didn’t get that with Buck. They kind of just took what we as a fandom theorized and made it canon. “Buck is bi and it’s been obvious to everyone.” So Hen jokes about it and no one is even slightly curious as to when he made this discovery of self, except Maddie because… because. She joked about him liking men, but sure, she’s the one who didn’t except it.

Anyway, point is, I’d like to see Eddie be proactive about it. Try to figure out if he was the only one who didn’t know that he liked men. And I would like to see that lead to him deciding he doesn’t need a first queer experience partner to guide him, because Eddie has been through serious relationship before, and also grew up much faster than Buck had to in that regard.

Eddie had to become a father and a husband (at least emotionally, because he wasn’t exactly present as either for very long early on) at 18 years old. So he knows what it’s like to settle down and move in and work to pay bills and compromise (sort of) with someone and see their flaws and all that. He super sped through that part of adulthood before he was old enough to really understand it. Then he experienced the death of his wife, and the fallout that took years. He also got into two serious relationships after Shannon, one of which led him to a panic attack and breakup at the thought of marriage, while the other almost saw him moving in with a woman, only for him to panic again and do a thing that cost him his son’s trust.

So Eddie has only ever had pretty serious relationships throughout his adulthood, while Buck has only really had one. Two if we count Abby, because she was a huge stepping stone to him growing up and changing himself for the better, but to me, their relationship was also not a relationship. He and Abby were on two completely different wavelengths, in the sense that Abby was seeking comfort and companionship as her mother died, while Buck was trying to prove he could be a one-woman man. So it was serious in the sense that it helped them both find new paths, but it wasn’t leading anywhere, making it an extended fling essentially.

Ally could sort of be a serious relationship, but I personally tend to forget Buck dated her because she was brought in to replace Abby, and that’s it. They wanted the heartthrob of the show to be dating someone, so they gave him a random girlfriend who they sent packing as soon as they cast someone who could stick around for a while, leading us to Taylor. Buck’s actual first serious girlfriend, who was also his longest relationship to date. They went through many ups and downs and learned things from each other, and helped Buck move into a more mature place as an adult. A place where Eddie already exists.

Where Tommy is concerned, he helped Buck through the discovery of his sexuality, but they had nothing in common and weren’t really compatible. So while I do standby my dislike of how their breakup was written, because there was no potential heartbreak to be had since they barely liked each other beyond physical and Buck wanting to make a new thing work… Tommy wasn’t wrong, I guess. There was nothing between them to keep them together long term, because they’d made it six months and were basically still strangers. Meaning Buck was going to settle in and realize he hadn’t explored and researched and did all the things that make Buck, Buck as he figured himself out. Therefore, them breaking up had to happen.

With Buddie, if they go there and Eddie is Buck’s second queer relationship, it’ll work because they have an established relationship already. He knows who Eddie is to him emotionally. He knows Eddie’s likes and dislikes, and they connect. They even work well in raising a child together. On the other hand, if Buck is Eddie’s first queer relationship, it’ll work because Eddie (at least in my mind) isn’t looking for a man to show him the ropes. He’s experienced all the relationship ups and downs he could ever need, and is likely looking for ease. Something and someone that makes sense and clicks, and doesn’t give him any anxiety or bring with them any uncertainty.

This was a really long round about way of saying: Buck dated Tommy because he is constantly afraid of being left alone with his thoughts. He needs people to see the good in him and stay with him to believe he’s loved/liked. Whereas Eddie is able to sit with his thoughts, because he doesn’t like letting people in. He needs people to see him from an outside perspective to believe he’s okay and isn’t burdening anyone. If they date, Buck will finally have found a partner who stuck around for years, simply because he likes Buck as a person. He is genuinely interested in who Buck is. While at the same time, Eddie will have finally found someone who doesn’t allow him to bury himself beneath his own lies. Someone willing to do the work to pull him out of his own head.

So Buck’s One has to be someone who has always been there, and whom he knows won’t leave because they had more than enough opportunity to do so, yet haven’t. Whereas Eddie’s One has to be someone who sort of forcibly stays, despite all the chances he gives them to leave. He doesn’t need a first boyfriend to breeze in and out, because that will send him spiraling into believing his sexuality is an issue. Buck won’t spiral for that reason, because he kind of doesn’t give a fuck what his sexuality is. He wants to be loved, while Eddie wants to be accepted, and they offer that to each other.

#911 abc #buddie #evan buckley #eddie diaz

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sleepyparalysisdmon · 2 days ago

Text

I saw this and thought of you

An Ah! Love one shot in which Jeonghan gets a little gift for Y/N.

Requested? Yes!

Genre: just a massive amount of fluff. I am so soft for this couple.

Word count: 1.5k

A/N: You definitely don’t have to read Ah! Love to enjoy this, but if you would like the full context, you can find it here. Fair warning, the word count got away from me a bit...

Jeonghan is in the bathroom brushing his teeth when he hears Y/N huff. It’s loud enough to be heard over the scrubbing of the tooth brush in his mouth and he peeks his head out. He hasn’t live with Y/N officially for very long, but it also didn’t take long to do so once finally getting together. He’d kind of already lived a lifetime just trying to figure out how to get here and he felt a ton of relief in being able to say that he’s in a shared bathroom, next to a shared bedroom, in a shared apartment. He liked sharing things with Y/N. Loved it even.

“What’s wrong, baby?” He says through the tooth paste, careful not to dribble any on his shirt since he’s already dressed for work.

Y/N is digging through her side of the closet, tossing shoes around. “Can’t find any shoes to wear with this.”

He dips into the bathroom to finish brushing his teeth before stepping out and giving Y/N a once over (or maybe a few times over) and finally says, “Boots? It’s getting kind of cold, after all.”

“Eh,” Y/N groans. “You're right, but I have to be on my feet a lot today. They won’t be very comfortable.”

“Oh. Well, then just wear your chucks. They’ll look fine with that,” he reassures. He thinks she could pull off a trash bag, much less sneakers and dress clothes.

“Can’t,” Y/N laments. “They ripped last week. Badly.” She pulls out another pair of sneakers, though far less loved than the aforementioned chucks that she's in mourning for. “Will this look okay?”

He nods, because really, what’s the difference between one pair of black sneakers over another at the end of the day? Her expression tells him there is most certainly a difference. “That’s tragic,” he says genuinely. “We’ll need to get you another pair.”

“Oh, yeah. But maybe next month,” Y/N says. Money is not exactly free-flowing for two grad students working entry level jobs and trying to afford an apartment in a major city. They’ve made it work, but he knows she’s aggressively penny pinching and will probably continue to for the foreseeable future. “Anyway, they were like ten years old. An incredibly long life for a pair of shoes I wore nearly every day.”

“Chan will be devastated. He puked on those. They were special.”

Y/N bursts into giggles, pelting a pair of socks at him. “You have no idea how gross that was! Wonwoo and I both almost threw up ourselves as a result of trying to clean that up.”

Jeonghan giggles too, returning the socks and kissing her. “Oh, I have no doubt. I had to take care of him that night, remember? I pretended he didn't exist for a week afterwards.” One more kiss to her lips and he finally sighs. “Don’t be late, I’ll see you later.”

“Love you!”

His heart still races a little hearing her say that so freely like it's an old habit, but he really, genuinely doesn’t have time to run back and kiss her again, so he yells, “Love you too!” on the way out of the room. He'll make up for it by smothering her with affection when he gets home later.

A few weeks later, he meets Seungcheol for lunch. They both work around the block from each other and regularly meet like this, mostly as a way to avoid the awkward lunch conversation with coworkers in their respective break rooms. It's also becoming harder to coordinate time to hang out now that their worlds center around a pesky little thing called full-time employment. Thankful as he is for it, he misses his friends.

They’re walking back from lunch when they pass a store and something catches his eye in the window. Jeonghan stalls out and Seungcheol raises an eyebrow.

“Are you shopping for you?”

Jeonghan elbows him in the ribs. “No, dumbass. Who do you think it would be for?”

“I know, I’m just messing with you,” he admits with a smile. “Her birthday is coming up, isn’t it?”

“Yeah, but… you know how she is about gifts,” Jeonghan trails off. Outside of a single gift exchange for Christmas last year, gifts are just not something that the two of them do. Some couples do all of the gifts - birthdays, major holidays, and just because. He doesn’t know if Y/N will ever be that kind of person, no matter how much he’d like to spoil her. It’s equally endearing and frustrating how non-materialistic she is.

Seungcheol’s shrugging. "You've mentioned it… but this one is functional. She’ll use the shit out of this.”

It’s like a lightbulb goes off above Jeonghan’s head. Seungcheol’s absolutely right and Jeonghan has no idea why he’s hesitated outside of this store for so long. “You won’t hear me say this often, but you’re right,” he tells his friend. “You can go on if you want, I’m going inside.”

Seungcheol waves him off, saying he needs to get back to the office anyway.

Y/N’s birthday dinner is chaotic. Somehow, everyone managed to make themselves available. Seokmin even came into town to visit specifically for this. This dinner is at the tail end of a particularly hellish week for Y/N in grad school - one filled with a few all-nighters and presentations - in addition to working her normal hours at her full-time job. Jeonghan can see she’s burnt the candle at both ends and she doesn’t want to say anything to ruin the celebration, but Jeonghan will. He makes an excuse that it’s his turn with the birthday girl and lets them take it however they want as he guides her out of the restaurant. He expects the group to go bar hopping anyway, something that he knows Y/N would bail on in a split second.

In the car, he buckles her in, patting her thigh lovingly. “You did good, baby,” he praises, knowing how reluctant she was to show up to her own birthday dinner. She loves her friends and would never dream of disappointing them, but loathes that kind of attention being on her.

Y/N gives him a weak smile, “Thanks. And thanks for the escape route, even if it was kind of suggestive.”

Jeonghan laughs. “It doesn’t have to be suggestive, but it could be. That’s up to the birthday girl.”

He helps her peel off her shoes at the door and they both change into pajamas, piling up on the couch. He knows this is how she really wanted to spend her birthday, so he puts on the show that they’ve been binging and lets her cuddle into his side.

“Hey,” he pats her thigh eventually to get her attention, but he ends up waking her. She blinks up at him sleepily. “I got you something, but you can’t be mad, okay?”

Y/N frowns. “Hannie, no. You know I don’t need anything.” Despite the protest, he’s getting up to pull a box from a hiding place in the hall closet.

“Open it. If you still think it’s unnecessary, I’ll return it,” he promises, placing the box in her lap. She sighs, resigned, and rips the wrapping paper, scoffing when she sees the logo on the box.

“Hannie, you didn’t have to do this. I would have gotten another pair myself eventually,” Y/N scolds, hands brushing across the top of the box of chucks.

“I know, but I beat you to it. Take a look,” Jeonghan gestures.

Y/N looks at him, perplexed. “Aren’t they just black?” She doesn’t really wait for an answer, curiosity getting the best of her. Her jaw drops and she pulls out a glittery pair of black chucks. “No way,” she starts in disbelief. “No way!” This one is a little choked and he watches as she tears up.

“I couldn’t help it. I saw it and thought of you. You know I’ll always feed both your chuck habit and your glitter habit.”

Y/N puts the shoe back in the box, hands covering her face as her shoulders shake a little bit. He wraps her up in a tight hug. “Is this a good cry or a bad cry?” He asks, mostly because this happens so rarely that he’s not sure. He can count on one hand the times that he’s seen her cry, and she’s usually quick about wiping her eyes and moving past it. He likes that she's tough like that, admires it even, but also likes that she'll let her guard down like this in front of him. Like he's a safe place.

“Good,” Y/N answers, voice jagged. “It’s nice. Thank you, Hannie. I like that you see me. Really see me, you know?”

Jeonghan does. He’s always felt that way about her. When he met her nearly a year and a half ago, he was totally unnerved by how she saw right through him, but now he loves it. He wants her to know that he’s trying to get her the same way she gets him.

“So, I don’t have to return them?” He asks with a hesitant smile, though he thinks he knows the answer already.

Y/N gives a watery laugh, wiping her eyes. “No, you don’t. I’ll keep these. You’ll never be able to take it from me.”

“At least not for another decade,” Jeonghan muses. “I’ll find you another pair then.” He hopes her heart is even half as full as his is.

#seventeen #svt #seventeen x reader #svt x reader #seventeen imagines #svt imagines #jeonghan #Yoon jeonghan #jeonghan x reader

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sequinsmile-x · 3 days ago

Text

Instincts

Five times Emily doesn't yell at her mother-in-law, and one time she does.

Part 1/6

-x-

Hi besties,

Hope you are all doing as okay as possible <3

Usually, I do these 5+1 fics as a one shot but I'm doing it a little differently this time and this will be a multi chapter.

The final chapter, the one time Emily does yell, will be based on a prompt I received!

As always, let me know what you think!

-x-

Warnings: none for this chapter, pregnancy in later chapters

Words: 2.9k

Read over on Ao3, or below the cut

The first time it happens, she doesn’t even get to meet Caroline Hotchner.

It starts a few days before, when she can tell Aaron is nervous the moment he lets her into his apartment. She smiles curiously at her boyfriend as she steps past him, her lips catching his cheek as his hand skims her waist before he takes her bag from her, hooking it over his shoulder, “Waiting for me in the doorway kind of makes me having a key pointless.”

He chuckles, but it’s not the laugh she loves. It doesn’t come from his chest, doesn’t light up the space between them like it usually does, and it makes concern spark low in her gut. She furrows her brow as he closes the door, his focus on locking it behind them and setting the alarm.

“Sorry, sweetheart,” he says, smiling when he turns to look at her, “I was just excited to see you.”

Emily hums, narrowing her eyes at him as she crosses her arms over her chest, desperately trying to read him - to see what had changed since she’d left him in his office at work just a few hours ago. She’d only gone back to her place to get more clothes. Her apartment was just a place where she kept her things these days because home was wherever Aaron and Jack were.

She’d considered breaking her lease and just moving in with Aaron. All of their friends made fun of them for it, playful smiles on their faces when they teased her for the fact she still had an exit strategy. It would upset her if she knew Aaron thought that way too, but she knew he didn’t, his defence of her always fierce even in the face of joking from their friends. The truth was, something that they were keeping between the two of them for now, that they recently started to look at a place to buy together. She loved sitting in bed with Aaron, her back against his chest, his legs bracketing hers and his chin on her shoulder whilst they looked through listings together. Their favourites either bookmarked on her laptop or circled in the paper. She hated moving, it reminded her too much of her childhood, so she didn’t want to do it twice in quick succession. So for now, she’d continue to occasionally go to her place to pick up some things, content to live in this in-between stage before she finally had everything she’d ever wanted. A home made of brick and mortar. A home made of the man she loves and the boy she loves as her own.

It was a future she was looking forward to. One with him and Jack and whoever else might come along too - the idea of having more children with him enough to make her giddy.

“I only went home to get some clothes, honey,” she says, trying to pull a smile out of him, the smile that belonged to her. His smile doesn’t reach his eyes, his energy still nervous, and she sighs, “What’s going on?”

He clears his throat and puts her bag on his couch, “My mother called.”

She raises her eyebrows, her arms falling to her side, “Oh.”

His relationship with his mother was tense at best. They only spoke now and again, they exchanged phone calls on birthdays and holidays and occasionally sent each other gifts. Emily had never met her, but she’d overheard them talking on the phone, her name thrown around like confetti by her boyfriend, his smile always soft just at the mention of her.

“Yeah,” he says, walking towards her, his hands on her hips, “She’s in town.”

Emily nods, her eyebrows raising even further, already knowing where this was going, “Oh.”

“And she wants to meet you,” he says, squeezing her waist when she opens her mouth again, a third oh dying on her tongue, “Look, if you don’t want to meet her, I understand. I know my relationship with her is hard, and that you probably don’t have a lot of good feelings about her because of that-”

“Honey-” she says, finally breaking out of the slight stupor she’d fallen into. She smiles and cups his cheek, “You’re rambling. You don’t ramble,” she runs her thumb back and forth over his jaw, “It’s cute,” she smiles when he turns his head to kiss her palm, “Of course, I’ll meet her.”

The relief in his eyes is palpable, and she sees the tension in his shoulders loosen, “Really?”

She nods and leans forward to kiss him, her lips stamped against his, “Really,” she says, her nerves dampened a little by the relieved look on his face, the look in his eyes that makes him look like the little boy who never quite stopped looking for his mother’s approval, “She’ll be my mother-in-law one day,” she says, her arms snaking around his neck as he pulls her closer, “It would be awkward if the first time I met her is the wedding.”

He chuckles, leaning in to kiss her, putting all of his love into it. He tightens his grip on her hips so he doesn’t run to the bedroom to grab the ring he’d hidden in his sock drawer, not wanting to ruin his very meticulously planned proposal, “I love you.”

“I love you too,” she says, “So, when are we going to meet her? Are you going to invite her here?”

“No,” he says, sounding more sure than he had since she’d walked through the door, and it makes her smile, “I learnt a long time ago a mutual ground is probably the right call. She likes Italian food. That new place opened up downtown but it’s almost impossible to get in.”

She shakes her head, carding her fingers through his hair, “Impossible if you’re not the daughter of a well-respected US Ambassador,” she says, smiling at him, “If the Prentiss name is good for one thing in DC, it’s for getting reservations.”

He sighs, shaking his head, knowing any favour she asked for from her mother never came for free, “Em, I know how difficult your mom can be, you don’t have to-”

“Hey, what good are my mommy issues if I can’t use them to help you with yours,” she says, leaning in to kiss him, “I’ll call my mom, she’ll get her assistant to get us a table and then she’ll passive-aggressively berate my life choices for 10 to 20 minutes. And you can pay me back in sexual favours.”

He chuckles and kisses her before leaning his forehead against hers, “Deal.”

___

She’s able to focus on his anxiety instead of her own.

If she didn’t know him so well, it would concern her. Make her think that he was worried about her meeting his mother and not the other way around. There was no room for her to even consider that he was embarrassed by her, that he was anything less than proud to call her his. All the nervousness he was feeling, the way he was squeezing her knee like it was a stress ball, was all about his mother. The women he’d come from but couldn’t be more different than.

If there was one thing Emily understood, it was that feeling.

She places her hand over his on her knee as he parks up and she smiles, “I’d ask if you’re okay, but I think if you squeeze my knee any tighter the joint might pop,” she says, and he lets go. She grabs his hand before he can take it away, linking their fingers together and cutting him off so he doesn’t apologise, “It’s okay, honey. It’s dinner. We’ll eat, we’ll make conversation with your mother. And then we can go home and have sex.”

He chuckles and tugs their joint hands towards him and kisses her knuckles, “Why does it feel like our roles have been reserved here?”

She smiles, “Think about it this way,” she says, leaning across the centre console to kiss his cheek, “Your mom lives five states away. We don’t have to see her that often.”

He laughs, “I’m sure I should be assuring you everything will be okay,” he shakes his head at himself, “You’re the one meeting her. I don’t want to paint a bad picture of her. She’s not a bad person. She had a bad set of circumstances. My father was…a bad person and a bad father. She’s not a bad person, but she…”

“Wasn’t a very good mother,” she finishes for him, and he sighs and nods as she flashes a half smile at him, “I’m familiar with the concept,” she unhooks her seatbelt so she can turn to face him, her smile soft as she runs her fingers through his hair, “We can just go home you know. We can turn around. Jack is with Jess tonight so we could just get in the tub. Hang out. You could repay me for everything I went through for our cancelled reservation.”

He shakes his head and kisses her knuckles again, “No. I want her to meet you. To meet the woman I love,” he smiles, “You’re going to be my wife one day. The mother of my kids,” his smile gets wider when she blushes, “You should meet my mother.”

She nods and kisses him, “In that case, we should get going. Otherwise, we’ll be late,” she turns to open her door but he stops her, and she turns to look at him, “You okay?”

“I need you to promise me something.”

“Anything, you know that.”

“You know how you made me promise to not step in if I think your mom goes too far?” He asks, and she nods, her lips pressed together as she sighs, already knowing where he is going, “I need you to make me the same promise.”

She clears her throat, “Is she going to make me wish I hadn’t made this promise?”

“Probably.”

She chuckles, “At least you’re honest,” she huffs out a breath, “Well, I’ve had over 40 years of experience dealing with my mother,” she winks at him, “I can handle one night with yours,” she’s grateful to get a smile out of him, “It will be okay, honey.”

He holds her hand the moment they are out of the car, his palm warm against hers as they link their fingers together. She’d always loved holding his hand, found a comfort in it that she knew he found too. In the moments when she let herself be romantic about it, she tells herself they were made for each other. That the reason her hand fits so well in his, the reason their fingers link together perfectly, is because they were made with each other in mind.

His phone rings and he pulls it from his pocket, frowning as he turns it to show her, the word Mom flashing across the screen. They come to a stop on the sidewalk, stepping out of the way of other people, and he answers.

“Mom, hi, are you at the restaurant already, we’re just…” he drifts off, and Emily can hear the voice of the woman at the end of the phone, but not what she’s saying, “Oh, I see,” he says, looking at Emily, his lips pressed together and his eyes drifting shut, “I thought you wanted to meet Emily,” he adds, and she clenches her jaw as she runs her thumb back and forth over the heel of his hand, “Well, yeah you can do that next time you’re in town. Or maybe we’ll come and see you.”

She can hear the disappointment in his voice, can see the irritation in his eyes, in the way he’s holding himself, and she gets as close as she can to him to provide the comfort he’d never ask for. She rests her head on his shoulder, and the extra height her heels give her means he can rest his cheek on top of her head as he finishes the call with his mom, exchanging goodbyes and see you soons in a way that’s so polite it makes her teeth ache. After he hangs up they stand in silence, still in their strange embrace with her head on his shoulder and both of her hands wrapped around one of his.

“She’s not coming?” She asks, even though she knows the answer, and she looks up at him. He shakes his head and clears his throat.

“No. She’s not.”

“Did she say why?”

“She bumped into an old friend. Went for dinner with her instead.”

She scoffs, “Instead of meeting up with her son?” She clenches her jaw, “Want me to call her back? I can give her a…” she drifts off when he raises his eyebrow at her, a hint of amusement in his smile, “Right. My promise. Does it count even if I haven’t met her yet?”

He chuckles wryly and kisses her forehead, “I’d say especially then,” he kisses her again, “I’m sorry, sweetheart.”

“You have nothing to be sorry for,” she assures him, “It’s not your fault,” she squeezes his hand and hates the look in his eyes when they meet hers. He looks like a lost little boy, entirely too much like Jack, and it makes her want to steal his phone when he’s not looking and break her promise only minutes after she made it. She knows she won’t though, bound by a promise they’d now made each other about their mothers respectively, and she knew how annoyed and hurt she’d be if their roles were reversed, “Want to go home?”

He shakes his head, “No, Em. You went to a lot of effort to get this table-”

“Honey, I don’t care,” she says, cupping his cheek, “I can handle my mother if she says anything about us not using the reservation. I’m worried about you,” she strokes her thumb back and forth over his cheek, “If you want to go in we can, or we can grab a pizza on our way home and I’ll eat in my underwear to try and cheer you up.”

He laughs, the sound more real this time, more hers, and he smiles at her, “I do like the sound of the second option.”

“I know my audience,” she hums and leans forward, stamping her lips against his before she rests her forehead against his, “Home?”

He nods, blowing out a slow breath, “Home.”

She kisses him one more time before she steps back enough for them to walk to the car, both of her hands still wrapped around one of his, “I’m sorry your mom did this, Aaron.”

He sighs and unlocks the car, “Me too. I was looking forward to the two of you meeting.”

She slips in between him and the side of the car before he can open the door for her, “I know,” she says, running her fingers through his hair, “And I was looking forward to meeting her too. Despite…everything, she still gave the world you. And that’s something I want to thank her for,” she says, worry sparking in her chest again when he tightens his hold on her, something she can’t name flashing in his eyes, “Baby, what is it?”

Aaron shakes his head, “It’s nothing.”

“You can tell me,” she says, reaching out for his hand, “You know that.”

He blows out a breath, “I guess I just wanted her to meet you before we start the next stage of everything. Not because I feel like I need her approval or anything. But she’s my mom,” he smiles sadly, “It would nice if she cared enough to meet the woman I’ve told her I’m going to marry one day soon.”

It makes her angry again. The heat of it washing over her in a way she knows has her gripping his hand a little too tight, her knuckles briefly paper white before she lets go, swallowing the fury back down because it’s not what he needs from her.

Not today.

Despite everything, the mere mention of their still hypothetical wedding makes her smile and she squeezes his hand, “I understand that, but if she misses out on anything it’s on her. Not you. Okay?”

He nods, “Okay.”

She leans forward and kisses him, “Now,” she says, kissing him again, “Pizza. Then home.”

“And you in your underwear,” he says, smiling as he steps away so he can open the car door for her, “I seem to remember that being part of the deal.”

“A deal is a deal,” she says, winking at him as he closes her car door once she’s climbed in. She’s alone in the car for a matter of seconds before he joins her, the key in the ignition as soon as his door is shut. “I just thought of something.”

He looks over and sees the vague look of horror on her face, the way she scrunches her nose up ever so slightly, “What, sweetheart?”

“One day our mothers are going to have to meet.”

#aaron hotchner #emily prentiss #aaron hotchner fanfiction #hotchniss fanfic #emily prentiss fanfiction #hotchniss fanfiction #aaron hotchner x emily prentiss #hotchniss fan fic #aaron x emily #hotchniss

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thelonelyshore-if · 2 days ago

Note

I want to request Beck sfw alphabet in case no one else has. I need it for...reasons.

I hope you're doing well, or as well as possible at least.

I'm trying to take it one day at a time; so I'm doing as well as can be expected. I hope you're doing well, too <3

Beck's alphabet below the cut!! I had a lot of fun with this one :3

A = Affection (How affectionate are they? How do they show affection?)

Very affectionate, but it's definitely in their own way. They're very teasing and playful, and they tend to show affection by trying to do things together rather than like…being warm and fuzzy. They do also show affection through kissing. Lots of kissing.

B = Best friend (What would they be like as a best friend? How would the friendship start?)

Beck is a wild friend to have. They're somebody who loves fun and adventure and basically never thinks about consequences. They'd be the friend you go to if you just want to have a good time, but probably not someone you'd talk about your trauma with. And the friendship would start when you do or say something that catches their eye–and they're pretty easy to impress, haha.

C = Cuddles (Do they like to cuddle? How would they cuddle?)

Ehhh up to a point. And that point is like. Five-ten minutes. Anything longer than that and they'll get restless and start to fidget. They really don't like feeling trapped in one place for too long.

D = Domestic (Do they want to settle down? How are they at cooking and cleaning?)

Nope! But he's alright at cleaning and quite good at cooking–baking especially. His go-to strategy to blow off steam in the winter (when it's too cold slash icy to be outside) is to furiously bake until he manages to calm down.

E = Ending (If they had to break up with their partner, how would they do it?)

It wouldn't be pretty!! Beck is bad with emotions!! He'd be tempted to just ghost you, even after a long term relationship. And even when he did sit down with you to do it he'd be prickly and defensive and try to get it over with as quickly as possible.

F = Fiance(e) (How do they feel about commitment? How quick would they want to get married?)

Not good!! Dating stresses him out enough, marriage sounds impossible. It will take a LOT of character growth for him to even consider something like marriage.

G = Gentle (How gentle are they, both physically and emotionally?)

Eh, Beck can be a bit rough around the edges. She doesn't know how to comfort people, especially because she's more of the ‘run away from all my problems’ type. She does try, though.

H = Hugs (Do they like hugs? How often do they do it? What are their hugs like?)

She's pretty hug neutral. Likes them well enough but doesn't seek them out. Her hugs are typically quick squeezes.

I = I love you (How fast do they say the L-word?)

Ahahahaha. Ah. It takes a while. Though I could see her blurting it out without meaning to in a really intense emotional moment.

J = Jealousy (How jealous do they get? What do they do when they’re jealous?)

Beck can get pretty jealous. Not as much in a relationship, although it does definitely happen, but especially when they’re crushing and things aren’t official. They’re very clingy–trying to get MC’s attention, trying to be playful and endearing and fun. And they can be a bit catty with the person they’re jealous of.

K = Kisses (What are their kisses like? Where do they like to kiss you? Where do they like to be kissed?)

Hot and fast and wild. Burning. Beck doesn’t do anything slowly and kisses are no exception. They like kissing their way down your torso, and they like being kissed on the neck and shoulders.

L = Little ones (How are they around children?)

Beck’s great with kids! Like a camp counselor, or a little league coach. Not so much like a parent.

M = Morning (How are mornings spent with them?)

Sleep in as late as you can manage. Wake one another up with kisses–or more. Shower together after. Beck makes a big breakfast, unless you’re in a rush to do something–then grab something fast. The only times this would be broken up are days she decides to go for a morning jog. Mornings are probably the time she goes the slowest overall–she isn’t a morning person.

N = Night (How are nights spent with them?)

Staying up late doing something fun and entertaining. Motorcycle ride, going out to a bar, bonfire on the beach, ghost hunt in the forest. Never boring, if she can help it. You probably could talk her into getting cozy and watching a movie, but she’d get antsy half way through. Once it’s good and late and she’s exhausted, collapse into bed together. That’s her ideal night, anyway.

O = Open (When would they start revealing things about themselves? Do they say everything all at once or wait a while to reveal things slowly?)

Beck claims to be an open book. Beck is a liar. She’s very open about surface-level things, and will openly complain about her (many) grievances with the town, but anything deeper? Her emotions–her feelings for you? That you’ll have to pry out of her with a crowbar.

P = Patience (How easily angered are they?)

They’re quick to anger, quick to cool down. They don’t really hold grudges.

Q = Quizzes (How much would they remember about you? Do they remember every little detail you mention in passing, or do they kind of forget everything?)

Eh, Beck tries their best. They remember the big stuff–like your birthday–but their mind tends to slip on the details. Especially if they’re distracted when they hear about it in the first place. They’re not the best at retaining that sort of thing.

R = Remember (What is their favorite moment in your relationship?)

Looking to the future: Beck’s first date will be an (optional) motorcycle ride, and then a walk along the river.

S = Security (How protective are they? How would they protect you? How would they like to be protected?)

VERY VERY VERY Beck will fight literally anyone or anything to keep you safe. They act without thinking, they’ll straight up tackle a monster unarmed to try and protect you. They’re a good shot and scrappy as hell, too, so they stand a chance. On the opposite end, they don’t actually love being protected. It makes them feel weak–like they should have been able to keep themself and you safe.

T = Try (How much effort would they put into dates, anniversaries, gifts, everyday tasks?)

Beck gets creative with dates–or, as creative as they can in Easthaven. They don’t like doing the same thing twice, and put a lot of effort into keeping things exciting. As for gifts, they aren’t so much the type to agonize over getting you the ‘perfect gift’. More likely they’d buy something on impulse that reminded them of you.

U = Ugly (What would be some bad habits of theirs?)

He’s reckless to the point of self-destruction, terrified of commitment, and would rather die than talk about his feelings. He also isn’t always the best listener. If his mind wanders or he’s distracted while you’re telling him something, there’s a not insignificant chance he’ll forget what you said altogether.

V = Vanity (How concerned are they with their looks?)

Very. Beck knows he’s attractive, he’s proud of that, and he works hard to keep it up. He likes looking good. Likes being desired.

W = Whole (Would they feel incomplete without you?)

Oh. Hm. This is complicated for them. Not for a long time, I think, but if you managed to get them in a dedicated relationship and they managed to get over some of their commitment issues, then I think they might lean this way, yeah. MC has the potential to become their whole world.

X = Xtra (A random headcanon for them.)

Beck is ambidextrous. Their grandpa was the most important person in the world to them, and they haven’t felt the same since he passed away. They don’t like sweets much but do like soda. In middle school they once accidentally started the science classroom on fire and was suspended for a week.

Y = Yuck (What are some things they wouldn’t like, either in general or in a partner?)

I think one thing that would really unsettle Beck is a partner who tries to boss them around. They don’t mind somebody looking out for them–in fact, somebody tempering some of their more unwise decisions would be good for them. They like being challenged. But being treated like a child or a rowdy teenager would be an instant turn-off.

Z = Zzz (What is a sleep habits of theirs?)

Beck’s somebody who can sleep just about anywhere. They prefer being cozy in bed or on a couch, sure, but they won’t balk at sleeping somewhere strange if it means getting a few hours in.

#asks #beck

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