#his little dances... he was having so much fun...

[ebodebo]

jason can't find you…turns out you’re shitfaced at a club in gotham…

-

Jason can't find you.

It's as if you have just disappeared off the face of the earth.

His phone calls went straight to voicemail, and his texts were getting left on delivered. 

Per Alfred's request, Jason was to attend a crucial charity banquet at Wayne Manor tonight.

So, you told him you'd just stay home, take a hot bath, maybe order some takeout.

Stay at home.

That's what you said.

But, when Jason returned, the house was eerily silent, the bathwater ran cold, and the takeout left untouched. 

You were gone.

So, he's been scouring every corner for you for the last thirty minutes, his efforts seemingly in vain.

He even begrudgingly enlisted the help of his brother to help.

He's desperate.

"I don't care what girl in Gotham you were planning on screwing tonight, Dick. Find her," Jason grits out to Dick over his walkie, his voice laced with palpable tension.

"Fine," Dick sighs, his annoyance at Jason's attitude seeping through. "I'll go look with Tim," his voice is monotone, but the irritation is unmistakable.

"Go," Jason's voice is icy. 

"Asshole," Dick grumbles, not minding that the walkie is still connected with Jason's.

"Still on the line, idiot," Jason spits, clearly vexed. 

"Good. Was hoping you heard that," Dick chimes before the static takes over the line and the line goes dead.

Jason lets out a curse, hand gripping the steering wheel tight with tension his mind flooding with all sorts of worst-case scenarios.

What if someone had taken you?

What if he was to come across your idle body?

All bloody and bruised.

Limp and gone.

His stomach drops at the thought, throat growing tighter as he drives hurriedly around Gotham.

That is until he hears a ping from his phone, he almost swerves into a building grabbing it.

But, it isn’t from you.

It’s from a friend of his.

“Dude your girl is fucking shitfaced.”

Before he can respond, his friend sends another text.

“Shes dancing on a table at iceberg. attracted an audience.”

Jason releases a sharp breath, both from anger and relief.

You were alive.

But, you were at a fucking club, drunk out of your mind, dancing on a God-damn table.

Jason types quick, eyes moving from the road to the phone frantically.

“Don’t let her out of your sight. I’m on my way.”

-

“Take your top off!”

“This chick is fucking awesome!”

“Keep the shots comin!’”

You can hear a murmur of voices, but it feels like an echo reverberating in your mind.

You’re plastered.

You can hardly believe that you made it up on the table in heels.

Admittedly, they may be shorter, but they’re still heels.

Somehow, you’ve found your footing on the table, dancing carelessly as if the world around you doesn’t matter.

You glance toward the door and spot your boyfriend, as dashing as ever in a tailored suit, maneuvering through the crowd separating you from him.

“Hey, baby,” you shout excitedly as he draws near.

His gaze meets yours before moving over you from head to toe.

Your dress has ridden up your thighs, leaving your skin exposed.

A strap on your dress slipped a little off your shoulder, showing off the top part of your breast.

He can't wrap his head around the fact that these people are still encouraging you and filling you with booze.

“Show’s fucking over,” he grits to the crowd surrounding you, his hand moving to help smooth down your dress.

“I’ve been trying to reach you, but you haven’t answered my calls or texts,” he murmurs, his hand reaching out to take yours.

You lean down a bit as he holds your waist to carefully lift you down.

“This is my boyfriend,” you voice out as your shoulders grip his tight. “I love him,” your eyes drift to him as your feet plant firmly on the ground.

“My calls go straight to voicemail and you haven’t been answering my texts,” he utters, concern evident in his tone.

"My phone died," you say casually. "Been having so much fun," you remark as you push your hands against his chest, a broad smile lighting up your face.

“Did you come alone?” He asks, gently adjusting the strap of your dress so it rests neatly back on your shoulder.

“Of course not," you reply confidently, pausing to tap your finger on your chin in contemplation. "But, I can’t remember who exactly I brought…”

“Jesus Christ," he groans, reaching out to grab your hefty purse from the table, his fingers curling around it tightly. "Can you walk?”

“Mhm. I think,” you say, taking a step forward only to almost fall. “The heels hurt, Jay,” you murmur as he catches you quickly.

“Sit,” he says plainly, motioning to a vacant chair.

You comply as he bends down to carefully unclasp the ankle straps, slipping them off your aching feet.

“Are you mad at me?” You ask, fingers fidgeting in your lap.

“A little, yeah,” he says, standing up with your heels and purse dangling from his fingertips.

You pursed your lips slightly as he helps you stand. “I’m sorry my phone died,” you whisper as he leads you out of the club, his hand lingering on your lower back.

“Not particularly upset about that, sweetheart," he begins. "Well, your phone should always be charged before you leave."

He turns to you, his eyes intensely focused on yours. "I don't care if you want to go out, but please let me know where you're going. So if anything happens, I’ll know where to find you.”

“Were you…scared?” You murmur, eyes moving to stare at the concrete path you stand on.

“To death,” he replies immediately. “I thought...I thought,” he begins, opting for a lighter tone. “I just thought that something bad happened, you know?”

“I’m sorry—I didn’t mean to make you worry,” you can feel tears welling, voice a little wobbly.

Jason lifts your chin to meet his gaze. “Hey, I’m just glad you’re alright, okay? I love you.” He presses a kiss to your forehead.

You give him a gentle smile and go on your tiptoes to press your lips against his.

His hand wraps around your waist, welcoming your lips on his.

“Why are you wearing a suit?” You murmur against his lips, your voice already breathy.

“Banquet?” He questions, raising his brow slightly since he mentioned earlier that he had a banquet.

“Looks nice,” you pant against his lips, fingers dragging over the knot of his tie, haphazardly trying to rip it off. “Really nice.”

That prompts a deep laugh from him, his lips rumbling against yours. “You’re drunk,” he states, pulling his lips back and caressing your cheek.

“Think I wouldn’t wanna fuck you sober?” You press your lips back to his with intent.

“Baby, we have sex regularly,” his voice is slightly strained. “But we aren’t having sex while you’re shit-faced,” he steps back, his hand gently massaging your hip.

“I’ll blow your fucking mind,” you murmur, taking his hand to interlace your fingers as he guides you to the passenger side of his car.

“Trust me,” his voice is strained, as he helps you into the seat. “I know.”

You smile as he leans down to kiss the corner of your mouth.

“I’ll take good care of you in the morning, okay?” he assures, a mischievous glint in his eye.

“Looking forward to it,” you say, laying your head back on the headrest and almost immediately falling asleep.

It’s safe to say that he took excellent care of you the following morning…and afternoon…and evening.

-

author’s note: you naughty girl you

[fireinmoonshot]

dream of you | joaquín torres x reader

Pairing: Joaquín Torres x Reader Summary: When you get drunk, you decide to tell Joaquin all about how much you love his thighs. Joaquin is flattered, but he cares more about taking care of you. Warnings: 18+!! Reader is very drunk for the entirety of this fic, it's also mentioned that they wear a dress and make-up. Painkillers are also referenced. It also gets a little suggestive. Word Count: 1.1k A/N: This is entirely self indulgent in some ways because basically, I watched a video of Danny Ramirez and couldn't help but stare at his thighs so I had to write something about it... and then it also just turned into Joaquín taking care of reader when they get drunk 😅

Joaquin can be dangerous when he’s needy. But one thing that is more dangerous than a needy Joaquin is you when you’re needy. It’s a well known fact that out of the two of you, he is the one who initiates most of the touching and the public and private displays of affection. That’s exactly why Joaquin loves when you take his place. It doesn’t happen very often, but when it does he laps up every moment of it.

Tonight, you’re a little needy because you’ve been drinking.

You and Joaquin had been out at the club, spending the night there dancing and drinking to get rid of all of the stress of the past few weeks. Joaquin had been away on a mission and you’d been drowning in paperwork at your job. A night out was exactly what you needed and it had done the job perfectly. 

Joaquin had drunk a lot less than you, wanting to stay reasonably sober so he could take care of you. You weren’t often someone who got terribly drunk, but when you did Joaquin was always ready for it. You were a fun drunk, which is why Joaquin was a little surprised when you both got home and collapsed on the couch and your fun side was replaced by something else. 

He head is resting on the back of the couch, his eyes staring up at the ceiling. His head is pounding a little, a headache forming, and he desperately needs a shower to get rid of all of the sweat from the dancing, but he wouldn’t change a thing about the night. He’d had so much fun dancing and spending the night with you.

He startles a little as he feels your hand land on his thigh. He moves his head to look at you, sitting beside him on the couch. You’ve started to sober up a bit but he can tell you’re still very much intoxicated, but the playfulness has gone from your eyes.

Your hand tightens on his thigh and Joaquin’s breath hitches.

“Woah, angel. What are you doing?” He rests his hand over yours.

It’s rare for you to initiate touches like this. You’re usually one to touch him casually – holding his hand, an arm around his waist, things like that. Not putting your hand on his upper thigh late at night after a night out…

“I just love your thighs,” you mutter, words slurring a little bit and confirming to Joaquin that you are still a bit drunk. “Have I ever told you that before?” 

Joaquin swallows. “No, I don’t think you have.” That has come out of nowhere, he thinks. Have you always had a thing for his thighs? He’s never suspected a thing. You’ve never felt up his thighs before… he’s thoroughly confused but not at all bothered by it.

You shake his hand off of the top of yours so you can slide your hand up and down his thigh, feeling the muscle as he tenses underneath your hand. He laughs a little, reaching down to grab your hand again but you swat his away. 

“Angel, you gotta stop doing that, all right? You’re still drunk,” he attempts. While the last thing he wants you to do is stop and there’s a little part of his brain that wants to grab your hand and move it higher, he’s not going to do such a thing when you’re intoxicated and can’t fully consent to anything right now. 

You huff, tightening his grip on his thigh. “I just love your thighs, baby.”

“Yeah,” Joaquin breathes, “you have mentioned that.” 

Joaquin watches, eyebrows raised, as you move to straddle his thighs. You rest your hands on his shoulders instead now. 

“I just love you, baby,” you mutter this time.

He chuckles to himself, arms wrapping around your waist. He has no idea what your intention is by climbing onto his lap, but his only intention is to pick you up, take you to the bedroom, get you changed into some comfy clothes, make sure you drink a glass of water and take your make-up off for you so you can get some much needed sleep. 

“I love you too, angel,” Joaquin smiles at you. “Now, come on.”

He ignores your noises of protest as he lifts you up. In straddling him, you’d made it much easier for him to pick you up – something you realise a little too late – and after only a few seconds of walking you allow yourself to relax in his arms as he carries you through the house, resting your head on his shoulder. 

Once he gets to your bedroom, he sits you down gently on the bed and busies himself with grabbing you some pyjamas so you can change into them. Even though he has to help you out of your dress, he doesn’t mind a single bit. He pours you a glass of water while he goes into the bathroom to get your make-up remover and a cloth. When he sits down beside you on the bed a few minutes later, he bites the inside of his cheek when your hand rests on his thigh again. 

“You wanna know something, Joaquin?” You murmur as he gently wipes away your make-up. 

“I’d love to.”

“You have really nice thighs,” you hum.

Joaquin can’t help but laugh. This is, what, the third time you’ve told him that tonight? He continues focusing on taking off your make-up and once he’s satisfied that it’s all off he sets the cloth aside. “Thank you, angel,” he says. “Will you hop into bed for me now?”

Thankfully, you don’t fight him on it, crawling up to the top of the bed and pulling the covers down so you can slide into the bed. You purposely curl up on his side of the bed, resting your head on his pillow that smells just like him. 

He doesn’t even care that you’re laying on his side of the bed. He finds you too adorable to be annoyed at you at all – not that he ever really gets annoyed at you. “You gonna try and get some sleep now?” He asks, crouching down beside the bed so his face is closer to yours.

“Yeah, and I’m gonna dream about you.” Your voice is quiet, your eyes already fluttering shut. He can tell that you’re exhausted and probably only moments away from falling asleep. 

“Oh, really?” Joaquin whispers. “That sounds like a good dream. Goodnight, angel.” He leans down and presses a kiss to your forehead and only when he’s sure you’re fast asleep does he leave the bedroom – but only to get you another glass of water and some painkillers that you’re definitely going to need for the morning.

He leaves them on the side table while he goes and has a much needed shower, and when he slides into bed next to you a little while later, you’re fast asleep and dreaming.

When you wake up the next morning, you have a very vague recollection of telling Joaquin about how much you loved his thighs… but no… that must’ve been part of the dream as well…right?

[theballadofharkness]

Whisky and Wine: Part 5

Series Masterlist

Pairing: Claire Debella X fem!reader

Summary: The last thing you expected when you came home from your publishers to your older partner Claire’s home was an invitation to her friend’s, Billionaire Miles Bron, private luxury yacht for the weekend. The problem? Claire had been very careful to keep her fellow disrupters away from you, terrified they would ruin yet another aspect of her life. But nobody says no to Miles, so you find yourself surrounded by Claire’s ‘inner circle’.

Word Count: 9.1K

Warnings: Explicit smut, probably the most smut I’ve ever written?? So as always minors DNI

A/N: apologises this took so long! I was getting the smut just right for you my loves but I should be back to updating more regularly and for those who enjoy my Agatha works, I have quite a few things to publish soon xo 💜🪻

The club is electric.

A blur of flashing neon, bass so heavy it rattles in your ribs, heat thick with sweat and smoke and indulgence. Excess wealth drips from every surface, from the imported leather booths to the bottles of champagne being paraded through the crowd, sparklers fizzing in the dim light. It’s obscene. And Miles fits right in. You see it in the way he moves through the room, eating up the attention, the way people part for him, orbit him like he’s the center of their universe. He drinks it in, revels in it.

And then his gaze lands back on you.

Claire’s hand is already on your hip, fingers resting just inside the dip of your dress, grounding. She’s been like this since she almost lost you, unable to stop touching you, keeping you close like you’ll slip through her fingers if she doesn’t hold on tight enough.

But Miles? He doesn’t care. He sidles up, drink in hand, grin lazy and too familiar.

"You’re something else, you know that?" He says it smooth, all charm and casual confidence, his eyes sweeping over you, lingering in a way that makes your skin crawl. "Claire’s got good taste." A slow sip of his drink, a smirk. "Real good taste."

Claire stiffens. It’s subtle, just the faintest shift in her posture, the slight curl of her fingers against your hip, but you feel it. "I know," she says, voice smooth as glass, but firm. Unyielding.

Miles just chuckles, shaking his head, leaning in slightly- too close, close enough that you catch the faintest trace of his cologne, something sharp and manufactured. "You should let her dance," he muses, tipping his chin toward the crowded floor. "Relax. Have a little fun. You don’t always have to keep such a tight grip, Claire."

His eyes flick back to you, something hungry in them. Something that makes your stomach churn. But before you can react, before you can so much as breathe, Claire is moving. Her hand slides from your hip to your waist, pulling you flush against her, her other arm coming up to drape across your front, keeping you right where she wants you.

"She’s mine, Miles." Her voice is velvet and steel, smooth but dangerous. She doesn’t raise it, doesn’t have to. "And she’s perfectly happy right where she is."

Miles raises his hands in mock surrender, smirking. "Alright, alright," he laughs. "No need to get territorial."

But that’s exactly what this is. Territory. And Claire is staking her claim. You feel the way her grip lingers, the way her breath is just slightly uneven against your hair. She’s rattled. More than she wants to admit. So you lean back, pressing into her warmth, letting your head tip against her shoulder.

"You’re right," you murmur, just for her. "I’m perfectly happy where I am."

Her exhale is shaky. And then she presses a kiss, soft but firm, to the side of your neck. Not just for you. For Miles, too. A warning. A promise. A claim. And Miles? He’s still watching.

You can feel it. Every time his gaze drags over you, every time his smirk flickers, every time he whispers something to Whisky and doesn’t bother to look away when Claire catches him.

She’s tense. You feel it in the way she pulls you closer on the dance floor, the way her hands are firmer, the way she presses against you, like she’s shielding you from something unseen. Like she owns you. And maybe it’s the alcohol, maybe it’s the music, maybe it’s just her, but you like it.

"Dance with me," she murmurs, voice low, rough at the edges, her breath warm against your ear.

And you do.

You let yourself melt into her, swaying with the rhythm, letting her hands grip your waist, guide your movements, keep you exactly where she wants you.

"Fuck, baby," she breathes, lips just barely grazing your jaw, her fingers digging into your skin as you press your body against hers. "You look so fucking good like this."

Your head is spinning, your pulse skipping as you whimper, as your hands find the sharp lines of her shoulders, steadying yourself against her.

"Claire-"

But she’s already moving, already tilting your chin up, already claiming your mouth with hers. Hot and possessive, her tongue sweeping over yours, her hands gripping your hips, holding you steady as she devours you right there, in the middle of the club, in front of everyone. And maybe it’s petty, maybe it’s reckless, maybe it’s just desperate, but you let her. Let her kiss you breathless, let her stake her claim, let her pull you in so tight you forget about everything else- about Miles, about the lies, about the tangled mess of the night. All you know is her. Her lips, her hands, her body burning against yours.

And when she finally pulls back, her breathing ragged, her grip still tight, you allow yourself to take in your surroundings.

Birdie is a spectacle, commanding the room the way only she can: loud, uninhibited, draped over Lionel, who looks half amused, half horrified, but still dances with her because resisting Birdie Jay is simply not an option. Whisky is dancing filthy against Duke, all slow rolls of her hips and teasing fingertips, her body built to be watched, to be desired. And then there’s Miles. Sitting back in his chair like it’s a throne, watching it all unfold, swirling the last of his whiskey in his glass like a king surveying his kingdom. His eyes flick from Birdie and Lionel, to Whisky and Duke, to Claire, to you. Always back to you.

Because for all his wealth, for all his power, for all the ways he’s collected and bought the people around him- he doesn’t own you. And that? That’s an itch he is dying to scratch.

But you’re too busy being wrapped around Claire, pressed against her as you move, as the music swells, as the heat builds between you. She’s been holding you, guiding your body, her breath heavy against your neck, her hands running down your waist, her fingers tightening every time you grind back against her.

"Fuck, baby," she groans, voice thick with want, "you’re gonna kill me."

You tilt your head back to brush your lips over the shell of her ear, barely-there, teasing. "I need you to do something for me, Mommy."

The choked noise she makes goes straight to your core. Her grip tightens, her nails digging in just enough to ground herself, to control herself, but barely. "Anything, baby, just- fuck just tell me."

And you feel the power shift. You have her. Just like Miles wants to have you.

So you turn in her arms, winding yours around her neck, kissing her hard, pouring every bit of heat, of want, of command into it. And when you finally break away, your lips barely brushing hers, you say it- low, firm, final:

"This is the last time."

Claire blinks, hazy, desperate, drowning in you. "Wha-"

"You’ve done enough for him." You look directly at her, eyes sharp, cutting through the haze, through the club, through everything. "No more."

Her breath stutters. Her fingers flex against you. And then, soft, shaky, like a promise she doesn’t know if she can keep but wants to, for you. "Okay, baby."

And behind you, from across the room Miles watches. And smirks.

"Claire!" Birdie’s voice cuts through the music, demanding, exuberant, as she practically twirls Lionel around on the dance floor. "Come dance with us!"

Claire barely has time to respond before Birdie’s attention snaps elsewhere. "Duuuuuuuuke!"

Duke, mid-drink, immediately straightens, puffing out his chest as he strides over. "DISRUPTORS ASSEMBLE!" he bellows, grinning wide, slinging an arm around Lionel.

You laugh, just a little, shaking your head, and turn to Claire, smoothing your hands over her chest before giving her a gentle push. "Go on," you murmur. "They’re your friends. I’m just gonna grab a drink."

She hesitates, just for a second, just long enough for her fingers to tighten on your hips. "Baby-"

"Go," you insist, softer this time, pressing a quick kiss to her jaw before stepping away.

Miles watches you from the edge of the dance floor, but when Claire finally lets you go, when she joins the group, he moves too, slipping back into the writhing mass of bodies, back into his kingdom.

You exhale, rolling your shoulders, and make your way toward the VIP bar. And that's where you find Peg. Sprawled out on a velvet sofa, one arm draped over her face, looking seconds from accepting her fate and just passing out right there. She hears you approach more than she sees you, cracking one eye open with a groggy groan before shifting just enough to make room for you.

"Ah," she sighs, voice flat, "welcome to the reject sofa."

You laugh, sinking down beside her, the exhaustion suddenly creeping in now that you're sitting. "That bad?"

"Worse." She gestures vaguely at the club, at the chaos, at everything. "Birdie is in full spectacle mode, Lionel is one drink away from an aneurysm, and Miles is being... well. Miles."

You hum, glancing toward the bar just as Whisky steps up, ordering something strong and dark before turning, catching sight of the two of you, and smirking.

"Oh, so this is where the cool girls hang out," she teases, slipping into the seat across from you, crossing her legs as she swirls her drink. "Mind if I join"

Peg snorts. "Please. The reject sofa welcomes all."

Whisky settles in beside you, stretching out her long legs, and tilts her head toward you with an easy, knowing smirk. "So," she drawls, "are you still mad at me?"

You sigh, slumping a little, resting your head against her shoulder. "No."

She huffs a little laugh, the warmth of it brushing against your temple as she takes a sip of her drink. "That didn’t sound very convincing."

"I’m sorry," you admit, voice soft, heavy with exhaustion. "I just-" You exhale, rubbing a hand over your face. "I hate this trip."

Whisky smiles, nodding like she gets it, because she does. "Yeah," she murmurs. "I get it. These things bring out the worst in us all” She shifts, tilting her head toward Peg. "This is my third one. And it’s awful every time."

Peg laughs, dry and sharp, lifting her glass. "Oh, three?" She grins, eyes glinting with something almost manic. "Try six”

You and Whisky both whip around to gape at her.

"Six?!" Whisky gawks, looking horrified. "How are you even still alive?"

Peg just shrugs, taking a long, deliberate sip of her drink before leveling them both with a deadpan expression. "I’m not."

You snort, pressing your face into Whisky’s shoulder to stifle the laugh bubbling up.

"I mean, to be fair," Peg continues, leaning back into the sofa, "the first couple weren’t so bad. Back when Andi was still around to keep Miles in check. But once he started thinking of himself as a genius, it was all downhill from there."

"God, I bet," Whisky mutters, taking another sip.

You shift, glancing toward the dance floor, where Claire is still tangled up in the group, her sharp, poised movements almost reluctant, like she’s indulging Birdie rather than actually enjoying herself. Your stomach twists. You don’t want to think about why.

"You know," Whisky says, drawing your attention back to her, "the best way to survive one of these trips?" She lifts her glass, winking. "Drinking just enough that you don’t care."

Peg raises her glass in agreement. "Amen."

You take a slow sip of your drink, letting the alcohol burn its way down, before exhaling sharply and leaning back against the sofa. "Fine," you mutter, setting your glass down with a decisive clink. "I’ll be the first one to say it.”

You glance between them, then out toward the dance floor, where Miles is laughing too loud, where Claire is wrapped up in it all, back in the fold, back in the place that makes you feel sick. "What do you think about them all agreeing to do this?"

The air between you shifts. The easy humor from moments ago drains, slipping into something heavier.

Whisky exhales, rolling her glass between her palms, her expression more thoughtful than upset. "Honestly?" she murmurs. "I get it."

Peg raises a brow. "You get it?"

Whisky shrugs. "Look, I’m not saying it’s right, it’s obviously fucked, but…" She sighs, tipping her head back, staring up at the glowing lights overhead. "I have options. Duke? Miles? I can figure something out. But them? They need him."

Peg scoffs. "Damn, that’s cold. You’re not worried for Duke?"

"Of course I am!" Whisky snaps, suddenly defensive, leaning forward. "But he won’t listen to me. I’ve tried before. He keeps saying this is just how the game works, that if you don’t take what’s offered, someone else will."

You chew on your lip, absorbing her words because there’s nothing else to say. Then you turn to Peg. She’s stiff, her jaw tight, her fingers clenched in the fabric of her dress like she’s bracing herself.

"And you?" you press.

She doesn’t answer immediately. She stares down at her drink, like it might hold the answer, like it might give her a way out.

"I can’t even begin to think about this," she finally mutters, voice small, fragile in a way Peg never is. "This could destroy her." Her fingers tighten around her glass, knuckles white. "And then I’m ruined."

You swallow. "Peg-"

"I’ve only ever worked for Birdie," she cuts in, bitter, shaking her head. "Apart from that one short stint working at Claire’s till I got fired for piercing a kid's ear wrong. And if this goes bad- if this turns into something we can’t come back from- I’ll have nothing. I’ll be nothing."

None of you speak after that. There’s nothing to say. You just sit there, the three of you, watching the people who hold your futures in their hands and hope they don’t break them.

Whisky watches you for a moment, swirling the last of her drink in her glass. Then, carefully, she asks, "And you?"

You exhale slowly, pressing your fingers against your temples, willing the tension in your skull to ease. "I-" You shake your head, biting down hard on the inside of your cheek, like you can force the words back down. But you can’t. You’re too tired. Too done.

"I’ve never been more afraid in my whole life."

Peg shifts beside you. Whisky frowns. They’re listening now. Really listening.

The words pour out before you can stop them. "I hate this," you admit, voice low, sharp, a confession ripped from you. "I hate him. I hate all of this. Miles, everything he’s done, everything he’s making them do- it’s sick."

You pause, dragging a hand through your hair, frustration mounting. "And the worst part? I can’t stop it. I can’t change it. I can’t make her see how wrong this is, because she already knows."

Peg sighs, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear. "Then why-"

"Because she doesn’t think she has a choice.” Your voice comes out hard, angrier than you meant it to, but you don’t take it back. Because it’s the truth. You scoff, shaking your head. "And maybe she doesn’t. Maybe none of them do."

Peg exhales sharply through her nose. "That’s bullshit."

"Is it?" you snap, finally turning to look at her. "What would you do, Peg? Huh? Why aren’t you going to Birdie now and telling her she can’t go through this."

She stares at you, silent.

"Yeah." You shake your head, voice bitter. "That’s what I thought." The worst part is that you aren’t even mad at Peg. You’re mad at yourself. Because you do hate this. You hate everything about it.

You press your fingers against your closed eyes, exhaling hard. "She’s my world."

Whisky leans forward slightly, her expression unreadable. "And that means what?"

You let out a humorless laugh, feeling the burn of unshed tears behind your eyes. "It means I can’t go against her.” You exhale slowly, pressing your fingers against your temples, willing the tension in your skull to ease. “I love her," you say, quieter this time. "I love her more than I hate any of this."

Peg sighs, rubbing a hand over her face before leaning her head back against the sofa. "That’s rough."

Whisky doesn’t say anything. Just presses her lips together, nodding slightly, like she understands. And she does. You all do. Because that’s what Miles does. He doesn’t just own people. He makes sure they can’t afford to leave.

The music shifts to something louder, something thicker with bass, and suddenly, the energy around you shifts with it. Birdie practically twirls her way over, hair slightly damp with sweat, eyes bright and wild as she flings herself toward Peg. "Oh my GOD, come dance with me!"

Peg groans. "Birdie-"

"Nooo," she whines dramatically, wrapping her arms around Peg’s shoulders, ignoring the way her assistant stiffens. "You never have any fun, come on!"

Peg opens her mouth, probably to tell Birdie exactly where she can shove her idea of fun, but before she can, Duke is suddenly there, all grinning, puffed-up energy as he claps his hands together. "Ladies!"

You sigh, already knowing where this is going.

"Disruptors assemble, come on!" Duke hollers, practically grabbing Whisky’s hand, dragging her up to her feet like she’s some kind of trophy to be presented. "Show ‘em how it’s done, babe!"

Whisky rolls her eyes, but you can see the small, pleased smile on her lips as she lets him lead her toward the dance floor.

Birdie, meanwhile, is still clinging to Peg. "Pleeease!"

Peg groans again, then glances at you like she’s seriously debating making you take her place.

You just raise an eyebrow. "Go on Peg."

She glares. "Traitor." But she goes regardless.

"Baby?"

The second you hear her voice, feel her hands, warm and steady on your arms, it’s like everything inside you just collapses. You look up, vision blurred, and there she is, your Claire, forehead slightly damp, chest rising and falling as she catches her breath, like she ran to find you.

Her brows are pulled together, her lips slightly parted, voice tight with worry. "What’s wrong?"

You shake your head, blinking quickly, trying to steady yourself. "Nothing, I-"

She cups your face immediately, searching your expression, eyes darting across your features like she’s trying to solve you. "Baby, talk to me."

You exhale sharply, swallowing against the lump in your throat. "I just…” Your voice cracks.

Her grip tightens. "Shhh, shhh, it’s okay-"

And fuck, that does it. You let out a soft, shaky laugh, a few more tears slipping free, "I just love you so much."

She freezes. Like she wasn’t expecting that. Like it hits her, right in the chest. And then she’s breathing out, hands framing your jaw, pressing her lips to yours in a kiss so tender you melt. It’s warm. Steady. Not rushed, not desperate. It’s home. And for a moment, for this one moment, none of the rest of it matters. Not the fight. Not Miles. Not the trial. Not any of it. Just you and her.

The club is a mess of lights and bodies, heat and motion. The music is louder now, pounding through the floors, vibrating against your skin as the night stretches longer, looser, drunker. Birdie is giggling at something Lionel just muttered into his drink. Duke is showing off, glass in one hand, the other firmly gripping Whisky’s hip. Miles is watching everything like he owns it, like he orchestrated this whole night like a symphony.

But none of it touches you. Because you’re right here, wrapped in Claire’s arms, tucked against her chest as she holds you in her lap like you belong there. Like she needs you there.

Her fingers trace slow, lazy circles on your thigh, her other arm slung around your waist, keeping you against her. Every now and then, she dips her head, brushing her lips against your temple, your cheek, your jaw, unable to not touch you, to not breathe you in.

And you let her. You let yourself sink into her, let her be warm and solid and yours. You tilt your head slightly, pressing a slow, lingering kiss to her throat, lips grazing over her pulse. "Baby" you murmur, words drowsy, soft. "Take me back."

Claire inhales sharply, her grip tightening slightly. "Hmm?"

"I’m sleepy," you murmur, shifting in her lap, nuzzling against her shoulder. "Wanna go to bed."

She melts.

You feel it, the way her body relaxes, the way she cradles you closer, the way her breath shudders just a little at how easily you’re giving yourself over to her.

She presses a kiss to your hair, then your temple, then lower, her lips ghosting over your cheekbone as she whispers, "Okay, baby. Let’s get you to bed."

And as she stands, carrying you effortlessly, arms wrapped securely around you, you sigh against her skin.

Because this? This is safe. This is yours.

And whatever happens tomorrow, whatever choices, whatever consequences, whatever comes next, right now, in this moment, Claire is holding you, taking care of you. And you trust her. You always have.

The two of you stumble out of the club, Claire’s hand glued to your waist, practically carrying you because you’re all soft and giggly and melting into her. The music is still thumping inside, but out here, under the Greek moonlight, it’s just you and her.

A TukTuk is waiting, the driver barely sparing you a glance as Claire tugs you in, settling you on her lap like you belong there- because you do.

And then you’re kissing. Lazy, messy kisses, your fingers slipping into her hair, her hands firm on your hips, keeping you exactly where she wants you. It’s that perfect drunken mix of silliness and heat- you giggling against her lips, her murmuring "What’s so funny, baby?" before nipping at your jaw, making you whimper and press closer.

The TukTuk is bouncing along the road, but neither of you care, Claire just laughs when you accidentally pull her too hard and she bumps into the side, and you just kiss her harder in apology. It’s breathless and sweet, hands wandering, bodies pressed together, but it’s also that kind of drunk where you’re just so in love that it hurts. Claire’s stroking your thigh, kissing your shoulder, whispering against your skin, "I love you, baby. My sweet girl. My perfect girl." And you just whimper because you love her so much it’s physically painful.

By the time the yacht is in sight, Claire is fixing your dress, tucking your hair behind your ears, making sure you look okay even though you’re both wrecked from kissing. She pays the driver without a second thought, barely looking away from you, whispering “C’mon, let’s get you to bed, angel."

And you just nod, letting her take care of you, knowing she always will.

Claire is stumbling up the yacht’s steps with you, both of you giggling between kisses, like teenagers sneaking around. Your lips are swollen, your hands can’t stop grasping at each other, and neither of you is exactly steady on your feet.

She barely gets the door to your suite shut before you push her against it, hands tugging at the lapels of her ludicrously expensive dress, mouth slanting over hers with a mix of hunger and affection. Claire just moans, gripping your waist and flipping you so you’re against the door now, kissing you breathless as her hands roam.

“God, you’re so beautiful,” she murmurs, lips trailing down your jaw, along the column of your throat, while you just laugh all breathless and tipsy, tilting your head back to let her have more.

You stumble toward the bed together, nearly falling when Claire tries to step out of her heels and you try to help, which just turns into both of you cackling, Claire grabbing you to steady herself before just tackling you onto the plush mattress.

“Okay, okay, hold still,” she grins, sitting up to unzip your dress, her fingers shaky but so gentle, peeling the expensive fabric slowly off your shoulders, like she’s unwrapping something precious. You just watch her, all hazy and soft, letting her take care of you, because she loves this part, loves undoing you, loves making sure you’re comfortable, loves knowing you’re all hers.

She finally tugs your dress off, her gaze dark as she drags her hands down your bare skin, and you just whimper, pulling her back down, kissing her deeply because you need her, need to feel her- and then you laugh, because Claire’s struggling with her own dress now, and you sit up, batting her hands away, whispering “Let me do it.”

Claire just groans when you say that, her hands trembling as you start undoing the delicate fastenings of her dress. She should be helping, or at least be sane about this, but god your voice, your hands, the way you’re looking at her like she’s everything, it’s got her melting.

“You drive me crazy,” she murmurs, leaning down to kiss you again, slow and deep, her hands smoothing down your bare sides as you work her dress down.

You giggle into her mouth, flushed from both the heat between you and the leftover wine in your system. “I know,” you tease, pushing the fabric past her hips until it pools onto the floor.

And fuck, she’s so perfect, all soft curves, wearing just her underwear now, her hair slightly messy from your hands, her lipstick smudged from your kisses. She’s never looked more beautiful, and you whimper, pulling her back to you, needing her close.

She settles over you, her weight pressing you into the bed, her lips finding your neck, suckling just enough to make you shiver. “I’ve got you,” she whispers between kisses, her fingers trailing down your stomach, touching, teasing, worshiping.

“Mmm, Mommy,” you sigh, arching into her, wrapping your legs around her waist, relishing the feel of her body against yours.

She just smiles, so utterly infatuated, and brushes her nose against yours. “Let me take care of you, baby,” she murmurs, voice soaked in devotion, in love.

And then her lips are on yours again, deeper this time, hotter, her hands roaming, her touch possessive and cherishing, like she needs you just as much as you need her.

She gets distracted for a moment by your cleavage, biting her lip in a way that makes you shiver, before she’s pulling you on top of her. Claire reaches down and you arch your back as she plays with your pussy, fingers dancing over your clit and then pushing inside. You whimper as she hooks them, pumping them in and out, her eyes on yours the entire time. She’s got a knowing look in her eyes as she watches you squirm against her hand, her hips pushing up into yours and your clit dragging against her thigh.

You’re writhing on top of her, panting softly, when she stops and you let out a needy whine. Claire just smirks, before pulling you down onto the bed beside her. Her hands roam your body, teasingly light, as your thighs squeeze together against the ache she’s created.

“Please,” you whisper against her lips. “Touch me.”

Claire huffs a laugh, biting your lower lip before sucking on it. Her hand slides between your legs and you shudder against her touch, hips twitching. She keeps teasing you for a while, until you’re writhing under her touch.

“Fuck,” Claire breathes out, and then you’re crying out as she pushes three fingers into your cunt, thrusting them in slowly. You arch your back, your toes curling against the mattress, as Claire fucks you with her fingers. “That’s a good girl,” she murmurs in your ear as your whimpers turn into a keening moan. “You’re so fucking gorgeous like this. Cum for me.”

You cry out her name as your orgasm rips through you, pleasure pulsing out from your clit. Claire watches you, fingers still buried in your cunt. When you finally come down from it, she pulls her hand away and licks off her fingers, smirking softly.

You reach up, tugging gently at the neckline of her bra. Claire laughs softly, leaning back to take it off for you, and then you’re burying your face between her tits, moaning softly as she cups them in her hands. Your hips squirm as your clit aches for her, and you move so you’re between her legs, kissing down her body until you’re breathing hotly over her cunt.

Claire sucks in a breath, hands reaching up to tug at your hair as you lap gently at her clit. You press your lips to her inner thighs, kissing up and down before you return to her cunt, lapping at her entrance before pushing your tongue inside. She lets out a low moan, hips arching off the bed. You moan against her, moving so you can finger her as you lick her clit.

You’re eating her out with desperation, wanting nothing more than to feel her cum on your tongue. You know exactly what she likes, and soon she’s crying out your name as she clenches around your fingers and you lap up every last drop of her.

“God, I love you,” Claire whispers as you curl up against her.

You press your lips to her jaw, nuzzling her softly. “I love you too.” You snuggle deeper into her arms, feeling exhausted from your night. “You make me so happy.”

Claire kisses your forehead, smiling down at you. You press a kiss to her lips, before trailing them down her neck. You take her hand and guide it between your legs, biting your lip as you feel her fingers against your pussy. She starts rubbing you gently, and you lean down to kiss her. Her tongue slips out to meet yours, pushing into your mouth. You groan as she thrusts it in and out of your mouth, fucking it with the same desperation she showed when she fingered you.

Claire’s fingers slip inside and you moan into her mouth, grinding down on her hand as her tongue fills your mouth again. You push your hand between her legs and she breaks the kiss to moan, pushing her hips up against your fingers. You play with each other as you make out, both of your hips moving desperately. You can feel her getting wetter against your hand and you know you must be doing the same against hers. She moans into another kiss as you add a finger to her cunt, and you can feel yourself getting closer as she hooks her fingers inside you.

Her tongue fills your mouth again as her fingers push deep inside you, curling and uncurling as they fuck into your pussy. You’re so close that you feel like you can’t hold on much longer, and you don’t even try as pleasure rips through your body again. You whine into her mouth as your orgasm pulses through your body, and you feel her cumming against your hand a moment later.

You stay like that for a few moments, enjoying the feeling of your bodies together. You can feel the heat between your legs, the stickiness of your sweat, and the smell of sex filling the air. You kiss her softly as you pull your hand away, smiling softly. Claire does the same, her eyes soft as she looks at you.

She rolls you over onto your back before crawling on top of you. You let out a delighted yelp as she kisses down your body, starting at your collarbones and then working her way down until you’re moaning softly against her mouth. She kisses your stomach softly, before pulling your legs apart and burying her face between them. You cry out her name as she starts licking you, sucking on your clit and fingering you at the same time.

You can’t stop moving, hips twitching as her tongue dances over your pussy. Her fingers fuck into you as her tongue drags over your clit, and you’re not surprised when you cum again, barely a few moments later. You’re shaking as pleasure rips through you again. Claire doesn’t stop until you’re pulling weakly at her hair, panting as you try to catch your breath.

You manage to get your legs closed around her head as you try to calm down, but you feel exhausted when you do. Claire slides up your body, kissing you softly as her eyes crinkle at the corners. You smile back at her, reaching up to run your hands through her hair. You kiss again, tongues sliding together softly, and you sink into the feeling of her body against yours.

You sigh happily as she settles back against you, resting her head on your chest.You’re both tangled together, breathless and sticky with sweat, the heat of the night still lingering, but everything is quieter now.

Claire pulls you closer, her arms wrapping around you tightly, like she can’t let go. She kisses your forehead, your cheeks, her lips soft and lingering, as if she’s savoring every inch of you. Her touch is so gentle now, each caress careful, as if she’s afraid of breaking something, afraid of losing you after everything that’s happened.

“Baby…” Her voice is soft, full of awe and affection. “I… you have no idea what you do to me. I’m—”

You press a finger against her lips, silencing her, and you feel her shiver under your touch.

“No need to say anything,” you murmur, running your hand through her hair, soothing her. “Just… be with me. Let me take care of you.”

Claire nods, her eyes fluttering closed as she leans into your touch. You can feel the weight of the night, the tension, the stress of everything she’s been holding on to… and now, it’s melting away, piece by piece, with every soft kiss you give her, every gentle touch.

You trace your fingers down her back, feeling the way her muscles loosen with each pass. She lets out a quiet sigh, her body relaxing, her breathing steadying, and it makes you feel like you’re the one taking care of her now, holding her together.

“Promise me something,” she whispers, her voice barely audible.

You look at her, a small smile tugging at your lips. “Anything.”

She kisses you again, slow and deep, like she never wants to pull away. “Promise me you’ll always be mine. No matter what.”

You press your forehead to hers, your hands still tracing circles on her skin, grounding both of you in the softness of this moment.

“I promise,” you say, your voice steady, full of certainty. “I’m yours, always.”

And with that, you both finally drift into the quiet, cocooned in each other’s warmth, knowing whatever happens, you’ve found a place in each other’s hearts that’s unbreakable.

~

The sunlight spills through the curtains, gently kissing your skin, but the stillness of the room is suddenly broken by Claire’s soft groan beside you. Her head’s buried in the pillow, her body tangled in sheets, and you can feel the warmth of her skin radiating, her breath heavy and slow.

You’re not quite awake yet, but the moment your eyes flutter open, you feel it, that undeniable pull. The feeling of being wrapped in her embrace, tangled up with her body, and your chest tightens in that familiar warmth that only she can give you. You try to shift, to stretch your legs, ready to get up and start your day, but Claire has other ideas.

“Uh-uh.” Claire’s voice is low, thick with sleep and that unmistakable edge of mild annoyance.

Before you can protest, she slides an arm across your waist, pulling you right back against her. The strength in her arms is undeniable, and she cages you in, trapping you in her warmth. She buries her face against the back of your neck, mumbling, “No way. You’re staying here.”

You can’t help but laugh softly at how clingy she’s being, but as you settle into the softness of the sheets again, you feel her nuzzle into your skin, her lips pressing a lazy kiss against your shoulder.

“I’m hungover,” she mutters, voice muffled against your skin. “I need you here. Can’t be without you.”

You tilt your head, looking back at her, amused, but there’s a warmth in her eyes that makes your heart flutter.

“Oh? I thought you wanted to get up early today to get some food before Duke eats it all,” you tease, reaching back to gently tangle your fingers in her hair, your voice low and playful.

“Doesn’t matter,” she replies with a small chuckle, her arms tightening around you. “Right now, you’re all I need. Don’t make me beg, baby.”

You feel her shiver against you, her hangover already fading away under the weight of her desire for more. You can’t deny her; you never could. You lean back into her embrace, letting her kiss your neck again, feeling her body press close as if she needs this, needs you, just as much as you need her. And even though the world outside is calling, demanding attention, in this moment, you’re perfectly content. Because, when it’s just the two of you, the world can wait.

You can stay here, wrapped up in each other, for as long as you want. You stretch lazily in her arms, smiling as Claire nuzzles into your neck again, pressing soft, lazy kisses to your skin. Her hold on you is firm, like she has no intention of letting you go anytime soon.

You hum, eyes still half-closed as you tease, “I don’t even know why you’re so hungover. We didn’t even drink that much.”

Claire stills against you. Then, slowly, she pulls back just enough to give you a look- one brow arching, her lips parting slightly like she can’t believe what you just said.

“Excuse me?” Her voice is flat, but you can hear the threat of amusement in it.

You turn in her arms, grinning up at her. “I mean… I feel fine.” You shrug, all innocent. “Maybe it’s just ‘cause I’m younger.”

Claire scoffs. “Oh, you did not just say that.”

You giggle, reaching up to touch her face, tracing the soft line of her jaw. “Aww, my poor baby. Can’t keep up with me anymore…”

Her eyes darken playfully. “How dare you.”

Before you can react, her hands move to your waist, fingers digging in as she mercilessly tickles your sides. You squeal, trying to wriggle away, but she’d got you.

“No- Claire, stop- ” you gasp between bursts of laughter, trying to grab at her wrists, but she’s relentless.

“You wanna call me old, huh?” she taunts, grinning as she keeps up the attack. “Say it again, baby, I dare you.”

You’re dying, your body twisting under her as you laugh so hard your stomach hurts.

“Okay- okay! You’re not old!” you gasp out, barely able to breathe through the giggles.

Claire smirks in triumph, slowing her assault, but she doesn’t let go. Instead, she presses you deeper into the mattress, shifting so she’s hovering over you, her eyes shining with warmth.

“That’s what I thought,” she murmurs, leaning down to kiss your forehead before brushing her nose against yours.

You’re still breathless, smiling up at her, heart thudding in your chest.

And you love this. This playful, soft, giddy side of her, the one she only ever shows when it’s just the two of you. Claire is still smiling down at you, her fingers brushing over your sides, her warmth pressing into you, when-

Knock knock knock.

She freezes. Her jaw clenches. “What?” she snaps, voice sharp with irritation, because of course someone is interrupting this moment.

Before either of you can react further, the door swings open.

Miles.

Casual as ever, he steps inside, barely even sparing Claire a glance as he announces, “We’re having brunch now. You’re gonna miss out on the food- Duke’s in bulking season, so, you know, not a lot left.”

And then he rests his eyes on you. His gaze sweeps over the scene, the rumpled sheets barely covering your bare skin, Claire’s shirt hanging off her shoulder, your hair mussed, your entire aura screaming post-sex softness.

You scream, instinctively clutching the sheets and burying yourself against Claire, mortified.

Claire, meanwhile, seethes. Her face darkens instantly, her body going rigid with fury as she all but lunges for something to throw at him.

“Miles, get out!” she roars, her voice so sharp and commanding that even he, in all his smug arrogance, hesitates for a split second.

But then, of course, he just grins.

Like he’s enjoying this.

Like he planned this.

“You know, Claire,” he muses, eyes still very much on you, “you could just say that you’ll come down to brunch later and to save you a croissant. No need to be so hostile.”

Claire grabs the nearest thing, her empty water glass from the bedside table, and hurls it at him. He dodges, laughing as it shatters against the doorframe.

“Alright, alright! Just saying- don’t blame me if there’s no food left!”

And with that, he finally, finally steps out, closing the door behind him. For a moment, all you can hear is the pounding of your own heartbeat, the heat of embarrassment crawling over your skin. Claire’s arms tighten around you, her breathing heavy with barely restrained rage. Then, finally, she pulls back just enough to look at you, brushing your hair from your face with a gentleness that contrasts the fury still burning in her eyes.

“Are you okay, baby?” she asks, her voice soft, even as her body remains tense.

You nod slowly, still pressed against her. “That was so embarrassing.”

Her expression hardens. “I’m gonna kill him.”

Claire is still muttering under her breath about Miles as she pulls you into the bathroom, her grip firm but careful as if she’s afraid you might slip away. She’s fuming, you can feel it in the tension of her body, the tightness of her jaw.

“I swear to god, I’m gonna-” she starts, but you shush her with a giggle, reaching past her to turn on the shower, steam curling instantly into the air.

“Claire,” you tease, stepping back to peel the sheets off your body, “you can’t murder Miles. Not here. Too many witnesses.”

Claire exhales sharply through her nose. “Baby, do not test me right now.”

But she’s distracted, her eyes drop down to your bare skin, her pupils blown with something other than rage, and suddenly, she’s not thinking about Miles anymore. She tugs you under the water with her, her hands smoothing down your waist, her lips brushing your forehead, your nose, your lips. You hum at the attention, the warm spray cascading over both of you, and for a moment, it’s just that- gentle touches, sleepy kisses, a slow return to reality.

Until, of course, your mouth gets away from you. “You know Miles is fucking Whisky, right?”

Claire pauses.

Her hands still against your back. Then she pulls away just enough to look at you, her brow furrowing. “…Excuse me?”

You grin, loving the way her lips part in mild shock. “Oh, yeah,” you confirm, reaching for the fancy hotel-grade shampoo and squirting some into your palm. “Been happening for a while. But get this- Duke knows. Hell, Duke set it up.”

Claire blinks. Once, twice. “Duke set it up?”

You nod, working the shampoo into her hair, relishing the way she automatically tilts her head into your touch.

“He wants Miles to help boost his career,” you explain casually, fingers massaging into her scalp. “He figured letting his girlfriend sleep with Miles would be an easy way in. Miles gets a hot girl, Duke gets a leg up in his whole alpha-male-streaming-gun-rights-mandom thing.”

Claire stares at you, the water dripping down her face doing nothing to mask her sheer disbelief.

“You’re telling me,” she says slowly, “that Duke is pimping out his own girlfriend… for YouTube views?”

You nod sagely. “Mmhmm.”

The morning sunlight streams through the yacht’s grand windows, casting golden light over the luxurious bathroom. You’re watching with barely contained amusement as Claire soaps up your breasts, still reeling from your whispered revelations about Duke, Whisky, and Miles.

“No. No, absolutely not,” Claire mutters, rubbing your skin as the warm water from the showerhead cascades over her back. “Duke knows? And he’s just- he’s fine with it?”

You bite your lip, fighting back a grin. “I mean, fine might be a stretch. But yeah, it’s all part of his grand plan.”

Claire groans dramatically, tilting her head back under the water, letting it soak through her hair. “Jesus Christ. The absolute state of this group.”

You giggle and wrap your arms around her waist from behind, pressing your cheek to her back. “Mhmm.”

Claire closes her eyes. Takes a deep breath. Pinches the bridge of her nose. Then, she turns back to you, her expression exhausted.

“You know what? Nope. Not dealing with this yet.” She tugs you close again, resting her chin on your wet hair. “I’m gonna hold my baby, finish this shower, and then I will process the absolute horror that is this entire fucking trip.”

You giggle against her chest, arms curling around her waist. “Fair enough, my love.”

~

The Greek sun is already sweltering by the time you finish getting ready, the heat seeping through the floor-to-ceiling windows of your suite as you slip into your bikini. The black fabric is just the right mix of flattering and daring, the wrap skirt flowing effortlessly around your legs as you tie it at your hip, already fantasizing about spending the day sprawled out by the pool with a drink in hand. Sure, you’d have to suffer through the company of people you’d rather avoid, but at least there’d be an infinity pool, bottomless cocktails, and hopefully, your girlfriend in a very nice swimsuit. You turn, expecting to see Claire pulling on something equally as elegant and commanding as her, but instead, she’s got a robe wrapped tight around her, the thick cream fabric covering her completely.

You frown immediately.

"Baby," you say, stepping toward her. "It’s boiling outside. Why are you covering up?"

Claire hesitates. You see the flicker of insecurity flash across her face before she masks it, reaching for her sunglasses instead of meeting your gaze.

"Just…" she exhales, rolling her shoulders as if the movement could shake off the weight pressing down on her. "I don’t know. Birdie was making comments yesterday about how I ‘need to put in more effort’ and then Whisky’s been…” she gestures vaguely, and you immediately understand.

Whisky- young, perfect-bodied, flaunting it all like she was born to be admired. And Claire, in her 40s, feeling like she’s standing next to all that youth as a reminder of everything she used to be. Your chest aches.

"Oh," you say simply, because if you speak too soon, you might say something really dramatic, like how dare you talk shit about my future wife? You file that thought away, stepping closer instead, your fingers gently prying the edges of her robe apart.

“Baby,” you murmur, sliding your hands inside, brushing over the ridiculously soft beige swimsuit she has on underneath. It’s stunning, elegant, high-cut, perfectly hugging the curves of her hips and waist. “You look so sexy.”

Claire scoffs, shaking her head. “Sweetheart…”

“I mean it.” You grip the robe, pushing it further open as you move into her space, making sure she sees the way your eyes roam her body, the way you drink her in like you need her.

She falters, lips parting.

"You’re powerful, Claire," you continue, voice soft but firm. "You’re brilliant. You’re stunning. And if you think for one second that I don’t look at you and feel like the luckiest fucking girl on the planet, you’re out of your mind."

She swallows, hard.

Your hands slide up, tracing her waist, smoothing over the soft swell of her stomach, watching her body react to your touch. "You make me crazy," you whisper, tilting your head up, your breath warm against her lips. "You make me so fucking turned on every time I look at you. You have no idea how beautiful you are."

Her throat bobs. "Baby I-"

"I worship you, Claire," you interrupt, pressing a slow, deliberate kiss to the underside of her jaw. "You don’t need to cover up because of them. I think you’re the most beautiful woman alive, and that should be the only outside opinion you take any notice of."

Her pulse is racing. You can feel it against your lips, can see the way her body sways into you, like she needs you to hold her up.

“Fuck,” she breathes, gripping your waist as you mouth at her neck, lips and tongue soft, teasing. “You are gonna be the perfect little wife for me one day, aren’t you?”

You pause.

Your heart stops. Then, you grin, pressing a final kiss to her skin before pulling back just enough to meet her gaze. "Yeah, baby," you murmur, fingers trailing up to slip the robe from her shoulders. "I really, really am."

She shudders. Her hands move, cupping your face, tilting your chin up, capturing your lips in a kiss that’s more than just a kiss. It’s everything. It’s devotion. It’s love. It’s the way she needs you, the way she aches for you, the way she wants…

You sigh into her mouth, pressing yourself against her, hands sliding around her back as the robe falls to the floor, forgotten. Instead, you reach for something else- a lighter cover-up, a soft, airy sarong that lets her breathe, lets her feel like herself without hiding. She exhales when you drape it over her shoulders, her forehead resting against yours, hands squeezing your waist.

“Thank you,” she whispers.

You smile. “Always, Mommy.”

And then, because you can’t not kiss her again, you do, sighing into her mouth as she melts against you, holding you close like she never wants to let go.

~

You know the moment you step onto the upper deck for brunch that this is going to be exhausting.

The sun is blinding, the heat shimmering off the pristine white of the yacht, but the real discomfort comes from the people- hungover and loud, sprawled across plush seats, drinking fresh-squeezed juice and espresso like it’ll bring them back to life. Birdie is, unsurprisingly, in full force, standing dramatically by the buffet spread, oversized sunglasses perched on her nose as she bemoans how dehydrated she is, making Peg fill her plate while Lionel nods along, pretending to listen. Duke and Whisky are at the far end, Duke double-fisting iced coffees, Whisky looking fresh and unbothered as she scrolls her phone.

And, of course, not one of them acknowledges you when you and Claire arrive. They greet her, Claire, Governor Debella, fellow disruptor, the woman who matters in their eyes,but you? You might as well not exist. You expect it at this point, but it still makes something ugly curl in your chest. You push it down. Instead, you focus on grabbing a cold drink, some fresh fruit, a little bit of toast and eggs. Claire loads up her plate without much care, still slightly groggy from the night before, her free hand settling against your back as you move to sit down.

The chairs are spaced apart, but you immediately shift yours closer to hers, ignoring the way Birdie’s sunglasses-clad eyes flit toward you at the movement. Claire exhales softly, as if just having you near her is enough to ease some of the morning tension. You smile, pressing your thigh against hers as you start to eat.

"Morning, lovebirds."

You grimace.

Miles saunters up to the table, far too chipper for the way everyone else is still blinking blearily against the sunlight, holding a tiny espresso cup in one hand, his other slipping into his pocket. You feel his gaze before you even look at him, that lecherous kind of attention that makes your skin crawl. And sure enough, when you glance up, his eyes are glued to your chest. You frown and shift closer to Claire.

He chuckles, taking a slow sip of his espresso. “You two had quite the morning, huh?”

Claire’s body goes rigid.

You don’t even have to ask what he means, you know, because of course Miles Bron wouldn’t not take the opportunity to bring up walking in on you both in bed.

Claire inhales sharply, jaw tight. “Fuck off, Miles.”

But Miles just laughs, like she’s just being playful. Like this is some casual joke between friends. “Nothing to be ashamed of, Claire-bear.” He smirks, winking as he takes another sip. “You’ve got yourself a beauty.”

Your stomach turns at the way he says it, like you’re some kind of trophy, something Claire should be proud of because it reflects well on her, the same way a luxury car or designer handbag would.You swallow down the disgust, already too tired for another argument. Instead, you turn your focus back to Claire, spearing a piece of fresh melon with your fork and lifting it to her lips. She blinks, startled, but then softens instantly, mouth parting as she lets you feed her. You follow it with a soft, lingering kiss, your lips brushing against hers like it’s just natural, like it’s what you need.

Miles frowns. For just a second, his mask slips, like he doesn’t like that you’re ignoring him, that you’re shifting the focus away from him. But then, just as quickly, he plasters on another easy grin, turning back to the group as he claps his hands together.

“Well, gang,” he announces, “This morning is all about relaxing. We’ve got speedboats coming this afternoon, some good, old-fashioned, high-adrenaline fun. But tonight…” his voice lowers theatrically, and Birdie squeals.

“Oooh! What have you got planned, Miles?”

He smirks. “All will be revealed, my friends.”

And even though it’s still so early in the day, you already have a bad feeling about it.

Taglist: @harknessshi @agathascoven1 @notorious-vick @jessica-mcd @sapphicfleur @lisqueen @starryjeongyeon @brekker157 @maximilfism @meghina18 @onlybynightandonlybysea @buttercandy16 @milflovers4 @rigglemethat @mistyshane30 @certified-sleep-deprived @agathaallalongg @yun4-st4rx @psychickryptonitebouquet @athnastasia @eletricheart @her0in-addicttt @writerspirit @sarahhh-plz @imlike-so-gaydude @morallygreymilfs @worstendingever @trasheddoll2 @womankissersworld

[mylovesstuffs]

OT13 finding out their s/o is pregnant

Request: HELLO CELESTE I LOVE ALLLLL YOUR WORKS!! I’m just getting on tumblr after a long period of just twitter Au’s and i swear i’ve never giggled as i do with your work!! Soooo, can I request an ot13 reaction to their s/o finding out they’re pregnant? I’m thinking in something of they finding it out together and a bit of the journey after. I just think it would be so cute😭 Thank u sooooo much!! Hope you’re having a nice day<3

Seungcheol: He looks at you with a mixture of shock and excitement, but soon after, his priority shifts to your health. He makes sure you’re well taken care of—whether it’s helping you with food cravings or making sure you’re comfortable, he’s already taking charge of the situation.

Jeonghan: He takes a moment to process it, then smiles softly as if he’s been expecting it. He’s the one who’ll reassure you, making sure that this new chapter is exciting but not overwhelming. He already knows how to balance being your partner and being a great dad. “This will be fun, trust me. We’ll make the best of it.”

Joshua: He’s in awe and takes your hands, as he tears up asking, “Are you sure? We’re going to be parents?” He’s already thinking about names and how the two of you are going to be the best parents together. He’s already planning for the future, from decorating the baby’s room to imagining how the baby will grow up with love.

Jun: He’s immediately thinking about how to raise your child with kindness, bringing lots of fun and love. He’s already planning out the best family trips and exciting moments with your little one. He’ll be the one who dotes on you and makes sure you’re always taken care of. “We’ll raise them with so much love, I promise.”

Hoshi: The second you tell him, he’s in complete disbelief, probably thinks he misheard you at first, but once it hits him, he’s immediately laughing, crying, and hugging you so tight. He’ll proudly announce it to anyone around. “I’m going to be a DAD!” 🥺💖 He can’t wait to start picking out baby clothes and already starts planning a ‘baby’s first dance party.’

Wonwoo: Surprised but calm at first, then immediately shifts to this softy, caring, cute mode. He holds your hands, looks into your eyes, and says, “I’ll always be here.” He’s thinking about how he can ensure a peaceful and happy environment for you and the baby, always being the supportive and strong presence you need.

Woozi: He takes the news in a shocked but collected manner, then gives you a soft hug, his mind already moving to plan. He may seem calm on the outside, but internally he’s thrilled at the thought of being a father. Very practical, he’ll start organizing everything to make sure your life is easier, from arranging baby things to helping you with whatever you need.

Dokyeom: Pure joy. He bursts out into laughter and starts dancing around, excited to the point where he’s almost in tears. You’re the one who calms him down as he starts thinking about how to tell yours and his parents. He’ll be the most caring partner, bringing you food, rubbing your back, and making sure you're always comfortable. He's going to be the best dad!

Mingyu: His initial reaction is “No way…” in complete shock, but as soon as he sees your face, he’s hugging you tight, and then he gets so giddy about it lol. He’s thinking about all the fun, silly things he’ll do with the baby. He’ll be making sure you're comfortable 24/7, even if he’s slightly worried about being a good dad.

Minghao: He’s immediately thoughtful and spends a lot of time dreaming about the future with you. He’ll be thinking about all the things he’ll teach your child, especially about art, beauty, and life. He’s a soft-hearted dad who’ll spoil the baby but also be very involved in their growth.

Seungkwan: “Are you serious? Wait… really?!” He’ll start crying immediately in shock, then burst into a big smile. So emotional that he immediately starts thinking about how he’s going to be the coolest dad. Starts planning all the funny things he wants to teach the baby (and how he’ll embarrass them when they’re older).

Vernon: The moment he hears the news, he’s full of emotion and over the moon, but also tries to stay cool. He’s thinking about all the music he’ll share with them and how to make them feel like the coolest kid in the world. He’ll be making sure to stay strong for you, being supportive every step of the way for both of you.

Dino: So happy he can’t stop smiling. He’s in disbelief but also spends the rest of the time asking you questions and wanting to talk to the baby (even you just got to know you're pregnant). Excited to become a dad, he’s planning everything from baby-proofing the house to teaching the little one to dance. He’s definitely always checking up on you and wanting to make sure you're okay.

[daisymbin]

mr. g-dragon - kwon soonyoung

pairings: kwon soonyoung x reader

warnings: none!!!!

wc: 803

check out my masterlist! // soonyoung's m.list

soonyoung practically kicks the door open.

he stumbles inside, wide-eyed and breathless, and you barely have time to react before he’s throwing himself onto the couch, limbs sprawled out like he’s just finished the performance of a lifetime. you blink at him from where you’re curled up in the armchair, book long forgotten as you watch him with amused curiosity.

"oh my god," he gasps, clutching his chest like he’s trying to physically hold in his excitement. his eyes are shining, his whole body buzzing with an energy so infectious you can feel it from across the room. "babe, you are not gonna believe the day i just had."

you laugh, setting your book down. "i don’t know, i think i might have an idea."

"no, no, no, you don’t understand." soonyoung sits up, shaking his head so fast you think he might get dizzy. "this was the best day of my life. the best day, do you hear me?" he gestures wildly, and you nod, biting back a smile. "like—okay, obviously, the best day was when i met you, but this is a close second, okay? or actually, cant i have 2 different days for my 'best day' hm?"

your heart flips at that and you nodded but you just roll your eyes fondly. he is so adorable when he's all excited. "so, what happened?"

soonyoung lets out a high-pitched squeal, kicking his feet like an overexcited kid. "i met kwon jiyong, g-dragon, you know that, right? of course you do, i talked about this day for a whole month, BUT ANYWAYS i talked to him. i hugged him. we ate together. oh my god, we drank together. he poured me a drink! do you know what that means?"

"that you drank alcohol?" you tease.

"no!" soonyoung groans, flopping back against the cushions before sitting up again just as quickly. "well, yes, but no—babe, do you know what an honor it is to have THE mr. g-dragon pour you a drink? it’s, like, the highest form of respect! i was dying inside, but i had to act cool, you know?"

you raise a brow as the corner of your lip quirked up. "did you act cool?"

soonyoung pauses. "…no, i was a mess..." he admits, looking both sheepish and proud at the same time. "but i tried! seungkwan and seokmin were making fun of me the whole time, but it’s fine because they were such losers in front of him too & i got to talk to him!! he was so nice, and he gave me advice, and he told me i was cool, and—oh my god, he said i was cool."

he clutches his chest again like he’s been shot, then his starts vibrating as his legs starts to jump up and down alternatively from excitement and you laugh, getting up from your chair to sit beside him on the couch. immediately, soonyoung turns to you, grabbing your hands in his and squeezing them so tight you can feel the warmth radiating off him.

"i've looked up to him my whole life," he says, voice softer now, like the weight of the moment is finally settling in. "like, he's the reason i wanted to be an idol. he's the reason i love performing so much. and today, i got to talk to him like—like i was someone worth talking to."

your chest tightens and your eyebrows furrow slightly at his words. "soonie…"

"he told me he watched our performances. he told me he liked my energy. he said he could tell i really love what i do, and—and that means everything coming from him, you know? like, i always worry about whether i’m doing enough, whether i’m good enough, and then he just—he just said that, like it was obvious."

his voice wavers slightly, and you squeeze his hands back, grounding him.

"you are enough, soonyoung," you say softly. "you always have been."

he looks at you, eyes bright and a little glossy, before pulling you into a tight hug. you melt into him, feeling the way his body is still buzzing, still vibrating with excitement.

"i just feel so happy," he murmurs against your shoulder. "like, i don’t even know what to do with myself. i wanna dance. i wanna scream. i wanna relive today over and over again."

"then let’s relive it!" you say, pulling back just enough to see his face. "tell me everything from the very beginning!"

soonyoung gasps like you've just given him the greatest gift in the world. "you really wanna hear everything?"

"of course," you say, smiling. "i love seeing you like this."

he blinks. "like what?"

"so happy. it makes me happy to see you happy."

for a moment, he just looks at you, and then he’s breaking into a smile as he leans in, kissing you, quick and giddy and a little breathless, like he just can’t contain it all.

"i love you," he says, grinning so wide it makes your own heart feel like it might burst.

"i love you too," you say, laughing as he pulls you back into another hug.

and soonyoung spends the rest of the night recounting every single detail, every little moment, every joke and comment and look that passed between them. and you—you listen, because if there’s anything you love more than soonyoung’s happiness, it’s being the one who gets to witness it.

[thollandsgirl2013]

Hi! Can I request a Peter Parker X Stark! reader and she wants to try on Pete’s spidery suit and web shooters and he thinks she looks really good in it so he kisses her and Tony comes in and thinks they’re doing some weird type of role play?❤️

Hello there! I had so much fun writing this one! I'll probably say it turned out to be one of my favourite fics. Thanks for requesting! Hope you enjoy reading it too.

----------------©®©®©®©®----------------

𝐒𝐮𝐢𝐭 𝐔𝐩, 𝐁𝐮𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐜𝐮𝐩

Parings → Peter Parker x Stark! Reader

Warnings → Fluff, Humor, Slight Spice, Making Out, Overprotective! Dad! Tony, Embarrassment, Light Suggestiveness.

Summary → You blackmail Peter into letting you try on his Spider-Man suit. It fits too well, leading to making out—and Tony walking in.

"Pleeeaaase, Pete?" You whined, leaning over his desk with the best puppy dog eyes you could muster.

Peter didn’t even look up from his notes, his pen gliding across the page. "Nope."

You groaned dramatically, throwing yourself back onto his bed. "Why not?! I'm the one who worked on half of your suit!"

"Keyword: half," Peter quipped, turning his chair slightly to smirk at you. "Mr. Stark did the heavy lifting, and, oh yeah—it’s my suit."

You sat up on your elbows, pouting. "That’s not fair! I bet it would look so cool on me."

"It’s not about looking cool, babe," he said, finally turning to fully face you. "It’s dangerous tech, Y/N. The suit has all kinds of built-in features, and I don’t want you accidentally webbing yourself to the ceiling or activating instant-kill mode."

You rolled your eyes. "As if I don’t know how the tech works! I built most of it with Dad. I probably understand the suit better than you do."

Peter gave you an unimpressed look. "That’s debatable."

Frustrated, you crossed your arms. If begging didn’t work, it was time for drastic measures. You sat up, narrowed your eyes at him, and smirked. "Fine. You leave me no choice."

Peter arched a brow. "Uh-oh."

You stood up, placed your hands on your hips, and announced, "No kisses for a month."

Peter froze. "Wait. What?"

You grinned, seeing his reaction. "Yep. No kisses. No sex. No cuddles. No cute little nose nuzzles. No hand-holding. No forehead kisses. Nothing."

His jaw dropped. "That’s—That’s cruel and unusual punishment!"

You fake-sighed, placing a hand over your heart. "Well, if my boyfriend refuses to let me try on the suit that I worked on, then I guess I have no choice but to take extreme action."

Peter looked genuinely distressed now, running a hand through his curls. "That’s so unfair. You can’t just—"

"And!" You interrupted, pointing an accusing finger at him. "You’re so ungrateful! I spend hours helping you upgrade that thing, and you won’t even let me try it for five minutes?" You dramatically turned away, placing a hand over your forehead. "Oh, the betrayal!"

Peter groaned loudly. "Ugh! Fine! "

You immediately spun around, grinning. "Wait, really?"

He gave you a deadpan look. "Yeah, yeah, whatever. Just—just don’t break anything, okay?"

You let out an excited squeal, doing a little happy dance before rushing over to grab the suit from where he pulled it out of his closet. "This is the best day of my life!"

Peter crossed his arms, watching you with a defeated sigh. "You’re ridiculous."

"You love me."

"Unfortunately, yes."

You snickered before holding the suit up in front of you, inspecting it. The fabric was smooth under your fingers. "Ooooh, I feel powerful already."

Peter rolled his eyes. "Okay, just—put it on already before I change my mind."

You nodded and started unzipping your hoodie, shrugging it off before kicking off your sweatpants. You were left in just your bra and panties when you noticed Peter had gone completely silent.

You turned to see him staring.

Blatantly.

His lips were parted slightly, his brown eyes locked onto your figure as if he had just seen the most captivating thing in the world.

You smirked. "Pete."

No response.

You snapped your fingers. "Peter Parker, my eyes are up here."

He blinked rapidly, his face immediately flushing. "I-I wasn’t—! I was just—!"

You crossed your arms, tilting your head playfully. "Just what?"

"Admiring my girlfriend," he admitted, looking sheepish but utterly smitten.

You rolled your eyes, though you couldn't hide your grin. "Uh-huh. Sure, Romeo. Now turn around."

Peter huffed dramatically but turned his back to you. "You act like I haven’t seen you in less."

"Yeah, well, you don’t get to ogle while I’m trying to be Spider-Woman for the day," you quipped, stepping into the suit.

As soon as you pulled it up over your shoulders, it felt huge. The fabric sagged, the arms hung loosely, and the legs were way too long. "Oh my God, Peter, your body proportions are so weird."

He laughed. "Hey! I have a perfectly normal body proportion, thank you very much."

You pouted, looking down at yourself. "It’s so baggy! Ugh, I look ridiculous."

Peter turned around, smirking. "You could always take it off."

You shot him a look. "Nice try." Then, you pressed the spider emblem on your chest.

Immediately, the suit shrank.

The fabric adjusted perfectly to your body, molding to every curve, every inch of your skin. Your stomach, chest, legs—everything was snug.

Peter stopped mid-breath.

His eyes traveled from your legs to your ass to your chest, and suddenly, his Adam’s apple bobbed. "Uh…"

You turned to the mirror, blinking. "Oh. Damn."

The suit hugged you perfectly. The fabric stretched in all the right places, highlighting every dip and curve of your body. Your ass? Amazing. Your boobs? Fantastic.

Peter made a strangled noise.

You turned to him with a smirk. "You okay there, bug boy?"

His mouth opened and closed like a fish out of water. Then, without a single word, he took two long strides forward, cupped your face, and kissed you.

It wasn’t just a peck. No, Peter devoured you, his lips molding against yours hungrily. His hands found their way to your jaw and waist, pulling you against him as he deepened the kiss.

Your hands gripped his shoulders, melting into him as he pressed you against the wall. His hands started wandering—one settling on your jaw, tilting your head up, while the other slid down to firmly grab your ass.

You gasped into the kiss, breaking apart for just a second. "P-Peter—"

"You look so hot in my suit," he mumbled against your lips, kissing you again, voice breathless and desperate.

You giggled between kisses. "I knew it!"

Peter groaned, nipping at your bottom lip as his hands squeezed your ass. "Not fair," he muttered, moving down to your jaw, leaving soft kisses.

You shivered, wrapping your arms around his neck. "I mean, if you wanna keep making out with me in your suit, I’m not stopping you—"

Then.

The door opened.

"Ay, kid, I need Y/N for a sec—WHAT THE HELL?!"

You and Peter immediately froze.

Your dad, Tony Stark, stood in the doorway, eyes wide, mouth open, looking horrified.

You and Peter were practically glued together—your arms around his neck, his hands on your ass, both of you looking like deer caught in headlights.

Tony blinked. "What. The. Actual. Fuck."

"Dad!" You yelped, shoving Peter off you.

Tony raised his hands, shaking his head rapidly. "Nope. Nope. Nope. I do not wanna know why you’re in the Spidey suit and sucking face with Spiderling. I do not wanna know what kinda freaky roleplay stuff you two are into."

You turned bright red. "IT’S NOT—"

"Oh my God," Tony muttered, rubbing his temples. "I need bleach. No, I need therapy. I need Pepper."

Peter, looking about five seconds away from fainting, squeaked out, "M-Mr. Stark, I—I swear—"

Tony pointed at him. "You. Out."

Peter blinked. "But… this is my room—"

Tony turned his glare up to maximum dad mode, eyes narrowing dangerously.

Peter swallowed hard. "I'm out."

And with that, he bolted straight out of the door.

"You. Family meeting. Now."

You groaned, burying your face in your hands. "Kill me now."

Tony sighed, mumbling to himself as he walked away. "Why couldn't she date a nice, normal guy from down the street?"

From the hallway, Peter called out, "I am a nice, normal guy!"

You groaned again. "Oh my God, Peter, shut up!"

‎∗ ࣪ ˖༺ 𓆩☆𓆪 ༻˖ ࣪ ∗

[writeriguess]

i was thinking abt dabi x cat quirk reader(js the ears, tail, and retractable claws and fangs) both in the lov and dabis pretty possessive of reader when they talk to hawks?

Flames and Feathers

The moment Dabi walked into the room, he knew he wasn’t going to like what he saw.

There you were, standing too close to Hawks, your ears twitching, tail swaying behind you as you talked. And worst of all? You were laughing.

Dabi's mood soured instantly.

Hawks had that damn smug grin on his face, the one that made Dabi want to punch him on a good day. Today, though? Today, he wanted to set the bastard on fire.

His boots scuffed against the floor as he approached, making sure you both heard him coming. Your ears flicked at the sound, your tail pausing mid-sway. Good. You knew. But Hawks? Hawks didn’t even turn to acknowledge him right away, still talking like he owned the damn place.

“—I mean, really, you should see me in action sometime,” Hawks was saying, his wings flexing slightly as he tilted his head toward you. “I bet I could impress you.”

Dabi barely restrained the urge to sneer. Impress you? Like hell.

“Oh?” you hummed, tilting your head. “I dunno, I think I’d rather see it than take your word for it.”

Dabi had heard enough.

His arm snaked around your waist, tugging you back against his chest before you could react. His grip was firm, fingers digging into your side in a way that was all too deliberate. His chin rested on your shoulder, breath warm against your neck as he murmured low, just for you.

“Didn’t know you liked flirting with pigeons.”

Your tail swished against his leg. “Didn’t know you got jealous so easily.”

Dabi let out a quiet scoff, lips curling against your skin. “Not jealous,” he muttered. “Just don’t like watching my toy get played with by someone else.”

At that, Hawks finally turned to face him fully, grinning like he wasn’t even a little bit threatened. “Aw, Dabi, you wound me. I thought we were friends.”

Dabi rolled his eyes. “Tch. You talk too much.” His hand slid up your waist, slow, possessive. “And you’ve been spending too much time around my cat.”

You sighed. “Dabi, I’m not a pet.”

He leaned in a little more, pressing a kiss just beneath your ear, lips barely ghosting over skin. “No, but you are mine.”

Hawks let out a low whistle. “Damn, you’re really staking your claim here, huh?” His sharp golden eyes flicked between the two of you, amusement dancing in them. “Didn’t peg you as the possessive type, Dabi.”

Dabi finally pulled back enough to glare at him. “Yeah? Well, maybe if you knew how to keep your beak out of other people’s business, you wouldn’t get burned.”

Hawks just smirked, tilting his head in that way that made Dabi’s fingers itch to throw a punch. “Relax, man. We were just talking.”

Dabi’s fingers curled tighter around your hip. “Didn’t look like just talking to me.” His voice was low, dark, the edge of a warning crackling beneath the words.

You sighed, ears flicking in mild irritation. “Dabi, you’re overreacting.”

Hawks chuckled. “Yeah, listen to them. You’re acting like I was about to whisk ‘em away or something.”

Dabi’s grin stretched, sharp and dangerous. “You wouldn’t get the chance.”

Something about the way he said it made even Hawks hesitate for half a second before he smoothed his expression back into its usual easygoing mask. “Touchy.”

Dabi shrugged, his grip still firm on you. “I don’t like sharing.”

You rolled your eyes but didn’t move away from him, which was enough to satisfy Dabi—at least for now.

Hawks exhaled through his nose, shaking his head. “Well, I guess that’s my cue to leave before I get my feathers plucked.” He stretched his wings out, flashing a lazy grin. “Don’t have too much fun without me, yeah?”

Dabi didn’t bother with a response. He just waited until Hawks turned and walked off before finally loosening his hold on you—just a little.

“You really need to relax,” you murmured.

Dabi snorted. “Relax? While he’s all over you? Fat chance.”

You tilted your head back slightly, peering up at him with sharp eyes. “So what, you’re gonna get possessive every time someone talks to me?”

Dabi smirked, leaning in so close that his nose brushed against yours. “Only when it’s someone I don’t trust.”

Your tail flicked, your ears twitching as you stared at him. Then, after a moment, you exhaled a quiet laugh, shaking your head. “You’re impossible.”

He just grinned. “And you love it.”

You didn’t answer—but the way your tail curled slightly against his leg told him everything he needed to know.

And yeah, maybe he was a little possessive. Maybe he was a little jealous. But if that’s what it took to make sure you knew exactly who you belonged to, then he didn’t mind one bit.

[vandme12]

Could I please request Ronin with a reader who got a stalker after their book got popular? They don’t really see the stalker as a threat, they’ve dealt with the devil after all.

But what if he gets a little too close and it forces Ronin to do something about it, but the reader beat him to it?

Have a great day!

Your first mistake was underestimating the appeal of a killer.

The book—your book—was never supposed to blow up like this. A bloody, intimate little crime novel, loosely inspired by the slasher-flavored chaos you’d somehow made a life out of. It was supposed to be niche, a cult hit at best. But now? Every other day, there’s a new notification about someone thirsting after your fictional killer. Reviews drool over his sadism, his devil-may-care attitude, the way he breaks his victims like it’s a love language.

They have no idea he’s real. That he kisses you with the same mouth he uses to threaten lives.

Ronin thinks it’s hilarious.

“‘The Devil’s Butcher could get it, tbh,’” he reads aloud one night, cackling over a tweet on your phone. “Aw, sweetheart—why didn’t ya tell me I had fans? Coulda started a damn fan club. Goreboy Nation. Merch n’ everythin’.”

You roll your eyes, shoving his face away from your screen. “You’re already insufferable. If you start selling t-shirts, I’m out.”

Ronin just hums, teeth grazing your neck—playful. Sharp. “Nah, ya ain’t goin’ anywhere, darlin’. Face it: ‘m the only devil who’s gonna put up with ya.”

You let him think that. Let him croon against your skin like the world itself belongs to him—like you belong to him. (He isn’t wrong.)

But the thing is, while the fans are fun and the money’s nice, you know better than anyone that obsession isn’t cute.

So when you first notice the messages—subtle at first, just a little too knowing—you don’t think much of it. You’ve been stalked before. Hell, your boyfriend is a stalker if you squint a little. What’s one more weirdo with boundary issues?

But then your inbox gets weird.

The stalker doesn’t ask normal fan questions. They pick apart the details—the parts you shouldn’t know, shouldn’t be able to write about. Things only Ronin would recognize. Things you shouldn’t have access to.

They know too much.

“You think it’s a cop?” you ask one night, lounging on Ronin’s ratty couch while he sharpens one of his knives.

He snorts. “Please. If the cops were that competent, I’d be in cuffs already.” He tilts his head, glancing at you through dark lashes. “You worried, baby?”

Worried? Not exactly. Not when your boyfriend has a body count higher than his IQ.

You shrug. “I can handle it.”

Ronin grins, wolfish and bright. “I know ya can.”

The first time you mention the stalker, Ronin laughs.

You do get it now..

"Aw, c’mon, darling," he drawls over the phone, voice honey-sweet with a razor’s edge. "You’re tellin’ me some pencil-idiot creep thinks they can rattle you? After all we’ve been through? Cute."

He’s not worried—why would he be? You’ve survived him, after all.

To Ronin, there’s no comparison. Some obsessive fan sending you weird, clingy emails and waiting outside your apartment doesn’t rank high on his list of threats. Not when you’ve faced worse and walked away with your heart still beating—his, too, if he’s feeling sentimental.

You’re not worried either. Not really.

You’ve danced with the devil and kissed him in an alley soaked with blood. Some guy with a parasocial complex doesn’t exactly make your skin crawl—not in the way it should. But it’s annoying. Persistent. And starting to piss you off.

At first, it’s small things. A note on your windshield after a signing. Flowers sent to your P.O. box with no return address. Emails signed Your biggest fan that come in the dozens—rambling, incoherent praise. Nothing that feels threatening, not really. Just… there.

You don’t mention it again for weeks. Ronin’s busy, anyway. Uptown’s been keeping him occupied—more bodies in Purgatory, more sinners to crucify. You don’t blame him for being distracted. If anything, you like that he’s got bloodier things on his mind.

Still, when he catches you laughing over a particularly unhinged email, he makes a sound low in his throat. Dangerous. Interested.

"That your little stalker again?"

"Yeah," you say, spinning lazily in your office chair. "Dude thinks we’re soulmates or something. Poor guy has no clue what he’s up against."

"Mm." A pause. His voice dips, velvet-soft. "They better not touch you, baby."

You smile, tilting your head. "What, you gonna rip their heart out for me?"

Ronin chuckles, low and indulgent. "Only if ya let me."

The first time the stalker crosses the line, it’s almost funny. Almost.

You find the package outside your door one night—a plain cardboard box, taped neatly shut. For a second, you think it’s something you ordered. But there’s no address. No label.

Inside is a photograph.

It’s you.

You, sitting at your favorite café last week—head down, lost in thought, writing notes for your next novel. Taken through a window, your face blurred slightly by the glass. Beneath the photo, there’s a single line of text.

"You’re even prettier in person."

"Jesus Christ," you mutter, tossing it on the counter.

Ronin doesn’t find it funny.

"You didn’t tell me they were that close," he says when you send him a picture.

"It’s fine," you reply. "They’re harmless. Just desperate."

"Yeah? Let’s see how harmless they are when I wrap my hands ‘round their throat."

His protectiveness is hot—obviously—but you don’t want to wind him up too much. This isn’t his mess to clean. Not yet.

Besides. You can handle yourself.

The next time, they get bolder.

A text pings your phone at 2:47 AM. No number. No name.

I saw you tonight.

You glance toward your window. It’s locked—has been since Ronin waltzed into your life and made paranoia a love language. Still, your skin prickles.

"Still harmless, darling?" Ronin asks the next morning.

You know what he wants—to unleash that wicked temper, to make a statement in blood. It’s sweet, in its own fucked-up way. But you tell him the same thing as always.

"I’ve got it under control."

He hums. Doesn’t argue. But there’s something sharper in his silence.

It escalates three days later.

You’re walking home from a late-night grocery run—plastic bags heavy with cup noodles and the cheap, trashy snacks you practically live on. The city hums around you, neon lights flickering in and out of focus.

And then you feel it.

That creeping sensation of eyes on your back.

You don’t panic. Panic is for people who haven’t kissed a serial killer and walked away grinning. You duck into a side street instead, cutting through a back alley to lose them.

Footsteps follow.

A thrill rolls through your stomach—part fear, part excitement. If this idiot thinks you’re an easy target, they’ve got another thing coming.

"Y’know," you say casually, turning on your heel, "if you wanted an autograph, you could’ve just—"

They lunge.

Wrong move.

Your elbow slams into their ribs before they can touch you. The plastic bags hit the ground, scattering instant ramen everywhere. You twist, slamming your knee into their gut next—hard enough to make them stumble.

The guy isn’t much—skinny, twitchy, desperate. He gasps, scrambling back as you advance, heart hammering with adrenaline.

"You’ve been watching me for weeks," you murmur, stepping closer. "Did you really think I wouldn’t notice?"

He doesn’t answer. Just wheezes.

Pity. You were hoping for more of a fight.

Ronin shows up at your apartment less than an hour later, eyes bright with anticipation.

"Where’s my new friend?" he drawls, cracking his knuckles.

You tilt your head toward the bathroom. "Tied up. Not much fun, though."

His grin sharpens. "Fuckin’ knew ya had it in ya, baby."

When he sees the guy—slumped against your shower wall, wrists bound tight—Ronin practically purrs. He crouches low, brushing a blood-specked thumb across the stalker’s cheek, and laughs.

"Oh, sweetheart," he murmurs, eyes flicking to you. "Ya really are somethin’ else."

"You’re disappointed I didn’t let you have him first," you tease.

Ronin leans back on his heels, gaze lingering on your face like you’re his favorite kind of crime scene. "Ain’t disappointed. Proud of ya."

It’s the truth—you can feel it in the heat of his stare, the way his smile curves sharper. He’s proud. Because you didn’t need him to save you. Because you’re just as much a monster as he is.

And God, if that doesn’t make him love you more.

By the time Ronin’s finished with the guy, there isn’t much left. Nothing that’ll be missed.

"Y’know," he muses later, lounging on your bed with his bloodied hands behind his head, "if anyone else so much as looks at ya funny, I’m takin’ their eyes as a souvenir."

You roll your eyes, crawling onto the mattress beside him. "Possessive much?"

His smile widens—feral and unrepentant. "Always. Ya like it, don’t lie."

And maybe you do.

Because the devil doesn’t share.

And neither do you.

[cafechichay]

Paris, Texas

Pairing - Theodore Nott x Fem!Reader

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Everyone, except you.

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

Truly.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You are not really a party person.

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

And it was your own fault, was it not?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Excuse me, are you… Y/N, right?”

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

Adrien Delacroix.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Sure, why not.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

But that moment didn’t come.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You were sitting with Adrien Delacroix.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Was she ill? Is she okay?

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

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

She’s okay. Just not with me.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But how could he not?

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

It was infuriating.

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

Maybe that was the worst part.

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

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

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

The wood snapped between his fingers with a sharp crack.

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

He had to get a grip.

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

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

Because he hadn’t.

That was Theodore’s place.

Or at least—it had been.

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

But every time he tried, Adrien was there.

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

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

But it did.

It fucking did.

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

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

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

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

But you never did.

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

You were laughing.

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

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

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

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

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

He should say something.

Now.

This was his chance.

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

But just as he stepped forward—

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

And Theodore—

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

He couldn’t do this anymore.

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

No—this was something else entirely.

Something heavier.

Something dangerously close to regret.

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

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

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

But he wasn’t.

Because you had stopped turning to him at all.

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

His hands clenched at his sides.

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

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

Someone moved into his path.

“Theodore?”

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

He didn’t care about her.

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

He walked right past her.

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

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

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

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

His patience had finally run out.

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

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

Nothing.

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

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

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

He shoved it open, frustration spilling over—

And immediately regretted it.

Draco Malfoy was on his bed, half-naked.

Astoria Greengrass was also half-naked.

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

Theodore froze.

Astoria froze.

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

For a full, excruciating moment, nobody moved.

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

Theodore felt like he’d been dropped into hell.

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

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

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

Theodore barely heard her. His patience snapped.

“What’s going on with her?”

Draco raised a brow. “Who?”

Theodore saw red.

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

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

Astoria grabbed Theodore’s collar.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“She’s seventeen, Theodore.”

Theodore clenched his jaw. “I know that.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Theodore’s jaw ticked. “That’s not—”

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

The words landed like a slap.

Theodore swallowed, something bitter curling in his stomach.

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

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

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

Theodore hated the way his stomach twisted.

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

Astoria whistled. “Brutal.”

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

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

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

Theodore froze.

Draco chuckled under his breath.

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

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

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

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

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

They weren’t. They couldn’t be.

You weren’t moving on.

You weren’t choosing Adrien over him.

You couldn’t be.

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

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

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

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

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

She tilted her head, eyes gleaming with something vicious.

“Years.”

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

His stomach dropped.

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

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

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

Theodore’s stomach twisted violently.

Because she was right.

You had always been there.

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

His throat felt tight. “That’s not—”

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

Theodore felt like he couldn’t breathe.

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

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

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

He had wasted it.

Astoria wasn’t finished.

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

Theodore blinked. “What?”

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

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

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

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

No.

No, that wasn’t—

You had never—

Had you?

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

Theodore couldn’t move. Couldn’t breathe.

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

Theodore’s hands were shaking.

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

Theodore felt like he was going to be sick.

She had hurt because of him.

She had cried because of him.

And he had never even noticed.

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

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

Because he saw it now.

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

And now you weren’t waiting anymore.

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

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

Theodore flinched.

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

Theodore swallowed hard.

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

Draco sighed. “It’s genetic.”

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

Astoria blinked.

Draco raised a brow.

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

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

Astoria studied him.

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

Draco hummed. “Painful to watch, really.”

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

Theodore didn’t even hesitate. “Yes.”

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

Theodore exhaled shakily.

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

Theodore swallowed hard.

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

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

Something flared hot in Theodore’s chest.

No.

You weren’t going to forget him.

He wasn’t going to let you.

And for the first time in his life—

He was going to fight for you.

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

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

He had tried to write to you.

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

I should’ve—

I never meant—

If you could just—

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

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

And now, someone was here.

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

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

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

Merlin.

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

His gut twisted.

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

This—this was pathetic.

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

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

Because he saw it now.

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

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

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

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

Disappointment.

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

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

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

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

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

You can’t buy my forgiveness, Theodore.

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

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

But when he opened them again—you were gone.

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

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

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

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

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

He needed to do better.

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

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

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

But how?

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

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

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

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

Adrien Delacroix.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And still—he couldn’t just let it go.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

That was when he felt it.

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

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

But then—

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

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

What the fuck is he doing?

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

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

Is he coming to confront me? To mock me?

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

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

What the hell does he want?

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

And the worst part?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He didn’t leave.

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

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

The silence that followed dragged.

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

No response. No movement.

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

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

Still, nothing.

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

The tell was small. But it was there.

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

A pause.

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

Not an answer. But not nothing, either.

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

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

Like the comment had landed.

Like it had hit somewhere.

The silence that followed was different. Sharper.

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

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

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

Avoiding.

Not engaging.

Something about that settled wrong in Adrien’s chest.

Because why was this his problem?

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

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

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

His fingers twitched at his sides before curling into fists.

Yeah. No.

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

He turned, already done, already moving.

Then—

"Wait!"

The word came rough. Unsteady.

Like something had slipped before it could be swallowed down.

Adrien stopped.

For a moment, he didn’t turn back.

Didn’t move.

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

Then, slowly, deliberately, he turned.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Why are you asking me?" Adrien asked, his voice quieter now, less sharp. "You must have learnt something in the how many years she's been pining after you You’re just hoping I’ll say something that makes it easier for you."

Theodore swallowed hard. "I—"

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

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

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

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

Theodore stayed silent, absorbing his words.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Theodore sat there in silence.

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

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

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

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

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

Theodore swallowed hard. "And how do I do that?"

Adrien’s smirk returned, but this time, it was less mocking. "Now that, mon ami, is the real question."

The sheets were too warm. Or maybe not warm enough. Every time you tried to settle, your thoughts seemed to slip between the covers with you, circling your mind like an endless, insomniac spiral. It had been like this for days. You rolled over for the fifth time, trying to bury your head in your pillow and ignore the feeling clawing at your chest—frustration, loneliness, the unrelenting ache of missing something you weren’t sure you could have anymore.

You turned again, staring at the shadows that crept along the stone walls of the dormitory, the faint glow of moonlight filtering through the tall windows. Sleep wasn’t coming. It hadn’t come in a while.

Your fingers, cold despite the warmth of your blankets, brushed over the edge of your nightgown. Barefoot, you swung your legs off the side of the bed, toes brushing the cool stone floor. The chill hit you like a breath of wind. You stood, the muscles in your legs stiff from lying still for too long, and tugged your cardigan tighter around your shoulders.

A quick glance around the room showed no one else awake. Of course, no one else would be—most of the Gryffindors could sleep through anything. But you weren’t like them. Not tonight.

You moved as quietly as possible, pulling your cardigan tighter, but your bare feet met the cold floor with every step, making you wince. You could feel the stone floor beneath your feet, rough and unforgiving, as if each step was a reminder of how disconnected you felt, how off-balance everything seemed lately. The distance between you and the others felt wider with each step you took. Even the castle seemed cold and distant.

Your thoughts circled back to him—Theodore. Even now, after all that had happened, he was still a presence in the back of your mind, unwanted and persistent, like the cold drafts you could never seem to escape. You weren’t ready for anything between you two, not yet, not with all the unsaid things and the space that had grown between you.

Your footsteps echoed softly through the empty halls as you navigated the winding corridors of the castle, your breath a faint mist in the cold air. The walk, though short, seemed to take forever. You had been making this journey for days now, finding solace in the familiar warmth of the kitchens, a place where time seemed to slow down and the usual chaos of Hogwarts didn’t quite reach you. It was just you, and the promise of something warm—something comforting that didn’t require explanation.

The flickering torchlight on the walls illuminated your path, but the shadows of the corridors seemed to stretch endlessly in front of you, like the miles of unspoken words and unfinished conversations between you and Theodore. The thought of him made your stomach churn in the quiet stillness of the castle, but still, you walked. You had to.

When you reached the kitchens, the door creaked as you nudged it open, the sound sharper in the silence of the night. The faint smell of baked goods lingered in the air, mixed with the faint scent of warm milk, a comfort that almost made you forget why you’d come. You stepped in, the door falling gently closed behind you, and your eyes immediately sought the familiar space—the cupboards lined with ingredients, the shelves stacked with cookbooks, the little stove in the corner that you’d grown to love over the years.

Then you froze.

There, standing over the counter, was Theodore.

At first, you thought you’d imagined him, the shadows playing tricks on your eyes, but no, there he was. Theodore, his hair slightly messy from sleep, his eyes bloodshot, and an array of failed attempts strewn across the counter in front of him. Empty mugs sat in a sad pile, some clearly broken, others just abandoned, alongside half-opened packets of hot chocolate powder and bits of chocolate bars that had already started to melt.

Your heart skipped a beat, a strange, sudden mixture of anger and confusion tightening in your chest. Of all places, here. You weren’t sure if you wanted to run or stay. Maybe both. Your feet felt rooted to the spot, cold stone against bare skin, the weight of the situation too much to bear.

You blinked, suddenly self-conscious of your bare feet, the cold air seeping through the thin fabric of your nightgown. Your mind was racing—what was he doing here? Why tonight, of all nights? And why this?

Theodore froze at the sound of your steps, his hands hovering over the mess. He stepped back, raising his hands in a motion you knew all too well. “I—I wasn’t trying to invade your personal space or anything,” he muttered quickly, glancing over at you with wide eyes. “I just... well, I know how much you like hot chocolate, and I thought I could... I mean, if you want, I can leave, but I wasn’t trying to—” He trailed off, looking flustered.

The words hit you like a cold wave, leaving a strange, hollow ache in their wake. His presence here, in this moment, felt like an intrusion. You hadn’t asked for this. You hadn’t asked for him to come and try to fix things when there were still so many pieces of the puzzle missing, so many things left unsaid.

Your heart thudded in your chest, your wariness a familiar weight in your stomach. You didn’t respond immediately, unsure how to handle his sudden presence—especially given the quiet, unresolved tension between you. You didn’t want to talk about it. Not now, not here. You weren’t sure if you were ready for any of it.

Theodore took another step back, as if to give you space, but his eyes flickered to the counter. “I—I didn’t mean to make a mess. It’s just, well... I’ve never made hot chocolate quite like this before, apparently.” His voice was almost sheepish, as if embarrassed by the sight of all the failed attempts. The mess on the counter felt like a metaphor for everything that had happened between you two—disastrous, messy, and something neither of you knew how to fix.

Your eyes fell on the spilled milk, the chocolate that was now a mess on the counter, the empty mugs—each a reminder of how much he was trying. For a moment, you were torn between the nagging frustration that you still felt for him and the sudden realization that this, this, was a side of him you hadn’t expected to see. And despite yourself, you felt a small crack in the wall you’d built around yourself.

Theodore sighed, rubbing a hand through his messy hair. “I’m not trying to make things weird. Really. I just... I wanted to make it right.” He glanced at you again, his voice softer now. “You’ve been having a lot of... sleepless nights, haven’t you? I thought you might like this.”

For a second, there was a pause. The words hung between you like a fragile thread, neither of you willing to break the silence. The warmth in his voice didn’t match the cold in your chest, but it did something to you—softened the edges just enough for you to acknowledge how much you missed this. Missed him. But you couldn’t let that show. Not yet.

And in that silence, it almost felt like you were both standing in a space that didn’t quite belong to either of you, a place full of warmth, but also memories that were still too fresh.

You stared at Theodore, uncertainty gnawing at you. The kitchen was quiet again, save for the small sounds of his failed attempts, the clink of mugs and the soft, almost imperceptible hiss of milk being heated for another round. The awkwardness of the moment threatened to swallow you, and yet, there was something in his eyes—something familiar—that made you hesitate before retreating.

Finally, you asked, your voice low but sharp. "What are you doing here?"

Theodore blinked, momentarily caught off guard. He looked up, almost embarrassed, and fumbled with the mess on the counter. "Making hot chocolate," he said with a little shrug, like the answer should be obvious.

You shook your head, stepping closer, arms crossed over your chest. You weren’t going to let this go. "Theodore, why are you here?"

For a moment, Theodore just stood there, staring at the ingredients strewn across the counter. He seemed to lose himself in the mess, eyes flicking to the various packets of powder, the chocolate bars, the spilled milk. And then, as though pulled from some deep place within him, his voice was quieter when he spoke again, but no less meaningful. "You used to call me Teo," he said, almost to himself, as if the words were a soft confession.

You felt your chest tighten at the sound of the nickname, the one that had always seemed to carry weight with it. Teo. It was the name you’d whispered to him in a thousand different contexts: while studying, while making coffee, while talking about anything and everything. It had always been a small, simple thing, but hearing it now, in the thick of all this silence, made your heart feel heavy.

"Used to," you said quietly, your voice betraying the fragility you were trying to hide. "But that was a long time ago. It doesn’t—" You stopped yourself, unsure of what you wanted to say. It didn’t matter, but it did. You didn’t know how to untangle your feelings.

Theodore was standing still now, and his gaze was steady, meeting yours. The apology hadn’t come yet, but the way he looked at you made it clear he knew he owed one.

“I thought... I thought I could fix it,” he continued, the words spilling out now like he couldn’t hold them in any longer. "You remember fifth year? When you’d make me hot chocolate while we were studying for hours? You always insisted on putting all that extra sugar in it—whipped cream, marshmallows, the whole thing. I hated how sweet it was, but it was just... the way you made it, you know?" He chuckled softly, but the sound was laced with a touch of bitterness. "And I never had the heart to tell you. I just—well, I’d drink it anyway because you were the one making it. It just... felt like something we did together. Even if it was stupid and small, it was... something."

His voice faltered for a moment, and you could see him struggling to collect his thoughts, the words piling up in his mind. He shook his head as if trying to make sense of the mess, but nothing came out right.

"I guess," he continued, his tone quieter now, more serious, "I thought if I could do something like that again—if I could make you hot chocolate—maybe it would mean something. Maybe it would be enough for you to understand that I... I didn’t mean to mess things up. I know I did. I know I did. But I thought, at least... this... this would be a way to show you that I’m sorry. I don’t know. I just... I couldn’t think of anything else."

The words hung in the air, thick with all the things he hadn’t said, all the things you both had buried under silence and time. His hands hovered over the spilled milk, and for a moment, he seemed lost, his expression tense. You could tell he was trying, but there was no easy way out of this. No easy apology.

“I never thought I’d end up like this,” he continued, his voice thickening. "I know this doesn’t make up for what happened. It doesn’t fix anything. But... I thought, if I could at least do this—if I could make the hot chocolate you always made for me—that maybe it would be enough. At least... at least it would show you that I care."

There was so much emotion in his words—so much regret, so much rawness—that it made you want to look away, but you couldn’t. Your chest tightened, and the lump in your throat grew, because you didn’t know what to feel anymore. You wanted to tell him it wasn’t enough. That it couldn’t be fixed with something so small. But you were frozen, unsure of how to say it without everything else falling apart.

Finally, you spoke, your voice shaky, betraying the turmoil inside. "It’s not enough," you whispered. "Hot chocolate... doesn’t fix everything, Theodore."

He nodded, his eyes flicking down to the counter, avoiding your gaze. "I know," he said quietly. "I know. I just... I wanted to try."

The silence stretched between you both, thick and heavy, but not entirely unpleasant. The words weren’t enough, not yet, but maybe there was a chance now. Maybe, just maybe, this could be the start of something different.

The silence between you both felt different now. It wasn’t the oppressive silence of anger, but something quieter, more fragile. The air between you was thick, as though you could almost reach out and touch the distance that had always been there, but never this much. You could hear the soft hiss of milk heating on the stove, the clink of Theodore’s spoon stirring his latest attempt at hot chocolate—sounds that should have felt comforting, familiar, but instead, they only made the room feel colder.

You wanted to break the silence. You needed to. But the words felt stuck somewhere deep inside you, tangled in all the hurt and frustration you’d been carrying for so long. You had no idea how to untangle it all. It was easier to stay silent. Easier to keep your distance.

Your eyes stayed focused on the floor, avoiding his. Because if you looked at him, even for a second, you weren’t sure what you’d do. You could feel the anger still simmering beneath your skin, but there was something else, too. Something you couldn’t name. The ache in your chest grew heavier, but you couldn’t let yourself give in. Not yet.

For a moment, you just stood there, your arms still crossed, trying to gather the strength to speak. Finally, you let out a shaky breath. "I’m not saying it’s fine. It’s... it’s not. What you did... it really hurt, Theodore." The words felt like they came from someone else, but you knew they needed to be said. "I don’t forget things like that. It still hurts."

You could hear Theodore’s breath hitch in the quiet, and you knew he could feel every word in the depths of his gut. You didn’t want to hurt him, but the truth was, you were still hurting, too.

He stayed still, his eyes fixed on you, like he was afraid that if he moved or spoke, he’d make things worse. His mouth opened, then closed, like he couldn’t quite figure out what to say next. You didn’t give him a chance to respond. You couldn’t bear to hear another apology that felt empty.

You didn’t want to admit it, but the weight of everything you'd been holding back felt too much to ignore anymore. “I don’t forget things like that,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper, but heavy with the truth of it. “I don’t forget how easily you pulled away, how much it hurt when you didn’t seem to care about me at all. I didn’t expect it to be so easy for you to just move on.” Your throat tightened with the bitterness you couldn’t quite swallow, and you hated how raw you sounded, but it was too late to take it back. “I didn’t think you would just... leave me like that."

 "But, Theodore..."

The moment hung there, suspended in time, and you felt the rawness of everything you’d been holding inside finally bubble to the surface. You didn’t know if you could fully forgive him yet, but you weren’t sure you wanted to close the door on this... whatever it was.

You exhaled slowly, as if each breath took a little more of your resolve with it. "I don’t know what you expect me to say,” you murmured, your voice softer now, but still carrying the weight of everything you couldn’t say before. “It’s not just about the words you’ve said or the things you’ve done... it’s more than that. You can’t just make a grand gesture and think it’ll fix everything." You shifted your weight, suddenly unsure of how to make the rest of it come out right. "I... I need to see that this is something you actually care about. Not just in one moment, but over time. You’ve got to show me you can do more than apologize."

Your throat tightened as you struggled to keep yourself steady. "I don’t know if I’m ready to just... forget everything. Maybe I’ll get there, but not right now. I need to see if you really mean it... and I need more than just words."

You closed your eyes for a moment, your heart hammering in your chest, the silence wrapping around you like a second skin. It was terrifying. Letting yourself feel all this again. Letting him see the parts of you that you’d buried for so long. But you could see it in his eyes—he wasn’t just apologizing to make it easier. He was really trying.

"I’m willing to let you try," you whispered, your voice trembling slightly. "But don’t let me down again."

Theodore was still. His entire body was taut, like he was waiting for something—your rejection, maybe. But when he spoke, his voice was steady, even if his words were tinged with an emotion you couldn’t quite place. "I won’t," he said, his gaze locking with yours. "I won’t let you down again. I promise. I... I’ll show you, every day—I’m serious about this."

Your breath caught in your throat. It wasn’t perfect. It wasn’t enough yet. But there was something real in the way he spoke, a sincerity you hadn’t seen in him for so long. And for the first time in a long time, you let yourself believe him, even just a little.

Theodore took a step toward you, but he hesitated, like he wasn’t sure if it was okay to move closer. He opened his mouth to speak again, his voice low. "I’m guessing... you’re still not going to tell me how to make the hot chocolate, are you?"

It was the first time in hours that you let a smile slip through. It was small, but it was real—an actual smile, not one you’d forced. "You’ve got to figure that part out on your own, Teo."

He laughed softly, the sound filled with relief and something lighter than the tension that had been hanging between you both. And in that laugh, you could hear the promise. Not that everything would go back to the way it was, but that maybe, just maybe, there was a chance for something new. Something different.

You didn’t have all the answers, and neither did he. But for the first time in a long while, you felt like you didn’t have to do this alone. And that was enough to let you take the first step, even if you weren’t sure what would come next.

[sexy-monster-fucker]

I Don’t Love You, I’m Just Passing the Time

Dr. Gregory House x Doctor!Reader

Story Synopsis: Reader is a Doctor alongside House. They have known each other for years, mostly been dancing around being intimate with one another. Even though it is painfully obvious to their close friend, Wilson. After finally allowing their guards to fall, the Reader receives a letter inviting her for her dream position at her dream hospital. She has to make the hard choice of staying or going. angst/smut/nsfw/new relationships/minor fluff/typical hospital talk/situationship/

Part 1/Summary: Reader is woken in the middle of the night on the pretenses that her patient’s mother is distressed over some tests being run. Little does she know, House was the one behind it all.

CW: mentions of STDs, house being house, makeout, house being handsy, drug mention, situationship final boss

a/n: i just started episode one of house md, so apologies in advance if this is written out of character

~~~

"Did you seriously go behind my back and run tests on my patient?"

You folded your arms over your chest as you stormed into his office. Being called in from your bed because your patient's mother was distressed that her child had been brought back for testing that you had not informed them up. Still in your t-shirt, only having time to throw on a pair of jeans that you had laying on the floor. Not exactly the image of professionalism you normally showed. Running off pure adrenaline and rage as you tapped your foot on the linoleum floor.

"Well, good morning to you too, sweetheart," Dr. Gregory House, a fellow colleague of yours, snarked with a smirk. You had known him for years. Working alongside him even through all his questionable antics. Finding a close friendship in him and Dr. James Wilson. Somehow still annoyed when he would do something questionably ethical, even though it did not surprise you anymore.

"House," you chastised with tight lips.

"What if I saved your patient's life?"

"Since when did you care about other people's patients?"

"Touché," his eyebrows bounced as blue eyes darted to the side.

Your eyes lasered into him from across his desk. Waiting for some explanation as to why he felt the need to weasel his way into another one of your cases. Anger swirling around your stomach as the seconds ticked by.

"Your tits look good in that shirt," his eyes trailed down to your chest. Earning him an elongated eyeroll from you. His inability to not comment on your body any chance he got shining through. Cocky attitude gleaming behind his eyes.

"You think I don't know that?"

"You're standing here like you do."

"I'm standing here like I am waiting to hear your excuse," you growled. Jaw clinching as your temples flexed. Boiling under the layers of composure you were keeping.

"You left all your paperwork out. The whiteboard still had writing on it. How could I not tickle my fancy and see what you weren't? You should be thanking me. Kid's got chlamydia. Give her some antibiotics and she'll be fine," House shrugged.

"I ran tests for every STD in the book," you grimaced.

"When you hear hooves, assume horses not zebras, Y/L/N," his tone was teasing as he smiled. And you would be lying if you said that it did not make you want to smile back. House was a complete ass. Full of himself, condescending, and just not the most fun guy to be around. But you had grown fond of him. There was no other man alive who you would let talk to you the way he does, let alone flirt with you so much. And you liked him. The way his hair was disheveled, the way his beard ran softly down his neck, and how his eyes were always looking at you deeply. Denying yourself the reality of any sort of relationship, seeing as he was emotionally unavailable.

But you could still have fun with him.

"You're telling me it came back positive this time?"

"Yes. That's what happens when a real doctor runs tests. Instead of making interns do it," hooded eyes looked up at you.

Your tongue came out to glaze over your teeth. Closing the distance between you as you leaned across the table. Teeth grinding together as you stared into his eyes, "You woke me up to gloat?"

"I didn't wake you up. Remember? The mother was worried," he smirked, clearly admitting the false nature of your page.

"You lied to get me here so you could brag in my face," your brows pushed together as you scanned his face. Watching his eyes stare down the v-neck of your shirt as you leaned forward. Clearly fixated on your exposed breasts.

“You sleep without a bra?”

Your face flushes at the realization. In your rush to leave you had not even taken the time to throw on a bra. Understanding why he was so awestruck by your chest. Having a clear view of every detail.

You straightened your back and cleared your throat. Lips parted in embarrassment. Unable to look in his piercing blue eyes. You could see him snickering out of the corner of your eye. Loving how flustered he had you.

“Why did you want me here?”

“I was worried about your patient, of course. Maybe I just like messing with you. Maybe I just wanted to see you,” House bullshitted you. He was the King at it. Fastest way he knew how to get under people’s skin. But you were all too familiar with his game.

You walked around his desk, causing him to straighten his back and wonder what you were about to do to him. You took your place between his spread legs and the desk. Sitting on the edge directly in front of him. Head tilting to the side as you teased, “Did you really miss me that bad?”

House chuckled, rolling his neck as he thought of a response. Scooting his chair closer so that he could be against your legs. Almost close enough to touch you, head leaned above your lap. You caressed his chin with your pointer finger, prickly facial hair danced along your digit. Causing his eyes to fall shut for a moment. Lingering in your soft touch.

“Look, I get we haven’t been working many cases together. And I know it’s so hard for you to be away from me, but you can’t just pull me out of bed in the middle of the night,” you smiled, voice soft with a hint of joking.

“I’d rather be in bed with you,” House grinned. Earning himself another eye roll from you. You flicked his forehead. His brows furrowed together as an over exaggerated ‘OW’ came from him. You laughed as his hand came up to cup where you had hit him. Lines of his forehead thicker than before.

Now this is as the side of your relationship that had your feelings mixed all around. Yes, he was a womanizer to everyone. Of course he made non-stop remarks about your body and your looks and how you were “acting like a woman.” But this? This was something entirely different. A side of him that was genuine and enamored. His smile not riddled with self gratification and narcissism. Instead it was like he was actually enjoying being around you.

“You know I could sue you,” House smugly started, “It’s a hate crime to attack cripples.”

“Not when they deserve it,” you leaned forward as you spoke, closing the gap between your faces. Feeling your stomach flip when his smile softened as he looked in your eyes. Close enough to be breathing the same air. Both of you fighting to not breathe too loudly. Silence loomed over the room. You swallowed the lump forming as you contorted your jaw with thought.

House pushed himself forward, almost connecting his lips to yours. So close you had to hold your breath. Before he could you spoke, “I’m going home since my sleep was interrupted.”

He exhaled with an awkward smile as he leaned back. Looking away from you, out the small gap in his blinds. Piercing his lips together as he nodded. Nostrils flaring as his mind raced. Teeth clicking together, “Teasing little minx, aren’t you?”

Wide eyes looked back at you again. The corner of your mouth upturned when you saw his flushed face. Eyes wandering down to see the outline of his semi-hard in his jeans. Cheeks heating up at the sight as you blew your breath out in a giggle.

“You are just a horny old man,” you led his gaze back to you with your hand on his chin. His pupils were enlarged as they looked between yours.

Neither of you were willing to admit the tension between you. Writing it off as a mutual understanding of how the other behaved. Even when Wilson would point out every obvious sign of something else. Swearing he had never seen two people as smart as you be so stupid.

Knowing the real reason you never acknowledged it was a mutual fear. Fear of things becoming too real and you both growing attached. His dependence on the pills in his coat pocket. Your tendency to run at the first sign of vulnerability. Somethings do not work well together.

Even thought he knew more about you than anyone else. And the fact you had seen the scar that he refuses to acknowledge most of the time. Or even that you both had stayed over at the other’s apartment more than once. Finding comfort in the other’s presence. Watching him play his piano and closing your eyes to the relaxing melody. Allowing him to teach you some minor lessons when he wanted. Finding yourself shopping for food with his tastes in mind. Calling him when you just needed someone to talk to, even if he sounded annoyed the entire time.

“You’re basically dating,” Wilson had once said to you over lunch.

“Oh, God. Can’t a man and a woman just be friends?”

“No!” he had laughed with his exclamation, “Especially not you two.”

You had sneered at him in response, nose scrunched and eyes narrow. Wilson had put his hands up in a defensive position, “Okay— okay! Then explain why you got that.” He motioned to the red sucker on your tray.

“Because I knew House would… want… it..?” You realized what you were admitting as it left your lips. Cheeks igniting when he grinned at you. You brushed him off. Suppressing any and all thoughts and confusion that conversation brought about.

“It’s because I’m cripple, isn’t it?”

You rolled your neck along with your eyes. Sighing heavily with a laugh. Attention back on House when he grabbed his cane and stood between your legs. Resting the cane against the desk so both his hands could splay across your thighs. Figure towering over you now that he was at his full height.

“Not sure how that’ll go over with the P.C. Mob,” he joked as his nose traced your jawline. Heat from his breath trickling down your throat. You could not help but giggle at the sensation. Stubble tickling your skin as he examined your jugular. Feeling when his mouth would morph into a smile. One of your hands meeting his on your thigh, the other tangling in his hair.

“Greg…” your voice dropped to a sultry tone, stopping him in his tracks. Audibly swallowing as he held still. Shoulders rising and falling with each breath he took. Use of his first name was something you normally saved for when you were at home. Still interchanging it with his sir-name from time to time.

“Y/N…” he replied, lips painfully close to your skin. Your heartbeat thumped against your eardrums. Arousal pooling between your legs at the smell of his cologne. And how his fingers dug into your thighs. Stabilizing himself, but also just wanting to feel you.

“I have to go get some sleep,” you drawled, your hand running up his arm and resting on his shoulder. House hummed in response, lips finally resting against your skin with a soft kiss. Chills ran over your body. His lips grew more sloppy as your lip began to quiver. Teeth grazing the flesh as one of his hands ran up your torso. Groping at your chest. Kneading the plump meat of your breast in his large hand.

“Just sleep here,” House groaned into your neck, a hint of a whine in his tone. Lips turning greedy as they made their way to the base of your ear.

“I’m not a booty call you can make when you’re needing to get laid in the middle of the night,” you laughed. Hands coming up and cupping his face. Causing his eyes to meet yours again.

“Really? I thought you were one of the hookers,” House smirked, tilting his head with his words. Leaning back to see your face better. His teeth pulling his lip between them. Swiftly kissing your face to the corner of your mouth. Waiting for some sort of permission before planting them on yours. Big, ocean eyes looked into yours.

You turned to meet him. Lips interlocking. Electricity shot through your nervous system. His tongue split your lips as he lapped into your mouth. Groaning as he pressed his body into yours. Loving the way your legs instinctively welcomed him between them, how they softly wrapped around his waist. Stumbling back against the desk when his weight sunk against you. Arms wrapping around his neck to stabilize yourself. Eyes wide, looking into his. His breath came out shaky, “Fuck.”

His hand cupped the side of your face, lips finding their place on yours again. Open mouth kisses were shared between you for a moment. His hand hooked around the band of your shirt, pushing it up and revealing your bare breasts. Gawking at them before capturing one of your hardened nipples between his lips. You moaned at how perfectly he stimulated your body. Nails digging into his shoulders as you savored his mouth on your skin. Teeth bit marks into the tender flesh, sucking and licking the bruises after.

"I want to fuck you so bad right now," House breathed out, hands roaming your body as his lips placed themself back on yours. You giggled, kissing him back hard.

A sudden yawn escaped your mouth. The lack of sleep catching up with you all at once. You rested your head against his shoulder, eyes growing heavy. Fighting your urge to give into him. House harshly sighed, his hand petting your hair for a moment. Frustrated that your body was throwing a wrench in his plan. "You're seriously that tired?"

You nodded, blinking yourself awake, "I have to be in at six in the morning."

"That's just a few hours away. Can't we have a little fun? I'm sure your blood pumping will wake you up," House suggested. Grimacing when you doed your eyes up at him. Your need for sleep apparent by the way you blinked slowly.

"I can't come to work without a bra," you joked a soft laugh falling from you. House chuckled in response. Lips falling against the top of your head, trying his hardest to not get angry. And trying to ignore how his cock throbbed between his legs.

“I really want to stay, but I won’t be able to work tomorrow if I do,” you whined, sitting up and looking at him with hooded eyes. Sleepily pressing your lips to his again. Matured hand cupping your cheek, thumb rubbing circles into the warm skin.

“Go home, get some sleep. I’ll see you tomorrow,” House sighed, defeated by how sweetly sleepy you were. Sitting back in his chair once more, giving you the space to get off his desk.

You hopped off, planting one more tender kiss to his lips before heading for the door.

“Your ass looks good in those jeans, too,” House said as soon as you reached the door. Smiling when you gave him an annoyed glance over your shoulder.

~~~

[END//Part 1] -> Part 2

// Thank you so much for reading!! This is my first time writing for Dr. House, he is my current new obsession. I’ve got most of this story scripted out and I’m excited to continue it. If you are interested in being tagged in the future, or have a request of any kind, let me know! Comments and Reblogs are appreciated //

{tags}

@megangovier ~ @iwmflbb ~ @houseslollipop ~ @ooom4rie ~ @yourgirlcarol ~

[lazylattedgleam]

Okay guys! Thoughts part 4! My brain won’t let me sleep hence I shall write, forgive me if I make any spelling errors though, I might get drowsy :’)

———————————————————————————————————————

Ok ok ok so let’s start!

Thinking of Sylus x NON!MC Reader.

The night came by quite like the usual, the sky was clear, it was eerie everywhere except the “clovers” Banquet Hall where the ‘finest’ of Protocores Auction was being held. “So-called”, he knew their true value, they were worthless, yet the place was jam-packed with wannabes, who wanted nothing but to just flaunt their money and ‘elegance’, if one could even call it that…It looked more of a pity party for the spoiled rather than an Auction, people were mingling too much yet too little, nothing was right.

Then why was he there, one might ask…well it’s simple he was a nocturnal and he had nothing fun to do…so why not come in guise at an ‘Auction’ which merely stood firm ground to it’s name. His roams the velvety carpet with the strong presence and aura that he possessed, turning heads here and there. As if any of that ever came close to bother him. He’s already met the love of his life—no his love in every timeline and universe. But boohoo she couldn’t recognise him yet, so yeah maybe give her time?

He eyes the Protocores displayed, in hues of brilliant ruby, emerald, amber, lapis lazuli, and amethyst, claiming they costed millions and millions, the most precious, and valuable…

He breathed out a husky laugh to himself, he swore he saw atleast majority of them on display at a flea market selling what-not.

He wants to leave but he doesn’t, again, Onichynus is too boring tonight, Luke and Keiran are having too many “teenage tid-bits”, as he’d always call them…plus Mephisto’s battery was drained, so he couldn’t even stalk his dearest…

“Going once!

Going twice!

Sold!”

He sits at the back of the Banquet at an empty stand-alone chair, why was that even there? He didn’t know, it was out of place. His eyes wander, filled with void and boredom…

_____________

It was a complete waste of his time, even embracing boredom was better than whatever that was. So he left.

He didn’t brink his motorbike tonight, he wanted to walk, maybe even all night and sleep asleep by a manhole the next day…Weird ideas roamed his mind none that made any sense…

So he walks he walks he walks…when was the last time the N109 zone seemed so peaceful?

He comes at an opening into a wider part of the street through a lane, the moon illuminating it’s presence vividly…he knows the place, he knows the moon…but he doesn’t know the person in the far background…

Covered in a Rosewood strapless long dress upto her bare ankles, glimmering with white gemstones around her waist and bust. It had no neckline, the top end of the dress looped around her breasts secure, her neck had a band, the same colour of her dress, and a black and white choker-belted-neck piece, fastening itself, the locket had the “spades” symbol carved and settled inside of it…her hair fastened up into a bun neatly. Her hands contained silvery bangles, their ends fixed a thin long chain strands, a “red heart” at the end of each, which came upto her upper arm…

She had her phone secured to the jaws of a selfie stick, that had a “red diamond” symbol as it’s shutter button, as she pressed record, dancing around in the empty streets like a madwoman…the camera even captured him, but she didn’t care or budge, as she danced and swayed around flawlessly to whatever music was being played by her brain…

The sky suddenly emitted a crimson glow upon her form and the surroundings…he glanced up at the blood moon, he swore he’d never seen before…He kept staring, he couldn’t fathom why.

As he remembers…the curse of the blood moon which falls upon two souls, dejected by Fate, binding them together for their whole life that they shall continue to live on…

But wasn’t he tied to MC by Fate, for all his lifetimes to come and go? What game was Fate playing with him? He wanted MC with all his heart, yet he stumbles upon this unfaithful night…he searches for indicators and clues for the cause of this “brief interruption, this slight malfunction” that crashed upon his life…yet he found none…

The sky suddenly seemed to rift apart and everything became static and hazy…the world lagged…was this a glitch in the cosmos? Did space and time rift apart causing an anomaly…

Most importantly…who is she? And why does she look so regal, what veil of illusion had she casted, that he, the leader of Onichynus, one of the most notorious mafia group of the N109 zone…Sylus Qin, couldn’t even spare a glance away?

She turned to gaze at him for a fraction of a second…yet the gaze felt as if it had lasted eons…she held constellations in her eyes…

Why did she seem like she was one with the cosmos…no as if the cosmos itself was bereft of any meaning-value-principle without her…

….like she was a vision to behold, appearing whenever a new universe gets created…

Who was she and why was she so divine, that he felt like mediocrity in her vicinity…

He needed to know—xxxxx—xxxxx—xxxx—errorerrorerrorerror

—xxxxx—xxxxx—xxxx—errorerrorerrorerror

—xxxxx—xxxxx—xxxx—errorerrorerrorerror

—xxxxx—xxxxx—xxxx—errorerrorerrorerror

—xxxxx—xxxxx—xxxx—errorerrorerrorerror

———————————————————————————————————————

Aaaaaand yep that’s that! I hope you like it! As for always thank you again for checking out my posts! Much love! :D <3

[ncity-agere]

seventeen ot13 cg headcanons? ❤️

Alright this one’s a big one! Here’s things Seventeen does as your caregivers! (I got carried away with some of them and wrote more than I expected to, oopsies!)

S.Coups: “Hey, y/n?” He asks sweetly, calling for you. You approach him, waddling from wherever you came from to see Seungcheol in the living room, lifting dumbbells and watching a weightlifting tutorial on the TV. Nothing out of the usual and you’re glad he’s sitting down so he doesn’t hurt his leg, but you’re still confused?

“Hm?” You ask, tilting your head. “What’s up, Daddy?”

Without saying much, he gets up from where he’s sitting, puts down his weights, and scoops you up into his arms, carrying you like a weight! You squeal in shock as he holds you over his shoulder, bragging about how you “fell for it again, silly cherry-pie”. You really should have known better, your muscle bunny does this all the time. You fell for it, again.

Jeonghan: He’s mean! But in a sweet way. He likes to play practical jokes on you and watch you get mad. Gaslight, gatekeep, Jeonghan.

It makes him laugh, but he promises that if you really don’t like his jokes, he won’t play them on you again, okay? Appa doesn’t want to be too much of a pain in the butt.

Joshua: He loves to do whatever you like to do. He’s always up for a princess tea party or wrestling in the living room, it’s whatever you’d like. Just make sure to let him know so that he can take off all that designer before you roughhouse and wrestle, please!

Jun: Takes you to the pet stores and pet shelters to pet the kitties and the puppies. Even if you don’t or can’t adopt them, it’s always nice to give our furry friends a visit!

He giggles when you ask to hold the animals and takes lots and lots of cute photos of you. You both ask the vets lots of questions and say goodbye to your fuzzy little buddies. Honestly, this is as much for him as it is for you, little one.

Hoshi: Snatch your pacifier or teether and suckles it himself. No, I’m serious. Unless you’re crying and in dire need of it, I think he’d just start suckling your pacifiers to soothe himself.

He’d also sit you in front of an iPad and call it stellar parenting (it’s absolutely NOT lmao) but then get distracted by the iPad himself and start watching slime videos with you… so now there’s two sticky, iPad babies and neither of you want to turn YouTube off. Oh boy.

Wonwoo: Okay, Wonwoo doesn’t understand it at first. He comes around to the idea and agrees to babysit you, not quite be your caregiver. And his go-to babysitting tactic? The Nintendo Wii.

You think I’m joking? He’s dusting that old thing off and playing whatever game you want with you. It’s interactive and it’s (mostly) PG, the Wii is perfect for a little kiddo like you. You both spend hours playing the console until you’re worn out or frustrated at each other (because Mario Kart can and will bring out the worst in people)

Woozi: Brings you the studio and lets you play with the keyboard. Might record a song purely made out of your babbles and giggles, which would go absolutely triple platinum in his earbuds. He loves hearing his little one having fun and being creative.

If he’s working, he’ll ask you to wait and preoccupy yourself as best as you can. But if he’s not working on anything new, he’ll let you mess around all you want on the spare computer (because he’s not letting you anywhere near the Universe Factory archives, nice try little one!)

DK: Reads your storybooks to go to sleep, but puts on dramatic shows and funny voices for every single one of the characters. I’m talking, FULL performances. He’s getting up to dance at some parts, he’s turning certain dialogue into little songs for you. He’s a theater kid, dude. What can I say?

Mingyu: Cooks dinner with you. Gives you very important tasks, like measurements and stirring certain ingredients (and when he’s not looking, you can’t help but to lick the spoon!)

Of course, he does all the chopping and handles all of the hot dishes, but you handle lots of other other daring tasks! And when dinner’s all done, Mingyu’s just so proud of you, little one! Now go wash up to eat!

Minghao: Takes you to the park on cloudy days, when not many people are there. He likes to watch you play on the swing sets and crawl up and down the swirly slide and run around and chase squirrels with you. He likes to meditate with you when it’s early in the day and cloud gaze when it’s late. Whenever you both are outside getting fresh air, it’s always a good day.

Seungkwan: Builds elaborate pillow forts with you! Sometimes, pillow forts are just needed. They’re good for the soul and fortunately, you love making them! Unfortunately, Seungkwan kind of sucks at making them so what you both end up with is a weird blob of blankets and pillows stacked on chairs, a funny little tent shape with crooked fairy lights inside, and many, many laughs.

Vernon: Outfit of the day! Some days, Vernon lets you dress him up head to toe exactly how you like. Usually, he’s left with odd accessories, untied shoes, backwards hats, and oversized tees with various comic book characters on them, but hey! It’s not like he does much better dressing himself!

Dino: Asks you nonsense questions and leads useless conversations just to hear you yap. Your little yapping is so cute to him, he’s infinitely amused by it. Plus, it gives you an outlet to feel heard, to feel listened to.

“Oh, yeah? Then what happened?” Chan asks with a fake gasp, smirking knowingly as you begin a rant of babbles to retell your tale. He’s listening intently, really trying to piece together the story you have to tell.

Yeah, Chan could listen for hours.

[hlficlibrary]

HL Fic Library ➳ Inexperienced Character

Remember to leave kudos and a comment on the fics you enjoyed to show your appreciation! You can find the library's other recs here.

➳ Victorian Boy by @audreyhheart {E, 101k}

Victorian AU. Harry the virgin Duke of Somerset knows little of love, while Louis the sly Duke of Warwick knows too much. When the two dukes come together for the Bilsdale fox hunt in York, Harry finds himself drawn into Louis' bed. But when secrets from Louis' dark past come to light, Harry fears that the fox isn't the only one being hunted.

➳ knock knock, i love you by beautlouis {E, 86k}

“Well,” Louis says, searching for something to relieve this tension. “I think if a bloke gets kicked out of his stats exam for a knock knock joke, he deserves to hear the punchline, yeah?”

“Oh!” Harry says, beaming. “I forgot where we left off, what was it again?” He looks overjoyed to be exchanging a shit joke.

“Ah, you said knock knock, then I said who’s there, and then you said Noah,” Louis supplies helpfully. He hates that he's actually curious about the rest of the joke. “So, Noah who?”

“Oh,” says Harry, in a much different tone, dragging out the syllable. He looks bashful now. Louis cannot keep up with this boy, it's going to kill him. “Right, well.” He shuffles his feet. Fuck, what kind of knock knock joke gets a boy nervous? “Noah a good place we could get something to eat?”

[Harry and Louis get kicked out of a statistics exam for passing a knock knock joke note, and subsequently fall in love. Harry's a virgin, there's a cat, a hot cocoa date, a lot of sex, even more knock knock jokes, and everything is lovely and happy.]

➳ In The Still Of The Night by jacaranda_bloom / @jacaranda-bloom {E, 68k}

In a society where omegas are expected to follow a predetermined path, Louis strives for more; for his voice to be heard, for recognition, for true love.

In a world where your past defines your future, Harry fights against the system; for equality, for a different life, for acceptance.

When their two worlds collide, will they be beaten down by conformity or will they rise up and forge a new path together?

OR the Dirty Dancing AU where Louis is a feisty omega who wants to change the world, Harry is an alpha from the wrong side of the tracks, and nobody puts Louis in a corner.

➳ and i would search the night sky to find you by devilinmybrain / @thedevilinmybrain {E, 56k}

Harry Styles is a high class, well-bred Omega attending Bosworth Academy - a prestigious boarding school looking over the small town on Kinsey. He has his whole life already planned for him, learning his place as the potential mate for an important Alpha, practicing his home making skills, and be obedient above all else.

When he attends a school trip into town though, he meets Louis Tomlinson - a blacksmith and mouthy Alpha who doesn't particularly care for the standards of high society nor for the people in it. But things are not always what they seem and a past grievance may change the lives of everyone involved forever.

➳ lemon eyes by @turnyourankle {E, 50k}

It's not proper for omegas to mess around with alphas before finding their bondmate. But Harry doesn't give a damn what's proper and fully intends on getting as much experience as he can before even trying to find one. As far as he's concerned, the right alpha won't care, and he'll have some fun on the way.

And who better to start with than Louis Tomlinson, the alpha with the worst reputation on campus?

➳ see-through, need you by @holdingontochaos {E, 50k}

Louis has a crush. He’s also a 19 year old virgin. Determined to get some experience before he goes out with his crush he enlists the help of his ex best friend—known in the university to get around, and star football player, Harry.

Harry agrees to help Louis practice and learn, and Louis always has been a good student.

OR the one where himbo Harry helps virgin Louis practice fucking.

➳ No Hold to Hold Onto by @kingsofeverything {E, 47k}

Injured after being thrown from a bronc, Harry doesn’t know if he’ll ever compete again.

His only hope is a man called Tommo, a world champion rider who retired at the top of his game.

When Harry goes looking for help learning a new way to rope and ride, the last thing he expects to find is love.

➳ The Unholy Trinity (series) by wickedarcher_08 / @wicked-archer {E, 40k}

When Harry Styles started acting different after his 26th birthday, Father Louis Tomlinson is the only one that may be able to save his soul. He has successfully performed exorcisms before. This should be easy. Until it isn't. Harry is more than he seems. The battle of wills test every bit of faith Louis has. And Harry? Well, he's just getting started.

"Watch and pray that you may not enter into temptation. The spirit indeed is willing, but the flesh is weak."- Matthew 26:41.

➳ Only by @allwaswell16 {E, 33k}

Although Louis Tomlinson lived most of his life on the most remote island in the world, now he’s ready to leave home, attend university, and maybe have a chance at finding his soulmate. Prince Harry Styles reluctantly leaves London for yet another diplomatic visit, this time to the tiny island of Tristan da Cunha.

Or the one where the electric touch of Louis’ soulmate isn’t enough to discount that he's a bit of a dickhead.

➳ But Why Wonder, Why Wonder? by @100percentsassy {E, 30k}

The one where Marcel Styles has improbably landed a job in the fashion industry, and Louis Tomlinson is the actor-turned-lingerie-designer he’s been infatuated with for years.

➳ dip you in honey by delsicle / @eeveedel {E, 28k}

Princess Harry, the pearl of England, is set to be married to the youngest prince of France in just six months. Anxious about his performance on his wedding night, he enlists the help of his loyal handmaiden Louis to help him practice everything he needs to know

Omega/Omega AU

➳ Ever Since I Tried Your Way by fairytalefemme / @lesbianiconharrystyles {E, 25k}

Harry had been kissed before, but never like this.

He’d shared sweet, curious kisses behind bleachers and in soda shop booths, one or two more daring ones in cars parked on dark suburban streets, but the girls he’d kissed had never filled him with the desperation that erupted from Louis’ touch. He parted his lips and pulled him closer, as though he could breathe Louis straight into his lungs, as if he could swallow him. He wanted to consume Louis the way he consumed the body and blood of Christ. He wanted to place Louis on his tongue and feel him dissolve into a frothy mess of starch and saliva. He wanted to gulp him down until his teeth were stained purple and he was drunk on him. He wanted him in some violent holy way that made his hands shake where they were twisted in Louis’ shirt.

In 1949 Harry left his bride at the altar, running away from the only life he'd known. When a kindhearted farmer offers him a ride in his truck and a place to sleep the two find themselves inexplicably drawn together. Isolated on Louis' farm with nobody but a field of dairy cows to intrude, the men are finally able to explore the parts of themselves they've spent their lives hiding away.

➳ taken by lust’s strange inhumanity by CuckooTrooke / @larrydoinglaundry {E, 20k}

One of the reasons Harry said 'yes' in the first place was because he believed Louis Tomlinson, the campus’ most notorious “bad boy”, would be here.

And much to Harry's triumph and dismay, Louis is here but the last time Harry got a glimpse of him, he had a pretty omega wrapped around him, clinging onto the flaps of his leather jacket while nosing his scent glands.

Maybe that’s just the story of Harry's life; always infatuated with the wrong people.

OR The one with all the jealous snarling, awkward first kisses and one unforgettable night.

➳ Behind Smoke Stained Curtains by @jaerie {E, 19k}

It was a particularly lonely night when Harry walked through his door with a flurry of snow. He was a little rough around the edges with a trucker hat pushed down over untamed long hair. He looked a little greasy, a shower definitely not in his recent past. His tan Carhartt work coat was smudged with dirt and oil and caked with grime, his hands shoved deep in his pockets. The scent was overwhelming as soon as he walked in, unmasked alpha from days on the road stewing in a cab of his own pheromones. Louis was sure it was so deep into the fabric of his coat that no amount of washing would ever truly remove the stench.

The worlds align when Louis meets an alpha from the road with as many secrets as he holds himself.

➳ Just Like a Woman by superglass / @gaymoustache {NR, 16k}

“Hey!”

The man startles up, blinking around before tilting his head up to catch Louis’ gaze. His eyes are wide and innocuous, like a child, and he parts his cherry lips in search of the words on his tongue. In French, jumbled conjugations and a smidge too much of an English accent:  “Oui? Tout va bien?”

He shakes his head. And responds, in English: “Yeah, erm— what are you?”

An even more frightened look in return; even the little old landlord passing through the courtyard glances up at him like he’s gone crazy. “ Est-ce que tout se passe bien, Mr Tomlinson?”

“Oui, oui,” Louis says, waving him off with a flick of his wrist before focusing his attention back on the man and his daughters. Come on, he thinks, I’ve got to get this down before I forget. He repeats himself: “What are you?”

Lips spreading into an amused smile now, something sensational, an unbelievably charming smile. Oh god, Louis thinks. He’s probably too charming for his own good. “I’m… um… a person? Is this a trick question?”

or Louis is a writer living in Paris for the year. Harry is the charming art student and au pair of the family across the courtyard. Paris 1970s au.

➳ In All Its Imperfections by BriaMaria / @briannamarguerite {E, 15k}

From: Louis Tomlinson To: Undisclosed Recipients

Hello!

I’ve asked the front desk and you lovely folks are the ones who are on the same level as me in the car park. I found a to-do list today that looked somewhat important because it has lines of poetry scribbled at the bottom that seemed like they might be for a card project. The stationary has a moose in a canoe at the top of it (and he is quite adorable). Let me know if it’s yours!

Cheers!

“Oh. My. Fucking. God,” Harry whispered, his eyes darting over the sentences again willing them not to make sense. They did, they did make sense. “Oh. My. Bloody. Fucking. God.”

The next thing he knew he was on the floor, staring at the ceiling, with a very concerned Liam hovering over his head.

"What happened, mate?" Liam asked.

Harry just pointed to his computer.

Liam bent over Harry’s desk to read the email. “What? This isn’t bad. Is that your to-do list? Did you finally come up with the inside text for those cards?”

“Leeyum" he groaned. “It’s what’s on the list.”

“Oh,” Liam paused for a beat. “Is it dirty stuff?”

Harry nodded.

There was more silence. And then, “Dirty stuff with Louis?”

➳ Heart Eyes by @snowy38 {E, 10k}

He fidgeted nervously, long fingers pushed through his soft fringe, fingertips lingering on the thick curls that he felt formed there. He hoped his hair looked okay. He hoped he looked okay.

He hoped-

“Oi oi!” Niall’s loud, Irish voice cut into the small space along with the loud chatter of the party; the door assumingly opened. He swallowed.

“Fuck off!” A northern accent complained; the sound of bodies wrestling before it went quiet again; the clunk of the lock confirming to him that his suitor was now locked inside.

Harry knew the voice. He knew. And if he hadn’t known the voice, he would have known the smoky, sweet scent of the boy before him. Seventeen years old, friends since they were eight, and they’d never been pushed into the kissing cupboard together before.

➳ Devil in my brain, whispering my name by @lunarheslwt {E, 9k}

“Tell me, angel, are you curious? To know what it’s like, to be touched…” Louis tapped his lip lightly, “here?” A short, harsh breath fanned across his finger. “Or,” Louis drawled, bringing their hips together with a sharp pull, making Harry gasp once again, louder, “here?” “Louis…” “Or maybe even,” Louis skimmed a taunting hand past the curve of his clothed arse, merely grazing, “here?” Harry shuddered viscerally. “Please.” “So polite, so proper,” Louis mocked, “will you let me taint you just a little, hmm? Let me show you how good it feels to give in to temptation?”

Or, Louis, a demon, shows Harry, an angel, just how good it can feel to give in to temptation and sin.

➳ every day and tomorrow night by @justanothershadeofblue {E, 8k}

Harry stares. The new boy is beautiful, there’s no other word for him. He’s got caramel brown hair in a tousled cut and cheekbones for days, skin that’s tanned a deep gold, and eyes a shade of blue that’s visible even from across the room. He’s standing with his hands on his hips and one knee slightly bent, his thighs thick where they extend past the ragged hem of his denim shorts. His biceps are defined and his hands look small but capable, and Harry’s mouth is quite literally watering.

“What’s his name?” Harry asks, without taking his gaze off the boy in the doorway. He doesn’t want to blink and miss a single moment of eye candy.

Zayn chuckles. “See something you like, then?”

“You know the rule, Z,” Harry answers, still not pulling his eyes away from this unexpected Adonis. “If I lick it, it’s mine.”

[pascalislove]

ANGEL: SALESMAN X F!READER PART 12

Summary: She was an angel and she should be his.

The weeks without him had been a torment.

Y/N tried to fill the days with work, books, and movies, but nothing could distract her from his absence.

The worst part was that she couldn't forget what he had said to her.

"I don't love the others."

The words echoed in her head, making it impossible for her to go on with her life as if nothing had happened. Why did she have to say it? If he didn't love her, if it was just a whim, maybe it would have been easier to forget.

But no. It wasn't a whim.

And she loved him.

But loving Gong Yoo meant accepting his darkness. And that terrified her.

Maybe that's why she decided to go out that night. To distract herself.

—"You can't stay home forever," her friend Ji-Ah told her. "Let's go to a club. Just have some fun."

Y/N hesitated, but in the end, she agreed. Just a few hours. Just a little while.

The club was filled with lights and loud music. The atmosphere vibrated with energy and the sound of people laughing and dancing.

Y/N wasn't used to such places, but she did her best to relax. She drank a little, just enough to feel lighter.

—"Don't drink so much," her friend warned her before heading out onto the dance floor with a boy.

—"I know. Just a little more," she replied.

As she played with the glass in her hands, a man approached her.

—"Can I get you another drink?" he asked with a charming smile.

Y/N politely shook her head.

—I'm fine, thanks.

—"I just want to talk. There's nothing wrong with that, right?"

Y/N smiled at him politely.

She had no interest in him. He was just kind.

What she didn't notice was the exact moment the man, with a subtle movement, dropped a small powder into her glass while she looked away.

A few minutes later, Y/N began to feel strange.

Her vision blurred, her thoughts muddled.

—"Are you okay?" the man asked.

—"I... I feel dizzy..."

—"I'll take you outside so you can get some air."

Her body felt heavy, but she didn't react immediately.

Only when he held her waist and led her out of the club did an alarm bell go off in her head.

—"Where... are you taking me?" she asked with difficulty.

The man smiled.

—"To my house."

Fear hit her suddenly.

She tried to move away, but her body wouldn't respond.

—No… let me go…

—"Stop fighting," he muttered irritably. "You'll come with me."

Suddenly, a shadow appeared behind the man.

An instant later, fingers closed around his neck.

The stranger was brutally pushed against the alley wall.

—"Leave her alone. Or I'll kill you with my bare hands."

The deep, icy voice made Y/N's eyes widen.

She knew him.

She'd recognize that voice anywhere.

—Gong Yoo…

He was there.

He'd been there the whole time.

Watching her. Protecting her.

Y/N tried to say something else, but darkness enveloped her completely, and she collapsed.

Gong Yoo reacted the instant her body lurched forward.

He caught her in his arms before she hit the ground.

His jaw clenched as he stared at her pale, vulnerable face.

Damn it.

He knew something like this could happen. That's why he'd followed her.

From the moment he saw her walk into the club, he'd watched her from the shadows.

He saw when the man approached her.

He saw when she was too friendly and when he put something in her drink.

He didn't intervene immediately.

He waited.

He waited because he wanted to see how far that guy would go.

He wanted to see what kind of trash he was. But the moment he dragged her out of the club, all his self-control broke.

Gong Yoo looked up.

The man was still against the wall, trembling, his hands on his neck.

—"Y-You're right, she's drugged..." he stammered. "But I'm not..."

Gong Yoo punched him in the face before he could finish his sentence.

The man fell to the floor, bleeding from his nose.

—"Pray I don't kill you." His voice was a deadly poison. "Because if you had touched her... I assure you, no one would have found your disgusting body."

The man nodded quickly, backing away as if his life depended on it.

Gong Yoo ignored him.

His priority was Y/N.

He picked her up and disappeared into the night.

When Y/N woke up, she was in her bed.

In her apartment.

She felt disoriented at first, but when her vision cleared, she saw him.

Gong Yoo was sitting on the floor next to her bed.

He looked at her with an intensity impossible to describe.

—"How are you feeling?" he asked quietly.

Y/N swallowed.

—"How did I get here...?"

—"I brought you." She closed her eyes for a moment, feeling a surge of emotions.

—"Did you follow me?"

—"Yes."

Y/N stared at him.

—Since when were you there?

Gong Yoo rested his forearms on his knees and sighed.

—"From the moment you walked into the club."

Y/N was speechless.

—"You always knew something was going to happen, right?"

—"No. But I knew if it did... I had to be there."

Y/N felt her heart clench.

He hadn't walked away.

Never.

Gong Yoo watched her intently.

—"You told me you didn't want to see me again... but I couldn't stay away."

She looked away.

—"I don't know what to do with you..."

He leaned a little closer, his voice softer than she'd ever heard.

—"Just tell me you don't want me to stay. And I'll leave."

Y/N looked at him again.

The answer was in her eyes. She didn't want him to leave.

But she didn't want to fall into his dark world either.

She remained silent.

Gong Yoo smiled, with a hint of sadness.

—That's okay. You don't have to answer now.

He stood up slowly and arranged her hair with a surprisingly tender gesture.

—Sleep a little longer. I'll be here.

Y/N closed her eyes.

For now… just for tonight… she wouldn't push him away.

◇◇◇

Y/N barely remembered what happened after Gong Yoo took her back to his apartment.

All she knew was that when she woke up, he was still there.

He hadn't left her for a single moment.

He had cared for her all night. He gave her water, made her soup, even though she could barely manage a few spoonfuls.

When he felt her fever subside and the effects of the drug wear off, he didn't leave immediately.

He helped her get up, made her tea, and even cleaned the living room while she rested.

And the worst part was, he didn't say a single word about what he had done for her.

He didn't expect thanks.

He didn't expect anything.

As the sun began to rise, he was the one who broke the silence.

—I have to go.

Y/N felt a strange emptiness in her chest.

Why?

Why did she feel this way when all she'd wanted was to get away from him?

Gong Yoo looked at her seriously.

—But before I go, I want you to know something.

Y/N swallowed.

—"What?"

He took a step toward her.

—"I love you."

Y/N's heart stopped.

—"Gong Yoo..."

—"You don't have to say anything right now. I just wanted you to know."

She didn't know how to respond.

Because she loved him too.

But... how could she say it after all?

Gong Yoo gave a half smile and caressed her cheek with his fingertips.

—I'll wait for you. As long as you need.

And with those words, he left.

Weeks later…

Y/N tried to move on with her life.

She hadn't seen Gong Yoo again since that night, but... she missed him.

More than she was willing to admit.

Working at the bookstore was her only distraction.

That afternoon, as she was organizing the shelves, the door opened and two men walked in.

—Welcome— she said politely without looking at them much.

One of them approached the counter with a forced smile.

—We're looking for someone.

Y/N looked up.

The two men looked dangerous.

—"Who are you looking for?"

—"Your brother."

Y/N felt a chill.

Her brother.

Of course. Debt.

He was always in trouble with money.

She tried to stay calm.

—He's not here. He left weeks ago.

The men looked at each other and smiled mockingly.

—Oh, really? Well, tell him he has to pay us when he comes back.

One of them crossed the counter and got too close.

—And if not, someone else will have to pay.

Before Y/N could react, he grabbed her by the arms and slammed her against the wall.

—¡let me go!

—Your brother owes us a lot of money, darling. And if he's not here… we can get paid another way.

The other man smiled.

—Yes… we'll have fun with you. You're beautiful.

Y/N felt a cold fear in her chest.

—No… please…

One of the men raised his fist.

And the blow landed hard and sharp against her cheek.

Y/N felt the burning and the metallic taste of blood in her mouth.

No. No. No. Tears began to fall.

But then…

The sound of the door slamming open made everyone stop.

An instant later, a brutal force threw one of the men to the ground.

The other was grabbed by the neck and lifted against the wall.

—You touched her.

That voice.

That damn voice.

Gong Yoo.

The man tried to struggle, but Gong Yoo's hand tightened around his neck.

—I'm going to kill you.

—¡Wait…!

But Gong Yoo threw him hard to the ground.

Before the other man could react, he received a direct blow to the jaw.

The fight was brutal.

Gong Yoo showed no mercy.

He struck without stopping, without hesitation.

Pure fury.

One of the men tried to stab him with a knife, but Gong Yoo dodged the attack and kicked him in the stomach.

The other…

He.

The one who had hit Y/N.

That bastard didn't deserve to keep breathing. Without a second thought, Gong Yoo grabbed a thick book from one of the tables and slammed it against the guy's face.

Once.

Twice.

Three times.

Until his face was covered in blood.

The sound of bones breaking was gruesome.

—¡Gong Yoo, Enough!

Y/N screamed, but he didn't stop.

His hands were covered in blood.

The blood of the man who dared to hurt her.

—"Gong Yoo, please!"

But only when she touched his back did he react.

He turned sharply, and Y/N saw his expression.

Madness. Rage. Darkness.

His face was covered in blood.

But when he looked at her...

When his eyes met hers...

Something in him broke.

—"Are you okay?" he whispered, his voice hoarse.

Y/N could barely nod.

Then he took her face in his hands.

And rested his forehead against hers.

—"I don't want you away anymore,"

Y/N whispered, feeling tears welling up in her eyes.

Gong Yoo squeezed his eyes shut.

—Y/N…

—I love you.

He froze.

Y/N looked him straight in the eyes.

—I love you, Gong Yoo.

He clenched his jaw, as if trying to control his emotions.

And then…

His lips crashed into hers.

Desperate.

Hungry.

Regardless of the blood on their skin.

Regardless of the darkness.

Just the two of them.

This story does not follow the plot of the series, tell me if you like it and if you want me to tag you in the chapters🫶

Tag list:

@beebeechaos , @onyxmango , @muchwita @czarinera , @putrescentpoet , @solsticeex , @sowhatwereyousaying

[mintyys-blog]

MARDI GRAS— avengers x reader

WARNINGS: drinking, mention of flashing people

The streets of New Orleans buzzed with energy, music floating through the air and laughter echoing off cobblestone roads. Beads glimmered from balconies, drinks sloshed in hands, and the excitement was electric. From the safehouse, the Avengers lounged, some watching from the balcony while others stayed inside.

Y/N stood by the door, adjusting her jacket with a grin. “Alright, I’m heading out to experience Mardi Gras properly. Who knows? Maybe I’ll come back with some beads.”

Steve Rogers crossed his arms, a soft, concerned smile tugging at his lips. “Be careful, alright? It gets crazy out there. Have fun, but keep your wits about you.”

Tony Stark lifted his drink in a casual salute. “Yeah, yeah. Have fun, break some hearts, but don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.” He paused, considering. “Actually, scratch that. Definitely don’t do everything I’d do.”

Natasha Romanoff chuckled from where she lounged on the couch. “Good luck. Try not to start any bar fights.”

Sam Wilson added with a grin, “And don’t come back beadless, or we’ll know you didn’t really party.”

Wanda gave Y/N a small, warm smile. “Stay safe. And maybe don’t tell me what you did to get those beads.”

Pietro, sprawled in an armchair, smirked lazily. “Oh, I hope you come back with a story. The more scandalous, the better.”

Bruce Banner, seated at the table and reading through some research, glanced up from his book. “Mardi Gras, huh? Don’t get into too much trouble, Y/N. And don’t—” He paused, then smiled faintly. “Well, just take care of yourself.”

Thor, ever the optimist, grinned. “Ah, the revelry of Midgard’s finest traditions! Go and enjoy yourself, Lady Y/N! Drink, dance, and wear those beads proudly!”

Clint Barton, sitting on the couch with his bow nearby, gave her a knowing smirk. “Just try not to do anything too crazy out there, yeah?” He gave her a playful wink. “But I have faith in you. You’ll be back with a serious haul.”

Bucky Barnes, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed, gave her an amused side glance. “Just don’t end up on the news, okay? I’d rather not have to come bail you out.”

Y/N laughed, tossing a wink over her shoulder as she headed for the door. “No promises.”

A FEW HOURS LATER

The door slammed open with a bang, and Y/N stumbled inside, her laughter loud and bright. Her hair was slightly messy, her cheeks flushed, and in her hand was a massive, sloshing cocktail. But the real showstopper was the mountain of beads wrapped around her neck—strands in every color, thick and heavy, clinking together as she staggered in.

The room fell into stunned silence.

Y/N paused, swaying slightly, her grin mischievous. “Hey, guys,” she slurred, holding up her drink like a trophy. “Miss me?”

Steve sat up straighter, eyes widening. “Y/N…” His gaze dropped to the beads. “You—”

Tony was already grinning like a cat who caught the canary. “Oh, you had fun,” he drawled. “And judging by that bead haul, you had a lot of fun.”

Sam let out a low whistle. “Damn. That’s… impressive. Slightly concerning, but impressive.”

Natasha arched a brow, her lips curving into an amused smirk. “So… did you earn those, or are you just really good at catching?”

Y/N wobbled a little, giggling as she plopped down on the couch, the beads jingling with the motion. She took a long sip of her drink, her grin wicked. “Earned,” she said, her voice lilting with mischief. “I definitely earned them.”

Wanda covered her mouth with a hand, eyes wide in shock. “Oh my God.”

Pietro barked out a laugh, clapping his hands together. “I knew it! I knew you’d be trouble. You’re the highlight of my night already.” He leaned forward, grinning like the devil. “How many people did you scandalize?”

Y/N shrugged, tilting her head. “Enough.” She winked, then added, “Maybe too many. But I lost count after the fourth drink.”

Peter Parker, sitting awkwardly in the corner, looked utterly horrified. “Wait, what do the beads mean?” he asked, confused.

Tony didn’t even miss a beat. “It means our girl here went full Mardi Gras tradition. Old school. Flashing-for-beads tradition.”

Peter’s face turned a violent shade of red as he stammered, “O-Oh. Oh.” He immediately buried his face in his hands. Pietro sat up, “you should of invited me, printessa— I would have loved to watch—“ Wanda elbows him, and Y/N laughs, “don’t worry I’ll invite you next time.”

Steve looked half like he wanted to scold her and half like he was genuinely concerned. “Y/N, you could’ve gotten hurt.”

Y/N waved him off, giggling. “I was fine, Steve. I wasn’t alone the whole time.” She gave him a lazy, teasing smile. “Besides, it was fun. Liberating, even.”

Tony raised his glass. “To liberation.”

Sam chuckled. “To beads.”

Pietro grinned. “To chaos.”

Wanda, still stunned, just shook her head with a sigh, though she couldn’t hide her small smile.

Bucky, now standing casually by the door, glanced her way with a smirk. “Well, you definitely committed to the experience.” He gave her a playful look, not the least bit concerned. “Guess you really wanted those beads.”

Y/N chuckled, her eyes twinkling. “What can I say? I’m a woman who knows what she wants.”

Bruce, who had been sitting quietly in the corner, now looked up from his book, his eyebrows raised. “Well… I can’t say I expected this when you left. But as long as you’re okay, I suppose you have every right to celebrate Mardi Gras however you choose.”

Thor, now beaming with his typical enthusiasm, raised his own drink and shouted, “To Lady Y/N! May you never lose the spirit of the celebration!”

Clint, shaking his head with a smirk, leaned back on the couch. “You, my friend, have definitely lived up to the legend.” He eyed the beads with a grin. “Impressive haul. What was it—fifth drink for your last flash?”

“Ha! Way more than that Clint!” She replied, a smirk on her face. Which earned a chuckle from him.

Bucky chuckled, shaking his head, still smirking. “I’ll say this for you—you’re definitely not shy.”

Y/N shrugged, unfazed. “I try to keep things interesting.”

Steve exhaled, resigned but amused. “Just… next time, maybe leave the flashing to Tony.”

Tony lifted his drink again. “I mean, if anyone’s offering—”

“Don’t even think about it,” Natasha warned, though her smirk said she found the whole thing hilarious.

As the laughter echoed through the room, Y/N leaned back into the couch, her drink in hand and beads shining in the warm light. She knew she’d be hearing about this night for weeks—maybe months—but deep down, she didn’t regret a second of it.

And if Bucky was still looking at her with a smirk, well, she’d take that as a win too.

[ryuusei-boi]

some neojapan headcanons bc I love this team so much

Narukami wears headphones bc he's got sensitive hearing and gets overwhelmed in noisy situations

Demete suffers from insomnia. unable to get a full 8 hours at night, he instead takes little naps throughout the day. he's considered taking sleeping pills, but ever since Zeus he's reluctant to take medication for any reason

I like to think that, aside from soccer, Kidokawa Seishuu also puts focus on music and encourages its students to play instruments. Tsutomu plays violin, his older brother Tomo plays piano and the eldest Masaru plays the clarinet (also Gouenji plays the cello)

Makiya is non-binary, and Segata and Arata are transgender. they use they/them, he/they and he/him pronouns respectively

Segata is taking testosterone. Arata is on puberty blockers

Makiya gets homesick since Senbayama is supposedly pretty far away. they're used to getting up before sunrise to feed the chickens back at home. in neojapan, they often wake up early to watch the sun rise by themselves and cry for a bit

neojapan's managers are named Nami and Touya, and I don't have designs for them yet but I might draw them

Some of the Aliea kids were adopted by different families after the end of season 2. Izuno was adopted by two mothers, whose other son is around his age. Ishidaira was adopted by a mother and father with no kids. Segata was adopted by a mother and father, and has an older sister now. Saginuma and Atsuishi decided to stay at the orphanage under Hitomiko's care.

Genda has glasses but often forgets to wear them. he thinks he looks lame with them on but everyone thinks he looks very handsome

Jimon has three sisters, so he's not as flustered about "girl stuff" as the rest of the team. he also doesn't poke fun at Arata or Hera for wearing makeup

Izuno, Tsutomu and Kirigakure are pretty good at cooking, and enjoy helping their managers cook if they've got enough energy left after training

Hera's guilty pleasure is watching ballet dancing. he's completely enamoured with it but will die before he admits it to anyone. once of his most treasured possessions is a DVD recording of Swan Lake

Ishidaira, Gouin, Yuukoku and Atsuishi suffer from chronic pain

Yuukoku's wiki page says that he has psychic powers and can talk to ghosts, so I like to think that he also gets chronic migraines. this gets in the way of his training sometimes, but the coach had blackout curtains installed in his room so he can lay down in the dark til his migraine passes

Atsuishi also has a weak immune system and spent a lot of time in hospital as a kid. he's doing a lot better since then but still prone to getting sick

Gouin has a lot of scars on his chest and back from a house fire that happened when he was younger. he's one of the players who always gets dressed in a shower stall, so no one knows about them

Ishidaira has fibromyalgia. he started playing soccer and practicing martial arts since exercising is a great way to decrease his pain, and found that he's pretty good at them

Sengoku Igajima is located in a forest at the foot of a mountain, the students spend a lot of time outdoors and learn to forage and grow their own food, how to survive in the wild and a fair bit of medical knowledge. Kirigakure is CPR certified, and knows how to bandage and suture a wound

Genda's scar from Shin Teikoku is real and he's been covering it up with makeup. Jimon noticed that it's not a perfect match to his skin tone, so he dragged him to a makeup store along with his oldest sister so she could help him find the right shade of concealer

Narukami can sing really well, but he's too embarrassed to do it in front of anyone. he likes to stay behind in the changing rooms til everyone else is gone so he can sing in the shower

Izuno runs VERY hot. some of the players call dibs on sitting next to him on the couch bc he's like a human space heater

Saginuma is a sleepwalker and routinely scares the shit out of anyone up at night, bc he's tall and pale and lets his hair down when he goes to bed, making him look not dissimilar to the girl from the ring