#i want you to know. i spent so so long on this because the moment i finished his face i was on the verge of tears

[captain-bubble-wrap]

I'm over winter. I need sundress obsessed Quinn back in my life, k thanks! 🤤

Gods, you and me both! 🙂‍↕️ Mild content warning//implied sexual interactions.

"I want to take you somewhere," Quinn smirked, watching you put your makeup on. He hadn't been standing there very long, however long enough that he was obviously up to something. You had flown to Florida yesterday morning, so you had spent the day with him at the lake house. Today, it seemed, someone was suffering from cabin fever.

"Like where?" You asked, focused on setting your false lashes in the right spot. 

"I dunno. Just...somewhere."

With a soft laugh, you'd shoot him a cute, sideways glance. "That sounds slightly ominous, babe."

Quinn smirked a second time, "I just want to take you out for the day, show you around."

"Show me around or show me off?" You teased, making him laugh at your quick whit. 

"Both?"

"Quinny!" You replied in comedic shock, in that whiny tone he loved. You knew what he meant, but you couldn't miss the opportunity to tease him. 

"You know I love you," he reassured, leaving the doorframe he was leaned against to come up behind you. His hands found your waist while you found your mascara. 

"I love you too, Quinn." You tried to ignore him after that, but as you leaned forward, to get closer to the mirror, you couldn't help but press into his hips and see him smile over your shoulder. 

"What are you trying to do?" He said, trying to contain a wider smile, one brow arched slightly. 

"I'm trying to do my makeup, Quinn! I don't know what it is you're doing!" Try as you might, you'd break first. Your giggles instantly melting away your once determined facade. 

Quinn would pull you a little closer, "I'm just standing here."

You stood up, turning around to ruin whatever fun he was trying to have. His pout the clear indication, like taking a toy away from a child. "I'll make a deal with you, baby."

Catching his attention, that bottom lip would quickly retract, "Yeah?"

"Mhm, how about you go pick me something to wear while I finish my makeup? Then you can show me off, or around," you winked, giving him a quick kiss.

Quinn's expression brightened, like he wasn't expecting you to say anything like that. It was clear that he was excited to have such permission. "Really?"

He could be so ridiculously adorable, especially when his emotions were genuine. "Really."

"Anything?" He pressed, that devious tone you forgot he had, painting his reply. 

"Within reason, Quinn." You said, giving him one of "those looks". "I'm sure there are enough options for you to pick from. I know I over-packed like always."

He'd give a playful look on his face before leaving you to finish getting ready. You could have watched him dig through your suitcase, but you really did want to be finished just incase he was much quicker than anticipated. Thankfully, your over-night curls just needed let down, so once he came back, you'd be ready within ten minutes, if he could keep his hands off of you long enough to do so. 

Lashes done, lipstick on, and after a quick spritz of some setting spray, you just needed to be given your chosen outfit. Finding it odd that you had actually finished before him, you made your way back into his adjoining bedroom to see what was keeping him. There, on the bed, Quinn had two sundresses laid out, standing before him like he was making a ground-breaking decision. 

"Problems?" You asked, wrapping your arms around his waist. 

"No...," he lied, pausing for a moment. "I like this one for today, I think."

You'd let go of him to see what he had picked, and honestly, you weren't surprised which ones had made the final selection. There was a reason you had packed so many sundresses, not just because it was Florida in the summertime, but because you remembered how a few of them had driven him crazy the first time you had wore them. The one he was holding was black and covered with orange and yellow sunflowers. It had a fuller skirt; one meant for twirling around, and just low-cut enough in the front that the girls could be seen if he wanted a tasteful peek. 

"I love this one," you commented, taking it from him and slipping away to the bathroom once more. It wouldn't take long to get into it, or to let your hair down. Quinn had patiently waited for you to come out instead of asking you if you needed him. In reality, you'd have to ask him to help you with the zipper. You could have done it yourself, but it was more fun if you included him, knowing it would make his heart race just a little. 

"Baby, can you help me?" You asked, standing in the doorway. 

"Of course."

You pulled your hair over your shoulder, the black satin hairbow affixed at the back of your head had been sprayed with your perfume and it was now near his nose.

"You smell wonderful," he added, his shaky fingers fumbling with the zipper for a moment. 

"Thank you. It's the perfume you got me for my birthday," you said, turning around once he was done.

"And you look beautiful." Quinn couldn't take his eyes off your body, it taking him a moment to return his gaze to your face. It didn't bother you, because you knew Quinn never put your looks before the real reasons he loved you so much. 'How you look is just a bonus,' he always reassured you, and you knew he meant it. 

"Thank you, baby," you smiled, arms falling around his neck as he held you; his hands tracing the curves of your body lightly. "I love you."

"I love you, too. I love you so much," he grinned, finding your mouth for a soft kiss that developed into a deeper one. 

"Careful, or you'll be wearing more of my lipstick than I am." 

His lips would trace your jawline then down your neck. You'd squirm slightly against the feeling of his stubble against your body as he moved to dot the lightest kisses atop your exposed cleavage, you smiling the whole time.

"I don't want to go anywhere, just yet. Maybe in a little bit. I think there might be a storm coming in or something," he smirked, picking you up to take you over to the bed. Quinn would lay you down gently, his delicate fingers sliding up your thighs as he urged you just to lay back and relax. "There's plenty of time to go out later."

[evlia]

I’m thinking about roommates buck and bucky. They are both helplessly and miserably in love with each other, but of course neither of them says anything, because of the fear that it’s one sided and that it might ruin their perfect friendship. There’s so much tension between them and miscommunication and looking at each other in longing and evenings spent together on the couch and mornings filled with the smell of the coffee and soft good mornings, but it stays like that, it’s too good to be ruined by the kiss, sudden and maybe a bit aggressive, because it’s been so long and “I’ve wanted to do this from the moment we met”

So what if one night bucky gets a call from marge, telling him that gale needs his help and gives him the address and when john gets there, it’s some shady bar and he’s immediately concerned. When he goes inside he finds marge sitting in front of gale who is resting his head on the table. Gale’s sitting with his back towards john so he doesn’t know that he’s there. Marge gives him a small wave and john gets closer and that’s when he hears gale’s voice. He’s drunk. He’s obviously so drunk and Gale doesn’t drink? But then he manages to catch the words and john immediately gets frozen on spot. His speech is bit slurred but bucky hears him just right. And what if gale is almost whining about how “he has the most beautiful smile you know?” “Have you seen him smile marge?”, “and he’s so big too like how is that even fair?” “Oh and the mustache? At first I was like what the fuck but now I can’t stop thinking about it. I think it would feel so good. You know what else would feel good?” Thats when Marge gives john the look that says “SAVE ME”

[obsessedhoneycomb]

Unplanned

George Russell x fem!reader

Summary: High school sweethearts having the best time of their life, when everything seems so perfect. But sometimes, things don’t go as we plan them.

Warnings: angst, unwanted pregnancy, some curse words, a bit of sadness (but it gets better, I promise!)

A/N: I had a dream earlier this week, so it’s based on it. I don’t know how I feel about it (I read it nearly ten times, it’s fine, I guess.), personally I don’t think that George would act like he did in the beginning of this fic, so take it as a part of the plot. I have some ideas for possible part two, but who knows if I make it happen.

Please don’t use my writings without my permission! Pictures found on Pinterest.

———

Young and naive love, that’s all they’ve always said when they saw you and George intertwined with each other every time you walk through the paddock. Meeting at high school, you knew he was the one, and his thing about racing, it was something that attracted you even more.

You always loved to ruffle his hair before the driver’s parade, just to make him grumpy, because he spent so much time fixing his wave of golden brown locks. The way he could make you smile, his warm embrace giving you peace and comfort, the days you enjoyed in the countryside with your families because your parents simply knew each other.

It was perfect.

Until it wasn’t.

George’s move to F1 was sure, his dreams coming true, he couldn’t be more happy and motivated to push himself to the limits more. On the other hand, you just found out the horrible thing.

Walking through the paddock in Brazil, you fought the nausea, as you held onto George’s hand. You tried to tell him, but you were interrupted by someone or something every time. He noticed your strange behaviour, your pale face.

“Are you well, love?” He suddenly stopped to get a better look at you, leaning down closer to you.

This was your only chance to say it. “George, I’m pregnant.”

Your whispered words nearly gave him a heart attack.

“You’re- what?”

“You heard me. I don’t want to yell it here.” Your hand went to his cheek, the warmth of his skin seeping into your palm, bringing you comfort for your nerves.

George just stood there, his eyes wide with shock and disbelief. He grabbed your hand only to push it from his face away.

“We’re gonna talk about this later. I need to focus on the race.”

Your heart broke in your chest. Yeah, you thought just for a moment that he would be happy. But it was far from ideal.

———

George was pacing around the hotel room, while you sat on the edge of the bed, fiddling with your fingers.

“How could it happen? We were so careful, you on the pill and we were using protection.. how?”

“That time in the summer, when I was sick and taking antibiotics, that night on the yacht, when we weren’t sober..”

“Holy shit…”

“George, look, I know it’s not easy, it’s not perfect timing right now, but we can do it.”

“Are you crazy? We’re twenty. You can’t be serious about this.”

“What? So you want to give it up? Get rid of it?”

George pinched the bridge of his nose, getting frustrated and hopeless.

“I can’t take care of the baby now. I’m gonna drive in F1 next season, it’s a big thing for me and I’m not ready to be a father. I don’t have an energy for the act of loving family.”

That was enough for you to bring you to the tears. Your hand went down at your stomach, sign of protective love for the small bundle growing inside you.

George hasn’t single clue what to do in that moment. He just stared into the wall, his mind blank, feeling like his world just shattered.

“I’m sorry I can’t fit into your image of fairytale life.”

And with that he walked out of the hotel room.

Also it was a very last moment he saw you for a very very long time…

———

“George and babies! What a cute sight!”

“He should be a dad! Baby suits him!”

“Make him a daddy already!”

“Oh, what a father figure!”

You did a great job for those past six years to be away from media and spotlight. After that day you saw George last, you never looked back. Maybe it was selfish. But his opinion on the situation was clear. He didn’t want a baby.

“Mom, I said that I have to pee. Are you listening to me?”

The voice of your son William interrupted your thoughts, while you were scrolling through your instagram for the first time in the past years. Brushing your annoyance by those comments aside, you looked at Will with soft smile.

“I’m sorry sweetheart. I’ll wait here for you, just go to the restrooms there.” You pointed to the direction and Will just rushed there.

When he was about four years old, he came across the idea of karting. You were strictly against it, but after his teacher in the kindergarten was done with his ultimate rant about formula and racing, you just took him to the first lesson and that was a start. Yeah, of course you were scared, not much about George possibly finding out, spotting you, but about Will’s safety. But you cannot expect someone with strong racing genes to be interested in being a scientist.

While you were waiting for your son to come back, you haven’t noticed the buzz around the circuit, signalling the famous person appearing around. You grabbed small helmet and looked at it with soft smile, brushing your thumb over it.

“Mom! You need to see this! Mom! C’mon!”

Will was calling you from the small group of kids, his voice full of excitement and joy. You raised your brows with amused smile, when he was excited about something, he just couldn’t brush it off.

As you took a few steps closer to him, you were curious about what was everybody so ecstatic about.

“That’s George Russell, mom!”

At that name your blood ran cold. Oh no.

“Will, how do you know him?”

“Jeez mom, everybody around knows him! He used to race here as a kid. He’s cool!”

Well, it was inevitable.

Her eyes carefully found George, seeing him interacting with the youngsters. He looked good, more mature and composed. Also his hairstyle was different, giving him a manly touch. Wrinkles around his eyes were still the same, but more apparent, when he smiled. And his eyes.. god, they were the same mesmerising blue colour.

Will left her standing there, getting through the small crowd of kids, to get his signature from him.

“Mr. Russell? George. Can you please sign this? You’re my inspiration.”

His small teeth appearing in grin as he gave George his cap. George’s eyes fell onto him, smiling cheerfully as he signed the cap.

“Just call me George, I’m not much formal person, when it comes to kids. I want to be friendly, because I know how exciting is to meet your idol.”

William’s eyes were glowing with happiness as he held the now signed cap.

“You’re amazing! Thank you.”

George smiled at the boy, watching him running to his mom. It was strange, because he looked familiar. His smile faded as he saw you, looking down at the boy with proud smile.

“Mom! I’m so happy, look!”

Will was excited, nearly jumping on the spot from it.

“I never saw you this happy. Guess it was worth it.” You smiled at him, ruffling his hair.

Without another look at George, you walked to prepare Will for karting session. You thought that he hasn’t noticed you.

George stood afar, watching the kids getting ready, but giving his main attention to you and your son. Will was already giving you hard time with his rolling eyes, sighs and “of course, mom”. While you wore your worried face, furrowing brows there and there, kissing him on his forehead and then fastening his small helmet securely.

When the session started, you moved to the sidelines, watching the circuit with heavy heart and tightness in chest.

“He’s a natural talent, I must say.”

The well known deep voice made you froze in place, your palms sweaty and your throat dry. Carefully, you turned to look at George.

“He is. I can’t keep him calm for a moment straight.”

Trying to hold your voice steady, you looked back at the track. George took a place beside her, doing the same.

“It’s been a long time.”

The ridiculous situation made you chuckle.

“I don’t even know what to say.”

“Yeah, me too.”

The silence between you was thick as hell. Both of you had your own reels of thoughts in your minds.

“I often thought about meeting you again one day. What would I say to you. And I’m saying I’m sorry.”

You lifted your gaze at him, feeling surprised but somehow deeply satisfied.

“It’s okay.”

“It’s not. I was a total jerk back then. I should’ve acted more like an adult, I hurt you.”

The pain of the past years hit you like a train, while you just nodded.

“It’s strange seeing you happy now. You’re a caring mom, from what I saw. I guess the father must be proud too.”

That was the moment you snorted a little, making him confused.

“Look, George… I… I’m sorry too. We were young and it was a little selfish from me to want you to take responsibility.”

“We should’ve talk about it more that day. It’s one of the few things I regret in my life.”

“Well… I’m sorry that I disappeared. But I was so sad, hurt and scared, that I was sure that I need to do things alone. And I did a damn good job.”

George frowned a little, turning his head to look at you.

“William is six years old by the way.”

You said with sigh, locking your eyes with his. At first he didn’t understand. Then, it clicked in his brain. Pointing to track and gasping in shock, his eyes went wide. You just nodded.

Silence was deafening, while George collapsed at the nearby bench, sitting there speechless.

“William? You named him William?”

You took a seat beside him with soft hum.

“Holy fuck. I’m so shocked.”

“I’m sorry. You would find out sooner or later. And now I’ll be a fool. Fooling you, my parents, your parents, but mostly Will. I told him that his father and I broke up before his birth. He didn’t question it.”

George shook violently, running his hands through his hair.

“You kept this for yourself for many years. You kept the baby. Oh my god.. I missed so much. Six years.”

“I loved you and it hurt, I hadn’t had the heart to get an abortion. And I don’t regret that decision.”

He took your hand in his, the distant warmth of his touch seeping into your skin, making you smile.

“I want to be present in his life. I want to get to know him, to give him everything I could. I want to be a father I should’ve been.”

Your smile grew wide, tears glistening in your eyes.

“Sure, but it’ll take time. I need to reveal it to him carefully. I might be on the black list for a while, but he’d be over the moon, that George Russell is his dad.”

George let out a soft laugh, his voice shaky.

“I’ll take any time in the world. I’ll make it worth it. I won’t disappoint him. I won’t disappoint you.”

[monimccoythings]

Cigarette break

Maybe it's a bit ooc on Logan's party his old age had made him soft 🥺 but I love him being awkwardly affectionate with Laura. Dad bod Logan y'all. This one has a tiny bit of reader

He knows he shouldn't be doing this because you hate it. You hate how it poisons his lungs, how each drag consumes him a little. You worry so much about his health sometimes it annoys him. But making you and Laura happy is his top priority so he tries his best to break out of this habit.

That's easier said than done. No matter how many years he spent training in Japan, learning about discipline, self control and meditation, this vice is nearly impossible to quit, the need for nicotine gets under his skin and doesn't leave until he lights another one.

So that's why he has to smoke in secret now. Not as frequently as he would like to, because you are too smart for your own good and could figure out something's up. That's one of the things he admires of you, even if it's inconveniencing him right now.

Logan just grumbles some excuse about taking out the trash, and just stays on the porch, away from your prying eyes, quietly enjoying his cigar. He feels like he's committing a terrible sin, but fuck, he is trying as much as he can to not give in.

"Y/N hates it when you smoke."

Logan prided himself on not flinching with fright when Laura suddenly appeared by his side. How long had she been there? Jesus Christ, he's going to have to put a bell on her.

He just let out a soft hum. He had been caught, what excuse could he make?

Laura quietly walked towards him and awkwardly hugged his leg. With his free hand he slowly patted her head. None of them were really accustomed to being affectionate with each other, shit he's not even sure Laura was used to being affectionate with anyone that wasn't you. They were still finding some middle term that both feel comfortable with, it usually led to a few weird encounters, but they were both pretty headstrong and refused to give up.

They stood there for a few minutes, which was the time necessary for him to finish his cigar and clean the air around them. They would have to go inside soon, or you'll start to suspect. Still, when it's time to take a step back into the house, he found himself wishing to stay like that a bit more. His old age had turned him into a softie, yet it's not frequent to see Laura being so openly affectionate with him, he would like to enjoy the moment for a bit more.

That's a vice he would never want to quit.

[mugglebornmarvelite]

Flirting with Disaster

Paring: TASM!Peter Parker x Fem!Reader (Brother's bestfriend)

Summary: You're about to go on the first real date you’ve had in years, and the nerves are hitting hard. So, you turn to the one person who might help: Peter Parker, your brother’s best friend.

Word Count: Roughly 1.5k 

Warnings: Fluff, anxiety around dating, mentions of insecurities, unrequited/complicated feelings, cringe-worthy moments

Note: I’m planning on making this a three-part or a four-part. Let’s see. Oh, and I've been away from my usual shenanigans, so I am going to post twice this weekend :)

Navigation

Divider by: @strangergraphics

You sat cross-legged on your bed, phone in hand, as if looking at it too long might make it spontaneously combust. The flutter in your stomach definitely wasn’t from hunger. 

No, tonight was the night—a real date. A proper date with an actual guy. 

And the thought of it had you wanting to crawl under your blankets and pretend the world didn’t exist.

Your friends were all in your corner, practically sending you a virtual pep squad of texts: You got this! Go for it, girl! But deep down? You felt more like a deer in headlights. Spiraling towards your impending doom.

You weren’t ready. Mentally? Nope. Emotionally? Not even close. Physically? Definitely not.

Flirting? Kissing? Oh God. It felt like you were about to attempt something far more complicated than rocket science, like you needed a PhD in how to act normally around a guy just to get through the night. And if anything even remotely intimate was on the horizon? Yeah, that sent you straight back to high school, where you could barely look at a guy without tripping over your own feet.

Talking to your brother about this? No way. He’d send you a full PowerPoint presentation on how awkward you were, followed by an Excel spreadsheet of potential embarrassing scenarios. Your mom? She’d tell you how beautiful you were and then proceed to give you every single detail of her first date with your dad, including the color of the sweater she wore and the exact type of pasta they had.

Which left you with one option.

Peter.

Peter freakin’ Parker.

He’d been your brother’s best friend since before you could remember. Still, somewhere along the way, he’d gone from being that cocky, arrogant, too-cool-for-school guy and literal genius whose favorite pass time was annoying you to someone who made your heart do a little flip every time he looked at you. The messy hair. The cocky grin. The snarky vibe that screamed I’m cooler than you, and you were just you. Awkward. Nerdy. And definitely, the girl who’d had an intense crush on him when you were younger, an embarrassing crush at that. But, for the record, you had mostly gotten over.

Mostly.

But now, with the date creeping closer and your nerves flaring up like fireworks in your chest, you were desperate. You needed help.

So you hit dial.

“Hey, little peach.” His voice slid through the phone like melted chocolate, smooth and warm, and the kind that made your chest tighten in a way you didn’t know how to process.

“Hi, Peter,” you muttered, trying to sound casual, trying and failing miserably.

“Long time, no talk. What’s up?” His voice was laced with that familiar mischief, the one that hinted he knew something was off but was enjoying every second of the suspense. “Don’t tell me you burned down your kitchen trying to make some sad excuse for pasta and now you’re too embarrassed to call the fire department? Because, if so, I’ll happily dress up as a fireman and fulfill that fantasy for you.”

You stammered, and he laughed. Loudly.

“You’re hilarious, asshole,” you grumbled.

“I try.” He chuckled. You could practically hear his smirk. “So what’s the emergency? Need bail money? Lemme see, petty theft? Destruction of public property? Actually, scratch that, even you wouldn’t pull something like that, peach.”

Peach. That damn nickname. It hit you like a sucker punch of nostalgia. You remembered summers spent trailing behind him and your brother, trying to act like you were calm and cool while you tripped over your own feet just trying to keep up with them.

You cleared your throat, doing your best to sound like you had it together. “Uh, I need a favor.”

“What kind of favor?” Peter’s tone shifted instantly, a little more serious now. “Everything okay? You’re not in actual trouble, right?”

Panic crept up your spine. Why had you called him? This was so stupid. But here you were, spilling your guts anyway.

“Uh, yes. No. I mean…” You sighed, your voice wavering. “I have a date,” you muttered, hoping he wouldn’t hear the tremble in your voice. “It’s tonight. And I’m freaking out. Like majorly.”

There was a long pause on the other end. Then, that unmistakable chuckle, the one that made you want to punch him. “Wait. Hold on. You? Freaking out about a date? I didn’t know you had it in you little miss awkward. You?” His voice dragged out the last word like it was the funniest thing he’d ever heard.

You grumbled, rolling your eyes. “Yeah, thanks for the support, asshole,” you muttered. “You’re just gonna mock me, aren’t you? This was a waste of time.”

You squeezed your eyes shut, regretting the entire call. You were better off canceling the date and hiding in your apartment with a Netflix binge and a pint of ice cream.

This was just as humiliating.

“I’m sorry for bothering you,” you mumbled. “Bye-”

“Hey, hey,” Peter interrupted. His tone softened, just a little. “I’m sorry for laughing, okay? But you know I can’t help it.”

You huffed, but something in his voice made you hesitate.

“But seriously, you? Nervous?” His voice was almost affectionate now, though he still sounded like he was having way too much fun with this. “Baby, you’re smart, you’re funny when you try, and last time I checked, you grew up gorgeous. What’s there to be nervous about, hm?”

Your heart did that weird skip thing, and you cursed your traitorous body. Baby.

He didn’t even know what he was doing to you when he said it. He said it like it was nothing—like it didn’t even matter. But it hit you harder than it should’ve. 

"Easy for you to say," you snapped back, but even as you tried to sound annoyed, there was a softness creeping into your voice. “It’s been forever since, you know, I’ve had to, like, flirt or kiss or whatever. I don’t want to make a fool of myself.”

There was a long pause. Then, Peter’s voice came through, low and laced with mischief. “Wait a second. Are you asking me to teach you how to flirt? I’m honored, peach.”

“What? No!” You nearly dropped the phone in your panic. “I…wait! No! That’s not what I meant!”

“Oh, but now I have to,” Peter said, sounding far too pleased with himself. “Come over. I’ll help you practice. Flirting, kissing, whatever you need.”

You gaped at the phone, heat rushing to your face. “You can’t be serious.”

“Come on, peach,” he continued a dangerous lilt in his tone. “You used to trust me with everything. Like that time you tried to ride my skateboard when you were, what, ten? You ate it so bad I thought your brother was gonna faint. But I carried you home, dried your tears, and made you laugh instead of cry. You know I’ve got you.”

You closed your eyes, cringing at the memory. You’d been ten, desperate to prove you weren’t just the annoying little sister of his best friend. You’d failed miserably, but Peter hadn’t laughed at you. Well, at least, not until after he made sure you were fine.

"Oh my god," you muttered, cringing at the thought. "I was a mess back then."

Peter’s voice softened, but that smirk was still there. "You were adorable, though. Adorable," he teased, his voice dripping with something almost affectionate. "Especially with those rainbow bandages on your knees. I swear, I could’ve sold tickets to that disaster."

“Don’t remind me,” you muttered, feeling the heat rise in your cheeks.

“So, come on over,” he pressed. “I’ll give you a crash course. I’m talking flirting 101, kissing for dummies, the whole shebang. You can thank me later.”

You bit your lip, and for a moment, you weren’t sure if you were blushing from memory or how his words made your stomach flip.

You hesitated for a second. This was ridiculous. 

"Peach, you still with me?" His voice broke through your thoughts. "What's your decision?"

But you sighed, giving in. “Alright,” you said before you could stop yourself. “Fine. I’ll be there in twenty minutes.”

“Good girl,” Peter purred into the phone, and you froze. His voice sent a shock through your system that left you breathless. Suddenly, the whole flirting crash course didn’t feel like a joke anymore.

You knew he was messing with you, but it didn’t stop your skin from flushing.

You stared at your phone, wondering what you’d just gotten yourself into.

Peter Parker was going to help you with your love life. No big deal, right?

You weren’t that kid anymore. You definitely didn’t have a crush on Peter Parker.

“Don’t give me that look,” you glared at your stuffed animal as it silently judged you with its big brown eyes. “I don’t have a crush on him anymore.”

That’s what you told yourself, anyway.

Mostly.

Thank you so much for reading! I hope you enjoyed!

Tags: @ficcharsimp

If you'd like to be added to my taglist

Much love x

- Maeve

[bisexualbrainrots]

sooo I was in the shower listening to dua lipa and got this idea. it could follow the kiss probably, but in short: oliver and lou had a fling but fought around november, they’ve been away since then and oliver traveled across the country, lou gets a call around the week he’s back in l.a.

The book wasn’t bad, not at all, but Lou was regretting the spur of the moment purchase of a self-help book. He tried to concentrate, he really did, but his mind kept drifting away to the same reason he bought the book in the first place.

He reached for his phone, about to log onto his Instagram, until he got a call incoming.

He was calling.

Lou cursed under his breath, Why haven’t I blocked his number yet? he thought

Because you still miss it.

Despite the way his body was screaming at him not to answer, he swiped green and put the phone on speaker, the book in his hands as he tried to get back to it.

“Hi”

He rolled his eyes, “And why the fuck are you calling now?”

Lou knew he sounded hostile, But what more could you ask when the last time they talked it was through an unresolved fight? When the asshole didn’t admit he had been in the wrong, when he didn’t want to admit that this pattern was damaging for both of them.

“Well nice to hear from you too Lou, I’m doing good, thanks”

There was no way he was going to concentrate on the damn book if he kept hearing that stupid voice. Lou threw the book on the bed and laid flat on it, feeling the softness of the duvet.

“Oliver I’m not in the mood to entertain whatever this is, What do you want?”

He heard a sigh and something else he couldn’t pick up on, but it didn’t matter to him.

It wasn’t supposed to matter.

“Okay, uh, Lou I was calling to apologize, like actually apologize”

Lou was baffled “And you wanna do this over the phone?”

Oliver scoffed “Hey at least I want to talk, you're the one who cut contact with me”

He ran his hands through his hair, this guy was making him crazy.

It’s true that Lou cut contact with Oliver after their fight, he thought it was the logical step. Who cares if they were sleeping together? Who cares if they’d spent months of their lives, an entire summer, learning all their weak spots and how their bodies moved? Who cares if Lou had ultimately caught feelings for somebody he knew was never going to reciprocate them?

“Yeah, because I thought I could trust you”

There was a silence a little too long, and Lou thought he had hung up.

“I’m sorry, okay? I-I know it was shitty of me to say all those things to you, and, I understand now you were struggling so much it’s just… I’m really sorry Lou”

He bit his lip, his eyes wide shut “You know what’s so fucked up about this?... I had to show you all the things they were saying about me so that you could believe it, a-and you knew about it”

“I didn’t know all of it Lou, I just—”

“You just what? Knew all your co stars were being harassed and did nothing? I get it, it’s not your job to defend me, but I thought that we… that I could be…” Lou sighed, feeling his eyes burn as he fluttered them open “I thought that the fact that we’d been fucking meant something to you”

He heard a hitch in Oliver’s breath and a muttered “Of course it meant something Lou, for fucks’ sake” 

“Then why… forget it, I’ll hang up”

“No! Please, Lou, bloody hell you’re like a mule sometimes” he sounded exasperated, like Lou was the most stubborn person he’d ever met.

Lou blinked “That is not making it any harder for me to hang up, jerk”

He heard a deep breath “Look, after we ended things I did something… I traveled”

Lou frowned “Like abroad? I mean, good for you if that’s—”

“No, not fucking abroad, I… went across states on my van”

Now Lou was confused, a surprised laugh escaped him “You what?”

He could see it though. The mental image of Oliver travelling across the country with a car, his camera and a dream made him smile, which quickly turned into a frown as he realized what he was doing.

“Yeah, I don't know, I just… I wanted to be in with my thoughts for a while” any other day Lou would've rolled his eyes at the phrasing, but right now he was intrigued “And I thought that traveling on a van would be good a-and it was… and so I had time to think, about us”

Lou sat up on his bed, looking intensely at his phone “And?” he asked, elongating the word.

He heard a nervous chuckle “God, I miss you, I miss… this, and I know I was an arse there's no doubt about that, but it's just… I'm really sorry”

Lou clenched his hand around his shirt. It was all so painful still, avoiding Oliver for over a month only helped to bury his feelings, but it was like burying them in sand. And now the ocean was bringing it back to the surface.

“Lou, you there?”

“Y-yeah it's just… shit, I miss you too”

He was a weak man, there's no other explanation for what he was doing. 

Lou knew Oliver was smiling on the other side, he could just feel the corners of his lips curling up and his teeth showing through the phone call. And it was making him feel things.

Things he hadn't allowed himself to feel for weeks.

“If you wanted, maybe we could meet up one day, and have a better conversation than this” Lou nodded, even though Oliver could not see his face. 

“Okay, sure”

He heard Oliver exhale deeply, like he had finally found a bit of peace after all this time. Lou was envious of that. 

“Lou?”

He hummed as a reply, loud enough for him to hear, as he laid back on his bed. His cheek resting on the heel of his hand.

“Don’t you miss it sometimes?”

He frowned, looking intently at his phone “Miss what?”

“My hands on your body”

He heard the record scratch in his brain, feeling a little… offended? Conflicted? Aroused?

Aroused was definitely in there, but his pride was stronger at that moment. 

“Oliver are you serious—” he stopped when heard a groan that made him grip at the bed “What are you– Oliver”

“I’m not really doing anything, just… reminiscing” he pulled his reading glasses up to his head and covered his face with his hands when he heard that voice, the one Oliver did whenever he wanted to get something from him. 

Which always ended up being related to his dick somehow. 

Lou pushed the heels of his hands to his eyes, shaking his head at the ideas that were forming in it, “You cannot just… damn it Oliver, where are you even?” 

Oliver chuckled, now he really wanted to punch him “I’m seated and safe if that answers your question”

“It really does not” he threw a short laugh, letting his hands rest on his belly “... What are you wearing?”

He was just a man in the end, a weak one, but a man nonetheless.

Oliver's soft laugh felt like music to his ears “Just, a simple shirt and sweatpants… nothing under if you were asking yourself that”

“I was not, thank you very much” he sighed, his hands finding their way under his shirt, caressing his happy trail “I do miss it”

“W-what?”

“I… I miss your hands on me, I miss your body and the way you used to say my name, Oli”

He hasn't called him like that in a long time.

“Fuck, Lou… I miss all of that too, I-I really miss all of you it's… fuckin' hell” he heard a hitch in Oliver's voice, and now Lou was definitely wondering what was going on on the other side of the line. 

So he pressed.

“Touch yourself Oli, over your clothes” he heard a whine on the other side and chuckled “Now that's another thing I missed about you, I missed hearing you desperate for it” 

His own hands traveled to his crotch, pressing on it with the heels. His toes curled when he heard a moan come out of Oliver.

“Shit, I… I'm not desperate” he liked to do that, to fight Lou off and bicker until the only thing they could do to shut the other up was with their mouths.

“Sure you aren't”

“W-where are you right now, Lou?” he looked around, appreciating the fact that he was completely alone at the moment. 

“My bed, obviously, I was actually trying to read a book when you called” there was a pause on the other line.

“You have your reading glasses on?” Lou adjusted the glasses and smiled, remembering the times Oliver had seen him with them on. 

“Yup” he said, exaggerating the p sound.

Oliver groaned “God, you look so hot with those glasses, makes me want to…”

Lou smiled as he heard the soft sigh come out of Oliver’s mouth. The younger had a thing for Lou’s glasses and it was sort of endearing. Even though it always ended up with the older’s soul getting sucked through his dick, but it wasn’t something he couldn’t manage. Sometimes he put them on on purpose, just to tease.

Lou took off his shirt, his body heat making the layer of fabric feel uncomfortable “Touch me? Fuck me?” one of his hands went up to his chest, caressing the area.

There was a whimper, and Lou moaned softly at the sound “Fuck, yes, I just… I just want to feel you once again Lou”

“You could if you were here”

Oliver snickered, “Is that an invitation?”

Lou rolled his eyes, smiling playfully “Not unless you find a way to convince me that is a good idea” the thought of the younger coming to his place made him sigh in content, arching his back as he lowered his pyjama pants down to his thighs. His free hand went towards his hard cock, and started to jerk himself off.

“The thought of me inside of you wouldn't be convincing enough?”

He moaned loudly, throwing his head back on his pillows as his hips rolled against his hand, going a little faster at the idea “Oliver… fuck”. The images of the younger lifting his hips to get a better angle and touching every part of his body made him squirm.

“What are you doing right now Lou?” Oliver’s voice reached a new level of deep, making Lou rock his hips with an intensity that made the bed squeak.

“Fucking my fist Oli, I also… I also don't have my shirt on” he cursed under his breath when he heard a needy sound come straight out of Oliver's throat. He smiled knowingly, the fact is that the younger also had an interest in the older's chest, the dozens of bruises he left in the past were proof of it.

“God… grab your pec Lou, do it like I would, c'mon” 

He did so, grabbing one of them with a tight grasp and then kneading it like dough as he stimulated his nipple. 

“Oli… Oliver I don't know if your hand's still over your clothes but pull your dick out, fuck, I want to hear you”

“Lou— shit, ah, okay yeah I'm… fucking hell, I want to be there with you Lou, you have no fucking idea what I'd do to you” a wet sound made Lou's eye roll and bite his lip in a way that made him taste blood, his palm slick as it was being covered with precum.

“I know you’d love to be here Oliver… to have your head between my legs as I fill your throat with me, and you'd… you…” He couldn't find the words, the pleasure making his brain melt out of his ears.

“I’d let you fuck my throat Lou, pull my hair and keep me there until you’re satisfied”

Lou moaned loudly, blabbering a trail of yes yes yes as he stilled his hips up, pumping his cock with a firm grip.

“... Then I'd fill you up, fucking you until you come a second time, fuck, h-how would you want to take me Lou?” Oliver's breathing was agitated, he was close, so close, and Lou was too.

Lou whined “Riding you in reverse, bouncing on your cock while you leave marks up to my shoulders— holy shit, I-I’m gonna come”

“Come for me Lou, c'mon do it baby”

And the pet name does it. He arches his back so much it could snap, and comes in a guttural scream, spilling all over his hand and lower belly as his body spasms. He rides the orgasm wave as he hears the loudest moan come out of Oliver, and milks himself dry. 

“Did you… did you just call me…?” his chest was heaving, body covered in a layer of sweat as he stared at the ceiling, dumbfounded.

“I did, yeah… w-was that okay?” Lou's cheeks blushed. They had never called each other by any pet names, too intimate for the kind of relationship they had. 

He smiled and looked at the phone before taking his leap “Baby… I like it, would you like that I—”

“Call me like that, please” Lou heard Oliver sigh, and it only made his smile grow wider. 

They were idiots.

Lou sat up, leaning towards the nightstand and opening the drawer to take the toilet paper he kept for situations like this. He cleaned himself and giggled as Oliver complained about his cum stained clothes “Hey, you could've taken them off like I did Oli”

He heard a grunt and knew the younger was probably rolling his eyes, “Maybe, but I—” a noise made Lou frown, and he turned off the speaker, pulling their phone towards his ear to listen well, without much success. 

“What was that?” he asked when the younger returned to talk to him..

Oliver chuckled nervously “Oh, just… one of your neighbors”

“What?!” Lou looked out the window as he straightened up, wide-eyed “Where are you?”

“In my van” he sounded embarrassed, and Lou couldn’t really blame him, even though it all felt unbelievable to him.

“Oliver… you've been outside this whole time?”

Oliver chuckled “Can’t seem to stay away, right?”

He laughed, almost hysterically. He couldn't believe the younger had been there this whole time instead of knocking down his door. Though he supposed it made sense, in a weird way that he understood.

He doesn’t think he would’ve dared to knock on Oliver’s door had the tables been turned.

Once he’s calmed he pulled up his pants and walked out of his bedroom “Come in”

“Oh I will, baby” Lou rolled his eyes but laughed softly, shaking his head as he approached his front door.

“Shut up”

And they were back to where they left, tangled bodies and whispers in their ears.

Neither of them knows if the cycle will repeat, or if they’ve found a way to break it. All they know is that they couldn’t stay away from each other for too long.

Not even if they could help it.

read on AO3.

[mywhisperingwords]

am i what you wanted? | fred g. weasley

summary: casual. no strings. just something to forget the loneliness. right? word count: 7.6k masterlist

The air at the party feels heavier than usual, like everyone is trying too hard to pretend they’re having a good time.

You’ve spent most of the night nursing a drink you don’t particularly like, offering polite smiles to people you barely know. It’s not your scene, but you came anyway because that’s what friends do—they drag you out, convince you it’ll be “fun,” and leave you regretting it by the second hour.

You’re just about ready to slip away when you spot him—Fred Weasley.

He’s leaning against the kitchen counter, casual and effortless as always, but there’s something different tonight. The usual spark in his eyes is dimmer, his smile not quite as wide. He’s talking to someone, but his gaze keeps drifting, like he’s only half paying attention.

You consider leaving without a word. After all, you’ve spent years perfecting the art of avoiding him. Not because you dislike him—quite the opposite.

Your stupid schoolgirl crush on him hasn’t quite fizzled out, no matter how much time has passed.

And of course, there was the matter of his latest relationship, a whirlwind romance with someone you considered a friend, Leah.

It would be wrong to approach him now, wouldn’t it?

But then Fred’s eyes land on you, and there’s no escaping. He gives you a faint smile, a shadow of his usual grin, and lifts his drink in a lazy sort of greeting. It’s an invitation, subtle but unmistakable. Against your better judgment, you cross the room.

“Fancy seeing you here,” he says, his voice low enough to cut through the background noise without effort.

You shrug, trying to seem unaffected. “Alicia dragged me out. Said I needed to get a life or something.”

Fred huffs a quiet laugh, looking down into his glass. “Sounds like something she’d say. George said the same to me, actually. Guess misery loves company.”

The comment surprises you. Fred doesn’t usually talk like that—so openly, so vulnerable. It’s enough to make you pause, to glance at him more carefully. “You don’t seem miserable,” you say, testing the waters.

He doesn’t answer right away. Instead, he takes a long sip of his drink and stares past you, like he’s trying to find the right words. “You’d be surprised,” he finally says, his tone softer now.

It’s an opening, one you hadn’t expected but can’t ignore. “What happened?”

Fred glances around, his expression unreadable, before gesturing toward the balcony. “Do you mind? It’s a bit loud in here.”

You follow him outside, where the night air is cool and quiet compared to the chaos inside. He leans against the railing, staring out at the city lights, and you stand beside him, unsure of what to say.

“She left,” he says abruptly, and it takes you a moment to realize he’s talking about her—his ex.

“Oh.” It’s all you can manage.

Fred smiles faintly, but there’s no humor in it. “Yeah. Not the dramatic kind of leaving either. No big fight, no slamming doors. Just… stopped caring, I guess. Said it wasn’t enough for her.”

The confession stirs something in you, a mix of sympathy and something sharper, harder to define.

You’ve never known Fred to be anything but confident, self-assured. Seeing him like this—guarded, almost uncertain—it’s disarming.

“I’m sorry,” you say quietly, and you mean it.

He glances at you then, really looks at you, and for a moment, it feels like he’s seeing you for the first time. “It’s funny, isn’t it? How loneliness sneaks up on you. One day you think you’re fine, and the next, it’s like you can’t breathe.”

You nod, because you understand more than you’d like to admit. “Yeah. It’s awful.”

Fred studies you for a moment longer before offering a faint, almost wistful smile. “You get it.”

The words settle between you, warm and unspoken, and before you can overthink it, you say, “Maybe we’re just terrible at choosing the right people.”

Fred laughs then, a soft, genuine sound that eases some of the tension in your chest. “Maybe we are.”

It feels like an unspoken agreement, a quiet acknowledgment of shared pain. And when he leans just a little closer, his shoulder brushing against yours, you don’t pull away.

&

The door slams shut behind you both, barely closed before Fred’s hands are on your waist, pulling you closer. His mouth is on yours again, urgent and consuming, and the world outside this moment ceases to exist.

You’re not sure how it started—or maybe you do—but you’re too caught up in the feel of him, in the way he kisses like he’s unraveling a part of himself he’s never shown anyone.

Your back hits the edge of the couch, but Fred doesn’t stop. He moves with you, stumbling through the dark like neither of you can think beyond each other.

You barely make it to the bedroom. A trail of discarded shoes and jackets marks the path, forgotten in the haze.

He pauses only briefly, just enough to catch his breath, his forehead resting against yours. “This…” he begins, his voice rough, barely a whisper. “This is what I needed. Something… easy. No expectations.”

The words are quiet but land with a weight that sticks somewhere in your chest. You know what he means—casual, uncomplicated, something to dull the ache of loneliness he spoke of earlier.

Your heart lurches, but your mind, clouded with want and the intoxicating proximity of him, nods before you can think it through. “Yeah,” you murmur, barely above a whisper. “Me too.”

The lie tastes bitter even as the kiss resumes, as his lips trail down your neck, as his hands find your skin. You tell yourself you’re fine with this. It’s Fred, and it’s what he wants. Isn’t it better to have this than nothing at all?

When morning comes, he’s gone.

You’re not surprised—he doesn’t strike you as the type to linger—but the silence in the room feels deafening. The sheets are cold where he was, and you stare at the ceiling, replaying his words in your head.

Something easy. No expectations.

Your agreement, muffled and uncertain, rings louder now. You agreed. This is what you signed up for. So why does your chest ache? Why does it feel like you’ve made a mistake you can’t undo?

You sit up, the mess of the night scattered around you—a shirt draped over the chair, an overturned glass on the table. It’s all so mundane, yet it feels like the air has shifted in your room, like the walls are pressing in.

You bury your face in your hands, letting out a slow, measured breath. Maybe this wasn’t the right decision. But you can’t change it now. Fred was what you wanted for so long, wasn’t he? Maybe this is all you get.

Maybe this is all you’re allowed to have.

You hope you can convince yourself of that.

&

The pub is buzzing, laughter and conversation spilling out from every corner as you sit wedged between Alicia and George.

Fred is across from you, casually leaning back in his chair, a pint of beer balanced between his long fingers. His laughter blends with the noise around you, effortlessly charming, as always.

It’s easy to forget, in moments like this, that this is supposed to be casual. Easy.

You catch yourself watching him longer than you should, noting the way his hair falls into his eyes when he laughs, the way his smile lingers just enough to make your stomach twist.

You remind yourself to look away.

The conversation circles back to someone’s recent breakup, a natural segue into a casual remark about Fred’s ex.

It’s Angelina, sitting two seats down, who says it without malice—just an innocent mention of the girl who was once by his side.

“You were so into her, Fred. Thought you two were endgame, honestly,” she says with a smile, tipping her glass toward him.

Fred’s expression flickers, just for a second, but it’s enough to change the energy at the table. The easy grin falters, his fingers tightening around the glass. “Yeah, well,” he says, voice light but guarded, “things don’t always work out the way you think they will.”

The group catches on quickly, steering the conversation elsewhere, but you can’t take your eyes off him. There’s something in the way his shoulders tense, in the way he avoids eye contact, that makes your chest tighten.

The rest of the evening is a blur of noise and small talk. You find yourself gravitating toward the bar, needing space, needing air. But you don’t get far.

Fred appears beside you, leaning on the counter with a quiet sigh. His eyes are darker now, shadows of something unspoken behind them. He doesn’t say anything, just glances at you, and suddenly the air feels heavier.

“Come with me,” he mutters all of the sudden, so low you almost don’t hear it.

You hesitate, your heart skipping, but you follow.

He leads you down a narrow hallway, past the kitchen, until you’re standing outside the bathroom door. He checks once over his shoulder before pulling you in, locking the door behind him.

“Fred, what are you—”

He cuts you off, his mouth crashing into yours with a force that takes your breath away.

It’s messy, hurried, like he’s trying to drown something out. His hands find your waist, pressing you against the cold tile wall, and you can feel the tension in his grip, the desperation in the way he kisses you.

It’s different this time—more frantic, less controlled. There’s no room to think, no space for words, just the heat of him against you and the quiet hum of the pub muffled beyond the door.

When it’s over, you’re both catching your breath, the silence settling around you like a weight. Fred’s forehead rests against yours, and for a moment, it feels like he might say something—something real, something vulnerable.

But then he steps back, adjusting his shirt, his eyes not quite meeting yours. “Thanks,” he mutters, almost too softly, and the word hits you like a slap.

You blink, trying to find something to say, but he’s already unlocking the door, slipping out like nothing happened.

You’re left standing there, the cold tiles against your back, your pulse still racing. You stare at the empty space where he was, your mind replaying the moment in vivid detail.

Something about this feels wrong. But then again, wasn’t this what you agreed to?

&

It’s late. Later than late, really, with the kind of stillness in the air that only comes when the rest of the world is sleeping.

But you’re wide awake, perched on the edge of your couch with a half-empty glass of wine in your hand, listening to the faint hum of the city outside.

You don’t know why you’re waiting.

Or maybe you do, but admitting it feels like giving it more weight than it deserves.

It’s been a few days since you saw Fred—since he showed up at your door for the first time, with that crooked smile and a cocky, unspoken challenge in his eyes.

You hadn’t known what to expect then, and you still don’t know now. But when you hear the knock at your door, your chest tightens in anticipation anyway.

You set the glass down and cross the room, opening the door to find him leaning against the frame, his hands stuffed in the pockets of his jacket.

“Bit late for a social call, don’t you think?” you tease, though your voice wavers just slightly.

Fred grins, that easy, practiced grin that always feels like it’s hiding something. “Thought you might say that. But then, you’re still awake, aren’t you?”

You roll your eyes and step aside, letting him in. He walks past you, his steps slow and deliberate, like he’s taking his time to assess the space.

It’s not the first time he’s been here, but he looks around like it is, his gaze lingering on the small details you’d never think to notice.

“You always keep it this tidy?” he asks, turning to face you with a smirk.

“I knew you were coming, didn’t I?” you shoot back, closing the door behind him.

Fred laughs, the sound low and warm, and suddenly the room feels smaller.

It’s always like this with him—this electric push and pull that leaves you feeling off-balance and exhilarated all at once.

He shrugs off his jacket, tossing it carelessly onto the back of a chair, and then he’s sitting on your couch like he’s been doing it for years.

You join him, keeping a safe distance between you, but it doesn’t matter. The tension fills the space anyway, a quiet, unspoken thing neither of you is willing to address.

“So,” Fred says, his eyes flicking to the wine glass you left on the table. “Drinking alone, are we? Rough night?”

You laugh softly, shaking your head. “Not rough. Just… quiet.”

Fred hums, leaning back and stretching an arm along the back of the couch. His fingers are close enough to brush your shoulder, but they don’t.

“Well,” he says after a beat, “I’m good at making noise. Want me to liven things up?”

You turn to look at him, arching a brow at his choice of words. “That depends. What exactly do you have in mind?”

He grins again, wider this time, and before you know it, you’re caught up in one of his ridiculous stories—something about a prank that went wrong back at Hogwarts and ended with George covered in soot and screaming about cursed cauldrons.

You’re laughing so hard your sides hurt, the kind of laugh that feels like it’s shaking loose all the tension you’ve been carrying for days. Fred is laughing too, his head thrown back, his shoulders shaking.

And for a moment, it’s easy to forget the doubts gnawing at the edges of your mind.

But then the story ends, and the laughter fades, and the room feels too quiet again.

Fred’s laughter dies in his throat first. He turns his head toward you, the space between you charged, his expression softening as his eyes flicker to your lips.

“You’re staring,” you whisper, trying to keep your tone light, but your pulse betrays you.

“Am I?” he murmurs back, his voice low and teasing, but there’s something in his gaze that makes it hard to breathe.

You don’t know who moves first—maybe it’s him, maybe it’s you—but suddenly, the space between you disappears. His mouth meets yours in a rush of heat and hunger, and your body reacts without thought, your hands tangling in his hair as he pulls you closer.

He tastes like mint and something else, something unmistakably Fred, and for a moment, it feels like the rest of the world doesn’t exist.

It starts like it always does—feverish and desperate, hands searching, breaths stolen. Fred’s hands find the hem of your shirt, tugging it over your head, and your back hits the cushions of the couch before you even realize you’ve moved.

But somewhere in the middle of it—between the hurried kisses and the whispered curses—something shifts.

His touch slows, his fingers trailing along your skin with an almost reverent softness. He presses his forehead to yours, his breath warm against your lips, and for a fleeting moment, it feels like there’s more to this than just a casual arrangement.

Your chest tightens, and you open your mouth to say something, anything, but the words catch in your throat.

Fred pulls back slightly, just enough to look at you, his eyes searching yours like he’s trying to figure out if you feel it too.

But then the moment passes, and he closes his eyes, shaking his head like he’s dismissing some unwelcome thought. He presses a lingering kiss to your collarbone before shifting his weight and standing, grabbing his jacket from the chair.

“Leaving already?” you ask, your voice barely above a whisper.

Fred hesitates, his back to you. “Yeah,” he says, his tone lighter than the moment calls for. “Gotta keep you wanting more, don’t I?”

The grin he throws over his shoulder is forced, you think, but you don’t call him on it.

You watch him leave, the door clicking shut behind him, and you’re left alone again, your chest tight and your mind racing.

This is what you signed up for, you remind yourself. Casual. Fun. No strings attached.

So why does it already feel like so much more?

&

The party isn’t much different from the last one. A haze of laughter and music hangs in the air, the dimly lit living room thrumming with energy as bodies mill about. You’re leaning against a wall, clutching a drink, when you spot him across the room.

Fred.

Your breath catches—not because you didn’t expect him to be here, but because it’s the first time you’ve seen him like this since everything began.

In the few weeks since that night, he’s always shown up at your door under cover of darkness, a secret that slips away before the world wakes. Now, he’s here, among friends, out in the open. It feels… surreal.

His eyes catch yours, a flicker of something unreadable crossing his face before he looks away. You should probably do the same, pretend he’s just another person at the party, someone you barely know outside of shared jokes and casual conversations.

But something about seeing him here, the same Fred everyone else knows, tangles in your chest.

The game between you feels different now. Riskier.

You manage to avoid each other for most of the night, though you’re painfully aware of him. The way his laugh carries over the music. The effortless charm in the way he leans against the kitchen counter, surrounded by people.

But it’s when you least expect it that it happens.

You’ve slipped into the quiet hallway, hoping for a moment to breathe. He appears from nowhere, leaning casually against the wall a few feet away. His hands are shoved in his pockets, and he looks at you like you’re the only person in the world.

“You’ve been avoiding me,” he says, low enough that no one else could hear.

You swallow, refusing to meet his gaze. “You’ve been avoiding me too.”

A ghost of a smirk crosses his face. “Fair enough.”

For a moment, neither of you speaks. The silence stretches, filled only by the distant hum of the party, the bass thudding like a heartbeat. Then he shifts closer—too close, considering the thin walls and prying eyes just a room away.

“This is risky,” you murmur, though you don’t move away.

“Since when do you mind risky?” he counters, his voice teasing but quiet. There’s a flicker of warmth in his tone, a reminder of those moments when he’s let his guard down just enough to let you in.

You should push him away, but you don’t.

Instead, you glance up, and for the briefest second, he looks at you like he’s about to say something important. Something real. But he doesn’t. He’s Fred, after all.

Instead, his hand brushes yours, a fleeting touch that sends a shiver down your spine. “You know I shouldn’t be here,” he mutters, more to himself than to you.

You hesitate, your chest tightening. “Then why are you?”

He doesn’t answer right away. His fingers graze your wrist, light and hesitant, before he steps back, creating a distance that feels far too wide.

“I shouldn’t be,” he says again, as though repeating it will make it true. Then, softer, “But I am.”

The air between you feels heavier than it should. He’s pulling away again, retreating into the shell of secrecy he’s so carefully built. It frustrates you more than it should.

“You don’t have to make this so complicated,” you say, surprising even yourself.

Fred’s jaw tightens. He glances at the door leading back to the party, his gaze distant, before his eyes flicker back to you. “You think it’s that easy?”

You don’t answer, because you don’t know how to.

Instead, he leans in, his voice a whisper. “Careful. Someone might see us.” His words are teasing, but there’s an edge of something sharper beneath them.

And then he’s gone, disappearing back into the crowd as though nothing happened.

You’re left standing there, your heart racing and your thoughts tangled in ways you can’t quite unravel.

The rest of the night passes in a blur. You don’t see him again, but his presence lingers like a shadow, like a secret you can’t escape.

And when you finally leave the party, stepping out into the cool night air, you can’t help but wonder if this game you’re playing is one you’ll ever win—or if it’s one you’ll lose before it even truly begins.

&

It’s been days since the party.

Days of wondering if Fred will show up again, if you’ll hear that familiar knock on your door in the dead of night. He doesn’t call, doesn’t send any owl—not that you expected him to. But his absence still gnaws at you.

When the knock finally comes, it’s past midnight. You hesitate for a moment, standing barefoot in the hallway, staring at the door like it might vanish if you blink. Then, as if on instinct, you reach for the handle.

Fred is there, leaning against the frame, his hair tousled, his expression unreadable. He doesn’t say anything, just steps inside, his hands finding your waist almost immediately.

It’s fast, like always. A trail of kisses down your neck, murmured words you can barely catch, and then you’re stumbling toward the bedroom. It’s almost routine now—the way he knows exactly how to pull you apart, the way he leaves before the sun comes up.

It’s the same pattern, the same urgency, like he’s trying to chase away whatever’s haunting him.

Only this time, he leaves without saying much of anything. A quick glance back, a muttered “I’ll see you,” and then the door clicks shut behind him.

The quiet that follows feels heavier than it should. You sit on the edge of the bed for a long time, staring at the empty doorway, wondering why the familiar ache feels sharper tonight.

&

Alicia’s offer couldn’t come at a better time. “You need a reset,” she says, twirling her straw in her iced tea. “Seriously, this guy is perfect. Smart, funny, normal. Give it a shot.”

It’s not like you have anything better to do, so you agree.

The date is fine. Fine. Paul is nice—charming, even—but there’s no spark. By the end of the night, you’re both laughing about how you’d make better friends than anything else.

It’s late when you finally get home, the streets quiet and dimly lit. You’re fishing for your keys when you notice the shadow near your door.

Fred.

He’s leaning against the frame, his hands stuffed into his pockets. He looks up as you approach, his gaze flickering to the key in your hand before settling on your face.

“You’re out late,” he says, his voice casual.

“I had plans,” you reply, matching his tone as you unlock the door. You don’t elaborate, and neither does he.

Inside, the tension follows you, crackling in the air as you set your bag down and turn to face him. He’s watching you, his expression neutral but his shoulders taut, like he’s holding something back.

“How were the plans?” he asks, his voice steady, but there’s an edge to it you can’t quite place.

“They were fine,” you say. “We’re better off as friends.”

He nods, his lips pressing into a thin line, and for a moment, you think that’s the end of it. But then he’s stepping closer, his hands finding your waist like they always do.

This time, it’s different. His kisses are rougher, his grip firmer, but there’s something else underneath it—a quiet desperation, like he’s trying to claim something without admitting it. His hands linger longer, his lips move slower, and you let yourself lean into it, pretending not to notice the shift.

Afterward, he’s quiet again, lying beside you in the dark. The air feels heavier, and you can sense the walls going back up before he even moves to get dressed.

As he pulls on his shirt, he pauses, standing by the door with his back to you. For a moment, it seems like he’s about to say something, but instead, he runs a hand through his hair and exhales softly.

Then, just before he leaves, he glances back over his shoulder, his gaze flickering to yours. “Let me know when you’re too busy.”

It’s barely a whisper, so quiet you almost miss it. But there’s something in the way he says it, something unsaid lurking beneath the words, that lingers long after he’s gone.

You sit there in the dark, replaying the moment over and over, wondering why it feels like he just said goodbye.

&

Angelina’s birthday party is already in full swing by the time you stumble through the door, only half-committed to being there. The laughter, the music, the clinking of glasses—it’s all too loud, too bright, too much.

But you came anyway, maybe out of habit, or maybe because part of you hoped you’d find a distraction in the chaos.

Fred is here. You noticed him immediately. He’s impossible not to notice, leaning against the bar, his easy smile tugging at something in your chest you’ve been trying to ignore. He hasn’t come near you, hasn’t even spared you more than a glance. But that glance—it felt like it saw too much.

You bury your feelings in your drink, letting the bitterness of it settle the knots in your stomach. It doesn’t help.

“Alright, what’s with the face?” Alicia’s voice cuts through the noise as she drops onto the couch beside you. “You look like someone just ran over your cat.”

“I’m fine,” you lie, swirling the last of your drink. “Just…thinking.”

“About your nonexistent love life again?” she teases, nudging your shoulder. “Seriously, you need to loosen up. Or at least stop picking all the wrong people.”

You force a laugh, but it feels hollow. Alicia doesn’t know. No one does. You’ve kept Fred a secret, just as he asked. The weight of it presses heavier tonight, threatening to spill over as you down the rest of your drink and reach for another.

As the night goes on, the alcohol blurs the edges of everything. Faces blend together, voices turn to static, and you’re left moping in the corner, the ache in your chest louder than any song playing.

Fred’s there, somewhere. You’ve caught glimpses of him—his easy posture stiffened, his smile more strained than usual. But he doesn’t approach, and you don’t give him the satisfaction of looking too long.

By the end of the night, most people have left, and the crowd has thinned out. You’re sitting on the couch, staring at the bottom of your empty glass, when a shadow falls over you.

“Let’s get you home,” Fred says, his voice low but firm.

You look up at him, the alcohol dulling your usual instincts. “I don’t need your help.”

“Yes, you do.” His tone leaves no room for argument, but there’s something gentler in his gaze, something that makes your chest tighten.

You don’t resist when he helps you up, his arm steady around your waist as he guides you out the door. The walk home is quiet, the chill of the night air biting at your skin. Fred doesn’t say much, and neither do you, but the silence feels heavier than usual.

When you finally reach your flat, he helps you inside, sitting you down on the couch as he disappears into the kitchen. He returns with a glass of water, kneeling in front of you.

“Drink,” he says simply.

You take the glass, your hands shaking slightly as you bring it to your lips.

“Fred,” you start after a moment, your voice barely above a whisper. “Stay.”

He looks at you, startled by the request. “I—”

“Please.” The word spills out before you can stop it, raw and pleading. “Just for the night. I don’t want to be alone.”

He hesitates, his expression flickering between something unreadable and something achingly vulnerable. Then, finally, he nods. “Alright.”

Relief washes over you as he helps you to your feet again, guiding you to your bedroom. He’s careful as he tucks you into bed, his hand lingering briefly on your shoulder before he steps back.

“You’ll stay?” you ask again, your voice softer now.

“I’ll stay,” he promises, his voice low and steady.

You don’t remember falling asleep.

When you wake up, the room is quiet, the sunlight streaming through the curtains. For a moment, you lie there, disoriented, the haze of last night still clinging to your thoughts.

Then you notice it—the bed is empty.

Your stomach drops, a hollow ache blooming in your chest as you sit up. The other side of the bed is cool to the touch, and for a moment, you wonder if he left as soon as you fell asleep. The ache sharpens, and you feel foolish for believing he’d actually stay.

Swinging your legs over the side of the bed, you bury your face in your hands. Of course, he left. Of course, this is what it always is with him—half-hearted promises and fleeting moments that never mean as much as you want them to.

It’s only when you lower your hands that you notice it.

A glass of water and a small packet of painkillers sit neatly on the nightstand.

Your breath catches as you reach for the glass, the pieces falling together in your mind. The bed might be cool now, but the faint warmth lingering on the pillow tells a different story.

And then you hear it—the faint click of your front door closing.

Your chest tightens, your heart pounding as you realize the truth: Fred stayed. He kept his promise.

The ache in your chest softens, replaced by something you can’t quite name. It’s not relief, not entirely. It’s something more fragile, more complicated.

He stayed.

And for now, that’s enough.

&

The pub feels suffocating tonight, the air heavy with laughter and music that’s a touch too loud. You’re sitting at the edge of the booth again, nursing the remnants of your drink while the conversation at the table flows around you. Fred is there too, only a few feet away but worlds apart, as always.

At least, that’s how it’s supposed to be.

But tonight, something is different. You’ve caught him looking at you more than once, a flicker of warmth in his gaze that lingers just a moment too long before he turns away.

And then there are the little things—how he slid the drinks menu your way when you couldn’t reach, the casual way his hand brushed yours when passing the salt, and the faint smirk on his lips when you dropped your napkin, like he found your clumsiness amusing.

It’s maddening. These small, almost imperceptible gestures that would mean nothing if it were anyone else, but with Fred, they feel like everything.

You glance his way now, trying not to linger. He’s leaned back in his chair, his long fingers drumming lazily against the table, his attention seemingly on George, who’s telling some animated story about a prank gone wrong. But then, as if he feels your eyes on him, Fred looks up.

The corners of his mouth twitch, and there it is again—that fleeting, private smile that feels like it’s meant just for you.

It’s a cruel kind of softness. The kind that makes you want more.

“Leaving soon?” His voice pulls you back, low enough that it barely cuts through the noise, and you realize he’s speaking to you.

Your heart skips. You shrug, trying to feign indifference. “Maybe. You?”

His smirk deepens, something unreadable flickering in his eyes. “Not yet.”

The words hang between you, unspoken but understood. The plan forms, unspoken as always. You’ll leave first, and he’ll follow.

When the clock creeps toward midnight, you push yourself up, offering the table a vague excuse about an early morning. Fred doesn’t look at you, but you can feel the tension, the way his fingers still against the table as you grab your things and step into the cool night air.

The sharp contrast of the quiet street is a relief at first, but it doesn’t last. Your thoughts churn, the familiar mix of guilt and longing rising to the surface. You shake your head, trying to focus on the walk home when you see her.

Leah.

She’s leaning against the wall just outside the pub, her arms crossed, the faint glow of a cigarette in her hand. She looks up when she hears you, her face illuminated by the streetlamp above.

“Hey,” she says, her tone casual but her gaze sharp.

You freeze, your chest tightening. “Hey.”

Her lips quirk into something that’s not quite a smile, and she takes a slow drag of her cigarette before exhaling, the smoke curling into the air between you.

“You’ve been quiet tonight,” she says, tilting her head slightly.

She must’ve watched you—you hadn’t even noticed her in the pub. Had Fred?

You force a shrug, your voice tight. “Long day.”

She hums, her eyes narrowing just a fraction. “Fred seemed to have been distracted too. Must’ve been one of those days for everyone, huh?”

The mention of his name sends a jolt through you, but you keep your expression as neutral as you can manage. “Yeah, maybe.”

Leah watches you for a moment longer, her gaze unsettlingly calm. She takes another drag before flicking the cigarette to the ground, crushing it under her heel. “You two seemed friendly tonight.”

Your stomach twists, but you don’t falter. “We’re all friends, aren’t we?”

Her lips press together, her expression unreadable. “Sure.”

The pub door swings open, the sound spilling into the street, and your heart sinks as Fred steps out. His hair is a little messy, his face flushed from the warmth of the pub. He glances around, his eyes landing on you almost immediately.

“There you are,” he says, his tone light as he steps closer. “What’s taking so long? I thought you’d—”

His words die as his gaze shifts, landing on Leah.

His smile falters, and for a moment, the easy confidence he always carries slips. “Leah.”

“Fred,” she says smoothly, her tone neutral but her eyes sharp as they flick between the two of you.

He straightens, shoving his hands into his pockets as the tension thickens.

“What’s going on?” he asks, his voice tighter now.

You feel like the air has been sucked out of your lungs. You glance between them, your chest tightening. You can’t do this. The weight of the secrecy, the guilt, the unspoken accusations—it’s too much.

“I was just leaving,” you say quickly, your voice steadier than you feel.

Fred’s gaze snaps to you, his brow furrowing. “Wait—”

“I’ll see you later,” you cut him off, stepping away before either of them can stop you.

You won’t see him later, you’re sure of it.

The last thing you hear as you walk away is Fred’s voice, quieter now but still tinged with something you can’t quite place.

“Leah, we should talk.”

You don’t look back. You can’t.

&

You’re lying in bed, staring at the ceiling. The faint hum of the city outside is no comfort tonight. It’s too quiet, too still, and your mind refuses to stop racing.

You picture them together—Fred and Leah. You imagine their conversation, her calm but sharp gaze and his uneasy expression. Maybe they’re sitting close, voices low and familiar, smoothing over the jagged edges of their breakup. Maybe they’ll work things out. Maybe they’re already back together.

The thought is a knife to the chest, twisting deeper with every passing second. You roll onto your side, pulling the blankets tighter around you, but it doesn’t help. The ache is relentless, carving itself into every corner of your heart.

Hours pass. The clock on your nightstand glows faintly, marking the time you’ve spent wide awake. 2:47 a.m. Your body is heavy with exhaustion, but your mind won’t let you rest.

You try to reason with yourself. Fred never promised you anything. This was always supposed to be casual, meaningless—a fleeting distraction for both of you. You knew that. You agreed to it.

And yet.

A sharp knock cuts through the silence, jolting you upright. For a moment, you freeze, your breath catching in your throat.

Another knock.

You stumble out of bed, heart pounding, and shuffle to the door. When you open it, Fred is standing there, his hair disheveled, his shirt wrinkled like he’d left in a hurry. The faint light of the hallway casts shadows across his face, but his eyes are clear, intense.

You can’t speak. You just step aside, and he walks in without a word.

The door closes behind him, the lock clicking softly into place. He turns to you, his gaze searching, but whatever he’s looking for, he doesn’t say. He just steps closer, his hands brushing against your arms before they settle on your waist, pulling you toward him.

There are no questions, no explanations. Just his mouth on yours, slow and deliberate, like he’s memorizing the way you feel.

It’s different this time.

The usual rush of urgency is gone, replaced by something quieter, softer. He touches you like you’re fragile, like he’s afraid you’ll slip through his fingers if he’s not careful. His hands linger, tracing patterns on your skin, and his lips trail down your neck with an almost reverent slowness.

When he lifts you, carrying you to the bed, it’s not hurried or thoughtless. He lays you down gently, his weight pressing into you as his lips find yours again.

It’s almost too much. The tenderness, the quiet intensity—it’s overwhelming in a way that makes your chest ache.

Somewhere in the back of your mind, you wonder if this is goodbye. If this is Fred’s way of ending things, giving you something to remember before he walks away for good.

The thought makes your throat tighten, but you don’t stop him. You can’t.

When it’s over, you lie there in the dark, the sheets tangled around you, his arm draped loosely over your waist. His breathing is steady, his body warm against yours, and for a moment, you let yourself pretend that this is enough. That this could be enough.

But then he stirs, pulling away.

You turn to watch him as he sits on the edge of the bed, running a hand through his hair. He doesn’t look at you as he stands, gathering his clothes and pulling them on with quiet efficiency.

Your chest tightens, but you don’t say anything. You just watch as he moves to the door.

He hesitates, his hand on the knob, and for a moment, you think he might say something. But he doesn’t. He just turns back to you, his expression unreadable, and steps closer.

He leans down, pressing his lips to your forehead in a soft, lingering kiss.

It’s the kind of tenderness he’s never shown before, the kind that makes your heart break even as it swells.

When he pulls back, his eyes meet yours for a brief moment. There’s something there, something unspoken, but before you can grasp it, he’s gone.

The door clicks shut behind him, and you’re alone again.

You lie there, staring at the ceiling, the ache in your chest heavier than ever.

This is goodbye, you think.

You close your eyes, but sleep doesn’t come.

&

The weeks without Fred are a blur of emotions, each one more exhausting than the last. Some days, you manage to feel like yourself again, like the world might not actually end without him. Other days, the grief hits you like a wave, dragging you under with the weight of all the unsaid words and the things you wished could’ve been.

Your friends help, of course. Alicia keeps you busy with plans you don’t want to make, and Angelina sends you pep talks at odd hours of the night. But there’s a hollow ache they can’t touch, a space inside you carved out by Fred and left empty when he walked away.

You try to fill it with distractions—new books, long walks, even the occasional half-hearted date—but nothing works. Because no matter what you’re doing, your thoughts always circle back to him. To the warmth of his hands, the sound of his laugh, the way he looked at you that night before he left.

The worst part is the silence.

For weeks, there’s no word from Fred. No knocks at your door, no teasing notes slipped under the frame. He’s just… gone. And while you tell yourself that’s what you wanted—that it’s for the best—you can’t stop wondering where he is. What he’s doing. If he’s with her.

And then, one day, the silence breaks.

It’s mid-afternoon, and you’re home, though you have no memory of how you spent the morning. The hours have blurred together in a haze of restless pacing and half-formed thoughts, none of which have brought you any peace.

When the knock comes, you almost don’t hear it. It’s soft, tentative, like the person on the other side isn’t sure they’re welcome.

Your heart stutters.

You tell yourself it’s probably Alicia or Angelina, or maybe even Leah. But when you open the door, it’s Fred.

He looks different in the daylight. There’s no mischievous grin, no late-night bravado. Just him, standing on your doorstep, his shoulders tense and his hands shoved deep into his pockets.

“Hi,” he says, his voice quieter than you’ve ever heard it.

You stare at him, unsure whether to laugh, cry, or slam the door in his face. “What are you doing here?”

Fred shifts, glancing past you into the flat before meeting your gaze again. “Can I come in?”

You want to say no. You want to tell him to leave, to take all the chaos and heartbreak he’s brought into your life and walk away for good. But instead, you step aside, letting him in.

Fred moves to the middle of the room and stops, his eyes scanning the space like he’s trying to memorize it. He doesn’t sit, doesn’t relax, just stands there, his weight shifting from foot to foot.

“I didn’t know if you’d let me in,” he admits after a moment.

“Why are you here, Fred?” you ask, crossing your arms over your chest.

His eyes flicker with something you can’t quite place—guilt, maybe, or fear. “I needed to see you. To explain.”

“Explain what? That you left? That you couldn’t give me what I wanted? What I needed?” Your voice wavers, betraying the anger you’ve been holding onto for weeks.

Fred flinches but doesn’t look away. “Yes. All of it.”

For a moment, neither of you speaks.

“I was a mess when we started this,” he says finally, his voice low and steady. “Leah and I were over, but I wasn’t okay. I told myself I didn’t want anything serious, that I couldn’t handle it. And then you…”

You hold your breath, waiting for him to continue.

“You made me feel like I could handle it,” Fred says, his gaze dropping to the floor. “And that scared me. It made me feel wrong, like I was moving on too fast. Like I didn’t deserve it.”

You blink, his words sinking in.

“I pushed you away because I was scared,” he admits, meeting your eyes again. “But that doesn’t excuse what I did. I hurt you, and I hate myself for it.”

You swallow hard, your throat tight. “And now? Are you still scared?”

“Yes,” Fred says without hesitation. “But I’m more scared of not being with you. Of letting you slip away because I was too much of a coward to fight for this.”

Your breath catches, your chest tightening with a mix of hope and fear. “And what happens when it gets hard again? When you start to feel like it’s too much?”

Fred takes a step closer, his expression earnest. “Then I’ll tell you. And we’ll figure it out together. Because I’m done running, and I’m done pretending this doesn’t mean something.”

The sincerity in his voice is almost too much. You look away, your hands trembling as you try to keep your emotions in check.

“What are you asking for, Fred?” you whisper.

He hesitates, and for a moment, you think he might not answer. Then he reaches out, his fingers brushing yours. “I’m asking for a chance. To do this right. To give you what you’ve always deserved.”

You close your eyes, his words washing over you like a wave.

“Okay,” you say finally, your voice barely audible. “But we take it slow. No more secrets, no more running. We do this the right way.”

Fred nods, a small, relieved smile breaking through his tension. “Slow. Got it.”

He steps back then, extending a hand like he’s meeting you for the first time. “Hi. I’m Fred. Nice to meet you.”

You laugh, the sound a little shaky but genuine. “Nice to meet you, Fred.”

For a moment, you let yourself smile, the tension in your chest loosening just a little. Then you glance at his outstretched hand, raising an eyebrow. “Though I have to say, you look a lot like this guy I used to know. Total pain in the arse, but surprisingly charming when he wanted to be.”

Fred grins, his eyes lighting up in that way that always makes your heart skip a beat. “Well, I’m hoping I’m nothing like him. He sounds awful.”

“He was,” you say, shaking his hand firmly. “But I think you might be an improvement.”

Fred laughs, the sound warm and unrestrained, and for the first time in weeks, you feel like you can breathe again.

[iminmywritersdungeon]

the wolf and the hound

thank you to @proxythe for the beautiful fanart that inspired this

two broken people, trying so desperately to pretend they're whole.

“When I first came to Piltover,” She starts, “I spent weeks trying to find the right colors to match the sunsets. They’re so much more golden than in Noxus. I don’t know why.”

Vi raises a hand, seemingly shielding herself from the sun. “I didn’t see many sunsets growing up. They aren’t really visible, that deep in the Undercity. And then I went to prison.” She curls her hand into a fist. “And I couldn’t even remember what the sun looked like. I don’t want to forget it again.”

“I’m sorry.” Mel says, because she doesn’t know what else to say.

The pink haired woman turns to her, powder blue eyes staring into gold, filled with emotion. If Mel could give it a name, she would call it longing. Neither notices the other leaning in.

When they kiss its feather light, the graze of their lips pressing against each other. It’s not like they don’t know how a kiss works, but for a moment they can pretend like it’s the first time.

or; what love looks like / what good feels like

[godlynott]

ART DECO - THEODORE NOTT.

A fluff based on my fanfic, you can find it here 💟

(i also posted this on tiktok. my tiktok is the same user as here!)

Theo couldn’t help but glance at Rory from across the room, a quiet tug in his chest that he couldn’t explain. It was a strange thing, really. They had once been the best of friends, a bond as strong as the winds that swept through the hills of Italy where Theo spent his summers. Now, years later, all they shared was a quiet war—words sharp and gestures colder than any distance could make.

But in those fleeting moments, when their eyes met or when Rory’s lips curved into that rare, unguarded smile, Theo swore he could still see the ghost of the person he used to know. And just for a moment, just for that split second, everything felt right again.

“Che strano,” Theo muttered under his breath, realizing that maybe it wasn’t just the past pulling him toward Rory, but something else—something he couldn’t quite name, something that had never really disappeared.

Rory, noticing Theo’s soft gaze, smirked. “What? You finally missed me, Theo?”

A breath caught in Theo’s throat, and he almost felt like he could breathe again. “Something like that,” he replied, his voice quieter than he meant it to be.

Rory raised an eyebrow, stepping closer, her teasing smirk softening just a bit as she glanced at him. “You know,” she said, her voice quieter now, almost like a secret she wasn’t sure she should share, “you never really got over it, did you? All those years…”

Theo’s heart skipped, the weight of her words sinking in. He could feel the pull of her like gravity, everything inside him screaming for something he thought he’d buried long ago. But it was Rory—how could he ever truly bury something so complicated, so… hers?

He took a step forward, the distance between them suddenly too wide, and his voice was low, almost hesitant. “Maybe I didn’t want to.”

Rory didn’t say anything at first, just watched him with those eyes that always seemed to know too much. Then, with a small, almost imperceptible smile, she reached out, brushing her fingers against his. The touch was electric, a jolt that sent a spark of warmth through his chest. It was as if, in that moment, the years apart had melted away, and the ghost of their old friendship whispered in the silence.

“Funny,” Rory murmured, “I didn’t want to either.”

Theo stood frozen for a moment, the weight of her words hanging between them like a delicate thread. He wanted to say something—anything—but the truth was, he wasn’t sure what to feel. Every part of him had been trained to keep his distance, to stay cold, to guard his heart like it was something fragile, something worth hiding. But now, standing so close to Rory, with her fingers still lightly brushing against his, it was like all those years of silence had built to this one moment, this one breath.

“You always did know how to get under my skin,” he muttered, trying to keep the conversation light, but the intensity in his voice betrayed him. His heart raced in his chest, and he could feel the heat of her hand against his, even though it was just the faintest touch.

Rory chuckled softly, but there was something different in her eyes now—no longer playful, but… open. “Maybe that’s because you let me,” she said, her voice quieter, more thoughtful than he had expected. “You always did let me, Theo.”

He stared at her, caught between the impulse to laugh it off and the truth that was beginning to stir inside him. Was that what it had always been? That easy surrender to her presence, to the connection they shared? He wasn’t sure, but something about the way she looked at him now made it feel like everything was finally coming into focus.

“You don’t make it easy,” Theo replied, his voice a little rougher than usual, the words slipping out before he could stop them. He wasn’t sure if he was talking about the past or the present, about the rivalry or something else entirely. But Rory’s smile deepened, and in that moment, he couldn’t help but let out a small laugh, the sound surprising him. It felt good, like a release he hadn’t realized he needed.

Rory tilted her head, studying him for a moment, and Theo couldn’t help but feel like she was seeing through him, into the places he kept hidden. “You never did like things easy, did you?” she said softly, her voice tinged with something deeper, something unspoken.

Theo swallowed, feeling the pull between them growing stronger. He stepped closer, the space between them narrowing with every breath. His hand brushed her cheek, just a light touch, but enough to make the world feel like it had shifted. Rory’s gaze flickered to his lips, and for the briefest moment, he wondered if she was thinking the same thing he was—that maybe, just maybe, the lines between them weren’t as clear as they once seemed.

“I don’t think I’ve ever known anything easy with you, Rory,” Theo murmured, his thumb gently tracing the curve of her jaw. “And I don’t think I ever will.”

Her breath hitched at his words, but instead of pulling away, she leaned into his touch, her lips barely a breath away from his. “Good,” she whispered, her voice like a promise, “because neither have I.”

For a moment, neither of them moved. It was like the whole world had faded away, leaving just the two of them in this quiet, electric space between what was and what could be. And when their lips finally met—slow, tentative at first—it felt like coming home. Like all the time they’d spent apart had only been building up to this, to the soft press of lips against lips, to the fragile, beautiful moment where the past and present collided.

It wasn’t easy. It never had been. But maybe, just maybe, that was what made it worth everything.

As they pulled away, neither of them spoke immediately. The silence between them felt different now—not awkward, not heavy, but comfortable, like something had shifted in the air. Theo looked at Rory, his heart still racing, his mind struggling to catch up with what had just happened. Was this the beginning of something new, or was it just a fleeting moment in time? He wasn’t sure.

Rory, for her part, didn’t seem to have an answer either. But when she met his gaze, there was a softness there—a quiet understanding, as if they were both realizing, at the same time, that whatever had brought them together in the past was never truly gone. Maybe it had always been waiting for them, just buried beneath the layers of time and distance.

“You’re still a pain in my ass,” she muttered, breaking the silence, her smirk returning as she brushed a stray lock of hair behind her ear. But the edge was gone from her voice, and something deeper lingered there.

Theo chuckled, the sound low and full of warmth. “Says the girl who’s never made anything easy.”

Rory rolled her eyes but didn’t pull away when he reached for her hand again. She let him, fingers intertwining as if it was the most natural thing in the world. The tension from the years of rivalry, the hurt, the confusion—it was still there, but now, it felt like something they could face together, not as enemies, but as something more.

“So,” Rory began, her voice playful but with a hint of uncertainty, “now what?”

Theo paused, glancing down at their intertwined hands. “Now,” he said slowly, looking back up at her with a grin, “we figure it out.”

And for the first time in a long while, Theo didn’t feel like he had to have all the answers. Because with Rory standing beside him, it felt like the journey was just beginning.

[mysteriousxgirls]

Aida’s breath hitched as he pulled her closer, her heart beating faster, wild and erratic, pressed against his chest. She could feel every steady thrum of his heartbeat beneath her cheek, and for a moment, it felt like the world had narrowed down to just the two of them. She had always been able to keep her distance, to stay composed, but now? Now, with him so close, she could feel the walls she’d spent years building around herself beginning to crack. Her fingers twitched, wanting to reach up and touch him, but she kept them firmly at her sides, fighting the urge. She couldn’t let herself backslide into the person she had been in high school—the one who teased him, bullied him, who hid behind sarcasm and distance to cover up the truth. She wasn’t that girl anymore. She hadn’t been for a long time, and yet, now that he was here, the truth felt heavier, more impossible to ignore.

She lifted her chin slightly, looking up into his eyes, trying to gather the courage to speak the words that had been tangled in her chest for years. She didn’t want him to go. She didn’t want to keep pretending she was fine on her own. He was right here, and everything inside her screamed that she needed him, wanted him, and it terrified her. But she couldn’t lie to herself anymore. “You have no idea…” she started softly, her voice betraying her as it cracked. She cleared her throat, fighting the vulnerability threatening to consume her. “I needed you all this time. I still do.” Her hands clenched into fists by her sides, the words finally tumbling out, raw and unfiltered. “Back in high school, I was... I was so messed up. I pushed you away because I didn’t know how to admit what I felt, but I see it now. I wasn’t just teasing you. I was hiding from what I wanted. From what I still want.”

Aida took a deep breath, trying to steady herself as her chest tightened. Her heart raced, but she couldn’t hold back anymore. She wanted him to know, to truly understand. “I don’t want you to go, Leo. Not now. Not again.” Her eyes flickered up to meet his, and for the first time in a long time, she didn’t look away. She let herself feel everything, the heat between them, the longing, the fear—and the undeniable truth that she wasn’t ready to lose him again. The words were out there now, and she was left standing, waiting, hoping he wouldn’t disappear like he had all those years ago. "So, yes. I need you.. i fucking need you."

Leo’s grin lingered, but the cocky edge softened as he took her words in, each one hitting like a slow-burning fuse. He tilted his head, studying her, his hands sliding casually into his pockets like he wasn’t sure what to do with them otherwise. “Didn’t think I was doing all that. I was just trying to get you to admit I’m right about the towels.” His lips quirked into a smirk, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes.

She had his attention now, fully, and Aida would see it—the way his bravado wavered just enough to show the man he was underneath. There was no one else to compete now. No other girl hanging off his arm in the bar, no date she had brought that decided to swing, no bystander filming the fight. Just them. It wasn’t just a game anymore, not when her words hung between them like a dare he didn’t know how to take yet. His gaze searched hers, as if he was trying to memorize every detail, every fleeting expression. “Oh is this a guessing game you’re playing?” He smirked but after that, his tone shifted, his usual confidence tempered by something rawer, more vulnerable, “and right now… Do you need me?” He quizzed, reaching out to take her hand in his and pulling her body that little bit closer so she was pressed against his chest.

[idolomantises]

Man is it just me or are a lot of TV shows nowadays are written to have big emotional episodes in scenes with very little build up.

[gaia-is-here-now]

TANGOTEK TUESDAY!

Draw tango in a proper tango tank with plenty of stimulation and a water tube pls

he wants freedom

[spinostarz]

THE WELL AND THE LIGHTHOUSE PMV/ANIMATIC

very very jean valjean centric because i love him and he deserves the world <3 im not sure if pmv or animatic would apply better to this, but either way, i hope you enjoy it!

[feroluce]

For reasons to be expanded upon at a later date (because I love the little bits about Boothill and possible paranoia/betrayal canon gives us so very dearly HNGH) I think Boothill like... He won't let himself fall into disrepair or anything of course, but he reeeeeeeeeeally does not like letting other people poke around at his body. It's a necessary evil to him. He does whatever maintenance and repairs he can himself. He started out with a massive knowledge deficit, simply because he didn't really have any exposure to that kind of technology until he left Aeragan-Epharshal, but he's taught himself a lot since then, he worked really hard at it!

Anyway, the point being, Boothill generally isn't super trusting of people.

But I think he would come to make an exception for Himeko, since he trusts Dan Heng a lot, and Himeko is one of Dan Heng's once-in-a-lifetime dearly beloved companions.

Himeko is so unflappable, I don't think she would even bat an eye about anything he throws at her, either. Like she enters the Parlor Car one morning (she's always the first one up) and Boothill is already there, waiting for her.

"Mornin', Madam Navigator."

"Good morning, Mr. Boothill."

And despite the fact that he blatantly broke into the Express (Pom-Pom is NOT happy about this JDKSAJDSKL), Boothill tips his hat, greets her politely, and is nothing but respectful when he says he has a favor to ask of her. Except it won't stay a favor long, of course- he has every intention of paying it back.

Himeko never agrees to things blindly, but she does bring up that all the knowledge Boothill contributed during the Charmony Festival was essential to preventing the universe from being pulled into Ena's Dream. And they were able to hold onto the Jade Abacus because Boothill used Tiernan's burial relic to summon the Galaxy Rangers instead. The Astral Express owes him a debt of gratitude, and besides, he's a friend of Dan Heng's. Of course she'll try to help him.

Boothill fidgets a bit, quickly brushes off the thanks, and tells Himeko he's having a problem with error codes. He keeps getting the same one, seemingly at random times, but the darn thing has no obvious cause. Dan Heng mentioned Himeko had been the one to rebuild the Astral Express. He knows it ain't the same, but it's not like he's askin' for any major repairs or nothin'. He was wonderin' if she could just take a look, maybe offer him some insight, since she seems to be somethin' of a mechanical wonder.

So Himeko walks him back to a another car, where she goes to tinker with machines without them crowding her bedroom. It's all neatly laid out and organized, and it only takes a second for Himeko to locate some specific device with a long cord. Instead of plugging it in herself, she holds the end of it out to him, like an offer rather than a demand, and Boothill visibly relaxes a bit. He still eyes it just a little warily for a second, but he accepts and plugs it into the port on his side.

Himeko pulls up the list of all recent errors, and they really are all the same. Boothill has had multiple temperature alarms over the past couple of weeks since the Charmony Festival, and they know it's not the environment, because Penacony is mostly dreamscape and kept mild year-round. The long-forgotten natural deserts are too far away.

Boothill is staring from the corner of his one good eye, so Himeko turns the hologram to let him see what she's doing easier. They don't appear to be false alarms. His internal temperature spikes and then slowly lowers again, high enough that if it lasted it would eventually cause damage.

One option is for her to start rooting through personal data, figuring out what he was doing at the time of each code, and tracing cause and correlation.

Instead, Himeko reads out the timestamps, and asks Boothill if he minds sharing what was happening around him when it occured.

Two weeks ago: He and Dan Heng went to explore Dreamflux Reef and found a bar- nice place, good atmosphere. Woman runnin’ it was a doll. Boothill left fer not even two minutes to get them drinks (Dan Heng knows like nothin’ about liquor, Madam Navigator, can you believe this guy) and when he came back, someone had already stolen his seat and was hittin’ on Dan Heng! Dan Heng didn't even care, just shooed ‘em off. Boothill laughed and said not to let him get in his way if he wanted to meet someone. Dan Heng looked at him like he'd grown a second head. Why would he want to leave with someone else, when he came here to be with Boothill?

Twelve days ago: While laying low- er, just rustlin’ up some grub- in the Moment of Blue, Boothill passed Dan Heng with March and Caelus playin’ on the beach, buildin’ sandcastles and the like. When he passed by again almost two hours later, they were still out there, with Dan Heng pullin’ March through the water on her inner tube and Caelus hangin’ off the back of it. He swam so fast! You'd think he was part water snake or somethin’. He looked happier ‘n a cat in a sunbeam… He has a nice smile, doesn't he?

Eleven days ago: Boothill was killin’ time in Dreamflux Reef when he turned the corner down a shady alley and saw Dan Heng, surrounded by three men demandin’ “protection money.” None of ‘em stood a chance, they were all on the ground before Boothill even blinked! So cool! Boothill wants to see that spear of his closeup- Anyway, Dan Heng stepped on one of ‘em on his way out, hahaha! Boothill stepped on the same guy a second time as he hurried to catch up.

Eight days ago: Here on the Express, actually. Boothill had mentioned bein’ curious about the archives, and Dan Heng personally invited him.

(“I remember that day, I saw you in the hall.” “Was there any problem with the heating that day?” “No, none. I don't think the temperature has anything to do with these error codes. I have a different theory, keep going.” “If ya say so.”)

Boothill was fascinated by an entry on aeons, and from a single question he asked about Lan, the two of ‘em ended up talkin’ fer hours. About aeons and Paths and Emanators, Acheron and Self-Annihilators, the Sea of Nihility, Tiernan, the Nameless and the Galaxy Rangers, their burial relics and their customs. Dan Heng finally just started writin’ and editin’ the entries in real time, with Boothill pointin’ things out and tellin’ him what to add in. They were at it so late that Boothill ended up sleepin' on a couch in one of the cars.

He'd figured there had to be something to make Dan Heng chatty- he'd caught just a glimpse of it that first night they met, sittin’ at the bar in the Reverie together. He'll have to ask about the archives more often, if it gets him all revved up like that.

One week ago: After that night of energetic discussion, Dan Heng was apparently hyped up, because after he'd downed some of Himeko's coffee (“You had some too, right? What did you think of it?” “It was great, even better'n chewin’ bullets!” "Thank you! That was my newest brew, I can't wait for everyone else to try it.") he actually asked Boothill to go hunting with him. Boothill asked who their target was, and was surprised when Dan Heng pulled out photos that looked like they were from March's camera, of all things, instead of a bounty or wanted poster.

And as he sat there, studying these pictures, Dan Heng explained that he wanted to hunt down these specific memory zone memes to record them into the archives. Planets with so much memoria are a rarity, especially with the Stellaron's activity thrown into the mix, which has surely affected the local “wildlife.” He might not get another opportunity like this for a long time. And Boothill had talked last night about his extensive expertise in tracking and hunting, so he should have plenty to offer here, Dan Heng would like to learn from his experience and see how he does things!

And oh, Madam Navigator, by the time Dan Heng was done speakin', his eyes were practically sparklin'! Just lit up like the sun! Boothill could scarcely believe it! The two of them couldn't even wait another day, they set out that very morning. It had been a long, long while since Boothill had tracked someone- er, somethin’- without the intent to capture or kill. It was…actually really nice. Nostalgic, but in a good way. It might even have been his favorite day on Penacony…so…far…

Boothill trails off as a couple of realizations crash into him. All the temperature alarms he's spoken about thus far- they've all happened in the company of Dan Heng. And now that he's thinking about it, he's pretty sure even the ones he hasn't yet talked about were with him, too. Dan Heng has been responsible for all of his error codes, every. single. one.

The screen in front of Himeko suddenly refreshes to the top of the list, displaying a new notification for the current time. Alert! Core temperature above normal range.

Himeko's knowing smile is sly as a snake.

Wwwwwelp, would ya look at the time, Boothill has some errands to meet, people to run, y’know how it is, he should really get goin'-

“Oh, Mr. Boothill? About that favor.” And Boothill jolts to a stop in the doorway because fudge, he can't just leave without hearing her out. He'd given his word. He has no problem running out on someone he thinks deserves it, but Himeko really had been kind to him to try and help him out. Her voice is just as knowing as her smile, Boothill can't turn around to look at her, or else he knows he won't be able to disguise the sound of his cooling fans kicking on.

“Don't make Dan Heng wait too long, ok~?”

“Y-Yes, ma'am.”

[my-current-obsession]

every time i see bakudeku compared to k/ance (now specifically in terms of them getting shafted in the ending and/or accused of queerbaiting) i take psychic damage

[galilea-naerie]

Galilea’s hands trembled faintly as she set the spoon back into her bowl of porridge, her appetite gone. The conversation outside the door was impossible to ignore; Mrs. Lindly’s cries carried through the thin walls like the wailing of a ghost. Galilea didn’t want to listen, but every word struck a nerve. October sat across from her, his spoon hovering over his bowl, as though he were too focused on the muffled shouting to continue eating. “He’s handling it,” October said, his tone trying for reassurance but missing the mark. Galilea nodded, though her heart wasn’t settled. Rhys had told them to wait, but that didn’t stop the unease that prickled along her skin. She was no stranger to the hostility of humans. She’d seen it before, countless times—grief turning to anger, anger turning to blame. But she hadn’t expected it here, not like this. When the door burst open and Mrs. Lindly stormed in, Galilea froze mid-breath. The older woman’s face was red and tear-streaked, her grief tangible and raw, and for a split second, Galilea could see the woman’s pain as clearly as if it were her own. But then the woman’s hand rose, and that fleeting moment of sympathy was swallowed by the shock of the threat. A slap. The intent wasn’t lost on Galilea, Mrs. Lindly’s outrage wasn’t just for the loss of her husband. It was for what Galilea was a magical being, a nymph, not human. An outsider. The thought stung more than the slap might have. Rhys’s hand shot out like lightning, intercepting Mrs. Lindly’s wrist before it could connect. Galilea’s eyes darted to him, wide with surprise. His voice was firm but calm as he addressed the grieving woman by name, the formality dropping like a cloak cast aside. Somehow, he managed to diffuse her rage, turning her ire into a collapse of sorrow against his chest. Galilea stood motionless, her heart pounding. She exchanged a glance with October, who raised his brows but said nothing. She wasn’t sure if the pounding in her chest was fear or relief. Maybe both. When Rhys guided Mrs. Lindly out, Galilea finally let out the breath she hadn’t realized she was holding. “Thank you,” she murmured to him before he stepped out, her voice quiet but genuine. “Be safe.” It wasn’t that he needed her concern. Humans were strong, far stronger than most gave them credit for. In many ways, their physical strength rivaled even the elves, the gods’ alleged favored ones. But strength wasn’t everything. Humans carried their strength like a double-edged sword, powerful but often reckless. But Rhys…Rhys carried so much more than physical strength. After the door closed, Galilea returned to her seat, though her porridge had long gone cold. She stared at the bowl, twirling the spoon idly. “Did you expect that?” October broke the silence, leaning back in his chair. “The slap? I didn’t.” She replied. “No,” she admitted softly. “Not exactly.” She paused, her fingers tightening slightly on the spoon. “But it makes sense, doesn’t it? We’re not human. We are convenient scapegoats.” She tried to keep the bitterness from her voice, but it lingered at the edges like an unwelcome guest. “Convenient or not, Rhys didn’t seem like he was going to let them get away with it,” October pointed out. “I know.” And she did. Rhys’s words and actions had proven as much. Still, the lingering doubt wouldn’t fully settle. “But how long can he keep this up? His people are desperate, and desperation doesn’t always listen to reason.” October tilted his head, considering her words. Then he sighed. “We should find a cure soon. It feels like we’ve overstayed our welcome.” Galilea sighed as well, her shoulders slumping. “I agree.” She rubbed her temples. “I trust Rhys, but he already has enough to handle. If the soldiers patrolling are here for more than the illness. If they’re here because of whispers of a rebellion, then we might be making things worse just by being here.” The thought weighed heavily on her, but before she could dwell on it further, they spent the rest of the day, mixing and trying different potions on the remainder of the worms.

Rhys stepped inside, his presence filling the room. Despite herself, Galilea felt a small smile tug at her lips. Something was reassuring about him, even when he was weary and carrying the burdens of his people on his shoulders. Both nymphs listened intently to Rhys's words. Galilea inclined her head, her gratitude evident. “Thank you, Rhys,” she said softly. October echoed her sentiments with a nod, his usual humor absent in the serious moment. When Rhys asked about his blood, Galilea hesitated for only a moment before nodding. “Yes,” she said, rising to her feet. “I’ll prepare the table.” She moved with practiced ease, clearing the surface and then sanitizing it with tools October had brought from their kingdom. She held the items carefully, her movements methodical. Though healing nymphs didn’t use incantations, their tools often carried natural magic of their own, a blend of their craft and their connection to nature. Once the table was ready, Galilea turned to Rhys. “Come sit,” she said gently. Galilea pulled out a chair and rolled up his sleeve. Revealing more muscle than she cared to admit, she was sure even October was gawking. Refocusing herself Galilea tied an elastic string around his arm, securing it with care. “This will only take a moment,” she promised. Her hands were steady as she drew the blood, filling two tinctures with the crimson liquid. The silence between them was heavy, but not uncomfortable. Once she finished, she set the vials aside and looked up at him. “Your parents,” she began, her voice soft but thoughtful. “They must have done an incredible job raising you.” She smiled faintly. “Considering the lengths you’ve gone to for your sister, for your people. It’s admirable.” She paused for a moment, pensive. “It’s more than that,” Galilea broke the silence, her tone gentle. “Not everyone takes what they’re taught and turns it into action. Not everyone would go this far.” She rose to her feet, gathering the vials of blood. “You should rest,” she said again, her voice kind but insistent. “You’ll need to rest for a couple of hours and eat something,” she added. “I’ll make food for all of us. What’s your favorite meal?” Galilea figured it was the best she could repay him.

Rhys watched as Galilea spoke with Carina, getting down on her level and complemented the way Carina mispronounced her name. Something about the brief interaction moved something in Rhys, made him long for things he did not have for himself, that he only had vicariously through others. His feelings about Galilea, his attraction to her beauty, but also the tender and giving person underneath seemed to ache in his chest. An ache that told him they were feelings never to be acted on. The nature of what they were and the weight of his own duties would force them apart once the need for her help had come to its end. The desire for a life with her seemed to bloom as merely a fantasy, but he could picture it so clearly. He could see her in his life as more than just this helper in a dark time, but he needed to ground himself. There were heavier tasks at hand that more immediately demanded him than his own desires for Galilea. He sat across from her as she began to eat the porridge he set in front of her once Carina had scampered off. "You don't need to thank me." he said with with a chuckle, "You are doing a great deal for me. I can make you a meal." He said simply and smiled at her. Something about this could have felt domestic, but the topic soon shifted to how October had not returned. “He hasn’t-“ Rhys was about to voice some concern, but October walked through the door and his appearance made obvious how his night had been, “I was not as worried about him.” Rhys stated. He did not bear the close relationship with October, but an amused expression appeared on his face all the same for his friend Aimon. He chuckled when October called it an intellectually stimulating evening, “That’s what they’re calling it now?” But it was no question only continuing the teasing Galilea had started. And a pleasant reprieve it was from the heaviness of all other topics of conversation. At least some laughter could be found in dark times. He looked at the pomegranate juice October had placed in front of him and his eyes moved up to Galilea when October then mentioned it being her favorite, something Rhys would certainly commit to memory. "Good to know." He told October and sipped from the cup, "And thank you." He added and set the cup back down. The conversation shifted to matters about the disease and what they needed to do that day, but that was when there came a loud banging at the door and the angry voice of Mrs. Lindly. Her shouts would certainly draw attention and though she did not state that there were nymphs in the residence her words were enough to reveal that there were not humans. And Rhys did not need that attention. Rhys hated the fear and worry, sadness that crept into Galilea's features, the way she apologized repeatedly. It bothered him, nagged at him in a way that made him want to put an end to anyone that dare try to harm her. Especially when her sole purpose in this world was to heal, to help. "Do not apologize." He told her and rose to his feet, "I'll handle this." Rhys took the tinctures, “Both of you wait here.” He told them and tucked the bottles into his pockets and opened the door the woman was banging on and crowded himself out the door, shutting it behind himself. Her fists came down against his chest, her grief evident in his fear stained face, “Monsters!” She cried. Rhys grabbed her wrists tk stop her from continuing to beat his chest though her blows were weak it was doing no good in getting through to her to allow her to continue, “Mrs. Lindly, please.” He held her wrists firmly in his grip, looking down at the older woman who sobbed, “lower your voice!” He hissed at her, “Do you not trust me?” He asked her, his gaze confident as it bore into hers, “do you believe I would purposefully put your husband in danger? I believed you knew me better than that.”

He turned it around as a personal offense that she was at this door with this, but soon his voice took on a gentler tone, “I brought my friends here to help. I would not have done so to put you or yours in danger. You accepted our help.” He informed her once more that she had agreed, that she had wanted them to help her. “But he’s gone. He had been holding up until they came along.” She insisted, tears steamed down her face, her eyes and cheeks puffy and red, tear stained. The strength of her grief seemed to propel her forward and she threw open the door of Sandrina’s home, “you!” She exclaimed and took a few quick steps across the small kitchen toward Galilea and reeled her hand back. Rhys caught Mrs. Lindly by the wrist and pulled her back to face him, “Aerin,” he said Mrs. Lindly’s first name, dropping the formality he would normally regard her with. It seemed to stop her and she looked up at him, “You will not come into my sister’s home and harm my friends who have come from so far away to help you. I know the loss of your husband is devestating and untimely. I will help you through this however I can. But it is no fault of theirs that he is gone. If you are to truly take issue with anyone for it blame our king for allowing us all to suffer while he keeps himself away. They are the only ones helping us through this, them and ourselves.” He spoke calmly to her and the woman seemed to nearly crumple up. She fell agains this chest, her sobs only partially muffled by his body as hers shook with her grief. He rubbed her back reassuringly. “Take one of these.” He told her and reached into his pocket to take one of the tinctures Galilea had given him, “You are sick as well, but not as sick as he was. These should help keep you fairly healthy until a cure is made. You still have grandchildren who want you in their lives.” He told her. Mrs. Lindly took the tincture from him and drank from it. “Now come, I’ll walk you home. You can rest. And I will be by to check on you later in the evening.” He wrapped his arm around the woman’s shoulder and lead her out of the home, “I’ll be back soon.” He called back to Galilea and October. He walked Mrs. Lindly back to her home and got her settled with some tea. He left to fetch Aimon and have him pick up the body of Mr. Lindly. He knocked on the door of the shed-like home of Aimon who opened the door moments later looking disheveled, but pleased with himself, “Heard you had a good night.” Rhys said first and chuckled. Aimon beamed, proud of himself, “Looks like I have a wider net of appeal than you do, Rhys, shocking isn’t it?” Aimon teased and stepped aside for Rhys to enter the cramped space. Rhys stepped inside and crossed his arms, “whatever makes you feel better, friend.” He said and chuckled once more before he continued, “Mr. Lindly has passed. Please retrieve his body as soon as possible.” Rhys got straight to the point about his visit, but he wished to touch on the topic of Galilea and October more as well. “Also, please keep it quiet about what October and Galilea are. Mrs. Lindly accepted their help and then attempted to blame them for what they were when he husband died though he was already likely beyond help by the time they got there. We need to keep attitudes positive toward them. Though by nature of how they work I’m uncertain of how quiet we can keep it I then ask you to keep people viewing them as helping rather than harming should the topic come up." Rhys couldn't be the only one vouching for what they were doing. He needed others on his side as well and Aimon was as good a bet as any to have on his side first. "I think you should have no issue with that considering recent events." Rhys continued and quirked a brow at his friend. Aimon nodded, "Of course. I have a personal interest in this now anyway, don't I?" Aimon agreed.

The men conversed for awhile longer before Rhys left with Aimon to retrieve Mr. Lindly. He sat with the widow for awhile while Aimon removed the body and then Rhys returned home. He walked through the door and nodded at the two nymphs who had continued their work. "She is contented, comfortable, and resting." He explained and walked over to the table, "She has not stated anything else about you two. I spoke to Aimon and he will let me know if he hear's anyone voicing her sentiments from earlier. He also will help in quelling those sentiments as he can." Rhys worried that such outbursts would run them off. It was now another thing he needed to manage in order to retain their help until the issue was, hopefully, resolved. "I will do everything to keep you safe as I can. They are desperate and grief stricken and their king does not show his face to be blamed and your faces are new. But I will not allow you to fall into harms way." Rhys promised and it was a promise he felt confident he could keep. The soldiers were another issue, but from his own people? He felt confident he had their trust enough to keep them listening to him. He pulled his attention solely to Galilea now, "Do you wish to take my blood now?" he asked her and pulled the chair back from the table and sat down at it.