#i talk all the time about how much this fic means to me so it makes me immeasurably happy to know that you liked it so much 😞🤍

[writeriguess]

Hey hun! Welcome back 😘

So, i have a kind of slow burn idea for a Bakugo x fem!reader fic. They both like each other and when she tries to ask him out or talk to him about it, he's kind of an ass 😅

He thinks she'll be in the way or a distraction to his goal, so he pushes her away. He can't get her out of his head though and their friends tell him he's being an idiot. Eventually, he cracks and tells her (in his very 'katsuki' way) that he does want to be with her.

Angst ending with lots of fluff, confessions, and a kiss please!

author's note: Thank you so much! <3 I just wanted to say that your idea was incredible, and I had such a great time writing it. It turned out to be much longer than I expected, but it was definitely worth it!

Heart of Dynamite

It started with stolen glances. You weren’t sure when you first noticed, but something about the way Bakugo Katsuki acted around you was different. He wasn’t nice, not by any stretch of the imagination, but there was something else buried beneath the rough edges and sharp remarks. A fleeting glance when he thought you weren’t looking. The way he always seemed to hover nearby during group exercises, subtly ensuring you didn’t get caught off guard.

You weren’t blind. You saw the way his crimson eyes would flick to you during lunch, only for him to look away just as quickly if you caught him. You noticed how his explosions during sparring would seem almost… controlled when directed your way—less destructive, more calculated. It wasn’t much, but it was enough to make you wonder. Enough to make you hope.

The problem was, Bakugo being Bakugo, he’d never admit to something as human as feelings. If he did like you, he was keeping it buried under a mountain of anger, pride, and whatever complicated emotions made up Katsuki Bakugo.

But still, the moments added up. And with each passing day, your crush grew stronger. You hated the way your heart fluttered when he called you by name instead of his usual nicknames for everyone else. You hated how you’d secretly look forward to his biting remarks because, in some twisted way, it was his version of paying attention to you.

And most of all, you hated how much courage it took to even consider confessing to him.

After weeks of agonizing over it, you finally decided you couldn’t live with the "what if." No matter what, you needed to know.

The opportunity came on a rare quiet evening at the dorms. Everyone else had gone out for karaoke, leaving you and Bakugo alone. He was sprawled on the couch in the common area, his arms crossed, staring at some mindless action movie playing on the TV.

You hovered at the doorway, your heart racing. You almost turned back, but then his gruff voice interrupted your thoughts.

"What the hell are you standing there for? You look like a damn idiot."

You flinched, but quickly steeled yourself. "I just… needed to ask you something."

His gaze flicked to you, crimson eyes narrowing slightly. "Then spit it out already. Don’t waste my time."

Your hands were clammy as you stepped closer, each word feeling heavier than the last. "Do you… want to go out with me? Like, on a date?"

For a moment, Bakugo just stared at you. His usual scowl didn’t shift, but you could see the flicker of surprise in his eyes—so quick you almost missed it. His jaw tensed, his hands clenching into fists on his lap.

Then, he scoffed. Loudly.

"You serious?" he said, leaning back against the couch like your question was the stupidest thing he’d ever heard. "Why the hell would I want to go out with you?"

The words hit you like a punch to the gut. Your throat tightened, and your chest felt like it was collapsing in on itself.

"I mean, come on," he continued, his tone sharp and cutting. "What makes you think I’d waste my time on something dumb like that?"

You felt heat rise to your cheeks, but not from embarrassment—from the sting of his rejection. You struggled to keep your voice steady. "I just thought… maybe—"

"Well, you thought wrong," he cut you off, his voice cold and unrelenting. "So stop acting like some lovesick idiot and get over it."

The silence that followed was unbearable. You felt like the floor had been ripped out from under you, like you were standing on the edge of a cliff with no way to step back.

"Got it," you said finally, your voice small and strained. You turned on your heel before he could see the tears pooling in your eyes.

Bakugo didn’t move. He stayed on the couch, staring at the TV that he wasn’t really watching. His nails dug into his palms, his jaw clenched so tight it hurt.

"Idiot," he muttered under his breath, though he wasn’t sure if he was talking about you—or himself.

Hours passed, but Bakugo didn’t leave the couch. He replayed the scene over and over in his mind: the look on your face, the way your voice had cracked when he tore you down.

He hated himself for it. Hated the way he’d lashed out, even though he knew it was because he was terrified. Of what? He didn’t know. Maybe of admitting to himself that he cared. Maybe of the fact that you could make him feel so out of control with just one stupid question.

But now it was too late. He’d pushed you away.

You, on the other hand, locked yourself in your room, curled up on your bed, and let the tears flow. You couldn’t believe you’d been so stupid, so naive. Of course Bakugo didn’t like you. Of course he didn’t care. You’d just been projecting your feelings onto him, imagining things that weren’t really there.

Still, the hurt lingered. You tried to convince yourself it didn’t matter, that you’d move on, but the ache in your chest said otherwise.

Little did you know, Bakugo was sitting downstairs, fists clenched, consumed by his own turmoil. Because for all his bluster, he’d never wanted to hurt you. He just didn’t know how to deal with the truth: that he did like you, more than he was willing to admit.

Bakugo tried to convince himself that what he’d said to you was necessary. He had goals—real, tangible goals—and nothing, no one, was going to distract him. Becoming the Number One Hero wasn’t just a dream for him; it was a mission, an obligation, a destiny he was determined to carve out with his own blood, sweat, and tears. He didn’t need complications. He didn’t need feelings. He didn’t need you. That’s what he told himself over and over as he sat alone in his dorm room, glaring at the wall like it had personally offended him. His fists were clenched tightly in his lap, the tendons in his hands straining from the pressure.

But no matter how hard he tried to justify it, he couldn’t shake the image of your face from his mind. The way your expression had crumbled when he snapped at you, the hurt in your eyes as you turned and walked away—it all replayed in his head on an endless, agonizing loop. He could still hear your voice trembling when you’d asked him out, soft and vulnerable in a way he wasn’t used to hearing from you. You weren’t the kind of person who let your guard down easily, and he’d taken that rare moment of courage and crushed it underfoot.

“Tch,” he growled under his breath, running a hand through his hair and gripping the strands in frustration. “Stupid.”

He thought that pushing you away would make things easier, but it didn’t. If anything, it made everything worse. You were everywhere. Every time he walked into a room, his eyes automatically searched for you, even when he told himself they wouldn’t. When you laughed with your friends, the sound sent an irritating warmth through his chest, only to be followed by a sharp pang of regret when he remembered the look on your face that night. During training, he found himself tracking your every move without even meaning to, his instincts on high alert every time you dodged an attack or threw a punch. He hated it. Hated how you’d wormed your way into his head and refused to leave. Hated how much he wanted to be near you, even after he’d made it clear that he didn’t want anything to do with you.

It didn’t help that everyone else seemed to notice his turmoil. His friends had started giving him strange looks during meals, their eyes darting between him and you as if they were waiting for something to happen. Kirishima, in particular, had been annoyingly persistent, watching him with that infuriatingly knowing expression he always wore when he thought Bakugo was being an idiot. Bakugo did his best to ignore it, but the tension was impossible to escape.

One evening, when the others were hanging out in the common area, Kirishima finally confronted him. Bakugo had been sitting on the couch, staring at his phone without really looking at it, when Kirishima plopped down beside him with a heavy sigh. Mina and Kaminari weren’t far behind, hovering nearby like vultures waiting for a meal.

“Alright, spill it,” Kirishima said, his voice casual but firm. Bakugo barely spared him a glance.

“Spill what?” he snapped, his tone as sharp as ever.

“Don’t play dumb,” Mina chimed in, crossing her arms and narrowing her eyes at him. “You’ve been acting weird for days, and we all know why.”

“I’m not in the mood for this crap,” Bakugo growled, standing up to leave, but Kirishima quickly stepped in front of him, blocking his path. Bakugo glared at him, his crimson eyes blazing. “Move.”

“Not until you admit what’s going on,” Kirishima said, his voice steady despite the obvious tension in the air. “You pushed her away, didn’t you?”

Bakugo froze, his scowl deepening. “What the hell are you talking about?”

“You know exactly what I’m talking about,” Kirishima said, his tone unusually serious. “Come on, man. It’s so obvious you like her. Everyone can see it.”

“I don’t—”

“Save it,” Mina interrupted, stepping closer with a look that could cut through steel. “We’ve seen the way you look at her. And don’t even get me started on the way you lose your mind whenever she partners up with someone else during training. You care about her, and instead of doing something about it, you’re being a total dumbass.”

Bakugo’s jaw tightened, his fists clenching at his sides. “I don’t have time for this crap,” he muttered, shoving past Kirishima and heading for the door. But before he could leave, Kirishima’s voice rang out behind him, stopping him in his tracks.

“You think pushing her away will make you stronger,” Kirishima said, his voice softer now, almost sad. “But all you’re doing is proving how scared you are.”

Bakugo’s shoulders tensed, his hand gripping the doorknob so tightly his knuckles turned white.

“You’re scared because you like her so much it freaks you out,” Kirishima continued, his tone unwavering. “But running from it won’t make it go away.”

For a moment, Bakugo didn’t move. The room was silent, the air heavy with unspoken tension. Finally, he yanked the door open and walked out, slamming it shut behind him without another word.

That night, Bakugo lay awake in his bed, staring at the ceiling with an intensity that could have set it on fire. Kirishima’s words echoed in his head, mingling with the memory of your voice and the image of your face. He hated how much it all got to him, how much he couldn’t stop thinking about you no matter how hard he tried. He hated the way his chest ached every time he thought about the hurt in your eyes and the way you’d walked away from him, your shoulders slumped in defeat. But most of all, he hated how much he wanted to see you again, to fix things, to say something—anything—that could make up for what he’d done.

Meanwhile, you were doing your best to move on. You’d been avoiding Bakugo as much as possible, throwing yourself into training and schoolwork to keep your mind occupied. It wasn’t easy, though. Every time you saw him, whether it was in class or during meals, you felt a sharp pang of hurt that refused to go away. You hated how much he still affected you, even after he’d made it painfully clear that he didn’t feel the same way.

But no matter how much you tried to convince yourself that it didn’t matter, that you’d be fine without him, the ache in your chest lingered. You couldn’t help but wonder if you’d been wrong to hope, if you’d been foolish to believe that he might have cared about you even a little.

Little did you know, Bakugo was sitting in his room, wrestling with his own feelings and cursing himself for the way he’d handled things. Because for all his bravado and pride, the truth was unavoidable: he couldn’t stop thinking about you. And the more he tried to push you out of his mind, the more you consumed his every thought.

The days following your rejection from Bakugo had been a haze of hurt and confusion. You tried to keep yourself busy—extra training, study sessions, anything to keep your mind from replaying the harsh way he’d dismissed you. But no matter how much you told yourself to let it go, it lingered. You still felt the sting of his words, the way he’d looked at you like you were an obstacle instead of someone he cared about. That wound didn’t heal easily.

You avoided him as much as you could. You’d shift to a different group during training, sit at the far end of the cafeteria during meals, and leave the common area whenever he showed up. It wasn’t as subtle as you hoped; your friends noticed, and you were pretty sure Bakugo did too. Still, you couldn’t face him—not after everything he’d said.

What you didn’t know was that your absence weighed on him far more than he let on.

Bakugo was not a man who easily admitted to mistakes. Pride had been ingrained in him from an early age, and he carried it like armor. But lately, that armor felt suffocating, like it was pressing in on him from all sides. He couldn’t stop thinking about you, couldn’t stop replaying the hurt in your eyes when he’d lashed out. Every time he saw you purposely turning away from him or laughing with someone else, he felt a sharp pang of regret that he didn’t know how to fix.

Kirishima’s words lingered too. “You’re scared because you like her so much it freaks you out. But running from it won’t make it go away.” As much as Bakugo wanted to punch him for saying it, he knew it was true. He’d been running from his feelings because they terrified him. You terrified him—not because you were weak, but because of how much power you had over him without even realizing it. And that was what scared him most of all.

Eventually, he couldn’t take it anymore. Watching you avoid him, knowing he’d been the one to hurt you—it was eating him alive. If he didn’t do something soon, he was going to explode.

That’s what led him here, standing awkwardly a few feet away from where you sat on the bench outside. You hadn’t noticed him yet, too focused on the notebook in your lap. For a moment, he hesitated, his chest tightening with something unfamiliar. Was this… nerves? He growled under his breath, frustrated with himself. He was Bakugo Katsuki, for crying out loud. He didn’t get nervous.

“Oi.” His voice came out rougher than he intended, and you jumped slightly, startled by his sudden presence.

You looked up, your eyes widening for a split second before your expression hardened. “What do you want?”

Bakugo flinched at the coldness in your tone, though he tried to hide it. “We need to talk.”

“About what?” you asked, already sounding exasperated. “If this is about training or some stupid lecture—”

“It’s not about training,” he cut in, stepping closer. His jaw tightened as he tried to find the right words. He wasn’t good at this, but he had to try. “It’s about what I said to you before.”

Your eyes narrowed, suspicion creeping into your expression. “Why are you bringing that up now? You already made your feelings perfectly clear, Bakugo. I don’t need to hear it again.”

He winced at the way you said his name—so formal, so distant. You used to call him Katsuki, back when things were simpler. Back when he hadn’t ruined everything.

“Just shut up and listen for a second, will you?” he snapped, though there was no real heat in his voice. He took a deep breath, forcing himself to calm down. “I… I screwed up, alright? I said some shit I didn’t mean, and I hurt you. I shouldn’t have done that.”

Your expression softened slightly, but your arms remained crossed, a barrier he knew he’d have to break through. “Then why did you do it? Why push me away if you didn’t mean it?”

“Because I’m a goddamn idiot,” he admitted, his voice quieter now. His gaze dropped to the ground, his fists clenched at his sides. “I thought… I thought if I let myself like you, I’d lose focus. That you’d get in the way of my goals.”

“And now?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

“Now I know that’s total bullshit,” he said, finally looking up to meet your eyes. “You don’t make me weaker. You make me want to be better. And no matter how much I tried to ignore it, I couldn’t stop thinking about you. You’re in my head all the damn time, and it’s driving me insane.”

Your heart skipped a beat at his confession, but you still hesitated. “You really hurt me, Katsuki,” you said softly, the pain evident in your voice. “I don’t know if I can just forget that.”

He stepped closer, his gaze intense and unwavering. “I’m not asking you to forget it. I’m asking for a chance to fix it. I was a dumbass, and I don’t deserve it, but… I want to try. With you.”

The vulnerability in his voice was so raw, so uncharacteristic, that it left you speechless. You searched his face for any sign of insincerity, but all you saw was regret and determination.

“Katsuki…” you began, your voice trembling slightly.

“Look, I know I’m not good at this,” he interrupted, his hands twitching at his sides as if he didn’t know what to do with them. “I’m not some smooth-talking idiot like Kaminari, and I’m probably gonna screw up a hundred more times. But I’ll do whatever it takes to prove I’m not gonna hurt you again.”

Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes as his words sank in. This was Bakugo Katsuki—the same boy who never admitted when he was wrong, who bulldozed his way through life without looking back. And here he was, laying his pride at your feet, just for a chance to make things right.

“You’re really bad at this, you know,” you said finally, a small smile tugging at your lips despite yourself.

He huffed, his cheeks turning pink. “Yeah, well, it’s not exactly my strong suit.”

You laughed softly, the sound making his chest tighten in a way that wasn’t entirely unpleasant. For the first time in weeks, you felt the tension between you start to dissolve.

“So, what now?” you asked, taking a tentative step closer.

“Now I do this,” he said, his voice low as he reached out to cup your face in his hands. His touch was surprisingly gentle, his thumbs brushing against your cheeks as he leaned in. His crimson eyes searched yours for a moment, and when you didn’t pull away, he closed the distance and kissed you.

The kiss was tentative at first, almost shy, but it quickly deepened as you responded, your hands reaching up to grab the front of his shirt and pull him closer. He kissed you like he was trying to make up for every moment he’d wasted, pouring all the unspoken feelings he couldn’t put into words into that one act.

When you finally pulled away, your foreheads resting together, you were both breathless. He smirked, his usual cocky confidence creeping back in. “Told you I’d make it up to you.”

You rolled your eyes, laughing softly. “You’ve got a long way to go, Katsuki.”

“Yeah, yeah,” he muttered, but the warmth in his gaze betrayed the gruffness of his tone. “Guess I’ll just have to stick around and prove it.”

And for the first time in weeks, everything felt right.

Feel free to request <3

[zorosangell]

I'm shocked at the lack of wano zoro fics involving a geisha reader tbh??? I'd expected to find more but there's NONE ... or atleast not ones that isn't your fic

but oh my goddd that geisha reader & zoro fic was beautiful but imagine after komurasaki allegedly dies orochi finds reader to be his new little personal geisha and inviting (demanding) her to come to onigashima with him n zoro poorly receiving the news that'd be funny I think,

⛥ﾟ・。 stupid

synopsis: part two of oiran -- zoro starts an argument over you going undercover as orochi's personal oiran. and it ends... interestingly.

cw: fluffy fluff, microscopic angst ig, zoro don't play about you, reader is just a girl (just like me fr), kinda suggestive

"No way in hell," Zoro denied, not even giving the matter a second thought. "We'll figure something else out."

"Zoro, please... think of Kin'emon... think of Momo."

"I'm thinking of you. And how stupid this plan is."

"It's not stupid."

"Coulda fooled me."

Your brows flattened, growing annoyed with his stubbornness.

'Forgot how much of an ass he can be...'

"Zo', you're being unreasonable," you crossed your arms over your chest, eyes narrowing slightly.

"Oh, I'm being unreasonable?" he cocked a brow, letting out a sarcastic laugh before stepping out the way of the door. "Then by all means, please go."

You smiled, surprised by the sudden change of heart.

"Really?"

"No!" he exclaimed, incredulously, eyes widened by the fact that you actually believed him. "Christ, (y/n), you might as well send yourself gift wrapped with a bow!"

"What the hell are you talking about?!"

"I'm talking about you!" he groaned, running a hand through his hair. "Look at yourself, (y/n)! You're what guys like Orochi dream about. A gorgeous, dolled-up oiran dropped right on his doorstep for the taking."

You paused a moment, processing his statement.

In preparation for your arrival to the Flower Capital—a trip you were already supposed to be well on your way on—you'd fixed your rain-ruined makeup and changed into new kimono, which you'd tucked away in the safe-house in the earlier days of your mission.

You also touched-up your hair, adorning your... everything with jewelry and ornate pins to make yourself look like an oiran fit for shogun.

Much to Zoro's displeasure.

But you weren't concerned with that.

What you were concerned with... was the last part of his statement.

"You think I'm gorgeous?"

Zoro's breath hitched, a crimson flush rising from his neck to his cheeks, and only intensifying as you stalked closer.

"I...! Well...! You...!" he stammered, slowly backing away while you pressed forward, until his back hit the soft wood of the door. "Quit tryna change the subject!"

"Okay~" you flashed a cheeky smile, moving even closer until your chest was pressed against his, forcing you to look up at him with innocent, doe eyes.

"And quit looking at me like that!"

"Like what, Zo'? Why can't I look at my handsome swordsman?" you cooed.

"'Cause I know you're trying to butter me up. And it's not gonna work," he deadpanned, crossing his arms.

"Dammit, Zoro! I can take care of myself!" you groaned, annoyed that your seduction had failed. "Why won't you let me do this? It's for the mission!"

"Damn the mission! I don't give a shit! Think about yourself for a second, (y/n)!"

You flinched slightly at his volume, and were quick to clam up.

Of course, he noticed this, and took a moment to reign himself back in, taking in a deep inhale through his nose.

"What do you think Orochi wants with you? What reason could a man like him possibly have for asking for you by name? He only wants one thing, (y/n)!"

"And you'd think I'd give it to him?!" you scoffed, incredulously, knowing exactly what he was talking about, and feeling offended by the insinuation.

"Men like him don't ask! They don't care about boundaries, and they don't take no for an answer!"

"So now you think I can't fend for myself?"

"I think you wouldn't have to if you just didn't go all together! I've spent time in the Flower Capital and these guys are nothing like the small fry you were dealing with in the country! They do whatever it takes to get what they want! And I'd rather not fuck up everything the crew has worked for by having to cut down the goddamn shogun for putting his hands on you!"

You faltered a moment, surprised, and he took the opportunity to grab you by the shoulders, pulling you closer until you both were flush against each other, and his lips only a breath away from yours.

"I don't think you understand that I would never forgive myself if something happened to you because I let you go and do something reckless," he stated, significantly calmer, though not without his firm tone. "You're not some sacrificial lamb, or a soldier for a better cause. You're a member of this crew... my right hand... and I'd..."

He faltered a moment, another flush of crimson rising to his cheeks.

"Be pretty inconvenienced if you didn't come back."

You raised a silent brow, a small smirk rising to your lips that said 'Really?'

He scoffed, avoiding eye contact.

"You get the idea."

With a playful roll of your eyes, you leaned forward, pressing a feather-light kiss to his lips.

He froze, turning stiff as a board as you rested your hands on his chest, before carefully pulling away.

"I get the idea."

With a slight sigh of relief, his shoulders sank, and his index and thumb came up to lift your chin, forcing you to look at him.

"So... no Orochi?"

You nodded, dutifully, the sight causing a certain stir within the swordsman's undergarments.

"No Orochi."

At that, he smiled, genuinely pleased.

Before anything—before Wano, before the Akazaya, before any old daimyo—your safety was Zoro's utmost priority.

And he'd be damned if he let anyone, even the fucking shogun himself, lay a single finger on you.

Using his distraction against him, you quickly wrapped your arms around his neck, swirling you both around before tackling him to the ground.

"(y/n)?! What are you—?!"

You placed a finger to his lips, the devilish look in your eyes forcing him to swallow thickly.

"If I can't do what I wanna do... then we're just gonna have to find another way to occupy our time..."

Slowly, but intently, you began to tug off your robes and sashes, your eyes not leaving his for a moment as you stripped.

And as day turned to night, and then night turned to day, and then day turned to night again, Zoro only had on thing on his mind.

Especially with you resting on his chest in a spent pile of sweat and bliss.

'This woman... is going to be the death of me...'

[strang3lov3]

Boys Will Be Boys

You hit Roman where it hurts. Meaning you fuck his dad as he watches and cries.

Tags - dubcon, girthy age gap (80/???), smut, unprotected piv, fingering, creampie, masturbation, sexual harassment/assault (Roman’s punished for it, and I kept it short and sweet), unsolicited dick pics, roman roy gets cucked by his father, osteoarthritis, hypertension, logan roy dirty talk, logan roy takes viagra, coercion, tears and mucus as lube, almost?subby?romey??? lowkey...logan roy is kinda a fuckin' stud. uhhhhh…idk. kinda grotesque. you have to embrace it. crack fic adjacent, but this is serious business to me. you’ve been warned.

A/N - you know what you’re fucking here for. maybe it’s morbid curiosity. maybe you wanna see roman roy crying while masturbating. maybe…maybe you wanna fuck that old man. it’s ok if you do. i won’t tell on you, you fucking pervert. enjoy Logan Roy screwing your brains out <3 I tagged my romey readers, and while i implore you to be brave, don't feel pressured to read if it's not your thing. @beefrobeefcal thank you for the beta hot stuff! i love you so much.

It’s been happening for a while now.

It was just small things at first. A little comment here and there. He told you that you had nice legs the first time you wore a skirt, said something else about loving a long-legged woman. Then he asked if you shaved for him, too. What else do you shave, huh? Are you bare everywhere? 

The little tattoo on your wrist, usually hidden by your blouse. What’s that about, huh? Got any other tattoos? Perhaps in a more private place? If I guess where it’s at, can I see it?

Oh, the way you got flustered. Your eyes went wide, mouth dropped open a little. Too easy. Roman took that as a challenge - an invitation, rather, to take it up a notch. 

He turned up the heat in his office to a balmy 75℉ the week after that. After each time you’d turn the thermostat down a few notches, Roman would use a little remote he’d point at it to turn it right back up. Must be busted, Roman told you. How about you call maintenance, huh, assistant? Maybe do your fucking job for once?

Roman watched with a crooked smirk on his lips as you slipped off your cardigan, exposing your body to him. That pretty nude camisole. Roman sidled up behind you, fingers skating over your shoulders until he reached the strap of your bra. Your blood went cold as he wriggled his fingers beneath them, then pulled up, up, and snickered as he let them snap your skin harshly. Nobody else had done that to you since junior high.

In the elevator, he stands too close. While riding up the many floors of the tall building, Roman fucking breathes on you, and follows you when you inch away from him. Your skin prickles when he touches your lower back, fingers drumming against you, walking down your waist. He’d first started by testing you with a little pinch on your ass cheek, just to watch you jump and hear that startled little squeak you’d make. He gropes your ass now, squeezing a handful of it, kneading his fingers. He loves the visible discomfort on your face, and knowing you can’t do a goddamn thing about it. Harrassing you is the best part of Roman’s job. It’s why he wakes up in the morning, getting to exert that power over you. It fills him with a sick sense of satisfaction, of delight. 

Your phone is full of photos of his cock. Lawsuit material, if you were brave enough to go up against Roman and Waystar and all of its bells and whistles. Roman tells you his lawyers would eat you alive before you even step foot into a courtroom. 

It was late last Saturday night when Roman texted you a picture of his crotch, cock visibly hard under his slacks, outlined in sharp detail.

10:07 - Got a job for you. Wanna help out the boss?  

Every notification on your phone with Roman’s name attached makes you want to puke. You wish you could ignore him. Block him.

10:07 - No, Roman. 

You waited with bated breath for Roman’s response, the little dancing ellipsis on the screen mocking you as he formulated a text back. How’s he gonna make your day worse this time?

10:08 - Funny how quickly a job can disappear.

Fuck it. Whatever. You sent him as modest of a nude photo as you could muster - panties and bra on, face cropped out. 

10:12 - Cute. Smile this time. Lose the underwear. 

10:32 - Leaving me on read wont work. Nice try tho

10:33 - Five minutes. Don’t make me wait

You sighed in frustration as you stripped, then snapped a photo from above. Legs crossed to hide your pussy, your forearm covering your chest.

10:35 - *fire emoji*

10:35 - *As in I’ll fire you. 

10:35 - Bare tits. Bare ass. Bare pussy. Do it now

With no choice but to comply, and with an awful feeling in your gut, you took more photos. First of your tits, then your ass. Sent and sent. 

10:38 - Forgetting something?

It made you feel even more sick, but you needed him off your back. You spread your legs, pointed the front-facing camera at your cunt, and took the photo, then sent it to Roman. 

10:45 - I bet you’re so tight. Are you wet right now? 

10:45 - Yeah

Playing along. 

10:47 - I wanna be inside you

10:47 - Gonna cover you in my cum

Roman went quiet for a while then, probably ten minutes before texting you back. 

10:58 - I wanna watch you cum for me. 

10:59 - I’ll know if you fake it

He made you send him videos of you masturbating, all different camera angles, different positions. He kept you up until almost three, making yourself come over and over for him. Until he could hear you crying in the videos, your thighs trembling. It was horrible - humiliating, exhausting, so fucking dehumanizing. He sent you pictures of an old cardigan of yours covered in his come at the end of the whole thing. You thought you lost it.

It’s Monday afternoon now. You have a bad feeling when you walk to Roman’s office, seeing that the blinds are drawn over the large glass panes of his windows. You let yourself into the room at his request, and Roman’s sitting on his little gray couch, legs spread wide. He’s palming his bulge, eyes following you as you close the door. You avoid making eye contact with him, something that only serves to challenge him. He straightens, then wordlessly pats the seat next to him. 

“I have those files you asked for, Roman.” 

“Oh, that’s great. That’s really, yeah - awesome. Set ‘em down.” 

You set them on the coffee table, then anxiously drum your fingers on your lap. You steal the littlest glance at Roman sitting next to you; his thumb mindlessly stroking where the hard head of his cock presses against his slacks. 

A heavy silence falls as you process what’s inevitably coming next. Roman unbuckles his belt, unbuttons his pants, then unzips them. He rests his head against the couch as he pulls out his cock, then looks right at you. A lazy smirk pulls at the corner of his lips and his eyes are lidded, darkened with lust in a way that makes him look like an animal. 

Roman lets out a little giggle at the nervous way you fidget your hands. He takes one in his own, holding tightly onto your wrist when you try and pull it back. “Hang on - wait. I like your nails. Pretty, very pretty, sweetheart. I think they’d look nice wrapped around my cock, don’t you?”

You bunch your fingers in a fist, attempting to pull your wrist out of his grip. “N-no, I don’t, Rom–”

“Oh, come on. That’s why you got ‘em fuckin’ done, right?” Roman uses his other hand to pry your fingers open. “Hey, open your fucking - there we go.” He lowers your hand, pressing your palm against his warm package, and his cock looks smaller in person. Just as upsetting, though. 

Roman lets out a quiet, soft groan of pleasure, then turns frustrated when you pull away again. He snaps his fingers at you, “Hey - assistant girl. Isn’t this your job, right? To assist?”

A knock at Roman’s office door has him jumping, and you take the opportunity to get away from him entirely. You leave Roman on that couch, and he’s cursing you under his breath while quickly tucking his cock back into his trousers, watching you do your quick little half-jog out of his office. Fine, be that way. You’ll fucking get it later. 

You don’t have a plan in mind when you begin walking, you just leave. Looking over your shoulder to see if Roman’s following behind you, if he’ll grab you by the forearm and drag you into a supply closet. Do god only knows what to you. Probably fuck you with the end of some maintenance man’s mop.  

You find yourself knocking at Logan’s door, then exhale a shaky breath. You’re not…you’re not sure what you’re doing here. What you’re gonna tell him, if you’re gonna tell him anything. It’s not like he’d do anything about it, right? Logan eyes you through the window, then calls you inside with just a simple wag of his fingers. He looks annoyed, fuck. But when does he not?

Logan’s room is large, and you’re not entirely sure how to navigate, which feels silly. Sounds even sillier to say. You’re not often alone with Logan, and the proximity makes you unsure of yourself. If you’re being honest with yourself, you’ve always felt…something for him. He’s a brute, yes, and you’ve seen the ugliest sides of him. Something about it makes his softer moments that much more profound, though. The tenderness is there, and it shows in quieter times. He winks at you now and then, offers you a smile with no malice or contempt or derision behind it. 

Logan’s got a soft spot for you, too. You’re a sweet girl. He’s always thought so, really. You do what you’re told, and you don’t ask for much. You’re not a bumbling idiot or a nagging fly buzzing in his ear. Easy on the eyes, too. Never hurts.

Logan gestures to a seat in front of his desk and hums a little. “Need a minute,” he mutters as he reads something on the screen. You look at all of his belongings on his desk - papers, folders, a mug. A framed photo of him somewhere warm and beachy, showing off his pale legs and his swollen ankles. 

Finally, he closes the window and smiles at you. His piercing, steel blue eyes pin you in place, but they’re warm too, almost. Warmer than Roman’s. When Roman makes eye contact with you, it makes you feel like prey. Like he’ll hunt you for sport. Not Logan, though. His gaze is heavy, but not hungry. 

Logan claps his fingers together over his thick belly. “What can I do for you, dear?”

“Uhhh…” You cross and uncross your legs as you shift in your seat, then fidget with your manicure, nervously chipping the paint off. You hate this color now. When you look up, Logan’s got his eyebrows raised at you, waiting for you to continue. You don’t want to wear his patience thin. 

“It - I was gonna talk about Roman, but it’s nothing. It’s nothing. I’m not - I don’t need to tattle.” 

“Fuck that. What’s he doing?” Logan demands flatly, immediately, furrowing his brow. 

“No, I shouldn’t have said any–”

Logan interrupts, speaking your name softly. “Tell me.”

You tell him everything about the harassment. How long it’s been going on for, how it started small and just kept escalating and escalating. How fucking relentless Roman is. You show him the texts, the photos, becoming flustered when Logan stumbles across the photos of yourself Roman made you send to him last weekend. Logan quietly hums in approval. 

You tell him about Roman in his office, the stunt he pulled just before now. It feels good to get it off your chest, at least momentarily. The way Logan simply nods, rubbing a hand on his chin makes you feel uneasy, though. A silence hangs heavily as he takes it all in, thinking. 

“What?” The anxiety makes your question slip out rather impatiently. “Sorry, I just - what are you thinking, Mr. Roy?”

Logan scoffs, smiling just a little. “...Didn’t think the kid had it in him.” 

“O-oh. Okay.” 

That’s…that’s it? You wonder if he’s gonna tell you that you were asking for it. Or to buck up. Maybe the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree, and Logan will be just as cruel to you as his son is. Fuck, you already regret this.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers, his voice softer than you expected it’d be. “Truly. I’m sorry my son put you through this. I promise I raised him better, darling. I did my best.”

“No, it’s–” You interrupt yourself to exhale steadily, breathing out a sigh of relief. “Thank you.” 

“You know,” Logan begins, absentmindedly wiggling his fingers, “You know what it is. Boys’ll fuckin’ be boys.” 

“I’m sorry?”

“Oh, you know. Men don’t grow out of boyhood so quickly, anymore, s’all. World’s turnin’ to fuckin’ shit. Unacceptable behavior, the fuckin’ kid’s pushing forty,” he spits, rolling his eyes. “Roman - he’s…well, you know what this is, don’t you? You see through his act, yes?”

You shake your head. “No,” you reply.

“Boys like him, they’ll pick on ya when they’re sweet on you,” Logan explains. “That’s all it is. Usually harmless. Usually,” he adds.

“But, Mr. Roy, I don’t–”

“I know, dear. He’s not your type, is he?”

“No,” you answer quickly, garnering a hearty chuckle from Logan. You laugh too.

“The boy always was an odd duck,” Logan adds, then pauses, thinking. “What is your type, darling, if you’ll forgive my asking?”

“Oh, gosh,” you giggle, feeling Logan’s heavy gaze on your body, your warm face. He knows. He absolutely knows. 

“Older, for one,” you admit. 

Logan smirks, and you share a smile with him. He seems to pick up on everything, knows exactly what the words left unspoken spell out. It’s always girls like you, vibrating with desire for him. No matter how white his hair becomes, nor how much rounder his belly gets, nor every new wrinkle that graces his face as the years stack up - doesn’t change the fact that Logan Roy’s still fucking got it. He reaches for one of his desk drawers, then pulls it open and reaches inside. Logan grabs an orange bottle and rattles out a tiny, blue, diamond shaped pill. His blue eyes twinkle at you as he swallows the pill, then points to the bar cart by the window. “Be a lamb, darling. Some water.”  

Quickly, you grab Logan a glass of water, watching him wash down the pill as you clench your thighs. 

“I need to hit him where it hurts,” Logan says in between sips. “Make it fuckin’ stick this time.” 

Logan shoots Roman a quick text, and you wait anxiously for his arrival. When he finally enters the office, his face falls upon seeing you at his father’s desk, looking…happier than he’d like to see you. You’re sitting up straight, chin held high, shoulders back. Logan’s scowl darkens as he gestures for Roman to sit down, right in the seat next to you. Roman’s hands shake a little as he pulls the seat back and lowers himself into it. 

“What’re we gonna do about you, son?”

“What?” Roman’s brows furrow, and his bottom lip wobbles ever so slightly. “I don’t kn–”

“You a sicko?”

Roman shifts uncomfortably in his seat, realizing this conversation is absolutely not going to go his way. “No, I–”

Logan cuts Roman off, his tone sharp. “She tells me you’ve been harassing her, Roman. Is this true?”

“What? Dad, no. She’s f-fucking lying,” Roman stammers. Roman looks at you then, and you can see how he tries to glare, to scare you, to regain control. He’s powerless here, with you protected by his father. 

Logan reaches for your phone, which is sitting face down on his desk. He turns it on, “Gimme a hand here, darling. Pull it up again.” 

You have to bite down on your smile as you put in your passcode, feeling so empowered at the moment. It’s the moment you’ve been waiting for. Roman’s humiliated you so many times and finally, he’s gonna take what he dishes. And then some.

Logan shakes his head a little, grumbling as he prods the screen with his fat fingers. “Fuckin’ bastard…here. Here it is. S’that your fuckin’ dick?” he sneers, spit flying from his lips. He turns the phone around, showing Roman one of the many, many photos of his own dick on your phone.

Roman freezes, his face turning pale enough to make his freckles vanish. “N–”

“Certainly small enough to be yours. Look–” Logan scrolls through more texts, “This one too, huh?”

“No,” Roman seethes, and it almost makes you giggle, the way he scrambles to lie. So fucking…pathetic. He’s everything Logan’s not. 

“Oh, see? Look at him, darling. He’s squirming.”

Logan reaches for his eyeglasses sitting on his chest, held by a cord that wraps around his neck. He squints a little as he scrolls through your phone, then clears his throat before reading aloud. “‘I bet you’re so tight’,” he reads loudly, droning in a monotone voice. “‘I need to be inside you. You’d look pretty covered in my cum.’ You think this is a fucking compliment?” Logan asks, looking at Roman through his eyebrows.

Roman’s face twists, and he scratches the back of his neck in discomfort. “Dad–”

Logan turns the phone around again, and this time a picture of Roman’s hand is on the screen. Fingers spread, covered in his own come. He scrolls again and the next photo is a picture of Roman himself, licking those fingers. 

“You are a fuckin’ sicko,” he growls.

You and Logan watch Roman shrink into his seat, how he looks like he’d willingly crawl out of his own skin and die, if he could. Logan lets him stew in his discomfort and his shame for a beat, then pats his lap, petting his bulge a little.

Roman watches you round the desk at the same time Logan rolls his chair back, making enough space for the both of you. You sit on Logan’s meaty thighs, watching the color drain from Roman’s lips. “Ope - up a second, dear. C’mon, up, up.” Logan swats your hip gently. You stand up then, and feel Logan’s large, paddle shaped hands slide up your thighs, under your skirt. He reaches for the waistband of your panties before tugging them down, letting them pool at your feet. You step out of them, then sit back down, leaning against Logan’s thick, pillowy belly. 

“Spread your legs,” Logan whispers, helping you part your thighs. Your skirt rides up your body, putting your throbbing cunt on display for Roman. Roman swallows thickly, watching as his father reaches for your center, grunting a little as he stretches. You moan when you feel him touch you, sliding just one, thick digit through your slippery folds. “Oh,” he gasps mockingly, holding out his hand for Roman to see. “See how wet she is, Romulus? Tell him, darling, who are you this fuckin’ wet for?”

“You,” you whimper, turning to speak to Logan. Logan groans, and you feel his thick cock twitch against your backside. “I need you, Mr. Roy.”

“Oh, my dear. Be patient. We’ll get there.”

Logan glares at Roman as he pushes a single finger inside of you, and even that’s a stretch that has you whining. Logan coos in your ear, quieting you as he uses his other hand to unbutton your blouse. He wriggles his fat hand underneath your bra, palming and groping your tits, teasing your nipples with his thumb. “Fuckin’ kid wouldn’t know what to do with a pair of tits like these, now would he, sweetheart?”

“N-no,” you agree, looking right at Roman. Your eyes scan down his body, noticing that - oh, god. He’s fucking hard. He’s trying to hide it, hands covering his crotch. But you see it. You see the way he’s rocking his hips, pressing down on himself to alleviate that pressure a little. 

Logan pumps his finger inside you once, then twice, then adds another. He curls the two rhythmically, noting how it makes Roman squirm. Roman’s making desperate, stifled little noises as he watches his father fingerfuck you, so shamefully, disgustingly turned on by the sight. 

“Oh, fuck,” you moan, resting your head against Logan’s shoulder. Your eyes flutter shut as you bask in the pleasure, bucking your hips into his palm a little. 

“Ah-ah. Eyes open, darling, and look at Roman. Look, he’s fuckin’ hard for ya. See?” You lift your head a little, looking at Roman through half-lidded eyes. His face is so fucking red, eyes still wild but a little broken, too. All wet and sad. He’s sweating, you can see it glittering at his hairline, the protruding veins in his forehead twitching to match. “He’s making a mess of himself,” Logan adds, pointing to the the wet spot bleeding through Roman’s pants. “Fuckin’ disgusting, isn’t he?”

“Dad,” Roman whispers, voice breaking. “Please, d–”

“Shut the fuck up, Roman,” you snap. You’re melting as Logan now rubs your clit in practiced circles. He’s got decades of experience under his belt. Guided some hundreds of women to orgasm. You’re no different, just as easy as the rest of them.

You whine as Logan pulls his hand away, pushing you forward so he can free his cock from his slacks. He sucks in his belly as he unbuttons his pants, then exhales deeply, thick belly bulging against his thin shirt. Even at the ripe age of eighty, Logan’s cock is long and thick, and everything Roman’s simply is not. You don’t get much of a look at the thick, unruly patch of white pubic hair surrounding the base of his shaft before Logan’s pulling you against him, tapping his dress shoe between your ankles to make you spread your legs. “Show Roman how you take care of his old man, huh? See how he likes that.” He fits the blunt head of his cock against your entrance, then slowly pushes you down with a firm push on your hips. “Ohhh, that’s it, darling. You take it so well.”

The stretch of his cock entering you has you sucking in a sharp breath, then exhaling through that delicious pain. Your cunt pulses around Logan’s cock as you watch Roman free his own dick, desperately pawing at his own length as tears fall from his eyes. He wipes them quickly, then uses the same hand to stroke himself.

“Help a man out, sweetheart. The osteoarthritis…my knees, I–”

“Of course, Mr. Roy,” you coo sweetly, lifting yourself up and down on his turgid, wrinkled member. Logan steadies you with his hands on your waist, guiding you along. Roman lets a little sob escape as he watches his father fuck his massive cock into you, squeezing his own cock so desperately. You giggle at that. 

“Quit - don’t fucking laugh–”

“Hey,” Logan barks, pointing a finger at Roman. “You don’t call the shots here, Roman, I do. I fucking run game,” he growls. Logan squeezes your breasts in both hands as he draws in and out of you, letting out wheezy exhales as his heart rate increases, but he won’t let his hypertension stop him from pleasing you. “Yeah, that’s it, honey. Look at him, fucking his hand. Tell me darling, what do you think of that?” 

“I think - I think he’s fucking pathetic,” you answer, looking right at Roman as you say it. Roman’s face breaks even further, more tears falling from his big, wet eyes. He wipes his eyes and his dripping nose, using the mess on his hand as lubricant as he fucks his fist with a depressing sort of fervor.

“Hear that, son? She thinks you’re fucking pathetic,” Logan taunts. 

“I fuck- oh, fuck,” Roman whimpers, throwing his head back as he desperately works himself. 

“Oh, you’re fuckin’ adopted,” Logan grumbles under his breath. He lifts you up then, and spins you around, then lays you across his desk so you’re looking at Roman upside-down. Logan enters you again in one swift motion, then begins fuckings you with an energy you wouldn’t expect, but that pleasantly surprises you. He’s so spry for an eighty year old. 

“You do so good for me,” Logan praises you. “My idiot son could get fucked like this too, if he weren’t such a fucking screwup. Isn’t that right, Romulus?”

“Y-yeah,” Roman whines. 

“Speak up, Roman. Let her hear you. Actually–” Logan grunts, punctuating the sentence with a brutal snap of his hips “I want you to apologize to her.”

“What?”

“He’s that fuckin’ stupid, huh?” Logan pants, the comment directed at you. “Fucking. Apologize,” he tells Roman. “Do it now.”

“I’m fuckin’ sorry. Okay?”

“Again, Romulus,” Logan demands, annoyed. “Louder.”

Roman tells you he’s sorry again, and it makes you smile. His voice all high-pitched and broken. Good, it’s about fucking time he’s taken down a peg.

“Tell her again,” Logan says. “Like ya fuckin’ mean it, Roman. And you don’t stop apologizing until she comes. Are we fucking clear?”

Roman nods frantically, pumping his cock as he whines, “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry…”

His words go right to your core. Logan fucks you harder, and licks his thumb before bringing it to your clit. He uses those same practiced circles from before to coax along your release, and it’s not long before you’re pulsing around his cock, moaning Roman’s father’s name as you come hard, all that pleasure washing over you as Roman whispers how fucking sorry he is. 

With a few harsh thrusts, Logan’s spilling into you next, coming with a deep, guttural grunt and wheezing breaths, a sharp pain in his chest. It’s all fucking worth it. He reaches into his pocket and tosses you his handkerchief, then excuses himself, mumbling something about needing his supplemental oxygen. 

You sit on Logan’s desk as Roman strokes himself to completion, sobbing as he gets off to the sight of your puffy, swollen cunt, ruined by his own father, and dripping with his spend. He makes a mess of himself as he comes, “Here, Rome–” you offer, tossing your used cumrag at him. 

“Get that - fuck,” Roman cries, swatting it away. He sobs as he comes down from his orgasm, unable to even look at you as you put yourself back together. 

“It’s smaller in person,” you murmur, touching Roman on the shoulder before leaving. He flinches at that, then breaks down in tears again as he shoves his softening cock back into his pants. “See ya tomorrow, boss.”

if you enjoyed, please shout at me 🩷💕 comments, rb, or go to my inbox. I turned anons back on because I know a handful of freaks will need to scream about their horniness but would prefer to do so anonymously.

romey tags

@goldenispunk @littlevenicebitch69 @gaeela-6 @bean-is-reading @slutsoutgutsout

@galarian-weezing-on-prep @cum-a-calla @pastelpinkflowerlife @kolsmikaelson @moth-maam56

@kothku @cult-of-escapism @swiftiegirliepop @bluecookies-and-ink @romanarose

@kappasbbgirl @magpiepills @highinmiamiii @verstappensrealwife @thesummerpetrichor

@lilipads @luiscarrutherss @baronessvonglitter @myromeow

@ovaryacted @doll-0f-flesh @always-andromeda @causesimmer @pedropascalbabygirl

@baloobalee @slimybeth69 @pearlstiare @romanisbrat @callsignwidow @ziggymars

@perpetuallymanic @111melo @veryverycoolgirl @marisemonteiroo

@prettybpdgirl @butuhaventseenmyman @drunkdriverkillerwhale @fawnjaw

[kyber-crystal]

10 things i hate about you || f.w.

summary: rumor has it that you and fred weasley are going out. being the instigators you two are, you decide to play into said rumors. but just how far could you go before you lose sight of the line between fiction and reality? 

words: ~7.9k LMFAO I REALLY WENT OVERBOARD HERE

warnings: cheesiness, cliche 10 things i hate about you vibes, both y/n and fred being oblivious idiots. what’s more to love

a/n: you thought i’d avoid writing another fake dating fic? with fred? NEVER. ik there r some fake dating fred fics out there but i swear we need MORE bc this is the best trope ever idc. also made up a name for the school paper cs i forgot if it was a thing in the books/movies lol. reader is an implied gryffindor/ravenclaw but can technically be in whatever house you’d like : )

The problem with Hogwarts was that rumors spread through its halls like fiendfyre.

It all started during the Quidditch match between Gryffindor and Ravenclaw. Harry had narrowly caught the Snitch after a Dementor false alarm and carried the team to victory, causing the stadium to explode into ground-shaking cheers.  Waves of deep crimson and gold were pouring onto the field and you almost got trampled in the midst of it until someone pulled you into the center. 

“There you are—I was looking all over for you,” Fred beamed. “You were watching, right?”

“I was sitting front row…you literally saw me, Fred,” you stated plainly. 

“I know, but I wanted to make sure,” he winked at you, sidelining you into a hug. “You look very pretty, by the way. I think my hat looks better on you than me.”

“Anddd there’s the woman of the hour! He couldn’t stop staring at you—almost crashed into the teachers’ section ‘cause of that,” Lee came over and clasped your shoulder. 

“That’s what that was all about? Freddie, you need to get it together!”

“Can’t help when you’re as alluring as a Veela,” the compliment rolled effortlessly off his tongue. He then tilted his chin down to kiss your forehead, and you didn’t bother pushing him away despite the fact that he was all sweaty after being up in the air. 

A bright flash of light pulled you out of Fred’s embrace, and you blinked to see Colin standing there with a wide grin on his face, camera in hand. 

“Just capturing the moment,” the younger Gryffindor said excitedly. “This is gonna be a good one!”

You thought nothing of it until you went down to the Great Hall for breakfast the following morning. You went over to find your Ravenclaw friends, who seemed to be huddled around something, staring at it intensely.

“Oh, hey Y/N!” Cho beamed brightly at you, moving over to make room for you to sit next to her. “Have you seen the latest school newsletter?”

You filled your plate and took a copy of the Hogwarts Daily Digest that Padma gave you. “No…what’s it all about?”

“Check page 3,” she told you. You took a bite of your toast first, pausing as you scanned over the page. At the front and center was a moving picture of you and Fred embracing, him pressing a kiss to your temple, smiles of pure bliss on both your faces. You had to admit that Colin had a way with pictures; so much so that you almost would’ve believed you and Fred were a true couple just by looking at the article. 

“So we’re going out, apparently,” you said, taking another bite of your food, “...Interesting.”

“Several students were interviewed about it, and they’re wondering if you guys are,” Cho explained. “With the way he kept looking over at you during the game, and how he was searching for you after it ended.” 

“I—I’ve ought to talk to Fred himself, see what he thinks about this—” you spluttered, feeling hot all of a sudden. “I just—we’re not even—”

“But you would be very cute together,” your best friend added. “I mean, you have known each other for how long now? It wouldn’t come as a surprise to anyone if you were.”

At the end of the day, you went to the library to squeeze in some quiet alone time for reading, curling up on one of the plushy sofas near the bookshelves. You were deep into a mythical book that Hermione recommended, fully zoned in for what felt like forever until the cushion sank a bit, indicating that someone had sat down next to you.

“What do you want, Fred,” you sighed without even looking up from your book. “Come to bother me again?”

He took the book from your hands in response and closed it. 

“Hey, I was reading that—” you began. 

“I wanted to ask you about the article,” he stated, “don’t you think Creevey’s quite the photographer?”

You scoffed. “If this is about us being a couple, you know we’re not.”

“I was going to suggest something else.”

“And what is that?”

“Given that half the school is talking about us already,” he referred to the whispers in the halls that followed you from class to class, “why not play into the rumors a bit?”

“So you’re suggesting that, what?”

“That we say we’re a couple.”

“...you want to pretend that we’re going out?”

“Why not?” 

“That’s insane,” you shot him a glare. “What do either of us get out of it?”

“Practice, of course,” Fred had a proud look on, “but also, why not have some fun with it?”

You stopped and thought about it for a second. He was right—who were you to not want to have a bit of fun? After all, it was just Fred; it couldn’t be that hard to fake-date someone, especially when you had no real feelings for them.

“Fine, but only on one condition.”

“What’s that, love?”

“Promise not to fall in love with me?” You stuck your hand out towards him. 

Fred took it and gave it a firm shake, his signature mischievous grin making its appearance. “As long as you don’t fall for me either.”

“Dream on.”

He leans forward, voice dropping to a low whisper. “10 galleons says you’ll fall in love with me first.”

“Oh, please. 20 says you won’t even last half as long.”

“You’re on.”

So it began—settling into the whole routine was surprisingly easy. But of course, it was probably easier since you had money on the line; asides from George, you and Fred were the most competitive people in the entire school. You’d do anything for extra money, glory, and infinite bragging rights. 

Making it a point to one-up each other, you began to brainstorm ways to really play up the whole “fake girlfriend” thing.

i. the pda competition, part 1

Monday afternoon’s Potions lesson proceeded as always, with Snape’s annoying, drawling voice instructing you on what to do. 

Today’s class was boring but ended early, the only downside being that you were assigned a hefty load of homework. 

“By the beginning of Wednesday’s class, you shall turn in to me two feet of parchment on the history of Strengthening Solution and its’ properties…” Snape ordered, “...for now, follow the instructions on the board. Ingredients are in the back. I expect the utmost perfection and accuracy…those who fail shall not be tolerated.”

Groaning internally, you headed to the back of the classroom towards the supply cabinets, Fred following close behind. Either Snape was out to get you both or it was sheer luck that had you paired together for this assignment. 

“Wait, you forgot something,” Fred called out as you were about to walk away. 

You turned around, a snarky reply ready. “What is—”

You didn’t even have the chance to finish your sentence when he grabbed you by the wrist and tugged you into his chest, kissing you square on the lips. You were completely taken by surprise and had no time to react whatsoever. 

Low wolf-whistles and “ooohs” reverbrated throughout the entire classroom as you broke apart. 

“What was that for?” you hissed. 

There was a devilish grin on his face, and you so desperately wanted to wipe it right off him. “Just trying to be a good fake boyfriend, of course,” he whispered into your ear.

“Touch me again without warning and I’ll break your nose,” you said in a low tone, ignoring the heat rising up your cheeks.

“Miss Y/L/N…Mr. Weasley…” Snape said lowly, “...back to your seats, both of you. This is a classroom, not a bedroom. Get to work.”

Several students giggled at this and you huffed, heading back to your seat. You didn’t speak more than a few sentences to Fred for the remainder of the lesson, face still flushed from the sudden incident. He kept stealing glances at you as you worked in silence, adding the ingredients into your bubbling cauldron with careful, precise movements.

“That’s 1-0 to me,” he reminded you. “Better hurry and catch up, or I’m winning those Galleons.”

“Don’t get ahead of yourself,” you muttered, uncapping the bottle in front of you and pouring some of the liquid in.

ii. the pda competition, part 2

After Fred had kissed you in the middle of a packed classroom, you were determined to get back at him, racking your brain for ideas. 

You sat under a sprawling tree by the Great Lake with Cedric, Cho, Padma, Ernie, and several other Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw students. Somehow, you got lucky and all had matching free periods today, taking the opportunity to have a picnic by the water together. 

“A little birdie told me that you and a special someone were going out,” Cedric pointed a finger at you, the other arm slung around Cho’s shoulders. “Now what’s going on?”

“They’ve always been mad about each other, only took them a million years to see it,” Ernie butted in. “Isn’t it obvious? One would think they’re already married at this point, though.” 

“Who’s married to who?” you heard someone ask from behind you. 

“Speak of the devil,” Ernie said, “there he is!”

“Was going to check on you—see you at supper?” Fred lightly touched your cheek. You nodded blindly, the skin of his hand hot on your face. 

“Okay, I’ll meet you there.”

You turned back around to see everyone smirking at you knowingly. 

“What?” you questioned, adjusting the collar of your shirt as if nothing had happened. 

“Aren’t you two the cutest,” Cho laughed breathily, “Ernie was right. It’s like you’re married.”

“Oh shut up, we’re still much too young for that.”

“Not for long!” 

Of course the only empty seat at the Gryffindor table that evening was next to Fred, and he made sure that you were sitting as close to him as humanly possible. All it would take was an extra few inches and you’d fully be sitting on his lap. You shook off the embarrassment and snapped back into it, determined to win the bet.

“I missed you all day, you know,” he admitted, placing a dinner roll onto your plate for you. “Where have you been?”

“By the lakes,” you said matter-of-factly. “Where else would I be?”

“With me, obviously.” 

“I’d rather be anywhere else.”

“Well that hurt,” he pretended to look hurt. “I thought I was your favorite.”

“Second to last,” you joked. “Hey, wait—there’s something on your mouth.”

“Where?” he tried motioning around with his fingers but to no avail. 

“Right…here…” you murmured, gently grasping his chin and pressing a lingering kiss to the corner of his lip, tasting a hint of the sweet cranberry sauce he’d been eating on the tip of your tongue. Loud gasps erupted through the Great Hall at the sudden private but public display. 

Fred inhaled sharply—he knew you were bold, but like this? For once, the jokester had nothing sarcastic to counter you with and was at a loss for words. 

When you pulled away, both yours and his faces were a shade of deep scarlet.

“Cat got your tongue?” you smirked, discreetly slipping a sheet of paper into his back pocket. “That’s 1-1 now, Fred.”

Again, Fred was left speechless. 

“I feel like I’m interrupting something very…” Ron coughed, damn near choking on his chicken leg. “Intimate. Scandalous. Very—”

“Shut it, Ronald,” you cut him off. “Can’t a girl snog her boyfriend when she wants?”

More jaws dropped at your reply, and you simply continued eating, a victorious grin on your face. Fred looked down and fished the note out of his pocket, unfolding the smooth parchment to reveal your tidy penmanship. 

Now who’s the flustered one? you know where to find me if you need me xx

You were so going to win. 

iii. the serenade

You found yourself sitting on the bench watching the Gryffindor Quidditch team practice—it was Fred’s idea to show up to as many of them as possible to really sell the whole “fake dating” thing. You didn’t mind all that much, as you got bored easily and liked to have a change of scenery every so often while you were studying. 

A loud, abrupt screech caused you to look up from your textbook and you winced, covering your ears. 

“You’re just too good to be true…can’t take my eyes off of you…” a melodic voice began flowing across the stadium. Confused, you set your book down and stood up, looking around for the source of the noise. 

“You’d be like Heaven to touch, I wanna hold you so much…at long last love has arrived…” 

Fred suddenly appeared from the commentator’s box, holding a microphone. He casually leaned against the pole before sliding down and hitting the bleachers, gracefully making his way down the steps. 

“...And I thank God I’m alive…” his eyes remained focused on you, blazing gold and green. “You’re just too good to be true…” 

“What the—”

He spun around and pointed at you, the corners of his lips quirking up in a childish grin, “...Can’t take my eyes off of you.”

“HIT IT, WOOD!” you heard someone (was that Lee?) yell, and music began blasting from the speakers.

Your friends were eyeing you with delight, fully entertained by the fact that you had absolutely no clue what was happening. Fred continued singing while he sauntered down the bleachers with a grace that you had never seen. 

“I love you, baby, and if it's quite alright

I need you, baby, to warm the lonely night

I love you, baby, trust in me when I say

Oh, pretty baby, don't bring me down, I pray

Oh, pretty baby, now that I found you, stay

And let me love you, baby, let me love you”

A blush coated your cheeks as he finally approached you, taking one of your hands in his and twirling you around. He held your gaze the entire time, eyes alight with what looked like genuine joy and passion. The rest of your classmates joined in as they crowded around you, joining together in one voice. 

It was impossible to hold back the smile creeping up your face as Fred continued to sing—he was undeniably charming, and you had to admit, this was well worth suffering a brief loss for. 

“Oh pretty baby, trust in me when I say…” the final lyrics left his mouth and everyone burst into applause. He made a show of bowing dramatically and kissing your hand in an exaggerated motion. 

You rolled your eyes at the overly extravagant gesture. But deep down, you had enjoyed every second of the impromptu serenade. 

Within minutes after it ended, Fred’s musical spectacle was the talk of the school. Students nudged each other in the corridors as you passed by, whispering words of encouragement, saying how they wished for a relationship like yours, and wondering where they could possibly find someone like Fred. 

You felt him slip something into your robe’s pocket. Fred had sidled up next to you as you headed up the stairs to the common room, still grinning widely. 

“2-1,” he reminded you, kissing your cheek before turning to the Fat Lady and uttering the password. He stepped through the portrait hole and turned back to wait for you, then walked all the way inside. “Better continue that game of catch up, I might just steal the title of ‘best fake partner ever’ from you.”

There’s that beautiful smile, the note read. Keep it on for me, will you?

iv. the nightmare

Your body seemed to have a mind of its own, because it was 3:27 a.m. and you were wide awake after barely squeezing in a few hours of sleep. 

Nothing you did worked; even the Potion for Dreamless Sleep had failed to keep the nightmares at bay. You didn’t last long before jolting awake, beads of sweat forming at your forehead and chest heaving with raggedy, jagged breaths. 

After several minutes of tossing and turning you gave up, quietly tiptoeing down the stairs to the common room. The fireplace was on, indicating that someone was already there—

“Y/N?” Fred turned around from his spot on the couch to look at you. “What’re you doing up at this hour?”

You yawned, “I could ask you the same thing.”

“Finishing an assignment,” he sighed, rubbing his forehead. Sheets of parchment, a vial of ink, and several books were spread out on the coffee table. “You?”

“Nothing,” you lied, sitting down next to him. “Couldn’t sleep.”

He didn’t miss the hoarse tone in your voice nor your tear-stained face, stopping what he was doing to fully focus on you. “Now I know that’s not true. What’s bothering you, really?”

“I said I’m fine, just can’t sleep.” You let out a shuddering sigh and attempted to will the tears away, but your vision began to blur. “Go finish your work—”

“Hey.” Fred’s voice was soft. “Come here.”

His arms gingerly wrapped around your trembling frame to envelop you into a tight hug. He reached one hand up to smooth out your hair as you shook with silent sobs, your hands curling  into the fabric of his robes as if holding onto him would keep you from slipping away and losing yourself again. 

Fred was never one to be patient, but he knew that you just needed this moment free of chaos. So he waited, laying there with you as he continued murmuring soothing words into your ear, gently rubbing your back; he’d wait for as long as he’d need to. 

You didn’t know how much time passed until the tears ran themselves dry and your throat felt like it had been scraped raw. 

“Want to tell me what happened?” he suggested. “But only if you’re comfortable, that is.”

You hesitated, wondering if it was a good idea to tell him. Maybe he’d think you were strange…but seeing how he looked so genuine in that moment changed your mind. 

“I lost you…I lost everyone. I watched you die, Fred.” Your voice was cracked and raw, which sent a pang through his chest. The image of Fred’s lifeless body trapped between the rubble flashed across your vision, feeling as if it was wrapping its cold fingers around your throat. “I watched you all die and I couldn’t save you.”

“But I’m alive and well right now, aren’t I?” he assured you calmly, “I’ll be here for as long as you want me around. You’ll have to fight to the death to get rid of me.”

Managing a broken laugh, you looked up at him. “Really?”

“Really. What are fake boyfriends for, anyway?” His hand found its place against your cheek, fingers gently skimming across your skin. You leaned into his touch and let out a sigh, lips just barely brushing over his palm.  

“No one’s here, Fred…you don’t need to pretend.”

“I know I don’t.” Any and all traces of half-witted sarcasm were gone; wiped clean off his face. Instead, his eyes were glossed over with concern as they raked over yours. “Figured I could keep you company? Since I didn’t want you to be alone in your head like this.”

“I’d like that.”

He then passed a familiar folded square to you, and you opened it with a smile.

I’m here, whenever you need - F.W

v. the hospital wing run-in

“For Godric’s sake, how many more times will I have to see you in here?” Madam Pomfrey demanded as she hurried around, setting a metal tray by Fred’s bedside. “This is the third time this month.”

“Sorry,” you winced as you shifted your injured leg onto the pillow she’d set out. 

“What is it this time?”

“I broke my ankle.”

“Doing what, exactly?”

Pursing your lips, you elected to tell her the modified version of the story, which was the one where you had tripped while going down the stairs, not the one that included running down the Astronomy Tower after sneaking up there for a dare (the twins’ doing). 

She shook her head in disbelief, glancing over the cuts on your face and fixing the bandages around your foot. “You’ll be in here for a few days. We’ll have to regrow the bones in your foot and ankle…my, how someone can break this many bones just from missing a step, I can’t seem to understand…what are all of you doing here?”

You followed her gaze to where Hermione, Ginny, Cho, and Fred were standing by the hospital wing’s entrance, alight with excitement upon seeing that you were awake.

“Guys—”

“Miss Granger, Miss Weasley, and Mr. Weasley, need I remind you that no visitors are allowed at this time! I advise that you all head back,” Madam Pomfrey ordered sharply. 

“But we haven’t seen her all last night and this morning! Can we just stay for a minute,” Hermione begged. “Please?”

The older woman sighed as she scanned your friends (and fake? boyfriend’s) desperate, pleading faces. “...Alright, then. Don’t stay too long and for Godric’s sake, let her breathe.”

They immediately crowded around your bed and Fred walked over to your side, crouching down so that you were eye level with him. 

“There’s my princess,” his charming persona was back in full force, and he smoothly brushed a few stray hairs out of your face. For what felt like the eleventh time, he was swooping in to kiss your cheek. Not that you were counting. “How’re you feeling?”

“Better now that you’re here,” you winked as you attempted to prop yourself into an upright position, but failed, giving up and flopping back down. “Ow. My foot.”

Ginny pretended to throw up on Hermione, who then elbowed her in the stomach.  “Ow!” she yelped. “What was that for?” 

“Let’s leave the happy couple alone,” she hissed, and they slowly backed away to give you some space. 

Fred pulled up a chair next to your bedside, propping his chin in his hand to stare at you. “I’m sorry, really. I didn’t mean for you to end up with five broken bones.”

“And a concussion, a killer headache, and not to mention dozens of sore muscles,” you grimaced, but felt a slight ache in your chest when you realized he looked genuinely guilty. “I don’t blame you, really. I mean, I was just as stupid and reckless. I definitely could’ve been more careful but I wasn’t.”

“I’m supposed to mess up your lipstick,” he groaned, “not your bones.”

“Someone took ‘public displays of affection’ the wrong way,” you said sarcastically, and then there was a brief moment of silence before you both burst into laughter.

“Damn right he di—OW, Hermione!”

“Gin, let’s go!” With that, the two girls left the hospital wing, leaving the two of you alone.

“Why are you here, anyway? Hermione and Ginny are because they’re my friends, and you’re my—”

“—lovely, charming, undeniably handsome boyfriend, of course. Why wouldn’t I be here?” Fred finished your sentence for you.

“Right,” your voice was dripping with sarcasm, “I just can’t seem to get rid of you, can I? It seems like you’re always around.”

“And yet, you don’t push me away,” a smile tugged at his lips. “Which clearly means that I’m just that irresistible. I don’t need a charm or some silly love potion to reel you in.”

“Don’t think that because I’m incapacitated, this game is over,” you warned him. “I will beat your arse to a pulp, and you’ll be twenty Galleons lighter. I bet you’re madly in love with me already.”

“Believe what you want, my darling,” he sing-songed, twirling his wand between his fingers. “But we all know I’ve already won this game.”

“Yeah, right. We’re tied now, by the way. That’s for getting me injured.”

“Oi! You can’t just—”

“Shh…don’t come crying to me ‘till you lose.”

He ended up staying overnight. 

You didn’t protest at all. 

Neither did Madam Pomfrey later that evening after seeing him slumped over on your bed, fast asleep, one hand clutching yours like you were the only thing he had left to lose. 

vi. the howler 

For once you managed to get to the Great Hall before Fred did. The bloke was always criminally late or ridiculously early to everything; it was almost laughable how there was no in between for him. 

He finally showed up just ten minutes before breakfast was supposed to end, breathing hard with his hair all messed up.

“What’d I miss?” he asked you.

“Nothing,” you responded. “Just another ordinary day…”

A gust of wind suddenly swept through the hallway causing the napkins to flutter in the air. A giant grey owl came swooping down onto the table and landed straight in front of Fred, clutching an envelope in its curved talons. 

“What’s Errol doing here? We’re not supposed to get our daily mail til’ tomorrow,” Ron gawked, “surprised that he’s here given the number of times he’s collapsed mid-delivery—oh blimey Fred, you must be in trouble! You’ve got a Howler!”

Several Gryffindors around you giggled at this. 

With a slight look of confusion and fear, Fred carefully removed the seal on the bright red envelope. Molly Weasley’s booming voice immediately came bursting from the pages. 

“FRED WEASLEY, HOW COULD YOU NOT TELL ME THAT YOU WERE DATING MY FUTURE DAUGHTER-IN-LAW! I AM DISAPPOINTED IN YOU—Y/N dear, if you’re hearing this, I’m very happy for you and hope to see you at the Burrow soon, I’ll make sure to whip up some homemade custard for you—YOU OUGHT TO TREAT HER RIGHT, BOY, OR ELSE! I BROUGHT YOU INTO THIS WORLD AND I SURE AS MERLIN CAN TAKE YOU RIGHT OUT!”

A silence fell over the entire Great Hall and Fred sat there, in shock. The red envelope folded itself up and then burst into flames, its ashes crumbling to the floor. 

“I’ve never seen him turn that red,” George sniggered. “You’re bloody brilliant, Y/N.”

“Y-you did this?” Fred spluttered. 

“Can’t say I didn’t,” you hummed, patting his head affectionately. “Your mum was bound to find out, one way or another.”

“And you thought this was the best idea?”

“Aww, is little Freddie all embarrassed?” you teased. “Never thought I’d live to see that day.”

“Quit gloating,” the redhead grumbled. “You haven’t won yet. Better sleep with one eye open tonight.”

vii. the pda competition, part ∞

As it turned out, continuing to slip into your fake relationship only became more fun as the days and weeks dragged on. And being competitive only added to the fun, as you were scrambling to one-up each other. 

You often opted to hold his hand when walking from place to place, which wasn’t difficult given that you were almost always with him now and had to sell the idea that you really were together. His hands were rough and calloused from all those hours working on joke shop prototypes, but they were still surprisingly comforting. A way to keep you grounded when your head got stuck in the clouds. 

Fred’s signature move was, of course, dropping random kisses on your cheek when you didn’t expect it. Sometimes, when he was feeling bolder than usual, that would change to the tender spot between your ear and jaw, your shoulder, or your nose. And each of those times he made sure they were extra drawn-out and that you were in a crowded area so others would see it. The courtyard. The Quidditch pitch. The classroom (two of those incidents were in Potions, much to Snape’s dismay. He didn’t even bother taking points off due to being too disgusted).

“I have a massive exam today,” he declared loudly to you as you stood in front of his upcoming class together. “I think I’m going to need a kiss.”

“Why?” you scoffed. “What do you need that for?”

“For good luck,” Fred said, “it’s kind of a tradition, isn’t it?”

“You…want a kiss for good luck?” you started.  

“I’m waiting…” he sang, face turned slightly in an invitation. You sighed and went up on your tiptoes, doing as he asked. “Thank you. But you have terrible aim…you missed.”

“I fear you’re having way too much fun with this,” you muttered. “Don’t make excuses. My lips are not going near yours unless they absolutely need to now.”

“Oh come on, you know you’re having loads of fun too,” he called out as he walked into the classroom. “Catch you later, sweetheart!”

viii. the butterbeer (alt: the pda competition, part ∞)

It was the day of another Hogsmeade outing and you were hand-in-hand with Fred as you walked down the cobblestone streets together. You had planned to spend the day alone for the most part and join Cho for a meal, but Fred had cornered you at breakfast and insisted you go on a date with him.

“To keep up the façade,” he insisted. “Wouldn’t people find it odd if the castle’s favorite couple wasn’t together?” 

You nodded and didn’t protest further; you had no energy to do so anyway. It was far too cold for your taste; you had been dragged out without having time to grab your gloves, blowing hot hair into your hands that were steadily growing numb. 

“Love,” he called for you as he took your hands in his, “oh, your fingers feel like ice.”

“No…shit…” your teeth chattered as you attempted to respond steadily. “Might lose ‘em if we don’t hurry up and get inside—”

“Wait one second,” Fred said as you two stopped right outside the Three Broomsticks, wasting no more time in taking his gloves off and handing them to you to put on, while he wrapped his house scarf around your neck. “There. Let’s head in.”

“But—”

“Boyfriend duties, remember?” he winked at you as he pushed the door open, holding it for you to step inside first. “Come on. I think a butterbeer or two’ll warm you up.”

Fred’s hand remained on the small of your back, pressing in gently to lead you to a cozy booth in the back. The added warmth felt quite nice, you thought, but you also wondered how he managed to stay like a human furnace when it the weather outside was so dreadfully cold. 

It was hard not to stare at him; catching his gaze every so often while sipping your drink. His hair was all tousled from the frigid winds; you took notice of the way it slightly curled out at the ends, glowing under the hazy yellow bar lights. It was annoyingly endearing how he could look so flawless without any effort and even more so that you didn’t have anything snarky to say. 

“Fred, I think we’re being followed…” you whispered as you scanned the near vicinity, fingers brushing against the rim of your mug. There in the far opposite corner sat Padma, Ernie, Cedric, and Cho, attempting to look nonchalant as if they weren’t half-stalking you but they were doing a rather terrible job at it. You quickly looked away.

“So? Isn’t that what we want—for people to see us?” he countered with a tone of confidence. His voice dropped low as he continued to speak to you. “Why don’t we give them a show? No need to be so private.”

Your face burned. “What do you—”

“Not like that,” he chuckled lowly, “what did you think I meant?”

“I…”

Fred paused, then raised his hand and brushed something off your cheek with his thumb. “You’ve got something on your face.”

“Oh, so we’re playing that game now, are we?”

“Indeed, my lady.”

You scoffed quietly and imitated his motion, reaching up to smooth out the crease that had formed between his brows. “Put a smile on your face, why don’t you? You look better that way.”

“I always look good, though.”

“I look better than your greasy arse.”

“Oh, shut up.”

“Oh yeah?” you challenged. “I’d like to see you tr—”

Before you could say anything else and before he could stop himself from what he was doing, Fred placed a hand on the nape of you neck and pulled you in, kissing you without another word. All protests left behind flew right out the window (along with your morals, too, you thought) and for a split second, it almost didn’t feel like you were pretending at all. 

When you broke apart eventually, breaths a little heavy, neither of you needed to look over to see that your friends were gaping in shock, mouths dropped wide open. Sure, Fred was confident and cocky and you were equally so, but both of you would be lying if you said this didn’t take you by surprise. 

“You still keeping track?” His voice still had that low, almost husky tone to it. He was cupping your cheek now, and you let him keep doing so. “There can only be one victor, right?”

“Wouldn’t forget it,” you exhaled. “You think we look convincing enough right now?”

“Without a shadow of a doubt.”

ix.  the thunderstorm 

The day’s exciting Care of Magical Creatures lesson was cut thirty minutes short due to the heavy downpour that had suddenly came crashing down, bringing with it a booming thunderstorm and soaking all your clothes within minutes. 

“Well, that’s it fer today, everyone,” Hagrid announced, “now let’s head back inside, don’ want yeh to catch a cold, we’ll continue when the weather lets up…”

You wrapped your cloak tighter around yourself and flipped the hood on over your head, eyes narrowing as you stared up at the suddenly stormy grey sky. It just had to be on the one day you got to go outside and do something exciting, damn it….

It was freezing, nearly as horrible as that one day in Hogsmeade, and you wanted nothing more in that moment than to simply curl up by the fireplace with Hermione, the Patil twins, and Cho, and talk all evening long. If you could even make it back to the castle in one, unfrozen piece, maybe you’d at least get your hands on some hot chocolate from the kitchens…

A warm hand found yours amidst the strong winds, and all of a sudden you didn’t feel so cold anymore. 

As if he had read your mind, Fred said, “how about we sneak into the kitchens and grab something to drink? Hot chocolate, perhaps?”

“Sounds perfect,” you smiled and he draped an arm over your shoulders, bringing you into his side. It felt so natural now, like this wasn’t part of some long-standing bet to fool the whole school; as if you were just two best friends trying to keep warm in subpar temperatures. And it was almost too easy to get used to it. 

“Oblivious idiots. I told them for years that they’d be perfect together and it’s only this year that they start going out,” George exclaimed from several yards behind, walking side-by-side with Lee Jordan. “Dunno why it took them so long.”

“Love takes time, obviously,” said Lee as he watched Fred lean into your ear and say something, and you giggled lightly in response, “and now, what matters is that I finally have an excuse to make fun of them during Quidditch matches.”

“Oh—good point.”

“And you’ve noticed that he stopped pranking her? Unlike him, isn’t it?” 

“Wait…” George paused as he took in Lee’s questions. His mouth formed an ‘o’ in realization. “He’s utterly whipped, that git.”

“What happens when boyfriend duties overcome prankster duties…this is perfect. Professor Flitwick owes me 2 galleons. I called it that he’d fall first!” 

“You bet on them?” George squawked. “With Flitwick?”

“Don’t tell me you didn’t either,” Lee laughed, “I know you did too.”

The expression on George’s face shifted into one of defeat. “I lost,” he muttered, “I owe McGonagall 3 galleons.”

x. verum exeat (let the truth come out) 

The Gryffindor common room was alight with chatter once again. After a long, grueling week of exam revisions, Quidditch practice, and a brutal match to be remembered, Lee and the twins decided that a small celebration was in order. They had originally planned on inviting half the damn school but after arguing with Hermione, had to shrink the party down to just their smaller, usual friend group (they swore up and down that they’d clean up and not get detention like last time, but she wouldn’t buy it). 

But you knew that if things had the Weasley twins’ names pasted next to them, they’d be far from peaceful; as far as you could possibly get—no matter how big or small. 

“Oh, there you are,” you heard someone say from behind, and turned around to see that it was Hermione.

“Not drinking?”

“Someone’s got to take care of the boys after they go wild, right?” she explained. “Besides…I can’t stand the taste of firewhisky. It burns.”

You offered a tired half-smile and agreed. “Yeah. You’re right.”

Hermione seemed to be deep in thought for a moment until she told you, “You’re very lucky, you know.”

“What are you talking about?” 

“To have Fred, that is. To find someone who’s that in love with you, it’s quite rare.” 

“Oh, please,” you tried to suppress a laugh, “I told you why we’re doing what we’re doing.” 

“And?” Hermione raised an eyebrow at you, “feelings change. Bet or no bet, he cares about you and anyone would be crazy not to see that. Ronald is half-blind and he can tell, too. You can’t possibly tell me that everything you’ve done up to this point has been a lie.” 

“It’s meant nothing to me,” you said bitterly. “I hate him.”

“You don’t mean that.”

“I do. And it doesn’t help that he’s everywhere,” you stopped to take a swig of firewhisky, “and I can’t stand it!”

“Do you not, really?”

“I do, but I—”

“You what?”

“I just hate him!” 

“What do you mean?”

“What do you think? I hate everything about him!” you exclaimed, exasperated. “I hate the way he always tries to compete with me, I hate the way he doesn’t take things seriously, I hate that stupid, annoying little smirk he has on his face half the time I see him—”

You inhaled quickly; it felt like you’d just drank an entire vital of Veritaserum with the way that words were tumbling out of your mouth. Hermione gave you a look that seemed to say ‘Go on,’ so you did, “—I hate the way he walks down to the Great Hall every morning with his annoyingly perfect messy hair, I hate the way he risks freezing his arse off to give me his favorite gloves so that I don’t get hypothermia, I hate the way it’s so easy for him to kiss—borderline snog me like it’s nothing, I hate how this is all just supposed to be a game of pretend, and—and most of all, I hate the way he made me fall in love with him without even trying. I hate the way I don't actually hate him. Not even close, not even a little bit…not even at all…”

“You…really mean that?”

You whirled around to see that Fred was standing right behind you with his hands behind his back, eyes hopeful, and you felt your heart drop down to your stomach. “Fred—”

“Y/N, I—”

Suddenly it seemed like the walls were closing in on you from all sides, the room spinning; and then, everything around you jumbled into one chaotic mess of noise and color. Without looking to see either his or Hermione’s reactions, without caring that half the room had stopped to see what was going on, you pushed past your friends and quickly clambered out of the portrait hole. 

“What was that about?” Ron’s nose crinkled in confusion. “So much for being a cute couple. Now this is just sad.”

“Will you shut it, Ronald,” Hermione whacked him on the shoulder. 

“OW—”

“Stop being so dramatic! Don’t let me catch you drinking even one more shot or I will drag your arse back to bed,” she snapped. 

“Pleeeease do, I would lov—ow, ow, OW! OKAY!” Ron exclaimed as she pinched his ear and began dragging him away. “Okay! I’ll leave them alone, I’ll stop…”

Chest heaving and vision blurring with tears, you rushed outside, desperate for a breath of fresh air. It was quiet in the courtyard asides from the faint trickling of water but that did little to calm you down; it was still too loud, too chaotic, too much. Sitting down at the marbled edge of one of the fountains, you tried to catch your breath and balance, but the world still kept spinning…it felt like it wouldn’t stop spinning; for Merlin’s sake. All you wanted to do was crawl into a hole and disappear forever, or jump off the Astronomy tower and fly off to a distant land. You didn’t want to have to worry about how you poured your entire damn heart out in the middle of the common room about your fake boyfriend.

Your fake boyfriend that you realized, with horror, you had begun to develop not-fake feelings for. 

A chill ran through you at that moment and you shivered.

Then the feeling of something warm—a thick coat—being draped over your shoulders shook you out of your trance. You instinctively slid it tighter around yourself.

“Thought I might find you out here,” said Fred. You opened your mouth, ready to ask how in Godric’s name he knew where you were at all times when he didn’t even have the Maurader’s Map anymore, but stopped. This was Fred Weasley, and you had spent an unhealthy amount of time around each other over the past several months that he had to have picked up on your little habits. He was more observant than he let on. 

“What are you doing out here?” You couldn’t bring yourself to look up at him. 

“I couldn’t leave you alone outside to freeze, could I?” he asked, sitting down next to you. “What kind of boyfriend would that make me?”

“Please, just…” you inhaled sharply, “I can’t do this. You won. I lost. The game’s over, Weasley.” 

“On a last-name basis now, are we? Ouch,” he said jokingly, but dropped the teasing lilt in his voice when he noticed your eyes starting to water. “Talk to me, Y/N.”

“It just isn’t fair,” you whispered, looking down at your feet. 

“What do you mean?”

“It’s not fair,’” your voice faltered, “you’re not supposed to do that. To do this.”

“Do what?”

“To sabotage the bet. To make me lose track of the scores.”

“Well, I stopped counting, you know,” Fred admitted, tucking a hair behind your hair. “There’s no need to keep track anymore, I think we’ve done enough convincing, don’t you think?”

“But that’s the problem!” your voice cracked as you finally turned to look at him. “It isn’t that I’m probably going to be dozens of Galleons poorer after this. It’s that I’m feeling something I shouldn’t, that…that you made me fall in love with you—”

“Y/N—”

“—I hate the way I care about you far more than I should,” you continued on, “and I hate myself even more for even wishing what we had was real. Because it was all fake, Fred, and you know it. We were faking it, and—”

“Y/N,” he repeated more sternly this time, causing you to stop mid sentence. “Look, I already told you I stopped keeping track. After that night in the common room….that’s when I realized I couldn’t. Lee damn near had to hit me over the head and force-feed me Veritaserum to admit that I was in deep. Galleons and glory be damned, I didn’t care about any of that anymore; it was easy for me to pretend when I was already in love with you.”

“But we weren’t supposed to fall in love, that was the rule,” you sniffed, wiping a tear from your cheek, “I thought we were supposed to follow the rules.”

Fred’s lips twitched into a smirk. “Well, I think some rules are made to be broken.”

And then, he was closing the gap and connecting your lips in a deep kiss. The gentle motion cut through the chilly evening air, washing over you in a blazing heat that had you melting into a haze of firewhisky, adrenaline, and something that smelled distinctly like a crackling log fire and cinnamon. 

You had kissed him multiple times before this, but this one felt different than all the rest. It didn’t feel like you were doing it for show in the slightest; it felt genuine and warm and so real. 

And the biggest difference was that you never wanted it to come to an end. 

“So?” The grin on his face was palpable; contagious, as you broke apart, “What do you say, we stop faking it?”

“Are you fake breaking up with me?” you gasped and pretended to look surprised. “Way to ruin the moment.”

“I’m asking to real-date you, darling,” he said.

“There’s no money on the line this time?”

“No,” he hummed as he leaned forward to kiss you a second time and pretended to think for a second, “but there might be something else on the line instead.”

“And what is that ‘something else?’”

“You’ll have to wait a few years and see.”

xi. the promise 

—FOUR YEARS LATER—

Fred was a great planner, of course. “Brilliant,” Harry would say, “absolutely brilliant.” He might’ve been a jokester, but he was a very organized jokester. He always knew what he was going to do and when. 

So when it came to you, he thought he had a plan. He thought he had it planned for years; he was thinking fireworks, extravagant displays in the sky, taking you on a sunset ride across Romania on one of Charlie’s dragons. Something to match your free and daring spirit. 

But, the moment ended up presenting itself on its own. 

It was an ordinary night with yours and Hermione’s families joining the Weasleys for a quiet weekend at the Burrow. Mr. Weasley was listening intently as Mr. Granger and Harry explained the function of rubber ducks and the Internet in great detail, and the rest of you chatted with your parents,  Mrs. Weasley, and Mrs. Granger by the kitchen counter about post-graduation plans. 

Mrs. Granger had made an off-hand, passing comment about how lovely your silver bracelet—the one with charms of yours’ and Fred’s initials and Patronuses dangling from it—looked on your wrist. And then Fred was saying, “I know something else that would look great on her,” and taking a small box out of his pocket and flipping it open, revealing a blinding bright, silvery diamond ring. 

Even as shouts of realization and cheers of joy rose up from around the kitchen, the world seemed to fade away into complete silence when he put the ring on your finger and encircled his arms around your torso, kissing your cheek and whispering into your ear, 

“I told you there was something else, didn’t I?” 

tags: @xhanthexzoria @arkofblake @fictionalsimp449 @polar-myst @katelikeslaughs @lmllsl @schlattandcompany

[marauder-misprint]

I loved Nail polish & cologne, you are such an amazing writer! It's been so long since I read a decent version of Moony in a fic. You made me incredibly happy today 🫣

Sorry if it's rude to ask, any chance you could make a sequel?

Omg, I don't find it rude at all to ask for sequels/more parts to any of my writing! It's one of the highest compliments in my opinion! So, thank you 🥰

Also tagging everyone who asked for a part 2 in the replies/comments ❤︎ ❤︎ ❤︎

Fresh parchment & perfume

Remus Lupin x reader

part one

2.3k words

cw: fluff, mutual pining, Y/N, angst if you squint

You want to murder Remus Lupin. 

Okay, not really. But you’re frustrated that he’s taken away one of your simple daily joys: staring at him during class. You’ve been caught staring at him multiple times now and you swear there have been times where he was looking at you first. This never happened before so why is it happening now? 

You come to a conclusion, but you don’t like it. It’s the only thing that makes sense though.

“Lily!” you yell as you enter your dorm and slam the door behind you. “What did you say?”

She looks at you like a deer caught in headlights. 

“About what? To who? When?” she asks, preparing her defense.

“About what I smelled in the Amortentia!”

“You never told me what you smelled,” she says, furrowing her brow. “I mean, I can assume, but you never actually told me. And who would I have told?”

“Oh, I don’t know, James, maybe?”

She laughs. “Potter?” Then she looked down at her hands. “I mean, yeah, we’ve talked a little bit and he doesn’t seem… as bad? But we don’t talk about you.” 

“Oh.” Your voice is small. “Never mind then.”

You collapse on your bed and Lily is sitting at the foot of it within seconds. 

“What gave you the idea that I’ve told Potter about your feelings for a certain quiet prefect?” she asks.

You lift your head to glare at her. You’re not in the mood. 

“He’s been looking at me…” you mumble, which causes Lily to fall into a fit of laughter. “Lily!”

“I-I… I’m sorry, but… that’s ridiculous and you know it,” she manages to say in between her laughs. “He’s been looking at you?”

“Yes,” you say firmly. “He’s never looked at me this much before”

You pause as you hide your face in your hands. 

“He must know and he’s trying to figure out how to tell me that he doesn’t feel the same way.”

“Or…”

“Or what?”

“Or he’s working up the courage to talk to you?” Lily offers.

“He can talk to me just fine. We’ve studied before. Played Summoner’s Court. Wizards’ chess. We talk.” 

“Okay, yes, you talk. But have you tried flirting with him?”

You bite the inside of your cheek. “No… But then why is he just staring at me and not talking to me?” 

“Why have you been staring at him and not flirting with him?” she shoots your question back at you. 

“I don’t need your logic right now,” you groan, rolling over to shove your face into your pillow. 

---

“Has she always stared at me this much?” Remus asks Sirius nervously as they lounge in their dorm. 

James was at quidditch practice and Peter had solo detention. 

“Can’t say I’ve paid much attention to her, Moony. Might be a better question for Prongs.”

“Why’s that?” 

“Because Y/N’s always with Evans? And he stares at her quite often. Come on, mate. Two plus two.” Sirius gives his friend a sympathetic look. “Have you talked to her at all since?”

Remus doesn’t answer, letting the silence answer for him. No, he hadn’t. The amount of times he’s caught you staring at him over the past two days is startling. Each time, you would turn red and look away almost immediately. He hasn’t been able to focus as much in classes, not when he knows you might be looking at him, not when Sirius thinks he might actually have a chance with you. 

“Have you… oh, I don’t know, considered talking to her?”

“Padfoot,” Remus says tiredly. 

“You can’t ask a girl out without words.”

“You would know.” It comes out more as a sigh. 

Remus doesn’t want to admit it, but yes, out of the Marauders, Sirius had the most experience with girls. But whether his “expertise” could actually be trusted was up in the air. He never stayed with a girl for too long and he wasn’t sure if it was his choice or a result of his actions. 

“Yes, I would know. And if she has been staring at you as much as you claim, even if just these past few days, ask. her. out.” 

“What if she’s just been zoning out? You know, when you stare but you’re not really looking?”

“She’s just been zoned out in your direction multiple times a day?”

“Yes.”

Remus knows it sounds ridiculous, and that’s only enforced when Sirius chuckles from the window where he’s smoking. Then he’s standing up and offering Remus one. 

“Stop being so dense,” he says. “And so hard on yourself. I know what that voice in your head is saying.”

Remus takes the cigarette and follows Sirius back to the window.

“And what is it saying?”

“That you’re not worthy of love or attraction, that you’re not attractive. So how could lovely Y/N actually like you when you’re, well, you.”

“Yeah. Thanks,” Remus says dryly before taking a drag. 

“Oi, not saying any of that’s true.”

Remus rolls his eyes. 

“Ask. her. out. And you’ll see that you’re wrong.”

The two boys sit on the window ledge for a while, each going through a few cigarettes. Silence fills the room. Sirius is more than content to just let his brain empty while Remus’s mind is running circles around itself.

Was he imagining the blush when he caught you staring? Were you staring because you liked him? Were you just staring into the distance and turning red because you realized you were staring at a person? How often did you stare at him? Was it because of that Potions lesson? What if you were staring near him and not actually at him? Was he being narcissistic to think you looked at him? He sat by Peter, James and Sirius in every class. It was very logical to think that you were staring at one of them. 

“Shit,” Remus mutters.

“What?” Sirius’ voice sounds far away despite being right next to him.

“She’s been staring at you.” 

Sirius laughs.

“No, Pads, think about it. You’ve been next to me every time I’ve caught her staring. It makes so much sense!”

“Moony. You’re delusional,” Sirius says. 

James enters the dorm. Sirius’ eyes light up.

“Prongs, help me out here!” Sirius calls as James throws his bag down on his bed.

“Yeah?” 

“Y/N. Has she been staring at me or Moony in class?” 

“I’m not getting in between you two if you’re fighting over a girl,” James says, laying down on the floor near the window.

“Not fighting over a girl,” Remus says, giving Sirius an annoyed look. “Padfoot just figures you’d know who she stares at, if she’s staring at all, since you, you know, stare at Lily.”

“I do not!” James exclaims as he sits up rapidly.

Sirius laughs, “She’s not in here and we know you do. Don’t lie.” He pauses for a moment to light a new cigarette. “For Moony’s sake, does Y/N stare at him during class?”

James slowly lays back down while giving Sirius a wary look.

“I swear, if I get hexed for answering…”

“Not going to hex you!” Sirius says.

“She stares at Moony. A lot. Think she pays more attention to him than lessons.”

“So she’s gone for you!” Sirius barks, clapping a hand on Remus’ knee and causing him to grimace. “Fucking told you!”

---

You make a serious effort to not look in Remus’ direction during classes. It kills you. It’s been your habit for years and you’re quitting cold turkey. You’re both grateful and mortified that Remus hasn’t called you out for it; he can’t call you out for it if he hasn’t talked to you. 

It doesn’t help that Lily has started gently nudging you every time Remus enters a room or sits remotely near you. She doesn’t have to say anything for you to know what she’s thinking. 

“You’re the first thing he looks at when he enters a room,” she whispers during Transfiguration. 

“Or he’s looking for the Marauders,” you retort just as quietly. 

“Yeah, right,” she says sarcastically. 

Professor McGonagall flashes a harsh look in your direction and the two of you fall silent. You’re thankful that she didn’t call you out, or worse, ask you to share what you were talking about with the class. That would have been mortifying. 

You’ve been successful in your mission to not stare at Remus so far, despite the insatiable urge to do so pulling at your eyes. You swear, the man is magnetic. It doesn’t help that Lily has suddenly become relentless in her nudging and subtle poking.

“What?” you hiss, looking down at your notes.

“He keeps looking this way.” 

You roll your eyes and turn your attention back to McGonagall. While Lily’s words stoked the flame of hope in your heart, you didn’t need to be losing house points for not paying attention. 

When class ended, Lily put her things away at record speed.

“Potter! Wait up!” she calls, leaving you behind.

You frown as you briefly watch her go. You usually walked to your next class together. You knew that she smelled something like James in the Amortentia and that had fueled her new friendship with him. And as much as you liked seeing your friend this happy, you didn’t like that it meant walking to your classes alone. 

Except when you exit the classroom, you aren't alone. Remus is right at your side. You walk in silence for a few paces. It’s not uncomfortable but it’s charged. Despite the other students in the corridor with you, you swear you can hear every step you take. It doesn’t help that you can feel your heart beating in your throat. 

“How’ve you been?” you ask. You keep your face straight, knowing that if you look at Remus, you’ll likely trip, fall and embarrass yourself.

“Oh… I’ve been relatively good.” He pauses momentarily. “James hasn’t shut up about what he smelled in the Amortentia.” 

You try not to laugh. “Lily’s not been too shy about it either. I think she’ll say yes sooner or later.” 

Remus gestures ahead of you to where the two are. “Seems like it.”

Silence falls between you again. You were used to being with Remus in the quiet; that’s how it usually was when you studied in the library together. Except that was different. When you studied, you had your books in front of you and you were both scribbling away, scrawling on  parchment until your inkwells ran out. 

“Did you really smell the library in the Amortentia?” you ask, breaching the silence. You’re not really sure what made you ask, but something inside of you needed to know.

“Erm, yeah. Yeah, I did,” he answers. He’s not looking at you in the same way you’re not looking at him, meaning you’re both trying to gauge the other’s expression in your peripheral vision. “What did you smell? You got pretty quiet after smelling the potion.”

“Oh, um, I smelled… nail polish, chocolate, parchment,” you listed off with a glaring omission. 

Remus let out a breath that he wasn’t aware he was holding. He didn’t want to admit that he was disappointed in your answer. He was hoping you had smelled something more obviously him. It didn’t register in his brain that he was the chocolate and parchment you smelled. 

“That all?” he asks hesitantly. 

“Was the library all you smelled?” you retorted defensively. 

You saw his features tense. 

“Was it?” you repeated, more gentle this time, like talking to a scared child. 

“It was the library. Everything that encompasses my usual visits,” he starts to say as he turns to look at you. “The books, fresh parchment, ink, your perfume.” 

You stop walking. Remus notices immediately, having been watching you and your expression. His heart is racing in his chest. He can’t tell if your reaction is good or bad, based on your wide eyes and sharp intake. You swallow, looking up at the taller, scarred boy next to you.

“My… perfume? You smelled me?” you ask. “You smelled me in the Amortentia?”

Remus flushes with embarrassment. He feels like he should’ve known better than to trust Sirius on this. He was a self-proclaimed ladies’ man afterall. 

Remus nods. He doesn’t know if he trusts his voice, but then he starts rambling.

“I thought… Sirius said you couldn’t look away from me so he said I had a chance, but obviously, if you don’t feel the same way… I don’t want this to change anything between us. I don’t want it to be awkward. I really value our friendship. I’m so sorry if I just ruined it, but I like you. I really do. I have for a while, but I’ll try to stop if it makes you uncomfort-”

“Remus,” you say firmly as you grab his arm. 

He stops talking immediately. His eyes search yours for an answer that he realizes he probably cut off. 

“What do you always carry with you and share with me in the library?” you ask, your voice just as firm.

“Chocolate?” His brows bunch in confusion.

“And what you always, always have a fresh roll of?”

“Parchment?”

“And… I may have smelled one more thing. In the Amortentia.” You took a breath. “Your cologne.”

“My cologne?” he echoes like how you had repeated him earlier. 

You wait for him to connect the dots, pressing your lips together. 

“So you smelled chocolate, parchment and my cologne?”

“Don’t forget nail polish.”

He chuckles. He takes your hand that’s on his arm and holds it in his own. 

“What you’re saying is that I do have a chance? That Sirius was right?” 

“Sirius was right,” you laugh. 

“In that case, would you like to come with me to Hogsmeade this weekend?”

“I would love to come to Hogsmeade with you, Remus,” you answered with a smile.

Maybe Sirius does know a thing or two about girls, Remus thinks as he walks with you to your next class. 

Tags: @oursweetmoony, @pinkdaiisies, @iloveremmy, @3sriracha, @auntjezzy

[wooataes]

Real Eyes, Fake Lies (Part 11)

Pairing: soulmate!Lee Jihoon x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 2.8k

Warnings: Hanahaki!AU, angst, all hurt no comfort, swearing, tears, the usual 🙂‍↕️

Summary: What do you do when you find out the one person that was created by the universe to be yours doesn’t want you back?

A/N: It has been WAY too long since I've updated this story and I apologise for that 🙂‍↕️ I finally feel like I've gotten my life back on track to finally be able to post a long awaited update!! Thank you to everyone who still reads and enjoys my fics, it means a lot ! 🥹 - Tae 💜🌸✨

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“Do you know what’s wrong with him?”

“His girlfriend left him, genius. What do you think is wrong with him?”

Jihoon rolls his eyes. His housemates have as much subtlety as an earthquake. Their naturally loud voices seep through the closed door of his bedroom as he stares at his ceiling, a sigh leaving his lungs in the darkness as the outside voices drone on.

“Hyung,” Mingyu sighs. “It’s been over a week now… Should we call someone?”

“Who would we call?” Junhui retorts. “His soulmate? Because up until last week, I thought his soulmate was Ji-ah.”

The mention of her name creates another pit in Jihoon’s stomach. He hates it. He wishes he could just get over the stupid emotions that run through his veins at the mere thought of his not-soulmate, now also not-girlfriend.

“His parents are hours away and he has no siblings that we can contact.” Junhui continues, frustration laced in his voice. “I don’t know who we could call.”

“Doesn’t hyung have a cousin who-”

“I can hear everything you guys are saying. You know that, right?” 

Jihoon’s hard voice carries through the door, his housemates falling silent on the other end.

“Jihoon-ah.” A deep voice mutters, causing him to tense up. He knows that Wonwoo knows how to get through to him. “Can we talk?”

After a long pause, Jihoon’s bedroom door slightly creaks open. “Wonwoo, I told you yesterday,” he stares at the ground, refusing to make eye contact with the older man. “I am fine-”

“You are not, Jihoon-ah. And we both know it.” 

“How do you know?” He snips.

“You haven’t left your bedroom since Ji-ah left you last week.” Jihoon sucks his teeth at her name.

“I never left my bedroom before she left me.” He hisses back.

“Yes, you did.” Wonwoo retorts back. 

“When? To go on dates with her?” he barks. “To take her out? To go visit her family? Well, guess what? She is gone, Wonwoo, so I have a whole lot more free time and I choose to spend that time at home.” his voice cracks slightly, bottom lip shaking as he moves to close the door once more, his frown deepening as Mingyu grabs a hold of the door before it closes.

“Hyung, we’re sorry.” Mingyu’s voice is softer now as he looks at him with sad eyes. “We’re so fucking sorry that you’re going through this but we are here for you and want to be there for you.”

“I don’t need-”

“Please don’t push us away.” Wonwoo frowns, his hand resting over Jihoons. “Jihoon-ah…”

Jihoon shakes his head quietly, a small hiccup leaving his lips. “Wonwoo, I promise, I’m fine.” He gently lets his hand fall from Wonwoo’s as he moves to shut the door to his bedroom once more, wiping the stray tears that threaten to spill from his eyes.

“I truly don’t know what to do, guys.” Jihoon winces at the defeated tone of his older housemate’s voice as he climbs back into the comfort of his bed once more, hoping to forget about the world around him for a little bit longer.

Jihoon heaves a loud sigh as he steps into his first Film Studies class in nearly two weeks, slumping down in his chair, rubbing at his temples slightly as Professor Park begins his usual droning on. He really should be listening to the lecture at hand, but he can’t bring himself to. Not when he can feel the eyes of multiple people in the class lingering on him. He’s sure that word has gotten around now about his very public dumping and the fact that Ji-ah was obviously never his soulmate. He hates that he can feel the sympathy radiating off of his peers, and even off of you, his real soulmate, sitting directly beside him with your stupid perfect hair and stupidly neat notes that you wordlessly offered him to help catch him up on the classes he missed. He accepts them graciously, spending most of the lesson copying your notes into his notebook.

“Professor,” a deep voice from the back of the room calls out near the end of the lesson, drawing Jihoon from his thoughts. 

“Yes, Jaebeom?” 

Your soulmate glances at you at the sight of your body tensing up at the mention of the newcomer’s name. He tilts his head slightly as he feels nerves begin to bubble in the pit of his stomach from you, causing him to raise a brow. You take a slow breath before scribbling idly on your page again, indifference on your face, but Jihoon knows it’s a front. 

Why are you so tense?

“About the extension on our group project?” Jaebeom’s voice lulls out in a drawl, a clear cockiness hidden in his tone. 

“Ah yes,” Professor Park hums, nodding his head. “I know some of you have gone ahead and already submitted your essays and presentations to me, and I’m thankful for you guys for getting these to me on time and even earlier. For the remainder of you all who have yet to submit your projects, I’ve extended the deadline by two weeks, due to an unavoidable event I must attend.”

Jihoon hears his classmate’s sighs of relief, and in turn, he breathes out as well. He knew he had neglected his end of his project with you for the last week, and he feels grateful that he can make up for it.

“I do hope the rest of you,” Professor Park sends a look to the back of the room, “get this done in due time. Class dismissed.”

Jihoon wordlessly offers your notebook back to you, a frown forming on his face when he sees you duck your head, letting your hair fall over your face. He glances to see a taller man wearing low jeans and a beat up baseball cap on his head march- no, strut down the stairs to reach the door, sauntering out with what Jihoon can only describe as a sleazy grin on his face. Once he steps out of the room, you immediately collect your things, bow your head to Jihoon with a little smile, and jump up to leave the classroom.

“Professor,” your soulmate approaches the teacher. “I appreciate you extending the deadline-”

“Oh, Jihoon-ssi!” Professor Park smiled. “Are you feeling better? Miss Choi told me that you were unwell when she submitted your project to me last week.”

“Oh.. Yeah, I’m feeling alri- Wait. Submitted?” Jihoon blinked.

“Yes,” he smiled. “Both of your arguments had wonderful points to pit against each other. Well done! I will be posting your grades in a few weeks!”

You finished off the project for him? Why are you so… nice?

“Uh… Thank you, Professor.” Jihoon bows his head in thanks before slowly stepping out of the classroom, starting to walk in the direction of home, the sound of thunder rumbling in the distance.

Jihoon takes a deep sigh as he finds himself sitting down at the park bench that is so familiar to him now, letting the raindrops land on his clothes and face as he tilts his head back.

“Jihoon-ssi?” your voice is quiet over the sound of the loud rain, but Jihoon could hear you. He always does. He blinks as he feels the heavy raindrops that land on his hoodie abruptly stop, looking up to see a pastel umbrella being held over his now drenched body. “What are you doing out here?”

Jihoon shrugs quietly for a moment. “I… don’t know.” He glances down at the wet sleeves of his hoodie. “Just.. Thinking.”

“Well, I think you should think away from a torrential downpour next time,” you quip with a little smile, hoping the joke makes him crack a smile.

“Nah,” he hums. “It’s comforting, the rain..” 

“Comforting?” You echo, tilting your head innocently as he hums a confirmation.

“Mm. Rain doesn’t have colour.” He glances at you for a moment, slightly amused by the cluelessness on your face as you just blink at him. “Ah, it’s silly, really,” he continues. “The sky doesn’t have colour when it rains, it reminds me of what the world looked like before everything changed. Everything is so different now.”

“You’re right.” You agree quietly. “Everything is different.”

“Thank you,” Jihoon mumbles after a brief silence. “For helping finish off the project while I was… y’know.”

“Oh, that?” You shrug. “That was nothing. You had all the arguments, I just articulated them for you. Figured that you already had enough on your plate so I thought you wouldn’t mind if I submitted a little early to get it out of the way for the both of us.”

“How do you do it?”

“Huh? Do what?”

“... Live.” Jihoon’s voice is barely above a whisper as you settle down on the park bench beside Jihoon, still holding the umbrella over his head. “How do you just live life so damn happily while you feel like absolute shit all the time? And don’t deny that you don’t, I have felt every single emotion you have felt for weeks now.”

You pause for a moment, looking up at the sky before humming. “I suppose I just got used to it.” You shrug. “It kind of just became like a background noise for me. It’s just always there.” 

“Even when the pain is doubled now? Because of me?”

You shrug once more. “It’s not something I haven’t dealt with before. I can feel the pain for both of us, Jihoon-ssi. It’s okay.” You give him a little smile. “I have had a lot more practice at loss than you have.”

Jihoon feels the irritation bubbling up inside him slowly.

“What is that supposed to mean?”

You blink in confusion as you glance at him. “Huh?”

“I have experienced loss too, you know.”

“I know that, I just-”

“I am more than capable of feeling these emotions too.” He frowns.

“I know,” you emphasize, “I just wanted you to know you don’t have to face them on your own.”

Jihoon scoffs quietly. Who does she think she is, giving him advice on how to deal with his emotions? “I know that too. You don’t need to point out the obvious, Choi.”

“Do you know that?” You retort, raising an eyebrow. “Because from what Mingyu told me, you’ve barely left your room until this week.”

“Ugh,” Jihoon groans, leaning his head back. “Am I not allowed to have time to myself?”

“Of course you are,” you sigh. “But you’re also-”

“You know, you should think about facing your emotions on your own instead of relying on everyone else around you.” Jihoon hisses at you with a glare as you freeze with wide eyes. 

“H-huh?” He can feel your doubt seeping into his veins.

“Your brother, his soulmate, Soonyoung, Seokmin,” he rambles. “They’re always at your beck and call when they could be living their own lives with each other and not have to worry about you every five fucking minutes like you’re their child.”

“I…” You balk, Jihoon wincing at the feeling of your stomach twisting inside him. But he doesn't care, he wants you to hurt as much as he does. It’s your fault he doesn’t have Ji-ah anymore, afterall.

“Just go away!” He barks. “When will you realize that your help isn’t needed?! You’re not needed! I lost the one girl I truly fucking loved because of YOU! Why would I want you around?! Leave me alone already!”

After a long silence, Jihoon finally turns his head to look at you, staring at him for what seems like hours with the same look that you had on the day you brushed hands for the first time. That isn’t what frightens your soulmate, though. What frightens him is the fact that he can’t feel anything inside him anymore, besides his own pain.

“... sorry, I’ll leave you alone.” You mumble robotically, delicately placing the umbrella beside him before rising and walking through the heavy rain in the direction of your house, letting the rain run down your clothes.

“Fuck.” Jihoon sighs heavily and buries his face into his hands, squeezing his eyes shut as he hears your footsteps move further and further away.

He needs to apologize. He knows he does. He knows he said those words out of anger and hurt, and he knows you definitely didn’t deserve it. 

But why can’t he find it in himself to go to you and do it? You’re literally two tables away from him right now.

Jihoon, he scolds himself, it’s been days. You need to man up and tell her you’re sorry. 

Could he be worrying a little now because since he confronted you, he has felt no emotions whatsoever from you? Has he finally lost the tether from you?

“Hello you!!” A loud, cheery voice snaps him into reality. He blinks as he stares at his cup of ramen in his hand, fidgeting on the hard steel of the cafeteria chair underneath him, trying to figure out where the loud voice had come from.

Seungkwan makes his way over to where you’re sitting, draping himself over your back. Before he can ask how you are, you jolt up quickly, scooting away from him like you’ve been burned.

“Hey.” You give him a little smile, pressing yourself up against the wall. “Where’s Hansol? You should be with Hansol.”

Seungkwan’s face contorts slightly as he sticks his lips out in almost a pout. “He had to run to make his next class… Bug, what’s wrong-”

“I actually have to run too, Kwan.” You stammer out quickly, grabbing your backpack and stepping out from behind the table. “Talk later?”

“But, you haven’t even touched your lunch…” his voice fades out as he watches you rush quickly out of the cafeteria, surprise etched on his face.

Jihoon watches on, just as surprised as Seungkwan as he reaches the table with him, Soonyoung and Seokmin.

“Okay, what the hell was that? What happened to Bug?” Seungkwan immediately questions Soonyoung, who upon further inspection, looks just as out of it as you are.

“We don’t know,” Seokmin speaks for his soulmate. “Every time she’s at home, she stays locked up in her room and only leaves to cook dinner for us and clean up. She didn’t even come down for movie night the other night.”

Your soulmate’s eyes widened slightly as Soonyoung took a deep breath. “Something has happened and she won’t tell us what. She doesn’t even speak when she’s at home anymore.”

“We’ve tried to talk to her, get her to come out of her room, do anything, but she doesn’t budge. I’m getting worried.” Seokmin bites his lip.

“I don’t know what the hell has happened to our Bug. She is literally just doing fucking chores and whenver one of us tries to hang out..” your best friend rubs at his temples. “She keeps insisting we hang out with our soulmates. With each other. I don’t know why the fuck that doesn’t mean she can’t hang out with us too.”

Jihoon feels sick as your housemate’s words sink in to him.

When will you realize your help isn’t needed? You’re not needed!

Fuck.

“Jesus Christ, Jihoon-ah.” Wonwoo breathes out when Jihoon finally steps through the door. “You were supposed to be back four hours ago. What the hell were you- Jihoon-ah?” 

His eyes widened at the sight of his housemate stepping under the lights of the hallway, lip trembling and hair sticking in six different directions. Jihoon truly didn’t mean to take so long making it home. He supposes he lost track of time wandering campus with his racing mind.

He knew his words had gotten to you. At the moment it felt good, for you to feel the pain he did. But now? Seeing his friends, your family agonizing over how detached you are? 

What has he done?

“Jihoon…” Junhui looks on worriedly, reaching forward to slip the backpack off his housemate’s shoulders.

“I… I knew what I was getting into when I chose to date her, Wonwoo.” His voice quivers as he stares at the ground. “I knew that she already had a soulmate, but… I-I didn’t think…” 

“Of course you didn’t.” Wonwoo agrees.

“She told me that he had moved countries years ago… There was no chance he’d come back…” a small tear slides down his cheek as his housemate hums in acknowledgement. “And when I… when I found my soulmate and I-” Jihoon chokes back a sob. “And I rejected them to keep a hold of Ji-ah…” His soft cries echo into the quiet hallway. “I… I felt their heart break inside of me, I’ve felt their pain for weeks a-and now I feel their pain on top of my own and… fuck, I broke her, man.”

“Oh, Jihoon…” Junhui sighs sympathetically as Wonwoo pulls Jihoon towards him, bringing his head into his shoulder as his arms wrap around his back in a warm embrace. 

Jihoon pauses for a moment. He blinks once, twice, and a third time before he lets out a soft sob, his hands gripping onto Wonwoo’s shoulders desperately as he buries his face into the soft fabric of his shirt.

“Hyung,” he chokes out. “I r-really fucked up.”

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[sativariddle]

can i request headcannons or drabble or fic or what you prefer about fred weasley x black cat kinda reader? so basically opposites you know. thank u so much!!!

…ISN’T SHE LOVELY?

m.list.

fred weasley was many things—charming, mischievous, a certified menace to hogwarts hallways—but he was not someone who gave up easily.

and when it came to you, he was relentless.

you were the complete opposite in every imaginable way.

where fred thrived on noise and chaos, you flourished in silence and isolation.

he was the kind of person who could talk his way out of—or into—anything, words spilling from his lips like a never-ending stream, always charming, always quick-witted. you, on the other hand, preferred the quiet, finding comfort in the space between words rather than the rush to fill them.

fred hunted for excitement in things that exploded—in fireworks, in pranks, in the kind of reckless spontaneity that made life feel like an experiment.

you, however, found your joy in simpler, quieter moments. a book in your hands, a warm drink, a night spent alone in the library with only the sound of turning pages and the distant crackle of the common room fire to keep you company.

you liked books. he liked fireworks.

you liked the quiet. he was the loudness.

and yet, for all your differences, fred was drawn to you in ways he couldn’t quite explain.

he found himself watching you when you read, utterly fascinated by the way your eyebrows scrunched in concentration whenever a character in your book did something particularly foolish. he watched the way your fingers ghosted over the pages, how you would pause just slightly before flipping to the next, as if savoring each sentence, each word.

and you? you barley glanced at him.

because fred weasley was a storm, and you had spent your life carefully constructing a world untouched by such things. he was messy, unstoppable, always pressing into places you didn’t want to be disturbed.

he was infuriatingly persistent, with a grin that made your stomach twist in ways you refused to acknowledge.

and still, for reasons beyond logic, beyond reason, beyond all the things that made sense in the world—

fred weasley liked you.

you weren’t mean, per se, but you didn’t waste time on nonsense either—something fred weasley happened to specialize in.

and yet, that didn’t avert him. no, if anything, it made you all the more irresistible. so, fred weasley made it his personal mission to get you to notice him.

go out with him.

── ATTEMPT #1

“hey there, gorgeous,” fred greeted with a smirk, casually leaning against the library table where you were deeply immersed in a book on dark arts counter-curses.

you didn’t even look up.

fred, unfazed, plopped down across from you, tapping the book with his finger. “y’know, if you’re interested in counter-curses, you should see the one i put on filch’s broom closet. absolute masterpiece. you’d be impressed.”

silence.

“i mean, i don’t want to boast, though—”

you flipped a page.

fred blinked.

for the first time in his life, his charm had failed so spectacularly that he felt personally offended. he dramatically clutched his chest. “blimey, you wound me, love. not even a glance? a chuckle? nothing?”

still nothing.

── .✦ ATTEMPT #2

fred was no stranger to public displays of ridiculousness, so naturally, his next step involved something big.

“alright, ladies and gentlemen, gather round!” he announced in the great hall during breakfast, hopping onto one of the benches.

you barely spared him a glance as fred’s grin faltered for half a second, but he pressed on, undeterred.

he cleared his throat dramatically and held up a parchment.

“for the most elusive, most mysterious, most devastatingly beautiful witch at hogwarts, i have penned a sonnet. ahem.”

ron groaned. “merlin’s sake, someone stop him.”

fred ignored him and continued.

❝ roses are red,

my hair is too,

you hate me,

let me date you? ❞

silence.

one second…

two seconds…

three…-

the entire gryffindor table burst into laughter.

someone clapped.

even mcgonagall looked mildly entertained.

you? you continued eating your toast like nothing had happened.

his stomach dipped.

surely, surely, you’d at least react.

a scoff? a smirk? an eye-roll? something?

anything.

fred slumped into his seat, utterly humiliated.

“well, that was a bloody disaster,” he mumbled, running a hand through his hair.

george patted his back. “it was tragic, really. i’d be embarrassed if i were you.”

“i am embarrassed.”

“she’s uninterested.”

fred groaned, dragging a hand down his face as he plopped back onto the bench in defeat. “impossible. no one is uninterested in me.”

“tell that to her.”

fred did. again and again. and again.

── .✦ ATTEMPT #3

if charm didn’t work, and public spectacle failed, then perhaps what fred weasley needed… was a prank.

and so, he did what any reasonable person would do—he slipped a pygmy puff into your bag.

it was a foolproof plan. the tiny thing was bright pink, obnoxiously fluffy, and would surely elicit some kind of reaction from you.

at first, you didn’t even notice.

then, in the middle of class, a small, high-pitched squeak sounded from your bag.

you blinked.

the room went silent.

professor flitwick stopped mid-sentence.

squeak!

squeak!

slowly, you reached into your bag and pulled out the tiny creature, holding it up for everyone to see. it wriggled happily, unaware that it had just become the center of attention.

fred, sitting a few rows behind, was biting his lip so hard to contain his laughter that he nearly choked.

your eyes flickered to him.

your gaze finally, finally flickered to him—a fleeting movement, barely a second long, but to fred, it felt like the universe had just tilted in his favor.

for the first time, your eyes met his, truly met his, and his breath caught in his throat.

it wasn’t much.

just a glance.

a flicker of awareness.

but merlin, it sent something electric racing down his spine.

his heart, that thumping little thing, did a little victory dance, thudding wildly against his ribs like a snitch desperate to break free.

had you always looked at people like that? like you were sizing them up, as if deciding whether they were worth your time?

and more importantly—had you just decided he might be?

you didn’t say anything, but the slight arch of your brow spoke volumes.

well played, weasley.

── .✦ THE MOMENT HE ALMOST GAVE UP.

by the time fred had exhausted nearly every trick in the book, even he had to admit that you were stubborn.

you were like a fortress—unshakable, unreadable, and completely immune to his failed attempts.

“i don’t get it,” he groaned, sprawled on the gryffindor common room couch. “i’ve done every sort of presenting, and she still won’t budge.”

george snorted. “maybe she just doesn’t like you, mate.”

fred sat up sharply. “no. impossible. i refuse to believe that.”

still, doubt gnawed at him.

maybe george was right. maybe you simply weren’t interested. maybe he should—

“fine.”

fred nearly fell off the couch.

you stood before him, arms crossed, expression unreadable.

he swears on his whole existence, the entire common room had gone silent.

fred froze. “—what?”

“you win, weasley,” you said, tilting your head. “one date.”

for a full second, fred forgot how to function.

he swore he could feel the heat rush straight from his chest to his ears, because bloody hell, you were looking at him—really looking at him—and it was doing things to his already fragile sanity.

he opened his mouth, then closed it, then opened it again, utterly and completely dumbfounded.

then, like the fool he was, he grinned.

wide.

ridiculously so.

“well, well, well,” he drawled, trying (and failing) to keep the sheer glee out of his voice. “i knew you couldn’t resist me forever.”

you rolled your eyes. “don’t push your luck.”

“oh, i absolutely will.”

he wasn’t lying.

but as you turned and walked away, fred caught something—a tiny, almost imperceptible smirk on your lips.

fred spun toward george with the giddiness of a man utterly bewitched, his grin stretching so wide it nearly split his freckled face in two.

his excitement was practically definite, buzzing in the air around him as he clapped a hand to his brother’s shoulder, eyes still dancing with the memory of her.

“isn’t she just lovely?” he sighed, his voice brimming with something dangerously close to awe, as if he himself couldn’t quite believe the effect you had on him.

george, merely raised a brow, glancing between fred’s dreamy expression and the direction you had just walked away in.

with a long, suffering sigh, he muttered, “you’re doomed, mate.”

fred only grinned wider.

that chase was over. but the real fun?

had only just begun.

xoxo.

[rosemariiaa]

pleaseeeee! any fics dropping tng? also, i was thinking about some prompts:

It’s the third day of the Montana trip, and Azzi is officially meeting Paige’s extended family at the annual Bueckers cabin gathering. As soon as they walk in, Paige’s aunts, uncles, and cousins immediately swarm Azzi with hugs and excited chatter, saying things like, “Oh my God, you’re the Azzi Fudd! Paige never stops talking about you!” and “We’ve heard so much about you—welcome to the family!” Azzi blushes furiously, shooting Paige a look that screams You’ve been talking about me this much? Meanwhile, Paige is grinning ear to ear, her arm slung protectively around Azzi’s waist, as if to say, Yeah, she’s mine. The real kicker comes when Paige’s baby cousin is passed around, and Paige immediately turns into a puddle of goo, cooing and cradling the baby like a natural. Azzi catches her staring dreamily at the scene, and Paige whispers, “Okay, but imagine us with one of these someday,” sending Azzi into a flustered spiral while the whole family laughs and cheers them on.

It’s the WNBA All-Star Weekend red carpet, and Paige is rocking a sleek outfit, chatting with reporters and soaking in the spotlight. Just as she finishes an interview, she spots Breanna Stewart a few feet away, looking effortlessly cool as always. Paige makes her way over, and the two Huskies immediately fall into an easy conversation about UConn, the All-Star game, and life post-college. But then Stewie’s daughter, Ruby, comes bounding over, clutching a tiny basketball and tugging at her mom’s hand. Paige instantly lights up, crouching down to talk to Ruby and even showing her a few dribble moves. As they play, Paige can’t help but ask Stewie, “So, like, how did you know Marta was the one?” Stewie raises an eyebrow, clearly amused, and says, “Why? You thinking about someone special?” Paige freezes, her face turning crimson, and stammers, “What? No! I mean—I was just curious!” Stewie smirks, leaning in slightly. “Paige, come on. It’s Azzi, right? You’re not exactly subtle.” Paige’s eyes widen, and she splutters, “Wait, how did you—I didn’t even say her name!” Stewie laughs, patting her on the shoulder. “It’s written all over your face. Plus, you two are kind of iconic. And for the record, she’s perfect for you.” Before Paige can recover, Ruby tugs at her hand and asks, “Can you teach me how to shoot like Azzi?” Paige is left flustered, trying to process how Stewie read her so easily, while the cameras catch the whole adorable exchange.

It’s the middle of their much-anticipated cruise vacation, and Paige, ever the overconfident sunbather, decided to skip the sunscreen because “I don’t burn, Azzi, I glow.” Fast forward to that evening, and Paige is lying facedown on their cabin bed, groaning in agony as her back and shoulders radiate a bright, painful red. Azzi, shaking her head but unable to hide her fond smile, sits beside her with a bottle of aloe vera, gently dabbing the cool gel onto Paige’s scorched skin. “I told you to wear sunscreen,” Azzi teases, her voice soft but laced with amusement. Paige whines, “I didn’t think it would be this bad!” Azzi rolls her eyes but continues to pamper her, her touch soothing and careful. Between Paige’s dramatic sighs and Azzi’s quiet laughter, the moment becomes one of those memories they’ll laugh about for years. Later, as they sit on the deck under the stars, Paige leans her head on Azzi’s shoulder and murmurs, “You’re the best, you know that?” Azzi just smiles, pressing a kiss to the top of her head, and says, “Yeah, I know. But next time, listen to me about the sunscreen.” Paige grins, already plotting how to make it up to her—maybe with a surprise dinner or a cheesy cruise karaoke duet.

soooo you basically just wrote 3 fics for me 🤭 i love u

also guys when u send prompts add an emoji to ur ask so i can mention u in the fic when i post!!

[ceslatoil]

Ghost Filbrick AU

So a few weeks ago I was in the group chat and I pitched an idea for a fic (not writing it anytime soon, I have enough projects on my plate for now!) and it’s about the Pines family visiting Ma Pines before she moves to an assisted care facility. Main idea is that Dipper and Mabel meet Filbrick’s ghost who is trying to hinder the move, and the family trying to get him to move on. Lots of family drama ensues.

I wrote like, a scrap of a script draft for it if y’all wanna read it below:

(Scene: The grown ups, including CARYN, STAN, FORD and COOPER, MABEL & DIPPER’s dad, are all up playing cards. CARYN pulls out the Tarot Deck)

Caryn: I call this one “Last Man Standing!” You put down a card and the other player has to put down either the same suit or card number. If someone plays a major arcana card like wheel of fortune or the star, they can switch up the minor arcana suit. If you play death or the tower, the other players draw four. Whoever has zero cards wins!

Dad Pines: Grandma I think you just reverse engineered Uno

Stan: Dad wouldn’t buy us more than one card deck, so we made due with Ma’s tarot.

Ford: I thought it was to keep you from cheating the deck

Caryn: Both things could be true! Now hush.

Stan: … Coop is everything all right with Dipper? It’s not my business but… he seemed pretty cagey with ya earlier.

Caryn: Cagey? The kid stormed out of the room in the middle of dinner! Granted it was *my* cooking, so I can’t really hold a grudge on that front. (*plays a card*) That’s The Fool, so we’re reversing direction.

Ford: … It just doesn’t seem like him.

Coop: … that’s been the norm lately, I’m afraid. I don’t think he’s handling the divorce well, with me moving out and I just haven’t been around as much since then.

Ford: Mabel told us in one of her letters you were in family therapy together?

Coop: We’ve had a few sessions, yes. She loved it, got along great with our counselor. I think she asked a few times about becoming a therapist someday! But Dipper doesn’t really participate much during the sessions. He just sulks in the corner, like he doesn’t want to be there at all.

Stan: He’ll get over it. He’s stubborn, but not the type to hold a grudge.

Ford: I can’t imagine any of this is easy for any of you.

Coop: Weirdly enough, me and Annie— uh, Annie and *I*— have gotten on better than ever. Divorce was the best thing to happen to our relationship, it’s like we’re finally friends again?

Stan: Divorce ain’t so bad, I’ve done it at least six times now!

Caryn: I thought about divorcing your father, but he died before I got around to it. Suit change.

Ford: when did Dad pass?

Stan: … ‘97.

Ford: … I see. (*silence*)

Caryn: … Let’s not talk about funerals right now. God knows I’ve been to enough of ‘em. I’m just glad one of ‘em didn’t count. (*pinches Stan’s cheek.*)

Stan: … me too, Ma.

Ford: … Last Man Standing

Stan: Like hell you are, you shit, draw four!

Ford: … that’s not the tower, that’s a Stan Buck!

Caryn: Don’t tell me you’re still making Stan Bucks! You know damn well that’s not how money works!

(This next part is self indulgent and idk if I’ll include it in the fic proper)

Caryn: Now Stanford… let me ask you a question. Why the hell have you been hiding your left hand in your pocket all night?

Ford:…. I don’t know what you mean— HEY!

(Caryn pulls his hand out of his pocket, examines his second ring finger)

Caryn: Stanford Filbrick why does it look like you have a wedding band on your finger?

Ford: …. (*sighs*) because I have a wedding band on my finger.

Caryn: AHA! Here we are moping about death and divorce and you sit on good news like that! Who is she? Who’s your wife? Where’d you meet her, what’s her family like, what does she do?

Ford:… I don’t have a wife. I have a husband.

Stan: The guy used to live in the dump and now he’s a millionaire inventor running for president.

Caryn: You married McGucket?! Me and the girls canvassed for him this year! Wait till I tell that Janine, that’ll get her to pipe down about her Chiropractor Son-In-Law for once!

Coop: I really like his policies on infrastructure, very forward thinking!

Stan: Eh, I’m voting third party. Nothing personal, I just don’t want a brother in law who’s commander in chief. It would make thanksgiving a nightmare.

Ford: You’re a felon, you can’t vote at all.

Stan: That hasn’t stopped me in thirty years!

Ford: So Ma, you’re… fine with—

Caryn: Sweetie, until this morning I thought two of my sons were dead and one cut all ties. I figured I deserved it. Sitting back while your Father gave you all grief for nothin. I told myself if I ever saw you again I’d take you as is, and I meant it.

[queenie-ofthe-void]

WIP Weekend WIP Snip Share!

Didn't have time to do any WIP games this weekend, but here's a bit I've written for my Steddie (-Jonathan) fic. Because I thought, "huh, you know what this steddie angst fic needs? A Stobin fight."

Enjoy (or... you know)

~~~

Context: As Robin finally convinced Steve to tell Eddie how he feels, they're shocked when they go back to the party and find Jonathan and Eddie making out on the couch.

“Everyone’s gone home,” Robin consoles, tone grating against his skin. He doesn’t need her pity, or anyone else’s. Besides, Steve wouldn’t even be in this mess if it wasn’t for her. Meddling in his love life has never worked out for Steve in the past, and he doesn’t understand why he convinced himself it would be different this time just because it was Robin.

Because why would anyone, let alone someone like Eddie, be interested in dating Steve Harrington, King of Assholes and Jocks. Compared to someone like Jonathan, someone who is so clearly a better match for Eddie, Steve brings nothing to the table.

He laments himself for believing anything she ever said about how Eddie apparently looks at him when his head’s turned, or how he always goes out of his way to make Steve laugh. None of it was real. It was all just lies. Bullshit.

“Then why are you still here?” It’s colder than he meant. Steve can already feel the crown sliding back into place. It’s sickening how much he misses it, an old, awful comfort he worked so hard to shed. And yet, it feels so fucking good to wear it again. 

If only it wasn’t Robin.

Heavy silence weighs against him. It’s not the response he expected. People always have a reaction when they meet King Steve– whether it’s disdain from the kids he tormented, pride from his asshole friends, or disappointment from people like Nancy. 

Steve still hasn’t turned around, his back to the door Robin had come through to find him. The inability to read her eats at his nerves. He denies the sharp urge to look at her– to consume and study every twitch of her mouth, every crinkle of her eyes– to know what she’s thinking right now. But that would mean giving her the same opportunity which is something Steve can absolutely not allow her.

The crown is a cold comfort if yet still a bit ill fitting. It’s been too long since Steve’s had to wield it as a sword and shield to fend off the people closest to him. He’s forgotten how. It wobbles on his head no matter how hard he clings to it. The heat of shame still stings behind his eyes. Steve hates it. So he clings to the anger, if he can’t cling to anything else.

He’s ripped from his seething by a firm hand on his shoulder. Robin’s next to him now, appearing almost out of nowhere. Steve wonders how long the silence lingered, if she said anything to him as he was stuck in the swirl of ruminating thoughts.

“Steve, look at me.”

Brushing her hand off his shoulder, Steve storms across the kitchen. She can’t look at him, she can’t see him. He can’t talk to her with all the shit clogging his throat. It’s all bubbling up inside him, the way it always does, thoughts and feelings he can’t name or pin down long enough to examine, not that he’d ever want to in the first place. Robin needs to leave before it bursts from him like a monster crawling through a hole in the ceiling, ready to hurt anyone in its path. Like a stupid, bigoted boy willing to throw a punch in an alleyway.

“Get the fuck out of my house.”

[guardian-angle22]

911 Lone Star Fandom Memories

Thank you to everyone who tagged me! I think this is everyone: @lemonlyman-dotcom @herefortarlos @goldenskykaysani @heartstringsduet @she-walked-away @rmd-writes @welcometololaland @toomanycupsoftea @thisbuildinghasfeelings

Friendships

I'm a very shy, anxious person when it comes to social interactions and Making Friends as an Adult is Hard! so the people who put in the effort to reach out to me and seek out a friendship really means so much to me. Y'all know who you are.💜

But even the people in fandom I don't talk with regularly, I always look forward to everyone's tags on my sets or reading the fun meta posts, the fanart, the fics, the liveblog posts. It really feels like we're all a little group of friends in this fandom and it's been a really fun experience. And I can't wait to continue to milk these characters for all they're worth with y'all for the foreseeable future despite the end of the show!

Gif-making!

I taught myself how to make gifs right around the premiere of season 3. I never thought I would be making gifs, but this show was so special to me and I just wanted so badly to have the ability to highlight and talk about the things that I loved. And even though I had no idea what I was doing when I first started, no idea how to tag or caption things properly, everyone was so kind and lovely about everything I was making.

Baby Guardian's first few gifsets were all from an ig live with Brian, Julian, and Ronen talking about the upcoming season 3... and that live still holds a special place in my heart simply because it was the first content I ever worked with ... and omg I had no idea how I was making it harder for myself by using such low quality footage. 😂

(I mean, damn, these are rough. But 🥰🥰 they make me so happy when I see them to see how far I've come and also how much I love this cast)

Speculating & Reacting

My memory isn't the greatest for specific events, but it's been such fun in this fandom when new bts pictures, episode synopses, Ronen/Rafa photoshoots, spoiler clips, etc would drop. Everyone on the feed going wild making fun guesses at what might be happening or everyone reblogging the same tarlos pictures a million times.

Fandom is so fun when you don't get every episode dropped at one time to binge so instead you have time between episodes to speculate and have the previous episode simmer and that in between time in fandom has always been such a joyous thing to experience.

Specific Moments

The Proposal Aftermath, Ronen coming out publicly, The Tarlos Wedding Celebration Event (the first gif prompt event I ever did!!), the Group Rewatch, That time half the fandom became LA Dodgers fans.

~

🏷️OPEN TAG! I'm doing this very late, so I feel like most people have probably already been tagged or done this. But if you haven't yet, please do! This was fun. Thank you @thisbuildinghasfeelings for coming up with this. 💜

[requiemforthepoets]

the proposal ⟢ FA14

⟢ part four of this time, i’ll love you much better

𖤓 series masterlist ⟢ playlist ⟢ part five ☽

PAIRINGS: fernando alonso x ex-wife!reader

SUMMARY: the twins thought that they have all the time in the world to devise a plan on how they would get you and fernando back together. that is until fernando had told the news to jullianna, prompting to put their plan in motion.

REMINDERS: this is purely fiction, the way how the character is portrayed in my story does not reflect the person that is portraying my character in real life. always separate fiction from reality, and do not repost or copy my work in any way.

WARNINGS: no use of y/n, named character (except for reader), parent trap inspired fic + plot, google translated spanish and french, single dad!nando and single mom!reader (for the time being), evil fiancé, twin switching, inaccuracies with information, and minor typographical errors.

WORD COUNT: 5.1k

AUTHOR’S NOTE: part four of the series!! i have a lot of things going on, so that’s why it always takes a long time for me to update my series/post new parts to fics. as always, this series is open for taglist, so just comment or message me if you wanted to be tagged, and your comments/reblogs are highly appreciated, i hope you’ll enjoy this new part of the series! :)

The sunlight filtered through the curtains as Jullianna pulled her hair into a sleek ponytail, already dressed in a crisp white tennis outfit. She glanced at her reflection in the mirror, adjusting the collar of the polo shirt she wore. Jullianna’s focus, however, was more on the bubbling frustration in her chest. It was not just about the day ahead or the tennis session with Fernando—it was about everything Sofia had dropped into her lap without any warning.

As if on cue, Jullianna’s phone buzzed on the bedside table. She picked it up and saw Sofia’s caller ID flashed on the screen. Narrowing her eyes, she swiped to answer, voice immediately sharp.

“Well, it’s about damn time,” Jullianna began, tone clipped. “I’ve been waiting for you to call, and now you finally do.”

Sofia’s tone was light, almost too casual. “Why good morning to you too, Disney princess. How’s it going?”

“How’s it going? How’s it going?” Jullianna repeated incredulously. “Comment ça va? Vraiment? Tu es sérieusement en train de te moquer de moi?! Sofia, do you have any idea of what you’ve put me through?”

There was a pause on the other end. “What are you even talking about? You know how I can’t understand any of what you’re saying, right?”

“Oh don’t you play innocent with me,” Jullianna snapped. “Karting, Sofia. Karting! You didn’t even bother to tell me how to drive the freaking damn thing! I had to watch youtube videos just to figure out what I was supposed to do. Do you know how embarrassing that was?”

Sofia chuckled nervously. “Okay, okay, I’m sorry! I didn’t think it would be a big deal, papá would’ve helped you.”

“He did,” Jullianna admitted begrudgingly. “But that’s not the point! You could’ve warned me!”

“Fine, I’ll make it up to you,” Sofia said, tone placating. “But seriously, Jules, it’s only karting. You survived, right?”

“Barely,” Jullianna muttered, crossing her arms. “And you’re lucky I did, because I would’ve switched back and made you deal with the mess.”

The line went quiet for a moment, and then Sofia’s voice softened. “I’m sorry, Jules. I didn’t really mean to make things harder for you. I’ll give you all the details next time, okay?”

Jullianna exhaled, some of her frustration easing. “Fine. Alright. But that’s not all we need to talk about.”

“Oh?” Sofia sounded wary. “What now?”

“Stephanie.”

“Stepha-who now?”

“Exactly,” Jullianna said, dropping onto the edge of the bed. “She’s some woman papá had apparently been seeing, and she keeps on coming over to the house like she owns the place. I had to deal with her the other day, and let me tell you, she’s awful.”

Sofia’s voice hardened. “I haven’t heard of her before. When did this start?”

“Eh, probably while we're at camp,” Jullianna said bitterly. “Alejandra told me this woman had been coming around, and from what I’ve seen, she’s trouble. Fake, loud, annoying—you name it, she got it. The worst part? Papá seems completely oblivious to it.”

“Well that doesn’t sound good,” Sofia said. “Keep an eye on that woman. If she’s really as bad as you say, we’ll figure something out. But don’t let that woman get to you, okay? She’s not worth your energy.”

“Easier said than done,” Jullianna muttered.

The twins were so engrossed in their conversation that Jullianna barely registered Fernando calling out for her downstairs. “Sofia! ¡Vamos! It’s time to go!

Jullianna jumped up, glancing at the clock. “I’ve got to go, papá’s waiting for me. We’re going to play a few rounds of tennis.”

“Alrighty. Good luck, Sofia,” Sofia teased.

“Oh shut up.” Jullianna rolled her eyes.

“But seriously though, keep me updated about Stanley.”

“Fia, it’s Stephanie,” Jullianna replied, and Sofia just blew raspberries at her. “And will do. Talk to you later, ugly.”

“Hey! We look just th—” Jullianna ended the call before Sofia could even respond.

Jullianna stuffed her phone into the tennis bag and grabbed Sofia’s tennis racket from where it leaned against the wall, and headed downstairs. Fernando was waiting by the front door, dressed in an equally sporty outfit like Jullianna and holding his own tennis racket.

“Finally,” he said with a smile. “You ready?”

Jullianna nodded with a smile. “Ready.”

The sun was high overhead when Jullianna and Fernando stepped onto the private tennis court—air was warm but pleasant, with a light breeze that rustled the nearby trees. Jullianna adjusted the grip on the racket, movements fluid and confident. Playing tennis was her forté, and it was surely worlds away from the stress and confusion of karting or dealing with unwelcome houseguests like Stephanie.

Fernando took his place on the opposite side of the court, bouncing the tennis ball a couple of times before looking up at Jullianna with a grin. “You ready, chiquita?”

Jullianna smirked. “Yup!”

Fernando laughed, tossing the ball into the and served with precision. The ball zipped over the net, and Jullianna moved quickly, her racket connecting with a satisfying thwack! as she returned the shot.

The rally began, and for the first few minutes, the only sounds were the rhythmic hits of the ball against the racket, quick and hurried footsteps against the clay surface, and the occasional grunt of effort. Jullianna found herself smiling as she played, thoughts drifting briefly to when her and Sofia had shared a match back at camp walden. It was an intense match, filled with playful trash-talking and endless determination to outdo each other.

But then, Fernando broke the silence, tone casual yet curious. “So,” he began, returning a particularly fast shot, “what do you think of Stephanie?”

Jullianna hesitated, her focus briefly faltering before she sent the ball back over the net. “Stephanie?” she repeated, trying to buy herself some time.

“Yes, Stephanie,” Fernando said, voice light but persistent. “You’ve spent some time with her now. I just want to know what you think of her.”

Jullianna tightened her grip on the racket, her mind racing. She couldn’t very well tell him the truth—that she finds Stephanie insufferable, fake, and most certainly not the right woman for Fernando. Instead, she decided to tread carefully, masking her irritation with forced politeness.

“Well,” she began, returning another shot, “she’s…very put-together. Always dressed nicely, very stylish.” she paused, muttering just loudly enough for herself, not my style, though. Mamá’s much better.

Fernando chuckled, clearly amused by Jullianna’s side comment. “So, you think she’s stylish. That’s good to hear, and it seems like you two are getting along.”

“Mm-hmm,” Jullianna murmured, keeping her tone neutral. She didn’t elaborate further, focusing instead on the ball.

Just when Jullianna thought that the conversation about Stephanie is done, turns out that it’s not. Fernando wasn’t done. As the rally continued, his tone shifted slightly, becoming more serious.

“Sofia,” Fernando said, eyes following the ball as it sailed over the net, “I’ve been thinking about the future, and you know that I’m not getting any younger. Sooner or later I’m about to retire soon from Formula 1, and I want to know what you think about Stephanie joining the family.”

Jullianna froze for a split second, the racket nearly slipping from her hands. The words hung in the air, heavy and unmistakable. She knew exactly what he meant, but she decided to play dumb, her voice laced with forced confusion.

“Joining the family? What do you mean, papá? Are you planning to adopt her or something?” Jullianna said jokingly.

Fernando let out a hearty laugh, clearly amused by Jullianna’s sarcasm. “No, chiquita. Not adoption.” he hesitated for a moment before continuing, tone filled with quiet excitement. “What I mean is that I proposed to her.”

The words hit Jullianna like a freight train. For a brief moment, she stood frozen in place, staring at her father as if she had not heard him correctly. Then, as the reality of his statement sank in, something inside her snapped. Jullianna’s next hit was ferocious, with the ball rocketing past Fernando so fast that he barely had time to react. He turned to watch it bounce out of bounds, a look of surprise on his face.

“Wow,” Fernando said with a laugh, jogging to retrieve the ball. “That was quite the shot, eh?”

But Jullianna was not done. Her hits became more aggressive, each one more powerful than the last. She was not just playing tennis anymore, she was channeling all of her anger and frustration into every swing. Fernando was struggling to keep up, missing shot after shot as the intensity of the game escalated.

“Sofia, mi vida,” he called out, tone now tinged with concern. “What’s going on? Are you okay?”

Jullianna didn’t answer, her jaw clenched, and eyes burning with a mix of anger and betrayal. Finally, after one last blistering shot that Fernando couldn’t even attempt to return, she threw the racket with force—destroying it in the process and turned on her heel.

“Sofia!” Fernando called after her, voice filled with confusion as to why his daughter was acting up. “Where are you going?”

But Jullianna didn’t look back. She walked briskly off the court, chest heaving with unspoken words, and tears of frustration stinging her eyes. When Jullianna reached the front door of the house—still angry and frustrated, she grabbed the handle and turned it open, but in her haste and anger, she twisted it the wrong way. The door didn’t budge.

“¡Por favor!” she hissed, shaking the handle violently.

When it still refused to open, Jullianna growled in frustration, yanking the door with all her strength. Finally, it gave way, and she stumbled inside, muttering to herself. She glanced at the door handle, relieved to see it hadn’t broken. Once inside, she marched into the living room, pacing back and forth, her sneakers squeaking faintly against the floor.

“Comment peut-il penser que c’est une bonne idée?” she muttered, throwing her hands in the air. “Who even is she? Elle est insupportable!”

Jullianna’s rant alternated between languages—English, French, and Spanish, as her thoughts tumbled out uncontrollably. “He proposed? To her? ¡Dios mío, papá, estás loco!”

She stopped pacing momentarily, pressing her hands to her forehead. “This is not happening. This cannot be happening. I can’t handle this alone, I’m only one kid.”

Lost in her tirade, Alejandra peeks around the corner of the armchair she’s been sitting in with a cup of coffee in her hands. Alejandra initially assumed Sofia was in one of her usual moods, but the erratic pacing and the odd blend of languages caught Alejandra’s attention.

When Jullianna finally turned around, Alejandra cleared her throat gently. “¿Tienes algo que quieras compartir con la clase, mi chica?”

Jullianna froze mid-step, head snapping up—to which she immediately regretted because of the strain of her action. Her eyes widened in shock, the usually composed façade already slipping. Her heart was racing so fast, and quickly straightened her posture, smoothing her tennis skirt and forcing a smile.

“Alejandra! I didn’t see you there, you gave me a fright!” she said, tone overly bright.

Alejandra sat her coffee cup down at the side table, her eyes narrowing slightly as she stood up from the armchair and slowly approached Jullianna.

“You didn’t see me? Gave you a fright? I’ve been sitting here the whole time, chica. You were so lost in your own thoughts, or rather, in frustration, that you didn’t notice.” Alejandra folded her arms, studying Jullianna closely. “¿Qué está pasando? En serio.”

“Nothing, I swear!” Jullianna replied too quickly, smile tightening. “Just…a lot on my mind lately.”

Alejandra tilted her head, gaze sharpening. “¿Seguro que no hay nada de lo que quieras hablarme?” she asked for the second time. “You’ve been acting strange, mi niña.”

“Strange?” Jullianna echoed nervously, the forced smile on her face faltering. “I don’t know what you mean.”

Alejandra took a step closer, expression skeptical. “Sí, extraño. For one, you’re acting too proper—using expressions like you gave me a fright, the way you eat—you barely touch your food now, and even the way you speak sometimes, it’s different. I didn’t even know you speak French.”

Jullianna opened her mouth to respond but found herself at a loss for words. She tried to come up with some silly excuse, anything to divert Alejandra’s growing suspicion, but her mind went completely blank.

“Alejandra,” she trailed off, “I changed a lot over the summer, that’s all.”

Alejandra’s gaze softened, though her tone remained firm. “Si no lo supiera, diría que es casi como si estuvieras…” she paused for a little bit, “Ay dios mío, no importa, eso es demasiado imposible.”

Jullianna hesitated, the weight of the secret she had been carrying threatening to crush her. “Almost as if I were who, Alejandra?”

“Nadie, nadie. Chica tonta, olvida que lo mencioné.” Alejandra chuckled. “Why don’t I make your favorite food, huh? I think that tennis session with your papá had made you hungry.”

Finally, Jullianna sighed, her shoulders slumping in defeat. She couldn’t take it any longer, so she’ll take the chance now. “¿Casi como si fuera Jullianna?”

Alejandra’s eyes widened. “What?” her breath hitched. “You know about Jullianna?”

“I am Jullianna.” Jullianna breathed out.

For a moment, silence hung heavy between them. Alejandra stared at her, mouth opening and closing as she’s trying to process what was happening. Then, tears welled up in Alejandra’s eyes.

“¿De verdad eres Jullianna?” Alejandra asked, voice trembling.

Jullianna nodded, her own eyes glistening. “Yes, it’s me.”

Alejandra’s hands flew to her mouth as a sob escaped her. “¡Mi niña!” she cried, rushing forward to embrace Jullianna.

The hug was tight, almost crushing, but Jullianna didn’t mind. She wrapped her arms around Alejandra, feeling an unexpected wave of comfort.

“No puedo creerlo!” Alejandra said through her tears. “The last time I saw and held you, you were just a baby—barely a year old. You and your mother left for France after the divorce. I thought that I would never see you again.”

Jullianna blinked back tears. “I’ve missed you too, Alejandra.”

Alejandra pulled back slightly, cupping Jullianna’s face in her hands. “¡Oh, mírate!” she said, voice filled with awe. “All grown up, but still the same little girl that I used to hold in my arms. But why are you here in Spain? Where is Sofí?”

Jullianna hesitated, unsure how much to more of her and Sofia’s plan she could reveal. “It’s…complicated,” she said finally.

Alejandra nodded, sensing that Jullianna wasn’t ready to share everything just yet. “Alright,” she said gently. “But you have to be careful, mi niña. If your papá finds out—”

“I know,” Jullianna interrupted, voice firm. “That’s why I need you to keep this between us. Please, Alejandra.”

“Of course,” Alejandra nodded. “Haría cualquier cosa por ti.”

Fernando stepped inside of the house, chest heaving as he called out, “Sofia! ¿Dónde estás?” his voice echoed through the house with urgency.

The sounds of Fernando’s footsteps grew louder as he entered the living room, and Jullianna stiffened, her arms instinctively crossing over her chest. Alejandra had sensed the tension, so she placed a comforting hand on Jullianna’s shoulder.

“Está bien,” Alejandra whispered gently. “I’ll leave you two to talk, I’ll be at the kitchen and prepare you some snacks.”

Jullianna nodded, watching as Alejandra quietly exited the living room and headed towards the kitchen. She barely had a moment to collect her thoughts before Fernando appeared in the doorway of the living room, looking left and right for Jullianna. When he saw her, he paused, hands on his hips, exhaling deeply as though trying to steady himself.

“Sofí,” he said softly, tone coaxing. “Come, sit with me, princesa.” Fernando gestured to the couch.

She hesitated but eventually walked over and perched on the edge of the couch, arms crossed defensively over her chest. Jullianna’s gaze stayed fixed on the floor, refusing to meet her father’s eyes.

Fernando sat beside her, leaving a careful distance between them. “Why did you run off like that mi vida?” he asked, voice gentler now.

Jullianna did not respond, jaw tightening.

“Sofía,” Fernando pressed, leaning forward slightly. “I proposed to Stephanie the other night. It was a very special moment for us—”

“Stop. I’m gonna stop you right there,” Jullianna cut in sharply, standing abruptly. The words struck a huge nerve within her, and she could not hold back any longer. “Just stop, papá, please.”

Fernando blinked, surprised by her sudden outburst. “¿Qué te pasa? Why are you acting like this?”

Jullianna turned to face Fernando, eyes blazing with nothing but anger. “Because it is outrageous!” she snapped, throwing her hands in the air. “You’re marrying her? That woman? Marrying Stephanie?”

He frowned. “And what is so outrageous about that?”

“Oh my god, papá! That woman’s practically young enough to be my sister!” Jullianna shot back, pacing back and forth as her emotions spilled over. “Do you not see how absurd this is? All of it!”

“I never knew you would be reacting like this,” Fernando stood, hands raised in a placating gesture. “Sofía, calm down, por favor. There’s no need to—”

“Je suis calme!” Jullianna shouted like a maniac, clearly not calm at all. She began to switch to French again without even realizing it, her words tumbling out in a torrent. “Comment peux-tu faire ça? As-tu même pensé à ce que cela signifierait pour nous? C’est insensé! Je ne peux pas croire que tu ferais ça. Elle n’est pas la bonne pour toi, papa. Pas du tout!”

Fernando furrowed his eyebrows, stepping in closer towards Jullianna. “What…French? Desde cuándo hablas francés?”

Jullianna stopped pacing, momentarily caught off guard. “I-I um, uh, learned it at camp,” she said quickly, brushing past the question. “But that’s not the point!”

She faced Fernando. Taking a deep breath, she began, voice softening slightly. “I’m sorry for my outburst,” she said, brushing her hair back from her face. “But we need to talk about this rationally.”

Fernando nodded, motioning for her to sit again, but Jullianna preferred standing. “Alright, alright,” he said. “Let’s talk. But in a language we can both understand, por favor mi vida.”

He sighed, patience already visibly thinning. “Sofía, I don’t understand why this is upsetting you so much. Stephanie has been kind to you, hasn’t she? She’s made every effort to—”

“Kind?” Jullianna scoffed, cutting him off. “That’s not the issue, papá. This isn’t about her being nice, this is about you thinking you can just bring someone into our lives and marry them without even considering how it affects everything!”

Feenando’s brows furrowed deeply. “I have considered it. Stephanie is someone I care about, and I thought you would—”

“Well you thought wrong!” Jullianna interrupted, voice rising again. She felt the heat of tears threatening to spill but blinked them back furiously. “You can’t do this, papa. You can’t marry her—or anyone else! It will ruin everything!”

He opened his mouth to respond, but before Fernando could even say a word, Jullianna already turned on her heel and stormed out of the room, her tennis shoes squeaking against the floor.

“Sofía!” Fernando called after her, voice tinged with frustration and confusion. But she didn’t stop despite how many times Fernando called out for her.

Jullianna slumped into the St. Anthony’s face-to-face swing, letting her head fall back against the smooth wood. She exhaled sharply, crossing her arms over her chest, still reeling from what she had just learned. Fernando had proposed to Stephanie. Proposed. The word itself made her stomach churn.

This was worse than she and Sofia had imagined. They had time, or so they thought. But now, with a ring on Stephanie’s finger, the entire course of action had been changed—everything was moving too fast. Jullianna and Sofia had to quickly put their plan into motion if they even want to stop this wedding from happening, they need to act now. But there was only one viable solution: they had to get you and Fernando back together.

Jullianna was deep in thought, brainstorming ways to subtly, but not-so-subtly, bring you to Spain or maybe one of his races so that she and Sofia can just push you both back towards each other, when a sudden knock against the wooden frame of the swing had startled Jullianna. Her head snapped up, and saw Stephanie.

“Mind if I join you?” Stephanie asked, voice light and airy, as if she had just wandered into the garden without a care in the world.

Before Jullianna could even answer, Stephanie lowered herself onto the vacant seat of the swing, facing her directly. Jullianna barely stopped herself from grimacing, just looking at Stephanie made her want to barf.

Stephanie clasped her hands together, tilting her head slightly. “I can imagine how surprised you must have been by the engagement news.”

Jullianna forced a tight-lipped smile, words laced with passive aggression. “Oh, shock doesn’t even begin to cover it, honestly.”

Stephanie just chuckled, completely oblivious to the sharp edge in Jullianna’s tone. She relaxed herself on the seat, movements elegant and poised, as if this were just another casual afternoon chat. Forcing herself not to groan, Jullianna braced herself for whatever nonsense Stephanie was about to spew.

“You know,” Stephanie began, leaning slightly forward, “eleven is such a very wonderful age.”

Jullianna arched an eyebrow. What in the actual world does that have to do with any of this?

Stephanie smiled wistfully, as if she was reminiscing about something so precious. “When I was eleven, I had my first beau.” She let out a soft laugh, eyes sparkling with nostalgia.

“It was the first time I really started to feel like a woman.” she sighed dramatically. “That’s when I realized love was this fantastic, exhilarating mystery, one that takes a man and a woman on the most magical journey.”

Jullianna’s hand was tightly gripping the armrest of the swing, jaw now clenched, and resisting the great force of rolling her eyes. Oh, for the love of all things holy. She kept her expression neutral, pretending to listen, but internally, Jullianna was already pulling her hair out and screaming.

Stephanie continued, completely unaware of Jullianna’s growing irritation. “And believe it or not, you’ll understand that feeling soon,” she said with a knowing smile.

Jullianna just stared at Stephanie, fingers curled slightly now against her arms. She was not sure what was more annoying—Stephanie’s patronizing tone, or the fact that she spoke as if she had somehow unlocked the secrets of the universe. She certainly did not want to sit there, listening to this woman yap on about love like she was some kind of modern day Aristotle.

Before Stephanie could continue her sickly sweet monologue about love and magical journeys, Jullianna lifted a hand slightly, cutting Stephanie off.

“You know, I don’t want to sound all jerky or anything, because, from what I can tell, you’re trying really hard to be all mushy and sentimental.” she tilted her head slightly, letting her eyes linger on Stephanie’s with something close to amusement. “And I think I finally got it.”

Stephanie blinked, caught slightly off guard. “Get what, exactly?”

Jullianna leaned forward slightly, lips curling into a knowing smile. “What my papá sees in you.” she continued, voice still laced with that same passive aggressiveness, but now there was something else woven into it—a challenge. “You’re a beautiful woman. Sexy, even, and my papá? Well, he’s only human, after all.”

Stephanie’s lips parted slightly, but no words came out just yet. Jullianna’s smile widened just a little, though her eyes were sharp.

“But if you ask me, marriage is supposed to be based on something more, don’t you agree?” Jullianna let the question hang in the air for a moment before her smile turned almost innocent. “Something more than just…fornication. If you don’t know what fornication is, it means sex.”

Stephanie’s entire expression shifted. Gone was the light, airy persona. Her posture stiffened just slightly, and the sweetness in her eyes dimmed, now replaced with something sharper, something calculated. Jullianna didn’t flinch though, in fact, she was thoroughly enjoying every bit of it.

She smiled, but it was a whole lot different now. “Oh boy, your papá really underestimates you, doesn’t he?”

Jullianna let out a small, breathy chuckle. “Oh?” she mused, cocking her head slightly, as if intrigued. “And you don’t?”

Stephanie studied her closely, lips still curved, but her eyes darkened. Jullianna could feel it now—she was starting to get on Stephanie’s nerves. It was a beautiful sight and symphony for Jullianna. Good. People always tend to overlook her, underestimated her. People would assume that she was just a kid who did not know any better. She liked it that way. Because nothing thrilled Jullianna more than a good challenge, and judging by the way Stephanie was staring her down, she had just found herself a new one.

She then let out a light laugh, though there was no real humor behind it. Stephanie tilted her head slightly, her eyes narrowing just a bit as she studied Jullianna with thinly veiled annoyance.

“So what if I’m young and beautiful?” Stephanie mused, voice airy but carrying an undertone of sharpness. “Last time I checked, being young and beautiful isn’t a crime.”

Jullianna simply raised an eyebrow, keeping her smirk firmly in place, which only seemed to annoy the hell out of Stephanie even more.

“And for the record, I know what fornication means, thank you very much. I love your father, I adore him. Your father is exactly the kind of man I’ve always envisioned myself marrying. This—” she gestured between herself and Jullianna as if making some kind of grand declaration, “is the real deal, honey. Nothing, and I say nothing, is going to come between us.”

Jullianna barely blinked at Stephanie’s words. She just leaned back against the wooden swing, one arm lazily draped over the armrest, completely unbothered, and yawning out of boredom to piss off Stephanie more.

While Stephanie, on the other hand, was growing impatient. She leaned forward slightly, gaze piercing as she said, “you need to understand something, sweetheart. This is the reality now, you have to accept the fact that you’re no longer the only girl in Fernando Alonso’s life. You need to get over it.”

That did it. Jullianna’s lips curled into an even bigger smirk, one that was almost too smug, too knowing. It made Stephanie’s fingers twitch slightly, as if she were resisting the urge to wipe the expression right off her face. She leaned in slightly as well, resting her elbows on her knees as she stared Stephanie down.

“Oh? That’s the reality, huh?” she drawled, voice dripping with amusement.

Jullianna continued, her smirk never wavering. “So, just to be clear that we’re on the same page here, papá’s money has nothing to do with any of this? No part of you thinks that marrying him just so happens to come with a very very comfortable lifestyle?”

Stephanie’s expressions had immediately tightened, but she quickly schooled her features back into something neutral. “Are you insinuating that I’m marrying your father for his money?” she asked, feigning offense, though her voice was just a little too even to be genuine.

Jullianna simply shrugged, the smirk on her face never fading. “I’m not insinuating anything, but if that’s what you think, then feel free to think of such things,” she said innocently, though her eyes were gleaming with mischief. “I’m just saying, I’ve seen this in a film before. I mean, come on, I’ve watched cinderella more times than I can count.”

Stephanie’s brows furrowed slightly, unsure of where this was going. Jullianna sighed dramatically and shook her head. “And if this whole shazam isn’t about money, then great! But personally? I’d rather not end up scrubbing the floors and befriending the neighborhood birds while you have breakfast in bed, smiling down at me from your throne in papá’s house.”

Her entire face stiffened at what Jullianna just said, lips pressing together tightly as the words settled between them. For the first time in their entire conversation, Stephanie had no response at all, and that? That brought nothing but pure, unadulterated joy.

However, Stephanie’s entire demeanor changed the moment Jullianna’s words sank in. Her perfectly poised expression faltered, just for a second, before her brows furrowed and her lips pressed into a thin, irritated line. It was the exact reaction that Jullianna had been hoping for. She had successfully gotten under Stephanie’s skin, and now? Now she was really starting to see the cracks in the woman her father wanted to marry.

Stephanie inhaled sharply, composing herself before leaning forward again, but this time, her face was mere inches from Jullianna’s. She locked eyes with her, the intensity of her gaze enough to make most people shrink under the pressure. But not Jullianna.

“You are unbelievably out of line, jovencita,” Stephanie said in a low voice, tone dripping with controlled frustration.

Jullianna simply blinked up at her, her smirk never faltering. Stephanie exhaled through her nose, clearly trying to keep herself from snapping. Then, with slow precision, she spoke, enunciating each word carefully.

“Listen to me, and you listen good,” she began, voice dangerously soft. “I’m marrying your father whether you like it or not. So if I were you, I’d quit playing whatever little game you think you’re playing and stay out of my way.”

Jullianna raised an eyebrow, tilting her head slightly as if contemplating Stephanie’s words, but said nothing. Stephanie leaned more closer, voice dropping even more lower.

“You are way in over your head, sweetheart,” she continued, tone carrying a hint of condescension. “So I suggest you don’t tangle yourself up in things you clearly don’t understand.”

There was a heavy pause. Stephanie studied Jullianna’s face, waiting for some kind of reaction, for her to look intimidated, or at least acknowledge the warning, and Stephanie took Jullianna’s silence as an agreement, she leaned back on the swing, arm draping over the armrest.

Instead, Jullianna just smiled. Not a polite smile, not a nervous smile. But a slow, teasing, infuriating smirk. Then, she shrugged, Stephanie’s eye twitching. Before the woman could say another word, Jullianna stood up, stretching slightly as if this whole conversation had been nothing more than a mild inconvenience for her. Without a warning, she bent down so that she was now the one at Stephanie’s eye level.

“Je comprends parfaitement, Cruella.” she said smoothly. Stephanie blinked, momentarily caught off guard.

Jullianna smiled again, that same mischievous, knowing grin that had been pushing all of Stephanie’s buttons. Then, because Jullianna was still eleven after all, and feeling particularly childish, she blew raspberries right in Stephanie’s face, wherein the woman recoiled, visibly appalled. Jullianna giggled, straightening up before giving her soon-to-be stepmother a playful wink.

“Au revoir, Stéphanie,” she said cheerfully.

Jullianna turned on her heel and walked away, leaving the woman completely dumbfounded.

taglist : @qghosty , @seonghwaexile , @linnygirl09 , @tallrock35 , @madnesstaking0ver , @akulici , @scopeiguess , @ferakillia , @exactlycoralfox , @iambored24601 , @mx13sworld , @tibadi , @chainsawangel

[imhappierthanever]

hiii I was wondering if u could do a fic where Billie hates reader then Billie finds out that reader has an abusive boyfriend at a party by one of readers friends and Billie and readers boyfriend get into a fight ( because Billie actually cares about reader ) at his house and reader walks in and the boyfriend ends up hitting reader , the ending is yourssss !! (Also I don’t know if this makes much sense .. )

hi bb! Hope this is what you wanted!

heartbreaks & earthquakes

Another weekend, another party you didn’t want to be at. Your boyfriend was throwing another party which meant he would be drinking and you would end up being at the other end of his anger. 

You locked yourself in the bathroom, looking in the mirror at the new reminder of how much you needed to leave him.  A fresh new mark on your face that you couldn’t hide very well. You gently ran your fingers over it, wincing slightly at the pain before searching through your purse to find something to make it seem a little less obvious. 

You could just tell someone you ran into something if they asked you thought to yourself as you put some makeup over it, and made your way back to the party, passing Billie along the way. You noticed she was talking with one of your friends. Though you couldn’t imagine what they must have been talking about. You didn’t know Billie very well. You always thought she kinda hated you, so you never took the time to really get to know her. 

When your friend noticed your sad expression, she excused herself from Billie and joined you on the balcony. 

“So, what did he do this time?” Your friend asked. Knowing he was always up to something.

“It’s nothing!” You said shying away, trying to hide the bruise further with your hair. She lifted your head, eying your rather shit cover up job, and tear stained face. “You know, he can’t keep doing this to you. One day he’s really going to hurt you! I’m not trying to tell you what to do, I just want to help you. Make sure you’re okay. You deserve better than this.” Your friend said seriously, hoping that this time you would actually leave him. But before you could even respond, shouting from two familiar voices filled a nearby space. 

“Oh shit!” Your friend said. “I may have told Billie that your boyfriend is a complete ass!” “You did what?” You shouted racing off to go find them. Not sure what was to come of it. But you knew enough to know if Billie got involved, your boyfriend didn’t stand a good chance.

Once you found them, they were in the middle of a heated argument about you. You couldn’t understand seeing as how you had become your boyfriend’s punching bag, and Billie? She just didn’t like you or care. 

You stepped in the middle of them, pushing them both apart. “Stop it you two!” You said continuing to stand in the middle of them both. “Gonna let your girlfriend fight for you? Even after all the shit you put her through?” Billie spat, trying to move you out of the way. 

“She’s my girlfriend. And that means I can do whatever I want, anytime I want” he said wrapping an arm around your shoulders. “We’re fine,Billie. Really we are. You can go back to the party. Thank you for wanting to help.” 

You gave her a weak smile before she took one last look at both of you, heading for the door. But before she could even leave fully, she heard the sound of his fist hitting your face. Billie froze, taking in the moment before she walked back over to your boyfriend returning the favour. She knocked him to the ground, leaving him spitting up blood. 

“You’re never putting your hands on her again. And if you even try, you’ll have me to deal with. Got it?” She said ever so seriously. Her voice had lowered, eyes darkened. That beautiful blue turning icy. You realised you knew her even less in this moment, but also you didn’t care as you felt her hand slip into yours, leading you away from your boyfriend and back to the bathroom where you felt like you were spending most of the party. 

“Hop up on the counter pretty girl.” Billie said, shutting the door behind you, standing in between your legs. Her face was dangerously close to yours as she examined the damage. 

Wait..did she just call you-

She broke your thoughts when her ring clad fingers held your chin softly to get a better look. “Looks like he got you pretty good. “ she said looking at your eye, knowing it would be bruised in a matter of hours. 

“Billie.” You ask, questioning her actions. “Why did you do that? Why did you stand up for me out there?” You asked wincing from both the old pain and new mixing together. She didn’t answer you as she rummaged through the medicine cabinet finding an ice pack and placing it over your eye.

“You’ve never cared before. What’s changed?” You asked feeling strange as you let her take care of you.  “And now I’m pretty to you? You’re so fu-“

Before you could finish, she lifted your chin and placed her lips softly on yours, kissing you so sweetly, so tenderly you couldn’t believe it was actually happening. 

When she pulled away, your eyes were still closed, taking in the moment, hearing her speak finally.

“I’ve always had feelings for you. But you’ve always been with someone else. Always a guy. I just never thought I had a chance. So I tried to act like I didn’t care. But I do. And when I heard what he was doing to you, and saw for myself I couldn’t let him keep don’t that to you. You deserve so much better. You deserve to be with someone who appreciates you and cares. Someone who would be happy to call you their own.” 

You couldn’t believe she was saying this. And to you. Your head was swimming, confusion consuming your every thought as her eyes returned to that beautiful ocean blue. Could you ever see yourself being with Billie? You didn’t know. But as she cared for you, tending to your eye and staying with you to make sure you felt safe, you felt your heart swell at the kindness she was showing you. 

You could give her a chance, couldn’t you? You thought as she lead you away from the party, leaving the loud music, sweaty bodies and him behind. She helped you into her car and drove you home. Still making sure you felt okay enough to be on your own. 

You both stood on your porch. Billie rocked back and forth on her feet, her hands in her pockets as she nervously began to speak again.

“I can um.. come in with you. Make sure you’re alright.” She said meting your gaze. She really was quite beautiful you thought to yourself as you cupped her face with one of your hands, pulling her in for a kiss. 

“I would like that. And maybe just maybe you could stay too?” You said smiling softly, secretly hoping she wouldn’t turn you down. Ans she didn’t. She nodded shyly, letting you grab her hand and lead you inside. 

Truthfully you didn’t know what was between you. You didn’t even know if it had been a good idea. But you both knew what ever kind of relationship you and your boyfriend once had, it was over new. Billie was your new beginning and the possibilities of being with her seemed endless as you shut the door behind you, welcoming her into your space and into your heart. 

[ladysomething]

✄ for wygig please 💞

✄ DVD BONUS: pick a fic and I’ll describe or write a deleted scene!

actually!!! I now have a DOCUMENT with deleted scenes lmaooo.

one of them is absolutely huge, and it was originally supposed to be in the chapter where Max is in Milton Keynes. he runs into a pregnant omega in a restaurant and helps her get back on her feet. it's a really lovely scene, but was ultimately cut bc it added absolutely nothing to the story, HOWEVER I have it set aside because I'm going to repurpose it as a one shot eventually!

but here are parts that I cut from the most recent chapter.

when I originally this part, the necklace gifting and courting discussion was in like 5 chapters time, and I ultimately cut the below because ... well, there was less time between them getting together and the courting talk, so it no longer made sense.

“Do you think we fight too much?” Charles asks, reaching up to touch the pendant that’s now resting between his pecs. 

“We never fight,” Max says dismissively. 

Charles laughs. “Max, we disagree about everything. Our miscommunication is ridiculous at this point. Every time I think we have it under control, there’s just another thing we have to figure out.” 

Max drops his hands. Charles turns back around, feeling warm and happy despite the conversation he’s brought up. 

“I don’t think it’s a problem,” Max says eventually. “Because I—because we work through them, right?” 

Charles gives him a small smile, finger caressing where the two circles interlock. “Right,” he agrees softly. 

“I love you,” Max murmurs. “More than—more than anything. But there are always going to be things we disagree on. And I’m not keeping secrets purposefully.” 

“You have a couple times,” Charles says. “About what the other alphas in the paddock were saying. About what you were going to do about them.” 

Max purses his lips. “I’m working on it,” he says eventually. “I’ve never had a—a person before. A partner. Someone who would want to know, or who I could trust with it.” 

Charles softens, and reaches out to take Max’s hand in his own. “Me either,” he admits. “But I want this to work, Max. So much.” 

“I do, too,” Max says, squeezing his hand back. “It’s only been a few weeks since we—since the yacht. We’ll figure this out together.” 

this next scene was also part of the chapter, and was literally included until about an hour before I posted the chapter. actually, fun fact, that scene also changed WILDLY at the last minute - all that talk about deciding to properly court and get married and return the claim was added on the day of posting lmaooo. the below is how the scene originally ended (basically max gave the gift, Charles got mad, max tried to take the gifts away, Charles got mad about that too, and then Charles told Max that courting means nothing to him and that he doesn't want to do it, and then they left it at that, and then when Charles went to kiss Max the below conversation happened).

probably I'll end up repurposing that final line from Charles, because it's good and worth saying.

“Just—before we do,” he says, a little nervously. “To be clear, this time. What do you think we are?” 

“You’re my—” He breaks off, unsure what to say. Boyfriend sounds stupid. Partner, maybe. Mate? Except, technically, Charles is his mate, but Max isn’t Charles’. Eventually, he settles on, “You’re my Max. You’re mine.” 

A slow smile creeps up Max’s face. “I am yours,” he swears. “And you’re mine?” 

“I am,” Charles says, a smile blooming wide on his own lips. “Entirely, completely, in every way you can think of.”  

[darlingdaisyfarm]

You know I've been meaning to ask.. is everything okay? I mean your pfp is blank. I understand you're uploading, but I also want to make sure you're okay

idk if i have some mental connection with you, anon, because how else i can explain that you sent this ask right when i felt so bad??? but yeah i should really put a pfp, i just can’t choose the right pic and at same time im lazy….

honestly i promised myself i wouldn’t vent online and irl because i don’t wanna be annoying or be the kind of person people get tired of. but i guess i just feel emotional rn sorry again

well 2025 kinda kicked me in the face already LMAO, it already reminded me that some people will always pick someone else and some things are just not meant to be yours. i just got reminded once again that i’m super replaceable to person i really loved and cared about. so now im realising that i was just there to pass the time until they found smth better, someone better. and they did, they did and that’s just unfair for me, i literally loved this person for 10 years and that's how i ended up

not exactly the fresh start i was hoping for lol

been feeling like a ghost in my own life lately so i guess i made this blog to just be somewhere, to talk to people, to share things i love, to feel like i exist in some small way. to find friends? idk. sometimes i wonder if i’m just taking up space here, but deleting this blog feels dramatic so whatever. although i thought bout this a lot and still think about it, but i guess im just being... yeah, dramatic, i mean i am, ive been told. so, i don't know, deleting feels rude ? and i don’t wanna be rude, i hate being rude :( i still hesitate every time i post though. and i don’t want to be that person who craves reassurance but damn, it gets lonely and im embarrassed to even say that rn

+ last year drained me so much that i couldn’t even start anything for a whole month. its about my work, i just felt stuck, exhausted before i even tried. things are getting better now with my work, though. it’s actually tied to people and honestly, i love that?? i mean, i love people very much. in general. so whenever i meet someone kind or understanding in my work, it lifts my mood

but when it comes to writing or fics, i feel like i’m always fighting myself. actually i enjoy writing, ive been writing since… 14? 13? so i try, i push through, but nothing ever feels right lately. i don’t know if it’s just a phase or if this is how it’s always going to be. why i always feel like i could’ve done better or that maybe i shouldn’t have posted at all

anyways….. i don’t usually post stuff like this. i really don’t want to be like this, i hate sounding so negative, i really do. i promised myself i wouldn’t. i usually just keep things to myself, but you seemed like you genuinely cared, sweetheart and i figured i might as well be honest, i appreciate your worry! thank u sm angel! ♡

[pedrosgrogu]

Born Too Late - Chapter 13

pairing/au: neighbor!joel x reader // no outbreak

Warnings: so much fucking angst it literally isnt funny. soft!joel

Summary: You're embarking on a journey of self discovery. Of things that make YOU feel good. Like setting boundaries, and getting your dream job! But that means leaving Sarah, and Joel. You actively don't think about it, until you have to. (1.7k+)

a/n: okay so shoutout to @frankensteingotwet because their vision literally inspired this chapter. ive been so down the dumps w this fic because of many reasons and im so sorry this took so long. but, if you've stuck around this long, this ones for you too. leave a like or a comment or a reblog, they mean the world. love u all bunches xoxoxo ps still figuring out writing from other POVs and boarders. :P bear with me pps didnt proof this so sorry for any errors :/

Chapter 12 - Masterlist - Chapter 14 (coming soon)

boarders: @evansyhelp

It’s been a few months since the fallout with Joel and things are relatively the same. Every so often there's muffins on the porch or you bring Sarah home, but you leave his spare key under the flowerpot and you don’t go out of your way to speak to him. 

You try to tell yourself you’re healing. You tell yourself that in order to heal you need to take more time. More time to think, more time to find yourself. But what you’ve actually done is build a wall. A wall so tall and so thick that not even the Romans themselves could conquer it. A wall so strong that a meteor would barely scratch its surface. 

But despite that big ass wall, you’re trying to get back out there. You’re trying to fix the shit that you didn’t even break. Trying to be better for yourself. You’ve gone on a handful of dates but none of them made it past the first one. The first guy, Bryan, wouldn’t shut the fuck up about how damaged he was from his ex, and the second guy, Carter, didn’t talk at all. The third? You don’t even remember his name because he didn’t show. Or at least you don't think he did. You sat alone at the bar 15 minutes past when he was supposed to get there before you blocked his number and left. Men these days make you want to become a fucking nun. 

Work is fine, and you still occasionally bring Sarah home but don’t stick around for casual conversation. You don't ask how he is or about his recent jobs. You decline many coffee invitations, and leave little room for misinterpretation. You might be trying to get back out there, but not with him. 

The more you think about your relationship(?) with Joel, you want to smack yourself. It’s like you had red fucking glasses on and couldn’t see the flags. But you were no saint either, which is why you don’t think it will ever work. There's too much shit that you both did that screams “WE ARE SO TOXIC, ESPECIALLY TO EACH OTHER!” 

Your most recent life development has been preparing to take the middle school social studies Praxis exam, your dream job. And you’ve told no one. Not even Penny. Again, “protecting your peace” or whatever self-help journey you think you’re on. 

After months of studying, you take the Praxis. And you pass. With flying fucking colors. Your excitement can’t be contained and you call Penny. She answers after 2 rings. 

“My sweet Yellow!! How are you?!” she basically screams into the phone. 

“So good Pen. You have no idea!” you pause, barely able to get the words out. 

“I passed my test! My test to teach middle school social studies-”

“SHUT THE FUCK UP!” She screams so loud you have to pull the phone away from your ear. 

“I THOUGHT YOU WERE GOING TO SEE HOW ELEMENTARY WAS? REGARDLESS.. AHHHH!! YELLOW I'M SO EXCITED FOR YOU!!” 

“I know I know!! I considered it but I really want a change, and I want it now. I think it’ll be good for me. I'm even considering taking a position at the charter school which means I’ll have to possibly move so I'm not driving a borderline 40 minutes to work everyday but I'm excited.” you say, feeling like this is the first right decision you’ve made since you moved here. 

“You know I support you, no matter what. But…” she trails off

“Spit it out Pen. You’re making me nervous.” You say, chuckling in both joy and anxiety. 

“But… I’ll be moving back at the end of July. I'm going to finish my doctorate at UT Austin. I love Ireland so much but with everything going on at home with moms health and being far from my friends, I just think it's time for me to come home.” she says, more cheery than you’d expect. 

“I haven't really figured out the logistics yet, but I’ll definitely be back. I found an apartment that's about halfway between my moms and campus.” 

You speak lightly, empathy lining every word. “Oh Pen, I'm so sorry. I know how much Ireland means to you.” 

“Hey, I got all my clinical shit done so really all that's left is my dissertation. But I’ve got to finish some stuff up here before I head out for the evening. I'm so glad you called. We have so much to catch up on. I'll text you, and we can schedule something, kay? I love ya. Soooooo so much.” 

“I love you too Pen!” you say, clicking the phone shut. 

You accept the position at the charter school and inform your current school that you won’t be returning. It feels like a weight off your chest, knowing that you’ll soon be in a new town miles and miles from here. But your stomach churns at the thought of having to tell Joel, having to tell Sarah. Be away from Sarah. From Joel. But you’re healing. You’re getting the fuck over it. 

The rest of the school year flies by. Everyday is like the last. Wake up, go to work, take Sarah home occasionally and avoid small talk with Joel, maybe eat, sleep, repeat. You browse newspapers and websites for homes to rent, not finding anything worth calling about. You start to worry the closer to July you get but push it to the back of your mind.

With one week of school left, your kids are beyond done. They’re so mentally checked out from school it's like having 23 little zombies everyday. On the last day, you receive that same “Hey works running late, can you hang with Sarah?” text from Joel and the answer is always the same bland “Of course!”. 

You guys jam out to Sum 41 on the way home and do all the basics; homework, some version of spa day, dinner, and a movie. 

You both fall asleep on the couch watching Freaky Friday, and don’t even notice Joel come in. Sarah is splayed across the couch, her head using your thigh as a pillow and her feet hanging off the edge. You have your hand sitting on her head, fingers nestled in her hair like she's a baby needing the external stimuli to fall asleep. 

*Joel's POV*

Things never really changed after that last conversation, and her words play in Joel’s head like a broken record, stuck skipping on the same groove over and over. “Joel, respectfully, you were an ass to me the day we met. You don’t treat someone you care about this much, like that”. It makes him want to punch a wall every goddamn time he thinks about it, because she's right. He was an ass.  

But on that night, the night on her porch, he was vulnerable. Soft. Like a butterfly on its first day out of the cocoon. But her blinds never opened back up. And she never took the key, never accepted coffee dates, and never stuck around for banter after Sarah was asleep. It hit him like a ton of fucking bricks everytime he saw her. 

Especially when he saw her leave at night in mini-skirts and heels, knowing that someone else was getting to see her. Getting to touch her porcelain skin. Kiss her strawberry lips. Run their fingers through her walnut colored locks. It made him spiral, but she said she needed space. But how much space is too much? How much before she's gone for good? He wishes he knew. But for now, even just seeing you for 5 minutes when he gets home late will be enough. It has to be. 

It’s been months and he’s trying to accept the new normal. But when he comes home and Sarah is splayed across the couch with head in your lap and your fingers tangled in her coils, it shoots a wave of pain and agony through his once strong body. His eyes overflowed at the sight. How could he fuck up something so goddamn perfect? Despite anything you ever did, it would never compare to the shit he put you through. He felt like he was drowning, and needed to calm himself down. He quietly sneaks off to his bathroom and tries to wash away the negative thoughts running rampant through his mind. 

He throws on some sweatpants and a t-shirt, combing his chocolate curls from his eyes. Walking out, his steps echo through the house. The TV must've auto shut off and the only sound heard is the hum of the refrigerator mixed with the soft snores of his 2 favorite girls. He dreads having to disturb either of you. You both look so peaceful, holding onto each other like your lives depend on it. He rubs his thumb across your cheek, soft as not to wake you. Knowing it would only cause more turmoil. He sighs, scooping Sarah off your lap. You barely stir, mumbling softly as Joel carries Sarah to her room. He comes back and you’re burrowed into the couch, your hair covering your eyes. 

*Readers POV*

“Hey” Joel whispers, standing over you, but you don’t move. 

He crouches down so he's now eye level with her “Sweet girl, I’m home” 

“Yellow? You gotta wake up. Sarahs already in bed.” He says, a little louder this time, rubbing your shoulder, your skin so hot it makes him feel like he’s going up in flames. His heart is full of desire, and regret. 

You stir, eyes crinkling open. “Hey Joel. Where’s Sarah?” your voice groggy and light. His heart melting at the mere sound of it. 

“I took her to bed, ya both were knocked out on the couch.” he says, flashing you a quick smile. 

She stretches, becoming more conscious as the seconds pass. 

And then it hits you. The thought of having to tell Joel that you’re moving makes your stomach churn, but it needs to be done. You want him to have time to arrange her transportation next year. 

“Joel?” you ask, your mouth salivating because of how nauseous you are.. “Can we talk?” you say, sitting up. 

“Always. I actually need to ask you something too.” He sits beside you, but not too close. His honey brown eyes meeting yours, looking at you rather than through you. 

You both sit in silence, just staring. And almost as if the same spit it out bug bites you both in the ass at the same damn time,

“I’m moving.” “Can you keep Sarah for me some days this summer?” 

And a singular tear rolls down Joel’s cheek.