#i'm not taking any of this with me when i move out. why keep it

[zyafics-recs]

reblogging comment review from @zyafics

guess who has to be studying for another exam but instead she needs to catch up on this fic? (this girl) little annotations below ⬇️

Or the next. You couldn’t. Every time you picked up one of the stupid boxes, your heart would drop to the pits of hell and your hands would start sweating. You’d shove it back in the drawer like it could disappear if you just ignored it hard enough.

manifest it girlypop

What if it was positive? Then what? The thought of seeing his name pop up on your phone after you blocked him, or worse, hearing her voice if she picked up...you’d rather die. He didn't deserve to know.

i eat up any scenes where she wants nothing to do with him and he barges into her life and finds out all the things he's been missing out? the angst of not being able to go backward in time no matter how much you regret it

You heard that voice in your head, the one that sounded like your mom, at least what you remembered from watching old videos.

i would burst out in tears

Your younger cousin, Topper the bitching backstabber, had been born and raised in Los Angeles before he moved to Figure 8 when he was five. 

i was like why r we bringing up topper's bitch ass here and then i realized it to put in a frame of reference that she couldn't possibly know topper's birth bc he moved to kildare later. i just thought reader needed to put in a quick jab about topper 😭

You weren’t exactly the picture of health. What if you weren’t strong enough? What if something went wrong, and you ended up in a hospital bed, alone, because Rafe sure as fuck wouldn’t be there. It was just you.

i love the spiral of madness. i'm reading (and analyzing) it and i'm so so amazed by how ur structure descends. it flows so smoothly - from one topic to the next - all at a great pace and with a lot of internal turmoil. it builds up to me feeling everything reader feels.

It hit you just how ironic this was. You were sitting here, freaking out about being possibly pregnant, scrolling through nightmare stories about abortion and pregnancy complications, while Lily was talking about a fundraiser for children’s health. Kids. It felt like some twisted repulsive joke the universe was playing on you.

ugh, i love the parallels between her being (potentially) pregnant and the idea that she has to wrap her life around this foundation for children.

The fucking nerve. To your gala. Your blood boiled instantly, your fingers gripping the phone so tight you almost cracked the screen.

i love her i feel like she inches closer to insanity every day and i, too, feel the same

If Rafe wanted to play games, you’d ruin his life if you had to. He thought he could fuck you over, leave you with all this—leave you with nothing? No. You weren’t going to let him have that power.

like i said

You were shaking now, but it almost felt good. Even if it was just a stupid guest list. Let him find out when he got there and there was no table for him. No seat. No fucking room. 

BABES 😭 YOU'RE CARRYING HIS CHILD oh this is too good, the idea that she wants to erase him from her life and leave no space for him (mind), but her body is accommodating spacefor his child, making her reserve a permanent space for him in her life

Every year. He’d sit with you while you struggled through every word, telling you it was okay to take your time, reminding you that you didn’t have to do it if you didn’t want to. And when the gala came, he was always by your side, standing just off stage, waiting for you after the speech was done. You’d run into his arms, and he’d whisper that you 'did great baby', holding you until the room stopped spinning so much.

i fear i would crash out if i am currently stressed with the idea of being pregnant and remembering my ex bf and remembering my lost parents

If he thought you were weak, if he thought he could break you, if he thought you were the same girl who used to cling to him like he was the only thing keeping you together—he was wrong.You were going to do this without him.

my boss baby!!!

There was a sigh on the other end, the sound of him trying to not to lose his patentience, like he was the one in the right here. Typical Topper. Always wanting to smooth things over, play peacemaker between you and Rafe, like this was just another fight you’d get over.

topper, in the words of reader, a bitching BACKSTABBER

“Maybe what? That he could swoop in and save the day?” You let out a bitter laugh. “He’s not your golden boy, Top. He doesn’t fix anything. He ruins things.”

ugh i love ur dialogues sosososo much

You were having a meltdown, and he’d stepped in, like he always did when you went off the rails. That was the problem with him—he cared, even when you didn’t want him to. He was family, the only family you had left, and he was too loyal for his own good.

so fuck his parents then ig

You sat down, staring at the stick in your hand. This was insane. You were insane. Who the fuck took a pregnancy test ten minutes before they’re supposed to host a charity gala? 

apparently me

There it was.

+

💌 — aaaaaaaaaa, i'm so glad i waited until after my exam to read this and truly experience the gift of ur writing. i love the juxtaposition and parallels in this scene! especially with her deleting rafe from the gala's list, erasing space from him in her life, but having his child grow inside of her. i love love how she has to have a gala for children—and crippling over the current dilemma of whether she has a child herself. and i love that she's very isolated in a sense, because it amplifies how this child can truly make or break her. topper was so enjoyable—especially their conversation. u always write dialogues so smoothly!! honestly, i thought this scene would end with rafe showing up unannounced at the gala, haha but ig we'll see in next chapter

LOVED YOU AT YOUR WORST - r.c series - TWO

pairings: ex!sweethearts; rafe x thornton!reader; rafe x sofia. chapter warnings: mentions of possible pregnancy, of abortion, of pregnancy risks & death. self-loathing. chapter one

You lied.

You didn’t take the tests the next day.

Or the next. You couldn’t. Every time you picked up one of the stupid boxes, your heart would drop to the pits of hell and your hands would start sweating. You’d shove it back in the drawer like it could disappear if you just ignored it hard enough.

Once you knew, you knew. 

There was no more pretending as if nothing happened.

No more pretending like you didn't care that Rafe moved on like he didn’t just dump you, with no real closure and ran to the next girl he found. 

Fuck, why did he have to look so happy that night? He got to be carefree, living his perfect little life with her, and you were there, sitting on the bathroom floor, too scared to even pee on a stick.

What if it was positive? Then what? The thought of seeing his name pop up on your phone after you blocked him, or worse, hearing her voice if she picked up...you’d rather die. He didn't deserve to know.

He didn't deserve anything from you anymore.

You started googling abortion clinics before you even touched the tests. You could afford it. That wasn’t even the issue.

You had more money than you knew what to do with. Your inheritance was just sitting there. You could book a flight tomorrow, pay for whatever procedure, whatever it took—fly out of state, out of the country, if you had to. 

But that wasn’t the point. It has never been about the money. It was the overwhelming shame. The fear. The realization that Rafe might have left you, but he was still there, stuck in your head, in your body, in your fucking life. Even when he wasn’t.  

He didn’t have to worry about any of this. He was most likely out on the boat, not even thinking about you. Not thinking about what he did to you. 

And you— you were left with this. Sitting on a bathroom floor for hours a day, trying to figure out how you were supposed to make a decision that changed everything.

You started looking up clinics again, scrolling through the options, but your mind was barely even there. It was legal in North Carolina for now, but you read something about the 12-week ban they passed in June, and suddenly you were spiraling one more time, wondering how much time you even had. 

Could you wait? Could you put it off like you’d been putting off the tests, like if you waited long enough, maybe the problem would just... disappear? Shit, wouldn’t that be easier?

You heard that voice in your head, the one that sounded like your mom, at least what you remembered from watching old videos.

It was depressing how life didn’t let you hold tightly to your memories sometimes. She always reminded you of the kind of person you were supposed to be. The type of girl who had her shit together. The type of girl who didn’t get herself into situations like this, in the first place.

But instead, you were the girl who lost everything—the life you were supposed to have—and somehow, you’d still found a way to screw up what was left.

You kept scrolling like you couldn’t stop.

One page led to another, and soon you weren’t just looking up clinics—you were looking up everything. 

What happened during the procedure, how long it took, the side effects, the complications. You read horror stories about infections, about women who thought it was over and then bled for weeks, about people who changed their minds too late.

You even looked up what could happen if you didn’t get an abortion—what pregnancy could do to your body. And that was a whole other rabbit hole you didn’t need to go down. Your body changing, your hormones going insane. You thought about your boobs getting sore, your stomach stretching, the possibility of throwing up every morning, and it felt like your body was already betraying you. And then you read the serious stuff—gestational diabetes, preeclampsia, all these words you didn’t even know existed before that night. There was a minefield of things that could go wrong, things that would go wrong.

Complications. Risks. Dangers.

You read about women who almost died in labor. About miscarriages and stillbirths and the trauma of carrying a baby for months, only to lose it. You never even thought about that, how pregnancy wasn’t just this smooth, magical process people make it out to be. It was brutal. But you’d been the little sister, you never saw your mother go through it, or anyone for that matter.

Your younger cousin, Topper the bitching backstabber, had been born and raised in Los Angeles before he moved to Figure 8 when he was five. 

You were terrified—not just of being pregnant, but of what it meant to stay pregnant. Would your body even handle it? You’d always lived off coffee and takeout half the time. An unreasonable amout of parties. Too many drinks some nights.

You weren’t exactly the picture of health. What if you weren’t strong enough? What if something went wrong, and you ended up in a hospital bed, alone, because Rafe sure as fuck wouldn’t be there. It was just you.

For a second there, you thought you might pass out.

You’d thrown your phone across the room, it hit the wall with a thud, but it didn’t help. The anxiety was still there, vibrating under your skin, making you want to scream. You glanced at the bathroom drawer again, where the pregnancy tests were hidden like some cursed thing.

Maybe you should’ve just taken one.

Rip off the bandaid.

The stupid phone rang, like was having fun pissing you off, vibrating on the floor where you’d thrown it. You stared at it for a second, debating if you should even pick it up. You didn’t feel like dealing with anyone, especially not whoever was about to ask something from you.

But it kept ringing, and of course, it was a number you recognized—Lily, one of the coordinators from your dad’s foundation. Shit. You forgot about the gala. Again. The one that was happening in two freaking days, the one you haven’t even thought about preparing for.

You swiped to answer, “Yeah?”

“Hey, I didn’t want to bother you, but we need to go over the final details for the gala,” She greeted you, sounding way too perky for how you were feeling. “I really need your input on the seating arrangements, and the auction items, and—”

It hit you just how ironic this was. You were sitting here, freaking out about being possibly pregnant, scrolling through nightmare stories about abortion and pregnancy complications, while Lily was talking about a fundraiser for children’s health. Kids. It felt like some twisted repulsive joke the universe was playing on you.

You blinked back into the conversation, realizing she still talking, and you hadn’t said a word. “Uh, yeah, sorry. I’ve been busy. Can you just handle it?” you muttered, feeling guilty but not enough to actually deal with any of it.

“I’ve already taken care of most things,” she said carefully, “but we really need your approval on the final guest list and the speech. You’re the face of the foundation, after all.”

The face of the foundation. The legacy your dad left you. It was supposed to be this huge responsibility. And it was. You’d always taken it seriously. The one thing in your life you never ruined. But this year, you hadn’t written the speech yet. Jesus, you forgot it was even happening. And the guest list? No clue.

You rubbed your forehead, “I’ll look at it later. Just send it over.”

Lily hesitated again, probably sensing that something was off, you'd always been a control freak. “Okay, I’ll email it to you. Just let me know by tomorrow, alright?”

“Yeah, sure.”

You hung up before she could add anything else, staring at the ceiling. One more thing. One more responsibility piled on top of everything else. You were drowning in all these expectations—being the good daughter to dead parents, the responsible one, the perfect kook girl who was supposed to have everything. You were supposed to be the girl who had the trust fund, the perfect life, the foundation that helped kids in need.

You earned to be her.

Your phone buzzed again, this time with an email notification. You rolled your eyes, already knowing it was from Lily. She’d sent over the guest list, and you groaned, thinking you’d skim it, give it a half-assed glance, and send it back. But as you scrolled down the names, you stopped.

Rafe Cameron.

Of course, he was going to be there. Why wouldn’t he? His family had been involved in your dad’s foundation for years. It was like you couldn’t escape him.

The fucking nerve. To your gala. Your blood boiled instantly, your fingers gripping the phone so tight you almost cracked the screen.

Fuck him. 

If he thought he could just show up and rub his new life in your face, he had another thing coming. Without thinking twice, you deleted his name, erasing him like he didn’t even exist. And then, without checking another name, you sent the list back to Lily.

You didn’t give a shit if it was petty. You didn’t care if it wasn’t professional.

If Rafe wanted to play games, you’d ruin his life if you had to. He thought he could fuck you over, leave you with all this—leave you with nothing? No. You weren’t going to let him have that power.

Not over this. Not over you.

You were shaking now, but it almost felt good. Even if it was just a stupid guest list. Let him find out when he got there and there was no table for him. No seat. No fucking room. 

You still sat there staring at the screen with that stupid blinking cursor. The email from Lily sat open in front of you, and somewhere buried in the list of attachments was the speech. Blank.

Your speech—the one you were supposed to read at the gala in two days. The one you hadn’t even started writing.

This was always the hardest part. Writing it. Saying it. You used to cry every time. Standing in front of all those people, talking about your dad, your family, how the foundation was this beautiful way of keeping their memory alive. It was never just a speech—it was like ripping your heart out of your chest and letting everyone see it, year after year. It never got easier.

But Rafe, used to be there with you.

Every year. He’d sit with you while you struggled through every word, telling you it was okay to take your time, reminding you that you didn’t have to do it if you didn’t want to. And when the gala came, he was always by your side, standing just off stage, waiting for you after the speech was done. You’d run into his arms, and he’d whisper that you 'did great baby', holding you until the room stopped spinning so much.

You could still hear his voice in your head sometimes, 'you’re stronger than you think'.

That’s what he always said, even when you didn’t believe it. He’d hold you, kiss your forehead, and make you feel like it was true, like you really could get through it. He was always so sure of you. But this year? He wasn’t going to be there. He’d stop believing the lies he fed you. You were angry. You were seething. You were utterly alone.

You’d been avoiding this moment—writing.

This time around, it wasn’t just about the speech. It was about the fact that when you walked out of that stage, you wouldn’t have him waiting for you.

You’d step down into nothingness, with no one to catch you.

Your fingers hovered over the screen, but they wouldn’t move. What were you even supposed to say this year? How were you supposed to stand up in front of all those people and talk about love and family and legacy when yours was shattered?

You hated looking at yourself in the mirror, feeling like you’d lost every single piece of who you used to be.

Fuck the speech. Fuck the gala. Fuck Rafe Cameron and his stupid lies, his stupid smile, his stupid promises that he never kept.  

If he thought you were weak, if he thought he could break you, if he thought you were the same girl who used to cling to him like he was the only thing keeping you together—he was wrong.

You were going to do this without him.

You were going to stand up there and give that speech, no matter how much it hurt. And if it killed you, so be it. You’d still do it.

Because unlike him, you didn’t just walk away from the things that mattered. Even if it tore you apart. Even if it was killing you to keep pretending like you were fine. You weren’t fine. But you’d fake it. You’d fake it until the whole world believed it. 

You’d barely hit send on the email when your phone rang again, and this time it wasn’t Lily.

It was Topper. You hadn’t talked to him since that night—the night. The party where you’d found out, where you’d seen Rafe and Sofia together for the first time. Where you realized that everyone knew.

How he’d called Rafe over, like you needed him to fix it, like he was still yours to rely on.

“What?”

“Hey…” Topper’s voice was cautious, “I, uh, I wanted to call and apologize for the other night.”

You snorted, leaning your head back against the wall. “Yeah? For what part? For calling Rafe like his little bitch or for getting in front of my car when I was trying to leave?”

“I didn’t mean to fuck things up. I was just trying to stop you from doing something stupid.”

“Like what?” you snapped. “Leaving the party? Getting out of there before I had to watch him with her for one more second? Yeah, Top, real dumb of me.”

“You almost ran me over,” Topper shot back, his voice rising just a little, like he was offended you hadn’t mentioned that part. “Kinda felt like maybe you weren’t thinking straight.”

“You jumped in front of the car you fucking idiot. What the hell did you expect me to do? Slam on the brakes and listen to whatever bullshit you and Rafe had to say? Because trust me, ’m all out of patience for either of you.”

There was a sigh on the other end, the sound of him trying to not to lose his patentience, like he was the one in the right here. Typical Topper. Always wanting to smooth things over, play peacemaker between you and Rafe, like this was just another fight you’d get over.

He never really got it.

“Look,” Your cousin started, calmer this time, “I didn’t mean to call him. I just thought—”

“You always think calling him will fix things,” you cut in, “Like he’s the answer to every problem I have. He’s not. Not anymore.”

“I get that,” He added quickly, like he was afraid you’d hang up. “But I didn’t know what else to do! You were upset, and I thought maybe—”

“Maybe what? That he could swoop in and save the day?” You let out a bitter laugh. “He’s not your golden boy, Top. He doesn’t fix anything. He ruins things.”

Topper went quiet for a second, probably trying to figure out how to respond without setting you off on an angry rant again. “I get it,” he said finally, “You’re pissed at him. You have every right to be. But I didn’t call him to hurt you, okay? I was worried about you.”

You hated how genuine he sounded, hated that he meant well. He was a nuisance half of the time, sure, but he wasn’t malicious. He never was. He just had terrible judgment. 

“Next time, don’t,” you muttered, rubbing a hand over your face. “I don’t need you playing little brother and calling him when things go wrong."

“I wasn’t trying to clean anything up,” Topper explained, a little defensive now. “I just didn’t want you driving like that. You were upset.”

You rolled your eyes. “Upset doesn’t mean I need you or Rafe deciding what’s best for me. I’m not a kid.”

“You’re not,” he agreed, “But you weren’t exactly in a great headspace, so yeah, I stopped you. I wasn’t gonna let you leave like that and end up in a ditch somewhere.”

It hurt like a bitch, because deep down, you knew Topper had a point.

You were having a meltdown, and he’d stepped in, like he always did when you went off the rails. That was the problem with him—he cared, even when you didn’t want him to. He was family, the only family you had left, and he was too loyal for his own good.

“You could’ve told me,” you confessed what had been upsetting you, your voice losing some of its initial attitude. “About them. Instead of letting me walk into that party blind.”

Topper sighed again, “I should’ve,” he admitted. “I didn’t want you to find out like that. But it wasn’t my place to say anything. And I didn’t want to make things worse.”

Your hand instinctively moved to cup your stomach. You didn’t even realize you were doing it at first, but the second your fingers touched your shirt, the earlier panic welled up inside you again. If he only knew how bad things were. How bad they could get. You yanked your hand away like you’d been burned, heart hammering against your ribs most painfully. There was no way you could even begin to explain what was going on inside your head—or your body.

Not to Topper. Not to anyone. If he knew, he’d freak and you didn’t need that right now.

You clenched your jaw, pushing yourself to focus on the conversation, on Topper still yammering on about apologies and guilt You shook your head, a bitter smile tugging at your lips. 

“Are you even listening?”

“Unfortunately,” You sounded apathetic even to yourself, fingers tapping against the phone, agitated. “Look, Top, I don’t have time for this right now. I’m busy.”

He sighed. “I know you’re pissed, okay? I get it. But the gala’s in, like, two days. You... you still going, right?”

“Of course I’m going,” you scowled, barely able to hide the bitterness in your voice. “I have to. It’s not like I can just dip out and pretend it’s not happening.”

Unlike some people, you thought, but you bit your tongue.

“Good, because I’ll be there too. And I—”

“Oh, joy,” you interrupted, “Another chance for you to babysit me and make sure I don’t make a scene? Can’t wait.”

“Jesus, I’m just trying to help!” Topper groaned. “I didn’t want to make things worse the other night. I—”

“Yeah. Whatever, I’ll see you at the gala.”

You hung up. You didn’t have the patience to deal with him right now. 

The day of the gala came faster than you thought it would.

It was like you blinked, and suddenly, you were standing in the middle of the venue, walking through final checks with Lily, nodding along as she rattled off details you barely absorbed.

The room was all glitz and glamour, with chandeliers dripping from the ceiling, and everything draped in the foundation’s signature gold and white. 

Crisp tablecloths. Flowers in perfect, elegant arrangements. Waiters in black-tie uniforms were circulating, making sure everything looked flawless. Flawless.

That word made you want to gag.

You moved through the space like a ghost, smiling at the right moments, giving half-hearted approvals when needed.  You didn’t care. People were running around, asking for your opinion on this or that. You’d stayed at the venue longer than planned, making sure everything was in order, but your mind was stuck in that floating-place. You wanted to burn the whole thing down, if you were being honest.

You should’ve called your doctor. Days ago. Hell, maybe weeks ago.

Making smart choices wasn’t your thing lately, was it?

When you finally slipped into the room where they’d set up your glam team, you just wanted to sleep. The room itself was a suite off to the side of the venue, a private space meant to make you feel like royalty.

A massive mirror ran across one wall, surrounded by soft, glowing lights. A table was set up with everything—hair tools, makeup brushes, palettes, serums. Bottles of champagne sat chilled in the corner, the condensation dripping down the glass, untouched. It was the kind of place you were supposed to feel special in.

Normally you did. But this year you were numb.

The stylist worked quietly on your hair, soft curls falling into place as she tugged and pinned each section with meticulous care. The makeup artist was dabbing foundation onto your skin, blending and contouring until you didn’t even recognize yourself in the mirror. The dress hung behind you, a shimmering white gown, custom-designed by Versace for the occasion.

You looked like you were stepping into one of those perfect, glamorous lives. But on the inside, you felt like you were going to lose it at any second. You nodded along, giving tight-lipped smiles when they complimented you, and then they finally left.

The room was dead silent now, just you and your reflection. You stood in front of the mirror, staring at yourself, the perfect curls, the glowy skin, the gown waiting behind you. It all felt wrong. It felt fake. You didn’t bear a resemblance to yourself.

You looked like the version of you that the world expected—the untouchable girl. A doll.

Your rifled through your bag for your phone, but instead, your fingers brushed something else. Cold, hard. 

You hadn’t even realized it was in there.

One of the pregnancy tests. You must’ve thrown it in without thinking earlier that morning when you were rushing out the door. You hadn’t even noticed it until now.

What the fuck were you doing?

You had a gala to host in less than an hour. People were going to be looking at you, waiting for you to give the speech, expecting you to hold everything together like always. And there you were, standing in a private dressing room, about to do something so monumentally stupid. Maybe it was the pressure of tonight, or maybe it was the anger you’d been shoving down for weeks, but suddenly, you didn’t care.

You were going to do it.

Without even thinking, you stormed into the bathroom. You were so fucking tired of avoiding this. Tired of pretending like everything was fine, like you were fine.

What the hell was fine about any of this? You tore open the box, hands trembling as you pulled out the test. The room was so quiet, you could hear every little sound—your breath still uneven, the rustle of your dress against the tiles, the click of the test cap as you flicked it off.

You sat down, staring at the stick in your hand. This was insane. You were insane. Who the fuck took a pregnancy test ten minutes before they’re supposed to host a charity gala? 

You couldn’t get a proper breath out as you waited, heart pounding so hard it felt like it might rip your chest open. You leaned against the sink, gripping the edge. Your stomach churned, the nausea rising again, and you had to close your eyes to stop the floor from spinning.

What if it was positive? What if it wasn’t?

You stared at the test, willing the result to appear, but it didn’t. Not yet. The little window stayed blank, as if taunting you, making you feel like you were losing your mind. You knew you had to wait longer. You weren’t stupid. You’d read those instructions a million times by now, but you hated waiting.

Hated not knowing.

You couldn’t take your eyes off the stupid little piece of plastic. Just one line or two. That was all it came down to. One fucking line or two, and your entire life would either fall apart or what? Be fine?

You glanced at the mirror, catching another glimpse of yourself, and it almost startled you—your eyes were wild. Desperate. They were the eyes of someone who was just about ready to do anything to get this over with. 

You tried to picture telling him again, but the idea alone made you sick. You thought of Sofia, of her perfect smile next to his, and bile rose in your throat. Your hands never stopped shaking. You wanted to run. You wanted to throw that thing in the garbage can and never stare at it again.

Your thoughts spun in circles, going nowhere, just making everything worse. The clock on your phone ticked louder and louder, and you knew—somewhere out there, everyone was getting ready. Guests were arriving. The gala would start soon, and they’d all be waiting for you. Watching you. Expecting you to be the poised, perfect version of yourself you’d spent your whole life pretending to be.

And you were in here, trying not to lose your fucking mind.

You peeked back at it. Still nothing.

No line. No answer.

It felt like you were suspended in time. You closed your eyes, gripping the sink harder, praying for it to end—something to happen, anything.

Then finally, you felt it in your chest—a heavy, sinking feeling, like the moment before a fall.

You opened your eyes. 

There it was.

TAGLIST: @maybankslover @october-baby25 @haruvalentine4321 @hopelesslydevoted2paige @rafebb @rafesbbyy @whytheylosttheirminds

@zyafics @astarlights @bruher @nosebeers @carrerascameron @serrendiipty @sunny1616

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[itachiiwrites]

𖹭 𝕯𝖊𝖆𝖗 𝕯𝖎𝖆𝖗𝖞

𖹭 Synopsis— A random act of kindness was all it took for you to be infatuated with Gojo Satoru, what about him?

𖹭 Dear Diary Archives.

A/N: this is my first time writing a long fic idk what this is but it's something? Let's see how it goes. Divider by @/cafekitsune

𖹭 CW. This story will content dark elements, hence it's 18+. It includes: Murder, Gore, obsessive themes, stalking, suuuuperrr unhealthy behaviours, everyone is insane, the reader is not a healthy person, or exactly a good person for that matter. There are other warnings too but i forgot, gojo satoru is his own warning

𝐀𝐑𝐂𝐇𝐈𝐕𝐄 𝟎𝟏. 𝑾𝒉𝒚?

All your life, there was an absurd kind of thirst present in your body. You could never pinpoint what exactly it was, what drove you menselessly crazy, made you deranged.

It was hard to put the pieces of the puzzle together, blaming your moldable brain areas for not being able to figure out what was wrong with you. What was wrong with you that the girls in kindergarten wouldn't want to play house, inclusive of you? The question of why was so predominantly present in your vocabulary that it presented itself in your mind even as no curiosity to seek answers to was present. The answer was always the same anyway.

'We don't like you because you're a freak.'

Creep. Freak. Oddball. Psycho.

If you didn't know you had an actual name, you'd be convinced that these were your real names with how often you were labelled that. It wasn't like you didn't have any friends, there were friends present but their presence felt as if it existed only because there was some pity.

Not for Gojo Satoru, however.

The first time you talked to him it was near a cheap, a little worn, worm eaten walled—candy shop. The purpose of going there was to pass time, having nothing better to do when all people would do in your class was draw vile things on your desk, how childish. If they had the balls they should tell you those seemingly outrageous incentives on your face, but it didn't matter because you had found your reason for being.

Was he fucking stupid? Offering you one of his sickly sweet candies? Couldn't he tell what you were already?

"Your eyes are gonna fall off if you keep looking at me like that, miss girl" What an infectious laugh. How cute.

"Come on, take it, I'm doing this only 'cause I have an extra" The boy with the white hair sighed and groaned at how stupidly frozen you were in your spot—making the effort to wrap the chocolate bar in your fist, his cold, clammy hands made you wince. He walked away before you could even get out a spur of a word— away with a casual wave of his abnormally large hand.

At first all you could do was stare at the chocolate bar that he handed you, taking a soft sniff to make out a tiny hint of his scent. There was nothing, all blank, as if he didn't exist, as if he was a figment of your imagination.

That chocolate was placed onto your table, tucked between your trinkets like a souvenir. Because it was, it was a reminder that someone made an effort to give you this diabetically sweet chocolate, just because he could. You didn't even dare to open it.

Frequent visits around the same crippling shop lead you to the information that his name was Gojo Satoru, an 18 year old student at Jujutsu Tech, a religious school.

And with a name in your hand, everything was in reach with internet at disposal.

Checking his myspace became a ritual. Satoru was a social person because.. Ofcourse he was. This was your only gateway to him for now but the desperation to know more was catching up.

He was beautiful.

You found him absolutely captivating, a sight that made your heart race with an intense langour.

The more you looked at him the more his beauty became ethereal, a vision that awakened something so grotesque within, it scared you.

Each feature of his face, every move he made no matter how ridiculous it was to others, fueled your obsession further until it was all-consuming. In his very presence that you never came too close to, you felt an overwhelming need to possess him completely, to have him all to yourself. His beauty was like gasoline to your raging flame of yearning, making your desire grow exponentially. For him.

This love of yours made you question yourself, it was idiotic to be in love with someone so unreachable, someone so beautiful. But an idiot is never complete without their mindless optimism for the better.

And you, were truly an idiot.

The way your heart dropped to your guts and your body manoeuvred nausea as if it was the only thing it knew. Seeing an equally beautiful man holding his hand, looking at him with the same longing in his eyes, the one that leveled yours. The pain was shrill, piercing, tinnitus and unbearable.

He wasn't yours.

The walls of your room that were plastered with his face all over felt smaller, it was getting hard to breath. Something simple like air came so difficult, with emotions risen like a tempest making your chest incredibly tight.

He had to be yours. He was yours.

The question of 'why' was up yet again, but this time with burn in your throat so harsh that it felt lacerated and while a thousand knvies gauched into your heart.

Why. Why. Why.

Only one of all the why's you've had in your existence, this was the one you could answer.

A knife like that from him felt bearable enough.

He had to be yours.

Taglist (Open :D) @rinachains

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[hollowed-theory-hall]

Harry’s life at the Dursley makes me extra side when I remember he was a baby when he came to them. It makes me wonder when did he start sleeping in the cupboard?

And then I spiral and think about Harry calling Petunia mom when he is three years old. How did she raise him until he became a kid? And I think about him doing art during Mother and Father’s Day for his uncle and his aunt and them throwing it in the bin. Did he try to listen Petunia read a story to Dudley? Did he ever learn how to swim with school and he just never learnt?

And it makes me so, so sad.

It is. Everything about Harry's childhood breaks my heart. I already talked about it here and here.

We actually have a very depressing answer about the swimming lessons bit from GoF:

He wasn’t a very good swimmer; he’d never had much practice. Dudley had had lessons in his youth, but Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon, no doubt hoping that Harry would drown one day, hadn’t bothered to give him any.

Which I take to mean he had maybe, like, two or three lessons for swimming at school and that's it.

As for the other stuff, I don't remember direct answers so you're going to hear my headcanons:

1. I think Harry never called Petunia "mom". When he was a baby he still could remember his mother and as he grew up he got used to calling her "Aunt Petunia" so he never called her mom except for maybe one time on accident when he was 3 or 4 which he was screamed at for: "I'm not you're mother, Freak!" and probably also slapped for.

2. I think when he was very very young, like, younger than 2-3 Petunia did put more effort in keeping him alive immediately after her sister's death and with Dumbledore's letter/threat fresh in her mind. But slowly she saw nothing happened and no one came when she treated Harry badly, so it emboldened the Duesleys.

I also think Harry started showing magic at a very young age, like 4-5, and when he did, Petunia and Vernon moved him to the cupboard and their treatment of him worsened even more.

After all, Petunia remembers her childhood with Lily who could do magic, she would recognize it for what it is — and she and Vernone are terrified of it. That's why the moment Harry showed signs of magic I believe they moved him to the cupboard to keep him away from Dudley.

3. The idea you brought up about little Harry making a family drawing of him with the Dursleys and Petunia scrunching her nose before throwing it in the bin in front of Harry's face.... shit, that's so sad and I'm sure it happened. I just imagine baby Harry's face, all proud of his drawing and not fully understanding the Dursleys yet with his cute nose and big green eyes and he would be so disappointed. I don't think he'd cry though. I think by that point he learned Vernon and Petunia don't like him crying.

4. I think the next year he drew himself with how he imagines his parents to be and he hides it from the Dursleys because Harry's a fast learner. I'm sure he spent nights dreaming about who his parents were from the very little information he got out of Petunia.

5. I can definitely see a young Harry crouching near Dudley's bedroom door as Petunia tells him a story. And then when she's done, he'd run away quickly so he won't be caught.

6. As a bit of a continuation of sneaking around to listen to bedtime stories, I think watching television at the Dursleys was similar. We know from canon Harry did use the time the Dursleys were away to watch television or play on Dudley's computer:

“You could just leave me here,” Harry put in hopefully (he’d be able to watch what he wanted on television for a change and maybe even have a go on Dudley’s computer) .

(PS)

Though I don't think the Dursleys allowed him to do it, he just got good at sneaking around when they're not there. I'm saying that since Harry mentions Mrs. Figg lets him watch television:

She let Harry watch television and gave him a bit of chocolate cake that tasted as though she’d had it for several years.

(PS)

So it seems he wasn't usually allowed to watch television or play on Dudley's computer. I think the way Harry watches television when the Dursleys are home is by standing at the doorway and watching without them noticing (that's why he can't pick what to watch). I mean, we kinda see him doing it in OotP when he lays beneath the window to listen to the news on their television without them knowing.

Yeah, Harry's childhood was so depressing and I think the books actually portray him and how his childhood affected him well considering the books were limited in what they were allowed to show. I think the signs of trauma and abuse are clear if you look for them, even if they're not all called out in an obvious manner.

Writing this post just made me super sad now for Harry. My boy deserved so much better.

[saiintvalentiine]

Summary: Parrot finds out Wifies doesn't know how to dance, and tries to teach him a few moves.

Notes: we're ignoring our dads' divorce <3 a billion years ago i posted this, and it came back to me and i got a little inspired. speed written in the span of about 4 hours between loads of laundry so it's super unpolished!!! feel free to lmk any major SPAG errors :) just a fun lil romp! divider

Wordcount: 1,286

It comes up on a random Wednesday afternoon. They're chopping down a tall spruce tree and Wifies is in charge of swapping out their jukebox’s music discs when they end, because Parrot is way too picky. He's just put a new one in— otherside, a recent snatch from an Ancient City run they did— when Parrot hops off the top of the half-chopped tree and lands next to him, wings aflutter. He's already dancing along on the way down and it makes Wifies laugh.

“I like this one!” Parrot says with a wide grin. “Don't laugh at me!”

“I'm not laughing at you,” Wifies defends, pulling his axe out of his inventory. “You can stay here and dance like a bum while I chop, if you'd like.”

“Why don't you dance with me instead,” Parrot is doing a two-step already as he reaches out for Wifies's free hand.

“Nah, I don't know how to dance.”

“What!”

This is probably one of the least strange things Wifies has ever said to Parrot, but Parrot has stopped dancing in shock.

“You don't know how to dance?” Parrot echoes. “What!”

“I just don't!”

Wifies tries to shake Parrot off but Parrot doesn't let go, instead tugging him closer.

“It's not hard,” Parrot says, getting that stubborn glint in his eyes that assures that Wifies won't be getting away from him. “C’mon, I'll teach you.”

Wifies groans but stores his axe again and turns to face Parrot. Parrot grins, earwings fluttering in pleasure as he takes both of Wifies’s hands hostage.

“Okay, we’ll start with something easy.”

Otherside is whimsical and simple in it’s rhythms, and Wifies has no problem keeping track of the beats. The issue, it turns out, is that knowing the beat and moving to the beat are two different skills. He and Parrot focus on just his feet, restarting the disc over and over, and Wifies keeps stumbling over Parrot. Parrot’s grip on his hand has saved him so many times that Wifies is red in the face with embarrassment.

“Okay, let’s try something different,” Parrot says. Wifies is biting his lip too hard. “This isn’t a good song to start dancing to anyway.”

Wifies isn’t sure that he’s being honest about that, but whatever will end this mortifying ordeal is fine by him. Parrot pulls out otherside and begins fiddling with the jukebox before popping in a new disc. Creator begins, but never descends into its full instrumentation.

“Is that a music box disc?” Wifies ask.

“Yup, and we’re going to learn to waltz to it,” Parrot says, pulling Wifies close again. “I’ll lead until you can do it. It’s really simple.”

“Maybe I’m just hopeless,” Wifies sighs out, but he lets Parrot maneuver him around regardless.

“You’re not hopeless,” Parrot says as he puts Wifies’s right hand on his shoulder. “You’re learning a new skill. I didn’t approach teaching you the right way.”

Parrot nudges Wifies closer by putting his left hand on Wifies’s scapula, and then takes his other hand in a loose tangle. Wifies mirrors his posture, adjusting his stance so that they’re toe to toe. The disc has already looped twice in the time they’ve taken to set up.

“Okay, watch our feet.”

Wifies does. He watches and listens with his usual precision and consideration, Parrot whispering “one, two, three, turn,” over and over, and Wifies follows. It’s still a struggle, but he steps on Parrot’s toes less.

“You need to relax,” Parrot says, breaking Wifies’s focus. He stumbles, and they stop. “You’re way too tense. You’ve gotta feel the music, not try to strangle it.”

“Ha ha,” Wifies looks up and glares at Parrot in the dying sunlight, but Parrot just smiles. “What does feel the music even mean?”

“What are you so red for?” Parrot teases, and Wifies pinches his cheek for it. “Ouch, ouch, okay! Just, you gotta feel the music, c’mon.”

Parrot starts up again, and Wifies follows, but instead of counting, Parrot hums along with the music. The rises and falls sound so much fuller coming from Parrot’s chest, just an inch away from Wifies’s own. He finds himself humming too, breathy and quiet, trying to feel whatever it is Parrot wants him to feel.

“There,” Parrot murmurs. “There you go. Now try to look at me.”

That’s a tall ask. It’s a very, very tall ask. But Wifies looks up and meets Parrot eye to eye. His left foot drags a little behind, his right too quick, but Parrot is smiling with so much joy that Wifies thinks it’s probably okay if he scuffs Parrot’s boots a bit. Parrot is a good lead, adjusting Wifies’s position with his left hand and holding him tight with his right, while being insistent enough to stop him from falling but never restrictive enough to frustrate.

It’s what saves them both from a nasty fall. In the low light of their scattered torches and a waning moon, they seem to have spiraled too far out from their cleared out space and their legs tangle in a copse of ferns. With a whirl and a few hard flaps of his wings, Parrot keeps them from falling ass first into the dirt; it’s the kind of kinesthetic thinking Wifies has never had, but that Parrot has always excelled in. Watching Parrot fight isn’t all that different from dancing with him.

“Whoa,” Wifies says, stilling for a moment to shake off the little shot of adrenaline. “That was dangerous.”

“Nah, we’re fine,” Parrot says, pulling him close again. “You were doing well.”

“I didn’t think you liked dancing this much,” Wifies tries to frown but finds the expression melting away immediately.

They must have spun a hundred times around the jukebox, but Parrot looks as content as he did at the start. The cool night air has nipped his nose pink and his feet have got to hurt after everything they’ve been through, yet there’s no discomfort anywhere on his face.

“I don’t know many avians to dance with. It’s nice to dance with someone.”

Their waltz starts over. Wifies has almost entirely tuned the jukebox out at this point, and talking while dancing seems a little too advanced for him. He tries anyway.

“Must be boring to dance with me,” he picks each word carefully, ignoring how breathless he sounds. He’s not tired, but anxiety over messing up muddles his chest. “Wingless and all.”

“Never,” Parrot says. “Anything with you is good. The only bad part is I can’t get you out of your head for long enough to actually enjoy it.”

Wifies snorts and stumbles, and Parrot bears his weight with a chuckle. They slow down, out of sync with Creator but in sync with each other still.

“We’ll try to get you into it next time,” Parrot says, squeezing Wifies’s hand. “Teach you a few new steps.”

“You should start wearing steel toed boots,” Wifies feels his anxiety unravel slowly.

“Maybe. But you’re really not that bad.”

“You’ve been compensating for my mistakes.”

“That’s what dance partners are supposed to do,” Parrot draws them into a proper stop. “It’s not about getting it perfect, it’s about feeling good.”

Parrot drops his arm from Wifies’s shoulder and steps back. Wifies mirrors him, their fingers still intertwined. Parrot’s bows, spreading and tipping his wings forward in an impressive, wide display of colored feathers. Wifies doesn’t have any feathers to preen, but he still bows in turn once Parrot stands.

“Thank you for teaching me,” Wifies says.

“Thank you for dancing with me.”

Wifies still isn’t sure that there’s any hope for him when it comes to dancing, but it won’t be a problem as long as Parrot enjoys indulging him anyway.

[gallusrostromegalus]

Zommari Reraux is quietly terrified by Tousen.

Not that the man has ever threatened him. If anything, Tousen was consistently polite, if not outright Congenial with him and the other arrancar, whether they deserved it or not.

It's the eyes.

Zommari relies on his eyes- he has hundreds and hundreds of them, taking in the world around him from every angle, keeping him safe. More importantly, when his eyes take in the world, they take the world into his heart.

That's why he calls his resurrection ability Amor- for him, to see the world is to love it. He loves Las Noches, the way the light of the moon and stars outside and the artificial sun inside dance in it's shimmering halls. He loves Hueco Mundo, the sight of the vast horizon of the desert expanding the horizons of his heart. he loves everyone he sees- how they move, their colors, the sight of thier faces! Zommari wishes he could take them all- take everything! And keep it in his heart, where it's safe.

He's downright gregarious for an arrancar, following his colleagues and superiors around, watching them with adoration- with Amor. He makes a point of trying to look all of them in the eye at least once- to see into their souls, to feel the connection- to keep some part of them safe in his Amor. Just in case.

So the first time he looks into Tousen's eyes is something of a shock.

"...It doesn't cause me pain, if that's a consolation." Tousen speaks up after a too-long moment of silence from Zommari.

"I- I didn't mean to offend, Lord Tousen!" Zommari yelped, stumbling back to the other side of the lift from the underground laboritories of Las Noches to the top of the dome. "I was just- you don't act like you're blind?"

"On the contrary, by definition I do!" Tousen teased, dropping back to rest on the elevators railing, perfectly aware of where it was. "Should I be groping for objects I've misplaced? Constantly searching for the furniture or running into walls?"

"I- I'm sorry. I've. I've never met anyone like- well. Missing senses aren't exactly adaptive for Hollows." Zommari muttered. "...What's it like?"

"Dark!" Tousen nodded cheerfully.

Zommari stared blankly.

"...Or so I'm told, at any rate. It's not like I have anything to compare it to- I've been as I am for as long as I can remember." He shrugged, waving his elegant hand evocatively. "Don't pity me- I can't miss something I've never experienced."

"You don't find it frightening?" Zommari muttered.

"Mr. Rereaux, I live like this." He pouted, disappointed.

"No, I mean- I can't imagine not being able to take the world around me into my heart! The light is- Even to those who can see, I can't explain it!" Zommari sighed.

Tousen was silent for a long time, face turned so his neutral expression wasn't quite pointed at Zommari. When he did speak, his voice was soft, small.

"...Perhaps my heart is too full of grief to let any light in."

"What do you mean?" Zommari asked, the chill of dread creeping up his spine.

"Do you know what Bankai is?" Tousen asked, voice light and pleasant with menace.

"It's um. Like a second resurrection?" Zommari tried.

"Imagine if the you that is you and the you that is your resurrected form could build a new psychic ability together- the shape of that mutual creation between you and your soul is Bankai."

"...Oh. Huh." Zommari hummed, still trying to parse the first part of the sentence. "What form does yours take?"

"Mine is a Senseless Void!" Tousen laughed darkly, then pointed his face up at Zommari with a grin that carried a sharper edge than Hallibel's teeth.

"-And I'm using 'senseless' in the most literal meaning. Anyone within is not just blind to light and reiatsu, but they are deafened, can't smell or taste or touch- you can't even feel your own heart beat! The sensation is as close to being dead as one can get without actually shuffling off the mortal coil!" he laughed, delighting in laying out the horror of it like setting the main course of a shared meal.

Dozens of Zommari's eyes had opened up without his permission to stare at the shinigami in horror. "That sounds like being in Actual Hell."

"Really?" Tousen smiled as the lift finally reached the roof and the gate pinged open. "I find it quite soothing!"

Zommari was pretty sure he set a new personal record for his Sondido getting the hell out of that elevator.

AEIWAM Question: What do the various Espada Think of Tousen? Follow-up question, will they, the bunch of dumbasses that they are (because Aizen made them for loyalty, not thinking), declare him their unquestioned leader once Aizen, Gin and Urloquia fork off to see the cosmic taffy pull (also presuming that Barrigan winds up face down in a ditch per canon)?

Bless you for asking this, I needed something to chew on. I'm going to answer these one at a time because the post would be insanely long, and how the thought of him Before the Battle of Karakura Probably:

---

Aaroniero and Arruruerie are SURE they've met before, and that they owes the man a debt of gratitude.

It's possible, they suppose. They have consumed and absorbed the memories of so many hollows that maybe they remember the face from a hollow he killed.

At least, that's what they hope is going on.

But they have Nightmares. Not of being pursued by Shinigami but of being the Shinigami in hot pursuit. Dreams of walking through a city, surrounded by humans that adore them. Names and Faces- Rukia and her dipshit older brother, Jushiro with the nice couch they sometimes pass out on after long nights- if Jushiro's husband wasn't already there. ...Memories, of meeting each other, and falling in love. How it felt as natural to look up to her as it was to gaze at the moon. How waking up to him felt as natural as the dawn. Memories of being married by Captain Ukitake, after Tousen had done them the inexplicable favor of organizing the whole party and acquiring wedding rings. He loves organizing things for people. Ukitake had smiled. Especially weddings. I just hope it's not guilt from the one he didn't get to. His husband had frowned.

That's impossible, of course. They know who they are, how they arose from the vile muck in the shadowy pits of Hueco Mundo. They never stood in the sun one late afternoon, to marry, not with how it burns.

...and yet.

There's no harm in being polite, right? They don't mind locking Glottineria in it's scabbard with an audible click when he comes into the room, to affirm lack of hostilities. Or giving him the cup of tea Aizen gives everyone at his insufferable meetings afterwards- it's not like they can drink it! ...And if sometimes, when they've been working late in the lab studying the effects and causes of Hollowfication, when Tousen gets tired and starts to call them "Kaien" and "Miyako"-

-Well, what's the harm in answering in the voices he expects to hear?

[famoussharkhairdoknight]

Between the Shadows of a Secret~Pope Heyward

Wearning: +18, smut, cheating, english is not my first language.

You're spending the afternoon at Pope's house. His room is full of posters, vinyl records, and that soft light that he prefers so much. You laughed, joked, and now you are on the sofa, next to each other, your leg touching his. You feel good, strangely at ease. Then you feel your phone vibrate.

Once, twice, three times.

You take it out, see "Topper" on the screen, and immediately put it on silent. Pope glances at you, a half smile on his face.

"Problems?" he asks, tilting his head slightly. He looks at you like he knows something you don't want to admit. And that provocative nuance of hers sends a shiver down your spine.

You shake your head, trying to pretend nothing happened. “Nothing important.”

He raises an eyebrow, but doesn't insist. Yet, for a moment, he remains silent, looking at you with that deep and knowing look that only Pope can do. “Are you sure you don't want to answer?”

You ignore his tone and change the subject, but you feel your phone vibrate again. A message this time. Toppers.

> "Hey, where are you?" "I tried to call you" "Everything ok?"

Your heart beats a little faster. You know you should answer him, but you don't want to. You look up at Pope and he is still watching you, as if he can read every thought in your mind.

Pope leans a little closer, his eyes never leaving yours. “Are you afraid?” His voice is low, almost a whisper.

You look at him with a half smile. “What should I be afraid of?”

He looks down at your lips, then back into your eyes, a moment of hesitation. “To feel what you feel in this moment.”

There is a charged silence, full of meanings, of things left unsaid. But then you move away a few centimeters, as if to regain control. “You're talking nonsense,” you tell him, trying to keep your tone neutral.

"Really?" Pope replies, with that smile that smacks of challenge. “Then why are you here, with me?”

You have a feeling of panic. The phone's vibration returns, insistent, almost like a guilt. It's Topper again, as if he's realized something is wrong.

And Pope reaches out a hand, touching yours. "You don't have to answer," he murmurs. "Not to him."

For a moment you stand still, torn between what you should do and what you want to do. And in that instant, you understand that something has changed.

For a moment everything is suspended. Your cell phone still vibrates, but it's just a distant noise, a background that no longer affects you. You are here, with Pope, with his dark eyes and that nuanced light that makes everything a little unreal, almost magical. You don't know if it's the time, if it's the right thing, but it's like something inside you can't wait any longer.

You lean forward, moving closer to him, your heart pounding like it's on the verge of exploding. You feel his breath, warm, touching your face, and he looks at you as if he can't believe what's about to happen.

And then you kiss him.

At first it's a light, uncertain touch, as if neither of them is sure of what they're doing. But Pope kisses you back immediately, happy, as if he was just waiting for that. His lips move on yours, sweet but intense, and he gets even closer, a hand sliding up your back, as if trying to bring you closer, not to let you go.

When you break away, his eyes are lit, bright. He looks at you like he's surprised, but at the same time like he always knew this moment would come.

“I didn't think you'd have the courage,” he murmurs, with that provocative half-smile.

You look at him, smiling without realizing it. “I'm not who you think.”

“I understood this.” His fingers slide between yours, slowly intertwining, as if that gesture was enough to say everything that neither of you dares to say out loud yet. Then he tilts his head, bringing your face close. “But do you know what it is?”

His eyes fixed on yours, and his tone is calm, warm, but firm. “That's fine with me.”

And here you ended up lying on the couch while Pope was fucking you so hard.

“Pope please more” you said desperately feeling how his big hard cock was penetrating you. He groans biting your shoulder increasing his thrusts.

“Whatever you want honey” he said as you moaned loudly.

The phone kept ringing, and it was Topper, but you didn't care, especially not right now, because Pope was fucking touching points you didn't know you knew. You were on another planet where all you could think about was Pope and how good his cock made you feel.

Pope on the other side pushed harder into your pussy and loved how tight it was around his cock. He looked away from you for a moment and saw your phone ringing again and huffed knowing it was Topper.

He looked at you again and kissed you increasing his thrusts making both of you moan and you come on his cock as he continues to penetrate you.

“So big” you moaned as you felt how his cock was destroying your pussy and he moaned.

“This pussy feels so good…made just for me” he said moaning then squeezing your tits and slapping them then making you whimper.

“I should answer your phone and make Topper listen to how good a slut you are for me” he said jealously as he pushed his cock harder into your pussy.

At that thought you tightened your pussy on his cock and he chuckled pushing you inside.

“You're mine y/n...this pussy is mine” he said as you nodded because you couldn't speak due to the moans.

Pope nibbles on your neck marking it and he smiled at your masterpiece as he placed his hand on your neck to squeeze it making you moan as you felt too much pleasure.

“I bet Topper doesn't make you feel as good as I do” he said pushing further into your pussy and you moan.

“I have never fucked with Topper” you told him and he just hearing this felt himself coming and smiled as he kissed you and pushed himself further into you.

“Good girl,” he murmured as he was about to come and you moan, scratching his back.

“Come inside me Pope, please” you begged and he smiled pushing his entire load inside you.

“With pleasure” he told you as you moaned feeling his cum inside you

[infinite--92]

Where is Dr. Miranda Hale ?

Sophie couldn't shake the feeling that her nightmare was far from over. The mysterious swelling in her belly, the sudden disappearance of Genetech Pharma, and the doctor's baffled expressions haunted her. The anonymous letter she received, with its cryptic message, left her feeling more vulnerable than ever.

After her visit to the hospital, she returned to her small apartment and, while rifling through her purse in search of her keys, noticed something that hadn't been there before: a visiting card. It was plain, white, and embossed with gold letters that read:

Dr. Miranda Hale Genetech Pharma, Lead Scientist Office: 12th Floor, Whitestone Building

Sophie frowned. The card hadn't been there earlier, she was sure of it. Was this another attempt by the company to reach out to her? Or perhaps a trap? She decided she couldn't ignore it. If she wanted answers, she needed to find Dr. Hale.

The Search for Dr. Hale

The next morning, Sophie made her way to the Whitestone Building. It was sleek, modern, and exuded an air of professionalism. But the moment she walked into the lobby, she felt a chill run down her spine. Something was off. When she reached the 12th floor, the offices were quiet. Only a young, bespectacled secretary sat behind the reception desk.

"Hi, I'm here to see Dr. Miranda Hale," Sophie said, trying to keep her voice steady.

The secretary looked up, surprised. "Oh, Dr. Hale hasn't been in for at least four days. We assumed she was on leave."

Sophie’s heart sank. "Is there any way I could contact her? It's urgent."

The secretary hesitated, then glanced around as if checking for anyone watching. Lowering her voice, she said, "She gave me her home address in case of emergencies. I shouldn't do this, but... you seem desperate."

Sophie nodded, her hands trembling slightly as she took the small slip of paper with Dr. Hale's address scribbled on it. "Thank you," she whispered, and left without another word.

Dr. Hale’s Home

Dr. Hale's home was a modest suburban house, much less grand than Sophie had expected for someone with such a prestigious title. As Sophie approached, she noticed that the blinds were drawn shut. The front yard was overgrown, as if no one had tended to it in weeks. Hesitant but determined, she knocked on the door.

After a few moments, the door creaked open. Dr. Hale stood there, but she looked nothing like the poised, professional woman Sophie had met before. She was wearing a pink pajama set, her hair disheveled, and her face pale. But the most shocking sight was her belly. It was distended, swollen to an enormous size, as if she were heavily pregnant.

"Sophie," Dr. Hale said with a weak smile. "I wondered how long it would take for you to find me."

Sophie’s eyes widened in shock. "What... what happened to you? Why do you look like that?"

Dr. Hale sighed and stepped aside, gesturing for Sophie to enter. They moved into the living room, where Dr. Hale slowly sank into an armchair, cradling her large belly as if it were a heavy burden.

"I did this to myself," Dr. Hale said, her voice barely above a whisper. "I injected myself with the same formula I gave you."

"Why would you do that?" Sophie demanded, a mix of fear and anger bubbling inside her. "What is this stuff? What's happening to us?"

Dr. Hale took a deep breath. "The injections contain a highly experimental compound—something we engineered at Genetech. It's a hormonal and cellular enhancer designed to rapidly increase regenerative processes and fertility potential. But it has an unexpected side effect. It accelerates the development of a gestational environment, even without conception."

"Gestational environment?" Sophie echoed, trying to make sense of it. "But there’s no baby, right? The doctor said my womb was empty."

"For now," Dr. Hale admitted. "The injections trigger a state of hyper-fertility. Your body is essentially preparing to nurture life at an accelerated rate. The womb swells as if it’s already carrying a child, even though it isn’t. It’s a kind of... phantom pregnancy."

Sophie’s breath caught in her throat. "So, I look pregnant, but I’m not?"

"Not yet," Dr. Hale said gravely. "But the moment you have intimacy with someone—anyone—their sperm will trigger immediate fertilisation. The egg, already in a hyper-fertile state, will be ready to conceive. The embryo will then implant and start growing. But here’s the kicker: the gestation period is unpredictable. It could last two years, maybe even more. Or—" she hesitated, her eyes filled with a mix of fear and regret, "you might remain like this indefinitely."

Sophie felt a wave of nausea. "Indefinitely? You mean... I could be stuck like this forever?"

Dr. Hale nodded slowly. "The compound wasn’t tested thoroughly. I couldn’t resist experimenting on myself. I wanted to experience the changes firsthand, understand what it could do. I thought I could control it, but..." She gestured to her swollen belly. "Here I am, just like you."

Sophie slumped into a chair, her mind racing. "Why? Why would you do this to us?"

Dr. Hale’s face crumpled with guilt. "I didn’t know it would be like this. I thought I was pioneering a new era of fertility treatment, something that could help countless women struggling to conceive. But I was wrong. We didn’t anticipate this side effect."

Tears welled up in Sophie’s eyes. "What do I do now? How do I stop this?"

Dr. Hale’s expression softened with sympathy. "I’ve been researching, trying to find a reversal method. But so far, I haven’t found anything. We’re in uncharted territory, Sophie. The only advice I can give you is to avoid intimacy if you don’t want to become pregnant for real. And even then, we don’t know if the swelling will ever go away."

Sophie felt a wave of despair wash over her. The money she had received felt like a distant memory, worthless compared to the nightmare she was now living. "You need to find a solution," she said, her voice trembling. "You owe me that much."

Dr. Hale nodded. "I’m trying, Sophie. Believe me, I am. But this is beyond anything I ever imagined. We’ve tampered with forces we didn’t fully understand."

Sophie stood up, her hands resting on her swollen belly. "Then I guess we’re both trapped in this together," she said bitterly.

Dr. Hale watched her with sad eyes. "I’m so sorry, Sophie."

Without another word, Sophie turned and left the house. She felt no relief, only a hollow ache of betrayal and fear. The life she had dreamed of was slipping through her fingers, replaced by an uncertain future with a horrifying new reality. And as she walked away, she knew one thing for sure: she couldn’t trust anyone, not even the woman who had put her in this situation.

The nightmare was just beginning.

[thezombieprostitute]

The Arrangement - Part 10

Summary: Jake's done a lot of things to keep his sister, and then his niece, safe from his parent's influence and manipulation. If he wants to keep them safe, he has to marry you.

Warnings: Bad parents, Implied abuse, Implied violence. Let me know if I missed any!

Part 9 -- Part 11

Series Masterlist

As you calm down, Jake waits until you tell him to before he lets you go. He can't imagine how much you might need this so he'll hold you for as long as you want.

You sniffle and shake your head as you gently push away from him. "I'm sorry about that," you splutter.

"No need to apologize," he assures. "It's been a really crazy couple of days. Probably a lot longer than that for you."

"I should get to work on the dishes." You try to move past him but he holds out his arm.

"I said I'd do the dishes," he reminds you. "Not only did you cook breakfast, you cooked a lot more food than you should have. The least I can do is help out with the clean up."

"You had to actually talk to them," you quietly argue. "I just sat and refilled drinks."

"You also really helped me out, reassured me when I was feeling lost," he gently countered. "Please let me do this for you?"

It takes you a minute of internal waffling before you tell him, "okay. And thank you."

As you start tearing up again Jake is quick to ask, "are you okay? What's wrong? Do you need another hug? Are you hurt?"

"I'm just...I'm just not...not used to such kindness," you confess as you wipe the tears away.

"Doing the dishes for you is more than you're used to?" You nod and Jake feels a renewed wave of anger at your family. "Would...would it help if you supervised my cleaning? Make sure I'm not cleaning your cast iron by putting it in the dishwasher?" Your eyes go wide and you gasp, but he's quick to smile and reassure you that he would never do that. "It's one of the few cleaning things I will forever know, if only because it came up in a trivia night one time."

The giggle escapes before you even knew it was forming. You slap your hand over your mouth, embarrassed but Jake's eyes are lit up. Everything in his body language tells you he's not angry or offended at your outburst, but happy about it.

"If you want me to ignore that, I will," he comments. "But I would be happy to acknowledge it!" He looks at you like an excited puppy eager for praise and you can't help but continue giggling from behind your hand. He starts shaking with excitement but he's not saying or doing anything because you haven't said if you want it acknowledged. Unfortunately that's just making your fit more uncontrollable.

You remove your hand and gasp between fits, "it's okay. I'm so sorry. I don't know why I'm laughing this much. I'm sorry."

Jake lightly bounces as he assures you, "it's okay! There's nothing to apologize for! Sometimes a thing just tickles your fancy. It could also be a response to all the stress you've been through. When was the last time you had a really good cry? Or a really good laugh?"

"It has been a long time," you sigh, keeping your head down as you finally get your laughing under control.

"So, would you be willing to supervise me in the kitchen?"

"That sounds nice," you nod.

"And you promise to correct me if I do something wrong? Or before I do something wrong?" You hesitate at that. "I promise I don't want to upset you. I just...we're going to be going to a lot of parties soon. I'll have no idea what I'm doing. I'm going to need your help." You look up at him, eyes a mix of emotions. "I...I get the impression you're not...you don't correct others." You lower your face in shame. "Hey, it's not...I get why. I really do! It's not a judgment, I promise!" Jake's tone becomes a little more frantic, but no less pleading, soft. "And I'm gonna need your help to not make an ass of myself at these parties. That includes correcting me or stopping me before I do something stupid. The kitchen supervision could be a good way to practice that for us?"

"That...that makes sense," you agree. "I promise to try?"

Jake smiles, "thank you so much, Sharky!"

"Sharky?"

"Sorry, I'm used to friends with nicknames," he quickly explains. "And, I figured you...you like sharks so much you literally studied them...I swear it sounded better in my head." His face looks chagrined as he rubs his hand on the back of his head.

"I...I've never really had a nickname before," you tell him. "I kinda did when I was studying, but it was definitely derogatory." Jake's eyes turn sad. "Derogatory regarding my background. No matter how much work I did, I was still called 'Princess' because of my family." You shake your head to dispel the memory. "But 'Sharky' sounds a lot nicer." You give him a soft smile that has Jake's heart fluttering.

As the dishes get loaded into the dishwasher and the others await the required handwashing, you decide to ask Jake about something that's been bothering you.

"Your father," you hesitate, knowing it's a sensitive topic. "He mentioned something about your niece?"

Jake sighs, the smile on his face dropping. "You remember my sister was engaged to Travis?"

"Of course."

"I got her out of it by, essentially, hiding her far away from here. She met someone, fell in love, and they had a daughter." Your eyes widen slightly in surprise. "She's only 8 years old," he continues. "But she's super stubborn, like her mother. Smart, like her father. And she's damn good at soccer, minus some bad calls from a ref."

You smile a little at that. It's very clear he cares a lot for her.

"But my parents found out about her," he continues. "They hinted that they know where she and Sarah live and they flat out told me that, unless I agreed to marry you, to be the obedient son they always wanted, they were going to marry her off to your brother."

You gasp at that. You knew your parents were determined to solidify power and position by combining the families but you didn't think they would go so far! And to your brother, who would be twice her age upon marrying her! Your blood freezes as you think of how badly he'd hurt her.

"Hey, Sharky? You okay?"

Jake's voice breaks through the bad memories, "sorry. I just...I'm happy to help you keep her safe."

"Thank you for that."

Part 9 -- Part 11

Series Masterlist

Tagging: @alicedopey; @ashdoctor; @delicatebarness; @ellethespaceunicorn; @irishhappiness

@jaqui-has-a-conspiracy-theory; @icefrozendeadlyqueen; @lokislady82; @ronearoundblindly

[necromancer-snail]

Copied your questions from the comments to answer! General disclaimer that this is specific to me and my disabilities! Other people may not have the same struggles or may have different ways of handling it. Any other disabled people are encouraged to add or correct 🫶

Do compression socks ever get itchy?

I haven't used compression socks before so unfortunately I can't help there! I assume they do, I don't see why not.

Are tensor bandages finicky?

Definitely. They fold and wrinkle just like clothes, and depending on how long your joints are bent(like if it's on your knee and you're sitting a long time) can sometimes get temporarily warped into that shape. It just makes moving the joint a little more difficult because the bandage will resist it. I also sometimes wrap really tight at first because for me personally it feels the best (except on my knee), but you have to loosen it(which generally means fully rewrapping it) after a while or it quickly becomes uncomfortable and can do more harm than good.

Do Ibuprofen and Tylenol work as much as they're hyped up to?

Ibuprofen and Tylenol for me maybe aren't phenomenal but definitely do help! On an average pain day(a 3-4 on the pain scale) it can usually lower my pain to a 1 or a 0. On a high pain day(6-8) it lowers to my average. Unfortunately it takes an hour or two to kick in, and I usually only get about 2-3 hours of relief before it starts to wear off. I also take 600mg of Ibuprofen(the usual dose for adults is 200mg or 400mg. My doctor specifically told me 600mg up to 4 times a day. I usually end up only going to 2 or 3).

Gripes & pet peeves

Aids/meds gripes & pet peeves:

I covered bandage pet peeves already, but my cane! My cane specifically has an annoying process to adjust the height, and due to its options I have to adjust it every time I put on/take off some shoes. The options are JUST far enough apart and I am JUST the wrong height that it gets perfectly too tall/short depending on what shoes I'm wearing (unfortunately my most comfortable pair is one of these shoes). Also, you build a resistance to meds over time, and there are specific side effects that come with long term use. I am near-constantly in pain and therefore have to be careful with when I choose to take meds for it. Having to keep track of meds is also annoying! Especially when I'm on a bunch. I was on 6 different prescriptions at a time once, all of which had different times and/or requirements to take them. Once daily, twice daily, once in the morning, on an empty stomach, with food... Thankfully I'm usually on max 3 prescriptions at a time

Societal gripes:

People will touch/grab mobility aids without asking, ESPECIALLY for wheelchair users. I've only used a wheelchair once or twice(with a friend who had one available as I don't own one), but people will push you frequently. They will roll you down the sidewalk or up a hill without so much as a hello. People have kicked my cane out of the way. For a lot of disabled people, our mobility aids are viewed as an extension of ourselves; they are our autonomy. It's incredibly violating to have them disrespected like that. A lot of the world isn't made for disabled people. There's a lot of stairs, a surprising amount of buildings don't have working elevators, a lot of cabinets and such require bending/kneeling, benches are getting removed from public spaces like parks, there are really thin doorways, etc etc. I began to have chronic pain at 13 years old, and have been fake claimed and not taken seriously since. When you're young and disabled in a way that isn't visible(scars, limb/facial difference, proportional, etc), people are inclined to believe you are lying/faking it. Even if they do believe you are disabled, they often think you're playing it up. This is especially true for ambulatory mobility aid users, because they believe if you don't ALWAYS need your mobility aid, you don't EVER need it. Also annoying: people recommending the same 5 pain relief options. Chances are, I've tried it! I am working with a doctor to find a diagnosis and effective treatment, you don't need to recommend me yoga.

Unexpected advantages

Honestly the one I can think of rn is just how useful my cane is. If I'm tired or in pain, it's usually within reach and I can use it to hook or hit things like a light switch, my water bottle, small/light objects, etc etc. Other than that I have once or twice used my disabilities as an excuse to not do something. Not often‼️‼️ And I do feel at least a little guilty about it. But sometimes it's nice if people won't accept "I don't want to" or "I'm tired" as a valid reason 🤷

Mundane tasks

There's a lot of things that become more difficult, but I think most useful for you is bending/kneeling(and therefore cabinets/drawers, dropping things, turning on my heater, sometimes just the act of sitting). For me, I also have a lot of joint pain in my fingers. I have lost the ability to braid and I often can't hold a pencil for long periods of time. I draw with my finger on my phone :)) So generally while you're writing just be conscious of actions and what it takes for the body to follow through on those.

Physical drawbacks

A lot of the times disabled people overwork themselves easier and take longer to recover. As an example, my able bodied relatives who helped me move are already feeling better, meanwhile I am going to have a lot of extra pain for probably the next week. Because I was moving, I was obviously using my legs and my back a lot, and it makes it incredibly difficult to get comfortable at any time. While an able bodied person might be a little sore, they can generally sit, lay down, or stand with minimal pain as long as they aren't straining themselves further. Just laying down hurts no matter what position I'm in, and even when I haven't strained myself I usually have to sleep with 3-5 pillows to properly support my back. When I strain myself, I usually have to find very specific angles for each part of my body to be at, and have to shove pillows, plushies, or blankets under or around limbs to keep myself as pain free as possible.

Mental drawbacks

Obviously being in pain a lot causes a lot of negative feelings. A lot of disabled people are depressed. It's incredibly isolating, knowing that a lot of people around you cannot relate to you and being either fake claimed or shunned for your disability. Even when you make friends, they're easy to lose. I've lost plenty due to my frequent cancelling of plans or not messaging/calling back because I sleep so much. The friends that I have kept have had to learn to live with the fact that we don't see each other often, or that they have to make the effort to come see me or have to ensure their plans aren't taxing for me. I've also had a lot of internalized ableism. I've convinced myself that I'm exaggerating, that other people deal with pain so why can't I deal with mine? I've avoided making plans because I don't think it's worth the hassle to have to cancel, even if it wouldn't be hard.

Okay I think I'm out of things to say!! I can elaborate on most of these things if you need! I've been in a lot of disabled communities, so I have a decent amount of knowledge on a lot of issues, especially social ones :))

Making an AU where Edwin has incomplete paraplegia and chronic pain, pls lmk if you have any details that would make my writing 4 it better!!!🙏🙏🙏

[binch-i-might-be]

as I'm currently in my I Want Zero Stuff era I've been thinking about getting rid of two (2) old closets in my room the next time they do furniture collection. I could replace them with one (1) cabinet or something and would have so much more space.....

[blackswallowtailbutterfly]

Still haven't messaged my mom back. And I don't think I'm going to.

[french-fryyyy]

There is no way my mom just told me she didn't wake me up this morning because I was taking too long to wake up on my own...

[dolokhoded]

the fact that people own ipads sounds fake to me

[metranart]

Imagine Gojo setting a condition to his Clan for him to give them an heir. "It's HER or no one." The elders aren't happy that he chose a non-sorcerer, but they reluctantly agree... that is, if Gojo manages to convince you.

“Come here-...I’m far from done, kitten.”

God, Gojo still makes you nervous, with his mouth buried between your legs for longer than you can even imagine. Why are you still so nervous? Is it the proximity? Is it the way he leans in to make eye contact while he licks you? Is it those blue piercing eyes? Or that immensely amused smirk that twists his lips just enough so he can keep eating you out?

"Mmmmm... stop moving so much, (Y/N). We are making a mess of my desk..." he purrs, all too pleased to watch your eyes roll to the back of your skull. "That’s my good girl..." the man between your legs, praises, "my future bride to be...-"

"T-...that's still u-...under discussion, S-Satoru." Your quivering protests are sweet chords of music for him, "I already t-.... told you that I d-don't want to be part of the jujutsu world.... nor b-belong to a-.... any clan."

"Not any clan, pretty. MY clan." 

You hear him slurp greedily at your folds and feel a warm trick of saliva run down your ass, and when your mouth is about to throw another protest-... Satoru Gojo makes a vacuum on your quivering clit with that annoying mouth of his. Your thighs tense and the muscles of your stomach follow, a quake that rakes your entire form, making you a pathetic mock of a human.

Both your hands fly to cover your mouth and Satoru chuckles deep, amused rumble that cracks the rest of your self-control. Your cheeks grow in the most adorable shade of pink, and your breathing hastens.

"So CUTE~"

Satoru whimpers, dumb founded, his broad chest puffing with so much fervor, so much blinding endearment that he feels like about to explode. He can see the doubt in your beautifully contorted features, and he dips his tongue inside you, fucking you with that fat tongue to try to make you agree to his terms, to be HIS.

Dammit! You feel… amaaaaaazing. Why? It’s like a flip inside you only he can switch at will—... even so, he’s dangerous, you remember. He’s a special grade sorcerer, you remember. He’s a mystery, he’s unpredictable—he’s invincible, unreadable, impenetrable and lethal with a playful smile, and you really know absolutely nothing about him. 

Yet, he insists that you belong together. He insists on putting his child inside you, he insists that he will take care of you and his life will be yours. He insists that you belong in his world and if you're not there, he won't be there either. He insists on fucking you stupid every chance he gets, bending you over surfaces, of course! Always putting his coat or his shirt or any piece of his clothing, just so your skin never comes into contact with any unworthy surface. He insists, he insists and insists and insists...

“Fuck—” he growls, grabbing your hips, “—why are you... h-how do you manage to always have me wrapped around your little finger—?” 

“I want you, Satoru-u... but I can't-” 

He stops you with a soft but firm, squeeze to your waist. 

“Not like this,” he pants, tipping his head to slowly lick a strip down your sweet cunt, a farewell caress, the whisper of a kiss to his last effort before lunch time is over and he can try again, later. “Let me pretend just for a little longer that you said yes—"

Your gaze drops to his trembling thighs and the warmth that settles in the pit of your tummy is intensified by the clear drop of precum shining at the tip of his gloriously thick and long cock, now achingly swollen and a mouthwatering shade darker in color than the rest of him.  

“I'm yours, Satoru-” you offer in a quiet whisper and can feel him shake his head. “You aren't.... but I’ll make you change your mind. You, just watch me, kitten."

➡️ 👀 NSFW Sneak Peek artwork HERE ;)

➡️ FULL NSFW ART of this story

[mrsbarnesblog]

just us

masterlist

summary: a situation between pogues and kooks at the beach made Rafe rethink his priorities

word count: 1.8k.

warnings: season 4 spoilers, established relationship, mention of the dead turtle, that hoe Ruthie, protective Rafe

a/n: i'm obsessed with season 4, y'all. absolutely in love with everything that's going on and especially with Rafe being in a better place with a girl that he actually likes 🥹 this scene at the beach with turtles just made me sob, so I really need someone to drag that bitch by her hair. sorry not sorry.

Your heart was beating with adrenaline from the scene that just happened at the beach, with Topper’s girlfriend almost running over the pogues and being the usual insane bitch that she was. Rafe stood beside you, silent but shaking his buzzed head in disapproval.

Kie was standing on her knees on the sand, in shock, with juice still dripping down her face and hair. She brushed off the help of her friends, instead standing and picking something up from the ground, without hesitation, going towards the group of people around you. They seemed absolutely delighted by the whole situation, laughing, fist bumping each other, and making you want to punch every single one of them in the face. 

You didn’t even want to be here in the first place, not with a bunch of people with whom you shared mutual hatred towards each other. Rafe was your only connection with them, and it seemed like even for him it was a bit too much. A fun day at a beach with a little surfing competition, where even Topper and JJ seemed to have some fun together, took the wrong turn way too quickly.

“Look what you did! Is this okay?” Kie stopped in front of Ruthie, reaching out her hand to show something that you weren’t able to see, but by the look on her face it was obviously serious to her. “There was a turtle hatch, you idiots! You drove right over it!” Your stomach twisted at the realization, and you took a step closer to see it yourself. 

“Oh my God.” You whispered, catching a glimpse of a tiny dead turtle with a crushed shell laying in the palm of her hand. So little and harmless that the picture of it brought tears to your eyes. 

“Don’t look, baby.” Rafe’s deep voice mumbled near your ear, with a warm hand sprawled across your back to try to distract you, but you shook your head, unable to take your eyes off it. 

“All right, but it was only one.” Ruthie said with her usual attitude, nonchalantly pointing to the rest of the turtles that, luckily, were perfectly fine. Your mouth opened in disbelief, and you looked at Rafe to see him uncomfortably rubbing the back of his head. 

“I’m so sorry, Kie…” You whispered to her, stepping further away from the kooks, eyes drifting again to the dead animal in her hand. No matter how hard you tried to fit in with Rafe and his friends, you could never be one of them if it meant to be a bunch of pompous and cruel rich kids. You thought that, maybe it was time for you to finally admit that. 

“It’s not your fault, Y/N.” She briefly looked at you, because despite not being friends, there never were any arguments between you and the rest of the pogues, always keeping cool and friendly with each other. “There’s something wrong with you, people.” Kiara looked back at the kooks with disgust written all over her face. 

“I’m leaving, Rafe.” Barely holding back your tears, you looked back at your boyfriend, before picking up your beach bag from the sand and turning around. “I’m sorry again for them, Kie.”

“No, wait, Y/N.” He pushed through the crowd, wide-eyed, quickly approaching you and grasping your wrist. “This is not—“

“I don’t want to be here. I didn’t sign up to hang out with your friends when I started dating you, okay?” You groaned in frustration, attempting to move, but Rafe stopped you. “I don’t even know why we’re here, why you are here, when you clearly don’t enjoy it anymore.” 

“Listen, this is not so easy, okay?” He rolled his eyes, but you knew it was not fully directed at you; Rafe was already struggling with trusting those around him, and the fact that you slowly but steadily made him reconsider his current surroundings did not help. 

“You are not like them, they are not your friends, don’t you understand it?” The pure desperation was speaking in you, searching for the answers in his eyes. You overheard some people laughing at you, as they were too confident that Rafe would never listen to someone like you, someone from the cut, not even realizing the war that was currently going on in his head. 

He was silent, thinking, making his already overwhelmed mind go hundred miles per hour to figure something out, because you were right. The more time had passed, the more the two of you were together, the less Rafe found himself enjoying the presence of his old friends, the less he wanted to do that childish bullshit. 

“This dumb fucking bitch almost ran over people and killed an innocent animal because her big ego got hurt, do you understand?! So I’m leaving. Alone or with you.” You almost whispered the last part to him, too scared that he'd not choose you. At the end of the day, you were a pogue, and no matter how much you tried, you would never be good enough for Rafe. 

“What did you just call me?” Ruthie arched a brow, now shooting daggers at you. 

“I called you a dumb fucking bitch, didn’t you hear me?” You spat, finally having a good enough reason to tell the truth right in her face. “Or are you too stupid to get that through your thick scull?” 

“That’s rich, coming for a pogue. It’s just a cycle of life. And if you, losers, are so offended by that, it’s not my problem.” 

“A cycle of life? Getting flattened by a truck is not a cycle of life.” Kiara pushed Ruthie with her hand, and it nearly turned into a fight, with JJ standing by his girlfriend's side. You turned away from them, too frustrated and drained to bother listening to the rest of the conversation, your gaze shifting to Rafe, who still held your hand.

“I want to leave. Stay here if you want to, I don’t care. I’m done with them, Rafe.” Your teary eyes met his blue ones, and he shook his head, pulling you closer with your forearms. The mere thought of you leaving him, angry and upset, triggered a whirlwind of panic within him.

“Hey, no, I’m not staying, okay?” Rafe's hands, now much gentler and delicate, touched your cheeks, wiping away a few tears that you could not keep back. Rafe had never been too comfortable with the display of emotions, and he was pretty sure that it was the first time he had actually seen you cry. And he knew how much you had always carried for animals, how you petted every stray cat or a dog on the street, and how you hated any form of violence against them. 

The pulsating and aching feeling in his chest at the sight of your tears made him want to drop everything, or rather, eliminate everyone who had upset you, and just hold you in his arms. 

“Aw, look at you.” You heard that annoying voice behind you back again, pulling you out of the bubble in which you fell, and turning around, you saw that Kie and JJ were no longer there. Your eyes instantly rolled back as Ruthie looked at you with her usual fake sympathy, crossing her arms over her chest. “Go back to your side of the island, you’re not one of us. Don’t even know why Rafe bothers to bring you here when you’re just another dirty toy to—“

Rafe left your side before she could finish her sentence, looming over her with the most furious expression you had ever seen on his face. Everyone and everything seemed to fall silent for a moment, and you held your breath, unsure what he would do. “Wanna say some bullshit about her? Try to do it right in my face and see what happens.”

“You’re not seriously protecting the pogue. She’s not on our side.” Her smile faded, her eyes now nervously looking between Rafe and Topper, who was standing behind her back. 

“C’mon, Rafe…” He started, but quickly shut his mouth as soon as Rafe turned his head towards him with a silent threat. You felt your heartbeat quickening as the atmosphere started to get even more intense. Everyone around you also started arguing and saying God knows what, but Rafe was awfully calm, and it frightened you even more. 

You moved closer to them as you made your way through the warm sand, until you were able to place a comforting hand on your boyfriend's back. He was so tense under your touch that it amazed you how the hell he was not shaking because of it. The only times you had ever seen him behaving that way was when people whispered something about his father behind his back.

“It’s okay, Ray.” You whispered, kissing his shoulder and sliding your hand down his back to take a hold of his bicep. 

“You’re lucky that I don’t hit women. But if I hear a single word about my girlfriend again, you will regret it, I promise you." Your stomach flattered from the way he protected you, from the way his friends opened their mouths in shock at his words. Even Topper and Kelce were too stunned to speak, sending each other weird glances. “Control, your crazy bitch, Top.” 

As if nothing had happened, Rafe stepped back, throwing a protective hand over your shoulders and guiding you away from the group. He was silent for a whole walk towards his truck, only stopping near the passenger door and turning you to face him. 

His worried blue eyes were almost shining under the bright and hot sun and you saw words forming in his head and sitting at the tip of his tongue. You waited another minute, while Rafe was focused on your necklace, thinking. His hands found a place on your waist, rubbing circles into your skin, until he finally took a deep breath and looked up. 

“You’re right.” He said simply. “I’m not this person anymore. That shit with racing with pogues was fun and all, but I didn’t like what happened today.” You half smiled, nodding and encouraging him to talk. “If—if I want to be like my dad, I need to have my priorities straight. No more of this bullshit, no more fake ass people, yeah? You’re the only one who's been here for me for a long fucking time. You’re the only one who I can trust, baby.”

His hand cupped your cheek, eyes focused solemnly on you, before he lowered himself closer to you to place a kiss on your lips. 

“This is the right decision. You’ve overgrown them, you’re a better man now. And i’ll be here for you whenever you need me, I promise. I guess it’s just us now." Your body sagged against his, too wrapped in the comfort of his presence to even care about anything else. Your lips brushed against his, making Rafe groan.

“Just us, baby.”

[writingsbychlo]

BUY ME PRESENTS | draco malfoy

summary; draco loves you, and you love him. he just needs a little push to make things official. OR, draco malfoy fighting for his life when he realises just how much everyone wants his girl.

word count; 8928

notes; this is based on christmas eve, but I'm posted a couple days later! this fic puts us half way through our slytherin boy holidays! I'm not sure how the one I expected to be the shortest became the longest one so far. like, seriously, I know I keep saying this but wtf? why can't I write a short fic?

Dinner had already been served by the time you made it to the Grand Hall, the smells of roasted meats and seasoned potatoes filling the air, your mouth watering as you navigated between the throngs of people. Your seat had been saved, of course. A spot on the bench between Draco and Daphne, and as you neared, your friends noticed, smiles rising and waves in your direction. 

Sinking into your seat, you pressed a kiss to the cheek of the blond boy beside you, his face tipping up to receive it and lips twisting into a smile, attention moving to you as you sat. 

“Good day?”

“Better now that it’s over.” You smiled, a chuckle falling from him, and his hand came to rest upon your thigh, squeezing comfortingly while you helped yourself to a plate of whatever food was left. “What are we talking about, what did I miss?”

“Not much. Just Theo telling us all about Christmas in Italy.” Mattheo rolled his eyes, as though you all hadn't heard this exact same speech since that very first Christmas you’d become friends. Most of the group seemed to have simply tuned it out, laughing and nodding at the correct times as they whispered their own conversations. 

A swipe of a thumb over your thigh as you finished filling your plate with food, and you shifted your attention to Draco. “So, what are your Christmas plans, Dray?”

Shuffling a little bit closer now that your plate was full, his arm moved to lay across your shoulders instead, letting you snuggle up into his side. “Oh, you know, the usual.” 

He smiled, and your world seemed to get a little bit brighter, his lips brushing your hairline as he left a barely-present kiss there. 

“Typical Malfoy-family Christmas. I get to do the tour with my parents, visiting every other rich-arsehole couple they know. Christmas Eve party. The pleasure of my father’s annual ‘you’re growing up now, son, it’s time to get serious about the world’ over the dinner table on Christmas Day. Open some presents I don’t want, on a schedule I don’t like.” He sighed, clearly used to it by now, but it didn’t make it sound any less awful.

“Well,” You smile, nudging him playfully with your elbow. “Maybe we could write to one another, or even get a little visit in?” 

The hope in your voice was evident, and Pansy gave you an encouraging smile across the table. You’d been meaning to ask Draco this question for weeks now, and your last chance had been fast approaching. Since the summer, you and Draco had been hooking up. It was no secret among your friends, or even the students; your affections for one another were hardly contained, but it wasn't official. 

You wanted the labels, the security, and the safety of knowing that he was yours and you were his, and nobody else could come between you. You wanted to be introduced to his parents, be his date at events, to have him be proud to call you his girl. But Draco had been hesitant, avoiding every conversation that might inch into the ‘so, what are we?’ territory, keeping a safe distance from any kind of real commitment. 

It wasn’t enough for you anymore, not by a long shot, but trying to talk to Draco about it only ended up with him shutting it down, or skilfully diverting the conversation and you were growing tired of his games. 

Draco only made a vague noise, neither an agreement nor disagreement, and looked away from you as he picked up his drink to take a sip. “I don’t know… maybe. I can get pretty busy over the holidays, I’d hate to let you down.”

Another skill of his, making it seem like cancelling or delaying or not doing something at all was your idea. He was clearly hoping you’d brush it off, and tell him not to worry about it, but instead, you kept quiet. Not giving him the satisfaction of any easy win, this time. 

Pansy caught your eye across the table, shaking her head disapprovingly, and shooting a glare at an oblivious Draco. She had been your confidant these last few months, every update and development in your situationship, she’d been informed of. Every decision, she’d been a part of. She was practically as invested as you were, at this point, and she certainly did not approve of his nonchalant behaviour either. 

“Speaking of parties,” Mattheo cut Theo off, clearly having had enough of the annual rehashing of ‘that one Christmas when Theo was eight’ for today, and changing the subject, “Who’s got their dates sorted for the Malfoy Christmas Eve Ball, and who’s daring to go solo and have Narcissa set them up like a matchmaker all night long?”

Chuckles rang out among the group, and Pansy smiled, leaning into Blaise’s side with a love-struck grin. “I think we’re safe this year.”

“I’m going solo, but, I did tell Aunty Cissa that I have my eye on a girl in one of my classes, and I’m seeing how it plays out. So, she’s not setting me up anytime soon, since she believes I’m already onto someone.” Enzo smirked, and Blaise congratulated him for his clever tactics. 

You smirked through your mouthful of food, listening to Mattheo explain his complex excuse, to Reggie mournfully spill the story of how he’s already been set up by his parents witha ‘potential bride to meet’, and how he hopes she doesn’t show up. You laugh with the others as Tom simply raises an eyebrow, knowing that even Narcissa doesn’t attempt to set him up anymore, lest he scare away any more of her friends’ daughters. Theo, ever the player he is, is looking forward to dancing with every single lady he can find, and taking his pick at the end of the night.

“I suppose nobody needs to ask Draco who his date will be.” Mattheo grins, wiggling his brows at the pair of you as you smile, leaning a little further into the man at your side. 

“Hey, who knows?” He chortles, and your eyes narrow a little, “I’ve had plenty of offers. I haven’t made up my mind yet.”

“Oooh.” Enzo’s eyes went wide, the other boys joining in, and Pansy fixed him with a glare. Daphne leaned around you with her jaw dropped at his statement, and you sat up from his embrace, lips pressed flat and a brow raised. 

The boys snickered, ‘he’s in shit’ and ‘someone’s in the doghouse’, but he lived for the spotlight, a drama queen at heart, and he smirked down at you. 

“Oh, c’mon. Don’t look at me like that, babe.” The playful nickname was one he only ever used when joking around. When he was sincere, he was much more romantic; darling, sweetheart, beautiful. “What am I supposed to say? ‘Hi mum, hello father, meet the girl I’m skipping class to shag! Thanks for paying my tuition!’, I don’t think so.”

The boys all laughed, Daphne scoffed in sync with her sister behind you, and Pansy looked like she’d lunge across the table at any moment, if it wasn’t for her chastising Blaise for laughing, instead. ‘You and Draco can share that couch you’ll both be sleeping on tonight’, she’d said. ‘See how funny you think it is then’.

The words stung as he spoke them, dismantling your relationship down to the bare minimum; to sex and physical connection and nothing else. Like the nights spent talking until the sun came up were nothing, the times you’d held him while he cried, or washed him in the bath when he was so exhausted he could barely keep his eyes open. Like he didn’t rub your stomach for hours every month when you got cramps, or had a stash of your favourite snacks in his bedside table for whenever you came over. 

You knew that Draco Malfoy lived you, just as much as you loved him. It was evident in everything he did, every kiss and every word. But, he needed a little push.

“I suppose you’re right,” You sigh lightly, giggling along with the laughing boys around the table. “I’m not so sure Lucius wouldn't burst a blood vessel then and there.”

“Exactly.” Draco hummed, and you glanced back to Pansy. She was shocked, only for a second, before taking in the subtle signs of mischief on your face. Her own smirk stretched out in return, and her gaze flickered once to Draco, before back to you. 

A new game was afoot, and Draco wasn’t going to stand a chance.

Slipping your coat from your shoulders, the annual Malfoy Christmas Eve Ball was well underway. Your parents had disappeared into the crowds before you’d even stepped out of the carriage, uncaring of where you were as long as you weren’t causing trouble. They were here to mingle with the other importants, and you were just here to learn the ropes of proper socialising.

The garment was taken from you, your small bag clutched in hand as a ticket was given to you for it, and you brushed down the front of your dress delicately. Pearls moved under your touch, beading along the bodice flat and perfected, and you felt your confidence rise as you looked at yourself once more in the reflection of a dark window. Adjusting the small lace gloves on each hand, you took a step towards the dining room. 

Elegant music was playing from a live band up on a stage, the room was decorated this year to look like a winter escape. Pale and frosty, like a palace of ice, twinkling lights and glittering decor, crisp white tablecloths and ice sculptures. A layer of goosebumps travelled along your skin at the sight of it all, despite the warming charms that took place for the guests. 

Scanning the room, you quickly found your table. The designated kids table, despite you all being legal adults and far beyond such status. You’d all be the babies of the ball until the new generation emerged, no doubt. Moving through the bodies and crowds of people politely, Theo was the first to glance up and spot you, his mouth falling open, and a rush of confidence took over as he raised two fingers to his lips and whistled. 

The sound caught the attention of the others’ chatter fading to quiet as they all turned to look for the object of his cat-calling, Enzo’s eyes widened, Pansy cheered loudly, and even Mattheo looked momentarily speechless. You’d had the same reaction when you’d seen yourself in the dress too, your stylist had truly outdone herself for this one. 

You looked flawless, and you looked expensive, and utterly elegant. Doing a little spin as you approached, a smile broke free on your lips as you stopped before the chair with your name card before it. 

“Merlin, babe,” Pansy started, drawing your attention straight her her, “You’ve got every eye on you tonight. If I was single, I’d be all over you.” 

She winked when you laughed, and Blaise rolled his eyes but smiled, leaning in to kiss her cheek affectionately. 

“Pretty necklace,” She commented, and your fingers rose to the pretty string of pearls and diamonds that you had. 

“It was a gift,” You simply hummed, tugging at your gloves. Glancing at the others, you gave each a polite smile, eyes lingering on Draco as he stared. In any other style, this dress would be scandalous for an event like this. A low neckline, spaghetti straps, no sleeves. Tight and fitted to every curve of your body, and yet the classic designs and vintage nature elevated it to the kind of class Audrey Hepburn would be proud of. 

He looked just as good, a dark suit, a fresh white shirt, a champagne-coloured tie that made the colour of his eyes and his hair stand out and your mouth dried out a little. Silver rings adorned his fingers, the Malfoy signet standing out, clenched so tightly around his whiskey glass that his knuckles were almost white. 

You’d worn soft, golden makeup effects today, a dusting of glitter along your cheekbones and eyelids, a shade of pink on your cheeks and lips that you knew was his weakness. 

“Someone really wanted your attention with that, huh?” Your best friend teased, and your eyes snapped away from Draco, back to her. 

“I suppose so,” You muse, hand coming up to touch one of the beads on your ear, “Since they also got me this lovely pair of matching earrings.”

Pansy made a dramatic show of admiring them, and Blaise gave a funny look, glancing at the jewellery, and then back at Draco, who was frowning. Before you could reach for your chair after placing your clutch down, Enzo was shooting to his feet from beside you, tugging out the chair for you. 

Draco scoffed as you gave him a thank you, settling into your seat, and he glared at the man beside you. Enzo didn’t flinch, however, smirking at Draco as he spoke;

“What? It’s called being a gentleman, cousin.”

Crossing your leg delicately, you’d hardly even removed your gloves, before a tray was coming down by your side, and a young waiter with a dazzling smile was looking right at you. 

“Champagne, ma’am?” Not a planned pawn in your game, but a welcome addition, you smiled sweetly in return. 

“Oh, I’d love some. Thank you.” Taking the single glass by the stem, you lifted it from the tray and the man’s smile stretched wider as you sipped the bubbly, holding his eye. 

“Of course, miss. If you need anything, anything at all, I’ll be at the bar, happy to serve.” His flirting was heavy enough that normally you’d want to roll your eyes, but tonight, you suppressed that urge, playing into it as you bat your lashes. 

“I’ll be sure to keep that in mind. Thank you.”

He took the dismissal, staring appreciatively as he walked away, another look over his shoulder to you as you watched him go. 

“Stop eye-fucking the help.” Draco snapped, and your focus moved to him slowly, just to find his icy glare on you. He didn’t scare you, though, all that mean bravado, but you knew what was underneath. 

“I was doing no such thing.” You tut, placing down your drink. “Don’t be jealous, Dray. You look even better in that suit. If you want compliments, just ask. No need to be mean.”

He seemed rather placated by this, his ego settling down, even if the others did laugh at him.

The conversation seemed to continue around you as you settled in, avoiding Draco’s heated stare and sipping at your champagne. The rush of warming alcohol through your veins settled every dancing nerve, and gave you the calm confidence to do what you had planned. Sitting forwards, just enough, you angled your body so that Draco might have the perfect view over your cleavage as you feigned interest in the chatter around you. 

He took the bait, his gaze falling right where you wanted it, the gems of your necklace dangling just over the swell of your breasts, and he licked his lower lip, pulling it between his teeth.

Raising your hands and catching the swinging gem, you toyed with it carefully, letting it run over your fingers. Time melted away as Draco’s gaze flicked between your nimble touch, your lips, and your chest, shuffling in his seat every so often, and gulping at the bubbly in his glass. 

He was on his third refill by the time food started to be taken around, and you took pity on him momentarily, sitting back in your chair and angling away from him, ready to receive your first course. 

As the starters came around, you turned to thank your waiter, surprised to see it was the same man from the bar who had brought you your champagne. You’d given him little thought since he’d walked away, and you’d never spotted him again, but perhaps that was exactly why he was delivering your food now, as he beamed at you and set down the plate. 

Men did love a little attention, after all. 

Reaching for the bottle of champagne cooling in the centre of the table, the waiter never looked away from you as he refilled your glass without being asked. Draco finally seemed to notice as he finished adjusting his napkin, gaze narrowing on the man serving you. “You’ve got to be kidding me…” He muttered.

You pretended to take no notice, smiling at the man and waving your fingers flirtily as he walked away.

“I’m going to get another drink at the bar,” He announced, leaving without his glass and without asking if anyone else wanted one. You knew where he was truly going, if the lock of his jaw and the stamp in his step were any indication. You doubted you’d be seeing that waiter again.

As you poked at your food, Pansy excused herself too, only a few bites into her meal before she disappeared with a wicked grin and no explanation to anyone. Enzo just chuckled beside you, glancing around the room like he was watching all the cogs of a machine in motion, before turning his gaze on you. “You do look lovely tonight, do you know that?”

“Of course I do. I spent days on end trying on dress after dress to find this.” You sighed, admiring the gorgeous piece of art on your body as you set your cutlery down. 

“And is it serving the purpose you need it to?” He teased, voice knowing, and you nodded. Flicking your gaze over the patrons and guests in the room, you searched for Draco, finding him talking politely to one of his mother’s friends at the bar. 

“It is, I think.”

“Let’s hope it stays that way.” He whispered, your focus still on the man who truly held your heart, who was making his polite excuse and walking way, back towards you all. His gaze locked on yours, only for a second, before Pansy was calling your name and drawing your focus elsewhere. 

When you looked up to her, she was grinning, a man by her side. “This is Elliot, he’s been wanting to meet you for some time. I promised him I’d introduce you both tonight.”

You offered the best smile you could as his cheeks reddened, and Pansy merely patted him on the shoulder, slinking away as you offered your hand to him. “Lovely to meet you, Elliot.”

“You too. As embarrassing as that introduction was, it’s true. I have wanted to meet you for some time.” He had a kind smile and pretty eyes, and he seemed far too nice to be dragged into your game tonight, but he seemed almost like a willing participant, and you weren’t one to look a gift horse in the mouth. As Draco took his seat, Elliot continued, “Pansy has told me so much about you. You know, if you’re free one day before you go back to that fancy boarding school of yours, I’d love to take you out.”

“Yeah? What have you got in mind?” You smile, twisting a little more to face him, and your encouragement only brightens his expression as Draco’s darkens in your peripheral.

“A night in London, perhaps. We could get dinner, and see the opera?”

“She doesn’t like the opera.” Draco sneered, openly staring at Elliot with enough contempt to scare away lesser men. Elliot tugged at his collar, glancing at Draco, and then back to you as you tried to hide your shock at his behaviour.

“The theatre, then?”

Draco looked ready to snap again, and before he could, you nodded, sparing your unwilling partner. “That sounds wonderful, I’ll see what my schedule says. I’ll get in touch with you through Pansy if I can find the time, is that okay?”

“Perfect.” He smiled, sneaking another wary glance at Draco who was not backing down from glaring at him unflinchingly, but Elliot shook it off, bravely. “It was a pleasure to meet you, truly.”

“And you, Elliot.”

Soon after he left, the plates were being cleared. You tried not to smirk as a different waiter, and one who very pointedly did not so much as even catch your gaze, cleared your dishes away at record speed. 

You knew that Draco had something, everything, to do with that. He was jealous by nature, a spoilt single child who did not like to share his favourite toys, and that is exactly what you were betting on tonight.

You stood, taking a lap around the room with Pansy to settle your food before the next course, and to get another drink. She took the opportunity to fill you in on how her first Christmas event with Blaise’s family had gone, and when you returned, you made sure to surreptitiously place yourself behind Draco’s chair. 

You placed a hand on his shoulder, a friendly gesture, squeezing and rubbing enough that your thumb swept over his collar and across his neck. His pulse jumped under your touch, and he tipped his head closer, into your touch. 

As he did so, your heart leapt in your chest. To others, it might look like a friendly gesture but to you, it meant so much more. You were tempted to cave then and there, to live with this being enough, to settle, but you couldn't. You didn’t want this to be it, you wanted to follow this by leaning down to kiss him, to have him smile against your lips in public the way he did when you were alone. 

To arrive at these events together, arms linked, and to stumble out tiredly together too. To sit by him, his hand on your thigh, to rest your head on his shoulder, to kiss him on the dance floor. The thought was enough to push you through. 

He twisted his head, to kiss your hand like he often did when you did this. Carefully, you slipped your hand away just in time, knuckles brushing across the nape of his neck as you stepped away, and back to your seat. 

His sights moved to you, but like a saving grace, the servers began to appear with more dishes, and dinner soon distracted you all. A delicious serving of salmon and potatoes, and the hall fell quiet enough for you to hear the beautiful music playing when chatter fell low. 

Low conversation, drinks refilled, and that perfect mood set across the room, as people took to the tables and quieted down. Your favourite part of the night, usually. Good food, your friends, and a chance to catch up without the usual weight of it all sitting on you. Regulus was talking, telling the rare story that had him caught up in a long conversation where he usually just observed quietly, but your attention was fixed on your lover. 

Until, Theo spoke up. 

“Oh, merda,” He muttered across Reggie’s’ story, his gaze cutting to you alarmingly quickly. “I forgot to tell you.”

“Tell me what?” Your heart skipped a beat, a flash of panic.

“My cousin flew in last minute for the party, and he wants to speak to you.” Theo’s words soothed your panic, and you offered him a flat look for the dramatic way he’d put it. Taking a sip from your glass, you raised a brow.

“When?”

“Now.” He confirmed, sights lifting to sit just behind you, and before you could even turn, a chair was being pulled up beside your own from another table. Turning your head to the owner, a smile burst across your face at the man sitting before you. 

“Dario!” Your arms were around his neck before you could stop yourself, and he was chuckling as he bundled you into an equally enthusiastic hug. He chuckled lightly, pulling back only far enough to press a friendly kiss to your cheek, and you cupped his face as you parted from him. “You’re growing a beard!”

“My mother hates it.” He chuckled, rubbing a hand over it. As you twisted a little more towards him, he reached down, practically manhandling you as he reached for the edge of your seat by your legs, tugging it sideways to face him. You squealed as the chair jolted, screeching on the floor, tugging you closer as he leaned in. “Sei incantevole.”

“Are you charming me in Italian?” You smirk, a boyish smile on his face as he lounged back in his seat. “What are you doing here, anyway? Theo said none of you were flying in this year! I thought you couldn't make it.”

“I couldn't,” He sighed, shrugging, “But, then I heard that you would be here, without a date, and I knew I just had to make it. So, here I am, la mia bella donna. You think a short flight from Italy would stop me rushing over here to you?”

Your giggle was against your control. Even if he was more like family than a romantic interest, the way his accent twisted around coyly spoken words, was enough to bring a blush to even the most unreceptive woman’s face. “Cut it out, you flirt.”

“You’ll save me a dance later, right?”

“We’ll see.” He rose his brow, and you lifted your glass, taking a sip of bubbly to hide your smile, leaving him hanging. “Depends on how much more of your cheesy flirting I can endure.”

“You mean my wonderful Italian charm?” He teased, pinching one of your cheeks, and deepening the flush he had already created. “Don’t think I don’t see the way I make you blush.

You could only scoff, mouth dry as you tried to think of a retort, and you didn’t miss Theo muttering in Italian behind you, curse words you’d picked up on tumbling from his mouth. 

“Perhaps this can convince you,” Dario reaches for his inner pocket, producing a small, slim box. An excited squeak breaks from you as he hands it over, your fingers brushing the elegant leather, an Italian name embossed across the front. “Open it later, alright?”

You could only nod, admiring it happily, before slipping the box safely inside of your clutch. He took your hand, kissing your knuckles as he stood. A final wink as he offered you hid charming goodbyes, and a farewell to the rest of the table, before returning his borrowed chair to where he had taken it from. 

You watched as your friend left, disappearing into the crowd, no doubt to mingle and socialise as he had always been so good at, before you swung back around in your chair. 

“He taught you everything you know, huh, Nott?”

Theo only shrugged, a cheeky grin on his face. “What can I say, tesoro? We Nott men just have charm. We’ll woo your panties right off.” He winked, the cockiness not lasting long as Draco swung at him, a fist landing roughly on his arm as the Malfoy heir scowled, glaring at his best friend. 

“Cut it out.” He growled the words through gritted teeth, and your hand shot up, rubbing at your lip to hide your grin as Draco made no effort to hide his own emotions. Theo only laughed, rubbing at the patch on his arm he’d taken the hit.

Dessert was served, a beautiful display of ice cream and winter berries that almost looked too good to eat. The key word being almost. You hadn't been able to resist, however, and the first small groan you’d let out as the sugar hit your tongue had Draco’s gaze snapping straight to you. I did not leave, once, after. 

Instead, he watched, through a dark gaze, every curl of your lips around the spoon, every swipe of your tongue to catch the juice of burst berries. If you’d put on a little extra show, just for him, nobody else had to know. 

It was like he was staring right into your soul, so intense, even after the meal was long since finished. Finally, you indulged him once again, turning to look at him and raising a brow. “Yes, Draco?”

“You look beautiful tonight, I am simply admiring.” He let his gaze move across you slowly, making his admiration apparent, and his gaze lingered a fraction of a second longer on your neck. He stared at you with open adoration, the kind of look that told you exactly how he felt, even if he was fighting it, but he was close to breaking. He was close to losing this game he didn’t know he was playing. Then, his gaze flickered over your shoulder, sweet observation morphing. His brows drew together, his open hand slamming down on the table hard enough to make the glass rattle. “Oh, fucking hell…”

Mattheo erupted with sudden laughter, loud and brash, and there was a tap on your shoulder before you could even ask him what had him in such hysterics. A young man you did not know, perhaps a few years younger than you, and glanced around the table to see which of your friends had put this one together. Each seemed to have caught on in their own time, and had a hand in adding to the fun, to watch Draco suffer more, but none of them were laying any claim to this one. 

“I’ve been watching you all evening, and you are beautiful.” He smiled, stuttering over his words slightly, and Draco made no shy show of his disdain, rolling his eyes and making a disapproving sound. “I was wondering if you might grant me the pleasure of a dance?”

“She would dance with you,” Enzo interrupted, before you could speak at all, leaning forward toward the edge of your chair from his own, and you could have kissed him in gratitude for saving you. “But, she promised me her first dance. Isn’t that right, love? And I think now is the perfect time. Let’s go.”

Offering you his hand, you took it, letting him sweep you away without a second’s delay, navigating you both to the dance floor and twirling you expertly into his arms. One hand clasped your own, the other sitting at a respectable place on your waist, your own on his shoulder, and he fell into the well-rehearsed steps of a classical ballroom dance he’d been doing since he could walk. 

You let out a shaky sigh, relief flooding your veins as you looked back to your seat, noticing that the boy had taken Enzo’s rejection well and disappeared, not hanging around and waiting for your return. 

“You’re killing him slowly, like a predator playing with its prey,” Enzo smirked, neither of you needing to clarify who you were talking about, as he brought up his cousin. 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Really?” He chuckled, spinning you out before pulling you back in, sharp actions that made you dizzy with their accuracy, and you grinned as he brought you tumbling right back into his arms, perfectly. If he’d been trying to win you over, his dancing alone would’ve had you swooning. “You just show up to a fancy event like this, dripping in diamonds and pearls and looking like a million bucks, supposedly single. You mean to tell me you didn’t know that all these rich London boys wouldn't descend on you like vultures?”

“Not my fault I’m single and hot, Enz.”

He just laughed, dipping you a little. “We do struggle, don’t we.” You wove between people, a happy silence falling between you both once again as he guided you over the floor, back and forth, “Are you, though? Single, I mean.”

“That is up to your cousin.”

“Touché.”

You continued to move, until your feet were sore from all the twirling, clinging to Enzo in fits of giggles as he spun and twirled and dipped you more, hands on your waist as he lifted you through the air, making a show of his dancing. 

He may have seemed altruistic in his gestures, sweeping in to save you and Draco from your dance with the boy, but he was using you too. Enzo was taking every opportunity to show off his moves to every lady around the room watching, a flirty smile on his face between conversations and he glanced around, and you wouldn't be surprised if he received more offers than Theo or Dario by the end of the night. 

As the third song came to an end, and the music fell for just a second, you panted slightly, arm around his neck now, looking up at him with flushed cheeks and a bright smile. “Can we take a break?”

“Tired, already? You only gave me three so far.” He smirked at the way your jaw dropped, your face going hot and you knew your cheeks were red. You untangled yourself from his body, barely making it a step away from his laughter before he wrapped an arm around your waist, tugging you into his side. “Oh, c’mon. I thought the aim was to flirt and make him mad?”

“He’s not even here to listen!”

“I’m practising,” Enzo murmured, steering you towards the bar, and leaning on the wood as he flagged down the bartender. You were quickly served, by a woman who fawned over Enzo as she passed by, and you had to snap your fingers in front of his face to snap his gaze away from her retreating form. “So, how long are you going to make him—”

A tap on Enzo’s shoulder cut him off, and he turned to look, straightening up instantly from his slumped position. As soon as he moved so you could see, your relaxation melted away too, as you found yourself face to face with Narcissa and Lucius Malfoy. 

“Lorenzo, I’ve hardly had a chance to talk to you all evening. I want to ask you about your schoolwork.” The impressively formal and deep voice of Lucius Malfoy settled over your skin like fresh snow, cold but smooth, and you shuddered. 

Narcissa only chuckled lightly at her husband’s words, her eyes on you. “You’ve been busy, though. Who is your lovely lady?”

“Uncle Lucius, Aunt Cissa. This is my friend, (Y/n).”

It wasn’t exactly the circumstances you’d wanted to meet them under, but you smiled nonetheless, nerves running wild as you offered your hand to them both, shaking politely just as your parents had taught you. 

“Ah, (Y/n). Yes. I make a point of knowing all of Draco’s school friends, but I’m in business with your father, aren’t I?” Something like a small kernel of sweetness was buried in that statement, his interest in his son’s life, even if he tried to hide it behind formalities, but it wasn’t your place to comment. 

“Yes, sir. That is correct.”

“They’re very proud of your schoolwork. They were telling me about your latest project. You synthesised a new potion to grow murkweed faster, is that true?”

You were surprised he knew so much, your small project submitted for Herbology was the last thing you’d expected Lucius Malfoy to know of, or take an interest in, and your mouth felt like sandpaper as you tried to form words. “Yes. Yes, sir. That’s right.”

“Interesting.” That calculating gaze scanned over you, analysing you from head to toe, like he could see right through you with a single glance. “That is impressive, for someone of your age. I’d be open to learning more. Are you considering making a future out of your alchemy talents? I have connections that I could contact for you.” 

You were speechless, your stomach going wild with butterflies born of both excitement and anxiety. He smirked, a look that would set you on edge if you weren’t sure deep down that this was in your interests, not against them. 

“Perhaps we can discuss it more soon, when we next see you. With Enzo?”

Enzo’s arm around your waist shifted, a reassuring weight that you were sure had been your only grounding presence for this surreal conversation. He patted your hip encouragingly. “Oh, no, we aren’t…” 

Motioning between you both, Lucius’ brows furrowed, and Narcissa tried to hide her sigh.

“Sorry to disappoint you, Aunt Cissa. (Y/n) isn’t mine, though it is wonderful that you approve.” Before either could question him, or expand on their confusion, Enzo gave your waist a final rub, before removing his touch from you entirely, and stepping towards his family. “Shall we go and discuss schoolwork then, Uncle? You have questions, and I have answers. I hope the ones you want.”

“It was a pleasure to meet you, Miss (Y/l/n).” Lucius politely offered you his hand again, shaking it firmly, and that was about as friendly a dismissal as you’d ever get from him, you’d heard. This was only supported by the surprised look on Narcissa’s face, and the beam Enz gave you as he guided his uncle away. 

“I hope to see you again soon, (Y/n). You look wonderful this evening, thank you for coming.” Narcissa murmured, before following her husband and nephew, glancing back at you only once over her shoulder. She knew. The woman was far more cunning than she let on, the true embodiment of a sneaky Slytherin, observing quietly and taking everything in. Her eyes glinted. She knew you knew she knew, too.

Your heart was pounding, cheeks warm as you lifted your fingers to them cautiously. The disappointed waitress placed down two drinks before you, Enzo long gone without his, but you smiled at her with appreciation, fingers shaking a little as you lifted the glass to your lips to take a sip. 

You’d spoken to Draco’s parents. 

They’d liked you. Lucius had offered to put you onto the career path, and Narcissa had complimented your dress. A soft laugh of disbelief slipped free, your eyes sliding closed for just a second as you revelled in the moment. 

It hasn’t been what you’d set out for tonight, but it was far more than what you’d hoped for. Opening your eyes again, to head back to the table and find Draco, you were met by the sight of a stranger leaning before you on the bar, grinning down at you in amusement. “Hello.”

“Hi.” You gave a terse smile, and a single nod. “If you’ll excuse me—”

“I didn’t even get to ask you to dance yet. Saw you out on the floor with the Berkshire boy, earlier, and I thought—”

“I’m dancing with her next, mate. Piss off.” 

Draco rarely sounded that mad, a chill went down your spine as you felt an arm slide around your waist, tugging you back into his chest. “Dray…”

The stranger only scoffed, glaring at Draco as he wandered away, and your hand reached for his forearm on your body. He snatched it away too soon, however, tugging on your hip to turn you around. His jaw was clenched tight, eyes more frozen than the coldest glacier. “Dance with me.”

Not a request, and he didn’t wait for an answer, before plucking your drink from your hand and slamming it down onto the bar, guiding you back to the swaying bodies. Standing before you, you offered him your hand, your hand sitting lightly on his shoulder. He didn’t take the respectable route, instead, his arm wrapped tight around your waist, sweeping you close to his body, and beginning to move you both in simple steps. 

It was several minutes before he relaxed, your arm sliding further around his neck in a more intimate hold, bringing the two of you much closer, swaying slowly. The tension in his body gave way with every step, and with a resigned sigh, he finally spoke, “You met my parents.”

“I did. They were lovely. Very curious about Enzo and I’s relationship.”

His hand clenched on your waist, and you tipped your head at him as his piercing gaze drilled into you. One more move…

“Oh, don’t be so mad, Dray. We’re only shagging, after all. You’ll find a new girl if I get swept away by someone else.”

His eyes narrowed, jaw clenching, and a fire burned in those silver eyes now, melting the ice away with rage. Checkmate.

“You win, alright? I’m not playing this stupid game any longer.” He took a deep breath, and another, fingers twitching on your back as jealousy bubbled under the surface. “For fucks sake, how many pieces of jewellery from other guys are you wearing? Who bought you those earrings, that necklace? I should be the only one buying you gifts. I should be the one spoiling you. You want the Malfoy family ring? I’ll go yank it off my mother’s engagement ring from her finger right now, just take all this off.”

He studied you for a second, confusion growing at the smirk that grew on your lips. Victory was yours, and you leaned in, pressing a delicate kiss to his cheek. Letting the hand from his neck smooth down his chest, his gaze stayed locked on the jewels around your neck, glaring angrily. “No.”

“No?”

“No. It’s pretty. I’m going to keep wearing it all, let it remind you what you have. Next time you piss me off, forget a date, or use the last of my shampoo, I’m going to put it all back on so you can remember how many guys would jump at the chance.” His nostrils flared, but he stayed silent, wisely knowing when to keep his mouth shut. “I don’t want your family ring, Malfoy. Not yet. I just want a proper title, and the respect that comes with it. I’m not your booty call, or your side piece. You don’t want to play games anymore? Then don’t.”

“You already won.” He whispers, his head dropping down to let his forehead rest on your own. “You know how much you mean to me.”

“Yes, I do. But I want the whole world to know it, too, Dray.”

He didn’t respond verbally. Instead, he twisted his head, enough to press his mouth to your own, silencing any more arguments between you both as he kissed you. His lips claimed yours, a tender and loving kiss, showing everyone just how much you meant to him. There was no mistaking the emotions within it, not as his arms wrapped around your body, holding you to him as the pretence of dancing was given up, your hand on the back of his head, fingers in his hair, meeting every push and pull.

When he pulled away, your smile took over, bashful now under his openly adoring gaze, and he stole several more pecks from your lips. A happy sound escaped you as he tugged you in, tucking his face into your neck, and swaying you both to the music. 

“Have I told you how beautiful you look tonight?”

“You have, but I’d be open to hearing it again.” Your hand smoothed over his hair, and he chuckled against your skin, leaving a kiss on the crook of your neck before raising to meet your eye. 

“You are breathtaking, darling. I’m in awe. This colour is my favourite, you know.”

“Why do you think I wore it?”

His fingers trailed down your spine, eyes sparkling even more at that revelation. “How about we get out of here? We’ll make our goodbyes to my parents, and head out.”

“Our goodbyes?” You repeated as he took your hand, lacing your fingers together. 

“Yes. From their son and his girlfriend. I think you deserve a proper introduction, after all.”

Tugging you across the floor, he gave you no time to prepare, and certainly, none to disagree, as you smoothed your hair and attempted to control the blush he’d brought to your cheeks. Through the crowds he wove, until he was pulling to a stop just shy of his parents, and Enzo looked as though he could have cried with relief when Lucius’ intense focus was taken away from him. The boy quickly slipped away as both of Draco’s parents turned to face you. 

“Miss (Y/l/n), when we said we hoped to see you again soon, I didn’t realise you’d take it quite this literally.” He murmured, voice as low and calm as always, and your lips parted, a different kind of heat flooding your features. 

“Oh, behave now, Lucius,” Narcissa grinned, her gaze dropping to your clasped hands, before she reached up to her son’s face, pinching his cheek with a smile. “Draco, darling, I’ve hardly seen you all evening.”

“Well, I’m sorry to disappoint you Mother, but we’ll be leaving early.” She only gave him a knowing look, ignoring Lucius’ displeased huff, as if she wasn’t surprised at all. 

“‘We’?”

“My girlfriend and I.” He said, proud and strong, before tugging you forward a little more to stand in front of him. His hand left your own, circling your waist instead, and she offered him a smile at the news. 

“I see.” She smiled, patting her son’s cheek affectionately, before turning that knowing gaze on you. “Now Lorenzo’s evasiveness whenever I asked him about you makes sense.”

“You asked about me?” Your words were a rushed squeak, which only seemed to amuse Narcissa more. 

“Of course, dear. I wanted to know more about you. I’d ask you to sit and chat with me for a spell, but I believe my son might combust if I did.”

“Mother!” He gasped, and Lucius only tutted. 

“Draco.” His father growled softly, shaking his head, and the red on his son’s cheeks only grew.

“You both may go, for now. But I hope you’ll visit me soon, and we might talk?”

“You mean… just us?” Your words tapered off to a near whisper, and Lucius smirked to himself as Draco rolled his eyes. 

“Yes, dear. We’ll have tea.”

You could only nod, bidding your final farewells to them both in a state of awe, before Draco was hurrying you along. Tight hands gripping your waist, lips on your neck as he loved you through the crowds, swiping up your bag and giving you barely a moment to say goodbye to your friends before sweeping you away again. It was only due to the snow falling outside, you were sure, that he allowed you to stop long enough to get your coats. 

Helping you, he lifted the garment onto you from behind, kissing your cheek as he reached around your body to fasten it. His elegant coat was already on, and leather gloves were on his hands as he offered you one. Lacing your fingers through his own, he smiled, tugging you out into the freezing night, and ushering you around the side of the Manor, away from the stream of cars lined up for guests as they left. 

“Where are we going, Dray?” 

“To one of the gardens near the path.” He never turned back, leading you carefully around patches of ice and slippery snow as you moved, the light from the house fading. It was almost pitch black, before he mumbled a small spell, and the garden lights glowed to light, glittering on the fresh blanket of ice. 

Sitting on the grass was an old-fashioned sleigh, enchanted to keep dry, even in the snow, and two reindeer sat happily in the snow snuffling at the grass and scattered food. 

The landscape stretched out far before you both, trees and grass and walls all covered in snow like something from a Christmas card, and the sigh that left your lips clouded in the air before your face. 

“Oh, Draco…” Taking a few steps closer, snow-tipped over the tops of your heels as you stepped off the pathway onto the grass, chilling your feet for only a second, before Draco was following. Scooping you up into his arms, you kicked the ice from your feet with a giggle, your arms looping around his neck. “What’s all this?”

“This is your Christmas present. I didn’t realise that was the kind of ice you wanted instead.” He muttered, eyes flicking down to your neck, as he carried you carefully through the snow and towards the ornate sleigh. As you leaned in to kiss his cheek, he smiled shyly, avoiding your gaze as he became embarrassed, “I wanted to do something romantic for you. We can take the sleigh back to the town, get a cab, and take the jet anywhere you want to go. Pansy already packed a bag for you.”

He placed you down on the edge of the sleigh, letting you shuffle across onto the warmed leather. With another kiss to your lips, he scoffed at your smile. 

“Merry Christmas, my wicked little girlfriend.”

“I can’t believe you arranged all this.” You were practically bouncing in your seat, watching as Draco nervously tugged on the reins, prompting the lazy animals to stand back up, before settling into the sleigh himself. Like they knew just what to do, they took off in a slow trot, tugging the pair of you along through the snow. 

“Maybe if you’d have waited, instead of making me fight for my life tonight, you’d have been surprised.”

His arm was splayed along the back of the seat, and you snuggled in a little closer to him. Curling his arm around you, he pressed a kiss to your forehead, shaking his head and burying his nose in your hair. “If I didn’t make you fight for me, Dray, you’d probably have introduced me to your mother as your study partner. I gave you a little push, that’s all.”

“Is that so?” He muttered, guiding your face up so he could peck your lips. “Who do you think helped me arrange all of this for my ‘lovely lady friend’, hm? I’ve been writing to my mother about having an interest in someone for months now. You underestimate me.”

“You never gave me any other indication!” 

“Oh, please. You walk me like a damn dog, you knew how I felt.” His mouth closed over your own, stealing a kiss, and you couldn't help but smile into it. “I think tonight just proves it.”

The sleigh trotted on as Draco kissed you in the back, beyond thought and reason, your hands tucked into his coat for warmth as he kept you cuddled in close to his side. 

Minutes melted away, the two of you lost in your own world as you jostled and trotted through the fields, back toward the town. Whatever he had planned, it had been in motion for days, and the thought only made you fall a little more in love with him. Perhaps you had underestimated him, but none of it mattered now, not when he was kissing you like you were his only way to breathe, and you had him in your arms, properly, at last.

“So, Pansy knew about your little plan?”

“Yes. I told her days ago.” 

“Hm…” You loved her, and it was perhaps her knowledge of Draco’s actions that made this all the funnier. “So, she knew about your plan, and mine. And still, she made sure to introduce guys to me all night. She played us both just for her own amusement.”

As you thought of her, your fingers lifted to your neck, sitting on the delicate jewellery there, and Draco huffed. Looping his finger underneath it, he tugged lightly. “Can you take this off now, please?”

“Why would I do that?” His pout deepened, glaring at the offending item, and you gave in with an airy laugh. “Pansy, Daph and Tori picked it out personally.”

“What?” His head snapped up, pout gone as his jaw dropped, and he was not laughing like you were. “You let me believe another guy decked you out in diamonds all night! What about the matching earrings?”

“Blaise.”

“The bracelet?”

“Theo and the Notts.” 

At that mention, his eyes narrowed again, searching for your clutch and finding it resting in your lap. “But Theo’s cousin Mario gave you a separate gift.”

“Dario.” You corrected, and he mimicked it childishly, scoffing afterwards. “Well, that part was real. He truly was flirting, and I have no idea what it is, I haven’t opened it yet.”

“Give it to me.” He reached for your bag, a second too slow as you swiped it away from him with a gasp. He didn’t give up, still trying to snatch it as he leaned over you, pressing you back into the seat through fits of laughter, the two of you fighting over the bag until it was pressed to your chest, your eyes wide as you stared up at him, shaking your head. “Give it to me! I’m chucking it, hand it over!”

“No, it’s mine!” He slumped back into his seat, panting for breath and smoothing his hair back down. He was pointedly staring away in the opposite direction, and when you leaned in closer with a chuckle, he leaned away. Grabbing his shoulder, you planted yourself firmly in his lap, kissing the underside of his jaw. “I’m keeping it, but your present is better, I just know it. Whatever it is, could never beat this.”

“Promise?”

“I promise, Dray.” 

He gave in, wrapping his arms around your waist, tugging you in closer to his body and pressing a happy kiss to your cheek. “Fine, but I’m buying you a new necklace when we get off the damn plane. I don’t care who bought that one.”