#it just isn’t in his nature to let something like this go | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

mywhisperingwords · 3 days ago

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spaces between us | george f. weasley

summary: after you break up with george you try to be friends word count: 8k masterlist

The air between you and George was heavy with the unsaid.

You both sat on the worn couch in the flat George shared with Fred, the familiar clutter of the Weasley household swirling around you mixed with the things that belonged to you—yet it felt distant, like a memory you were watching through a foggy window.

George had been quiet for the last few minutes, and you had let him be. There wasn’t anything left to say, not really. You both knew what was coming.

“I don’t think I can do this anymore,” he finally said, his voice low, strained in a way you hadn’t heard before. The words stung, but you had known they were coming. You had been waiting for them, for what felt like ages.

You nodded, not trusting yourself to speak immediately. The lump in your throat felt like it could choke you if you let it. You couldn’t cry—not now, not when you had already made the decision yourself, even if the reality of it hurt more than you had anticipated.

“I don’t want to hurt you,” he added, looking at you with something that was almost regret, but not quite. There was a certain heaviness in his eyes, like he had known this was coming long before you had admitted it to yourself.

“I know,” you whispered, the words tasting like betrayal. You could see how much it cost him to say them, and yet you could feel how much it cost you, too. “I don’t want to hurt you either.”

There was a long pause, the silence stretching between you like a rope pulled tight, and neither of you knew if it would snap or hold steady.

“I just… I don’t see how we fit anymore,” he said, his gaze dropping to his hands. “Not the way we used to. We’re not heading in the same direction, and I think we both know it.”

You couldn’t help but agree. In the beginning, it had been so easy, so natural. But now, every conversation, every plan for the future, felt like a tug of war. You wanted different things—needed different things—and it wasn’t fair to either of you to pretend otherwise.

“You’re right,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper. Your chest ached with the truth of it, but the clarity brought no comfort. “We want different futures. And we’ve tried, haven’t we? We’ve tried so hard to make this work, but it’s not enough anymore.”

He looked at you then, searching your face, looking for something he couldn’t quite place. You had loved each other so fiercely, so completely, that it felt impossible to think it was over. And yet, here you were.

“I still love you,” he said, his voice thick with emotion.

The words hit you like a wave, and for a moment, it felt like the ground beneath you might crumble. “I love you too, George,” you whispered, the ache in your chest deepening. “But love isn’t enough. Not when we’re this far apart.”

He nodded, though his jaw was tight, as if he wanted to say more but couldn’t find the words. His fingers twitched at his sides, and for a brief, fleeting moment, you wished things were different. You wished the two of you had been the exception, the ones who defied the odds. But life didn’t work that way. Not this time.

“I think… I think we need to let each other go,” you said, your voice shaking just slightly. But the decision was clear, like a bruise that had been forming under the skin for months and was now finally ready to break.

George didn’t say anything for a long moment. He just stared at you, and you could see the fight inside him—he wanted to argue, to convince you there was another way, but he knew. You both knew.

Finally, he exhaled, the breath sounding like it had been stuck in his chest for far too long. “Yeah. You’re right.”

The words were final, and it felt like the world had shifted, like a chapter of your life had ended without any ceremony. And yet, it was still so painfully, heartbreakingly quiet.

You stood slowly, trying to keep your composure, but it was hard. Every part of you wanted to stay, to tell him that you could fix this, that you could still make it work. But the truth was clear now. You weren’t meant to be forever, and maybe that was the hardest part of all.

“I’ll go,” you said, your voice barely audible. “I’ll… I’ll leave you to it.”

“Goodbye, then,” George said, his voice low and hoarse, like it had taken everything he had just to say that.

And that was it. There were no grand declarations, no final words to ease the hurt. Just the silence, stretching between you as you turned and walked away, the door clicking shut behind you as the weight of everything settled in.

It had to happen, but that didn’t mean it didn’t break you both.

The dim glow of the pub was familiar, the smell of butterbeer and roasted nuts mixing with the hum of quiet chatter. It was the place where all the memories seemed to hang in the air like ghosts—old friends, old arguments, old jokes. It had been a few weeks since you and George had split, and though the sting was still fresh, the weight had lessened. In some ways, the idea of seeing him again didn’t feel so much like reopening a wound but more like standing at the edge of an uncharted sea, ready to take the first tentative step into a new chapter.

You were already at the table, a drink in hand, waiting. Fred had promised to meet you both here, along with a few others. Everyone had been understanding, but the unspoken tension was still there. George had always been a part of the group, and you had too. It felt strange, like you were both trying to piece together something broken but determined to make it work.

The door opened, and George walked in. His hair was a bit longer now, his gait the same easy stride that had once made you feel like nothing could get in his way. He spotted you immediately, and for a moment, his eyes flickered with that old, familiar warmth—the kind that used to make your heart skip.

You both froze for a heartbeat, but it was over almost as soon as it started. He gave a tight smile, the kind that didn’t reach his eyes. You returned it, though it felt more like a polite mask than anything genuine. The air between you both was thinner now, but it was still there, that invisible thread tying you together.

“Guess we’re both early,” you said, trying to ease the tension, even as your stomach twisted.

“Yeah,” he said, taking a seat across from you, his posture stiff. “Wanted to beat Fred here for once.”

You couldn’t help but laugh lightly at that. “Good luck with that.”

He smirked, just for a moment, before leaning back in his chair. There was a long silence, but it wasn’t awkward—not really. Just two people trying to navigate a new dynamic, one they weren’t used to.

Fred, as expected, was the next to arrive, followed by the rest of the gang—Angelina, Lee, and Alicia. They greeted each other with the usual enthusiasm, but there was a softness in the way they looked between you and George, as if trying to gauge how things stood.

After the initial pleasantries, Fred’s gaze darted between you and George, and you could almost hear the unsaid words hanging in the air. He leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms as he shot you both a pointed look.

“So,” Fred said, his voice deliberately casual but with that teasing edge that only he could pull off. “You two doing okay?”

You met his eyes, the corner of your mouth lifting. “We’re good. We’ve been talking.”

George nodded in agreement, but there was something quiet in his expression. It wasn’t sadness anymore, more like acceptance—a kind of reluctant understanding.

Alicia, always the one to be direct, looked between you both and then at Fred, as if weighing the words she was about to say. “So, are we… allowed to still hang out together? I mean, not just for the sake of being polite, but because we genuinely still want to be around each other?”

You met George’s gaze, the question hanging in the air. You didn’t want to make anyone choose between you, not Fred, not Lee, not even yourself. It wasn’t fair. They were your friends, too.

“I think,” you began, your voice steady, “it would be silly for us to pretend we’re just going to disappear from each other’s lives. We’ve been friends too long for that.”

George nodded, looking down at his drink for a moment. When he spoke, it was quieter than usual, his voice rough but clear. “Yeah. I don’t want things to be awkward between us, not with the group. We all still care about each other, and I don’t want that to change.”

Fred raised an eyebrow, his smirk softer this time. “So you two are saying you’re still friends? Not just for the sake of the group?”

You glanced at George, and there was something almost relieved in the way his eyes softened. “Yeah,” you said with a sigh. “Not just for the group. We still care about each other. Just… in a different way.”

Fred nodded, a small smile pulling at the corners of his mouth. “Alright, then. Glad to hear it. Wouldn’t want to have to choose who’s getting a pint tonight.”

There was a laugh from Lee, and it cut through the last of the tension. The moment felt like a fragile thing—one that could shatter if any of you stepped too hard, but there was something unspoken in the way you all settled into your seats again, like maybe it would be okay after all.

“Good,” Fred said, raising his glass. “So, it’s settled. You two can still hate each other’s guts on the Quidditch pitch, but the rest of the time—friends.”

There was a collective nod around the table, and you felt a weight lift, but only slightly. It was a start. You didn’t expect everything to be smooth sailing from here on out, but you didn’t have to pretend, either. You didn’t have to pretend that you didn’t love George, but also that love didn’t always mean being together.

And maybe that was enough for now.

As the evening wore on, the conversation flowed easily, and for the first time in weeks, you felt like you were finally starting to breathe again. You could see George laughing with Fred across the table, and there was something normal about it, something familiar. It was as if you were both finding your way back to a place that wasn’t defined by the past, but by the people who had always been there for you, no matter what.

Fred’s flat was buzzing with laughter and chatter as the group gathered for one of their regular nights in. The coffee table groaned under the weight of mismatched glasses, half-eaten snacks, and a deck of cards long abandoned for more interesting conversation.

Alicia leaned back against the armrest of the couch, her drink held precariously in one hand as she playfully swatted at Fred with the other. Angelina was in the armchair opposite, one leg draped casually over the side, laughing at a joke Lee had just finished telling. The warmth of their camaraderie filled the room, but for you, it felt strangely distant.

You perched on the edge of the loveseat, acutely aware of George seated on the floor beside you. His shoulder brushed against your knee every time he shifted, a casual closeness that felt anything but casual.

Lee clapped his hands together, breaking the flow of conversation with the air of someone about to drop a bombshell. “Right, so here’s the thing,” he said, pointing a finger at George. “I have this friend you need to meet. She’s brilliant—smart, gorgeous, funny. Honestly, mate, you’d hit it off instantly.”

The room stilled for just a beat, the words hanging in the air like an unresolved chord.

“Lee,” Angelina said with a skeptical grin, “are you matchmaking again? Remember last time? That poor girl was mortified when you called her ‘a real fixer-upper.’”

Everyone erupted into laughter, and you forced a chuckle, feeling the warmth in your face betray you.

George joined in the laughter, though it sounded more reserved than usual. He scratched the back of his neck, his gaze flickering to you for the briefest of moments. “I don’t know, mate,” he said lightly. “Sounds like a lot of pressure.”

“It’s not,” Lee insisted, leaning forward with dramatic earnestness. “This girl’s low-maintenance, chill. Nothing serious, unless you want it to be. Just dinner, that’s all I’m saying.”

Alicia raised an eyebrow. “Since when do you play matchmaker, Jordan? What’s in it for you?”

“The joy of knowing I’ve improved George’s love life,” Lee shot back with mock indignation.

Fred, lounging on the floor by Angelina, snorted. “Low bar, that.”

George threw a balled-up napkin at him, but his lips twitched with amusement. He glanced your way again, this time more deliberately.

“Should I?” he asked, his tone half-joking, half-uncertain.

Everyone seemed to take it as rhetorical, laughter rippling through the room. But you could tell, from the way his voice softened at the end, that the question was meant for you.

Your chest tightened, the air suddenly too thin. This was your moment to say something, to offer even the smallest thread of hesitation, to admit—if only indirectly—that the idea of him with someone else made you feel like the floor was falling out from under you.

Instead, you plastered on a smile that felt like it might crack under the weight of your own lie. “Why not?” you said, your voice somehow light and steady despite the chaos inside. “It sounds like fun.”

George’s expression flickered, surprise crossing his features before he nodded slowly. “Yeah, maybe,” he said, his gaze dropping to his hands. “Maybe it would be.”

Fred’s eyes darted to you, catching the strained smile you aimed at no one in particular. He didn’t say anything, but the furrow of his brow told you he’d noticed.

“Alright then!” Lee crowed, oblivious to the undercurrents shifting in the room. “I’ll set it up. George, trust me—this is going to change your life.”

George chuckled, though it sounded hollow to you. He glanced at you one last time, searching for something in your expression that you refused to show.

Angelina raised her glass. “To Lee’s matchmaking ventures,” she declared, her tone lighthearted.

“To disaster,” Alicia quipped, clinking her glass against Angelina’s.

“To George’s ‘maybe,’” Fred added, smirking as he lifted his drink.

The laughter carried on around you, filling the room with warmth that felt entirely at odds with the ache building in your chest.

George didn’t notice when you stood and excused yourself to the kitchen, your voice carefully cheerful. But Fred did.

He followed a moment later, leaning against the doorway as you filled a glass of water you didn’t actually want. “Careful, love,” he said softly, his usual humor muted. “You’re starting to crack that perfect facade of yours.”

You didn’t look at him, afraid that one glance at his knowing expression would undo you completely. “I’m fine,” you said.

“Yeah,” Fred said dryly, “and I’m a bloody prefect.”

You set the glass down harder than necessary, finally meeting his gaze. “What do you want me to say, Fred? That I’m jealous? That I want to scream at him not to go? That it feels like I’m losing him all over again?”

Fred’s smirk was gone, replaced by something quieter. “Maybe not to me,” he said gently. “But someone needs to hear it.”

You shook your head, your throat tightening painfully. “It’s too late for that.”

Fred didn’t argue, though his expression told you he disagreed.

In the next room, the laughter continued, but it felt worlds away.

The pub was already bustling when you arrived, the faint hum of laughter and clinking glasses spilling out onto the cobbled street. You stepped inside, scanning the crowd until you spotted the familiar faces of your friends at your usual booth near the back. Fred waved you over, a wide grin plastered on his face, and you managed to muster a smile in return.

The group had claimed the largest table in the corner, pint glasses and plates of chips scattered haphazardly across its surface. George was seated across from you, his arm draped casually over the back of the bench. Beside him sat a girl you didn’t recognize—his date.

Her name was Emily. You’d heard about her through the grapevine in the weeks since Lee had first suggested the match. She was everything Lee had promised: pretty, sweet, easygoing. Too easygoing, you thought bitterly, though you knew it was unfair.

You slipped into the seat beside Fred, grateful for his familiar presence. He nudged your shoulder lightly in greeting, his expression flickering with a quiet kind of concern that he didn’t voice.

The mood at the table was light, laughter flowing easily as everyone shared stories and teased each other. Emily was holding her own well, chiming in with anecdotes that had even Angelina chuckling. You tried to focus on the conversation, on the warmth of your friends, but your gaze kept drifting to George.

He looked happy—at ease in a way that felt both foreign and painfully familiar. His hand rested on the table, just inches from Emily’s, and you caught yourself staring at the space between them, waiting for the inevitable moment when he’d reach out and close it.

Fred’s knee knocked against yours under the table, jolting you from your thoughts. When you glanced at him, he didn’t say anything, just raised an eyebrow as if to say You okay?

You nodded quickly, not trusting yourself to speak.

“So, Emily,” Alicia said, leaning forward with a sly grin. “What dirt has George spilled about us so far? Be honest—who did he warn you about first?”

“Oh, definitely Lee,” Emily said with a laugh. “He called you the instigator.”

Lee clutched his chest dramatically. “I’m wounded, truly. And here I thought George was my greatest defender.”

“Defender?” Angelina snorted. “You mean enabler.”

The group dissolved into laughter again, but you couldn’t join in. Your hand curled tightly around your glass, the condensation slick against your palm.

Fred shifted beside you, his hand brushing briefly against yours. It wasn’t much—just a fleeting, grounding touch—but it was enough to steady you for the moment.

“Alright,” Alicia said, still grinning. “But who’s the biggest troublemaker?”

George smiled, glancing at Emily. “That’d be Fred. Hands down.”

Fred gasped in mock outrage. “You wound me, dear brother! I’m a paragon of virtue.”

“Virtue my arse,” Angelina shot back. “Remember that time you charmed all the chairs in the common room to sing Christmas carols in July?”

“That was a masterpiece,” Fred retorted.

You laughed softly at that, the sound slipping out before you could stop it. Fred caught the glimmer of amusement in your eyes and grinned, but the moment was fleeting.

“George,” Emily said, leaning toward him slightly, “you didn’t tell me your brother was so—what’s the word?—chaotic.”

“Oh, he’s chaotic, alright,” George said with a chuckle. “But he keeps things interesting.”

You swallowed hard, the warmth of the group’s laughter suddenly feeling stifling. You pushed your glass away and excused yourself, heading toward the bar.

The pub was crowded, and you had to weave through clusters of people to find a quiet corner. You leaned against the counter, taking a deep breath as you tried to push down the ache clawing at your chest.

You weren’t alone for long. Fred appeared beside you, leaning his elbows on the counter like he’d just wandered over by chance. “Fancy meeting you here,” he said lightly.

You rolled your eyes. “Don’t start.”

He didn’t respond right away, just studied you with that infuriatingly perceptive look of his. “You’re holding up well,” he said finally.

“Am I?” you asked, your voice quieter than you’d intended.

Fred didn’t push, didn’t press for details you weren’t ready to give. Instead, he ordered two glasses of water from the bartender and slid one in front of you. “Stay hydrated, love. You’ll need your strength for all the passive-aggressive smiling you’re doing.”

Despite yourself, you smiled—a real one this time. “Thanks, Fred.”

“Anytime,” he said, tipping his glass toward you in a silent toast.

Back at the table, you noticed Alicia watching you when you returned. Her gaze lingered just a second too long, a flicker of understanding in her eyes as you resumed your seat.

And then the conversation shifted, the moment passed, and the night carried on. But you couldn’t shake the feeling that Alicia had seen more than you’d meant to show.

The shop smelled faintly of sawdust and peppermint, the mingling scents of George and Fred’s latest inventions.

You walked in, the sound of laughter drawing you toward the counter where your friends had gathered. Angelina was seated on the edge, legs swinging as she grinned at Alicia, while Fred leaned casually against a display shelf, munching on a chocolate bar that was undoubtedly not for sale.

“Look who finally decided to join us,” Fred teased when he spotted you.

“Traffic,” you lied, shrugging off your coat. In truth, you’d spent an extra ten minutes pacing your flat, convincing yourself this evening would be fine.

“Well, now we can properly celebrate,” Alicia said, raising the glass of Butterbeer she’d somehow acquired. “To Angie and her ridiculously impressive promotion!”

“Ridiculous is right,” Angelina said, though her tone was proud. “I’ve been putting up with that boss for years. About time I was running things instead.”

“You’re a force to be reckoned with, Angie,” Fred said, lifting his own imaginary toast. “Soon you’ll own the place.”

“She’ll own the world,” Alicia added.

The conversation carried on easily, the group’s familiar banter filling the shop with warmth. You felt yourself relaxing slightly, content to linger on the edges of the chatter. But then George walked in, his arrival announced by the jingle of the bell above the door.

And Emily was with him.

Your stomach tightened, but you forced a smile, nodding in her direction as the group greeted her warmly.

“Emily!” Lee called out from behind the counter. “Thought you were gonna miss the party.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” she said, her voice bright as she slipped off her coat.

You tried not to notice the way George hovered close to her, his hand brushing against her back as he guided her toward the others. But Fred noticed. Of course he did. He caught your eye from across the room, his brow furrowing slightly before he looked away.

It wasn’t long before George found you lingering near one of the shelves. “Can we talk for a second?” he asked, his voice low.

You hesitated but nodded, letting him lead you toward the stockroom. The door swung shut behind you, muffling the laughter from the shop floor.

“Are you okay?” he asked, turning to face you.

You blinked at him, caught off guard by the directness of the question. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

His jaw tightened, his hands fidgeting in his pockets. “I mean… with everything. With her being here. I just—I don’t want this to be weird for you.”

“It’s not weird,” you lied, forcing a shrug. “She’s nice. And… it’s good for you, George. You deserve someone like her.”

His eyes narrowed slightly, searching your face as if trying to find the cracks in your carefully constructed armor. “Are you sure?” he asked softly.

“Positive,” you said, your voice steadier than you felt. “This is what we both wanted, right? To move on?”

He didn’t respond right away, his gaze dropping to the floor. “Yeah. Right.”

You hated the way your chest ached at his quiet agreement, but you didn’t let it show.

By the time you both rejoined the group, Angelina was already rallying everyone to head out for dinner. She caught your arm as you grabbed your coat, her voice low. “Hey. Just so you know… I didn’t mean to make things harder for you by inviting her. If I’d known, I—”

“It’s fine,” you cut in quickly, offering her a tight smile.

Angelina hesitated, her gaze softening. “If you ever need to talk—or scream into a pillow or hex someone—I’m here. And so are Alicia and Fred.”

“I know,” you said, your voice quieter now. “Thanks, Angie.”

The restaurant was warm and bustling, the scent of roasted meat and fresh bread wafting through the air. The group was seated at a long table near the back, laughter and chatter filling the space as plates were passed around.

Emily was seated beside George, and though they weren’t overtly affectionate, every small interaction between them felt like a dagger. You caught glimpses: the way he leaned in to hear something she said, the soft laugh that followed.

Fred, seated across from you, kept a watchful eye, his foot nudging yours gently under the table whenever he noticed your gaze lingering too long. Alicia, beside him, was more subtle, her hand brushing your arm in quiet reassurance when she passed you the butter.

You tried to focus on the celebration, on Angelina’s stories and Fred’s relentless teasing. But your mind kept circling back to the way George seemed so… settled.

It wasn’t until dessert that you realized he wasn’t.

You glanced up to find his gaze on you, his expression unreadable as he caught you watching him. He didn’t look away immediately, and for a moment, it felt like the rest of the room had faded into the background.

But then Emily said something, drawing his attention back to her, and the moment was gone.

Later that night, you returned to your flat, the quiet pressing in on you like a weight. The space felt colder, lonelier, despite the familiar comfort of your favorite blanket and the faint scent of the candles you’d lit earlier.

You sat on the edge of the sofa, staring at the photo on the coffee table—a candid shot of the whole group at the Burrow last Christmas. George’s arm was draped over your shoulder, his smile wide and easy, his love for you written in every line of his face.

The tears came before you could stop them, hot and bitter as they streaked down your cheeks.

“What have I done?” you whispered to the empty room, your voice breaking.

You curled into yourself, clutching the blanket as the memories crashed over you—the sound of his laugh, the warmth of his touch, the way he used to look at you like you were his whole world.

And now he was trying to build a new one, and you’d all but handed him the bricks.

The days turned into weeks, and everywhere you went, it seemed George and Emily were there too.

At the shop, they shared quiet laughter over a joke you couldn’t hear while you restocked shelves. You kept your focus on your work, determined not to let your gaze linger too long. But when Fred saw you sneaking a glance, he tossed a Pygmy Puff your way, grinning. “Eyes on the merchandise, mate.”

At group hangouts, George held the door open for Emily, his hand brushing the small of her back. Fred, always attuned to your silences, leaned over to tell you a completely nonsensical story about a gnome invasion at the Burrow until you were laughing despite yourself.

At the pub, Emily whispered something into George’s ear that made him smile. You excused yourself to the restroom, pretending not to care. When you returned, Fred had taken your seat, shielding your view with a well-timed joke. “You missed it,” he said cheerfully. “Lee just volunteered to dye his eyebrows purple for charity.”

Still, no amount of distraction could stop the nights from ending the same way: alone in your flat, convincing yourself this arrangement was fine.

The pub was packed, as usual, the booth filled with your friends’ laughter and clinking glasses. You’d purposely chosen a seat at the far end, keeping your distance from George and Emily, who sat close together.

Fred slid in beside you, nudging a Butterbeer toward your hand. “Looked like you needed this,” he said, his voice low enough to keep the conversation between you.

“Thanks,” you murmured, taking a small sip.

Angelina and Alicia were caught up in animated wedding talk—a friend of theirs, Lee was attempting to outwit Fred with puns, and the mood was light and cheerful. But as always, your attention wandered to George.

And that’s when you saw him.

At the bar, a familiar face from Hogwarts stood, chatting easily with the bartender. His sandy hair was messier than you remembered, but the confident smile was unmistakable.

“Is that Sam Turner?” Alicia asked, her eyes narrowing as she followed your gaze.

“Yeah,” you said after a pause. “I’ll be back.”

You crossed the pub, tapping Sam on the shoulder. When he turned and recognized you, his face lit up. “Well, look who it is!”

“Long time, no see,” you said, laughing as he pulled you into a friendly hug.

The two of you fell into easy conversation, catching up on the years since Hogwarts. Sam’s eyes darted toward your friends’ booth, his brow furrowing slightly. “Is that George Weasley?”

“Yeah.”

“And—hold on. Is he with someone? I thought you two were…”

“We’re not,” you said quickly, forcing a small laugh. “Not anymore.”

Sam’s brow furrowed. “I thought you two were, like, forever. Everyone thought so.”

You forced a laugh, but it sounded hollow. “Well, everyone was wrong.”

He studied you for a moment, his expression softening. “Can I be honest with you?”

“Always.”

“This friends-with-your-ex thing? It’s the stupidest idea ever. Especially with someone like George. Look, I don’t know what happened between you two, but anyone with eyes could see how much he loved you. And how much you loved him.”

Your stomach twisted, his words hitting far too close to home.

“You don’t just move on from something like that,” Sam continued. “And pretending you can? It’s only going to hurt you more.”

Before you could respond, you felt eyes on you. George was watching from the booth, his expression unreadable. When you met his gaze, he quickly turned away, joining the conversation around him.

George sat stiffly, his drink untouched as the laughter around him grew louder. Fred leaned closer, his voice barely audible over the noise. “Something bothering you?”

George shook his head. “Just tired.”

Fred’s eyes followed George’s gaze toward the bar, where you were still talking to Sam, laughing at something he’d said.

“Old school friend,” Fred said casually, leaning back in his seat.

George frowned. “I know who he is.”

Fred didn’t miss the subtle tension in George’s shoulders, the way his jaw tightened slightly. “You okay with it?”

“Why wouldn’t I be?” George asked, his voice carefully neutral.

Fred smirked faintly but didn’t press. “No reason at all.” He leaned closer, lowering his voice again. “But, just saying, you’re sitting next to someone who might think differently.”

George glanced at Emily, who was engrossed in a conversation with Angelina and Lee. His fingers drummed against his glass before he stilled them, forcing a faint smile. “It’s fine.”

“Sure,” Fred said lightly, taking a long sip of his drink.

You walked home that night, Sam’s words echoing in your mind. You don’t just move on from something like that. The thought twisted in your chest, mingling with everything you’d tried so hard to suppress.

Back at the flat, George sat on the edge of his bed, his elbows on his knees, his hands rubbing at his temples. Across the hall, Fred knocked softly on the doorframe.

“Mind if I be totally honest with you?” Fred asked, stepping inside without waiting for an answer.

George looked up, his face drawn.

“You’re not as fine with this as you think you are,” Fred said bluntly.

George’s eyes narrowed slightly. “I’m trying to move on.”

Fred tilted his head, studying his brother for a long moment. “Are you? Or are you just pretending it’s the right thing to do?”

George didn’t respond, but the answer was written all over his face.

Angelina and Alicia’s flat was warm and welcoming, filled with the familiar hum of chatter and laughter. The group had fallen into their usual rhythm—Fred monopolizing the snacks, Lee annoying Angelina with some awful jokes, and George quietly leaning against the armrest of the sofa.

You’d settled into a corner, nursing your drink and trying not to focus on the way Emily sat beside George, her hand brushing his every so often. The sting was duller now, but it hadn’t faded. It lurked beneath the surface, masked by forced smiles and careful avoidance.

“And once things settle down at work,” Emily was saying, her voice carrying over the conversation, “George and I were talking about maybe taking a trip. Italy, wasn’t it?”

You froze. Your grip tightened on the glass, your heart dropping as you felt the weight of her words.

George shifted uncomfortably, rubbing the back of his neck. “Yeah, we, uh… talked about it.”

Your eyes flickered to him. He looked as though he wanted to melt into the couch, his forced smile not quite reaching his eyes.

Emily didn’t notice. “I mean, it’s just an idea for now,” she continued, her tone light. “But it would be nice to plan something—maybe even a little further down the line. You know, something long-term.”

Fred coughed loudly, earning a warning glare from Alicia. Lee, sensing the tension, cracked a joke about George needing sunscreen in Italy, which earned a few chuckles.

You barely heard it. Your chest felt tight, a familiar ache blooming there.

“I think that’s a great idea,” Angelina said, though her glance at you was fleeting and full of understanding.

You forced a smile and nodded along, not trusting your voice to stay steady.

It didn’t take long for the walls to close in. The laughter and conversation seemed to grow louder, each sound pulling you further away from the carefully constructed calm you’d maintained all evening.

You excused yourself quietly, slipping out into the hallway. The cool air outside hit you as you leaned against the wall, trying to steady your breathing. You hadn’t made it far when you heard the door creak open behind you.

“Wait.”

You didn’t need to turn to know who it was.

George stepped out, his footsteps hesitant. “Are you all right?”

You swallowed, wrapping your arms around yourself. “I’m fine.”

“You don’t seem fine.”

A bitter laugh escaped you before you could stop it. “What gave it away?”

He sighed, stepping closer. “Look, if this is about Emily—”

“It’s not about Emily,” you interrupted, your voice sharper than you intended. You turned to face him, the words tumbling out before you could stop them. “This is about us, George. Or whatever it is we’ve been pretending to be these past few weeks.”

His brow furrowed. “We’re trying to be friends.”

“That’s the problem,” you said, your voice trembling. “We can’t be friends. We could never be just friends.”

George blinked, taken aback. “Why not?”

“Because I can’t keep pretending, George,” you said, your voice breaking. “I can’t sit there and watch you fall for someone else—someone who isn’t me—and act like it doesn’t kill me inside.”

His expression softened, his shoulders dropping. “I’m not—”

“Yes, you are,” you cut him off. “You’re trying to move on, and you should. You deserve to be happy. But I can’t… I can’t be here for it. I can’t be your friend and watch it happen.”

The silence that followed was suffocating, the weight of your words hanging in the air between you.

“I thought I could do this,” you admitted, tears burning in your eyes. “I thought I could put everything aside because it was worth keeping you in my life. But I was wrong. I can’t. Not like this.”

George ran a hand through his hair, his own voice strained. “You think this is easy for me?”

“You’re doing a better job of pretending than I am,” you said quietly, wiping at your eyes.

His gaze dropped, his jaw tightening. “You think Emily’s what I want?”

“I don’t know, George,” you said, your voice breaking again. “But she’s what you have now. And I can’t be around for that. I thought I could handle it, but I can’t. I just…” You took a deep breath, your voice barely a whisper. “I can’t.”

George looked at you, the conflict in his eyes so raw it made your chest ache. He opened his mouth, as if to say something, but no words came.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered, your voice cracking. And before he could respond, you turned and walked away, leaving him standing alone in the dim light of the hallway.

The pub was alive with its usual hum of chatter, the clinking of glasses, and the familiar aroma of butterbeer mingling with something stronger. Fred leaned back in his chair, lazily twirling a coaster between his fingers while Lee enthusiastically retold a particularly embarrassing story from their Hogwarts days.

Angelina rolled her eyes. “Lee, you’ve told that story a thousand times. Nobody cares about the time you ‘accidentally’ turned your hair pink in Potions.”

“It wasn’t accidental,” Alicia muttered, smirking as she sipped her drink.

Even George chuckled weakly, though it didn’t reach his eyes. He’d been quiet all night, a shadow of the vibrant, quick-witted man they all knew.

“Oi, George,” Fred said, tossing the coaster onto the table. “You’re quieter than usual. What’s eating you?”

George glanced up, startled, as though he hadn’t realized they were watching him. “Nothing.”

Fred gave him a look. “Mate, come on. You’ve been sulking for weeks.”

Alicia raised an eyebrow. “Does this have something to do with Emily? Where is she, by the way?”

George hesitated, his fingers tracing the rim of his glass. Finally, he exhaled heavily. “We broke up.”

There was a collective pause around the table, the sudden confession sinking in.

“What?” Angelina asked, leaning forward. “When?”

“About a week ago,” George admitted, his voice low.

Fred frowned. “And you’re just now telling us?”

George shrugged, looking down at his drink. “It’s not exactly something I wanted to talk about.”

Angelina exchanged a glance with Alicia, who folded her arms. “Did something happen? I mean, you two seemed fine.”

“That’s the thing,” George said, a bitter edge creeping into his voice. “I thought we were fine too. But Emily said… She said I wasn’t really there. That I was… distracted.”

“Distracted how?” Lee asked, genuinely curious.

George hesitated, his jaw tightening. “She said it always felt like I was waiting for someone else. That I wasn’t really trying to move on—I was just… pretending.”

Fred stilled, the teasing glint in his eyes fading as he studied his brother. “And was she right?”

George didn’t answer right away. He ran a hand through his hair, frustration evident in every line of his body. “I don’t know,” he muttered. “Maybe she was. I mean, I cared about her—I really did. But it was never… It wasn’t the same.”

The words hung in the air, and everyone knew who he meant without him having to say it.

Alicia’s lips parted in quiet realization. “Oh, George…”

“She told me to,” George said suddenly, his voice cracking. He looked up, his eyes shining with a mixture of regret and confusion. “She told me to move on. To give Emily a chance. She said it was fine—that she was fine.”

Fred leaned forward, his expression unreadable. “And you believed that?”

“What else was I supposed to do?” George snapped, his frustration spilling over. “She told me to! She sat there with that forced smile of hers and practically pushed me into it. I didn’t want to hurt her, but she said it was okay, so I tried to believe her.”

Fred’s eyes darkened, but it was Alicia who spoke next. “George, you know her better than anyone. Did she seem fine?”

George opened his mouth, then closed it again, his shoulders slumping. “I don’t know. I thought she was… I mean, she said she was.”

Angelina shook her head, her tone gentle but firm. “George, she wasn’t fine. She never was.”

“What do you mean?”

“You really think she was okay with all of this?” Alicia asked, her voice soft but pointed. “George, she loves you. She’s always loved you. She’s been breaking herself into pieces just to make sure you were happy.”

Fred finally spoke, his voice quiet but resolute. “She didn’t push you toward Emily because she was fine. She did it because she thought it was what you wanted. And she couldn’t stand in the way of that.”

George stared at him, his throat working as he tried to process the words. “But I…” He paused, his voice cracking. “I didn’t want Emily. I just wanted her to tell me not to.”

“She wasn’t going to do that,” Angelina said softly. “Because she thought she was doing the right thing. She thought it was what you needed.”

The silence that followed was heavy, each of them lost in their thoughts.

Finally, Lee let out a low whistle, breaking the tension. “Blimey. This is like something out of one of those tragic novels Alicia keeps making us read.”

Alicia threw a crumpled napkin at him, though her smile was faint. “Not the time, Lee.”

Fred leaned back in his chair, his jaw tight. “Well, you’ve cocked this up, haven’t you?”

“Fred!” Angelina hissed, though even she didn’t sound particularly mad.

“No, he’s right,” George muttered, his hands tightening into fists. “I’ve made a bloody mess of everything. And now she’s shut herself away, and I don’t even know how to fix it.”

Fred’s expression softened slightly. “You know how to fix it. You’ve just got to stop being a coward about it.”

George met his brother’s gaze, and for the first time that evening, a flicker of determination appeared in his eyes.

Angelina leaned forward, her tone gentler now. “George, she loves you. But if you don’t tell her how you feel, she’ll think you’ve moved on for good. You need to be honest with her—for both your sakes.”

George nodded slowly, his resolve hardening. “You’re right,” he said quietly. “I need to talk to her.”

Fred smirked, clapping him on the back. “That’s the spirit. Now go on, before she barricades her flat entirely.”

The group watched as George stood, grabbing his coat and heading toward the door.

“Do you think he’ll actually do it?” Lee asked, raising an eyebrow.

Fred leaned back, a smug grin on his face. “If he doesn’t, I’ll drag him there myself.”

The knock at your door sends a jolt through your chest, breaking the silence you’ve wrapped yourself in for days. You freeze, staring at the handle like it might burn you if you got too close. You could ignore it—you should ignore it. But then you hear his voice, muffled yet unmistakable.

“Can we talk?”

It’s soft, tentative, and it holds a weight that settles in your stomach. You grip the edge of the counter as if it’s the only thing keeping you upright. You’ve spent days fortifying yourself, layering walls of logic and pain around your heart to keep him out. To keep yourself safe.

But his voice slips through the cracks.

Your feet move before your mind can stop them, carrying you to the door. When you open it, George is standing there, looking like he’s been standing in the rain even though the sky is clear. His hands are stuffed in his jacket pockets, his shoulders slightly hunched, like he’s bracing for something.

For you.

“Hey,” he says, his voice barely above a whisper.

“Hi.” The word feels too small, too fragile, for the storm brewing in your chest.

“Can I come in?” he asks, his brown eyes searching yours.

You hesitate, the weight of the last few weeks pressing against your ribs. But then you step aside, letting him in, because you’ve never been able to turn him away.

He walks into your flat, and for a moment, he just stands there, like he doesn’t know where to start. His presence fills the space, making it feel both too small and too big all at once.

“I’m sorry,” he says finally, breaking the silence.

You swallow hard, your voice tight when you ask, “For what?”

“For everything. For making this harder than it already was. For… not seeing what it was doing to you.”

You look away, your eyes tracing the edge of the table. “It’s not just you, George. I went along with it. I thought I could handle it.”

“But you couldn’t,” he says, his voice cracking slightly. “And I hate that I didn’t realize it sooner.”

Your chest tightens as his words settle over you. “It doesn’t matter now, does it? We’re here, and it’s still broken.”

He takes a step closer, his eyes locked on yours. “It doesn’t have to stay broken.”

You laugh softly, but it’s bitter, hollow. “We tried, George. We tried, and we couldn’t make it work. What’s different now?”

He exhales sharply, running a hand through his hair. “Because I was an idiot. Because I thought… I thought if I tried to move on, it would hurt less. But it didn’t. It just made me realize that no one else could ever be you.”

Your breath hitches, his words hitting you square in the chest. You try to look away, but he steps into your line of sight, his voice soft yet steady.

“I broke up with Emily.”

Your heart skips, but you force yourself to keep your expression neutral. “Why?”

“Because I didn’t love her,” he says simply, his gaze unwavering. “Because I was only with her because I thought it was what you wanted. Because the only person I want… is you.”

The words hang in the air between you, heavy and raw. You feel like you’re standing on the edge of a cliff, the ground beneath you crumbling away.

“But what about everything else?” you ask, your voice trembling. “What about the reasons we broke up in the first place? We still want different things, George. Love isn’t enough to fix that.”

He nods, his jaw tightening. “I know. And I’ve been thinking about that a lot. I don’t have all the answers, but… I know I don’t want a future that doesn’t have you in it. We can figure the rest out together. If you’ll let me.”

You stare at him, your heart torn between hope and fear. “How can you be so sure?”

“Because I’ve been without you,” he says, his voice breaking. “And it was the worst thing I’ve ever felt. I don’t care if it’s messy or hard—I just want you, however I can have you.”

His words chip away at the walls you’ve built, and before you know it, you’re stepping forward, your arms wrapping around him. He pulls you close, his breath warm against your hair.

“I don’t want to lose you again,” you whisper, your voice muffled against his chest.

“You won’t,” he promises, his grip tightening. “Not if I can help it.”

It’s not perfect—it’s far from it—but for the first time in weeks, you feel like you can breathe again. You know there’s still so much to work through, but as you stand there in his arms, you feel something you haven’t in a long time.

Hope.

#harry potter #fic #harry potter fanfiction #harry potter imagine #weasley twins #imagine #weasley #george weasley x you #george weasley x y/n #george weasly x reader #george weasley fluff #george weasley imagine #george fic #george weasley fanfiction #george weasley

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en-eunhee · 2 days ago

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✶ ܃ i LOVE YOU, i'M SORRY ( 이희승 ) ───𝗐𝗁𝖾𝗇 𝗁𝖾𝖾𝗌𝖾𝗎𝗇𝗀 𝗋𝖾𝖺𝗅𝗂𝗓𝖾𝖽 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗐𝖾𝗋𝖾 𝗆𝗈𝗋𝖾 𝗍𝗁𝖺𝗇 "𝖿𝗋𝗂𝖾𝗇𝖽𝗌"

𝑜𝑓 𓈒 heeseung x 8th member!eunhee 1OOOwc. ── idol au, 8th member au, fluff 。。 slight skinship, eunhee being PAINFULLY oblivious : ARCHiVE

다니 ⦂ who decided to come back to this account ? sorry for being so IA ㅠㅠ,, i promise i'll be more active as i have a few unfinished works

HEESEUNG DIDN'T THINK TOO MUCH ABOUT IT AT FIRST. it was a cold night, and the group had just wrapped up an event. eunhee had forgotten her coat—typical. she always seemed to misplace little things, leaving a trail of herself everywhere they went. he had noticed it early on, the way she’d leave a water bottle here, a scarf there. but tonight, her shivering was hard to ignore.

he didn't say a word as he shrugged his jacket off and draped it over her shoulders.

“oh,” she blinked, startled, looking up at him. “thanks, hee.”

she smiled, the kind that made her nose wrinkle just a little, a small quirk he had grown fond of without realizing it.

“you’ll freeze if you don’t wear it,” he replied, brushing her concern off.

“i’ll survive,” he said, hands in his pockets now, willing his body to adjust to the chill.

eunhee didn’t say much after that, just pulled the jacket tighter around herself. maybe it was the way her face softened, gratitude clear even if she didn’t say it out loud. maybe it was how natural it felt to do something like this for her, how easy it was to care for her without thinking twice.

heeseung was starting to realize he didn’t just do things like this for everyone.

heeseung noticed it again during practice. eunhee was laughing at one of jake’s dumb jokes, and there it was—that wrinkle in her nose when she smiled, the kind that felt so genuinely her. it wasn’t just the laugh itself, though that was nice too, melodic in a way he’d never tire of. it was the little details, like the way her head tilted slightly back or how she covered her mouth with her hand, as if trying to contain the joy.

“heeseung, you good?”

jay’s voice snapped him out of it.

“huh?” he blinked, realizing he’d been staring.

jay raised an eyebrow, a teasing smile tugging at his lips. “you’ve been spacing out for like, five minutes.”

heeseung waved him off, mumbling something about being tired. he wasn’t going to admit he’d been fixated on eunhee’s smile again. that would mean confronting thoughts he wasn’t ready for, thoughts that were becoming more frequent and harder to ignore.

“hold this for me?”

eunhee barely waited for a response before shoving her water bottle and phone into his hands.

“yeah, sure,” he muttered, adjusting his grip as she tied her shoelaces.

it wasn’t the first time. eunhee always handed him her things without a second thought, trusting him to keep them safe while she did something or got distracted by something else. he never minded, though he wasn’t sure when it became such a habit.

“thanks, hee,” she said, flashing him that easy smile of hers.

“no problem,” he replied, though his heart was doing something weird again.

heeseung doesn’t think much of it at first.

they’re at the airport, waiting for their flight to another tour stop. eunhee, as usual, is beside him, eyes crinkling as she smiles at something jay says.

eunhee reaches for his hand.

it’s casual, like she doesn’t even think twice about it. her fingers wrapping around his palm, and he feels her thumb brush against his skin as she pulls him toward the security checkpoint.

“don’t get lost,” she says through a laugh, and heeseung blinks down at their hands.

this isn’t what friends do.

he looks at her out of the corner of his eye, at the way her hair falls over her shoulders, at the tiny frown she wears as she concentrates on weaving them through the crowd.

it’s not the first time they’ve held hands. on stage, during rehearsals, in front of fans—he’s done it before. it’s part of the job.

but this isn’t the same.

she doesn’t let go until they’re seated at the gate, and even then, he feels the phantom weight of her hand in his.

that night, lying in his hotel bed, he stares at the ceiling and thinks about how easy it was for her. how natural.

he thinks about how his heart wouldn’t stop racing.

heeseung doesn’t know when he started watching her like this.

it’s their second tour, and they’re midway through the setlist. eunhee’s solo is next, and he’s already perched on the side of the stage, a bottle of water in his hand, pretending he’s not waiting for her.

the lights dim, and the crowd erupts as the opening notes of her song fill the arena.

she steps into the spotlight, and heeseung feels it hit him like it always does.

eunhee is captivating.

but it’s not just her performance. it’s her.

heeseung’s eyes follow the way her hair whips as she turns, the way her expression shifts from soft to intense and back again.

“you’re staring again,” sunghoon whispers from beside him, nudging him with his elbow, and heeseung flinches, tearing his gaze away.

“no, i’m not,” he says quickly, but sunghoon just raises an eyebrow, unconvinced.

heeseung doesn’t bother arguing. instead, he turns back toward the stage, his grip tightening around the water bottle as he watches eunhee hit the high note.

the crowd roars, but he doesn’t hear it.

all he can hear is her. she glances toward where the members are watching, her eyes briefly meeting his, and she flashes a small, almost shy smile.

heeseung feels his heart stop.

it’s just eunhee being eunhee, he tells himself as she disappears backstage. she’s like that with everyone.

but the way his pulse pounds in his ears says otherwise.

eunhee is oblivious, and it drives heeseung insane.

he doesn’t know how she does it—how she can be so close, so present, and not notice the way she affects him.

like now.

they’re at the dorm, sitting on the couch after a long day of rehearsals. eunhee is beside him, her legs tucked under her, scrolling through her phone.

“should we watch a movie?” she asks, turning to him, and he blinks, caught off guard.

“uh, sure,” he says, trying not to sound as awkward as he feels.

she grins, leaning forward to grab the remote, and heeseung watches as a strand of hair falls into her face. without thinking, he reaches out, tucking it behind her ear.

eunhee freezes, her eyes flicking to his, and for a second, he panics.

but then she laughs, brushing it off like it’s nothing.

“thanks,” she says, her attention already back on the TV, and heeseung exhales, leaning back against the couch.

it’s always like this. moments that feel like everything to him, but nothing to her.

does she not see the way he looks at her? the way his heart stumbles every time she smiles?

he doesn’t say anything, of course. he can’t.

but it doesn’t stop him from wondering.

it hits him in pieces, slowly but surely, until he can’t deny it anymore.

friends don’t do this.

friends don’t make his heart race.

friends don’t consume his thoughts.

and yet, he doesn’t tell her. doesn’t tell anyone.

because as much as he wants to, as much as he feels like he might explode if he keeps it to himself, he knows it’s not the right time.

but when he catches her looking at him, her smile soft and knowing, he wonders if she feels it too.

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kaiserposting · 22 hours ago

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Shidou Ryusei — Birds Born in a Cage Think Flying is an Illness

PAIRING: Shidou Ryusei/Reader WORD COUNT: 2k TYPE: Some angst (?? idk), childhood friends/neighbors, No Blue lock AU (Like it never happened...) WARNING(S): Implied child abuse on both ends, the ending is ambiguous/up to interpretation, Anxiety

A lot of people think Shidou’s hair isn’t naturally blonde.

It’s just something people have always discussed, even when you were little. Such a benign topic to interest them, the color of Shidou’s hair — yet it has always been a point of contention even when you never saw the big deal around it. Maybe because he's always stood out, be it with something unimportant like appearance or the more elusive matter of his attitude.

Shidou’s eyelashes are blonde to the root, you could've said.

Shidou was always blonde even when we were kids, you could've said.

But you never say things like this, of course, when you overhear their gossip. There are times when someone in school asks you about Shidou, since it's no secret that you are associated, and you'll answer with a meek and boring Yes, Shidou really is blonde, but won't go beyond that or intrude.

It's shitty and you're embarrassed of yourself, but the truth is, you never defend him when they make more serious, inflammatory, sometimes straight up degrading claims about him rather than merely speculating on his hair color. You don't want to impose. You don't have the confidence to speak when not spoken to. And he doesn't care about them nor about their opinions, so you can somewhat delude yourself that you're all good in your shell, that it's fine. In a sense it is this willingness to be himself while not heeding what others make of it that defines Shidou’s freedom.

Shidou’s hair isn’t bleached, but the pink streaks are. The first time he dyed it, you were both nearing junior high graduation, and he rushed upstairs to your apartment to invite you to ‘do something cool with him’.

The matter wasn't all that exciting to you, but you were afraid you'd get caught not being home if your parents were to return from work earlier than expected. There was a kind of secrecy and excitement in the adrenaline your fear caused you, and a connection in allowing Shidou to partake.

Maybe you’re the type of person who worships the problem and maybe letting Shidou in on it is like performing a ritual of closeness to you. This personality deficit persists even in the present.

You always tried to refuse him at first in these exploits because you were so, so afraid of things like air and vague concepts in your mind, but you'd cave in anyway, after some coaxing. Your fingers were shaky and you botched it, but you helped him despite the rush.

Then you ran and jumped down and almost sprained your ankle, since you wanted to retreat quickly, fearful of your parents. You cleaned all the dye off your fingers with boiling water and an excessive amount of soap once you went inside, and you spent several days afterwards thinking you were going to get caught in assisting the transgression, which never came.

Though your family torments you, the most cruel part is that they've trained your mind to continue the job whenever they are not around. When you were little at one point you thought they had installed hidden cameras in your room since they always mystically knew when you'd be up to no good, but nowadays you assume they were making things up for the sake of yelling at you and their guesses happened to be right on occasion by some absurd coincidence.

You’ve also come to understand just because they raise hell about something doesn’t necessarily mean it was wrong or immoral.

One time when you were still around seven or so, you let Shidou push you on the swing. He always used too much force, and honestly while you found it scary, you agreed every time to his proposal. What you didn’t grasp at the time was that this prevalent fear will be integral to your life.

There was such an accident where you slipped off the swing and landed straight on your face from high up.

Shidou crouched down next to you while you started crying. He assumed it was from the pain and apologized for a bit in an attempt to placate you. It took no time for your skin to get aggravated and swollen, and the recessed scratches had dirt sticking to them, and you were so upset it was uncontrollable.

After a while of histrionics, Shidou managed to calm you down somehow, at least to a degree where you could speak, and all you had to say was, “I got hurt! My parents are gonna yell at me!”

“They’re gonna yell at you for getting hurt?!” Shidou parroted back at you. The statement was absurd, even though he got it — he really did — and then he burst out laughing.

Your classmates behind you have moved on to whispering about Shidou’s makeup rather than his hair. You begin scrawling a hateful scribble on one of the pages in the middle of your notebook and think to tear it out later ‘cause your parents might find it while looking through your stuff and scold you for being an untidy degenerate.

Do people your age still deal with this kind of thing, on average? You think the answer should be no, that you’re too old, but your perception of normal is so fucked up, you can’t think it in confidence. So who knows. Maybe everyone else is hiding family shame as well, but hiding it better, like Shidou with his energy and such. You could always be victimizing yourself without basis, too.

This is your last class for today, so at least you don’t have to tolerate being at school for much longer. Your relief about this, however, doesn’t last long, since the teacher decides to return your tests earlier than expected.

When you see your mark written in red at the bottom, you want to throw up. The world caves in on you. You haven’t failed this badly in a while — are you a moron or something? You must be, to get so many questions wrong. Fuck. You’re so fucked.

You try to hold it in, but as usual your stupid body’s reactions prove overwhelming and the tears bubble up anyway. Your hand flies up to cover your mouth and stifle the noise as you shake in place. No one pays you any attention at least, so the humiliation of a breakdown isn’t too bad this time.

After the teacher dismisses you all, your sleeve brushes against your face for a hasty wipe and stand upright with weak knees. The test is still in your grip, crinkling under your fingertips. Though you do not want anyone to see you sobbing and acting pitiful, your pace is languid, trying to prolong the time before you arrive home for as long as possible.

Shidou catches up to you with ease before you can even reach the gate, swinging an arm around your shoulder. You stiffen and blink, praying the action will somehow erase your tears before he can register them even if you know it won’t.

“Aww, are you crying again?” asks Shidou, leaning in to rest his chin on your shoulder. Still, it’s not a proper embrace, and it makes walking awkward. You stumble to stop, but Shidou keeps dragging you along, in the wrong direction at that, and you go along with it.

“No.” You sniffle.

“What is this?” He releases you and plucks the paper out of your hold.

“I’m in big shit,” you tell him, despite the initial denial. “Also, I think I might have a tapeworm in place of a brain.”

It had rained while you were still inside. Now the roads are wet and your shoes feel squeaky and wet with each step. Puddles gather in the imperfections and cracks of the pavement. The sky is a bland shade of grey.

Shidou unfurls the paper and examines it with a critical eye, as a joke. “Come on, you got a three. We got those back today too and I totally failed it.”

“I’m gonna get yelled at like crazy and it needs a signature too.”

Shidou clicks his tongue. “I told you to fake it from the get go.”

“I was scared.”

“You’re always scared!”

“Are you ok with failing? Something gonna happen to you?”

“Oh yeah, I’m definitely getting hit today,” he says with a yawn. Then tears your test to shreds and shoves the pieces in his pocket and grins to himself. “I’ll glue this to a drawing later.”

His admission makes you frown, but Shidou remains in good spirits, and even picks his ear with his pinky. He doesn’t care what people will think of him, so he does things like that all the time, and despite the fights and nonsensical exclamations about viscera, he practices body mindfulness and has his own philosophies on freedom and such, and he doesn’t let anyone define his life or self for him, or influence his definitions on those concepts. In fundamentals he is different to you; Shidou stands immune to the lacanian Other that is always tormenting your psyche.

You continue your walk together, straying further and further away from your neighborhood. You’re too anxious to go home, because bad things will happen, and too anxious to stay out because the bad things will escalate to worse when you inevitably go home. So you lay stagnant and let Shidou wrap his fingers around yours and hold your hand as you walk around even though you are nervous, even though as usual with him there is no path and only a journey.

The silence pervades, interrupted only by half-conversations. You’re worried with graduation and your grades and university almost constantly, so this is what you talk about, about how your parents won’t be happy with your academic placement and how you’re planning to kill yourself before finals. Shidou, upon hearing all this, laughs and says you are a funny person.

Is he some kind of flâneur or a nonconformist in society’s eyes, you don’t know, but in your opinion Shidou is so free in a sense he cannot be bound by an identity, even if the classification is a dissentient one such as ‘misfit’.

Little by little the sun comes down, the streets and benches get dryer, while you continue your aimless stroll. You don’t even recognize what part of the city you’re in anymore, which puts you on edge, but Shidou probably does.

The wind caresses your face.

“I don’t want to go home,” you plead, even though you know that is not where you’re going. You haven’t turned around yet to be going home.

Despite your request, you also realize the longer you put off the consequences, the worse they are becoming.

“Let’s run away together,” says Shidou lightly, cheerful even, as if he is suggesting what you should have for dinner instead of something drastic and far-fetched. “I’ll take you to Miyako-jima and we’ll play football on the beach every day. And crawl around the fields. We can even go snorkeling sometimes.”

“I don’t want to snorkel.”

“Come on, you haven’t even tried it. It could be your favorite thing ever and you’d never know! You could be one with the fish! You don’t know ‘cause you don’t tryyyy.”

“Whatever, Shidou.”

“You’re my little roadside flower, so I need to relocate you.”

“I thought I was a fish to you.”

“Everyone’s many things. I don’t care too much about that kind of thing.”

“About semiotics,” you say.

“If I was a fish, I’d swim against the stream,” says Shidou, “and I want you to swim with me.”

Another bout of silence settles. The only noise you can hear is the ambience of your environment, the wind, still, all the insects that are still awake, your quickening heartbeat ringing in your ears at what he has uttered so shamelessly and thoughtlessly.

There’s a halt in your step again as you try to gather a moment to process it, but to no avail. Shidou pulls you along, and you let him, perhaps because you want to go somewhere — anywhere (with him in particular, maybe) — but do not desire the responsibility. So, you always let him wrap his hand around your wrist and tug you around. Because it is easier. Because then you are not making the decision, and you don’t want to go home, so you will not resist or dig your heels into the ground.

You continue walking in the dark. Your fingers interlace together as you head toward the bus stop together.

___

Cheating on Kaiser and listening to drill music I had a lot of trouble with this and it was not cooperating with me but when does writing cooperate iwth me #Hate #Sad

#blue lock x reader #bllk x reader #shidou ryuusei x reader #shidou ryusei x reader #blue lock x you #shidou x reader

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queen-of-deans-booty · 1 day ago

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FFF

Pairing: Castiel x Female!Reader

Word Count: ~1.7k (lyrics included)

Warnings: fluff

Summary: Sam and Dean introduce you to their angelic friend, Castiel, and you are immediately enthralled by him. Instead of jumping into something with him, you two take it slow and let the relationship flourish naturally.

Square Filled: FFF by Zara Larsson (2023) for @heavenandhellbingo

Author’s Note: any and all comments are appreciated <3

Hunting is something you try to stay out of. It’s not that you don’t think you have the chops to be a hunter, you just don’t want to be one. You’ve never seen the appeal of being one but you admire Sam and Dean for being one. You met them while they were on a hunt. A ghost murdered your coworker and they interviewed you. They seemed like genuine FBI agents until you saw them leave your coworker’s house covered in blood.

You kept in touch with them over the years and now you’re good friends with them.

They invited you to the Bunker to hang out so that’s where you’re heading. You’re in town for something unrelated so it’s nice to see the brothers. You don’t visit the Bunker often so you jump at the chance to when they want you to come.

Despite their lifestyle, the Bunker is one of the coolest things you’ve ever seen.

When you get there, you knock on the metal door twice. Sam opens it and smiles widely when he sees you.

“Y/N! Welcome!” He pulls you in for a soul-crushing hug. “We just got started.”

“Cool. Thanks for inviting me.”

“Oh, yeah. Hey, we invited one of our other friends. His name is Cas. He’s an angel.”

“A what?” you ask, flabbergasted.

As much as you try to stay out of their business, you can’t help but read about the different types of monsters they deal with. Still, you’d never thought angels were real. Maybe in fiction but never in real life.

“An angel,” Sam chuckles.

“Okay.”

You walk down the metal stairs and greet Dean who has a beer in hand.

“It’s good to see you, Y/N.”

“You, too. So, where is this elusive angel that I never knew existed?”

“Right here.” Dean steps off to the side and you look at the angel in a trenchcoat. “My name is Castiel but you may use the shortened version of my name that the brothers are so fond of using.”

“Right. For an angel of God, you’re… normal.”

“My true form is approximately the size of your Chrysler building.”

“Good to know,” you nod.

Not only are you starstruck by the angel, you think he’s adorable. If he’s going to be here, you’re definitely going to make an effort to visit more often.

Unusual, we got mutual friends Is it mutual if I kiss your lips? If I'm truthful, then it all depends on your feelings Crucial, how I'm leanin' in 'Cause I'm used to just divin' in I could lose you, that's the consequence of my feelings

Sam and Dean are currently on a hunt hallways across the country where there isn’t great internet service. They don’t know what they’re hunting so they asked you if you could do some research from the Bunker. You’re no hunter but you don’t mind helping them like this. You’re out of danger and safe inside the most secure place in the world against monsters.

Plus, Castiel is here, too. That’s always a plus.

It’s been a few months since you two met and you’ve been coming over every chance you get just to be with him.

Just so you’re not sitting in silence, you hooked up your Bluetooth speaker to your phone so that you can listen to music while you read through the many lore books. You and Castiel are sitting right next to each other; he’s so close that you can feel the heat radiating off him. It’s nearing winter so it’s getting colder outside, but Castiel is a radiator.

“Did you find anything?” you ask him.

“Not yet. Did you?”

“Nope.”

You flip through the book, half-paying attention to the word and half-paying attention to how close Castiel is. The song changes to a romantic tune, and you look up at Castiel who is already staring at you. You briefly look at his chapped lips that also somehow look soft, and you find yourself leaning in.

No! You stop yourself from potentially making a mistake. You’re known to jump into relationships and stay in the fast lane. It’s why you’ve never had a steady relationship with any of your exes. Castiel deserves better. He deserves more. You really like him and you can’t afford to lose him so you can’t be yourself.

You need to change and it starts with him.

Is there a spark for us Or is it just purely platonic? Is this a story arc? 'Cause if it are, it'd be iconic I wasn't gonna ask Afraid of asking you to dance

The best thing about winter is the frozen lakes. You love ice skating but you’re not very good at it. Growing up, you lived in a warmer climate that didn’t get cold enough for any water to freeze, so you took to the activity later in life.

You and Castiel have been hanging out more and more without Sam and Dean around. He might be an angel that will outlive you, but you’re falling for him every day that you’re with him. There’s something so pure about him. He hasn’t been tainted by humanity long enough to see the bad in life. He still believes that people do good simply because it’s right. It’s honestly refreshing to be around someone who still thinks that way.

“Have you ever ice skated?” you ask as you pull your skates on.

“No. I’m sure I can pick it up.”

“Yeah, just wait until you get on the ice.” You step onto the frozen lake and almost fall from being unbalanced. Castiel jumps up and grabs your waist to steady you, and you try to hide the blush creeping up your cheeks. “Thanks.”

“Please be careful.”

Castiel steps onto the ice and skates as if he’s a professional. You watch him with a parted mouth.

“How in the hell are you doing that?”

“It’s simply a balancing act.”

“Right.”

You skate but find that your feet move apart when you do. You struggle to stay upright, and Castiel stays near you to catch you if you fall. Most people wouldn’t find this enjoyable but you’re with Castiel so it makes it better. Plus, if you fall, you know he’ll catch you.

“Here, grab my hand.”

You bite back a smile and grab his warm hand. He skates next to you effortlessly, and you cling to his side to keep some sort of balance.

“Do you normally excel at things you’ve never done before?”

“Generally, yes.”

You laugh and continue to skate with him in the freezing cold. You try to turn but end up tripping over your own feet and crashing into Castiel. He is taken off guard so he falls to the ice with you on top of him. Suddenly, you start laughing either out of embarrassment or at the thought of why you decided to do this with him when you know you’re shit at it.

“I’m sorry, did I hurt you?”

“No.”

You put your hand on his chest to hold yourself up, and you suddenly realize how close you two are. Your breath mixes with his in the cold, but neither of you moves from each other. You’re so close that you can close the few-inch gap and kiss him.

“Your nose and cheeks are red,” he says.

“It’s cold outside. Aren’t you cold?”

“I’m an angel. I don’t feel the cold.”

“Lucky you, then.”

Castiel moves you off him with ease and helps you stand. He brings you back to the snow where you can stand comfortably and removes his trenchcoat. Without saying anything, he wraps the coat around you, enveloping you in his warmth.

The blush on your cheeks isn’t from the cold anymore.

Falling for a friend Falling for a friend, ooh Baby, don't pretend That you don't feel it too I know you do

Castiel is truly someone special because you’re walking from your hotel in the freezing ass cold and the snow to get to the Bunker. You have a rental car but there is no use in driving it because the roads aren’t safe for cars. Still, that’s not going to stop you from getting to the bunker where Castiel is.

The picnic basket in your hand is sealed tightly to keep the snow from entering it but everything else on you is covered with snow. Kansas winters are brutal. Three miles normally doesn’t seem like a lot but trekking in twelve inches of snow makes three miles feel like thirty.

When you get to the Bunker, you shake off the snow as best as possible before knocking on the metal door. Pain erupts from your knuckles from how cold you are but your hand is numb so you don’t feel it as much as you should have.

“What the hell are you doing out here?” Dean asks when he opens the door.

“I wanted to say hi. Can I come in?”

“Shit, yeah.” He steps to the side and allows you to walk inside. You’re thrust into a warm environment that you’re already starting to defrost. You walk into the library to see Castiel sitting at the table. “What’s in the basket?”

“Just some food. I figure you two are hungry.”

“I don’t eat.”

“I always am,” Dean says at the same time as Castiel.

“Okay, well, here.”

Dean takes the basket with a smile and disappears into the kitchen. Castiel frowns when he sees you shivering from the after-effects of the cold. He can even feel how cold you are from where you stand.

“Come here.” You walk over to Castiel, not expecting him to pull you into his lap. He lifts your hands to his mouth and blows hot air on them, the warmth of it kissing away the numbing from the frostbite. “Baby, you’re freezing.”

Baby? His raspy voice? That’s enough to spring butterflies to life in your stomach. He’s never called you that before. The butterflies intensify when he opens his trenchcoat, wrapping you close to his chest. He leans down and kisses your cold cheek, and warmth blooms from the contact.

You look up at him and he softly traces your bottom lip with his finger, and you part your lips instinctively.

“I really want to kiss you,” he whispers.

You don’t say anything back, You close the gap between you and kiss him softly. His lips may look chapped but they are super soft. His grace dances across your body, warming you up.

You’ve definitely fallen for a friend.

Want to be tagged? Follow my library blog @aqueenslibrary where I reblog all my stories, so you can put notifications on there without the extra stuff :)

#castiel #castiel x reader #castiel fic #castiel fanfiction #castiel fanfic #castiel fluff #castiel fiction #castiel fan fiction #castiel fan fic #supernatural #supernatural fic #supernatural fanfiction #supernatural fanfic #supernatural fluff

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nadiuu · 2 days ago

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I saw a post mentioning how Matt most likely has ADHD, and since I 100% agree, I wanted to elaborate a bit here (also because I’ll approach it from a matt/mello angle and I don’t want to annoy anyone who doesn’t ship them). I’ve also noticed that this is a headcanon that many people share, so I’d like to delve deeper into it. I’ve been meaning to write a mini-analysis on why these two are so compatible due to their neurodivergences. Please keep in mind that English isn’t my native language so sorry for any mistakes, and I’ll be projecting a lot of myself here, so be kind XDD

It’s not crazy to think that Matt might have ADHD based on the few clues we have in canon. Mogui and Misa’s escape could indeed be attributed to good planning, and not necessarily Matt’s fault, but the guy makes it clear that he’s absolutely bored to death having to keep watch and is always glued to his console.

And you might say: Nadiu, just because he gets bored watching something static doesn’t mean he has trouble concentrating. Sure, it’s normal to get bored. But Matt is aware of how important it is to keep watch, and even then, he can’t help it. If his brain doesn’t receive enough stimuli, he dieeeees (which could be an indicator of his giftedness), and he’ll seek out little dopamine boosts wherever he can. If it’s not gaming, it’ll be eating junk food. If it’s not eating, it’ll be smoking. This could indicate a certain level of anxiety (again, a possible indicator of giftedness or ADHD).

We also know he’s someone who hates the outdoors. Why might this be? For someone with ADHD, being surrounded by too much stimulation can be overwhelming. Gifted people will tend to notice everything around them, and those with 2e (gifted + ADHD) may struggle to focus their attention if they’re overstimulated. They pick up on all the stimuli and can’t focus on just one. This could lead them to prefer isolating themselves, at least occasionally, especially when they reach burnout.

Another thing to consider is his lack of sociability. This doesn’t have to be exclusive to ADHD because it’s also common among gifted people, even without 2e. For gifted people, socializing can be hard if there’s nothing engaging to take away from a conversation (our greatest enemy is small talk hahhaha). This doesn’t apply to everyone, but it’s a fairly common factor. We like to keep our brains stimulated 24/7.

Now imagine someone who perceives everything around them, analyzes every detail, and can’t discern what’s important and what isn’t. They’re chatting with you, but instead of focusing on what you’re saying, they can’t help but notice your eyelid twitching e.g., which might mean you’re stressed, and then they start thinking about all the possible reasons you might be stressed. Meanwhile, there are countless sounds and stimuli around them that they can’t ignore. It’s going to be hard for them to really listen to you, and they might not feel at peace until they get home, where they can finally relax. Gifted people can also be sensitive to light and sound; in our homes, we control everything. They’re our safe spaces.

Again, this doesn’t have to be true for everyone. Let’s remember that every person is unique.

That leads me to Mello—he’s an example of how someone can be gifted and still be sociable. I don’t think Mello has any neurodivergence beyond his giftedness, without 2e (adhd or autism). I know there’s some debate about whether giftedness counts as a neurodivergence, but let’s assume it does for the sake of this post ahhahah

I think the most interesting trait of Mello, in terms of his giftedness, is his hyper-demanding nature. We tend to be perfectionists, extremely demanding of ourselves, which leads to low frustration tolerance. We want to achieve excellence and can become obsessive in pursuing our goals. However, we’re very likely to encounter obstacles (without obstacles there’s no growth), but we often don’t know how to deal with them. Needless to say, this ties in with Near, who is a prodigy, and with Mello’s inferiority complex.

So, why are Matt and Mello such a good match?

First of all, in Wammy’s House, Matt didn’t pose a threat to Mello. Matt was ranked third, and whether it was due to a lack of interest or difficulties with studying, he never surpassed Mello. For Mello, anything below him wasn’t important; what deserved all his attention was whatever was above him.

We have to assume they maintained some kind of friendship at Wammy’s House because years later, when Mello is left on his own, he reaches out to Matt, and Matt comes to his aid. Matt drops everything to go to him. He knows what he’s getting into, the risks involved, and yet he does it. He must have some motivation to help find Kira. And if it’s alongside his old friend, even better.

Here’s where the sociability factor comes in. How many friendships could an introverted guy have made in those five years, after losing the ‘shelter’ of an orphanage full of kids similar to him and being thrown into the real world, surrounded by neurotypical people? You get what I mean, right...? Mello must have left some sort of mark on him if Matt went all the way to New York for him. Could it be that he was already in New York? Maybe, but let me dream hahaha

Now imagine how an introvert and an extrovert, both incapable of forming and maintaining relationships with others due to that sense of being misunderstood (‘the world is neurotypical and I’ve never dealt with it’), complement each other. This makes me think about Near’s loneliness, but we’ll leave that for another day XD Matt works from the safety of home, and Mello, obsessed with success, has no problem going out because he takes the world head-on. Matt, who has likely felt somewhat useless his whole life because of his ADHD, has Mello by his side telling him “I choose you”. Matt, who might have always been a bit insecure, has Mello betting on him. Maybe because he has no other choice? Maybe, but if Mello wants to find someone else who can truly understand him, his only option is Matt.

Mello, who’s willing to blow himself up to win, then has Matt telling him, “Calm down. Stay in tonight to play video games and smoke a joint.” Mello, who has some suicidal idea for catching Kira, shares it with Matt, and Matt agrees because his brain has produced more dopamine in two months than in five years. The Kira case is a puzzle that stimulates them and gives them a purpose.

To wrap this up, I want to share a dialogue (still a rough draft) that will appear later in my fic, putting the cherry on top of this tragedy. Matt tries to dissuade Mello from pursuing the Kira case after the massive scar he earned on his face.

Matt: Why is it your duty to keep going? Why yours? Mello: Who else will do it? Who can keep up with Kira? Matt: You, right? Or Near. Or me. Because we had the sheer luck of being born with this intellect. Mello: Yes. Matt: No. You and I have no duty to a society that failed us. We don’t have to fix the problems of a society that let us rot in that institution. Is it because we’re orphans? Is that it? Do we have nothing to lose but our lives? No one to mourn us if we die? Because there are plenty of other people out there with the abilities you and I have, and I don’t see them risking their necks the way you do. They weren’t pushed to become detectives. They have something to lose; they have their families. Do you deserve to die just because no one will miss you?

And if you’ll allow me to break your heart a little more, Matt’s next thought is:

'Because it’s not even true. You’ll kill me if I lose you again.'

#yes I wrote all this while twirling a strand of hair just like Near does XDD #please keep in mind that I’m not a psychologist #I just wanted to share this #I hope I wasn’t too far off the mark #also I have to say I love their ship name #‘mellodramattic’#yessss baby #we’re dramatic #we feel everything at 200%#just look at mello XDD #maybe I’ll also write about how horribly crazy wammy’s house is #or near’s loneliness #idk :/#death note #mellodramattic #matt #mail jeevas #mello #mihael keehl

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inkykeiji · 1 year ago

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What if poison!reader DID escape tho? 👀👀👀 either she manages to break free while he’s out or pretend she’s “learned her lesson” so that when Dabi does let his guard down, she drugs him and runs away. She also blocks him from her number, including all her socials, so he can’t track her down and leaves somewhere far, far away with Keigo. Needless to say, Dabi’s chances of finding her are slim to none :) what then?

then he hunts her for the rest of his life, even if it takes years upon years, even if it takes forever. he won’t ever give up, no matter how far she’s run, no matter how many times she moves and changes her details. dabi doesn’t take kindly to losing things that are his.

he’ll do whatever he has to to find her, no matter what it is or how long it takes; if he has to climb even higher in the underground crime ranks, if he has to climb to the very tiptop of the yakuza, he will, and he’ll maim and murder whoever he has to in order to get there. he’ll use their skulls as his staircase if he has to. and even if his nails are bloody and jagged by the time he claws his way to the top, his boots gooey with the brains of his comrades and allies, he will make it one way or another—dabi is nothing if not compulsively, obsessively determined.

he’s never felt this way about anyone before, is positive he’ll never feel this way about anyone else ever again, and only over his dead fucking body will his hunt ever cease. there’s no way in hell he’s just going to let her go; there’s no way he wouldn’t use every single tool at his disposal to drag her back by the hair (and kill keigo while he’s at it, enough is enough) and lock her away until she withers into nothing.

this is pretty much the case for any of my iterations when this question gets asked, purely due to canon dabi’s unbelievably strong, extremely stubborn sense of determination. when he sets his mind on something, it’s set in stone—it’s immovable, impossible to change, and one way or another, he’s going to get what he wants, even if he has to wait patiently for the perfect moment.

#i genuinely cannot see any version of dabi just letting u go like that #unless he truly doesn’t give a shit about you #but if he doesn’t care then you wouldn’t be trapped in the first place #it just isn’t in his nature to let something like this go #lord help you if you’ve ‘wronged’ him #hope saturday is treating u well anon!#stay safe n drink water c:#tag universe #inky.bb #clari gets mail #tw:yandere

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skyland2703 · 7 months ago

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…ok so I got inspired <3

Thesis in the tags

#OKAY SO HEAR ME OUT #Amelia is probably the most jealous person to ever relationship.#but it comes naturally ONLY for Javi. she never got jealous while dating Ollie or any of the previous partners.#but when she started dating javi—something flipped a switch in her and BOI OH BOI DID SHE GET. JEALOUS. OF EVERYTHING.#which kinda sucks because Javi is a music sensation and POPULAR 😭#and she’s Horny. SO. so. SO. horny. like. maybe it’s the Rafkonian biology but if he wakes her up in the middle of the night #saying ‘babe I’m horny’ she just. fucking. would go down on him. then and there.#LIKE SHE WOULD SEE HIM TAKING A PEACEFUL BATH AND GO ‘i wanna fuck you slide over’#and the exhibitionist kink 😭😭 don’t even get me started on that.#Javi was always a mama’s boy so he is THE best at cooking. his mom is even better. (typical desi mom Rina 😭👍🏻)#and so he makes them food. and she does the dishes because his prosthetics don’t let him do watery work good.#Amelia isn’t good with lovey dovey words. Javi is a POET.#HE TOLD HER HE LOVED HER BY WRITING HER A SONG #AND TELLING HER ‘you are the very oxygen i breathe’.#and he waited for her confession for three years 😭 for her to fall in love with him and for her to tell him she loved him #and like #idk man #also she steals all of his clothes.#Javi got vvv annoyed once realising she doesn’t have ANY super loose sweatshirts and comfortable things to wear. not even pyjamas.#(she used to prefer sleeping naked) but ever since she discovered Javi’s oversized hoodies… that fit juuust perfectly. theresno going back.#ever #anyway thank you for coming to my ted talk :D #they’re sooooo in love your honor I cant~#power rangers #power rangers dino fury #amelia jones #Javi garcia #cosmic fury #power rangers cosmic fury #dino fury

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fakecats · 2 years ago

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i wish eve would bring back indie animators instead of those big anime studios to animate his mvs sure the animation might be better but there’s no personality

#sorry i’m becoming an eve hater #i still love his old stuff it’s just #also the fact all his songs now sound the same but that might just be me #i’m not sure if i’m the target audience anymore #i can’t blame him though because i mean #you need money to live so #not blaming him like i understand why you would Anime ify your own music but #i can still be annoyed by it #i look ar his new mvs and then like last dance or something and go . this is the same guy #i miss mah please it’s been years💔#though this isn’t just about mah it’s just . any indie animators #also the character designs #they seem manufactured now instead of natural sort of #i mean probably because it’s studio vs person but #like kurukuru or dancers design is so simple #compared to like. the new mcs in the anime mvs #like they’re manufacturing interest instead of letting the creativity interest the fans by itself #i mean there was probably like only 4 people including me interested in the eve lore before he got famous famous but #but you get my point #though i’m probably biased because the only anime i like the look of is like #mob psycho and mononoke #so again i’m not the target audience of Anime Fan but #anyways i’m reading too much into this also projecting probably . ok that’s enough #my post #txt #eve utaite

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maskedbyghost · 1 month ago

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when simon wakes up in a hospital, the last thing you expect is for him to grab your hand, pull you close, and say, “hey, there you are, love.” his voice is so soft, so sure, it leaves you speechless. you stare at him, half in shock, because this is ghost—simon riley, the one person who’s kept every feeling locked up.

“simon, do you… do you remember anything?” you ask, testing the waters.

he blinks, looking at you with confidence. “of course, i remember. you’re my wife.”

you freeze. his wife? this is new, and you’re not sure where he got the idea, but before you can correct him, johnny walks in, taking one look at the two of you and biting back a grin. he leans in, whispering to you, “maybe just… go with it for now, eh?” he’s got that teasing glint in his eye, and something tells you there’s no harm in humoring simon for a bit, if it can be helpful for his recovery.

so, you go along with it. and to your surprise, simon doesn’t act confused—in fact, he’s more open with you than he’s ever been. suddenly, he’s holding your hand like it’s the most natural thing in the world, always looking for you, keeping you close, calling you “love” or “darlin’” in front of everyone. he’s even got that soft smile every time you catch his eye, one that makes it hard to remember this isn’t real.

the team’s amused but supportive, playing along with the whole story. simon keeps asking you little things, like what your favorite meal is, or how you usually spend your days when he’s away, as if filling in gaps in a life he believes you share. you find yourself answering with things that feel so genuine, and the way he listens—focused, attentive—feels more intimate than anything you’ve shared before.

one day, you’re patching up a minor scrape on his hand, and he just watches you, eyes soft, like he’s memorizing every detail. “i don’t know what i’d do without you,” he murmurs, voice barely above a whisper. it’s so genuine, so open, that for a second, you forget it’s all just part of his memory loss.

then, one night, he pulls you close, resting his forehead against yours, eyes serious. “do you ever think about us?” he asks softly, like he’s trying to get at something just out of reach. “how we’d be if things were… different?”

you’re not sure how to answer because there’s no script for this. “sometimes,” you admit, feeling a pang of something deep and unspoken. and for the first time, you’re almost grateful he can’t remember—because maybe, just maybe, it’s the only reason he’s letting himself be this vulnerable with you.

as the days pass, you start catching little glimpses, small things that make you wonder if he knows more than he’s letting on. he catches you watching him once, and instead of asking why, he just gives you this little smile, one that feels like he’s in on the secret. and just when you’re starting to think this is all some kind of twisted dream, he pulls you aside.

“i know i’m supposed to remember,” he whispers, “but i don’t want this to end. not yet.”

it’s in that moment you realize the truth. he’s been aware all along—he’s been pretending just as much as you, holding on to this fragile, temporary illusion because, maybe, he needs it just as much as you do.

--------------------------------------------

hii!! i'm backkk!! send some requests plsss, byee <333

@daydreamerwoah @spicyspicyliving

#simon ghost riley x you #simon riley x reader #simon riley x you #simon ghost riley x reader #simon ghost x reader #simon ghost riley x female oc #simon riley imagine #simon ghost riley

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adelheidvonschicksal · 10 months ago

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The Love and Deepspace Boys Trying to Get You to Sleep ⋆｡°✩

Tags: Fluff, teasing, needy boys, mild sexual content, gender neutral reader (I had to re-write so please let me know if I messed up.)

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

Xavier is surprisingly softer than you expected when you first met him on your mission together. He’s an incredibly powerful hunter but possesses a quiet and gentle, almost oblivious, aura when navigating everyday life, like a ghost floating through the space he takes up. It should also be understood that this very nature of his makes him affectionate, so much so, that he won’t unwrap his arms around your waist and stop pressing his head to your shoulder as you sit at the kitchen bar, typing on your laptop.

“Are you planning on staying up later than the stars?” he mumbles.

There’s a gentle yawn against your skin from the sluggish man, highlighting just how long he’s been trying to coax you into going to bed.

“I wanted to finish this report for work.”

“The report will be there tomorrow,” he says. You swat away his hand that reaches for the power button on the laptop causing him to pout. He grumbles. “You should go to bed. Otherwise, I can’t sleep.”

Smiling to yourself, you decide to tease him. “Oh, so you’re really trying to get me to go to bed for your own benefit?”

“Well, you can’t very well expect me to do it by myself anymore.” Xavier nuzzles his head into the slope of your neck, cuddling you. “It’s your responsibility since you ruined my sleeping habits.”

“Ruined?”

“Ramshackled,” he repeats quietly, causing you to giggle. With an airy sigh, he presses his weight into you more. “How do you expect me to sleep when I can’t hold you?”

Defeated, you save your work and close the laptop. You swivel in your chair, enough to meet his eye, and cup a hand to his cheek. It never stops being endearing to you how he cutely closes his eyes and angles his head to snuggle your palm.

“Alright, alright, you don’t have to beg.”

His eyes flutter open, and the smile on his face grows as he wraps his fingers around yours. Carefully, he pulls on your hand to bring it up enough to begin to lace your wrist with affectionate kisses, tracing your pulse.

“I thought you enjoyed my begging.”

“That’s different.”

“It isn’t,” Xavier mutters into your skin, pressing another light kiss.

“It is.”

“So, you're resolute about that position?” he questions “innocently”. There’s something mischievous about the glint in those arctic eyes, which makes your face warm. You find yourself breaking eye contact, or else you’d lose it.

“Yes.”

Xavier chuckles then begins to lead his kisses down your arm. “In that case, care to explain the difference in detail, love?”

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“Sleep.”

“But—”

“Sleep.”

Zayne narrows his eyes at you from his side of the bed. You can’t blame him for being a little annoyed right now but the movie you put on to fall asleep was much better than you expected; and instead of falling asleep, you were more awake than ever at a very late one in the morning.

“I’m almost done with the movie,” you tell him, hoping he’ll cut you a little slack this one time.

“Everyone dies at the end of their own stupidity,” he bluntly states and grabs the remote. The television turns off with an overly loud click, and you pout. “Now, sleep.”

Crossing your arms over your chest, you huff. “You’re the worst.”

“I’m fine with that title if it gets you to rest,” he explains with a smooth yawn. “Poor sleep habits lead to bad decision-making later. You’re more likely to develop high blood pressure, and with your heart in particular—”

“I get it. I get it,” you say, wanting to be spared the lecture. Zayne is a good person and a better doctor, but you wish he didn’t worry about you so much just because you might have a little big heart problem. Sighing, you squiggle onto your back and pull the sheets up to your collar, kicking them a little childishly in the process (totally not to let him know that you were not pleased with his spoiling). “I hope you’re proud of yourself.”

“Very.”

Zayne turns over onto his side, away from you, and you frown at the loneliness. Softly, you poke him in the back, once, then twice then a third time before you finally get a hum in response.

“Am I really not getting a good night kiss?”

“Do you need one to sleep?” he asks, his voice deeper from the lack of sleep, urging you to convince him to kiss you even more.

“Duh,” you explain. Slowly, he turns back over to look at you, propping himself up on one arm with a look that says “Is that so” as you continue to ramble. It makes you a little flustered when he watches you so intently. He’s always had this silent dominance that makes you obedient, but you could get what you want from him just as easily with the exact opposite strategy. Cutely, you puff your bottom lip out at him. “There has to be some health benefit to it. Kissing makes people all happy. Happy is good, right?”

It takes a second for him to take in what you say, those smokey eyes closing in on you with thought before he climbs over you. He places both hands at your sides and quickly boxes in your upper thighs with his knees.

“You’re thinking of dopamine,” he says.

“Huh?”

“That makes you “all happy”,” he explains and presses a deep kiss to your lips, leaving you thoughtless and breathless all at once. He moves to your jaw, and you begin to squirm from the pressure of his impassioned lips.

“And Serotonin.”

Another kiss, lower.

“Oxytocin.”

He’s at your shoulder when he starts to nip your skin, and one of his hands moves to ski up the back of your thigh.

“Reduced cortisol.”

Flustered, you grip his arms.

“Zayne, stop, it tickles,” you whine, but it’s the last thing you actually want as he readjusts his position and hovers above you.

His usually neat hair is messier and his breathing a little heavier judging by how his chest laboriously rises and falls. Groaning, you bite your bottom lip as he knowingly leans in and whispers,

“You need it to help you sleep, isn’t that what you said?”

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

“Why don’t you just say you don’t love me anymore?”

You look up from your phone screen at the sudden accusation. You’re resting on the couch, your back propped up by the armrest and legs splayed out on the other cushion while Rafayel looks down at you with crossed arms and a less-than-pleased scowl on his face. You’re entirely confused as to what you could’ve done to make him think something like that.

“Huh?”

“You’ve been playing video games for what—the last two hours?” he says, uncrossing his arms to grab your phone. It’s too late to warn him as he glances at the screen, clicking a few times. “What are you playing anyway? An…otome? Sheesh, go ahead and say you want me gone. Come on, tell me you actually hate me.”

Holding in your smile, you shake your head and affectionately roll your eyes. It takes an enormous amount of effort to not laugh as he continues to rant. “So, it’s one of those things. I thought I was actually in trouble.”

And by those things, you mean his dramatics.

“Hush, my complaints are perfectly legitimate,” he demands as he pushes your legs aside and sits on the couch. Leaning over, he flashes the screen at you to show the evidence he has that you’re completely unfair, unfaithful, and downright mean. “What’s this game giving you that I’m not? Are my dashing good looks and even better personality not enough? Is that it?”

Gently, you take the phone from his hand and set it down on the end table. “You’re plenty, perfect even.”

He scoffs and refuses to look at you. “Apparently not. Don’t you ever think about anyone else? What if I want to cuddle with you one day but you’re too busy to notice because you’re playing silly games?”

Ah, there it is. His real want. You never know why he can never just come out and say it.

“Rafayel, do you want me to come to bed and cuddle with you?”

“Want is a strong word,” he remarks but you can see his resolve (can you call it that when he planned to give in all along?) crumbling as he slowly turns back to meet your gaze, “but I wouldn’t be opposed to it. Not that you deserve it or care.”

Humming, you sit up, wrap your arms around his shoulders, and pull him down onto you. Lovingly, you snuggle him, stopping to only take in how red his neck and ears start to get when you squeeze him and start to stroke through his hair. You’re not sure if Lumerians can blow happy bubbles like he claims, but he definitely hums and relaxes his entire body weight to lay on top of you like he wants to sink into your skin.

Teasingly, you coo at him. “You’re so needy.”

“I’d rather say you humans aren’t needy enough,” he fires back as he wraps an arm around your waist and kisses the corner of your lips. “Ah, the sweet taste of victory.”

Giving out a gentle and short laugh, you lightly tap his back. “Go to sleep.”

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

#zayne x reader #xavier x reader #rafayel x reader #love and deepspace #love and deepspace x reader #love and deepspace fluff #love and deepspace smut #adelssmut #notsfw

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yanderenightmare · 3 months ago

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♡ TW: nsfw, noncon/dubcon, yandere, captive reader, omegaverse, forced bonding is implied, subjugation, some type of sexism, soft dom, but extremely patronizing

♡ fem reader

You offer to go down on him for the first time since he claimed you for himself, and his heart swells with all sorts of bliss—shock and awe, love and pride—utterly overjoyed at the pretty sight of you, so pliant and on your knees, acting like a proper Omega for a change—his cutest little mate. It’s so adorable he ought to take pictures, yet he doesn’t want to miss a thing or spoil the mood—after all, you always get so embarrassed when he brings the camera out.

So he settles for just watching—his adoring eyes resting on you, admiring how you struggle to fit all of him inside your mouth, thinking it’s the just cutest and sweetest how you try so hard for him. Bless whatever brought this new change of behavior on. He can’t be grateful enough.

It was only a couple of days ago when you’d still bite and claw and run away from him at every turn, growling and snarling like a rabid wildling and not the sweet Omega he knew you could be with the proper love and care. Maybe it’s just that—has his love for you finally tamed you? Oh, he couldn’t be more pleased if that’s it.

Look at you… trying your very best. He didn’t mind if you could only fit half of him—just seeing you try to take it all made him more than happy. The way your pink tongue slides along his veins—all teasingly and ticklish—makes him smile while looking down at you. Petting your head in smooth, encouraging strokes—reminding you to breathe every now and again.

He even pinches your cheek when you cough, crooning, “Careful now, there’s no need to rush, baby—take it slow.”

You curse him from where you kneel at his feet, trying to get it over with quickly. Despite your struggles, he seems pleased, and you think you might have managed to get yourself off the hook. That is… until he wraps his cock with one of his big hands and pulls it away from you.

“I think that’s enough for now,” he says in his best attempt at sounding suave by nature, and yet, as you look up at him, you see it plain as day.

It makes your guts fold—the eagerness that encompasses him as he looks down at you with kind eyes and a smile—not completely able to hide the frenzy behind it.

No, please, you sulk inwardly—your clit is so sensitive from yesterday, you think you might die if he toys with it again today. You almost indulge the urge to scoot back, attempt to crawl away, and hide in false hope. But you know, chasing you around would just serve as kindling to his inner animal—he would take it as a game, hunting and pinning you down only to lick you clean like a dug-up bone.

You shudder at the thought and almost beg him to allow you to continue, almost insist you can do better, but all you manage is to bite your tongue and cry instead.

“You did so good, baby, don’t pout,” he coos, cradling your face and lifting it up to let him kiss it silly—chastely yet excessively—quick pecks all over, the same way you’d kiss something that’s just too cute for its own good.

It’s his way of comforting you, you suppose, or it might just be him poking fun. You can never really tell with him—if his coddling is all some act or something even more unsettling. But you suppose it doesn’t really matter either.

“Come here, baby, and I’ll do the rest, okay?” he asks, and yet it isn’t a question as he hauls you up off the floor and repositions you as he sees fit—on your back, belly-up beneath him.

His alpha pheromones are quick to overwhelm you, thick and suffocating, pouring over you in waves, drenching you in sweat and something else—something that makes everything sensitive.

The former fight you had when you were still independent has all but left you completely—siphoned from your being every day that’s passed and left you soft like the rest of those Omegas you vowed you’d never become—weak-willed with a body even more so. You feel like a stuffed animal at this point, full of cloudy cotton with a broken voice device that only knows how to squeak when played with.

He takes you beneath the knees and folds them down neatly by your head—one large hand taking both your summoned ankles in a single grip—and you’re locked in, unable to do much else other than pant—kept from breathing too much by the weight of your own thighs pressing down on you.

This had been what you were trying to avoid—this awful position which he seems to love just as much as you dread.

He whistles in awe at the pretty sight of you—all squished beneath him like that—face flushed, and your bloated lips parted with cute little draws of breath—tits bunched together, glossed in a sheen of sweat and heaving with the labored rise and fall of your chest—and that adorable cunt, wet and puffy, swollen up like a pink pillow eagerly waiting for him, a soft bed for his cock and a perfectly bite-sized slice of his favorite cake. His gut rumbles, and his mouth soaks. To think he hasn’t had a single taste all day—he’s beyond starving.

You squirm under him, and he chuckles again, this time breathily—showing more of the unsightly animal with the low growl that seeps into his voice, “Such a pretty girl…” It’s unclear if he’s talking to you as his inkwell eyes are set on something else. He sags forward, back hunched as he bows down to face the object of his desire with only a hair’s breadth of separation—breaths thick, puffed hot against you—canines bared in an eerie smile. “So shy…”

He ignores your wiggling completely—pinching the chunk of cunt where your clit hides, making it peak forth like a little button to press, and his grin broadens.

“There it is,” he licks his teeth with a raspy sigh—eyes wide and deadset. “My beauty.”

You squirm a little more, even though you know you’re not going anywhere until he’s satisfied. He doesn’t waste much more time—not allowing you to prepare. Keeping the pinch, he opens his mouth wide and takes the chub with eyes closed, tongue flattened and wide, cloaking your exposed clit with thirst. “Mmgh…”

He always gets like this—cute-aggressive and pussy-whipped. It’s as if he and your cunt have their own private affair, the way he completely ignores you. No, that’s not entirely fair—he gets like that when feeding you his tongue as well, but you suppose it’s easier making out with your pussy as it doesn’t need to get up for air.

Neither does he, it seems.

He groans loudly and releases your clit from his pinching grip—but keeps his whole mouth on you—lips, tongue, and all—nose and chin too, buried there while his hand moves down to slip three digits inside, filling you up with little regard to the stretch.

Your breath flares and shudders with a whimpery moan, toes curling along with his fingers, biting your lip at how he hooks them right into the soft spot of your gummy walls, then fingerbangs you fast, right down to the knuckles each time.

“Fuck, baby—so, so good, always so good,” he slurs out into you, tongue otherwise too engaged to bother sounding coherent, yet you understand nonetheless, even though you can never really get used to it—how utterly unashamed he is. “Come on, baby, cum f’mo—cum on my face—” he all but happily begs, tongue out, slurping your slit brazenly.

He’s not a very classic Alpha—how he worships you on his hands and knees with a throat full of plead and praise. He doesn’t even touch himself—cock left hung and bobbing against the bedsheets, hard and strung up with a net of veins, pilling pearls of pre that all go to waste—too busy with you.

It’s stupid how you’re the one who ends up feeling ignored as the unwanted and overwhelming pleasure manhandles you into submission.

“Cum, baby, give it to me.”

You mewl as his tongue draws something out from within you, making your clit blare and thrum with your heartbeat. You struggle to enjoy it, you always do, feeling forced to surrender, and yet the more you try and deny it, the firmer his hold gets, relentless as he sends you right over the edge. You yelp and seize up once it takes you—clenching tightly around his digits as they unknot your insides, turning you into utter putty in his palm.

And even then, he doesn’t stop—as if he doesn’t know how—sighing with elation as you quake on his tongue. That crooked smile on his face, nothing short of predatory and vile as he maintains the motion of his fingers, moaning in turn at your cute spasming and all the wordless babble that leaves your lips as you shake your head, crying for him to leave it alone. “Plea’ no more—stop, too much—”

He just chuckles against you—you really are too cute for your own good. Silly little Omega, don’t you know what your pheromones do to him? But okay, fine, since you asked nicely. He gives the slit one last thorough lick before wiping his smile while sitting up.

You haven’t even started coming down when he dabs the weight of his shaft upon the sensitivity, cooing at the lewd little plaps it makes, all slick as he slides the length between your flustered pussylips—fucking through the fat of the mound, running over your full clit, again and again, while listening to you squeak more nothings.

He only croons, “Yeah, I know you like that, baby—this pretty pussy of yours just loves my attention, doesn’t it?" His eyes seem to glow with something sickly, his voice thin, just shy of unhinged. "Always so cute, I could die.”

He can’t get over it—you’re too adorable like this. Watching you pleasure him was a welcome surprise, but ultimately, this is how he always wants you—flipped and pinned with your cunt exposed to his every wish—his favorite toy that never disappoints.

“Your pretty pussy’s always such a crybaby, y’know that? Look how it weeps f’mo—so needy to get stuffed. I bet you want my knot, huh?” he keeps mumbling while using his cock to play with your overworked cunt without yet entering it. “Alright, baby—don’t worry—I’ll give it to you,” he rasps, drooling.

You can’t keep from whimpering when the bed jostles, accounting for his repositioning as he moves to mount you with his feet planted down flat on the bed. Your ankles are pinned passed your head at this point, tipping your cunt up higher than your head.

“Yeah—I’ll give you what you want.” His voice darkens, and so does the look in his eyes—soaked in something you don’t like—something wild and downright terrifying. “And I’ll give it to you good.”

You almost protest, but you know there’s no getting through to him—not with that expression. You hate Alphas, you hate him, and you really hate this awful pose—this mating-press pile-driving overkill where he always bullies into the backroom of your cunt, insisting on fucking your cervix as he digs his cockhead right at the mouth of your womb, knotting you and filling you up with the full worth of his load. It never fails to make you feel utterly wrecked and bedridden in the morning.

But he doesn’t care about that. You have no places you’re supposed to be anyway—nowhere aside from right here, in his bed, where you belong—his sweet Omega bride who’s going to give him lots of pups.

He lines himself up, pressing his head past the ring—watching it swallow around him and biting his lip at the sight. “Look at it, baby—look as I stuff that perfect pussy all the way up—”

He sinks in slowly, revering your cunt for every inch you receive—watching it in awe as it takes the entirety of his length right down to the base. It’s like a magic trick how it all disappears—you’re so tiny, and yet you’re built for this, to take every part of him in, hugging his shaft with velvet heat, milking him as he kneads the spot inside you that always makes you cry out so good for him.

“Yes, baby—that’s my girl—take it all,” he coos, all but sitting on your ass with his cock down your cunt. “It’s like your pussy’s made for me, isn’t it? Perfectly tight, perfectly deep, perfectly wet and chunky to feel like I’m fucking heaven itself—”

You feel no different from a toy when he does this—a squeaky toy manufactured for a Chihuahua puppy, yet mistakenly given to a full-grown Rottweiler. He straight dogs your cunt through several peaks—so soaked now that it fossettes down both the slope of your belly and the cliff of your spine. And still, he keeps going, rambling on like usual—all words that fail to reach you.

You’re so lightheaded you’re on the brink of passing out—overheating and out of strength, numb and tingly, beyond happy when you finally feel his knot swell within, propping you to take his seed.

He keels over—his thighs pressed down tightly atop yours—panting above you—eyes half-mast and glazed, almost crying in bliss while feeding you his cum, knowing it's flooding your womb, breeding you full of warmth and love.

“Yes, every drop, baby—it’s all yours.” He keeps a thumb rubbing over your clit as he croons. Voice beyond lovesick, “Let’s make too many pups to count.”

♡ BNHA – Deku, Kirishima, Hawks, Natsuo, Mirio ♡ JJK – Gojo, Geto ♡ HQ – Kuro, Miya twins ♡ BLLK – Nagi, Bachira ♡ DS – Doma ♡ WB – Umemiya, Togame

♡ FEM x M INSERT masterlist ♡ GN x M INSERT masterlist

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