#it's been a questionable time with questionable thoughts and questionable actions and it is what it is. i do not care how cliche i am

[orangeblossomsintheair]

GRIEF ASIDE (2/4) | MV33

summary : Every corner of the estate was consumed by a single, unspoken truth: Lord Jos was returning.

warnings : jos verstappen, child abuse, physical abuse, sexism.

an : thx for waiting loves! ‘25s been busy for me!

Max Verstappen prided himself on his composure.

He was a man who thrived on control, who wielded power with ease and commanded attention with the slightest inclination of his head.

Yet in the last fortnight, he had been reduced to something unrecognizable. Restless. Irritated. Unmoored.

By you.

It was your behavior that had unraveled him. So pointedly, so maddeningly deliberate.

The endless excuses, the sudden vanishing acts, the way you refused to meet his gaze when once you had met him head-on.

You had become a master of evasion, and it was driving him to distraction.

It started off with a simple question.

“Where’s your Lady?” Max asked, turning to Oscar with a box of chocolates in hand.

His fingers tightened slightly around the ribbon tied to it, his nerves betraying the confidence he usually wore so well.

He had waited weeks for the box to arrive. Painfully long weeks, during which the confectioner’s meticulous work and the rarity of the ingredients had only fueled his anticipation.

Chocolates were rare in the north, almost impossibly so.

The delicate cocoa beans were difficult to import, often ruined by the harsh weather before they could even cross the border.

Securing this batch had cost him more than he cared to admit, and not just in coin.

And now here he was, holding it awkwardly as your knight stood before him.

“She is occupied, my Lord,” Oscar said with a slight bow, his voice steady, polite, and frustratingly indifferent.

Max blinked, thrown off by the answer. “…Occupied?” he repeated, as if he’d misheard.

“Yes.” Oscar straightened, his hands resting casually on the hilt of his sword. “She has asked that her business remain private.”

Max faltered, his expression briefly betraying his confusion. “Private,” he echoed under his breath, tasting the word. He glanced down at the box in his hands, the chocolate suddenly feeling heavier than before.

For a moment, he considered the sensible option: handing it over to Oscar and letting him deliver it.

That was the proper course of action, wasn’t it? Courteous, efficient.

But that wasn’t why he’d gone to so much trouble. He hadn’t waited for weeks, chased that damned merchant, and secured a confectioner skilled enough to work with the temperamental cocoa just to have someone else deliver it.

No, he’d done all of that for the sake of seeing you.

To see the surprise and delight in your eyes when you realized what he’d brought.

To see the way your lips might curve into that rare, unguarded smile that always made the world feel a little brighter.

“Is she…” He hesitated, choosing his words carefully. “Is she well?”

Oscar’s expression didn’t so much as flicker. “She is, my Lord.”

Max exhaled softly, his chest tightening. That should have been a comfort, and yet it wasn’t.

A part of him felt a flicker of unease. Was he intruding where he wasn’t wanted? Was this foolish? The thought stung, but he brushed it aside. He wasn’t the kind of man to walk away without trying.

With renewed resolve, he squared his shoulders and nodded, his voice steady. “I see. Then tell her this: I humbly request a moment of her time.”

Oscar inclined his head, though something in his eyes seemed to shift slightly. Was that curiosity? Amusement? It was impossible to tell. “As you wish, my Lord. I will deliver your message.”

Max nodded again, but as the knight turned to leave, he found himself lingering, still clutching the box. His thumb ran absently over the ribbon, tracing the folds as he stared down at it.

For weeks, he’d imagined what it would be like to give this to you. To see your face when you realized what it was.

Chocolates weren’t just a gift. They were an impossibility here, a piece of warmth and sweetness in a land defined by cold and scarcity.

And they were for you, only you.

—

He’d gone to Lando next. That had been quickly proven to be a mistake. Lando, with his quicksilver grin and eyes full of mischief, was the last person to approach for a straight answer.

“My Lady?” Lando had echoed, leaning casually against the stable door, arms crossed over his chest. His grin stretched wide enough to make Max immediately regret speaking. “Ah, yes. I believe she’s occupied at the moment.”

Max narrowed his eyes. “Occupied doing what, exactly?”

“Oh, you know…” Lando’s hand flicked through the air as if the explanation were so obvious it barely needed saying. “Official lady business. I think she’s teaching the geese to curtsy this morning.”

“…The geese,” Max repeated flatly, his fingers tightening on the ribbon of the box.

“Very unruly creatures, geese,” Lando went on, his expression completely serious now, as if he were sharing a great truth. “It takes a lot of effort to get them to dip properly. I think one of them might’ve tried to bite her earlier. Terrible mess.”

Max stared at him, weighing whether it was worth the energy to argue. “Are you being serious right now?”

Lando’s grin only grew. “Do I look like the kind of man who isn’t serious?”

“Yes.”

“Well, I’m deeply wounded.” Lando placed a hand over his heart in mock offense. “But I promise you, my Lord, her time is very well spent.”

Max exhaled sharply through his nose. “Fine. I’ll wait. When she’s done with… the geese, let her know I’m here.”

“Absolutely, my Lord,” Lando said with a little bow, the picture of polite deference. But the laughter in his eyes didn’t escape Max’s notice.

—

With that failure, Max even stooped to seeking out Lily in the servants’ quarters.

He caught her coming down the hallway with a basket of linens tucked under one arm, her steps brisk and purposeful. She spotted him before he could call out, muttering something under her breath (he swore it was a curse) before plastering on a polite smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes.

“Lord Max,” she greeted, shifting the basket on her hip. “What brings you down here? A rare sight for the likes of us.”

“I need to see her,” Max said bluntly, holding up the box as if it explained everything.

Lily’s gaze flicked to the box, and for a moment, something unreadable passed over her face. Amusement? Pity? Whatever it was, it was gone in an instant, replaced by a steady, practiced neutrality. “She’s… unavailable, my Lord.”

“I’ve heard that every day this week,” Max replied, exasperation creeping into his voice. “And not one person will tell me why. Are her knights sworn to secrecy? What about her maids now?”

Lily let out a short laugh, dry and faintly resigned, as if she’d expected this conversation. “It’s not that, my Lord.”

“Then what?” he pressed, stepping closer. “If you know where she is, tell me.”

“I can’t,” she said simply, a faint smile playing at the corners of her lips.

“You mean you won’t.”

“I mean I can’t,” Lily repeated, her tone firmer now, though there was a spark of humor in her eyes. “I’ve been given strict orders, my Lord.”

Max narrowed his eyes, studying her. “You know why she’s avoiding me.”

She hesitated for the briefest of moments, a flicker of something— guilt? —crossing her face before she sighed, shifting the weight of the basket again. “I do,” she admitted quietly.

“Then tell me,” Max demanded, his tone bordering on pleading now. “Is it something I’ve done? Something I said?”

Lily shook her head, though she didn’t meet his eyes this time. “No, my Lord. It’s nothing like that.”

“Then what is it?”

She bit her lip, her gaze darting down the hall as if to ensure they weren’t overheard. “You’ll have to ask her that yourself.”

“I can’t ask her if I can’t even see her,” he snapped.

Lily’s faint smile returned, tinged with something like sympathy. “Then maybe you’ll have to be patient.”

“I’ve been patient,” Max muttered, his grip tightening on the box. “Do you have any idea what I went through to get this?” He held up the chocolates as if they were proof of his effort, his voice softening as he added, “I just… I just want to give them to her. That’s all.”

For a moment, Lily’s expression softened entirely, and she almost looked as if she might break. But then she straightened, her professional mask slipping back into place. “She’ll come around, my Lord. You’ll see her soon enough.”

“And what if she doesn’t?”

“She will,” Lily said firmly, then added with a faint chuckle, “Believe me, my Lady is stubborn, but not that stubborn.”

Max stared at her, his frustration bubbling under the surface, but he could see he wouldn’t get anything more from her. “Fine. Just… when you see her, tell her I’ve been waiting.”

Lily nodded, her smile softening once more. “I will, my Lord.”

She dipped into a quick curtsy and walked away, leaving him standing alone in the hallway with the box of chocolates weighing heavily in his hands.

—

Now, Max was no stranger to avoidance.

He knew what it meant to intimidate, to be held at arm’s length by those too timid to face him.

That was the life he led, and he accepted it without question. But you?

You were supposed to be his refuge, the one person who didn’t cower in his presence.

And yet here you were, skittering away from him as though he carried some plague, avoiding him at every turn.

It gnawed at him, an unfamiliar ache burrowing deep into his chest. By the fourth day of your nonsense, he could bear it no longer.

When he spotted you in the hallway that afternoon, halfway to the drawing room, his decision was instant.

You froze the moment your eyes met his, caught like a deer in the hunter’s sights. He could see the panic, the frantic calculations as your gaze flicked to the nearest door.

“Do not dare,” he bit out, his voice cutting through the charged silence.

You flinched, your hand hesitating mid-air as though you’d considered bolting but lacked the courage to see it through.

Max advanced, his long strides purposeful, the hem of his jacket sweeping behind him like a battle flag.

“This farce ends now,” he declared. His hands were clasped tightly behind his back, his every muscle taut as he forced himself not to reach for you. Not yet.

“My Lord, I-”

He hated that. He was Max with you. He was supposed to be only Max with you.

“No,” he snapped, his words slicing through your protest. “Not this time. You’ve spent days running from me, avoiding me as though I’m some specter haunting these halls. I will not tolerate it a moment longer.”

“I don’t know what you mean,” you whispered, your voice barely audible, trembling under the weight of his fury. “If I have somehow offended-”

“Offended me?” he interrupted, a sharp, humorless laugh escaping him. “You think this is about offense? This- this performance?”

He gestured sharply between the two of you, his frustration palpable. “This is not you. I know you, and I do not recognize the woman before me. What have I done, pray tell, to deserve this... this coldness? This game of cat and mouse?”

“Nothing!” The word tumbled from your lips, too quick, too desperate.

His eyes narrowed, his jaw tightening. “Do not lie to me,” he said, his voice like a thundercloud on the verge of breaking. “I have seen the way you pale at the sight of me, the way you vanish the moment I enter a room. Am I so intolerable to you now? So monstrous?”

“Of course not!” you exclaimed, your composure slipping. “You are not intolerable! Far from it. It’s not you at all, it’s-” You stopped abruptly, as though you’d realized you were on the brink of revealing too much.

“It’s what?” he demanded, stepping closer, his presence overwhelming. His voice dropped, low and dangerous, but his eyes burned with something raw, something unguarded. “Tell me. Speak plainly. Do not force me to claw the truth from you, piece by piece.”

“I- I cannot,” you stammered, your voice barely above a whisper.

“You will.” His gaze bore into yours, his frustration radiating from every line of his body. “You owe me that much.”

His nearness was unbearable, his scent, his presence, his intensity.

Everything about him seemed to crowd the air, leaving you breathless, cornered.

“Do you think I enjoy this?” he asked, his voice breaking through the silence like a whip. “Do you think I want to stand here, begging for answers from the one person I consider my friend? For God’s sake, just tell me.”

“I don’t know how to act around you anymore,” you whispered, the words breaking free before you could swallow them back.

Max paused, his sharp gaze flickering to you, his composure splintering into something unreadable. “I beg your pardon?”

“I don’t know how to act,” you said again, your voice trembling despite your effort to sound resolute. “Not now. Not after... not after realizing I-” You stopped yourself, frustration biting at your tongue as your courage faltered. “This is impossible. I shouldn’t have said anything.”

His brow furrowed, and his voice, low and insistent, pulled you back into the moment. “After realizing what?”

You exhaled sharply, the breath almost catching in your throat. If the truth was going to ruin everything, better to hurl it like a stone and get it over with. “After realizing I have feelings for you.” The words tumbled out too fast, harsh and unpolished, as though you were flinging them away before they could sear you further. “And now I’ve made a mess of it, haven’t I? I’ve ruined everything.”

Max froze. For once, his infuriatingly unflappable demeanor slipped, leaving him uncharacteristically wide-eyed.

“Feelings,” he echoed, as though the word itself confounded him.

“Yes, feelings,” you snapped, your voice rising despite your best efforts to contain it. “Ridiculous, inconvenient feelings for you, of all people. And now you’re going to tell me how absurd it is, and I’ll have to live with the mortification of this moment haunting me forever.”

“Absurd?” His lips quirked, and you bristled at the hint of amusement glinting in his eyes.

“Don’t you dare laugh at me, Max,” you warned, feeling your face burn.

“I’m not laughing,” he said, though his voice betrayed the faintest trace of mirth. “I’m simply... astonished.”

“Well, forgive me if I fail to see the humor in any of this!”

“You think I find this funny?” He stepped closer, the low timbre of his voice setting your nerves alight. “You, confessing something I’ve wanted to say for... weeks? You, standing here thinking I don’t-”

He broke off, and you caught the way his jaw clenched, his hand flexing at his side. His voice dropped, quieter but no less intense. “You think I went to all that trouble for chocolates because it was nothing?”

You blinked, caught off guard. “The chocolates?”

“Yes, the chocolates.” His frustration sharpened, his free hand gesturing toward an invisible point as if grasping for the right words.

“Do you know how rare they are here? How much effort it took? The merchants, the confectioner... and all for what? To watch you run from me? To feel like an idiot carrying them from one corner of the estate to the other while you slip away again?”

“I didn’t ask for them,” you said softly, though the words stung even as you spoke them.

“No,” he admitted, his voice quieter but no less fierce. “But I wanted to give them to you. For you. And now, they just... feel like a waste.”

“Max...”

“No,” he interrupted, the raw vulnerability in his voice stopping you cold. “They’re not a waste because of you. They’re a waste because you won’t let me in. Because you’ve spent days pretending I don’t matter to you when all I’ve wanted was a chance to prove how much you matter to me.”

You stared at him, your breath hitching as his words hit like a thunderclap.

“Do you think I don’t feel the same?” he asked, stepping closer, his tone both accusing and desperate. “Do you think I’ve spent all this time chasing you for nothing?”

Your voice trembled as you whispered, “You feel the same?”

“Yes,” he said simply, the weight of the word carrying everything he hadn’t been able to say. “And I thought I made it obvious.”

“Well, then I suppose I’ll have to make myself clearer.”

And before you could think, Max closed the distance, his lips capturing yours in a kiss that was both gentle and consuming. The world seemed to fall away, the weight of your unspoken feelings pouring into the space between you.

His hand slid to the back of your neck, his fingers tangling in your hair as he deepened the kiss, his urgency tempered by an almost reverent care.

Time seemed to stretch, each second filled with the warmth of him, the heady sensation of finally letting go. He tasted faintly of the cold wind outside, of something intoxicatingly familiar yet completely new.

When he finally pulled back, his forehead rested against yours, his breath mingling with your own. His eyes searched yours, still stormy with emotion but softened now by something quieter, more certain.

He whispered, “perhaps I should have said something sooner.”

“You think?” you shot back, and to your dismay, he chuckled, a warm, rich sound that melted some of the tension twisting in your chest.

“Darling,” he murmured, and the tenderness in his voice sent a shiver down your spine, “you never had to wonder.”

“Well, I did,” you managed, your voice cracking slightly.

“I see that now,” he said with a sigh, his gaze steady and unwavering as he reached for your hand. His fingers slipped around yours with a deliberate tenderness, his thumb brushing lightly over your knuckles. The touch was so soft, so impossibly gentle, that it made your chest ache.

“I’m glad you told me,” he murmured, his voice was warm as if sharing a secret shared only between the two of you. “And I’m glad you like me. Because I…” He hesitated, his eyes flickering with something unspoken, something heavy. “I would’ve settled.”

The word hung in the air, brittle and raw, and you blinked, confused. “Settled?”

He nodded, his lips pressing into a faint, rueful smile. “For being friends,” he clarified, his voice steady but tinged with quiet resignation. “I would have accepted just having you in my life in some way, even if it wasn’t the way I wanted. Even if it meant being civil and… arranged.”

“Arranged,” you echoed, your voice barely above a whisper.

“Yes,” he said, his gaze holding yours as if trying to convey the depth of his words. “I would’ve gone through with it, our marriage, without ever asking for more. I would’ve smiled at the formalities, kept my distance, played the role. Anything to keep you near, even if it meant pretending.”

Your breath caught, a lump rising in your throat. “That’s… That’s horrible, Max. Why would you do that to yourself?”

“Because it’s you,” he said simply, his tone soft but unwavering. “Because the thought of losing you entirely… I couldn’t bear it. I thought I’d rather have something small, something manageable, than risk everything and scare you away.”

“Scare me away?” you repeated, shaking your head in disbelief. “Do you honestly think so little of me?”

“No,” he said quickly, his grip on your hand tightening, as though anchoring himself to you. “Never. But I know how you are. You get this look, like the world’s closing in on you, and you start pulling away before anyone can get too close, and I thought… I thought if I pushed too hard, I’d be next.”

You stared at him, your heart twisting at the vulnerability etched into his features. “You were afraid of me?”

“Not afraid of you,” he said, his voice dipping low, the honesty in it startling. “Afraid of losing you.”

The confession hung between you, fragile but unbreakable, and for a moment, neither of you spoke. Finally, you managed, “And you thought being stuck in a loveless, arranged marriage was better than just telling me?”

His smile returned, softer this time, almost self-deprecating. “When you put it like that, it does sound ridiculous. But at the time, it felt safer. Less terrifying than this.”

“This,” you repeated, your voice catching. “What we’re doing right now?”

“Yes,” he admitted, his thumb tracing lazy circles over your skin. “This. Being honest. Saying how I feel. It’s terrifying because it matters. Because you matter.”

You felt your resolve waver, your frustration dissolving under the weight of his words. “Max, you’re an idiot,” you said, your voice trembling despite your attempt at firmness.

“I won’t argue with that,” he said, his smile growing. “But I’m your idiot now, if you’ll have me.”

The warmth in his gaze, the sheer tenderness in his touch, was almost too much to bear. “You’re thanking me,” you said softly, shaking your head. “For liking you?”

“I am,” he said, his voice unwavering. “Because you didn’t have to. You could’ve walked away. You could’ve held back. But you didn’t. And now… Now we have this. Something real. Something worth holding onto.”

Your heart pounded, your breath shallow as you stared at him. “And what if I told you I didn’t want to settle either?”

His smile widened, the corners of his eyes crinkling as he stepped closer. “Then I’d tell you that you’re stuck with me now,” he said, his voice a soft promise.

“I suppose there are worse things,” you said, though your smile betrayed the fullness of your heart.

“Far worse,” he agreed, leaning in just enough that his breath brushed against your cheek. “But I’ll spend the rest of my life convincing you that I’m the best thing you’ve ever settled for.”

—-

The next morning, you were seated by the window in your chambers, the soft light casting a warm glow over the room. A knock at the door drew your attention.

“Come in,” you called, setting your book aside.

When the door opened, there stood Max. His gaze softened when it found you, and in his hands was a box tied neatly with a crimson ribbon.

“Are those the chocolates?” you asked, a knowing smile already tugging at your lips.

He stepped closer, his own lips curving faintly. “They are.”

You rose to meet him, your eyes flicking to the box as he handed it over. The weight of it was solid in your hands, the ribbon silk-smooth beneath your fingers.

You carefully untied the bow, the lid lifting to reveal an array of glossy, artfully crafted chocolates nestled in their compartments.

The rich aroma of cocoa and spices drifted upward, and your breath caught. “They’re beautiful,” you murmured, glancing up at him. “Thank you, Max. Truly.”

“You haven’t even tasted one yet,” he said, though his tone was soft, pleased.

“Oh, I will.” You picked one delicately, its intricate design almost too lovely to disturb. Almost.

You took a small bite, and the flavor bloomed on your tongue, silky and sweet with just the right hint of bitterness. A quiet sigh of delight escaped you.

Max’s expression softened further, as though your enjoyment was worth all the trouble he’d endured.

“These are incredible,” you said, savoring the last bit. Then you arched a brow at him, a teasing glint in your eye. “But you said yesterday that these were difficult to get. What aren’t you telling me?”

He exhaled, leaning against the edge of your desk, his arms crossing casually. “Do you really want to hear the whole story?”

“Yes,” you said firmly, picking another chocolate and holding it up like evidence. “If you went to that much effort, I want to know every detail. I want to appreciate them properly.”

Max chuckled, shaking his head, but there was something tender in his gaze as he began. “It started with a merchant passing through the capital. Word had it that he’d secured a shipment of cocoa that are.. let’s just say, coveted by certain circles.”

“Certain circles?” you asked, biting into the chocolate and letting the flavor coat your tongue.

“Dukes and duchesses, mostly,” he said wryly. “The merchant wasn’t even planning to stop here. His route was direct, and his stock was all but spoken for.”

“And yet, somehow, here they are,” you said, gesturing to the box. “How did you manage that?”

Max tilted his head, his smile faintly crooked. “It took some convincing.”

“Convincing?” you pressed, smiling despite yourself.

“And a fair bit of chasing,” he admitted, a rueful edge to his tone. “The merchant refused my first offer, so I had to send word ahead to intercept him at the border. When that didn’t work, I had one of my men track him to the next town and… negotiate.”

You blinked, mid-bite. “Negotiate? Max.”

He spread his hands. “It wasn’t as dire as it sounds. But it took a considerable amount of effort, and an even more considerable sum.”

Your heart softened, and you set the chocolate down, looking at him with earnest warmth. “You did all of that… just for me?”

His gaze met yours, steady and open. “Of course I did. You deserve nothing less.”

Your chest tightened, an ache blooming behind your ribs. Not unpleasant, but something overwhelming in its intensity. You smiled, the edges of it trembling slightly. “Max, I don’t know what to say.”

“You don’t have to say anything,” he murmured, his voice low, intimate. “Just tell me they were worth it.”

You picked up another chocolate, holding it between your fingers as you studied him. “Oh, they’re worth it,” you said, your voice soft. “But you didn’t have to go to such lengths.”

His eyes softened further, and he took a step closer, until he was just within arm’s reach. “For you, I’d go to greater ones.”

The sincerity in his tone made you pause, your breath hitching. Slowly, you took a bite of the chocolate, savoring its richness as you held his gaze.

“Well,” you said after a moment, your voice quieter but no less warm, “then I’ll savor these all the more. Thank you, Max. Truly.”

He gave a faint smile, his gaze lingering on you. “You’re worth it,” he said again, almost too softly for you to hear.

—

A few days later found the two of you nestled in one of the estate’s sitting rooms, the kind of quiet, secluded spot that felt made for winter afternoons, tucked in a corner, heavy drapes drawn against the chill, and the only light coming from the soft flicker of a fire.

You were curled up on the settee, your legs tucked beneath you, a woolen blanket draped over your shoulders, and a book resting against your knees.

Max sat nearby in an armchair, his posture lazy, his boots propped on a low table, a mug of tea in hand. The fire crackled, the kind of sound that settled deep into the bones.

“You know,” he began, breaking the quiet, “there’s not a single good reason for ‘pookie’ to exist in the English language.”

You didn’t look up from your book, though a smirk tugged at your lips. “I take it you’ve given this some serious thought.”

“Too much thought,” he confirmed, setting his tea down with a resolute air. “I’m just saying, there are standards. Imagine you calling me that in public.”

“What’s wrong with pookie? It’s cute.”

“It’s infantilizing,” he countered, his voice dripping with mock horror. “Do you want me to lose all credibility? Imagine you waltzing into the ballroom, calling me ‘pookie’ in front of Lord Leclerc. He already hates me.”

You smirked behind the edge of your book. “Maybe it’d soften him up. Who could hate someone called pookie?”

“Everyone,” he deadpanned, leaning forward as though the conversation had suddenly taken on life-or-death stakes. “And do you know what happens when dukes hate you? Wars. Wars happen.”

You snorted, the sound more unbecoming than you intended. “Oh yes, the annals of history are full of noblemen going to battle over ill-advised pet names.”

He arched a brow. “Don’t laugh. You’d be the first casualty. Imagine the gossip: ‘Her Lady, tragically felled by her husband’s indignity.’”

You laughed, the sound light and teasing. “Oh, come on. I think society would be more than entertained by your reaction. Honestly, it’d be a great conversation starter.”

Max’s face twisted in mock horror. "I’ll have you know that there’s such a thing as dignity. Standards. Not ‘pookie.’" He gave you an exaggerated shudder. "If you ever said that in public, I'd die on the spot."

“You’d be fine,” you said, grinning. “I think you'd survive. Just barely."

“Not a chance,” he muttered, clearly still distraught over the possibility. He shifted in his chair, sitting up straighter now, his hands running over his trousers as if wiping away the very thought of the word. “I’m serious about this, you know. There have to be some boundaries. What would you say if I called you something equally ridiculous?”

You tilted your head, intrigued. “Like what?”

Max paused, giving you that look, the one where he thought he had you cornered. “‘Sweet cheeks,’ perhaps.”

You snorted before you could stop yourself. “That’s an actual crime,” you said, grinning widely. “Sweet cheeks is... beyond reprehensible.”

He chuckled, satisfied with his small victory, but he wasn’t done. "Or, maybe... how about ‘cuddlekins’?” He dragged out the last syllable, drawing out the ridiculousness for full effect.

Your eyes widened in mock horror. "You can’t be serious. I’m telling you, that would ruin me.” You leaned forward, bracing your elbows on your knees as you regarded him with exaggerated concern. “I might actually have to divorce you.”

Max grinned smugly, clearly relishing the reaction. “See? I knew you’d understand.” He leaned back, stretching his legs out in front of him. “That’s why we need to establish clear boundaries. For your sake, as well as mine.”

You rolled your eyes dramatically. “Fine, Mr. Standards,” you said, leaning back into the settee, settling the blanket over you more comfortably. “But what would you allow, then? What’s dignified enough for you, Your Majesty?”

He thought about it for a moment, tapping his finger against his chin in mock consideration. “Something classic. Elegant. ‘Darling,’ for instance.” He paused, a mischievous glint in his eyes. “Or ‘love.’ I suppose I could even accept ‘angel,’ if you’re feeling sentimental.”

“Angel?” you repeated, arching an eyebrow. “You want me to call you that? You’re nearly insufferable already, I can’t imagine what would happen if I started.”

“Angel is timeless,” he insisted, leaning forward with a dramatic flourish. “You’d be lucky to use it.”

You snorted in disbelief. “Timeless? You’re not a saint, Max.”

He raised an eyebrow, clearly unbothered. “Still, I’d wear it better than ‘pookie,’ don’t you think?”

You tilted your head, considering. “I suppose I could live with ‘angel’.. for now. But you’re pushing it.”

Max grinned like a cat who’d just gotten away with murder. "Good. And in return, I will grant you the honor of calling me..." He paused dramatically. "Max.”

You blinked at him, genuinely surprised. “That’s it? Just ‘Max’?”

He shrugged nonchalantly, though the corners of his mouth betrayed him. “It’s a classic. And besides, it has a certain charm when you say it like that.” He leaned back into his chair, an air of contentment settling over him.

You studied him for a moment, then let out a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding. There was something about the moment, about the soft way he spoke, the way his eyes had a lightness to it, that made you feel oddly warm.

"Fine,” you said, glancing back at your book but unable to suppress a smile. “But I’ll say it right now: if you ever call me anything that’s even remotely ridiculous in public, you’re going to wish you hadn’t.”

—

The evening had started as so many did. A quiet, comfortable sort of intimacy.

The snow outside beat against the windows, the sound muffled by thick velvet curtains, while the firelight flickered across the room, painting everything in soft, golden hues.

Max lounged in his chair, one arm draped over the back lazily, his other hand swirling the last of the wine in his glass. It was the kind of night that begged for diversion.

That was when he spotted it: the chessboard, tucked onto the corner of the bookshelf, its wooden box worn smooth with use. He stood and wandered over, plucking it from its place as though the idea had been waiting there all along.

“You play?” he asked, holding it up as though it were some sort of hidden treasure.

You glanced up from your seat, where you had been flipping idly through a book, the corners of your lips lifting into a subtle smile. “On occasion.”

He arched a brow at the casual way you said it, like you hadn’t just issued a challenge in the simplest of phrases.

“On occasion,” he repeated, setting the board on the low table between you. “That sounds suspiciously like the prelude to a trouncing.”

Your smile widened slightly, and you leaned forward to help him set up the pieces. “If you’re worried about losing, Max, you can always put it back on the shelf.”

His bark of laughter was low, rich, and thoroughly amused. “You know, if I didn’t know better, I’d say you were trying to provoke me.”

“Would it work?”

“It already has.”

With that, the pieces were set, the game begun.

At first, Max played as if this were nothing more than a pleasant diversion, his moves deliberate but far from calculated.

He leaned back in his chair, tossing out playful commentary, fully expecting this to be an easy, lighthearted way to pass the time.

But then you struck.

In just a few moves, you had dismantled his initial strategy, if it could even be called that, with a precision that made him pause.

Max’s hand hovered over his next piece, his gaze flicking between you and the board as though he’d missed some vital clue.

“Was that… intentional?” he asked, a faint crease forming between his brows.

You lifted your eyes to meet his, feigning innocence, though the sparkle in your gaze gave you away. “Was what intentional?”

“That.” He gestured vaguely at the board, his tone dripping with mock disbelief. “The part where you just… destroyed my plan.”

You tilted your head, your expression betraying just the faintest hint of smugness. “Max, you had no plan.”

He blinked, then laughed, the sound rich and warm. “Oh, so you’re one of those players.”

“One of those players?”

“The ones who think they’re too clever by half.”

“Think?” you repeated, your tone as smooth as silk.

Max chuckled again, shaking his head as he moved his knight forward. “Alright, let’s see how clever you really are.”

The first game ended quickly, too quickly for Max’s liking. He stared at the board in disbelief as you leaned back in your chair, the faintest hint of triumph in your smile.

“Was that too fast for you?” you asked, the light teasing in your tone making him huff a laugh.

“Too fast? No. Humbling? Absolutely.”

The second game started with Max clearly trying harder, his movements slower, more deliberate.

He studied the board with an intensity you hadn’t expected, his fingers tapping against the arm of his chair as he weighed his options. You almost pitied him. Almost.

“Don’t hold back on my account,” you said after a particularly defensive move on his part.

He smirked, leaning forward slightly as he moved his bishop into position. “I don’t intend to.”

It didn’t matter. Ten minutes later, you had him cornered again.

“Is this what you do for fun?” Max asked, his voice somewhere between impressed and exasperated as he surveyed the wreckage of his pieces. “Humiliate unsuspecting opponents?”

You laughed softly, the sound warm and full of mirth. “Only when they insist on playing against me.”

By the third game, Max had abandoned any pretense of casual competition. He leaned forward in his chair, elbows on his knees, as he stared at the board like a general planning a campaign. His focus was admirable, though ultimately futile.

“You’ve done this before,” he said eventually, his tone a mix of suspicion and amusement.

You tilted your head, your fingers lightly tapping the edge of your rook. “Played chess?”

“No. Watched someone’s pride unravel in real time.”

You couldn’t help the laugh that bubbled up at that, and for a moment, the tension of the game melted into something softer. The warmth of the fire, the rhythm of your banter.

It all wrapped around the two of you like a cocoon, shutting out the world beyond the storm.

“You’re a good sport,” you said after a moment, moving your queen with practiced ease.

Max glanced up at you, his smile slow and genuine.

“Checkmate,” you said softly, the word slipping out like a secret.

He stared at the board for a long moment before laughing, shaking his head as he leaned back in his chair. “I should be annoyed,” he said, his tone wry, “but somehow, I’m not.”

“Why’s that?”

“Because,” Max said, his gaze lingering on you in a way that made the air feel just a little warmer, “I’ve decided I enjoy losing to you.”

—

Max leaned against the doorway of your bedroom, his arms folded casually, though there was a slight tension in his posture.

His eyes flicked briefly toward the threshold he was careful not to cross.

No matter how much you reassured him or how much he’d relaxed around you, he still wouldn’t set foot inside your room.

Some etiquette rules seemed etched into his very bones.

“You might want to come to the aviary,” he said, his voice calm but carrying a faint edge.

You paused, glancing up from your writing desk. The way he lingered in the doorway, shifting his weight ever so slightly, caught your attention. “What’s going on?”

Max cleared his throat and gave a slight shrug, trying too hard to seem nonchalant. “Your father’s falcon,” he said after a beat. “It’s here. With a letter.”

You straightened, intrigued. “Father’s falcon?”

“That’s what I said.” He hesitated, one hand brushing through his hair. “You’ll see. It’s waiting for you. And... watching me.”

That last part made you grin, and you rose to follow him. Max wasn’t usually nervous, but the slight unease in his tone piqued your curiosity.

The two of you walked through the twisting corridors of the estate, the sound of your footsteps mingling with the faint hum of the household settling for the day.

When you reached the aviary, the warm, earthy scent of hay, cedar, and feathers greeted you like an old friend.

Inside, the room was alive with sound, the soft rustle of wings, the gentle coos of doves nestled in the rafters, and the occasional bright trill of a songbird darting through the shafts of sunlight streaming through the tall, arched windows.

At the center of it all, perched on the wooden stand in the heart of the room, was the peregrine falcon.

The bird’s eyes followed your entrance immediately, but it was Max it seemed to focus on the most, as though sizing him up. Max stopped a few paces from the perch, his hands slipping into his pockets as if to hide any sudden movements.

“Your father’s falcon,” he said again, his tone wry. “Does it always glare like that?”

“It doesn’t glare,” you said, though you had to admit the falcon’s gaze was as intense as ever. “It’s just assessing you.”

“Sure it is,” Max muttered, shifting slightly. “If it decides I’m a threat, how fast does it usually go for the face?”

You laughed softly, shaking your head. “It won’t attack you. Not unless you try to touch it.”

“Believe me, that’s not happening.”

Ignoring him, you stepped forward, extending your arm toward the bird. The falcon’s head tilted slightly, its keen eyes locking onto yours.

Then, with a sharp trill, it launched itself from the perch. Its wings barely made a sound as it landed gracefully on your forearm, its talons light against the leather bracer you wore.

“There you are,” you murmured, stroking its sleek head with gentle fingers.

The falcon made a soft, almost affectionate chirp and leaned into your touch, brushing its beak against your cheek in greeting.

“Of course,” Max said dryly, watching from a safe distance. “It loves you.”

“It trusts me.” You glanced at him with a smirk. “Which is more than I can say for you.”

The falcon’s sharp gaze flicked to Max again, and he raised his hands defensively. “I’m not arguing. It’s fine. We’re fine.”

You laughed under your breath, turning your attention to the small roll of parchment tied to the falcon’s leg. The wax seal, bearing your family’s crest, was unmistakable.

Breaking the seal, you unrolled the thick parchment, your eyes scanning the familiar script.

The falcon shifted on your arm, leaning slightly against your shoulder as though it, too, was eager to hear the news.

My clever one,

I’ll be arriving a few days before the winter feast, sooner than I’d planned. I hope you've been well and that House Verstappen has treated you well.

It’s been far too long since I’ve seen you. I look forward to our reunion.

With affection,

Father

Your heart skipped a beat as you read the letter, the familiar handwriting drawing a warm smile across your face.

“He’s coming back,” you murmured, excitement bubbling in your voice. “Before the festival!”

Max tilted his head, a faint smile tugging at the corner of his lips as he took in your excitement. “Good news for once. You’ve been missing him.”

“Of course I have,” you replied quickly, feeling a flush rise to your cheeks.

A soft chirp reminded you of the falcon perched patiently at your shoulder, its sharp eyes watching your every move. It nudged its beak against your cheek, urging you to action.

“All right, all right,” you murmured with a chuckle, reaching up to stroke the bird’s sleek feathers. “I’ll send him a reply. You’re more impatient than I am.”

“Should I give you two some privacy?” Max leaned against the wooden beam as you walked to the small table in the corner of the aviary.

You shot him a playful glare. “The falcon’s far better company than you some days.”

“Harsh,” Max muttered with mock indignation, though his smile lingered.

Grabbing a strip of parchment, you quickly penned a short response, your hand steady despite your racing thoughts. The falcon ruffled its wings and tilted its head, watching you with the sharp attentiveness of a messenger that knew its job.

When you finished, you sealed the note and turned back to the falcon. “Here we go,” you said softly, tying the parchment to its leg with practiced ease. “Make sure he gets this, all right?”

The falcon chirped again, nudging your hand once more before spreading its powerful wings.

“You spoil that bird,” Max commented.

You ignored him, lifting your arm and watching the falcon take off in a flurry of feathers, vanishing through the open beams of the aviary.

—

"Lord Jos Verstappen is coming home."

The announcement echoed through the halls like the tolling of a funeral bell, heavy and foreboding. The once peaceful estate stirred to life, not with joy, but with a frantic, fearful energy.

Servants darted through the corridors, their faces pale and tense as they adjusted garlands that now felt like mockery against the gloom. Silver was polished until hands trembled, every blemish scoured away with desperation.

Knights inspected their armor with grim focus, their fingers twitching over hilts and clasps as though preparing for battle rather than ceremony.

Even the preparations for the winter feast, grand and excessive as always, now carried a frantic edge, as if the abundance might shield them from his scrutiny.

Cooks whispered curses under their breath, their knives slicing meat with fevered precision. The clatter of pots and the hiss of roasting fires seemed louder, sharper, grating against the silence that lay beneath.

The estate itself seemed to darken, its stately elegance cast in shadow by the weight of his impending arrival.

Red banners bearing the Verstappen crest unfurled from the towers like blood dripping onto the pale winter sky. They flapped in the wind with a mournful sound, their bold colors stark against the growing chill.

—

The heavy oak doors groaned open, and the room was instantly swallowed by silence. The grand dining hall, usually alive with movement and murmured activity, now felt cavernous, the echoes of footsteps hollow against the stone.

Jos entered, his presence dominating the space even before he spoke. His boots struck the floor with deliberate precision, the sound like a hammer driving nails into a coffin.

His cloak of black wolf fur swept behind him, its edges brushing the ground, and the lifeless eyes of the beast stared out like a warning. His face was a cold mask of sharp lines and quiet menace, and his gaze moved across the room before landing on Max.

“Max,” Jos said, his voice low and gravelly, yet it carried with ease, filling every corner of the room. “You look like a boy playing lord. Tell me. Do you believe you’ve done well?”

Max stood abruptly, his chair scraping against the floor. His posture was stiff, his hands braced against the table as though steadying himself. “Yes, Father. Everything is as you instructed.”

Jos tilted his head, his expression devoid of approval or interest. Instead, his piercing gaze shifted to you.

You were seated beside Max, your hands clasped tightly in your lap to hide the trembling.

His eyes swept over you and your stomach twisted under the weight of his scrutiny.

“So,” Jos said, his tone slow, deliberate, and heavy with disdain. “This is the Southern girl?”

He didn’t wait for an answer, his lip curling into a faint sneer. “I was told you were of good stock. That you would bring beauty and grace to this family. But standing here now...” He let the sentence dangle, his silence cutting deeper than any insult.

You forced yourself to meet his gaze, but it felt like staring into a predator’s eyes. Your heart hammered in your chest, and the blood rushed to your face, burning with a mix of anger and humiliation.

Jos stepped closer, his movements slow and measured. He leaned down slightly, as if to examine you more closely, his eyes narrowing.

“Tell me,” he said, his voice quieter now but no less cruel, “were they lying? Or do Southerners simply have lower standards for what they call... adequate?”

The words hit like a blow, and you fought to keep your composure. You felt your throat tighten, your nails digging into your palms.

“Father,” Max said, his voice steady but strained.

Jos turned his head sharply toward his son, his eyes flashing with impatience. “Did I say you could speak?” He scoffed. “You’d do well to learn the value of silence, child. Or did my absence made you bold?”

Max swallowed hard but said nothing, his hands gripping the edge of the table so tightly his knuckles turned white.

Jos straightened, his focus returning to you. “Listen carefully,” he said, his voice a low growl. “I care little for who you are, where you come from, or what you think you’re worth. Your purpose here is simple: to provide strong heirs for this family. That is all. If you can manage even that.”

His gaze swept over you once more, his expression one of disdainful dismissal. “I suspect even that might be a challenge.”

The room was unbearably quiet, the tension pressing down like a physical weight. You felt your breath hitch, your humiliation raw and visible.

Jos’s cold smile was fleeting. “Weakness will not be tolerated. Not from you, and not from him.”

His gaze flicked back to Max. “If she fails, you know what must be done. I expect no hesitation.”

Max’s hand slipped under the table, finding yours. His fingers curled around yours, firm but not comforting. It was a gesture meant to steady you, but it felt like an apology more than anything else.

Jos turned his back on both of you, walking slowly to the head of the table. He took his seat, motioning for the servants to bring the first course, though their presence felt like little more than ghosts at the edges of your vision.

The meal passed in tense silence. Jos ate methodically, his eyes occasionally flicking to you and Max, though he offered no further words.

His presence alone was enough to fill the room with an oppressive weight.

When the plates were cleared and the servants retreated, Jos spoke one last time, his voice sharp and deliberate. “Do not embarrass this family,” he said, looking between the two of you. “My patience is not limitless, and my tolerance for failure even less so.”

He rose from the table, his chair scraping softly against the stone. Without another glance, he strode toward the doors, his cloak billowing behind him.

The grand dining hall was empty now, save for the two of you. The chandeliers above flickered with the last glow of half-melted candles, casting long shadows across the sprawling mahogany table.

Plates of untouched food sat cold on the tablecloth, embroidered with gold, while the remnants of the night’s cruelty lingered in the air like the bitter scent of spilled wine.

You sat stiffly, your trembling hands gripping the edge of your chair.

The fabric of your gown, a pale blue that had once made you feel lovely, now felt heavy and suffocating, like chains wrapped around your body.

Across from you, Max leaned forward slightly, his elbows on his knees, his black coat rumpled, his tie loosened as though the weight of the evening had crushed him.

His lips parted, a small breath escaping, but no words came. His gaze flitted to your face, then dropped to his lap as he rubbed the back of his neck with trembling fingers.

“Don’t,” you said, your voice cold, barely above a whisper. Your hands tightened on the chair, the sharp edge biting into your palms. “Don’t ask me if I’m alright. Don’t insult me like that.”

His head jerked up, his brow furrowing. His mouth opened again, but nothing emerged. He looked lost, childlike, almost, as though he couldn’t fathom where to begin.

“Do you know what it feels like,” you continued, your voice rising, cracking, “to sit there and have every shred of your dignity ripped away, while the man you thought loved you just… watches?”

Max flinched. His knee bounced nervously under the table, but he still said nothing. His eyes, glassy with regret, darted back to yours as though searching for something, anything, to cling to.

You shoved your chair back with a screech, the sound echoing in the cavernous room.

Rising to your feet, you gripped the edge of the table to steady yourself. “Your father humiliated me tonight. He dragged my name through the mud in front of all those people, and you- you just sat there.”

“I wanted to stop him,” he murmured finally, his voice rough. He stood too, but hesitated, his hand hovering over the back of his chair as though afraid to move closer.

“Wanted to?” you repeated, the words tasting bitter on your tongue.

You rounded the table, your skirts brushing against the polished floor, your heels clicking with every step. “Wanted to? What use is wanting when you didn’t do a damned thing, Max?”

His fingers curled into fists at his sides. He stepped back as you approached, the candlelight catching the sharp line of his jaw, his collar undone like a man too weary to even maintain propriety. “I froze,” he said finally, the words forced, raw. “I-”

You stopped short, staring at him, your chest heaving.

The anger burning in your veins was the only thing keeping the tears at bay. “You froze?” you repeated, incredulous. “That’s your excuse?”

He pressed a hand to his face, dragging it down in frustration.

His coat shifted with the motion, revealing the slightly wrinkled fabric beneath, proof of how tightly he’d been gripping his knees under the table earlier. “I didn’t know what to do,” he said, his voice low, shaking.

Your laugh was hollow, bitter, as you took another step closer. The train of your gown caught on the edge of a chair, but you yanked it free without breaking stride. “You didn’t know what to do?” you spat. “You could’ve told him to stop. You could’ve said, ‘She is mine, and you will not speak to her that way.’ You could’ve done something, Max. Anything.”

His hands reached out instinctively, but you recoiled, stepping back so sharply your gown swished around your ankles. His face crumpled as his arms fell back to his sides.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, his voice barely audible over the crackle of the dying fire in the hearth.

“Sorry?” you repeated, your voice trembling now, raw and unsteady. “You think that’s enough? You think ‘sorry’ is going to erase the fact that you left me there, alone, while he tore me apart?”

“I didn’t mean to-”

“Don’t,” you snapped, holding up a trembling hand to stop him. “Don’t you dare make excuses. You didn’t stop him because you’re afraid of him. Admit it, Max. You’re afraid.”

He didn’t deny it. His gaze dropped to the floor, his chest rising and falling with shallow breaths.

Your voice cracked as you took a step back, your arms wrapping around yourself as though you could hold the shattered pieces of your heart together.

“Promise me,” you said softly, each word trembling. “Promise me you won’t let him do that to me again.”

Max’s head snapped up, his eyes wide, pleading. “I…”

“Promise me,” you repeated, louder this time, your desperation cutting through the air like a blade.

“I-” His voice broke. He reached for you again, but this time you swatted his hand away, your tears blurring the edges of his face. “I can’t,” he whispered, the words breaking you more than anything else.

The breath left your lungs in a sharp, painful exhale. You staggered back, your gaze searching his face for some shred of hope, but all you found was his shame.

“Then don’t you dare call me your love anymore,” you said, your voice trembling, a single tear slipping down your cheek. “Don’t you dare.”

He froze, his hand still half-extended toward you. His lips parted, but no sound came.

Without another word, you turned sharply on your heel, the fabric of your gown rustling like thunder in the silence.

Max’s voice broke behind you, a desperate plea you couldn’t bear to hear.

“Please..”

“Don’t,” you said, your voice breaking. “Don’t follow me, Max.”

His face crumpled as you walked away, the echo of your heels fading into the dark corners of the hall.

—-

The days following the dinner were marked by an aching, suffocating silence.

You didn’t speak to Max. Didn't even look at him.

Not because you didn’t cross paths, but because you couldn’t. The words caught in your throat every time you tried, tangled up in a way you just couldn’t seem to untangle.

It felt too raw, too heavy.

His silence that night, the way he’d just sat there while his father shredded you down to nothing, still stung like an open wound. It was the kind of pain that didn’t just hurt in the moment. It lingered, nestled in your chest, weighing you down in ways you hadn’t expected.

And Max didn’t push.

He didn’t try to force his way into your grief, didn’t demand your forgiveness or plead for you to move past it.

If anything, he seemed determined to let you set the pace, to give you whatever space you needed even if it meant keeping himself at arm’s length.

You still crossed paths, of course. There was no avoiding it entirely.

You still went on your daily walks through the gardens, wandering paths lined with neatly trimmed hedges and blooming flowers.

You still spent time in the library, the two of you occupying the same space while surrounded by the soft rustle of pages and the faint scent of old parchment.

But now the silence between you was no longer comforting. It wasn’t the easy, companionable quiet you’d once cherished, the kind that felt like the two of you could sit together without the need for constant words.

Sometimes, when you were sitting together, you caught him out of the corner of your eye.

Watching you, his face drawn and tired, his eyes filled with something you couldn’t quite name. Regret, maybe. Or guilt. Or some terrible mix of both.

And sometimes, when you walked side by side in the garden, you’d see his hand twitch, as though he were reaching out for yours instinctively.

It was a habit of his, something he’d always done without thinking. A casual, familiar gesture that had once brought you comfort.

But now, when his fingers brushed the air between you, he’d stop short. You’d watch as his hand clenched into a fist at his side, as though he were physically restraining himself.

There was nothing casual about it anymore. No thoughtless familiarity, no ease.

It wasn’t as though he wasn’t trying.

You could see it in the small, hesitant ways he tried to bridge the distance between you—the way he lingered in the same room longer than he needed to, the way his eyes softened whenever they met yours, as though silently asking if it was safe to come closer.

But you weren’t ready. Not yet.

Every time he looked at you like that, every time you caught the faintest trace of hope in his expression, the memory of that night came rushing back like a tidal wave.

So you stayed quiet, kept your distance even as you occupied the same spaces.

And Max didn’t say anything, didn’t press or push.

He just stayed there, hovering at the edges of your life like a shadow, silent and waiting. Waiting for you to decide if there was anything left to salvage.

—

“You should just talk to him,” Lily said softly, breaking the silence as she poured tea into the delicate china cup in front of you.

You looked up sharply, your fingers tightening around the edge of the table. “And why, exactly, should I?”

Lily didn’t look at you right away. She finished pouring, carefully setting the teapot down. “Because you look like you’re holding your breath every time he’s near you.”

Your frown deepened. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

She raised an eyebrow, her gaze steady. “It means you’re walking around like this thing between you is strangling you. Like it’s taken up every inch of space in your chest and there’s no room left for air.”

You felt your cheeks flush, the sting of her observation cutting sharper than you wanted to admit.

You glanced down at the steam rising from your tea, your voice barely above a whisper. “I don’t see why I should be the one to talk to him. He’s the one who...” You trailed off, your throat tightening, the memory of that night still raw and aching.

“I’m not saying you need to forgive him. You don’t have to. Not now, not ever, if that’s what you decide. But this silence? It’s not helping either of you. Maybe it’s time to say something. For your sake, if nothing else.”

You hesitated, your fingers brushing over the rim of your cup as you avoided her gaze. “I wouldn’t even know where to start,” you admitted, your voice trembling with the weight of the truth.

“It doesn’t have to be perfect,” she said, her tone patient, gentle. “It doesn’t have to fix everything. But maybe it’s worth letting him know how you feel. Letting yourself breathe again.”

You shook your head, the familiar swell of anger and hurt rising in your chest. “Why should I be the one to fix this? He’s the one who stood there and let his father humiliate me. He didn’t say a word, Lily. Not one word.”

Her face softened with something like understanding, and for a moment, she didn’t respond. Then she said quietly, “I know. And you’re right. He should have spoken up. He should have done more. But...” She hesitated, searching for the right words. “Have you seen him lately?”

Your brows furrowed as you finally looked up at her. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, he looks awful,” Lily said bluntly. “Like he hasn’t slept in days. He’s walking around with this... this look on his face, like he’s dragging the weight of the world behind him. It’s... it’s hard to watch, honestly.”

You frowned, your heart twisting at the image her words conjured. Max, hollow-eyed and exhausted, carrying his guilt like a shroud. It wasn’t what you’d wanted. You hadn’t wanted to break him. You just wanted him to understand how much he’d hurt you.

Lily tilted her head, studying you. “I’m not saying you owe him anything. You don’t. But maybe... maybe talking to him wouldn’t just be for his sake. Maybe it would help you too.”

The ache in your chest deepened, a knot of emotions too tangled to unravel.

You weren’t sure if you were ready.

You weren’t sure if you’d ever be ready.

You swallowed hard, the words catching in your throat. “I’ll think about it,” you said finally, your voice barely above a whisper.

Lily gave you a small, encouraging smile. “That’s all I’m saying. Just think about it.”

—

“Oh, for heaven’s sake, just forgive him already, my lady,” Lando groaned dramatically, his boots scuffing the floor as he limped into the hall with a hand pressed to his ribs and the most pitiful expression you’d ever seen.

You blinked, startled, your gaze darting between his grimace and the faint scrape of steel from outside the window. “Forgive him? What are you talking about?”

Lando paused just long enough to throw you a deeply offended look before collapsing onto a nearby chair as if the journey from the training yard to the hall had nearly killed him. “What am I talking about? Oh, only the fact that your fiancé is trying to murder me. That’s all.”

Your brow furrowed as you glanced at Oscar, who had followed Lando inside.

The knight stood by the door, leaning against the frame with his arms crossed, his expression calm but tinged with faint amusement.

“What happened?” you asked, turning back to Lando, who was now slumped over the arm of the chair like a man on his deathbed.

“What happened? He happened!” Lando shot upright, jabbing a finger toward the courtyard. “Your darling betrothed has gone completely mad. I swear, he’s been possessed by some spirit of vengeance. He’s brutal- relentless! My body wasn’t built for this kind of abuse, my lady. I’m delicate.”

Oscar snorted, shaking his head. “Delicate isn’t the word I’d use.”

Lando’s mouth dropped open, scandalized. “Excuse me? This is coming from the man who sat back and watched me get beaten within an inch of my life?”

He turned to you, eyes wide and beseeching. “Do you see what I’m dealing with? First, your fiancé tries to cut me in half, and now your knight mocks my pain. I’m surrounded by cruelty!”

You fought back a smile, though the corners of your mouth betrayed you. “I think you’re exaggerating.”

“Exaggerating?” Lando looked positively aghast, clutching his chest as though you’d stabbed him. “You think I’m exaggerating? He disarmed me within minutes, then made me pick up the sword and do it all over again- six times! At one point, I was fairly certain I’d lost the ability to breathe. Do you know what he said to me? ‘You’re improving.’ Improving! My ribs say otherwise!”

Oscar’s lips twitched, though he didn’t quite smile. “You’re still standing, aren’t you?”

“Barely,” Lando huffed. He stood gingerly, clutching his back as though the act of rising from the chair had aged him twenty years. “I’ll have you know I’m going straight to the healer. And after that, I’m taking the longest bath of my life. If anyone needs me, I’ll be in the tub, rethinking every decision that led me to this moment.”

With that, he hobbled toward the stairs, muttering under his breath about sadists and swordsmen who didn’t know the meaning of mercy.

You turned back to Oscar, who had remained silent through most of Lando’s theatrics. He was still standing by the door, his gaze distant now, fixed somewhere beyond the frost-covered window panes.

“He’s still out there, you know,” he said finally, his tone dry.

“What?”

Oscar tilted his head toward the courtyard. “Your fiancé. He hasn’t stopped. He’s still training.”

You moved closer to the window, peering out into the dusky evening. Sure enough, there he was, a dark figure against the pale, frostbitten ground.

His sword moved in deliberate, measured arcs, each swing cutting through the biting wind like it was nothing. His breath hung in the air in sharp clouds, but he didn’t falter.

“Why?” you murmured, your brow furrowing as you turned to Oscar. “It’s freezing out there.”

Oscar’s expression didn’t change, but there was something in his eyes. “He’s not the type to stop. Cold doesn’t bother him, not when he’s like this.”

“Like what?”

Oscar hesitated, his usual bluntness faltering for just a moment. “Like a man trying to outrun his own thoughts.”

You glanced back at your fiancé, your chest tightening as you watched him swing the sword again and again, each movement precise and controlled, like he was fighting an invisible enemy.

Oscar shifted, his voice quieter now. “Look, my lady... I’m not going to tell you what to do. It’s not my place to ask for forgiveness on his behalf. That’s something he’ll have to earn himself.”

You turned to him, surprised by the sudden change in his tone.

Gone was the sharp, pragmatic knight you knew. In his place was something softer, almost hesitant.

“But,” he continued, meeting your gaze, “as a man, I am asking you to give him a chance. Not because he deserves it. But because I’ve seen men like him before. Men who don’t know how to say what they mean.”

His words settled heavily between you, the quiet crackle of the fire the only sound in the room.

“I’m not saying he’s perfect,” Oscar added, his voice even softer now. “But I think he’s trying. And sometimes, that’s worth something.”

—

The snow fell in sheets, each flake biting at Max’s skin like shards of ice. It blanketed the courtyard, piling high in thick drifts that glowed faintly under the dull gray of the moon.

The wind howled, tearing through the frozen night, cutting past the thin fabric of his sweat-soaked tunic and carving into his flesh like jagged teeth.

Max’s breath rose in ragged bursts, visible in the frigid air, each exhale trembling with effort. His hands, stiff and raw, clutched the hilt of his sword with a grip so tight his knuckles felt as though they might split.

The steel was freezing, an unyielding weight that seemed to fuse with his palm. His fingers, reddened and cracked, struggled to keep hold, but he didn’t dare let go.

He swung again. The blade hissed through the icy air before colliding with the splintered wood of the practice post.

The impact sent a jolt up his arms, rattling his shoulders, his teeth.

Pain flared in his joints, spreading through his already screaming muscles, but he ignored it. His body ached, his knuckles bled, but it still wasn’t enough. It never was.

Snow clung to his damp hair, melting into icy rivulets that dripped down his temples, his neck. He hadn’t bothered with gloves. Or a cloak.

The cold was a blessing. A punishment. It numbed the ache of his hands, the burn in his shoulders, and dulled the deeper pain lodged in his chest.

The wind picked up, sharp and merciless, whipping across his exposed skin.

He welcomed it, leaning into the sting as though the air might tear him apart, cleanse him of the memories gnawing at his mind. He swung again, harder this time, the motion wild, unbalanced.

The blade struck the post with a sickening crack, splinters flying as the impact jarred his entire body.

He stumbled, breath hitching as exhaustion clawed at him. His arms felt like lead, his legs trembling under the weight of his own battered frame.

Every inch of him throbbed, the dull, relentless pain seeping into his bones. His body, older than it should have been at twenty-three, protested with every movement.

His hands were aged before their time, the calluses and scars a map of years spent holding a sword when he should have been a boy.

Still, he didn’t stop. He couldn’t. If he stopped, the silence would creep in. If he stopped, the memories would return.

He pivoted, his breath a broken rasp as he swung again. The sword felt heavier with every motion, its hilt biting into the tender, split skin of his palm.

The wind roared, scattering snow into his eyes, but he barely blinked. His focus was razor-sharp, pinned on the shattered remains of the post as though destroying it might somehow quiet the storm inside him.

But it didn’t.

The memories came anyway, vicious and unrelenting.

Nine years old. Kneeling on frozen stone, the cold seeping through his skin as he counted the seconds between lashes. The whip cracked, the sound sharp and unforgiving, and his father’s voice followed, low and calm.

“Hold still, boy. A soldier doesn’t flinch. If you move again, we start over.”

He could still feel the sting of the leather against his back, the burn that lingered long after the blows stopped.

He remembered biting the inside of his cheek until he tasted blood, his small body shaking with the effort to stay still. He hadn’t cried, not until his father had left the room, the echo of the slammed door ringing in his ears.

Fourteen. Standing rigid as Jos’s words sliced into him, sharper than any blade. “You’ll never be a man. You’ll never be strong enough. If you can’t endure this, how do you expect to survive out there?”

Max swung again, the blade whistling through the freezing air, his breath coming in sharp, uneven bursts.

His vision swam, his balance faltering as his strength began to wane, but he refused to stop. He couldn’t stop.

Because if he did, he’d hear his father’s voice again. He’d see your face.

The memory hit him like a blow, the sound of your voice echoing in his mind. Raw. Shattered. The way you’d looked at him.

Wide-eyed. Disbelieving. Like you didn’t know who he was anymore.

The sword slipped from his hands, falling to the snow with a muted thud. His chest heaved, his lungs burning as he struggled to catch his breath. He stood there, trembling, the snow swirling around him in a blinding haze.

The frost clung to his lashes, melting into cold trails that streaked down his cheeks.

He clenched his fists at his sides, his nails biting into his palms as a fresh wave of pain rippled through him. He welcomed it, needed it, but it still wasn’t enough.

The memory of your face refused to leave him.

You’d been standing in the hall, your gaze darting between him and Jos as though you couldn’t believe what you were seeing. Max could still hear the venom in his father’s voice, the cruel, cutting words that had torn into you like claws.

And he’d done nothing.

He’d stood there, frozen, his body locked in place as his father’s fury spilled out. He’d wanted to move, wanted to speak, to defend you, but he hadn’t.

Because when Jos turned his gaze on him, sharp and filled with that same disgust Max had seen since he was a boy, all his courage had turned to ash in-

“What are you doing out here?”

Max flinched at the sound of your voice, the syllables cutting through his thoughts.

He didn’t turn to face you, his broad back stiff against the wind. “Training,” he said after a long pause, the word rasping out of him, half-choked with exhaustion.

“Training?” you repeated, stepping closer. The frost crunched beneath your boots, your breath clouding in the cold air. “It’s freezing, Max. You shouldn’t-”

“I know,” he interrupted, his voice low, hollow. His hands moved behind his back, fingers curling into fists as though he could hide them, but even from this distance, you could see the raw, bloody skin.

“Max,” you whispered, horror prickling at the edges of your voice. “Your hands-”

“They’re fine,” he said quickly, his tone sharper than he intended. He winced at himself, sucking in a shaky breath. “I’ve had worse.”

“That’s not the point,” you said, stepping closer, the hem of your cloak brushing against the frost-laden grass. “What are you trying to do to yourself? It’s the middle of the night, you’re bleeding, and it’s so cold you can barely breathe.”

“I’m used to it,” he muttered, his eyes fixed on the ground as though it could swallow him whole.

“Are you?” you challenged, your voice cutting sharper now.

He didn’t answer, the silence between you heavy and brittle. The moonlight cast a silvery glow over his hunched figure, illuminating the tension coiled in his frame.

You exhaled slowly, your breath visible in the icy air. “You’re going to get sick.”

“I’ll go inside later,” he said, his tone dull, lifeless. “You should go ahead first.”

“Max-”

“I told you,” he said, spinning to face you, his voice raw and fraying at the edges. His eyes met yours, and for the first time, you saw the depths of his anguish.

The shadows, the guilt, the broken pieces he couldn’t seem to hide. “I will settle. As long as I have you in my life, even if you hate me for the rest of it, I’ll settle for that silence. I’ll take it. I’ll endure it.”

Your heart twisted painfully, the cold biting sharper now as the weight of his words fell between you. “So that’s it?” you said, your voice trembling. “You’re not even going to try?”

His shoulders sagged, his breath hitching as he shook his head. “Do I even deserve to?”

Your chest tightened, and you took another step forward, your voice rising with the desperation clawing at your throat. “It’s not about deserving, Max. It’s about trying. About fighting for the people you care about, no matter how hard it is.”

“I’ve grown soft,” he murmured, the words barely audible as he turned away from you. His hands twitched at his sides, trembling as though they carried the weight of his shame. “If I had stood up to him- if I had spoken out- my father would’ve dragged me to the dungeons. I haven’t been there in years, and still… the memory-”

His voice cracked, and he ran a hand through his hair, pulling at the strands like he wanted to rip the thoughts from his skull.

“Max,” you said, your voice softening despite the anger still simmering in your chest. “What are you talking about?”

He swallowed hard, his throat bobbing as he fought to keep his composure. “I was afraid,” he whispered, the admission like a knife slicing through the air. “That’s why I froze. That’s why I didn’t defend you. I was afraid, and I hate myself for it. I hate that I let him humiliate you. I hate that I let you sit there, waiting for me to speak, and I didn’t. I couldn’t.”

Max exhaled. “And I’m sorry. I would let him whip me a thousand times if it meant you’d look at me with softness again.”

The world seemed to stop. Your stomach dropped, your blood turning to ice. “What?” you whispered, the word barely audible over the pounding of your heart. “What do you mean, whip you?”

Max’s silence was unbearable, the way his head bowed under the weight of his words. It was as if speaking them had drained the fight from him. But then, slowly, he sank to his knees before you, his hands trembling as they moved to rest in his lap.

“Do it,” he whispered hoarsely, his voice raw with desperation. “If it will make you forgive me- if it will make things right- hurt me. However you like. I deserve it.” His head hung low, his body tense, as though bracing for some cruel blow. “I betrayed you. I don’t deserve your forgiveness, but if pain is what it takes-”

“Stop,” you said, your voice sharp, horrified. The sight of him kneeling before you, offering himself up like some sacrificial lamb, sent a fresh wave of nausea rolling through you. “Max, get up. Please.”

He didn’t move. If anything, he seemed to fold further into himself, his hands curling into fists against his thighs. “I can take it,” he insisted, his voice barely above a whisper. “I’ve taken worse. I’ll take it for you.”

“No,” you choked out, the word trembling on your lips. You crouched before him, your hands hovering uselessly in the air, unsure whether to reach for him or pull away. “Max, this isn’t- this isn’t how this works. I don’t want to hurt you.”

He flinched, as if your words themselves were a blow. “But I hurt you,” he said, his voice breaking. “I stood there and let him- let him say those things to you, and I did nothing. I froze. And now I’m here, training, trying to- trying to make sure it doesn’t happen again. But it’s not enough, is it?” He raised his head then, his eyes wet, his expression pleading. “So tell me what to do. Tell me how to fix it. Tell me how to be better.”

Your throat tightened, a lump rising that you couldn’t swallow down. “Max,” you said softly, your voice trembling. “This… this isn’t the answer. You don’t have to punish yourself to be forgiven. You don’t have to prove your worth to me like this.”

He blinked, his expression caught somewhere between disbelief and anguish. “Then what do I do?” he whispered. “I don’t know how else to-”

“You don’t have to do anything,” you interrupted, your voice firm despite the tears stinging your eyes. “You’re not your father. You don’t have to fight like he did. And you don’t have to hurt like this- not to earn love, not to earn forgiveness.”

For a moment, Max simply stared at you, his lips parted, as if your words were a foreign language he couldn’t quite comprehend.

Slowly, you reached out, your fingers brushing against his cheek. His breath hitched, and he froze beneath your touch, like he didn’t believe it was real.

“You deserve kindness, Max,” you said, your voice breaking on the last word. “Even from yourself.”

His shoulders shook, his head dropping forward until his forehead rested against your hand

And for the first time in what felt like an eternity, he let himself cry.

—

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[tulpanya]

How would everyone react when they have a crush? Are the obvious or good at keeping secret that they have a huge love for the reader?

a crush? on you? haha... yeah.

includes : (mouthwashing) anya, curly, daisuke, swansea.

summary : how they are when they have a crush on you!

warnings : gn! reader.

ANYA

It takes Anya a while to realize she has a crush on you, either because she's pushing her blooming feelings very far down or because she's just a bit oblivious.

When she does finally come to terms with the fact she has a crush on you?

She suddenly gets very clumsy whenever you enter a room, and her thoughts are all askew whenever you send her a smile or ask her a question. It becomes a little obvious that something is up with her.

"Anya?" You call after catching her from almost tripping and landing on her face. "You okay?" She blinks up at you a few times, her brain slowly processing what's happening.

"I- uhm, huh?" Concern is written all over your face. You help her stand upright, though you don't let her scramble away like she was planning.

"Let's get you to the medbay, I'll give you a check up." Her face is flushed, especially when you insist on helping her walk back to medbay, which only makes you more concern for her wellbeing.

In terms of affection, Anya does grow a little detached because she worries that perhaps her previously casual and friend-like affection will make you uncomfortable.

She definitely isn't one to make any moves on you despite her growing feelings. She'll wait until you ask her out- and if that never happens then she'll just try her hardest to put the feelings to rest.

Anya is very patient though, so take your time- but maybe not too long, yeah?

CURLY

TAKES SO, SO LONG for him to realize he has a crush on you. He has a lot of responsibilities so romance isn't necessarily at the top of him mind

He finally realizes he may or may not have giant crush on you when despite himself he finds himself missing your presence. He just wants to sit with you, talk to you, be near you, forever and ever and oh... he has a crush!

As soon as he realizes? He is trying to romance you.

"Flowers? For me?" You're honestly surprised when Curly hands you a bouquet of your favorite flowers. He's got his charming smile that could make anyone swoon, his eyes twinkling with something you can't quite place (love), and he holds up two tickets to a movie you've been dying to go see.

"I- Curly, what is this all about?" He lets out a low hum, leaning against your doorway, his arms crossed and an easy smile on his lips.

"Well I was thinking, if you wanted to, let's go on a date." It seems like it came out of nowhere, but he's been slowly trying to charm you since the moment he realized his feelings. Whether or not you decline is up to you, and Curly will respect your choice, but he oh-so-hopes that you'll join him for a dinner and movie.

He 100% makes his affections known when he has a crush on you. The favoritism is insane, and anyone who points it out will be met with Curly confirming his crush on you.

Of course if it makes you uncomfortable, Curly will take it down a notch, but if you seem to enjoy his affections and cute courting tactics then he'll definitely ramp it up.

Either way, Curly takes action when it comes to having a crush!

DAISUKE

Daisuke realizes he has a crush on you the second he develops one but he won't really saying anything about it.

He's very good at keeping it cool- his feelings only make him want to be an even better friend to you! Honestly, you can't really tell if he has a crush on you or not bc anything he does could be written off as being a good friend!

But there are a few indicators if you look hard enough: Daisuke puts a little extra effort into his appearance, he'll get a little frazzled if you compliment him, his touch will linger a little longer than normal, his playful flirting seeming a little more serious, etc.

Daisuke had messed around with his hair for almost an hour- it just wasn't falling the way he wanted it to, the way he knew you'd compliment him for, so he was stuck messing with it until it was perfect. When he finally glanced over at the time, dread filled his stomach. Good appearance or not, he was definitely late to your meet up!

The whole way to meeting you, he was fussing with his outfit, however in his eyes the stress was definitely worth it as he stepped his way over to where you were waiting. "Hey, sorry, I was-"

"Woah! Daisuke, why do you look so good? Now I feel like I should've dressed up more!" His eyes widened a little at your response, but then a soft smile graces his features and a warmth blossomed on his cheeks.

"No, you look perfect."

Daisuke's affections are so casual yet so romantic that he's definitely the type to make your other friends ask if you two are dating or not already.

Although he has no plans on actually acting on his crush yet, wanting to wait to ask you out until he's certain it's something you want to, he definitely does daydream about it and giggle to himself often.

Daisuke really likes having a crush, the way his heart races and he gets all giddy around you is super addictive to him.

SWANSEA

Dread. The moment Swansea realizes he's developing a crush on you he is filled with dread. He thinks crushes are childish and he can't believe he managed to get one.

Whenever he catches himself being too lenient or sweet with you, he'll immediately do a double take and accidentally be a little rude to you. It's very confusing for you.

Swansea is definitely an acts of service type of guy, so bet that if he has a crush on you that he'll be helping you with anything and everything.

"You did good." Swansea nodded, praising you for your work. You sent him a grin, which had his heart skipping a beat or two. He grunted, suddenly becoming too aware of everything- how his body is heating up, how sweet he was being, how close he was to you- everything.

"Uh, but you also fucked up this part- just lemme do it..." He grumbled as if he was annoyed... and he was, just not at you. He didn't miss the small frown that you gave him, which only made him feel worse. Damn it, why did you have to be so confusing to be around?!

"Don't... Ugh, don't be upset. You did good for your first time, okay?" He mumbled, and he didn't check to see if you heard him or not because either way- a smile or a frown- would have him spiraling.

His crush definitely isn't obvious to the untrained eye- in fact most people actually begin to think he hates you. Those who really pay attention though will catch on to his actions and suspect he likes you though.

Swansea definitely isn't blabbering about his crush either, he's keeping that shit under tight wraps until he's ready.

He'll eventually come to terms with his feelings, and when he does, it won't take him too much longer until he's ready to confess how he feels, but until then... stay strong.

Thank you for reading! I hope you enjoyed!

[hockeyboistrash]

so @captain-huggy-bear isn't feeling well at the moment and I wanted to write a little blurb for them. I hope you get better soon 💖 Quinn falling for his teammates best friend.

Quinn Hughes wasn't supposed to fall for anyone, let alone his teammates best friend. He told himself at the start of the season his focus was on getting his team to the Stanley Cup playoffs and he couldn’t do that with distractions. What he didn’t plan on was his new teammate having a cute friend. 

You and Kiefer became fast friends when he came to Vancouver from Nashville, living in the same apartment building. He was new to the city and you knew exactly how that felt, having been in the same position a few years ago. You showed him and his girlfriend around what was going to be their home, hopefully, for a while. 

When you first came out with the team everyone loved you, everyone but Quinn. You weren’t sure what you did to upset him but you weren’t going to let it ruin your night. You tried everything, talking to him, asking about his life. However, all you got in return were grunts or one word answers. After a while you gave up trying. 

Kiefer assured you that it was only because his captain was under a lot of pressure that he was cold towards you. You weren’t convinced though, smiles and laughter were always heard before you got to the table but always fizzled out when you sat down. He couldn’t even look you in the eye. 

It’s why you were surprised when you heard Quinn’s voice behind you, coming to your rescue. You only went to get a drink when some guy tried hitting on you. You weren’t interested in him though. The drunk stranger wouldn’t take no for an answer and you glanced over to your table hoping to spot Kiefer. Your eyes flitted across the crowd looking for anyone who could help. You felt your stomach drop when you realised that no one was paying attention. 

“You heard her. She said no.” Quinn told him. What you didn’t realise in your panicked state was that Quinn was paying attention to you. His eyes followed you the entire time since you left the table. They always did when you went out. 

You weren’t listening as Quinn and the drunk stranger had words, your mind all over the place. You were confused. You knew that he would never let anything happen to you. Quinn wasn’t that kind of guy. What confused you was how he knew you were in trouble. He never looks at you or pays you any attention, his drink often the sole focus. 

“Hey, you okay?” He asked, bringing you out of your spiralling thoughts. “Want me to get Kiefer?” 

“Why did you do that?” You blurted out. You wanted to say thank you and move on but your brain had a different idea.

“You needed help?” Quinn replied, confused by your question.

“You hate me though.” You said, your voice quiet but Quinn heard you. He always heard you. 

“No, no Y/N I don’t hate you.” He was quick to assure you. “It’s just- I’m realising now that I’ve been so stupid lately, giving you the cold shoulder. I’m so sorry I ever made you feel like I hated you. I don’t hate you Y/N. I could never hate you.” Quinn, cupped your cheek gently and you allowed him, melting into his touch. “I was so scared you would be a distraction and you are. Not a bad distraction but a good one and I realise that’s okay. You remind me to smile more and have fun. You keep me grounded.”

“Oh Quinn.” 

“I understand if I’ve ruined everything.” He said, ashamed of his actions.

“You’ve not ruined anything.” You assured him, pressing a soft kiss on his cheek.

[mayonayys]

Cold Reunion

Tags: Caleb/FMC, Nondescript MC, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Canon Divergence, Canon-Typical Violence Rating: T+ Words: 1,763 Summary: He was dead. So who was he to stand before her now and question her? He had left her all alone and the grief had nearly killed her. But here he was. And she was angry.

A reimagining of Empathetic Interrogation.

AO3 Link

Her stomach turned as she tried to process what was happening. The man before her was him, there was no question about that now. But his voice was too harsh, his actions were cruel.

He was different, but here he was, right in front of her.

He leaned in close, running the lie detector down her throat and pressing it into her chest.

Her heart felt heavy, bottom lip quivering as her mind tried to make sense of what was happening.

She shifted, pulling at the arm restraints, but stilled when he inched even closer. She could feel his breath fan across her face. Her stomach turned, her senses on high alert.

"I'll ask again." He tilted his head as he pressed the lie detector in harder, causing her to flinch away. "Did you come to Skyhaven for the Aether Core?"

Her mouth twisted into a frown as he glared down at her, the caring and kind man she once knew was nowhere to be found. She started to retort, ask him a question in turn, say anything to help her figure out what was going on.

"Answer me," he sneered out, his eyes holding a venom she never thought was possible in that lilac gaze.

This couldn't have been her Caleb—not anymore.

"Remember," he said slow and low, "the camera is watching. You must tell the truth."

It was almost like he was warning her—he was never that good of an actor though, was he? She didn't feel any warmth from him, she was just prey caught oh so perfectly in his clutches. She winced as the lie detector pressed into her chest and the arm restraints bit into her wrists.

She gritted her teeth and let out a shaky breath.

She would just have to be as good of an actor as he was, then.

"I'm telling the truth." She said slowly, calmly. "I'm not related to anything involving an Aether Core."

Something flickered across his features, but her blood was boiling too much for her to be able to read his expression properly.

"This is your last chance." He adjusted his grip on the lie detector, letting out a deep breath that brushed over her face and had her pulling at her restraints again, wanting nothing more than to push him off of her and rid herself of this false image of him.

"I don't know anything." She reiterated through gritted teeth. She could feel her pulse raising as the device began to beep, soon to reveal her fate.

But his grip shifted on it again, a subtle click meeting her ears as the buzzing stopped and the screen went blank.

He pulled back, just a little, his expression unreadable.

She couldn't help the shaky breath that left her and she swallowed to ease the drying ache in her throat.

He looked her up and down one more time before standing to his full height, towering over her.

"You passed." He finally said and just as she blinked in confusion he seemed to slowly morph before her.

He was still the Farspace Fleet's Colonel, but there was a familiar softness around his eyes now.

She flinched as the lights came on and she instinctively raised her arms, expecting the resistance of the arm restraints, but they clicked open just in time to allow her to shield her eyes from the too bright lights.

She blinked, letting out a small noise of confusion as she moved her arms, looking at him through the gap.

He was smirking.

She felt a new wave of emotion course through her and her jaw tensed as she balled her hands into tight fists.

"You…" Her voice came out strained, anger, confusion, and hurt bubbling up to the surface.

He didn't seem put off by her tone, instead he leaned down, and in a too familiar gesture, his hand went to rest on her head, his thumb brushing at her bangs.

"Surprised? Sure it's been a while, but you already forgot about me?" He chuckled.

She swatted his hand away from her.

"You, Caleb, you're dead!" She lost her cool, voice louder than she would have liked, but her rage bubbled up too quickly for her to control.

The look on his face shifted, the amusement in his smirk deepening.

"If that were true, how could I be standing right here?" He leaned forward again, hands going to take the collar from around her neck.

She pushed his hands away from her again, standing quickly.

Her face heated with rage and his smirk faltered for a nearly imperceptible moment, the hard gaze he wore before threatening to slip back onto his face.

He reached for the collar again and caught her arm when she went to push him away. His gloved hand was cold on her sore wrist, his long fingers applying just enough pressure to make her flinch and try to jerk away.

"Just let me get this, okay?" His tone was soft, he was trying to soothe her now.

After all that, it didn't work. He was no longer her childhood protector, he was a man who evaded death and left her alone to grieve him for far too long. He was cold—cruel even, if she were to go by the force he'd already used against her.

The collar snapped off and he tossed it on the table behind him.

His hand was still around her wrist, but his grip loosened. When she didn't pull away his hand left her wrist, inching down to clasp her hand in his.

"Did I scare you?" He asked and it would have been reassuring if she wasn't still trapped in an interrogation room.

"You…" She shook her head, feeling her face heat as all her feelings came to a head. "You left me!" She blurted out and she could feel tears of anger and grief pricking at her eyes.

He didn't say anything as she glared up at him, but he shifted their clasped hands, his fingers threading through hers.

He tugged her gently forward and she stumbled, reaching out her other hand to brace against his chest. She scoffed as she looked up at him, shaking her head. She didn't pull her hand from his grasp, instead she squeezed her fingers, hoping that her small grip in his large hand could at least cause him a moment of discomfort, but he didn't even flinch.

He pursed his lips, eyes searching her face as she glared up at him with as much venom as she could muster.

"I didn't leave you," he finally said, voice soft. He looked truthful, but how could she believe him after the display he'd put on?

"You did." She hissed out, taking a step back.

He tugged at her arm again, not letting her get far.

She snarled at the action, rage still at the forefront. She pulled at his grasp and when he was unmoving, she raised her other hand, quickly striking out.

The sound of her hand across his face rang out in the silent interrogation room, but he didn't make a noise as his head turned to the side. His expression was unreadable, but his eyes seemed to darken, twinkling with a barely contained rage.

Her fingers stung, even with her glove to buffer the impact of her hand on his cheek. She took a step back, only stopped from going farther by his grip on her hand.

He wasn't looking at her yet and she watched him with a quiet fear rising, taking place of the anger she'd felt before.

His lips parted, tongue just barely flicking out to wet them, but she caught the sight hint of a red liquid tinting his tongue and staining the few teeth she got a peek at.

He finally turned back to her, gaze hard, and her breath left her.

He tugged her forward again and she struggled against his grip, letting out small pleas for him to let her go to no avail.

Her other hand landed on his chest again, fingers gripping at and wrinkling his uniform coat.

She did her best to glare up at him, despite the way she sucked in shaky breaths.

His face was stony and she flinched back when he leaned forward. She could feel his heart beat under her palm, calm and steady, while her own was erratic, pounding loudly in her ears.

His breath fanned out across her face again and she turned away from him, wincing at the faint smell of iron on his breath.

His free hand reached up, gloved fingers ghosting over her jaw before he gripped her chin, turning her head and making him face her. She cringed away from his hard gaze, but as he leaned in closer, his expression seemed to soften.

She couldn't help the small whimper that left her mouth as she felt his lips nearly brush across her cheek.

"I didn't leave you," he finally said, voice soft and reassuring. His thumb gently brushed her jaw, the hand gripping hers loosening and going to rest on the small of her back.

She almost broke, but took in a shaky breath, turning her face ever so slightly, meeting his softened eyes.

"I won't ever leave you, I promise." He said, pressing his forehead to hers.

She blinked and her unshed tears finally fell, stinging her hot face. Her lips trembled as she held her breath, closing her eyes as she leaned into him, his now tender touch overwhelming her.

He pulled her closer, their bodies pressed flush to one another and her sob finally broke. She wrapped her arms around him, burying her tear streaked face into his chest.

"I thought you were dead, Caleb." She managed to get out, voice muffled by her tears and the fabric of his jacket.

He held her tight to him and she could feel him press a gentle kiss to the top of her head. He moved, hand stroking her hair, and he pressed his lips to her temple, the sound of his soft breathing soothing to her senses.

"No matter what," his voice was gentle in her ear and his fingers caressed up her spine. She felt herself clinging to him further, sucking in a breath, breathing him in. "I'll always be by your side." He pressed another soft kiss to her temple, holding her tight until her sobs died down.

She was angry, her heart heavy with grief, but he was her Caleb and he was here, in her arms, once again.

[starsfic]

Friendship Bracelets

This is based off a fun idea by @ldhedgehog, where Sonic and Shadow end up with a quill from each other and can use that to sense each other's emotions.

Fine. He was hedgehog to admit it.

Sonic had a bit of separation anxiety.

He and his parents chalked it up to the sudden loss of Longclaw and the ten years spent alone. Sonic had been so excited for his first day of school, with actual kids his age, but had spent most of the day deep in anxiety. What if being away from him was enough to convince Tom and Maddie that he didn't deserve to live with them? What if something happened to them? What if something happened to them and Sonic was all by himself again-

Sonic spent most of the day clinging to Tom when he got home.

It had gotten better. He had learned that Tom and Maddie were solid in their love for him. They texted each other during points in the day. Tails and Knuckles, once they were enveloped into the Wachowski fold, were also there, steadying him.

And then Shadow had come along and then was suddenly gone. There was still anger at him for hurting Tom, an anger that was only mollified by a bit when Tom admitted that he had spooked Shadow, but there was also grief.

Shadow had complemented him. It was like there was a piece of him missing that Sonic had never realized until he and Shadow were dancing in the stars, miniature shooting stars, and whispering of grief and loss on the moon. He loved Knuckles and Tails, of course, but neither could truly challenge him in speed, not until he met furious red eyes.

He had spent months convinced Shadow was dead.

And then Shadow was back, dragging Rouge the Bat with him and bursting into the scene like something out of an action movie, kicking a Metal Sonic away from Amy.

They hadn't had much time to talk, but Shadow's eyes lit up when they met, and he admitted that he had been grieving Sonic too, his hand tight around his. They weren't miniature shooting stars at the end, but they still could give one hell of an encore to their dance.

Then they had to separate again.

Shadow wasn't safe on Earth, not when GUN was around. Sonic understood, especially when Director Rockwell marched in and started screaming questions a few seconds after they shoved Shadow, Rouge, Amy, and that one robot they apparently stole from GUN through the ring portal. However, the minute they sat down in the truck, ready to head back to Green Hills where Shadow and the others would meet them, Sonic felt tears pricking at his eyes- not the normal tears he usually shed after a battle, but real, frantic tears.

What if he had just been a hallucination? What if something happened to him in the five minutes it took to set up a ring portal? What if something happened to him and Sonic was by himself again-

Panic attacks sucked. That was a fun fact that he learned. Maddie had decided, once he was back to himself, that they were all getting therapy. Nobody protested this.

Especially not Shadow, who spent the rest of the night- because his parents refused to let anyone go hungry, especially after a battle like that- hovering by his side. It took a lot of effort to convince him to let go of Sonic's hand at the end of dinner. Then Sonic had a nightmare in the middle of the night and had summoned a ring portal to Rouge's house, right as Shadow was crawling through his window to apparently check if Sonic was still breathing.

This started a pattern that was rapidly becoming an issue.

So when Maddie said she had a way to possibly help with their separation anxiety, Sonic honestly doubted her.

"It's a thing I noticed," she explained as she worked at the table, the two of them sitting across from her. "Shadow, you had one of Sonic's quills at one point, and you could tell Sonic was alive."

"Yes," Shadow said with a nod. "I think our mutual bond with the Chaos Emeralds may have infused our quills." Nobody mentioned that chaos energy was how Gerald Robotnik had lived way past his prime. The thought of Eggman possibly licking his quill made Sonic want to shiver out of his skin, he did not want to imagine what Shadow thought of his sort-of father figure licking his quill.

"Yeah!" his mom said brightly. "So, I did some research and poked at some of your quills, Sonic." She finished whatever she was doing, revealing two bracelets.

They looked like friendship bracelets, done with red and blue strings. However, when Sonic squinted, he realized that one had a lot more blue. The other had a familiar red tint to it.

"Hedgehog quills are actually hollow, making them flexible," Maddie explained as she held them out to them. "But your two's quills are way more flexible than I expected, more like human hair. I'm guessing that's because you guys aren't actually hedgehogs, but something resembling hedgehogs..." Sonic took the bracelet with more red and slid it on as Shadow slid the blue one on.

He twisted his wrist back and forth, studying the bracelet. It was close-fitting, meaning it wouldn't snag on anything, which was good. Sonic felt a burst of interest in his chest as Shadow's quills caught the light, turning a lighter shade of red.

Then he looked at Shadow, who was studying his own bracelet. The blue looked good on him. He looked nice with blue. He looked nice in general, but right now he looked cutely nice, kinda like a cat with how his ears flicked-

Shadow's ears flicked and Sonic had to resist the urge to squeal.

Shadow's head turned then.

"Did...did you just squeal in your head?" he said, sounding baffled. "I could feel that enough that I could hear it."

...oh. Maybe separation anxiety was better.

[simpurnatural]

"Feelings" || Requested Oneshot

XO, Kitty - Min Ho Moon x Fem!Reader

Note from Nat: "I received this oneshot request from @plutoOooO! And this is also how I'm announcing that requests are finally open again! *fireworks and confetti* Enjoy loves <3"

Warning(s): Cussing, Smut, Overstimulation,

Kitty plays Matchmaker once again while everyone's preparing for Chuseok at KISS. This leads to both yours's and Min Ho's untold feelings to step into the spotlight once and for all. Feelings quite stronger than just a crush

"I've brought the shopping!" you called out as you stepped into the boys' dorm room. "Q? Kitty?" you say, kicking off your sneakers and heading into the kitchen.

"Hey Y/n!" Kitty greeted after stepping out of her bedroom. "Thanks so much for wanting to help with Chuseok." she smiled as she gave you a hug.

"Of course! I had no idea that so many of us were staying in town for the holiday," you replied, pulling away from the hug. "So, what exactly are we making? Because all I did was follow the list," you said with a little laugh.

"It isn't exactly me and you cooking but rather you and Min Ho," Kitty explained with a knowing grin, which made you heartbeat quicken.

"Me and-"

"-Yep," she nodded, "You guys will be able to spend proper one on one time, totally undisturbed,".

Your lips formed a thin line as you turned to the kitchen sink, “I think I’m going to be sick,” you coughed.

“You’ll be fine, and plus-this is the perfect time to clear the air,” Kitty reminded, patting your back gently.

You and Min Ho had been friends for years. And for half that time, you’ve had feelings for the playboy. And what came with being a playboy? Countless girls, random or never seen again after a few days spent with the friend group.

You always felt as if Min Ho would never want something serious, let alone possible ruin such a good friendship with you. So, for such a long time, you pushed your thoughts and feelings for him away.

No one realized how deep your feelings for Min Ho were til Kitty showed up. She made it her mission as a self-proclaimed Matchmaker to get you two together. She says that “There is definitely some chemistry between you guys.”

“Hey Y/n,” a voice said cheerfully, that voice belonged to Min Ho. “Thanks for getting the shopping,” he beamed as he walked towards you.

“Okay I gotta get going,” Kitty said quickly, dismissing herself from the conversation and the front door shut behind her.

“Hi,” you said with a tight smile, awkwardly moving to grab a couple pans and pots. “What’s on the menu today?” you ask, trying your best to not act weird.

“Well, I do have a method, so I’ll just need you either chop or stir stuff,” Min Ho said as he got closer and placed an arm around your shoulders. “I deem you, my sous chef,” he joked but you couldn’t even find anything he said humorous.

Your stomach felt as if it was flipped upside down. And maybe you were sweating? Maybe you were turning pale? Who knows. But all you knew was that you had no escape and no backup.

“Y/n?”

You snapped out of your nervous daze and looked back up at Min Ho. His face flashed with concern, catching on to your lack of attentiveness.

"Ah yes, I'll just be stirring and chopping away," you say, hands motioning both actions before you quickly dropping them-feeling like a proper idiot.

"Right, let's get to it." Min Ho says, migrating all the veggies and herbs on the counter to the sink. "How come you didn't go visit family Chuseok?" he asks.

"It's quite the journey just to be there for 48 hours or less," you shrugged, clearing the counter of any shopping bags and trash. "What about you?" you questioned.

"As you know, my mom and I usually celebrate Chuseok together, but she couldn't this year. So, she sent me a basket." Min Ho explains, pointing to the gift basket that sat on one of the bar stools.

"That's sweet of her," you commented, glancing over at the present.

Yeah, but my dad? Not so much," he chuckled, drying all the veggies and placing them next to the cutting board. "Can you get started on these?" he requested with a smile.

"Of course," you nodded, absent-mindedly reaching for the onion that was still in Min Ho's hands. "Oh-I"m sorry," you said quickly; after watching it drop to the ground.

"Are you alright Y/n? If you're not up to it, I can get figure this out on my own," he said as he plucked the onion from the floor, wiping it down with a paper towel.

"I'm okay, it's just-" you paused.

"It's what exactly?" Min Ho asks curiously, looking deep into your eyes with his coal black ones.

You took a deep breath before saying, "Okay, Kitty left me here with you so that I could confess my feelings for you". Minho merely blinked so you continued to ramble on. "But clearly, the pressure of me explaining how I fell in love you but also don't want to risk our friendship literally eats my alive!"

"-And I totally understand that you don't feel the same way about me because of that blank look on your face. I just don't know how to stop feeling the way I do about you. I've tried talking to other people and even going on dates but always realized it's you who I wanted to be with." you sigh, and Min Ho squinted slightly with his head tilted to the side.

"-Don't even get me started on the total tens you bring to our hangouts," you add, referring to the girls he brings around. "You're out of my league and such a catch. So honestly, I seem pretty stupid for thinking you might even as much as like me back." you groan as you stormed out of the kitchen and began putting your shoes back on.

"-I just can't do this. I'll just leave." you say, your face feeling hot as you reached for the door.

"Do I not get a say in this?" Min Ho asked, grab hold of your wrist gently.

"I don't feel like hearing you shut me down right now," you grumbled as you turned back to face him.

"Y/n, I'm not going to," he replied with a smile, making your eyes widen.

"What?" you said quickly.

"Why would I? I've fallen for you so hard; a lot, not a little bit." he confessed. "I always thought you were too good for me," he said, now taking proper hold of your hand in his. "You are just so perfect and I'm just me," he shrugged.

You stood in the entryway in disbelief. Min Ho had felt the same way this whole time and you had not a single clue about it.

"If I had known sooner, I would've already done something about it," he said with a smile as he stepped forward and cupped your cheek.

"L-like what exactly?" you stuttered, your breathing hitched as your nose brushed against each other.

"This." Min Ho muttered, pulling you in for a kiss.

Min Ho's soft lips pressed gently against yours and it felt as if they moved in sink. Your arms were slung around his neck as his found their place at the small of your back.

The world felt still but also as if it were spinning, with your eyes shut-all you could focus on was on close Min Ho had pulled you in. It was like he didn't want to ever let you go or move on from this moment. Perhaps you both became the center of gravity, and everything was being put into place.

Both of you pulled away instinctively for some air and your eyes fluttered open, settling on Min Ho's gaze. Your faces remained merely a few centimeters apart, sharing the same breath before leaning once again.

This time, there was a certain kind of passion in the way your kiss felt. Your heart was pounding as your hands ran through Min Ho's well-kept hair. His lips left yours's and began a trail to your jawline, down to your neck.

A gasp escaped your lips as he began suckling on your skin. Quickly being able to identify your sweet spots. Your knees felt as if they were going to give out as he pulled your blouse down for more access. His lips felt like a heaven, you could only imagine how the rest of him was going to feel.

"Oh my-" you moaned as Min Ho worked his way around, leaving marks wherever possible.

"Yes?" he mumbled against your skin, watching how your thighs shifted against each other. "Tell me what you want," he said as he pulled away from your neck.

"You, I want you," you sighed as your chest rose and fell heavily.

Min Ho's hands drifted to the hem of your trousers, his fingers pulling the zipper down. You held breath as he pulled them down nice and slow.

“Is this, okay?” he questioned, his hand hovering over your clothed pussy. “Y/n?” He said as he looked up and into your eyes.

“Y-yes,” you nodded as he also pulled down your underwear, helping you take completely remove any clothing from your lower half.

Min Ho then stood up and led you around the kitchen and motioned for you to sit at one of the barstools. You wordlessly complied, getting comfortable in your seat just for Min Ho to pull you in. Both literally and mentally, you were on the edge of your seat.

He then placed himself between your legs, his face directly in front of your dripping cunt and your legs over his shoulder. Min began kissing your inner thighs, teasingly getting a bit closer every time.

“I wish I knew sooner how wet I get you,” he smirked before brushing his fingers against your fold. “How badly you wanted me,” he says, beginning to rub your clit gently.

In a repetitive circular motion, his finger worked your pussy. His eyes darkened with lust, watched as your chest rose and shuddered with every breath. Your head thrown back, but he could still hear you heavy breathing and soft moans.

He then pushed a finger through your fold and slowly. You gasped as you felt him slid into your pussy with ease. Min Ho chuckled due to the noises that escaped your lips, provoking him to insert a second finger.

Curving his finger slightly against your walls, your own hands were holding your position steady on the stool. Just then your phone rang, you and Min Ho both froze for a second.

“I think that might be Kitty,” you sighed as Min Ho pulled from you. “Hey,” you say after grabbing your phone and answering the call.

“How’s everything going?” She asks excitedly, unaware of the literal position you were in.

“Everything’s going just fine,” you reply as Min Ho pulled you away from the counter, guiding you to the couch. “What’s up Kitty?” you question.

“Well, I just wanted to know what the status was on the food,” she replied as you watched Min Ho take off his pants and boxers. “We are just setting up a couple more decorations,” she adds, while you both sat down.

It was difficult to focus on the call when the guy who just fingered was stripping down. His toned abs were where your attention was at. Your eyes noticeably widened and focused down south.

“Yeah, we’re a little behind but can definitely get things done in 20-30 minutes?” you guesstimated. “I sort of did forget a few things, so we ordered for them to be delivered,” you lied, Min Ho moving you into a laying down position and your legs in the air.

“Are you okay?” Kitty questioned with worry in her tone, “Your breathing is a little heavy,” she reasons while Min Ho took his position on top of you.

“I’m f-fine,” you tried to assure as he caressed the tip of cock against your folds. “Just a bit peckish,” you add.

“Well did you guys talk it out yet?” She asks, you could visualize the giddy smile on her face.

“Yeah, and you know-“ you began before the phone was taken out of your grasp.

“Now’s not a good time Covey,” Min Ho huffed, tossing his head back to remove his sweat gelled hair back. “I need Y/n-“ he blanked, “-For pot stirring.” He blabbered quickly before hanging up.

“Pot stirring?” You snorted as Min Ho placed your phone on the coffee table.

“What? Did you want me to tell her what were really up?” He asked with a brow lifted.

“No,” you replied, your face turning bright red.

“Better be quick,” he sighed, “Hope you can take it,” he smirked as he finally pushed his cock deep inside your cunt.

With one of your legs over his shoulder, Min Ho began slamming his hips against yours. A rush of cold air hit your chest as Min Ho lifted up your top along with your bra.

You were a moaning mess as Min Ho continuously drilled into your walls. Every thrust becoming rougher and quicker than the previous one.

“So bloody wet for me,” Min Ho smiled smugly, “You can’t even say anything back-too busy taking this dick?” He wondered before slowing down.

“Why’d you stop?” You muttered almost incoherently, being able to lay still.

“Turn around,” he instructed, and you did as you were told. “I just wanna feel you come for me,” he grunted, shoving his cock back in your cunt.

Min ho propped you up against his chest. His hands greedily squeezing your tits. Your hands found their way reaching and gliding through his hair.

“You are so sexy,” Min Ho whispered in your ear. “Your pussy feels so good around me,” he says, placing kisses along your neck.

“Fuck,” you gasp, feeling a knot begin to form in your stomach.

“You’re close huh?” He muttered as you feel his hand trail down to your clit.

Min Ho started rubbing your clit and the blissful feeling that overcame you sent you into overdrive. You moans became increasingly pornographic as he hastened the speed of his hips.

“F-feels too good,” you slurred, “Min Ho-fuck it’s too good,” you said again.

“Well, I’m not gonna stop,” he murmured, looking down and watching your ass bounce on his dick. “Not til you cum,” he huffs.

“Stop,” you moaned, your cunt squeezing around his length, “Oh God,”

“Cum for me,” he said, the speed of his hand and his hips not wavering.

Your body shivered as a wave of ecstasy hit you, but Min Ho didn’t stop. This time, he bent you over and got his dick slamming into your sweet spot.

“Cum with me,” Min Ho huffed, his hands pulling you in repeatedly by the waste

“I c-can’t,” you whined, your vision becoming blurry.

“You pussy squeezing around my cock shows otherwise,” he moans, the clapping sound of your hips echoing through the dorm.

You felt like you were gonna pass out, everything felt too good. The way he kept fucking into you made you begin to shake.

“That’s it,” you hear Min Ho say, your cunt tightly entrapping his length again. “Don’t let me leave this pussy til you cum,”

As if on que, you came once more right as Min Ho pulled out and covered your back in his hot seed. You finally slumped onto the couch, eyes shut and breathing hot.

“I don’t think we’ll never not do that’s,” he chuckled, going to grab a towel.

Gently, Min Ho wiped you down and due to you lack leg function, he helped you put your clothes back on.

He also quickly threw a meal together, enough to cater for everyone meeting for Chuseok. You admired him from the couch, since he insisted you rest while he cooked.

Still shirtless, he prepared everything for the trek back to main campus. Since you were going to have to walk, Min Ho decided to carry everything.

“Where have you guys been?” Q questioned; everyone was already finding their seats.

“Busy whipping up a good meal,” Min Ho replied as he handed off the food to Kitty. “Sit with me?” He asked as he turned to you.

“Of course,” you smiled as you both went to sit with your group of friends.

When everyone was finally seated and Kitty gave a little speech, Min Ho held your hand. Looking over at him, he gave a cheeky grin.

“I’m glad to have spent it with you,” he smiled.

“So sappy,” you joked as Kitty sat across from you before eating the dinner on your plate.

“You guys look like you did more than talked,” she whispered, and your eyes widened.

“And what exactly did they do Ms. Covey?” Lee questioned between bites.

“Made-uh such a delicious meal,” Kitty said quickly. “Chuseok really brings people together,” she laughed forcefully.

“Right,” Professor Lee muttered.

JAN 2025

[cherryblossms]

it only made sense, to garam at least, that he'd worry about disturbing anybody's peace. he was my boyfriend and i had to worry about annoying him. the words garam thought but didn't dare actually verbalizing. he'd already eluded to axel enough, he didn't want to directly speak of him and risk ruining the air between himself and angel right now. he was also afraid of angel possibly being hurt by the fact that garam was thinking about his ex in a moment like this. "just tell me if whatever i'm doing bothers you." at least if he found out early on, he'd know how not to behave going forward. "and i mean anything. if i snore too much when i'm asleep or if i chew too loud, talk too loud, or breathe too loud." the last one was a habit he only found himself doing when his focus was intense while gaming, something he had to break himself out of since it was commented on a lot pretty early on in his career. but outside of his fanbase, nobody else had found the sound of his breathing to be bothersome. it took him a moment to gather the courage to drop his hands from his face and, when he did, his cheeks were so red. he was beyond just embarrassed, especially after angel continued to question him. everything after good boy essentially went in one ear and out the other without his brain having the chance to process what was said to him. he was only pulled back to reality once the other tugged at his earlobe, a soft moan leaving his lips snaping his attention. then most of angel's words began to register, his brows beginning to furrow as he instantly moved his hands to his lap to provide himself what little coverage his hands could give. "you can't say things like that to me." he whispered, shaking his head. it just wasn't fair, anybody could get garam to do whatever they wanted with the smallest amount of appraisal. even if it wasn't necessarily in a sexual or physical context. his gaze dropped down to his own lap, brows furrowing even more as he grew frustrated with himself for getting turned on by those words; good boy. he really did want to eat breakfast with angel, he wanted to go out shopping together and just spend the day with him. but his body wanted something more than that, more than what was already given to him. garam looked back to up angel, doing all that he could not to look as desperate as felt he was to be touched by the man again. "i don't want you to think i'm some sex addict or anything like that, because i'm-i'm not." but how could anybody believe that when angel had gotten him hard, in some sense, three times now in less than a twenty four hour timeframe. maybe it was because it'd been such a long time since he felt excited for something as simple as physical touch, knowing that there was true emotion behind angel's words and his actions weren't driven by the desire to come by any means. "you've always been so careful with me, you've always gone out of your way to care for me. how am i not supposed to be turned on by you? emotionally—" he felt guilty, knowing that others could see that garam used angel emotionally before he had the chance to realize it, himself, "i'm so sorry for having done this to you. i mean, i'm sure you've had lovers in the mean time but waiting and watching the things i've done, how i've behaved, who i associated with... i'm not a good boy, i shouldn't be rewarded when i've been so bad." he slowly moved his hands away from his lap, letting them fall from his thighs to rest on top of the mattress on each side of his calves; his fingers grasping at the material below them. "we should eat," he blurted out, thinking if he changed the subject quick enough, angel wouldn't have a chance to process what he'd said and respond. "you're hungry and i'm hungry. and-and there's a lot i have to buy and i don't want to be out too late... you know, just in case." the last thing he wanted was to risk running into axel and have their day together ruined.

Hearing Garam ask him to join the hunt for warmer socks was enough to put him at ease. What Angel didn’t expect was the man’s full confession. He sat there quite with a blank stare. But because he wasn’t listening but more from shock. All of this was going on in his mind? Angel thought himself unable to fathom how Garam even functioned with all of that going on. However, he stayed completely silent until he seemed the man ran out of breath from his gasping. Angel’s eyes softened as he leaned forward and kissed the other man’s hands. “I’m sorry I wasn’t clear about my feelings. Each word followed with a soft kiss to Garam’s hands. “Since when do you care about annoying me? Garam you are my best friend first before anything else. That will never change.” Angel smiled as he moved closer looking at the way the man was sitting. Angel always found him cutest like this. So flustered and unsure, “I don’t regret what we did Garam. Not right now. I’m still working through some things. Some days I’m okay and some days it hard to get out of bed. But what I want you to focus on is how I feel about you. That is what I was trying to say earlier.” He continued wanting to cover everything Garam said. Angel wanted to show him he was listening and took all his words seriously. “Well baby, you made a rule and I made a rule. We have plenty of time to work up to that. What a beautiful mess you would make. Don’t be scared I’ll never do anything you are not comfortable with. And I’ll never do anything I don’t want to do. I appreciate you being worried for me but I’m a big boy. I’ll speak up for myself” Angel cooed putting his face inches from Haram’s hands, “please look at me baby, I want to see your handsome face” he whispered kissing his hands once more. Angel smirked as he leaned closer to the other man’s ear, “So you thought about me? What exactly did you picture Garam? You don’t think I want more of you? Hearing you moan for me, like the good boy you are?” He was having too much fun with this. How could he not get turned on by the way Garam was talking. However, he pulled back when the man invited him once again out with him shopping, “Tour deer really caught me by surprise. Just warn me next time they are freezing. But I would love to help you shop for anything you need. It’s still early we can cuddle some more…or you know I could go another round?” He grinned as he playfully bit the man’s ear lobe before pulling away. “After I can cook for us and we head out shopping. How does that sound?”

[k0nanharv3y]

I WANT HIM TO BE MAD, I WANT HIM TO COLAPSE AND CRY HIS LUNGS OUT I WANT HIM TO SCREAM... I'm allergic to happiness :[ so then I should proceed

///

Tim knew how to be mean, rude and how to hurt people with his words, I mean, he was raised by Fucking Janet Drake. He knew what he was doing

And he was so done with Damian, and life, apparently

Damian who's being an asshole about his birth rights and how Drake would never be worth enough to have the Robin mantle: The only reason you're part of this family is because father couldn't let go you with what you know!

Tim, who already knows this fact and is running on half an hour of sleep and a liter of coffee only: Oh, really?! The only reason he took you in was because he had to, not because he loved you. We were a choice, you were just an obligation caused by a mistake

And then there was silence

Damian's face was red and there was a glimmer of tears in his eyes. Tim's chest rose and fell as if he had run a marathon

And a heavy folder fell to the floor of the cave, breaking the silence and about to break everything around it

Bruce, who's been listening to the discussion in silence, because he had no right to step into it because he's scared of feelings: Tim! You cannot say that! Apologize!

Tim, who is about to cry because he's so tired: Apologize?! What the hell Bruce!? He started this shit!

Damian stepped away from Tim, frowning, hurt and ready to start fighting if Tim decided to take more physical action against him

Bruce: He is a child!

Tim, feeling something inside him slowly burn: A child?!, That demon tried to kill me and that "child" is 15 years old, he can't not understand the consequences of his actions and his words, you can't-! You can't always defend him Bruce! He has to understand that-

Bruce, who has gotten too close to Tim, standing in front of him, using all his height to appear bigger than him: Of course I can!, He is my son

Tim: I am your son too!

And the silence came again, tears in Tim's eyes. A silent gasp from Bruce and the bats screeching from the screams they were both throwing at each other

Tim: This is unfair...

He muttered, taking steps away from Bruce, lowering his head, red with shame and tears

Tim: It's unfair that he... that you...! I'm your son too, why don't you love me like you love him?

Bruce: Tim, that's not-

Tim: Yes it is!, I understand-! I understood in the past that you weren't at your best, I understood that you didn't love me! I understood that, Bruce!, during my years as Robin I understood that! And I understand that you've changed, I understand that the Bruce that Damian has now is not the Bruce that I had, but it is...! It's unfair that you still don't defend me like you defend him! Not even as your son, but as your partner! It's unfair and-! Why can't you just-?! Why don't you love me, Bruce?!

The tears now had no qualms about falling like waterfalls, and the sobs made his voice sound younger than Tim was, younger than Bruce had ever heard

Bruce: I love you T-

Tim: It's not the same if I have to yell at you, Bruce! Damian gets pets, presents, TIME! And all I got for my birthday was trust issues and trauma, when I pulled you out of the timestream you didn't even-! You didn't even say anything to me! If you didn't love me, then you would have let me keep up with the uncle lie! At least then I'd know what I was getting from you and what you wanted from me!

Their ears registered the sounds of footsteps, the worried voices. But none of them gave a fuck

Tim: What you want from me now, Bruce?! Tell me! What you want from me?!

Bruce: I-

The words caught in the adult's throat, because, the kid in front of him (because Tim was a kid, because he could never grow up to be anything outside of what Bruce needed) looked so tired and nothing Bruce said was going to make up for years of feeling unloved and unwanted, just needed. And Bruce couldn't think of a time when he had ever made that thought questionable (Bruce had literally conditioned the kid to put others before himself)

Bruce: I'm sorry

And if Tim started to sob ugly and wet, that would be his problem. He was so tired to worry about it

///

Part 2 Jumpscare!!

///

[evamame]

love to keep me warm

stuck in the cold winter weather with ushijima wakatoshi

cw: sfw, fluff, ushijima x reader, pet names (love), established relationship, gn!reader but leaning fem

word count: 576

author’s note: title based off of love to keep me warm by laufey. chivalry isn’t dead because ushijima is a certified gentleman. i love him sm.

masterlist

it’s a freezing winter day. everytime you exhale, frosty steam comes out of your mouth. your cheeks and the tips of your ears are flushed red.

ushijima glances over at you, noticing your shivering as you two walk down the street. your outfit is a bit too light for the weather, and your arms are crossed across your body in an attempt to keep warm. you thought it’d be a lot warmer than it actually is, to your dismay. the winter breeze and the crisp air leaves you feeling much colder than you expected, but at least you’re feeling confident in the cute outfit you had planned for today.

“are you cold?” ushijima questions, concerned.

“yeah, i’m a little chilly,” you reply, undermining just how freezing you really are.

his brows knit in confusion, clearly not convinced that you’re as okay as you claim to be. “you’re shaking. and your clothes are very thin for this cold weather,” he states matter-of-factly. “do you need my jacket?”

you look over at him, and his arms are lifted up like he’s ready to take his jacket off. you put your hand up to stop him from acting any further, “no, it’s okay. you don’t have to freeze because of me.”

“but i want to. your comfort is more important than mine.”

“‘toshi, i’m okay. we’re not walking that far.”

“you’ll catch a cold at this rate, love.”

“i said i’m fine, ‘toshi. if you give me your jacket, then you’ll be the one catching a cold, no?”

he sighs at your persistence, looking back to the path ahead of him. you look forward as well, and hear him shuffle around next to you after a few moments. then you feel his warm hands on your shoulders as he drapes his jacket over you.

you glance towards him, giving him a disapproving look at his actions. a faint smile graces his face at your snarky expression.

he wraps his arm around your waist, huddling up next to you as you two continue to walk side by side. “warmer?” he asks, looking down at you.

you look up at him when he speaks, “much warmer. but aren’t you cold now?”

“i am, of course. but you’ll keep me warm,” he says as he tightens his grip around you, getting as close to your side as he can to embrace all of your body heat.

you smile, a scoff leaving your mouth, the cold winter air forming a cloud in front of you at the action. you lean into his embrace, feeling warm under his strong arm. he takes your hand in his, interlocking your fingers and stuffing them into the pocket of his coat that is now draped over you. “next time we should wear gloves too,” he ponders, looking down at your entangled hands.

“that’d be a good idea.”

he chuckles softly, “a jacket would have been a good idea too.”

“at least my outfit’s cute.”

“that is true. you look adorable. but you can’t deny a jacket would have been a good idea. to me, you still would have looked beautiful with it on.”

you smile at his compliment, but when you speak your voice feigns nonchalance, “whatever, this is more comfortable. i like it better this way.”

his cheeks flush pink and his smile widens as he sees right through your facade. although, the color wiped across his face doesn’t exactly come from the cold, “me too.”

like what you read and want to read more? here’s my taglist

tags: @scoupsworld

© evamame 2025. all rights reserved. please do not repost, modify, steal, plagiarize, or translate my work.

[straightouttherosebush]

Genshin Men in a Relationship III

CHARACTERS: Itto, Gorou, Kazuha, Albedo

CONTENT WARNING: AFAB/Female! Reader (though it's generally kind of gender neutral? this is just my intended audience ig,) other than that everything should be pretty fluffy! :D

ARATAKI ITTO

Love Language: Quality Time

He/Him, Bisexual (male lean)

Will always try to find opportunities to annoy spend time with you! He will "accidentally" run into you and play it off as a coincidence.

Also makes a habit of sneaking up on and scare his partner.

Will annoy the ever loving fuck out of you when you don't show him attention or will try to distract you when you're focused.

He either needs to be with someone super serious or someone who matches his freak on catastrophic levels. Bonus if either one is shorter than him.

Favorite ways to spend time with you are... him sitting around while watching you do things (and being bored and/or enamored with you the whole time,) beetle fights, hunting for said beetles, and committing petty crimes and running away.

With a short s/o, he would LOVE carrying them on his shoulders.

GENERAL GOROU

Love Language: Physical Touch

He/Him, Questioning (female lean, if not straight)

He is such a cutie patootie, but people speak down to him in a patronizing way or tease him pretty often. That said, having someone finally treat him like an equal is something he attaches himself.

He is a soldier (technically general, but hear me out,) and he needs someone who is a leader. Someone sure of themselves and someone that he can easily collaborate with.

Tall, dominant (bonus if muscular) people are his type.

His literal job is to develop strategic plans and give orders, so not only does the strategizing transfer into him planning outings and household happenings, but he also likes to sometimes not have to plan things. That said, he's a rather submissive partner.

At first, he's really scared to let you touch his ears/tail, but as soon as he's comfortable? Having his head pet is one of his favorite things ever.

He can also be really cuddly and would attempt to big spoon his partner with his short ass

KAEDEHARA KAZUHA

Love Language: Quality Time

He/Him, Pansexual (no real lean, if he vibes with someone he vibes with someone.)

It's giving... "let's sit under a tree and admire the swaying and floating of the leaves, while the brisk autumn air brushes against our faces and our worries float off into the horizon."

Would also love travelling with his partner, "going where the wind takes [you both]," so to speak.

He is everyone whose love language is "words of affirmations"'s dream man, because the poems he would both write and make up on the spot for you.

He is and always has been a hopeless romantic.

He especially cherishes quality time because he learned to value peoples' presences and be grateful for what time he does have. He wants to make the most of every second. Not in a rambunctious, over-the-top way like our Oni friend, but in a calm way with meaning in every action.

Has the potential to be a househusband. Idk just a thought.

ALBEDO

Love Language: Acts of Service

He/They/It, Asexual

Generally really receptive to being taken care of, even if he insists it isn't necessary.

Especially loves when his partner makes their way all the way out to Dragonspine to bring him supplies he needs or long-lasting foods/ingredients to use during his long stays.

He also appreciates his partner keeping things organized around his alchemical lab and any help they give in his research.

He will give back to you too by giving you little trinkets or harmless samples from his escapades in the mountains and elsewhere.

Rarely comes home, but feels unspeakable joy when he is able to. Seeing you, late at night, bundled up and asleep, makes him feel warm and fuzzy, in contrast to his usual environment. You do so much for everyone around you, you deserve rest.

Alright, everyone. Soooo here's the thing with this series. I started it years ago (literally finished the first part while waiting for work to start one day,) and I'm giving all of it a rewrite, new look, and hopefully completion! I hope you guys liked this because I know I enjoyed writing fluff for a change.

So long Windblumes, ROSEY ♡

♡MASTERLIST HERE♡

Ⓒ Written by Rosey, please do not copy/repost/translate.♡

[angelshizuka]

Anyone else suspect that Sinsmas has set up Andres fall by showing he’s not as smart as he thinks. He’s only smarter than Stella(let that sink in).

-He never came up with an idea it accidentally landed in his lap after months of being unable to think of anything.

-The plan only worked based on dumb luck with Stolas accidentally seeing the broadcast at the right time.

-He has already made an enemy of Vassago who clearly suspects he manipulated everything and is a powerful friend of Stolas atleast.

- He only has power till Via comes of age and he has wasted no time in alienating her.

- He has non experience with people who actually fight back and I can only imagine what will happen when Stolas gets his magic back. He is weaker then Via who hasn’t been fully trained properly.

-Biggest one of all is he hasn’t thought of what will happen when his manipulation of the system comes to light. There’s no indication he has killed striker and if he talks revealing perjury what will happen when Satan learns he was used like a tool.👿

I often think about Adrealphus' plan involving Stolas seeing the broadcast and immediately jumping into action.

Though, I do argue that makes him more dangerously unhinged. He was 100% prepared to put an imp's life on the line, because even if Stolas didn't show up, that life lost wouldn't have mattered to him and he'd just have to figure out another plan.

Considering how upset he was when he learned Stolas "only" got banished for 100 years and Via will be coming off age within the year, it does show he has plans or at least intentions to make sure it never gets passed down to her. Main question is, how he's gonna do it... either way I'm scared for my girl!

The Stolas vs Andrealphus fight is interesting, because you can tell Stolas was able to get some punches in, because Andrealphus didn't expect Stolas to fight back, BUT also if they were to do a fist fight without magic, Stolas could so easily beat his ass.

The only reason Andrealphus was able to fight back and gain the upper hand for a moment, is because he had powers and Stolas didn't, and even then still struggled against powerless imps (I'd also argue this comes down to them having something worth fighting for, power of love trope my beloved!)

But yeah, Octavia easily taking Andrealphus down, showing she'd still defend Stolas even when angry at him, definitely put her on his target list even more. Please, get my girl outta there!

[thewidowsledger]

Good Luck, Babe

Chapter 4: A Piece Of You | 4.0k

© thewidowsledger - DO NOT REPUBLISH AND PLAGIARISE

Summary: The once secret, a forbidden love hidden from the world. Those stolen moments together had been thrilling, but ultimately, drove the person you truly love away from you. But when she left, she didn't just leave you; she also left you a part of herself that would constantly remind you of her for the rest of your life. This fragment of her essence became an indelible mark on your soul, shaping the course of your life in ways you never could have imagined.

You know what they say, when someone leaves, someone else will come.

Pairings: Natasha Romanoff x Female Reader

Tags | Warnings: +18 ANGST, cheating, smoking, smut but it was kind of cut off so it's just smu— pls laugh guys

Author's Note: This is about to get ANGSTIER. Nat's pain is valid but is her actions justifiable? Does r deserve all that? Pls pls pls I want to have y'all's thoughts, leave it in my inbox or in the comments or else I will not continue writing this jk i'm not joking. I removed some parts here that I think would be a better use on the next chapter that will be posted in 3 weeks (I know it's gonna be a long wait, but I've got to update the mob boss au and I've got to serve some angst fics for y'all)

Navigation | Masterlist | Series Masterlist

⧗

You're leaning over the counter, trying to read and sign the slip for Aliah's exams. You're terrible right now, you didn't realize how private schools can be so complicated that you have to sign a permission slip before they let your daughter take an exam. Suddenly, someone peers over your shoulder.

"You don't even know what you're signing, do you?"

This bitch.

You didn't look entirely at the woman but you saw her in your peripheral vision. You returned your focus on filling up whatever paper you are filling up.

But suddenly the woman leans in closer, her musky perfume overwhelming your senses. She effortlessly points out the correct line, her long fingers tapping the paper. "Is your child a transferee?" she asked and you nodded nervously.

"Check that one, then don't write anything down here." You gulped and nodded before shakingly dragging your hands to do whatever she just said.

When everything was signed, you double checked to make sure to get everything right this time. You push it towards the clerk, who scans it quickly. "All done, Mrs. Romanoff," she says with a smile.

"Romanoff." You heard the woman behind you whisper. You finally turn to face her, your heart racing as you meet her gaze.

The woman stands tall, her blonde hair cut short and stylish, framing her square-shaped face. She's dressed in a black leather jacket, paired with jeans and combat boots, giving her an edgy, intimidating look. She holds your gaze for a moment longer before her gaze flickers to the wedding ring still on your finger. Her expression shifts slightly, becoming more calculated. "So, you're the wife of one of the big sponsors of this school? Natasha Romanoff?" She asks the question almost casually, but there's an underlying intensity in her tone. "The transportation tycoon?"

The mention of her name and the title made you feel a pang of discomfort. The word wife and the title of being Mrs. Romanoff suddenly feels like ill-fitting suits. Your marriage, after all, had been little more than a convenient arrangement—for your daughter. So you are not sure whether to confirm or not, so you just let out a small awkward smile hoping that she won't budge further about her question. And the blonde seemed to read between the lines that theories started to formulate in her mind. She was about to formally introduce herself when she saw a kid running towards your direction.

"Mommy!" She watched you scoop up a little girl that clearly is yours, giggling as you attacked her face with kisses.

Behind her was another girl, it was the blonde's niece, catching up. "Auntie!" The little girl waves, her gap-toothed smile wide. "Up!"

Without missing a beat, the blonde reaches down and scoops up the kid, tossing her playfully into the air before catching her. The kid squeals with delight. "Hey, monkey face," she says, ruffling the girl's curly hair. Then her kid glances at Aliah who was in your arms.

She grins, her eyes bright. "Auntie, this is my new friend, Aliah!" she announces proudly. You turned around so you and your daughter could face them together, then Aliah looked at the woman who was carrying her friend, her little hands waving with a grin.

Now, it's your daughter's turn to introduce her newfound friend to you, "Mommy, this is Monica!"

"Hi, Monica."

The blonde watches as you speak to Monica. She's mesmerized by the way you interact with the children, so gentle and natural. Monica giggles at your greeting, "Hi!" she chirps back, climbing down to her aunties grasp.

Aliah wriggles out of your arms, wanting to join Monica on the floor. The two girls run off together, laughing and chattering excitedly. Now, you're left standing alone with the blonde again. She clears her throat nervously, a slight flush creeping up her neck, "I hope I didn't overwhelm you with my question a while back."

You shake your head with a warm smile, waving off her apology with a casual flick of your wrist. "O-oh, no worries." Your voice is sincere, as you pull the strawberry shortcake trolley bag of your daughter towards you.

Over the years, even when Aliah wasn't transferred at this school, you had always been present and active—you're always there, quietly observing, helping when needed, but never seeking the spotlight or engaging in small talk with other parents.

You glance around the hallway, taking in the other parents chatting and laughing in small groups. This is unfamiliar territory for you. Despite your active involvement in Aliah's school life, you've managed to maintain a certain level of privacy, keeping to yourself and avoiding unnecessary interactions with others as much as possible. Especially now, being in this marriage under the convenience of your daughter and being in this new school, it has only reinforced your desire for privacy. You don't want others knowing your personal business.

"So, how is…your daughter adjusting?" her question pulled you out of your trance.

"She's doing well and she seemed to be adjusting quickly." You respond briefly, keeping your answer vague but positive. You don't elaborate further, not wanting to delve deeper into Aliah's personal life or yours and invite more questions. She seems genuinely nice. She's not trying to pry in a malicious way—she's just being friendly. But your private nature won't allow you to relax and chat casually like the others.

"That's good."

After the painfully awkward silence, there was a sudden impact of the ball against the blonde's head that made your lips twitch despite your usual guarded expression. She stumbles slightly from the impact "Oh my..." she mutters, rubbing her head.

"S-sorry…" you bashfully stuttered as she saw you trying to hold your laughter back.

But what you didn't know is that she smiles victoriously, pleased to have finally seen a crack on you. Then, she traps the ball between her feet skillfully, making you raise an eyebrow. She looks your way, catching your surprised expression. She smirks slightly, then kicks the ball high up in the air, sending it back to the students with perfect aim and unexpected strength.

"Show off." You murmured to yourself.

She overhears your quiet comment, a mischievous grin spreading across her face. She adjusts the strap of her niece's bag, feigning ignorance but purposefully stepping closer to you. "Did you say something?" she asks teasingly, obviously enjoying your rare slip of emotion.

"N-no…" You giggled softly, you looked at her and she smiled.

"I should've introduced myself earlier but yeah, I'm Carol. Monica's aunt." She lends her hand over you.

"I-I'm Y/N…Aliah's mommy." Your small, hesitant hand disappears into her larger, calloused one.

She grins widely at your soft-spoken introduction. "Nice to meet you, Y/N." She smiled, gently releasing your hand. "So…I'll see you around?"

You didn't answer, your attention to her was long gone after you saw your daughter running towards your direction. You then fixed her trolley bag and prepared to leave.

Carol can only watch you and your daughter walk away, an unknowing smile playing on her lips. Then, all of a sudden a ball comes flying out of nowhere and hits her square in the back of the head again. She stumbles forward, letting out a loud "Ow!" and a string of curses under her breath.

"I'm not a fucking soccer goal net!"

"Auntie Carol, you said bad words!"

⧗

In the dining room, you and Aliah sit at the table, enjoying a quiet dinner together. Aliah chatters excitedly about her day, telling you all about the kids she played with and the games they played. You listen attentively, smiling at her enthusiasm, occasionally asking follow-up questions. You also made sure to ask her if someone or something is making her feel uncomfortable, it is a small routine you do with her to make sure she is comfortable and safe in school.

Aliah suddenly stops eating, her brow furrowing. She looks down at her plate, pushing her food around with her fork. You watch her carefully, knowing that look. She lifts her big, brown eyes to meet yours. "Where's Mama?"

As if on cue, her Aunt Yelena walked in the dining room. Aliah instantly perks up and slides out of her chair to run to her great-aunt's open arms.

"Yeye!"

"Hey, baby!" She scooped the small child onto her arms and put her back to her chair. "Finish your food, I have a surprise."

"Hi, Yelena. I cooked pasta, I'll get you some."

She couldn't decline as you were already walking to get her a plate, so she sat down beside your daughter kissing her forehead.

You placed the plate of pasta in front of her, "Thank you, Y/N." She smiles at you, her eyes meeting yours briefly before she focuses back on her food. "Mmm, this is really good," she says between bites.

All of a sudden, Aliah pipes up, her voice loud. "Mama!" She whines, looking around the room. Yelena sets her fork down, realizing the absence of her sister during dinner. "Yeah? Where's Natasha?" She asks, raising an eyebrow at you.

You immediately recognize the tone in Aliah's voice—that slightly higher pitch whine that signals a tantrum incoming. You kept your voice calm and soothing, "I'll get Natasha. Sounds like someone wants her. Rick told me she just got home an hour ago but he also said that she has an important meeting right now, but I'll check."

Walking out of the kitchen, you run your fingers through your dark hair, glancing sideways at the large picture frame hanging in the hallway. You catch your reflection—you lean in to see if your make up was still on.

As you near her office, you subtly adjust your blouse, smoothing out the wrinkles. Then, you push open the heavy door of Natasha's office carefully, you peeked inside, your eyes immediately drawn to her, seated in her high-back leather chair, facing away from the doorway. There was a head peeking through her desk. Clearly, a woman with wavy red hair was kneeling in front of her. You notice the absence of Natasha's wedding ring on her finger as she's tied the red-haired woman's hair with her tight grip. Natasha moans softly, tilting her head back, exposing her neck.

You were too shocked, too frozen, too numb to feel the tear that slid down your cheek.

Slowly and quietly, you pull the door closed, careful not to make a sound. Your heart pounds in your chest as you stand in the hallway, that single tear now joined by others streaming down your face. The shock and pain of the scene you just witnessed hit you like a physical blow. Your stomach churns and you feel the sudden urge to throw up. The room spins and you grab onto the wall to steady yourself, trying not to pass out from the overwhelming dizziness that washes over you. You inhale deeply through your nose, counting to four in your head, then exhale slowly through your mouth, counting to four again, like how your therapist taught you. You repeat this pattern, trying to calm your racing heart and clear your mind, fighting the panic attack that threatens to consume you.

"You're okay, you're okay, Y/N. You're fine. You're okay." You chanted over and over as you wiped the tears off your face.

You manage to pull yourself together and walk back to the dining room, putting on a brave face. Yelena looks at you suspiciously, your puffy eyes didn't go unnoticed by her.

"Baby, m-mama is in a very important meeting. Okay?" The blonde also noticed how your voice almost cracked as you spoke. Your daughter who is oblivious to the turmoil within you, behaves angelically as she finishes her food. The threat to tantrum was long gone. "Yelena? C-can you put Aliah to bed tonight? I've got…some things to do." You asked her hesitantly.

Yelena's eyes soften with worry, obviously noticing how uncharacteristically gentle and strained your voice is. Without a word about your eyes or voice, she simply responds, "Sure," flashing a small smile.

She also made sure to pay a visit on her sister's meeting tonight.

⧗

You retreat to your room, walking towards your large cabinets, you abruptly open your one of the drawers, grabbing the pack of marlboro red. Your fingers hover over them as you wrestle with temptation. Your hand trembles slightly, knowing the instant relief those chemicals could provide right now. The tightness in your chest, the dull ache from holding everything in…

It's an unhealthy habit that you've been using as a coping mechanism at the same time, it is an unhealthy habit you're trying to get yourself out with.

"Fuck," you whisper, unconsciously unrolling the pack's wrapper.

The cigarette trembles slightly between your fingers as you light it. The smoke curls up around your face, mirroring the storm brewing in your eyes. You sit on your bed, staring at nothing, the self-loathing growing heavier with each puff.

You took your wedding ring off your finger, you tried not to let the dam of tears break from your eyes as you examined the ring.

Everything's becoming clear to you now.

A dark voice in your head begins to whisper, planting seeds of self-doubt and guilt. You hurt her, destroyed her. Therefore, you deserve this pain, you deserve every pain she gives you. You're not good enough, never were. Your mind continues to whisper poisonous thoughts. You took a deep drag of the cigarette, the smoke burning your lungs like the guilt burning your soul. "This is karma," you told yourself. "You deserve every bit of her hate…"

A flicker of memory flashes before your eyes—the early days with Natasha, the sneaking together, the way she would sing for you in the middle of the night whenever your heart is heavy after a loss, whatever tournament you had joined. Your heart aches at the bittersweet nostalgia, the knowledge that you threw all that away because you were a fucking coward.

You stood and walked out onto the terrace, the night air enveloping you like a cold blanket. You took a long drag before exhaling slowly, watching the smoke dissipate on the icy breeze. The nicotine buzz barely touches the edges of your pain, but it's something. "She always hated these fucking things," you murmur, half-smile tinged with bitter irony.

You were about to get another cigarette when you saw your daughter, huddled in the doorway, her face streaked with tears, sniffling.

You froze on the spot and cursed yourself, you immediately stubbed out the cigarette on the ground and stepped on it, trying to make the smell and the smoke go away, but it's too late—she started wailing loudly, her tiny fists balling up as she cried. You've taken to hiding in the bathroom or stepping outside when you need a cigarette, not letting your daughter see or even inhale the smell of smoke because she hates it and you would never have your daughter breathe it. You genuinely think you're being stealthy. But it seems like every time you would light up a cigarette, your daughter would immediately know.

Seeing how it affects your little one's purity and innocence makes you feel guilty.

"You pwomise you stop smoke!" Aliah cried out loud. You carefully walked towards her, without warning, she ran towards your bed grabbing your pillow and heaved it towards you with all her might, her small arms flailing.

Getting down on your knees so you're at her eye level, you watch her tiny form trembling with emotion as she throws every pillow she can reach in your direction. "Shh, Ali...mommy's sorry..." Your voice trembled, but she continued. You took every hit of the pillow from your daughter.

You hated making Aliah cry, you hated hurting Natasha. You hated yourself causing them this.

Everything's too much, it's too much. You feel every pain physically now.

Suddenly, you crumbled to the floor, sobbing uncontrollably. "Mommy's…just hurt." Your voice breaks as tears pour down your face and fall on the pillows scattered in front of you. "I'm so sorry baby, please forgive mommy…"

As you break down in sobs, your daughter suddenly stops throwing pillows and stares at you with a frown.

"Hurt, mommy is hurt," you sobbed each word as you pointed to your heart, her little brow furrows even more. She's seen you do this before when you're sad or upset.

She walked towards you, throwing the pillows back on your bed. Then, she climbs onto your lap, wrapping her tiny arms around your neck. "Mommy hurt?" Through your sobs, you nod gently, holding her close. Her soft baby scent fills your nostrils, the smell of cigarettes long gone. And you realize how much you're hurting not just yourself, but this innocent soul who depends entirely on you. She placed her ear on your chest, a thing she grew up doing to ensure your heart is still beating whenever you tell her something hurt.

"Mommy's hurting...bad..."

And you deserve all of it.

⧗

"How many hours have you been sucking her?"

"Fucking hell, Yelena!" Natasha yelled, she pushed her office chair back and zipped her pants up.

"Out. Now." Yelena's voice brooks no argument, and the woman quickly scrambles to her feet, fleeing the room without another word. Natasha could only huff in embarrassment.

"That door is fucking closed for a reason."

"Well, it's unlocked, it seems like you wanted everyone to see the meeting you're doing here."

Natasha rolled her eyes as she moved to the nearby cabinet, pulling out a bottle of expensive red wine and a single glass. She pours herself a generous amount, her hand steady despite the tension in the room.

"Did you at least finish your meeting, sestra?" Yelena emphasizes the word 'finish' with heavy sarcasm. Natasha's jaw clenches visibly at Yelena's insinuation, her hands tightening around the wine glass. Without offering any to Yelena, she takes a long sip, still avoiding her sister's gaze.

"So this is your plan?" Yelena started again but her sister didn't bother to look. "Make her miserable?"

Now she got her sister's attention.

"I don't know what you're talking about." She murmured.

"I should've realized it." Yelena's laughter is sharp and devoid of any warmth, a bitter sound that fills the room.

"Can you…can you go?" Natasha irritatingly spat at Yelena without looking at her.

"Asking her to marry you, I thought you wanted a fresh start, sestra…"

"Watch your mouth." Natasha warned her sister, her pointed finger hanging in the air while the glass of wine was still in her hand.

But Yelena seemed unfazed by her sister's threat. "But I didn't realize…"

"Shut up!"

"That you just want to make her watch as you fuck some communal pussy with her wearing that wedding ring you put on her while you don't wear yours!"

"Fucking shut up!" Natasha hurls the wine glass across the room, missing Yelena by mere inches. The glass shatters against the wall, the sound echoing through the space. Yelena, however, remains eerily calm, not even flinching at the near miss.

She let out a deep sigh, shaking her head disappointingly. "Why are you doing this, Natasha? You've got so many options and money! You could've taken Aliah from her if that's the only thing you want! You can pay for better lawyers than her, you could've won custody!"

Natasha's jaw clenched as she tries to suppress her emotions once again. She takes a shuddering breath, attempting to regain her composure and stave off the spiral of anger and defensiveness threatening to consume her once again.

"But that's not what you really want don't you?" Her sister continues, Natasha finally meets her eye to eye. "Are you happy watching her go miserable? Kneel the ground you walk on just to earn that forgiveness from you?"

"She deserves it."

Yelena huffed about how unbelievably heartless her sister is right now. "I watched you fall apart over her. And now...now you're tearing her apart piece by piece." Yelena's voice breaks slightly. "I understand your pain, Natasha. I truly do, you're my sister. I held you through the darkest parts of it. But this...this is different. This is you actively choosing to hurt her, to break her."

"She deserves it." Natasha repeated coldly under her breath.

"Yeah, sure, Natasha. Whatever you say." Yelena was getting tired. "You're right, Y/N deserves all the pain you give her, sure. But does your daughter deserve that too? Because let's be real, you're not just hurting her, you're hurting your daughter too."

⧗

You tucked Aliah back to sleep. You made sure to change her clothes, making sure the fresh scent of soap and fabric softener replaces the lingering aroma of cigarette that clings to her skin. You smooth Aliah's hair, you wipe away the last of your tears. Her eyes flutter closed finally, her breath evening out into the rhythm of innocent sleep. You gently adjust her blankets, placing a soft kiss on her forehead before stepping back, your own eyes damp with residual emotion.

"I love you my Iyah."

You carefully extract yourself from Aliah's room, then go straight to your room. The first thing you did was take the hidden cigarettes from their usual hiding spots. Cracking open the window for fresh air, you aggressively grind each cigarette beneath your slippers, tossing the broken remnants into the trash.

You're not physically addicted, but cigarettes have become a crutch, a coping mechanism for the pain—when something hurts. The memory where you saw Natasha and a woman who was doing god knows what kneeling under her made your throat itch wanting some relief. But the memory of your daughter's face, her little sniffles seeing you take a long drag and inhale a smoke made your body physically flinch. That will be the last, you will not make your daughter cry again, you will not hurt her with a fucking nicotine stick. She deserves better than a damn smoker of a mom.

You straighten the rumpled bed sheets, placing the pillows Aliah had thrown at you back neatly against the headboard. Suddenly, there was a knock on your door, then, the doorknob aggressively rattled. You were about to get it when suddenly it creaked open and you saw Natasha in her disheveled state.

"N-Natasha…" your voice quivered, she is the last person you would expect to go to your room right now.

She towers over you, her tall frame blocking the light from your room. You step back instinctively, she breathes heavily in your face, the scent of alcohol burning your nostrils. Her face is completely expressionless, almost scary in its neutrality. The lack of emotion makes her features somehow sharper, more intense.

You're frozen, shock rendering you unable to process the situation. Your mind is reeling, you are still trying to move on and forgive her from what you saw earlier—her and a red haired woman, their intimate pose burned into your retinas. And now, she's here, in your room, drunk and cold.

"Nat…what-what do you want?" She doesn't answer your question, her droopy eyes dropped down to your blouse. Your body trembled as she slowly, deliberately unbuttons each button.

You didn't resist, fear rooting you in place. Your mind is screaming at you to push her away, to run, but your body refuses to cooperate. Tears well up in your eyes as she slowly pushes your blouse off your shoulders, leaving you in just your lacy bra. Natasha leans in close, inhaling deeply at your neck as if trying to consume your scent. You smelled like marlboro red. Her lips brush your skin, sending involuntary shivers down your spine. She shoves you to your bed before crawling on top of you. Then she almost ripped your bra that is solely covering your upper body, exposing your breasts. She's not gentle, not sweet. She's cold, hungry—an animal. She sucks harshly on one nipple while pinching the other. You hissed, your body arching in pleasure.

It is twisted, you just saw her with another woman but now, you're letting her take you like this—no words, no tenderness. She's a force of nature, teeth grazing on your skin, fingers digging into your flesh. She's using you, taking what she needs, and you're letting her. At least it's you that she needs right now, right?

A tear rolls down your cheek, your hands reaching the back of her head as her mouth continues to attack your body.

It's better to have her like this, than none at all.

[bloomzone]

2025 : #15 questions inbox ! part 1

✒️.hi sparkles ! Today’s blog is all about answering y'all questions I’ve been reading through everything in my inbox maybe u will found an answer of a question u had in ur mind here ? Let's start !

Q1 : when I'm in a bad mode or maybe just bored idk how to make it clear but my mood is always the one who controls my actions ? How to stop this ?

Answer : the rule is Never ever EVER let your mood dictate what you do , u have to take action first because movement changes your mood. For example u want to be fit u need to exercise and workout several times in the week then u will feel amazing u will feel incredible cuz u take that one step or if u want to get good grades u need to study daily then u will feel productive and happy cuz u know the action of "studying" will improve ur grades and ur knowledge etc and it will lead u to your goals So Act like the person you want to become And when u start taking those actions and you start moving in the direction of your dreams and the things that you want and deserve in life your mood will follow trust me

Q2 :help how to stop overthinking about what people around me think about me

Answer : Stop worrying about what other people think and let them think what they want. You cannot control what another person thinks about you U CAN'T( this is a point that a lot of ppl need to understand )so how about you focus on what you think about yourself and let them have a negative thought at the end of the day ppl will judge . u can't control it and trying to do it will just making u insecure so focus on what you can control and , what you think about yourself , what you do every day that makes you proud of yourself and when u're proud of yourself you don't care what anybody thinks because you know who you are So let others think what they want and focus on ur power which is your actions and how u live your life . Say this every morning "I choose to focus on what I can control. I release the fear of others' judgments and give them the freedom to think, say, and feel whatever they wish. My life is my responsibility, and I will act in ways that make me proud of myself. I trust in my journey and take the necessary steps to achieve my goals. I am confident in who I am, and I let go of the need for external validation. Today, I will honor my growth and stay true to myself, knowing that my worth comes from within."

Q3: I feel so exhausted from life

Answer : Feeling exhausted and overwhelmed is a natural response dw abt it ! It’s okay to acknowledge that it shows you're human with feeling ur time and energy are your most valuable assets so if you’re feeling drained it’s likely because you’ve been pouring those resources ur energy and ur power into people and things that don’t truly deserve them. It’s time to release them. Allow others to handle their work stress. Allow them to deal with their drama.let the noise of the world—endless opinions, constant demands, and unnecessary distractions—to continue without you. Instead, redirect your focus inward. Reclaim your energy and channel it into creating your own peace and calm.By doing this, you protect your time and prioritize what truly matters. And as a result, you’ll no longer feel exhausted—you’ll feel empowered and in control.take break from everything and recharge

Q4: How can practicing mindfulness improve daily life?

Answer : Practicing mindfulness can significantly improve daily life by helping you stay present and fully engaged in the moment, reducing stress, and improving emotional regulation. When you’re mindful, you’re less likely to get caught up in regrets about the past or anxieties about the future, which allows you to approach situations with greater clarity and calmness. It enhances your focus, making you more productive and less distracted throughout the day. Additionally, mindfulness fosters self-awareness, helping u better understand your emotions and respond to problems and challenges with patience rather than impulsiveness !

Q5: Why is it so hard to stick to new habits?

Answer : Because our brain are lazy ! Our brains LOVES routine and sticking to what’s comfortable, even if that means doing things that don’t serve you. When u try to start a new habit for example like exercising or journaling, your brain sees it as extra work and throws every excuse at you to avoid it. Plus, most people go too big too fast, expecting overnight results, and when they don’t see progress right away, they quit. The solution is Start small SO small it feels almost ridiculous Want to start working out? Do five pushups. Want to journal? Write one sentence. Your brain won’t resist tiny changes, and over time, those small steps snowball into habits that actually stick. Consistency beats intensity every single time daily reminder DON'T GIVE UP

Q6: How can I manage my time better as a student?

Answer : Managing time effectively as a student requires planning and A LOOTTTT OF DISCIPLINE Start by creating a daily or weekly schedule that includes all your classes, study time, and personal activities (buy a planner it's not that expensive + u can use digital planners !). Prioritize tasks by urgency and importance, focusing on what needs to be done first. Break larger tasks into smaller and more manageable chunks and set specific goals for each study session. Avoid distractions by creating a quiet, organized study space and limiting access to social media during work time pleaseeee Remember to take breaks to recharge and don't forget to get enough sleep

[ Part 2 soon !]

@bloomzone

[maxdibert]

Hi, regarding your "People who defend James’s stripping Severus in front of the entire school" Post. I am struggling with this from time to time, but I also like to ponder and discuss so:

I really like the fandom version of the Marauders, and I honestly do not really care for Snape because in the fics and art I interact with he is usually not part of. (I also read a lot of Muggle AU etc.. And I think another huge part is that I never really thought about how young he technically still was as a teacher because of Alan Rickman´s age. As a child I simply disliked him and never had an opinion on the Marauders as they appear so little in the movies. I guess it´s hard to move on from that?) What the Marauders did in Canon to Severus, and probably other students, was horrible. I agree. I also think Snape has his faults too, but the abuse against him shouldn´t be excused "because he was mean too". If you abuse and abuser, it´s still abuse.

I guess my question is what´s your opinion on the take to like the fanon version but not the canon version?

"The lengths some people go to twist facts and canon to conveniently excuse their favourite characters’ actions because they can’t accept them as they were is honestly incredible. Or maybe they just need to tell themselves they’re not fans of a couple of rich, abusive bullies because deep down they’d feel terrible about it—who knows."

To take the potential the Marauders have, the idea of a tight friend group in a magical school, explore different family dynamics... I like to play around with that and what was made of it. I think I can do that while acknowledging that what they did in canon was bad. It´s why I struggle with canon compliant stories, like their behaviour sucked. If I only knew the canon version I would not like them because I wouldn´t like "rich, abusive bullies". But changing the characters and their actions is, to me, part of what makes fanfics fun?

And of course I could do the same for Snape. But I didn´t and there is probably a lot to unpack on why I mostly ignore him. But. ultimately, to like him I would have to change him a lot from canon too. What the Marauders did as kids might have actually been worse (?) but how he became later makes me dislike him and for the Marauders we have more freedom to interpret how they turned out as adults. (Even though I just said changing the story is part of fandom and I could just make Snape nice... There are so many contradictions in all my thoughts on this topic)

Okay, this got really long and aybe a bit all over the place. You don´t have to answer this. But if you have any thought´s I´d be interested in hearing them :) This is also my first ever anon ask and I really don´t want to fight on this topic I just have a lot of thoughts.

My problem is precisely that the characters this new generation of the fandom has invented are unbearably boring. A bunch of normie kids who dress like Zendaya and her friends in Euphoria and have average teen drama issues that seem straight out of a cheap Netflix series. I mean, where’s the appeal in that? Where’s the appeal in turning Sirius into a whiny twink who just goes around pining for Remus Lupin—who, by the way, has suddenly become some sort of sassy alpha male—when their canon dynamic is way more interesting? When Sirius in canon is a guy with temper issues who thinks that just because he went to Gryffindor and has the “right ideas,” he’s managed to shake off the stigma of being a Black, yet remains as arrogant and violent as the rest of his family? When he has good intentions but has never really confronted who he is, where he comes from, and how ignoring that won’t make his behavior any less problematic? When he’s willing to do anything for James but simultaneously capable of deliberately ignoring Remus’s well-being? When he’s a rebel but still falls into the same abusive, hegemonic behaviors he was raised in? When it seems like his opposition to his family is a conscious choice, but it’s actually just the result of his mommy issues? He’s an incredibly complex character in canon, full of contradictions, and there’s so much interesting psychological exploration to be done with him. And you’re seriously telling me you prefer an OC with his name invented by the fandom who just cries over his non-canon boyfriend and feels validated because he paints his nails? Seriously???

Are you seriously telling me that James from the fandom—the goofy puppy dog protagonist pulled straight out of every cliché teen movie—is more interesting than canon James Potter, who is blessed with the wonderful depth of class hypocrisy for analysis and exploration? Are you really saying that a flat, soap-opera-level stereotype is better to write or develop than a rich kid who had every reason to be a Cedric Diggory but chose to be a Draco Malfoy? Are you really telling me it’s more interesting to write about the feminist girlboss icon of the 21st century that you’ve turned Lily Evans into rather than a complex, contradictory female character like the one in canon: a girl from a working-class town, spoiled and adored by her parents, who finds herself for the first time in a world that makes her feel even more special but where she doesn’t quite fit because of her background? Someone who, in her effort to fit in and be recognized, creates an image of herself as moralistic and perfect, yet in truth doesn’t stand up for or care about anything unless it directly affects her? The bullies target Mary Macdonald, and she doesn’t lift a finger or say a word until it suits her to end her friendship with Severus. She’s supposedly Severus’s best friend, but at the same time, she downplays the bullying he endures and even flirts with his abuser. She’s supposedly the epitome of morality, yet she marries a bully. Do you know how much room there is to flesh out those gaps? The things that aren’t clear? The sheer depth you can draw from that? And you seriously prefer a character ripped out of a 2012 Taylor Swift song over that? Is that honestly more interesting to you?

Do you really think that the sassy alpha-male version of Remus Lupin, full of quick-witted one-liners, is more compelling than the kid who disapproved of his friends’ actions but stayed silent out of desperation to preserve the safe space they represented for him? Who felt consistently left out of the bond James and Sirius shared? Who, even when what they did seemed utterly immoral, stepped aside because deep down he was so afraid of rejection that it made him a coward and a hypocrite? Who eventually drifted away from his entire group of friends because of his inferiority complex to the point that they even thought he was a traitor? One of his supposed friends nearly used him as a weapon to commit murder, and he forgave him without a word because he knew that standing up to him might mean losing everything. Are you really telling me that the cheap romantic drama version is more interesting than all of that in terms of exploring a character and the dynamics of dysfunctional friendships within that group? Really? Are you seriously saying you’d rather pretend Peter was just “there” than delve into how they treated him like a pet because he went along with all their mischief and they underestimated him so much they never realized they had a sadist among them? You prefer a convenient, nice Peter over a dark, deeply flawed one? Really?

Yes, the dynamic among the Marauders is fascinating, but it’s fascinating because it’s dysfunctional, full of power imbalances, clear differences in the relationships within the group, and a ton of things that don’t make sense unless you provide a coherent and in-depth explanation. It’s in that dysfunction where the intrigue, the plot, and the character exploration lie—not in creating an idyllic, problem-free group of friends whose drama arises from stereotypical romantic relationships. Not in creating OCs with canon names who bear no resemblance to the actual characters and have the depth of a sheet of paper. Sorry, but no.

And sorry, but I’m not buying the argument that the Marauders are “easier to explore” just because Sirius and Remus made it to adulthood, and Thewlis and Oldman were already in their 40s when they played their characters, making them middle-aged like Rickman. And Snape was their same age and spent the same school years with them.

So yeah, it’s fine if you’re not interested in a character, but the excuse is always, “I haven’t seen much of that character to be interested in them.” Well, if you only move in your own echo chamber, and that chamber happens to be full of haters, obviously you’re not going to see much. There’s a huge Snape fandom with tons of headcanons, people constantly creating and writing all kinds of content with all sorts of pairings and perspectives on him—you just have to look for it. I mean, literally, everything we know about the Marauders is because of Snape. Their youth only exists to enrich and explain Snape’s character. If we know anything about Lily and James, it’s because they serve to fill in Snape’s backstory. Otherwise, we would have only had the adult versions Harry imagines or knows (Remus, Sirius, and Peter), and we’d know nothing about what happened before. There is no Marauders fandom without Snape, because the concept of the Marauders as teenagers exists because of and for Snape’s backstory.

So honestly, my problem isn’t with the fandom but with the new fandom and its vision of the characters. Characters that don’t exist because they don’t resemble canon and instead feel like self-inserts with canon names. And I find it a waste because canon is so rich, and its characters are so unexplored, yes, but if explored coherently, they’re far more interesting than if they’re just turned into inconsistent projections.

[caligvlasaqvarivm]

I would be curious to hear your thoughts on Feferi through the classpect lens and being a witch of life?

yayyyy i get to talk about my favorite Mean Girl!!!

Witches are mercurial, temperamental, and start the game with some "outsider" status to society, meaning they've bypassed the usual rules of common sense and morality/ethics. Feferi is an heiress who lives all alone at the bottom of the sea (it's implied that others are too scared to get close because of Gl'bgolyb, including Eridan, who refuses to go underwater), Jade lived on an island and was practically raised by her demon dog, and Damara was an immigrant from East Beforus who presumably spent a lot of time hanging out with the Lost Weeaboos as their leader's GF.

As such, they tend to leave their sense of morality up to their emotions - what the Witch deems good is good, what the Witch deems bad is bad. Jade was considered by the beta trolls to be the primary cause of Bec Noir's creation, as from their point of view, she was a dangerous maverick who basically just took direction from the clouds of Skaia without questioning any of their directives, and Damara starts wishing to serve LE because she just wants her teammates to suffer (understandably) - a wish it turns out she would regret on Alternia, where she legitimately attempted suicide to get out from Doc Scratch's control.

This also leaves them fairly gullible and vulnerable to control by evil entities and poor sociopolitical beliefs, just because they're pleasant or easy. Jade is remarkably nicer to Tavros than Eridan, letting Tavros down easily and gently despite the fact that he literally just admitted to killing her grandpa, and demanding her romantic affection as a prize for his confidence and heroic gesture, whereas Eridan not only donated to her his legendary rifle as a gesture of kindness and goodwill, but also asked her about something that was bothering her and earnestly shared information about his own race when asked - because Tavros was "nice" to her, and Eridan was a rude jackass. If you look at what's happening objectively in those conversations, Jade honestly doesn't look good:

tavros: so i used bec to save your life and kill your grandpa, not understanding that that was a family member and not a threatening adult to you. i did this because heroic actions and self confidence get returned with romantic affection. i'm owed yours now! jade: well... i think it's good that you're confident, but i'm sorry, i don't really return your affections! let's try becoming friends first, okay?

eridan: so i don't really need my rifle anymore but i noticed that you use them, so you can have mine for free, it's super powerful and a family heirloom. jade: stfu asshole i hate you and i hate your shitty rifle. i'm going to throw this in the trash. explode

Damara is also remarkably kind to Rufioh, offering him genuine romantic advice, even though he really doesn't deserve it, pretty much purely because he can speak her language - her bar is so low that that's enough "kindness" to earn a regular conversation from her. She should've been allowed to kill him twenty times

Life players, meanwhile, are defined by optimism, stubbornness, and a sense of "normalcy". They're very normal people; Hussie notes this explicitly in the book commentary. They're just kind of stable, normal guys! They look on the bright side, and tend to ignore the downers, which, unfortunately, can include people who are in dire straits. Jane remains stubbornly skeptical of Roxy and Dirk's claims of being from the future and of Crockercorp being evil, and Meenah refuses to listen (at times seeming physically incapable of listening) when people tell her that it's not possible to just kill the invincible demon with unconditional immortality. She idolizes the Condesce, pretty much never acknowledging any wrongdoing on her part (except when Cronus calls her out lol), and doesn't give a fuck what anyone else thinks of her - to the detriment of the team.

Put these together and you get Feferi. She's kind of just a really normal girl, whose emotions define her view of morality and ethics... and that means that, while it's really awful that everyone murders each other all the time, casteism is actually great because being a princess is awesome.

CC: GLUUUUB oh fine. CC: I will suspend my neato quirk just for you. CC: I hereby renounce the royal mark of sea dweller supremacy in the interest of INT-ERSP-ECI-ES DIPLOMACY. [...] CC: Okay, you win. I have officially humbled myself before you. Entirely glubbing peasant-IFICATED for your pleasure. CC: Shall I clip my fins for you as well, your majesty? [...] CC: Hey! We're the aristocracy. We've got a duty to be weird.

Also she loves slurs. Despite how little dialogue she has, she says the R slur like 2 times? And also says this to Jade:

CC: PSH WE'LL SEE ABOUT THAT, MISS HORNLESS MCFINLESS.

where have we heard that term before... oh yeah!

ERIDAN: hey finless this doesnt concern those wwith mustard sludge slippin through their vveins

Because, like... being a princess rules. It's so fun, and great, and awesome, and Feferi has such a great time, so who cares if casteism still exists, right? Because Feferi's having a good time with it! We just need to PAMPER those cute, helpless little lowbloods, instead of kill them! That's the ticket!

Witches change their world to suit their wishes, the core of their ability to "change" their Aspect. As the ruler of Beforus, Feferi created a world that suited her ideals exactly - the ultimate nanny state, the perfect realm... for Feferi! And for very few besides herself.

Obviously, if she's been set up as this casteist, then her full actualization and character development is about learning that casteism is Bad, and that a truly good society means giving up many of the privileges she's enjoyed, tying in with the Witch character arc of needing to learn to see beyond themselves and their own feelings about the world. Thus, I think it's very important that the hemocaste is tied directly to lifespan, and it's why the trolls kind of can't have a happy ending if Feferi doesn't survive to the end AND complete her character arc: as long as coolbloods live longer than warmbloods, casteism is an inevitable outcome, as coolbloods amass power with their vastly longer lives.

Witches manipulate their Aspect, changing it directly. A Witch of Life, with its control over not just life and healing, but over biological and genetic properties (as it's implied the Condy's genetic experiments resulting in her ability to use every caste's psionics is an expression of her Thief of Life abilities) is pretty much the ideal classpect for equalizing troll lifespans and psionic abilities - in fact, given that it's implied that Feferi can't revive people like Jane can, it's very likely that Jane can't equalize lifespans like Feferi can.

But doing so would mean renouncing the very concept of a throne, of the society she wanted to build, and the privileges of royalty she's enjoyed so greatly. And that's beautiful. And also why she should hate date Nepeta, the anti-casteism troll -

[allthingssteddie]

Steve Harrington stepped out of his car and onto the campus, the weight of his dad's expectations settling heavy on his shoulders. His dad's connections had landed him a spot at this prestigious college, but the reminder came with a warning .”Your actions reflect badly on the family, so you better behave, or you won't have a cent of my money.

As he lugged his suitcases toward the dorm, Steve's eyes scanned the crowd of students milling about in the halls. That's when he saw him Billy Hargrove, the last person Steve had expected to run into here.

Bill was standing next door, flirting with some girl who twirled her hair and pushed out her chest. Billy seemed to notice Steve and smirked. "Well, well, well, look who it is king Steve ."steve rolled his eyes. "Billy," he said, his tone neutral.

Billy raised an eyebrow. "What did Daddy pay for you to be here?"

Steve remained silent.

Billy smirked. "Figures."

Steve shrugged. "Yeah, well, I'm surprised you're here, Billy."

Billy's expression turned smug. "Yeah, well, I didn't need Daddy's money. I got a scholarship."

“What ever,” Steve said dismissively and as he’s about to open the door he stoped by Billy’s voice. “I’m dorm room advisor so you should expect to see a lot of me. His tone almost mocking. It reminded him a lot of when they were in high school.

Steve trudged to his room, dropping his bags on the floor. He couldn't believe Billy was the dorm advisor.

That night, Steve headed to the payphones to call Robin. As soon as she picked up, she bombarded him with questions. "Oh my god, Steve, you have to tell me everything! How's college?"

Steve filled her in on the details, leaving out his encounter with Billy. But Robin knew him too well.

"What's wrong, Steve?" she asked, her tone concerned.

Steve hesitated. "Nothing, Robin."

"Don't lie to me, Steve. I can hear it in your voice."

Just as Steve was about to open up, Billy walked into the payphone area, snatched the phone from Steve's hands, and hung up.

"Seriously?" Steve asked, annoyed.

Billy blew a bubble with his gum and popped it in Steve's face. "Phone's done for the night."

Steve scowled. "It's eight o'clock."

Billy shrugged. "Rules are rules, Harrington."

Steve's face twisted in annoyance. "You're really enjoying this, aren't you?" Billy chuckled. "You have no idea." With that, Billy turned and walked away, leaving Steve seething with frustration. Steve trudged back to his room, his mind racing with thoughts of Billy and how he was already making Steve's life difficult.

Steve that night slept peacefully , only to be startled awake by a loud noise. He put on the light besides him to find a young man who he assumes is his missing roommate, Ryan, standing amidst scattered suitcases.

"Oh, hey, you must be my roommate," Ryan said, lifting his glasses from his nose.

Steve was silent, trying to process his thoughts.

"Uh, yeah, I was told I was getting a roommate," Steve said sleepily.

"Yeah, sorry about the noise. My bus ran late, then I got lost, and I'm totally rambling , aren't I?" Ryan asked.

Steve couldn't help but laugh and replied “No you’re good,” Ryan reminded him a lot of Robin.

As they talked, Steve learned that Ryan was from Ohio, had never been this far from home, and had a bunch of sisters and was saying it must be sad being the only child and Steve couldn’t help but think he was right, he would of liked to have a sibling being alone in that house all the time. He was grateful he had Dustin.

Just as they were getting comfortable, a knock at the door interrupted them. Ryan opened it to reveal Billy.

"Lights out, ladies," Billy said, his tone dripping with sarcasm.

When the door closed. Ryan raised an eyebrow. Looking back at Steve "What's his deal?" he asked Steve.

Steve shrugged. "He's had it out for me since high school. He's an asshole."

But Ryan just chuckled. "Oh, don't worry about him. I'm sure he's just a big softie on the inside."

The next morning, Steve returned to his room, but was stopped by Billy's voice.

"Did you and Four Eyes have a nice bitch sesh about me?" Billy sneered.

Steve scoffed. "You seem to be really focused on me. Not enough girls giving you attention?"

Billy smirked. "Oh, I got plenty of bitches getting me attention. Don't you worry, Harrington."

Just then, a girl appeared outside Billy's door. "Are you coming back in?" she asked.

"Just go back in, Lisa. I'll be there in a minute," Billy replied.

"It's Sarah," she corrected, raising an eyebrow.

Steve rolled his eyes. "You have fun," he said, walking into his room.

Billy's eyes narrowed, but he said nothing, turning to follow Sarah back into his room.

As the days went by, Steve and Billy continued to clash. It seemed like no matter what Steve did, Billy was hell bent on finding fault. Steve couldn't catch a break from this guy, and it was starting to get under his skin.

One night, Steve found himself at a college frat party, surrounded by people he barely knew. Billy was there too, drinking with his friends. Every so often, Billy would glance over at Steve, a smirk on his face. Steve tried to avoid him, but it was hard to ignore the tension between them.

This wasn't really Steve's scene, but a couple of guys he'd met in class were throwing the party, and he'd tagged along. Steve was getting a bit tipsy, and the guys kept giving him shots. Billy's friends were boasting about his beer pong skills, claiming he was a champion.

Steve, feeling bold, stumbled over to Billy and challenged him to a game. Billy laughed and accepted, his friends warning Steve that Billy was really, really good. Steve just slurred, "No, I'm gonna win. I'm gonna do this."

To everyone's surprise, Steve actually won the game. The crowd cheered, and Steve exclaimed, "Ha! I won!" right in Billy's face.

But instead of being angry, Billy looked impressed. "Not bad, Harrington," he said, a hint of a smile on his face.

As the night wore on, Steve and Billy found themselves stumbling upstairs together, both of them drunk. The tension between them was still there, but it was different now. It was like they'd reached a tentative truce, or maybe something more.

As they reached the top of the stairs, Billy turned to Steve and said, "You know, Harrington, you're not as boring as I thought you'd be."

Steve just laughed and replied, "Thanks, I think."

And with that, they stumbled into Billy's room, the door closing behind them with a soft click Billy's lips crashed into Steve's, rough and insistent. Steve's eyes widened in shock, but before he could react, he felt himself kissing back. Their lips mashed together, the pressure almost painful. One of them bit too hard, and Steve tasted the coppery tang of blood.

They tore at each other's clothes, laughing and stumbling in their tipsy haze. Anger and frustration melted away, replaced by a fierce, primal desire. Steve's shirt ripped down the middle, and Billy's jeans slid to the floor with a clatter.

As they fell onto the bed, Steve felt a rush of excitement mixed with a little fear. What were they doing? But Billy's hands and lips were everywhere, and Steve couldn't think anymore. All he could do was feel.

Steve groggily opened his eyes, his head pounding in sync with his racing heart. He was met with an unfamiliar ceiling and a wave of nausea washed over him. As he slowly sat up, he realized he was naked. of the previous night came flooding back, and Steve's eyes widened in shock. Billy. The kissing. The...everything.

"No, no, no," Steve muttered to himself, trying to shake off the memories. "I'm straight. Billy's straight. We can't stand each other." But as he tried to convince himself, his mind betrayed him. He couldn't shake off the feeling of being alive that night, of being wanted by someone he thought he despised.

Steve's thoughts drifted back to their high school days, when Billy would smirk and wink at him, taunting him with every glance. Steve had told himself he hated Billy, but now he realized that his anger had been a thin veil for his attraction. He had been so drawn to Billy's confidence, his charm, and his infuriating smile.

Steve's face burned with embarrassment and confusion. What did it all mean? And why couldn't he stop thinking about Billy?

Steve stepped out of the room, his torn shirt clinging to his chest. He was scared shitless people were going to get a sight of Steve and know what he did with billy last night. But as he walked out into the living room he was greeted by the sight of guys passed out everywhere. He breathed a sigh of relief, thanking his luck that his sight had had gone unnoticed.

He made his way to his dorm room, wincing with each step. His head was pounding, and his mouth felt dry. As he opened the door, his roommate looked up from his bag packing.

"Seems you got lucky tonight," his roommate said with a smirk.

Steve nodded, his voice rough. "Yeah, I guess I did."

His roommate raised an eyebrow. "That bad, huh?" He disappeared into the bathroom and returned with a pill, which he dropped into Steve's hand. "Tylenol."

Steve looked at the pill, then back at his roommate, who was now holding out a bottle of water from the mini-fridge. "Thanks," Steve said, his voice barely above a whisper.

His roommate nodded. "I gotta go. Hope you feel better, man."

Steve hummed, took the pill, and washed it down with a swig of water. As his roommate left, Steve collapsed onto his bed, letting out a deep sigh.

Steve's eyes widened in horror as he stared at his reflection in the mirror. His neck was covered in huge hickeys, looking like he'd been attacked by an animal. Shit," he muttered, grabbing a scarf to cover his neck. He knew it would look suspicious, but he didn't want people to see the state of his neck.

As he walked to class, he spotted Tony, his friend from the party.

Tony let out a low whistle. "Shit, Steve, she must've liked it rough, huh?"

Steve's face turned bright red as he quickly glanced around to make sure no one was listening. "Shut up, Tony," he hissed, trying to play it cool.

But Tony just chuckled. "Dude, I'm just saying. You look like you've been through a war."

Steve's eyes narrowed. "It's not what you think, okay?"

Tony raised an eyebrow. "Oh, really? Then what's with the scarf and the...ahem... 'battle scars'?"

Steve's face grew even hotter as he realized Tony was staring at the hickeys peeking out from under the scarf.

"Just drop it, Tony," Steve said, trying to brush it off.

But Tony just grinned. "Sure thing, Steve. But you're not fooling anyone with that scarf."

Steve sighed, knowing he had to come up with a better cover story. But for now, he just shook his head and continued to class, hoping to avoid any more awkward encounters.

After class, Steve walked upstairs passing the a common room spotting Billy with a cigarette dangling from his lip chatting with his friends. Steve's eyes locked onto Billy's neck, and his heart skipped a beat. The hickeys were unmistakable and they matched the ones on Steve's own neck. Billy was bragging to his friends with a tale of the girl he'd supposedly slept with, bragging about her huge tits. The guys were eating it up, but Steve knew the truth.

As their eyes met, Steve thought he saw a flicker of something nervousness, maybe? in Billy's gaze. But it was quickly replaced by his usual smirk.

Steve turned and walked into his room, his mind reeling. There was a knock a second later steve opened it to reveal billy Steve raised an eyebrow, surprised by Billy's nervous demeanor. "What's up, Billy?" Steve asked, trying to sound nonchalant.

Billy's eyes darted around the room before focusing on Steve's face. "Can I come in?" Billy asked, his voice low and uncertain.

Steve nods, but figures he should say something before billy tries to threaten to kick his ass if her says something.

"Listen, Billy," Steve started, but Billy cut him off.

"Movie. Tonight."

Steve’s taken a back. “What?”

"There's a new movie out with the guys with horses or some.

"You mean young guns,” ?" Steve questioned.

Billy nodded. "Yeah. I'll pick you up when curfew ends."

Steve's confusion deepened. "You want to go see that with me?"

Billy's eyes flashed with impatience. "Christ, Harrington. Yes or no?"

Steve hesitated for a moment before nodding. "Yeah, I'll go with you."

Billy nodded curtly and turned to leave, leaving Steve staring after him in bewilderment.

That night, Billy waited by the door, his hands tucked into his pockets. Steve couldn't help but notice how nice he looked, his hair perfectly messy, his eyes sparkling in the dim light. And he smelled amazing, too a subtle mix of cologne and something else, something uniquely Billy.

They drove to the movie theater in silence, the tension between them palpable. As they bought their tickets and settled in with popcorn and soda, Steve couldn't shake the feeling that this was more than just a friendly outing. He wondered if it was a date, but he didn't dare ask, fearing embarrassment if he was wrong.

But as the movie played on, Billy kept glancing at him, their eyes meeting in the dark. Steve's heart skipped a beat each time, his mind consumed by Billy's proximity, his smell, his warmth. When they both reached for the popcorn at the same time, Steve's breath caught in his throat. Billy looked around nervously, then took Steve's hand in his.

The rest of the movie was a blur. Steve had no idea what it was about, couldn't recall a single scene. All he knew was the feel of Billy's hand in his, the thrill of their secret

As the weeks went by, Steve and Billy's relationship deepened. They slept together, attended parties together, shared midnight cigarettes together and hung out with Billy's friends. To the outside world, they were the epitome of best friends. Every one knew if you invited billy somewhere Steve would be with him and vice versa.

Girls would often try to catch Billy's eye, but his attention always seemed to drift back to Steve when he would talk to girls Yet, Billy continued to see other girls, leaving Steve confused and uncertain. Were they together or not? It felt like a mind fuck to him.

One day, Steve confronted Billy, asking if they were in a relationship. Billy sighed, his expression unreadable . "We're just having fun, right?" he asked.

Steve's anger flared. At that how dare he thought. That night, at a party, he slept with a girl from class. Billy's face darkened with outrage when he found out.

The argument that followed was intense. Steve felt like Billy was stringing him along, and if Billy was going to sleep around, Steve would do the same. The hurt and anger between them was palpable, and it seemed their fragile relationship or whatever they had was on the verge of shattering.

One night Steve and Billy decided to walk into the bar, the sounds of laughter and drunk college kids . Billy slapped Steve on the back. "I'll be back, I gotta take a piss." He handed Steve some money. "Get us a couple beers."

Steve nodded and made his way to the bar, sliding onto a stool. "Two beers, please," he said to the bartender who looked like she would rather be else where

As he waited for their drinks, a brunette with a bright smile sat down beside him, twirling the straw in her drink. "You by yourself?" she asked, her eyes sparkling.

Steve hesitated, thinking back to Billy's comment "We're just having fun, aren't we?" A slow smile spread across his face. "Yeah, I am."

The bartender handed Steve their beers, and the girl asked, "Can I have one?" Steve handed her a beer, and they chatted for a few minutes.

Billy returned from the bathroom, his eyes scanning the bar until they landed on Steve. Steve was kissing the girl's neck, and he looked up, winking at Billy.

Billy's face darkened, and he laughed angrily, muttering under his breath. "Oh, that's what we're doing."

Steve didn't notice Billy's anger, too caught up in the moment. But when he saw Billy disappear into the bathroom with a waitress, his fury ignited. "That son of a bitch," he growled.

He turned to the girl, his voice tight. "Excuse me."

"Hey, where you going?" she asked, confusion etched on her face.

Steve didn't answer, storming into the bathroom, his heart pounding in his chest.

Steve stormed into the bathroom, the sounds of moaning and laughter hitting him like a punch to the gut. Billy's voice was low and husky, "Oh yeah, you like that?" The girl's moans were high-pitched and forced.

Steve's anger boiled over, and he ripped open the stall door. The girl shrieked, "What the hell?" as Steve yelled at her, "Get lost!" She quickly gathered her clothes, shooting Steve a dirty look. "Freak!" she spat, slamming the door behind her.

Billy just laughed, "Jealous, huh?" But Steve grabbed his jaw, kissing him aggressively, biting his lip on purpose. Billy moaned, his eyes flashing with desire.

"You're mine," Steve growled, his hands tearing at Billy's pants. Billy's eyes locked onto Steve's, his voice barely above a whisper. "All yours."

As they climaxed, Billy's hands tangled in Steve's hair, pulling hard. "No one can have you, Stevie, I’m yours and you are mine no one can take you away. he growled.“ If I see you with someone else, I'll kill you."

Steve moaned, his body shuddering with pleasure. "I'll do the same, I swear to God."

That night, Steve and Billy returned to their dorm, their newfound exclusivity. They couldn't keep their hands off each other, their passion igniting whenever they were together.

Billy had made sure they'd never be apart, arranging for his roommate to move in with Steve's. "I don't want to be separated from you ever again," Billy confessed.

Steve agreed, and they settled into a comfortable routine. Steve was happier than he'd ever been, deeply in love with Billy. He yearned to confess his feelings, but fear of ruining their relationship held him back.

However, Steve sensed Billy felt the same way. The way Billy gazed at him, his eyes filled with adoration, spoke volumes. Billy even become more affectionate.

Just as things were falling into place, Steve received a call from his father. The dean was threatening to fail Steve's classes, and his father warned him to get his act together.

Billy noticed Steve's distress and offered to help. "I'll tutor you, and we'll get your grades back on track," he promised.

True to his word, Billy proved to be a patient and dedicated tutor. Unlike previous tutors, Billy didn't make Steve feel stupid or frustrated. Instead, he encouraged Steve, explaining things easier for him.

As they studied together, Steve felt his confidence growing. With Billy by his side, he knew he could overcome any obstacle.

When steve got his grades back Steve sprinted up the stairs, excitement coursing through his veins as he thought about sharing the news of passing his exams with Billy. However, his happiness was short lived. As he approached their door, he was halted by the sound of arguing.

An older man's voice, slurred from intoxication, echoed through the door. "What, you think you're a big shot now that you're in college? You think you're something. Well, let me tell you something..." The voice grew louder, more menacing. "You're nothing, and you'll always be nothing."

Steve's heart sank as he heard a muffled response, which he assumed was Billy. Then, a smack and a shuffling sound followed. Without hesitation, Steve burst through the door.

The scene before him was chaotic. Billy lay on the ground, blood streaming from his face, while his father loomed over him, fists clenched. Steve's eyes locked onto the man, and with a surge of adrenaline, he shoved him as hard as he could, trying to separate him from Billy.

However, the man turned on Steve, head butting him with a sickening crunch. Steve felt a wave of pain wash over him as the man's fists began to rain down on him.

Steve's eyes fluttered open, and he found himself in a hospital room. Billy's face, etched with worry, hovered above him. Billy's eyes were red rimmed, and his face was bandaged.

"Steve, oh my god, I'm so sorry, baby," Billy whispered, his voice trembling.

Steve groggily sat up, trying to process what had happened. His voice was hoarse. "Billy...what happened?"

Billy's voice cracked. "My asshole dad...he showed up demanding money. Ever since we lost the house with him gambling , he's been demanding money. I don't have any...I don't know why he keeps harassing me."

Steve reached out, gently brushing a strand of hair from Billy's face. "I'm so sorry, Billy."

Billy's eyes flashed with anger. "Why are you sorry? It's my fault. I should have met him where he told me to meet him. God, I hate him...I want him dead!" His voice grew louder, his fists clenched.

Steve's heart went out to Billy. "It's not your fault," he began, but Billy cut him off.

"Steve, please...don't," Billy snapped, his eyes welling up with tears.

Steve nodded, understanding Billy's pain. He wrapped his arms around Billy, holding him close. Billy held back, his lips brushing against Steve's head. "You shouldn't have intervened," he whispered, his voice trembling. "He could have killed you. You should have left me."

Steve's grip on Billy's hand tightened. "I couldn't just stand by and let him beat you up," he protested. "I...I love you," he admitted, his heart pounding.

Billy's face went white. "No, man, you can't love me," he said, his voice shaking. "Take it back."

Steve's heart ached, but he stood firm. "I do, Billy," he said, his voice unwavering. "I can't help it."

The argument escalated, with Billy's voice growing louder and more desperate. Steve tried to reason with him, but Billy's words became more and more hurtful.

Finally, Billy stormed out of the hospital, leaving Steve feeling hopeless and worried.

I was actually trying to write a prompt and it sorta just became this fanfic kind of. I’m not sure what I’m going to do with it. If you guys like it maybe I’ll polish it up and continue. Also I didn’t purposefully try to make them toxic when I was writing it just sort of happened.