#its Taylor’s fault for making it so good

[imamastermind-nowurmine]

I’m incredibly indecisive about this album

[kaseyskat]

hi it's nyx here once again to talk about lark vs henry and what that meant for sparrow because i swear every episode that shows even a Little bit of sparrow's actual personality is controversial.

"nyx what do you mean by this" well it's a very blatant fact that sparrow does not get much nuance in the fandom: this is especially prevalent when examining hero's conversation with normal where she explicitly calls out lark and rebecca alongside sparrow and yet sparrow is solely blamed. because of this, every time we do see sparrow be his genuine self in the show - from talking to scary and shielding her from violence to taking charge of grant and lark and wanting to help the teens to the most recent episode's case of him not believing in animal captivity - i've noticed people quickly jumping on him for being hypocritical but nobody asking why he would be hypocritical, or why he's made choices that clearly do not reflect his actual beliefs.

so let's talk about that, shall we?

i know i've talked about this before but it bears repeating: sparrow is complacent. he has consistently made decisions that go against his own beliefs, bottling up his actual thoughts on the matter in order to "keep the peace". we know this, this is a canon fact, he said as much about lark and rebecca's affair!

why does he do this? well to me, what makes the most logical sense is that this stems all the way to lark and henry's conflict. if the rogue card is only predicting anger and not enforcing it, that means there is more to lark's anger than just what happened with walter. part of that is his fear of being unable to protect the people he cares about, being helpless in situations where he could've done something, yes, but i do believe there's another root cause to his anger, one that would fuel him for decades: sparrow.

...well, more specifically, how henry changed sparrow.

we know that lark wasn't the happiest about the lovewolf split. after the lord of chaos arc, sparrow starts very slowly developing a separate personality, enough so that he and lark aren't necessarily the same kid, one unit, the same person twice. sparrow tried to teach lark his new philosophy, it was ultimately rejected. lark doesn't understand it! but he loves sparrow regardless. that disappointment, that resentment of how sparrow had changed... it goes back to henry, to henry giving sparrow that speech and reinforcing those beliefs!

we also know that originally, sparrow didn't want to pick a side. he wanted them both to get along! to reconcile! and we know that lark didn't tell him about what he saw on the throne, which has me believing that there were, perhaps, other things that lark didn't tell sparrow in crucial moments: such as his decision to release the doodler, since we really don't know if sparrow knew. sparrow would've been happy to reconcile the two, and it makes sense if this was something he didn't know but something that shakes his perspective: aka, what happens if lark doesn't confide in him. to get lark back on his side, he has to be on lark's side irrevocably, which means abandoning his peacekeeping and mediation to choose lark wholeheartedly.

so by the time the ep23 flashback happens... sparrow has lost that bit of personality he had started to form in s1. he's lark's other half again, helping him with plans, sharing his ideas. he has... you could say, lost his confidence in being a lovewolf, because despite his best efforts, it only brought more strife to his family and he doesn't want to lose lark. we know this! he doesn't want to lose lark!

and then, they find out the prophecy, that one of the twins will have a kid who will save the world. think about everything we know about lark, how stubbornly persistent he was on fixing things Himself since he puts the weight of the world on his shoulders alone. lark doesn't blame sparrow or henry, he only blames himself. would he jump at having a family to fix his mistakes? no.

but sparrow would.

so sparrow takes that burden from him. sparrow has hero when he is twenty, and lark gets to be the cool uncle who helps around the house and hero blames both twins equally so we know they did this together. sparrow doesn't want to lose lark again, he doesn't want to be himself, he adapts to rebecca's views because it's easier than admitting that maybe he shares some of the same- definitely makes him marrying a vegan centrist make sense, right? he can use rebecca as a scapegoat and it Works. his own personality gets shafted in favor of being the same man twice with lark, he bottles everything up, he disapproves but never says as much.

and he fucked up with hero. clearly, he knows that. hero has a regular life now at a private school with a job and an internship and she's a massive dweeb and i don't think any one of you could look me in the eye and say that lark approved that. it was sparrow's decision! and we know what lark thinks about sparrow's parenting: i need every one of yall who truly believes that lark would be a better father to normal to go and relisten to normal's introduction scene in ep1 and then to the end of ep24 again where lark explicitly tells normal that being the mascot is a waste of his time when he could be learning "actually useful" skills (like hunting and survival- and yall still think sparrow was the one having hero kill deer?) and that he's too soft-hearted and naive and that is sparrow's fault for being too nice. normal would not be the same kid if lark was raising him and that is NOT a good thing lmao

all of this to say. i am so tired of people understanding lark's nuance and understanding grant's nuance and understanding the s1 dads and their nuance and how their trauma fucked up their relationships with their kids and yet sparrow is the one yall bash every other week repeatedly without ever wondering like. huh. maybe it is strange that his actions now don't hold up against his actions in the past. maybe there's something else going on that is consistent with literally every other aspect of his character. it is so tiring to go into his tag and see the same things over and over and over again repeated on loop every time we see sparrow's actual personality slip out beyond him perpetuating the "same man twice" persona. he's nuanced! they're all nuanced! and that's a good thing!

sparrow's biggest issues are his complacency, the way he upholds decisions that might not really be the best decisions because it's easier. his love for lark and his desire to fix things clouds his judgement and yeah, that means he goes against his own morals frequently; or at least, he did. so far in the season though, with how he's treated normal being in the line of fire and getting into his mess, he's definitely already realized this and is putting in the work to ensure that normal doesn't go through what hero did- something that lark is not doing. sparrow's also been the best towards the other teens consistently, the most willing to listen and change his perspective (as demonstrated again in ep24- really i just think people need to relisten to ep24!) and he's definitely not the best dad but that can be said not just about all the kiddads but also about literally every dad in this podcast, because that's what this podcast is about. thank you for reading and i hope i don't have to make this post again in a few weeks <3

[milfygerard]

you guys are so bad at critiquing taylor swift i have to say it likewhy are you inventing this rivalry betweet two artists who are only barely in the same genre. youre comparing apples to stawberries when

[cressidagrey]

Such A Mystery - Part 3

Pairing: Max Verstappen x Colette Leclerc (Original Character)

Summary:

Max Verstappen fell in love at the ripe old age of 12 and never looked back.

Colette Leclerc really regrets posting that particular Taylor Swift Lyric to her private Instagram account, because it made George Russell go insane.  

The rest of the world has absolutely no idea that the Dutch Lion and Charles Leclerc’s twin sister have been a couple for 15 years and are expecting a baby. 

Warnings: 

Pregnancy, Mention of multiple miscarriages, Pregnancy complications, George Russell Bashing (he's probably really nice in real life but in this, he's the bad guy, sorry) 

Author Notes: Huge thanks to @llirawolf for holding my hand through this. Currently thinking this will have like 5-7 parts?

She wasn't fine. Colette was so far from fine that it wasn't even funny anymore.

And now her twin brother had decided to chime in with his own opinions, pouring oil into the fire. 

The thought of the media dissecting every word, every gesture, every expression was unbearable. And still, she couldn't stop herself from doomscrolling.

Colette was in a state of constant anxiety, unable to stop herself from scrolling through social media and the news articles. She knew it wasn't helping her, that it was only adding to her stress, but she couldn't seem to tear her eyes away from the screen.

Every article, every comment, every thread seemed to only add to her worry. The criticism, the speculation, the accusations...it was all too much. But she couldn't look away or stop herself from reading every word, no matter how much it hurt.

She was stuck in a vicious, spiralling cycle, seeking out the information, even though she knew it was bad for her. 

The hormones and the pregnancy symptoms didn't make it any better either. 

The hormones made her emotions more intense, her anxiety more pronounced, and the pregnancy symptoms only added to the stress and discomfort. She wanted desperately for it to end, but it seemed like it would never stop.

The worst of it all was the constant swirl of thoughts in her head. The worry and fear, the relentless stream of "what-if" scenarios.

And the most terrifying thought of all: what if her stress was hurting the baby? The idea that her anxiety could harm the little life growing inside her was a constant one, always at the front of her mind.

“Eat, Choupinette,” her mother insisted. Colette stared down at her plate. Porridge and fruit and whatever else was supposed to be good for her these days. 

But her appetite was nonexistent. The weight of everything that was happening, the thoughts and fears that were running through her mind...it made it difficult to even think about food.

"Eat, Choupinette," her mother insisted again, clearly concerned. "You need to eat something, for the baby's sake. You're too pale."

“I am..”

“You aren’t fine,” her mother cut her off with a disbelieving snort. "You're pale, you haven't been eating properly, and you look like you haven't slept in weeks."

"And don't even try to tell me that the pregnancy is doing that," her mother added, her tone firm. "I had three pregnancies, I know how tiring it is. This isn't just normal exhaustion."

Colette knew that her mother was right. The pregnancy, while exhausting, wasn’t the reason. It was the anxiety, the worry, the stress...it was all taking its toll on her.

But she also knew that there was nothing she could do about it. The situation was out of her control, even if it was affecting her directly.

It was her own fault why she was in this situation to begin with. 

“I was so stupid.” Colette's shoulders slumped as she muttered under her breath. Her mother shook her head, disagreeing with the assessment.

 "It wasn't the smartest thing," her mother admitted. "But the media is blowing it out of proportion. They're making an elephant out of a fly."

It was a sentiment that Colette wholeheartedly agreed with. But at the same time, she knew that the media was relentless in their pursuit of a story. 

And Colette’s and Max's relationship would be the juiciest scandal they had gotten their hands on in a long, long time.

“I don’t want this to fall back on Charles,” Colette whispered, her voice barely above a murmur.

Her brother had worked so hard to be where he was, at the pinnacle of motorsport…to drive for the team he loved so much. 

She didn’t want to get Charles into any trouble. It wasn’t his fault. It was all on her. And any scandal, any whiff of controversy, could potentially ruin everything Charles had worked so hard for.

Her mother's words were calm, but they hit hard. "Your brother is an adult," she repeated. "He can make his own decisions. And he was the one who decided he wanted to protect you. You didn’t force him to do anything, Choupinette."

Colette knew that her mother was right. Charles was a grown man, capable of making his own decisions. But that didn't make her worry any less.

Her phone rang, her hand immediately shooting out for it. It was Max. Her hand was almost shaking as she answered the call.

"Maxie," she breathed, relief and worry mixing in her voice.

Max's voice was gentle, a soothing balm in the storm of chaos that was swirling around her. "Hey liefje," he repeated, the affectionate nickname rolling off his tongue.

Colette closed her eyes for a moment, relishing the sound of his voice.

"What are you up to?" Max inquired, his tone soft. 

"I'm having breakfast with Maman," she replied, glancing at her mother, who was watching her carefully.  

There was a moment of silence on the line, but she could almost picture Max's expression. He was no doubt worrying just as much as she was, if not more. "How are you doing?" he finally asked, his voice laced with concern. 

Colette let out a shaky sigh, her emotions warring inside her.

She wanted to lie. Wanted to tell him that she was fine. But Max and her had made themselves a promise ages ago. If there was one thing that Max hated, then it was lying. Even little white lies like this. They didn’t lie. They didn’t sugarcoat. They told the truth. Regardless of how hurtful it could be. 

They told each other the truth. Always. 

“Tired,” she answered weakly. 

"I heard you've been stalking social media again," Max's voice was dry, a hint of disapproval in his tone.

"Charles should really mind his own business," she bit back, her irritation at her twin brother evident. There was just one person that Max could have learnt that from. 

There was a pause, and she knew that Max was choosing his words carefully.  "He's just worried," he said finally. "We all are."

Colette huffed, her irritation at being coddled smouldering. "I don't need everyone to worry about me," she retorted, her tone snippier than she intended.

"We're not doing it to annoy you," Max replied, his voice gentle but firm. "We're doing it because we care about you.  I'm worried about you, liefje."

Those words were like a knife through the heart. She could hear the worry and concern in his voice, and it made her feel guilty for being so snappy with him.

Sassy chose that moment to come to jump up on her lap and she petted the Bengal cat absent-mindedly as she made herself a home on Colette’s lap. 

"I know you are," she said quietly. "I'm sorry. I just..." she trailed off, unsure of how to put her mixed feelings into words. Sassy purred softly. 

"It's okay," Max reassured her, his voice low and soothing. "I know it's hard. But please, try to take care of yourself. For me. For Bébé."

Colette felt the tears well up in her eyes again. She wanted to tell him that she was trying, that she was doing her best. But the words lodged in her throat, replaced by a thick lump of emotion.

"I'm trying," she managed to say, hating how weak and shaky her voice sounded.

"I know you are," Max murmured, his voice full of understanding. "But you need to rest, to eat. You're not doing yourself or the baby any favors by skipping meals and staying glued to your phone."

Colette knew he was right. The lack of food and sleep was taking its toll on her health and her baby. But the stress, and the worry, it made it hard to find an appetite or to switch off her brain.

"I know," she whispered, feeling helpless and frustrated. Max sighed softly on the other end of the line. 

"I wish I could be there," he said, the longing in his voice palpable.

"Me too," she whispered, her heart aching with the weight of their separation.

"I hate being apart during all of this," he mumbled, a rare show of vulnerability from him. "I should be there with you, taking care of you, protecting you from all this damn media noise."

Colette's eyes welled with tears again at his words. "You are taking care of me," she reassured him, her voice thick with emotion. "Just hearing your voice helps more than you know."

"It's not enough," he retorted, his voice firm again. "I should be there, not just talking with you over the phone. I should be able to hold you, to make sure you eat and sleep properly."

Colette could picture the fierce expression on his face, the set of his jaw. She could almost feel the intensity of his gaze, his desire to protect and care for her. But she could also hear the frustration and helplessness in his voice.

"Max," she whispered, her voice barely above a breath. "It's not your fault. You're doing everything you can."

Max let out another sigh, a sound full of frustration and helplessness. "It doesn't feel like it," he mumbled, his voice betraying his emotions. "I feel so useless here, stuck continents away while you're dealing with all of this alone."

Colette's heart ached at his words. She wanted to assure him that he wasn't useless, that his support through the phone and the occasional visit meant the world to her. But she also understood how powerless he felt, how useless he must feel, miles and miles away from her.

"You're not useless," she said firmly, her voice steady despite the tears threatening to fall. "You're the only thing keeping me sane right now."

There was a pause on the line, and she could sense Max's turmoil on the other end. "I just wish I could do more," he said quietly. "I wish I could take all this away from you, the stress, the worry, the media. You shouldn't have to deal with all this alone."

Colette felt a fresh burst of tears at his words. She wanted to tell him that he wasn't Superman, that he couldn't fix everything, but she also knew that he would never accept that. Max was a doer, a problem solver. Watching her struggle from afar must be killing him.

"I'm not alone," she whispered, her voice thick with emotion. "I have you. That's more than enough."

"It's not enough," he mumbled again, the stubborn set to his words making her smile despite herself. She could almost see the familiar stubborn pout on his face even from so far away. "I'm serious," he insisted, his voice firmer now. "I should be the one taking care of you and our baby, not just chatting on the phone."Colette let out a quiet sigh, a mix of amusement and frustration at Max's stubbornness. She loved that he cared so much, but at the same time, she didn't want him to feel guilty for something that was out of his control.

"Max," she said gently, trying to make him understand. "You do take care of us, even from miles away. Just knowing that you're there for me, that you love us, it means everything. We're a team, remember? We're in this together."

There was another silence on the line, and she could practically picture Max clenching his jaw. She knew that he wanted to protest, that he wanted to argue, to find a solution to make things right. But he also understood that there was nothing he could do right now but accept the situation.

Finally, he sighed, the sound a mixture of frustration and resignation. "Okay," he said quietly. "But promise me you'll try to eat and sleep properly. Promise me you'll take care of yourself and our baby."

Colette couldn't help the tears that rolled down her cheeks at his concern. She could hear the love and worry in his voice, the desperate plea for her to take care of herself.

"I promise," she whispered, her voice wobbly but firm. "I'll take care of myself. For you, for Bébé. I promise."

She would even let go of the fact that she was pretty sure that her family were babysitting her. When her mother went home after breakfast, it didn't take too long for Arthur to show up, happily ignoring her pointing out that he actually had work to do and instead he joined her on the couch watching re-runs of The Real Housewives.

Colette rolled her eyes at Arthur's unashamed enjoyment of the reality TV show. He had always been a sucker for messy drama, and the housewives provided plenty of that.

"You are ridiculous," she mumbled, but there was a hint of a smile on her lips.

"Oh, shut up," Arthur retorted cheerfully, his eyes never leaving the screen. "You love this show and you know it."

"I do not," Colette protested, but it sounded halfhearted, even to her own ears.

Quite frankly, she would rather watch fake drama on TV than think about the one happening in real life to her.

Bébé decided at that moment to kick her in her ribs again and she grimaced.

"Are you alright?" Arthur asked her immediately.

Colette let out a wince as the baby kicked her again. "Yeah, just baby kicking my ribs again. It's getting more and more frequent," she mumbled, rubbing the spot on her stomach where the baby had kicked.

Arthur chuckled. "The baby's probably just feeling cramped. They want more space," he teased.

"Ha ha, you're hilarious," Colette replied sarcastically, rolling her eyes.

“Maybe the baby's just getting impatient and wants to come out already," Arthur said with a shrug, his eyes still glued to the screen.

"Don't even joke about that," Colette said, her tone serious. "I still have another month to go. He better stay in there until then.”

She still had around 4 weeks of pregnancy left. 

"Still thinking it's a boy?" Arthur asked her curious.

Colette nodded, her hand still resting on her stomach. "Yeah, I just have a feeling. Call it a mother's intuition," she said with a small smile.

Arthur rolled his eyes in amusement. "Or just wishful thinking," he teased her.  "Isn't Max convinced it's a girl?" 

Colette chuckled, thinking about Max's adamant belief that the baby was a girl. "Yeah, he is. He has ordered a bunch of dresses online," she said with a laugh. “And hairbows...so many hairbows…If it's a boy, I don't know what I'll do with all of them."

Arthur started laughing.

Colette shot him a playful glare. "Don't laugh at my predicament," she said, but the effect was ruined by the smile tugging at the corners of her mouth.

Arthur couldn't help himself, bursting into another fit of laughter. "I'm sorry, it's just too funny picturing Max buying all those dresses and hairbows," he managed to say between chuckles. 

Her phone pinged again.  Colette huffed in irritation as Arthur picked up her phone before she could. "Hey, that's mine," she protested.

Arthur just shot her a cheeky grin. "Finders keepers," he teased, waving the phone just out of her reach. "Besides, no more doomscrolling for you," her younger brother told her seriously.

Colette rolled her eyes at his reprimand, but deep down, she knew he was right. "I wasn't doomscrolling," she mumbled petulantly, even though she knew it was a blatant lie.

"I just...People are making up opinions about me and my life and they don't know me," she said weakly. "That's why I don't even have a public Instagram in the first place, Arthur. I just want to live my life without worrying about what people are going to think..."

"What does it matter what they think?" Arthur asked her curiously.

Colette let out a frustrated sigh. "It shouldn't matter, I know it shouldn't," she said firmly. "But it does. Maybe it's human nature to care what other people think, I don't know."

She ran a hand through her hair tiredly. "I just don't want people to judge me, to make assumptions about my life and my decisions."

Arthur nodded in understanding. "I get it," he said softly. "It can be hard to block out the noise. But you have to remember that the only opinion that matters is your own."

Colette let out a bitter laugh. "Yeah, tell that to the media," she mumbled, but there was no vitriol in her voice, just resignation.

Arthur huffed, shaking his head. "The media don't know what they're talking about. They just want the next big headline, the next scandal. They don't care about the truth."

Colette sighed, slumping back on the couch. "I just wish they'd leave me alone," she mumbled. "I just want to have my baby in peace."

Arthur patted her leg comfortingly. "Just focus on yourself and the baby," he said firmly. "Everything else is just background noise."

Colette nodded, taking a deep breath. He was right, of course. “They have this picture of me in their head, that’s very different from the actual person,” she said weakly. “And now they judge me for something that they don’t even know what it was, because it’s not public. They just take Russell’s word and run with it…”

Arthur's expression darkened as she vented. "I know," he said softly. "It's unfair and it sucks. But you can't let it get to you."

Colette sighed, rubbing a hand over her eyes. "I know. I know.”

"You don't owe anyone anything," Arthur said firmly. "You don't have to justify yourself to anyone. Max would say the same."

Colette smiled wryly at the mention of Max. She could almost hear his voice in her head, telling her the same thing.

She closed her eyes, picturing Max's face in her mind. He always knew what to say to keep her grounded, to keep her from spiralling into a dark pit of despair. She missed him, more than she thought was possible.

"I just wish Maxie was here," she muttered, her voice thick with emotion.

[morgy-doo]

school bus graveyard realtionship headcannons

^ such cuties

Ashlyn Banner~

insanely protective

when you are in the phantom dimension this girl is mostly focused on making sure you don't get hurt/die

keeps you away from Aiden in that dimension so you don't end up getting roped into something stupid

Altho she isn't the most affectionate person, she will grab your hand and squeeze it tightly when she is nervous

she begrudgingly...after ALOT of begging, allowed you to play with her hair, when it is undone it is super wavy from being in those plaits all day

if you every get seriously hurt/die in the demon dimension, she will act calm and collected at first, but then totally lose it

she wont cry until she is alone of course

refuses to leave you alone until she knows you are better

after that she doesn't let you leave her sight

she just wants to keep you safe and close to her

Aiden Clark~

your more of a mother/father than a girlfriend/boyfriend-

CONSTANTLY bouncing off the walls

literally-

at one point in your relationship he would tell you he had a cute date planned....you had no idea that it was skydiving

he loved it

you not so much

in the phantom dimension he is using you to back him up in arguments

and he definatley tries to show off for you at one point

when they get locked in the mental assylum, he paints his face as you instead of the clown because why not

he found it endearing, you found it absolutely terrifiying

if you die then he will go silent, not as energetic or bouncy until he knows you are okay again, he constantly brings you things to entertain you with while in the hospital

he just wants you to never get bored of him

Ben Clark~

the most sweetest boyfriend ever

he will buy you flowers out of nowhere just to see you smile

sometimes he feels bad that he cannot say how much he loves you verbally

constantly has hand cramps from writing huge paragraphs about his love for you

the type of boyfriend to just pick you up and hug you when you are mad

you help him calm down when his temper starts to flare up

he really enjoys doing soothing activities with you such as pottery, painting, and baking

he is AMAZING at baking

he loves making you food

in the phantom dimension he likes to have you on his back

to reassure him that you are still there and safe, and also as a way to have quick access to you when you are in danger

if you die in the phantom dimension he will have this deeply disturbed look on his face

he honestly looked after you better than the doctor did

he brought you home cooked meals, your clothes, some things to cheer you up

he wants you to feel loved and to know that he will always be there for you even though you cannot hear him say it

Taylor Hernandez~

such a sweetie

she is so good at reading your feelings and can tell when you are upset/ when something is bothering you

she has pictures of you two together all over her wall so she always has something of you with her

she loves matching outfits with you

she 100% owns a shirt that says "i love my boyfriend/girlfriend" and has no shame in wearing it

she has this ritual where she kisses each picture of you before bed each night and saying "i love you y/n" over an over until she has kissed each picture

Tyler was just stood in the doorway of the room terrified-

in the phantom dimension you both make a vow to protect each other

and she will protect you with her LIFE is she has too

if you die in the phantom dimension she would never forgive herself

she would think its her fault as she didn't stick to her side of the vow

she let you get hurt

will sob infront of everyone

honestly needs more comfort then you do

when you are on the road to recovery tells you all these silly stories about her and Tyler to see you smile

she wants you to never leave her

Tyler Hernandez~

this one is a mixed bag

lets just say you will be very aware when he has entered the room

you slowly help him start to enjoy baseball again

he invites you to practice to show you off to his team

you are now lumped into his protection pile

congratulations, you are now one of his top priorities

he wont say it very often, but he adores you

and he misses you very much when you aren't around

he plays guitar for you when he is feeling especially loving, he teaches you the songs his dad taught him

when you are in the phantom dimension he gets very angry very easily

he is just so overwhelmed and worried about keeping you AND Taylor safe.

he is terrified he would of failed in his job of protecting you

if you die in the other dimension he would be angry at everyone but mostly at himself

he would close off, he wouldn't speak to anyone and he ends up flunking some of his classes to see you at the hospital

he is very aggressive to everyone else but when you are getting better at the hospital he is all gentle smiles and sweet tones

he owes it to you for letting you down

he wants to be able to feel that he can provide and protect you

Logan Fields~

he thinks he doesn't deserve you

why would you pick someone small and pathetic when you can have the full package like Tyler

despite his self doubts he treats you as best as he can

he is the most cliche person ever

has definately watched the sun set with you

study dates are a must

you both defo have this little potted flower that you have "raised" together

he tells you ALL about flowers as he has alot of knowledge about them

when you are in the phantom dimension he always has this dreaded feeling sitting in his stomach

as if he knows something is gonna happen to you and he wont be able to stop it

the feeling would eat him up inside

if you die in the phantom dimension, he would be determined to be the reason you got better, that it wouldn't happen again

he wants you to view him as worthy of your love, and he would do almost anything to earn that

[godmadeaterribleerror]

To Need Somebody

Main Masterlist - Dean Masterlist

Read on A03!

Tags: Dean Winchester/Female Reader, angst, very light fluff, pre-established relationship, no use of y/n

Summary/Warnings: After a hunt goes poorly, Dean retreats down a well-tread path of self-loathing. You've been here before, and you'll be here again, and you'll stay every time. Self-esteem warning, but that's it.

Author's Note: First Dean fic! A very good excuse to rewatch supernatural and say it's for my own edification as if he doesn't live in my head rent-free.

Title from Renegade by Big Red Machine ft Taylor Swift.

Word Count: 3.8k

The night doesn’t pass as quickly as you’d like it to. It’s long and slow, treelines and yellow grass moving in blur out the window as the stinging, stabbing pain in your leg keeps you awake.

You keep your face pressed to the glass, hidden in shadows and under your makeshift blanket—it’s just a jacket, but it’s Dean’s so it smells like him and might be better than a blanket—so that the light reflecting off your tired, tear-stained face doesn’t catch the attention of the rear-view mirror.

Doesn’t catch the attention of Dean.

He hasn’t spoken since the drive home began. He’d carried you to the car, then into the motel, then on the bed, holding you still while Sam cleaned and sewed up the gash in your thigh. Dean had muttered words of comfort and let you bite down on his shirt through the stitches. He’d told you that you’d done well, and that the kid was going to be fine.

The kid with you was going to be fine. You’d been faster than the demon—but not faster than its blade aimed at your leg—and the little girl who had attached to you was going to be traumatized, but had a lifetime ahead of her to heal from it.

The little boy that had been with Dean didn’t. He was ash scattered over the skyline and stuck to wet grass. And you knew Dean blamed himself, even though Sam had told you in hushed words at a gas station that it there was nothing anyone could have done. The kids eyes had started to go black, and he’d wandered to the window with an expression of wonder Dean had caught immediately, because he was a good hunter and better man.

And it wasn’t Dean’s fault the kid had punched through the window with inhuman strength. You’d all assumed that the crazy fucking ritual was more of an offering than a conversion. If your kid had punched through a window, you would have likely lost her as well.

But you hadn’t. Sam’s hadn’t lost his either. By pure, shit luck, Dean’s was the one that formed a stronger connection. That fell under faster, and died for it.

So now Dean wasn’t speaking to you or Sam. He’d helped you to the Impala, checked that you were comfortable, and set his jacket over your body, even after you told him you were okay. You’d reached a hand up to his face, told him you loved him, and gotten a grimacing smile in return.

You know he loves you. He’s not good at saying it, but you know. You know because he’s driving slower than usual, to avoid bumps. You know because the music is low, and it’s one of his better tapes. One of the one’s you’ve told him you like more than the others, and the one he always put it on when you’re in pain.

There isn’t a doubt in your mind that Dean loves you. And the silent acts of attention and service make the exact three times he has said it all the more meaningful.

The first time, when you’d tried to leave—reaching a breaking point of I can’t keep loving him like this, but I can’t get over him while I’m here—and he’d shot down your every fear with begging words and a confession he’d sounded afraid to make.

The second time, when you’d died. Really died, and Dean had tried to break up with you to protect you when you’d come back. You’d called an idiot, but your idiot, and simply refused to leave him. You’d told him to give you one good reason he wanted you to go, and he’d never see you again. He’d shouted, and you’d screamed, and you think you won. You’re still here, so you won. 

The third time, which you called the good time. Where he hadn’t said it in a shout or plea, or because he was in afraid of losing you in whatever form, but because he wanted to. Dean had really just wanted you to know that he loved you, and now you did. And you’d never doubt it again.

But this still hurts. The wall that forms over Dean—a form of protection from this silent burden and self-inflicted torture you know must be unbearable and heavier than the world, crushing on his shoulders and head and ribs—is like a stray dog that you just have to watch tear itself apart, and hope it will accept your outstretched hand. Offering comfort it doesn’t know it deserves.

You know Dean loves you, and you know he never takes your hand, and it still really fucking hurts. A fight would be better than this. Screaming would be a relief to the heavy silence that had started to form a weight in your lungs. Your head felt like iron, and you were beginning to wonder if your tongue with ever stop being a pointless muscle that was uncomfortable in your mouth. Stop just itching at your teeth and finally become useful. Find the right words that would make Dean do anything, anything at all. Literally anything that wasn’t sitting like a sentry and holding the wheel like—if he choked it and it spat out blood—something would fix itself.

It’s dawn when you hear the engine stop, and you can’t move. A little because you still can’t fully support any weight on your leg, but mostly because moving will be acknowledging that you’re awake. And being awake comes with choices. You either have to look at Dean and pretend you don’t see the way he’s ripping himself apart before smashing everything back together in a way that’s just a little less stable than before, or you have to not look at Dean.

He’ll notice. He notices everything, especially obvious things like you not looking at him. And it will hurt him—make this hole you think lives in his ribcage or spine bigger and more hollow—so no matter what pain it causes you, you need to look at Dean.

You push up your forearms with a groan, and he’s right there. Already watching you, so obviously in pain, and so obviously guarded from it that there’s not much for you to do right now. These are things Dean has to ask you for before you can give them. If you offer kind words, he’ll think they’re tainted with pity and spit venomous ones back. If you offer a body he’ll take it, but then the hole will grow larger as the guilt sets in for using you, even if you were the one that asked.

When it’s like this, all you can do is sit with him. Let him help you into the bunker, and—when he tries to put you in bed—insist he stays here, or you go where he goes.

You can make that about you, about not wanting to be abandoned in the midst of your physical turmoil, instead of Dean. He’ll let you follow him if it’s for you.

“You need to rest,” he grunts your name, and these are the first words he’s spoken in almost twelve hours. They’re almost inaudible, and a little angry, but they’re the most amazing sounds you’ve ever heard. “Been a long night. You’re hurt-“

“I can rest with you.” You whisper, and he looks like you shot him. “I don’t want to be alone, Dean. Please.”

There’s a long, horrible moment where you think he’ll say no. Where he’ll mutter that he’s never a productive in a bedroom setting for anything like resting, give you an empty smirk and a sleep well, Sweetheart before walking out the door and closing it behind him. If he does, you won’t be near him until he comes to bed in the dead of night, finally deeming himself worthy of undeserved luxuries like blankets and pillows.

In that awful moment, you consider crawling to him and dragging the entire bed set with you. Demanding that he gives you just proximity, because you both need it. He won’t have to touch you, or look at you, or speak to you, but he’ll be near you. At an acceptable distance, in case something in him escapes and you need to be there to catch it.

Dean doesn’t help you out of bed to follow him. But he does climb onto the mattress at your side, sitting up at the headboard and resting his hands in fists against his thighs, staring ahead with a practiced, unreadable expression.

You take it. Loving Dean is a lot of taking things. A lot of trying to give things back and having them be refused. It’s worth it, worth every screamed fight and strange, empty moment of only being near him, because most of the time it’s not like this. Most of the time it’s jokes and shared, sparring words. It’s almost all watching him be goofy and charming, and kissing a stubbled cheek when he gets in a mock fight with Sam and loses. Smiling and telling him you’ll get him next time, Buddy.

But these darker, emptier times are an unavoidable hazard of the trade. People who date in offices have to navigate HR, people who date in entertainment have to deal with the media and hunters who date have to deal with the fact that loss is inevitable, and you can’t afford to be attached to anything. On top of that, Winchesters who date have to grapple with their whole… everything.

But Dean is still with you. And that means he’s decided the joy of having you is worth the pain of losing you. It’s why when you slip your hand into his, he doesn’t pull it away. He squeezes it, and clings to it like a lifeline.

Sleep fades in and out in a haze, never long enough to dream or feel rested, but enough to register that Dean is crumbling. It starts with his body suddenly slouched down the mattress, then his legs are tangled in yours. Soon after your face is near his neck, and finally, he’s asleep at your side.

From there the day is traded sleep. You’re awake, and you shift the blanket to cover his body with yours. He’s awake, and suddenly your hair has been brushed from your face. You’re awake, your leg is hooked over his waist. He’s awake, you’re on top of him.

When you’re finally awake together, you just watch each other. You don’t speak first—Dean always to speaks first during these things—but you might have to stay here for a while until he does.

His eyes strained as if something is going to burst out of him, and he’s using every fiber and crevice of his will to keep it in. You don’t want to keep demanding more of Dean’s will. You don’t want to demand anything of him at all. So you just wait for him to fall a little further—keeping a soft, encouraging smile on your face the whole time—until he comes down entirely and speaks again. Light words coated in a pain that makes your head and heart ache, but words all the same.

“How’d you end up there, Sweetheart?”

You shrug, matching his tone but making your face more open. Wide and almost innocent, considering the position of resting over to your sex-god boyfriend, whose hands are wandering to hold you by your thigh. “Not sure.” You lean down, smiling at Dean like you have a secret as your voice drops to a whisper. “Between you and me, I think someone keeps putting me here. I go to sleep and wake up in the same place every time.”

He chuckles. “We should do something’ about that. Tie you to the bed so you can’t be moved.”

“I think,” you kiss his jaw, tangling your fingers in the soft, spiky hair at the nape of his neck. “That might just spur him on. He’d like the challenge.”

You start to kiss over his cheek—because it’s rare you get moment to just touch him without any need to go further, with neither of you asking for more, so you’re taking full advantage—and Dean’s head falling back with a low, long sigh, eyes closing as you continue your self-set task.

“He might.” Dean mutters. “But he also might not let you get to the sleepin’ stage.”

“He would.” You say against his skin, rising back up to watch his face, a strange combination of relaxed pain on his features that you knew too well. Where his brown was drawn but his breathing was slow and easy, and his mouth was parted but in a small frown. ��Or he’d end up sleeping on me. The joke would be on him, though, because I love that too.”

“You seem to know this guy real well,” he says your name, dragging his eyes open to hold your gaze, and almost breaking your heart with how tired he looks. How he doesn’t seem to find peace in the truth of the words he’s saying. “He know you?”

“Better than anyone.” You whisper. “And I do know him. I’d like to think it’s better than most.”

“Do ya?”

“I do.” You drop your chin to prop on his chest, and Dean shift up to keep watching you as you speak. “He’s a bit of a goof, but very serious when he needs to be. He’s charming and handsome and a total cowboy, right down to the very odd chivalry and voice.”

“Odd chivalry?”

“He’ll hold my hair back when I’m sick and open every door, but he gets all bitchy when I ask for a fry, even when I offer a blowjob in return.”

“I always give you the fry, even when you just fucking ate all your own. And I don’t take the blowjob.” Dean grumbles, and your smile widens.

“Because you’re a very chivalrous guy, Winchester. Even if you keep moving me on top of you in the middle of the night.”

He frowns, scanning over your face. “I can stop that-“

“Don’t. I think I’ll find my way back here anyway.”

“Yeah? You like it here, huh.”

Dean’s words aren’t teasing like they might have been on another morning, but defeated. All you can do is hold your ground, and stay.

“I love it here.” You hum, playing with his hair under your hands in the way that always slows his breathing and eases the storm in his brain. “I love you.”

Dean sighs, and you know exactly what’s coming before he says it. “Look, Baby-“

“Don’t call me Baby, Dean.” You mutter, continuing your movements. “That’s either a sex name or an apology name, and we’re not about to have sex."

He says your name again, and it’s lower and deeper than before. Like he never wants to stop saying it, but can’t afford to anymore. “You gotta understand that I’m no good for you. Hell, no one’s good for you, but son of a bitch, I’m plain bad-“

You drop your head down to his chest, and take a long, laboring breath. This happens, in some form, every time. You don’t want his apologies or excuses or attempts to convince you to leave. If anything they just cement your place here, because you can be a little spiteful, and you’re not one to give up. As long as Dean keeps loving you, you’ll keep waiting out the darker nights at his side. 

But you’re also a little sick of it. How pointless this is, how it only wastes the finite time life has to offer to anyone, let alone two hunters. How it hurts Dean to say, and you to hear, and he seems to think he’s doing you some sort of favor by pushing you away. That this is saving you and not killing you. Slowly, slowly eating at you until you don’t leave—you won’t leave—but you do start to wonder if it’s you. If Dean just doesn’t trust you or like you all that much, and doesn’t want to hurt your feelings. It’s just as irrational as Dean’s own logic—if only because he’s hurt your feelings a lot before, and always torn himself apart for it after out of love and pain after, making it up to you tenfold—but it remains a little, nagging voice in your head. That people who want you don’t try to push you away. That he does love you, but maybe can’t see a life with you, and just wants you gone.

You try and offer yourself some grace for your doubt, because it’s really, truly, not about Dean. Despite what he seems to believe, you’re not perfect either. You don’t end up hunting because you’re incredibly emotionally stable and have a pristine, joyful past. It just all happened to fall into place that your breaks and cracks line up with Deans. That he can fill in divets and depressions that eat at you—not pretty enough, not likable, nothing anyone could really chose to stay around, always the backup, always the poet and the prophet but never with a name people will remember when you’re inevitably gone—and you can do the same for him.

You need to try to keep doing the same for him. There are parts of you Dean knows that soothing and healing will take time to do, and parts of Dean you’re worried to touch and make worse, but there are also breaking points. Where your words start to spill out in a desperate play to just make it a little better for you both.

This is one of them. And all he’ll have to do is listen.

“You don’t need to agree with me,” when you start your voice is soft but cracked, like a breath you have to fight to take. “And you can even tell me I’m wrong after. But please don’t leave.” 

He looks mostly confused at that, at the sudden shift in the air and spaces between it. Still heavy and clouded with sorrow, but also wired. Detriment. “I ain’t leaving you-“ He says your name, and you cut him off with a sigh. 

“Don’t leave the room. Don’t leave the bed. Just stay here and listen.” 

His frown deepens, but he nods. And now you have to talk. 

It’s not rehearsed or prepared, but it doesn’t need to be. You know what you need to say.

“I’m not going to tell you it wasn’t your fault, because I know you hate that. But I hate when you do this. When you blame yourself, or try to. It’s mean to me.” 

Dean’s hands tense on your body, and he looks like a wounded animal, but you keep going.

“I love you. A lot. And when you tell me I shouldn’t it’s, it hurts.” You sigh, trying to just keep your eyes fixed on a freckle near his nose as you start to choke on your own words and the salty taste they bring. “It doesn’t feel good. It’s like you think I don’t know what I’m doing. Like you’ve tricked me into loving you, when I want to be here. I really like being here, and I know it’s not about me, but I want it to be.” You chance a look at his eyes, and they’re glossy. No tears—you’ve never seen them before, and you likely won’t see them now—but the closest thing you ever get from him. A storm that stays green and trapped, instead of crashing out onto golden, soft skin for you to brush away.

You feel a little selfish, because this is really not about you.

And you can’t really bring yourself to care, or stop.

“I wish you’d let this be about me too.” You whisper, your voice almost inaudible over the lump and ache in your throat. “I wish you’d let me help. I let you help, Dean, and it’s not fair.”

“’S different, Baby.” Dean’s voice is hoarse, and a little unsteady as he shakes his head. “I don’t-“ 

“If you say need help, Winchester, you’re going to need to start rehearsing your speech to convince Chuck to send you back again.”

“You don’t know I was gonna to say that-“

“Yes, you were. And it’s not different. I want to help, Dean.” You’re almost pleasing, and it’s an effort not to crawl up his chest and outright beg. “Let me help, or stop telling me I should fucking leave you. I’m not going to, and I know you don’t really want me to, or we’d have been done two years ago.”

“You shoulda listened two years ago-“

“But I didn’t. And I won’t now.”

Dean shakes his head, huffing a dry laugh. “You’re real damn stubborn, anyone ever told you that?”

“You have.” You let a smile twitch at your lips, but you still don’t relent. “And I’ve told you that you’re no better. And it’s one of the many reasons why I don’t want anyone else.”

“You should-“ 

“No, I shouldn’t.” You give a full, close-lipped smile that’s mostly made of hope. You haven’t fixed anything, but you may have soothed it. Found a way to make his hated a little less consuming, because this is hurting you, and Dean hates hurting you. If he can’t start to change or listen to genuine reason, you can use his own twisted logic against him. “And I’m staying here. Because I love you, and I don’t want to hear about how I deserve better. I know what I deserve, and I know what I want.”

“Me.” 

Dean says his word like he hates it, and you say yours like it’s a prayer. “You.” 

He looks defeated, but not in pain. When his hand wanders up your back, tangling in your hair and tugging it just enough for you to know what he wants, you comply. Falling carefully forward and letting Dean’s lips find yours, allowing him to lead the kiss and decide where it ends. Long and soft and almost delicate, his free hand still rubbing and squeezing on your thigh, but nothing more.

It doesn’t need to be more. Because Dean pulls back slowly, staring at you with a slight awe as he clears his throat, and his voice come out slow, but not forced.

“I,” he swallows, shaking his head at mostly himself. “I love you. And I, uh, I’m glad you’re still here. Glad you’re stubborn.” 

Your smile makes your cheeks hurt, but it’s pain born of joy, so it’s not really pain at all. “I’m glad I’m stubborn too.” You rest back down against him, and know neither of you will move for a long while. “It means I get to stay here.” 

End Note: I'm pre-gaming something. Thank you so, so much for reading!

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proclivity - part one - scott street

✯ pairing:

ex!bff!rafe cameron x diabetic!kook!fem!reader

✯ summary:

at one point in time rafe was your best friend. can summer romance erase all the damage he's done?

✯ warnings:

mature themes, mentions of anxiety, nostalgia, heartbreak, diabetes lingo, injury, ghosting, fluff and fear, domestic violence (not rafe), mean!ex!jj etc.

✯ a/n:

nothing!! please don't engage if you have a hard time with any of these topics <3 this was origianlly posted on my old blog @/illicitfixations, @/lovelornanonymity and i have rewritten + reshared it here :) trying out a new format with this post, hope you like it!

Your feet hit the floor with a loud grunt as you pull yourself from your satin pink sheets, they feel heavenly and quite frankly, the discipline your parents are bestowing upon you as they do their best to make it a point that your pogue ex-boyfriend is an ex for a reason is mind-numbingly stupid. You’re aware of this fact — you are so hyper aware that it causes you physical pain. So much more than your broken wrist, which is also his fault as much as everything else. You groan loudly as you hear your mother call your name again. The “Don’t make me ask again, y/n” voice  she’s using is also mind-numbingly annoying, though you know that she is very serious and that she will probably send your father in to chop you into a million pieces and sell your corpse on the black market if you don’t listen to her. So, you scream back. 

“I’m up!” 

You screech. You are usually perfectly obedient and poised, but the one thing that JJ has taught you is absolute attitude from the pits of hell. Your parents had realized this new attribute early on into your relationship with him and from the way you picked up his habits so quickly, they knew he was bad news. It should’ve been your first sign that something – the relationship, him – it was all wrong. You should’ve known when your parents started talking in Rafe’s language – in pogue versus kook, because they weren’t those kinds of people, the kind to pass judgment on people that they didn’t know and you never had been either. You feel like you’re at a disadvantage because of this now, because really you should’ve listened to Rafe’s warnings in early childhood about pogues being bad news. You never expected them to be true, for your perfect pogue to make you question who you are, to wind you up in jail. Jail – a word so far from being associated with you that it makes you cringe just thinking about it. Just thinking about the way it's dirty, pogue-ridden walls were trying to infect you with its virus, to hold you captive for all the days of your life. When your father had picked you up, he was livid – fuming, ready to murder every person that had touched his precious baby daughter. You’d been without insulin for hours and were on the verge of being too sick to recover when he picked you up. That seemed to be the only real thing on your side as he stormed into the Kildare police station and carted you off to the hospital. Good thing he did, because your arm was broken as well as your diabetes royally fucking you like it always did. He demanded answers and you easily gave him the right one — that Taylor Swift’s Getaway Car hadn’t prepared you for this, for JJ’s abandonment either. You assumed he took pity on you then in the way that only a girl dad knows how to. That doesn’t really matter though, because you’re still getting punished. They are making you take a summer job at The Island Club in order to pay for your transgressions, the price of bail but more importantly worrying them and getting yourself hurt. You get it truly, but that doesn’t make it suck any less. You wish you could call Rafe in times like these, though you know those days have been over for a very long time. 

—

You’re behind the bar when they walk in, getting orientated by none other that a pogue named Summer from your class. She’s nice enough and very pretty, saving for college because without a job, there’s no way she will be able to go. You appreciate her kindness as she shows you how to make a Mai Tai for the fourth time. You notice the three stooges as they walk through the door from a fresh round of golf, still smelling of freshly cut grass and the stench of perspiration. You mentally berate yourself for your brain’s inability to use their real names after all this time. Rafe, Topper, and Kelce approach the bar dripping wet with sweat. You haven’t seen them exert this much physical activity since the beginning of last year’s football season so the sight is a little funny. It’s hot in the obx this year though, more so than years past. So, you’re guessing it hasn’t taken much to make them glisten. Your eyes are locked on your former friends, but Rafe particularly – since he’s really the only one stuck in the former category. The other two still love you very much, despite your very poor taste in men. He’s handsome – you note, more so than the last time you saw him. He’s grown about a foot, everything is bigger about him really and you can’t help but wonder if that part is bigger too – MOVING ON. He’s smiling, talking to Summer and for a moment you find yourself staring, wondering if he’s ever going to smile at you like that again one day. Stupid girl, you think. The answer is no and you know that. 

“Y/n, When did you start working here?” 

Topper asked, puzzledly. You can feel Rafe’s brow etch in confusion as he stares intently at your cheeks that are freckled brown from the summer sun. 

“I got in trouble, remember? This is my punishment.” 

You are doing your best not to have to explain your situation to the entirety of the club. So, you laugh in comradery with your friend, clenching your teeth and sporting a forced smile, though you feel ashamed about it and probably will punish yourself for it later. 

“Three Mai Tai’s, pretty please.” 

Rafe spoke, breaking your attention away from Topper, giving Summer his best puppy dog eyes. You smile softly at his tactics, noting that nothing has changed in that regard.  

“We can’t do that, can we?” 

You whisper in Summer’s ear. She looks at you and smiles. 

“Good girl! You’re picking up fast, just like I said you would.” 

You beam at her praise as she redirects her attention to the boys.

“Come on, boys. You know I can’t serve you alcohol, you’re underage.” 

She said, rolling her eyes. Topper laid his fake ID down on the flat mahogany surface of the bar, sliding it over. 

“This clearly states that I’m 23.” 

He retorted and you rolled your eyes in feigned annoyance. 

“Come on, y/n! Really? What is it? You only give alcohol to Maybank or something?” 

Rafe jokingly questioned with a sneer, his distaste for anything Pogue related always everpresent. Your face fell and your breath caught in your throat, the moment the last name of your ex-boyfriend left his lips. You think only of the Rafe that used to be your best friend and then to the moment that all changed during freshman year. How he left you in the dust of appearances and fancy parties, how he turned into a major dick who made it his newfound purpose in life to cut you down every chance he got. You remembered the embarrassingly drunk voicemail you left him last year, crying into the phone about how he was everything to you and he left you behind after the first time JJ had touched you in a violent way. You never told him that though. You had been civil and joked back and forth, but had no real conversations or interactions since then. That was mostly because you were embarrassed about it, you knew that he probably showed it to Kelce and Topper and laughed about it for ages, making fun of how pathetic you were. Your fears seem to be true now as he cuts you down with his sneer and hate-filled blue eyes. You still don’t know what you did, what you did to put the butterfly effect into motion; how you and Rafe got so far off the beaten path. The tears rimmed your eyes, being reminded of your now ex-boyfriend wasn’t how you planned on spending your afternoon. No one knew how you’d followed his every whim all summer, how it had landed you in jail, gotten you a broken wrist, almost killed you when you hadn’t paid attention to your sugar for hours. He’d left you there and no one knew and you wanted so badly to tell Rafe about all of it. But, you couldn't – not anymore. Because you were right where he left you, like an abandoned toy in the toy box he no longer wanted to play with. As if all of that wasn’t enough to embarrass you and make you want to die, JJ had cheated with one of your close friends, Kiara, too and all the Pogues knew about it – sending you into a spiral of grieving all your friends at once. You had virtually no one. Rafe didn’t know and how could he, you stopped getting to tell him the ins and outs of your life a long time ago. So, while the joke seemed harmless to him, it broke something inside of you. You looked up, meeting his eyes, not wanting to give him the satisfaction of seeing you cry. But, he knew you, he knew that look, he knew those glossed over eyes – he knew he had fucked up. 

“Woah, what’s wrong? I’m just kidding around. Can’t you take a joke, Y/N?” 

The bitterness left his tongue as quick as his feigned concern, almost like he couldn’t turn either off.  

“It’s nothing, don’t worry about it. I’ve been wiping my own tears for a long time now.” 

You bit out, not meaning to spill your guts the way you did, but he deserved it. He couldn’t help but feel your words so deeply. He often felt guilty for the way he left you, with no reason why. There was a time when he would’ve talked you out of being with a loser like JJ Maybank, a time when he would dry your tears and hug you tightly, a time when he would’ve protected you. You slowly but surely made the boys their drinks, a tear slipping out of your eye. No one noticed but Topper and he gave you a sad, knowing look. You headed to the kitchen, hoping no one would be in the locker room that was right off to the side of it, so you could cry in peace. 

“What did I say?”

Rafe questioned the boys, confusedly. 

“You’re a fucking idiot. Have you not heard that Maybank cheated on her and all the Pogues knew about it? He got her in trouble, Rafe and she got hurt. She’s lost everybody important to her, and you just have to be an asshole to her, when we all know how you really feel about her. Grow up, man.” 

Kelce spoke up with distaste on his tongue. 

“Shit.”

He whispered out, deciding then, he’d make it his mission to get into your good graces again, if that was even possible. It’d been long enough without you in his life and he had only wanted a break to protect you from his own faults. 

After you had made it to the locker room, you leaned against the lockers, your head falling back in defeat. It’s been two weeks since JJ broke your heart and it felt like the last year with you had meant nothing to him. He didn’t even say he was sorry. You stayed like that for a moment, cringing thinking about the fact that you had to work with him tonight. Summer had warned you in advance as she orientated you and you gave her the smaller version of events. You wished so badly that you could rewind time and not let Rafe drift away from you, all you wanted in this moment was one of his hugs – feeling his strong, muscular arms wrap around you. It had been two years since you’d had a hug like that. You pushed the thoughts down once more, drying your eyes and making your way back out to the bar. The boys were still sitting there. Rafe took in your form, the way the blanched redness of your face stood out. He could tell you had been crying, really hard, and that made his chest tight. It had always made his fucking chest hurt. He wanted to kill JJ Maybank for what he had done to you. You made your way behind the bar and locked eyes with Topper. 

“Can I get you boys anything else?”

You asked – voice shaky. 

“We’re fine, Y/N.”

Topper spoke with a softness and an ease to his voice. Topper and Kelce had stayed friend’s with you even after Rafe decided not to and Topper was the first phone call you made after your dad had brought you home from the hospital; filling him in on all the gorey details. He came over with pizza and wine and made you laugh about how much of an idiot JJ was. That made you feel better for a while, but you cried yourself to sleep that night, mostly sad that you couldn’t call Rafe out of embarrassment or fear of leaving another voicemail he’d never return. You often wondered if you were ever important to him at all. 

“Hey, sweet cheeks!”

You were brought out of your thoughts by JJ’s boisterous yet sinister laugh as he called you by a nickname you no longer welcomed. Rafe watched as your body became completely stiff. It made his skin crawl that you were so uncomfortable and as he saw your eyes gloss over he knew this was about to be bad. 

“What, Y/N, you too good to talk to me now?”

JJ questioned, annoyed that you were ignoring him. You wanted to speak to him, but you couldn’t find the words to say and you definitely didn’t want to do it in front of Rafe. Before you could even muster up a response, Topper and Rafe were behind the bar, standing in front of JJ, blocking him from getting close to you. Summer was thankful because she had never liked JJ and couldn’t do much on her own to protect you. 

“Maybank, I suggest you back up. You have no right to talk to her after what you’ve done!” 

Rafe growled. 

“Oh and you do? You tore her heart out of her chest, hollywood.” 

He laughs in response. 

“What are you even talking about?” 

Rafe questioned confusedly. 

“Oh, you know, when you stopped talking to her out of the blue freshman year. What you thought I didn’t know about that? You don’t think everyone knows about that?” 

JJ’s laugh has become incredulous at this point. Rafe looked in your direction, with apologetic eyes. 

“What would you know about that? You don’t know anything that went on between us.” 

Rafe snarled. 

“I know she cried all the time. I know about that embarrassing voicemail she left you. I know she never got over it. I mean I can’t say I blame you for ghosting her like that, she’s boring and what would the king kook want with her-”

The sound of Rafe’s fist meeting JJ’s jaw was enough to send a chill down your spine. Topper quickly pulled you away from the scene, not wanting you to be caught in the crossfire of an angry Rafe, especially when it involved defending you – he knew he had no self control in that regard. 

“Y/N, look at me. Are you okay?” 

He questioned softly. 

“I-I, no, top. W-why d-did he do this t-to me?” 

You asked through stifled sobs and his soft eyes traced over your figure. Unbeknownst to you and Topper, Rafe had run out to find you after he mopped the floor with JJ, his knuckles bloody for you. But, as he made his way through the club, he heard stifled sobs on the other side of a wooden door and he stopped to listen.

“I don’t know, sweet girl. People cheat and I don’t think there’s ever a reason-”

Topper continued, but was quickly cut off by you as you clarified who exactly you were referring to. 

“No, why did Rafe do this to me? I loved him so much and I-I don’t know maybe JJ’s right. Maybe I just wasn’t good enough to be his friend anymore. Maybe he saw what a piece of shit I was.” 

You mumbled. 

“No, listen, it’s deeper than all that. When Rafe’s ready to tell you what happened, he will. But don’t beat yourself up, Y/N. There’s nothing wrong with you.” 

He replied, stroking your hair. 

Rafe couldn’t believe what he was hearing, he really had broken your heart and you really thought you were the one that wasn't good enough for him. 

as always, if you'd like to be added to the taglist, please let me know <3

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[hauntedhowlett-writes]

title: my tears ricochet | part i

pairing: husband's best friend!joel miller x female reader

rating: chapter - t; full work - explicit (18+ MDNI)

word count: 7k

summary: after moving from new york to texas with your fiance, you expect to jump right into wedding planning with his help. when he claims to be too busy, he suggests asking his best friend, joel miller, to help you instead.

you weren't supposed to fall in love with him.

author's note: this story is a three part fic inspired by the song "my tears ricochet" by taylor swift. this first part is reader's POV, part two will be joel's POV, and the third part will be dual POV. if you enjoy, please consider reblogging or commenting!

chapter tags: modern au, infidelity, emotional abuse, the fiance is shitty, no use of y/n, single POV (reader), wedding dress shopping and other wedding planning activities, angst, arguing, alcohol consumption/mention, kissing, no smut. please let me know if i've missed any!

major work tags: modern au, infidelity, explicit sexual content, character death

You stare out at the manicured yard, watching as guests move about the grounds and waiters in black uniforms carry trays of food and drinks through the crowd. Your boyfriend -- wait, no, fiancé -- Alex laughs boisterously with your father, a hand on his back in easy familiarity. You know you should be down there with him given that this is your engagement party, but you were starting to feel overwhelmed by the constant smiling and greeting strangers and showing off your shiny new engagement ring that you needed a break.

The door opens and a man you don't recognize steps into the room, pale blue dress shirt stretched tight across his broad chest and a pair of wrinkled dress pants. He runs a hand through his messy dark curls.

"Sorry, I didn't think anyone would be in here," he says. As he looks you over, his brown eyes go wide with surprise. "Shit, you're the bride!"

You smile at him. "That's me," you reply. You hold a hand out towards him as you give him your name, his rough palm sliding against yours as he grips it firmly.

"I'm Joel Miller," he tells you. You know the name well, being that he's your fiancé's best friend. "Didn't mean to make our first time meetin' so awkward."

"No, no, it's not your fault. I've just been feeling a little overwhelmed with all the," you wave your hand towards the window, "festivities. It's great to finally meet you."

"I don't blame ya. They can get pretty stuffy down there. Congrats, by the way."

"Thank you." He lets go of your hand. "So, why are you hiding?"

He laughs, deep and full bellied. "Alex's mom doesn't like me much. I'm sure she was hopin' that we would stop bein' friends when he went to school on the other side of the country, but I’m like a stubborn tick."

"How could she not like you, Alex told me that the two of you have been best friends since kindergarten!"

"There may have been a few mishaps in high school," he says. "You ever tried eggin' your principal's house?"

"Can't say that I have," you reply.

"Well, it doesn't end well if you get caught." He looks out the window with a smile on his face. "We got arrested. Alex's dad had to bail us out. Probably had to throw some hush money around so that it wouldn't show up on his record when he applied to school."

"He's never told me that!" You say, laughing hard enough around the words that your stomach hurts.

The door opens and this time, Alex himself steps into the room. His serious expression morphs into a smile when he sees you and Joel.

"There you are," he says, crossing the room to kiss your cheek. He greets Joel with a hug, patting his back roughly. "What are you two doing in here?"

"I just needed a minute alone," you tell him.

"And I crashed her minute alone. Told her about the time we got arrested in high school," Joel adds. Alex's jaw tenses, his smile tight as his eyes flick to you, like he's worried about your reaction. "She laughed. It's all good."

"Right. Well, I came to find you because its time for the toast and dinner," Alex says. "Let's get back down to our guests."

A hand at the small of your back urges you towards the door before you can reply.

"Alex, are you listening to me?" You ask. Your fiancé looks up from his phone.

"I'm sorry, baby, I was finishing an e-mail," he says. He sets his phone down on the table, dark screen facing up, and gives you his full attention. "What were you saying?"

"I wanted to schedule the cake tasting. Do you have any free time this week?"

He grimaces. "I don't think I do, sweetheart. Your dad's got my schedule pretty packed."

"I can just ask him to--"

"No," he says sternly. "You know I have to make a good impression with the rest of the firm."

"But--"

"Babe, no. I can't do this week. Why don't you ask my mom? Or Joel?"

While your future mother-in-law is kind enough, you don't have much patience for the way she tries to take control of your wedding planning. Joel, however, might be a good idea. He knows Alex well enough to be a stand in for a decision like cake and icing flavors.

"Could you give me Joel's number?"

Alex smiles, seemingly pleased that he's off the hook as he takes his phone in hand and sends you his best friend's phone number.

You meet Joel at the bakery that week. To your surprise he's there before you, dressed in worn jeans and a t-shirt and he smiles brightly at you as you approach.

"Hey," he says. "Ready to eat some cake?"

"I think this will be my favorite part of planning this whole wedding," you reply. He laughs as he pulls the door open for you to step inside, following in behind you.

"Welcome to Buttercup Bakery! Can I help y'all with anything?" A young woman with a name tag reading BEVERLY asks from behind the counter, pink and white apron tied around her waist.

"I have a cake tasting appointment," you reply, giving her your name for the reservation.

"Excellent! If you want to go ahead and take a seat anywhere you'd like, I'll bring out the tasting options and we'll get you squared away in no time!"

She disappears through swinging doors as you and Joel take a seat at a pink acrylic table with matching chairs. He looks around the shop with interest.

"What made you pick this place?" He asks.

"Had the best reviews," you say with a shrug. His brow furrows.

"Alex didn't suggest it? He helpin' you at all with this weddin'?"

He says it with a laugh, but the question makes you dig your fingernails into your palm. "He's just really busy with work. I've been doing a lot of the planning."

“What about your uh, what are they called? Bridesmaids?”

“They’re all back in New York. It’s just me.”

“I thought your parents were here, too? Isn’t Alex workin’ with your dad now?”

“It’s just my dad, he’s back in New York. His partner opened a firm in Austin and Alex is working with that office. He’s hoping to make partner soon, too.”

Joel nods, eyes scanning your face but you keep your expression as neutral as possible. The swinging doors open and Beverly returns with a marble tray, bites of cake artfully arranged on the surface. She sets it on the table between you and Joel.

“Okay! These are our six most popular flavor combinations for you to start with and if there’s something more custom you have in mind, we can totally make that happen,” she says. “Starting at the top, we have classic vanilla with vanilla buttercream, chocolate cake with chocolate ganache and chocolate buttercream, our signature champagne cake with strawberry buttercream, lemon cake with lavender buttercream, caramel cake with caramel mocha buttercream, and white chocolate cake with raspberry jam and white chocolate raspberry buttercream.”

Joel grins at you. “This might be the best thing anyone has ever asked me to help with.”

“I’ll leave you guys to it,” Beverly says with a wink, walking back to the counter.

“I don’t know which to start with,” you say, eyes scanning the selections.

“That chocolate one is callin’ my name,” Joel replies, spearing one of the chocolate cake bites with a fork and taking a bite. He hums appreciatively. “Oh yeah, that one is a winner.”

You choose the vanilla to start, taking a bite of the moist cake with buttercream that tastes strongly of vanilla bean with a hint of cinnamon. The simplicity makes it good, but overall the flavor doesn't stand out to you. Joel continues to take bites seemingly at random while you opt to go around the tray in the order that Beverly introduced the flavors.

"Any of them stickin' out to you?" Joel asks when you've reached the half-way point.

"They're all delicious," you reply. "I think Alex would probably like the vanilla best, though."

"I didn't ask what Alex would like, I asked if there were any that you liked." He spears the remaining piece of white chocolate raspberry with his fork and holds it up to you. "Here, try this one next."

You eye the fork dubiously. "I don't think--"

Joel slips the bite of cake into your mouth despite your interrupted disagreement, smiling at you triumphantly. You chew the bite begrudgingly.

"I think that one and the chocolate one are my favorite," Joel says as you swallow.

Beverly returns at that moment, a notepad in hand as she pulls up a third chair to the tiny bistro table.

“So? What are your thoughts?”

“I think I’m going to get the vanilla,” you tell her. Joel’s jaw ticks, almost like he’s upset you’ve chosen the flavor that you said Alex would like. “But, could I get alternating tiers of the white chocolate raspberry, too?”

Joel’s lips quirk up in a small smile and you try to ignore the way it makes your stomach flip.

Joel: Have you picked flowers yet?

Not yet.

Joel: I know a place. You busy today?

You stare the at the message in surprise. You weren’t expecting to hear from Joel again, but his name on your screen has you fighting back a smile.

I’m not busy. When did you want to go?

Joel: They open at noon. Here’s the address.

“Baby, have you seen my blue tie?” Alex calls from upstairs. You drop your phone to the counter like you’ve been caught doing something wrong.

“Which one?” You reply, pressing a hand to your chest.

“The plaid one!”

“Should be in your tie drawer!”

“It’s not here!”

You pinch your nose, making your way to the stairs to join him in your shared bedroom. He’s standing in front of his tie drawer, hands on his hips as he stares at the contents. You peek over his shoulder and reach into the back, pulling out the neatly folded blue and green patterned tie.

He takes it from your hand. “That one should be towards the front. Can you remember that next time you put away dry cleaning?”

“Sure.” You bite your lip to hold back the sigh that threatens to spill. “You want me to tie it for you?”

“No, thanks, I need it to be perfect. Big meeting,” he says, his lips tilted in a smile that feels condescending. He leans into you, pressing a kiss to your cheek. “Love you.”

“Love you, too,” you murmur, watching his back as he enters the bathroom and shuts the door behind him.

Joel is waiting outside of a dark green storefront when you arrive at the address he’d sent you. He smiles when he sees you, a true one that makes the corners of his eyes crinkle slightly, and it gives you this strange feeling of emptiness because you can’t remember the last time Alex smiled at you like that.

When you’re close enough, he pulls you into a hug that envelops you in strong arms and the scent of woods at nightfall with a hint of citrus. Your eyes flutter shut as you hug him back and breathe him in.

He releases you and immediately you feel a chill in losing his warmth despite the oppressive Texas heat. You look at the shop as he steps back, taking in the gorgeous floral arrangements in the window and cursive script painted on the glass that says PETAL TO THE METAL.

Joel opens the door to the shop, a brass bell ringing to announce your entrance. A man at the counter in the center of the store looks up and grins at you both.

“Joel! Nice to see you,” the man says. You watch as they shake hands with familiarity, the man behind the counter smiling kindly. “You must be the bride. I’m Frank.”

You give Joel a look of surprise before introducing yourself and shaking Frank’s hand. “It’s nice to meet you. Do you two know each other?”

“Joel’s an old friend of ours.”

“Ours?”

A back door bangs open, someone emerging with their arms so full of potted plants you can’t see their face. A deep voice let’s out a series of curses.

“This is my partner, Bill,” Frank says. “He’s not much of a people person. Great with plants, though.”

“A little help would be nice,” Bill grunts. Frank rolls his eyes but leaves the counter to take a couple pots from Bill’s hands, revealing a man with long brown hair and a grizzled expression hidden amongst a thick beard. Frank leans in and kisses his cheek.

“You need only ask,” Frank says. Bill’s cheeks turn pink beneath his thick facial hair. Despite the annoyed expression on his face, his eyes are soft as he watches Frank. “Let me grab you the event portfolio and we can talk about your wedding. Have a look around.”

As Frank leaves and Bill busies himself arranging the new plants, you and Joel wander the shop and take in aisles and shelves of different flowers with little gold name cards in their pots or on their buckets.

“So,” Joel says, “How are you liking Austin?”

“It’s…hot,” you reply. “Really, really hot.”

“That’s the south for ya, sweetheart.”

Your face grows hot at the endearment and how it seemed to just roll off his tongue. “Have you lived in Austin your whole life?”

“Texas born n’ bred,” he says proudly, puffing his chest out.

“You never wanted to live anywhere else?”

“I’ve always thought Wyoming sounded nice. A farm that I built, some sheep, no neighbors for miles,” he says wistfully. “Maybe someday.”

“Building a farm, huh? You good with your hands, Joel?”

He blinks at you. “Y-yeah. I mean, I’m a contractor. I gotta be.”

“That’s impressive,” you tell him, biting your lip to hold back your laughter at his flustered response.

Frank approaches, lifting a heavy book in his hands. “You ready to pick some flowers?”

Joel holds the door open for you as the two of you leave the flower shop an hour later. He waves goodbye to Bill and Frank with a promise to visit them for dinner soon before following you down the sidewalk.

“You wanna get lunch?” Joel offers. “My treat.”

You pull your phone from your pocket to check your messages and finding none from Alex, you think to yourself, why not?

“Sure,” you agree.

That's how you find yourself sitting on a bench in the park with Joel Miller, your husband's best friend, talking to him about everything and nothing as you eat street tacos from a food truck nearby. He makes you laugh so hard you choke on birria, the sauce dripping down your chin. He reaches out, wiping the mess with a brown napkin while he smiles so bright it puts the sun to shame.

Later that night, while you're in bed, you can't help but think today was the best day you've had in a long time.

And you're not sure what that means.

You begin texting Joel regularly. You ask him for his opinion on things that Alex can’t be bothered with — the suit colors for the groomsmen (navy blue), the invitation stationary (the linen finish), and favors (miniature bottles of hot sauce - Joel assures you this will be a hit with the Texas crowd). In between those conversations, he sends you pictures from his construction sites or asks you how your day has been and whether you had gotten the chance to check out that show he recommended.

When you tell Alex about the wedding decisions you've made, leaving out the extent of Joel's help, he hums and nods at the appropriate intervals, feigning attentiveness while his thumb moves rapidly across his phone screen. It should bother you, you think, that your future husband is so uninvolved with planning his own wedding, but then your own phone lights up with Joel’s name and a goofy photo he sent from a construction site, his hard hat askew on his head and his eyes crossed, and your annoyance with Alex fades into background noise.

There’s one last item on your checklist that you’re more nervous to ask Joel for help with than the others — dress shopping. You could probably fly back to New York and be with your friends for the momentous occasion but you’re certain that Alex wouldn’t appreciate your absence for something he considers so frivolous.

Not that you say anything when he’s gone for his golfing trips.

You’re staring at Joel’s contact screen, working up the nerve to call him and ask him if he’d be willing to come dress shopping with you, when it lights up with an incoming call, his name at the top of the screen like just your thoughts summoned him. You answer on the third ring.

“Hey, I was just about to call you,” you tell him.

“So that’s why my ears were itchin’,” he laughs. “You need somethin’?”

You take a steadying breath. “I just have one more thing I need help with and then you won’t have to deal with me.”

“I don’t mind helpin’ you, sweetheart.” You stomach flutters at the nickname and he clears his throat to fill the loaded silence that follows his words. “Now, tell me what you need.”

“Could you come dress shopping with me?”

“That all? Just tell me where and when,” he says. You breathe a sigh of relief, giving him the details of the appointment you made at a local boutique. He promises to meet you there this weekend before hanging up.

The word sweetheart in Joel’s deep voice echoes through your mind for the rest of the day.

Joel looks hilariously out of place on the pristine white couch located in the middle of the dress boutique, a dainty glass of champagne held in his large hand. You sit beside him, your legs touching as you watch the sales associate flit around the store, pulling hangers of dresses from the racks.

“That’s a lot of dresses,” Joel comments, taking a sip of champagne.

“You not up for the challenge?” You tease. He laughs, the corners of his eyes crinkling with his wide smile.

“Trust me, I’m up for the challenge. We’re goin’ to find you the best damn weddin’ dress Texas has ever seen,” he promises.

“Alright, I’ve got some gorgeous choices here for you,” the associate announces, holding up a handful of ivory hangers draped in all types of fabric from satin to chiffon. “You wanna follow me and we’ll get started?”

You follow her to the fitting room and she sets the hangers on a rack, fanning out the dresses so that you can get a better look. There’s five of them in a variety of styles, including an impressive ball gown boasting layers of tulle that trails to the floor.

“I’ll try that one first,” you tell her, pointing to ball gown.

“What’s your fiancé’s name?” She asks as you undress, taking the gown from the hanger and arranging it on the floor for you to step into it.

“Alex,” you reply. She drags the bodice up and instructs you to hold it to your chest while she laces up the corset back.

“I think it’s sweet that you’ve brought him with you.”

“Oh, no. That’s Joel, he’s my husband’s best friend.”

“Really?” She asks, the strings tightening around your waist. “The way you two look at each other, I would have bet money he was the one marrying you." You're about to ask what she means when she finishes tying off the bodice and says, "Wow, this dress is stunning on you."

Her comment retreats to the back of your mind as you look at yourself in the mirror. The strapless white gown hugs your chest and waist, flaring out into a layered skirt with lace appliques. There's beading on the sweetheart neckline that trails down the bodice in intricate patterns that catch the light of the fitting room. The dress is stunning.

Marnie leads you back out to the showroom, helping you step up onto a raised platform in front of a trifold mirror that shows you your reflection from multiple angles. You twist and turn, taking in all the details of it before finally facing Joel.

"Damn," Joel says. "That sure is one hell of a dress."

"It's...a lot." You twist your hips from side to side, the heavy skirt swishing across the floor. "I feel like a cupcake and I don't know if I'll be able to dance in it."

"You wanna test it out?"

He's standing before you can respond, reaching a hand into yours to guide you down from the pedestal. When you're on the floor, he wraps an arm around your low back, pulling you close while swaying side to side.

The world around you goes a little blurry and the only thing in perfect clarity is Joel. The feel of his hand in yours, the weight of his arm at the small of your back, the clean smell of soap and citrus, everything is just....Joel.

"How's it feel?" He asks, voice low. You tilt your head back to look up at his face.

"Huh?"

"The dress...dancin'...how's it feel?"

The question drags you back to reality, where you're currently dancing around a bridal salon with a man who isn't your fiance. You pull away from him, returning to the pedestal as the bridal associate joins the two of you again.

"Uh...I don't think this is the dress for me. Can we try the next one?"

You try on two other dresses in quick succession, neither of them leaving a lasting impression. It's the fourth dress that really gives you pause as you look at yourself in the fitting room mirror.

"Honey," the associate says, adjusting the off-the-shoulder sleeves of the dress, "This dress was made for you."

The scooped neckline highlights the lines and curves of your neck and shoulders, the corset bodice hugging your curves in satin folds. The skirt fans out from the waist, similar to the silhouette of the ball gown without all the additional weight and fabric and a thigh high slit allows for some extra movement.

She leads you back out into the showroom and helps you once more onto the pedestal. You grin at your reflection as she fixes the skirt into place.

"Well?" You ask, catching Joel's eye in the mirror. His mouth is set in a serious line, brows pinched together and his arms crossed over his chest. You own smile falters. "You don't like it? What's with the look?"

He shakes his head, his serious expression morphing into a smile that doesn't reach his eyes. "You look..." His voice trails off and he clears his throat. "Alex is a lucky son of a bitch."

You laugh, lifting the skirt so that you can step off the pedestal. Joel's eyes drop, his gaze fixing on the skirt as you walk towards him.

"You think so?" You ask quietly, stepping in close.

"Yeah, sweetheart," he murmurs. A single finger runs down your arm, goosebumps erupting over your skin in its wake. "I know so."

With the wedding plans finalized, your attention returns to your work as a web design consultant. Your client portfolio starts to build once more, keeping you busy in the months leading up to your big day. Alex remains focused on his work at the firm, working long days and longer nights that have him arriving home well after you've gone to bed, the two of you just ships passing in the dark. You would feel lonely, you think, if not for Joel.

The two of you still message each other frequently, though you don't see him again until a month before the wedding, when Alex invites him over for dinner one Saturday night.

The doorbell rings just as you put the chicken in the oven and you wipe your hands before going to answer it, your heart racing. Joel's sweet smile greets you when you open the door and seeing him across the threshold has the tension in your shoulders easing the slightest bit.

He steps across the threshold, strong arms wrapping around your waist in a tight hug. Footsteps on the stairs have him releasing you far sooner than you would have liked.

"Joel, my man! Glad you could make it," Alex says as he reaches the first floor. "Honey, is the table set?"

"No, not yet," you reply.

"You need any help?" Joel asks. You open your mouth to respond, but Alex jumps in to say, "No, she's got this. Let me give you the tour."

You watch as Alex leads Joel upstairs, commanding his friend's attention. You swallow down the anger that rises in your throat at your fiancé's dismissal and return to the kitchen, gathering the place settings and arranging the table to his liking.

"It's a nice place," Joel says as the two men enter the living room, which opens to the kitchen and dining areas.

"All that work finally paying off," Alex comments. You roll your eyes, fighting the urge to mention that you were the one who fronted the down payment for Alex's choice of home in Texas. The oven beeps and you pull out the chicken parmesan that had been baking.

"Smells good," Joel comments. You look up, catching his eye. A wordless understanding passes between you, a quiet appreciation that makes your blood run hot.

You plate the food while your fiancé uncorks a bottle of wine and pours it into the wine glasses at each place setting. Alex settles in at head of the table and Joel takes the seat to the left, leaving you with the seat to Alex's right, across from Joel.

The three of you make small talk between bites of dinner and sips of wine. Alex asks Joel about the contracting work he's been doing, Joel asks him about his work at the new office and how he's settling in, being back in his home state. It's halfway through dinner that Joel looks to you and asks, "Are you excited for the wedding next month?"

"Of course," you reply, fingers tangling in the cloth napkin resting across your lap. "Planning it was a labor of love."

"Right, thanks for helping her with the cake, man," Alex chimes in.

Joel chuckles. "Helped with a lot more than just the cake."

"What do you mean?" Alex asks, glancing between the two of you.

"Well, I helped get the flowers, the cake, pickin' out the stationary. Dress shoppin'," Joel clarifies. Your stomach drops as Alex's jaw grows tense, his brow pinched as he nods and pastes on a forced smile.

"Wow, I didn't realize you'd been so involved," Alex says. He removes the napkin from his lap, setting it on the table. "Would you excuse us for a second?"

Alex stands, looking down at you expectantly. You smile at him and Joel in turn, but the expression feels hollow and you taste bile in the back of your throat. As soon as you're on your feet, Alex has a strong hand wrapped around your wrist, urging you along behind him as he makes his way towards the stairs.

Once he's reached your shared bedroom, he turns to you, eyes filled with rage. “What the fuck is that about?”

“What do you mean?” You ask. He laughs, the sound devoid of any humor.

“He helped you pick out your dress?” Alex paces the length of the bedroom like a caged animal and for the first time in your relationship with him, a frisson of fear courses through your veins. “You can’t possibly be that fucking stupid?”

“Excuse me?” You snap. “You told me to ask him for his help!”

“With the cake!” Alex shouts. “Not the entire goddamn wedding! Do you have any idea how that makes me feel?”

“You weren’t exactly offering much help, Alex!”

His eyes narrow. “I thought you would be perfectly capable of planning shit on your own, but I guess that was giving you too much credit.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” You ask. “Why are you being such a fucking asshole right now?”

“Because you’re my fiancé, not Joel’s!” He steps in close, towering above you as he hisses, “Did you fuck him?”

“No!” You shout.

His eyes search yours and whatever he finds seems to extinguish his anger, his coiled muscles loosening. He grips your shoulders, pressing his forehead to yours.

“I’m sorry,” he murmurs. “Why don’t you head back downstairs and I’ll stay up here for a minute to cool off, okay?”

The sudden switch leaves your head spinning but you manage to nod. Alex kisses your forehead and you take that as your cue to leave, escaping the confines of your room. In the hall, you grip the banister of the loft that overlooks the living room and take the first real breath in what feels like ages, your eyes squeezed shut as you try to calm your racing heart.

You return to the kitchen and Joel’s head snaps up when you enter. He rises from his seat at the table, rushing to your side.

“Are you okay?” He asks, low voice filled with concern, his brows pinched with worry. “What the fuck was that?”

“Just a misunderstanding,” you murmur, pushing past him.

“That’s bullshit,” he hisses. “Is he always like that?”

“Like what?” You sigh.

“An asshole. Yellin’ and threatenin’ you.” His fists are clenched at his sides. “He ever hit you?”

“What? No, of course not.” You take a deep breath, beating back the wave of tears pressing at the corners of your eyes. “He’s just got a lot going on with the move and work and the wedding.”

Joel is quiet, watching you with keen brown eyes that you, for once, wish weren’t focused on you. He steps close, voice low as he says, “Be honest with me, sweetheart.”

“I’m fine, Joel,” you tell him. The lie claws at your throat and sends your stomach into a tailspin. “I promise.”

Footsteps echo on the stairs and you step away from Joel, busying yourself with loading the dishwasher, clearing the counters, anything to keep your hands occupied and stop their shaking. Alex enters the kitchen with a sharp smile.

“Hey, man, sorry about that,” he says, clapping Joel on the shoulder. “I think we’re ready to call it a night. Ain’t that right, honey?”

You force yourself to keep your eyes on Alex as you smile and say, “Yeah, baby.”

“Let me walk you out, Joel,” Alex says. “Honey, say bye.”

“Goodbye, Joel.”

Joel: Hey

Joel: You having a good week?

Joel: Been a while. You doing okay?

Joel: You’ve been quiet

Joel: I need to know you’re okay.

Joel: Just let me know

Joel: Please

“Just two more days until you’re my wife,” Alex says, pressing a kiss to your lips. He smiles at you and you mirror the expression as best you can.

“I can't wait,” you reply.

"I gotta get going," Alex says. He presses a kiss to your cheek as he passes where you're sitting at the bar. "Love you."

"Love you," you repeat, out of reflex more than affection.

The front door slams shut and quiet settles over the house. All you want to do is crawl back into bed and pull the covers over your head in the hopes that it protects you from the way time continues to creep forward despite your uncertainties. Maybe, if you lay there long enough, time will move on without your involvement.

Your thoughts are interrupted by a heavy knock at the door. You’re not sure who it could be — your dad is scheduled to fly into town in the late afternoon and your friends arrive early tomorrow morning and you’re fairly certain you don’t have any deliveries scheduled. Sliding from the bar stool, you leave the kitchen to answer the door.

Joel stands on the other side of the threshold, haloed by the morning sun. For a brief moment, you wonder if you’re dreaming.

“What are you doing here?” You finally ask.

“Can I come in?” He replies, running a hand through his already messy hair. “I need to talk to you.”

You step aside and allow him to enter the hallway, shutting the door behind him. You avoid his gaze as you return to the living room with him following behind you. The silence that settles between the two of you makes you want to crawl out of your skin.

"Why haven't you been talkin' to me?" Joel asks. He takes a step closer, brown eyes searching yours for an answer you try to keep hidden.

"I've been busy," you say.

"Cut the bullshit," he snaps, surprising you. "Is it because of what happened at dinner?"

"No," you reply. Joel must sense the brief hesitation, hear the weakness in your voice. His eyes go soft, full of pity, and you can't fucking stand it. "Don't look at me like that."

"Look, I've known Alex a long time, and all those years weren't exactly peachy," he says cryptically. "I love him like a brother but even family ain't without faults.” He steps in close, his hands cradling your face in a delicate grip. “Tell me this is what you want," he demands. "Tell me that you're happy with Alex. Tell me that there's nothin' here between us."

The words are there, right on the tip of your tongue, but nothing can bring them to life. Your heart beats a frantic rhythm against your ribcage, the rush of blood in your ears the only thing you can hear. He leans closer, eyes dropping to your lips and you know what's about to happen next but you can't bear the thought of stopping him as he closes the scant distance between your mouths.

For the briefest moment, you allow yourself the chance to just feel. No thoughts, no panic, no worry. Just Joel's warm lips moving against yours, the trace of his palm from you cheek to behind your head, pulling you closer even though you're already tightly pressed to him. It's slow and deep, like he's trying to convince you down to your marrow that this is where you're supposed to be.

But it's not.

You push him away and he doesn't fight you, but the look he gives you damn near shatters your resolve. His eyes are dark, jaw tense, hands flexing at his sides like he's fighting the urge to reach out and pull you back, damn the consequences. Your eyes and throat burn with the effort of holding back the tears that threaten to spill.

"You need to leave," you whisper. "You can't do this, we can't do this. I'm getting married in two days, Joel!"

He runs a hand through his hair, pulling on the strands in frustration. "You think I don't know that? You think I don't lay awake at night thinkin' what a fuckin' asshole I am for fallin' in love with my best friend's fiancé?!" He shouts.

"This isn't love, Joel--"

"Don't," he snaps. "Don't you lie to me. I know it, you know it, hell, the fuckin' lady at the dress shop knew it!" He takes a deep breath. "I'm showin' you my whole hand here and you won't even lay down a goddamn card!"

"There is no card!" You shout.

"You kissed me back!" He counters.

You stare at each other for a long moment, like two scared, wounded animals. Eventually, one of you has to back down, retreat, lick their wounds until they've healed in a messy pattern of scar tissue that will serve as a painful reminder of what could have been.

Joel sighs, another pass of his hand through his hair as he says, "You know what? Fine." He turns to leave, the line of his shoulder lower, his head low.

A glutton for punishment, you call out, "Joel?"

"Yeah?" He asks, weary. Bone tired. You feel it, too.

"Will you still be there tomorrow?" You ask, unsure of which answer would be worse.

Another sigh. "Yeah. I'll be there."

The door slams shut behind him.

Your rehearsal dinner is torture.

This should be one of the happiest events of your life but all your energy is being directed at avoiding Joel like the plague. He moves through the crowd comfortably, having known many people in attendance for most of his life, and you feel like an unmoored boat, hoping a wave doesn't crash over you.

Alex sits beside you, drinking from a glass of whiskey as he talks to one of his uncles that has been praising him for landing the opportunity to work with such a prestigious law firm right after college. A dizzying rotation of people approach you through the night - friends who chatter excitedly about the big day tomorrow, aunts who ask when you think you'll have children, uncles who tell you that they're proud of you for landing such a successful, promising young man. It's those last comments that have you hiding a frown in your champagne glass.

It drags on forever, this constant stream of polite conversation and forced smiles. When you finally return to the hotel that you're staying at for the night, you start to feel like you can breathe again. You have a suite separate from Alex's for getting ready early in the morning and he walks you to your room, hand on your low back, a smile on his face.

"I'll see you in the morning," he says, pressing a chaste kiss to your lips. "My almost wife."

The sentiment has bile rising in your throat and as he turns to leave you're blurting the words, "I can't do this."

"Sweetheart, you're just nervous," he says, voice surprisingly calm. He squeezes your shoulders. "You just need to sleep it off and everything will be fine in the morning."

"No," you tell him, shaking your head. "No, it won't be fine."

His smile drops, like a mask has just been removed. "Where is this coming from? Everything was fine at the rehearsal."

"Everything was not fine at the rehearsal!"

Alex takes the room key from your hands, unlocked the door and ushering you inside. He flicks on the light to the sitting area and takes a seat on the couch.

"What's going on with you?" He asks, exasperation dripping from his words. "What do you mean the rehearsal wasn't fine? Did you not like the food or something?"

You stare at him incredulously. "The problem wasn't the food, Alex! The problem is us!"

"There's no problem with us," he says. "Unless there's something you want to tell me?"

"What do you mean?" You ask.

He stands, coming close. "Is this about Joel?"

"No!" You snap, perhaps too quickly. "This isn't about Joel."

"Then what is it? Because as far as I know, we're a perfectly happy couple."

"Perfectly happy? Alex, you didn't even help me plan this wedding. Not a single minute of it."

"Not this again," he groans. "Sweetheart, let it go. I'm sorry, okay? Is that what you need to hear?"

Your jaw aches with how hard your teeth grind together as he dismisses you so easily. A deep breath in through your nose and out through your mouth steadies you enough to say, "I'm not marrying you."

"Baby, please," Alex says. For the first time, he sounds panicked. "Don't make any rash decisions, alright? Whatever this is, we can work through it. If I lose you, I lose everything."

Maybe he's right. Maybe the stress of the last few months has just caught up to you.

"Okay," you whisper. He breathes a sigh of relief and presses another kiss to your temple.

"I love you," he says. "Everything will be okay after tomorrow. You'll see."

You don't say anything back, and he doesn't wait around for a response. He leaves your suite, the click of the door shutting loud in the late night silence. You stand there for who knows how long, wondering if he's right. Would everything be alright after tomorrow? Could you sweep those lingering feelings for Joel to the side in favor of the life you'd been building for the last few years?

You know what the safe choice is, but is it the right choice?

It's the morning of your wedding day and you've been poked and prodded with makeup brushes and your hair has been perfectly styled for the occasion. Flashbulbs have been going off on the cameras that are documenting your special day, capturing moments like your bridesmaids helping you into your dress and your dad's first look, a handkerchief clutched in his hand as he smiled at you.

For the first time in hours, you're alone in your suite. The makeup artist and hair stylists have packed up and taken their leave and your friends are downstairs, waiting for the limousine. You told them you would be just a minute longer.

A soft knock at your door has you realizing that you may have taken too long and you shout an apology as you rush to answer it. But it's not one of your friends on the other side like you had expected.

It's Joel.

Your mouth goes dry at the sight of him. His hair is styled, curls smoothed and slicked back into submission. His white shirt is a stark contrast to his navy blue tuxedo, matching bow tie tight around his neck. His boutonnière is slightly crooked where it sits pinned to his jacket lapel. He looks you up and down with a small smile.

"You look beautiful," he says. He reaches for your hand, fingers tangling with yours. Never quite folding together, but never quite letting go, either.

"Thank you," you whisper.

"Are you ready?" He asks. You wonder if he knows, if Alex told him or if he can just see it on your face.

"Yes."

It's a lie, one you've been repeating since your alarm went off this morning after a night of tossing and turning. His smile falters, but doesn't drop.

"Good, that's....good," he says. His hand leaves yours, and you feel like you've had an entire unspoken conversation that's left you both defeated. "Lets go get you married."

Joel Miller masterlist

All masterlists

divider graphic by @saradika-graphics.

[nicohii]

fortnight.

Pairing: Bokuto Koutarou x Reader

Genre: Angst, Hurt to Comfort, Mutual Pining, Friends to Lovers (as usual)

Summary: you love him, it's ruining your life. inspired by taylor swift's fortnight.

Sometimes you think to yourself how you caused your own misery. It's not like anybody forced you to come clean with your feelings with him. And it's not his responsibility to return your feelings either. You promised yourself you'll tell him and deal with the consequences maturely - that went well- because now you can't even be in the same room as him. Trying to escape the corridors the moment you see a flash of white hair.

What can you do? There's still a sliver of pride in you that doesn't want to show him how fucking miserable you are in the aftermath because god knows he'll feel so bad about it and that in turn will be another weight in your chest.

Your phone buzzes against the lacquered wood. Vibrations echoing against the smooth surface, flashing a familiar number that you practically memorized by heart already, yet had not called for a while. You let the call die out on its own not bothering to pick up.

Ever since that honest, rejection, per se, a rift started to form, try as you might not to. It's your fault and you know it, but you want all your feelings to at least settle down before properly facing him again. Damn, you fucking loved that dude since you can remember, why couldn't you just have swallowed it down.

"I'm really sorry. I think... I just don't see us being more than the best of friends, you know? "

The way he said it didn't help too. His golden eyes were actually pleading, like he didn't want to even say what he said. His breathing uneven. His hands, as big as they were, fidgeting. He has that look on his face like he wants to take back all he said just because of the look on your face. So you put on your face together in a way that will make him at ease. Make him believe that it's fine (it fucking hurts a lot). And you pat his back (it stings).

"I understand, we'll always be the best of friends."

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

Life goes on after that. A few years maybe. Some friends go on to other countries, some friends go back to rest roots and settle. He goes on to compete in a few Olympic games and international competitions.

He still calls from time to time, tells you how he's doing. You see some tabloid news about him, different models. They look good together. He looks better. He's an Olympian, of course he does.

You realized that in the moments that everyone had been moving on, you're stuck. Spending the years being faithful even if there is nothing promised, following Koutarou's footsteps, that you have dedicated everything for him; that you have forgotten what it's like to live not for him.

That plans for Koutarou aside, you don't have a single plan for yourself. In a desperate cry in a temple on a quiet holiday, begging for a sign, bargaining, and promising to listen (as if that rejection wasn't a clear message enough back when you were in high school); a call for a work overseas arrives. You take it without any hesitation. Taking the earliest flight, taking whatever life you have left here, very few shreds of dignity, and a somehow healing heart.

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

He still reaches out, small talks, asking how you have been. You learn how to forget replying. It's work, it's the time zone. Little by little. Maybe life isn't all about him.

You still see news, less tabloids and papparazzi shots, and just more on campaigns and game updates. Tetsuro and Akaashi rarely mention him too aside from necessary.

In the rare days where he managed to catch you online, and you respond, he mentions the idea of a visit when you mention having no time to go home. It has been a long time.

"Maybe I can go see you? "

You're far too busy to hear any undertones than the usual him. Innocent Kou, you muse, and rest assured that whatever you might respond will just be taken as it is and no hard feelings.

"I'm not sure Kou. Depends on the schedule. I may not be here always."

(You're on remote work and flexitime but he didn't need to know that)

It's a decline he knows. Sucks really, he was hoping you'd say yes. You usually say yes.

What happened to 'You're always have a home here' ?

What happened to 'You're always welcome here'?

Sometimes, in the days when he feels a little bit to much, overstimulated and tired of the life of fame he has chosen, his mind automatically thinks of you. Phone involuntarily in hand and scrolling to a familiar number. Tries to call it (even if overseas call cost a lot, and that's fine he can pay) but feel a pang of something unexplained when the call is not picked up.

"Oh yeah, yeah I get it. It's fine you must be busy."

He tries to counter himself. Bullshit, he can book a tour if you were busy, you can go to work, and he'll wait for you to get home, nothing wrong with that.

You tells him you need to go. That you can continue to catch up soon. But you both know if he doesn't start, nowadays, you never do.

Maybe that's what distance does, he thinks.

Maybe that's what trying to get away from the masochistic tendencies for him meant, you think.

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

It's the off season months. News of MSBY players not renewing their contracts has been dominating the news. Hinata Shoyo opts to play for Brazil. Sakusa opts to sign with Italia. No news of other starting players -- and Bokuto is still at a cross roads. He has a few options-- to renew of course, a position with another European team (Italy with Kageyama and Sakusa; Poland with Ushijima) , and an offer from a country where you, but you don't need to know that too. No one does.

He remembers asking his sister. If she has been in contact with you. Apparently she does. He is not that dumb to not be able to put two and two together.

"Maybe she's making her own peace, you know?" She lightly says.

Still, he stares at their conversations, not really as long as they were before, only sometimes when you wished him luck. Other than that, it's like... What? One sentence answers before you say good bye for work?

He wants to feel betrayed and mad. Was it really that unforgiveable not being able to reciprocate to be punished like this? But is he really the only reason? People just drift apart, he guesses.

"I just thought it would be a better closure than this. Like I'm not some dude you just cut off that easily, because we're different", he types one day, out of frustration when he saw Akaashi's phone screen notify of a familiar number.

He deletes the message on his own phone before he even has the balls to send it.

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

Life is better. You tried to bargain, got what you wanted and you're doing better. Walking alone with zero thoughts but dinner is refreshing. How long was it? You hate to admit it, but, you're starting to forget his face now or at least the little details of it. You can't forget that day of course, but it doesn't really hurt like before. You've learned to forgive, you love him of course, you never won't, but you've also made peace with it. You're here if he needs you, he's there when you do, you'll stay whatever he wants to be and life will be life.

You spoke to soon apparently.

Because the oxygen feels a little too scarce, your chest banging when you see a familiar mountaineering backpack and tufts of hair facing away from you and checking back and forth on what seems to be an address from his phone. He's bouncing on the balls of his feet in front of your apartment door. He's bigger; still has his passport on his hands.

He just got here. That's obvious.

"Kou? " You softly call and he turns around. Eyes wide, and you hug your groceries tighter, gripping your keys tighter. He's here. You want to deny it but the swelling in your chest becomes obvious. You miss him. A lot. So much.

"Hi." Is what he only says before pocketing his passport in a desperate attempt to move because your eyes are freezing him. Maybe he shouldn't be here. Maybe he should have called first.

"I just.. I was just passing b- I really didn't think... I... Japan has really been overwhelming."

There is a sound of defeat and sadness in his voice and you feels sorry for him. But how about you? He overwhelms you but at the same time, you know that deep down you would have done the same. You place your groceries down the hall and open your arms to him, he looks like he's about to cry, the wetness in his eyes are obvious as he goes to you, trying to tuck himself in you. You feel wetness in the sides of your neck and a sniffle. He almost squeezes the life out of you, breathing you in. There's a lot of things he wants to say but all that comes out are hiccups muffled by the collars of your shirt. He feels you hug him back tighter, trying to soothe his back and rocking him back side to side.

It goes on for a couple more minutes before he subsides, but he doesn't budge. You gently pry him off of you, his face in both of your hands, his eyes red, puffy and tired looking at you tenderly,

"I get it. Come on in. "

[twoidiotwriters1]

Chapter 8. An Offer From a Gentleman

Summary: He wanted me when he thought I was a lower-class girl. He wanted me, and now I want him. Masterlist Previous Chapter // Next Chapter Words: 2,150 Listen to: 'Gorgeous' -by Taylor Swift A/N: Do I hate Ben's book? Yes. Does it stop me from using its title? No, it fits perfectly with my fic -Danny

Dear Diary,

When I decided Mr Bridgerton would be my friend, I did not consider the fact that he is, quite terribly, a handsome, well-built man. Lady Danbury warned me he and his brothers were the most sought bachelors of the ton and I could see why, but only until that moment in the garden I saw Benedict Bridgerton for what he is, and now I feel a fool.

I cannot dismiss him, not when he's just warmed up to me and all eyes are on us. People will think I dismissed him for a fault and no matter what I say, they will not believe it. I cradle Benedict's future in my inexperienced hands, and I cannot toss it away. I'm his patron and I wish to look after his interests, not only for the way my chest tightens when he smiles at me, but because he didn't ask for it.

What am I to do now? Do I relish this attraction, or do I stomp on it? I could pretend to be a spoiled brat and he would keep his distance... but if I'm only to stay one season, there is no harm in a little fun, is there? He wanted me when he thought I was a lower-class girl. He wanted me, and now I want him.

Benedict finds himself on the swing set, lazily pushing back and forth while plans slowly take shape in his mind. He's to see a townhouse a few streets down first thing tomorrow, and if he likes it, he'll move in this very season. He won't worry himself with country houses just yet, he might visit Genovia first and see if it's all it's made out to be.

"I thought you'd gone back to your nightly escapades," Eloise sits on the swing to his left.

Benedict stops his swinging. "I think I'm happy. Happier than I've been in... years, really. The Princess is like food for thought."

"That must be the highest compliment you've ever given to a woman." Eloise arches an eyebrow.

"I'm not sure is a compliment," he admits.

"You make it sound like one. What is it about her that is so... supplementing?" Eloise teases him.

"She could look after herself, yet I'm not sure she knows it," Benedict looks at his sister. "And before you nag me about belittling women, she admitted to worrying about being left alone in our country. I don't think she knows how smart she can be and it frustrates her not to know what we expect of her."

"Nothing. She's not our princess, is she?" Answers sensible Eloise. "I would care if I were Genovian and she had no idea of how to handle herself on the throne, don't you think?"

"Both are important to her," Benedict defends her. "She doesn't strike me as the kind of royal who only cares about looking good on paper. She wants to be good. Do you think I should help?"

Eloise laughs. "Have you suddenly become a model of propriety?"

Benedict rolls his eyes. "I was thinking of offering... friendship. Someone she could talk to and trust that no word would be given away without her consenting it."

"A friend? To the princess?" Eloise is too baffled to be kind. "Do you really think she would ask you out of all people to be her confidant? She would show you the door the second you attempted to get close."

Benedict glares at his sister. "Do you ever listen to yourself or is your relationship with words just like a parrot's?"

His sister wraps herself tighter in her shawl, scoffing a little before speaking. "If you're so sure you understand this woman then escort her to this week's ball. If she takes you then I'll stand corrected."

"Hardly. You'll stand suspicious and demand me to tell you what I did to get her to succumb to my charms."

"Never!" Eloise brushes it off. "But artists do have a tendency to obsess with muses, Benedict. Colin is naive, Anthony is frigid, and I consider you the smartest of all three, but all of you succumb the moment a beautiful woman enters the scene. Is she your muse?"

"She's a princess." It's all the response he decides to give, but your long, lush braid has been the subject of several of his sketches for the past two days. Before she can sense his avoidance, he adds, "Have you made peace with Penelope?"

"Never." She snaps, leaving her swing in a hasty movement.

"Would you consider escorting me to the ball this week?" 

Benedict's mouth falls open as the words are taken before he can utter them. His sketchbook slips his grip and he's quick to catch it, resuming his walk to reach you. "The ball?"

"Something about innovations, I forget," you shrug it off as unimportant. "My sister isn't interested in the activities preluding it and I happen to be more excited about those than anything else."

"And you want me to keep you company?" He insists, feeling torn between delight and anxiety.

"Yes. I've also heard everyone is invited, so it'd be nice to see Hyacinth again, and meet the rest of your family, of course."

"Of course," Benedict echoes, wondering if he's developed an ability to make things come true by saying them out loud on the swing set.

"Of course?" You press. "Of course, you'll take me, or...?"

"Of course," Benedict makes a face and pushes the words out, hating to sound so idiotic. "Yes, I'd be honoured, Your Royal Highness. Do you know they're bringing a balloon?"

"Yes," your beam. "I'm quite eager to see it. I heard they're bringing the man who figured it out and I've read about him, of course, but I can't wait to hear directly from him, perhaps even ask questions."

Benedict smiles. "I didn't know you were a woman of science."

"I'm to be Queen, Mr Bridgerton, I'm a woman of progress."

"Benedict."

"Pardon?"

"You may call me Benedict," he says before his terror takes it back. "Please."

There is a brief silence that feels like an eternity for the both of you. You glance down at his hands and notice their tight grip on his sketchbook, but you're ignorant of the reason why he's holding it like that, you're ignorant of many things the moment your eyes wander over his body.

"If you insist..." you utter, struggling to maintain eye contact.

He nods, and that lovely crooked grin appears on his face. "I do. And I'll come to you the day of the Hawkins ball, and we'll speak to your aeronaut."

"I hope this isn't too much trouble, you can speak and dally with anyone you want, and I'll try my best to mingle. After all, that is the reason why I'm asking you to escort me. You're a friend to many."

"I know my way around," he says, not fully agreeing with your statement but not wanting to upset you. He considers telling you that he could be your friend too, if so you wished, but that bloody self-doubt holds him back. "Shall we start the lesson?"

You sit, much lighter than when he stepped into the garden. While he gets his things ready, your eyes glimpse at his profile, a wicked little smile appearing on your face at the thought of holding onto his arm for a whole day.

Someone drags open the curtains and you growl, rolling onto your stomach and burying your face on the pillows. Footsteps approach your bed and you hear a person huff. "Well, Your Majesty, this won't do. A few weeks away and you're already losing your good habits?"

Your eyes snap open and you turn around smiling from ear to ear. "Paula!"

Your maid smiles back at you. "Arrived in one piece and all. Did you miss me, Your Majesty?"

You squeal, pushing the sheets aside to hastily crawl over to where your old friend is standing, squeezing her in your arms. "Oh, you're a sight for sore eyes, Paula Weaver, my angel!"

The tall blonde chuckles and kisses your cheek. You have promised to behave accordingly and leave behind your childish familiarity with one another, but Paula has been your loyal companion since you were fourteen, and this older, wiser girl is so easy to love that you forget you're supposed to keep your distance.

"There now," she pats your cheek. "Let's get you ready for breakfast, hm? And you can tell me all about London."

"Oh, I don't have much to say..."

"Perhaps not much, but you sure have something to share," Marie enters unannounced, still wearing her nightgown. "Hi, Miss Weaver."

"Your Royal Highness," Paula bows in greeting. "Did I wake you as I walked past?"

"Of course not, my dear, it was this crow of a woman," Marie gestures in your direction. "She squealed like a pig getting slaughtered."

Your spirits are far too high to be embarrassed or annoyed. "Perhaps you should be the one sharing our experiences here in London, since you're so tired of my voice?"

"I'll start with the dashing male you've gotten yourself for the season," she smirks.

"Oh! A man, Your Highness?" Paula asks excitedly. "You must tell me everything! Is he handsome? Is he wealthy?"

"It's not like that!" You glare at your sister while Paula helps you step out of your night clothes. "Benedict is teaching me to draw..."

"Benedict?" Paula says playfully. "Do you speak of all your tutors with the same familiarity as you would of friends, Your Majesty?"

You blush. "He insisted on it."

"He insisted on it," Marie repeats bemusedly, walking to your bed and plopping down, facing the ceiling. "Wouldn't do for you to be moaning 'Mr Bridgerton!' while he has you pinned against the rose bushes, would it?"

"Marie!"

"Roses are too prickly," Paula debates as if that were the reason why you're complaining. "Ivy walls are better."

"Ivy walls are easier to get tangled in," Marie argues back.

"I won't ask how either of you knows all of that," you reply, stretching out your arms while Paula covers your body with a nice olive dress, "if you promise to keep a secret."

"Is it naughty?" Marie wriggles her eyebrows. Paula shakes her head grinning.

"Maybe," you look at her over your shoulder with utter severity. "But you mustn't tell, I mean it."

"We promise, Your Highness," Paula eases you sweetly as she buttons the back of your dress.

"There is a level of... carnal interest... when it comes to Mr Bridgerton," you acknowledge with a feeble voice. "But I should like to find out more about his temper before I consider getting closer."

"I could help," Paula offers. "Servants talk, Princess Y/N, and they'll want to talk to me the most, you know? Being a new addition to the lot, they'll be dying to hear the dirt I have on you."

Marie rolls to lie on her tummy, supporting her chin on one hand. "And what do you tell the servants about us, Miss Weaver?"

"Amongst other things, how insolent both princesses are," she replies with nothing but warmth and love in her speech.

"I'd like to be fair to him and not go behind his back," you resume, "I believe there is something he's hiding, given the reaction I got from him, and I want to respect his decision of not sharing it with me."

"And you'll trust him nonetheless?" Marie raises a brow.

"Well, we're to be around for just a season, I don't see why I should insist on getting to know all about him," you assure with utmost confidence.

"What if he's hiding a secret beau?" Marie says dramatically.

The thought makes you falter, but you push through it. "Well... I suppose I wouldn't blame him if he did, a handsome man like him, I'd be more surprised if it turns out he's got no one."

"And if he's got no one?" Paula smiles. "Would you pursue him?"

"Pursue," you snort. "I'm a princess, I don't pursue. I offer."

"What a scrumptious offer he'll be facing if it turns out he's single," Marie grins. "He'd be a fool to reject you."

"I'm being a fool just by thinking about it," you push your hair back and sit in front of the vanity, "so that would make us even."

"There is nothing even about a man of his kind mingling with a royal princess," Paula says smartly. "He'll be getting more from it than you."

You chuckle. "Oh, Paula dear, if I get him, I'll take all."

"A man-eater, this one," your sister says sarcastically. "Been with a man before this one and suddenly she's a weathered minx."

You toss your brush at her. "I'm only saying I intend to have fun! Wasn't that what you wanted?"

Marie rolls off your bed and hides behind the other side of it. "It is!" She picks up the brush and stands, handing it to Paula. "But you speak as if you had it all figured out, and you don't really know this man, you just know he's handsome and you like him."

"And that's all I need to know," you press, turning to face the mirror and meeting your determined expression. "I'll keep it as simple as that, and there will be no harm done by the end of it."

Next Chapter –>

Taglist.

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[anxiouspotatorants]

Actually you know what I need to rant about this: while literati is technically a good girl x bad boy dynamic it is written so incredibly well and avoids so many pitfalls and stereotypes that it makes a good girl x bad boy hater like myself (I’m only half joking — I don’t think any trope is inherently good or bad but I tend to dislike most pairings with this dynamic) fall head over heels for their story and relationship.

So much of what makes the two of them work is the contrast between how others perceive them and how they truly are. Don't get me wrong, there are plenty of people who understand who Rory is as a person (Lorelai, Lane, Paris, Richard and Emily to a certain degree for starters), but she's constantly met with the expectation that she just does good and is supposed to make everyone proud 24/7. Stars Hollow as a group especially are big on this, as seen f. ex. through how Taylor takes Rory's one comment about an inappropriate DVD and twists the whole thing into a censorship crusade and makes Rory its poster-child even though she wants nothing to do with it and tells him so repeatedly. But instead of hearing Rory disagree with him (like he would Lorelai and Luke) he assumes that she actually agrees with him - and why shouldn't she when she's the perfect sunshine paragon of good who would never disagree with her elders? Also her grandparents treat her as incredibly fragile and childlike, like she must be too innocent to ever do anything wrong and so whenever she does something it has to be somebody else's fault (usually Lorelai, but occasionally Jess or whoever else was present). Time and time again Rory is treated like something innocent and naive and weak — but not by Jess. He sees her as a person.

And it obviously goes the other way too. Jess is treated like shit by pretty much everyone else. Either people hate him unprovoked or very much provoked (he did do a lot of pranks in his first few weeks and while I'm a Dean-hater I'm not blind to how much Jess picked fights with him), or they’ve simply given up on him. He tells Rory himself that every authority figure he had back in New York gave up on him too, from teachers to principals to his very own mother. But Rory doesn’t treat him like a lost cause, she treats him like the smart, brilliant and asshole-ish teen that he is. By having faith in him she also often holds him more accountable than others. Where f. ex. Lorelai or the other adults just roll their eyes, Rory physically drags Jess into doing his shifts at the diner. While others write him off, Rory chews Jess’ ear out for not helping Luke more and for willfully making enemies out of the Stars Hollow adults.

They don't put each other on pedestals or below each other. Jess doesn’t try to make a sinner out of Rory and she doesn’t try to make a saint out of him. There’s genuine respect between them. They expect each other to have integrity and treat others with kindness and honesty, and the rest is good old chemistry and common interests.

I particularly love how in so many of their scenes (especially pre-relationship) when they spend time alone they just get to be these goofy nerdy kids. They argue about controversial authors and dig through records shops and eat hot dogs and make fun of each other and try to make each other laugh. It’s not just sexual chemistry as it too often is in a dynamic like this (and often uncomfortably sexual when writing teenagers - looking at you Gossip Girl), and not just well written intellectual chemistry — they have platonic chemistry too. A hell of a lot of it actually.

While I don’t think ASP wrote them through a purely deconstructionist lens on the good girl x bad boy dynamic (if she did plan on writing the dynamic at all), there is something to be said about how where many around them treat them like stereotypes they treat each other like people. To so many people, Rory is a perfect small town princess, a little miss sunshine with booksmarts for days but too delicate and sweet for anything with grit and weight. To a lot of the same people and many more Jess is a pathetic brutish and maniacal lost cause, hell personified in a chainsmoking leather-wearing teenager. But to each other they are actual human beings. Kind and mean and flirtatious and scared and reckless and smart. Rory really thinks that with the right motivation and mindset Jess can be the kind who does (and at the end wrote) incredible things. Jess really believes that with a little more practice and support to step out of her comfort zone she can be the amazing journalist she wishes to be.

They don’t have this stupid «we’re so bad for each other but we can’t stay away» thing that too many trope users rely on and don’t even justify in the plot. Everyone else might think they’re not fit for each other, but they knew they were each other’s person from the very first day.

[raven-dor]

right where you left me pt.3

in which james sirius potter finally gets the girl back

PAIRING: james sirius potter x reader

WARNINGS: GIVEN LAST NAME, making out, ANGST, james is freaking out, self-esteem issues, more making out, light arguing, fluffy ending

AN: this is directly pulled from my wattpad book, which has an oc, so don't be alarmed if when you read it on wattpad it says 'lydia' THAT'S JUST THE OC DON'T WORRY YOU FOUND THE RIGHT BOOK<3 ALSO - i had two people ask for more james sirius, so here it is, enjoy!!

wattpad: raven-dor

WORD COUNT: 4.9k

🎶 : right where you left me - taylor swift

The past two weeks had been a blur. You couldn't tell anyone anything about them if they had asked, including your latest test in DADA, or how you’d managed to stay sustained. 

You did have a sneaking feeling that Ophelia was filling your plate up for you.

Whenever something devastating happened, your automatic response was to go silent, concluding that it was better to be in the shadows, not drawing attention to yourself any more than you had to. You knew, however, that even with your silence, James was still watching you, insistent on making sure you were alright. 

Except you weren’t alright, because the one good thing that had ever happened to you had been ruined.

It hurt to say his name, to even think about him, to know that this was all your fault because of your insecurity issues and that James inevitably was going to break up with you at some point, so you were honestly doing yourself a favor—there you went again. 

Around and around, that is all you did for weeks. Your friends, who were (unfortunately) used to this coping mechanism, were becoming increasingly concerned the longer you went on.

Fred, who rarely spoke to you, had taken to studying with you in the library. (Roxanne joked that not speaking was throwing the whole world off its axis, as her brother had never once in his life studied.) Teddy even sent you a letter saying that he missed your teasing nature at breakfast and hoped you would visit again. That had James written all over it. 

Today was just another day that Fred wound up studying with you. You appreciated that he didn't talk to you, and instead chose to follow in your footsteps. You also knew that it was a matter of time before he broke. 

"Edwards, I gotta say, I'm impressed at how long you've remained silent. I think it's a new world record." 

You glared at the Gryffindor, looking back down at your notes. Of course, now that you’d begun to appreciate his presence, he opened his mouth.

"No, I'm serious." 

You smiled sarcastically, and he frowned. 

"I'm going to say it because no one else will. You've got to say something. We're concerned." 

We was code for James. 

"And no, I'm not talking about James, although he is concerned. Extremely, might I add. I'm talking about Roxie, Ophelia, Pam, Al, Lily- everyone. You're starting to scare us."

You glanced up, tilting your head. "I've spoken. Just not around you lot." 

His eyes lit up, and he leaned in. "Merlin. I feel like a father witnessing his child's first words-" He shook his head. "I can't say that I understand, because I don't. But, refraining from talking altogether because you're going through a-" He sat back, thinking. "Breakup? I don't know if that's the right word, but you get what I mean." 

You nodded. 

"You don't have to be a chatterbox, but please, speak." 

You nodded once more. "Fine." 

He smiled. "Thanks, Edwards." He looked back down at his book. 

You smiled, clearing your throat. "We're friends, Fred; don't call me by my last name." 

He was now fully grinning. "Terrific." 

Your bed was possibly the last safe place you had in the school. Everywhere you went, you saw reminders of James. Honestly, how many cousins did the man have?

"Y/N? Please come with us. You haven't left your room in weeks." 

You groaned, shaking your head. 

Ophelia crossed her arms. "That wasn't so much a request as a demand. You need fresh air." 

You turned over, glaring at your “supposed” best friend, your stomach in knots at the mere thought of leaving your room. "Technically, all air is fresh because of the-" A pillow hit your face, and you gasped. "Ophelia!"

"Don't name off facts to distract from the real issue. Get dressed. We're leaving in twenty minutes." 

You slammed your face into your pillow. "I curse you, Ophelia Scamander." 

Trudging down the Hogwarts stairs, you forced yourself not to smile at your friend's expressions. Instead, you glared at them. 

"Well, well, well. Look who decided to grace us with their presence," Roxanne scoffed. "The ogre lives." 

Pamela smacked her friend's arm, widening her eyes. "Rox. Ease up a bit, will you?"

Ophelia laughed. "Relax, Pammy. Y/N’s fine." 

Pamela rolled her eyes, muttering something under her breath. You nodded, hooking your arms between Pam and Roxanne. "I'm fine, honestly. Tease me all you want." 

Ophelia laughed, hooking her arm through Roxannes. "You're going to regret saying that, Lyd." 

Unfortunately for you, Ophelia had been right. The fresh air rejuvenated your soul, and a smile lingered on your face. You hadn't been this happy for weeks, and giggling while your friends pointed out hideous clothes for you to wear (jokingly, of course) had lifted your spirits immensely. 

They stopped by the bookstore, but you hadn't found anything you hadn't already read. They'd quickly left, walking to their final destination, The Three Broomsticks.

You were three butterbeers deep, cackling at your friend's antics. Apparently, while you’d been moping, Albus and Jones had gotten into a public screaming match at breakfast. Smythe had had to drag Jones away, as she was basically seething by the end. 

Just as you and Ophelia had gotten up to get another round, James walked in, instantly finding your eyes. Ophelia grabbed your hand, squeezing it comfortingly. "Do you want to leave?"

"No, it's fine." You grabbed the tray from Madam Rosemerta, smiling gratefully. "I'll be fine." 

They sat down, passing out the drinks. Roxanne tilted her head. "You saw James then?" 

You nodded slowly. 

"Are we leaving?" 

You shook your head. "No need."  

Your friends looked highly confused. "Sorry?"

"We have the same friends; it was only a matter of time before I saw him again." 

Roxanne smiled. "That's nice, I suppose." James waved at his cousin, making his way over. "He's coming over."  

"Roxie, I really don't care." 

Pam grimaced. "That's good because he doesn't seem to either." 

Roxanne groaned. "Godric, that boy cannot take a hint." 

You almost laughed at how visibly uncomfortable Fred looked, trailing behind James. Roxanne stared at her twin, and you wondered if twins had telepathic mind powers. The brunette approached the table, his hands in his pockets. "Ladies." 

They all spout hellos.  

You nodded, taking a deep drink of your butterbeer. 

James smiled lightly. "Have any fun today?"

You couldn't bring yourself to look up from the table. 

Pam nodded. "We did, yeah. Went to the bookstore." 

James laughed, and you felt weak in the knees. "Coven Chronicles? All the classics there." You could feel his eyes burning into you, and your cheeks lit up at the thought. 

You took another deep sip of your drink, and James sighed, realizing you wouldn't look at him. "Well, it was nice seeing you." 

You looked up as soon as he turned his back, smiling sheepishly. "See? Not awkward at all." 

Pam snorted, covering her face with her hands. "Sorry- I just-" 

Ophelia shook her head in disappointment but also broke out into laughter. And then Roxanne cracked. "I'm sorry, Lyd. That was just-" 

You nodded. "Uncomfortable?" You snorted. "Rowena, I ruined everything!"

Roxanne held her stomach, bending over in laughter. "I'm never forgetting this!"

Missing out on two weeks of crucial information during one of your last years at Hogwarts made you realize you had to start paying attention in class. Catching up left no time to dwell on your horrible life, which was nice. You were so busy staying at the top of your class you’d almost forgotten how sad you were. 

But when it was late, and your roommates were asleep, you would stare at the ceiling and fantasize about your life. You would be married, a successful auror, maybe even Minister of Magic, and your loving husband-

Then you remembered you had a pop quiz in Potions the following day. 

It'd been a relatively nice day when you were on your way to the library, walking past two girls who seemed to not realize you were actively listening to their loud gossip. 

"Can you believe Angelica is dating Potter? And I thought he and Edwards were—" The other girl nudged her friend, pointing at you. They both widened their eyes and bowed heads, hurrying down the hall. It was unfortunate timing, you’d decided, and tried not to dwell on it. 

Until you wondered if Roxanna and Fred knew, and brought it up while they studied. 

"So Rox..." 

Your friend looked up, smiling. "Yeah?"

"Do you know any Hufflepuffs named Angelica?"

 She squinted, staring at her friend with a newfound interest. "Yes. Why?"

"Just curious." 

Roxanne laughed. "Promise?"

You nodded. "Promise." 

"This wouldn't have anything to do with the rumor that Angelica and James are dating, would it?"

Fred laughed, looking up from his paper. "Well, now you've done it. You've distracted me. What's this about James?"

She leaned over to her brother, whispering in his ear. His eyes lit up with mischief, and he looked at you curiously. You rolled your eyes, glaring at the twins. "Stop talking about me when I'm right here." 

Fred crossed his arms. "Wish it was you?"

The Ravenclaw choked on air, coughing nervously. "What are you on about?"

"Why the sudden interest in James's love life? Miss him following you around like a lovesick puppy dog?"

"No-" 

Roxanne crossed her arms as well. "I don't think we're the people to ask about this." 

"I'm just wondering-" 

Fred shook his head. "I may be your friend, but James is my cousin. And you've hurt him-" 

"You don't even know why we stopped dating Fred." You hadn't even realized it, but you were now on the verge of crying. 

Fred looked downright ghostly. "Did he-" 

"No! No. He was perfect." You groaned, putting your head in your hands. "I broke up with him. I'm not good enough for him. He's Harry Potter's son, for Merlin's sake, and I'm-" 

"Y/N Edwards." Roxanne interrupted. "The smartest in our year, probably at Hogwarts. You're a muggle-born, meaning you have to work twice as hard. You’re a prefect and probably on track to become Minister of Magic. Poor Aunt Hermione." She took her friend's hand in hers. "You're just as important as he is."

You scoffed. "While I appreciate the compliments, try telling that to his fan club." 

Fred rolled his eyes. "You mean to tell me you broke it off with James because of his fan club?"

"They may have been a contributing factor..." 

"You don't have to tell us what happened, but you have to know that James would never leave you for fans he doesn't even know." 

"It's not that. They-" You laughed. "This is ridiculous." 

Roxanne shook her head. "No, it's not." 

"After we'd started talking, I heard his fans say how they think he's dating someone and how they’re probably a slag and not good enough for him. They went on and on about how they hate them already and-" You scoffed, shaking your head. "It's stupid." 

"Did you tell James this?"

"No." You stared at Fred. "And I don't want him to know." 

"Y/N, come on. If he knew about this, he would tell them off in an instant-" 

"Exactly. He doesn't need to do that. I- He should be with someone strong enough to endure people gossiping about them." 

Roxanne sighed. "That wasn't gossiping; that was two people tearing someone they don't even know." 

"Anyhow, we broke it off- well, I broke it off because I can't handle being talked about like that every day, and he wanted to be public. It's not fair to him or me." 

Fred sat in silence while Roxanne tried to come up with solutions. "Maybe we could talk to McGonagall about them and see what she can do."

"I'm not getting two students expelled over gossiping. Hogwarts would be empty if that were the case. It's honestly fine; just let it go." 

"You love him," Fred said, staring at Y/N.

"Excuse me?"

"You love James." 

"What's your point, Fred?"

"You love him, and he loves you, so if you brought this up to him, would you not figure something out?"

"Yes, but-" 

"I know. You already brought this up to him. But you didn't tell him the full story, did you?"

"Technically speaking, no, but you're forgetting one small detail." 

"What's that?"

"He's dating someone else." 

"You need to sort this out, and then once you're back together, you owe all of your friends butterbeer."

Roxie nodded. "Especially us." 

"Right. Especially us." 

"James!" You yelled out, waving at him from across the very public hallway. Students looked in between the two, shrugging before going on with their day. James pointed to himself, and you nodded, walking up to him. "You're the only James here." 

He smiled. "True." 

"Can we talk?" 

"Lead the way." 

The astronomy tower was quiet, and classes were done for the day. You stood at the edge, gathering the courage to tell him the truth.

"Y/N?" Your breath caught, and you turned around, smiling lightly. "As much as I love this view, why exactly are we here?" 

You smiled, walking towards him. "I need to ask you something, and you can't laugh."  

He forced down a smile. "Alright." 

"This is stupid, really..." You huffed. "Are you dating Angelica Stewart?"

He smirked, tilting his head. "Who?"

"Hufflepuff in our year, same height as me, brown hair?" You crossed your arms, annoyed at his face and how calm it looked. "Well?" 

"No idea who that is, love." He walked closer, staring down at you in amusement. "Is this your little ploy to get me alone? I have to tell you, your plan did not need to be this elaborate-" 

"Please focus. You swear you don't know who that is?"

"I swear." 

"On quidditch?" 

He tucked your hair behind your ear, smiling. "On quidditch." 

You had a sneaking feeling that he was not thinking about quidditch. 

"James, I'm being serious." 

"I know." He leaned down, their lips inches apart. "It's very attractive, I must say."  

"Potter!" A smile cracked on your face.

He stood straight again, walking towards the edge. You watched as he looked out over the school. "Why are you asking?" 

"Call it curiosity." 

He shook his head. "Don't lie, love." 

You stood beside him, your hand inches away from his. "I could be slightly jealous." You smirked. "Happy?"

"Immensely." He looked over at you, his voice soft. "Why are you jealous?" 

"You said that I was your standard, that you loved me, and- and then you went and dated someone else. Like I was nothing. It hurt." 

"Y/N..." He was now fully facing you. "You had to have known that it wasn't true. That I wasn't dating her." 

"You're James Potter. I'm pretty sure everyone in this school is in love with you." 

He scoffed. "Everyone except the one person that I’m in love with."

"James..." 

He smiled, leaning down. "Yes?" 

"I'm scared." 

He sighed, looking back out over the railing. "Why?"

"You know why. My own sister hates me. If she doesn't even love me, then what does that say?"

"It says that she's a horrible person, and if I ever have the displeasure of meeting her, she’ll change her mind." 

"James!" You laughed, smacking his arm. 

"I'm serious." He laughed, staring at you. "That can't be the only reason stopping you."  

"How do you know?" 

"Because I know when you're lying." He tilted his head. "What aren't you telling me?" 

"You're only going to be upset." 

"In case you haven't noticed, I'm already upset." He took your hand in his, rubbing the back with his thumb. "You can tell me." 

You sighed. "You said you'd protect me from the talk." 

He nodded. "I did." 

"Well..." You smiled sheepishly. "You didn't exactly." 

He looked angry. "What?"  

You laughed. "It was nothing, really-" 

He shook his head. "If it made you feel like you weren't good enough for me, it wasn't nothing." He scoffed. "Which, by the way, is insanity. If anything, I'm not good enough for you." 

"James-" 

"No. We're not starting this again." He took both of your hands in his, a look of desperation on his face. "Please. Just tell me what happened." 

"James... I don't want to open a healed wound." 

"Stop doing that. Merlin, you don't even know how much I love you." Your cheeks were red, but you still looked at him. "Stop running away! I love you. I'll say it until I can't physically form the words: I love you. And I know that you love me, so tell me, and let's figure this out."

"I'm not running away," you whispered, wiping the tears from your eyes. "I'm not strong enough, and I'd only become a hassle."

"Funny. You have this really interesting trick where when you open your mouth, your sister's voice comes out."

"James, I'm being serious."

"So am I." He looked helpless, squeezing your hands. "Tell me what happened."

"I-" You realized right then why you were not sorted into Gryffindor. This was scarier than anything you’d ever experienced. You looked down at your hands, rambling. 

"The morning before we broke up, I heard two girls gossiping at the top of their lungs. Some rumor about you that was going about who you were seeing." You blushed. "And I listened in. They said that they’re probably a slag and not good enough for you and that they hate them already.' It was petty."  

You looked up, your eyebrows furrowing. "James?"

"Who was it?"

You rolled your eyes. "I don’t see how that’s relevant." 

He glared. "Y/N, you are going to tell me who they are, and I am going to-" 

"Give them a serious talking to?" You scoffed. "It's not worth it." 

"They're quite literally the reason that I lost you. It is completely worth it."  

"Jamie..." You pulled your hands out of his hold, putting them on his cheeks. "You are such a protector; it's your most admirable trait..." His cheeks turned red. "But sometimes it's braver to do nothing." 

He shook his head. "Not when it hurt you." 

"James, I'm telling you, I don't want you to do anything." You leaned forward, kissing his cheek. "You being here with me is enough." 

His arms wrapped around your waist, and you gasped, looking down accusingly. "James Potter, what are you-" 

"I want to kiss you." His eyes looked dark, the brown, golden color of his irises barely visible. "I want to kiss you until my lungs give out." 

"James!" You giggled. "We can't."

"And why not?" He didn't find this amusing in the slightest. 

"For one, we're in public." 

He groaned, leaning his head back. You tried not to jump up right then and kiss the living daylights out of him. "When are you going to let me kiss you again?" 

You tapped her chin, thinking. "How about tomorrow?"

He held his head upright, nodding. "I can do that." 

You pulled yourself out of his arms, knowing that if you stayed any longer, you’d give into his charms. "I'll see you tomorrow."  

He grinned. "Tomorrow." 

Sleep hadn't come easy to you that night, but when you did finally close your eyes, you were caught in a deep deep slumber. Ophelia laughed at your rather uncomfortable-looking position. Your legs were off the sides, mouth wide open, snoring extremely loudly. 

Ophelia sighed, clearing her throat. You groaned, rubbing your eyes. 

"What time is it?" 

Ophelia laughed. "Breakfast." 

Your eyes shot wide open. "I'll be right down." 

Ophelia squinted her eyes, thrown off by her friend's enthusiasm. "Alright then. I'll see you in a bit." 

You jumped out of bed, putting on the cutest outfit you could conjure. Fixing your hair haphazardly, you flew down the steps, waving at onlookers. The doors of the Great Hall burst open, and you walked in, James's eyes meeting yours instantly. You practically ran past your table, straight towards his arms. 

He stood up, a boyish grin on his face.

You threw your arms around his neck, kissing him soundly. James let out an audible squeak before grabbing your waist quickly, his heart skipping a beat. The hall fell into whispers and gasps, all staring at the couple. They broke apart, resting their foreheads against each other. 

"I love you too, James." 

He laughed at your face, which looked positively crazed. "You actually meant tomorrow." 

You nodded. "I'm done being scared." You kissed the side of his mouth. "I mean it." 

He spun you around, kissing you once more. "Thank Godric." 

"Are you two done?" They looked over, laughing at Fred's expression. "You've positively ruined my appetite." 

You stuck your tongue out at the Weasley. "This was all your doing, Fred." 

James looked surprised. "Thanks, mate." 

Fred laughed. "I regret it now." 

Roxanne rolled her eyes. "Shut it." She smiled at the couple. "Congrats, really. It's about time. I was tired of all the moping." 

You glared at your friend. "Thanks for that." Looking back at James, you sighed. "I have to go-" 

He shook his head. "You're sitting here." 

"James..." 

"I'm putting my foot down, Edwards."

"Well," You laughed. "If you insist." 

Fred glanced in between the two. "Don't forget Y/N. You still owe us all butterbeer."

"You were being serious?" 

"No." He shook his head. "I was being Fred." 

Roxanne groaned, shaking her head. "Horrible joke, Freddie." 

James shrugged. "I was planning on going to Hogsmeade anyway." He looked over at Ophelia and Pamela, who were obviously trying to listen to their conversation. "Oi!" He yelled at the two. "Hogsmeade?" 

They nodded eagerly. 

The bookstore was never busy, but today, with their friends in tow, the owner looked like she would combust. You had almost felt bad; there probably hadn't been more than two students in here at a time. James held your hand, dragging you down the aisles. "What do you want?" 

"James, really, I've already read most of these books." 

He rolled his eyes. "Of course you have." He kept walking. "Any other books that your sister is holding hostage?" 

"The Great Gatsby." You perked up. "Although, I don't think it'd be in here. F Scott Fitzgerald wasn't a squib or a wizard." 

James hadn't been listening, walking up to the shop owner with determination on his face. "Excuse me, miss. The love of my life would like to find The Great Gazby-" 

You interjected. "The Great Gatsby." 

He nodded. "That one. Any chance you have it in stock?" 

The older witch looked positively fed up with James already. "Let me look in the back." 

"Perfect." He smiled. "Thank you." 

You laughed. "She's never letting you back in here." 

"Why not?" He looked clueless. "She loves me." 

"Oh, James." You put a hand on his cheek, laughing. "Clueless, clueless James." 

He kissed your hand, scoffing. "You have absolutely no faith in me." 

"Not true. I have so much faith in you. It's just-" The witch walked back through the door, and you whispered. "I'm typically right in these scenarios." 

The older woman huffed. "I have one copy."

James grinned, looking down at you with a look that screamed, 'I told you so.' "We'll take it." 

"Very well." She walked over to the register. "That'll be one galleon." 

James handed over the money, taking the book. "Thank you very much." 

She nodded, obviously wanting to be rid of him. "Have a good day." 

You pulled him out of the shop before the witch combusted. 

Fred hooked his arm around James's shoulders, obviously drunk. "Jamie, Jamie. You got a good one." 

He laughed at his cousin. "Thank you, Freddie." 

"I mean it." 

"I know Freddie." 

You giggled at the two, leaning your head on Roxanne's shoulder. "They're hilarious." 

"Don't let them hear that." Roxanne scoffed. "They already think they're Merlin's gift to this earth." 

You turned around, taking a quick look at Ophelia and Pam, who were trailing behind the entire group. "Any idea what's going on there?" 

Roxanne shrugged. "Not entirely, but something definitely happened this summer." 

You nodded. "No doubt about it." 

In your opinion, the light dusting of snow on the ground was the perfect amount. It wasn't enough to soak through your shoes and make your feet cold, but it was enough to make it feel like winter. It crunched when you walked, and most importantly, it was peaceful. 

"Love!" You looked up, smiling at James. 

"Yes, my darling?" 

Roxanne groaned. 

James left his cousin, and Roxanne walked up to her brother. He hooked an arm around your waist, halting your steps. "I love you." 

You grinned, nuzzling your face into his chest for warmth. "You're making me blush." 

"Well, we can't have that, can we?" He laughed. "People will think you like me." 

"Let them think what they want." You looked up. "I do like you." 

He nodded, blush forming on his cheeks as well. "I know, love." 

"I like you so much that I'm going to give you a headstart." 

He tilted his head. "For?"

"Snowball fight, Potter." You grinned. "You and me. No magic." 

"You're going to lose." He smirked, kissing the tip of your nose. "You sure?" 

"Oh, I'm sure." You laughed. "You're going down, Potter." 

You broke away from his hold, giggling. "No mercy." Kneeling, you formed a snowball as quickly as you could before throwing it at James's face. He gasped, the snow melting from the warmth of his skin.

"You're going to regret that love."

You ran forward, using Pamela as a shield. "What are you doing Y/N-" A snowball collided with the back of her head, and she laughed. "Oh, it's on Potter!" 

James winced. "That wasn't meant for you!" 

"Too late!" Pamela was already forming a snowball. Fred ran to his cousin's side. 

"Don't worry, Jamie, I'll help you." He glared playfully at Y/N. "Someone obviously doesn't love you enough to protect you." 

You laughed, throwing a snowball at the Gryffindor. "Don't put words in my mouth, Fred Weasley!" 

Ophelia giggled. "I think I'll sit this out." 

Roxanne handed a snowball to you. "Let's do this." 

James groaned. "That's not fair. Roxie's a great shot." 

Fred gasped, looking over at his cousin like he'd been betrayed. "Jamie?" 

"You know what I meant, Freddie." 

Fred shook his head. "I don't think I do." He began to walk over to the girls, and James yelled. "Fred, come on!" 

You laughed, crossing your arms. "Looks like you're on the losing side, Potter. Want to give up?" 

He shook his head. "Never." 

Your breath could be seen thanks to the cold. Shivering, you glared at your boyfriend. "Fantastic idea James. Now I'm freezing." 

He rolled his eyes. "Oh, so now that you're cold, it's my idea?" You nodded, and he laughed. "Fine. You do know we have spells that fix that?" 

You nodded once more. "I know."

He put his arm around your shoulders, and you sighed, instantly warming. "How clever." 

"Thank you." You smirked. They clambered into the castle, sighing in relief from the warmth. You two, however, walked further down the hall, away from your friends. 

"Oi!" They turned around, and Fred crossed his arms. "Where are you both going?" 

You raised an eyebrow. "Wouldn't you like to know." 

He rolled his eyes. "Obviously, that's why I'm asking." 

"I'll be up in a bit, Fred." James waved his cousin off. "You'll be fine." Taking James's hand in yours, you practically pulled him towards the kitchens. 

"How do you know how to get in here?" 

You smiled. "I figured it out myself, thank you very much." Reaching your hand out, you lightly tickled the pear on the painting. The wall folded in on itself, and they walked through. "I always come down here when I-" You stopped. "Jones?"

A figure sat in the chair and froze. A blonde girl stood up, wiping tears from her cheeks. "Edwards, happy holidays." 

James tilted his head. "How do you two know each other?" 

"Edmund Nott introduced us." You stepped forward, concern etched on your face. "Are you alright, Juliet?" 

The Slytherin nodded. "I'm fine." 

You crossed your arms. "Just crying for fun, I suppose?" 

'Jones' nodded. "I'll leave. Sorry for the intrusion." 

"Jones..." 

The younger girl walked quickly past James and out of the kitchen. He looked back at you, the same worried look on your face as before. "What year is she?" 

"Same as Albus." 

"Ah." James laughed, sitting down in the large leather seats. "That's the infamous Jones." 

You nodded. "The very same." 

"Albus talks about how aggravating she is all the time," he murmured. "I'm getting aggravated with him, to be honest." 

You smiled. "I'm sure it's very annoying hearing your brother constantly talk about someone." 

He scoffed. "Are you talking about me?" 

You nodded, smirking. "Now, cocoa or cider?" 

James laughed. "Cocoa, please." 

You approached the kitchen counter, conjuring them both up a steaming mug. You sat them down on the end table, staring at the fire. "I'm sorry, James." 

He raised his eyebrows. "What reason would you have to be sorry?" 

You looked over at him, her eyes glassy. "I'm the reason we weren't together this entire time." 

He shook his head, grabbing your hands in his. "You need to stop dwelling on the past. We're together now, yeah? That's all that matters." 

"But-" 

"Edwards, if you don't stop, I will kiss you." 

You laughed. "Oh no. Please don't!"

He nodded. "That's what I thought." He looked back at the fire. "Don't worry; next time you get spooked, I'm not letting you go." 

"Good." You smiled, kissing the back of his hand. "I'm holding you to it."

taglist: @beebeechaos

[yesimwriting]

MA'M I LOVE YOUR BEST FRIEND FELIX WRITINGS BUT MY JEALOUS AND SOFTY SHORT ASS CAN'T HANDLE IT 😭 IM HURTING MYSELF BUT IT HURTS SO GOOD, LIKE IF I WAS BEST FRIEND Y/N ID BE BAWLING MY EYES OUT AFTER SEEING HIM WITH ANOTHER GIRL LIKE- WHY IS ALL OF THIS SO CARDIGAN BY TS CODED-

a/n i love taylor and taylor related angst and i get the jealousy thing,, but i think the thing with bestfriend!felix is that he's so obvious about his priorities that by the time reader can register jealousy,, felix is already there

so here's a drabble

----

Going out tonight wasn't your idea. A week of long lectures and even longer homework had drained you. But Felix wanted to...and you...You wanted to be around Felix.

Maybe Farleigh's comments about you following Felix around like a puppy aren't as exaggerated as they feel when you're sober. Ugh. The thought of Farleigh being right gives that pinch of irritation something to latch onto.

"They have those drinks you like." The voice is clear despite the base of the music that you can still hear from right outside the club. You turn your head away from the group of stragglers hanging around the outdoor bar. "Had. I got the last one."

You grin at Felix, any lingering angst not exactly evaporating into the cool night air, but the shift is enough to make the smile feel unforced. "Lucky."

He's finally within arm's reach, a fact that he takes advantage of immediately. Felix's palm settles against your shoulder, his thumb dragging across your skin. "Extremely." There's a fondness there that chips away at what's left of your irritation. "Here." You take the glass from him. "Sam almost tackled another bar tender to get the last of the simple syrup."

Ironically, the sip that's halfway down your throat seems to lose any hints of sweetness as soon as the words come out of Felix's mouth. You've met Sam, and while you don't dislike her, you're not sure the neutrality is mutual.

It's a fact you don't dwell. Sam's a bottle blonde bar tender who looks like she was born to walk around in low cut tank tops and cut off shorts. Not that her being pretty matters, but there's an edge to her beauty that implies an effortless coolness that doesn't usually meld with who you are. It's no one's fault. You think those types of girls are charming and fun in a way that's somehow even bolder than the friends that you consider wild. It's just never been a mutual admiration.

And Sam's been hanging around Felix a lot lately, showing up at parties, staying later than anyone else besides you. They've gone home together a few times. Felix hasn't said too much about that, but that doesn't indicate anything. You guys don't talk about that kind of stuff. Even best friends as close as you two have boundaries.

Not that it matters if Felix is with someone like Sam. She seems fun and pretty and bold and--the total opposite of you.

That hits you like a thumb jabbing into a bruise. Since when is Felix's constantly rotating door of flings a sore point? When he pawns you off on Farleigh--even when he's not in the mood for you--so he can have a moment in the employee bathroom.

"Y'okay?"

You nod, "Yeah." Felix's eyebrows pinch together, a barely there implication of concern that's almost ignorable beneath the poor lighting. "Everything's just kind of hitting me a little."

He nods, "Do you need to sit?" Felix's hold on your shoulder tightens. "Is that why you came outside?"

"Uh--no." The response feels flat. "I mean--yeah, I wanted some air, but I don't feel sick or anything."

He watches you openly for what feels like its own eternity. You're not sure what he's looking for, but you must not pass the inspection because he frowns. "Okay." As if to validate Felix's attempt at letting your mood go, you bring your glass back to your lips. "You know--if you're not feeling--if you want to go, you can tell me."

"I know." You do know that. Felix has always been good about listening, about wanting to make sure you're comfortable.

You take another sip of your drink. Of course Sam's good at mixing drinks. You can picture her tripping over herself, rushing to grab the nearly empty bottle of syrup and risking making an enemy of a coworker to avoid having to tell Felix no.

Felix takes a step forward, his hand sliding across your back so that his arm can settle around your shoulders. It's instinct to lean into the contact. He's warm in a way that rivals the buzz in your system. "When we do go, we're going to have to go out the back way."

You let your head rest against his side. "Why?"

"Don't think Sam's going to be going out of her way to get me drinks again."

You crane your neck to look up at him, "What? Why?"

His eyes meet yours, and then he's dropping his gaze to the floor. "You have become such a gossip."

A sound that's a combination between a scoff and a laugh tumbles past your lips. "Have not."

"You and Farleigh," Felix continues, "You two always need to ask, always need to have an opinion."

"Not true," you defend weakly, "If I was a gossip I'd talk about how slutty--"

You cut yourself off, regretting your phrasing as soon as the word is out. Felix pulls back slightly, mouth falling open in exaggerated offense. "You called me a slut?"

"No," you defend yourself through a laugh, "I was saying that you have been slutty." Felix raises his eyebrows at you. "It's different." Felix's eyes narrow in an attempt to offset the smile tugging at his lips. "It is."

"Yeah?" He leans forward with no warning, his lips pressing against your cheek. That kiss is followed by another. Again and again, each more affectionate and touchy than the last.

His lips brush against your jaw. "Fe-lix." It wants to be a warning, but the nervous giggle that breaks his name into two makes coming off as threatening impossible.

"What?" He hums, his lips finding your neck. "If I'm that slutty, we should have a go at it."

You laugh, ignoring the heat burning its way up your neck because it's just Felix. "There's a bathroom inside."

Felix stills before pulling away enough to look you in the eye. There's the faintest flush tinging his skin. You laugh again, this time the sound fuller. It's nice to see flashes of the softer side of Felix while out in the real world. Felix laughs with you.

You tilt your head, pressing a kiss against his cheek. "For you, I'd spring for a hotel room."

"Now I feel special."

----

taglist; @vader-is-hot @spiritofbuddha @getosangie @freyafriggafrey @ilovehyperfixating @aryiannarae @willowpains @ker0senebunny

[bueckers-sturniolo]

i have literally been begging for someone to write a paige fic based on “Slut!” by TS like the parts that’s like “if i’m all dressed up, they might as well be looking at us” where reader is famous and gets like hated on for being a “slut” 💁‍♀️💁‍♀️

“slut!”

paige bueckers x female!reader

a/n: hi guys!!! sorry it took me so long to edit this and actually post it. i don’t have much to say but THANK YOU FOR THE LOVE ON THE ALCHEMY!!! i promise part 2 is coming soon!!! ps: this may suck a little but i wrote it in an hour and a half so im sorry!!! also, this hasnt been proofread bc its 6 am and i havent slept! hope u somewhat enjoy!!! love uuuu!

warnings: naur, just swearing :)

word count: somewhere around 1k-ish

-

got love-struck, went straight to my head. got lovesick all over my bed. love to think you’ll never forget. we’ll pray the price, i guess.

you had been dating paige for 5 months, now. she was the best person you had ever met, and an even better lover than you could have ever imagined. but, being in the public eye isn’t necessarily ideal, especially when you’re queer. paige was a basketball player at uconn, and you had been famous for a few years. you had been famous before you knew paige, and even before paige was famous. it’s awesome, and you love it. the lifestyle can be very rewarding and enjoyable.

but, being ‘famous’ comes with its faults. as most things do. over the years, you had developed this sort of…. title. this title being that you are some kind of insane serial-dater. it was pretty ridiculous. of course, paige loved you for you, and didn’t really give a fuck as to what people had to say about you. but, it’s still obviously hurtful, and paige gets that.

present day, the epsy’s were coming up. this is something that meant a lot to your girlfriend. and, quite frankly, you’d do anything to make her happy.

until that thing was going as her date (or +1) to the epsy’s. not that you didn’t want to, not that it was because you were gay. but, because you knew how much this could mess with both of your careers. you didn’t really care about your own, cause people are gonna talk about you regardless, but paige’s social presence made it hard to just come out and do whatever you guys want.

“i mean, i’d just really want you there. we can like…. coincide outfits ‘n shit.” paige says, looking over at you, eating a bite of her cereal.

“yeah, p. i understand.” you say, sighing. you look down at your hands, acting like you were paying attention to anything to distract her (and yourself) from the fact that you really just do not know how it would go, and that fact is stressful in itself.

“baby, if you don’t want to go, it’s fine. im just saying it would be cool.” she says, and you meet her eyes again.

you know she’s right. it would be really fuckin’ cool. but like, at the same time, you really didn’t want to have to receive all of the texts from your publisher of news articles with pictures of you and paige where they essentially just put your name in bold letters then talk about how much of a slut you are for dating 4 people in your approximate 5 years of being famous.

yes, it may seem like a lot. but, also, most of these relationships only lasted a few months. you never necessarily wanted them to go public, but, they almost always did. that’s why you and paige took extra precautions.

obviously, one day, you wanted to tell people about you and paige. but, you wanted it to be when you guys had atleast made it past the new relationship stage.

but, if im all dressed up, they might as well be lookin’ at us. and if they call me a ‘slut,’ you know, it might be worth it for once. and if im gonna be drunk, i might as well be drunk in love.

you couldn’t help but give in. there was exactly a week before the epsy’s, and even though you’d kept telling paige you really didn’t think going was a good idea, you felt so bad for saying it that you randomly changed your mind.

“p, come here.” you say, calling from the couch in your living room. she walked in the room, hands on her hips, sleeves rolled up. she was loading the dishwasher for you, as the ‘gentleman’ she was (in a world of boys, (s)he’s a gentleman.)

“yes, baby? what’s wrong?” she says, walking toward you and sitting down, resting an arm on the back of the couch behind your head. “i wanna go with you, p. ill go with you to the awards.” as you say this, you fiddle with the hem of her basketball shorts.

“you wanna go with me? seriously?” she perks up. her whole face immediately lights up. this was the reason you were doing it. that reaction right there.“yes, love. i want to go with you.” she grabs your chin, pulling your face closer to her and gently pressing a kiss to your temple.

“you know, you don’t have to go if you don’t want to. i know you don’t want to read about all of the stupid shit men online say about you. they don’t even know you and it’s so infuriating that they think they can talk about my baby like that. my sweet, sweet girl...” she rubs your side, kissing your temple gently a few more times while babbling a few more sweet names in your ear.

“i know, p. but, i also know i don’t owe anyone shit, and if i want to go out in public with you, i shouldnt be scared. i mean- it’s just…. like, i don’t want to keep hiding us because of the fact that people always have some stupid shit to say. you know, if they call me a whore or if they call me a slut, it might be worth it. it may just be worth it this once.” she smiles ear to ear as you say this. seconds after this, she tackles you onto the couch, pecking all over your face as she tickles your sides.

half asleep, takin’ your time in the tangerine neon lights. this is luxury. you’re not saying you’re in love with me, but, you’re goin’ to. half awake, takin’ your chance, it’s a big mistake. i said, ‘it might blow up in your pretty face.’ im not sayin’ do it anyway, but you’re going to.

the night finally arrives. you guys are both getting your hair done. paige is wearing a lilac suit, and she looks ridiculously attractive. you were wearing a white dress with lilac heels, to coincide with her.

you guys get to the carpet, and it feels so surreal. you guys are finally out together and it’s just fucking insane. she does a few interviews, and they even ask you for your own pictures (even though you’re not an athlete)

the awards themselves are good, paige presents and even changes suits. she looks fuckin’ phenomenal.

but, then the after-party comes. the lights are tangerine and kinda dim, everyone’s drunk, and some people are even outside in a swimming pool. (???)

you had been to award shows yourself, but this was so cool. paige grabs you guys drinks throughout the night, careful not to get too wasted, but enough to get a little tipsy. by the end of the afterparty, so many pictures of you guys had been taken you felt like it was kinda too hard to hide your relationship from the world anymore.

while this wasn’t the main goal of tonight whatsoever, paige decided it was time to make your relationship social media official. she thought you deserved to be loved out loud, and honestly she couldn’t give any less of a fuck who said what. you loved her. she loved you. that’s all that mattered.

@paigebueckers

liked by kamoreaarnold and others

paigebueckers: Cats out of the bag I guess 🐈👜

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kamoreaarnold: Photo creds on slide 3

> paigebueckers: @kamoraarnold Best photographer 🙌

yourusername: wow she’s cute who is that

> paigebueckers: @/yourusername Idiot

>> yourusername: @/paigebueckers 😁

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[quietnade]

Wanna go back to 2012?

Since I can remember, I have always been a girl longing for the times that passed by, holding on to nostalgia. I don’t know, is it just me, or do you also feel that bittersweet longing for the early 2010s?

Maybe we cannot turn back time, but we can recreate those simpler times. Here’s how I’ve been making this 2025 my new 2012 lately!

🩷 Mood boards and curating image collections had been a huge part of my teenage years! It may sound like a silly little hobby of a teenage girl running after aesthetics, but trust me when I say that curating these little boards and collections, finding connections in visuals, brings so much inspiration. Back in the WeHeartIt days, I had thousands of collections that I used to get inspired to create OG characters, little stories, and poems. I miss dear old WHI (my typical nostalgic self), though we don’t have her anymore, we have Pinterest, or any other alternative you prefer. Just spend a few minutes a day adding inspiration to your collection, just like the good old days!

🩷 Listen to nostalgic playlists. One Direction, of course, is a must if you are a Directioner like me. Old Taylor’s songs, Ariana, and Demi Lovato are ruling my nostalgic wanna go back to good old days? playlists.

🩷 Room decor is another important thing. I said goodbye to boring beiges and browns and now embrace pastel colors again in my room. I put up 1D posters along with posters of my favorite TV shows and movies. Put on some fairy lights, too, and add pastel pink to appease that inner teenage longing for the best days I ever had.

🩷 Yeah, I know it’s good to avoid "superficial things" (whatever that even means!), if you say so. But watching casual, lighthearted shows and reading YA books won’t hurt your soul. In fact, they might light up your soul more than you’ve ever guessed. I paused my reading of Wuthering Heights back in December 2024 (I might pick her up again after some time, for sure) and thought of rereading the books I used to enjoy, without guilt. I dusted off some books on my shelf, such as Eleanor & Park, Fangirl, and The Fault in Our Stars (and please suggest more books to spark the teenage self in me again!!). Of course, as dystopian as it is, fangirling over The Hunger Games is still important. So is Harry Potter.

🩷 Fangirling! Remember that you are never too old to be a fangirl. Maybe this post is your sign that it’s time to fully embrace your fangirl self (or maybe fanboy) once again. And please, never let her go again. No matter how much you have to deal with the adult world and all its responsibilities, I truly hope you’ll find some time to fangirl over your favorite things guilt-free. Not sure where to start? One Direction, The Hunger Games, and Harry Potter are my favorites, so I suggest them to ya!

🩷 Bring back your old media. Last week, I went on a Barbie movie marathon and felt my heart become full from the good energy they give. I also started rewatching nostalgic TV shows like Merlin (BBC TV show), Once Upon A Time, Gilmore Girls, Pretty Little Liars, The Vampire Diaries, and Wizards of Waverly Place!

🩷 Be faithful to your hobbies! Maybe it’s taking photos and using over-exposure filters, or maybe it’s writing fanfiction that’s trashy to some. But please, never stop loving them. Once again, start writing, start living life carefree. Just like you did back in 2012.

These moments are slipping by, and I’ll do whatever it takes to hold on to them forever and ever. Trust me, you don’t have to let them go, especially those best years of your life!

I love you, 2012–2016, the best era of my life. 🩷

[dorotheataylor]

Begin Again

Pairing- Fred Weasley x Fem!Reader

Summary- Based on Begin Again (Taylor’s Version) by Taylor Swift <3

Warnings- Slight angst, kissing, a lot of Fluff and as always my poor english :)

Word count- 1.6k

A/N- Long time no see people. So here I am with a Fred Weasley fic coz I love this dork sm. Also this happens after the war and yes Fred is alive coz he never died (im delusional)

It was Wednesday, probably your least favourite day of the week. You were getting ready for work, deciding to wear heels for today.

“Don’t wear them, they don’t look good on you.” Your ex-boyfriend would have said if he were here. You sighed and looked into the mirror.

“But I look good in them.” You smiled at yourself before leaving. You decided to walk to the ministry for today rather than apparating, stopping by a cafe to grab a quick morning coffee for a head start for the day. Your headphones played a song you loved.

“I don’t get this song.” Your ex-boyfriend would’ve commented if he were here. You shook your head and smiled through the song.

“But I do.”

As you walked towards the cafe, you suddenly bumped into someone who was much taller than you. The things they were carrying dropped on the floor as you quickly bent down to pick them up, removing your headphones from ears to your neck, apologies never stopping to leave from your mouth.

“I’m really sorry for not paying attention, hope I didn’t break anything.” You said, finally looking at the stranger’s face as you gave them the last thing you picked.

It was a man. A really good looking and tall man. He had red hair, which were perfectly messed up, his smile looking genuine as he smiled at you.

“It’s alright.” The handsome stranger said, “I hadn’t been paying attention as well. Reckon its partly my fault too.”

Damn, you could listen to his voice forever if you could. It was as clear as crystal water, as smooth as silk.

If it had been your ex-boyfriend, he would’ve gotten mad. Mad that because of you he dropped his things. He would’ve cursed at you, maybe even yell. You shook your head and quickly came out of your thoughts.

“Guess we’re both sorry then.” You said, trying not get awkward. He chuckled and extended his free hand.

“I’m Fred, Fred Weasley.”

-

Three weeks later on a Wednesday, you walked inside the same cafe, half expecting that Fred wouldn’t arrive. But you were immediately proven wrong when you saw him, already standing near a table, waiting for you.

He waved at you when he saw you and gestured for you to sit across from him. You walked towards him, sitting down as he pulled out the chair for you. He didn’t know how nice this gesture was but you did.

You small talked about everything. You attempted to make jokes about things to which he responded with throwing his head back laughing like a little kid. “That was the funniest thing someone has ever said to me.” He said.

You were surprised at his response. “It wasn’t even funny, why do you even try to be funny when you’re not?” Your ex-boyfriend would’ve said if it were him instead of Fred.

As your conversation went on, you thought that maybe not all relationships are the way your previous ones were. Maybe some included this. Happiness. Because today, on Wednesday, in this cafe, you watched your feelings begin again.

-

“I’ve never met someone who has the collection of all the chocolate frog cards.” He had said laughing a little when you showed him your card collection. “Well except my brother Ron of course. This is impressive.”

You had smiled and responded, “thanks. I’ve liked chocolate frogs since I first ate them on my way to Hogwarts, back in first year.”

“I kind of figured, it’s cute if you ask me.” He had smiled, making you blush.

He had been telling you about himself and his family. You had been listening intently and laughing every time he told you about the pranks he had played on other students along with his brother George, back when he was in Hogwarts.

You told him about yourself, getting shy occasionally which he couldn’t comprehend why, but you did. He was the sweetest man you had ever talked to.

He eventually took you to meet his family. You were a nervous wreck, to which he had assured you that there was nothing to worry about and his family especially his mother were going to love you.

And he was right. His mother, Molly Weasley who was also a redhead welcomed you as if you were her own. His father, Arthur Weasley was also genuinely interested in knowing about your work. He had asked you many questions related to your work field, making you smile a little as you didn’t really have anyone who was interested in what you did.

His siblings were all friendly towards you. You had immediately gotten along with George, which made Fred smile to himself. You had even given some advices on how they can improve their shop works. Ron showed you his chocolate frog card collection and told you how he still had some missing. You offered yours to him to which he smiled and agreed happily. Ginny treated you as her sister, very much interested in getting to know you more.

You liked the Weasleys, and the fact they accepted you made both you and Fred happy. He had kissed your forehead once you reached your doorstep, after he had insisted on walking you home. That night neither you nor Fred slept, replaying the moment you spent together.

-

Christmas was around the corner and snow had started to gather everywhere. Everyone you could see were busy shopping for holidays.

You were in a shop, buying gifts for Fred and his family. You smiled when you saw the things that Fred had talked about many times and how much he would love it if got it. You made your way to pay, the cashier surprised to see you buying gifts.

“You’re buying gifts for yourself?” he asked. You and the cashier had been friends for many years as you were a frequent customer in his store.

“No, they’re for my- friend and his family.” you had hesitated because you two hadn’t made anything official. Hell was there anything even to make it official? You thought.

The cashier smiled, “explains why you look better than before since last few weeks. Finally got someone right?”

You smiled and nodded back at him and said, “I’m giving love a chance to begin again.”

-

You and Fred were walking back to your house, hand in hand as he small talked about everything. You hadn’t been paying attention, your mind going back to your ex-boyfriend.

You didn’t remember anytime when you and him were like this, peaceful and most of all- happy.

You decided to tell Fred about him so you said, “I wanted to-”

“I wanted to-” he said at same time as you, making both of you laugh.

“You first.” You said.

“I wanted to tell you that my mother wants me to invite you home for the Christmas dinner.” He said sheepishly rubbing his neck.

“I don’t know, Fred. Christmas dinner is for families and-”

He interrupted, “But you’re a part of the family now. Please come, Y/N. I’ll feel better if you did. Plus we’ll get a jumper knitted by my mother herself with our initials on it. It's a family tradition for every Christmas."

"Okay, I'll be there." You said with a smile. Fred grinned widely and kissed your cheek in excitement making you a flustered mess and you thanked Merlin for the cold.

You forgot all about your ex-boyfriend as Fred went on to tell you stories of pranks he played on Ron with George. You had a small smile on your face as you listened to him, and for the first time you thought 'what happened in the past stays in the past'.

-

It was New Year's Eve and you and Fred were decorating your house for the party later tonight. He watched you as you were focused on shaping the cookie dough to bake. Your tongue was grazing your upper lip, ounces of flour around your forehead.

He blushed and looked away when you caught him staring and resumed his work, smiling to himself.

Night came on and the party was in full swing. Fred and George were entertaining the guests with the products from their joke shop. Ginny and Hermione helped you serve the drinks as Ron and Harry small talked, drinks in their hands.

And the time came for which everyone was waiting. The new year countdown. Everyone gathered around near the clock as it ticked. Suddenly, Fred took you by your hand and led you to the balcony.

People started counting backwards as Fred took your hands in his. He looked nervous and your heart couldn't help but pick up its pace.

"10!"

"Y/N, I've known you for almost an year now and I don't think I can deny it any longer."

"7"

"You have always been so kind to others but never to yourself. So I want to be the one to take care of you. You have showed me many times what I'm worth of. You showed me a new way to view life."

"5!"

"Fred, what are you saying?" You asked, quietly.

"3!

"I'm saying that I love you, Y/N. All of you. And I'll never get tired of admitting it. Be my girlfriend, Y/N."

"1!"

You didn't say anything as tears fell down your cheeks. You grabbed him by his collars and attached your lips with his. He immediately wrapped his arms around your waist and pulled you closer when you heard everyone screaming.

"Happy New Year!"

Fred and you smiled into the kiss as he sealed the promise of never hurting you by deepening the kiss. Surely you have had some bad relationships but it was all worth it if it had brought you to Fred Weasley, the redhead which made your belief in love begin again.

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Ah I loved writing this. Thank you for reading!