#she is going to hibernate forever now

[commanderthalys]

*cocks gun* I’m going to kill Thalys

[throttleheart]

⸻ ⸻ ⸻

Just a nose

Pairing: Lando Norris x fem!Reader

Genre: pre-relationship, fluff, teasing, cozy chaos

Word Count: ~3.3k

Summary: You always sleep buried under your blanket like a burrito—with only your nose peeking out. Lando finds out.

Masterlist

⸻

It’s 8:43 in the morning and Lando’s standing frozen in your doorway like he’s just discovered the eighth wonder of the world.

You’re completely hidden under your duvet. Like, completely. Head, hair, ears, everything—except for the tiny tip of your nose poking out on the side like a little periscope.

The rest of you? Absolutely encased in blanket. Mummified. Like a cryptid in hibernation.

Lando stares. Blinks once. And immediately starts laughing.

“What is that?” he whispers to himself, voice cracking from holding back. “Is it… is it breathing?”

He takes a cautious step closer to your bed, still clutching the mug of coffee he went to make while you were asleep. Your room is quiet. Soft morning light filters in. The only sign of life is your nose, barely moving with each sleepy exhale.

“Oh my god,” he whispers again, and sets the coffee down before he drops it. “It’s just a nose. It’s literally just a nose.”

You shift slightly under the covers, just enough to twitch the blanket.

Lando gasps—like you’re a mythical being and he’s just seen it move.

“I’m sleeping,” you croak, voice muffled by several inches of cotton.

“Are you?” he says, grin wide. “Because all I see is a nose. A single, suspicious little nose. Is it attached to a person? Unknown.”

You groan and burrow deeper.

“Stop.”

He kneels beside the bed like he’s examining rare wildlife. “Is this… a defense mechanism? Like a turtle? Is this a new human subspecies? Blanketus Maximus?”

You let out a half-snort, half-laugh from under the duvet, despite yourself.

“I do this every time I sleep, Lando,” you mumble.

“Yeah, but I’ve never seen it in its natural habitat,” he says. “This is so much better than I imagined.”

“You imagined it?”

He shrugs. “You always say you like to be ‘cozy cozy burrito warm,’ but I thought that meant, like, wrapped up. Not full-on blanket cocoon with just the nose of truth poking out.”

He gently boops said nose.

You twitch away like a gremlin. “Rude.”

“I’m sorry,” he says, not sounding sorry at all. “I just… I need to understand the science behind it. Is the nose out for ventilation? Like, you need one small breathing hole so you don’t overheat and die?”

“Exactly,” you mutter.

Lando sits back on his heels, stunned. “Wow.”

You finally peek your eyes out from the blanket, brows furrowed.

“What?”

“That’s adorable. Like. Stupidly adorable. I’m fighting for my life here.”

You duck back under with a loud sigh. “Stop making it weird.”

“You’re the one who sleeps like a secret agent avoiding infrared lasers.”

“You’re the one standing in my room monologuing to my nose.”

“I think I’m in love with it.”

You burst out laughing under the covers.

“Lando.”

“Y/n.”

“Go away.”

“I can’t. I’m emotionally attached now. You don’t understand. This nose? She’s my best friend.”

You peek one eye out again. “She?”

He nods solemnly. “She guided me through darkness. When all hope was lost, your little nose said: ‘breathe, Lando… there is light still.’”

You throw a pillow at him, which he catches midair like a smug little brat.

“You’re such a menace,” you say, grinning despite yourself.

He plops down next to your bed, resting his chin on his arms like he’s settling in to keep talking to you forever. His smile softens just a bit.

“You’re lucky you’re cute.”

“Stop flirting with my nose.”

“Never.”

You roll your eyes, then go quiet for a second.

Lando notices.

You break the silence first. “Most people made fun of it.”

He blinks. “What?”

“The blanket thing. Like. In sleepovers or trips. I’d always get called weird. Or dramatic. Someone would pull it off and I’d freak out. It’s not really a joke to me.”

Lando’s expression softens immediately. “Hey. I’m not making fun of you.”

“I know,” you say, voice quieter. “It just… it feels better when you say it’s cute. Even if you’re teasing.”

He nudges your shoulder through the blanket.

“I mean it, though. I’ve never seen anyone sleep like that, and now I don’t ever want to see you sleep not like that. It’s so you.”

You smile.

A beat of silence.

Then he adds, deadpan:

“I might get matching nose holes in my blanket. Solidarity.”

“Don’t you dare.”

“I’m just saying. Nose buddies.”

“Lando—”

“Let me in the burrito.”

You laugh so hard the blanket shifts completely off your face.

“Absolutely not.”

He grins wide. “One day. I’ll earn it.”

“You’ll need a nose pass.”

He taps his own nose. “Already got one.”

You shake your head, still laughing, still buried.

And Lando watches you, warmth blooming quietly in his chest, like maybe—just maybe—he already loves you a little more than he should.

⸻

It’s a week later when Lando makes his move.

You should’ve known he was planning something. He’s been weirdly quiet all evening, suspiciously well-behaved—not trying to steal your snacks, not playfully kicking your foot under the coffee table, not calling your hoodie “the world’s saddest blanket with sleeves.”

Which means, of course, that he’s plotting.

And that theory is confirmed when you’re halfway asleep in your bed, snug in your Certified Nose-Only Sleep Position™, and your door creaks open with the quiet menace of a horror movie.

You groggily lift the corner of your blanket. “What are you doing?”

Lando’s standing in the doorway in a hoodie three sizes too big and a mischievous glint in his eye.

“I come in peace,” he whispers.

“Do you?” you mumble suspiciously.

He holds up a fuzzy blanket of his own like it’s a peace offering.

“I’ve come to learn the ways of the burrito.”

You blink.

“…what?”

“I’m ready,” he says solemnly, stepping closer. “To be one of you.”

You squint at him. “You’re not serious.”

He’s already kicking off his socks and climbing onto the mattress beside you. “I brought my own blanket. I’m a respectful guest.”

“You’re invading sacred ground.”

“I’m here to apprentice under a master.”

You snort. “There are rules, Lando.”

“Teach me.”

“You’re not ready.”

“I am the blanket now.”

“Oh my god.”

But he’s already halfway under his own blanket, dramatically mimicking your sleeping style—pulling it over his head and leaving just his nose peeking out.

“Like this?” he muffles.

You pause.

Okay. It’s… weirdly cute.

The tip of his nose is all you can see, just barely sticking out from the fleece. He looks like some kind of cozy shark emerging from the depths.

“You’re not bad,” you admit. “But your nose is crooked.”

“Rude.”

“And it’s too far out. You’ll get chilly.”

“I need nose guidance, Sensei.”

You shift slightly and tug your own blanket tighter around your ears. “Okay. Rule one: full coverage. No hair, no eyebrows, no rogue ears. You are one with the blanket.”

“Got it,” he nods. “No stray limbs. Maximum burrito integrity.”

“Exactly.”

“Rule two?”

You hum. “Temperature regulation is key. Nose stays out. Just enough to breathe. No mouth.”

“I almost suffocated a minute ago.”

“That’s part of the training.”

“Holy sh—okay.”

He adjusts again. His blanket rustles as he wiggles into place, trying to match your form. You watch with a raised brow as he squirms, shifts, and eventually knocks a pillow off the bed.

“Is this a test of endurance or flexibility?” he asks through the muffled fabric.

“Both.”

He groans.

There’s a long pause, the kind of quiet that only exists when it’s late and soft and the room is dark and filled with the smell of shared comfort.

Then Lando breaks the silence.

“…I’m cold.”

“Because your nose is too far out.”

He peeks one eye at you. “Can I—can I come into your burrito?”

You go still.

For a second, you don’t say anything. Your heart jumps up into your throat and stays there, pulsing warm and nervous.

“…You want to be in my burrito?”

He nods seriously. “I’ve realized mine is inferior.”

“You’re the one who said you wanted your own.”

“I was cocky. I see that now.”

You narrow your eyes. “What’s your blanket’s thread count?”

“I dunno. Soft?”

You shake your head slowly. “Disgraceful.”

“Please,” he begs. “Just five minutes in yours. Five. I won’t move. I won’t breathe loud. I’ll be respectful.”

You consider. He’s already halfway leaning toward you, face still mostly hidden, eyes wide with exaggerated innocence.

You sigh. “Fine. But if you move too much, you’re banished.”

He salutes you, then immediately slithers under your blanket like a man on a mission.

There is zero grace. He drags half the duvet off you in the process, elbows you in the side, and nearly faceplants into your pillow.

“Lando—!”

“Sorry! Sorry! I’m adjusting! I’m aligning my soul!”

Eventually, he settles. He’s awkwardly squished up beside you now, both of you facing the same direction, noses barely peeking out, sharing the same warm space.

He exhales slowly.

“…Wow.”

You blink, trying not to focus on how close he is. His foot brushes yours. You don’t move it away.

“Yeah?”

“I get it now,” he whispers. “This is the peak human experience.”

“Told you.”

“You’re warm.”

“You’re squishing my shoulder.”

He pulls back half an inch. “Better?”

You nod.

A few seconds pass.

“…You smell nice,” he mumbles, quieter.

Your breath catches.

You want to say something back—anything—but your throat’s suddenly too tight.

Instead, you just shift slightly closer, the tiniest lean, until your forehead brushes against his.

He doesn’t move away.

“Thanks for letting me in,” he whispers.

“…You’re not so bad, for a burrito rookie.”

He chuckles. “Don’t fall in love with me in here.”

You scoff. “Too late.”

He goes quiet.

Your heart stumbles.

And then—

“Me too.”

⸻

It happens again.

And again.

The first time, you think it’s a fluke. He stays the night, claims it was too late to drive home, and you catch him quietly sneaking back under your blanket burrito at 2 a.m. like a gremlin in socks.

The second time, he doesn’t even bring his own blanket.

“Not gonna pretend anymore,” he says casually, holding a bag of snacks in one hand and his phone in the other. “I’m joining yours. Make room.”

You try to act annoyed. You really do. But your heart’s already thumping at the sound of his voice. You only huff and roll over, lifting a corner of the blanket without saying a word.

Lando grins the whole way in.

It becomes a thing. A routine.

You don’t even talk about it anymore. He’ll show up late, hoodie loose, socks mismatched, and just give you that look—the one that means, scoot over, I’m cold, I come in peace. And without thinking, you do. You always do.

Sometimes, he pretends to take it seriously.

He’ll solemnly ask, “Are you ready to guide me once again, Master Burrito?”

And you’ll nod with mock gravity. “Only if you bring offerings.”

He hands you a cookie and calls it a sacred rite.

Sometimes you laugh so hard you knock heads and both yelp like children.

Other nights, you’re quiet. You don’t need to talk. He just curls around you, forehead to your shoulder, legs a little tangled, noses peeking out like two conspirators under one roof of warmth.

And somewhere in the space between “just friends” and “definitely something else,” you start to crave the silence. The closeness. The way he always fits just right under your blanket like he was always meant to.

But you never talk about that part.

Until the fourth night he stays over.

You’re both under the burrito—your burrito, obviously—and watching a movie on your ipad, screen dimmed, faces inches apart. It’s late. You’ve both stopped pretending to care about the plot. The screen plays on, but neither of you are watching it.

You feel Lando shift a little.

His nose brushes yours.

You freeze.

So does he.

“…Was that part of the sacred ritual?” he whispers, voice barely audible.

Your breath hitches. “Might be.”

“I think I’m ready for the next level, then.”

You turn your head slightly, not quite meeting his eyes. “There’s only one more level.”

“What is it?”

“…You stop pretending it’s a joke.”

The silence is thick now. You can hear your heart. You can feel his.

Lando exhales, slow and unsteady.

“I’m not pretending,” he says softly.

Your stomach flips.

You turn your face fully to his. You’re still hidden under the blanket, your noses still the only thing exposed, but now you’re nose-to-nose. Barely a breath of air between you.

“You’re not?” you whisper.

He shakes his head the tiniest bit. “Not even a little.”

You blink once. Then twice.

And then—

He leans in.

It’s not a kiss, not really. It’s the promise of one. A brush of his nose against yours. A press of his forehead to yours. The way his hand finds yours under the blanket and gently, so gently, twines your fingers together.

You don’t move away.

You don’t want to.

“You make it hard to sleep,” you murmur.

He smiles. “You make it hard to leave.”

You let yourself tuck into him, pulling the blanket tighter around you both.

“You’re staying?”

“I’m never leaving,” he whispers into your hair.

And for the first time, you believe him.

⸻

The morning after is a gentle kind of chaos.

You wake up to the soft glow of sunlight seeping through the blinds, your face buried in the warm, comforting space where Lando’s chest meets your cheek. The blanket is still over both of you, and somehow, it’s stayed intact through the night, a fortress of warmth. His hand is still loosely holding yours, the skin of his fingers cool against yours in the early morning.

For a moment, you think you’re dreaming. That the whole night was just some product of your imagination. The way his thumb gently brushes over the back of your hand, the quiet rise and fall of his chest beneath your ear.

But no. He’s here. You’re here.

You stir slightly, trying to shift without disturbing him, but the movement wakes him up anyway.

Lando groans softly, the sound muffled by the blanket. “Morning,” he mumbles, voice rough from sleep.

“Morning,” you reply quietly, still half-dazed, unsure of what to do. You’re tangled in the blankets, in his arms, in the soft, fuzzy warmth of this moment. Is this real? you think.

His eyes flutter open, bleary and slow, before they meet yours. He blinks a few times like he’s not sure if this is real either, but then his lips curl into a sleepy smile.

“Hi,” he says, like he hasn’t seen you in a thousand years, even though you’re right here, inches apart.

“Hi,” you reply, unsure whether you want to laugh or stay quiet. 

What now?

His hand moves up to your cheek, fingers brushing your skin as if testing the waters. It’s light, hesitant. But it feels like a promise in the way he holds your gaze.

“Did you sleep okay?” he asks, still not quite pulling away, still close enough that the proximity feels dangerous but comfortable.

You nod. “Yeah, surprisingly.” Then you add with a teasing smile, “You’re not so bad to sleep with.”

He grins, his eyes lighting up. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

Before you can reply, there’s a loud noise from the other side of the room.

“Y/n! You up yet?” A voice shouts from the doorway, too cheerful for this early hour.

You both freeze.

Lando’s expression shifts to pure panic, his eyes wide as he slowly pulls his hand away from your face. “Shit, Carlos.” 

You sit up in a hurry, yanking the blanket further up around you like it could somehow protect you both from whatever is about to happen.

The door swings open, and Carlos’ head pokes around the frame, his eyes immediately landing on you and Lando, still tangled in the blanket, clearly a bit too close for comfort. His eyebrows shoot up, then fall into a dramatic frown.

“Uh-huh…” he says slowly, as if analyzing the scene. “So, this is what’s been happening under my roof?”

“We share rent for god’s sake, Carlos!” You say while rubbing your eyes with both of your palms.

“Carlos!” Lando exclaims, his voice pitchy in panic as he scrambles to sit up, his hands trying to straighten his messy hair. “We were just—”

“You were just, huh?” Carlos interrupts, a smirk curling at the corners of his mouth. “How’s that blanket burrito working out for you?”

You’re blushing now, the embarrassment flooding your cheeks like a tide. “We—we were just sleeping?” you reply, fumbling for something to explain the situation that makes it sound less… weird.

“Sure,” Carlos says, rolling his eyes. “Looks like the burrito’s a little too cozy for just sleeping, huh?” He gives Lando a teasing look, his smirk only growing. “Well, I’m glad to see my friend is finally learning how to share his blankets.”

Lando glares at him, trying to make himself presentable. “Carlos, seriously, can you not?”

“Fine, fine, I’m going,” Carlos says, his grin never fading. “But next time, try to keep it under wraps a little better, yeah?”

With that, he pulls his head back through the door, leaving the two of you in stunned silence.

Lando lets out a breath, half-relieved, half-embarrassed. “I’m sorry. He’s just—he’s just teasing me.”

You laugh softly, the tension finally breaking. “It’s fine. Honestly, it’s not like he doesn’t know what’s going on. I just… didn’t expect him to barge in like that, he never does.”

“Yeah, well, you get used to it.” Lando’s smile is lopsided, his hand rubbing at the back of his neck. “So, uh, should we talk about what happened last night?”

You blink at him, a mixture of hesitation and curiosity swirling in your chest. “What do you mean?”

He shifts closer again, his tone suddenly more serious, more vulnerable. “I mean, we kinda got… close, didn’t we? In more ways than one.”

You nod slowly, unsure of how to put into words the mess of emotions that’s slowly growing inside you. “Yeah. We did.”

The quiet between you both feels heavy now, like it’s asking for something more.

Lando clears his throat. “So… um, I don’t know what that means for us. But I want to figure it out. If you do, too.”

His eyes search yours for any sign of uncertainty, but all you see is sincerity. And maybe something more.

You take a deep breath. “I think I want to figure it out, too.”

The smile that breaks across Lando’s face is enough to make your heart do a funny little flip in your chest. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” You let out a quiet laugh. “But you’re not getting any more blanket space unless you stop teasing me.”

“Deal,” he says, leaning in again, this time with more purpose, more certainty in his movements.

And this time, you let him. This time, when his lips brush against your forehead, you feel the warmth spread through you like wildfire.

“Just know,” Lando says softly, still close, “that this is only the beginning, okay?”

You can’t help but smile. “I’m counting on it.”

The two of you settle back into the blankets, the world outside fading into the background as you both stay wrapped in your little cocoon, a place where no one else can intrude. And maybe, just maybe, this is the start of something more than either of you expected.

Until you hear a pan dropping to the floor in the kitchen, echoing through the whole apartment.

“Carlos!” You and Lando groan at the same time, and after a beat of silence, burst out laughing.

God, how you love this.

⸻ ⸻ ⸻

Masterlist

[evoscancelled]

📣PLEASE LISTEN!!!!📣

I have a request

Okay so like Maddie Nolen ponytail orgin. Imagine reader always wears her hair (preferably longer than maddie's) in a ponytail and one day decided to put one in Maddie's hair and reader was gushing over how cute she thought it was and how it was like a bobcat tail. Maddie started wearing a ponytail ever since, just because her girlfriend loved it so much

Pretty please 🙏

of course anon!

men dni!

maddie nolan x reader

content: AFAB/fem!reader, fluff, reader is mentioned to have longer hair (hair type NOT mentioned), reader is briefly mentioned to be taller than maddie but not by much, established relationship, mentions of wanting to marry her

characters: maddie nolan

synopsis: waking up next to maddie and then getting ready in the morning, when reader wants to give her girlfriend a ponytail in her hair.

writers note: such a cute idea! I love her fuckass ponytail I NEED HER. I love women with accents.

—

maddie nolan x reader fluff

—

—

waking up next to maddie was so sweet, the way she clung to you, the way she nuzzled her face into the crook of ur neck. the little sounds she’d make was adorable, little moans and groans from the early and groggy morning feeling. she was practically ontop of you with her leg over your hip.

she is not a morning person, she doesn’t like the way that even if she is so comfortable, in her little hibernation, she’d have to leave your warmth each morning. she hated it.

when the alarm would go off, she’d groan, trying to stop it as fast as she can so you wouldn’t wake up— five more minutes was all she wanted. rolling back over into your arms as her eyes fluttered closed, squeezing you tightly

“mmmh…” you grumble, “goodmorning..”

you kiss her on her forehead and run your fingers through her hair, so soft, so pure.

“morning, love.” she kisses you back, but on your cheek.

“I can’t believe it’s time to wake up already, yeah?”

“I don’t wanna get up..” you smile, “few more minutes?”

“mmmmmmmmmh… let me think… yes.”

you giggle to eachother, getting comfortable once again and wrapping your arms around one another.

———————————————————————————

finally out of bed, you two brush your teeth next to eachother, chatting about what to pick up for breakfast on the way to work.

“love, you want tacobell for breakfast? that’s a lot for first thing in the morning, don’tcha think?”

“starbucks? they have good coffee— obviously, and they have some good sandwiches.”

you stand tall behind her, slouching down to put your head on her shoulder as you look at her in the mirror, wrapping your arms around her waist.

“starbucks sounds good. mhm!” she turns around and reaches up to put her arms around your neck

“your gonna make us late, aren’t you?”

“maybe, if I get lucky?”

she giggles at that, kissing your neck and then turning back around to continue her morning skincare routine.

“awh, dangit.”

you brush through your hair, grabbing a hair tie to put your hair in a ponytail,

“why don’t you ever do anything different with your hair, mads?”

“well I don’t have as much hair as you do, im not sure what I’d do with it anyway,”

“here, let me see.”

you stand behind her once again, gathering her hair back into a small little ponytail, giggling and kissing the skin on the back of her neck.

“now atleast some of it is out of your face?”

she looks in the mirror back at it not quite sure how to feel about it yet until you—

“ur so cute!!” you hold her face with both of your hands

“it’s like a little bobcat tail!!”

and with that she blushes, deciding that’s how she’d wear her hair for the rest of forever.

“now we’re matching, aren’t we?”

“ur like one of those crazy ginger cats.”

“I am not!” she giggled, guys her accent I can’t she’s so wife

“if that’s what you’d like to think, babes.” you give her a peck and get dressed into your work clothes as she does the same

she was so adorable with her new hairstyle, the way it was tied back, how soft it was, how pretty she looked with it, her natural color complimenting her skin tone.

god you loved her— no matter what ambessa says you don’t give a fuck if you are in a relationship with somebody you work with— you were marrying her.

“I think I like it, yeah?”

you pick her up, holding her by her hips while she wraps her legs around you,

“you sure are pretty.”

“you are so flirty this morning.”

“that a bad thing?”

“mm-mm, I like it.”

“yeah?”

————

01/12/25

@canontypicalgoblins — I hope you like it!

[candy-heart-brew]

I've seen some fans theorize that the lyrics to "Bug-a-Bye and Goodnight" tie into Frank's developing relationship with Eddie, potentially foreshadowing a grisly end for a favorite mailman. The lyrics are incredibly emotional and poor Frank sounds like he's fighting back tears during this entire record, making it feel like there's something more going on under the surface. While it's entirely possible that this is meant to foreshadow Frank and Eddie eventually being separated, I think the song's symbolism could be pointing to a different direction...

I touched a bit on this in a different post but to summarize: the attitude that Frank displays during "Bug-a-Bye and Goodnight" is completely at odds to his reaction to Eddie at the party. During BaBaG he's sad but resigned to fate, he knows that hibernation is inevitable but takes a bit of comfort in the knowledge that it's only temporary and that his loneliness will only last through winter. So, he does his best to power through, keep his personal feelings out of it, and assure his little friends that he'll be alright.

By contrast, his reaction to Eddie's behavior at the party is one of panic and confusion. He doesn't understand what's happening to Eddie or why he's suddenly gone unresponsive, he just knows that he isn't acting like himself at all and he can't accept that. He refuses to leave Eddie alone even after being ignored, continuing to push until he gets a response, at which point he immediately realizes something is wrong and tries to push further, only stopping when Eddie leaves. At this point in the story they don't appear to be especially close but Frank's terrified reaction speaks volumes about his true feelings for Eddie. And if this is how he reacts to him being quieter than usual, I can't imagine that he'd be much calmer or more composed in the event of losing Eddie altogether. IMO, he's far more likely to get angry and demand answers rather than wax poetic. So while "Bug-a-Bye and Goodnight" could potentially foreshadow Eddie's fate, Frank's subdued reaction makes me question that interpretation. I do think there's a deeper meaning to BaBaG, that Frank is singing about something other than bugs, just not Eddie. But then who? Well, as we found out in this last update, bugs are not the only creatures in the neighborhood that hibernate...

Think about it for a moment- Julie is going to be gone for months, leaving Frank all alone without his best friend. Who's going to invite him to games now? Who's going to listen to him about his interests and laugh at his jokes? Who's going to bake gelatin monstrosities with him? Julie is practically his other half so to lose her for months on end must be very difficult for him! He knows that she can't help it and he doesn't blame her but that hardly makes it any easier. All he can really do now is just push that sadness down, wish her goodnight, and wait for her to return.

Under this interpretation, certain lyrics in BaBaG take on a different meaning to me. Lines like "I know it's for the best, I can't keep you," or "I'll be the first to tell you, you just can't stay," could imply an oncoming rift between the two of them. The recent updates have implied that Frank and Julie were written to be a couple and were perceived as such in-universe. We don't yet know how the two of them felt about that but we do know that they were very close to the point of doing basically everything together! But now Frank is falling in love with someone else, someone who may very well come to eclipse Julie in terms of importance to him. No matter how much he loves her, no matter how much they might want to stay together, there are some things you just can't fight and this play-relationship they have can't last forever...

But that's just my interpretation!

[russos-one]

Title: Let her believe I never loved her (Part 1) Pairing: You x Jessie Fleming Warnings: Magda yelling in Swedish Word count: 872 A/N: Pretend Pernille and Magda never left because I miss them, and that Sam never did her forbidden 3 letters. Also, all the Swedish and Danish is from Google Translate, and I have no clue if it's even right Inspired by: Cigarettes Out The Window x Dangerously Yours – TV Girl / that TikTok audio “let her think I never loved her.” Description: You’ve been hopelessly in love with Jessie Fleming since she joined Chelsea, but you never had the courage to tell her. Three and a half years of friendship and silent pining later, you still haven’t said a word. And now it’s too late. She’s leaving. And you’re left with what-ifs and unsaid I-love-yous. But hey… maybe if you never say it, she’ll never know. Maybe she’ll think you never loved her.

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

“Just tell her! What's the worst that could happen?” Niamh says, exasperated.

“Well, I don't know, maybe she doesn't like me back and there goes 3 and a half years of friendship!” you shoot back.

“That wouldn't happen because she obviously likes you back!”

“You don't know that! Now just get over it.” You zip up your bag with a sigh.

Suddenly, a knock at the door.

“Just drop it, Niamh,” you mutter and swing the door open.

Standing there is Jessie, glowing like she always does, hoodie sleeves pulled over her hands, hair a little messy.

“Jessie! Hi.”

Niamh leans around you. “Hey Jessie.”

“Hello, Y/n,” Jessie says with a soft smile that makes your heart clench.

You barely hear Niamh grumbling something about being invisible as Jessie says, “Emma sent me. You two are taking forever, and we’re about to leave.”

You do a full 180 to look at Niamh. “Look what you did! Now Emma’s mad at us and she’s going to make us run laps!”

“Not my fault you were too busy arguing about being in love with Je—Jumping jacks! In love with… jumping jacks!”

You nod way too quickly. “Yep. Love those… jumping jacks.”

Jessie raises an eyebrow. “Okay then… we should go.”

On the coach, chaos continues. Magda calls you over to sit beside her.

While Jessie curls up alone, fast asleep.

“You're staring,” Magda whispers.

“I’m not staring, I’m appreciating.”

“Mhmm, sureeee,” she teases.

As if on cue, Millie and Sam popped their heads over the seats.

“Finally addressing Y/n’s massive crush on Baby Canada?” Sam asks.

“Uh, hello, she's right there? Can we not speak so loudly??”

“She’s asleep, leave me alone.”

“She sleeps like a bear in hibernation,” Millie says.

“And how do you know what hibernation means?” you asked, surprised about Millie’s use of big words.

“I just do.”

Somehow, you all fall asleep—until cold water slaps your face.

“Niamh! You bastard!”

“You wouldn't wake up!”

“Should’ve slapped me, you're weak!”

“I am not weak!”

Emma Hayes’ voice cuts through. “What the hell is going on back here?! One of you is wet, the other yelling, and Jessie just standing there like this is normal!”

Eventually, Jessie herds the group like the mom friend she is and gets you all to the stadium. Sam drapes herself dramatically over you and Niamh like she’s long-suffering.

Jessie mutters, “Children surround me.” Sam gasps. “I'm older than you!”

Your phone buzzes. Magda. You answer.

“Where are you four?! We have a game in THIRTY MINUTES!” Jessie sighs, grabs your sleeve, and drags you to the changing room.

Magda is furious.

“BLIR NI TRE NÅGONSIN DUMMARE?” she yells in Swedish. “VI HAR ETT SPEL OM TREDTIO MINUTTER OCH DU GÅR TILL?!”

Zecira films it. Millie’s on the floor laughing.

Pernille wraps Magda in a hug. “Min elskede, they can’t understand you.”

“JUST. GET. CHANGED,” Magda growls.

Out on the pitch, you get paired with Jessie.

“Why hello there, pretty lady.”

She blushes, or maybe it's just the cold. “Hello, Y/n.”

“High five?”

She narrows her eyes. “You're not gonna trick me?”

“Never.”

She gives you one. You hold onto the warmth of her touch a little longer than necessary.

“So how’s the love life?” Jessie asks as you stretch.

“Non-existent,” you answer.

“What about that thing with Misa? You raise an eyebrow. “Getting jealous, are we?

She punches your shoulder lightly. “I’m not jealous.”

"Nothing's going on with Misa. We’ve been friends since the World Cup. Why do you ask?”

“No reason,” she mumbles.

“Mhmm… sure.”

You want to keep joking. You want to live in this moment. In this warm, easy banter, where everything is almost enough.

But it’s not.

Not really.

Later, back at the hotel, Niamh corners you again.

“Just tell her you love her, Y/n!”

You sigh. You’re tired of pretending. But you’re more tired of what will happen if you don’t.

“Tell her that I love her so she’ll stay at Chelsea and get no game time? So she’ll miss being with her family and friends? No, Niamh. Just… let her think I never loved her.”

Your voice drops to a whisper.

“One day, I’ll be with her. I hope. Just… not now.”

[dragoneyelashart]

ᯓ★ the summer we lost • chapter 3

summary: it was supposed to be the perfect summer—just before college, you and your online friend "william" had planned out meeting this summer, but everything came to a screeching halt when your parents dropped the bomb that you had to get a job at a family friend’s dance studio. so instead of having fun, you’re stuck teaching kids who can barely stay on their feet, alongside a girl you can’t stand. now, while your friends are living their summer, you’re tangled up in a mess of pirouettes, bratty 7-year-olds, and a summer you’ll never get back. warnings: angst | mature language | sexual content | substance consumption

authors note: so chapter 3 is hereee wc: 2.9k

the summer we lost masterlist

your alarm doesn’t go off. mostly because you didn’t set one. today’s your first official day off in weeks, and you’re clinging to every second of it like it’s oxygen.

the sun leaks through your blinds in soft golden strips, warming your pillow, and for the first time all week, you don’t feel like you’re already late to something. no screaming children. no ballet shoes. no billie.

just silence, a little bird outside your window, and the familiar buzz of your phone lighting up with a text.

aaliyah: r u alive?

you smile, thumb already typing back.

you: barely. just woke up. what’s up

aaliyah: party’s tonight, remember?? don’t be lame

you stare at the screen for a second, brain still half-asleep.

you: oh god that’s tonight?

aaliyah: YES. u said u were coming. dress nice, something slutty or mysterious idk like u just murdered a man in monaco

you: what does that even mean

aaliyah: just be hot. i’ll pick you up at 7

you throw your phone onto the bed and roll over, groaning into your sheets. you had agreed to the party, mostly out of guilt and aaliyah’s persistence, but partially because she was your best friend. she threw one every summer, and missing it was borderline criminal in your friend group.

and maybe you could use the distraction.

you check your messages again—just one from your mom (asking about laundry), and a tiny, familiar one from “w.”

w: you better tell me everything about this party. i’m already mad i can’t be there to crash it

you: you’d probably find a way to spike the punch and start a rumor

w: obviously 🙄 

her messages feel like a hug. like a little invisible thread tugging at the edge of your world, pulling you back when things get too overwhelming.

you: kinda nervous though. idk why. haven’t been out in forever

w: ok so we’re u in hibernation, maybe you just love my company so much

you: 😒

w: pretend you're in a coming-of-age movie or something

you: what if i am

w: then i’m the hot mysterious love interest who shows up halfway through

you laugh, dropping your phone onto your pillow. maybe tonight won’t suck after all.

aaliyah picks you up at 7 just like she said and you both make your way to the house the party was going to be at. the music’s loud, a pulsating beat that vibrates through the floor and into your chest, but you can barely hear it over the buzz in your head. there’s a weird tension hanging in the air, something thick that you can’t quite put your finger on, but it’s making your skin crawl.

you’re standing by the drinks, trying to keep your mind distracted. aaliyah's next to you, her hand wrapped around her red cup but not really drinking, her gaze locked onto the door as if she’s anxiously waiting for the something.

the door opens, and a few people trickle in, but it’s the sight of them—billie and leilani—that stops aaliyah cold. your heart stutters. she’s here? just when you thought you could escape her.

billie steps inside like she’s been here a million times before, confident, almost arrogant, with that same look she always wears. but now, there’s something else to it: her arm is casually slung around leilani’s waist, pulling her close like they’ve been attached at the hip forever. 

leilani, aaliyah’s younger sister, is leaning into it, her head tilted back, laughing at something billie says. the smile on leilani’s face is too soft, too trusting. it hits you like a punch in the gut. 

"oh my god," aaliyah mutters, her voice low but sharp, enough to make you glance at her. she’s rigid, her jaw clenched, and her fists are tight at her sides. the look on her face is pure fury.

"what’s wrong?" you ask, trying to keep your voice steady, but something about the situation has your heart racing.

aaliyah doesn’t even look at you, her eyes glued to the pair at the door. "isn’t that your sister?" you ask, your voice unsure. you grew up with aaliyah’s family, how could someone so innocent, like leilani be with someone like billie, stuck up, arrogant and just downright rude. 

"yeah," aaliyah bites out, barely looking at you, her eyes still locked on them. "what the fuck is she doing" she says the words like they're coated in venom, the anger seeping through each syllable. 

“and why is she with billie,” she spits the name like it’s something sour. “that bitch i was telling you about.”

you blink, not sure what to say. you glance back toward billie and leilani, who are still standing in the doorway, billie’s arm wrapped tighter around leilani, her fingers grazing the skin of her side. it’s casual, but it looks so much more than that. billie’s body language is too comfortable, too intimate for something that should be so new. she doesn’t even seem to notice the looks she’s getting, strolling in like she owns the place.

“she’s such a big player,” aaliyah continues, her voice clipped, tight with frustration. “always has been. she does this to everyone—makes them feel like they’re the only one, makes them think they’re special, then moves on like they never mattered.”

you frown, your eyes flicking back to billie’s relaxed posture, the way she’s holding leilani against her. all that, to someone so sweet as leilani? you don’t say it out loud, but the words are there, burning in the back of your mind. 

“she’s like that with everyone,” aaliyah mutters, her hands trembling just slightly as she glares at them. “you think you’re the one she’s interested in? no. none of us are. it’s all a game to her. especially leilani. i fucking warned her about this.”

your heart sinks as you take it all in—this is who billie is? this is the girl you’ve been trying to figure out, the one who’s been toying with you, too? a mix of confusion and disbelief builds in your chest, but there's also something else—a sick feeling, like a little voice telling you that this is what you signed up for. that this is what it means to get tangled in someone like billie. 

aaliyah’s voice cuts through your thoughts, sharp and angry. “and now look at her. she’s doing it to leilani, right in front of me, after everything i’ve warned her about. she thinks she’s got her all figured out, all charmed up, but it’s just another game for her.”

you glance back at billie again. she’s got this easy confidence, this air about her, but now, it’s twisted. it doesn’t look so fun anymore. your stomach twists as you realize aaliyah might be right. you’ve been just as caught up in billie’s game, maybe not in the same way leilani is, but it’s still there. that pull. that strange magnetism. 

aaliyah rolls her eyes, her lips curling in disgust as she watches billie laugh with leilani. “i’m telling you, stay away from her,” aaliyah says, her tone quiet but fierce. “don’t need her doing that to anyone else.”

you swallow hard. “how do you know this though?” the words slip out before you can stop them, the uncertainty in your voice clear even to yourself.

aaliyah doesn’t respond immediately. instead, she watches the two of them, her eyes narrowed in pure annoyance. “i—uh someone from work mentioned it the other day, something about her cheating.”

the weight of aaliyah’s words presses on you, each one landing like a stone in your chest. you didn’t want to believe it, but now it’s hard to ignore. how much of billie’s attention is real? how much of it is just part of the game she’s playing with you, too?

aaliyah doesn’t look at you as she says it, but her words land heavy between the two of you. “i hate her. and if you have any sense, you’ll stay away from her.”

you want to tell aaliyah, you want to tell her everything—that it’s not that easy to ignore her. she’s your boss, the boss you hate but that’s another story. but the words stick in your throat, tangled with all the confusion, the uncertainty, and the sudden doubt that you can’t quite shake. why was she making you feel like this? you hated her. aaliyah hated her.

the music pulses in the background, but it feels miles away now. everything feels out of reach, like you’re standing on the edge of something you can’t control. 

you look at billie again, and this time, you don’t feel the same pull you did before. it’s not the same.

“wow, you can actually talk. didn’t know that was in your skill set,” billie says, her voice dripping with amusement. she leans against the wall, arms crossed, eyes gleaming with that same mix of curiosity and sarcasm she always wears like a badge of honor.

you don’t even bother to hide the annoyance in your expression. “oh, so sorry to disappoint. i guess i didn’t realize i had to entertain you.”

billie smirks, not even the slightest bit fazed. “entertain me? i don’t know, you’re just so... quiet. my tv’s never quiet” she tilts her head, studying you like you’re some kind of puzzle she’s just dying to figure out. “thought you’d be more... dramatic, considering, you know, everything.”

you feel your patience snap, just a little. “yeah, well, you’re dramatic enough for both of us,” you mutter under your breath, crossing your arms, trying to act like you don’t care. but your heart’s racing, the pull between you and her still there, even if you’re trying to ignore it.

billie’s grin widens, clearly enjoying the way you’re reacting. “oh, trust me, i know. i’m the life of the party. but it’s cute,” she teases, her eyes scanning you for any sign of cracking. “you’re like... a little unbothered island in the middle of all this chaos. it’s kind of refreshing.”

“refreshing?” you repeat, fighting back a laugh that would just give her more satisfaction. “you mean annoying.”

billie takes a step closer, leaning in just a little too close for comfort. “sure, i could see how you'd think that. but deep down, i think you’re actually a little into the drama. just don’t want to admit it.”

“no that’s not true, fuck you’re so—" you stop yourself, not sure if you want to let her see how much she’s getting under your skin. she was still your boss and you could still very well get fired. which would mean your mom would kill you. it’s frustrating, knowing she’s messing with you, but what else could you do?

before you can finish, you see aaliyah marching across the room, her face tight with frustration. she’s got leilani in tow, pulling her to the side with a scowl that could freeze anyone in their tracks.

“this can’t be good,” you mutter to yourself, watching the scene unfold.

billie, of course, notices immediately, the sly grin spreading back onto her face. “uh-oh, looks like someone’s in trouble,” she says, almost a little too smug.

you can’t help but roll your eyes. “you’re so annoying,” you bite out, voice thick with irritation. “seriously, you just had to come here and mess with everyone, huh?”

billie laughs, throwing her head back like she’s actually enjoying this. “mess with everyone? babe, i’m just having fun. not my fault people can’t handle a little fun.”

“fun?” you repeat incredulously. “this isn’t funny, billie. you’re just playing with people. like leilani. do you even care about anyone, or is it just... some game to you?”

she shrugs, unbothered. “you know you’re funny y/n, acting like you care, but you and i know that you only do what’s best for yourself.” her tone is casual, almost too casual. she takes the drink out of your hand and sips out of your red cup smirking as you look at her with disgust.

“ugh. you’re unbelievable,” you mutter, trying to shove your way through the crowd, the tension in the pit of your stomach getting heavier with every word.

billie’s voice follows you, teasing, but there's something else in her tone—like she’s trying to see if you’ll bite. “oh, come on. don’t walk away from me now, you can’t avoid me the whole night you know, oh and let’s face it you’re not the perfect princess everyone thinks you are.”

you freeze, your back to her, but you don’t turn around. “you really think that’s what this is about?” you ask, barely keeping your voice steady. “not everything is about you billie, you may be my boss but honestly i couldn’t care less if you fired me.”

for a brief moment, there’s silence. then billie’s voice cuts through again, quieter this time. “yeah, you say that now. but you’ll regret it later, what will your poor mom say when she finds out her perfect daughter got fired hm baby?”

you scoff before glancing over your shoulder to find a place to escape to. just in time you see aaliyah’s hand gripping leilani’s arm, pulling her away from the crowd. leilani’s eyes flicker with guilt, but she doesn’t fight it. aaliyah’s fury is palpable from across the room.

billie watches it all with a knowing look, like she’s seen this act before. but she doesn’t say anything, nor does she care.

you can’t help but feel a little unsettled as you turn back to face her, crossing your arms again, the air between you and billie growing heavier.

you’re not sure if you should leave, if you should just walk away from all this and ignore what billie said. but then you think of what aaliyah said, and the little flicker of doubt that runs through you. is this what you want?

you exhale sharply, the frustration bubbling up again, but you can’t find the words to make it go away. so you just mutter, “seriously, billie, just... leave me alone.” she raises an eyebrow, a smirk tugging at the corner of her lips. “you sure? ‘cause the way i see it, you’re not exactly running away from me, pretty”

taglist: @amara-eilish @bilswifee @jayjaywetforbils @billieeilishismywifey @iamnicoke @st0nerlesb0 | send me an ask if you want to be added to my taglist!

[thgfanfictionlibrary]

M Rated Fics Masterlist (85)

Part 1 - Part 79 / Part 80 / Part 81 / Part 82 / Part 83 / Part 84 / 

Created: August 24th, 2024

Last Checked:------

Pieces-peetasbunmyoven (ff.net) Summary: Growing back together is hard enough. Katniss knows he feels it too. She knows he wants more than the gentle touches and innocent looks. What she doesn't know is why he pulls away. She doesn't realize Peeta has lost more than she could ever know. In the ashes of Twelve how can she help him? How will they ever come together? Sleep in Heavenly Peace-peetasbunmyoven (ff.net) Summary: Holiday Modern AU Peeta has just moved into a new home to start over when he is visited by the ghost of a young girl. Who is she? Seperate they are broken. But together they begin to heal. When Peeta finds out the truth will they finally have a chance at hope? Or will everything fall apart? Stay With Me-junkpuppet225 (ao3) Summary: The night before the 75th Hunger Games Katniss wakes up screaming and Peeta runs to check on her. She asks him to stay with her and realizes she loves him even if she can’t say the words. Katniss/Peeta One-Shot Stories from the Silent District-lollercakes (ao3) Summary: A series of drabbles from the perspective of District 13 citizens. The Scariest Thought -RedHeadedFlame (ff.net) Summary: Katniss hates new social situations. Attending a Game of Thrones and curry night with a bunch of people she barely knows terrifies her. That is until see meets someone who makes her night a whole lot more interesting. The Storm-lollercakes (ao3) Summary: Peeta was returned to District 12 too soon. How does he handle a relapse of his hijacking? The Watcher-lollercakes (ao3) Summary: Peeta is rescued seemingly without harm from the Capitol, but sometimes the deepest wounds are the ones you can't see and the memories you don't have anymore. where i love you-brimay (ao3) Summary: Peeta takes the poker from me and uses it to lift a small piece of coal. Underneath it, a lone ember glows among the ashes. He turns to look at me, and I see—for the first time in an eternity—the ghost of a gentle smile on his face. Something flutters in my chest. “Let’s get this going, shall we?” he says. My heart, I realize. My heart is in those ashes, too. (Or: Katniss and Peeta grow back together after the war) Wool-oh_wellau (ao3) Summary: Set in those first tentative steps towards each other, in between the healing and the growing back together. I want to tell him that I appreciate that he’s still here, that he’s hasn’t abandoned me, even though sometimes I don’t make for the best company. I want to tell him that he is more than just a friend, that he leaves me at a loss for words and my stomach doing flipbacks. And that I like how it feels. That if I could freeze a moment and live in it forever, it would be us cuddling under a soft orange blanket, basking in front of the fireplace in our home, the sun setting outside. You, Me and Space-everlarkism (ao3) Summary: Peeta and Katniss board The Mockingjay in hopes for a fresh start. They’re put into hibernation pods and expected to wake up in the last few months of their journey… But something happens and Peeta’s pod malfunctions, making him the only passenger awake. As of now, at least. An Everlark ‘Passengers’ AU.

[yandere-fics]

♡ Sister Sawyer Thoughts ♡

(I feel bad I didn't put her in the poll because she is by far the most popular so at the very least take my thoughts about her as a sister, I'm working on another fic idea for her too btw, this is just a small thing, sorry to the Sawyer lovers who get neglected sometimes, she's just a bit harder to brainstorm ideas for.)

♡ Sawyer isn't very likely to make the first move unless her sister is trying to leave her penthouse or get with someone because she already has you spending her money and letting her cherish you so she can stay that way for a very long time and even during heats she'd suppress herself very hard because she doesn't want to scare or hurt you. Obviously she wants to be with you and be able to cuddle and hug but she's not really sure when she's supposed to reveal it, she was planning on waiting but now it's been centuries where she's been waiting and she's starting to feel like it would be weird to ambush you with this now. At a certain point she's just going to have to sit you down and tell you that the both of you are mates cause there's like some event that will make her heat uncontrollable and she'll need to hold you during it so she doesn't pounce completely or maybe the winter has to happen in the city and she's going to want to hibernate with her mate cause her instincts will go nuts if she wakes up from it without you next to her. ♡

♡ She's pretty slow honestly with physical intimacy, she's been holding back for centuries so obviously there's not a rush, just do be aware if YOU initiate the encounter she'll keep it going longer than you might have been prepared. Like you might lay next to her to cuddle for an hour but now you've been there for two hours because she really really needed this. The bright side is it's very easy to get up from her grasp if you tell her you're gonna go shopping though she'll probably come with and might hold your hand because she's not ready to let go yet. It'll tone down after time just she was holding herself back for actual centuries, sometimes she doesn't even realize how tightly she's holding you because her instincts are just telling her she can't let go cause there might not be another chance to cuddle for awhile. ♡

♡ Also every single person in the city will be delighted to hear in passing that the boss is with her mate now, they might have suspected you were her mate since you lived together forever but now that its confirmed they hope she'll be nicer. The gods will probably be a lot cheerier at the meeting cause maybe now that you've accepted her, she'll be less harsh on them for the whole spell above the city that could nuke it if she stopped shielding the city thing. She will not. ♡

[auraisereigh]

"Butterflies and Scars"

chapter twenty- seven

Brennan Sorrengail x Riorson f!reader (Star!) Words: 1.0K Blurb: In the safety of Brennan’s arms, sleep comes without fear—for the first time in too long. As morning fades into evening, warmth lingers between whispered words, healing scars, and a single glowing butterfly. And in the quiet, she finally understands what’s been blooming in her heart all along. ☆ SPOILERS FOR THE EMPYREAN SERIES. Brief mention of past injury, Refrence to nightmares and sleep paralysis, emotional vulnerbility, soft intimacy. A/N: i exist, at last. i've had some the most difficult months behind me and i didn't write much but now i graduated i have more time to figure things out so hopefully things will get better and i'll be able to post regulary again. Habe fun reading this chapter. It's one of my favs <3

Masterlist ☆ Star's story ☆ Support me ☆ Standalones ☆

"I'd prefer to marry for love than for power."

Recovered Correspondece From Miss Riorson, First In Line For The Aretian Duchy to Unknown.

----------

The night passed peacefully for once. No nightmares. No terrors. Just pure... peace.

I turn in bed, quickly realizing it's not my own.

Oh shit.

Brennan is still asleep, his arm draped across my waist. Just then it hits me—yesterday, Brennan brought me to his room because I was so worn out. I must’ve slept not only through the day but also through the entire night.

My heart skyrockets, and a flush threatens to rise in my cheeks. I turn slightly to get a better look at his face. His arm tightens slightly around me, but he doesn’t wake. He’s still deep in sleep.

My hand gently cups his cheek. Lord, he's so perfect. I trace his jaw, then the soft stubble lining it. Something blooms in my heart—maybe it’s love, finally blooming. A flower bud slowly unfolding, vibrant and fragile, destined to survive storms and sunshine alike.

I tilt my head slightly when I notice a faint line by his collarbone, just a shade lighter than the rest of his skin.

Two fingers gingerly pull down the collar of his shirt, following the scar's path to where it stops over his heart.

I grimace slightly. It's the scar from when my father shot him. It’s mostly healed now—just a patchwork of thin lines where the arrow must’ve broken skin. The deepest marks are still right over his heart.

Before I can think further, a hand catches mine and a small gasp escapes me as Brennan's fingers wrap around mine, gently pulling them away from his shirt.

“You really like poking around, huh?” he murmurs, amusement lacing his sleep-infused voice.

His voice is rough and low, and I swear the sound of it alone makes butterflies stir in my stomach.

The arm that had rested over my waist pulls me a little closer. “Tell me if I’m crossing a line,” he mumbles, his hand flexing lightly against my hip.

“You’re not,” I answer simply.

My hand moves back to his face, and this time I trace the contours of his temple, down to his brow, then along his cheekbone.

“You slept forever. Thought you were going into hibernation,” he teases. His voice is still warm and raspy with sleep, and it makes my magic flutter inside me.

If there’s one thing I’ve always known, it’s that my magic responds to my emotions. Whether that’s by design or just my lack of control, I’ve never really figured out.

“I slept well. No nightmares. No waking up,” I whisper. I’d almost forgotten what peaceful sleep even felt like. There was always something—nightmares, terrors, sometimes even sleep paralysis like that one night Naolin visited. Sleeping through it all felt strangely foreign. I’d gotten so used to the noise. To have none now... it’s a quiet I don’t know how to trust.

His lips curve into a soft smile. He cups my cheek, thumb tracing slow, soothing circles that almost lull me back to sleep.

“Don’t let go,” I whisper, voice raw and vulnerable.

“I won’t,” he murmurs without hesitation.

I dip my head against his chest, and his arms wrap fully around my back.

His warmth. The warmth of his sheets. The scent on his pillow—his scent.

Everything else falls away, and for now, all I want to do is exist. In these arms. With this warmth. Existing without fear, without noise.

This is the kind of quiet I could stay in.

----------

I don’t remember closing my eyes again. It’s the evening sun casting golden light through the window that finally wakes me.

“Good evening, sweetheart,” Brennan’s voice drifts in, sweet and teasing. I blink at him, then groan softly. Sleeping all day? Dreamy. Realizing you probably had things to do? Nightmare.

And this idiot—this sweet, thoughtful idiot—just let me sleep. Like nothing mattered except my peace.

He laughs softly and tugs me back to him. “Don’t worry, Felix stopped by. He knows you’re here.”

I roll onto my stomach and glance at the nightstand besides his bed. “That makes it worse,” I deadpan.

His laugh grows louder. He leans over me, chest brushing mine. “Don’t want to be caught in my bed, is that it?” he teases.

“Meh. That’s not the worst part,” I mutter half-sarcastic.

He presses his temple to mine, and my cheeks go red. My heart hammers in my chest—and for a second, it’s like all I can feel is him.

I feel it before I see it: a red, glowing butterfly fluttering through the room. Tiny, warm, and unmistakably mine. A visible echo of my magic. Of what I’m feeling.

My eyes widen. It’s not like I can stop it—it’ll keep flapping until I calm down.

“That’s yours?” he asks, going still.

“Yep,” I sigh, flopping my head back onto his pillow.

A few moments later I lift my head again. The butterfly, once fluttering, now rests calmly on Brennan’s finger.

I tilt my head. Over the last two months, I’ve had realization after realization about how I feel about him. For a long time, I wasn’t sure—romantic love has always been this confusing, messy thing for me.

But right now… here, like this… I know.

I want this. I want us.

I want a love like the kind I read about in novels. I want him by my side through every storm, every quiet morning. I want to trust him, stay loyal to him, and let him see every piece of me.

I bite my lip softly as I watch the butterfly shift its wings, still perched on his hand.

His chin comes to rest on my head. One arm rests gently beneath my chin. My lips curve up in a quiet, content smile.

I know it now.

I love him.

☆

Taglist: @honethatty12 @smashee0789 @awkardnerd @randomperson1234sblog@bangtanxberm@hyperactive-bookworm-0@littowl@thebreadisthetruevillian@bwormie@freakishfandomfiend@pookalicious-hq@lagrandeourse@that-girl-reading

[oddballwriter]

Daily Bite, Part 2: By Daylight

Part One

Summary: Part 2 of my vampire!Moon Boys au. In which you learn the basic rules of the house and get a tour. Though you notice a few weird things in an already weird mansion.

Warnings: Not much other than the implication of someone dying and leaving a mess, but no blood or death is actually seen or mentioned in the story. Gender-neutral reader. There is mention of gendered clothing but the scene is left open so that you can choose if you want fem of masc/neutral clothing.  

Author’s Snip: I LIVE!!! Sorry for not actually posting any big posts in forever, ran out of juice and needed to just relax and let it come back to me. Not sure if I'm BACK quite yet but maybe it will. So I hope you guys enjoy this as my comeback and finally feed you all after going into hibernation.

I’ll shut up now. Enjoy! And don’t be afraid to request.

Word Count: 2k~

Taglist: @my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction @sergeant102105

If you would like to join the tag list for this series or for Moon Knight content in general please let me know through my inbox.

The next day, the head maid was waiting for you to finish breakfast to give you the mansion tour. She formally introduced herself now, though she was still very uptight with you. My name is Calpurnia, "But I will be Ms. Henderson to you—and Ms. Henderson only," she told you. You just nodded and she goes off with the tour, leaving it up to you to keep up with her, both in walking and knowledge.

It was all rapid-fire, but you managed to get the gist.

All the windows are to remain with their curtains shut during the day because the wallpaper is allegedly authentic and the same that the mansion was originally built with, and the sun will bleach them of their color. The only exception is during overcast and rainy days if they have to be drawn for whatever reason.

Not many rooms are in use, like the grand dining hall, social room, guest rooms, and other such rooms. But they still have to be maintained and cleaned to avoid the chance of mold or major dust build-up.

The main kitchen, the one designated to the owners and residents, is, however, in operation, but housekeeping staff is not allowed in there.

"The staff in charge of there can clean up for themselves, but they might ask for your supplies if they're short on their own." Ms. Henderson explains.

You are allowed to clean and tend rooms with the owners in them, but you can't bother them. They do occasionally have conversations and socialize with the staff, but it's best to let them approach you first rather than approaching them.

Ms. Henderson was kind enough to give you a brief summary of who was likely to socialize, saying, "Mr. Lockley likes having company and socializes with staff the most if you're set to take care of the den room for one of your tasks. Mr. Grant's a bit of an awkward and timid man when you first meet him, but he gets chatty once he's familiar with you. Both he and Mr. Lockley like to walk about the mansion, but he's mostly holed up in the library. And then there's Mr. Spector, who sticks to his office most of the time, and he's not one for talking.". It seemed a bit more like an info dump than a 'brief summary' like she framed it to be, but with what you're here to do, it was vital.

After that, it was more rules and touring around.

The housekeeping staff works in assigned tasks around a general area, i.e., when there are tasks to be done in a certain location of the mansion, members of the staff are randomly assigned to that area, and those tasks. Depending on how big that task is, you might be put into a little group who were also assigned to the same task, and you all work together. But more commonly, you'd work a task along with others nearby in case you need anything. You can also trade tasks with other people designated to that area if you wish, but you have to run it by her first.

No going into the attic without permission. If you need something from the attic, then you ask for the key, get whatever it is that's needed, leave, and re-lock the attic door.

You asked why the attic was so off-limits, and all Ms. Henderson said was, "Too many snoopers and slack-offs going up there." and carried on.

There were a lot of other rules, but those were the main ones, it seemed. The only minor rule that you remembered was when you stumbled upon a cat walking around the halls at some point during the tour. It was a pretty-looking black cat that stopped as it trotted past the two of you to give you a sniff.

"There's a cat here?" you ask as you extend your hand to give them more to check out. Ms. Henderson sighed, "We've always kept a cat here." she explained. "They're meant to be mousers, but we hardly get any, so all they do is sit around, get their fur everywhere, and scratch up the carpet and sofa legs." Ms. Henderson sneers slightly before shrugging, claiming, "But Mr. Lockley and Mr. Grant are fond of them. So she's here.".

"This one's name is Lucy," she says. "You can pet her if you like but she's on a strict feeding schedule. 'To save room for mice'." Henderson informs before moving along. You manage to give Lucy a few pets before she also carries on down the hall.

After a bit more walking, your tour was interrupted by a young woman dressed in a similar uniform to Ms. Henderson, finding you two and calling out to her.

"Jules, what are you doing running around for me? You're assigned to the laundry room." Ms. Henderson scolds her in a firm tone.

"We're out of bleach." the girl, now known as Jules, informs her.

"Then go get a bottle from the utility closet-" Ms. Henderson orders her before Jules cuts her off by saying, "We've used all of it. There is no more bleach in the utility closet." before apologizing for her rudeness. Ms. Henderson looks puzzled and shocked at the information. "Used it all? My god, it couldn't have been that bad to use it all up," she responds.

"You didn't see it, Ms. Henderson. We've been at it for days with the stains! They left so much b-!" Jules exclaims before stopping herself mid-sentence and redirecting into a new one, "I wanted to ask if there might be any more somewhere else?" she asked.

Ms. Henderson took a moment to think before looking at you briefly and then turning back to Jules. "I believe there might be some with the kitchen staff. I'll get it and see if I can get the stains out. You can call the supplier for more." she instructs her before adding, "But catch go outside and catch your breath first. If you had to use that much bleach then you should get some fresh air before you pass out.".

As Jules nods and walks away with a "Yes, ma'am.", she turns to you, "I'm sure you can figure out the rest of the mansion. You can go back to your room and find something to do while you wait for us to get your uniform ready." she says.

You nod but ask, "Shouldn't I be fitted?".

Ms. Henderson looks back at you, confused like she was with Jules. "I don't know if you can tell, but we aren't in the old fashion black dresses with white aprons and suits here. We have general sizes. You find what fits right enough, and you keep it." she remarks.

"Then shouldn't I just be given the array and choose?" you question.

She rolls her eyes and says, "You just got the tour, we're a bit short in your size range, and we're still waiting on the other new arrival. Don't be so eager to dust and vacuum." before walking off.

You stand there for a moment, watching her walk off, before muttering to yourself "It was just a question." and walking back to the house staff hall.

Even though you can sense that your cover is going to be a pain in the ass with how snarky your technical boss is, you just remind yourself of the cash out you're going to get once you're out of here. Speaking of sensing things, even though it's clear daylight out, and some of the light just manages to get through the curtains, this place is still just as spooky looking as when you got here. It's still dead quiet and holds an eerie atmosphere, making you feel unsettled.

You do your best to shrug it off as you walk, looking around the place more closely now that you don't need to focus on listening to rules and whatnot. This place isn't as empty as you thought it would be. There's the occasional piece of furniture along the halls, like tables and decor, along with the occasional frame on the wall of either a painting or photo.

However, as you look along the wall, you find that they are a bit scattered, not really following any type of spacing pattern. You'd find that one photo on the wall was farther from the one before it and the picture before that. Almost like there's supposed to be another between them that just isn't there anymore. Even finding the occasional little hole in the wall where a nail might have once belonged and hadn't been covered yet. The photos are also all the same.

At first, you thought that they were all the same man, but as you looked more closely, you found little metal plaques on the frames saying different names. Well, it's more like different generations.

"Steven Grant Spector III"

"Jake Lockley Spector II"

"Marc Spector IV"

"Steven Grant Spector V"

"Marc Spector II"

"Jake Lockley Spector IV"

These were apparently all the past Spectors over the years. But it was impossible to believe that these were all different people with how much they looked alike despite the clear advances in the photos, like clearer images, changes in fashion, and the turn to color. You knew that Marc, Steven, and Jake Sr. were identical triplets, but for their genes to be so strong that all of their future sons looked exactly like them and thus each other? Impossible. And why is it only pictures of them as adults? What about their younger photos or pictures of their wives and other children?

You must have been staring at and thinking about these photos for a long time because the sound of someone clearing their throat behind you nearly scared the color out of you.

When you turn around, you find the exact same face that you've been looking at in the photos staring back at you. Except this time, it's got a mustache and a flat cap accessorizing it.

"Sorry," he says, laughing at your spooked reaction, "I didn't mean to sneak up and startle you like that," he says before extending his hand for a handshake.

"I assume you're the new hire for housekeeping since I've never seen you before," he comments.

"Yes," you answer as you take the hand shake and tell him your name.

"Jake Lockley," he introduces himself. "Nice to finally meet one of the owners, Mr. Lockley," you reply.

Jake cringes a bit at the title, "Only Señorita Henderson calls me that. You and the rest can just call me Jake." he explains.

"Speaking of her," Jake says, "Where is she? 'She leave you all by yourself?" he questions. You shake your head.

"She gave me a tour already, but she had to attend to something last minute. Something about stains and running low on bleach. She figured that I could find my way back to my room." you explain. "I was just taking everything in again so that I could learn the layout better. I hope that's okay," you tell him. "That's perfectly fine by me," Jake responds. "I was just worried that you got yourself lost in this big old place." he smiles, like he's trying to joke with you.

You smile back and assure him that you're not.

"Good, because if you started calling for help, it would take a while for someone to come find you." Jake joked again. You take a second to understand that he's joking again, which he seems to pick up instantly. "I'm joking again. Someone will definitely hear you. This place has a natural echo most of the time." he assures you, patting your hand just before walking away.

"See you around." he waves goodbye, leaving you alone again.

You move on and actually get back to your room. Leaving the rest of your looking for the next day when you actually start working.

Later on in the day, someone comes by and drops off a range of different styles of the housekeeping uniform. There's not much to pick from. They're all the same color, black, and there were only two style options. A plain below-the-knee-length dress with short sleeves that was a bit boxy on its own if you didn't use the optional belt loops that were around the waist, and the other was a similarly styled collared button-up with matching plain pants. You picked one and gave the rest back to your future co-worker, who informed you that you're free to add more, like an under-shirt or thermal and other such things, as long as you don't alter the uniform itself.

You then take out your journal and write down what you've observed.

"Got a tour of the place and learned some base rules. The weirdest ones were about the curtains staying closed during the day and staying out of the main kitchen. Unsure what that's about. I'll have to ask around once I meet other employees. Also, do they use a lot of bleach? I heard mention of a 'supplier' for the bleach? Unsure what that's about.

The pictures are weird here. They're all the Jr.s of the senior triplets, and no pictures of them when they're older or their partners or children. Didn't really get to ask about it, but I did meet Jake Lockley. Seems friendly and has good humor, but it's a little weird. I also couldn't help but feel like I've heard his voice somewhere, though. Like I've met him before? I don't know. Maybe he just has a generic voice? I'm sure it's nothing.

I got my uniform now, and we're just waiting on the other new person before I'm set to start learning the ropes and working. One of my uniforms smells weird, though. Like bleach and dye? Maybe they recycle uniforms, and they just cleaned it and had to retouch it before they gave it to me. They were talking about bleach earlier, so maybe that's it.

That's all I have for now. I guess I'll just wait."

[yunaversalluv]

Some Things Don’t Stay ⋆ ִֶָ ๋

Dina x fem!reader

synopsis ⋆ ִֶ

Sometimes love isn’t forever—sometimes it’s a beautiful, fleeting moment that changes you in ways you never expected. This introspective one-shot follows your quiet life after a tender, passionate relationship with Dina, tracing the spark that brought you together, the slow unraveling, and the gentle acceptance of what it means to love and let go. Through memories both bright and painful, you learn that not all endings are failures — some are simply part of the story, and that love, in all its forms, leaves an imprint that time can’t erase.

WORD COUNT: 3.3k

note - This story is an introspective look at a relationship that doesn’t have a traditionally happy ending (and cause there needs to be more dina fics) . It focuses on acceptance and bittersweet emotions rather than closure or reunion.

cws// emotional breakup, sadness and melancholy, angst with gentle pacing, reflective themes on loss and acceptance, mentions of loneliness and grief (no graphic descriptions)

taglist - @ephemaireey, @miajooz,@andiemiaswife,@valeisaslut

There’s a photo on your fridge you haven’t taken down.

You’ve moved twice since leaving Jackson. First to the foothills west of town, then again to this farmhouse on the edge of the old orchard. Each time, you packed light—essentials in bins, books wrapped in jackets, linens folded flat. No big declarations. No rushed departures. Just a quiet kind of movement, like turning a page without creasing the spine.

The photo came with you both times. Not on purpose, at first. You’d tossed it in with the kitchen junk—spoons, a bottle opener, three magnets shaped like apples. When you unpacked that first night here, you found it curled in on itself like something hibernating. The edges had yellowed a little. But the color was still there.

You and Dina, in front of the cabin you used to share. Early autumn, judging by the gold bleed of trees behind you. She’s laughing. Not posed, not careful. Her braid is coming undone over her shoulder. Your hand is on her arm, pulling her close, eyes half-shut from the sun.

She took the picture herself. Propped the camera up on a crate and set the timer. “Smile like you actually like me,” she’d said.

You’d grumbled, made a face. She caught it anyway. Froze you both in that easy, weightless kind of happiness that feels impossible now.

You meant to take it down when the walls started to feel like yours. But it’s still there, held by a horseshoe magnet and a dried flower stem someone left on your porch last spring.

It’s not about holding on. Not really. It just belongs there now. Like the creak in the third stair, or the way Lucky, your three-legged mutt, insists on sleeping under the table even when there’s a perfectly good bed next to the stove.

The house is quiet, but not empty.

You’ve made a rhythm out of things. Mornings with tea instead of coffee. A dented tin watering can you carry out to the vegetable beds, even though half of them gave up sprouting last season. The radio only works on two stations, so most days you hum instead—snatches of songs from back when you still danced in the kitchen, socks slipping on the wood floor, laughter echoing like it had nowhere else to be.

You haven’t danced in a long time. But some mornings, when the sun comes through the windows just right, your hand still twitches toward the dial.

You keep one mug on the drying rack. One set of boots by the door. A single pillow on the bed, because the second one stayed too cold for too long and you got tired of pretending you didn’t notice.

There are other things. Subtle ones. You still buy the good honey—because Dina always said the cheap stuff tasted like syrup and lies. You still fold towels the way she liked, even though it annoyed you back then. And you still check the mail slot by the gate, even though no one writes anymore, not really.

You don’t ache like you used to. The wound closed. But it didn’t vanish. There’s a tenderness in you now, like skin that’s healed too thin.

Some days you catch yourself talking to her, low under your breath, out loud without meaning to. Little things. A joke she would’ve liked. A story from the market. The kind of beautiful sunset she would’ve dragged you outside to see, hands cold but excited, voice all lit up.

You tell yourself it’s just habit.

But habits, like people, start somewhere.

And some of them don’t leave.

You met her on a patrol you weren’t supposed to be on.

Someone had gotten sick—food poisoning or a bad cold, maybe, you never got the full story—and you were pulled in last-minute, still tugging on your coat as you jogged up to the gate. Dina was already saddled and waiting, reins loose in one hand, brows arched like she was unimpressed with the delay.

“You’re my backup?” she said, lips twitching.

You hadn’t expected someone your age. Let alone someone who looked like that—half-drenched in morning light, braid slung over one shoulder, a tilt to her posture that said she didn’t take things too seriously unless she wanted to.

You blinked. “Lucky you.”

That earned a small smile, one she tried to hide by looking away. You climbed up beside her, muttering something about how if you were late it was because you were scraping ice off your boots. She hummed, amused. The first hour was mostly silence, save for horse hooves crunching snow and the occasional crack of a branch overhead.

But Dina wasn’t built for quiet, not really.

By hour two, she was asking where you were from. By hour three, she was telling you about a patrol where she and Jesse almost got stuck in a collapsed tunnel and had to eat squirrel jerky for two days.

By hour four, you were smiling like an idiot at everything she said.

You’d never really flirted with someone like her before—so bold, so openly amused by the way you hesitated. She didn’t let you stay guarded for long. Not with her quick laughter. Not with the way she’d say your name, drawn out slightly like a lyric she liked repeating.

“You always look this serious?” she asked once, nudging your shoulder with hers.

“Only when I’m trying not to die.”

“So… always.”

That was how it started: easy teasing, long rides, nights in lookout towers with thick blankets and terrible coffee. You caught her watching you when she thought you weren’t paying attention. You never called her out on it. You just watched her back.

The first kiss was in a barn about ten miles out.

You’d found shelter there when the wind picked up—snow slicing across the open fields like tiny needles. The barn was dry, at least, and still mostly intact. You found a pile of old feed sacks to sit on. She lit a lamp and rubbed her gloved hands together, eyes catching yours in the flicker.

“God, I hate the cold,” she said, stretching her legs out. “Should’ve been born somewhere with palm trees and margaritas.”

You smiled, unthinking. “And no barns to get stuck in?”

“Exactly. But… if I had to be stuck with someone…”

She trailed off, head tilting toward you like she was weighing something. Like she was waiting for a reason not to lean in.

You gave her none.

The kiss was slow at first, like she was asking a question and didn’t want to rush the answer. Her glove brushed your cheek, then slid up to cup behind your ear. You exhaled into her mouth. Everything outside—wind, cold, the cracking timbers of the old barn—fell away.

When you pulled back, she searched your face with a look that made your pulse hammer. Nervous, like she cared what she saw there.

“I want this to be something,” she said, voice low.

Your breath caught. “Something?”

Dina shrugged, but not like she didn’t care—more like she was scared she’d said too much.

“Not just a thing that happened on patrol. Not just for when it’s easy.”

The words hit you in the chest like a soft punch.

You weren’t used to people asking for something real. Not like this. Not so early. Not so gently.

You reached for her hand without thinking.

“I do too,” you said.

That night, you lay down side by side under one of the horse blankets, boots still on, arms tucked close but not touching. You both stared at the wooden beams above, hearts thrumming loud enough to hear.

Neither of you slept much.

You don’t remember everything from that winter. But you remember her breath on your neck. Her laugh echoing off snow. The way her fingers curled around your sleeve when you walked too far ahead.

You remember the barn. The quiet. The way it all began like a match striking too close to kindling—unexpected, small, but impossible to ignore once lit.

The cabin you shared was technically Dina’s first—handed down from someone in her patrol rotation who moved east for trade. But it became yours, too, somewhere along the way. Not with a ceremony or a key exchange. Just… slowly. Like everything with her.

A jacket left on the hook. Your books added to the shelf beside hers. A mug she started calling yours even though she used it more often.

You remember how it used to smell in the mornings—fresh coffee, cinnamon, something faintly herbal from whatever tea she'd tucked into the back of the pantry. Dina always got up first, sometimes before dawn, and puttered around with a kind of softness that made it feel like the day itself wanted to be gentle with you.

You remember how she’d curl her legs under her at the kitchen table, eyes bleary but bright, humming a little under her breath. How she’d leave a note if she left early. Nothing long—just a doodle of a bunny or a quick “patrol w/ Jesse, don’t forget to feed the goat, ily.”

There were joys, small and abundant.

You cooked together most nights. You never liked onions, but she’d chop them anyway, joking that she had to suffer if the dish was going to be good. You kept a running tally of who burned what, who forgot the salt, who made the best soup when one of you got sick. You always won, but she’d claim it was only because you cheated and used her mom’s old spice blend.

“You’re a dirty trickster,” she’d mutter, licking the spoon.

“Maybe. But you’re eating it.”

Sometimes she’d dance with you in the kitchen—no music, just the rhythm of whatever song was in her head. Her hands were always warm, even when yours weren’t. She’d tug you close, spin you, laugh against your collar. You’d pretend to protest. You never meant it.

There was a plant in the window you tried to keep alive together. A shared journal where you’d write notes to each other on opposite pages. Her handwriting leaned left. Yours leaned right. It made the book look like it was tipping into itself, always almost touching.

You slept back to back at first. Then forehead to spine. Then tangled, legs hooked like anchors, her palm flat over your ribs like she could keep time by the way you breathed.

You were happy.

But time, like a slow drip, started to wear through.

It started with the little things.

A change in Dina’s patrol schedule. A shift in your hours at the greenhouse. One of you waking up while the other came home, brushing kisses onto half-asleep cheeks that smelled like snow and sweat and longing.

You began to miss each other without realizing it.

Some nights, she came home quiet. You’d ask what was wrong, and she’d shrug, say she was tired. Say the roads were slick. Say Jesse’s horse slipped and it spooked her. You knew when she wasn’t telling the whole truth, but you didn’t push.

You weren’t always good at asking twice.

Other nights, you’d retreat too far into yourself—frustrated with the work, with the quiet, with something you couldn’t name. You’d lay beside her but feel miles apart. She’d notice. Of course she would. But she didn’t always know how to reach you.

And you didn’t always know how to let her try.

There were still good days. Plenty of them. Long hikes where you found new places to hide away and kiss until your mouths hurt from smiling. Nights by the fireplace where you curled up with a book in one hand and hers in the other.

But there was a slow drift beneath it all, like river ice breaking up in spring. Subtle at first. Then undeniable.

The moment you really noticed it was a late-summer evening.

You were sitting on the porch with Dina, watching fireflies bloom in the tall grass. She had a blanket over her knees, mug resting against her thigh. You had your head on her shoulder, eyes half-lidded.

“I think maybe I want something different,” she said, suddenly.

You blinked. “From me?”

She shook her head too quickly, like she hadn’t meant for it to come out that way. “No. Not… not different like that. I mean… different pace. Different future.”

You turned to look at her, slow and cautious. “Like what?”

She hesitated. Looked out toward the orchard. “Kids, maybe. Not now, but… someday. And not just surviving. I don’t know. I want to build something. Something that feels like it’s going somewhere.”

You didn’t answer right away.

Because you didn’t know if you wanted the same things. Or if you did, whether it was still with her.

Not because you didn’t love her. You did. God, you did.

But something in your heart was always reaching elsewhere, always grasping for a version of yourself that hadn’t taken root yet. And loving someone who had already bloomed was starting to feel like you were holding her back.

That night, you held her tighter.

Because you knew, even if she didn’t say it yet, that you were holding her for one of the last times it would feel easy.

It didn’t happen all at once.

There was no dramatic fight, no slammed door or betrayal or last straw. Just the slow erosion of closeness—like wind smoothing down the edges of something once sharp. You didn’t realize how far apart you’d drifted until one night, you both reached for the same memory and came up with different versions.

You were sitting at the kitchen table, an untouched dinner growing cold between you. Dina had just gotten back from a long patrol, and you’d cooked her favorite—curry with a soft-boiled egg, rice sticky and steaming in the little ceramic bowl she always chose. She smiled when she came in, kissed your cheek, but her shoulders stayed heavy. You could tell she hadn’t really been there all evening.

You tried to coax her back. Told her about the stupid thing that happened at the greenhouse, the way the goat had gotten loose and knocked over a barrel of compost. You laughed. She didn’t. She was distracted, rubbing her thumb against the side of her mug like she was counting something invisible.

“You remember the summer after the blizzard?” you asked, desperate for something to tether you both back to softness. “When we got caught in that rainstorm, and we made that tent with the tarp and the chairs and just stayed there listening to the thunder?”

Her eyes flicked up to yours, brow furrowed slightly.

“That wasn’t after the blizzard,” she said. “That was before. We didn’t even have the tarp yet—we were using those shitty sheets from Joel’s place, remember?”

You hesitated. “No, I’m pretty sure it was after. The ground was still frozen.”

Dina smiled, but there was an ache behind it. “Maybe. Doesn’t matter.”

But it did.

Because if the memory was fraying, what else was?

You both went quiet again. You tried to eat. She picked at her rice. You stared out the window at the orchard behind the house, the branches bare now, skeletal and sharp in the moonlight.

When she spoke again, her voice was soft. Careful.

“I’ve been thinking,” she said. “Maybe I should move back in with Jesse for a while.”

You felt something drop low in your chest. “What?”

“Just for a bit,” she added quickly. “Not—god, not like a thing. I just… I feel like we’re always missing each other lately. And I don’t want to start resenting you because of that.”

You nodded slowly, but your throat was tight. “You already do, a little.”

She closed her eyes.

“Not you,” she whispered. “Not really. I just… I miss how easy it used to be. And now everything feels like something we have to try at. Like I’m walking around with my hands out, waiting to bump into something solid.”

“I know,” you said. And you did. “I feel it too.”

She looked at you, and you could see it—how much she loved you. Still. How hard this was for her. How hard she was trying not to let it be harder.

“Do you think we stopped choosing each other?” you asked, the question catching in your throat.

Her answer was quiet. “I think we got tired. I think we tried. And I think we’re still trying, even now. But maybe the thing we’re trying to keep alive doesn’t look like us anymore.”

You reached across the table. She took your hand. Warm, solid. Familiar.

“I don’t want to hate this,” you whispered. “I don’t want to ruin what we were by dragging it out until we resent each other.”

She nodded. “Me neither.”

You stayed like that for a long time—hands clasped between half-eaten dinner, the air between you aching with all the things you wouldn’t say. No shouting. No blaming. Just that slow, silent crumbling.

Later, you lay beside her in bed for the last time, the ceiling above you glowing faint with starlight. She turned into your chest like she always had, her breath hot against your neck.

“I want to remember us like this,” she said.

“You will.”

The next morning, she packed a single bag. Left her favorite sweater on the hook by the door. Told you to keep the plant in the window. Said she knew you’d take care of it.

You didn’t cry when she left. Not until the sound of her boots on the porch faded into quiet, and the house began to feel too big for your heartbeat.

Even then, the tears didn’t come all at once.

They came like everything else with her.

Slowly. Softly.

With love still in them.

The day you decided to go back wasn’t planned.

You’d been sitting in your quiet apartment, the one still scattered with echoes of her—her mug on the windowsill, the faded patch on the couch where she’d rest her feet—and the ache was sharp and constant. You kept your fingers tracing the edges of the photo on your fridge, the one from that last summer you spent together, golden light spilled over both your faces like it was trying to hold you in place.

Something inside you stirred—a quiet urge to see the orchard again, the place where you and Dina had watched fireflies flicker like stolen stars.

You pulled on your boots and wrapped your jacket tight against the crisp air, even though the sun was still warm. The path was familiar but tangled now, overgrown where the grasses had taken over. Your breath came out in little clouds, and every step felt like coming home and leaving home all at once.

You reached the tree where you’d carved your initials once, just shy of the bark’s roughness, a mark of “us” that was innocent and hopeful. The letters were faded, some chipped away by time and weather, but still there. Like memories—some clearer than others, but always there.

You pulled your journal from your bag, the one you’d kept since those first days with Dina. You flipped past pages filled with notes, sketches, song lyrics you’d both laughed over. Your fingers stopped on the last entry you’d written together, a half-finished poem about light breaking through cracks.

You read it again, slowly.

“Love isn’t always forever. Sometimes it’s a moment stretched wide. A story that changes shape but stays beautiful. Sometimes, the best part of love is learning who you are when it’s over.”

You closed the book and let the words settle inside you like a soft hand on your chest.

The orchard stretched out before you, branches waving gently in the breeze, no longer just a place of what was, but a place of what is and what will be.

You pulled your jacket tighter, smiling softly. Not bitter, not broken—just whole, in a different way.

It’s okay, you thought, to love and lose. To hold and let go.

Because sometimes, that’s what love looks like.

And sometimes, that’s enough.

[mrs-nightshade]

Surprise arrivals!

(A dandy's world OC fanfic (not my OC))

Au and OC creator; @diggitydoggo

(Suitor x Multiple)

They didn't know this would happen, they didn't have a clue... All they were doing was playing around...

They'd all been bored one day, hanging out together. Rodger had mentioned how long ago he'd asked Delilah for someone to take care of, he'd drawn up a sketch and, deciding the company would be good for him, Delilah had made Toodles and given her to him once she was physically stable.

They all started making sketches, nothing more than silly doodles of what their kids would look like, most of them being little ghosts (to Gavin's faux dismay) all of them were carefully planned out, colored, even named... They all put the sketches in a couple neat piles, sorted into sketches and "final" designs.

The next day they were gone, which was odd, but maybe Tisha just tossed them while she was doing a sleep deprived cleaning...

Everything was normal for a few weeks, and then one day, each Council member had a small basket in front of their room with a single egg in it... Except for Shelly, her basket had two.

Each egg was carefully wrapped in a soft blanket matching its color and each one had a small card with a single word on it; a NAME, the names they'd carefully written on each of their drawings...

They'd all quickly gathered in their usual meeting spot, Rudie looking over both his and Glisten's Egg while the mirror rushed to get their lover, he'd definitely want to see this. And after a few minutes that felt like forever Glisten quickly rushed into the room, closely followed by Suitor.

Glisten immediately ran to check on Rudie and the little golden egg he'd left with the usually jolly reindeer, and Gavin quickly locked the door before quickly leaving his armor behind. They all quickly took stock of the eggs, all of them carefully arranged sitting in a circle with their respective baskets directly in front of them.

None of them knew what was going on or what to do, though all of them had the same thought and instinct arise at the same time; they needed to make a nest.

And then, after no more than thirty minutes, Gavin had somehow become a very broody ghost who utterly refused to leave his newly made nest and recently acquired eggs. He was hissing at anyone trying to touch the eggs, or even the nest for that matter...

It took a few hours to convince Gavin to move off the nest and let someone else take charge, though it was mostly because all of them wanted a turn cuddling the eggs... Oh dear, how were they going to explain this...

. . .

It took about 4 months of incubating for the eggs to hatch, Rudie had to go down to hibernate pretty early on but all of them hoped he and his little one were doing alright down there. Otherwise they all watched as the little eggs hatched one by one, the little ghost kits that came out small enough to curl up in their hands when cupped together, they were tiny and they were perfect...

It didn't take long for them to get bigger, quickly getting to their phase of crawling and opening their eyes properly, playing and wrestling gently under their parents careful supervision. It was quite the adventure when they started learning to float like Gavin, slowly moving from swimming around low in the air to a more upright posture.

About the time they were getting better at keeping upright Gavin had decided to make little suits of armor for each of them just to see how they'd interact with them, only to be surprised by them quickly learning to toddle after him in what seemed to be a march whenever he was in his own armor.

Well, at least that solved the problem of keeping his identity a secret... Now how to introduce their lovely little toddling army to the rest of the Toons....

. . .

Gavin opened his door, it was extremely early but he'd heard quite the ruckus right outside of his door, what he never would have expected was a lone egg, with no comfort or name, simply left completely abandoned at his feet... "Oh you poor thing..."

[gyokujyn]

WIP Game ♡

rules: you will be given a word. share one sentence / excerpt from your wip(s) that start with each letter of that word.

Tagged by @amaraangelicus

My word was COMFY and, ironically, none of these snippets are terribly comfortable.

Under this cut, you are going to find slurs, gore, violence, sexualised violence, implied sexual assault, antisemitism (there are Nazis), and implied torture. I write difficult, dark subject matter, particularly exploring self-hatred and grief. Please take care of yourself and proceed with caution.

C - As-yet unnamed Bucky-centric Wakanda recovery fic

“Cause I didn't expect to be able to dream,” he said finally.

“In the stasis tube?” Shuri clarified and he nodded, shrugged, shrank in on himself.

“With HYDRA, I felt like I was dreaming all the time.  Like a waking nightmare.  I couldn't string my memories together in a coherent line.  People or places would come to me, but I couldn't remember why they were important or how they were connected.  The only thing that mattered was right now, the only thing I could keep a grip on was what was right in front of me.  Then, they'd shove me back in the ice and there was nothing.  I would close my eyes and when I opened them, the nightmare was back, like no time had passed at all, and they'd burn out whatever I could put together and start over.  But, I never really…. I don't really remember sleeping under HYDRA.  Just mission after mission, and in-between them, cryo like the blink of an eye.  I think they knew that sleep healed me because there were times I was kept out so long, my body'd start shutting down.  The drugs wouldn't keep me up forever; even super soldiers breakdown at some point.  And, when I slept, I remembered.  So, instead they would shove me into cryo as soon as they could and shut me down like flipping a light switch.”

“Their cryogenic process was barbaric, just freezing you like meat.  Our stasis tubes put your cells in a state of regenerative hibernation, but, even so, the only times I have heard of patients dreaming is those who have taken of the heart shaped herb." She hopped down off the bed and paced for a moment, the way he'd learned meant she was working out a problem. She tipped her head side to side, eyes on the ceiling, then looked back to him, "Perhaps, some part of your enhancement is close enough to my brother's that you also visited your ancestors."  A sudden seriousness, so unlike the princess, overtook her and she narrowed her eyes at him. "What was it like?”

He thought back to twilight in Brooklyn, feet dangling from a fire escape, a face in every window of the alley, and more stars overhead than he'd ever seen before coming to Wakanda.  The scent of his mother's perfume is already fading in his sense memory when he replies, “It felt real.”

O - As-yet unnamed Bucky!Cap WinterBaron fic set in WW2

On the air is the thick smell of smoke.  Bucky’s in the dancehall in Brooklyn with the ugly, fake Roman arches around the stage, but he’s in the back by the bar.  And he’s draped over a barstool next to Sandra Singer with her honey brown eyes and fingernails purple like a bruise.  She’s smoking the Marlboros he started buying to pick up dames and he’s digging his fingers to the knuckle into her curled hair while he licks the taste out of her mouth.  They’re hot and heavy in the alley by the butcher’s and the smoker must be working overtime because it’s cloying and her laughter sounds like shouting as he buries himself in the nape of her neck, hot and suffocating as she presses him against the brick.  He licks a line along her throat and coughs out dirt and ash as he pushes himself up out of the wreckage.

On the air is the thick smell of smoke.  Bucky’s in the rubble of the factory in Kreichsberg and he’s buried under crumbled concrete at the edge of the building when he comes to.  He’s propped up on his arms, both dirt stained and black with soot.  His mouth tastes like the inside of an ashtray, every shallow breath like embers, but he can’t worry about the taste right now because he can barely breathe. He’s gasping like a fish on the rocks at Coney Island in the summer, but there’s something in his throat and gasping gives way to wretching and suddenly he’s coughing up the rest of the ashes out of his lungs, along with what appears to be most of the lining of his throat and lungs.  He can still hear the shouting nearby, but it’s not close enough to worry about, yet, not when he finds himself staring at parts of him he’s sure should remain inside and it’s another long moment before he can wipe his mouth with the back of his hand and gather himself enough to stand.  Dragging his feet up towards his chest, he pushes himself up miserably, skin feeling sharp and bright beneath the layer of grime he’d accumulated.  The first landmark he spots is at the top of the last wall standing.  It’s that useless door he’d been inching his way towards when everything went to hell and he realized at that moment that he’s a good 200-feet from where he had expected to die on the opposite end of the factory.  That backdraft was a bitch.

M - As-yet unnamed Bucky/Peggy fic where they hatefuck in their grief over losing Steve at Kreichsberg THIS BIT IS EXPLICITLY LEADING UP TO A RAPE SCENE AND SHOULD BE READ WITH CAUTION

Mangled clicking sounds cut through the quiet of the room as she struggles to choke out his name.  She’s shredding the skin of his hand with her nails, tears falling down her cheeks and stinging in the wounds, but he just shakes her a bit by the throat, like a wolf worrying its prey.

As suddenly as it had begun, the fight leaves him and his grip on her loosens.  She gasps, gulping in air desperately, coughing and gagging as he falls to his knees at her feet.  He's shaking, hands and arms wrapped around her calves.  She stares down at him in horror, panting, scared to move and trigger another attack.

“Did you fuck him in the end?”

She blinks slowly, her voice wrecked when she finally croaks, “what?”

Bucky looks up at her, eyes red-rimmed and glassy, “You heard me.  Did you fuck him?” He repeats, moving his hands up her legs, wrapping the hem of her skirt in his fist and pushing it up her thigh, “Will I taste him on you?”

F - As-yet unnamed Stucky/Steggy law enforcement AU with felon!Bucky, LEO!Steve, DA!Peggy

For a moment, Bucky was taken off guard, his shock written clearly across his features in the face of Steve’s aggression and it should have settled something in Steve, but it only stoked it.  Bucky let his face melt into a smirk, his voice pitched low, just for Steve.  “Blue is my color.”

“Yeah,” Steve growled, hissing right in Bucky’s face, teeth bared.  “Really brings out the convicted felon in your eyes.”

But, Bucky saw the opportunity for what it was and he wasn’t letting it go.  He leaned forward into Steve’s space, running his hands up Steve’s thighs slowly, “Oh, Steve, c’mon, do you even try not to think of me when you’re fucking her?  Or, do you put her on her belly with her ass up and shove her face into the pillow, huh?  So you don’t have to look at her or hear that whiny fucking voice when you’re–”  Steve’s knuckles connect with a dull thud, barely audible over the clattering of Bucky’s chair toppling over.  The first time shuts him up, the second puts him on the floor along with a spray of fresh blood from his broken nose.  Steve’s snarling and panting, raised fist poised to go again, but he contains it.  He breathes through it.

Y - As-yet unnamed (is this sounding familiar yet?) Bucky-centric fic, this scene is during his first capture by Hydra, when he is first selected for Zola's program.

“You are a Jew?” the interrogator asks him.  It’s a simple question and Bucky doesn’t want to respond.  His jaw trembles open and shut as the fresh tears track down his muddied cheeks.

“Barnes,” he starts, finally, “James Buchanan.  Sergeant–” and the soldier in front of him just nods slowly.

“You are a Jew.”  It’s no longer a question and the soldier begins barking orders to the guards who have stopped stringing him up.

“Wait,” Bucky jumps in as they unbind his hands, but it’s all happening so quickly, now.  They drop him unceremoniously on the floor.  His pants are still around his thighs and he fumbles to pull them back up, his stomach lurching, “No, wait, look at my tags.”  They’re not even listening to him, and he knows this, but he can’t stop the words bubbling out of him as his numb fingers clumsily wrestle with the buttons of his trousers, “My tags say I’m Catholic!”  The guards ignore him, hauling him up by his armpits and dragging him towards the door.  His voice rises frantically as he pulls back against them, pulling out his dog tags as evidence, “Look at my tags!  Look!”

The interrogator is calm as he grabs him by the face, his long fingers digging into Bucky’s jaw as his hand covers his mouth like a mask, “I understand, Sergeant.  Barnes, James Buchanan.  You are not only a Jew, but also a coward,” his gut wrenches again with the truth of it.  At least he’d stopped crying. “Nevertheless, you may prove useful to us, yet.”

no pressure tags: @katie-delaney and @blackwood4stucky

Katie, your word is LUSTY

Aspen, your word is TWIST

If anybody else wants to join in, try the word STORY

[twopoppies]

Gina, it’s so funny that last year, the whole Ariana Grande scandal with her co-star blew up (apparently, he cheated on his wife with Ariana), and social media was canceling her. Now, it's like nobody remembers it. People are all rooting for her since Wicked came out, and loving her friendship with Cynthia Erivo.

I don’t have anything personal against her, I love her music. I'm just saying it's wild how quickly the internet forgets things when it wants to and holds onto mistakes forever when it doesn’t. The support and love of the general public is so fickle in the music industry and hollywood. They can turn on you over the smallest thing.

Anyway, I really hope when Harry returns, people welcome him and the hate dies down. People were dragging him for everything. I’m not putting him on a pedestal—I know he made public missteps—but the criticism was way too harsh I think.

What hurt me the most was how he got hate for his grammys speech because we know he meant what he said, and it was genuine. Yet, people punished him for it.

Anyway, I’m excited for whatever he does next, music, film, business, whatever it is.

Well, I don’t doubt that the push for Ariana once again being embraced by the world is heavily orchestrated by her PR team. She wants to get an Oscar. She wants to do more movies. They’re not going to let the fact that she cheated with SpongeBob who was married to his high school sweetheart who was pregnant (or just had a baby, I can’t remember which) get in her way.

For some reason, it feels like Harry’s team only wakes from hibernation when it’s time for a new girlfriend. I don’t really understand what they do for him sometimes.

But, yes. The industry (both music and film) is incredibly fickle. Harry even mentioned that in his last Zane Lowe interview. I hope they do some work to have people primed and excited fire him to come back when he’s ready to do it. It seems to me that it wouldn’t hurt if they started now because even though he hasn’t done a thing in 18 months, people can’t stop talking about him. So why let the void be filled with negative gossip? But what do I know?

[spacesummerchronicles]

Space’s Summer Chronicles #30: July 17th, 18th and 19th: Icarus Falls

Am I Icarus? Past two I’m free But he still tries to catch me So I fly and fly closer to the sun Death with dignity is better than life without

Hi, y'all! I feel like I'm flying too close to the sun. The job situation is getting worse and while I do not feel like I'm gonna be fired, per se, the environment is getting worse and worse. I'm trying to jump ship, submitting CVs but the job market is shit and everyone is off work so who knows. I have faith that it will all be good, it's all I can do. It will all be good. I'll find something great, be financially stable and have MONEYYY forever!!!! Anyways.

There's not much to say except THANK GODDD my cousin is still visiting her friend. It's soooo much calmer in my head now that I'm not dealing with her. She's coming back on Tuesday, I might miss her a little bit but who knows. Until she comes back, it's relaxing time. Honestly, the job situation is weighing on my nerves and I have to stop that. Gonna go into hibernation and sleep 10 hours.

In other news, I've been swimming a lot and taking walks while listening to Carly Rae Jepsen and Badlands. Love it. Gets me back in that mindset I had back when I was a preteen and I wanted to escape my parents on vacation so I took long walks around the city with my headphones on. Great.

Tit progress is great, I have a feeling I'll be one hot hot bitch at the Kesha concert!

Gonna try the morning notes tomorrow. Ugh. It's like.... I didn't even set THAT MANY goals for the summer and yet the only thing I've managed to achieve properly is party. I don't know.

ALSO MY DND GAME FOR MY MUTUALS IS STARTING SOON YAYYY

k bye

Summer Progress Bar: 45.7%/100 (shit it's close to 50)

Songs of the days:

[sunshinyssr]

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈

On the last day of November, Moomin gives him a pair of funny-looking socks. Threads of brown and green yarn are sticking out here and there. Not the best work, but Moomin somehow looks proud. 

New? Seems like. But didn't his friend of years know how Snufkin doesn't hold in high regard new stuff? With a determined face and shining blue eyes, Snufkin can tell what thoughts behind an unexpected gift. 

"Did Moominmamma knit them in darkness?" Jokes go out in the chilly autumn air, and no one laughs. If not mamma, then who?

Few ideas come to mind. No, not them. A stupid smile spreads on cold cheeks.

"Mamma said best to give you now."

"Did she?" In the backpack they go. There's still room for another unexpected gift. Snow under light boots melts into a watery mess. Still, Snufkin waits. He could go. And...

"She taught me. Whole summer I spend working." Frustration is written all over Moomintroll's body. Years ago, Moomin would have stamped his feet, but now only shrugs. "Hope you'd like them.".

"Of course. What friend would I be rejecting them?" On the other side, if this was not about friendship, Snufkin with a polite smile would leave knitted gifts in some ways. Like dragon, who was caught long ago. Sometimes, Snufkin wonders where that last representative of his kind? 

"Thank you?" Moomintroll confused, "Guess, see you at the spring?" 

Bittersweet words are never easy. Moomintroll sighs. Snufkin sees paws are rubbing against each other. House behind Moomin rises a red roof. Somewhere inside, parents, tiny mymble ready to hibernate. Moomin needs to be there. 

Snufkin takes paws in his warm handshake, then gently hugs his surprised friend. Why does this goodbye feel different? It's that the spring would never stretch her green fields? Meltwater would never flood the river? Birds forever silent, mourning?

No. 

There's always gonna be time. On a carpet of shimmering greenery, they will look at the stars at night. Counting every each. Spring tune willl stir up sleepy valley. And birds will sing alongside.

Right now, they're parting ways. Heart light, boots wet, and in the backpack, carefully packed with the other few belongings, soft worm socks.

His back was smaller and smaller. Snow keeps falling, and the footprints soon cover a thick layer of white coldness.

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