#she said this is her most favorite one ever

[ilovejb]

| Married and milky |

Pairings: Lewis Pullman x female!wife!reader

Summary: lewis pullman is a tired dad, a full-time simp, and extremely obsessed with your boobs — in that order.

Warnings: dad!lewis, lactation kink (light), fluff overload, domestic chaos, thirsting, no smut just vibes

Authors note: pray for me… i can’t stop thinking about Lewis Pullman, and i fear it’s going to destroy me

You hadn’t meant to fall in love with Lewis Pullman, but it had happened in the quietest, gentlest way—over coffee mugs and late-night calls, the smell of rain on the back porch, and that ridiculous way he laughed with his whole body. You were just the production assistant on set. He was the actor who somehow made being sleepy look hot. Years later, you were married, living in a cozy craftsman house in upstate New York, and waking up every morning to the chaos of two very different little humans you’d made together.

Your daughter, Sadie, five years old and full of energy, was all wide eyes and wild curls, practically bouncing out of her unicorn pajamas. She had Lewis wrapped around her little finger. Total daddy’s girl. And your son, Theo—barely eleven months—was the clingiest mama’s boy you’d ever met. If you even hinted at putting him down, he’d let out a betrayed little wail that shattered Lewis’s heart every time.

This morning was no different.

You stood in the kitchen, hair a mess, robe half-tied, baby on one hip, trying to get coffee into your bloodstream while also nursing Theo. He was latched on, humming softly, content and warm against your chest. And then, like clockwork, your husband entered the kitchen shirtless, sleepy-eyed, and unfairly hot, like some kind of domestic god with bedhead and boxer briefs that hung just low enough to be a distraction.

He paused in the doorway, eyes locked on you—and more specifically, on Theo breastfeeding.

“…God,” he muttered, voice low and a little raspy. “I still get jealous of him.”

You rolled your eyes playfully. “Lewis…”

“No, seriously,” he walked over, wrapping his arms around your waist from behind. “He gets you, and milk from you, and gets to sleep curled up on your boobs all day. I’m just saying. I should get dibs.”

“You do get dibs,” you said, laughing softly, adjusting Theo as he shifted. “Just… not at 8 a.m. with spit-up on my shirt.”

Lewis pressed a kiss to your neck, voice low against your skin. “I love this version of you, you know that? All sleepy and soft and feeding our baby. It’s hot. Like… wildly hot. Dangerous levels of hot.”

“Babe, we’re in our kitchen.”

“Yeah, and?”

Right then, Sadie burst in, carrying a plastic tiara and demanding Lewis attend her royal tea party.

“You promised, Daddy! You said you’d be King Sparkle!”

Lewis groaned dramatically and kissed your shoulder one last time. “Duty calls.”

As he scooped Sadie into his arms and pranced around the living room wearing a glittery tiara, you couldn’t help but watch him—barefoot, half-dressed, playing princess at full volume. A part of you still couldn’t believe this was your life. That this insanely hot, big-hearted man was all yours. That you had built this warm, chaotic little universe together.

Theo finished nursing with a sleepy sigh, his chubby cheek resting against your chest. You smiled down at him, then over at Lewis, who caught your eye mid-curtsy and winked.

Yeah. This was your favorite version of forever.

Evening settled over your little house like a worn-in sweater—familiar, warm, just snug enough to make your heart ache a little.

Sadie had declared it was “Mermaid Spa Night”—which really meant dumping half a bottle of glittery bubble bath into the tub while Lewis played sea captain and you tried not to step on any squishy plastic fish. Theo had been fussy most of the day and now was finally quiet, dozing on your chest in that heavy baby way, his chubby cheek plastered against your collarbone like he belonged there.

“Hey,” Lewis murmured, lifting Sadie out of the tub and wrapping her in a fluffy towel. “You okay?”

You nodded, watching as he gently rubbed her hair dry. “Just tired. He didn’t nap, and I’ve been used as a human pacifier since lunch.”

He gave you that look. The one he always did when you said anything involving you nursing. A flash of something dark and teasing crossed his face as he walked over, brushing Theo’s curls back and pressing a kiss to your temple.

“I’d volunteer as tribute,” he whispered into your ear.

You let out a low laugh, adjusting Theo in your arms. “Oh my god, Lewis. You’re literally jealous of a baby again.”

“Tell me it’s not insanely hot that you make milk, though.” He kissed the side of your neck, slow and warm. “Like. From these.” His hand brushed your chest, just enough to make your breath catch.

You turned to swat him away playfully. “You are impossible.”

“And yet you married me,” he grinned, then leaned in close again, eyes gleaming. “Remember when you were breastfeeding Sadie, and I asked if I could just try it once?”

Your eyes widened. “Lewis—”

“You let me. You liked it.”

“Because you were hot and I was hormonal!”

“You’re still hot. And now I’m the hormonal one,” he said, dropping a hand to your waist.

Theo stirred and let out a tiny burp, drool seeping into your shirt. Mood shattered instantly.

Lewis groaned, pulling away with a dramatic sigh. “They always know when I’m about to make a move.”

“They’ve got sixth sense for foreplay,” you said, laughing. “Tiny cockblockers, the both of them.”

Sadie shrieked from the bathroom. “MOM! DAD! The mermaids escaped!”

Lewis looked at you like a man defeated. “Rain check?”

You nodded, stepping closer so he could kiss you properly—slow, lingering, just long enough to promise later.

Later never came. Sadie insisted on three bedtime stories, Theo peed on the sheets mid-diaper change, and by the time the house was finally quiet, the two of you crashed on the couch, exhausted, tangled up like laundry.

Lewis tucked your hair behind your ear. “Still the hottest milkmaid I’ve ever seen.”

You threw a pillow at him.

The house was quiet.

Not “naptime quiet,” not “TV is paused quiet.” It was the kind of stillness that only came once both kids were deeply asleep and the universe granted you a night off from chaos.

Theo had finally slept through the feed. No cries. No midnight diaper blowouts. Sadie was curled up like a cinnamon roll in her blanket fort, and you were standing in the kitchen wearing Lewis’s T-shirt—one of the old, soft ones that hit your thighs and still smelled like him.

He walked in slow, quiet, barefoot, shirtless. His hair was a mess, and his eyes locked on you like you were the only thing that had ever mattered.

“You’re still up,” he said softly, rubbing the back of his neck. “Didn’t think I’d get this lucky.”

You smiled sleepily. “Figured I’d enjoy the silence for five minutes before one of them wakes up.”

He stepped closer, eyes flicking down your body. “I was hoping I could enjoy you for five minutes. Or maybe… ten.”

Your lips twitched. “You’re really still thinking about it, huh?”

“I haven’t stopped,” he said honestly, his voice low and wrecked. “I’ve been so patient, baby. I let Theo have them all day—every day. And you… you just walk around leaking, looking like that, and I’m supposed to pretend I don’t wanna sink my face into them like a damn starved man?”

You laughed softly, cheeks flushing.

“God, I missed these,” he murmured, stepping closer and cupping your breasts through the fabric, reverent and a little desperate. “I mean—don’t get me wrong, watching you feed him is… it does things to me. Like I get why he’s obsessed. But I’ve been obsessed since before they even made milk.”

He pulled your shirt off slowly, breathing hard, and his eyes flickered with awe and hunger when he saw the swell of your chest, full and heavy from the day.

“Can I?” he asked, soft but aching.

You nodded.

He didn’t rush. He cupped you gently, thumb brushing a nipple, then leaned down and kissed it like it was sacred. He tasted—tentative at first, then bolder when he heard your breath hitch.

“Jesus,” he groaned against your skin. “You taste like heaven.”

His hands splayed across your back, holding you so close you could feel the rise and fall of his chest. There was no performance in it—just raw want, soft sighs, and Lewis finally getting something he’d been quietly desperate for since the baby was born.

“Do you know how many times I’ve dreamed of this?” he whispered. “You. Like this. Full and soft and mine.”

“Lewis…”

“I know they’re for Theo. I know. But god, just for a moment… can’t they be mine too?”

You tugged him up and kissed him, messy and deep, his hands roaming your body like he couldn’t believe he was allowed. You let him worship you—because you were still his, even after becoming theirs.

Later, curled up on the couch in a tangle of limbs and discarded blankets, he whispered into your hair, “Thank you.”

“For what?” you murmured, eyes heavy.

“For sharing,” he said. “Even when you’re tired. Even when you give every part of yourself to them. You still save some of you for me.”

You pressed your lips to his shoulder. “Always.”

It was one of those rare, slow mornings. Sunlight poured through the windows, casting that buttery golden glow across the kitchen table. Sadie was deep in her cereal, humming to herself, little curls sticking out in every direction, while Theo sat in his high chair slapping a spoon and squealing like a gremlin.

You? You were in leggings and a sports bra, hair up, trying to sip coffee that had been reheated three times.

Lewis?

He was behind you, hands very much not helping with breakfast.

“You’re being a menace,” you warned in a whisper as he slipped his arms around your waist and slid his palms up.

“You’re being unfair,” he murmured in your ear, voice low and scratchy from sleep. “Walking around in this tiny thing, jiggling all over the kitchen while I’m just… standing here starving.”

You turned slightly, narrowing your eyes. “You had your midnight snack, Mr. Pullman.”

He grinned—that grin. The one that made your knees wobble and your brain short-circuit.

“I want seconds.”

You tried to swat him off, laughing under your breath. “Sadie’s right there.”

“She’s focused,” he whispered, eyes dropping to your chest like they had a gravitational pull. “And Theo doesn’t know what these are. He just thinks they’re milk machines.”

“Which they are,” you teased, sipping your coffee.

“They’re mine,” he muttered, half to himself, kissing your bare shoulder. “Even if I have to share them, they’re still mine.”

Then—you felt it.

A very cheeky little squeeze.

You yelped, turning to smack him, just as Sadie looked up with narrowed eyes.

“Daddy,” she said with the serious tone of a child who knows something, “why were you kissing Mommy’s boobs last night?”

You choked on your coffee.

Lewis froze. “I—uh—what?”

“I saw!” she insisted, pointing her spoon like a gavel. “You were holding them like this—” (she mimed a very aggressive grab) “—and kissing them like they were cupcakes.”

Lewis coughed violently. “I—I was just—uh—helping Mommy.”

“Helping her boobs?” she asked, truly confused now.

Theo babbled something in solidarity, smacking the table.

You stepped in, still pink in the face. “Sometimes Daddies kiss Mommies because they love them very much. And also because… grown-up reasons.”

Sadie squinted. “Weird. I’m never kissing anyone’s boobs.”

“Please don’t,” Lewis mumbled. “Not until you’re married. And thirty-five.”

As Sadie went back to her cereal, totally unbothered, Lewis leaned into your ear and whispered, “We’re so getting caught one day. I need to be faster.”

“You need to be better at hiding it.”

“I can’t help it,” he groaned. “They’re right there. I’ve been deprived for months. I see them and my brain just… empties.”

You smirked and handed him Theo’s spoon. “Well, Daddy. Channel that energy into feeding your son.”

He gave you a long, hungry look.

“I’ll feed him if you promise to feed me later.”

The house was quiet for once. The kids were both out — your daughter at a friend’s birthday party and your son napping after a long morning of play. The rare silence wrapped around you and Lewis like a warm blanket, cocooning you in a bubble of intimacy that felt both new and deliciously familiar.

Lewis found you in the kitchen, humming softly while you cleaned up after lunch. His eyes darkened the moment he saw you, that familiar hunger bubbling beneath the surface, the way he always looked at you when he thought no one else was watching.

He crossed the room in two long strides, hands sliding gently onto your waist. “You smell like home,” he murmured, voice low and thick with something more than affection.

You smiled, pressing a kiss to his jaw. “And you smell like trouble.”

He chuckled, but his hands didn’t move. Instead, they began to roam slowly, reverently, as if rediscovering the curves of your body like the map to his favorite place.

Then, his fingers brushed over your chest — soft, tentative at first — and a familiar thrill shot through you. Lewis always had this magnetic fascination with your boobs, and it made your skin tingle every single time. But today, with the kids gone, you could see it clear as day in his eyes: he wanted you all to himself.

His lips found your collarbone, trailing warm kisses that sent shivers down your spine. “I’ve missed this,” he whispered, voice husky, “missed you.”

You leaned into him, hands tangling in his hair as his mouth found yours in a slow, heated kiss. It was the kind that melted away everything — stress, tiredness, the chaos of parenting — leaving only the two of you.

Then came the teasing, the thing you both knew was coming.

Lewis pulled back just enough to murmur, “I want you… all of you. Especially your mommy milkers.”

You laughed, breathless, heart pounding. “You want to try again?”

He nodded, shy but eager, eyes sparkling with that mix of vulnerability and craving that always made you want him more.

Carefully, you guided him as he nuzzled against your breast, tasting you gently at first, then with more confidence. The sensation was electric — his lips warm and soft, his hands holding you steady. It was intimate, sensual, and filled with that delicious lactation kink edge that sent a thrill straight to your core.

Lewis groaned softly, pulling back just to look at you with wide, adoring eyes. “God, you’re perfect.”

You smiled, fingers tracing patterns down his back. “Only for you.”

For the rest of the afternoon, you let yourselves get lost in that quiet, stolen bubble — no interruptions, no distractions, just the two of you and the simmering heat of love that felt like home.

The doorbell rang just as you and Lewis were settling into the couch, still basking in that rare quiet glow from earlier. You glanced at the clock — perfect timing. The Thunderbolts cast was coming over for a casual hangout, and Lewis had insisted on showing off his “domestic MVP” side.

You opened the door to Florence Pugh, David Harbour, and Sebastian Stan all grinning like they were about to crash the coziest, most intimate scene ever.

“Look at you guys, invading the family nest,” Lewis greeted with a shy but proud smile, slipping his hand into yours.

Florence, ever the mischief-maker, caught sight of your still-flush cheeks and those lingering hints of milk from the afternoon. Her eyes sparkled with immediate mischief.

“Okay, spill,” she said, plopping down next to Lewis like they’d been best friends for years. “What’s the secret? Lewis is glowing. Like, literally glowing. We thought it was just the lighting, but—”

David, deadpan as always, added, “I mean, the dude’s basically got heart eyes. For… you? That’s wild.”

Sebastian chuckled, leaning in. “I think he’s just obsessed with your boobs.”

Lewis’ face turned a bright tomato red. You could barely hold back your giggles as he scrambled to defend himself.

“I’m just… uh, very appreciative of, you know, what she provides,” he mumbled, voice cracking slightly.

Florence smirked. “Yeah, we saw that. The whole ‘trying your milk’ thing? Legendary. We didn’t know we were dating a lactation kink king.”

Lewis groaned, burying his face in your shoulder, but you could tell he was loving every second of the gentle ribbing. He squeezed your hand tightly, his shy jealousy mixed with pride lighting up his eyes.

David raised an eyebrow, teasing, “So, do you get exclusive access? Or is this a public boob buffet?”

You laughed, squeezing Lewis back. “Exclusive. Dad’s got dibs.”

“Dibs!” Sebastian echoed with a grin.

The rest of the afternoon passed in laughter and playful teasing, but through it all, Lewis never took his eyes off you. The way he looked — part adoring husband, part protective daddy, and all-around hopelessly in love — made your heart melt.

And when the cast finally left, Lewis pulled you close, whispering, “I don’t care if the whole world knows. You’re mine… and so are these.”

He cupped your chest with a possessive tenderness that made your knees weak.

You smiled, wrapping your arms around his neck. “Forever yours, Lewis.”

It was late afternoon, the kids were with your mom for the night, and you were curled up in bed — not sleeping, not reading, just… scrolling. TikTok, Instagram, Twitter — they were flooded with edits of your man. “White Boy of the Month” wasn’t even enough. Lewis was everyone’s new obsession. And you? Oh, you were thriving.

You played one of the edits on loop — a slow-motion scene of Lewis in Top Gun: Maverick, walking with that easy, almost bashful confidence, the soundtrack matching every smirk and blink of his long lashes. Someone captioned it: “he could ruin my life and I’d thank him.”

You couldn’t help it — you snorted, then bit your lip as your body warmed with the tiniest flicker of pride. You grabbed your phone and snapped a selfie in Lewis’s shirt — oversized, worn soft from years of being stolen from his side of the closet — and posted it to your story with a zoomed-in shot of his name stitched into the collar.

“Y’all can thirst, but just know… I do more than that. 💅🏼 #WhiteBoyOfTheMonth #Mine”

Just as you hit post, Lewis came out of the shower, hair damp and curling, a towel slung low on his hips.

You looked up, blinked, and exhaled like you’d been punched. “Babe,” you groaned, “you’re making it so hard not to objectify you.”

Lewis raised an eyebrow, smirking shyly as he rubbed his hair with another towel. “Didn’t realize I had to stop you.”

“Oh, you don’t,” you said, climbing off the bed and sauntering over, arms sliding around his waist. “You’re the people’s white boy, baby. But you’re my husband. My personal thirst trap.”

His ears went pink as you traced your finger across the line of his chest. “I saw your story,” he murmured. “So now the whole internet knows?”

You kissed under his jaw, slow and smug. “They knew before. I’m just reminding them.”

He pulled you closer, voice dropping. “And what are you reminding me?”

You leaned in, lips barely brushing his. “That you may be the world’s White Boy of the Month, Lewis Pullman, but you are my forever.”

His breath hitched. “Yeah?” he whispered, like you didn’t already own his soul.

You nodded. “Yeah.”

And then you kissed him — slow, deep, teasing — not rushed, not desperate. Just a full, heavy moment that reminded him you were more than proud. You were possessive.

And Lewis? He didn’t mind one bit.

It was Sunday morning — the kind that smelled like warm pancakes and baby shampoo, sunlight pouring in through the curtains like honey.

Lewis had one arm around your waist, the other wrapped securely around your daughter, Sadie, who was currently passed out on his chest like a drooling little koala. On your other side, your son Theo was curled up like a kitten, one chubby hand tangled in your hair.

The house was still — not quiet, not really, because the sound of cartoons drifted in from the living room, and someone’s sock was definitely stuck to the ceiling fan. But still in the way that mattered. Still in the way that made your chest feel like it might float off your body.

Lewis looked down at Sadie, then at you, eyes soft, sleepy, and completely wrecked with love.

“How’d we get so lucky?” he whispered.

You smiled and reached over to brush a curl from his forehead. “I think you tricked me with your baby blues and I never recovered.”

He huffed a sleepy laugh. “Guess I really was the white boy of the month, huh?”

“You still are,” you said, pressing a kiss to his jaw. “But now you’re a daddy first. Mr. Milky Boobs Stealer second.”

He grinned, that shy dimple flashing, and dipped his head to whisper, “Speaking of… once the kids are down tonight, I fully plan to—”

Sadie stirred with a tiny snort, then sleepily patted his chest. “No talkin’, Daddy. I sweepin’.”

Lewis’s mouth dropped open in a silent laugh, biting back a groan. “Okay, okay, sorry, bug.”

You reached for your phone and snapped a picture before anyone moved — your sleepy husband, baby drool on his shirt, one kid flopped over his chest, the other half on top of you, all tangled in blankets and limbs and love.

Caption: “This is it. This is the good stuff.”

And it was. Not the edits. Not the red carpets. Not the chaos or the teasing or even the boobs.

This. Warm beds. Lazy mornings. Pancake batter handprints on the counter. The way Sadie said “I wuv you, Dada” and the way Theo only fell asleep when his cheek was pressed to your collarbone. The way Lewis looked at you like you hung the stars, even with a spit-up stained hoodie and three hours of sleep.

It wasn’t glamorous.

But it was yours.

And it was perfect.

[cipheress-to-k-pop]

the one with the runaway bride

Pairing: Theodore Nott x Reader

Word Count: 12.1k (damn)

Summary: Sometimes running away from a wedding leads you exactly where you're meant to be — preferably into the arms of a much better guy.

A/N: These fics just keep getting longer and longer. again lowkey kinda hate this and i feel like i made theo heavily ooc but it is what it is ig

Theo hated churches.

He wasn’t particularly religious—never cared much for the belief in some higher power watching over them all. After all, if someone like that did exist, his mother—a devout, gentle woman—wouldn’t have been ripped from the earth so soon. It should’ve been his father, not her. At least, that’s what he’d thought as a boy.

Still, despite his aversion to anything even remotely sacred, he found himself sitting alone in the pews of a quiet chapel. The sun streamed through stained glass, washing the room in warm, fractured color. He didn’t believe in prayer, but he came here anyway. This had been his mother’s favorite place before she died, and somehow, being here made him feel closer to her—like she might hear him, if only faintly.

“Mamma,” He murmured, voice low, “sometimes I truly wonder what my future was meant to look like.”

The war was over, but the silence it left behind was deafening. He spent a lot of time now, wondering about his place in the world. He and the rest of his mates—Berkshire, Riddle, Malfoy, and Zabini—had played a crucial role, working as double agents under Dumbledore’s orders. But because their involvement had remained classified, carefully buried under the Ministry’s politics, they were still seen as Slytherins first. As former sympathizers. As a threat. Pariahs.

It stung. He had done the right thing, when it mattered most. And yet, he wondered if this cold reception was all he’d ever receive.

A few years ago, he hadn't even expected to live this long. His younger self had been certain he’d never survive the war—that he’d be killed for his betrayal of Voldemort and reunited with his mother much sooner than expected. But he had survived. And now, once again, he was adrift.

That’s why he came back here—hoping for clarity, for a sign. But as always, the silence answered him back.

He sighed softly, rising to his feet and tucking his hands into his coat pockets, ready to leave. His shoes echoed against the marble floor as he turned toward the exit.

But before he could cross the threshold, the chapel doors burst open with a loud bang.

Theo blinked.

A vision in white stumbled inside.

Satin, lace, curls escaping from a veil. Breathless. Flushed. A wild gleam in her eye.

His heart paused mid-beat as he recognized the chaos incarnate now standing in the aisle, clutching the skirt of her wedding dress like she’d just escaped a dragon, veil askew, bouquet long gone, and cheeks flushed pink like she’d run from hell itself.

His mouth opened before he could stop it.

“(L/N)?” The name left his mouth before he could stop it, soft and shocked and just a little bit disbelieving.

You looked up, startled — like you hadn’t expected to see another soul inside — and your eyes widened in delight.

“Theodore Nott!” You beamed, chest still rising and falling in heavy breaths, curls frizzing at the edges, voice giddy and strange, “Fancy seeing you here! Gosh, I haven't seen you since Hogwarts! How are you? And the others—Riddle, Berkshire, and the lot? All good, I hope.”

Theo stared at you in complete bewilderment as you keeled over to catch your breath, tugging off your veil and fanning yourself with it like some kind of deranged society lady.

“Merlin’s sweaty balls,” You gasped, dramatic as ever, “It’s impossible to breathe in this damn corset.”

“They’re good,” Theo said slowly, brow furrowed, “I’m sorry, are you in a wedding dress?”

You nodded, breathless, laughing like the question itself was hilarious, “Unfortunately, yes. Bit of a pity I didn’t realize I didn’t want to marry the sorry bloke thirty minutes ago. Would’ve made my escape a lot easier if I wasn’t drowning in fifty pounds of satin.”

He blinked at you, still speechless, hands deep in his coat pockets.

“I mean—” You barreled on, eyes wide and shining, “there I was, standing at the altar, looking at my so-called fiancé, and it just hit me: I cannot wake up to his sorry mug for the rest of my life. To hell with my parents. And society. I don’t want to be a Bulstrode. That name sounds like the arse-end of a toad, don’t you think?”

You paused, eyes narrowing playfully, “(Y/N) (L/N) sounds so much nicer, doesn’t it?”

Theo arched an unimpressed brow, “You know you can get married without changing your last name, right?”

At that, you absolutely lost it—doubling over in wheezing laughter, slapping your knee like he’d just told the funniest joke in history.

“You always were such a crack-up, Theodore!” You gasped between giggles, “Where are my manners? What brings you here today? Certainly not for the wedding, I hope—because, well—” You gestured at yourself, still panting in the middle of the cathedral, “you can probably tell that’s not happening.”

Before Theodore could get a word in, the sound of heavy footsteps thundered down the hallway. Your eyes went comically wide as you pressed yourself flat against the stone wall, wedged just behind the chapel door as it swung open with a bang.

In marched your father—red-faced, sweaty, and breathing like a charging Hippogriff. His eyes locked onto Theodore like he was a bloodhound catching a scent.

“Have you seen a girl in a wedding dress?” He barked.

Theo quirked a brow, gaze sliding—slowly, deliberately—to the right, where you were doing your best impression of a human statue. From where he stood, he could see you mouthing frantic no’s, shaking your head so violently he was almost certain you’d give yourself whiplash. Your hands were flying in wild, desperate gestures, pleading silently.

He turned back to your father, the picture of calm.

“No, sir.”

Your father squinted, suspicious—but apparently not enough to question it. “Well, if you do,” He huffed, already half-turning, “you tell her to march her sorry behind back into that hall and marry the boy, or she’ll be sorry.”

The door slammed shut behind him.

You clutched your chest like you’d just survived a curse, eyes squeezed shut as you slid bonelessly to the floor in your crumpled wedding dress.

“That,” You breathed, “was nerve-wracking.”

You peeked up at him with a grateful look, “You’re a good liar, Nott. Thank you.”

Theo looked down at the breathless, sweaty heap you’d become, still sprawled on the stone floor like a very distressed meringue. With an amused smirk, he cleared his throat, “Well… good luck with everything, (L/N). Let me know if you actually go through with becoming a Bulstrode. I’ll send a wedding gift.”

You gaped up at him in horror as he began to sidestep the tangled mass of satin and lace that was your gown, clearly preparing to leave the chapel and abandon you to your doom. Without thinking, you grabbed his calf—your perfectly manicured nails digging into his trousers, the massive engagement ring catching the light like a cursed artifact.

“What?! You can’t go now! You have to get me out of here!”

Theo arched a skeptical brow, “And why, exactly, would I do that?”

You pointed at him in outrage, still clutching his leg like a deranged bride octopus, “You just lied to my father! That makes you an accomplice. A—A conspirator! You're already implicated!”

Theo looked thoroughly unimpressed, “I could just tell him you were hiding behind the door like a terrified possum.”

You gasped, “You wouldn’t.”

He tilted his head, “Try me.”

Panic glittered in your eyes before you straightened your spine and went full Slytherin, “Fine. You want to play that game? I’ll tell everyone you’re my secret paramour. That you seduced me, took my virtue in the belfry, and that’s why I fled the altar.”

Theo’s mouth dropped open, scandalized, “I beg your pardon?”

You clasped your hands together, expression softening into exaggerated, pleading sweetness, “Please, Theodore. I’m not asking for your soul. Just… apparate me out of here. One quick jump and I’ll be out of your life forever.”

He stared at you. Then sighed.

“Merlin help me,” He muttered, “You’re even more unhinged than I remember.”

“So that’s a yes?”

He offered you a hand, “Only if you swear not to mention the word ‘virtue’ ever again.”

You grinned, already taking his hand, “Deal, my paramour.”

He groaned. Loudly.

Theo stepped closer, one hand sliding around your waist, tugging you flush against him. You blinked up at him, stunned into silence by the proximity. Up close, you finally understood why half the girls in your year had harbored crushes on him. He had that kind of face—the infuriatingly beautiful kind that made your stomach swoop before your brain could catch up.

Then—with a sharp crack—the world twisted out from under your feet.

You landed hard against him, fingers fisting the lapels of his jacket like your life depended on it. Which, to be fair, it had.

Warm sunlight spilled over your face, the bustling sounds of the street around you cutting through the fading disorientation. You blinked. Then smiled.

You were free.

Theo watched you quietly as your eyes danced over every detail—the streetlamp, the baker’s cart, a child chasing a butterfly. Everything ordinary now seemed extraordinary through your gaze. You looked like someone seeing the world for the first time.

“Are you good, (L/N)?” He asked, low and cautious.

You didn’t take your eyes off the street. “A new world’s waiting for me,” You said softly, “It’s… terrifying.”

He didn’t say anything, but his grip around your waist didn’t loosen.

You stood there, trembling fingers still tangled in the fabric of his coat, heart pounding like it was trying to sprint back to the cathedral.

Theodore’s sharp gaze softened as he took in your messy lipstick, sweat-dampened curls, and the way you clung to him like the world had just tipped sideways. You looked like a woman on the edge of disaster—or greatness. Maybe both.

"Where were you planning to go?" He asked quietly.

You blinked up at him, dumbly, your glassy eyes beginning to sting as the reality of what you’d just done crashed over you like cold water.

Oh Merlin.

What had you done?

You didn’t have a house. You didn’t have a job. You didn’t have money of your own. Your entire life had been orchestrated by your father—who’d been all too eager to sell you off to your so-called fiancé—and you’d just thrown a wrench in his perfect little plan.

"I... I hadn’t thought that far." You admitted, voice barely a whisper as your bottom lip began to tremble.

Theo sighed, dragging a hand through his hair, “Bloody hell.”

You started to stammer, trying to save face, “Look—I’ll figure it out. I just needed to get away. You don’t have to—”

“Don’t be dense,” He muttered, “Come on.”

You furrowed your brows, confused, “Come on where?”

“My home,” He said bluntly, “You’re clearly overwhelmed, and you need to breathe somewhere that isn’t a chapel or the middle of a bloody street. You can crash in the guest room. I’ll pour a cup of tea. Or Firewhisky, if you’re feeling rebellious.”

You stared at him, stunned silent, “You’d really do that for me?”

In all honesty, Theodore had no idea why he was doing this for you.

Maybe it was the way your eyes looked—raw and frightened—that struck something in him. He remembered that look. Back when his mother died. Back when he was stuck between two worlds, pretending to be loyal to the Death Eaters while secretly fighting for the other side. When the war ended, and he had no bloody idea who he was without it.

He knew helplessness like an old friend. And though he’d never admit it aloud, he also knew he wouldn’t sleep tonight if he walked away now—knowing you were out there, wandering the streets in a bloody wedding dress or dragged back to marry someone you didn’t love.

“Yeah,” He said finally, “I would.”

You exhaled shakily, blinking back tears, “Okay.”

“Okay.” He echoed.

He held your arm carefully—like you were a glass about to crack—and apparated you both away.

By the time your feet touched down again, you were standing in a warmly lit corridor outside a tall, modern-looking door. Theodore slid a key out of his coat pocket and unlocked it with a click.

“My flat.” He said simply, stepping aside to let you in.

You blinked, glancing around as you followed him, “Wait. Don’t you have a whole family manor somewhere?”

He raised a brow as he tossed his coat onto a sleek brass hook, “Not fancy enough for you, darling? Would you rather go to the five-star resort your family booked for your honeymoon instead?”

You gaped, then closed your mouth, then opened it again—only to come up short, “Touché.”

He chuckled, pushing open the door, “I live in a flat because the manor’s too bloody big for just me. I might move back in when I’m older, but right now? No one needs twenty-three bedrooms unless they’re running a boarding school.”

You rolled your eyes, stepping inside after him, “Just say you’re rich and move on,” you muttered.

You were mid-sigh when your eyes took in the space—and almost instantly, the tension in your shoulders loosened. His flat wasn’t enormous, but it was stunning. Dark hardwood floors, rich emerald and charcoal accents, and floor-to-ceiling windows framed the London skyline like a painting. The air smelled faintly of pine, leather, and something warm—like spice and magic.

Books lined custom-built shelves along one wall, and a record player quietly spun something soft and jazzy in the corner. A massive velvet sofa sat in the center of the open-plan living area, flanked by brass sconces and a few well-kept plants.

Theo disappeared into a side room, leaving you standing awkwardly in your crumpled wedding dress in the middle of his living room. When he returned, he had a folded stack of clothes in his hands.

“I grabbed whatever looked closest to your size,” He said, handing them over with a half-shrug, “Might still be a bit big—but it’s cozy, at least.”

You unfolded the hoodie and held it up. It fell nearly to your knees.

“You’re joking.”

“Or you could stay in your wedding dress. Very sexy.”

You let out a laugh, “You got me again.”

You eyed the clothes, then glanced back up at him, “You sure none of your… lady friends left something behind? Something a bit more...appropriate?”

Theo smirked, unfazed, “I don’t keep a lost and found bin, sweetheart. But nice try.”

You grinned despite yourself, clutching the clothes to your chest.

“Go on,” He added, gesturing toward the hallway, “First door on the right—bathroom’s there. Take your time. Come out when you’re ready. I’ll sort dinner.”

“You cook?”

He looked at you, mock-offended, “I’m Italian.”

“That’s not a yes.”

Theo placed a hand over his heart, feigning injury, “Wow. So little faith.”

You laughed—a real one this time—as you padded off toward the bathroom, the ridiculous rustle of your wedding dress trailing behind you. Hoodie and sweats in hand, feet aching, heart still thudding from everything you’d run from.

But somehow, in the warmth of this space, with the sound of jazz humming in the background and Theo cooking up dinner—you started to feel something you hadn’t felt in a long time.

Safe.

Maybe, just maybe… you were going to be okay.

When you finally emerged from the bathroom, the last remnants of your old life had gone swirling down the drain—hairspray, waterproof mascara, and everything else that once held you together. You felt… lighter. Your skin was clean, your hair damp, and the oversized hoodie you wore—Theo’s—smelled faintly of cedar and citrus. It hung down to your thighs like a dress, and the joggers were barely hanging onto your waist.

The scent hit you first—garlic, tomatoes, fresh herbs—and your stomach let out a traitorous growl.

Theo looked up from the stove, giving you a once-over before turning back to stir the pot. “Look at you,” He said with a lopsided smirk, “Didn’t think my clothes would suit you that well.”

You gave him a smirk and did a twirl to show off the outfit—just in time for the joggers to fall right to your ankles. You both burst into laughter.

“The elastic’s useless and the drawstring’s just for decoration.” You said, tossing the offending trousers over the back of a chair.

“Wouldn’t be the first time I charmed the pants off a woman.” Theo replied smoothly.

You snorted, shaking your head.

He slid a bowl across the island toward you—tagliatelle with a thick, rich Bolognese sauce, steam curling up like it had its own mind.

You took one bite, and your eyes fluttered shut. “Oh my god,” You groaned, “This is… this is unreal.”

He gave a small shrug, “I told you.”

You were already shoveling in another forkful, “I haven’t eaten something that didn’t taste like sadness in months.”

Theo leaned against the counter, watching with amusement, “Easy, love. You keep going at that pace, you’ll make those giant joggers fit.”

You swallowed and let out a dramatic sigh, “Wedding diet. I’ve been living off steamed vegetables and heartbreak.”

He laughed, deep and full, “Well, lucky you. There’s more where that came from. And gelato in the freezer.”

Your head snapped up, “You’re kidding.”

“‘Chi mangia bene, vive bene,’” He said with a smirk, “‘Those who eat well, live well.’ My mamma drilled that into me.”

You blinked, then smiled, “Incredibly smart woman.”

For the first time in what felt like forever, your smile didn’t feel like something you had to fake or force. You sat there, in someone else’s hoodie, with sauce on your cheek and your hair still damp, in a flat that smelled like warmth and comfort and garlic.

Theo reached across the table, brushing his thumb gently against the corner of your mouth, “You’ve got a bit of sauce—right there.”

You blinked, startled by the tenderness of the gesture. His hand lingered a second longer than necessary before he pulled back.

“Are you sure you don’t want to go home?” He asked, quieter now.

You gave him a half-smile, soft but guarded, “Sick of me already?”

His lips quirked, but his eyes stayed serious, “I just mean… are you sure you won’t regret this? People get cold feet. Panic at the altar. Happens all the time, or so I hear. And the longer you stay here—the more real this gets—the harder it’ll be to undo without fallout.”

You sat still for a moment, then set your fork down, appetite forgotten.

“It wasn’t cold feet,” You said, voice low, “I never wanted to get married.”

Theo didn’t interrupt. He just waited.

“My father did. Desperately. He’s been obsessed with bloodlines and alliances since before I could walk. Marrying into the Sacred Twenty-Eight. Like that still means anything in this world.” You let out a bitter laugh, “Somehow that old bastard managed to squirm his way out of Azkaban after the war. And now he’s back to doing what he does best—peddling blood purity and ruining my life.”

Theo’s jaw tensed, but he said nothing.

“I spent months shoving my feelings down, just trying to be the daughter he wanted. The obedient one. Because what choice did I have?” Your fingers curled around the fabric of his hoodie, “But when I was standing there—at the altar, staring down a future I didn’t choose—I realized something. Maybe I didn’t have choices before. But I could make one now.”

Silence stretched between you for a beat.

Then, softly, Theo said, “That was brave.”

You let out a watery laugh, swiping your sleeve beneath your eyes, “Please. Not like you, playing double agent for Dumbledore. Now that was brave.”

He shook his head, a wry smile tugging at the corner of his mouth, “That was reckless.”

“It was noble. Valiant,” You said, voice steadier now, “Really, the kind of madness only a true Slytherin could be ambitious enough to pull off.”

Theo arched a brow, “Flattery? From you?”

You gave him a crooked grin, “Don’t get used to it. Mine was just… selfish. Desperate.”

He looked at you, the warmth in his gaze soft but unwavering, “It’s good to be selfish sometimes.”

You held his gaze, breath catching slightly when his eyes didn’t waver. There was something weighty in the silence—something soft and unspoken stretching between you, tugging gently at the space that separated your bodies.

Theo’s fingers drummed once against the tabletop, then stilled. Neither of you moved.

Your pulse thrummed in your ears. He looked at you like he was trying to memorize the shape of your face, and for a second, just one second, you let yourself wonder what it would feel like to close the distance.

Then you blinked, cleared your throat, and reached for his plate. “Well. Since you think it’s good to be selfish,” You said, trying to sound casual, “I’m gonna eat the rest of your pasta.”

Theo let out a breath that might’ve been a laugh—or a sigh. Maybe both, “Oi—at least leave room for dessert.”

***

Loud, boisterous laughter was the first thing that dragged Theo out of a half-dream. He groaned, arm flinging over his eyes as the unmistakable sound of his front door swinging open—without ceremony—hit him like a freight train.

“What the—who the hell is making all that noise?” He muttered, voice hoarse as he blinked toward the ceiling.

The culprits were, predictably, already raiding his kitchen like starved hyenas: Draco, Lorenzo, Mattheo, and Blaise, helping themselves to his fresh bread and the groceries he’d actually gone out and picked himself—because unlike those degenerates, he cared about food quality.

He should’ve never given them spare keys.

“For emergencies,” He’d said. “Only if it’s important,” He’d said.

Idiotic. Clearly, their definition of ‘emergency’ included hungover brunches and unsolicited early morning gossip.

“Morning, sunshine,” Draco drawled with an infuriating smirk, already sprawled across Theo’s sofa, eating the hand-picked strawberries Theo had searched three markets to find, “You’re just in time for the morning news”

Theo groaned louder and face-planted into the cushions, “Could you shut up? Some of us are trying to sleep in our own damn flat.”

“Oh, come on,” Blaise said, smirking as he rifled through Theo’s cabinets, “You must’ve heard by now. (L/N). You remember her—Pansy's roommate. She left Bulstrode at the altar. Just ran right out.”

Lorenzo let out a low whistle, “Left Bulstrode standing there like an absolute mug. At the altar, mate. In front of everyone. Just turned and walked straight out mid-vows. I mean—iconic.”

Mattheo, chewing thoughtfully on a stolen slice of sourdough, shrugged, “Serves him right. No way Bulstrode was ever gonna bag a babe like (L/N). He’s got the charm of a wet napkin.”

“And get this,” Blaise said, lowering his voice into a tone of mock-conspiracy, eyes glinting, “Rumor is—she had a lover on the side. Secret romance, hidden rendezvous, the whole nine yards. Some bloke she’s apparently been in love with for ages. No one knows who, though.”

Theo, face still hidden by the couch cushions, flinched.

Blaise squinted at him, “You look... twitchy. Something you wanna share with the group?”

Before Theo could invent an excuse, a sound cut through the room—soft footsteps padding across the floorboards.

The guest bedroom door creaked open.

You stepped out, bleary-eyed, rubbing your face with the sleeve of Theo’s oversized hoodie—his hoodie that hung off your frame like it had been stitched for you. Your hair was tousled from sleep, legs bare, the joggers you’d worn the night before still draped over a chair in the corner, clearly forgotten.

Theo’s eyes flicked up to you for a moment—heart skipping a beat at the sight of your flushed cheeks and mussed hair—but he quickly masked the softness with a cool, unreadable glance.

Every sound in the room died on cue.

You blinked at the kitchen full of frozen Slytherins and offered a sheepish smile, “Um… morning?”

The silence that followed was nothing short of reverent.

Mattheo dropped his toast. Lorenzo’s jaw unhinged. Draco choked on a strawberry. Blaise turned—slowly, dramatically—to Theo with the grin of a man who had just unearthed a scandal.

And then—chaos.

“No bloody way,” Blaise said, pointing an accusatory finger, “You?! You’re the lover?!”

“No, no,” Theo said immediately, sitting up straighter, “She’s not—I mean, it’s not— It’s not like that.”

You nodded, “It’s really not what it looks like.”

“She’s not—” Theo added, standing abruptly.

“We’re not—” You said at the same time.

“Dating.” You both finished in unison.

The pause that followed was only broken by Blaise’s slow, disbelieving laugh, “You two seriously rehearsed that or something?”

Mattheo’s gaze flicked from you, to the hoodie, to Theo’s bedhead and thoroughly disheveled state, “You sly, secretive little bastard.”

“You’re blushing,” Lorenzo cackled, pointing at Theo.

“I’m not blushing.”

“You’re so red your freckles are blending in.”

“You lot need to leave,” Theo growled, yanking the mug out of Draco’s hand.

“Oh, we’ll leave,” Mattheo said, standing with an exaggerated sigh, “Just as soon as we finish processing the greatest plot twist since Dumbledore kicked it.”

“I don’t know,” Lorenzo mused, “This might top it. Runaway bride finds solace in former classmate’s bed—”

“Spare room!” You and Theo barked at once.

“Oh right,” Blaise said, lazily gesturing to you, “Because that totally explains the no-pants situation.”

You threw up your hands, “He doesn’t have any trousers that fit me!”

Mattheo let out a low whistle, “Stars above, I wish I had popcorn.”

Theo’s jaw clenched, “She needed a place to stay. I offered. That’s it.”

“And I accepted. Platonically.” You stressed.

“And Theodore isn’t some adulterous whore,” You added with a sigh, “He’s just an unfortunate bloke with terrible timing who happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time.”

The way your voice softened at the end made something twist in Theo’s chest.

“Well, you did good,” Lorenzo said, grabbing another slice of bread, “Bulstrode’s an ugly git anyway.”

You shared a glance with Theo who gave you a soft, barely there smile that was meant to reassure you in a way that conveyed, 'See? What you did wasn't so bad.'

“So what’s the plan now?” Blaise asked, eyeing the two of you over his coffee, “You two just gonna keep playing house?”

“Oi, ease up,” Theo said, casting him a warning look, “Don’t overwhelm her.”

He glanced at you briefly, then added, “We talked last night.”

“Ooo, pillow talk.” Mattheo smirked—earning himself a slap to the back of the head.

Theo rolled his eyes, “We were talking, and I offered to let her stay here. As long as she needs.”

You caught Theo’s eye and saw a softness there that only came out when he looked at you. In that moment, the chaos of friends and gossip faded away, leaving just the quiet promise of safety and belonging between you two.

***

You sat cross-legged on the floor, the open suitcase in front of you spilling out clothes, books, and a few small trinkets you’d brought from your old life. The boxes stacked neatly nearby were still untouched—silent reminders that this was real, that you were here now.

Getting your things back from your home had been easier than expected. You’d slipped in while your father was at work, your heart racing as you moved quietly through the familiar halls. The moment your hand wrapped around your wand—left behind for safekeeping during the wedding—it felt like you could finally breathe again. You packed up your life swiftly, shrinking and sending each box to Theo’s flat before you could second-guess yourself.

“It feels weird seeing all my stuff here.” You murmured, running your fingers over your old Slytherin scarf. A soft smile tugged at your lips as memories from Hogsmeade weekends and late-night gossip sessions filled your head. Back in school, your dormmates used to call dibs on the boys in your year—Pansy obviously claimed Draco, Daphne was hell-bent on Mattheo (she had a thing for bad boys, she used to say). The others squabbled over Blaise and Lorenzo, leaving you with Theo by default. You’d taken it in stride, because Merlin forbid you end up with Crabbe or Goyle. If only sixth-year you knew you’d one day be living with Theo Nott after bolting from your own wedding.

“Like this is really happening.” You said softly.

Theo leaned against the doorway, arms folded, watching you with a look you couldn’t quite place. You let your eyes rake over him—how he somehow made jeans and a simple black long-sleeved tee look sinfully good without even trying.

“Don’t you want to unpack?” He asked after a moment, voice casual, “Make it feel a bit more like yours?”

You shook your head, teeth tugging at your lower lip, “I don’t want to get too comfortable. I need to move out soon, find my own place. Can’t just settle in someone else’s flat.”

Your eyes drifted to the empty dresser and the bare walls, imagining them filled with your perfume bottles, your shoes lined up in the closet, your keepsakes resting in quiet corners of the room. It felt… indulgent. And dangerous.

Theo pushed off the doorframe and crossed the room with that quiet confidence that always made your stomach flip. He crouched beside you, fingers brushing yours as he gently pulled the scarf from your hands.

“Don’t be so pressured,” He said softly, “Take your time.”

Your breath caught at the tenderness in his voice, so at odds with the sarcasm he usually deflected with. His gaze held yours—warm, steady, unflinching.

“What kind of fake adulterous whore would I be,” he added, smirking just a little, “if I didn’t give you a comfortable place to stay while you figure things out?”

You let out a shaky laugh, swatting his arm as your cheeks flushed. The warmth in his eyes made your chest tighten in a way that had nothing to do with fear. It felt... safe. For the first time in a long time.

He reached out, tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear, fingers lingering just a second too long. Your breath hitched. Your heart thudded. And before you could stop yourself, your gaze flicked to his mouth.

The moment hung there—suspended and fragile—until it broke like glass.

Theo cleared his throat and pulled back. You dropped your gaze and fanned your burning cheeks, pretending not to notice the way your entire body buzzed with unspoken tension.

He stood, casting a quick glance around the room before his eyes landed on a box labeled “Bathroom.” With a quiet smile, he bent to pick it up.

“I’ll go put this over there.” He said, voice gentler now even though you both were well aware he could've used his magic to charm the objects in its place.

You watched him go, heart fluttering wildly in your chest, feeling strangely steady for the first time in days.

Strangely at home.

***

Watching Theo get ready for work every morning had become your newest, most humbling routine. In the quiet hours before he left—hair perfectly styled, cufflinks glinting faintly in the sunlight—you were struck with the growing realization that your life was a blank page. And not in the hopeful, inspiring way. No, it felt like staring at an overdue assignment you had no idea how to finish.

When he was home, everything felt a little easier—light conversation over breakfast, quiet companionship in the evenings, his effortless presence filling the flat with a calm you hadn’t realized you craved. But once he was out the door, you were left with hours that stretched out like an endless, silent ache. And with that ache came the inevitable realization: you weren’t here to play house with Theodore Nott. You needed to get your life in order.

Which was why, this morning, you were dressed. Not just dressed—put together. A soft, Chanel-inspired ensemble hugged your form, elegant and mature, polished right down to the glossy sheen of your lips.

Across the table, Theo sat in his usual tailored suit and tie, sipping his coffee while reading the newspaper.

He was a dream roommate—unbothered, polite, attentive without being invasive. He cooked most mornings and evenings, and you handled lunch and dishes out of principle more than anything else. And yet, no matter how well you split the duties, you still felt like a freeloader in silk pajamas. He never asked you to contribute, never brought up rent or groceries or anything at all.

Which, ironically, only made the guilt settle heavier in your chest.

It was unbearable. So this newfound spark of motivation—this desire to prove you could stand on your own two feet again—burned fast and hot.

He was fixing his watch by the mirror beside the door, running gelled fingers through his hair, smoothing it back with that practiced grace. You stepped over, holding his coat in one hand and yours in the other, and offered it to him with a quiet, “Here.”

He murmured a small thanks as he slipped into it, but you didn’t step back.

Instead, you reached up to adjust his tie, fingers deft as you corrected the slight tilt in the knot. “I know you’re just going to mess it up the second you get to the office,” you said, smiling softly, “but it’s driving me crazy.”

You smoothed the tie down gently, fingertips brushing the lapels of his coat. When your eyes lifted, you caught him staring—not at your eyes, but your lips, still slick with gloss from your post-breakfast touch-up, and suddenly it felt like a mistake to stand this close, in this kind of silence, with him looking at you like that.

You met his gaze. Your heart stuttered.

Was he leaning in?

Or were you imagining it—some cruel trick your body played when it got too used to his scent, his proximity, the low hum of affection that vibrated just beneath the surface?

Before you could answer, he inhaled sharply and stepped back, the moment snapping like a taut string.

“Busy day today?” He asked, voice neutral, composed.

You cleared your throat, recovering quickly.

“Yeah,” You said, grabbing your purse and your coat, avoiding his eyes, “I’m visiting Slughorn at Hogwarts. I was always good at potions, and he used to favor me—mostly because I always showed up to those ridiculous Slug Club meetings.” You gave a faint chuckle.

“I heard he’s still teaching and struggling to keep up with his personal research. I was kind of his unofficial assistant in seventh year, so… I’m hoping he’ll consider taking me on. As an apprentice or something.”

You kept your tone light, casual, even though your pulse thudded in your throat. You avoided his eyes as you adjusted the strap of your purse.

Theo held the door open for you, and your heart flipped in your chest like it always did when he did things like that without thinking—like it was natural. Like you belonged here.

“Good luck, (Y/N).” He said simply, his voice low but earnest.

You turned your head slightly, offering him a small smile. The way he was looking at you made your steps falter for just a second.

“Thank you.” You said, voice barely above a whisper.

And then you walked on, heels clicking softly on the marble floor, heart fluttering like mad against your ribs.

***

You practically skipped down the stone steps of Hogwarts, the weight of your nervous anticipation completely lifted from your shoulders. The crisp air smelled of old parchment and damp moss, and for once, you didn’t mind. Your cheeks were flushed, your hands clutching the letter Slughorn had scrawled in excitement after your meeting: an official offer to join him as his private research assistant, with the intent of training you to become a certified Potions Master.

Your heart was hammering by the time you reached Theo’s flat, and you didn’t even knock—just flung the door open and stepped inside, calling his name like a storm announcing itself.

“Theo!”

He appeared from the hallway, towel slung over his shoulder, clearly mid-way through drying his hair, shirt sleeves rolled up, “What? Are you okay?”

You beamed so brightly you could’ve lit the whole room with just the force of it, “I got it—I got the position! I’m going to train with Slughorn! He’s taking me on!”

For a second, Theo just blinked at you, frozen in place. Then your words seemed to register fully and he opened his mouth to say something—but before he could, you launched yourself at him.

Your arms flung around his neck, and he caught you with a startled grunt, stumbling back half a step before wrapping his arms tightly around your waist, instinctively keeping you upright. You laughed, giddy and breathless against his shoulder, your legs kicking slightly off the ground.

“I knew you would.” He said against your temple, voice low and warm and slightly amused, though the hug he gave you was grounding, solid, and real.

You pulled back just enough to look up at him, eyes bright, “I’m going to be a Potions Master.”

Theo’s hands stayed on your waist, his lips twitching into a rare, open smile, “You’re going to be brilliant.”

You didn’t know what possessed you then—maybe it was the adrenaline, maybe it was the way he was still holding you like you were something precious—but you leaned in without thinking and pressed a kiss to his cheek, quick and full of warmth.

Theo blinked, stunned.

You blinked, too, realizing what you just did.

He slowly set you down on your feet, clearing his throat, but the faintest shade of pink had crept up his neck.

"Thank you, Theo." You whispered, looking up at him like he hung the moon in the sky, "For everything."

***

You were halfway through folding the laundry while Theo showered when the door flew open with no warning, the sharp click of heels on hardwood echoing like the cue for a dramatic entrance.

“Surprise, darling!” Pansy announced grandly, stepping into the apartment with a flourish, a pastry box in one hand and designer sunglasses in the other, “I brought macarons from that place you liked in Paris—Theo, you better be decent!”

She strutted into the living room expecting to find her best friend brooding over black coffee, muttering about case files or the Ministry’s latest idiocy.

Instead, she found you.

Her heel halted mid-click. Her eyes went wide, lips parting in stunned recognition.

“(Y/N)?”

You blinked, holding a half-folded jumper, “Hi—?”

The pastry box slipped from her fingers, forgotten as she gasped.

“(Y/N)!”

Before you could react, she barreled across the room, arms wide, heels thudding across the floor. She crashed into you with a hug that nearly knocked you into the couch, her perfume wrapping around you like a familiar blanket as she squeezed you breathless.

You laughed, arms wrapping around her just as tightly, “Oh God, I’m so sorry I didn’t make it to the wedding! I couldn’t get a Portkey in time—I felt awful. I’ve missed you so much!”

Pansy pulled back to get a proper look at you, holding you at arm’s length like she needed to confirm you were real, “Oh, how’s newlywed life treating you? How’s your husband—” she started brightly, then trailed off.

Her eyes scanned your outfit—comfy shorts and an old Quidditch tee—and then flicked to the half-folded laundry scattered across the coffee table.

And that was precisely the moment Theo stepped out of the bathroom.

Shirtless. Damp. Joggers slung low on his hips. A towel around his neck, his hair still dripping.

Pansy blinked. You blinked. Theo froze like a deer in headlights.

Her eyes snapped between you and Theo. Once. Twice.

Her jaw dropped.

“No. Bloody. Way.”

You swallowed hard, “I, uh... I ran from the altar. I’ve been living here for a month. Surprise?”

A beat of silence.

Then—

“You absolute plonkers!” Pansy shouted, whirling around like a furious peacock as the front door opened again and the rest of the boys filtered in—Draco, Blaise, Mattheo, Enzo—all pausing mid-step at the scene.

Theo grimaced.

Pansy turned on Draco with fury, “You ranted to me for an hour last night about Potter’s work ethic, but you didn’t think to mention that one of my closest friends from school ran out of her own wedding and moved in with Theo?”

Draco’s eyes widened, “I thought you knew!”

“You lot are unbelievable.” She huffed, throwing her hands up.

Draco looked caught somewhere between amusement and panic. Blaise choked on a laugh. Mattheo raised his hands in mock innocence.

Pansy, eyes glittering with mischief, turned back to you with an exasperated scoff, “We’re getting drinks tonight. You and I are going to unpack every bloody bit of this madness. And if there’s any scandal you’re hiding from me, I swear to Merlin—”

You gave her a sheepish smile, heart fluttering with the kind of warmth that only old friendships could bring.

“I wish. But I can’t tonight. I’m working with Slughorn now—officially—and I’ve got my first full day tomorrow. Still need to study up a bit. I really don’t want to get fired before I even make it to lunch.”

Pansy’s features softened instantly. She stepped forward, cupping your cheeks with warm hands and smoothing your hair in a way that made your eyes sting.

“Slughorn?” She breathed, proud and a little misty, “You’re working with Slughorn? That’s incredible. I’m so proud of you.”

Your throat tightened, “Thanks, Pansy. God, I missed you. Let’s do a proper catch-up this weekend, yeah? I don’t want to keep you from your homecoming party—you should go have fun.”

She nodded and pulled you into one last tight hug. “This weekend,” she warned playfully, “or I swear I’ll come kidnap you from this flat myself.”

You laughed, hugging her back, “Deal.”

Just then, Theo reappeared in the living room, now fully dressed and slipping his watch onto his wrist. He reached for his coat, but you were already there, stepping behind him to help him shrug it on.

“Don’t you have to be up early tomorrow?” You asked gently, brushing invisible lint from his sleeve.

From behind you, Blaise gave a low whistle.

“Ooooh, listen to that,” Mattheo drawled with a teasing grin, “Wifey’s making sure the hubby gets to bed on time.”

Theo rolled his eyes, already used to these jokes and glanced down at you, a quiet smile pulling at his lips, “It’s just one drink.”

You sighed, half amused, half resigned, “Okay. Just… don’t come home completely smashed.”

“No promises.” He said with a wink, and the door shut behind them seconds later.

***

The bar buzzed with the low hum of chatter, clinking glasses, and a jazz cover of a Weird Sisters song playing over the speakers. The group had claimed a corner booth, drinks in hand, laughter spilling over every few minutes.

Theo nursed a firewhisky, sitting back with his usual composed expression which caught the attention of Mattheo, “Oh, don’t drink that too fast, Teddy boy. You don’t want to go back absolutely hammered to the missus.”

“You lot are ridiculous,” Theo muttered, though a hint of fondness softened his tone.

“Oh, come off it,” Blaise grinned, swirling his drink, “You like it. You’re practically glowing these days. It’s very unnerving.”

“Very domestic of you, Theo,” Enzo added, smirking, “Sharing a flat, cooking her breakfast, letting her steal your clothes—”

“She doesn’t steal my clothes.”

Mattheo grinned, “Mate, I saw her wearing your Chudley Cannons jumper yesterday.”

Theo looked away, clearly caught.

Pansy took a slow sip of her cocktail, eyes narrowing thoughtfully. “Honestly, I’m shocked you let her stay with you. You’re usually so…” She waved a perfectly manicured hand, “emotionally unavailable. Allergic to company, really.”

Blaise leaned in, eyes gleaming, “I mean hardly a surprise considering how badly gone he was for her back in school.”

Pansy froze mid-sip.

“Wait—what? Who was gone for who?!” she gasped, nearly slamming her glass on the table, voice sharp with disbelief.

The boys blinked in surprise.

“You didn’t know?” Draco asked, brows raised.

“You’re kidding,” Blaise said, laughing, “You always shoved them into group projects and made them sit together during dinners — we thought you were matchmaking!”

“I was!” Pansy snapped, whipping around to glare at Draco, “Because I wanted to go with you, and the other cows in our dorm had already called dibs on Enzo, Mattheo, and Blaise. Theo was just—left!”

She turned back to the table, eyes wide with the horror of missed opportunity, “Don’t you think if I’d known he fancied her, I would’ve shoved them into a broom cupboard and locked the door?”

Mattheo cackled, “That’s so on-brand for you.”

Pansy groaned, dramatically dropping her head onto Draco’s shoulder, “You absolute wankers. If one of you had opened your mouth years ago, that wedding she had a month ago? Could’ve been yours, Theo.”

Theo sipped his firewhisky quietly, hidden behind the rim of his glass. Flashes of you in a wedding dress and veil flickered behind his eyes, a soft blush spreading across his neck. None of them missed it.

Blaise nudged Mattheo, “He’s thinking about it now.”

“Oh, he’s been thinking about it.”

Theo threw his head back, downing the rest of his firewhiskey in one go, “I need another drink.”

***

The door flew open with a crash, nearly coming off its hinges.

“We have arrived!” Lorenzo declared, clearly drunk, arms wide, as if expecting applause.

Theo stumbled in between Blaise and Mattheo, arms slung over their shoulders like a war hero being carried off the battlefield. His shirt was half-untucked, hair a mess, and his eyes—when he managed to open them—were glassy and unfocused.

You poked your head out from the kitchen, arms crossed, “What happened to ‘just one drink’?”

“He drank.” Blaise said simply.

“Like a fish.” Mattheo added.

“Like a moron.” Draco corrected as he strolled in behind them, tossing Theo’s coat over a chair, “He’s your problem now.”

Theo blinked at the sound of your voice and perked up immediately. “Tesoro!” He slurred, trying to walk toward you but very nearly face-planting into the floor. You caught him under the arm just in time.

“Hi, Theo,” You said softly, “Oh gosh you smell like bad decisions.”

“You need to eat,” You added, “Something starchy. Or you’re going to feel like roadkill tomorrow.”

“He never eats when he’s like this,” Blaise said from where he was sprawled over a kitchen chair, “We’ve tried. It’s hopeless.”

“Chi mangia bene, vive bene, remember?” You said softly, probably butchering his mother's saying as you guided Theo toward the table.

That stopped him. His gaze sharpened just enough to find your eyes.

He leaned in, pressing his forehead to yours with a quiet breath, “E chi ha te… ha tutto.”

Your heart skipped even though you hadn't a clue what he just said.

Mattheo made an exaggerated gagging noise, “Okay, Casanova, wrap it up.”

Draco, grinning, gave you a mock bow, “He’s all yours. Good luck with drunk Shakespeare.”

As the door shut behind them, Theo was still leaning on you, breathing you in like he needed your scent to stay upright.

“You smell like a distillery.” You said, amused.

“You smell like home.” He mumbled.

Your cheeks warmed, and you pushed the plate gently into his lap, “Eat your toast, Romeo.”

***

The bar was warm and golden, tucked away on a cobbled side street with velvet booths and enchanted candles flickering lazily overhead. You and Pansy had claimed a prime table by the window, cocktails already half-finished and a bowl of enchanted peanuts floating between you, occasionally popping like popcorn.

“I swear,” Pansy said, leaning in conspiratorially, “if Draco mentions his new wand polish one more time, I will hex him bald.”

You snorted into your drink, eyes gleaming, “You wouldn’t. You like running your hands through his hair too much.”

She grinned, “Touché. But I’d still threaten it. Keeps him humble.”

It was the first proper girls’ night out you’d had in what felt like forever, and Pansy — ever the scene-stealing, chaos-bringing goddess she was — made it feel like the war, the heartbreak, and everything in between had never happened.

“So,” She drawled, resting her chin on her palm with a wicked glint in her eye, “Tell me everything. Are you dating? Shagging? Secretly married? Come on, give me the details.”

You laughed, swirling the pink liquid in your glass — some fruity, glittering cocktail you hadn’t tasted since your Hogwarts days. It cooled your fingers while your cheeks burned hotter by the second.

You rolled your eyes, trying to bite back your smile, “It’s not like that, Pans. We’re just good friends. Honestly, I don’t think I’d have made it this far without him.”

“Oh darling,” She said with mock pity, “it’s always ‘not like that’ until you’re wearing his jumpers and catching feelings.”

You opened your mouth to object—but the words caught in your throat. You had worn his jumper. You were catching feelings.

Pansy’s eyes widened. She gasped, clutching her chest with dramatic flair, “No. No way. You like him.”

“I didn’t say that." You muttered.

“You didn’t have to!” She squealed, grabbing your hands across the table, “Oh, you poor lovesick thing. I knew it. I knew it!”

You groaned, burying your face in your hands, “You are insufferable.”

“I’m right, though,” She sang smugly, taking another sip of her drink, “And I actually happen to know that our dear Teddy has been—”

“(Y/N).”

The voice cut through the air like a curse.

You froze.

Pansy’s glass paused halfway to her lips. Her smile vanished.

Your blood ran cold. You didn’t have to look to know who it was — that voice had once lived in your dreams. Now it only haunted your nightmares.

Slowly, you turned in your seat.

And saw your ex-fiancé standing at the edge of your table.

You stared up at him, heart thudding so hard it felt like it might crack your ribs. He looked mostly the same — slicked-back hair that tried too hard to look effortless, a coat more expensive than it was tasteful, and that same smirk he always wore like armor. His jaw was tighter now, clenched like he hadn’t unclenched it in months. His eyes were cold, sunken a little, and mean in a way they didn’t even bother to hide.

“I didn’t expect to find you here.” He said, voice low, razor-edged.

Pansy was on her feet before you could speak, stepping in front of you like a drawn wand. “And yet here you are,” She said, all sugar and venom, “Funny how you manage to show up where no one wants you.”

He didn’t even glance at her. His eyes stayed locked on you, “We need to talk.”

“No, we really don’t,” Pansy snapped, “Back off before I hex your bits so far inward you’ll need a St. Mungo’s specialist to find them.”

“Pansy,” you murmured, brushing your fingers against her sleeve. Your hand was shaking.

He took a step closer, “Just five minutes. That’s all I’m asking.”

You rose slowly, pushing your chair back, jaw tight, “Fine. Five minutes. Nothing more.”

“Absolutely not—” Pansy began, but you shook your head.

“I’m okay.”

You weren’t. Not even remotely. But you needed this to end. To really end.

The night air was sharp against your skin, the hum of the city muffled as you stepped into the alley behind the bar. You folded your arms, more out of defense than cold.

“So this is what it takes to find you now?” He said, voice curling with disdain, “Are you selling yourself like a whore on street corners now?”

You exhaled slowly, trying to keep your voice steady, “What do you want?”

He took a step forward, “I heard the rumors. People talk, you know. Especially when a bride vanishes in silk and ends up playing house with that filthy blood traitor Theodore Nott.”

Your lips parted in disbelief.

“I should’ve known,” he sneered, “You always acted so self-righteous. But look at you now — just another slag hopping into the next man’s bed. Must be nice not needing vows to spread your legs, yeah?”

The words hit like a slap, your stomach twisting with fury and disbelief.

“I’m done listening to this.”

You turned—and before you could even brace yourself, he yanked you sharply by the collar and slammed you hard against the brick wall. The air whooshed out of your lungs as your back hit the cold surface, the impact jarring your entire body.

His hands tightened suddenly around your throat, fingers digging into your skin in a cruel grip. You gasped for air, panic surging as darkness edged your vision.

“Don’t you dare think you can just walk away from me.” He hissed through clenched teeth, eyes wild and merciless.

You clawed at his hands, desperate to break free, but his strength was overwhelming, pressing down harder, choking the breath from you.

"Reducto!"

The spell hit him square in the chest, blasting him off you with bone-jarring force. He flew backward, crashing into the far wall of the alley with a sickening thud before collapsing in a heap, gasping and stunned.

Pansy didn’t hesitate.

She stormed toward him like a vengeful shadow, wand leveled between his eyes as he groaned and tried to sit up. Her voice was shaking—but only with rage.

“You filthy little coward,” she spat, every word laced with venom, “Touch her again, and I’ll break every bone in your body.”

He growled, trying to rise—Pansy kicked him flat in the chest, knocking him back to the ground with her heel, “Stay. Down.”

Your knees buckled, the sudden rush of oxygen burning your throat as you slid down the wall, coughing and trembling.

“Whoa—hey.” Pansy caught you, strong and certain, one arm steadying you as the other clutched her wand, “I’ve got you, love. You’re okay. We’re going home.”

And this time, you let her carry the weight.

***

The world spun sharply as Pansy apparated, the crack of displaced air still echoing in your ears. The warmth of her body vanished the moment your feet hit solid ground—wood floors, familiar scents. You were in Theo’s flat.

Laughter and chatter from the living room fell to a jarring halt.

Five pairs of eyes turned in unison: Theo, Draco, Blaise, Mattheo, and Enzo—all frozen mid-conversation, drinks in hand. The moment they saw you, everything dropped.

“(Y/N)?”

Your name left Theo like a punch to the gut.

You were trembling, arms wrapped tight around your middle as if they could hold your ribs together. Pansy still held onto you, as if she wasn’t entirely sure you wouldn’t collapse, and even she looked rattled under the scrutiny of the room.

“That fucker,” She said through gritted teeth, “Grabbed her outside the bar. Slammed her into a wall. Tried to—” her voice faltered, thick with fury, “She couldn’t breathe.”

Theo moved.

Fast.

He crossed the room in three strides, gently brushing Pansy aside like she was made of smoke. Then he was in front of you, hands hovering for a split second before he cupped your face, cradling you like you were something fragile and sacred.

His eyes roamed over your features—your split lip, your glassy eyes, the bruising fingerprints beginning to bloom like violets around your throat—and something in him shattered.

His jaw clenched, fury crashing through him like a tidal wave. He looked like he could tear the world apart.

“I’m fine.” You rasped, voice barely more than a whisper.

You tried to smile—a brittle, curling thing, “I know that probably doesn’t help my case, but… trust me, I’m fine.”

“Don’t do that,” Theo said softly, thumb brushing over your cheekbone, his voice hoarse and tight, “Don’t lie to me right now.”

Your breath hitched.

Draco hovered beside Pansy now, brushing her hair behind her ear as he muttered something only she could hear. She nodded once, giving her boyfriend a soft smile before turning her gaze back to you, eyes gleaming with steel.

Theo gently tugged you forward into his chest.

You didn’t resist.

You couldn’t.

Your limbs had surrendered somewhere between the alley and the flat, and he was warm, steady—home. Before you could stop it, a sob cracked loose from your chest, raw and shaking. Your hands fisted into his shirt like it was the only thing tethering you to earth.

He held you tighter.

“I’ve got you,” he murmured, voice trembling beneath the quiet, “I’ve got you, sweetheart.”

The flat was eerily quiet now. One by one, the boys filtered out, their faces grim with the weight of what had just happened.

Mattheo lingered just long enough to press a firm, reassuring hand to your shoulder. His voice was low, steady, almost a promise, “You’re safe now. We’ll take care of everything from here.”

Blaise didn’t say a word. Instead, he gave a slow, deliberate nod to Theo, then to you, his expression taut with barely restrained anger and resolve.

Enzo’s jaw clenched as he glanced at you one last time. “He’s a dead man,” he muttered under his breath before turning away and joining the others.

You barely noticed them leaving. Your world had shrunk to the steady rhythm of Theo’s heartbeat humming against your ear, the comforting warmth of his hand pressing into your back, and the ache lodged deep in your chest — a raw, stubborn pain that refused to fade.

“I want him arrested. Tonight.” Pansy’s voice cut through the silence like ice, cold and deadly calm but laced with a fury that made the room vibrate, “Draco, I’m serious. He attacked her in public. Slammed her against a wall. Choked her until she could barely breathe.”

Draco’s tone was clipped, measured, but the sharp edge of anger was unmistakable, “You have a name?”

“Graham Bulstrode.” Pansy replied without hesitation, her voice razor-sharp and unyielding.

Draco’s jaw tightened, “Consider it done, my love.”

Every word settled into your foggy mind — distant but painfully clear. The tremble in your hands hadn’t stopped, but Theo’s arms wrapped around you only tightened, as if willing to keep the danger at bay. He leaned down, pressing a tender kiss to the crown of your head, a quiet vow whispered without words.

When the door finally clicked shut behind the last of the others, the tension finally broke. The tears you had been holding back surged forward, hot and fierce, tumbling freely down your cheeks. You clung to him, the safety of his presence grounding you as the storm inside began to settle.

You buried your face in Theo’s chest, shoulders trembling as the sobs broke free, wracking your entire body with every breath. He held you through it, solid and steady, one hand gently combing through your hair like he could smooth away the terror still clinging to your skin.

“I’m so stupid,” You gasped, the words catching in your throat, “I’ve—I’ve thought about that moment for the past month. What I’d say. How I’d stand up for myself. I imagined throwing that stupid ring back in his smug face, saying something cutting, something final—but when it actually happened…”

Your voice cracked, guilt burning behind your ribs.

“I couldn’t even speak. I just froze. I have a wand but I couldn't cast a single spell. I let him say all that shit about me—about you—and I... I didn’t even defend you, Theo. I’m so sorry. I'm so useless.”

He didn’t answer right away.

He just held you tighter, like your apology hurt more than anything else that had happened. When he finally spoke, his voice was quiet—gentle, but resolute.

“You have nothing to be sorry for.”

His words rumbled in his chest, warm against your cheek.

“I don’t give a damn about what you said or didn’t say to him. You don’t owe me a defense—not ever.”

You looked up at him, blinking through the tears. His eyes found yours, fierce and heartbreakingly soft, like you were something sacred—something he’d never let break.

“And you’re not stupid, (Y/N), or useless,” He said, voice thick with emotion, “You’re incredible. Brave. Stronger than you even realize. And I’m so fucking proud of you.”

His thumb brushed a tear from your cheek as he leaned in and pressed a kiss to your forehead—gentle, grounding, safe.

“He’s not going to get away with this,” Theo whispered, “I promise you.”

You sighed, sinking deeper into him, like you could finally let go of everything you’d been holding in. His arms wrapped around you again, warm and sure.

“Come on,” he murmured, “Let’s treat that bruise. Get you something to eat.”

But you shook your head, face pressed tight against his chest.

“Don’t let me go.”

The silence that followed wasn’t heavy anymore—it was tender, healing. You curled into him like you could disappear there, into the rhythm of his breathing and the thrum of his heart.

“I’m never going to let you go.”

And you believed him.

His heartbeat echoed beneath your ear, strong and unwavering. With every beat, the weight in your chest began to lift—slowly, steadily.

Safe. Loved. Finally, home.

***

A couple weeks later it was raining softly outside, the kind of slow, constant drizzle that blurred the windows and made the world feel far away. You and Theo were curled up on the couch, legs tangled, a blanket lazily thrown across your laps. A half-empty mug sat abandoned on the coffee table beside a crumpled takeout bag. The telly hummed faintly in the background, long forgotten.

“So then she goes, ‘I forgot to run the control,’” You said, exasperated, “and I swear to Merlin, I have never seen Slughorn that mad in his life.”

Theo snorted, one arm draped across your shoulders, twirling a strand of your hair around his finger, “Serves her right for always nicking your freshly ground moonstone.”

“Right? And of course, the one day I’m not there to supervise her, she completely tanks it. It’s not like I was goofing off—I was at the Ministry signing off the paperwork for Bulstrode's trial.” You sighed, “Slughorn knew, so I didn’t get in trouble, but I still have to repeat all her damn trials for the next few weeks. As if I don’t already have enough on my plate.”

“What’s keeping you so busy, Bella?” Theo asked, smiling as he gently unraveled the curl and let it spring back into place, “Maybe I can help.”

“Well, I’ve been needing to check out some apartments. Can’t really leave that to you, now can I?” You yawned, “But if you want, we could go together?”

Theo stilled.

He pulled back just slightly, brows furrowed as he studied your face, “Apartment hunting?”

You blinked, “Yeah… I’ve been looking at places closer to work. Just something small. I mean, I don’t make much yet.”

There was a beat of silence, then, “Wait—(Y/N), are you planning to move out?”

You nodded slowly, suddenly self-conscious, “I mean—I’ve been here for a while now and I love it, obviously, but I didn’t want to overstay my welcome. I figured—”

“You think you’re overstaying?” His voice cut gently but sharply through your words.

You faltered, “Well, I just—”

“You’re not,” Theo said, a little breathless now, like the words had been sitting on the edge of his tongue for too long, “You’re not overstaying. I want you here.”

Your breath hitched.

“I want to come home to you. Every day. Not to an empty flat. Not to a world where you’re somewhere else.”

His hand found yours, threading your fingers together like a lifeline. His voice dropped lower, steadier.

“Stay. Please.” His thumb brushed over your knuckles, slow and sure, “I want to come home knowing the woman I love is safe. Here. With me.”

You stared at him, wide-eyed, the world narrowing to his hand in yours, the soft thunder of rain against the windows, the warmth of his words blooming in your chest like magic.

“What do you mean, the woman you love?”

Theo let out a quiet laugh, a little stunned you hadn’t realized it already. His smile turned lopsided, eyes shining.

“Are you daft, (Y/N)?” He said, voice thick, “I’m in love with you. I’ve been taken with you since we were kids, and I’m still—” He broke off for a breath, like the truth was catching up to him all at once. “Still completely gone for you.”

Your heart did something unsteady in your chest.

“Say it again.” You whispered.

He cupped your cheek with one hand, his eyes never leaving yours.

“I’m in love with you.”

Your heart stuttered. The words lingered in the air between you, delicate and heavy all at once—like the hush after a spell’s been cast.

You didn’t look away.

You couldn’t.

“I’ve loved you for a long time too, Theo,” You whispered, the confession trembling on your tongue, “I don’t even know when it started—when I began falling for you—but I did. And I fell hard. I mean, who wouldn’t?”

You smiled through the softness in your voice, “You’re the kindest, most patient man I’ve ever met… and I’m thanking my lucky stars that I met you on the day of my wedding.”

That pulled a laugh from him—warm, full, and brimming with disbelief. He tilted his head back slightly, grinning like you’d just handed him the entire sky.

You leaned in just a fraction, voice softer now, “I want to stay. Not just in the flat. In your life. With you.”

That did it.

Theo closed the distance, his hands cradling your face as his lips found yours in a kiss that felt like coming home. It was fierce and tender all at once—like a dam breaking, like every moment of yearning pouring out of him in one breathless, burning exhale.

You melted into him, arms winding around his neck, your body pressed close as the kiss deepened—hungry now, desperate. His fingers tangled in your hair, yours fisting in his shirt, both of you trying to memorize the moment, to feel every inch of it like it could make up for all the waiting.

Weeks—months—of unspoken words, of lingering touches and stolen glances, of intimate moments that always ended with breathless silences and aching restraint—crashed into a single breath.

Theo kissed you like you were his lifeline—like he’d been holding back a storm and had finally been given permission to let it break.

You gasped as his lips trailed from your mouth to your jaw, your throat—reverent, hungry, like he was rediscovering you with every breath. “Tell me to stop,” He murmured, voice hoarse with restraint, “Say the word, and I will.”

But you didn’t. You couldn’t.

Instead, you tugged him closer, heart pounding under his palm as your fingers slid into his hair, voice trembling with a dangerous sort of affection, “If you stop, Theodore Nott, I’m sleeping at Pansy’s tonight.”

He let out a low, incredulous laugh—half-choked and fully wrecked—then kissed you again, deeper this time. Certain. Claiming. The rain tapped gently against the windows, forgotten behind the haze of fogged glass and the thrum of two hearts finally letting go.

And when he lifted you off the couch, carrying you down the hall with all the tenderness in the world and not an ounce of hesitation, the only thing either of you could think was:

About bloody time.

***

It was barely 9 a.m. when the front door to Theo’s flat creaked open—again, without so much as a knock.

Mattheo’s voice cut through the quiet, “I swear, if this idiot didn’t do the groceries and we hiked all the way here for his strawberries for nothing, I’m setting the place on fire.”

“I brought croissants.” Lorenzo offered brightly.

“You brought them from my kitchen,” Draco said flatly, “You literally stole them from my counter.”

Theo stumbled out of the bedroom, rubbing the sleep from his eyes, “Do none of you understand the concept of boundaries?”

He was mid-scowl when Blaise’s voice drifted in from the hallway, “Don't you imbeciles think it's too early to—”

And then they all fell silent.

You had just stepped out of the bedroom—the master bedroom this time, not the guest room—bleary-eyed and yawning, wearing nothing but Theo’s hoodie. Again. Hair a little messy, legs bare, looking entirely at home.

Draco blinked, “Déjà vu.”

Mattheo let out a dramatic sigh, “Alright, but like… why is it always the hoodie and no pants? Not that I’m complaining—it’s just, you know what, never mind.”

Blaise leaned against the kitchen island, arms crossed, “So what’s the excuse this time? Sleepwalking? Laundry explosion? Sudden amnesia about how trousers work?”

You didn’t even flinch.

“We’re dating,” You said flatly, tugging the sleeve of Theo’s hoodie over your hand as you rubbed your eye, “And I’m not wearing pants because I had sex with your friend. Good morning.”

Silence.

Four pairs of stunned eyes stared at you.

Lorenzo made a choked noise, “I—okay.”

Mattheo sputtered, hands flailing, “You can’t just say that without warning!”

“You asked.” You replied dryly.

Draco took a long sip of coffee, muttering behind the rim of his mug, “I owe Pansy ten Galleons.”

***

Bonus:

Your heart pounded as you stared at the closed doors, the soft strains of the wedding march beginning to drift through the wood. Your palms were sweaty around the bouquet you carried, nerves and excitement swirling in your chest.

Then, the doors swung open, revealing you in a stunning white dress, your smile bright and genuine as you began your walk down the aisle. The hush of the ceremony wrapped around you like a warm embrace, the aisle stretching ahead lined with friends and family.

A memory flickered through your mind—just a couple of years ago, you had run away from a different wedding down the hall, only to find refuge in this very chapel. It was here that you met your to-be husband, the love of your life.

Your eyes locked onto the man standing across the room, looking impossibly handsome in his tailored suit. His gaze locked onto you immediately, and for a moment, all the noise and bustle melted away. It was just you and him.

Only a few feet separated you now, but something in your heart couldn’t wait. Before you realized what you were doing, you broke into a gentle run—this time towards the groom.

Theo’s face broke into a gentle smile—the kind reserved only for you—as he reached for you. Before you could even think twice, his arms closed around you, catching you effortlessly. Your feet lifted from the floor as he spun you gently, twirling you in a slow, perfect circle.

The world blurred—lights, faces, music—all faded into a whirl of warmth and happiness.

He pressed his forehead to yours, a slow smile curling on his lips as he whispered, "You just can't wait to marry me, can you?"

You laughed softly, breath warm against his skin, "I couldn’t run away—tried it before. Too much work."

His eyes sparkled with amusement and love as he pulled you closer, the world around you fading into nothing but this perfect, shared moment.

***

EXTRA BONUS BECAUSE I CAN HEHEHE:

Hogwarts, Year 6:

You glanced across the potions table, scanning the clutter of ingredients before turning slightly toward the Slytherin bench.

“Theodore?” You said cautiously, holding your crushed lacewing flies with gloved fingers, “Could I borrow the asphodel? Just for a sec.”

He looked up from his cauldron like you’d just asked for his wand. There was a pause. Not rude, not angry—just... blank. Then, wordlessly, he slid the jar toward you across the table. His fingers brushed yours for the briefest moment when you took it. Cold skin. A little spark. His hand recoiled like he’d been burned.

“Oh. Um. Thanks.” You murmured, blinking.

He just gave a short nod, already turning away, jaw tight as he went back to slicing his valerian root like it had offended him personally.

You blinked again, confused, then padded back over to your side of the room where Pansy was lounging against the workbench like it was a chaise lounge in the Slytherin common room.

She quirked an eyebrow, “What was that?”

You shrugged, a slight pout forming on your lips, “I don’t know. I guess he just really doesn’t like me.”

Pansy snorted, “Please. If Theo really didn’t like you, you’d know.”

Meanwhile, across the room, Theo was absolutely not concentrating on his potion anymore. He was staring blankly into the cauldron, stirring too fast, ears tinged pink.

Your hands just touched.

***

Forever Taglist:

@simonsbluee

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[synity]

MOON-STRUCK

(Lee Jihoon x FemReader)

*Slow-burn Romantic Drama with Emotional Angst & Idol Slice of Life Tender Fluff Unspoken Longing*

Y/N had always been the type to pour her soul into her art. Three years into her solo career, she remained underrated by industry standards yet loved deeply by those who had discovered her. Her fans, mostly CARATs, admired her honesty, the way her lyrics cut straight into the heart, how her voice didn’t beg for attention but instead earned it.

Despite her quiet success, she never let the pressure mold her. She was vibrant behind the scenes teasing stylists, dancing with backup performers, laughing like she didn’t carry the weight of self-composed albums on her shoulders. SEVENTEEN knew her before she debuted. They had trained in the same building, shared ramen at 2 a.m., offered encouragement during late-night practice runs.

Over time, she became more than just an industry friend. She became one of them.

Among all the members, it was Woozi who surprised them the most.

Lee Jihoon, the man of quiet glances and endless hours behind the studio door, had taken a silent liking to her from the very beginning. It wasn’t loud or dramatic. It was in the way he always saved her a seat. How he offered her drinks without asking. How he remembered her favorite chord progressions. The way his laughter came easier around her, how his smiles lingered longer when she was in the room.

And yet, Y/N never noticed.

She was always kind to him like she was to everyone. She never saw how he’d look at her when she’d run choreography barefoot just for fun, or when she giggled at her own offbeat counts, or when she lent her voice to harmonize with a demo she thought no one would ever hear.

He wrote songs about her dozens of them. Some released, most not. They sat in his hard drive labeled under vague codes like “Project M” or “Midnight Ver.” Lyrics about her eyes, her chaos, her calm, the way her voice cracked when she got emotional during studio runs. He never told anyone. He didn’t need to.

One day, he asked her to collaborate.

“I’ve been working on something,” he mumbled, handing her a USB. “You don’t have to say yes, but I think… you’d suit it.”

Y/N smiled, cheerful as always. “Of course, Woozi! I’d love to.”

She didn’t see the way his ears turned pink when she said his name.

They began working together immediately. Hours passed in studios where she danced across the room, lyrics in one hand, iced tea in the other. She hummed random melodies mid-conversation, always sparking some new idea. Jihoon was quiet, watching, always calculating but never cold. If anything, she made his presence warmer.

She never realized how careful he was with her.

He tuned her vocals more delicately than anyone else’s.

He brought snacks he knew she liked.

He adjusted his schedule just to match hers.

And he never said a word.

Dance practice was a mess but in the best way. Y/N teased the dancers, mimicked moves badly just to make the room laugh, often collapsing on the floor out of breath. Jihoon barely danced, but he always came to watch. He sat in the corner with a water bottle, hiding a smile whenever she did something ridiculous.

“She’s got something,” he murmured to Hoshi once after a practice. “She’s lightning in a bottle.”

The final product was a song called Moonstruck a moody, sparkling track that told the story of falling for someone when it’s already too late to back out. The lyrics were poetic, haunting. A little too real.

Y/N didn’t question them.

She loved the song. Said it felt “like being drunk on starlight.”

It racked up 94 million views in twenty-four hours. Both fandoms exploded with praise.

From that point on, variety shows and interviews swept them into the public eye together. But to Jihoon’s quiet dismay, she was often paired with Dokyeom. They were chaos personified bickering like siblings, laughing until they cried, bantering in a way that had fans convinced they were a couple.

Y/N, of course, didn’t mind. It was just work. Just friendship.

Jihoon… minded.

He watched from behind the camera. A soft frown on his lips. Never interfering. Never mentioning it.

Instead, he wrote.

Another unreleased file. Titled: Moonstruck (Alt Ver). An echo of the original track but rawer. Sadder. Full of things he could never say.

Woozi’s POV

She didn’t even know what she was doing to him.

Maybe that was what made it harder.

Watching her laugh with Seokmin during their latest variety taping, Jihoon tried to focus on his water bottle, on the call sheet in his hand anything but the way her fingers reached for Seokmin’s arm when she doubled over with laughter.

It wasn’t like she was flirting.

That’s what he kept telling himself.

She was just… Y/N.

Loud, radiant, carefree.

Exactly the same way she’d been since the day they met when she barged into the vocal practice room without knocking, asking if anyone had a charger for her phone and whether or not they were good at harmonies because she needed someone to sing with her.

She didn’t change. He did.

The feelings crept in slowly, uninvited. The admiration was innocent at first he liked the way her music sounded like a heartbeat. Raw, imperfect, real. Then it became the way she scribbled in her notebooks with her tongue slightly out in concentration. The way she challenged choreography counts like she was solving a math equation. The way she wore her pain quietly in lyrics and healed in front of the mic.

He saw all of her.

And now, it was too late.

Their collab, Moonstruck, had broken every expectation. A haunting duet about two people orbiting each other, never confessing, never quite reaching. Fans called it their “emotional love story.”

Jihoon called it the truth.

Every line he wrote, every harmony they layered, every glance he risked while she wasn’t looking it was all him. Her, too. She just didn’t realize it.

She never noticed the way he tuned her voice like glass, afraid to crack the emotion. She never realized he skipped meals just to match her late-night schedules. That when she asked “Want anything from the vending machine?” and he said no, he actually wanted her to come back safely more than he wanted food.

And she sure as hell didn’t realize how much it hurt when other people got to see the side of her he cherished most.

“Hyung,” Seungkwan nudged him gently backstage. “You okay? You’ve been staring at them for five minutes.”

Jihoon blinked.

Y/N and Seokmin were still on stage, dancing like fools for some silly game. She looked happy. Light. Like she belonged anywhere but in his arms.

“Yeah,” he muttered. “Just tired.”

It was a lie, and everyone knew it.

Even Seungkwan gave him that look half sympathy, half “why don’t you just say something?”

But how could he?

Y/N didn’t see him that way. She smiled when he offered her a jacket. Said “thanks, Woozi, you’re the best” when he fixed her key without being asked. She trusted him like a friend. Admired him like a producer. Counted on him like family.

She never saw the way his hands trembled after she left the room. Or how he replayed her demo takes at night just to hear her voice in the quiet.

Later that evening, when the dorm lights were low and the others were asleep, he opened his laptop.

Moonstruck (Alt Ver) still sat in the folder. Unreleased. Unsent.

It had a different second verse. He’d written it after seeing her perform on stage with Seokmin when they both wore matching ear cuffs for the concept shoot, laughing like they shared a secret. It wasn’t their fault. Jihoon knew that.

Still, it bled out of him in lyrics:

saw your name on the screen, Paused for a sec, didn't know what it means. Ghost in the corner of my feed, Why does silence cut so deep?

His fingers hovered over the keyboard.

He could send it. Just a voice memo. Just say: “Thought of this for the deluxe version.”

But he didn’t.

Because if she knew… If she heard what he really felt—how deeply, how fully he might lose her altogether.

So instead, he saved it. Closed the lid.

Pretended it wasn’t real.

Pretended she wasn’t his moon, his muse, his reason for creating music that didn’t feel hollow anymore.

But fate, he was starting to realize, had a twisted sense of humor.

Because lately, every time he turned around, there she was.

Not just in the studio. Not just in dance practice.

But at the same café he stopped at for coffee. Two tables away, humming into her straw.

At the same bookstore he escaped to on Sundays. Laughing with her manager in the art aisle.

On his recommended feed, in his dreams, in the quiet moments where he thought he could finally breathe.

She was everywhere.

And Jihoon… he didn’t know how much longer he could stay silent.

Y/N’s POV

I wish I could lie and say it was just admiration.

I’ve told myself that lie a hundred times, repeated it in the mirror like a mantra. "You just look up to him. You respect him. That’s all."

But then I’d catch myself watching him when I shouldn’t. Not during recordings, but in between takes. When his brow furrows just before hitting playback. When he closes his eyes to feel the mix. When he laughs not the public kind, but the unguarded one, head tilted slightly back like he forgot the world existed.

That’s when I feel it most. Whatever this is.

It’s been three years. Three years since I entered SEVENTEEN’s circle, and it still feels like I’m tiptoeing across thin ice every time I stand too close to him. Woozi Jihoon is not like the others. He doesn’t flirt. Doesn’t compliment casually. Doesn’t say things just to be kind.

So when he does say something, it stays. Like when he told me, “That bridge you wrote? It hurts in the best way.” Or when he stayed late in the studio with me just because I was having a rough day, quietly handing me a hot drink without asking why I’d cried earlier.

He always notices. He always cares.

And that’s what makes it so hard.

Because I don’t think he sees how I look at him.

He doesn't see how nervous I get when our hands brush. Or how I save the messages he sends about music like they’re love notes. I’ve written dozens of songs I’ll never release. Lyrics filled with him. Questions I’m too afraid to ask.

If I fell, would you catch me? Even if it hurts, I’d still run to you. You faded out so quietly, But your echo still lives in me.

But I don’t say anything. Because it’s better to have Jihoon in my life even as just a friend than risk losing him to truth.

Still, there are moments I can’t ignore. Like today.

He was quieter than usual. His smile a little more reserved. His eyes lingered longer when I joked with Dokyeom. I thought I imagined it. But Seungkwan gave me a look later, that knowing one.

“You’re brave, hanging around Woozi hyung like that when he’s clearly losing it,” he teased.

“What do you mean?” I played dumb.

Seungkwan only raised a brow. “Nothing. Just don’t be surprised if he writes an album out of jealousy.”

If only he knew I’d do the same.

Woozi’s POV

I’ve written over two hundred songs in the last few years. Some never made it past the demo stage. Some debuted on stages before tens of thousands. And then there are the quiet ones tucked away in folders no one has heard. The ones I label under “Private.”

Most of those are about her.

I never planned for it to be this way. Y/N was supposed to be a friend. Just one of us. A ridiculously talented soloist who somehow managed to fit into our chaos like she’d been there from the beginning.

But over time, something changed. Not in her but in me.

I started watching her more often. Noticing things. Like the way she stretches her arms above her head during breaks. How she taps her pen against her lips when she’s lost in thought. The small frown she makes when she’s unsatisfied with her work but no one else would ever notice because she hides it behind a bright smile.

That smile. It kills me every time.

And yet... I don’t think she sees me that way.

She treats me just like the rest of the guys. She teases me when I get too serious. I’ve grown used to hearing her laughter echo across the studio, but sometimes, when she laughs at something DK says, something uncomfortable twists in my chest.

I hate the feeling.

Jealousy. That’s what it is. Not of Dokyeom, specifically. But of the way she looks at him. The way her eyes soften, how she leans into his shoulder when she laughs too hard. It’s innocent, I know. But it still stings.

Today was worse.

She wore that oversized hoodie she always paints in splattered in color, loose around the sleeves, a brush tucked behind her ear. We were working on our second collaboration track. I suggested we co-produce this time. She agreed immediately, eyes lighting up like I’d given her the world.

I couldn’t stop watching her as she hovered near the soundboard, bobbing her head to the demo.

“You’re staring,” Hoshi whispered behind me.

I jumped slightly. “No, I wasn’t.”

Hoshi didn’t bother hiding his smirk. “You do this every time she walks into a room.”

I didn’t answer. Because he wasn’t wrong.

Later, when we were taking a break, I walked into the practice room and saw her choreographing with one of the dancers. The music was playing softly from her phone, and she was humming along, sweat dripping down her temple, eyes alight with passion. She didn’t see me.

But I saw her.

And then something happened.

She turned, suddenly, laughing at something the dancer said—and her eyes met mine. For a split second, her laughter faltered. Just slightly. Like she hadn’t expected me to be there.

Then, she smiled.

It wasn’t different. Not really. But something in my gut twisted.

She walked over casually, tossed me a water bottle, and leaned her head against my shoulder for a moment. “Don’t judge the chaos yet. It’s going to be good, I promise.”

“I never doubt you,” I said before I could stop myself.

Her head turned. Her eyes searched mine for a second longer than necessary.

And then she smiled again, this time quieter. Like she was hiding something.

I should’ve asked. But I didn’t.

I’m Woozi. I don’t chase what I don’t understand. But lately… I think I’m starting to understand too much.

Because the way she looked at me it felt familiar. Like the way I’ve always looked at her.

But that can’t be, right?

Right?

I had rehearsed the song a thousand times.

Every lyric. Every chord. Every pause where her name echoed in the silence between the lines unspoken, but present.

The studio felt different tonight. We’d finished the second collab. It was a hit already trending on every platform, with millions of views in hours. The staff had celebrated, champagne was popped, people laughed, but I couldn’t feel it.

Because she was there. Smiling. Looking at me with eyes that knew nothing of the storm inside me.

I couldn’t do it anymore. I couldn’t keep writing songs she didn’t know were for her. I couldn’t keep smiling every time she laughed at someone else’s joke, or pretend it didn’t sting when she called me “just a friend.”

So I stayed behind in the studio that night. Asked her to meet me again after hours.

Just us.

When she walked in, hair tied up loosely, hoodie half-zipped, a sleepy smile on her face I almost lost my nerve.

But I didn’t. I couldn’t.

“Sit,” I said gently, pointing to the couch. “I want to show you something.”

She blinked, confused, but obeyed. “Is this another demo?”

I shook my head. My fingers hovered above the keyboard, heart pounding like it never had before not even before a concert. “It’s… something I wrote. A while ago.”

I pressed play.

The piano poured through the speakers soft, hesitant, like footsteps into unknown territory. Then my voice followed.

Not producer Woozi. Not idol Lee Jihoon. Just me. Singing about her.

“You sit next to me like it’s nothin’, But my heart skips like it’s somethin’. You say “good morning” with sleepy eyes, And I’m already stuck in butterflies”

I heard her breath catch. But I kept going.

“You talk about dreams, about moving away, And I just hope I’m in them someday. Not asking for forever, just a chance To maybe hold your hand if we ever dance."

Silence.

When the last note faded, I finally turned.

She was sitting there, frozen. Eyes wide. Her hand was over her mouth, her chest rising and falling quickly.

“Y/N…” My voice was low. Raw. “That song every one of them… they were all about you. All this time.”

Her lips parted, but no words came. She looked like she couldn’t breathe.

I walked closer, heart crashing in my chest. “I don’t know when it started. Maybe when you helped me rearrange that bridge at 2 a.m. Or when you laughed so hard at Seungkwan’s joke you snorted and didn’t even care. Maybe it was when you cried in the studio because your verse felt too vulnerable and you thought no one would understand but I did. I always do.”

She was crying now. Tears falling quietly, mouth trembling.

I knelt down in front of her, gently taking her hand. “I’ve loved you for so long, Y/N. And I’m scared to say it. I’m scared it’ll ruin everything. But I can’t keep pretending you’re just another friend. You’re not. You never were.”

And then finally she spoke.

“You idiot,” she whispered, a laugh breaking through her tears. “Do you have any idea how long I’ve loved you too?”

I froze. “What?”

“I didn’t say anything because I thought you didn’t feel the same. You were always so distant… so careful. But I saw it. The way you looked at me when you thought I wasn’t watching. The way your songs sounded like home.”

My breath hitched. “Then why didn’t you?”

“Because I was scared too,” she said softly, pulling me closer. “But I’m not anymore.”

She cupped my face, thumb brushing my cheek as I leaned into her palm. I closed my eyes, overwhelmed. For the first time, it felt like the song I’d been writing all my life finally had its chorus.

And then our foreheads touched, and she whispered, “You were always the one, Jihoon.”

My arms wrapped around her waist as hers wound around my neck, and we both sank to the floor on our knees, holding each other like the truth might shatter if we let go.

I buried my face in her shoulder, her scent grounding me, her presence finally finally mine.

“I’m still writing a hundred songs about you,” I mumbled against her skin.

She laughed through a sob. “Then I’ll listen to every one of them.”

[fiastomatocheek]

IT’S OKAY, YOU’RE STILL LEARNING

requested: yes | req: dad!luke and reader cuddling after putting their daughter down for bed. she’s not even down for five minutes before she comes padding down the hall and into her parents’ room to snuggle and sleepily yap at them 🥹🥹

pair: dad!luke hughes x f!reader

genre: domestic fluff, family, comfort, emotional softness.

warnings: emotional vulnerability, sweet tears, bedtime softness, mentions of parenthood anxiety.

summary: after putting lucy to bed, you and luke cuddle up for a quiet night, but lucy isn't asleep for long-padding softly into your room in her universe star pajamas, bunny in tow. nestled between you both, she shares sleepy thoughts about love, pride, and what it means to be a family. her words innocent, tender, and full of understanding-remind luke and you just how deeply she's watching, learning, and loving.

fia’s note: this idea came to me right after yesterday’s dad!luke fic, i just imagined luce slowly developing this little habit where, instead of asking for bedtime stories, she always wants to hear stories about you and luke. she thinks those are way more fun, and her curiosity just grows with every story you and luke tell. even though the memories happened before she was born, she listens with so much joy, like she’s getting a glimpse into something magical. maybe that’s why she loves it so much because hearing how her mommy and daddy met, fell in love, and built a life together makes her feel like she’s part of that love story too.

tagging team fia ! — @iloveyoutodeathbutimdrowning @dancerbailey3 @mashmashi @hopefulsuitcasemoneyzonk @kell9rs @alwaysclassyeagle @nokiaholland @macka @silvenyy @bd147ms

fia’s masterlist | join fia’s taglist | yap & fic | mondays with fia

“Luce go down okay?” you asked.

Luke nodded, nose brushing your hair.

“Yeah. Said she wanted to count the stars on her jammies before sleeping. Got to ten before she passed out.”

“She’s been getting so curious lately. We had a little heart-to-heart today, Mommy and Luce talk. Said when she grows up, she wants someone who looks at her with ‘blink-blink eyes.’ Like her Snoopy does.”

Luke chuckled, shoulders shaking.

“That’s terrifying and adorable. Mostly terrifying.”

You tilted your head to look up at him.

“She said she wants someone like you, Snoopy.”

Before Luke could respond, the softest knock pattered against the bedroom door.

Tap tap.

Both of you paused.

The door open slowly, and a little figure appeared. Lucy.

She was in her favorite navy-blue pajama set covered in white stars, hair messy from her pillow, her bunny clutched tight under one arm.

“She’s doing it again,” Luke whispered like it was a secret.

“She’s doing it again,” you whispered back, smiling.

Lucy padded across the floor, climbed up onto the bed, and wedged herself between the two of you like it was the most natural thing in the world. She let out a deep sigh as her little body melted into the mattress.

For a moment, you thought she’d drifted off right away. But then

“…Mommy,” she mumbled in her raspy, sleepy voice. “Snoopy.”

Luke tilted his head toward her, voice gentle.

“Yeah, baby?”

Lucy didn’t open her eyes.

“I was so proud of Mommy. She’s the best Mommy in the world.”

You felt your throat catch as you brushed hair from her forehead.

“Oh, Luce…”

“Snoopy,” Lucy whispered again.

“Are you proud of Mommy too?”

Luke leaned in. “So proud, Luce. I’m proud everyday. Mommy’s the bravest, strongest, funniest person I know. She’s always been here, even when Snoopy wasn’t sure what he was doing.”

Lucy was quiet for a second, then added, “I’m proud of you too, Snoopy. You’re the best Daddy ever. You always got time for me and Mommy.”

Your heart clenched. You couldn’t believe how much love could live in such a tiny voice.

Then she looked at Luke, blinking slowly.

“But… sometimes you’re sad, right?”

Luke looked surprised. “Sad?”

Lucy nodded. “Yeah. Sometimes, when I’m supposed to be sleeping… you come into my room really quiet. You think I’m asleep, but I hear you, Snoopy.” She paused.

“You say sorry. You tell me you hope I forgive you ‘cause you’re still learning to be a daddy.”

Luke’s lips parted slightly.

“I didn’t know you were awake for that,” he said quietly.

“It’s okay,” Lucy whispered.

“Not everyone gets it right the first time. I know you try. And I love you even when you think you’re not the best. But you are. My best Daddy.”

You reached for Luke’s hand beneath the covers and squeezed it.

“And Mommy…” Lucy turned to you now, shifting her bunny.

“Thank you for being my Mommy. I’m so glad you’re my Mommy.”

You smiled, warmth flooding through you.

“Thank you for being my little girl, Luce. You’re the brightest part of my whole world.”

“I think… when Snoopy met me, he was… happy?” she asked sleepily.

Luke responded instantly.

“So happy. You have no idea. Before you were born, I carried around a picture of you, when you were just a little peanut in Mommy’s belly. I showed everyone. Even fans. When you were born, I cried. Real tears. And you know how rare that is.”

Lucy giggled weakly. “Yeah. You’re the strong one. Mommy’s the soft one.”

“And together, we’re your team,” you added.

Lucy blinked slowly, her eyes fluttering.

“I think maybe I didn’t know who you were… when I was born,” she said, voice fading, “but I think I was happy too. ‘Cause I got the best parents. I’m so proud…”

Her sentence trailed off as her breathing evened out and sleep overtook her once again.

You and Luke lay in silence for a moment, each of you staring at the ceiling, hearts pounding from the weight of the moment.

Luke finally broke it.

“She’s smarter than me,” he whispered.

“She’s definitely your daughter though,” you whispered back, turning to kiss his cheek.

“Heart too big.”

“She listens more than I realized,” Luke said, staring down at her.

“I used to think… if I didn’t do everything perfectly, I’d let her down. But she already sees me trying.”

“She does. And she loves you even harder for it.”

He let out a shaky breath and reached across Lucy’s little sleeping form to tuck a piece of your hair behind your ear.

“You were right about this. About all of this. Family. Love. Blink-blink eyes.”

You smiled sleepily. “I always am, Snoopy.”

[azzifudd19]

New Teammates, Old Baggage

Chapter 1: New Teammates, Old Baggage Part 1

The early June sun poured down on the Los Angeles Sparks practice facility, drenching the polished court in golden light. The buzz of basketballs thumping against hardwood echoed off the walls like a heartbeat — fast, loud, and full of pressure. It was media day, but Paige Bueckers didn’t have time for glamor. She was late. Again.

“Jaz, let’s go, baby,” Paige urged, shifting her gym bag on one shoulder while holding her daughter’s hand with the other. Jazlyn, all four years of sass and sunshine, was too busy humming to herself and watching her glittery sneakers light up with every hop.

“But Mama, they sparkle!” Jazlyn exclaimed with a toothy grin.

Paige couldn’t help but smile, even as anxiety bubbled in her chest. “I know, baby. But we’re already behind. Let’s save the sparkles for later, okay?”

She pushed through the gym doors, her heart pounding—not from nerves, but from a cocktail of exhaustion, expectation, and the ever-present fear that she was somehow already failing at everything.

Heads turned immediately. Coaches, trainers, and players noticed her entrance, especially one in particular: Azzi Fudd.

Azzi stood at half-court, arms crossed, water bottle in hand, brow raised. Her posture was all precision and control like always. She’d already finished her morning drills before most had shown up. Punctual. Disciplined. Serious.

Exactly the opposite of Paige.

“She’s late again,��� Azzi muttered to a teammate beside her.

“She’s got a kid, Azzi,” her teammate replied with a shrug.

Azzi’s jaw tightened. “She’s got a job too.”

Paige walked Jazlyn over to the bench and handed her the tablet with her favorite shows downloaded.

“You know the drill, bug. Stay right here, headphones on, and if you need to potty”

“Tell Auntie Janelle,” Jazlyn recited, already putting her pink headphones on.

Paige kissed her forehead quickly, then turned toward the court. She could feel the weight of Azzi’s gaze like a spotlight.

“Sorry, Coach,” Paige said, jogging over.

Coach Thompson gave her a look but nodded. “Just get warmed up. We’ll start in five.”

Azzi didn’t say a word as Paige joined the team for drills, but her silence was loud. Paige ignored it. She wasn’t here to make friends especially not with the girl who looked at her like she was baggage, not a baller.

Azzi watched Paige run drills with surprising speed and sharpness. She couldn’t deny Paige’s talent she was one of the most naturally gifted guards in the league. But talent wasn’t everything. It didn’t raise a kid. It didn’t fix inconsistency.

As the team broke into scrimmages, Azzi found herself opposite Paige of course.

Paige smirked. “You sure you want this smoke?”

Azzi rolled her eyes. “I’d rather guard a toddler.”

Paige raised a brow. “You saying I play like your little cousin?”

“No,” Azzi said coolly. “She has better time management.”

It hit a nerve. Paige’s eyes flickered, then narrowed. “Real original.”

They played aggressively. Too aggressively. Azzi boxed out hard. Paige elbowed back. The coach blew the whistle three times in a row before finally shouting, “Enough!”

They walked away from the scuffle in opposite directions, breathing hard.

From the bench, Jazlyn clapped. “Go, Mama! And go Miss Azzi!”

Azzi froze. Paige looked over, startled.

Miss Azzi?

Azzi turned just in time to see Jazlyn waving at her with both hands, beaming.

“Oh no,” Azzi muttered, turning back toward drills. “Not the kid too.”

Azzi wiped the sweat from her forehead and took a long drink from her water bottle. Practice had wrapped, but the sting of Paige’s elbow to her ribs still lingered. Not that she was about to complain — she could handle rough play. What she couldn’t handle was Paige’s attitude.

She glanced toward the bench, where Jazlyn was now perched, swinging her little legs and munching on a bag of goldfish crackers. Azzi couldn’t help but smile. The kid was… adorable.

“Hi again,” Jazlyn said brightly, looking up as Azzi walked past. “You’re really good. You run super fast.”

Azzi chuckled. “Thanks. You’re pretty fast too, I bet.”

“I am! Wanna see?” Jazlyn hopped down and started sprinting across the sideline in her light-up sneakers.

Azzi instinctively stepped forward, worried she’d trip, but the little girl was surprisingly graceful. When she finished, Jazlyn came running back, breathless and proud.

“Was that good?”

“It was amazing,” Azzi said, crouching down to her level. “You might be the fastest person on this team.”

Jazlyn beamed. “Even faster than Mama?”

Azzi opened her mouth, but a voice cut in behind her.

“Jaz, what did I say about talking to strangers?”

Azzi turned to see Paige standing a few feet away, her expression sharp. Her tone wasn’t loud, but it was enough to make Jazlyn’s smile falter.

“She’s not a stranger, Mama,” Jazlyn mumbled, suddenly sheepish.

“She’s a teammate,” Azzi said gently, rising to her feet. “And she’s got good taste in shoes.”

Paige crossed her arms. “You don’t need to babysit my kid.”

Azzi’s brows lifted. “I wasn’t. She said hi. I said hi back.”

“Well, don’t get used to it. She talks to everyone like they’re her best friend. It doesn’t mean anything.”

Azzi stiffened at the bite in Paige’s voice, but kept her tone calm. “Maybe it means she has a good heart.”

Paige’s eyes narrowed. “Maybe it means she trusts too easily.”

With that, Paige held out her hand. Jazlyn took it reluctantly, glancing up at Azzi with a soft wave.

“Bye, Miss Azzi.”

Azzi waved back, heart tugging a little. “Bye, Jazlyn. I’ll race you next time.”

Jazlyn smiled again, then followed her mother toward the locker rooms, her small fingers tucked inside Paige’s larger, calloused hand.

In the locker room, Paige sat on the bench, towel draped over her shoulders. Jazlyn sat beside her, humming as she arranged her goldfish into a little circle on the bench.

“You like her or something?” Paige asked, voice low.

Jazlyn looked up. “Miss Azzi? Yeah. She’s nice.”

Paige huffed a laugh, almost bitter. “Nice doesn’t mean anything. People are ‘nice’ until they’re not.”

Jazlyn blinked. “But she smiled at me. Real smiles mean something.”

Paige didn’t respond. She just stared at the floor for a long moment, lost in her thoughts a quiet storm always brewing beneath the surface.

Outside the facility, Azzi walked to her car, tossing her bag in the trunk. As she climbed in, she glanced at the door, half expecting to see Jazlyn again, waving like she had earlier.

But the door remained shut.

“She’s just a kid,” Azzi whispered to herself.

But even as she pulled out of the parking lot, she couldn’t shake the feeling that this season was going to be more complicated than she’d planned.

[pandapetals]

okay yay I would love to make a request then :) Could you do Joel coming home to find reader like crying as she’s looking at herself in the mirror because she’s been feeling insecure about her weight lately? (and then Joel ofc reassures her and makes her feel better and also says things like ‘ur healthy and fed now’ .etc.) 🥰🥰

No Fixin' Needed

Pairing: joel miller x fem!reader

Content warnings: established relationship, weight insecurities, comfort, comforting words, learning to self-love

Word Count: 1k

A/N: Thank you for the request. Hope everyone is kind to themselves today. Love yourself.

You muttered a curse under your breath, yanking open one drawer after another, clothes spilling out in careless piles. The room was a mess. Shirts half-folded, a sock dangling from the dresser’s edge. You were already late, and your favorite jeans were nowhere to be found.

With a huff, you swiped a hand down your face, your palm coming away damp with frustration. The clock on the nightstand glared back at you, its numbers a cruel reminder you were running out of time.

Then you spotted them — a crumpled heap of denim peeking out from the top of the laundry basket. You snatched them up, hesitated. They hadn’t been washed. Lifting them to your nose, you gave them a quick sniff. Not terrible.

You stepped into one leg, then the other, tugging them up. Then the real problem started.

The denim clung stubbornly to your thighs, tighter than you remembered. You wriggled, hopping awkwardly on one foot, trying to shimmy them up the rest of the way. When the button refused to meet its hole without a struggle, your stomach sank.

You turned toward the mirror. The overhead light was too harsh, highlighting every curve, every soft edge you’d been trying not to think about. You sucked in your stomach, trying to smooth the fabric with your hands, but the waistband still cut in too deep.

A sour taste filled your mouth. You kept staring, your reflection blurring at the edges as heat prickled behind your eyes. You told yourself it was fine. Maybe it was just a bad angle or a bad day?

Yet, your fingers dug into the soft flesh at your waist, pulling, smoothing, as if you could will it all away. You shifted your stance, tried angling your body, sucking in your stomach, but nothing looked right. The glass caught every unflattering line, every place you swore hadn’t been there before.

Your throat tightened. You blinked hard, but the sting behind your eyes was already there, rising faster than you could swallow it down.

“Darlin’?”

Joel’s voice floated up the stairs, casual at first, but the sound of his boots on the steps quickened when you didn’t answer.

He stopped in the doorway. His gaze landed on you. How your hands gripped your stomach, then your thighs, the hitch in your breath. Then he saw the tears in your eyes.

He was at your side in two strides.

“Hey,” he murmured with concern as his hand curled gently around your wrist, stilling your fingers where they tugged at yourself. “What’s goin’ on?”

You opened your mouth, but nothing came out—just a shaky breath.

He stepped in closer, his broad frame crowding out the rest of the room. His hands came up, one brushing your hair back behind your ear, the other settling against your waist. The very place you’d been tearing yourself apart over.

“C’mere,” he said softly, turning you toward him, away from the mirror. His thumb brushed the corner of your eye where a tear had slipped free.

“I ain’t gonna pretend to know what’s goin’ through that head of yours right now,” he said, eyes searching yours. “But I do know this. You’re the most beautiful damn thing I’ve ever laid eyes on. Always have been. Nothin’ about you needs fixin’, you hear me?”

You tried to laugh, but it cracked halfway out, your chin trembling as you stared down at yourself.

“But… the jeans,” you managed, voice catching on the words. “They don’t fit like they did a week ago, Joel. They’re my favorite pair.”

Your fingers plucked at the waistband, the denim too tight against your stomach. The tears came faster now, hot and uninvited.

“I’ve gained weight,” you whispered, like it was a confession, a secret you’d been trying to outrun. “My stomach’s soft, and my thighs—” you shook your head, blinking hard, unable to finish.

“Hey now,” he murmured, his hand slid up to cup your cheek, thumb stroking a slow, steady line along your skin. “Ain’t gonna let you talk about my girl like that. Not in my house.”

“You listen to me,” Joel said, his brow furrowing as he caught your gaze, making sure you heard every word. “I don’t give a damn what them jeans say. Don’t give a damn what a number on a tag says. You’re beautiful, darlin’. Always have been. Nothin’ ‘bout you that ain’t worth lovin’.”

Joel leaned his forehead against yours, his hand still cupping your cheek. “Bodies change. Life gets heavy. We get older, softer in places. Ain’t a thing wrong with that. Means we’re still here. Means you’re still mine.”

The room was quiet but for the sound of your unsteady breathing and the steady beat of his words.

“You could wear a damn paper bag and I’d still look at you like you hung the damn moon,” he said, a hint of a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth, trying to coax one from you too.

And somehow, despite yourself, you did.

He felt it, the way your face softened beneath his hand, and he kissed your forehead, a soft press of lips against skin.

“C’mon,” Joel murmured, his thumb brushing away the last of your tears. “Forget them jeans. I’ll find you somethin’ else. Or hell — we don’t gotta go anywhere. Could stay right here, just us.”

“Okay.” You softly replied. The storm in your chest hadn’t vanished, but it wasn’t thrashing quite so hard anymore.

His words lingered, wrapping around the parts of you you’d been picking apart.

You pulled in a shaky breath, feeling the weight of his forehead against yours. Then slowly, you turned your head, your eyes flicking back toward the mirror.

The reflection hadn’t changed.

The jeans were still too tight. Your stomach was still soft, thighs still touching, but Joel was there now, too. His broad frame behind you, his hand resting over the place you’d hated a minute ago, his thumb drawing a slow, absent-minded circle against your side. You saw the way he was looking at you, as if nothing about you needed fixing.

You exhaled and let your palm settle over his, holding it there against your waist. Your gaze met your own in the mirror — eyes puffy, hair a little messy, face still flushed from crying.

You looked at yourself. 

“I guess…” You started, your voice quiet, but steadier now. “Guess it’s just me. And that’s okay.”

Joel’s grip on you tightened, his mouth brushing against the side of your head. “Damn right it is.”

A faint, wobbly smile tugged at your lips — not because he said it, but because, somehow, you started to feel it.

You straightened your shoulders a little, wiped your face with the back of your hand, and met your reflection again. Still you. A little softer. A little stronger, and you decided you were done being cruel to her.

“You sure you still wanna be seen with me in these jeans?” you teased.

Joel huffed out a soft laugh, one corner of his mouth lifting. “Darlin’, I’d be lucky to.”

[gnabbang]

Sparks

word count: 1k

warnings: none that I can think of- a bit of language maybe!

authors note: love baby lino man- bias wrecker for a reason. I hear this song and immediately it made me think of him- the quiet love I think he'd give- hope you enjoy!

.・゜゜・　. ˚◞♡ ⃗ *ೃ༄　・゜゜・．

Minho isn’t a loud lover. He isn’t one to shout on top of the roof, our from out of his balcony that he is in love with her. He thinks things like that, and the people who do them aren’t really in love with their partner, because if they were, why did they have to tell the whole world? Why isn’t their partner knowing how much they’re loved enough? It was something he could talk forever about.

Despite the fact that he wasn’t a loud lover, he was a deeply compassionate one. When he loves, he loves with his whole body, mind, and soul. Whether that be platonic, or in her case, romantic.

He loved simply but deeply, and at first a bit hesitantly. He doesn’t say the words “I love you”, but he will make for damn sure that she knows he does. He loves by remembering her favorite drink (matcha with cinnamon and honey), her favorite song (No Complaints by Noah Kahan), her favorite artist (Lizzy McAlpine and Noah Kahan she always said she couldn’t pick between the two), her favorite color (pink most of the time but it depends on how she’s feeling), which one of his hoodies is her favorite (anything he’s been wearing for an extended period of time, which made no sense to him until she explained it “They smell the most like you, especially the ones you wear to work”), her favorite scent (sandalwood).

He could tell someone everything about her, paint them a very vivid picture of the person she is, not with just looks, but with her personality, her kindness, her compassion, her tenderness, he could write a book about her, about everything he makes her feel. The love that threatens to bring him to his knees when he sees her after a long day at work (or any day at any time- but the feeling hits especially hard after work), the shock that he still feels even after two years of being together that she chose him, that she keeps choosing him, even after she has seen all the ugliest parts of him. “We don’t abandon the people we love just because they can be a bit horrendous sometimes, if everyone did that, no one would ever stay together. That’s why love is such a strong thing Min, we see that ugliness and chose to stay despite it, because that is not who the person is at a whole. No one is perfect, therefor everyone has a little bit of ugliness in them.” Though if asked out right she would never say there was anything wrong about him.

“If there was a part of you that I truly thought was ugly, Min hon, I wouldn’t be here, we wouldn’t be having this conversation. You have to think about that when you get into a relationship of any kind- is this part of the person something you can live with? Is it something that will affect your relationship with this person on a deeper level than just annoyance. If the answer is yes, then you fight for them, and love them. Love isn’t one dimensional, it’s multifaceted. There’s a little bit of annoyance that goes with it, a little bit of sadness, of anger, but love trumps all of those. That’s why its called love.”

It shocks him at times, his girl that primarily reads about dragons and romance and things he sees as silly is very emotionally intelligent. That’s apart of why he thinks they’re so good together, he sometimes struggles with emotions, not just his own but others as well, but she gives him guidance, helps him see things he cannot at times, either because he is blinded by his own emotions, or because he thinks the other person is being ridiculous, but she gives him a fresh pair of eyes, helps him see things not form a logical stand point, but an emotional one.

It has saved him from turning a small argument with one of the boys into something much bigger. At times he stops himself an thinks what would she do right now? If she were in this situation how would she move forward? and he thinks. He doesn’t rush into a decision, and instead sits with his thoughts, sorting them and curating a response to the situation that is both him and her, and goes on accordingly. Sometimes if that doesn’t work and he is really stuck he’ll call her or wait till he can see her in person, and they’d just talk. For hours about it.

That was one thing he loved about her, and about the two of them. They talked, about anything and everything. Ninety-nine percent of the time he was so focused on controlling what he was saying, with cameras and the peoples eyes always on him, he’s found himself filtering out his words a lot but he never has to with her. He can tell her every thought he’s ever had, every dream, every nightmare, and she will listen, and respond back. No finger pointing, no gasps of outrage, just quiet understanding.

He loved the quiet moments more than anything. When the silence wasn’t awkward, or uncomfortable, it was filled with love.

So when it was late at night, the window slightly cracked open, a gentle breeze making the blinds sway and occasionally hit the window sill, and he was still awake, staring down at her, that feeling of overwhelming love hitting him straight in the chest. She was asleep, he could see her eyes going back and forth and up and down behind her eye lids. Her lips were slightly parted, her chest rising and falling as she breathed. She was curled into his side, her hands put together as if in a prayer and tucked under her cheek, childlike almost. He lifted his hand, pushing back her hair from her shoulder softly so he wouldn’t risk waking her. “I’ll always look after you,” He whispered softly, leaning forward, placing his lips against her forehead. Her body curled into his, her lips closing and pulling into a small smile.

He felt himself smile in response, and shifted closer to her, letting his eyes shut. He let sleep over take him, his dreams full of nothing but her.

He loved quiet.

He loved their quiet.

But most of all he loved her.

.・゜゜・　. ˚◞♡ ⃗ *ೃ༄　・゜゜・．

this was very self indulgent and i need it thanks

[rasoyas]

9,12,14 & 15 for simblr ask game! 🫶🏻

wahh rachel i smooch thee!!! 💋 thank you for asking me these and answering the ones i sent you! i know i've said it before a million times, but i missed you so much and i'm so excited to see you posting again 🥰 juno and charlie are truly some of my favorite lil pixels i've ever seen! my answer for nine got long as hell so under thee cut it gooooes.

12. what is the last screenshot you took?

i put this above the cut for those who want to see it fdjkhfg take this unused cap from the latest modern day pipes & flux development

fun fact! flux was supposed to be cheated into a perpetual "fine" moodlet for the entirety of his existence, only popping colors when he was absolutely overrun by emotion. i'm going to be putting in a lil more effort moving forward, so he'll be in "fine" neutral white eyes from now on - this was originally meant to portray his stoicism, as he's a very dry, very matter-of-fact bot (which makes his crush on piper even cuter to me but i'm BIASED)

9. who is your favorite storytelling blog?

oh man okay just imagine me rubbin my hands together like a lil bug. @duusheen i'm of course incredibly biased toward because she took the barest bare bones of the man that was sterling atcliffe and turned him into one of the most captivating characters i've ever seen. i molded the clay but she is the one who breathed LIFE into that man, and i'm so so fond of everything she's done. @cinamun is an absolute foundational pillar of this community and story simblr would be nowhere near the place it is now without her, i swear by it: the drakes have been through every up and down and in-between that you can imagine, and i have enjoyed lapping up every bit of it. the developments in @bunnithechubs' stories and gameplay cannot be denied, and @elderwisp is actively writing a literal beautiful magnum opus of a novel that has captivated me heart and soul - the character studies between the both of them should be lofted in a museum i swear. special mentions to brandi @softpine and my lovely jade @stinkrascal, whose stories are so alive in their heads and hearts that they shine through the screen and i cannot imagine characters i would carry so gently in my hands but theirs and everyone else's. there is serious and real talent in this community, from tahj @fallstaticexit's absolutely innovative and seriously inspiring "h.a.g.s." comic (a literal comic y'all like CLICK THOSE READ MORES they do NOT disappoint) with so much character depth (and absolutely the saga of Nancy Landgraab, Most Tortured Lesbian) to @pixelatedblues's absolutely gorgeous and wonderfully moody "hana" sagas. becca @rebouks gave us some of the most intriguing and well-fleshed out characters i have ever seen, and the entire storyline of "somnium" had me in a regular chokehold every week. from cookie's kidnapping to oscar's redemption arc to the culmination of everyone's fates, i could not be prouder of what becca has accomplished with her characters and her story - i'm literally not even saying enough to put into words how strongly i feel about what an amazing job she's done!

i cannot say it enough - we are a small corner of this site, but there is real and serious talent here. i haven't even made mention of like a damn IOTA of the very real capability and creative genius we have on simblr. do you know how many times i wanted to scream and shake people's shoulders over developments in @warmsol or @thebramblewood's stories? @neishroom's talent belongs far beyond the bounds of simblr and that goes for everyone here - hell, @ophernelia is directing and producing, BY HERSELF, a series that could straight-up pop up on my netflix right now and bitch i would double thumbs-up that shit so fast. special mentions for @flovoid and @virsancte, who regularly give us glimpses into LITERAL MOVIES that blossom in their heads and grace us with their impeccable abilities to somehow capture that absolute magnificence in this piece of shit game from 2015. you are all so, so talented - and if you're reading this and i didn't mention you, I MEANT TO AND I'M SORRY I DRANK A WHISKEY COKE 🙏 ALSO my olli olli oxenfree @lucidicer quite literally crafted the most aesthetique and brutal world for his characters and i could lift them all above my head in true adoration, the work and love he pours into the narratives and worlds of his characters is a feat in and of itself, and then??? he pops out the most artful renders you'll ever god damn see. blood on the snow bro that's all i gotta sAYYY. also YOUUUU rachel your balance between gp and story posts with the hollands is a literal inspiration, i ran out of steam but my god do i love everything you do! eli and charlie’s tumultuous and fantastically handled past is the reason their love shines so brightly now and you handled it beautifully!! THEY HAVE KIIIDS MAN LIKE 😭 bro i also forgot while making a specific mental note to mention kayley @simswoon because i’m a BUZZED DINGUS but seriously seriously give her all the laurels man bc her growth from gen to gen of her struck by love legacy has warmed my heart to the bone.

14. who is your current favorite sim?

i can't even lie to you it's pipeeeeeer 😭 she's genuinely just the legitimately cutest sim i've ever made: i used dallas' wonderful cartoony face as a base for her, and she had such a bare character concept when i made her that growing her as an OC has been so much fun. flux is much more established in my head, and i'm so so fond of him and his story just developed even more, but piper is... WELL LOOK AT HER SHE'S PRECIOUS

truthfully, daniel taylor from my ancient bachelor challenge and my dallas krueger will always have the "lord of the rings" spot in my heart (ie. i can say i have a favorite movie but LOTR trumps them all type beat) and i can't wait to reintroduce daniel and his husbands as a part of piper and flux's story 😭

15. who is your current favorite sim that is not by you?

y'all omg this is torture 😭 i will forgor so i'm only gonna do one and nobody be mad at me PLEEEEEEEEASE 🙏 but genuinely one of my favorite sims and the one i check up on quite a bit has got to be .... UH.... THERE'S A LOT I'M LITERALLY FROZEN IN CHOICE ANALYSIS fdjkhg can my big ass answer for favorite story blog stand as a testament to the love i have for all your simmies pleek 🙏

[fou4summer]

MATH OR DINOSAURS? ━━ yoo jaeyi x fem!reader 🦖

synopsis: you and Jaeyi just started dating and during a study date, you can't help but notice that she talks about dinosaurs more than the math problems you're supposed to be working on.

warnings: making out

genre: fluff

word count: 1k

You adored Jaeyi ever since you two started dating. At first, she was all serious and reserved, but as days went by, she became softer, leading to now, where she leaves dino candies on your table.

Most of the time, your friend Choi Kyung would eat them, claiming that Jaeyi only left the wrapper without the chocolate, but you always laughed when you saw the chocolate smeared on her mouth.

“Im telling you she ate it before giving it to you Y/N!” She said, nudging your shoulder, giggling, and covering her mouth.

“Yeah right! Stop playing Kyung!” You tried to remove her hands from her mouth. Thats when you felt someone touch your shoulder. You turned around to see Jaeyi standing there awkwardly.

“Hey Y/N! Would you like to come over at 4 or 5 PM today for math?” Her hands were full of biology books and a dinosaur encyclopedia.

“Hmmm….does 5PM work for you baby?” You replied, looking up at her, waiting for an answer. Instead, her face turned red at the pet name she still hadnt gotten used to.

Her books dropped to the floor and she hit her head on the table while bending down to pick them up. Kyung was dying of laughter, hitting your arm and the table.

“Hey stop laughing—! Baby are you okay?” You crouched down, placing a hand over the spot where she hit her head. She nodded quickly, picked up her books, and rushed out of the classroom.

“To the bathroom she goes! If you get me.….” Kyung laughed again until you hit her arm hard enough to shut her up.

“Ughhhh not my fault Im funny.….You just don’t get it!” She said, holding the spot where you hit her before saying something else ridiculous.

-

You were now at Jaeyis door, still never quite used to how big her house was. You heard someone running on the other side, and when the door opened, there she was, Jaeyi, panting.

“Did you run Jaeyi?” You let out a chuckle, making her flush and nod. You opened your arms, waiting for a welcoming hug. She smiled, resting her head on your shoulder before wrapping her arms around your waist.

She nuzzled into your neck, softly whining, “I missed you.” After a few cuddly minutes, she told you to follow her.

“Oh baby you got a new lego dinosaur! Whoa its huge!” You said, admiring the dino on the shelf.

“OH YEAH—oops sorry got excited. But yes I did! My sister got it for me!” She smiled wide, placing her hand on your lower back. You turned around, leaned in and kissed her.

It started as a soft peck, then quickly deepened, your tongue tracing her lips, seeking entrance. She allowed it, opening her mouth and gripping your shirt tightly.

Jaeyi was a great kisser, despite her nerdy personality. She always knew exactly where to place her hands to make you fold. Without fail she was the first to pull away, retreating into her usual shy self.

“Uhmm.….d—did you know that the longest dinosaur was Argentinosaurus which measured over 40 meters? Crazy righttt!!?” She mumbled, looking anywhere but into your eyes. You stared directly at her just to see her reaction.

“Are you gonna eat me alive like a Tyrannosaurus?” She asked, placing her hands over her eyes and peeking through her fingers. You laughed and poked her waist gently.

“Are we gonna do that math, or are you trying to convince me to resurrect your favorite dinosaur?” You teased, opening her math textbook and flipping to the page you needed for the test.

“This is the first time you’ve picked up the book without me making you.….im kind of proud…” She mumbled and you gasped.

“Did you just make fun of me? Are you saying I dont study at all? Wow baby.….” You faked being offended, knowing full well she’d get sad in about ten seconds.

“N—No Y/N! Im sorry!! You’re a great student, uhh the best one! Dont be mad here...” She reached into her drawer and pulled out a dino sticker that said

'I love you as much as dinosaurs love meat and plants.'

“Im joking love.….Thanks for the sticker. Its very... you.” You took it from her and placed it on your phone case.

-

You two were actually studying now, for about 30 minutes, before Jaeyi excused herself to take a shower. According to her, she had to shower at exactly 8PM or she wouldnt be able to fall asleep later. She was truly one of a kind.

When she came back, she smelled so fresh, and her cute dino pajamas didnt make it any easier to focus. She sat down next to you, explaining how to solve the next equation, when you suddenly leaned in and kissed her neck.

“Y/N.…hey...!” She mumbled, closing her eyes and dropping her pen. Jaeyi was really sensitive on her neck, and even though she always claimed she hated it, you knew she secretly loved it.

Suddenly Jaeyis sister barged in and burst out laughing.

“Oh wow studying math or...? Also Jaeyi, are you gonna shit yourself? Why are you so tense???” She grabbed Jaeyis charger and walked out.

“Knooock!”Jaeyi yelled and rushed to close the door, then came back, sat in your lap and rested her head on your shoulder.

“I wish I were a big dinosaur so I could scare her away from my room…..” She mumbled. You cradled her head gently and not long after, she fell asleep like a baby.

You didn’t understand a thing she explained about math, buuuut at least you knew a few more dinosaur facts.

[sugary-strawberry-shortcake]

"Both Ways“ (Yandere! Older Brothers! Dick Grayson& Damian Wayne x Poison Ivy‘s Daughter! Reader!)

A/N: oki I lowkey fell in love with this duo when writing the chapter 4, so I thought why not! it’s more fluff this time, because I‘m just editing the new chapters and only now realise how much more angsty its going to get. btw still unedited!!

The front door of the manor creaked open, and YN blinked in confusion.

She’d expected the usual.

Alfred handing her toast. Damian already halfway to the car. Maybe a last-minute text from someone claiming traffic would delay the drop-off.

But instead, she found her eldest brother Dick Grayson standing by the front steps, arms crossed, blue jacket zipped, and the faintest too-bright smile on his face.

“Morning, Little Flower,” he chirped, eyes crinkling. “Ready to go?”

She tilted her head confused. “Wait… where’s the car?”

“No car,” he said. “We’re walking.”

Her brows pinched. “But—it’s, like, a forty-minute walk.”

“Exactly.” He stepped forward and ruffled her hair. “Perfect amount of time to stretch your legs, get some sun, and let your big brother enjoy some peace and quiet with his two favorite people.”

Damian appeared behind her with a grunt, backpack slung over one shoulder.

“She’s wearing flats,” he muttered. “She doesn’t walk fast in those.”

“Then we’ll go slow,” Dick said brightly.

Y/N looked between them.

Both of them were smiling.

Not normal smiles.

Those smiles.

The kind that meant they weren’t asking.

They made it to the sidewalk five minutes later.

The cold bit gently at her cheeks, and the morning sun glinted off the tops of nearby buildings. It would’ve been peaceful—if she weren’t sandwiched between two of the most overbearing boys she’d ever known.

Damian took her left hand. Dick took her right.

Not a question.

Just—grab, hold, walk.

“Guys—” she started, but they were already setting the pace.

They walked her down the path like she was made of spun glass and Gotham itself might lurch out of the pavement to snatch her.

⸻

At the first crosswalk, Dick came to a full stop, arm snapping out in front of her like a parental seatbelt.

“Both ways,” he said, nodding toward the road.

YN blinked. “…What?”

“Look both ways before crossing. Say it out loud.”

“Dick—”

“Say it.”

She sighed. “Left. Right.”

Damian cut in, monotone: “Again.”

“Left. Right.”

Dick nodded with satisfaction. “Good girl. Let’s go.”

They didn’t let her walk. They guided her.

A step ahead. A step behind. Like bodyguards, like walls.

She was 14.

She’d crossed streets her entire life.

But that didn’t seem to matter anymore.

By the time they reached the front gate of Gotham Academy, Y/N’s face was flushed—not just from the cold anymore.

Students were everywhere.

Some were still filing in, others hanging around in groups by the fountain. A few heads had already turned, whispering when they spotted him—Richard Grayson in broad daylight, all blue eyes and casual charm like he belonged in a magazine, not in front of a prep school.

God, she thought, please don’t draw more attention.

No such luck.

Dick stopped just short of the entry arch and gave her that familiar, too bright grin.

“Alright, sweetheart,” he said, brushing invisible lint off her sleeve, “you remember what I told you, yeah?”

Y/N let out a sigh through her nose. “Yes, Dick. If anything happens, I text or call.”

“Immediately,” he added.

“They don’t even allow phones in class—”

“Don’t care,” he cut in, suddenly serious. “Doesn’t matter. You text if something feels off. You call if someone breathes too close. I’ll break every law in Gotham if I have to.”

She blinked at him. “…Okay.”

He nodded once.

Then turned to Damian.

“You’re keeping an eye on her?”

Damian rolled his eyes but didn’t hesitate. “Of course. She knows to come to me if something happens.”

“Which it won’t,” Y/N muttered, rubbing her temple. “Because I’m literally just going to school.”

Neither of them seemed to hear her.

She shifted her backpack, already angling toward the entrance.

“Okay, bye—”

“Wait.”

Dick’s voice stopped her in her tracks.

She turned slowly, warily.

And there it was—that damn grin again, softer now, eyes crinkled with something too tender, too protective.

“Don’t I get a goodbye hug?” he asked, spreading his arms.

Her stomach dropped.

“Dick—”

"C’mon. Just a quick one. Your big brother came all this way just to walk you.”

“People are staring,” she hissed, glancing around. A couple of her classmates were definitely watching.

“Exactly,” he said with a wink. “Let ’em see how much I love my Little Flower.”

“Dick!”

“Do it,” Damian said blandly. “He won’t stop otherwise.”

Y/N groaned, cheeks burning.

But she stepped forward.

And very quickly—very quickly—hugged him.

He squeezed her tighter than he needed to, pressing a kiss to the top of her head.

“You smell like garden soap,” he muttered.

“I wonder why.”.

He laughed.

She wriggled out of his arms and turned to go, trying to disappear into the flood of students.

Behind her, Dick waved cheerfully like a proud parent on the first day of kindergarten.

Damian watched her a beat longer, eyes narrowed.

And neither of them moved until she was out of sight.

[spongebob-connoisseur]

🕸💚💜Slappy Laszlo Ita Bag💜💚🕸

Everything you see here except for the bag itself (without any embellishments) is handmade!

My best friend was making an ita bag for her favorite character and I figured I wanted one too!❤ I had a lot of fun making it <3 I got to show this off at a con and got jumpscared when I realized I was sitting next to a twt mutual at a panel who said she loved my bag :D

Here's a closer look of the monstrosity <3 It was a nightmare making the rosette but imo 100% worth it

i handmade a slappy plush just to add on the bag. I gave up sewing half way and just started hot gluing the shit out of him. He was literally made in a single day😢

His body is really wonky. He looks thin😔 I wanted him to be kinda chibiesque with a large head and small body (well more than usual I mean) but my sister said it looks like if he was on ozempic💔💔💔💔

Moving on, here is the insert! I cut up an old spiderweb t shirt to use as a lining over the insert, I also bought plastic bugs from the dollarstore and painted them pastels to match Slappy(the bag of bugs was labeled "reptiles" at the dollar store but there was no reptiles! Isnt that odd?)

Slappy has no official merch so I had to make everything. I feared it would not be enough and I hate empty spaces so the bugs are there to fill out any gaps.

The buttons I also made. The library downtown has a fabrication studio so my bestie and I spend an afternoon making a gazillion buttons of our favorite characters.

Duality of man💯

The eyeballs were the most time consuming to make surprisingly enough! They're made from clay from dollar tree, I do not recommend, extremely fragile. I had to do this twice because it kept crumbling. Eventually I figured it out, covered it in many layers of mod podge, painted it over then shaded with eyeshadow. The pupils themselves are glass eyes, I forgot I bought them back in 2022 for doll purposes but it came in handy! These were originally pink eyes but I ripped off the backing and painted them over purple.

I wanted them to go in the center of the bag bows because that's a very pastel goth motive to have bows with eyeballs. And its very Slappy to have his soft boiled Peter Lorre buggy eyes in bows! :D Slappy's green color scheme can very easily be pastel goth. I have a vision💯💯💯

Anyways worst of making this was gluing on the false lashes! I'm not a makeup wearer so I have zero experience with any of this. But I will tell you that I was at my wits end trying to make the false lashes stick. I have a new found respect for people who do this regularly💯💯

I also did this criss cross ribbon thing on the sides of the bag. I was taking inspo from Gothic lolita bags so I really wanted this detail. I probably should have sewn them on but I got lazy.

I also replaced the zipper tags with coffin charms! Do not do this! They are not stable and I already lost one!

Final picture: I just wanted to show off the bag chain I made :D made from an old necklace, the beaded chain of a childrens toy. The only thing I bought was the spider charms to add onto it. They're supposed to be mint green but they look kinda blue in the photo. Ignore that.

I love Slappy so much that he feels like an open wound on my left side that's constantly bleeding out and causing me severe pain <3 My the back of my head burning up and my chest cracking like broken glass everytime I think of him <3 He deserves a cutsey patootie little ita bag dedicated to him UwU <333

If you have a favorite character you should make an ita bag too! Its a fun craft project. I think it's especially fun when it's not the usual stereotypical pretty boy/girl anime character! Just imagine a Renfield ita bag that's all cutsey Gothic lolita? Someone please make this vision a reality!

I would love to make a Spongebob ita bag someday especially since I already have a lot of Spongebob stuff (pins, buttons, keychains, etc) if they ever drop an official spongebob ita bag then you can bet your squarepants that I'll put it all together💕💕 I do think the Slappy bag would remain the most fun simply because I had to make everything from scratch meanwhile a hypothetical SB ita bag is just things I already own and was collecting for years. Never the less I'd still treasure it both since they're both my bestest boys💕💕💕

[nagia-windermyre]

Chrome Dokuro Character Analysis

It has been years since Katekyo Hitman Reborn! ended. Regardless of some of my discontent with certain things in the series, specifically the way the final story arc was handled, I’ve learned to come to terms with it and to this day KHR is still one of my most favorite series of all time, one that has a very special place in my heart. 

I always wondered why it never occurred to me to write analysis about the characters from the series until I recently read some character analysis written by some people. And after reading those analyses and posts, I finally decided to write one myself. And the character who has the honor of being analyzed first is none other than my most favorite character in KHR, Chrome Dokuro or also known with her real name, Nagi!

Now, this is going to be quite a long one, because I’m going to start from the beginning. And I recommend reading the ALT part as well as I wrote additional description on most of the pics.

Shyness and insecurity 

Chrome was originally a girl named Nagi. During the first few times she made her appearance, you’d think that she is this cute shy girl type that you’d see in many manga and anime. However, the more I watched her, I noticed things that made it obvious that she was more than the typical shy girl character she appeared to be.

Based on the information from the flashback in which she appeared and some bits from the novels that I read, Nagi was obviously neglected by both her mother and step-father. Growing up with parents like them, it’s understandable that Nagi has difficulty in socializing with her own peers, resulting in her without any friends and having low self-esteem. It's up to the point that she believed that death would be a mercy than continue living a hollow lonely life.

I think there was more than just her being neglected, because her problem was not just about her being too shy and I won’t really call her anti-social. 

No matter how shy or introverted someone is, will that cause them to believe that they’re nothing without giving something beneficial to another person? 

Chrome was under the belief that nobody would accept her unconditionally. Mukuro, the very first person she opened up to, said that he needed her when they first met. Putting aside Mukuro’s personal motive, objectively speaking, this can’t be considered as unconditional acceptance, isn’t it? Mukuro accepted her because there’s something he needed from her. That’s why, even with Mukuro accepting her, Chrome was still stuck with her belief that she won’t be accepted if she didn’t prove her worth and the sorts. And let’s not forget about Ken and Chikusa, that they made it clear to her how they accepted her only because she’s the only one connecting them to Mukuro.

Yes, we as viewers knew that Ken and Chikusa secretly genuinely cared for her, but can that be the same to Chrome? Considering her personality, it wouldn't be surprising if she believed that they took care of her only because of Mukuro. I couldn’t blame Chrome for having the mindset that she won’t be accepted by anyone if she has nothing that can make herself useful. 

Not only that, whenever someone was being mean to her, she never retaliated no matter how much she disliked being mistreated. This was evident in the case of Ken and (the ever detestable) M.M, even when they badmouthed (or in M.M’s case even hurt) her, Chrome just silently accepted it like it was something normal. I doubted this was because of her being too kind, rather it was more because she had gotten so used to being treated badly that she felt there’s no need to bother defending herself. 

I believe her original life she had as Nagi took a big part in making her this way. I’d say though she wasn’t abused physically, she was abused mentally. And more than often, mental abuse leaves a lasting scar far worse than physical abuse.

While Tsuna and the other Guardians treated her better, to Chrome, they were (at least initially) only people whom she must work together with due to Mukuro’s order and wasn’t interested in trying to get to know them beyond what Mukuro told her to. Tsuna and the others might have accepted her, but they themselves never really made any attempt to become closer to her like how Tsuna, Gokudera, Yamamoto, and Ryohei did with each other. In Gokudera’s case, he was even still suspicious of Chrome due to her relation with the Kokuyo Gang.

That’s why, when Kyoko, Haru, I-Pin, and Bianchi were being very kind to her even when she hadn’t done anything for them, Chrome was confused. Chrome was not used to unconditional kindness. She didn’t understand what it means to be accepted and loved unconditionally. Because she wasn’t used to being treated so kindly, her first response was running away from them. She didn’t know what to do in the face of their unconditional kindness and gentleness. 

To be perfectly frank, I was frustrated when I heard people saying they’re annoyed with and hated Chrome’s impassiveness, they dislike how she’s staying quiet and all. This is partly also the reason why I hate M.M. She criticized Chrome as this pitiful girl for trailing after Mukuro like an obedient puppet even after she warned her that Mukuro was just using her (just because she hates Chrome looking so pitiful that gave her the right to slap her? As if! How dare she!). Those people could say that because they never bother trying to place themselves in Chrome’s shoes.

For years Chrome had suffered from neglect or perhaps even something worse, and it would be foolish to think she would magically break out her shell, open up, and change in such a short time. People who were annoyed by her behavior were too impatient and forgot that this kind of thing needs process. Some even took years to get better. I could say this with 100% confidence because I had real-life experience.

Personally, I think the anime handled it better in showing the process of how Chrome started to open up to Kyoko, Haru, and I-Pin. While the manga only showed some bits of their moments from one chapter to another separately, the anime not only included more moments together in the filler episodes, they even made one whole episode dedicating to her growing friendship with Kyoko, Haru, and I-Pin, and the additional original scenes added made it even more impactful.

Chrome also has one quirk at the beginning, which was how she never addressed other people by their names. This is one of the important aspects of her growth. Not including Tsuna who was clearly her boss, she called people like Hibari as “Cloud person/ Cloud man”, Lambo as “Cow child”, or Uni as “Sky child”. Mukuro, Ken, and Chikusa were the only ones whom she called by their proper names. 

This was most likely also due to the problem I mentioned above. She wasn’t sure about socializing or talking with people she wasn’t really close with and weren’t really close with Mukuro the same way as Ken and Chikusa. Even though she knew their names, she didn’t know if it was okay to call them so.

Progress and development

After I-Pin finally managed to touch her heart, giving her that one last push, Chrome finally gained the courage to come out of her shell and took the initiative to get to know Kyoko, Haru, and the others under her own volition, a choice that was not based on Mukuro.

She finally started to call their names properly. No longer she referred to others by their flame attributes or characteristics. This is no small change in her, because it proved that Chrome had taken another step to break out from her shell and actually tried to interact with others in her own way. Not because Mukuro wanted her to, but because Chrome herself wanted to.

One of the first steps that I believe is the most evident in her gradual change is when she decided to join Kyoko and Haru in their boycott. Before, she followed along with whatever Tsuna told her to because he was her boss, and this was the first time that she was against him. 

But not just that, she also became a good mediator during this moment. While she understood Kyoko and Haru’s insecurity of being kept in the dark, she didn’t just blindly support them, she also helped Kyoko and Haru understand the struggle Tsuna and their other friends were facing. 

In Inheritance Ceremony Arc, Chrome had shown a hint that she began to take a path of independence, which was hinted when she decided to protect Enma during the fight against Demon Spade. She sympathized with Tsuna’s plight and decided to help him on her own accord. Yes, it was a reckless thing to do, but for her to make this decision on her own without Mukuro’s consent spoke loudly that she’s taking further steps towards her independence. I was so astonished when I read this part. (^w^)

With her newfound bonds with her new friends, she realized there’s more to her life than just being revolving around Mukuro alone. Though Mukuro is still the most important to her, she has found other people that she cherished and wished to protect outside of the Kokuyo Gang circle. Chrome might have narrated that she loved the people that Mukuro loved, but with how much Chrome had grown, I don’t have any doubt that Chrome would still love them regardless of how Mukuro feels towards them.

After she finally opened up and made her resolve in the final arc, Chrome had shown that not only she became more confident but also outspoken and fierce.

She was certain she could do it when she must support Mukuro's illusion. And in the final battle, Chrome was very strict and firm with Fran to the point of raising her voice that even Fran was afraid of her. I couldn't imagine the Chrome would ever do that even in a dire situation.

By the way, just a note, the Mangastream translation above made a mistranslation in the part of Fran said "Her voice...". In the original Japanese text, Fran said 「この人こえー」 (Kono hito koee). While "koe" normally means "voice" in Japanese, the "こえー" that Fran said here wasn't referred to Chrome's voice. It has "ー" at the end. This was called "choonpu" (長音符). It's primarily used in Katakana writing to indicate a long vowel sound, so the "e" part was read longer, giving it a different meaning. "こえー" here was actually a slang, a somewhat rude way of saying "kowai", that means "scary". So what Fran actually said was that "This person is scary...", or in other words, he found Chrome scary. lol

Relationship with Mukuro

The most important and crucial aspect of Chrome’s character is her relationship with Mukuro. Now, I am a big fan of the 6996 (Chrome x Mukuro) ship, so perhaps I might sound biased here, but I promise that I did my best being objective when writing this part.

To Chrome, Mukuro is her most precious person. He gave her everything that she had wanted but couldn’t have before: acceptance, comrades, and a place to belong. Mukuro also treated her kindly and gently. It’s no wonder that Chrome developed deep loyalty and devotion to Mukuro. Mukuro was pretty much her everything, the one person she’d willingly give her life to. At first, her life revolved only around Mukuro, so she had little to no interest in things or people that had no relation to him. Even when faced with a warning that he was only using her, Chrome’s feelings for him didn’t change. 

At first, I thought their relationship was one based solely on mutual symbiotic dependency. Mukuro was imprisoned in Vendice Prison, so he needed Chrome to act as his vessel to interact with the outside world. Chrome lost her organs in a traffic accident, so Mukuro kept her alive by creating illusionary organs for her. Both couldn’t exist without each other.

However, after reading an analysis done by katzkinder, I saw Chrome at the beginning of the series in a different light. And after putting that analysis in consideration and reading again the chapters about Chrome, it made sense. According to katzkinder’s analysis, Chrome’s dependency on Mukuro was not because she lacked skill in creating her own illusionary organs, but because of her being greedy.

Throughout the series, even though Chrome needed Mukuro to fill her missing organs, characters who are experts and illusionists themselves have commented how skilled Chrome is and she should have more confidence in herself. Thinking more about it, isn’t it strange that even though all these characters said that Chrome is skilled that only a true expert can see through her illusions, yet she couldn’t create illusionary organs with her own power?

During Future Arc, Chrome managed to construct her own organs with the power she drew from the Mist Vongola Ring. One could argue that this was only possible because the Vongola Ring is an S-Class Ring that gave its wielder incredible power. However, no matter how strong the ring is, only if the wielder has the strong resolve can they draw out its true power. And after the end of the Future Arc, Chrome could’ve used the Vongola Ring to sustain her own organs, but she didn’t and instead continued with having Mukuro do the sustaining.

Reading the katzkinder’s analysis and reading chapter 383 made me realize that Chrome’s problem was not in her lack of skill in constructing her own illusionary organs, but rather because she was afraid that she’d lose her connection to Mukuro. 

Quoting katzkinder,

“It’s because she was afraid, and how many times have we convinced ourselves of our helplessness out of fear that once we no longer required aid, the people who supported us would drift away?”

Chrome relied and depended heavily on Mukuro because he was the first person to accept her, acknowledging her that she has worth. And on top of it all, she gradually falls for him. She didn’t want to lose what she believed was the only thing that could connect her to the person she loves the most. She thought that if she didn’t live with Mukuro’s illusionary organs anymore, then the special connection she had with him would disappear.

To put it into words, she was indeed being greedy. And this greed of hers did let her stay by Mukuro’s side for so long. Chapter 383 also affirmed this. If she didn’t feel so strongly about it, would she be in such a dilemma? 

On a side note, this also gave me another understanding during her confrontation with Demon in chapter 318. Before, I kinda wondered if it was really necessary for Demon to control her mind. Demon was obviously stronger than Chrome, so I don’t think he needed to go out of his way to use mind control. Now, it got me thinking, if Chrome could reject Mukuro’s illusionary organs, then she should be able to do the same to Demon’s. Since Demon needed her alive to get to Mukuro, he couldn’t have her reject his illusions and die on him. That’s why he controlled her mind so she won’t reject the illusionary organs he provided for her and kept her alive long enough until the time comes.

When I realized this, I have to say that I didn’t really hate this part of her. While it was not a good thing to be so heavily reliant on someone or being too greedy, this gave Chrome’s character a more human touch, showing that she’s as capable of feeling various kinds of emotions like ordinary people are, including the negative ones. She’s still 13 years old after all. And this gave her character development all the more satisfying.

Unfortunately, while her greed allowed her to stay connected to Mukuro, it also became a chain that bound her down, preventing her from reaching her true potential. Because she was so afraid, she subconsciously held herself back from unleashing the power that she actually already had in her.

The turning point of her relationship with Mukuro was when Mukuro finally was freed from Vendice Prison. It had always been her dearest wish to free Mukuro from the prison and she can be by his side physically. However, when this wish was granted, Chrome came to realize that she and Mukuro were no longer tied by the special connection they initially had. Both Chrome and Mukuro were now their own separate person. With this realization, Chrome found a new wish: she wanted Mukuro to see her as her own person. It was during this time that her greed became a double-edged sword for her. 

Being the person closest to her, Mukuro always knew that Chrome was stronger than she believed herself to be. Mukuro noticed the dilemma in her heart, and that’s why he decided to distance himself from her by kicking her out from the Kokuyo, so Chrome has more room to sort out her thoughts. It might be cruel of him to just leave her like that, but it was necessary. It pushed Chrome to think outside of the box. Mukuro wanted to urge Chrome to realize her own worth.

Obviously, her seeming abandonment by Mukuro upset her (and me too when I first read it), but it was clear that Chrome’s feelings for Mukuro remained unchanging. She had gained more than she could ever imagine ever since she met Mukuro, so there’s no way her feelings for him would change so easily. 

Obviously, her seeming abandonment by Mukuro upset her (and me too when I first read it), but it was clear that Chrome’s feelings for Mukuro remained unchanging. She had gained more than she could ever imagine ever since she met Mukuro, so there’s no way her feelings for him would change so easily. 

Considering her reaction when Mukuro revealed her condition, it seemed that Chrome herself knew what her problem was. She knew, but she was still afraid to face the problem head on. Perhaps she understood why Mukuro did what he did, but even knowing this, she was still feeling torn.

When she pleaded with Tsuna to accept her into his team, it looked like Chrome only did so out of desperation to be acknowledged by Mukuro again. She has yet to make her resolve. If she did, she wouldn’t be hospitalized. Only after Reborn posed her the crucial question that she truly considered what her heart truly desires,

Where does she want to be in regards to Mukuro? 

Before, she was all content to be by his side living with the organs he created for her and be useful to him. But now, she realized that she didn’t want to keep depending on him. Just like how Tsuna wished to protect his loved ones, Chrome realized that she didn’t want to always be protected. She didn’t want to stay as a weak girl needed to be protected, she also wanted to be someone that could protect the people she loved and fight together side by side with them as equals. And Mukuro saw this potential in her. He knew that she could be more, which is why he left her so she could spread her wings on her own.

Chrome realized Mukuro’s faith in her and didn’t want to waste the opportunity he had presented, now understanding that she always has what it takes to stand up on her own and for herself. Following this, any hesitation and self-doubt that she had finally broken apart, nothing was chaining her down anymore. She accepted herself, striving to not disappoint Mukuro who believed in her. Once she was finally freed from her insecurity, she showed how powerful she was.

And after she finally acknowledged her true wish and made her resolve, Chrome’s self-confidence also grew. Before, she was unsure of her own skill, being anxious before she did something. Now, she showed a more positive attitude of trying first and seeing if she can do it. 

Additionally, her desire to protect Mukuro was different from the rest of the Kokuyo Gang members. For Ken, Chikusa, and M.M (I’m not including Fran here since he’s a different case altogether), Mukuro was their leader, a very strong and reliable person. They might want to do something for him, be useful to him, but they never thought of wanting to protect him. Because Mukuro had always been stronger than any of them, they thought it wasn’t necessary for them to protect him, or perhaps rather that they thought they couldn’t and would only be a hindrance to him. They just need to support Mukuro and he’ll lead the way. 

This had been demonstrated with how Ken and Chikusa always followed Mukuro’s order obediently without question. In one of those occasions, it led to Mukuro being captured by the Vendice. Even after that, when the Vendice attacked them again, despite what happened previously, Chikusa and Ken still followed Mukuro’s order to retreat after Mukuro promised that he’ll return. 

Chrome was the first person to ever express a desire to protect Mukuro. It wasn’t a desire to be useful to him like before that was the same as the rest of the Kokuyo members. Wanting to be useful and wanting to protect are two different things. No matter how strong a person was, each has their own limit, and Mukuro was no exception. 

Chrome’s desire to protect Mukuro was not because she didn’t believe in his capabilities, but because she was aware there are things that he can’t do all by himself. Should he reach the limit of what he could do alone, she’ll be there for him to share his burden. And this, in turn, also made her stronger as a person.

Protecting someone stronger than yourself requires courage, resourcefulness, and a willingness to act despite potential risks, often involving using your own strengths to help them, even if you are physically weaker than the person you wish to protect. 

And it’s not just protection in physical matters, protecting someone who is stronger than you can also involve emotional support, strategic thinking, and using your skills to help them overcome challenges. Recognizing that you might be at a disadvantage and still choosing to help someone who was stronger than yourself requires courage and a strong moral compass.

Chrome embodied all those aspects the moment she decided to protect Mukuro. Even though the situation was clearly at their team’s disadvantage and the possibility of turning things around was only by theory, Chrome still chose to take the risk and supported Mukuro’s illusion. By standing by his side, Chrome gave Mukuro both the emotional and physical support that assured him that victory would be in their hands. Combining their skills together, they successfully turn the tide to their favor.

Chrome’s no longer just a subordinate who only follows along from behind, she’s a brave soldier who fights on equal standing with Mukuro, right next to him. I’ll admit that the execution of Chrome’s character arc was still quite lacking, but I nevertheless still felt so proud when Chrome finally created her own organs and helped Mukuro defeating the Vendice.

At the end of it, Chrome’s bond with Mukuro was still the most important, but her loyalty was not out of blind servility and it was no longer the sole defining factor for her as a person. Even though they’re no longer sharing the same body and lived separately, it didn’t make their bond weaker. In fact, their bond became stronger than before precisely because now they could fight together as individuals who pushed each other to become better. 

I could elaborate further about Chrome and Mukuro’s relationship, but I decided to save the rest for when I write an analysis for Mukuro’s character. 

Innocent or Ignorant

Let’s straight out the fact that Mukuro might have ruined many people’s lives. Lancia would be the most perfect example. The illusionist forced him to murder his own famiglia and then many other people by controlling him for five long years, making the poor guy’s life a living hell.  

But in Chrome’s case, her life had only gotten better ever since she met Mukuro. She became the person she was now because she met him. It was also through their meeting that she eventually met Tsuna and the others, gaining more new friends who cherished her for who she was and she cherished them in return. Mukuro gave her happiness that she couldn’t have before, and Chrome was beyond grateful for it. It’s not so different from Ken and Chikusa’s loyalty to Mukuro, whom he had saved and gave them a place where they belong.

Some people might still think that Chrome still deciding to follow Mukuro was because she was blinded by her feelings for him or too ignorant to see his true nature. I beg to differ. Chrome took M.M’s warning to heart about Mukuro’s just using her. She accepted that might be the case, but decided to continue following him nevertheless because she saw there’s still genuine goodness in him.

There are a lot of people who believe that innocent people are stupid because they only see the good things in others while ignoring or turning away from the bad things, from the cruel reality. Perhaps there were some cases like that, but I don’t think that applies to Chrome. Chrome was innocent, but she didn’t turn away from reality. There’s a difference between being innocent and being ignorant.

In chapter 383, Chrome reflected how she loved the things that Mukuro loved, and in this moment, Tsuna and the other Guardians and Kokuyo Gang came into her mind. Again, people might think Chrome was being naive for believing that Mukuro cared about them, but I think this was actually what Mukuro truly felt without him himself realizing, and Chrome could see that. 

Chrome saw the best in Mukuro, which doesn’t mean she lacked intelligence or was oblivious to his cruel nature, she simply chose to believe in and followed the one goodness that he has while still fully aware of the darkness he possessed in his heart. Should her feelings be taken advantaged, she wasn’t oblivious to it, she let it happen because she believed it would help the person she loves.

Chrome believing the best in Mukuro isn’t foolish, it’s a reflection of who she is, not who he is.

Position

I noticed that in the chapter cover and the volume extras, Chrome was still regarded as part of Kokuyo Gang. She even still received an allowance from Mukuro even though she no longer lived with them. But in each of the volume’s character introductions, Chrome was never included together with Kokuyo Gang, she was separated from them. 

In some chapter covers and extras like Pineapple Communication in every volume since her debut, on the other hand, still included Chrome as part of Kokuyo. Even during the time Chrome was kicked out from the gang, she was still mentioned.

For a few years, I was confused why she was never included in the volume introduction even though in the previous volumes before Mukuro was freed she was included together with Ken and Chikusa as Kokuyo. I kept asking that question to myself. After doing a repeat reading so many times, I think I finally found the answer. While Chrome was indeed still part of Kokuyo Gang, she had formed a relationship with other people outside of them, specifically Tsuna and the other Guardians. 

I’m sure the argument whether Chrome or Mukuro was the true Mist Guardian still continues to this day. The source material and many official visuals more than often shows Mukuro when it comes to showing the 10th Vongola Family, while Chrome is secondary. This strongly indicated that Mukuro was the true Mist Guardian, especially since Mukuro was the one who kept the Mist Vongola Gear and always stole the spotlight when there were major battles. However, I do not believe that makes Chrome any less a Mist Guardian.

Unlike Mukuro, Chrome did hold a loyalty for Tsuna and truly considered him as her boss and genuinely liked him as a person. It’s still lesser compared to her loyalty to Mukuro, but Chrome had grown enough to acknowledge that Tsuna and the other Guardians were people she personally cherished. Logically speaking, even though Mukuro was the one Iemitsu personally picked to be Tsuna’s Mist Guardian, when it came to trust, I’m sure Tsuna and the rest would find Chrome more trustworthy than Mukuro, and they acknowledged her as a Guardian all the same with or without Mist Vongola Gear.

I think that this was some sort of symbolism that even though she was still part of Kokuyo Gang, Chrome also has her own path to walk on independently as a member of Vongola Family.

Still, I’m curious, what will Chrome do if Vongola and Kokuyo Gang go on an all-out-war. If it’s the old Chrome, she’d take Mukuro’s side without hesitation, but what if it’s the current Chrome? Even if her loyalty to Mukuro was still stronger than to Tsuna’s, I don’t think it’d be easy for Chrome to pick a side. It’d be interesting to see if the series ever got a continuation in the future, after she gained her independence, her next character arc would be in regards to her relationships both to Kokuyo Gang and Vongola Family. (^w^)

Verdict

Chrome was one of those characters who had the potential but was held back by her own insecurity due to the desperate need to be with the person she loved. But once she let go of this dependency, she proved herself to be a strong-willed fighter that shouldn’t be underestimated. 

Despite the lack of opportunity given to her in terms of actions, her character development was still one of the most satisfying among the main cast. Her growth from a timid girl lacking self-confidence and dependent on her savior to an independent fighter who willingly fights to protect her loved ones touched my heart deeply. Her growth was my favorite alongside Tsuna’s. 

I also had similar aspects with Chrome. Though maybe what happened to me was not as bad as hers, I could see myself in her that made me relate to her, resonate with her. And I also admired how she grew up to become so courageous and strong, something I’m still lacking to this day. When I see Chrome, it always makes me feel that I also want to do my best to become better.  (^_^)

Note

So, what do you think about my analysis about Chrome? Please do share your thoughts. I’m always excited to read people’s opinions. But say that you have a differing opinion than mine, let us be respectful of each other and not get into a fight over it.

By the way, this is the link to katzkinder’s analysis that I referenced:

[spikesbunny]

☆ STAR 69

+ warnings: wlw content!! modern au, friends with benefits, mutual mⱥsturbⱥtion, phone sɇx, mentions of fingering

+ ft: nico robin x fem reader

+ wc: 1.2k

+ an: happy pride month to all my fellow lgbt+ folks <3 i wanted to kick off pride month with one of my favorite op girlies (as well as ayesha erotica's newest release)!!

minors + men DNI!

whenever you needed someone, robin was there. always.

she never questioned a thing. her loyalty was like no other to you. coffee dates just to chat, random shopping sprees, late nights tangled in bed. sometimes you two would even shower together.

that was all normal in friendships. but the heat eating at your gut was not.

anytime you saw her, your stomach erupted into butterflies, heat flying up to your cheeks. cuddling with her at night had your cunt growing damp with arousal, nipples hardening into peaks with every soft exhale of hers.

for fucks sake, you had a boyfriend!! these feelings for robin were so new, yet the felt so right. you were well aware robin was a lesbian, and you yourself were bi.

but dating your friend? that was insane! imagine all that could go wrong??

you never said you couldn't practice things with her. kissing, making out, you could always count on her to help improve your techniques.

her lips were always so soft against yours, tongue and mouth so inviting. you couldn't help but get into it, despite it being practice.

she never complained once. her face would always be flushed as you pulled away, chest panting with each labored breath.

she was just helping right?? like the time she showed you how to properly finger yourself, since your useless boyfriend barely got you off. she treated you better than he did.

but she was just a friend.

tonight was no different. you called robin up, in need of her time. her voice.

your boyfriend had fucked up again. who else could you turn to but robin? she always had the right answers, always had the tools to help you regather your thoughts.

you press *69 on the phone. her number appears on the screen. your finger presses the call button, bringing the device up to your ear. it barely rings before she picks up.

"what's up?" her voice coos from over the line.

"robin, hey-" you start, before she cuts you off. she knew.

"what did he do this time" not a question, a command.

"ugh, robin, he's so dumb! i don't know how many times i have to show him how to make me cum, he just, he never listens!!" you exclaim, lounging out on the sheets of your bed as you talk to her on the phone.

a soft 'mm' of thought sounds from her side. "he's a moron. i don't understand why you don't break up with him yet..."

"okay, he doesn't understand my body, but he's still nic-"

"you and i know that's a lie." she cuts off again. you can envision her smile in your mind as she goes on. "not only is he terrible in bed, selfishly so, he also never gets you anything! when has he ever taken you out to a nice date? you know he has that kind of money."

she had a point. you pause, going silent. she was right, robin was right, robin was always right.

your boyfriend was shit. you wouldn't let him ruin this night, or any other nights for that fact.

"what's going through the pretty head of yours?" robin coos.

"texting him. we're through."

"atta girl."

"thanks robin. gotta go, i'mma go fucking finger myself and pray that it gets me off." you say, going to hang up.

"wait" she calls. you pause, thumb hovering over the button. "huh?"

"i said wait." she pauses. "tell me, are you in that pretty pink lingerie set i picked out with you?"

you gulp. "uhm, yea, why?"

"oh, just curious. wanted to imagine what your wearing as you touch yourself" she replies calmly, like what she said wasn't the most random thing in the world.

"huh??"

"i said, i wanna imagine what your wearing as i think about you touching yourself."

oh. oh. your face flushes at her words, arousal slowly slicking up the pretty pink lacey panties you had bought with her - originally for your boyfriend. now they were robin's.

"has he ever had phone sex with you?" she questions.

"no. never... why?"

"wanna try it? ya know, for practice."

practice, right. that's all this was. just like the kissing, and the making out, and the fingering. all just practice with robin. nothing more, nothing less. yet why did it turn you on so much.

"s-sure" you choke out.

"good. now, i want you to rub your finger over your slit and clit. through the lingerie. work yourself up a bit. make pretty noises into the phone for me." she purrs out, her words like gasoline to the fire in your gut. you nod, hitching a breath as you drag your fingers across your soaked panties.

robin chuckles softly from the other line, the sounds of her shorts being shifted down her thighs. you could picture it, the soft fabric of her sleep shorts slowly inching down her plush, tanned thighs. it was really making you needy.

"good, good. slip them to the side, and tease yourself." she coos at you, her breath hitching as you hear a finger dip into herself. fuck, she's getting herself off, just like me....

"now what?" you gasp out, her commands and your ministrations rapidly affecting you. you felt like you could cum from this alone. but you'd hold off, until she said you could.

"press one finger in. just one." she ask, the sounds of her fingers dipping in and out of her cunt sounding softly in the background of the line.

you swallow the saliva pooling in your mouth, obliging. slowly, you move your finger, in and out, curling up to press the spot inside you - the one robin showed you how to manipulate.

in all honesty, you were mimicking how she fingered you. because that's all you could think of when getting yourself off. you thought it was because she taught you. in reality, it was because you craved her.

"add a second" her voice calls from the other side, snapping you back to your thoughts, earning her a soft moan as you slide in a second, continuing your thrust. the sounds from both your and her fingers grew louder, both of you panting into the other's speakers.

"f-fuck, now brush your clit for me" she groans. your head falls back into the pillows as you whine, hips rutting against your hand, wishing it was hers, using her devil fruit power on you. but it wasn't, at least for now.

"so close" you whimper into the line, earning a choked chuckle. "me as well... cum for me?" robin ask.

you can't deny her, moaning her name as your pussy spasms around your fingers, phone slipping from your hand. you can hear her own orgasm from the other line, her pants resounding through the speaker.

"shit... did so well for me... much better than that loose screw of a boyfriend, hm?" she ask. you can practically hear her smirk.

"yea.. way better."

"clean yourself up. i'll help you move his shit out of your apartment tomorrow... good night, my love." the line goes silent, robin hanging up.

she had officially broken you. you weren't going to confront her about this tomorrow... but maybe you could initiate a more physical round?

©2025 spikesbunny- please do not repost/translate my works on other media sites ♡

[greenbuns]

that's all you get & that has to be enough | e.w

written by greenbuns

Ellie Williams × Fem!Reader (you)

Genre : Heavy (kinda) Angst, College Romance Confessions, Graduation Day

This story is set in Tokyo, Japan

"Where you finally confess your feelings to Ellie, your best friend, under the sakura tree on your Graduation Day"

♡— You should be happy.

The air is full of cherry blossoms, the wind is soft and sweet, and your graduation robe doesn’t itch as much as you thought it would.

You’re done, finally free. Four years of late nights, bent backs, and missed calls. It's all over.

But your eyes keep searching for her.

Ellie Williams.

The first person who ever showed you how to order ramen properly in Tokyo, the girl who laughed at your accent but is actually as bad as you when she spoke. The one who held your hand during your first train ride, just because you looked terrified. That same Ellie who knew how to read your silence like subtitles.

Your best friend.

Your heart has been hers since year one.

You always told yourself it wasn’t the right time.

When she stayed up late in your dorm editing your essays. When she brought you coffee before your exams. When she sat beside you under falling sakura petals and whispered how lucky she felt to meet you here, in this city neither of you were born in.

You thought maybe—maybe—she felt it too.

But then came third year.

Dina.

You still remember the exact moment Ellie told you. How her eyes lit up. How she bit her lip while gushing about the way Dina laughed, Dina this and Dina that. You? You just smiled behind your aching chest. Said you were happy for her.

And every time Ellie looked away to text her, every time she showed you pictures of their weekend trips, every time she talked about kisses and hand-holding and shared glances—you swallowed the pain, let it drown inside you, and you laughed along with her. Made her think that you were excited for her too.

Now it’s spring again. Dina is gone. Ellie is single.

And you..

You don’t want to carry this into the next chapter of your life. You want closure, or maybe a speck of miracle if you think you're able to be a bit hopeful.

So after the ceremony, when most people are taking pictures and screaming about the futureㅡyou pull Ellie aside under the sakura tree. Where you both usually spend your times together every week, Ellie with her drawings and an expensive camera, taking pictures of the view and you, with your favorite romance classic novels.

Ellie looks radiant in her robe, her freckles catching the sunlight, her green eyes soft with pride. “What’s up? You okay?” she asks, tilting her head the way she always does when she’s concerned.

You try to breathe. Try not to shake.

“I-uh.. I need to tell you something,” you begin.

She nods, waiting.

And here it is, the words finally coming out from your deepest soul with a hundred considerations.

“I’ve loved you,” you say, “Since our first year. Maybe even earlier. And I know we’re best friends, and maybe this ruins things, and fuck.. I’m sorry if it does—but I didn’t want to graduate with this in my chest. I just… I couldn't keep lying to you, or myself."

Ellie’s lips part, her smile fading into something unreadable.

She doesn’t speak right away.

“I…” She looks away, brows knitting. “God. I didn’t expect that.”

You feel stupid already. You wanted to cry, but you hold it with the best you could at the moment.

“I’m sorry,” you blurt, “You don’t have to say anything. I just thought I’d regret it if I never—”

“No,” she interrupts, gently. “I want to say something. You’re amazing. You’ve always been the best person in my life here. You’re my anchor, you know? But I—” she hesitates, “—I don’t think I can say it back. Not the way you mean.”

It’s like the ground tilts under you.

Ellie steps closer, hesitant. “I did have a crush on you. Years ago. Back when we used to sneak out for midnight soba and talk about home, play games until past two in the morning? I thought maybe there was something, too. But it… faded, I guess," Ellie muttered carefully, as if she knew that raising her voice just a little could crush you down, she then continued, "And then Dina happened, and after her.. I don’t know. My feelings for you had changed completely.”

You nod, even though your world is caving in.

“I’m really sorry,” she whispers.

You smile—the same fucking lie you’ve told a thousand times. “It’s not your fault, Els,” you say. “It's okay.. I think I already knew.”

She gently pulls you into a hug. You let her. Your face buried into the crook of her neck as you memorize her scent—a hint of rain and spearmint gum—knowing this is probably the last time you’ll hold her like this.

And when she pulls away, she’s crying too. “I love you, I really do,” she says, “Just not like the way you want me to.”

You nod again. Teary.

Even the pain couldn't make your eyes produced enough liquid to spilled.

“I know.” You murmured.

Later, you walk home alone through the city that brought you love and heartbreak in the same breath. You watch the petals fall, like soft farewells from the sky.

And though your chest aches, there’s peace in knowing; you told the truth. You didn’t leave it unsaid. You loved her, and she heard you.

Sometimes, that’s all you get.

And sometimes, that has to be enough. [•]

• • • • • • • • • • • • •

>> some of this content are actually from my personal real experience back when I was younger and stupid and deeply in love with my own bff✌🏻 Anyways tysm for reading, hope u enjoy!

[nothing-to-see-hi]

I've taken more time for research and have come up with a few more plot points! Said research can be found here and here. @liketwoswansinbalance I've taken (stolen) some of your suggestions and maybe warped a few others beyond comprehension.

Beginning with the time before "The Accident" as I've taken to calling it. (They are very young to be accepted into a Company. Midish-teens I think.) Rafal and Rhian had just gotten to apprentice status (Rafal got in first on talent alone and their family pulled a few strings to make sure Rhian got in as well) and caught the eye of the resident choreographer who just so happened to be working on something that would be really, really great with twins. And it just so happened that a pair of them had fallen right into his lap. How wonderful!

It gets finished, they start rehearsing, Rafal and Rhian get (unofficially) catapulted up the ranks so that they can be the main characters in this swan-lake inspired ballet. Despite their teacher's protests about them not being ready, they are given the very complex roles of the two leads, and the choreographer takes over their practice personally.

They are asked multiple times by multiple people if they want to take these roles, and Rhian says yes for both of them every time. Rafal, despite his suspicions that this will be an absolute disaster, says nothing. It is an absolute disaster.

The choreographer, despite being very good at his job, is a very bad teacher. One day during practice, they are instructed to do a jump that they do not know how to do, facing each other. They attempt. They crash into each other and fall to the ground in a tangled pile of limbs. Rafal takes the brunt of it with his broken leg and multiple sprains, while Rhian got off with only some sprains in his upper extremities. Rafal does not recover well and is forced to quit. The choreographer is fired.

Fast forward a bit, Rhian is a principal dancer at a different company after working twice as hard and aggravating his body and insomnia after recovering. (His calculated mileage until retirement is Not Great because of how much he pushes himself, the injury early in his career, and his severe aforementioned insomnia. Rafal has his bets on 30 at the latest.) Rafal, after graduating HS and getting a job at Rhian's company as a teacher, caught the eye of the retiring choreographer and was recommended to take the job. He got the job. He is the youngest official choreographer that they have ever had. Sometimes when they need a sub, he's the sub. The students dread his presence.

On his good days, he only wears his brace, on his bad days, he brings out the cane. On his very bad days he finally takes his medication. (Rhian also has medication for his insomnia and also rarely takes it. Mostly out of forgetfulness than stubbornness, though.) The students dread his cane because its his equivalent of a nun's ruler. Probably not as bad as that, but there is some similarity. He also does adjust students' stances, poses, and whatnot with it depending on how generous he's feeling that day.

Enter Sophie and Agatha. After a set of hijinks that involve Agatha being given away, Vanessa getting a divorce and keeping Sophie, a long journey to find each other, and an even longer journey to accept/love each other, Sophie enters the Company at 18-19 ish. (The most I can give is ~15 year age gap in modern au, and I'm not giving that. They're around eight years apart in age.) Rafal sees her potential despite her attitude and goes Hard on her. It works. She improves enough to move up a step.

Rafal shows enough favoritism to invite her to one of the shows Rhian is in to show her how good she could be if she kept it up. (They are in the box seats and he does use the opera glasses. He attends almost all of Rhian's shows but never tells him. Rhian knows anyway.)

She meets Rhian officially when Rafal comes to class and drags him along to fill in for a missing member. Rhian is functioning on three hours of sleep for the entire week, and it's a Friday. Rafal assigns him as Sophie's partner for the day, and it goes well enough. When it's over with, Rhian stumbles to a mat at the back of the room and collapses.

By the end of everything, Sophie is either a soloist or principal dancer, Agatha is doing medical things and dating Tedros (also a dancer at the company), Rafal is probably dating Sophie, and Rhian is... mostly the same to be honest. Might have a relationship with someone. (Pirate Captain? I can't say that I completely understand it, but I have gotten glimpses during my most recent other research for my other project.)

And that's all I've got! Might make more later, might not. Depends on if I have more ideas for this floating around.

Okay, so hi, hi, hello. I got inspired with a photography channel on youtube who does ballet shorts, and while I'm still working on making Rhian as dragon-y as possible without making him an actual dragon, I've managed to put thoughts into words for a thing I've thought of for a while. So.

We're starting off Rafal-centric for once. Wow. Amazing. I can do things for characters that aren't Rhian and it's weird. But Rhian is here as an antagonist(?) maybe? Idk. Anyway. Rafal and Rhian were in ballet and then Rafal got injured somehow in a way that might have been Rhian's fault. Rafal retired because he had to, but still teaches. I am putting Rophie into this, yes, thank you for asking.

Rhian is out doing his thing. Rafal is teaching. I'm giving him a leg brace. Why? I don't know. I'd have to figure out what got injured and how, and I'm not doing that right now. I'm also giving him a cane that he only sometimes uses, and probably not as often as he should. Maybe he broke something? (Kaz Brekker is this you?) I don't know.

I'm leaning toward (a.k.a. the only idea I have) Rophie meeting in a lesson, but that brings up an age gap thing perhaps that I'm not sure that I want to touch. Immortal sorerer is one thing; modern life is an entirely different thing. But maybe also he's just her new trainer who is too young to be retired, (Ballet dancers retire in their mid to late 30s apparently) and is therefore mysterious. Then again, he might be famous so less mysterious and more handsome but grumpy. Agatha is vv suspicious of him. Fair, to be honest.

In case anyone was wondering about Rhian: he's just out there doing his dancing thing. Being celebrated by the media for being famous and openly gay (that's a thing that happens right? I think I've seen it happen.) while also framing whatever happened to Rafal as an accident that was totally not his fault.

And... I think that's all I've got for now. I know almost nothing of ballet, and this is mostly unresearched, so it's just plot bones. But plot bones are better than nothing.

[leche-flandom]

on busy days, drawing on these little post-its for my kid is my only chance for a creative outlet lol

Yesterday's lunchbox doodle: