#there is room enough for everyone to fall in love

[leona-hawthorne]

I keep imagining it being the night before the Yule Ball, and bc Matty never wears his tie for the uniform anyway, you have to help him out and do it for him bc he wants to look perfect for you and is struggling. Just me? Okay 😅

oh my god yes this is so cute!!!

it’s the night of the yule ball and the common room is practically deserted, everyone already in the ballroom. you’re perched on the arm of one of the big leather chairs, waiting for mattheo to finish getting ready because of course he’s waited until the last possible second to figure out his suit. his black dress shirt is unbuttoned at the collar, sleeves rolled up, and he’s muttering curses at his tie because it’s refusing to cooperate.

“this stupid thing,” he growls, yanking at the silk like it personally offended him. his brows are furrowed, his bottom lip caught between his teeth in concentration, and honestly? it's kind of adorable seeing him this flustered. you can tell he’s about three seconds away from throwing the tie into the fire.

"need some help?" you offer, trying to keep the amusement out of your voice (and failing spectacularly).

he looks up, a little startled, like he forgot you were there, and then that familiar cocky smirk makes an appearance. "help? me? nah, i've got it handled," he says, even as he fumbles with the fabric again, somehow managing to make it look worse.

"sure you do. come here."

"i don't—”

"mattheo."

he sighs, dropping his hands and tilting his head back dramatically like he's being sentenced to death.

you can’t help but laugh a little as you slide off the chair and cross the room to him. “here,” you say, taking the ends of the tie out of his hands before he can actually commit arson.

he’s suddenly so quiet, like he doesn’t trust his voice not to give him away, because holy shit you’re so close. close enough that he can see the little flecks of color in your eyes and catch the faintest whiff of your perfume.

“would’ve done this ages ago if i’d known you didn’t know how to tie your own tie,” you tease, looping the fabric around your fingers to start fixing the knot.

he huffs, but it’s not annoyed—it’s shy. “didn’t wanna bother you.”

and you just give him this look, one brow raised, because bother you? the boy who literally leaned his entire weight on you during potions last week and whispered nonsense in your ear for thirty minutes straight thought this was bothering you?

“you could’ve just asked for help.”

"yeah, but where's the fun in that?" he quips, but his voice is quieter now, his gaze fixed on your face.

and then, because it's mattheo, he can't help himself. "you're enjoying this, aren't you? playing dress-up with me?"

you smirk, tightening the knot just enough to make him swallow hard.

"maybe a little. you clean up nice, riddle."

"you think so?"

you step back, admiring your work, and something about the way he's looking at you—like you're the only thing in the world that matters—makes your chest tighten. "i know so."

"i just... i just want to look good for you."

and just like that, any teasing remark you were about to make dies in your throat. because mattheo riddle—the arrogant, insufferable, too-cool-for-everything mattheo riddle—is standing here, nervous and vulnerable and entirely too sweet, all because he wants to impress you.

"you will," you say softly, your fingers curling around his. "you already do."

and the smile he gives you? yeah, that's the kind of thing that could make you fall in love all over again.

navigation mattheo riddle masterlist

[brainrot-yumm]

Might be a bit silly to study but I also love how deeply respectful it is even with the main antagonist being explicitly transphobic. The other team's coach doesn't misgender Brooklyn, doesn't taunt her by saying she's masculine, doesn't talk about biology or testosterone or religion or anything. She doesn't imply that Brooklyn could be faking her transness or otherwise invalidating her. The statement being argued over isn't even "someone who used to be a boy/is pretending to be a girl is on the girl's team and I don't like it" or something like that, it is "someone who previously was on the boy's volleyball team is now on the girl's team and I don't like it." At most the mother says it wouldn't be fair.

The episode isn't crass or triggering in it's antagonism to tell it's story, it doesn't feel the need. The fact that the mother keeps telling Brooklyn to step down, threatens her, then tries to sabotage the game for everyone and puts her life & other lives in danger (the escape rooms) in the process is more than enough. While she is a simplified caricature of a person as every children's show character is (not an insult), the show doesn't fall for a lot of strawmanning tactics that can far too easily worm their way in, the kind that inadvertently dehumanizes the victim in a way that goes against the theme.

Brooklyn is never made to be seen as less than a person at any point, not even by the main antagonist. Sure, she's made to feel guilty, ashamed and tired over the whole situation, but she's always treated as a human, as a girl, as a trans person. Her plight mainly comes from knowing that her being trans is something that cannot be changed about her and the frustration of being endlessly harassed by it. But her being trans is never called into question. The theme that's taught isn't even just "LGBTQIA+ people should be accepted," that's honestly almost a B point. The main theme is "community changes the world, and support saves lives. Break free from old tradition and find your place in the world where it matters." and that's really important to tell kids when it can sometimes feel so devastating and agonizing to live in the modern day.

It's honestly quite elegant the way it toes the line, you know? It really is something special.

Just watched the banned Moon Girl episode.

>the episode addresses the topic of trans kids in sports >the entire episode is about how bigots will always move the goalpost, and playing by their rules is pointless >the solution is not to play their game and break the rules >it also states that trans people should never feel like a burden >the character Brooklyn is explicitly stated to be trans >there is also an explicitly nonbinary character >multiple mentions of pride and depictions of pride flags, trans flags and progress flags

I'm not at all surprised this didn't get past the censors but I'm so mad that it didn't, because this could've been something really special, and the fact it was canned after being fully finished is downright painful. This episode was wonderful and I'm grateful to all the people who worked on it, and angry that their hard work was wasted. Disney did not deserve you.

Here's a link, as long as Disney doesn't take it down

[amiableness]

Peonies ; part five

Pairing: Theo Nott x Fem!Reader

Summary: Everything is a mess after Mattheo visits the infirmary.

Word Count: 3833

Warnings: Unrequited love. The chapter is just full on angst, honestly. Mentions of drugging? Y/n is used once. Let me know if there’s more!

A/N 💌 This is short and mainly focuses on Mattheo, but the next (and final!) chapter will be even more satisfying because of it. Even though a lot of you are mad at Mattheo, hopefully this makes up for it. As usual thank you to @moonpascal for reading and giving me feedback, I don't know what I'd do without you.

SERIES MASTERLIST <3

“I don’t understand. He seemed fine when I left.” Theo mutters under his breath, his voice tense and barely audible over the sharp echo of your hurried footsteps bouncing off the stone walls as the three of you head to the infirmary.

“I don’t know,” Pansy sighs, her voice low and laced with frustration. “Everything seemed normal when I first got there, but then he just… snapped. It didn’t seem like anyone had said anything to set him off; everyone looked just as shocked as I was. He was so worked up—angry, completely irrational—that we all decided to take him to the infirmary. We thought maybe he’d hit his head or something.”

“But he didn’t.” You mutter, a sinking feeling settling in your stomach as Pansy’s words echo in your mind. A love potion. Veronica’s been giving him a love potion. The thought replays, each repetition tightening the knot in your chest.

“No. It didn’t take long for Madam Pomfrey to realize he’d been given a love potion. One so badly brewed that it’s been fucking with his emotions.”

Pansy shakes her head, her expression twisted in frustration. “Veronica came in, putting on her best worried girlfriend act. When I first confronted her about a love potion, she played innocent, swearing up and down she’d never hurt him because she ‘loved’ him.” Pansy scoffs, anger simmering in her eyes. “But after enough yelling, she finally admitted it. She’d been giving him a potion, and things only went wrong because she tried to make it stronger—his feelings had started shifting, and she couldn’t stand it.”

A wave of sickness washes over you—anger and frustration curling together in a tight knot. For a moment, you consider darting to the right, heading straight for the restrooms to lose control in private, but you force yourself to steady your breath. This isn’t the time to fall apart.

For a brief, unsettling moment, you wonder if that’s why he confessed his feelings for you—not because he meant it, but because of the love potion’s influence. The thought stirs something confusing and hollow inside you, but now isn’t the time to untangle it. As you step into the infirmary, nerves coil tight in your stomach, but Theo’s hand slips into yours giving a reassuring squeeze, soothing you. You’re grateful for the touch—it’s the only thing keeping your anxiety from overwhelming you entirely.

“How is he?” Pansy asks, her voice tense as she strides ahead of you and Theo, reaching out to take Blaise’s hand. Draco and Enzo are there too, still in their practice clothes, looking out of place in the sterile, quiet room. Madam Pomfrey is nowhere in sight, but your eyes immediately catch the vial on the table next to him—whatever it is, it’s been left there, untouched for now.

You glance at Draco, casually leaning against a pillar near Mattheo’s bed, and Enzo, perched on the edge of the bed parallel to him. Neither of them looks particularly worried, which eases some of the tension in your chest. In fact, Draco seems to be listening intently as Enzo quietly details the reasons he’s been feeling off about Veronica. 

Then you finally allow your eyes to shift to the bed, where Mattheo lies back, his curls a wild tangle against the pillow. Dark circles shadow his eyes, and you can’t help but wonder if the love potion is to blame. His brow is furrowed, his gaze fixed on Enzo with a look of confusion, as though he’s struggling to piece something together.

“A little out of it,” Blaise says with a gentle smile, his eyes softening. “Pomfrey gave him something to counteract the potion.” He glances over Pansy’s head and spots you, offering a sympathetic smile your way. “He’s been asking for you.”

“I don’t know..” You trail off, your voice barely above a whisper, unsure of how Mattheo will react to seeing you. The last couple of months had clearly been tense and distant between you two—what was stopping him from starting another argument? The last thing he needed right now was more stress. But at the end of the day, he was your friend—he had been for years. What kind of friend would you be if you turned down his request to see you, especially when he asked for you specifically?

But it's too late to make a decision—Mattheo’s eyes shift, locking onto you. It’s immediate, the way he sits up slightly, his eyes brightening with recognition, and a loopy smile forming on his lips. “Hi, my love,” he says, his voice soft and warm as if nothing else matters in the room. 

Draco and Enzo both turn their heads toward you and for a moment, you stand frozen, your lips parted as you scramble for the right words. 

My love. 

It’s hard to know how to respond to that, and your friends don’t seem any more certain, their eyes darting nervously toward Theo as they exchange uneasy glances.

You take a step forward, letting go of Theo’s hand as you approach the edge of Mattheo’s bed. A twinge of guilt runs through you as you release his hand, but you push it aside, not wanting Mattheo to see the two of you together yet. Not in this state.

“Hi,” you murmur, your voice soft. Theo watches as Mattheo pats the spot next to him, an unspoken plea in his gesture, hoping you’ll come and lie beside him. Theo prays—desperately—that you won’t, that you’ll stay exactly where you are. It already hurts more than he can bear to have you let go of his hand, but if you climb into bed with Mattheo, it’ll feel like you’ve ripped his heart from his chest. And the thought of Mattheo calling you ‘my love’—he can’t even bring himself to think about it.

“The love potion must still be lingering in his system,” Draco mutters, his gaze flicking toward Theo. “That explains why he’s been so jealous of you two. Veronica messed up the potion so badly, he ended up falling for Y/n instead.”

The rhythmic click of Madam Pomfrey’s shoes fills the room as she enters. “The effects of the love potion have worn off, Mr. Malfoy,” she says crisply, her voice professional. “Whatever he says now is simply how he truly feels.” With a swift movement, she places a bowl on the bedside table, setting a cool cloth on Mattheo’s forehead with a practical, “For the fever.”

Mattheo flinches at the shock of the cool, damp cloth on his forehead, shooting Madam Pomfrey an irritated look, which she ignores entirely.

“Fever?” Enzo questions, and she gives a swift nod.

“As I mentioned, the effects have worn off,” she explains, “but his body still needs time to purge the potion from his system, which is why he has a fever. It should break by morning, and he’ll be back to himself.”

Madam Pomfrey dips the cloth back into the water, preparing to place it on Mattheo’s forehead again, but he turns his head, ducking away. Her gaze shifts to you, and she extends the cloth with a small, knowing smile. “Perhaps it would be best if you handled this.”

Part of you wants to tell her you can’t. It feels wrong to tend to Mattheo, especially with Theo standing right there. A few months ago, you’d have agreed without a second thought. But things are different now—distant and messy in ways you don’t quite understand. Still, with Madam Pomfrey watching you so expectantly and now Mattheo’s gaze fixed intently on you, saying no feels impossible.

So, you step forward, taking the cloth from her hand before carefully settling onto the edge of his bed. Leaning in, you dab his forehead gently, your movements cautious and deliberate. Mattheo watches you intently, but you keep your gaze firmly on the task, avoiding his eyes as you work. 

“You know,” Mattheo murmurs, his voice soft and a little slurred, “I think you’re perfect.” For a moment, you freeze, your eyes darting to meet his.

“Oh.” It’s all you manage, the word slipping out as you quickly refocus on dabbing his forehead, ignoring the warmth spreading through your veins. Embarrassment prickles over you, knowing your friends are standing there, their whispered reactions confirming they heard every word Mattheo said. But when you glance up and catch Theo’s expression, your heart sinks—he heard it too.

Theo meets your gaze, and you silently hope he understands—you’re sorry. Sorry that you’re the one Mattheo wants right now, and that if you could pass this task to Enzo, you would. But guilt tugs at you, knowing that Mattheo’s emotions have been chaotic because of the love potion. Could you truly hold his actions against him?

Mattheo’s fingers brush lightly against your wrist, drawing your attention back to him. His gaze is unwavering, soft with a raw vulnerability that you’ve rarely seen in him. “You’re so perfect,” He repeats. “And I’ve only ever wanted to be good enough for you.” His fingers brush against your skin, and you freeze—shock, guilt, and frustration rising within you. You swallow it all down, forcing yourself to keep calm as you murmur for him to rest, resuming your task of blotting his forehead.

Theo watches as you continue to take care of Mattheo, who continues to brush his fingers against your free hand as he looks up at you as if you’re the only girl he’s ever loved. A wave of nausea rises in Theo as he watches his best friend touch you, gaze at you as if you’re an angel—the girl he loves so fiercely it hurts. His jaw clenches, a subconscious effort to keep his mouth shut and prevent himself from snapping at Mattheo to keep his hands off you. He knows he has no right to be jealous—not when you were never truly his to begin with.

The thought hits him so hard and painfully that he feels like he can’t breathe. Without a word, he turns and walks out of the infirmary, and no matter how badly he wants to turn and look at you, he doesn’t.

.·。.·゜✭·.·✫·゜·。.

By the next morning, Mattheo is back to himself—at least, that’s what everyone’s been saying. Theo knows this because it’s all anyone can talk about. He’s not sure how the news spread so fast, but he’s willing to bet Pansy had something to do with it. Not intentionally, of course; he just knows she tends to speak loudly when she’s worked up, and he’s been aware of her suspicions about Veronica for months. You’d told him all about how Pansy had been convinced something was off with Veronica, but you hadn’t wanted to get into the details.

After spending the entire morning catching snippets of gossip, Theo decided the library would be his refuge for some peace and quiet. For a while, the back corner had offered him just that—until two girls settled on the other side of the bookshelf. Unfortunately, that meant he could hear every word they said, and it didn't take long for their chatter to break the silence he'd been craving.

“Did you hear about Mattheo Riddle?” An eager voice asked, accompanied by the screech of a chair being dragged out.

“You mean how his girlfriend slipped him a love potion?” Came the bored reply, the words dripping with indifference.

“Uh huh,” Theo pictures the first girl nodding. “I’m not surprised though.”

“Amelia,” The second voice sighed. “That’s an awful thing to say.”

“I just mean because even when he was with Veronica, he was still chasing after Y/n.” Theo feels his stomach drop, the urge to get up and leave washing over him. He starts to pack his bag, his movements quick and automatic, but then their next words slow his movements. He freezes, his hands stilling midair—he’s listening closely now.

“I thought she was dating Theo Nott.” The second girl speaks, her voice tinged with confusion, clearly already tired of the conversation.

“I think that’s just a rumor.” Amelia denies, and even though she's technically right, Theo feels a surge of defensiveness rise within him.

“Oh,” Girl two murmurs. “I could’ve sworn they were.”

Amelia hums, “No, I think she’ll end up with Mattheo.”

That pushes Theo into motion. He hastily stuffs everything into his bag, determination flooding through him, though his stomach twists with nerves. He has to tell you how he feels. He wants a chance—even if you choose Mattheo, at least he’ll never have to wonder what might have been between you two.

.·。.·゜✭·.·✫·゜·。.

When Theo finally spots you, he wishes he’d stayed in the library. You’re sitting on one of the couches, your back turned to him, but he can tell by the open book beside you—left unread—that you’ve long since lost focus. But that isn’t what bothers him.

No, the real problem is Mattheo, seated right beside you, facing you fully, his gaze intense and longing, “Please, love.”

“Mattheo—”

“If there’s even a part of you that feels something for me, just give me a chance,” Mattheo says, his voice low, edging closer to you. Theo’s stomach tightens as he watches. “I know I should’ve told you sooner—before any of this.”

“It hasn’t even been twenty-four hours,” you murmur, your eyes drifting to Mattheo. “I think you need to focus on resting, clearing your head before we can figure any of this out.”

“I’ve got a clear head, love,” he insists, his voice steady despite the weight of it all. You sigh, your gaze dropping for a moment. 

“Honestly,” he continues, his words softer, “you’re the only thing I’ve ever been clear-headed about.”

You fall silent for a moment, your gaze fixed on the flickering flames in the fireplace. Theo watches Mattheo watch you, a quiet tension in the air. He’s thankful for the shadows that stretch across the room, hiding his frame, because if they didn’t, Mattheo would no doubt see him standing there.

Mattheo whispers your name, his voice heavy with longing and desperation, the sound so raw it nearly knocks Theo off balance—mirroring the same ache that's tearing through him. “If you were mine…” Mattheo pauses, his gaze locked on yours. “I swear, I’d never give you a reason to regret it.”

Theo fights the overwhelming urge to make himself known, to grab your hand and plead with you to choose him instead. He’d fall to his knees and beg if it meant even the slightest chance with you—though he knows you’d never have to ask. He’d do it willingly, without hesitation, dropping down and promising you the world if only you’d agree to be his. 

He wants to tell you to remember these past few months, to think of last night’s kiss. To tell you he’s certain he fell in love with you the moment he saw you—that every vision he has of the future has you at the center of it.

But instead, he watches, a cold sense of dread settling in his chest, as you slowly reach out and intertwine your fingers with Mattheo’s. You don’t say anything, but it’s clear to him that words aren’t necessary—because at this moment, he realizes he has never stood a chance.

It was always going to be Mattheo.

It feels like a cruel echo of last night—that same sinking realization that no matter how hard he tries, he’ll never be what you want. It feels like he can’t get a proper breath in, so he turns and leaves, unwilling to stay and hear just how deeply your heart belongs to Mattheo.

He hadn’t seen your face, but if he had, he would’ve noticed the unease and discomfort in your expression as you turn to look at Mattheo, preparing yourself to turn him down as gently as possible.

“Mattheo, I can’t,” you whisper, your voice soft but steady as you squeeze his hand. The words come slowly, carefully, as if you’re afraid of shattering him. “I really can’t, and I’m sorry.”

He swallows hard, his jaw tightening as he looks away, frustration flickering in his eyes. When his gaze returns to you, it’s filled with a quiet vulnerability. “If I’d made a move… before all of this,” he asks softly, “would you have said yes?”

“Yes,” you admit softly. He sits up straighter, and you can already see the determination flickering in his eyes, ready to argue, ready to convince you. But you press on before he can speak. “But everything is different, Mattheo—Veronica, us drifting apart...” You pause, your voice faltering. “...Theo.” You roll your lips together, trying to suppress the wave of emotion that just saying Theo’s name stirs inside you.

Mattheo sighs, a subtle shake of his head as his gaze drops to your intertwined fingers, his thumb grazing the back of your hand. He watches it with a quiet intensity, as if he’s trying to memorize the feel of it, and your heart cracks at the sight, the ache of it almost too much to bear.

“I’m sure you knew,” You start, embarrassment coloring your tone. “For the longest time, I had feelings for you. I spent so much time hoping—wishing—that you'd feel the same. That you'd stop with the one-night stands and realize that you wanted me just as much as I wanted you. I was convinced, you know? Convinced that because I understood you better than anyone, or at least I thought I did, that you’d finally feel safe enough with me to let me in.”

“But I did,” he says, his voice thick with regret. “The whole time, I wanted you. But Gods, the way Theo’s always looked at you... I couldn’t make a move. I knew it would tear him apart if we got together. So I waited, told myself I was giving him time to make his move—but he never did. I built myself up, so many times, ready to ask you out, to make you mine. But then I’d always freeze, thinking, ‘What if things don’t work out?’ And I’d lose both of my best friends.”

He shakes his head, refusing to meet your gaze. “But then Veronica started giving me that potion, and I—I had feelings for her, but every time I’d see you, it was like that’s all I could focus on. And then suddenly, you’re with Theo, holding his hand, spending the night with him, and it felt like I was losing my mind. It hurt, seeing you with him. And maybe it’s selfish, but I had to know, had to see if there was any chance left with you. Because watching you two together made me realize that what I was really afraid of was losing you completely.”

You’re at a loss for words, your mind failing to catch up to the fact that Theo has feelings for you- and he has for years. So you offer Mattheo a weak, sad smile, the tears gathering at your lashes threatening to spill over. He squeezes your hand, and you sigh, squeezing it back. You’re both sat in the quiet common room, except for your occasional sniffle, for who knows how long, holding each others hand and watching the flames dance.

Mattheo clears his throat, a slight tension in his shoulders as he glances over at you, “When are you going to tell him you love him?”

You hesitate, a knot forming in your throat as your words trip over themselves. “I don’t—I’m not…” You falter, but Mattheo sends you a knowing look. “It’s just... too soon.”

“It’s not.” His voice is firm. 

“How do you know?” The question slips from your lips before you can stop it, and immediately, guilt lances through you. It feels wrong to ask, especially after he’s just laid his feelings bare.

“Because he’s been in love with you for years,” Mattheo smiles, but it’s nothing you’ve ever seen from him before. “Trust me, it’s not going to be too soon for him to hear.”

.·。.·゜✭·.·✫·゜·。.

He’s on his way to practice when your voice cuts through the quiet hum of the common room, calling his name. His stomach sinks, the realization hitting hard—he’s going to have to face you after days of successfully keeping his distance. Reluctantly, he turns toward you, and there you are, seated comfortably in one of the plush chairs near the fire. A sweet smile on your lips, and resting on your lap is a book—likely the same one he noticed you holding when you were talking to Mattheo. That puts a bitter taste in his mouth.

There’s something different about you. His gaze lingers, tracing the way the soft flicker of the flames paints your features in warm, golden light. You look gorgeous, as always, but there’s an unmistakable lightness about you now, a brightness that wasn’t there before. A taunting thought creeps into his mind: this is his doing. You look happier—because you’ve finally gotten everything you’ve ever wanted. Mattheo Riddle.

“I haven’t seen you much.” You say, leaning forward as he slowly walks towards you.

He shrugs, slipping his hands into his pockets with a casual ease that doesn’t quite match the tension in his voice. “Yeah, I’ve got a lot going on.”

You knew this already. Every time you asked the boys about him, there was always a new excuse for why he hadn’t been around: He’s behind on his assignments. He’s gotten detention. He isn’t feeling well. He’s taking a nap. 

“So I’ve heard.” You say lightly, teasingly. “I actually wanted to know if you wanted to go to Hogsmeade, since we didn’t last time.” A soft smile curves at the memory of him taking you to the flower field.

You saw the look on his face that day, the way he was clearly bothered by you taking care of Mattheo. But you figured spending time together would be the perfect opportunity to set things straight. To tell him it meant nothing, that you turned Mattheo down, and that all you truly want is him. It’s a surprisingly good feeling, better than you imagined, knowing that Mattheo is aware of your feelings for Theo—and that he actually encouraged you to go for it.

His eyes meet yours briefly before darting away, and he rakes a hand through his hair, a nervous edge to the motion. “Oh, uh... I can’t.”

“Oh, okay.” You respond, your voice barely hiding the disappointment. An awkward silence settles between you, and Theo avoids your gaze, leaving you sitting there, a little wounded.

“Actually, dolcezza,” he says softly, and your heart flutters at the familiar nickname, hope sparking in your chest. But then his next words land like a blow. “I can’t spend time with you anymore.”

Your heart sinks, the statement feels like a bucket of cold water to the face. “What?” you whisper, your voice barely audible.

“I’m glad you’re happy,” he continues, his tone heavy with sincerity, “but I can’t be around you the way we were before. Not when you’re with him.”

please please please consider reblogging or leaving a comment! it keeps me motivated to write, and reblogs help to spread my work. likes don't spread posts on tumblr 🤍

[hhughes]

wait imagining cuddling on quinn’s lap on a rainy day and you’re just so cozy in warm clothes

ᡴꪫ ࣪ ݂ oh to be cuddled up with quinn hughes on a rainy day is everyone’s dream I fear. mentions of quinn’s beard in this cause i’m obsessed🤧

you awoke to the soft patter of rain drops on the bed room window, the spot next to you empty but with a lingering warmth that told you quinn hasn’t been up long.

you enjoy the feel of your warm little cocoon a while longer before deciding to get up, grabbing one of your boyfriend’s hoodies and tugging it over your head as you shuffle out of the bedroom and into the living room where you knew quinn was sitting on one of the couches.

and that’s exactly where you found him, grey sweats and a white tshirt, hair slightly ruffled from sleep and a few weeks worth of scruff on his face. he takes a slow sip of his coffee, sending you a fond smile when he notices your presence.

“mornin baby” he says, lifting his arm that wasn’t holding the cup, beckoning you towards him and he pulls you into his lap as soon as you’re close enough.

“you want a sip?” he asks, holding his coffee out to you and you shake your head.

“no? want me to make you something else?” he asks, thumb softly tracing patterns on your skin beneath the hoodie you’re wearing, and you shake your head again.

“okay,” he says, pulling you in closer and kissing your temple.

“can we just have a cuddle day today. it’s the perfect weather for it,” you ask, glancing outside where the rain pour was only intensifying.

“whatever you want sweetheart. think i’m gonna make soup later, mom’s recipe,” he says and laughs slightly when you perk up excitedly. he knew how much you loved ellen’s soup recipe’s and god knows the woman had a different one for each occasion.

“you warm enough?” he asks when he notices a shiver racking your body. “I can turn up the heat,” he says and moves to get up but your hand on his chest stops him.

“it’s not the cold that’s making me shiver quinn,” you explain and it takes him a moment but eventually he realizes what you mean, his hands tightening around your waist.

“oh,” he says, smirking when you shiver again as he runs his hand up and down your bare spine.

you use his moment of brief distraction to wiggle your cold toes under his leg and he hisses as he feels the cold even through his pants

“jesus woman. you have toes or icicles on those feet,” quinn jokes, smiling as you giggle into his chest

“you love me and my icicles” you retort and laugh more as his beard scratches against your neck as he playfully nips at the skin

“yeah, I do” he says affectionately, pressing another kiss to your head as you both watch the rain fall down for another few minutes as both of you wake up fully.

rainy days were your favourite as long as you could spend them with quinn.

[rafeskai]

Life as We Know It — Rafe Cameron

Chapter Four

Two opposites must navigate love, loss, and unexpected parenthood to discover the meaning of family.

Summary: When tragedy strikes, two very different individuals find their lives unexpectedly intertwined as they become the guardians of an orphaned child. As they navigate the challenges of co-parenting, balancing careers, and confronting their pasts, they discover that family can form in the most surprising ways. Through heartfelt moments and unexpected humor, they explore what it means to build a life together—one step at a time.

Pairings: Rafe Cameron x Reader

Warnings: Character deaths & angst.

Author's Notes: Was gonna make chapter 4 like 5k words but I decided to put it into two separate chapters.

Masterlist: Here

The weight of Sarah and John B.’s loss still felt like an open wound, raw and fresh, no matter how many days had passed since the funeral. Some nights, you could still hear Sarah’s laughter echoing in your head, still feel the warmth of her presence, as though she were just a room away. And John B., with his reckless optimism and that undeniable spark of life that had kept everyone around him grounded, seemed like a ghost that haunted your every moment.

But the hardest part was seeing Willa—tiny and innocent, too young to understand the gravity of it all. Her parents were gone, and she didn’t even know why she cried sometimes, why her little heart was breaking, why her world was changing so fast. And yet, it was you and Rafe who had to bear the weight of their absence, both trying to figure out how to hold Willa together while you were both falling apart.

The days were long and filled with small, seemingly insignificant tasks: feeding Willa, changing diapers, trying to soothe her when she cried. But underneath all of that, it was hard not to remember Sarah’s voice calling out to you, her bright smile in the mornings, the late-night talks about everything and nothing. Those moments were gone, and you felt like part of yourself had been ripped away with them.

And then there was John B. The spontaneous adventures, the way he could make you laugh even on the worst days, the way he’d always come through when you needed him most. Those memories, too, were bittersweet now—something you cherished but also something that threatened to suffocate you.

You tried to stay strong for Willa, to focus on the here and now, but there were days when it felt impossible. There were times when you’d find yourself staring at the little girl in your arms and wondering if you were doing enough. Wondering if she would ever remember the love her parents had for her or if she would only know the sorrow of their absence.

Rafe, for his part, seemed to bury his grief deep down. He rarely spoke about Sarah or John B., and when he did, it was as if the words hurt him too much to say aloud. He was always trying to maintain control—over Willa, over the situation with Ward, over himself—but you could see it in the way his eyes flickered with pain whenever something reminded him of his sister or her fiancé.

It wasn’t just the memories of Sarah and John B. that gnawed at him; it was the guilt. The unspoken weight of knowing that his family—his toxic, emotionally abusive father—was now trying to take Willa from him, from them.

Rafe had never talked much about his dad, not even to Sarah. But in the quiet moments, when the house felt too still and too silent, you could see the rage simmering behind his eyes. Ward Cameron had done unspeakable things to Rafe and Sarah growing up, and the idea of him having any claim to Willa, of him trying to step in as her guardian, cut deeper than either of them cared to admit.

⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯

It was late one evening when the dam finally broke. Willa was asleep, her tiny body tucked beneath the blankets, and the house was finally quiet. You and Rafe were sitting on the couch, the exhaustion of the day heavy on your shoulders. The wine bottle from a few nights ago sat untouched on the coffee table. Neither of you had much appetite for anything anymore—food, conversation, anything other than the silence that seemed to speak louder than words.

Rafe was the first to speak, his voice low and uncertain. "I hate that they're gone. I hate that I can't fix it. I hate that Willa won't ever know how good they were. How good they could have been."

His words hit you like a tidal wave, and for the first time in weeks, you saw the cracks in his tough exterior. He wasn’t the cold, distant person you’d been living with; he was just a man—broken, grieving, unsure of how to move forward.

"I hate it too," you whispered, turning to face him. "I hate that Willa will grow up never knowing how special they were. How good they were. Sarah was... everything. She made everything brighter. And John B. He had this way of making you feel like things were always gonna be okay. Even when everything was falling apart."

Rafe's eyes were distant, his gaze turned to the floor as if trying to bury the memories. "I should’ve been there more. I should’ve been a better brother. I should’ve been there for Sarah. I—I wasn’t enough. I couldn’t protect her from him." His voice cracked at the end, a rawness creeping into the words.

You could feel the pain in his voice, the regret, the anger that swirled with everything else. It was too much for him to hold, and maybe it had always been. Maybe Rafe had been carrying this weight for years, too afraid to talk about it, too scared to let anyone see him broken.

You didn’t know what to say at first. You wanted to comfort him, to tell him that he wasn’t to blame, but how could you? There were no right words, no magic phrases that could undo the past.

Instead, you simply moved closer, sitting beside him on the couch, the space between you closing.

"You didn’t fail her," you said softly. "Rafe, you didn’t fail any of us. You loved her. You loved John B. You’re still here. You’re still fighting for Willa. And that means everything."

For a long moment, neither of you spoke. But in that silence, something passed between you both. The raw honesty of the words, the shared pain, the understanding that grief didn’t need fixing—it just needed time.

Finally, Rafe turned to face you, his expression a mixture of exhaustion and something deeper, something more vulnerable. "I don’t know how to do this. I don’t know how to be a good dad to her—how to keep it together when it feels like everything is falling apart."

You swallowed, feeling the sting of your own grief in his words. "I don’t know how to do it either," you admitted. "But we’re doing it together. We have to. For her. And for them."

Rafe’s eyes softened, his hand trembling slightly as he reached for yours. It wasn’t a grand gesture, but it was everything. "I’m scared, [Y/N]. I’m scared of what Ward might do. I’m scared of failing her."

You squeezed his hand, your voice barely above a whisper. "We’re not alone in this. We have each other."

And in that moment, as the weight of the past few months hung heavy in the air, you both allowed yourselves to be vulnerable. For the first time since you’d become Willa’s guardians, it wasn’t just about fighting for her—it was about acknowledging that the fight was bigger than both of you, that the grief you shared had no easy solution. And that maybe, just maybe, you could survive it together.

But even as you held on to each other, even as the weight of the past few months began to lift just a little, a new storm was brewing.

The next morning, a letter arrived from Ward Cameron’s attorney.

The legal battle for Willa had officially begun.

And this time, you weren’t sure if you could win.

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The tension in the house had been building for weeks. The constant phone calls, the late-night meetings with lawyers, the nervous energy that permeated every room. It felt like a storm was brewing, and no one knew when or where it would strike.

Ward Cameron was relentless. He wasn’t going to let go of Willa without a fight. The custody battle was a war neither you nor Rafe were prepared for, and with each passing day, it became more and more clear that Ward had no interest in doing what was best for Willa. He was driven by control, by pride, and by a need to take back what he saw as his.

You could feel the weight of it all pressing down on you as you prepared for the court hearing. It wasn’t just a matter of legal paperwork anymore; it was about Willa’s future. About whether or not she would be able to stay with the people who loved her most—or whether she would be taken away by the very man who had terrorized Rafe and Sarah their entire lives.

The morning of the hearing arrived, and as you walked into the courthouse, a cold shiver ran down your spine. Ward was there, sitting smugly at his lawyer’s side, his presence already like a shadow over the room. You glanced at Rafe, who looked tense but composed. He hadn’t spoken much in the last few days, but you could feel the anger simmering beneath the surface.

“We’re gonna win this,” you whispered, more to reassure yourself than him.

Rafe didn’t respond. His jaw was clenched, his eyes fixed on the door as though he was bracing for what was to come.

⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯

It happened before the hearing even began.

Ward spotted Rafe as he entered the building, and in an instant, the calm atmosphere of the courthouse was shattered.

“Rafe,” Ward’s voice was like acid, dripping with disdain. “Still playing pretend, are we? Acting like you’re fit to raise her?” His gaze flickered to you, then back to Rafe. “You’re nothing. You always were. Just like your mother. You’re not good enough for her.”

You could see Rafe’s fists clenching at his sides, his entire body rigid with tension. He was trying to keep it together, trying to stay calm, but you knew Ward’s words were cutting through him like knives.

“Don’t talk about her,” Rafe spat through gritted teeth, his voice dangerously low.

Ward smirked, then took a step closer. “Or what? You gonna threaten me, Rafe? You gonna get violent like you always do?”

Before anyone could react, Ward’s hand shot out, slapping Rafe across the face with a sickening crack. The sound of the slap echoed through the hallway, sending a chill down your spine.

Rafe stumbled back, his hand instinctively reaching for his cheek where the bruise was already beginning to form. You could see the pain in his eyes, but the rage was sharper—cutting through him like a blade.

“Ward, you don’t get to touch him,” you snapped, stepping forward, but Rafe raised a hand to stop you.

“I’m fine,” he said, his voice tight with anger. But you could see the bruise already swelling, darkening the side of his face.

Ward laughed coldly, his eyes glinting with malicious satisfaction. “This is the man you’re trusting with her?” He gestured toward Rafe, a mocking sneer on his lips. “Pathetic. This is all a joke to you, isn’t it?”

Before you could say anything else, security had already stepped in, and Ward was ushered away by his lawyer. Rafe stood there, silent, his face hard as stone.

“Let’s just get this over with,” he muttered, turning on his heel and heading toward the courtroom.

⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯

The courtroom was packed, tension thick in the air. The judge, a woman with a stern expression, motioned for everyone to sit down, but you could still feel the heaviness of the moment.

Rafe sat beside you, his posture stiff, his hand gripping the armrest of the chair so tightly his knuckles were white. You could see the bruise on his cheek, the darkening mark a stark reminder of the physical and emotional battle he was facing.

Ward sat across the room, his face set in a smug grin. He didn’t look at Rafe. He didn’t need to. He was confident he had already won.

As the hearing began, the tension grew. Both sides presented their arguments—Ward with his usual smugness, his words dripping with false sincerity, and you and Rafe, doing your best to argue that Willa belonged with the people who had been raising her, the people who loved her.

But as the court session continued, it became clear that Ward wasn’t playing fair. His lawyer had found every loophole, every flaw in your case, and used it against you. And with the bruise on Rafe’s face, there was no way around the implications it carried. The scene in the hallway, though quickly dealt with, was impossible to ignore.

Rafe’s history, his past with Ward—everything was being dragged out into the open, and no matter how hard Rafe tried to stay composed, no matter how much you fought back, the weight of their father’s influence was undeniable.

You watched, helpless, as the case swung in Ward’s favor. Every argument Rafe made, every truth he tried to speak, was countered with a lie, with an accusation. And in the end, it wasn’t about what was best for Willa. It was about who had the power, who had the money, who could manipulate the system.

And in that moment, it was clear who was winning.

⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯

The judge finally spoke, her voice cold and impartial. “Based on the evidence presented, and in consideration of the child’s well-being, I am ruling in favor of Mr. Ward Cameron for the temporary custody of Willa Routledge.”

The words were like a slap in the face. Your heart stopped, the world spinning in slow motion as you processed the finality of her decision. Rafe’s face fell, his entire body going rigid beside you. His hand, which had been gripping the armrest, was now shaking.

Willa was going to Ward. And there was nothing either of you could do about it.

“What?” Rafe’s voice was barely a whisper, but it held so much anger, so much disbelief, that it made your chest ache.

The judge didn’t respond, and Ward’s smirk only deepened, satisfaction radiating from every inch of him.

You couldn’t breathe. You couldn’t think. You couldn’t believe it.

This wasn’t how it was supposed to be. This wasn’t supposed to happen.

Rafe stood up, the pain in his eyes more evident than ever before. He didn’t speak, didn’t argue. He just left. He stormed out of the courtroom, his movements sharp, angry, broken.

You stayed behind, your own heart sinking, as Ward’s lawyer turned to you with a cold, dismissive smile.

“This isn’t over,” you whispered to yourself, but deep down, you knew it was. The battle for Willa had just taken an unimaginable turn. And you couldn’t help but wonder if you and Rafe would ever recover from the blow.

© 2024 rafeskai | All rights reserved. This fanfiction is a work of fiction inspired by characters from Outer Banks, and no part of it may be reproduced or distributed without permission.

[pnutbutter-n-j-elyy]

𝗪𝗵𝗲𝗻 𝗬𝗼𝘂 𝗔𝗰𝗰𝗶𝗱𝗲𝗻𝘁𝗮𝗹𝗹𝘆 𝗕𝗿𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝗨𝗽 𝗮𝗻 𝗜𝗻𝘀𝗲𝗰𝘂𝗿𝗶𝘁𝘆 | 𝗠𝗮𝗸𝗻𝗮𝗲𝗹𝗶𝗻𝗲 𝗣𝘁𝟐

Warnings: None

Maknaeline x Reader. Angst.

Pt1

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ᒍIᔕᑌᑎG

The hours after Jisung had walked away felt endless. The silence in the apartment was suffocating, filled with all the words you wanted to say but hadn’t. You replayed the moment in your head over and over, wishing you could take back your careless joke - wishing you had realized sooner how much Jisung had been hurting.

It was a only an hour later when you worked up the courage to knock on his bedroom door.

You and Jisung had always been so connected to each other you had never been angry with each other for more than an hour before one of you went to fix things. And this time you knew you had to be the initiate it.

There was no answer at first, and for a moment, you thought he might be asleep or just ignoring you. But then, you heard the softest sound - a sniffle, barely audible but enough to tell you that he was still awake, and still hurting.

You knocked again, more gently this time. “Jisung? Can I come in?”

A few seconds passed before you heard his quiet, broken voice. “It’s open.”

You pushed the door open slowly, stepping into the dimly lit room. Jisung propped up against the foot of his bed, his knees pulled up to his chest, and his face buried in his arms. His shoulders were shaking, and you immediately started crying as well.

Without saying a word, you sat down beside him, your hand resting gently on his back. You sniffled as well and at first he didn’t move, didn’t acknowledge you, but after a few long moments, he finally leaned into you, embracing you as he spoke, his voice thick with emotion.

“I hate feeling like this,” he cried, his face hidden in your hair. “I hate that no matter what I do, it feels like I’m never good enough at anything other than what people say I'm good at.”

You cried as well. “You are good enough, Jisung. More than good enough.” You sobbed. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to make you feel that way. You are good enough baby."

He shook his head, his voice trembling. “Then why does it feel like no one takes me seriously? Like I’m just...there for comic relief or being cute?”

The pain in his voice was palpable, and you realized just how deeply your words had cut him. Jisung, who was always so full of life and energy, was crumbling under the weight of his own doubts, and you had unintentionally added to that burden.

“I’m so sorry,” you whined, your voice breaking. “I didn’t mean to make you feel like that. I was just trying to make you laugh, but I didn’t realize how much you were hurting.” You sniffed and choked on your sobs in a rather ugly manner.

He finally looked up at you then, his eyes red and swollen from crying- looking just as messy as you felt as he sniffed up his snot loudly. “It’s not just you,” he said. “It’s... everything. Everyone. I feel like I’m always falling short, no matter how hard I try.”

You wiped away your tears, your hand reaching up to cup his cheek. It was wet with tears, and you saw the humor in Jisung's eyes when he saw how snotty your face was as well as his. You couldn't help but both break out laughing amidst the chaotic emotions.

“You’re not falling short, Jisung. You’re amazing at everything you do. You’re talented, hardworking, and you have the biggest heart of anyone I know. I’m so sorry if I ever made you feel like that wasn’t enough. It is enough for me- matter of fact it's more than I deserve. You're not just there for comic relief of being cute. You are funny and you're the single most-cutest thing I have ever seen; but you are also the kindest soul, so smart, and sweet and gentle, and the best boyfriend. The best person to love.”

Jisung leaned into your touch, his eyes closing as a fresh tear slipped down his cheek.

“You’re not a joke,” you reassured firmly, your thumb brushing away his tears and snot. “You’re so much more than that. You’re kind, passionate, and you put your heart into everything you do. You deserve to be taken seriously, and I’m sorry I didn’t show you that earlier.”

He opened his eyes again, searching your face as if looking for the truth in your words. “Do you really think that?”

“I know that,” you whispered, your voice full of sincerity. “And I’ll spend the rest of my life reminding you if that’s what it takes.”

For a moment, Jisung didn’t say anything, but then, slowly, a small, fragile smile appeared on his lips. It wasn’t his usual playful grin, but it was a start - a sign that maybe, just maybe, the weight on his heart was starting to lift.

He leaned forward, his breath shaky but steadying. “Thank you,” he whispered. “For seeing me.”

“I’ll always see you, Jisung,” you whispered back, your hand gently running through his hair. “Always.”

The two of you sat there in the quiet of his room, the unspoken promises hanging in the air. Jisung sniffed and you guys looked at each other, his body relaxing against yours as the tension faded away.

"You look a mess." He commented, placing a closed eyed kiss on the corner of your lips and then nuzzling his face into the crook of your neck.

You smiled and laughed. "You're one to talk." You said, wiping your face.

"I want to cuddle." He said, smiling as you guys laid down with each other.

And as you held him, letting him tell you about everything under the sun in between kisses, you knew that while the doubts and insecurities he had might never fully disappear- as for most people- you would be there to help him through it. Because no matter what, Jisung wasn’t alone. And you would never let him be.

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ᖴEᒪI᙭

Four days passed since the argument, and the silence between you and Felix had been deafening. You hadn’t gone to work- your absence marked by the sudden wave of cold and flu symptoms that hit you not long after that terrible night. You had remembered it had been rather cold in his living room, and maybe this cold was payback for you hurting Felix but either way, you were grateful to have an excuse to hide from the world. The pain of what happened with Felix, however, refused to go away, and still ate at you visibly.

You had barely left your bed, bundled up in blankets with tissues and medicine scattered around your nightstand. Your phone was filled with missed calls and unread messages from concerned friends, but nothing from Felix. That was, until the fourth day. There was a soft knock on your front door, followed by another, more insistent knock when you didn't answer right away. With a groggy sigh, you slowly forced yourself to your feet, shuffling to the door and opening it just a crack, even if you didn't feel like it.

Felix stood there, looking hesitant, holding a plastic bag filled with soup containers, medicine, and tissues. He looked at you with wide eyes, taking in your messy hair, the red-tipped nose, and the dark circles under your eyes. You looked miserable, and his expression softened immediately.

“I was in a rush so I forgot the extra key- I heard you called off work.” he said gently, his voice barely louder than a whisper. “For four days. Are you okay?”

You swallowed, feeling your throat burn. "Just a cold," you mumbled, stepping back to let him in. You couldn't find it in yourself to tell him to leave, even though the ache in your chest was still raw. Seeing him made you want to burst into tears, even though you knew you were cause for the problem. Felix stepped inside, slipping off his shoes and closing the door behind him, the sound loud in the stillness of the apartment.

He set the bag down on your kitchen counter, then turned to you, his face filled with concern. "I thought you might need some soup or something,” he said, his voice gentle, like a caress. "So, I had Minho Hyung help me make some, he said to keep him updated and that he hopes you feel better. He helped me make your favorite cake too so we can eat it when you feel like it."

"Thank you," you said softly, your voice scratchy. You stood there, arms wrapped around yourself, unsure of what to say. You didn’t want to make things worse, but you also knew you couldn’t just pretend everything was fine.

Felix didn't seem to concerned about anything other than you though, and he gently grabbed you by the shoulders. "You should be in bed though, so go lay down while I fix all of this stuff up. Hm?" you noticed the way his gaze softened as he looked at you. “You look terrible.” He said it lightly, teasingly, but there was an edge of guilt in his tone.

You felt a lump rise in your throat, a spur of tears suddenly stinging your eyes. You didn’t want to cry- not now, not in front of him- but you couldn’t help it. The stress, the sickness, and the weight of what had happened between you and how Felix seemed to just let it go all crashed down at once, and before you could stop yourself, a sob escaped your lips.

Felix’s eyes widened in alarm. "Hey, hey, no," he said quickly, stepping forward and gently placing a hand on your shoulder. "You’re too sick to be crying like this, baby."

But you shook your head, your tears falling faster. "No," you choked out, your voice breaking. "I need to say this. I need you to know-" You paused, swallowing hard, forcing yourself to meet his eyes even though it hurt. "I’m so sorry, Felix. I didn’t mean what I said that night. I didn’t mean to make you feel like you’re not enough or that you’re just…just this one thing. I love you for you, and I never wanted to make you doubt that. I just…I didn’t know how much you were struggling."

Felix’s expression crumbled, his own eyes filling with unshed tears as he listened to your broken apology. He moved closer, his hand cupping your cheek, thumb brushing away the tears that wouldn’t stop falling. "Shh, don’t cry," he said softly, his voice shaking. "Please, you’re sick, and you’re going to make yourself feel worse-"

"No, I need you to hear this," you insisted, your voice hoarse but determined. You reached up, clutching his wrist as if afraid he might pull away. "I don’t care if you’re not always happy. I don’t need you to be sunshine all the time, Felix. I just need you. The real you. And I’m so sorry if I made you feel like you had to be anything else."

Felix let out a shaky breath, his thumb still caressing your cheek. He looked down, his forehead pressing gently against yours, and you felt the warmth of his breath on your skin. "I was scared," he admitted, his voice raw and vulnerable. "I was scared that if I wasn’t enough, if I wasn’t the person everyone expected me to be, then I’d lose everything. I didn’t mean to push you away, but I…I didn’t know how to deal with it."

You shook your head, your tears slowing as you looked into his eyes, feeling the honesty in his words. "You don’t have to be anything but yourself. I love you, and nothing will change that."

For a moment, there was only silence, the weight of your words hanging in the air. Then, Felix pulled you into his arms, holding you tightly against his chest, his fingers tangling in your knotted hair, brushing it out. You felt the relief wash over you as he buried his face in your neck, his breath hitching like he was holding back his own tears.

"I’m sorry," he whispered, his voice muffled against your skin. "I’m so sorry for leaving that night, for not talking to you. I just… I just really didn’t know how to handle it."

You wrapped your arms around him, holding him just as tightly, your face pressed against the warmth of his shoulder. "We can handle it together,” you murmured, your voice soft and steady now. "I’m not going anywhere, Lix. I’m here. Always."

Felix pulled back just enough to look at you, his eyes shining with tears, and he gave you a small, shaky smile. "I love you," he said, his voice barely above a whisper. "More than anything."

“I love you too,” you whispered back, and he leaned in, pressing his lips to yours in a gentle, lingering kiss that tasted of salt and unspoken promises. It was soft and tender, filled with all the words you couldn’t say, and when he finally pulled away, he rested his forehead against yours, his smile real and warm this time.

"Lix...you're going to be sick now." You let out exasperatedly.

"Well, it was worth it because I missed you, love." He smiled. “Let’s get you back to bed, yeah?” he continued softly, wiping away the last of your tears with his thumb. “I brought soup, and you need to rest.”

You nodded, feeling the exhaustion settle back in now that the weight had been lifted. Felix led you back to your room, tucking you in with the blankets and bringing the soup to your bedside. He sat with you while you ate, his fingers gently playing with yours, his presence a comforting warmth.

And as you lay there, Felix’s hand in yours you knew that regardless of what insecurities he had, while he sometimes felt his world was dark- he'd always be the light in yours.

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ᔕEᑌᑎGᗰIᑎ

The silence in the room was suffocating, and you felt it wrap around you, squeezing tighter with every passing second after Seungmin left. You stood there, your chest tight, unsure of what to do or say. What just happened? You thought you understood, but you were so wrong. You wanted to fix things. You needed to fix things.

It wasn’t maybe even an hour before you heard the door creak back open. You turned, almost expecting him to not be there, but the figure standing in the doorway was Seungmin, looking smaller, his shoulders hunched. His usual confidence was gone, replaced by a vulnerability that made your heart ache for him. He was holding something small in his hand, but you couldn’t tell what it was.

"Seungmin," you immediately started, your voice shaky as you stepped toward him. "I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to make you feel like that. I never wanted to hurt you. I just…I didn’t know what to do. I wanted you to open up but I made things worse and I'm so sorry. I never want you to feel like I'm trying to hurt you. Because that's the last thing I want to do."

Seungmin didn’t respond immediately. He looked down at the ground, his thumb absently tracing the edges of the small box he was holding. Then, after what felt like an eternity, he let out a long sigh and finally spoke.

"I’m the one who should be apologizing, YN." he said quietly, still not meeting your eyes. "I shouldn’t have snapped at you like that. But I… I’ve been struggling with this for a while now. I didn’t know how to talk about it, and I didn’t want to drag you into it."

You tilted your head, confused. "What do you mean? Struggling with what?"

Seungmin hesitated, his hand tightening around the box. He glanced up at you, then back down at the object in his hand. "Our anniversary is coming up...and...I’ve been thinking about proposing. And...it scared me. To the point I shut myself off from you..."

You blinked, processing the words. "Proposing? But…why?" You immediately started tearing up. "Shit...I thought you pulled away because you wanted to break up...I..." You let out a nervous giggle, as you fanned your face. "But...you're scared- why?"

He paused, his expression unreadable for a moment. Then, his voice cracked ever so slightly. "Because… I didn’t know if you’d say yes. And that made me doubt everything I thought I knew about myself. I’ve always been the dependable one, the one people turn to…but I’ve never been the one people choose first. And I guess I was scared. Scared that you’d think I wasn’t enough, scared you’d see me as just… Seungmin. The guy who’s always there, but never the guy you truly want."

Your heart ached. You stepped closer to him, reaching out slowly as if he were fragile. "Seungmin…I…I never thought that. I never would. You were never my second choice. You've always and forever will be my first."

He looked up at you then, his eyes conflicted, his lip trembling the slightest amount. "I thought you’d be better off with someone else. Someone who…doesn’t have this baggage. Someone who’s not always so quiet and distant when they don't know how to deal with something. How am I supposed to be a good husband when I can't even deal with my own problems sometimes-"

You shook your head, reaching out and gently taking his hand, the one with the box in it. "You’re wrong. I’ve never felt that way. You don’t have to be someone else for me. I love you for who you are. And for all the problems that come with you. I don't need anything changed for me to want to be with you because I already love you."

Seungmin looked at you, his eyes softening just a little. "I’ve always been afraid of letting you see me as weak," he admitted quietly. "I thought you’d think less of me. That I wasn’t good enough. I was wrong...I guess."

You smiled softly, squeezing his hand. "Yes, you were Seungmin." You chuckled. "Thats a first- getting to tell you you're wrong."

You took a breath. "But that doesn't make me anymore right. I wasn't able to figure out when you were struggling. Maybe-"

"Aish! Jagiya! No! Stop." Seungmin shook his head ferociously. "Don't...my problems aren't yours to deal with-"

"But they are, MinMin." You urged quietly. "We're going to dedicate the rest of our lives to each other so our problems are going to be for both of us to solve together, okay? You don’t need to be perfect for me. You’re enough, always. And I’m sorry for ever making you feel like you weren’t. And for letting those insecurities root down in you. I love you Kim Seungmin."

There was a long pause before Seungmin took a deep breath and finally spoke again. "I love you, Y/N." He let his head fall onto your shoulder, as you pat his head.

His eyes fell to the box again, and with a small, tentative smile, he opened it, revealing a delicate ring inside. It was beautiful, simple yet elegant, just like him. Your breath caught in your throat.

"Seungmin…" you whispered, your voice barely above a breath.

He looked up at you, his expression vulnerable but hopeful. "I was going to ask you to marry me, on our anniversary but I don't want to wait anymore...besides you already said yes, technically. I mean you said we're dedicating are lives to each other." He explained as he slipped the ring on your finger.

"Of course, I want to be with you. You’re everything to me."

Seungmin’s eyes shone with happiness. "Well just for tradition will you marry me?"

Your heart fluttered as you nodded, a soft laugh escaping your lips as you grabbed his cheeks gently. "Yes, Seungmin. Yes."

He smiled and kissed you lips softly.

"Now," you said with a soft smile, "Can I give you my anniversary gift early? Since you've already given yours early?"

Seungmin smiled faintly, and for the first time in what felt like forever, it was genuine, reaching his eyes. "I’d love that."

You quickly grabbed the small gift bag from the coffee table and handed it to him. He opened it to find a framed photo of the two of you from the first time you had gone on a trip together. It was a moment of pure joy, frozen in time. Paired with it was a small leather bound journal, filled with notes you had written whenever you thought about him since your first anniversary. You fidgeted nervously.

"I know it’s not much," you said softly, "But it’s us. And I want to remember us, every moment."

Seungmin gazed at the photo, his expression softening. He looked up at you, his voice low and filled with affection, his eyes a little glassy. "It’s perfect. You're perfect."

The tension between you was gone now, replaced by a newfound understanding. You stepped into his arms, and he wrapped you in a warm embrace, holding you close.

"I’m sorry," you murmured again, this time with more certainty. "I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings. I promise I’ll do better."

"No more apologies Jagiya," Seungmin said, his voice full of tenderness. "We’ll figure this out, together. I believe that with all my soul. But for right now let's focus on us." He kissed your nose and then your hand on which the ring was place. "Let forever focus on us."

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ᒍEOᑎGIᑎ

For the next few days, the silence between you and Jeongin was suffocating. He had distanced himself, giving polite responses to your texts but never lingering long enough to have a real conversation if you saw him in person. It tore you apart to see him like this, to know that you had hurt him in a way you never intended.

The truth was, Jeongin’s unintended vulnerability was something you cherished. His soft heart, his kindness, his playful nature- those were the things that made you love him even more. You had taken them for granted, never realizing how much he felt the weight of the "maknae" label.

And you needed to make things right.

On the third night after the argument, you decided you couldn’t let another day go by without apologizing properly. You headed to the dorm he shared with Chan, clutching a small bag that contained his favorite snacks, a note you’d written, and something else that you hoped would show him just how much you cared for every bit of him.

When you arrived, Chan let you in, and you found Jeongin sitting alone in the living room, headphones on, staring blankly at his phone, the little pout you adored . He didn’t notice you until you called his name softly.

"Innie…"

He looked up, surprise- and what you thought might be relief flashing in his eyes, but his expression quickly closed off. "What are you doing here?" he asked, his voice flat and tired, but with a hint of something else.

You swallowed hard, feeling the nerves twist in your stomach. "Can we talk? Please?"

Jeongin hesitated, his gaze flickering to the door as if he was debating whether to make an escape. But after a moment, he sighed and nodded, pulling off his headphones and setting them aside. "Fine," he said quietly, though the guarded look in his eyes didn’t disappear.

You sat down next to him, close enough to feel the warmth radiating from his body, close enough to inhale his scent, but careful not to touch him. "Jeongin, I’m so, so sorry," you began, your voice shaking with the weight of your regret. "What I said the other day…it was thoughtless and hurtful. I never meant to make you feel like you weren’t taken seriously or that you don’t work just as hard- no, harder -than everyone else."

He didn’t say anything, but his gaze softened just a little, a sign that he was listening.

"I love you, Innie," you continued, your words coming out in a rush. "I love everything about you, not just because you’re the youngest or because you’re cute. I love how strong you are, how you always manage to keep a smile even when things get tough. You work so hard, and I see it- every single day. I’m sorry I ever made you feel like I didn’t."

His expression wavered, and you could see the struggle in his eyes. He wanted to believe you, but the wound you had unknowingly opened was still raw.

Reaching into the bag you’d brought, you pulled out the small box of snacks he loved, handing it to him as a peace offering. "I know this won’t fix everything," you said, your voice soft, "But I wanted to show you that I care. And…I made something for you."

Jeongin looked down at the snacks, his fingers brushing over the familiar packaging, with a miniature smile, but it was the second item you pulled out that made him freeze.

It was a photo album, small and simple, filled with pictures you had taken of him over the course of your relationship- moments he probably hadn’t even realized you’d captured. There were shots of him laughing, concentrating, dancing, and even the candid moments when he thought no one was watching. On the first page, you had written:

I see you, Jeongin. Every part of you.

"Jagiya..." He whined, tears welled up in his eyes as he flipped through the pages, his fingers trembling slightly. He stopped on a picture of him practicing late at night- a night where you had stopped by to make sure he was taking care of himself- a night where you had, evidently, take a picture of him exhaustion evident on his face but determination burning in his eyes. It was a photo that perfectly captured the weight he carried.

"You took this?" he asked, his voice cracking.

You nodded. "I see you, Innie. I always have. I just didn’t realize how much I had missed…until now. Maybe I was focusing on how perfect you are to me so much that I missed the parts of yourself I could have helped you love more...I'm sorry."

Jeongin’s face crumpled, and before you could react, he set the album down and pulled you into a tight embrace. His arms wrapped around you, holding you close, his face buried in your shoulder. You could feel his body shaking, and you held him just as tightly, your own tears spilling over.

"I’m sorry," you whispered over and over into his hair, feeling the warmth of his breath against your neck. "I never want to hurt you like that again. I want to be the person who sees you for who you are, who supports you, and loves you without making you feel small."

Jeongin didn’t pull away, his grip on you tightening instead. “I was so scared,” his voice was muffled and thick with emotion. "I was scared you’d break up with me because I was being childish over this. And when I realized you loved me too much to do that, I was afraid you'd see the childishness in it and see that I just proved your point- I'm just a baby in the end aren't I?"

Your heart shattered at the raw vulnerability in his words. You pulled back just enough to cup his face in your hands, your thumbs brushing away the tears that had gathered in his eyes. "Never, Jeongin. Never. You belong right here with me. And you're not childish. Not at all to me. We all struggle with expression sometimes." you said firmly. "I’m so proud of who you are- every part of you. Even the parts that need work."

A slow, shaky smile spread across his face, his dimples reappearing, and he let out a soft, relieved laugh. "I don’t deserve you," he whispered, his forehead resting against yours.

"Yes, you do," you said, your voice gentle but unwavering. “You deserve everything, Innie. That's why your hyungs spoil you so much. Not because you're the youngest. But because you undoubtedly deserve all of it."

You saw the light return to his eyes, the tension easing from his shoulders. He leaned in and pressed a soft, lingering kiss to your lips- a kiss that spoke of forgiveness, of understanding, and of a love that went far beyond the roles you were expected to play.

When he pulled back, he looked down at the snacks and the album, his cheeks pink with a shy, genuine smile. "Thank you," he said softly, his fingers lacing with yours. "For seeing me…and for loving me."

"Always," you replied, squeezing his hand.

Jeongin looked at the photo album again, a small laugh escaping his lips. "You’re so cheesy, you know that?" he teased, his voice back to its usual playful tone, the spark of mischief dancing in his eyes.

"Yeah, well, you like cheesy," you shot back, nudging him playfully. "Ja- hana dul set- CHEESE!" You sung, earning a melodic laugh and dimpled smiled as he pulled you closer until you were nestled comfortably against his side, his arm wrapped around your shoulders.

"I guess I do," he admitted softly, pressing a kiss to your temple. "I guess I do."

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@abovenyx @wolfs-archive @oddracha

@iyeeeverydee @parisanmorovati @seungmincenteric

@panbish-1209 @fxiry-vtt @sseawavee

@shuporanporang @amarecerasus @softkisshyunjin

@whoa-jo @meanergreener @rikibun

@ayyonoona @shinywombatcrusade @y4yayael

@skzstan12345 @mariteez @allys-reads

@jazziwritesthings @skzstannie @yongbokkiesworld

@kkkeopi @neverendingstay @moony-9

@minsungsthirdwheel @everlastingspring143 @joyofbebbanburg

@leezanetheofficial @tr-mha-fan @bubbly-moon

@night-storm7 @missmajdastark @axel-skz

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[mywritersmind]

DOOMED FOR ONE ANOTHER - LN4

summary : Forced to never forget. He loved her, she loved him. It seemed easy but the moment those words met the cool air, everything changed. They had the type of love that wasn’t in story books about romance, it was the type that was in horror stories.

listen up : crazy moody today ig. hope u like bc it’s actually interesting and deep for once. dual pov!!

word count : 2040

⋆｡‧˚⋆

The first time they met, he saw her sitting at the bar.

She was alone, in a cocktail dress with her legs crossed, sipping on a martini. There was a faux fur coat hanging over her chair. She wasn’t on her phone, or listening to music, she was just sitting with the world around her.

Lando Norris was well acquainted with the female species. He’s met pretty woman, he’s dated pretty women, he’s fucked pretty women.

She wasn’t just a pretty woman.

“I’m Lando.” She didn’t shake his hand, didn’t smile or giggle… she just nodded.

“I know who you are.” She brought the martini to her lips again and Lando felt his mouth open a bit, “Do you know who I am?”

He slipped into the seat next to her, “No. Should I?”

Then it happened, the corners of her perfectly lush lips tugged upward. “Nope.”

And thus started a beautiful friendship. Yes, I say friendship because neither of them expected to fall in love with each other. Even if everyone seemed to hope they would.

⋆༺

Her apartment was a mess like usual. I pushed open the door with two coffees in my hand, house keys, and the purse she made me bring all the way from Monaco to New York.

I managed to get to her room without stepping on any of her loose clothes, books, or instruments. She was lying on her bed, her head hanging off the side and her hands lazily strumming her guitar.

She was wearing a pink nightgown that scrunched up on her thighs, a faux fur coat, and headphones. Her head finally tilted back far enough to see me standing there, staring at her.

I used to worry about her a lot because of her reaction time and how she never realized I was staring. Yet I stopped thinking about it after it allowed me to watch her before we would hang out.

That sounds creepy, I know. But just like the first time I met her, I could get a read on her body language or emotions, I would look at her outfit and how much jewelry she would be wearing, I would just look at her for one quiet moment.

“Lan!” She screamed far too loud and stood up at lightning speed, hugging me. “My angel, you’re back!” She grabbed the coffee she knew was hers from my hands and spun around, hopping back onto her bed and sitting on her feet.

I pushed the clothes off her chair and sat on it, “Someone came up to me and asked if I was your friend today.”

I rolled my eyes and sipped my coffee, “One day, we’re going to be walking around and people will swarm around you and ask who the idiot next to you is.”

She sighed, sipping her coffee, “And I’d tell them that if they’re true fans, they’d know who my best friend is.” She leaned back on her pillows and stuffed animals.

“Right!” I let out a laugh, “You would definitely say I'm some freak following you.”

Her eyes got serious for a second, “I’d never pretend to not know you, Lando.”

I shook my head, “How’s the writing coming along?”

“If you’ve come here just to bug me about my music, then I will kick you back onto the streets.” She’s a musician.

I wasn’t lying when I said I didn’t know her… but she had just put out her debut album and I had just officially become an F1 driver.

She claimed she wasn’t a fan of the sport, yet would text me non stop about ‘gossip’ she heard from her ‘credible’ sources. Her sources were F1 twitter.

She let me listen to her music, humming along to the songs without lyrics and singing without any instrument to the songs without background music.

I don’t remember when I fell in love with her. It wasn’t a specific time or place, I just sort of knew one day.

⋆༺

I always loved him in a suit.

I liked his hair and the way the curls just fit with something so neat and tailored to him. Lando looked bored, an expression I didn’t see on his face a lot when he was with me.

But that day and that banquet… it was so slow and I was so off my usual game. I had secrets and Lando could tell. I thought he was going to confront me about them when he brought me outside.

“Lan, there’s a speaker!” I whispered to him as he took my hand.

“When have you ever cared about shit like that? Come on.” His hand was cold, I remember that. I actually remember everything from that night.

We slipped out the back door and he started laughing. I didn’t know why, but I also didn’t ask a lot of questions.

The banquet was in a stuffy hall, but the back garden was beautiful and miles long. I laughed with him, hurrying down the steps as fast as I could in my heels.

He loosened his tie and undid the top button of his shirt. “I couldn’t breathe in there.” He runs a hand through his curls, tilting his head back so his Adam's apple is more pronounced and his eyes are looking to the sky.

“Wanna get out of here?” I asked because I was getting cold and could tell he needed a change of scenery.

That’s when I noticed a difference. The way he looked at me just then, it was like everything I had dreaded came true in one singular moment. “No.” He had said it quietly but I felt like he had a megaphone. “I need to talk to you.”

“Lando…” I said his full name that time because I wanted him to know that for once in my life, I was being serious. I was warning him.

“I love you.” He was breathless and I'll never forget the look on his face. It was almost as heartbreaking as the look he gave me five seconds later, when I didn’t respond.

I loved him, of course I had.

But I wasn’t ready. I wasn’t ready for a relationship or for him. I wasn’t ready for everything to change or for him to suddenly start kissing me instead of hugging.

I wasn’t ready to be loved.

“Please…” He was holding my hands now, “I can’t not love you. I know you love me too.” That made me feel nauseous.

How could he know?

I kept everything close to me and had never tried to kiss him, I never even joked about it!

“I can’t…” Is all I said before pulling my hands away.

His face turned sullen, his arms limp at his sides, “You don’t have to be scared.”

“I’m not!” I didn’t mean to say it as defensively as I did.

“Bullshit.” Lando never raised his voice at me, but he did then.

“You don’t get to tell me my feelings!” I stepped farther away, ignoring every instinct to get closer.

His eyes were piercing me, “Tell me you don’t then.”

I was shaking my head as he begged, “Tell me you don’t love me! Say it to my face.” I couldn’t say anything, and he knew me too well because of it. “Break my heart, then. Do it.”

“Lan…”

“Don’t ‘Lan’ me!” He stepped closer, his hands going to my arms again, “Fucking break me or never talk to me again! I can’t pretend I don’t love you and I know you can’t stay friends with me when you know that I do.”

His voice broke and my tears started. Lando Norris knew every part of me. He watched my facial expressions, my body language. He watched me get dressed and he watched me break a million guys' hearts.

He watched me loudly do what I love but that was always music, and never him.

That’s why I had to walk away. It’s why I couldn’t admit loving him. It’s why I cut all contact, It’s why I hated myself. It’s why I pretended I didn’t know him, even though he haunted everything in my life.

⋆༺

I love my friends. But I think I'd rather be anywhere but here right now.

Carlos forced me to come to his girlfriend's party. Rebecca is nice and all but as I watch Franco get surrounded by models and Charles whispering in Alexandra’s ear, I’m seriously regretting saying yes.

I’m in a suit and zoning out with champagne in my hand, leaning against the bar as the noise around me gets louder.

“Lando!” I already know it’s Carlos, glancing back to see him hurrying over to me, “Lando!”

“What?” I ask, tired and wishing I was more drunk.

“Rebecca has a girl for you!” my immediate instinct is to run but he slaps his hand onto my shoulder and grips it tightly, “Hey! You’ll love her! She’s a musician and very pretty!”

I groan, “Carlos, no.”

“Mate, come on! You never date and I think you’ll actually love her!” He’s right. I don’t date. I have sex, I hook up, I have benefits but no friends. “It’ll be good for you.” And for a second, I believe him.

Maybe it would be good for me. It’s been over a year since my heart was ripped apart and stomped on by a type b, adhd, singer.

“Just meet her.” He says and I hesitate before shrugging, “Yes! Oh, here they come!”

I stand up straight and sip my champagne, hoping the alcohol will hit me fast. The moment I turn, The moment Rebecca smiles and starts to speak, I can’t breathe.

“Lando this is-” I don’t need to keep listening to know. She’s right there. In front of me.

The girl who ripped my heart out is right there, wearing the same shoes she stomped on it with. I’m not prepared for this, for her. Her face tells me she feels the same way but is far more calm than I am.

When she holds out her hand for me to shake, I feel sick. I shake it, not saying anything. She looks the same… but different.

Her hair is longer and her makeup is done differently. She’s wearing barely any jewelry but I can smell her perfume and I just know it’s the same one I got for her at some corner stone in brooklyn.

“It’s really nice to meet you.” She sounds strong. She sounds like she’s lying, but maybe that’s because she is.

“I wish I could say the same about you.” No one else would be able to tell, but after years of examining her, I don’t miss the way her mouth quirks. I say it because I would never pretend to not know her, no matter how hard it was to make eye contact with her today.

I know Carlos is horrified, “Norris!”

But I don’t care.

For once, I didn’t see her coming. I didn’t get to have that moment of peace where I could revel in her.

I avoided her, mostly. We never ran in the same circle… except for now, I guess… but I saw friends of friends posting about her concerts or new music. I saw her on Dominic Fikes album and I saw her kissing his cheek two days after that.

I heard the rumors and the second that one of the guys called her pretty, I clocked out.

I never saw her in person though. I would be paranoid every time I was at a music festival or even saw someone wearing close to the same faux fur jackets she adored. But I haven’t seen her for over a year, until now.

Rebecca looks uncomfortable and Carlos looks straight up scared. I’m lucky that they get pulled away but I'm unlucky that she gets closer to me. She used to tease me the same way she’s looking at me now.

I expect her to say something profound, maybe even an apology. But then I remember who she is. That Cheshire-like smile greets her lips again as her thick lashes blink, “I’ve always loved you in a suit.”

[that-weeb-in-ur-closet]

You all don't understand, Satoru Gojo loves helping you with laundry.

(fem bodied reader, smut smut smut. Mdni.)

Walking in the room after you do, switching the clean clothes into the dryer and the dirty clothes into the washer, he stops you. "Hey, you've been wearing those clothes all day! And so have I! Don't you think they should be washed too?"

You don't really get what he's saying, so you agree. And not too long after you did, he's stripped himself and you of all clothes and sat on the dryer, getting fucked by the beautiful man while the load dries.

"You like that? Hmm? Yeah, take this cock for me, just like that... You're such a slut.... What would you do if my cock wasn't here to fill up that pretty pussy? Pathetically try to fill it yourself? You need me so much, pretty... Ah, yeah, keep begging me, just like that... What if I stop?"

He says, slowing his hips enough to have you whining, wanting more — almost being able to cum, and yet he ruins it. "Toru, please.... Please, don't stop, I'm so close...!"

He stops completely, pretending to think about it before moving his hips again, watching with a grin as you reach up to remove his blindfold — pretty eyes staring back at you while whispering filth.

"So needy, and for what? For me? Or are you just always this dumb on everyone's cock? Only mine? I'm flattered..."

He groans, pressing a messy kiss to your lips as he rocks back and fourth, hitting that perfect spot that has you shaking, scratching up his back while moaning, falling apart on his pretty cock.

"Toru, please, I'm cumming!! Cum with me, please, puh-lease...I need you..."

"I'm right here, pretty girl. Go on and cum for me."

Nodding weakly, you bite on his shoulder, teary eyes closing tightly as you let yourself release — him soon doing the same, spilling his seed deep inside your cunt and soon slowing his hips.

... Ding!

"Oh, looks like the laundry is done."

He's not very helpful though.

[guardians-ofthe-lastyoungkilljoy]

i know the end - vettel

(gif not mine @usersewis)

pairing: sebastian vettel x reader

summary: Sebastian came into your life in 2015 and left in 2020 - but you fell in love with him and he just wanted a championship.

themes/warnings: alcohol, ANGST, no use of y/n, description of a panic attack, unrequited love, waxing poetic about ferrari - can you tell they're my fav team, kimi mentioned, charles is here too !! THIS IS FICTION

wc: 3.6k

a/n: someone on tumblr said that ferrari is a haunted house with a picket fence and i have never stopped thinking about it since. i have also never stopped thinking about sebastian vettel - subcategory of seb thoughts is seb in ferrari. also still open to do requests - trying out this whole fic writing thing. will also need help with organising my blog if anyone is keen :)

read on ao3 https://archiveofourown.org/works/60713827

Sebastian joined Ferrari in 2015. The team were ecstatic to have the four time world champion join their ranks, determined to bring Ferrari back to its former glory. 

You were working on the strategy team, fairly new but established enough to be listened to on the rare occasion. 

You met Seb in the pre-season at his factory introduction. He made his speech, charming the floor with his near perfect Italian. He popped into the strategy meeting room during his tour, a war room that had become home for you with its laptops and papers spread out. Sebastian was the perfect gentleman, shaking hands with everyone, though you thought he may have held on a bit longer with you.

The season started soon after, the entire garage working overtime. You were given the opportunity to accompany the team at races, rather than being stuck at Maranello.This is how you became Sebastian’s favourite strategist. 

You’re not exactly sure when it happened. You made a good strategy call in Malaysia, a well timed pit stop in Hungary and by Singapore, the lion knew your coffee order from the Ferrari cafeteria, ensuring to always pass you some before a long meeting. 

Falling for Sebastian was drawn out, comprised of lingering greeting hugs, good conversation at team dinners, long nights at the factory and searing glances across foreign nightclubs. 

You didn’t realise it for a while, and you wouldn’t realise it until it was too late. The attention you received was perhaps just part of Seb’s charm, and he had the whole motorsport world wrapped around his infamous finger. 

2016 brought on a winless year for Ferrari, both Kimi and Sebastian unable to make it to that crucial top step. 

You found Seb at the back of the Ferrari motorhome after a particularly tough race, hiding between tyre stacks. You overheard his PR team scrambling to find him - you slipped out to the back unnoticed, knowing exactly where he was. 

The tyre stacks were sort of a shared place for you and Sebastian, free from the prying eyes of the world. The only person who knew about it was Sebastian’s head mechanic, who accidentally stumbled upon you two sharing champagne after a podium last year. 

I’ll be there soon. Sebastian recognised your footsteps before even looking up. 

You sat down beside him, trying to find the words while he absentmindedly played with his water bottle. 

I’m sorr-

I don’t want to hear it. 

Sebastian had never snapped at you. You knew the strategy calls were bad today, resulting in an ill timed pitstop and Sebastian falling through the other. This Seb, this was completely foreign to you. 

Seb stood and left, sparing no further glance at you. It was a punch to your gut. Did he blame you? Drivers were always temperamental, that you knew, but Sebastian had always been nothing but kind and mature with you. 

Your body went into autopilot mode, packing up what you can before the team debrief. 

Sebastian barely spared you a glance as everyone settled in for the debrief. Perhaps a sign that he calmed down during media duties, but you knew better than to play detective with another man’s emotions. 

Strategy seemed to be the biggest issue to tackle with your boss taking the lead. You half listened, taking notes occasionally until he mentioned your name. 

One of the plans you brought up in pre-race meetings was bold and daring. It was entertained, but ultimately shoved aside for what ended up happening during the race. However after witnessing what happened in the race, it would have gained the team some higher positions. 

Ferrari is a team, one where we win and lose together. Every aspect is just as important as each other. Admitting mistakes and learning for them is how the team gets stronger. 

The strategy admission had Sebastian sneaking glances at you for the rest of the meeting. You felt it, but you weren’t exactly ready to forgive yet. 

You returned to your home in Maranello without so much as another word to Sebastian. You were, however, greeted by a bouquet of peonies on your dining table, along with a note from the man you were so desperately trying not to think about.

By 7PM the same day, you and Seb were sharing a blanket on the couch and watching a romcom, having devoured pizza and now working your way through a giant bag of chocolate wafers. 

Unfortunately, Seb knew the way to your heart. As you tucked yourself into bed that night, you realised that you never shared a conversation with him about Sunday and an even scarier thought, you had forgiven him. 

2017 saw you and Sebastian grow even closer. Movie nights at your apartment became the norm and Seb often took you to dinner on race weekends, despite your protests that the dinners were too fancy. He had to spoil his favourite strategist would always be his response. 

Sebastian returned to the top step of Monaco that year, the Italian anthem blaring across the track along with a chorus of devoted Tifosi. He sneaked off after the celebrations, pulling you with him to the tyre stacks, champagne bottle on the other hand. 

Seb passed you the bottle and you took a large sip, pushing down the thought that his lips were on it mere moments ago. 

Are you coming to the afterparty?

Yes, but I don’t have anything to wear? 

No party dress packed? Ye of little faith. 

You rolled your eyes and shoved the bottle back into his hands. The endless banter and teasing simultaneously made you forget about your feelings for Seb but also made you fall harder for him. 

Don’t worry, I’ll take care of it. He kissed your cheek and walked away. 

Cheek kisses weren’t new for Seb, having evolved from greeting hugs long ago. But “take care of it”? Well, he better not be doing what you were thinking. 

You returned to your hotel room to a large black box on your bed, an extravagant red bow tied around it with a handwritten note, definitely scrawled on by a tipsy Seb. 

The box revealed a red dress, and on top of it, another small box. You opened it and out dangled a small necklace with a heart charm. Engraved on one side was the number 5. Sebastian. 

Sebastian knocked on your door two hours later, dressed sharp and ready for the night ahead. He took you in, the dress he picked out was the perfect fit against your skin. There was however, one missing detail. 

The necklace? 

It’s a bit much, no?

Nonsense. 

Sebastian walked into your room and spotted the necklace on the bed. He took it out of its pouch and motioned for you to stand in front of the mirror. He stood behind, putting the necklace on you. His fingers ghosted over your neck, raising the tiny hairs on your skin. 

Team number 5. 

Sebastian kissed the side of your head and his fingers trailed down your arm to grab your hand. You followed him out in a daze to the elevator. 

The dim light of the elevator and Sebastian’s intoxicating cologne enveloping the cramped box. The elevator dinged, letting in more people. The sound woke you from whatever spell Sebastian cast. You counted down the floors until you had to leave the warmth of Sebastian’s side and his calloused hand around yours. 

Ground floor. The air was clearer as you exited the bubble - reality. Because despite everything, Sebastian wasn’t yours. He is Ferrari’s. You are Ferrari’s. For now, sharing a home would be enough. 

You never left Sebastian’s line of sight all night. Between partying with your girlfriends, sharing a drink with your boss and a few dances with Seb, the clarity in the haze of the club was Sebastian. 

As the night began winding down, Sebastian approached you at a booth. He was holding a mystery drink and his pupils were blown wide. He began blabbering about something Kimi did, the Finn possibly to blame for Sebastian’s current state. You took one look at him and began arranging a cab back to the hotel. 

You managed to drag a half asleep Sebastian back to his room. You sat him on the edge of the bed while you filled up a water bottle. You came back and found him spread eagle on the bed. At least he took his shoes off. 

Goodnight Seb. 

You were halfway out the room when you heard it. 

I love you.

You froze. Looking back, you saw Seb snoring peacefully, hugging a pillow to his chest. No, he’s drunk and sleeping. It wasn’t for you. It could’ve been for his bed for all you cared for. It didn’t matter, despite your heart wishing it was for you.

2018 was another successful year for Ferrari. Sebastian came home with five wins that year, placing second in the drivers standings and Kimi in third. All in all, you were quite proud of the team’s efforts that year and you knew you could unlock more of that potential. 

However, you could feel something bothering Sebastian. An itch that had been present all season. You had asked a few times, but Seb always insisted it was nothing. You knew Sebastian well enough by this point. You could read him, to an extent. But if he truly wanted to hide something, you would be helpless at getting it out. 

Sebastian invited you to stay at his farm in Switzerland for a week during the winter break. You happily obliged, having not seen him since wrapping up in Abu dhabi. You could use the tranquillity of farm life for a bit. 

Your days there were spent helping Sebastian with the animals. He taught you horse riding and you taught him baking. You let yourself get lost in that life, if just for a mere moment. Perhaps in some alternate universe, this was your home with him, that you weren’t only playing house for a week. 

You and Sebastian were laying on the carpet in front of the fireplace, sharing a bowl of attempted smores. It was your last night there before you had to jet off back to Maranello to begin pre season work. 

Seb got quiet, not exactly rare but it was different when something was on his mind. 

Would you ever leave? 

Leave where?

Ferrari.

No. Ferrari is home. 

Sebastian hummed, adding nothing more but deciding to bite into another smore. A bit of chocolate dripped onto his chin. You chuckled and wiped it off with your thumb.

Besides, you don’t need to worry about that new French kid. You’re still my favourite, world champion. 

Sebastian laughed, but you missed the melancholy in his eyes and the smile not quite reaching his eyes. 

Being a Tifosi came with many highs and lows - any balding Italian man can tell you that. It was felt even more within the team, especially for Sebastian this year. 

2019 saw the meteoric rise of Charles Leclerc, the predestined. He cemented his place as not only the future of Ferrari itself, but of the sport as well. 

Charles was full of energy and light. You grew fond of the kid and it was nice to have his company amidst the turmoil surrounding the team that year. 

You went into that year determined to get Sebastian his championship he so desperately craved. You were instead met by cheating rumours, bad calls, power shifting and well, an increasingly frustrated Sebastian. 

Sebastian who has been chasing that championship feeling for years. Sebastian who bleeds Ferrari red. Sebastian who is determined to bring the team back to the top. Sebastian, who is not quite yours, but you devoted your red heart to. 

Perhaps that’s how you ended up in this position. 

Sebastian pulled you into his driver’s room after a race. The habit has raised a few eyebrows from passing crew, but none have said a word. 

Nothing ever happened anyways. 

Seb would sit you on his couch and you’d listen. Listen as he rambled in a heinous mix of German, Italian and English. Listen as he let out his emotions after a race and all the lows he went through that weekend. 

You’d bring up some of these points to relevant crew members. It would be worked on and by the following race, it would be better. But it was never enough for Sebastian. 

You understood, he was supposed to bring Ferrari back, follow in the footsteps of his mentor and hero. It was an immense pressure and responsibility that has been carried for years. Now, the Italians have put their faith in his teammate, throwing him aside like an old toy. 

It was draining for you too, being subjected to this almost every weekend. It wasn’t your burden to bear, but this was Sebastian. He is still Rosso Corsa, and you weren’t one to deny a cry for help. 

Singapore rolled around, one of Sebastian’s favourites. He crossed the line in first place that night. You haven’t been so happy in months. 

Sebastian found you at your desk after media duties. You were still on the adrenaline high, but the tiredness began seeping back into your bones. You knew you weren’t sleeping well, the stress of the season getting to you and your eyes looked darker than ever. For Ferrari, the pain was always worth it. 

Come out tonight. 

Seb, I feel dead. 

And the race winner is personally inviting you. 

You could never resist him, which is how you have an extremely plastered Seb on your arm as you walk back to the hotel. Apparently being part of Team 5 also meant babysitting when he’s had one too many. 

I LOVE FERRARI! I NEVER WANT TO LEAVE! FORZA FERRARI! 

Sempre. 

May 2020. F1 was still on the break. The only place you went was your home in Maranello and occasionally the factory. You hadn’t seen Sebastian in months and to be honest, you haven’t heard from him as much as you wanted to. 

Then, the announcement. Sebastian Vettel to leave Ferrari by the end of the 2020 season. 

It came as a shock to you. Seb’s contract was up for renewal, you knew that. But he never said anything about leaving, at least, not to your face. And to find out from Instagram, rather than from the man himself, that was a whole other issue. 

You left several messages on Seb’s number over the next week, all remained unanswered. You knew he was a bit of a recluse sometimes, preferring quiet company over the glitz and glamour other drivers seemed to surround themselves with. Ignoring you however, that was unheard of. 

You asked some of Seb’s mechanics, but none have heard from him. You even asked Charles, but all he received was a polite thank you message. 

After a while, you gave up on contacting him. You knew better than to beg for a man’s attention, even Sebastian’s. It broke your heart to walk away, but you had to keep pushing and Ferrari needed to keep pushing. 

Red Bull Ring, Austria. The first race back was a much quieter environment than what you’ve been used to. Despite wanting to stay in Maranello, mainly to stay safe but also to avoid a certain German, your boss wanted you at the races. Who were you to deny the call of the Prancing Horse. 

You ignored him all weekend, refusing to make eye contact or be in his general presence at all. It was perhaps a bit petty, but you deserved to be after the last two months. 

Charles placed P2, a great result from the team for the first race back. You chatted to him at your desk after the race. Charles was a young man that had raw talent, immense passion and was wise beyond his years. You were lucky to call him a friend. 

Mid conversation, Charles glanced behind you. You knew exactly who was standing there, but he could wait his turn. 

You finished up with Charles, giving him a hug before he left. 

You stared at Seb standing awkwardly in the doorway. He shifted on his feet, for once not knowing what to say to you. 

Please say something. 

I have nothing to say to you. You’re the one who went radio silent for months. 

I’m sorry. 

You shook your head and looked away, not wanting him to see how much this affected you. 

I didn’t know how to tell you. 

Seb moved closer, stepping into your space. He reached out a shaky hand to yours. You gripped his, you couldn’t help it. A silent sob escaped your body. 

Come with me. 

You whipped around, searching his pleading eyes. 

Come with me. To Aston Martin. 

His other hand came up to the side of your head, cupping your cheeks and wiping away the tears on your cheek. 

Come with me. I need you. 

His hand brushed down the side of your neck, fingers finding the necklace he gifted all those years ago. 

Team 5. That’s our home. Please. 

Sebastian fiddled with the charm. He found the engraved 5 turned around, no longer facing outward like how you’ve always worn it. 

You took Sebastian’s hand and pressed a tender kiss to it. 

Ferrari is my home. I can’t come with you. 

You dropped his hand and looked anywhere else but him. You couldn’t bear to see the tears welling in his eyes. 

Please leave. 

Sebastian walked out, hesitating at the door. He took a last look at you and left. 

You let the cries come out. Every emotion you’ve kept the last few years came out in a tidal wave. 

You felt an arm wrapping around your shoulders, recognising Charles’ hand. He helped you to the floor and let you lean against him. 

I’m sorry. 

You requested to be transferred to Maranello for the rest of the season, citing health concerns. The team was sad to see you go, many of them enjoying your company on long race weekends. 

You only saw Sebastian in passing for the rest of the year, heard about him from mechanics, through strategy feedback and once from Charles. He knew not to press, but you didn’t miss the occasional flicker of sympathy from his eyes. 

Sebastian came by the factory after the season ended, a formal goodbye to Ferrari. There was food and drinks passed around and some quick speeches made. 

Sebastian was the last to come forward. 

It has been my dream to race for the Scuderia since I was a boy. Here I stand now, as a Ferrari driver for six incredible seasons. It still feels like cloud nine everytime I get to walk into this beautiful place and be greeted by the passion from every single one of you. I thank you all for the hard work you’ve put in all these years. 

Sebastian took a breath, as if hesitating on what to say next. You found yourself waiting, a small part of you hoping for him to say something, anything that would allow you to forgive him. 

I want to say a special thank you to those who have been by my side. You know who you are. I know I haven’t always made it easy, and I am sorry for that. But I am eternally grateful for you. 

Sebastian’s eyes found yours in the crowd. You found yourself fiddling with the necklace for comfort, forcing your eyes to hold back tears. 

Thank you all. Forza Ferrari sempre. 

The crowd erupted in cheers, applauding Seb as he made his way back into the crowd. 

Your ears were ringing, vision blurry and the swell of the crowd was suddenly too much. Your feet relief on instinct, turning you around and leading you towards the exit. 

A hand found your arm as you reached the lobby. Charles. The youngster took one look at you and said something about a car and to wait. Your body curled into a ball as you heaved. 

This was it. Sebastian was leaving. Leaving Ferrari and the home you built in it, with him. And neither of you could muster the courage for a proper goodbye. What an irony, Ferrari who creates heroes and legends but two of their best and brightest are cowards with each other. 

A sleek black Ferrari pulled up to the front. The rumble of the engine was enough to push yourself to stand and stumble your way to Charles who had opened the door for you. 

You turned, taking a look at the building. Ferrari is always going to be home, but the people in it give it meaning. Sebastian left, and your sun set, but it will rise again soon. 

You were at the door and hesitated for the briefest moment. That was enough for Sebastian to come running into the lobby. 

You stood in the moonlight with windswept hair and teary eyes. From the distance, Sebastian could just make out the glimmer of the necklace he gave you all those years ago and the most important thought - you were still the most beautiful woman he ever got the chance to know. 

He loved you. Loves you. It was real all along, not some drunken stupor that he convinced himself it was all those years ago, hiding because it would be easier than to let himself fall. 

He understood. You were always by his side, and he was too late to notice it, much less be grateful for it. You can't forgive him now, and he’s caused too much harm. It would be selfish of him to keep you tethered.  

 He needs to let you go. 

Sebastian nodded at you from his frozen place in the lobby. This is the end. You touched your hand to your heart, where your necklace fell. In another life. 

[winwintea]

Belladonna! bad ending ↬ everything is not as it seems

You were too late. 

Karina was dead.

You had failed her.

Your eyes were filled with tears as you sat on the cold, blood-smeared floor of the theater’s dimly lit office. Karina’s body lay in your arms, her lifeless eyes staring into nothing. You couldn't stop the sobs that wracked your chest, nor could you escape the crushing weight of failure. The bitter taste of guilt consumed you whole, suffocating you as flashes of memories spent with Karina played in your mind.

Renjun’s name echoed through your thoughts, as loud and relentless as a gunshot. Renjun, with his twisted quest for revenge, had been the cause of so much bloodshed. Every victim he had killed was another reminder of your inability to stop him. And now, Karina was gone. 

A creak suddenly interrupted the silence, your head snapped up as the office door swung open, revealing Renjun standing in the doorway. His face was unreadable, but his presence screamed: danger. 

“You,” you spat, your voice trembling with rage. You clutched Karina’s lifeless body, as if you were protecting her from him even now. “You did this. You killed her. You killed them all! I can’t believe I ever loved you.”

Renjun slowly stepped into the room. The flicker of the lights casted shadows over his face, making his expression even harder to decipher. He didn’t respond immediately, letting the accusation hang in the air.

Then he laughed. A low, hollow laugh that sent chills down your spine. “You think I killed her?” he asked, his voice unusually calm. “You really believe that?”

“You’re a monster,” you hissed, your fingers curling into fists. “You’ve been on this path of destruction for weeks. I couldn’t stop you before, but I will now.”

Renjun tilted his head, his eyes narrowing. “Oh, I’ve been watching you, love. Closely. And what I saw tonight?” He took another step closer, “You killed Karina. With your own hands.”

The words struck you like a physical blow. “That’s a lie,” you shook your head. “You’re trying to twist this, manipulate me like you do everyone else! Like you manipulated me into loving you.”

Renjun just stared at you, his gaze not changing. Suddenly, a creeping dread began to claw its way up your spine. A memory flashed—a flicker of Karina’s horrified face, a struggle, the spray of blood.

“No,” you whispered, shaking your head. Your breathing quickened as the fragments of the day pieced themselves together. Meeting Karina in the office. The overwhelming anger that had consumed you. And then... Karina’s voice, desperate and pleading, calling your name.

The truth crashed down on you, a wave of terror and repulsion. Your hands, trembling and stained red, had ended her life. Not Renjun’s. Yours.

Renjun his expression almost mocking, as he watched realization dawn on your face. “There it is,” he murmured. “You’re finally seeing it, aren’t you? The truth.”

You staggered backward, releasing Karina’s body as if the more you held it, the more it would burn you. “No,” you repeated again, but the denial sounded weak even to your own ears.

Renjun crouched down next you and cradled your face in his hands, his voice a low hiss. “You were so blinded by your obsession with me, so consumed by your need to be the hero, that you didn’t even realize who the real monster was. It was you all along.”

prev ↤ belladonna! ↦

AUTHOR'S NOTE ↬ 🙈🙈

SUMMARY ↬ you've been tasked with visting and inspecting the grand rose theatre, a theatre that's been plagued with mysteries over the years. all seems well, until a string of murders follows your visit. as you further investigate, you find yourself falling for huang renjun, the beautiful male lead, and your mystery murderer who leaves you love notes and clues about who they could potentially be. will you be smart enough to be a step ahead of the killer? or will you find yourself caught within their trap?

TAG LIST ↬ @aquaphoenixz @lyvhie @nerdsungie @nanaxwi @itsashley127 @syatchy @p-d1ddy @galacticnct @neocrashed @multifandomania @lotties-readings @odxrilove @clockwork--fandoms @hyuckies18 @kaciebello @marvelahsobx @injunnie-lemon @busy-daydreaming02 @ldh0000 @wony1e @polarisjisung @onlyhyunjin @roseangelxfuma @sunoopsis @mystverse @dudekiss3r @nctjunie @onlyforyoukook

[positivelyholland]

Can we get a Styles-Swift reader! imagine in honor of Liam Payne?

Steady Hands in the Storm

Pairing: Harry Styles x daughter!reader

Genre: slight angst into fluff

Warnings: kinda a heavy one but it has a happy ending

A/N YALL IM BACK Word Count: 7,243

The house was unusually quiet. The kind of silence that feels heavy, pressing down on every surface. You sat at the kitchen table, absentmindedly stirring a spoon through your cup of tea. It had gone cold a while ago, but you hadn’t noticed. Not really. All your focus was on your father, who was sitting across from you.

He was hunched over, elbows on the table, his head in his hands. His curls looked messier than usual, like he hadn’t bothered to tame them today. You’d noticed the little things over the past few days—the way he moved slower, the way his smile didn’t quite reach his eyes anymore. Even the way his voice sounded softer, like the energy had drained out of him.

You knew why, of course. The news had hit everyone hard. Liam Payne, your dad’s former bandmate, had passed away unexpectedly. And even though it had been years since One Direction had been a band, those boys were still family to him. Losing Liam felt like losing a part of himself.

“Dad,” you said softly, your voice barely breaking the stillness.

He didn’t look up, but you saw his shoulders tense slightly.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

“No,” he mumbled, his voice hoarse.

You sighed, setting your spoon down with a soft clink. You knew him well enough to understand that he wasn’t trying to shut you out. He just didn’t know how to put what he was feeling into words.

So, you decided to try a different approach.

“Do you remember that time Liam came over for Christmas when I was, like, six?” you said, leaning back in your chair. “He spent the whole day teaching me how to do a handstand in the living room. Mum was furious because we kept knocking over the decorations.”

That got a small huff of a laugh out of your dad, though he still didn’t lift his head.

“I thought she was going to banish him from the house forever,” you added with a grin.

“He kept apologizing every five minutes,” your dad muttered, finally looking up. His green eyes were red-rimmed, and you could tell he hadn’t slept much. “But then he’d just… try again. Said you were getting better every time.”

You smiled softly, nodding. “I did get better. All because of him.”

The room fell quiet again, but it didn’t feel as heavy this time. You could see your dad’s shoulders relax a little, his hands falling to rest on the table.

“He was so good with you,” Harry said after a moment. “Always patient. Always kind.”

You reached across the table, placing your hand over his. “He loved you, Dad. All of you. I think you meant as much to him as he did to you.”

Your dad swallowed hard, his jaw clenching as he tried to keep his emotions in check.

“It just… it doesn’t feel real,” he admitted, his voice cracking. “I keep thinking I’ll wake up and… and he’ll call or text, and it’ll all have been some kind of awful dream.”

You squeezed his hand gently. “I know. But he wouldn’t want you to carry this alone. You’ve always told me that grief is lighter when you share it.”

He gave you a faint smile, one that didn’t quite reach his eyes but was a start.

“Why are you so wise for a teenager?” he asked, his voice tinged with warmth.

You shrugged, trying to keep the mood light. “I get it from Mum. Obviously.”

That earned you a soft chuckle, and for a moment, it felt like the cloud hanging over the room lifted just a little.

Over the next few days, you made it your mission to help your dad through his grief, even if he didn’t realize it. It was little things at first—making sure he ate, suggesting you watch one of Liam’s favorite movies together, or putting on some music to fill the silence.

But as time went on, you noticed that your dad seemed to be retreating into himself more. He’d spend hours in his studio, not working on anything, just sitting there with his guitar in his lap. You’d find him staring out the window, lost in thought, or holding his phone like he was waiting for a call that would never come.

It broke your heart to see him like this, so you decided to take a more direct approach.

One evening, you found him in the living room, staring at an old photo album. You sat down next to him without a word, leaning against his shoulder as you looked at the pictures. Most of them were from his One Direction days—grainy selfies, group shots from concerts, and candids of the boys goofing around backstage.

“Did you ever think those days would end?” you asked softly.

He shook his head. “Not really. We were so young, so caught up in it all. It felt like it would last forever.”

“But you’re still close,” you pointed out. “You and Louis talk all the time. And Niall sends those ridiculous videos that make you laugh so hard you cry.”

He smiled faintly at that. “Yeah. And Zayn… well, we’ve reconnected a bit over the years. It’s not the same as it was, but there’s still love there.”

You nodded, flipping the page to a picture of Liam holding a microphone, his face lit up with a big, toothy grin. “He’d be proud of you, you know. For everything you’ve done. For the way you’ve been there for everyone else, even when it’s hard for you.”

Your dad’s eyes filled with tears, and he quickly wiped them away, his hand trembling slightly.

“I just… I feel like I should’ve done more,” he admitted. “Checked in more often, made more of an effort to keep in touch. Maybe if I had, things would’ve been different.”

You shook your head firmly. “No, Dad. You can’t think like that. You loved him, and he knew that. Sometimes, life just… happens. It’s not anyone’s fault.”

He looked at you then, his eyes searching yours for some kind of reassurance. “How’d you get so good at this?” he asked, his voice thick with emotion.

“Years of listening to your music,” you teased, earning a watery laugh from him.

A few weeks later, your dad had a concert scheduled—a big one, with thousands of fans waiting to see him. You weren’t sure if he was ready to perform, but he insisted that the show must go on.

That night, as you stood backstage, you could feel the nervous energy radiating off him. He kept pacing, running his hands through his hair and mumbling to himself.

“Dad,” you said, stepping in front of him to stop his pacing. “You’ve got this.”

He looked down at you, his green eyes wide and uncertain. “What if I break down in the middle of it? What if I can’t do it?”

“You will,” you said confidently. “Because you’re doing this for him. And because he’d want you to.”

He took a deep breath, nodding slowly. “You’re right. You’re absolutely right.”

As the lights dimmed and the crowd erupted into cheers, your dad turned to you one last time. “Stay close, yeah?”

“Always,” you promised.

The concert started off strong, with your dad pouring his heart into every song. The crowd loved him, cheering and singing along to every word. But it wasn’t until halfway through the set that he finally addressed the elephant in the room.

“This next one…” he began, his voice shaking slightly. “This next one is for someone very special to me. Someone who’s no longer with us, but who will always be a part of my heart.”

The stadium fell silent, the weight of his words sinking in.

“I miss you, mate,” he said softly, his voice cracking. “This one’s for you.”

He started to play, his voice raw with emotion as he sang a song he’d written just for Liam. The lyrics were beautiful, filled with love and pain and memories of the friendship they’d shared. By the time he finished, there wasn’t a dry eye in the house—including yours.

When he walked off stage, you were there waiting for him, your arms open wide. He pulled you into a tight hug, holding on like you were his lifeline.

“Thank you,” he whispered, his voice thick with gratitude. “For everything.”

You smiled against his shoulder, tears streaming down your face. “Always, Dad. Always.”

In that moment, you knew that while the pain of losing Liam would never fully go away, your dad would be okay. Because he wasn’t alone. He had you, and he had the love and memories of a bond that could never be broken.

And that was enough.

The End.

[life-love-geekculture]

Okay, let’s talk Lucanis’s mind prison (Warning: Spoilers):

I honestly haven’t seen much discourse yet on how the “prison guards” reflect aspects of our favorite assassin’s personality. So, I figured I throw my two cents into the ring.

Let’s start with Caterina. Honestly, the most surface level of our four candidates, especially with Spite spelling it out for us. Caterina is Lucanis’ fear. Specifically, his fear of failing. Failing and disappointing Caterina. Failing the expectations set for him and by him. Failing Rook. Not killing Ghiln’nain at Weisshaupt was the cherry on top of an absolute shit sunday of what Lucanis would see as a year’s worth of failure. He’s been captured, tortured, and turned into an abomination by the very people he’s supposed to put the fear of the Maker into. It all just confirms those secret fears of not being good enough he’s been carrying for most of his life. And now he’s being confronted with a similar situation but with stakes on a personal level. Either decision he makes, he (at this point) loses.

Next up, Harding. Harding is his fear of Spite. Of what he could become, and who he could hurt, if he ever loses a modicum of control over the demon. It’s no accident Harding’s is the face he summons to project this. She might be the most sympathetic to his plight and still be willing to kill him if he ever loses control. Harding tells him in the real world that she would know it wouldn’t be his fault, but she wouldn’t let him hurt their friends. And Lucanis encourages her with this! Harding also seems to be the only other person besides Rook to ask if he would like a different room and to show concern with his isolating patterns. The fact she cares in spite of her fear (which he shares) makes her a perfect representative. Because he might literally kill himself then risk hurting her.

Neve. Ah Neve, a potential love interest or Lucanis’s best friend if you romance him as Rook. By this point in the quest, Rook has bulldozed their way past Lucanis’s fears and insecurities. Now it’s time to lash out. If you listen to his & Neve’s banter with each other and in general, they are the driest pair of a-holes you will ever meet. It’s great! So, naturally, when it comes to throwing that cynicism and sarcasm up like a freaking shield, Neve is who he thinks about. I also love the insight this section gives into how Lucanis groups people in his head (family, enemy, and contract). That’s not Spite. Spite, we’ve seen, tends to build the framework of his interactions from his host. That is all Lucanis, baby! We also get a little more insight into how Lucanis views Neve herself. I like to think Spite’s description is kind of the gut instinct, first impression our boy had meeting Neve in the Ossuary or later at the Lighthouse. On paper, she’s a Tevinter mage like the ones who held him for a year. His head knows she’s not the same, but I’ll bet she set off all his defensive instincts and now there’s guilt associated with that. Because he likes Neve. He gets along with Neve. He really needs to teach Neve how to appreciate coffee. But he can’t shake how he felt first meeting her and, like everything else, he carries it with him.

Fucking Illario. It tracks that Lucanis at his most self-hating would dredge up this dumbass. This is the crux of his current dilemma. He loves his cousin. They’re the last person the other & Caterina has. But if he’s going to do this the Crow way, Illario has to die & Caterina will likely fall in the crossfire. Or, worse, she will never forgive him. It is the surest confirmation he is the monster everyone thinks he is. After all, only an abomination would kill all the family he has left. And because it’s Lucanis and it’s Rook, who just keeps sidestepping every excuse he can come up with, his last card is to show the monster behind the man. To show Rook the demon of Vyrantium.

In case you couldn’t tell, I love this mission!

[redheadspark]

hey dear!

May I have Benedict Bridgerton with #16? 🌸💓

A/N - This is cute for Benedict! Thanks for request!!

Real

Summary - Benedict helps you get over your ex in the best way possible

Warnings - A small hint of angst but mostly fluff!

“Alright, I need your help!”

The Bridgerton siblings that sat in front of you with their various newspapers and books looked up from their current read, seeing how panicked you looked as you gazed at each at them.  Eloise sat up abruptly, slamming her book shut.  Anthony folded his newspaper as his wife Kate placed her tea down on the coffee table in front of her.  Lastly, Benedict  closed his book on modern art as he was then who spoke up.

“You look like you’ve seen a ghost,” he commented, his voice a pinch concerned as you nodded rapidly

“He is a ghost to me, but he’s here now!” He huffed.  Anthony raising a brow at you as Eloise shot up from the couch, tossing her book on the coffee table and then walk over to where you were.

“Who is?” She asked, then looking behind you through the massive window of the coffee shop where you all were.  Sure enough, her eyes shot wide and she looked mortified, “That slimy bastard!”

“Eloise! Language!” Anthony scolded, but Eloise looked back at her older brother and pointed out the window with a glare in her eyes.

“It’s her ex!” 

Everyone on the couch was now on their feet, circling around the coffee table and looking out the window, which made it way more obvious that they were watching.  Your cheeks were reddening in embarrassment, knowing full well that the Bridgerton clan had no real fear in being obvious in certain circumstances.  

Across the street from the coffee shop was your ex, someone who broke your heart in the worst way possible.  Two years together and he ended up being one of the worst relationships you’ve ever had.  You did fall for then first though, you being the hopeless romantic and thinking that it would be an endgame kind of relationship.  But when he broke it off with you and stomped on your heart, you were loosing hope with the whelk concept of love.

The Bridgerton clan was a family that you grew up with, being neighbors on the same street and going to mutual charities and galas.  Your parents and Violet Brigerton were life long friends, which in return made you friends with the cluster of Bridgerton children. Being an only child, you wanted to have brothers and sisters of your own.  Yet that group of siblings that were a perfect mixture of chaos and kindness were great substitutes for you, they even dubbed you a “Long Lost Bridgerton” at times.

The one sibling that you were close to was Benedict, not to mention harboring feelings for him for some time.  He was always joyful and filled with optimism.  You loved his artistic side and how he would paint with his soul on the canvas, how he would tease his siblings but love them fiercely, something about his nature and his cool eyes made you stumble a few times when you two were teenagers.  But of course, in your mind, he was out of each.  You never wanted to go past the line of friendship, thinking it would backfire and he would think less of you. He would never, his heart was far too good to do that, but the fear was still there.

So you pursued others, thinking it was the best thing to do to both ignore the feelings you had for Benedict and to find someone else to love you.  Not realizing the feelings he had for you, the lingering looks he would give when he saw you get picked up for a date at your home from his bedroom window, the tender heart ache when you talked to Eloise in her room about a new boy that stole her heart.

When your recent ex broke your heart, Benedict was livid.  He only found out when you were on the phone with Eloise, blubbering on the other end and explaining all that your ex said to make you cry. Eloise too was made, but Benedict was beyond pissed.  He wanted to find your ex, affectionately named Travis, and punch his lights out.  He heard about Travis from other friends and how much of a womanizer he became towards the end of your relationship with him, and sure enough it the truth: Travis cheated on you with his old flame and then shot down your heart in rapid fire.

“What’s he doing around here?” Kate asked as she looked over her husband shoulder.  Benedict glared at Travis whom was chatting on the phone on the other side of the street, hating him instantly all over again.  It’s been a few months since the break up, and although you picked yourself up and dusted yourself off, it was still tender.  You avoided his usual hangouts, and thankfully you had your own set of friends whom also hated Travis and had no allegiance with him.  Including the Bridgerton clan.  

Especially Benedict.  

“I wish we can wipe that smug off his face,” Eloise grumbled.

“But how?” Anthony asked, clearing thinking the same wave length as his sisters.  You huffed.

“I just want to void him without seeming like an idiot!” You explained, the four of them looked over at you.

“You should be confident enough to face him and not cower!” Kate explained to you as you rolled your eyes.

“I’m not gonna cower!” You argued, which lead to yourself, Kate, Anthony and Eloise starting ti bicker back and forth in front of the window.  Benedict looked from you all to the window again, seeing Travis walking across the street at the cross was and then heading to the coffee shop where you all were.  He panicked, not wanting the scumbag to see the four of you argue about him.  He would have a field day, and you would crumble within a second.

He thought of the one and only thing that would but shut Travis up and make his own heart soar.

As the coffee shop doo opened with a clang of a ball, Travis walking in and hanging up the phone to look In your direction, Benedict moved though his siblings to stand in front of you.  Before you could ask him what was wrong and why he was staring at you in an intrigued way, he did the one thing that made your heart stop.

Benedict Bridgerton cupped your face and kissed you soundly.

You were lost in your mind from his lips on yours, from his calloused hands along your jawline, and how his body was right in front of yours.  The smell of coffee and canvas, the warmth of his skin, and the smoothness of his lips, you were instantly hooked line and sinker.  Your eyes closed as he leaned against you and into you, almost blocking your from the rest of the world. Everything else ceased to exist, all you could think about was Benedict. 

And how in love you were with him in that moment.

Finally, after a long moment or two, you both opened your eyes and stared at one another.  Blush on your cheeks as his hands were still on your face.  Yet he looked a bit worried with what he did, maybe over stepping and making things worse. However, it was not on your face, which was still dazed and yet enraptured.

The door opened and closed again, Travis beelining out of the coffee shop after seeing what he saw.

“Holy shit,” Eloise gasped at the sight of her friend and brother kissing.  Anthony immediately took her by the arm, flustered himself at the right he saw, as the three of them left you two alone.  He muttered under his breath, “I swear that mouth of yours is gonna get you in trouble one of these days, Eloise!”

Benedict slowly placed his hands down from your jaw, thinking that he was about to backtrack.  But you reached up and clutched his wrist, not wishing to loose that contact of his fingers along your chin and face.

“This is not a prank, right?” you asked sheepishly, Benedict searching your eyes and seeing how you were asking honestly and he shook his head rapidly while you continued, “Because then I would have to punch you and I really want to kiss you,”

“I’ve wanted to kiss you for years,” He admitted, you grinning from ear to ear as he barely touched his nose against yours, “Travis never deserved you—“

“I honestly don’t want to talk about him right now,” you sheepishly said to him, seeing him chuckled as he nodded in agreement.

“I think we can head out of here before we scar everyone else.  My place?” He questioned in a raised brow.  You nodded, and he took you by the hand out of the coffee shop with your books in two and your hearts beating out of your chest.  

Years later at your wedding, you both would laugh at the memory of your first kiss.

The End

November Prompt Session

[respectthepetty]

The Loyal Pin - Episode 11

Disclaimer: I'm in a mood! I know after this episode, we only have five episodes left, so I'm upset that we still haven't gotten to the angst, yet I'm pleased to know it won't last long because Anin's servants got her back, and her color-coded brothers are covering up all her mistakes, intentionally and unknowingly.

But Pat and her color are on my shit list!

Why is sis so pressed that her daughter is a lesbian like her?! Pin just doesn't share a lighter color of Pat, but she also shares her love of women. What's so wrong with that?!

Unlike Aon, who can't sort out her color, Pin has been consistent in her color and her love for Anin.

Blue Beauty Anin can't help that everyone wants her, but who can do better than princess? Why isn't Pat proud of Pin?

In a room full of color shenanigans, the girls are consistent, and Anin's older brother, in his loyal blue, has to play the long con just so Pat chills the eff out!

Aon of all people now supports the queer agenda, but Pat, who is basically acting like a queer Republican, is having the wildest reactions to two girls being in love.

I'm going to pray for her because she is doing too much. I need her to take a seat and remember that she would still be with her lady if she didn't die. Death tore them apart! Not society or a nosy meddlesome mother.

Like damn! Quit being a hypocrite.

Let the girls decorate the palace with gold streamers that have little pink and blue dangles on them in peace, Patty!

Then this little twerp shows up in my girl Ueangfah's color, but he ain't in love. He ain't loyal. He ain't real.

And even though he insulted and assaulted Pin, she doesn't want to press charges, so I wished Anin would have punched him since I fully believe as a princess she could have gotten away with it.

But instead we get Pat, who is become redder by the second, demanding Pin, who is wearing a purple skirt and clearly mixing her pink color with her Blue Beauty, accompany her to a "friend's" house. (don't let it be a woman friend, you hypocrite!)

This episode is nothing but trials and tribulations because now my girl has to listen to this man's bullshit knowing full well that he is lying yet she'll have to marry him anyway.

Ueangfajh, convert to Catholicism and become a nun, so you can live your life in peace at a convent. You can make pretty fabrics and hang out with women all day. Catholic convents. That's where the lesbians are. That's where you deserve to be.

Or run away with Aon since she is wearing your color now. I don't like her, but she is showing growth, so I'm willing to give her a chance.

But apparently these two are the only lesbians who are going to be allowed to get a happy color-coded ending, and I'm a little sad that in sixteen episodes, we can't manage to get another gay side couple.

I know babygirl, you deserved to kiss a girl too, but don't worry because this is the third time Idol Factory has denied me a proper secondary lesbian couple in a GL, and I'm salty enough for both of us.

Especially because Pink Person Pin is acting just like her mama, and instead of feeling pity for Ueangfah having to marry a shitty man, she gets upset that Anin didn't beat her while she was down and tell her nobody loves her.

And right on time, Pat enters again getting riled up by the pins in the girls hair. Pin may not be her biological child, but these two are exactly the same. They refuse to support the other lesbians, and they get upset over the most ridiculous mess! Put your eyes back in your head, Patricia!

Honestly, I think the dancer did not get sick but instead saw the color-coded lesbian drama play out the day before and said, "this is above my pay grade."

PICK A COLOR, LIAR!

Pin, quit acting like your mother! Anin only has eyes for you! She gave you a ring. She built a house so y'all could exchange colors in it. Support the other lesbians and quit thinking everyone is competition!

Sure, yeah, give Anin a ring to show your possession, so Kuea can also sniff that out and snitch on y'all because Anin's brother doesn't haven enough on his plate trying to cover up all y'alls other hijinks and tomfoolery.

Nevermind! Petty Patty already figured it out and is giving the stink eye instead of REMEMBERING SHE LOVED A WOMAN TOO!

And next week, she's only going to get worse.

But how bad could she really be with only five episodes left to go?

This bitch.

[poorly-drawn-mdzs]

Council of lovefools.

[First] Prev <–-> Next

[birchbow]

How long were Travye and Kurloz together before they broke up?

Mmm, I am not a numbers person, especially because I will not remember what I said later, lol. So I don't have a number for you! But it was definitely like...a pretty significant amount of time. Something in the order of sweeps/years, not months.

...Definitely quite a bit longer than Kurloz and Gamzee were together before they let the news get out, which did not help Halore's immediate distrust and resentment of Gamzee just like, right off the jump.