#this direct blindsided me so many times

[lauraneedstochill]

Confess the longing you are dreaming of

summary: Aemond thinks the woman he has to marry is the most impudent and unsufferable he’s ever met. He’s also never wanted anyone so badly. pairing: Aemond Targaryen x Martell!reader (third person, no mention of Y/N) warnings: bantering and teasing, mentions of unpleasant sexual experience, praise kink (guess who’s got it), a dollop of softness, mild smut (... for starters ;) author’s note: couldn’t get the idea out of my head and spent a few sleepless nights writing this. I imagine her brothers as Pedro Pascal and Oscar Isaac ✨ words: ~8000 song inspo: Hozier — Better love

>>> Aemond isn’t present when the idea is voiced the first time — he has a hunch that his grandsire is to blame for that. No doubt, Otto was the one to plan it out, come up with arguments served with his persuasive tone. He’s always loved to make arrangements and strike deals, each one of them to play into his hands, and Aemond hates the thought of being just another pawn of his.

He is blindsided at the breakfast but it’s made sound carelessly mundane — as Otto puts down his cup, he throws him the proposal, the way one would leniently throw alms to the poor. And Aemond thinks he must’ve heard him wrong.

“Marry me to... Who?” the prince asks, hardly covering his surprise.

His grandsire directs his gaze at him, the old man’s mouth twitching into a condescending smile. Since Otto isn’t keen on idle talk, he tells him plainly:

“You’ve long been of age, Aemond, you know that,” his knife scratches the plate as he cuts the meat, his eyes not moving from the prince. “House Martell holds power, and we’ll be fortunate to have such allies. Besides,” he pauses to take a bite, and Aemond gets annoyed at waiting; Otto chews, then adds, “I’ve only heard good things about your bride-to-be. Wouldn’t you confirm, Ser Criston?”

The mention of the knight is unexpected to them both — Aemond turns his head to meet Ser Criston’s puzzled look. But the brunet effortlessly copes with his emotions:

“We met when she was just a kid. But I knew she’d grow into a fine lady,” he easily agrees. Mayhaps, too easily for Aemond’s liking so he makes a note to talk about it later on.

His grandsire only lets out a pleased hum. “Well, I’m under the impression she will make a good match for our prince,” and Aemond feels that Otto carefully picks each word, “She’s said to be both beautiful and smart, and known for being quite independent,” he’s usually so stingy with his praise, it’s worth its weight in gold.

But that is not what Aemond hears. The choice was made for him, and his rejection of it makes him paint a portrait less alluring — a pompous wayward woman raised in the traditions that are starkly different from his; and yet, it is expected of him to accept it freely. His wounded ego simmers at the thought.

“I’d add another word to that,” Aegon chimes in, half-drunk already, “Everyone knows the Martells to also be promisc—”

“Look who’s talking,” Otto glares at him, and Aegon shuts his mouth.

The word is left unsaid, only the meaning of it isn’t hard to guess, and Aemond feels embarrassment creeping up his cheeks and weighting down his chest. He deems himself an educated man, well-read and eager to put his knowledge to the test, but he has yet to learn of carnal pleasures. A memory is clawing out: him, ten-and-three and plied with wine, laid on a bed that smelled of sweat, a naked woman next to him. Despite her tireless attempts, he wanted none of it, and the repulsion made him sick — and then it made him hate the act itself.

He did go to the brothel through the years, tried watching, touching, looked at bodies of all sorts, only it felt like putting paint over a rotten wall. He felt constrained, and lacking in some way (perhaps, in many), and more so awfully incomplete. Not once he sensed a spark, a pleasure he would crave, and no amount of effort could help him fill the emptiness inside.

He quells the feeling, pushes in indifference instead, and glances briefly at his mother. She meets his eye but only grants him a faint smile, her own gaze lacking any protest.

“Her brothers wrote that they would visit in a fortnight,” Alicent peacefully explains. “It is our duty to ensure a royal welcome.”

“Brothers?” Helaena blithely chirps. “How many does she have?”

“Four but only two of them are coming,” Otto tells her softly, then looks at Aemond, adding in a voice more wily. “I am convinced they really want to see whom their dear sister is about to marry.”

He doesn’t spell it out but the implication can’t be clearer — Aemond must play the part and make a good impression. As if impressing just one stranger wasn’t tedious enough.

As if he isn’t vexed already by how unsuitable he finds her.

>>> Frustration grows in Aemond with each day, takes roots, and clogs up all his thoughts. Some other man would’ve been glad — he often heard that the Martells are quite the lovers. He can’t admit it to himself how much he’s bothered by his own misfortunes on the love field.

He bottles his emotions up and doesn’t utter any word of discontent, nor does he ever speak of the awaited visit. Although he makes just one exception.

“My grandsire mentioned that you knew her,” he reminds Ser Criston one day after training.

The knight nods. “I crossed paths with Quentyn, he’s the oldest. She used to come to watch us train.”

“What was she like?” Aemond carefully wonders.

Ser Criston ponders for a minute, polishing his sword. “She was a quiet little girl, kept to herself. A lot of boys were always chasing after her, and she paid them all no mind,” he smiles at the memory. “But I remember one of them who was... particularly pesky. His charms didn’t work on her so he got offended, rude, followed her around. She tolerated him for over a month. One morning, he was hassling her in the training yard, and she just took a spear laying nearby — and smacked him with no warning,” he shakes his head but it’s apparent that he isn’t judging. “She didn’t use the pointy end but she got him good. And then she told him that next time he would think twice about his actions. She was impressive for a ten-year-old,” he muses and puts the sword away, then turns to Aemond, giving him a wistful stare. “Frankly, I think that you will like her.”

He does, for just a second, as his mind rushes to paint the image of a fearless little girl; and then he mercilessly wipes that image off. Maybe in other circumstances, he could’ve found amusement in that story, but Aemond only huffs and thinks back to the list of all her traits he prematurely made up. He adds “rebellious” to that list, and his self-doubt is a venom that clouds his judgment. He’s in no rush to find a cure.

>>> Their ship arrives a few hours earlier than planned — and after the dock watchers break the news, the bustle begins. Maids, servants, guards all run and faff about the castle, the dining hall gets filled with smells and noises, plates and dishes clanking.

Aemond is not excited in the slightest.

He dresses up reluctantly, each piece of clothes only dampening his mood that’s been already sour for the past two weeks. He all but drags his feet into the dining hall and by the time he reaches it, he looks so grim that one may think the prince’s preparing for his death, no less.

The minutes fly too quickly for his liking — they barely have time to sit, his mother nervously toying with the tablecloth already, and then the guards rush to announce the guests. Surprisingly, she’s not among them. The prince thinks he should be relieved; deep down, there is a splash of worry fizzling in him.

Her brothers walk in calmly in a cloud of servants bearing gifts. Their kinship is immediately clear — both tall, broad-shouldered, and dark-haired, self-confidence subsisting in their every step. The oldest is distinguished by a touch of gray in his short beard, his gaze more focused, a slight smile plastered on his face. The other one shamelessly stares at every maid his eyes can catch.

“Your grace, it is a pleasure to finally meet you,” Quentyn reaches their table first, and Alicent walks down to greet them. He keeps his distance and his smile, his tone is measured. “We were so sad to learn that the King has fallen sick. But I can tell the Kingdom is in great hands. And —”

“Women’s hands do have a healing touch,” Oberyn smoothly interrupts, his accent a bit thicker, his voice honeyed. “I will prefer a Queen over a King at any given day. Unless, of course, your husband can compete with you in beauty... I somehow doubt that.”

A shade of disapproval grazes Quentyn’s face but Alicent is too amazed to notice. The compliment may come off as blunt but she still takes it well, her smile embarrassed yet sincere.

“I hope you will enjoy your stay,” she tells them humbly, then looks over the crowd. “But may I ask where is the lady we’ve been waiting for?”

“She made a stop on our way to catch up with an old friend,” Quentyn answers, ready to explain, “It’s been years since we’ve met Ser —”

“Still can’t believe he is the Lord Commander of the Kingsguard,” Oberyn chuckles. “I think it’s all the armor that makes it look like he poses a threat. But you may reconsider if you see him in the nude.”

This time, the older brother glares at him with warning, and there’s a lull in their conversation, while Aemond’s struggling to hear what made his mother’s cheeks so red, his mind nervously preoccupied with someone else —

her laughter enters first.

It’s bright and joyful, a sound so lovely it might be enough to crack up his restraint. But then he spots her, and it feels like his whole body flares up at the sight.

She’s walking with her hand under Ser Criston’s arm, and Aemond’s never seen a dress that covers so much but hides so little. It’s muted orange, floor-length, made of sumptuous silk, with two long slits along the sides, curves of her thighs beguilingly seen through. Her neck and arms aren’t covered, and the material is intricately stitched around her waist to show a few more glimpses of her sun-kissed skin. The waves of her long hair fall on her shoulders and frame her face, each feature of it striking but her lips stand out the most — full, plump, and reddish. Not once before Aemond found the thought of being kissed so tempting.

She doesn’t even turn her head to look at him. She’s talking to Ser Criston quietly, and he’s engaged in conversation, unusually relaxed. Their difference in age is obvious, and the knight seems like just another relative of hers, but an uneasy feeling still leaves a bite on Aemond’s chest. He can’t imagine her so carefree — so beaming and compliant — by his side. His jealousy tastes bitter like a stale wine.

He hears his brother let out a short laugh. “It’s not like they were fucking,” Aegon carelessly notes. “Please ease your outrage before she runs away.”

“I don’t remember asking for advice,” Aemond snarls.

“You do look like you need it,” the blond comments, then goes back to drinking.

She gracefully approaches them, her voice melodic like a murmur of a river. “Forgive me, your grace, for being late, I haven’t seen Ser Criston in some time,” she tells his mother. “He was once a dear friend of mine.”

“I only helped to shush away a few of your admirers,” the knight cackles, earning a smile from her.

“I hope you are making use of all his talents,” she says to the Queen, making her face flush right away.

She delicately moves on to another topic. “It is a pleasure to have you here, you must be tired from taking such a long trip.”

“We found it quite enjoyable,” Quentyn remarks politely. “The beautiful sights along the way are worth the journey, and your city has some great views too.”

“Can’t say I’ve heard great things about your food,” Oberyn grins. “Hence why we took the liberty to bring some of our own,” he signals to the nearest servant, who runs to open one of the trunks they carried. “The dornish fruits are also my sister’s weak spot.”

“As if you don’t gorge yourself on them!” she jests, letting go of Ser Criston’s arm at last. “My brother is a glutton, your grace, please excuse his manners in advance.”

“You can call me Alicent,” his mother corrects her warmly. “Only seems fair to continue this discussion at the table,” she slightly moves away to let the girl go first.

Aemond unintentionally stiffens and only when he stands up from his chair to greet her, she finally does look at him. In contrast to her countenance, her gaze is dark and piercing, and the prince is staggered by how unreadable it is. Her brothers glance at Aemond briefly — Quentyn is pensive, while Oberyn looks like he wants to bite his head off; neither says a word.

She’s seated to his right, and she leaves behind a trail of scent — apples and plums, and he can’t help but catch the movement of her hips under the flowing dress. The words all mash and fall apart, and he can’t pick a single one to strike up a conversation.

Aegon is sitting next to her, and his patience only lasts a minute. “Never knew Ser Criston was such a ladies' man.”

“I’m sure he succeeded on that front but we are merely good friends,” she answers calmly, keeping her eyes on servants bringing fruits — blood oranges and pomegranates, robust grapes, and ripened cherries.

“You two seemed more than friendly,” Aegon presses, his tone evidently taunting.

She picks a golden apricot and runs her thumb over its fragrant surface. “Maybe it’s the wine that makes you see things,” she rebuts and takes a bite out of the fruit, a drop of juice risking to escape her mouth but she wipes it swiftly with her finger. She catches Aemond looking, and his cheeks heat up.

“We’ve never seen him in the company of a woman,” the older prince points out, filling up his cup once more.

She takes out the kernel and eats up the fruit, her mouth glistens. “Aren’t the knights of the Kingsguard forbidden to marry?”

“Never stopped them from bedding whoever they like,” Aegon remarks crudely, and Aemond is thankful that their mother is too preoccupied with Oberyn’s tireless chatting.

“Maybe some men have the decency to follow orders,” she responds, unbothered, taking a cherry and clasping it with her lips. Aegon doesn’t seem to notice and only gulps the wine and rolls his eyes. Aemond can’t look away.

“Aren’t you Martells known for not following the rules? I thought unruly was in your house’s motto,” Aegon argues, a corner of his mouth curled in a smirk.

She takes another cherry, the third in a row, her lips already stained with juice. “I think you keep getting your facts wrong,” she brushes him off, and Aegon goes to object some more but spills the wine right on his shirt. The displeased cry brings Aemond out of his trance.

“He tends to do that when he’s drunk,” the one-eyed prince coolly interjects.

Her eyes flicker to him, then she fully turns her head. “So you can actually talk,” her teasing comes off soft but her gaze still burns. “It’s good to know.”

“You seemed preoccupied with someone else,” he musters an excuse.

“Do you expect your wife to never speak to other men?” her voice almost betrays her disenchantment.

“No,” Aemond quickly answers, caught unawares by how strained his thinking process is. “She— you are free to choose your friends, of course.”

“I’m flattered,” her tone suggesting otherwise, “Not that I would ask for anyone’s approval,” she reaches for a plum; he closes his eye with a sigh.

Aegon comes to stand in between them on the pretext of needing another carafe of wine: “I didn’t mean to interrupt your friendly bickering, please continue.”

“It seems like Aemond isn’t in the mood for talking,” she doesn’t look at him, the tip of her tongue darting to lick her finger. “And I am never in the mood for begging.”

“My brother’s hospitality leaves much to be desired,” Aegon takes a sip. “So I regret the disappointment you are soon to suffer,” his hand falls on her chair. “But if you ever wish to be... well satisfied, all you have to do is ask me”.

It’s hard to tell if Aegon’s actually that drunk or merely provoking (or if he’s got a death wish, Aemond wonders).

She replies without much thought. “Well, if I ever find myself in need of...,” she trails off with a smile but her gaze gets harsh — her words then follow, “My choice won’t fall on you,” the smirk falls off Aegon’s face, and she glances straight at Aemond, adding, “I like them taller.”

But her straightforwardness is met with his resistance, with the deep-rooted unacceptance of his lurking needs. He adds “indecent” to the list, and they speak no more.

>>> Her boldness doesn’t pose a problem to anyone but him. To his surprise (or more so to his shock), his mother gives in first.

The morning can’t come fast enough for Aemond after he spends the night tossing and turning. A few hours later he rushes to the garden for a walk, overwhelmed by restlessness his training didn’t help him cope with. That’s when he sees it — a spot of yellow shining through the trees. He somehow knows it’s her without further confirmation but still, his feet carry him on.

Her dress is vivid like a field of marigolds, her hair plaited, wrists adorned with golden bracelets. He slackens pace and peers into her — and he wants nothing more than to drink her up, her whole appearance is the sweetest nectar... Until he hears another sound and realizes she is not alone, and it’s his mother sitting by her side, wrapped in her favorite green and, unexpectedly, in glee. He can’t remember when he saw her laugh like this — out loud, giggling, tears at the corners of her eyes are not from sadness but from joy.

“My dear, that is so improper! Did he apologize at least?” Alicent inquires with a smile.

“Oberyn rarely does,” she tells her serenely. “His lover looked way more ashamed. I hope each of your rooms has locks, gods know I don’t want to walk in on him again.”

Unlike his mother who is covered by the shade of trees, she’s bathing in the sun, the soft light caressing her skin, and Aemond’s eye greedily follows every ray. In barely a minute he feels warm all over.

“I hope that Aemond’s chambers got locks too,” she adds all of a sudden, a bit louder, and his chest is splashed with cold.

His eye moves to her face, and she’s already looking at him, direct and daring. He knows he’s hidden by the trees but there’s no hiding from her gaze.

Aemond turns away and steps back in haste, his abashment mixed with grievance at her implication. He believes someone like her would never lust for him, and her jokes at his expense not only hurt but prompt his resentment to grow stronger. He adds “deceptive” to the portrait of her he is so adamantly set on painting.

>>> She wins Helaena’s heart with ease. His sister fondly compliments her brooch — a little poppy made out of gold — and she gifts it to Helaena the same day. The silver-haired princess grabs at chance to show her own collection, and they spend the day looking through the jewels spread over the floor, sitting right there and equally amused.

And that’s how Aemond finds them. He only planned to see his nephews but hearing her voice coming from Helaena’s chambers makes him slow his step.

“... And this one he gave me for my latest name day,” Helaena babbles cheerfully.

“Aemond clearly spoils you,” she laughs without a shade of envy. “As he should!”

“He is very kind at heart,” Helaena eagerly assures her. “You will be happy with him, I am certain of it.”

There is a pause that makes him feel uneasy, makes him sneak up closer to the room.

“I do believe he’s not an evil man,” she finally says, “Maybe he just wasn’t made for marriage.”

Surely she can’t see him through the door but he can swear that he feels her gaze, like a silent challenge, a hidden mocking. He barges in without a knock.

Helaena beams. “We were just talking about you!”

His sister’s dress is milky blue, modestly pretty, and loosely fitted. It’s also treacherously pale compared to the liquid gold the Martell girl is dressed in. She’s sitting with her feet under her thighs, the bending of her back is bare and in plain sight. He should’ve walked away the second he heard the sound of her voice because not looking at her seems impossible.

“Oh, you came to see the twins? They are with Aegon but I can call— No, I will bring them back myself,” Helaena springs to her feet, rosy-cheeked and smiley, and leaves the room before Aemond can protest. And then it’s just the two of them.

He takes a breath and makes an effort, with his jaw tense and his blood rising, to drag his eye away from her. It feels as pointless as ignoring sunlight in an open field on a summer day. Only her beauty is more brazen — and so is her wit.

“I take it, gold isn’t your favorite color,” she speaks up with an impish tone. “Would be a bad idea to wear it on our wedding then.”

She never comes too close, always just a little out of reach, and yet he feels as if her presence grips him, weakening his will. He doesn’t want to be with her until he is — and then he has no wish to leave.

It scares Aemond as much as it spikes his anger.

“Why did you agree to come?” he bristles.

“You are not asking about your sister’s chambers, are you?” she clarifies, and he hears her smiling.

He tells himself he only needs to cast a glance to check.

He does — he meets her gaze — her earrings catch the sunlight and cast a trail of glares — the scattering of specks play on her skin, her neck and collarbones, sneak to her upper chest — his own is heaving. His struggle only lasts a moment but it leaves him short of breath. He isn’t looking anymore, his eye trying to discern the pattern on the drapes behind her.

“Our marriage, how do you benefit from it?” he hates how hard it is to control his voice.

And how she watches him intently without giving him a clue of what’s on her mind.

“I plan on visiting my family a couple of times a year. It will be easier to do on dragon back,” she doesn’t sound spiteful when she says it but her words still sting.

He can’t stop an image flashing through his mind: her on top of Vhagar, lungs full of air, pressed to him. It’s tempting — to have her in his hands, and yet the vision is too intangible to cling to. Instead, he thinks that in just three days she learned to play him like a harp, his years' worth of self-control is merely a sand castle against the tide of her sharp tongue.

He only snickers dryly at her reply, then they both hear the sound of running footsteps. Jaehaera and Jaehaerys rush to greet him — but almost instantly abandon, the kids' attention drawn to the shining golden dress.

He thinks “unruly” suits her better than does “pompous”. He comes up with a fake excuse to leave; the image of her stays with him.

>>> He picks more adjectives as the week goes on — she’s audacious, disobedient, wanton. She moves around the castle as if she owns every room she’s in. She wears less, and even on rare occasions when she doesn’t, her defiance more than compensates for it. She never shies away from a deep neckline, nor does she feel the need to hold back her resounding laughs. Her jewelry clinks, each of her dresses is brighter than the other, but it’s her wicked mouth his eye always falls on first.

More times than not, Aemond can’t tear his gaze away, each meal for him now both a torture and a feast.

He watches as she parts her lips, puts them around a luscious grape, a cherry, or a peach, she swipes her tongue to lick up every running drop, savoring its tang — and keeps eye contact with him. He barely can taste the food he’s eating, and no wine can quench his thirst, his body flooding with a feeling he can’t define, his heart adrift.

He tries to fight it off with all our strength. He scratches off “unruly” to write down “unabashed” instead.

But then the dinner comes, and even though he’s never had a taste for sweets, he thinks he’d eat them from her lips (deep down, he wants to). The lies he tells himself are brittle like the flesh of fruits under her teeth.

>>> He comes to think “insufferable” fits her the best. That thought rings in his head while he is standing in the stable, his eye on anything but her. He was informed she wished to pick a horse, and he begrudgingly agreed to come, only to keep up the pretense.

What turns out to be much harder is for him to keep restraint. The dress she’s wearing might as well be a chemise — it’s just as light and white, and much to his discomfort, it also tirelessly risks hiking up to expose more of her legs.

Discomfort, mayhaps, isn’t the right word for it.

He stays out of her way but, unsurprisingly, he ends up looking — at how she walks, spring in her step, swinging her hips. She gives each horse a piece of apple and feeds them by hand, strokes their muzzles, and then she mounts and rides them, one by one. She grabs the reins, her foot easily finds the stirrup, and as she swings her leg over the saddle, her dress slips up, showing a few inches of her skin.

He swallows thickly, glances more intently — over her dainty ankles, bending of her knees, he notes how smooth her skin is, soaking up the sun. Her dress then billows slightly, and his eye glides higher, hungry, follows up the contour of her thighs that bounce a little as the horse gallops.

He feels it blooming — a sensation with no name that travels from the lower chest down to his very navel, then spreads and tightens all that’s underneath.

He is so deep in his enthrallment, he doesn’t hear the steps approaching until there’s someone standing next to him. Quentyn stays silent for a minute, throwing him a sideways glance.

“My sister’s always been terribly picky,” the man says out of the blue, “And usually it’s hard to meet all of her demands,” — it doesn’t seem like it’s the horses he is talking of. The vagueness of it makes Aemond focus as he takes his eye off her but Quentyn doesn’t elaborate, giving him a smile instead. “I do admit, your patience is commendable. Some other man would’ve already interfered just to wrap the process up.”

“I was under the impression she doesn’t need anyone’s help,” Aemond replies evasively.

“You guessed it right,” Quentyn titters, his tone veiled with the same unclear meaning when he adds, “The only thing left for us all is to accept it,” and with that, he goes to join his sister.

When Aemond — tamely, almost yielding — takes a peek at her, his gaze collides with Oberyn’s who clearly watched them talk. Unlike his older brother, he prefers to stay away, but the mischief in him pairs really well with danger. He grants Aemond a nod, switching attention back to her, his threats unspoken for the meantime.

For just a second, it gives Aemond pause as he finds it odd that no one brings up their wedding, and no announcements have been made ever since she came. He doesn’t mull over it for long because her laughter interrupts his thoughts (or maybe he just yearns for any chance to look at her). She rides around the yard, her hair floating in the wind, a little breathless but breathtaking, her lips enticing and her curves making his throat dry.

He tries to ground himself, to look for explanations, for some reprieve from the entrancing spell he’s under — he’s never been so close to losing reason —

out of the corner of his eye, he sees a couple of guards dropping their gaze in poor attempts to stop themselves from gawking; it reins his passion, bringing back his jealousy instead. He’s way too used to seeing himself unworthy to even entertain the thought of having her, and his denial prickles. He wants to burn his feelings out, and anger helps with that — it breaks out and engulfs him fast, hardening both his heart and gaze.

“Quentyn is the friendliest of the two, and you couldn’t hold a conversation?” Aegon appears out of nowhere, seemingly displeased despite the bottle in his hand. “Must you always be so gruff? I stayed behind in hopes you’d make it work!” he waves at Oberyn then glares at Aemond, waiting for a reply. “Are you pretending to be deaf or...?”

“Must she test my patience?” Aemond mutters, his tone not jealous but exasperated, his eye boring into her, “Putting herself out like that for all the men to see.”

Aegon being speechless is a rare sight. He cannot fathom it at first, looking from Aemond back to her, confusion sobering him up. And then he grins, realization creeping up on him; there are some things he’s always quick to notice.

“It’s funny that you say that,” he leans in to tell him and catches Aemond’s gaze, “Since it’s just you who’s staring,” Aegon pats him on the back and leaves to greet her brothers.

Aemond tries to choke it down — his irritation and his shame combined, but it’s too much for him to handle, his head and heart clearly in conflict. He doesn’t wait for her to make a choice, retiring without sparing her a glance (a fear nibs at him that if he looks at her once more, he will stay rooted to the ground).

He doesn’t leave his chambers for the remainder of the day, dining all alone and fuming all the same. He’s usually good at curbing his emotions but he is having trouble understanding them, wanting nothing more than to erase all memories of her. But even in his solitude, he catches himself thinking — about her cunning smile and swaying hips, her eyes on him, his hands wanting to roam and touch and —

Aemond shoves unwanted thoughts away and goes to bed earlier than usual. He remains steadfast in his resolve to find some peace, he makes a conscious effort to shift his focus to all the boring, random things his mind can come up with until he is too tired to care.

But then he falls asleep, and his subconscious welcomes her. He sees her right before his eye in that obscenely short white dress, there are no people in the yard, her tantalizing moves all meant for him. She hops off her black horse and walks to him without a single word — anticipation makes him drop his guard and hold his breath — and then he feels her lips on his, her body pressing into him, his hunger for her ruining his self-control, the kiss is searing, suffocating, driving him insane, his fingers pulling up her dress —

he wakes up painfully aroused.

He lays in bed, his heartbeat rushing, his breathing ragged, and vision blurred. While he’s still grasping for the remnants of his dream, he sneaks his hand into his breeches, wishing he could rip her dress off and sheath himself inside her, spread her on his bed, and drink every salacious sound she makes... It only takes him a few strokes to spill over his fingers; he can’t remember if he’s ever reached his peak so fast.

And only then, as he comes down from his high, it hits him, like lightning in the dark — in spite of her remarks, her audacity, her dresses, and every cruel adjective he’s found for her, he’s never wanted anyone so badly. Aemond sits up abruptly, his sleep gone, giving way to stubbornness that comes hand in hand with reticence. He persuades himself that he’ll suppress this — the spark, the pleasure that he craves, and he won’t be a slave to his desires.

He’ll rid himself of feelings, of this lust. Inevitably it will wane.

>>> It doesn’t.

Desire is a guest that never leaves, unwanted but demanding space, attention, time. It slips into his thoughts the moment he wakes up, it whispers in his ears, never giving up, it’s layered in between his clothes and his skin. He hides it well from everyone; it lodges deeper into him.

Desire is a cherry in her mouth, each fruit she bites in, savors, drinks the juice from. He doesn’t want to watch — he can’t take his eye off her, caught in his fervor like in undertow, the flavor of her lips the only one he truly yearns for.

Desire bruises more than does a hit, cuts deeper than a blade, and there’s no weapon he can fight it off with. His training brings him no relief, and he can’t sweat it out or wash it off him, and even while he soaking in a bath, it feels like longing only rises back with steam.

Desire waits for him at night, stands by his bed, slides right under the covers with him. He dreams of her, and in those dreams, her body sings under his every touch, trembles from his praise, his hands and mouth paint her with marks and kisses. He wakes up with his chest aflame and out of breath, and then it takes all of his willpower not to crawl to her.

It staggering how much he really wants her, and he hates himself for it.

>>> It’s been three weeks and they have barely shared a word. He does his best to cut down their encounters and avoid her, he doesn’t argue and takes no offense, he hopes that if he pulls back just enough she will give up and let him be.

Aemond spends his evenings in the study, his table piled with books, and for a couple of hours, it does help to take his mind off things. The night already steals in while he’s searching through the shelves for scrolls, too caught up in the process to pick up the creaking of his door.

Her gaze nearly scalds him. He only looks up out of surprise — and then he freezes at the spot, his heart a stone that plummets to his stomach.

Out of everything she’s worn, this dress might be the one to bring him to his knees — the cutting out the front so low, his eye falls in the hollow between her breasts; he envies fervently the golden chain that rests there. He takes in her whole body, bare arms, and flaunting forms, all clad in deep dark green. He’s never seen her pick that color (and he can’t help but think she put it on for him).

He’s brought back from his stupor when their eyes meet — and startled by the determination in her gaze.

“Ser Criston told me that you missed your training,” she stately starts walking toward him, “Quite a few times this week.”

“I found myself preoccupied with other things,” he clears his throat and clasps his hands behind his back, the scrolls forgotten.

“With reading, I assume?” she almost sounds aggrieved (he wants to ask what else she’d rather have him do) but then her tone gets jaunty. “Would you mind if I join?”

“Actually, I would,” Aemond takes his eye off her, his coldness feigned. “I’d like to avoid distractions.”

And more than anything, he would like for her to leave; she’s not the one to give up so easily. “Maybe we can learn some things together?” she nonchalantly insists, and that ambiguity — deliberate or not — leaves his face suffused with pink.

“I highly doubt you take interest in the things I study,” he manages, his crudeness biting his own tongue.

She only sneers, already nearing his table. “You surely rush to judgment.”

“And I am never wrong.” (Although he’s been wrong once before.)

“That’s very humble of you.” (And she’s tenacious with her intent to prove him wrong again.)

“I am surprised you know that word,” he replies too hastily — and instantly regrets his outburst.

And his attempts to get away from her could’ve been valiant, but only left him feeling like a coward.

She’s got enough courage to spare. “Oh, my apologies, did I strike a nerve?” her hip grazes a stack of books. “You sound so displeased with my behavior,” she puts her hands right on his table, her cleavage in full view.

“You interrupted my studies,” he’s looking only at her face.

“Just this one time,” she clears up, her sly smile is a dare, “Sounds like you have quite a few complaints.”

Damned be her dress and the day he laid his eye on her. “It’s clear as day that we have nothing in common,” he hisses, her persistence molding his anger. “From your bawdy humor to your reckless behavior and your...,” he struggles to push the word through his mouth, “vulgar dresses — everything suggests that we will never make a good couple.”

He catches a gleam in her gaze but it’s not threatening nor hurt — and when the corners of her mouth curl up, her face expression actually looks amused. “I didn’t realize my presence tormented you that much,” she crosses arms over her chest, her hands under her breasts; he looks away that very instant. “So will it please you if I take my vulgar dresses and go back home and leave you be?”

He wants to say it will — he’s thought of it for days — but now he isn’t sure. The dreams he has of her will hardly be enough as every image he collected has got nothing on the real form.

“Is there anything that does?” she asks him suddenly and takes a step in his direction, and then another one.

Belatedly, he realizes that he’s backed against the wall. The air in the room heats up, and Aemond moves back to his table, fingers holding to its edge to find some balance. “...Does what?”

“Please you,” she swiftly clarifies, now standing at arm’s length.

“That isn’t any of your concern,” he wants to glance away and yet, his eye is drawn to her.

“I am inclined to disagree,” her lips stretch into a smile. “Shouldn’t a wife know how to make her husband feel good?”

“We are not married yet,” he tries to argue weakly.

“I’d like to learn beforehand,” but her assertiveness works quicker than his doubts.

The time is still, and seconds drag like hours. His heart leaps at the thought of being all alone with her, his concentration crumbling, his self-restraint already hanging by a thread.

“The way you look at me suggests you aren’t averse to the idea,” she tells him in a low voice, her eyes two glowing embers. Aemond gulps, she deftly rounds the table. “You act so cold and so collected,” she muses, coming closer, and he helplessly steps back. “But I am yet to meet a man who would deny himself the pleasure of laying with a woman,” her voice is warm and warming; his legs bump into the chair, prompting him to sit.

He hesitates for barely a moment but his quick reaction fails him because the next thing he knows, she’s standing next to him, her golden chain casting a blinding glint — he blinks — and then she’s straddling him, her thighs on either side of his.

Aemond’s mouth falls slack as he becomes aware: to lift her he will have to touch her. He glances down at her legs that sneaked out through the long slits of her dress, all bare to the very hips before him.

“I wonder if you are too spoiled by the attention of the ladies? Mayhaps you’ve got so satiated, the intimacy doesn’t bring you any joy,” she runs her fingers up his chest.

He only finds it in himself to shake his head. She isn’t satisfied with that reaction. “Or do you simply find it boring and have a taste for something else?”

Objection bubbles in his throat but he gets no chance to voice it — he barely registers a clinking sound before he feels cold steel pressed under his chin, her fingers wrapped around the hilt of his own dagger. He meant to leave it at the training yard but it completely slipped his mind.

“Does this work better? I’ve heard that you Targaryens have peculiar tastes,” her other hand lands on his shoulder, his chest is stirring with emotions he can’t read.

“That’s not— No,” he mumbles, his voice raw, the weight and feeling of her body overwhelming.

She cocks her brow at him in disbelief. “No? So it’s just plain old satiation then?” she makes no attempt to press the blade but her questions do get pushy. “Must be so hard when women throw themselves at you ever since you were... What was it, ten? Twelve years of age?”

He would expect her to sound teasing — instead, he hears disappointment. That’s the reaction he is used to getting.

“My brother took me to a pleasure house when I was ten-and-three. He said it’s time to get it wet,” he forces out, “And it was...,” awful and humiliating, something he wishes to forget, “...Not what you are describing.”

Her face expression changes — first surprised, then splashed with sadness, and her every feature softens. Aemond sees her opening her mouth to speak but he averts his gaze, abasement scrabbling at him. His eye falls closed, and he keeps thinking that now she will get up and leave, and there won’t be any wedding, and he’s got no reason to get so overly upset already, and —

she sheathes his dagger without a word, the unexpected movement making him breathe out.

And then she dips her head down, and her lips fall on his jaw. Aemond inhales sharply. Her mouth feels softer than it was in all his dreams, and she plants kisses down his throat, moving to the part of it the blade was pressed to. He doesn’t know where to put his hands while hers lock nimbly around his neck.

She pulls back slowly, and he dares to look at her again, trying to catch the merest shadow of pretense but there is none.

“I am truly sorry that you had to go through that,” she tells him quietly. “Have you tried some more since then?”

“I did,” his answer comes off hurried, blank, “I... I am aware of how the act is done.”

“How the act is done? Aemond, that doesn’t sound enjoyable at all,” she pouts, then gently caresses his face, her voice a tender whisper when she adds, “But it should be.”

He stiffens, waiting for the discomfort to wake up, for the aversion to coil his guts, to trigger the jarring need to move away. None of that happens. Instead, he feels her fingers running through his hair, a calming motion bringing only comfort, her every touch relieving tightness in his chest.

“You seem too tense... We have to work on that,” she joyfully murmurs. “Unless, of course, my worry causes you distress,” her fingers stop, “Do you want me to leave, my prince?”

“No,” he rasps, he almost pleads, “D-don’t.”

She hums with satisfaction, bringing her hands down to unclasp his leather doublet, knowing she won’t meet any resistance. He should resent her for this but he doesn’t (he didn’t and he won’t). The air lays cold over his shirt, and Aemond shivers; she moves her fingers down his firm chest with an unspoken admiration.

“Tell me how it usually goes,” she inquires, one of her hands finding its way back to his silver locks. “Do you find pleasure in undressing them?”

Her warmth envelopes him, scented with cinnamon and peaches. “They come without much clothes,” Aemond blurts out, earning another hum from her.

“And what about you?” she glances curiously at him.

“I don’t... I don’t like them touching me,” he timidly avows, and saying it to her does bring somewhat of a relief.

With both of her hands, she cradles his face, thumbs gently contouring his cheeks — he all but melts into her palms. “And yet you are so responsive to the touch,” her voice praises, “So pretty.”

She leans in again, leaving a kiss at the hollow of his throat — and then her mouth travels up, ardent and steady, and he squirms in place. Not out of discomfort.

“You are not supposed to rush it if you want it to feel good,” she whispers in his ear and moves back to catch his gaze. “You never rush into fighting so why love making should be any different?”

Astonishment brightens his face, and she chuckles lightly. “I must confess, I did enjoy watching you train, even though you never noticed. The way you move and twirl your sword,” she’s recollecting breathy, “You are so lithe and fast and so resistant... An infatuating sight.”

She holds his gaze and lifts her hand — he follows it, unblinking, until it finds one of the straps — she hooks it with her fingers. “Fairly soon it made me wonder how would your hands feel... on me,” his heart jolts at her words.

Slowly, she moves the strap aside, baring her breast for him; Aemond’s breathing hitches. She takes his hand in hers, planting a kiss over his knuckles — and then lets his fingers graze her naked skin.

“It was so cruel of you to rob me of my pleasure,” she laments, but he can barely hear a thing, his eye wide as he fixes on the soft swell of her breast, on how her nipple peaks so eagerly under his touch.

She guides his hand over her chest, down to her ribs and waist, letting him brush her every curve, placing his fingers firmly on her hip. And then she reaches for his other hand and lowers the other strap; his body trembles. The layers of his reticence are all peeled at once, leaving his desire raw and undisguised, unshackled. He’s drawn to fondle, clutch at her plump breasts but her grip is tight and taunting, not letting his fingers roam free.

Still, when both his hands sink into her hips, he realizes that he’s getting harder by the second.

It doesn’t go unnoticed by her. With a controlled, torturously slow move she drags her clothed core over his straining cock. His mouth stays closed but there’s a sound — a muffled moan caught in his throat.

“Doesn’t this feel good?” she teases, lightly tugging on his hair, her lips reaching the column of his neck. “With how much you read, I hoped you’d be more generous with words,” each of her kisses weightless like a drop of rain but then her mouth finds a spot below his ear and suckles at it, pulling a whimper from his chest.

He thinks he should... his mind goes blank after another movement of her hips, and she picks up the pace, merciless and sensuous. He tries biting down his moans but only hurts his mouth. She notices, her rapt eyes on him, and puts her finger on his lower lip:

“Please, don’t be shy with me,” she coos, her gentle touch soothing his bitten flesh, “Our desires coincide,” she earnestly affirms him — and the spark erupts and drags him into pure bliss.

He feels that his arousal leaks, his breeches way too tight to hide it, his fingers dig into her supple skin, but she gives no complaints. He watches breathlessly through his hooded eyelid as she grinds against him, then looks over her bouncing breasts, her nipples pebbled, and the pressure curls somewhere down his spine. She peppers him with kisses — the angles of his face, neck, everything that she can reach, except for his desirous mouth. And yet the softness of her lips and hands, her skin that’s draped with the redolent scent, the rhythm of her hips all bring him closer to the edge.

Her forehead is pressed to his, their lips an inch away but never fully touching. “Let go for me,” she says against his mouth, “My handsome, fierce dragon.”

That does it for him. He harshly presses her to him, then shudders with a strangled moan and comes undone, his eye squeezed shut as her name quivers in his mouth. The pleasure whirls him in and leaves him drained and stunned, a little bit light-headed.

It takes Aemond a minute to recover before he finds her gaze again — and in another minute he discerns her shallow breaths, her parted lips, brows slightly furrowed. He wants to ask her if she reached her peak, if he can help her with it —

but she pulls back.

She stands up and only briefly grabs his shoulder, steadying herself, then promptly puts the straps back on, fixing her dress. He wants to lend a hand but she moves it away, leaning in to lightly caress his face. “No, you don’t get to have me yet. I want you to admit it first, to say that you want me,” her words are laced with dignity but cooling to his mind.

She steps back, cruelly fast, the only consolation is her naughty tone. “Until then, I have to satisfy myself some other way. But I will think of you while doing it, my dear prince,” she promises, a ghost of a smile on her lips, and then walks out without looking back.

The silence feels unwelcome in the room and hangs over the ceiling like a cloud, but Aemond he is too dazed to move, spent and perplexed to wrap his head around it.

Desire, it seems, has come to stay.

But it’s not the only thing he’s feeling.

✧... YES, there will be a second part, it’s already in the works! ✧ and yes, I didn’t bother to rename Pedro’s character 'cause I adore Oberyn sue me

✧ just to clarify, I usually age Aemond up to 20 (or however old Ewan looks to you ;) ✧ I got inspired after watching the video for ROSALÍA’s “La Fama” (give it a watch, she is soooo 🥵) but I only found it because of this gorgeous gifset so shout-out to OP for giving me inspiration

✧ my recent fic (couples who kill together, stay together 🔥) ✧ my masterlist

thank you @amiraisgoingthruit for letting me tag you in every silly story of mine, hope you’ll like this one (if anyone else wants to be tagged, don’t be shy)

English is not my first language, so feel free to message me if you spot any major mistakes. reblogs and comments are very much appreciated!

[ladykailitha]

Across a Crowded Room Part 2

This has five parts and is complete. It will be released every Saturday.

In this we has Steve's friends be dim, Eddie bringing breakfast, and Steve be a lovable dork.

Part 1

@mira-jadeamethyst @rozzieroos @itsall-taken @redfreckledwolf @emly03

****

Steve had been shocked by the greeting of Eddie spinning him around. But not as flabbergasted as when Eddie kissed him on the lips just for saying that he missed him.

After Eddie left, Steve felt three pairs of eyes on him and he squirmed a little under their gaze.

“What?”

“Look,” Maria said, “you have been talking this guy up for weeks. Ever since you announced he was coming to stay for a week. And yeah we knew you had a crush on the guy, but this was holy shit fastest levels of yearning to relationship I’ve ever seen.”

Jarren nodded. “I mean, he’s hotter and cooler than you said he was. Like an actual record deal for his metal band? So cool. Long curly hair and doe eyes? So hot. But that’s not the point I’m trying to make here.”

“It better not be,” Steve groused. “Mine!”

Jarren laughed. “All yours, Steve. I promise. But the point I’m trying to make here, is that you kinda blindsided us with this one. Why didn’t you tell us about him before.”

Steve looked over at Robin. “I talk to him all the time. Like prior to him coming out to Chicago, we’d constantly call and text. He’s always commenting on my socials. Like I know I’m slow, but that is extreme levels of dense.”

Jarren and Maria glanced at each other in confusion.

“Wait,” Maria said, “you’re telling me that your ‘stalker’ is that guy?” She pointed toward the door.

Stalker was the name Steve’s friends called Eddie because he would always have commented or liked Steve’s posts by at least the end of the day. Faster than even Robin most days.

“You guys didn’t know?” Robin asked. “Like how many Eddie’s do you think Steve knows?”

Jarren held up on finger and then deflated. “Fuck. Yep. We’re idiots.”

Maria tilted her head back and forth and then shrugged. “Yeaaahhh.”

“I’m going to head home,” Steve said looking at his watch. “I’ll catch you guys later.”

They all waved him off with Maria promising she’d get Robin home safe. As he walked to the door he checked his state of drunkenness. He ran his tongue over his lips and decided that an Uber was a better idea than driving home.

He scheduled the ride on his phone and lit a cigarette. He had graduated from college with a bachelor’s degree in education and basically had the whole summer off to get ready for the major change in his life.

Robin was moving out to New York to get her master’s degree and with any luck an internship at the UN as an interpreter.

She was super excited, but it would be the first time since they became friends that they would go their separate ways.

At first she had tried to convince him to do his last year of school in New York so that he could get his teacher’s certificate and teach there.

But as much as Steve was on board with the idea they both realized too quickly that Steve would be miserable in New York.

But Robin?

Robin would thrive.

So they had packed as much time together as they possibly could as they got used to the fact she would be leaving come summer’s end.

His thoughts were interrupted by the driver pulling up. After both of them triple check they were the other’s right person, Steve slid into the back of the car.

“Music or no?” the driver asked, looking at Steve in the rearview mirror.

“No music tonight, man,” Steve said. “I just want a little quiet tonight.”

The driver nodded and directed the car back to the main road that would take Steve home.

Steve made sure to tip well as the ride slipped by in blissful silence.

He thought that he would be thinking nonstop about Robin. About Eddie. About that kiss. But the quiet hum of the car in the darkness soothed Steve mind and while he didn’t sleep, he felt groggy when he got home as if he had.

He thanked the driver and began the slow trek up to the apartment he shared with Robin.

Steve stuck his key into the lock and sighed. Half the apartment was in disarray as it was nothing but half filled boxes and rolls of packing tape and bubble wrap.

Robin had already packed up her stuff and it was sitting in storage waiting for her to tell them to ship it cross country. The only bit of her things that remained was her clothes, which she had been living out of her suitcase, her daily stuff like toothbrush and shit, and her cellphone and laptop.

She had been sharing Steve’s bed because they needed to be next to each other. To hear the other breathe in their sleep. To know that their person was still there.

Yeah, okay so they weren’t handling it as well they had hoped they would.

He had taken off his shoes and flopped face down into the bed when got two messages.

The first was from Robin saying that she was staying the night Maria’s. Something they often did when they got too drunk. The second one was from Eddie.

-Sleep well, angel

Steve blushed. He didn’t even know why. There was just something so sweet about it.

-Night, Eds

He set his phone to the side and rolled over onto his back. He draped his arm of his eyes.

His plan was always going to be telling Eddie he was in love with him. It was also the plan was to move out to California with Eddie after the week. He was going to give up everything to be with him. Because he didn’t think he could live in Chicago by himself.

He had friends here. But without Robin to put a buffer between him and others when he got overwhelmed, he wasn’t sure if he could keep going out. He would become a hermit.

But now that Eddie was going to move out here, Steve knew that he would have other outlets for social interaction. He got along well with the other members of Eddie’s band and it would be great to see them again.

He got up and stripped down to his underwear. He preferred to sleep like that even in the dead of winter, but with Robin sharing the bed with him he had at least been wearing sweats to bed.

He slipped underneath the sheets and wondering what it would be like to feel Eddie’s skin between these sheets.

He fell asleep to the thoughts of Eddie curled up behind him.

****

The next morning was disturbed by the sounds of his soulmate coming home.

“Come on, dingus!” she hollered. “Up! I have coffee and breakfast.”

Steve was up and throwing on a pair sweats, hopping on one foot as he scrambled out to the kitchen.

He skidded to a stop and blinked at the sight before him.

“Look who I found on our doorstep?” Robin greeted cheerfully.

Steve smiled. “Hey, Eds. I’m guessing you are the bearer of breakfast and coffee?”

Robin squawked her outrage, but Eddie grinned. “Sure am, sweetness. Got you that caramel macchiato you love so much, an iced mocha for the lady and a dark roast, cream and two sugars for me.”

Robin glared at him.

“I kid I kid,” he said and handed her the black coffee. “It’s as dark as your soul, Buck.”

She took the coffee and sipped happily. “Yeah, you can keep him.”

Steve laughed.

“If that’s all it took to get soulmate approval,” Eddie teased, “was a single cup of coffee, I would have bought you one years ago.”

Robin pushed at him and then dug into the bag of breakfast sandwiches.

“What’s this?” she asked pulling out a sandwich in a plastic container.

Eddie snatched it out of her hands. “Mine!” He clutched it to his chest and hissed.

Robin held up her hands in surrender. She went back to her digging. She pulled out a breakfast burrito with peppers, onions, mushrooms, eggs and sausage.

“And that one’s mine...” she said sing-song, setting it to the side.

The last one she pulled out was a simple egg, cheese, and sausage on a buttery croissant. She handed it over to Steve.

“Is it creepy he knows our breakfast order?” she asked as she settled into to her coffee and breakfast.

Steve scoffed. “Robin you have posted about that same burrito almost every Sunday for the last two years, if he didn’t know what you liked, then I would be concerned.”

“Oops!” she said around a bit of food.

Eddie just shook his head and dived into his breakfast.

“What did you get, Eds?” Steve asked.

Eddie had just taken a bite, so he didn’t answer immediately. But he moaned happily around his bite.

“That, my darlin’,” he said once his mouth was clear, “is an eggs Benedict in a breakfast sandwich and I’m in heaven.” He wiped his mouth with his fingers and sucked on them to lick them clean.

Steve’s eyes went wide as he followed the movement. He licked the bottom of his lip and forced himself to look away before the situation got uncomfortable.

“It’s almost as good as the eggs Benedict Uncle Wayne used to make. I see why you guys love that place so much.”

“Yeah...” Robin said, “I’m gonna talk to Kendra and see if I can sleep on her sofa this week...”

Eddie and Steve’s heads snapped her direction.

“What?” Eddie asked, oblivious to Steve’s torture.

Robin rolled her eyes. “I don’t want to be around when the tension finally breaks and you fuck like rabbits on every surface of this apartment. Just clean up after yourselves, yeah?”

She hastily finished her burrito and kissed Steve’s cheek. She walked down the hallway to their bedroom to change out what she was wearing and to shower.

Eddie chuckled at her swift exit. “I didn’t realize I was being that obvious.”

“I think it was the moan that got her,” Steve muttered going back to his sandwich.

Eddie leaned forward and whispered, “Why, darlin'? Did it get you?”

Steve blushed all the way to the roots of his hair. He chewed on his bottom lip and then nodded.

Eddie wagged his eyebrows suggestively.

“Eds!” Steve groaned, pushing the other man’s shoulder. “At least wait until she goes to work, yeah?”

Eddie cackled. “All right, darlin’. I’ll be good until then. But after that, all bets are off.”

Steve felt like heat slid down his spine to pool in his gut.

He gulped and went back to his sandwich. Eddie and Steve were finishing up their breakfast when Robin came back out. She had her bag thrown over one shoulder, ready to go.

“I’m off at five,” she said. “So if you two wanted meet somewhere for dinner, just text me before then.”

She kissed both of them on the cheek goodbye and sauntered out the apartment with a cheerful wave and a “Don’t do anything I would do!” said over her shoulder.

“I’m not sure which of us the menace anymore,” Steve chuckled, shaking his head fondly.

Eddie pulled Steve in for a kiss. “Babe, you share the same brain cell, I’m pretty sure the answer is both of you.”

Steve snorted but couldn’t deny that Eddie was probably right.

“I’m going to miss her when she moves to New York,” he said softly.

Eddie held Steve tightly. “I know, sweetheart. Have you thought about what you want to do after she’s gone? I mean I know you were planning on moving out...” he makes a vague hand motion at the mess around them, “but where were you thinking?”

“Originally or now?” Steve asked after a moment or so just staring at him blankly.

“Is the plan different now that I’m in Chicago?” Eddie asked, pulling back so he could look Steve in the eye.

Steve pursed his lips and nodded.

“Stevie...” Eddie said warningly.

“What?”

“What was your original plan?” he asked dryly.

“Throw myself at you and move to California with you when you went back at the end of the week?” Steve said with a grimace.

Eddie blinked a moment. “Oh.”

“Oh?” Steve asked tilting his head.

Eddie steered him over to the sofa and sat him down on it. “Let’s talk about this for a minute, because even though we want the same things it seems like we’re not on the same page yet.”

Steve furrowed his brow but nodded anyway.

“Hey,” Eddie said firmly. “I’m not saying that’s a bad thing or that I don’t want to be with you. I do, but we need to have a talk about what being together means, okay?”

Steve let out a rough sigh. “Yeah okay.”

“So tell me about this plan of yours.”

Eddie settled himself on the sofa, twisting his body so he was facing Steve. He leaned one arm against the back of the sofa and laced his hands together, giving Steve his full attention.

“I was going to confess my feelings for you tonight over a fancy dinner at my favorite Italian restaurant,” Steve began. “Which I’m still taking you to, but maybe not tonight.”

Eddie smiled encouragingly. “Sounds good so far. What’s next?”

“And then if you told me you felt the same,” Steve continued, ducking his head, “I’d spend the rest of the week trying to convince you to let me go back with you to California.”

Eddie huffed out a laugh. “And what would you do back in Cali, baby?”

“I’d bartend,” Steve said with a shrug. “It’s what I did when I was going to school here anyway. Then during the day I’d get my teaching certificate in LA.”

Eddie blinked and then his expression softened. “Oh, Stevie. That sounds like a great plan. Too bad I blew by getting a record deal out here, huh?”

Steve laughed. “Nah, it just means I didn’t waste my money getting my teaching certificate for here.”

“So now what’s your plan?” Eddie asked after kissing him fiercely.

Steve shrugged. “Well, you’re here apartment hunting, so I figure I can tag along. Because something that might not work out for you...”

“Might work out for you instead,” Eddie finished. He licked the top row of his teeth thoughtful. “Sounds like fun. Let’s do it!”

“Today or later this week?”

Eddie grabbed Steve’s wrist and hauled him to his feet. “Go get dressed, baby, I want to go apartment hunting with you.”

Steve kissed him deeply and then went and did as he was told.

****

Part 3 Part 4 Part 5

Tag List: @counting-dollars-counting-stars @spectrum-spectre @estrellami-1 @zerokrox-blog @gregre369 ​@a-little-unsteddie @chaosgremlinmunson @messrs-weasley @chaoticlovingdreamer @maya-custodios-dionach @danili666 @goodolefashionedloverboi @val-from-lawrence @i-must-potato @carlyv @wonderland-girl143-blog @justforthedead89 @vecnuthy @irregular-child @bookbinderbitch @bookworm0690 @anne-bennett-cosplayer @yikes-a-bee @awkwardgravity1 @littlewildflowerkitten @genderless-spoon @cinnamon-mushroomabomination @dragonmama76 @scheodingers-muppet @ellietheasexylibrarian @thedragonsaunt @useless-nb-bisexual @disrespectedgoatman

[multifandom-worlds]

Missing in Action

Genre: angst

Word count: 2.8k

Warnings: Suicide, mental health struggles, grief, death (in passing), violence, bullying.

Authors Note: Hi everyone! This is going to be a bit of a heavier fic. If it's to much for you to handle, that's okay! Take care of yourself. This does have a bit of a happier ending. If I missed anything in the warnings, do let me know!

Ape - Bee

Bellissima - beautiful

Tagging: @slytherins-heir @simplyholl

The Battle of Hogwarts -- one of the bloodiest battles in the Second Wizard War, and you lived to tell the harrowing tales. You were one of the lucky ones.

 A year and a half had passed since then, the castle had been rebuilt, and the dead were laid to rest. It took a year for classes to resume, but here you were again, going through the routine again with your closest friends - Draco Malfoy, who bravely fought against his parents on the side of good, Theodore Nott, Lorenzo Berkshire and Regulus Black. Although things were getting back to normal, a significant part of your group was missing. Mattheo Riddle, son of the Dark Lord himself but, more importantly, your beloved, was gone. 

Mattheo was not among the survivors at the end of the war, nor was his body found within the ruined castle rubble. The professors and Ministry of Magic alike scoured the school grounds in search of anything, but nothing could be seen of him. The mystery of his disappearance deepened, with rumours of what happened to him beginning to spread. One thing all the rumours had in common was painting Mattheo as a hero - the prodigal son of the Dark Lord, standing up against him, holding off the death eaters while many students fled. He was one of the many unsung heroes of the war, his fate uncertain.

As the months progressed and nobody ever found any trace of Mattheo, the hope of his survival began to drop. First, it was the Ministry. A few months later, the professors gave up hope that he was alive. Just recently, Theo had finally given up hope that he was still alive. You heard him talking in the Great Hall about it.

“What do you lot think? Is he actually coming back?” Theo asks, his voice calm. It was not quite a whisper, but it was not his total volume. “Do you believe Matt was actually able to survive the war? Survive all the shit he endured? Are we just kidding ourselves and holding onto false hope?”

Draco shook his head, looking around for you, hoping you weren’t in earshot. “There’s no way. He could not possibly have survived. I heard that on the second anniversary, they’re going to add his name to the In Memory speech. It seems as though everyone has accepted it now, except her.”

“I’ll tell her,” Theo says dejectedly. He didn’t want to break your heart even more. “It’s best it comes from me. I don’t want her to get blindsided by the news when it happens; she already has nightmares every night about the war. Like the rest of us, she carries those scars, mental and physical. She won’t like it.” he trails off with a deep sigh, placing his head in his hands, mentally psyching himself up to go have this conversation yet again. 

He leaves the Great Hall in the direction of the Slytherin dorms. It wasn’t hard to know where you would be - you spent all your time in his bed, wearing his clothes and, in Theo’s mind, prolonging your hurt.

“You’re wrong, Theo!” You whimper, staring at your boyfriend's best friend standing at the door to his and Mattheo’s dorm. “He can’t be gone! There’s no way he's gone! We killed his father! You were the one who cast the curse!”

He opens the door of the dorm, seeing you sitting on his bed, reading your book, his pillow between your arms. “Hey, we have to talk.” He says, leaning against the doorframe. “They want to add his name to the list of students who died. I think it's time, Bellissima. I think you need to let him go. He died protecting the school, its students and you.”

Theo sighs, running his fingers through his curls. “Ape, he’s gone. There are so many places his body could be that would have been hidden. Yes, we killed his father, but that does not mean he didn’t have a hand in his death. I miss him, too. I miss him like you wouldn’t believe it, but you need to accept that he’s gone. He would want you to move on, apa.”

Your tears began to slide down your cheeks as Theo carefully sat beside you, wrapping his arms around you protectively. It didn’t take long for your whimpers to turn into full sobs as you hid your face against his chest. Words can not describe how terrible Theo felt at that moment, holding you once again as you sobbed into his chest. He wanted you to move on, to move on from all the pain and memories that place had, but until Mattheos body was recovered, he knew it was impossible. He held you as you cried, resting his chin on the top of your head, just as he has done almost nightly since the battle ended. 

Theo pulls you away from him once all your tears dried up.  “Please come for dinner, ape. The others are asking about you, and I want you to eat something, please.” He brushes your hair from your face, looking at you earnestly.

You nod softly, wiping your eyes. “O-okay. I do miss Reggie and Ferret Boy.” you chuckle at the nickname. Draco absolutely hated it, but he begrudgingly accepted it from you. “And obviously Enzo.”

Theo stands up first, taking your hand and carefully helping you to your feet, his hands on your shoulders to keep you balanced. Once you finished mentally preparing yourself, you take his arm, leave the dorm, and make your way upstairs to the Great Hall. You keep your eyes down, not wanting to make eye contact with anyone. Theo keeps you close; his imposing height and proclivity for fighting keep everyone away from the two of you. 

“There she is.” You could hear Draco say as you and Theo step into the Great Hall. Tentatively, you look up, meeting the eyes of your favourite ferret. He smiles, waving you over. You and Theo make your way to the Slytherin table before joining your friends. “You look good, Bee,” Draco says once you’re sitting between him and Lorenzo. 

“Fuck yeah, you do,” Enzo says next, pulling you into a side hug, and Theo rounds the table and sits across from you, beside Regulus. “I missed having my favourite Slytherin around. It’s not the same without you.”

“You see me in class every day, Enz…” You mutter, looking at him. You had no idea why they missed you because you still went to all your classes with them. “I’m still around; I don’t know what you mean?”

“I just mean...” Lorenzo begins, but a second voice interrupts him. You look up and see Cormac McLaggen standing just behind Regulus and Theo, a stupid, cocky smile plastered on his face. 

“He means your depressed ass isn’t worth being around,” Cormac says, his friends laughing at the face you were making, your eyes welling up with tears. “Fuckin’ crybaby. If you miss that cunt so much, why not join him? Just do it in front of me so I can enjoy you.” 

Within seconds of the last sound leaving Cormac’s mouth, Theo was on his feet, colliding his fist into Cormac’s nose, sending him sprawling against the empty table behind him. Before anyone realized what had happened, Theo was on him, landing punch after punch into his face. 

Regulus joins in, the two of them taking turns being Cormac’s face until he is 50 shades of black and blue. His nose bent at a noticeable angle, his eyes were actively swelling and already turning black, and his cheek caved in. Several of his fingers bent out of shape, and he most certainly had several broken ribs. He lays motionless on the table, barely conscious as Madame Pomfry and McGonagall come rushing over.

“Mr. Nott, Mr. Black, what is the meaning of this!?” McGonagall demands, looking between Cormac and the two Slytherins. 

Theo looks up at her, his lips pulled into a tight line, his whole body tense. “He called Mattheo a cunt, called his girlfriend a crybaby and told her to kill herself in front of him so he could fuck her dead body.” He stated matter of factly. He knew he was justified in his merciless beating. 

“And I meant every fucking word. She’s a depressed bitch who needs to join her” beloved” if she missed him that much” Theo, Regulus and McGonagall could hear Cormac's strained laughter after he finished speaking. 

Theo grabs him by his collars, hauling him up so their faces are inches apart. “If I hear you say anything about her or Mattheo, I will cut out your tongue with a pair of rusty scissors and watch you bleed to death. Got that, Cormac?” Theo drops him back on the table, spitting in his face before turning around and seeing you hiding your face against Draco’s jacket. 

“Detention for you both! And 50 points from Slytherin. Each.” McGonagall states, looking between Theo and Regulus before turning her attention to you. “As for you, dear. This really is not good for you; you need to accept that Mr. Riddle is no longer with us. You need to move on and focus on your academics.” 

“Excuse me…” you mutter, pushing away from Draco and running out of the Great Hall. You blink away tears as you navigate through the school. You didn’t know where you were going; you just needed to know you had to get away. Away from everyone who believed he was dead, away from everyone who told you to move on. Away from it all. 

You found yourself at the top of the Astronomy tower, looking out over the grounds of Hogwarts. You sigh, remembering all the blood and carnage that decorated the grounds years before. You look over at the Forbidden Forest, the last place you saw Mattheo alive. He saved you from a death eater’s imperious curse by casting his very own Unforgivable curse - Avada Kadavra. You didn’t even have a chance to thank him before he was snatched up and dragged away by Fenrir Greyback. The last thing you heard from him was him yelling that he loved you and that he would find you again, in this life or the next. 

You could hear a commotion below you on the grounds, but you paid it no mind. You were tired, tired of everyone telling you he was dead, tired of everyone bringing it up, tired of looking at your body in the mirror and seeing all the scars from that cursed battle on your skin, forced to relive it day after day. The PTSD was too much for you to handle, so you decided to jump, to end everything once and for all. You knew Theo and Regulus would be in detention; Draco and Enzo were probably tormenting them, so there was no one to stop you. 

You pull your robes off, folding them neatly on the ground before grabbing your phone and writing a quick note, an explanation of why you did it. You carefully place your phone on top of your robes before stepping back up to the railing, intending to throw yourself off it when your phone rings. You picked it up again, only to see Theo’s name pop up. Odd, he should be in detention right now; you decide to answer it, acutely aware it could be one of Cormac’s minions ready to continue what he started. 

“Hello…?” You answer timidly, walking back to the railing. The commotion happening below you was getting louder. Clearly, you were about to have an audience.

“Don't do it, my love. I need you!” The voice on the phone sounded too much like Mattheo, but you knew it couldn't be. He was dead; everyone believed it, and you were going to be next.

“Who are you, and why do you have Theo’s phone? He’s in detention right now.” You say, anger beginning to surge to the surface. 

“You know who I am, love. Please, please don’t. Don’t listen to Cormac, he’s a scumbag. I need you; Theo and Reggie need you. Draco and Enzo need you to. We all need you. Please, my love, don’t do it.”

Your hand grips your phone, trembling. “I'm going to do it. Cormac was right. I'm going to jump and put an end to everyone's misery.”

The voice began talking again, sounding frantic. “Please, baby. Please don't jump. I can't bear to watch my only light extinguish herself. Please, Theo's on his way to get you, but please, please step away from the railing.”

“I don't know who I'm talking to, but it's not Mattheo. I don't believe you! You're just made up, a figment of my imagination. You're not real! He’s dead, and everyone believes it! But I'm going to be joining him soon!” You step forward, swinging one leg over the railing, tears streaming down your face. 

“Mon Coeur, please��.” 

You swing your other leg over the railing, looking down at the dizzying height, ready to let go, when a pair of strong arms wrap tightly around your waist, pulling you back to safety. 

“No! Let me go! I want to do it! I want to end it all! Please just let me join him!” You cry, fighting with whoever it was that grabbed you. 

The arms wrap tighter around you before a familiar Italian accent hits your ears. “Ape, he's alive. You were right. He's at the bottom of the stairs. Come down, come with me, and we can see him together.” 

“You're wrong, Theo! You told me he's dead! You and everyone else kept telling me he was dead and I needed to move on. Why are you tormenting me like this? Why are you doing this? Please just let me die.” You sob, fighting against Theo’s grip. 

Theo rests his chin on your head. “If you're not going to walk down these steps, I'm going to carry you down, but we are going,” he says, very matter-of-factly. You give up, knowing Theo is serious. He notices the call is still connected, so he grabs the phone from your hand and puts it to his ear. “I have her; she’s safe in my arms. We're on your way down, Matt.” 

“Oh, thank Merlin. Okay, I'll see you two soon.” Mattheo says a wave of relief washing over him. He was so thankful she believed he was still alive. If only he had gotten to you sooner, maybe you wouldn't have fallen this far into the darkness. All that mattered was he was about to see you again for the first time since the battle.

You and Theo slowly begin to descend the stairs; he has his arm wrapped securely around your waist, keeping you stable since your anxious trembling makes each stair dangerous. The closer to the bottom you got, the more your heart pounded in your chest. Theo wouldn’t lie…right? He wouldn’t pretend Mattheo was alive and the voice on the phone sounded so much like him, but it couldn’t possibly be him. You knew what Greyback was capable of; there’s no way Mattheo survived that.

You and Theo arrive at the bottom of the stairs, and there, standing right in front of you, is Mattheo - an older, more scarred and more traumatized version of Mattheo, but it is still Mattheo, your Mattheo.

You let go of Theo, nervously walking towards him. “Matty…?” You ask, gently touching his cheek. He cups your hand with his, leaning into your touch, his eyes meeting yours. You knew those soulful brown eyes anywhere; this is your Mattheo.

He smiles, taking your hand and kissing your palm, just as he always did before. “In the flesh, Mon Coeur. I missed you so much. I dreamt about you every night when I wasn’t plagued with nightmares. I was so scared you had either died or moved on, and I would never have you in my arms again, never wake up with your perfect face, never listen to you talk about everything you loved. Draco told me you never gave up hope, even when everyone else did. Thank you, baby. Thank you for not giving up on me.”

“But how…?” you question, meeting his eyes, pleading with him. “How are you still alive? E-everyone believed you died…I saw you! I saw Greyback take you! A-are you really him?” You ask, step away, your suspicions growing. This has to be some sort of prank.

Mattheo’s face fell, his smile replaced by a heartbroken frown. “I promise, I am who I say I am. What can I do to make you believe me, amour?” 

You look at him, wanting so desperately to believe. “How did you survive? Where were we, and what was the last thing you said to me?”

“We were in the forbidden forest; I told you I love you, and I would find you in this world or the next.” He smiles, seeing the doubt melt away from your eyes. “And as for how I survived. My brother. Tom.”

[holllandtrash]

blindsided | lance stroll

pairing: lance stroll x ricciardo!reader

getting your hopes up is a dangerous thing, a lesson lance has to learn the hard way. your connection was real, but what was it based on?

word count: 6.7k tags/warnings: some pining, some unrequited feelings, does it have a happy ending? maybe, maybe not thank you cay @oconso for that line you know the line

You were an enigma to Lance.

You were someone that he felt he should have known, but the two of you had never actually taken a minute out of your days to properly introduce yourself, nor did you ever find yourself in a scenario where you could have had a conversation.

As the younger sister of Australia’s golden boy, Daniel Ricciardo, you were in school and then uni while he was in his prime racing days. Your summers were spent with friends, every so often you’d go to a race or two, but your priority was not being one of those family members who attended as many races as you could, Daniel understood that.

By the time you graduated last year, Daniel had told you his future with McLaren looked unstable and he didn’t want you to attend his races, saying he’d much rather wait until he was back with a 'good team'. 

So you never had the opportunity to meet a lot of the drivers on the grid, Lance included. 

But there was still this strange connection to him.

His sister was dating Scotty, Scotty was Daniel’s best friend, you as well had spent many days and nights at Scotty's family home because he also treated you like a younger sister. 

And it was through social media and your name being brought up in passing here and there that Lance felt as though he knew you. He didn’t. He didn’t even know your middle name, didn’t know what you had studied, didn’t know what you were doing currently.

But he knew you had a good circle of friends, you posted pictures with them often. He knew you drank too much coffee for it to be healthy and it was probably an addiction at this point. He knew you were heavily involved in Daniel’s Enchante clothing line, usually being one of the models when a new collection dropped. 

He knew you at face value, but god did he want to know more.

When Lance stopped by Chloe’s place with a box of empty envelopes she had asked him to pick up, Lance walked in on her and Scotty going over their guest list for a final time. Lance paid them no attention, he dropped the box of envelopes down on the table and sauntered towards the kitchen as the plate of freshly baked cookies looked mouth watering.

His ears perked up when he heard your name, however.

“...did Danny say that Y/N would be able to make it?” Chloe asked, directing the question to Scotty. “We gave her the dates a while ago, but she never got back to me. Also isn’t she terrified of planes?”

“She is, but she’ll take a pill or two and it’ll knock her out for the flight,” Scotty nodded and Chloe rolled her eyes at his joke.

Play it cool, Lance told himself as he leaned against the kitchen island. “Y/N? As in Daniel’s sister?”

Chloe didn’t even glance up, “Yeah, I’ve only met her once but she’s-”

“She’s like a sister to me. If she missed the wedding I'd disown her,” Scotty joked. He rested his arm over the back of the chair and looked at Lance. “Have you met her?”

Lance pretended to think about it, even pinched his eyebrows together, but he knew damn well the two of you had never met, “I don’t think so.”

“She’s sweet,” Scotty told him, his lips curling into a smirk that Chloe couldn’t see. Always a menace. “You two would get along.”

Lance snorted, “What makes you say that?”

“Because you’re both single.”

Chloe grabbed a sheet of paper and crumpled it up, tossing it into the chest of her soon-to-be husband, muttering something about staying out of other people's love lives. Scotty only sent Lance a wink before turning around again to give his attention back to the guest list.

Lance was single, Scotty wasn’t wrong about that. After just getting out of a relationship, he was, admittedly, lonely.

And it wasn’t that he purposely stayed single those months leading up to the wedding, but no one caught his interest. Or, if someone did, Lance would forget about them the moment you popped up on his Instagram feed. 

Your smile was similar to Daniel’s in a sense that it was wide and toothy, easily becoming the most prominent feature on your face as your eyes squinted, but aside from that and the dark features, the similarities stopped. 

As a Ricciardo, one might expect you to have the same bubbly and outgoing energy but from what Lance could see in the photos and videos you were tagged in, or ones you had posted yourself, you seemed to stick to the same circle of friends. You visited the same bars and restaurants because it was what you knew and within your comfort zone. You never went out of your way to make an impression on someone, happily letting your brother take on the more talkative role. 

Lance wanted to know if your laughter was as loud and more amusing than the joke itself or if that was only a trait reserved for Daniel. 

He was tired of trying to piece together who you were through pictures on a phone screen and still, the worst part about this was it felt as though he did know you. Lance had to keep reminding himself that he didn’t, that you never met, that the image he constructed of you in his head might be wrong. 

He wouldn't know until Venice. 

And you, well you thought you knew who Lance was too.

Danny had mentioned him a handful of times. You followed Lance on social media, even if he did have a tendency to be more secluded than other drivers, he still was pretty active when it came to liking posts, especially your posts. 

You didn’t google him, per say, but you were curious. Who was this Canadian driver? Aside from being the son of the team owner, there wasn’t much to learn about Lance besides his driver stats. Again, very private.

But he was cute. He gave off the tall, dark and mysterious sort of vibe, which was never really your type but the more you saw Lance’s photo appear online, the easier it was to forget about those blonde surfer guys that you would usually spend your time with. 

Lance seemed sweet, from what you could gather. And similarly, you felt as though you knew him too. It seemed odd that the two of you had never met and all, with your unofficial older brother marrying his sister. It was like you should have the same circle of friends or at least be able to call each other acquaintances but you couldn’t.

Daniel walked into his parents house in Perth, hitting a few envelopes against the palm of his hand and then the wall, basically demanding attention from his family until he flicked one of them towards you. 

It narrowly avoided your face and you flipped him off in response, earring a scolding from your mother, but it was easy to move past the sibling banter when you all opened the envelopes to see the wedding invitations from Chloe and Scotty.

“Venice,” you breathed out. “Jesus Christ, that'll be a pricey adventure.”

Danny didn’t have to say anything. His elbow nudging against your side was enough for you to know that he would help pay for the expenses. He was always looking out for you, for his family. You wished you could do the same, but at the moment you were just enjoying your first full year of being done with university. 

You grabbed a pen and checked off that you would be in attendance and then you hovered it over the box asking about a plus one.

“You’re not seeing anyone,” Daniel scoffed and then glanced over his shoulder to get his parents opinion on this. “Right? She’s not seeing anyone?”

“No one right now,” you corrected, letting the pen and invite drop to the glass coffee table. You could fill it out later. “Who knows? That might change.”

“Don’t invite someone to a wedding if you’ve been dating them for less than six months, that’s a general rule.”

“Says who?”

“Says everyone,” Your mother interjected. 

You just huffed out a breath of annoyance, “Well it’s a good thing the wedding is nine months away. I have time.”

Daniel stood up, but not before pushing you further into the corner of the couch, muttering a joke about how no one would want to date you anyway. Of course that prompted you to throw a pillow at him and your parents were left standing in the kitchen, wondering why they couldn’t just have one nice afternoon. 

Daniel, of course, wanted nothing more than for you to be happy, despite the constant teasing and lack of faith that you’d ever actually find someone. He knew you had high standards, he knew you didn’t trust easily and he knew you would never follow someone because you were in love or whatever. 

That’s why your last relationship ended. He wanted to move to Melbourne after graduation from university and even that was too far for you. Your whole life was in Perth, your home was on the western coast of Australia, you didn’t want to go anywhere else.

One time, Daniel tried setting you up with one of his athlete friends, someone else who was associated with Red Bull, but he was from Portugal, he travelled for a living and he resided in Los Angeles during his off season. You went on one date and you didn’t need to spend any more time with him to know you could never be in that sort of relationship.

Of course, this wasn’t something you shared publicly. Unless someone took the time to get to know you, your dating preferences would remain unknown.

You were private in that sense too. If you did talk to someone, if you attempted to broaden your circle and add a little romance in your life, you kept it to yourself. You were always paranoid about jinxing whatever fling you had so your friends were often left out of the loop. 

Your parents were a similar story. You didn’t live at home, you had your own flat, but you wouldn’t dare bring someone by for dinner or to meet them in fear that they would get their hopes up. It was one thing to date someone, it was an entirely other thing when parents got involved.

The one person you could trust, surprisingly, was Daniel. You weren’t ever seeking out relationship advice, but you knew his relationship with Heidi started out quite secretive for the first few years, only recently they decided to go public. So he knew a thing or two about wanting to keep a private life private.

So Daniel was the one you approached only a month before the wedding, eight months after you had rsvp’d to the event and checked the box reading no plus one. You waited until he was visiting home and you weren’t under the watchful eyes of your parents but rather the comfort of your own flat. 

“I have a favour to ask,” you started off, quite hesitant as you weren’t really one to ask your brother for anything. 

And Daniel listened to your request, assuring you that, if you were serious, he could probably pull some strings.

Key word being probably. Daniel couldn’t promise anything and by the time you got to Italy, he did what he could, but you still showed up to the Gritti Palace Hotel the weekend of the wedding with low expectations and a bunch of unanswered texts.

There was a private event in the restaurant and you immediately were drawn to the outdoor portion that overlooked the Grand Canal. The actual ceremony wasn’t until tomorrow, today was simply a chance for the guests to mingle and for the bride and groom to celebrate their last few hours with their loved ones before tying the knot.

With an aperol spritz in one hand and the other gripping the wooden railing above the channel, you took in the sights in front of you. The breeze was gentle and the scenery was breathtaking, stunning enough to make you forget that you were still feeling some effects of jet lag. 

Your back was to the rest of the party but your light pink dress that stopped just below your knee stood out compared to the white and beige decor the couple had chosen for this event. One could say it was because the colour was eye-catching, but there was no way to deny how well it accentuated your curves and highlighted your tan skin, making you appear as if you were truly glowing under the Italian sun. 

You definitely caught Lance’s eye.

You didn’t even need to turn around for him to recognise you. He saw your hair, dark and natural as it flowed down your back and he knew it was you. The girl he thought he already knew, the girl whose life he had been following through a phone screen for god knows how long.

It was just his luck that Daniel was nearby. Lance took a minute before heading towards you, wanting to confirm that yes it was you and yes it was alright if he spoke to you without crossing some weird driver line. He nudged Daniel’s arm and nodded towards the girl in pink. 

“That your sister?” Lance asked, clearing his throat. 

Daniel nodded, quite happy that someone else here knew who you were. It was always uncomfortable when you attended gatherings and didn’t know many people, it just made you want to leave early. 

“Yeah, you guys have met, right?”

Again, Lance played it off as if he wasn’t waiting for this moment, “No, I don’t think so.”

“Oh definitely go introduce yourself then, mate,” Daniel encouraged, which gave Lance even more confidence. “She’s shy, she'd rather drown herself in aperol spritz’ before ever approaching someone.”

Shy? Lance hadn’t pegged you for being shy. Introverted, maybe. But you seemed to have such a good group of friends and you went on adventures with them quite often that shy just didn’t seem like a characteristic of yours. 

“It’s not weird if I…” Lance trailed off, unsure how to ask the rest of his question. “It’s okay if I talk to her?”

Daniel laughed, finding the question to be humorous. He wasn’t in charge of you, who was he to have a say over who you could or couldn’t talk to, “I don’t care, just don’t be a cunt or I’ll have to kick your ass.”

“Deal,” Lance chuckled before he shoved his hands into his pockets and made his way towards the balcony you hadn’t moved an inch from. 

Lance wasn’t nervous, but he knew he should have been.

But again, it felt like he knew you. So he was comfortable enough to lean against the railing, not entering too much of your personal space, but close enough that you couldn’t ignore him. You turned your head, expecting to see your brother because as far as you knew, he was the only one here who would ever approach you, but you were pleasantly surprised to see Lance.

“Hi,” you said, already a smile on your face. Lance was someone you recognised. This wasn't a stranger approaching you, you could breathe. He was someone whose name you had heard quite a bit recently too, with his sister getting married and his good performances with Aston Martin. 

He was your brothers, best friend’s, soon to be brother in law. It was a long string that connected the two of you, but nonetheless, that connection was there. 

Which was why you already felt comfortable with Lance, even with this being the first time you’d ever met. 

“You’re Y/N right?” Lance asked. He knew damn well who you were. “I’m Lance.”

“Yeah, yeah,” heat rose to your cheeks at the idea of you being recognised. “Hi, it’s so nice to meet you. I feel like I-” you sucked in a breath instead of finishing your thought, not wanting to come across as overwhelming.

“It feels like we already know each other?” Lance guessed, because this was exactly what was going through his head too. 

Quiet laughter passed through your lips, Lance felt weak at the knees. 

“In a way, yeah,” you agreed, nodding your head. 

You had similar mannerisms to Daniel. Strong eye contact, saying ‘yeah’ to fill the gaps in sentences. Lance looked down at your hand and saw a few tattoos like that traced your wrist and a delicate design of a flower along your finger, similar to your brothers. Something that he hadn’t picked out from your Instagram.

The way you curled your fingers around the fragile stem of the glass caught Lance’s eye next. Your touch looked careful, soft even, and Lance wanted to know what it would be like to feel it for himself. 

And this wasn’t one sided. 

With Lance in front of you for a change instead of hiding behind Aston Martin admin approved photos, you could appreciate him in a whole new light. Social media and tv interviews didn’t do him justice, he was much more handsome in person. 

You liked the confidence he carried, even if he did seem a bit on the introverted side as well. You instantly got the impression that Lance was someone who stuck to himself but cared deeply about the people closest to him. He seemed like someone you wanted on your side, someone you could turn to at any time and know you would get a shoulder to cry on or a celebratory hug or even just someone who would really listen, if that’s what you needed.

You already felt connected to him, even though you knew you had no reasoning behind it.

“I’d offer to get you a drink but it’s an open bar and-” he eyed the aperol spritz in your hand. “-well you already have one.”

“I have two hands,” you teased, but your roguish smiles mirrored one another's and it was only a few seconds later when you and Lance were walking back inside towards the bar. 

He thought about dropping his hand to your back, but didn’t want to overstep. Contrary to what he might have wished, you had just met. 

But when someone stepped past him and Lance was forced to move closer to you, you didn’t inch away. In fact you looked at the point of contact at your arms and then glanced up at him, still sporting a natural pinky colour in your cheeks.

You didn’t really need another drink just yet but Lance ordered one for himself and when the bartender asked if you wanted a second, you just shrugged and said why not. It was an open bar, who were you to say no?

Lance and you stayed at the bar, getting as comfortable as you could on the stools as you fell into a good conversation. He was easy to talk to, like he was a friend from college that you bumped into by chance.

But even with the natural flow of the back and forth, you had to remind yourself that you were still just getting to know each other.

Within the hour you learned that his favourite colour was dark blue, that when he wasn’t focused on racing he tried going to as many hockey games as he could. The Habs, as he called them, was his favourite team and it took a few minutes and a bit of a history lesson for you to understand how the Montreal Canadiens got the shortened nickname. 

You learned he was not a morning person, whereas you thrived in the early hours of the day. He didn’t read as much as he liked to because of his demanding schedule, but you were quick to give him a list of recommendations based on what you thought he might enjoy if he ever did find time.

In return, Lance learned you studied hospitality and had a degree in Hospitality Management, with the goal of one day managing a hotel. When Lance questioned you more on that field you admitted that you actually wanted to take a lodge or a resort that was a bit of a fixer-upper and turn it into something great. You liked a challenge. Lance liked that.

Lance learned that you really enjoyed surfing and right now was actually the prime time for you to be getting ready for the season. While Perth wasn’t the best place in the world for surfers, it was perfect for you because it was never something you wanted to pursue professionally. 

When it came to the topic of travelling, Lance was surprised to hear that you didn’t do it as often as he assumed. You explained that everything you needed was on the west coast of Australia and you weren’t an easy person to travel with. You struggled with anxiety in airports, horrible jetlag, you overthought every plan, even if you weren’t the one in charge of the itinerary.

Travelling was a no, to sum it up. 

“But Daniel-”

“Travels all the time, yeah,” you finished Lance’s thought with a laugh. “Yeah we’re not alike in that sense. Even coming here was tough, but he told me there was no option to attend virtually.”

“Not a fan of planes?”

“Not in the slightest.”

Lance nodded, already thinking about how to approach the topic of trying to stay in contact long distance without coming off too strong. Sure he could ask for your number, but what if he wanted to see you again? Which he did. If a plane ride from Perth to Venice was a lot to handle, he could imagine a trip to Montreal was even lower on your list.

But Lance really liked talking to you, it was easy. It was natural. He didn’t have to try too hard, he didn’t feel the need to impress you. You laughed at his jokes, you understood each other's humour. The two of you clicked, it was impossible to deny that.

Which is what Lance hoped would happen. 

You were everything he had imagined and more and he was asking himself why he never tried to meet you sooner. 

That same question flashed through your mind too. Why couldn’t you have met sooner? After months of being forced to try and imagine what sort of person Lance was, it was heartwarming to know that the image you painted of him wasn’t entirely wrong. He was sweet, he was charming, he liked making you laugh, he knew how to keep a conversation going and it was obvious he cared to get to know you. 

These were traits you looked for in people, in a partner. 

But this chance encounter came a few months too late.

The conversation took a pause when Scotty appeared behind Lance, his soon-to-be ringed hand going to his shoulder as he gave both of you one of his signature smiles. 

“Y/N! Happy to see your plane didn’t crash!” Scotty teased, knowing your distaste for air travel. 

“If my drink was full I’d throw it on you,” you shot back. 

“Ah that’s just a waste of an open bar,” Scotty waved your meaningless threat off. “Honestly, though, thank you for coming. Chloe’s around here somewhere-”

“Lost your wife already?” Lance joked.

“Maybe she’s  a runaway bride,” you added. “She can still back out, you know?”

“Ha ha,” Scotty rolled his eyes. “Lovely to see that you two are getting along at my disposal.” He patted Lance’s shoulder and then turned to you, snapping his finger before pointing. “Did Danny talk to you?”

“Um-” you shook your head. Daniel and you hadn’t had a second to catch up since you arrived, despite the dozens of texts you had sent him. “No, why?”

“It’s all sorted out,” Scotty assured you. “It really wasn’t that hard to swing an extra chair, you gave us enough notice. The more the merrier, right?”

“Oh, Scotty thank you,” you breathed out. You reached forward and squeezed his arm in appreciation, but your smile was enough gratitude. It was the type of smile Lance had been waiting for. The grin that overshadowed the rest of your stunning features, the thing that had drawn Lance to your photos in the first place.

Only Lance wasn’t the reason for it. 

“Is he down here?” Scotty asked and this was about the time Lance realised he was missing something. There was a layer to this conversation that would tie everything together.

“Jet lag’s still getting to him.” you laughed, nodding your head towards the doors of the restaurant. “He set an alarm to get up, I’m sure he’ll be down here soon.”

“Can’t wait to meet him,” Scotty said with a nod, but there wasn’t much room for you to say anything else before he found a new guest he had yet to interact with. 

You looked towards Lance, but he was pretty good at hiding the confusion he was currently experiencing. In fact he played off needing to excuse himself pretty easily, you didn’t think anything of it when he said he needed to speak to Scotty about something quickly. 

Lance pulled the snowboarder aside, not at all mirroring his elated expression, “She has a boyfriend?”

Scotty tried to glance in your direction but Lance tugged on his sleeve to get him to stop in his tracks, not wanting to make it obvious they were talking about you. 

“She has a boyfriend,” Lance repeated, no longer a question. “You told me she was single.”

Scotty racked his memory for a second and scoffed, “Yeah nine months ago. Not my fault you waited too long to make a move.”

“How was I supposed to make a move when I hadn’t even met her?” Lance was clearly annoyed but he kept his tone to a sort of angry-whisper. “I was waiting for this wedding because I knew she’d be here.” 

“Sorry mate,” Scotty sighed, slowly piecing together that this wasn’t something Lance could casually blow off. “But I mean, you couldn’t have liked her that much. You don’t even know her.”

But in a way he did. And god he knew you felt the same. There was no way to explain the connection you two shared, but it was there. 

Lance inhaled a sharp breath, doing his best to keep from looking at you across the room, “I feel like I should say something.”

“Don’t,” Scotty immediately rejected the idea. “From what I hear from Danny, she’s happy. She doesn’t need you coming in and mucking it up.”

“But what if she’s-”

Scotty cut him off with a harsh laugh, “What if she’s what? The one? Lance, you just met her!”

“Then why does it feel like I’ve been waiting for her my entire life?”

Scotty let out a deep exhale, lifting his hand to Lance’s shoulder. He gave him a sympathetic squeeze, “Because she’s pretty and you’re lonely. Now let her be. Don’t ruin a relationship during my wedding weekend.”

He walked off shortly after, leaving Lance to, hopefully, make the right choices.

Lance should have listened to Scotty. He should have rejoined the party and leave you be, knowing that his chance with you was either non-existent or just extremely slim. How serious were you and this boyfriend anyway?

As if the universe wanted his question answered, the boyfriend himself walked into the restaurant.

The only reason Lance knew it was the boyfriend was because he saw the way you stood up from the bar and practically ran to him, your pink dress was impossible to mistake even as you hurried to work your way through the party.

Lance watched as your hands went to his tie to adjust it before he leaned forward and greeted you with a kiss. You played with a few strands of his dirty blonde hair, probably making some comment about how it looked like he just woke up. He laughed at whatever you said and Lance hated that you looked happier now than you had all throughout the last hour.

He was now trying to figure out if he had misread the signs. Did you even give him any signs? You sat and talked to him but it was Lance’s own fault if he misread that as being interested. 

How did he not know you had a boyfriend? 

Why didn’t you mention it?

Why wasn’t that one of the first things you said to Lance when he offered to get you a drink from the bar?

Why did Lance still feel that spark with you when it should have been reserved for your boyfriend?

Lance wasn’t sure how much time had passed as he stood off to the side, questioning everything he ever knew about you, or what he thought he knew. But he came to and snapped out of his thoughts when he saw that familiar shade of pink headed towards him.

“Hey,” you said, your hand was connected to your boyfriend’s as you led him towards Lance. 

Lance smiled, how could he not when you approached him? “Hey, sorry, I went back to the bar earlier but you were gone.” Did he feel a little bad about lying? Yes, but it was easier to say that than to say, I stopped talking to Scotty a while ago. I just didn’t know how to interrupt you and your boyfriend.

“Oh, yeah, um-” You pulled the tall blond closer to your side. His hand went to your waist. “Lance, this is Matty. Matty, Lance.”

Matty held out his other hand to connect it with Lance’s. It was a firm handshake, maybe a little too firm on Lance’s part.

“Hey, mate, huge fan,” Matty said, similar accent to yours and Daniel’s. 

“Oh thank you,” Lance cleared his throat. “Hope you don’t mind, I’ve been keeping Y/N company.”

“I should be thanking you for that,” Matty laughed, the bitter tone from Lance going right over his head. “I needed a quick nap before this party. I don’t know how you drivers are able to just hop on planes so easily, I think I’d rather sail back to Australia.”

You guys were compatible, at least. Same fear of planes, same dislike for travelling. 

Lance didn’t like that. He knew he was the last person who should have an opinion, but he always thought it was opposites that attracted. Shouldn’t you be with someone that encouraged you to step outside your comfort zone?

“Oh there’s Danny and Scotty, I’m going to thank them for letting me come so last minute,” Matty looked towards the opposite end of the room to where your brother and friend were. He ran his fingers over your back and assured you he’d be quick before he headed off to talk to them.

“Last minute?” Lance asked. “So he wasn’t originally supposed to come?”

You laughed, “No, we’ve only been together for about six months. When I RSVP’d to the wedding last year I hadn’t met him yet,” you glanced towards Matty, “And then about a month ago I realised I kind of wanted him to accompany me here. Danny said it would be fine, probably, so he got a ticket to Venice but we actually didn’t get a confirmation until-” you chuckled again. “Well you overheard Scotty. I found out thirty minutes ago that Matty would have a seat at the table tomorrow.”

When you spoke about Matty, your face lit up. Lance couldn’t deny that. He could see how happy this surfer type from Perth made you.

And in return, you saw how Lance was no longer acting himself. He was tense, avoiding your eyes. You called him out on it, “Is everything okay?”

Lance should have taken Scotty’s advice. He should have said everything was fine and walked in the other direction, letting you go back to Matty.

But Lance was a hopeless idiot. He nodded his head towards the doors of the restaurant that lead towards a secluded hallway, “Can we talk?”

You weren’t sure exactly what Lance wanted to talk about but you followed him out into the hall. The music faded behind you when you walked far enough and Lance wasted no time in saying what was on his mind.

“Do you ever meet someone and it just feels right?” He asked. 

You hesitated, “What do you mean?”

Lance glanced back towards the party, “Like you see them and you just know there’s a connection. That they’re supposed to be in your life.”

“I mean-” your eyebrows pinched together, “Yeah. I’ve experienced that a few times I guess.”

That clearly wasn’t the answer Lance wanted to hear and his defeated expression told you that. He nodded, coming to his own understanding, one that you were having a bit of trouble following.

“Is it wrong if I say that’s how I felt when I looked at you?”

You stared up at lance, lips parted slightly as you did your best to ignore the devastating feeling of your heart sinking to your stomach. You didn’t have an answer, what could you even say to that?

Lance was practically admitting to believing in love at first sight and you, well, you didn’t see what he saw. You couldn’t.

“Look I didn’t know you had a boyfriend,” Lance continued. “And I don’t mean to blindside you like this, really. I think, well I think I was blindsided when I realised you were already taken.”

This was a lot to wrap your head around. 

You never intended to lead Lance on. You chatted with him for a while, yes but you tried to stay behind the line. You didn’t flirt, or at least you didn’t flirt on purpose. You could have said you had a boyfriend, but the truth was, it didn’t cross your mind when you talked to Lance.

Blindsided, he said. It seemed like a harsh word for the situation you found yourselves in.

“Were you blindsided or were you just blind?” You asked, dropping your shoulders to lean against the wall. You watched as Lance really took in your question and he rubbed the back of his neck, unable to come up with a good answer.

You felt for him, really, because you did like him. You liked talking to him, you liked his presence, he was someone that you knew you would get along great with. 

You also knew that if this situation were any different, if you showed up to this wedding single, you’d have probably, definitely, given Lance a chance. And this wasn’t something you should have been thinking about because you had a boyfriend. You were happy. Imagining an alternate timeline without Matty seemed wrong.

There was a connection with Lance, but it was one you couldn’t act on. 

“Lance, I think we both had an idea of who the other was before we came here, but we had very different ideas as to how this weekend would go,” you continued, a certain gentleness in your tone that Lance appreciated. “I was looking forward to meeting you. And we both agree that it feels as though we already knew each other...but the truth is, we don’t.”

That was a stab right to the chest for Lance, but he nodded in agreement.

“I guess I just thought this weekend would be the start of something,” he admitted, trying to play off the thought with a chuckle.

You wanted to apologise, it was human nature to want to sympathise with other people, but you had nothing to apologise for. 

Lance had constructed his own image of you and in it, you were single, you were compatible, you were willing to see this connection through and make something of it. 

And that’s what blinded him.

If he had taken a second to actually pay attention to what you shared on social media, he would have recognised the same blonde haired guy showing up in a few photos dating back to almost six months ago. All Lance paid attention to was you, your smile, you having a good time, your adventures. You were private about your relationship, yes, but you weren’t keeping it a secret either.

Lance just didn’t put it together until it was too late.

It hurt you, really. You didn’t like knowing you were the reason for someone’s sorrow. In fact you almost went as far as to say, if things were different…

But things weren’t different. You were with Matty. 

Was Matty the right person for you? Lance wanted to ask that but he knew he’d be crossing a line if he did. That was something you had to figure out on your own. 

After six months of dating, you liked to think he was. The timing was perfect, he treated you well, he made you undeniably happy. 

And yes, you could have looked at Lance and told yourself he had the same qualities. That he was also perfect, that he also could have treated you well. There was no doubt in your mind he could have made you happy if he was given the option.

But timing was not on your side. 

Lance licked his lips, taking a step away from you and closer to the crowded restaurant where he knew your boyfriend was waiting, where his family was waiting. You would both go your separate ways and return to how it used to be, following each other's lives through a phone screen.

“Right person, wrong time, huh?” Lance tried to joke, but the soft smile you gave him in return told him that there was some truth to his words, truth that even you didn’t want to admit to.

In an attempt to fix this, you spoke from the heart. Telling Lance what he needed to hear, even if you weren't fully convinced by your own words. As long as you sounded believable, you both could move on from this moment.

“If it’s the wrong time, then it’s probably the wrong person.”

Lance nodded, noticing the way you struggled to keep eye contact, something you hadn’t had issues with all night. He took that as a sign that it was time to walk away. From you, from this, from what could have been if they met only a few months earlier.

He turned and rejoined the party, plastering a painful smile on his face as he carefully made his way through the crowd to order another drink from the bar. 

He avoided you and your pink dress for the rest of the night, not because he wanted to, but because it was the right thing to do. And it wasn’t easy because to Lance, you were still the girl that he thought he had been waiting for this entire time. That would take time to get over. He had spent less than a few hours with you and it was the easiest, most carefree evening he’s had in a while, and he knew moving on from you would only be the opposite.

It was his own fault too. Lance was the one who got his hopes up. He was the one who was waiting for the right moment that never came. Or worse, it came and went without him knowing. There was probably a sliver of an opportunity months ago where he could have done something, could have asked Danny to introduce you, could have asked Scotty for your number. By waiting until the wedding, Lance had only set himself up for failure.

If it’s the wrong time, then it’s probably the wrong person.

He didn’t want to think about the way you said ‘probably’. He wasn’t going to. Lance knew you weren’t leaving any sort of hint, you were just letting him down gently, which only further proved how good of a heart you had. 

You were so kind, so caring, you were perfect, and you weren’t his.

You never would be.

[saintsenara]

In the last post you implied that jily fell for each other the moment they met, why do you think this? I never really got that vibe (it seems like they both like each from atleast as early as their 5th year) but I could be missing something here.

thank you very much for the ask, anon!

for the simple reason that both lily and james choosing to be so bothered by each other the second they properly meet is a very good sign that each considered the other to mean something significant to them from the off.

after all, if lily considered james to be completely uninteresting and unworthy of her time... then she wouldn't have involved herself in the dick-measuring contest he, snape, and sirius get into on the hogwarts express. and james wouldn't have felt compelled to be rude about her - in a way, let's be clear, which he intends her to hear and to know is directed at her - while she's storming out of the compartment with her nose in the air if he didn't think she was worthy of his attention either.

this doesn't mean that what each of them felt for each other was immediately romantic [after all, they're eleven...], but that sort of prickly, "no, obviously i don't care about james potter! i hate james potter! he annoys me just by breathing!" dislike of someone can [in many cases] be a precursor to love...

[because - of course - the opposite of love isn't hatred... it's indifference.]

and it also doesn't negate the fact that both snape and sirius are directly involved in starting - and maintaining, and escalating - the beef. snape's immediate dislike of james and sirius [and their immediate dislike of him] has that same sense of only being so bothered by someone because they matter to you. the text points this out explicitly - that snape is immediately jealous of james having the "indefinable air of having been well-cared-for, even adored, that snape so conspicuously lacked".

and that james is immediately jealous of snape having lily.

one of snape's great tragedies is that he doesn't quite possess the ability to understand the subtext of lily's relationship with james prior to the breakdown of their friendship - and that this is why james and lily bantering [pretty flirtatiously, to be frank] while james is bullying him blindsides him, making him so angry that he lashes out in the only way he believes could soothe his pain and calls her a mudblood.

it's clear from the princes tale, for instance - especially the bit where they're arguing about mulciber versus the marauders - that snape is trying to needle lily into stating conclusively that james doesn't matter to her [and that he's immensely reassured when she seems to do so], but that he doesn't realise that lily calling james an "arrogant toerag" doesn't actually indicate the indifference he's looking for...

that conversation seems to take place in their fifth year - and snape being worried that james' interest in lily is sexual might very well have only started then - but it has as an undercurrent the heavy implication that snape and lily have had similar discussions before. it seems pretty unlikely, for example, that lily would ask snape "why are you so obsessed with them?" if he'd only just started bringing james and his cronies up with her - and it seems equally unlikely that snape would have felt the need to complain to lily about the marauders prior to this conversation if he hadn't been worried for a significant amount of time that lily was not quite as unconcerned by james as she claimed...

[this - for what it's worth - is why i think the anti-jily "james forced her into being with him!" argument doesn't hold up. james' technique is pretty heavy-handed - absolutely - but he behaves the way he does because he's noticed that lily not only reacts to it, but that she reacts to it in ways which aren't boredom, sadness, or fear. and she does this - of course - because james sincerely interests her.]

and - while this comes with the risk of undermining what i said yesterday - it's striking that this is exactly what happens with ron and hermione. while their friendship establishes itself very differently to james and lily's - and while the course it takes towards romance is also very different - that same "no of course i don't care!" interest in each other is present from the get-go.

i don't think this is because jily and romione are intended by the doylist text to be parallels so much as i think that it's a way of conducting interpersonal relationships that jkr is clearly fond of in her own life [which is due both to her own personal idiosyncrasies and the cultural context in which she lives - insulting people you care about is the british love-language, describing a man as an "arrogant toerag" is practically writing him romantic poetry].

but i do think the fact that it turns up in how both couples are written - particularly since the doylist text thinks that james and lily were a perfect couple, even if its readers disagree - is intended to show that, in both cases, the fact that it was irritation-at-first-sight meant it later turning into true love was inevitable...

[am-i-the-asshole-official]

Aita for dumping my friend for working for my ex?

I (16F) recently broke up with my bf of a year, J (16M) because a girl he was in a situationship with previously sent me screenshots of him nonstop harassing her to get back into contact with him all through our relationship. This completely blindsided me and I was really shaken up by how much someone who I thought I loved could be hiding from me.

After the breakup my friends, many of whom had become friends with J while we were dating, cut him out of our group. The way they took my side and stood up for me after such a big betrayal helped to cheer me up. However, this loyalty did not last very long for some people, namley K(17F). She started hanging out with J outside of our friend group very soon after this all went down. I felt very betrayed by this because she was putting a horrible guy she’d known for a couple months over a years long friendship.

As she started spending more and more time with him, I began to suspect that their relationship was more than just a friendship, so I confronted her about it. She seemed offended that I would assume that and informed me that my ex had recruited her to be the public relations for his dropshipping business before the breakup, and she wasn’t going to cut him off because she was making 10,000+ dollars a month.

My immediate reaction to all that was anger. Not just about K taking 10,000 dollars over our 4 year friendship, but also about J asking K to help him out instead of me while we were still dating and “madly in love”. During the whole year we were dating the most he ever let me do was look for sellable products on Alibaba with his friends. Whenever I had suggested something small, like the name of the instagram account when he was selling knockoff Uggs, he would say it was cool and then ignore it. It seemed to me like K had chosen to become someone who meant more to J than I ever would while J and I were still dating and she was still my “friend”.

All of this was really hurtful so I decided to give K an ultimatum: she could either stop working for him or we couldn’t be friends anymore. Instead of being reasonable, K got really pissed and started saying that I was narcissistic and toxic and controlling and that she didn’t know why she had ever wanted to be my friend. I didn’t take what K was saying seriously because she has a habit of saying nasty things to people when she’s angry and then apologizing and acting like nothing had happened the next day. However, after everything that had happened I was seriously done with her. I told her that I didn’t know why we were friends either and if we both felt that way we should just not be friends anymore. Then I said that even if she came crying back to me when J found some other girl to replace her, I wouldn’t want to be her friend again.

Since then me and my loyal friends have tried our best to not be in her life anymore. She hasn’t tried to get into direct contact with me yet, but she does reach out to some other friends in my group to try and worm her way back in pretty often.

It’s hard to ignore her sometimes because we used to be really good friends and I still miss her despite everything. As I have gotten over J and the way he treated these past couple of weeks, I have started to question if the way I treated K was entirely fair. I definitely don’t want to be close friends with her again after how she acted but I feel like I should maybe at least apologize to her or something.

What are these acronyms?

[bouncingbluebeast]

Howdy Hank! I'm loving your plumper look and I was wondering how your change in appearance has impacted your romantic encounters. Have you had any new admirers since gaining weight and has gaining led to new opportunities with your romantic partners?

"Oh boy, has it!"

Hank seems a little sheepish for a moment, rubbing his thick neck in recollection,

"Well, you can imagine the initial scandal of the tabloids posting headlines about 'The Bouncing Blue Blubber'. Trish seemed to have fun with that one....Anyway, going out to my usual stomping grounds went from challenging to impossible.

That being said...perhaps I didn't know where to look. Bobby and Morph were kind enough to invite me out on 'Bear Night' at a bar they liked.

I was blindsided by the attention after months of cold shoulders and turned noses. Imagine a fat furry professor being fondled and flirted with by a whole room of men. While the festivities were delightful, it didn't have the deeper connection I'd come to appreciate.

Then I'd received confessions from three of my dear friends over the course of as many years.

First there was Kurt Wagner; as bold and tender as ever, seizing the initiative gambit during our bi-weekly laser obstacle chess game. I'd been trying to shed some 'winter weight' at the time and he'd...been very direct about how much he cared for me at any size. I suppose that was the start of it...and around the time I'd discovered my new mutation surfacing.

Then came along Simon Williams. We'd been away for so long - and yet one drink after nearly a decade - it was like we were right back where we were...he'd fallen out of the press' favour due to old skeletons dug back up, I'd fallen further from my tenuous grace with my rounded reputation - it was refreshing to get close with someone else and not care what anyone thought. A best friend really can help you take on the world.

Finally, there was Bobby Drake. My brother-in-arms from the early days...he'd been over in Los Angeles sorting his own things out, and I could hardly blame him. And wouldn't you know it? He was incredulous when he'd found out I was not only bi but dating TWO men. The look on his face when I'd asked if he'd like to be the third...I think he thawed out of that chilly isolation after that. I was always the one he'd come to when he needed cheering up~

Of course, Kurt is ever the beating-heart romantic with his emotional cactus, Wolverine. Logan doesn't like to admit it but I've caught him more than once staring at my form. I'm more than happy to include our common curmudgeon in our cuddle-time..."

[hollowwrites]

Summer of 6th Year

Ominis x MC Rewrite

Summary - I hate, hate hate, thinking about Ominis with his family. I don’t like to think about what the summer between 5th and 6th year would have been like for him. Too upsetting. The boi deserves better. But I’m taking my own head canon of 5th year into account (part 5 of Blindsided shh) and suddenly it’s not as sad?

Warnings - Mostly just sad thinking about what could have happened during the summer but none of it is mentioned specifically

Word Count - 2393

~

The chug of the steam trains pistons started to fade into the distance as it continued on its journey. With the last train now gone that would mean all attending students to Hogwarts were on the grounds.

However, Ominis was yet to find Evelyn.

He swept his wand broadly across the platform at the remaining students idly chatting or waiting for their friends. With the crowd thinning further, he had hoped she had seen him and he would soon be sent hurtling to the ground in her embrace.

Perhaps she had decided not to return. After the 5th year they both shared, he couldn’t blame her. But his heart sank at the idea. Or maybe she had seen him, and ignored him entirely.

He couldn’t work out which was worse.

Garreth remained patrolling the bottom of the stairs leading out of Hogsmeade station, counting how many Weasleys were arriving and squinting at every new ginger kid that bounced towards the castle. As Ominis approached him, he eyed him cautiously. The Blonde Slytherin didn’t look like someone returning to Hogwarts but rather someone who had been sentenced to life in Azkaban. His features were heavy with fatigue and his deep set eyes blinked unenthusiastically in Garreth’s direction.

He looked, truly…

…Gaunt.

“Hello Garreth, you haven’t seen Evelyn have you?”

“Yeah, she’s just asked me the exact same question, she’s…Merlin where has she gone?” Garreth peered over the sea of first years being ushered up to the castle to be sorted. “I swear I just saw her, she-“

“Ominis!”

And there it was.

The voice that calmed him like no other. The voice that could call to him even in the darkest of places. The voice he had heard rattling around his head for six long weeks, each time it would change and morph. Like he was slowly forgetting who she was.

But oh was it sweet now…

His Evelyn…

Garreth watched as Ominiss’ shoulders visibly relaxed and he immediately turned in the direction of her voice. He laughed at the twitch of Ominis’ lips threatening to break into a smile at the mere mention of his name.

Wand in hand he strode towards her, hearing the loud patter of her feet as she ran towards him. Before long, her arms wrapped around his neck, pulling him down to her height.

So small. He had forgot that too…

“I missed you so much” Evelyn muffled into his neck. Pocketing his wand quickly, his arms snaked around her. One along her waist, pulling her ever closer till there was no gap between them. The other soon joined cushioned behind her thighs as he scooped her clean off the ground. The elated scream that erupted from her lips vibrated through her chest where Ominis pressed his ear. He sighed contently.

Her heartbeat.

He didn’t need to be this close to hear it, of course. But why not when she was so willing? It hammered strong and erratic against his head, rattling his brain.

A reminder she was alive.

“Oh you have no idea how much I’ve missed you” he muffled into her arm, wrapped around his head. She cradled him as much for stability as for comfort.

When the pair broke away, minutes after, the platform was almost empty. Garreth bid them both a quick farewell before his departure. No doubt off to watch the horde of Weasleys get sorted into Gryffindor.

Both Ominis and Eve decided to take the longer, more scenic route back to the castle, catching up on their summer in a more private and beautiful setting.

“So how is Anne?” He asked earnestly.

“She’s doing really well” Eve beamed “Her fits are down to 2 or 3 times a day, depending on what we’ve been doing, if she’s feeling well. There’s a lot of factors but…she’s getting there”

“And Sebastian?” Her stride slowed somewhat at his follow up question

“I haven’t heard from him” she linked her arm with his giving it a little squeeze. The closest thing they could get to a hug whilst they slowly ascended to Hogwarts. “Have you?”

“Not even one owl” Ominis replied blankly, finding it easier to lie about his summer than offload his own problems onto the already fretting Evelyn.

“We did the right thing. Yes? Yes.” She fiddled with her fingers around his arm, picking at her nails as she was known to do. He placed his hand over hers to stop her anxious habit.

“He probably just needs some time” Ominis said convincing himself as much as he was convincing her.

An uncomfortable silence crept up on the pair.

So it was going to be like this again

“I thought you would have visited…” Evelyn’s voice was quiet, barely there as she effortlessly broke his heart in two.

“I…was busy” Ominis lied

“I went to Feldcroft to see you. See if Sebastian had returned and how you were faring…You were never there”

Anne spoke of Ominis often. It seemed they were close. Annoyingly close if Evelyn was being honest. The rancid taste of jealousy rose on her throat whenever the sick Sallow said his name with a tone of affection. Despite that though she had proved to be a valuable resource of information about him. About how they’d spend summers together. How they often slept under the stars whilst the Sallow twins described different constellations for their blind counter part.

And how vile and twisted his family were.

Surely he would rather return to an empty homestead than his family

Evelyn’s stomach remained constantly in flux over her summer. Anne: Cursed. Sebastian: missing. Ominis: unaccounted for.

“I was out rather a lot. Holidays. Day trips. The like…” He lied once more. Easily.

If he were to tell anyone it would be Evelyn. She got the Scriptorium location from him. He trusted her. Right?

Her eyes narrowed suspiciously. He would tell her in his own time but it was killing her, this unknown.

So they simply walked back in silence.

~

The sorting ceremony happened with no major catastrophes or drama. As everyone filed out to go about their nightly routine, find their common room or just get reacquainted with one another, Ominis could hear a gossipy bunch of younger students just ahead. The topic of their conversation piqued his interest away from the infamous student still clinging to his arm.

“Who is that? They weren’t in the hall?” The young Ravenclaw said

“Nope not at our table either. That is green isn’t it? Slytherin?” The Slytherin girl sneered

“Oh that’s just Sebastian Sallow” The eldest student replied.

Ominis froze.

No mistaking it. The habitual tapping of his foot. The impatient huff of air on every second breath. The smell of smoke, embers and coffee.

There, stood leaning against the wall in the foyer between the parted sea of students, was his oldest friend. Ominis remained stationary. Stuck in place by a mixture of emotions none quite strong enough to rise to the surface.

One thing rattled around his head more than anything though…

How dare he?

“What’s wrong?” The tiny voice of Evelyn rang hollow in his ears as Sebastian pushed himself off the wall and made his way over.

Eve followed Ominis’ sightless gaze and her eyes met with Sebastian. She stared at him, unknowing of what she wanted to do. She missed her friend. She wanted to embrace the boy whose sister she now cared for. The boy who showed her that secret place deep in the belly of Hogwarts. The boy who showed her spells and mysteries and new places across the region. The boy whose smile, that was currently plastered across his face, had manipulated her into doing stupid and unforgivable things.

She blinked away images of Anne. She saw her in Sebastian face more clearly now she was almost free of that curse. The nights she stayed up with her over those six weeks, well into the early hours, crying over the loss of her brother.

Now she wanted to hit him.

Make him feel a fraction of the pain he had caused his sister in his absence. Anne’s voice sang in her ear;

‘Us Sallows are thick-brained stubborn mules. He just needs time as much as I need time. I don’t want to see him right now, but I miss him. Does that make sense?’

Eve’s hand fell from Ominis as she hugged herself tightly. Fighting every fibre in her being from doing…something.

“Hello you two. Long time no see” His voice was thick with a confidence only he could muster.

“‘Long time no see’?” Ominiss’ signature sharp tone returned, his voice rising in volume causing Sebastian to flinch somewhat and a plethora of nosy student to turn their way.

“I just mean-“

“Ominis please-“ Evelyn begged seeing the last few students leaving, turn to look at the scene. She glared at them until they realised the drama, wasn’t worth their life. She was the new fifth year after all.

“She wrote you. She went to Feldcroft. Where were you? She put herself in danger for you! Again!” Ominis took a step toward Sebastian, his wand blinking faster giving him a better layout of the situation he found himself in.

“I didn’t ask you too” Sebastian followed suite, both boys leaning forward as though a physically fight was only moments away. Then Evelyn realised...the last time they saw one another, Ominis had his hand wrapped around Sebastian’s throat, and his wand buried harshly in his temple.

“Don’t rope me into this. I’ve had to silently worry for six weeks, Sebastian. I couldn’t write. I couldn’t visit. I couldn’t leave because I had to spend my summer with family” Sebastian retreated slightly mouth going slack as he processed what he said

“You didn’t stay with Eve?”

“Why would I do that to her? She’s already tending to your sister. And you didn’t exactly extend me an invitation like you have every other year” Ominis’ anger slipped a fraction, betraying the hurt behind his words, his brows pulled upwards.

“You didn’t stay at Feldcroft?” Eve yanked at Ominis’ arm forcing him to face her.

“No I…”

“Ominis…” Sebastian reached out to Ominiss’ shoulder, placing a comforting hand upon the taller Slytherin.

“Are you okay?” Eve said taking his cheek in her hand. Ominis didn’t answer.

His head filled with those six dreaded weeks. Waking to screaming as they tortured yet another muggle. Being denied meals for refusing to participate. And of course the immediate punishment. Crucio. That word had been uttered more over those six weeks than he cared to remember.

Though he couldn’t really.

Whether it was his minds self preservation or had chosen to forget, he didn’t know. Those weeks were a blur. All he could remember was pain, the fetid smell of that old Manor House and incessant questioning of ‘The Hero of Hogwarts’.

Of course they had heard about her power. and of course, they wanted it for themselves. Thankfully, from what he could gather, they had no clue who she was. Neither witch or wizard, muggleborn or pureblood. They didn’t know. And Ominis would keep it that way.

Whilst Ominis’ mind was reeling, the anguished expression on his face evidence of that, Sebastian was pacing, muttering to himself over and over.

What he always did when he was thinking.

Dangerous.

“So I wasn’t at Feldcroft because I went to look for Solomon” Sebastian spoke with a determination that didn’t suit the topic he had randomly brought up. “I couldn’t find him. His friends, those that he had left, old Aurors, I even asked Sharp for some contacts. Nothing. I assume he’s took another name and fled. Anyway, that means Feldcroft is mine now…”

Sebastian turned to his friend, all determination and stubbornness leaving him. All that was left was compassion and love for a boy he failed to protect. Like he always had.

“You live with me now.” He grabbed Ominis by the shoulders giving him a singular light shake.

“Sebastian-“

“No! Even if you don’t want to, I-I-I can make myself scarce…or at least it’s an option. You don’t have to go back there. You can’t…I can’t protect you there. I can’t…” Sebastian searched Ominis’ eyes for any resistance. Worse. There was none. He’d given up.

“It’s not that simple” Ominis spoke quietly, heavy with despair

“Or me. You can stay with me.” Eve smiled up at him before pulling herself into his chest, wrapping her arms around his waist “You’ve spoken very little about your family, I know it’s bad but... I’m so sorry. I should’ve known. I should’ve offered to-”

“Shhh” Ominis hushed softly, his arm wrapping limply around her shoulders and smoothing her soft hair against her head. Sebastian followed suit and wrapped his arms around them both and squeezing.

After a moment, Ominis relented his shaky arms wrapped around the two of them, resting his chin on Evelyns head.

“I’ve missed you both so much” Ominis finally spoke, his voice quiet and not quite carrying the normal gravitas that it did. It was broken. And soft.

Sebastian was the first to pull away, though kept his hands upon his two best friends. His smile was charming, as it always was.

“I give it till the middle of first term. Then you’ll be sick of us again” Sebastian grinned pulling away from them.

“Please, tomorrow afternoon and he’ll ban us from the Undercroft” Eve smirked, giving Ominis one last squeeze before releasing him.

“Now” Sebastian rubbed his hands together “Is there any of that food left? Unlike some people when I’m late I don’t like drawing attention to it and I’m hungry!”

Ominis sighed and for once allowed the twitch of his lips to take over.

It felt good to be back.

~

Bonus:

“She wrote me six times over summer” Sebastian burst through the door of the boys dorm, a huge knapsack in one hand and a small stack of letters in the other.

“You sound mad about that” Ominis put his book down, knowing no more reading would be done if Sebastian was in a mood

“I am! Look at this” He began to shovel the contents of the bag onto Ominiss’ bed. “These are all for you! There’s at least thirty!”

“Oh!” He felt his cheeks start to burn, feeling the parchment between his fingers

“Honestly it’s as though we didn’t commit multiple crimes together”

Masterlist

Original

[batsplat]

☕️ on marc/dani as teammates? bc so many ppl on here especially have such a simplified and maybe even rose-tinted view of their dynamic imo…..

hm yeah it's a tricky one because I do think there's a lot of genuine interpersonal fondness there that was forged in the aftermath of some equally genuine animosity. for me, it's that development that's particularly interesting... what I personally have always found the most appealing about this rivalry is just how ruthless marc as to someone he genuinely admired and considered one of his heroes or 'references'. like, I think it's a bit different from the dynamic with valentino because it's kind of... vale's the childhood hero vs dani as a rider who's ahead of you who you want to directly emulate in rising through the ranks. with valentino, marc didn't really think they'd ever be competing at the top of the sport because of how big the age gap was, but with dani? different story

which does affect the emotional approach, I reckon - you can admire them and still dream of beating them, you know? like, say you're fourteen years old in 2007 and are getting out your customised casey stoner voodoo doll while he's bitch slapping your two guys, what fantasies are you cooking up in your little brain about meeting your heroes? with valentino, it's probably him grinning at you while handing you your tenth consecutive motogp trophy and telling you how amazing you are... how you're his successor, the one carrying on his legacy... lots of daydreaming of him like, hyping you up after he's retired and calling you god's gift to motorcycle racing, etc etc. who knows, maybe marc was also fantasising about beating valentino in epic duels, but he wasn't really expecting to be fighting valentino, right? whereas with dani? oh yeah, marc might have thought he was great... but in an ideal world, he's ripping the crown off dani's head when dani's a three time defending motogp champion! so crucially marc wasn't blindsided by actually fighting him on-track, and was kinda more prepared for that to get ugly? dani acts as a 'direct' reference, where he's just a few years ahead and marc can see how it's done, basically. but what this still means... he'd admired this guy for years, he had posters of him and all that shit, but the moment they're direct competitors and teammates? all that is just... locked away. no interest no mercy, all he cares about is beating the guy. and marc did still talk about using dani as a reference point, about how much he'd learned from him... but of course that scary fast learning of his was all about beating dani

from dani's side... I'm glad he's gotten to a stage where he's at peace with his career, but. god, it must have been tough. at the end of 2012, he's the in-form rider - more so than jorge. he won six of the last eight races that year. incidentally, this is how jorge is talking before the 2013 season:

obviously, jorge is trying to fuck with dani here, but he's also not really wrong. all four of the aliens have got a lot going on early 2013, but if you had to point at the guy who is dealing with the most pressure? well, it's got to be dani, doesn't it. he was the one who still had something to prove in the premier class, who was now being thrown together with the super hyped rookie. this is how dani spoke about marc at the start of the year:

and here:

and then of course marc beat dani at qatar and then won at cota... granted, dani does a good job of keeping his head and regrouping for the next few races - but it was still an auspicious start, provoking a lot of discourse that wasn't particularly kind to dani. so in that first year, you've got all these different elements - you've got how marc is competing on-track, dani's injury, how marc is already attempting to assert himself within the team, how you've got the behind the scenes warfare between their two teams (again, see this article)... and then dani's issues with marc's actual riding (x, x). now, I think it's worth saying that aragon 2013 is not a case where marc has clearly fucked up. he makes a mistake, yes, but he couldn't have known the slight contact he made with dani would lead to that wire breaking and dani's highside. here's what dani said:

this is a case where different racing philosophies clash, right? what dani's saying is that what happened was a direct consequence of how marc approaches riding - that he's always flirting with contact and this time it finally went wrong. it's the kind of riding dani has consistently disliked, and it's something marc is the poster boy for. in this case, this crash essentially ends dani's title bid. he couldn't walk for three days afterwards. dani criticised race direction for choosing not to give marc a penalty (apart from the penalty points) - this was not something he just brushed off

and, look, you do have to bring it up... dani's experiences with sic will inevitably have influenced how he approached the marc rivalry. I mean, it kind of did for all of them - there's elements of that tragedy that will have bled into how valentino, jorge, dovi and dani reacted to marc. with casey, it's one of the reasons why marc never even had an on-track rivalry with him. now, obviously, dani had big, big issues with sic, a lot of tension including harsh comments in the press and refused handshakes and all of that, as a result of sic's very aggressive approaching to racing. dani was also the one who suffered the most as a direct result, in particular after the broken collarbone at le mans. he's spoken after sic's passing about his regret about how he handled that relationship... how it changed his approach to rivalries, that reminder that there might be things he'd never have the chance to fix

the other sic-related element is that of course, there were easy parallels to be drawn between him and marc, and his shadow did at times loom uncomfortably over debates over hard racing during that period. I think you can feel it most strongly in jorge's response to marc... the echoes of when jorge had gotten in a verbal clash with sic at one of the 2011 pressers and his frustration when his complaints were just laughed off by journalists:

this press conference was from the race before le mans, where sic was responsible for dani's broken collarbone. so if two years later, you've got marc publicly shrugging off jorge's complaints in an only slightly more respectful manner, how can you not be at least a little concerned? yes, marc did have a better feeling of where the limit was, he didn't really push things too far, but... this was still a very recent trauma for everyone and nobody knew how far marc would or wouldn't push it at the time. especially not after the kind of reputation he'd gotten himself in his 125cc/moto2 days. (though of course it's important to note that sic's death wasn't caused by his style of racing, and if anything he'd gotten more sensible in the latter stages of 2011). so the influence goes both ways, right? on the one hand, it all feels a bit too familiar, on the other... well, that's actually a reason why you probably don't want to be too harsh on this kid. because you never know

in the end, the tensest year of their teammate partnership was 2013 - because after that title was sealed marc had won. by the end of the year, it wasn't really dani's team any more. his internal position had already been de facto undermined by casey, but not to the same extent because casey wasn't really interested in playing these games - plus the end stretch of 2012 had definitely cemented dani's role in the team. I've already given most of my thoughts here about how marc takes control of that team, which inevitably touches on some of his nastier behaviour. lying about what parts suited him is the obvious example... he's a ruthless teammate, he openly admits to it. and obviously, dani wasn't always just fine with that. who would be? he's accepted that's part of who marc is as a competitor, and at the end of the day he also had to accept losing. sometimes you just gotta make your peace with a status quo, yeah? it's tricky to strike the balance between not losing the competitive edge and not letting losing to your young teammate year after year drive you insane... dani's always been quite good at focusing on himself, even if a lot of the time 'focusing on himself' involved 'recovering from some horrid injury'

so you know, it's nice that their relationship has gotten warmer since they've no longer been teammates, and for the most part they did keep things civil while they were directly working with each other. also, you do just get over things when you're no longer competing with someone... I've said this before, but there's really only a relatively small number of truly burnt bridges in the paddock ecosystem. thing is, it's quite impressive of dani to seemingly not hold any grudges over what marc did to him... but he easily could have, and it kinda would've been justifiable? it's also primarily down to dani that this teammate dynamic didn't get worse than it was... which, y'know, you can argue if that was the right or the wrong approach, but it also meant he increasingly had to accept a subordinate role within that team - become a non-problematic teammate that honda was happy to sign again. and then you've got marc, who spent years looking up to dani and then spent years being pretty vicious to him and never saw the slightest contradiction between those two things, because of course he didn't! and of course he still has some historical fondness for him as a result of once being his fan... which is an element that has gradually snuck to the foreground again after marc increasingly managed to dismiss dani as a competitive threat. overall, then, as teammates they had their early tensions, then they were 'reasonably friendly coworkers', now they get on quite well. over the course of his career, dani's hardly been immune to drama with other riders, but at the end of the day he's pretty feud-proof on the whole. what kind of a nutter would you have to be to start a feud with dani pedrosa, eh

[lotties-ashwagandha]

Hello! All your Larrisa Weems fics are amazing!

I was wondering if you could write a Larrisa x fem!reader where they were in a relationship while studying at Nevermore. They broke up after school, but never really lost their feelings for each other. Now the reader returns to Nevermore due to Family Weekend (she is the parent) and they reunite. Thanks in advance!

THE RAIN IS OURS, AND WE ARE LOVERS

pairing: larissa weems x fem!siren!reader

word count: 1054

notes and warnings: title from “heavy weather” by billie marten <3 TW//brief mention of drugs and alcohol. ALSO italics indicate flashbacks.

taglist (if you want to be added or taken off lmk!!): @cartoonpeoples @thedeconstructionist @cordeliass @paulsonsratched @mayfair-fleur @goodeday2u @traumatisedfangirl

It seemed like ages since you had last seen your daughter. It had only been a few weeks, but still you couldn’t help but think she’d gotten a bit taller as she slammed into you, enveloping you in a hug.

Almost all of the women in your family had been sirens. It was a generational gift, though to you it was nothing but a curse. When your daughter had begun to manifest her powers only a few days past her fourteenth birthday, you had immediately enrolled her into Nevermore, where she had been spending the last few months.

The moment you reunited with her during Parents’ Weekend felt like heaven. You had spent endless nights lying awake wondering if she was alright, if she had made friends or was being bullied, how her powers were manifesting. It terrified you to be away from her for so long, but with her in your arms, you were whole once more.

Your daughter pulled away, excitement obvious in her features, and she pulled you through the courtyard. “I’ve made so many friends!” She exclaimed. “Even Bianca, who’s kind of the queen of Nevermore, eats lunch with me sometimes.”

She was pulling you toward a group of girls sitting by the fountain in the courtyard, some of them with parents accompanying, some without. You knew she was anxious for you to meet her friends, and you were pleased that she wanted you there instead of shooing you away in embarrassment.

“Oh!” Your daughter said excitedly, sharply turning directions. “You have to meet the principal! She said you two were good friends back in the day.”

Before you could respond, you had been tossed in front of a statuesque blonde towering high above you, her light blue eyes in contrast with her crimson lips as she stared down at you in surprise. Your daughter eyed the two of you in a state of complete oblivion.

“Larissa Weems?” You half-asked awkwardly, wanting to run in the opposite direction as fast as you could.

Larissa nodded, clearing her throat. “It’s nice to see you.”

There was nothing to say, but there was everything at the same time.

“Althea,” you said to your daughter, “how about you go gather your friends and meet me by the entrance of Ophelia Hall? I’ll be there in just a minute.”

Your daughter nodded excitedly, rushing off.

A silence stretched between you and Larissa for what felt like an eternity before one of you spoke. She made you nervous, just as she always had, but apart from the nerves that came with having been blindsided by her presence and the knowledge of the past you shared, you couldn’t say you minded the tension too much.

“Why wasn’t I aware that you are Althea’s mother?” Larissa asked, and you could tell she was attempting to be as pleasant as she could.

“I registered her online,” you recalled. “I must admit, I knew the principal’s name was Weems, but it just… I couldn’t quite connect the dots, I suppose.”

“I understand.”

And this time, the silence between you seemed to be in mourning of your time at Nevermore, all those years ago.

—

She wasn’t supposed to be there. It was past curfew, and everyone was either asleep or lurking in the shadows of Nevermore’s underground tunnels and libraries, everything silent in appearance.

You had made an agreement with your roommate that you would not tell on her if she went to a secret party, if she would not tell if you allowed Larissa to spend the night.

The group of you were seventeen, and such a year at Nevermore was spent as you and Larissa were spending it, listening to vintage rock turned all the way down on the stereo in your room and getting a little high and a little drunk off of what you had been able to acquire from the normies in Jericho.

You were standing by the open window, stargazing, or rather wondering why it looked like the moon was flashing in and out of focus. You chuckled a bit — you weren’t sure why, but everything was suddenly unspeakably funny.

Larissa came up behind you, wrapping her arms around you. “I think the concepts of twin flames and soulmates are rather stupid,” she said, her tone fluctuating as she spoke, “but if soulmates are real, I think you’re mine.”

You inhaled sharply, a warm sense of love flooding over you, and you turned to face her. “You’re everything to me.”

She leaned down to kiss you and bliss came over you both, the moon shining silver in its glory.

If only you’d known then how terrible the future was that waited ahead.

—

“Your daughter’s been getting perfect grades,” Larissa told you, professionalism seeping back into her. “She’s quite an excellent student. She’s joined the chess club, too, and the art club.”

You smiled, overcome with pride at your daughter’s achievements. “She’s always been so talented at everything she tries.”

“Just like her mother,” Larissa said before she could stop herself, a slight falter for which she cursed herself. “Tell me, is your partner here? I’d very much like to meet them.”

“No,” you said a bit too quickly. “We split up years ago. It was never anything worth holding onto, I don’t regret it… I do regret not keeping in contact with you, though.”

“Really? After everything that happened?”

“Yes, you’re the only person that made this place bearable for me.”

She chuckled lightly, shaking her head. “That can't be true.”

“It is,” you insisted with a smile, “but you never seemed to realize that. I would have done anything for you.”

Larissa nodded, taking a risk with her next words. “Is that still the case?”

You shifted in your stance, swallowing hard. “It depends on what you’d like me to do.”

“I would like for you to meet me at the weathervane this Saturday at 1pm.”

You shook your head. “No, I can’t.”

Larissa nodded awkwardly.

“I can do Sunday, though,” you said, and her expression lit up. “Sunday at 1pm?”

She nodded. “That’s perfect.”

And just as the moon had shone with such silver glory all those years ago, the sun opened up a path of love and rebirth, an eternal reminder of the new start the two of you had found.

[heaven4lostgirls]

As much as I want to believe that it isn't my fault... I just can't seem to bring myself to do it.... like somehow... a part of me... a part of my childhood... a part of my mind that still believed One Direction would be back, died along with Liam... and hell, I'd not even want a reunion, if I can somehow bring him back to life... and on the other hand... I've been so out of touch with what's going on with the boys, that all these allegations on him... that too after he passed... it's tearing my mind apart... I want to tell myself that that wasn't the Payno we knew... the Payno I grew up listening to... the one who could bring a smile on anyone's face.... the dance master Leeroy... the one afraid of fucking spoons, ridiculous, isn't it..? the silliness... the person himself.... I'm not willing to believe that he... he got so bad... that everyone let it get so bad... that somehow I was a part of it too... idk... can't stop that nagging feeling....

As a fan of Justin Bieber AND One Direction, I'm truly scared for what might happen to Justin now... the Biebers have a son... I don't want to, can't, lose another of my favourite artists.... he was on the pedestal since a young age too, and has been through similar shot.... and I'm terrified.... (sorry for the side track)

Now AFTER his death when I learn about him being an abuser and how MUCH people bash him and be unempathetic about it.... I hate myself for even considering stopping supporting him and mourning him... honestly, that thought crossed my m mind... I went... "Am I mourning the wrong person..? Should I be happy that an abuser d¡ed... or sad that he was Liam.... or surprised that Liam could even do that, or empathize with him that it was his coping mechanism.... but it isn't good... but he was good... but he isn't..." and that feeling summed up in a few words beautifully goes like.... "I'm mourning a person who was a part and parcel of my inner child that didn't heal.... but that doesn't mean my older self blindsides his wrongdoings... I'm mourning what Liam was to me... and how his life had become.... also while sympathy with the victim.... who somehow ALSO lost someone MUCH MUCH more important.... her son's father..."

I'll come in with another ask to continue, also I fell asleep (with a lot of struggle) so sorry for the late reply... (sorry if I'm bugging you...)

it’s okay not to believe that it’s not your fault, there will be people out there to remind you, and with time i think you’ll start to understand that it’s not.

emotions are tricky, because your grief is so raw everything feels magnified. in time, and with healing you’ll be able to see the bigger picture.

don’t worry about it right now, feeling your emotions is so good for understanding yourself. it helps you process your grief.

there’s so many things about grief that doesn’t make sense. wanting liam alive doesn’t make you a bad person, there are millions of people on this earth that wish they could’ve changed his fate.

just because liam was an abuser does not make him any less worth being mourned. there are people out there that have done worse, that are alive and they still have huge fandoms and people that listen to their music.

and i understand the piece of you that died when liam did, i think a lot of directioners can understand that feeling. there is no one direction without all of the boys.

them losing liam was us losing one direction really, and that leaves a big hole within our childhoods and within a lot of our primitive teenage years.

as for justin, i’m not really in his fandom but i do enjoy his music. and i can empathize with your fear. justin’s clean from my understanding, and has been since he’s been married to hailey.

your fears aren’t entirely unfounded but i do think that it’s better not to work yourself over possibilities of what could happen if he relapses. it does nobody any good, especially you.

it sounds easier said than done but justin is the only one who has control over his own life, we need to let him make his own decisions like we did with liam.

we can’t control him, that can only lead to negative outcomes. he knows himself better than anyone else in his life and deserves the right to have his fans and people around him believe that he’ll make the right choices.

it doesn’t make you a bad person to have conflicting feelings about liam’s passing. i did, i didn’t mourn him really at all in the first 24hrs of hearing he passed.

my friends aren’t fans of one direction/liam so they were very much more objective about liam’s passing than i thought i could be.

i thought i had to react a certain way, i didn’t have any right to be sad because i didn’t know him, and he was an abuser.

that’s wrong, you’re entitled to feel however you want to feel. mourn him if you want, don’t if you don’t. it really is that simple.

you don’t have control over how other people react so there will be people out there that are less emotionally attached than fans are, but that doesn’t make your pain any less valid.

it’s okay to be conflicted, liam was a huge part of you. and yes, exactly. mourning liam does not discredit any of the abuse that maya went through.

don’t worry about bugging me, you’re always welcome!! or falling asleep! i just woke up so if you don’t mind me replying 6hrs later then we’re all good 🫂.

[forestfiresandfics]

Can I just say I would absolutely love to see a Grian-Scott team up in a life series (a proper team up, not just allies)

Because it would be either the most deadly team in the history of the life series or it would be an absolute disaster and there is absolutely no in-between

Because the thing about the two of them

Aside from the fact that they’re both, basically, good at the game (good pvp, good preparedness, strong use of allies)

The thing about them is that they’re pretty much foils of one another. The best example is how they treat their allies

Neither of them has ever actually betrayed an ally before, but they both have SUCH different vibes about it

Scott is basically upfront, he will be your partner until you are the last ones left, and then there will be an honorable battle with rules and a countdown. 

Meanwhile Grian has so many moments of ‘well what about that time where…’ That it’s easy to forget how loyal he actually is. 

In last life, the team officially rejected him before he started attacking. In limited life, he prepared for his dying team’s eventual death, then went back to help them with their blaze of ….well whatever it is Joel has going on. In 3rd life, he was so blindsided by betrayal he fumbled and died and then nearly killed himself again by fall damage trying to get revenge. Yes, he has the widows curse, but it’s never INTENTIONAL

Which leads me to why a team up with Scott would be so great. 

If they can get along, they would be staunchly loyal, effective, largely going under the radar by making just enough friends to make it through the initial chaos to the part where they can just clean up. 

But that’s if they can get along

Their skills and usual strategies are in perfect harmony

But they are opposites in every other way

Yes they are both prepared, but Scott is order to Grian’s chaos

Scott is direct and upfront, where Grian is sneaky and cunning

They’re both leaders, both strategic, but in differing ways. And it’s natural for two opinionated people to butt heads

Here’s how I see it playing out

They get along for the first session, leading to them partnering up. They don’t consider how powerful the team is until session two, after they’ve had a chance to think on it. At this point, they realize that the other is a serious competitor and they’re both past winners. 

Session two or three, they start to have small disagreements, or annoyances with the other’s methods. They start to form allies outside of the partnership, partly because they always do, and partly thinking of a backup plan for if they can’t get along. Grian makes his secret bunker that he always does. Scott thinks it’s suspicious that he’s hiding anything from Scott, and not doing disaster prep together. Scott may hide something dangerous from Grian, like he’s done in the past, which then makes Grian think that he doesn’t trust him. 

This devolves into a series of miscommunications. As they hide stuff from each other, make other friends, and have small things they butt heads on (never big things, though), they start to become increasingly suspect of the other, and eventually both sides are at the point where they expect a betrayal. 

But here’s the thing

There will never BE a betrayal

Because there never is

They constantly prepare for the other to make the first move, because neither wants to actually do it themselves. They have traps set up for one another, secret bases, backup alliances, etc. 

But the betrayal never comes

Instead, they trip over their own feet so much, completely ruining their ability to communicate with one another, that another team is able to divide them and conquer. They end up being some of the first out because they were so worried about the other that they weren’t focusing enough on the outside

[rederiswrites]

Oh gosh that Veilguard gameplay video was a lot, and I gotta digest and feel about it but first off, I am no longer particularly worried about the slightly cartoony character designs--I'll even get used to Solas' new rendering I guess--because the environments? Holy shit! Minrathous was fucking amazing!

And I was blindsided by how exciting it was just to see gameplay. I've spent so fucking long now living the Dragon Age world as essentially a story setting that I swear part of me forgot it was a really fun GAME that I really want to play. A balance of real-time and strategic that not a lot of other games hit for me. And with new dimensions to the environments will come new dimensions to the fighting and movement that I'm looking forward to seeing.

I have too many thoughts going too many directions about the meeting between Varric and Solas, but...Varric called him friend. First and foremost, he wanted to reason with him. Varric wanted to give him options. That's a huge thing I needed to hear, balm to my soul tbh. Of course Varric thinks Solas is in the wrong, they're nearly polar opposites in terms of what they value, the conservative and the radical, but they still found each other worth just talking to. Solas asks Varric to trust him, based on Varric's knowledge of Solas' compassion and intelligence. And Varric DID, that's why he's HERE talking to Solas. But how far can trust go when the world is ending? And Solas says that there are things here beyond Varric's comprehension, that he's guided by more than what Varric knows--which is what *ahem* some of us have been saying for so very long now. And I am dying to comprehend that shit, give it to me now.

[velvetvexations]

I have an OC named Aiden Jesse who I only decided was a trans man retroactively after I named him, and every time I try to tell people about how funny it is how that worked out, it always blindsides me that I have to explain the joke to them. It breaks my heart knowing that I grew up scared shitless for my safety in a community that was theoretically supposed to include me, watching people like me get relentlessly mocked and harassed for being queer boys the "wrong" way, but when trying to make light of that after the fact, even with other genderweird folks, it's always news to them, completely alien to all of my friends who didn't also grow up as cisn't boys. Like I'm glad that they never knew about The Horrors, but it feels strange coming across equally as "online" people who haven't heard of it before, knowing how prevalent and malicious the hatred for queer boys with those names was and still is. (though I still think it's funny as hell to have turned a regular-ass guy who was just kinda homoerotic before into a stereotypical tboy by adding one word to his bio. I will die on this hill.)

I dunno, I'm tired from heartbreak over the intense collective isolation, pain, and trauma caused by people mocking Aidens in the name of protecting and gatekeeping transness. I love you Aidens and Kais and Olivers and anyone whose name has ever been on those horrible "stereotypical tboy (read: 'theyfab,' 'tenderqueer,' 'transtrender') name bingo" cards, ESPECIALLY queer immigrants and BIPOC who were told for their own safety against xenophobic and racist violence that they should choose a White boy's name like Aiden instead of names from their own cultures.

Yes! Everyone should be protected and nurtured, that's what community is about and it's so upsetting that we aren't able to give that to so many because of what gets slung at them by other trans people looking to pick on anyone they can direct abuse at.

I have so much sympathy and love for anyone who's been effected by this.

[heyidkyay]

I guess I'll take this pain, instead of your name |

Part Three

Summary: In life, things changed. The boys you'd once grown up with were men now, and famous ones at that. The type that toured the world and had millions of adoring fans.

The five of you shared a shit ton of history. But you also shared a lot of mixed emotions for one of them in particular, a certain drummer.

Masterlist

--

He’d changed. That was the first thought that came to mind.

I didn’t know what had changed exactly. His hair was still the same, so were those barrel-aged whiskey eyes. And just as he had ever since I’d known him, George still enjoyed wearing his favourite clothes to ribbons, as could be seen by the black trousers he was now sporting. They were very well-fitted to his thighs and cropped slightly at the ankle, had twin holes torn through both the knees as well as a fraying thread just beneath the front right pocket, where I knew a pack of cigarettes had long since claimed residence.

He had a hand stilted just below the crook of his elbow likely from where he’d just been about to reach out and swat Matty for his smart mouth but stopped. I felt my own dry up as my heart dropped to my feet upon seeing him again. Practically watched as it pooled into a miserable puddle on the floor.

I’d been expecting it- seeing him, because of course I had. I’d known about it since Matty had finally let the secret slip, but there was also a big part of me that… hadn’t? Strange sure, but I mean, who could really prepare themselves for a moment like this?

Seeing an ex was always weird, left you feeling a tad self-conscious, a bit blindsided, but you could almost always duck out of sight just before they saw you, or choose to give them that vexatious smile, the one where you tried to come off as polite when really all you wanted to do was run a mile in the other direction. 

This though, I don’t think many people experienced this. A whole evening spent with their most recent ex, on their birthday of all days. 

A low and sharp whistle tore its way through the room then, breaking the tense atmosphere that had since settled and at once making me fully aware of just where I was.

“Well this is awkward.”

And of course it would’ve had to have been Ross who’d only gone and chosen to add to the tension. The utter twat. 

I would’ve shot him a well deserving glare but I couldn’t quite look away from George just yet. I wanted to, well, I wanted a lot just then. I wanted to go back in time to where we’d been before. I wanted an explanation. I still, wanted him.

Needed was probably the better term. I needed him like water, I needed answers like an introvert needed their own head. But in that moment, I felt like I’d lost mine.

“Shut up, Ross.” Adam groaned loudly and just like that I blinked and that clouded hue I’d felt choking me lifted, revealing the rest of the room. 

Ross was chuckling away, propped up against the kitchen counter, whilst Adam merely rolled his eyes, shaking his head, everyone else just sort of stood there.

Thank the heavens for Carly though, she jumped in like the angel she was, saving us all from the uncomfortableness of it.

“Matty! Need any help with dinner, plating up and what not?”

For a moment, Matty’s gaze skitted back and forth between both myself and George, whose own eyes were now downcast. It appeared as though Matty’s kitchen tiles were immensely more interesting to him than anything else and I had to bite back the sudden fury I felt rise up through my throat, coating the back of my teeth with a sour taste. 

So it was going to be like that then.

“Um- yeah, uh you know what, you can.” Matty answered her, tea towel in hand as our eyes met across the room. He gave me an intense look, one that told a thousand words, but he jilted his head over towards where the larder was hidden before I could decipher any of them. “Y/n love, show Carls where I keep the plates and that, won’t you?”

I nodded at him slowly then took a deep breath and forced a smile, “Yeah, yeah ‘course. Come on Carls, they’re just this way.”

Quick as I could I spun around on my heel and headed straight towards the hallway, slipping into a small alcove where a flashy storage unit was tucked away. Keeping my back firmly facing the door, I pretended to browse through the few dining sets Matty had to offer, most of which had been gifted to him by his mum or aunt over the last few Christmases.

I heard Carly enter a minute after me, as well as the click of the door behind her. I took another much needed deep breath. 

“Do you reckon Matty will want to use his good plates?” I questioned aloud, “Or should we just ask if he has any paper ones, knowing Ross and I. Klutzes the pair of us, he’ll have a right mare if either of us drops that fancy china he claims he doesn’t actually like.” 

I could feel a familiar sting behind my eyes but I kept on prattling away, in hopes that the familiar burn would soon work itself out before I had to turn back and face her.

“Probably just best to go with the ones he brought over with him from the flat, I 'spose. Don’t think he’ll mind losing a few of them.” I chuckled with a strained smile, but my voice sounded pinched even to my own ears.

I stopped then and had to close my eyes, bracing myself against the nearby shelving unit. I tilted my head back to keep any tears from escaping but it was futile effort and as my shoulders fell so did the first tear. “Shit.” I silently cursed.

“Oh, Y/n/n.” Carly whispered just before a pair of gentle arms wound their way around my waist. I let my head hang then, there was never any need to pretend with her. “It’s okay. Everything’s okay.”

I scoffed quietly under my breath, hands finding hers before I turned in her grasp. I opened my eyes to find her peering back at me with so much warmth, no pity to be found. 

“This is beyond mortifying.” I choked out with a bitter laugh as I swiped under my eyes. I’d always hated being seen so vulnerable. “Crying over someone who could care less about me.”

Carly’s smile was small but so sincere, she shook her head at me lightly. “I wouldn’t say that. That man out there was just as taken back by your presence as you were of his. I think deep down you both knew that this was bound to be difficult.”

I inhaled slowly and glanced up towards the ceiling, fisting my fingers in my hair. “I know, and that’s why I feel so stupid. I really don’t know if I can do this, Carly.” I told her in a tone that was no higher than a murmur, “I didn’t think it would be such a struggle. That I would still feel so-”

Frustrated, I threw my hands in the air and squeezed my eyes closed. I had to breathe.

Carly was still there when I opened them again, ever so patient.

“This is going to be so messy.” I quietly confessed into the tiny room.

Carly only hummed at me, carefully grazing her hands up and down the length of my arms as I slowly unwound. It helped soothe the semi-chaotic state I’d worked myself into.

"It will be, but to clean up there first needs to be a mess.”

Under furrowed eyebrows I looked up at her and couldn’t help my airy snort. “Is that something you stole from one of your many parenting books?”

“No, Instagram quote actually.” She corrected with an amused smirk. “But that’s beside the point. It’s still true.”

I dragged out a sarcastic sound of agreement and she flicked my shoulder in retort with a narrowed-eyed stare.

“Look, all I’m saying is, things will either work out the way you want or they won’t. But you can’t stress over something you can’t control, so let us just enjoy this. Enjoy your birthday! You deserve that at the very least, okay? So, forget him. Forget everything that happened there. And just be in the moment.”

I swallowed thickly and nodded just the once, too scared to trust my own voice. I could do that.

Or, at least that’s what I told myself.

—

Table set and Matty on the warpath, I snuck away for a chance to gather my thoughts but found myself pursuing the contents of the minibar instead.

It was impressive to say the least, both the extensive amount of alcohol Matty had to offer as well as the bar itself. If I remembered rightly, he’d had it built during the first few weeks of moving in, an added extra whilst the band had still been away on tour. It was much like the rest of his house though, minimalist and brutal, where all of his deep and depressing thoughts got turned into pretty melodies. 

There was hardly any decor, most of its bottles and glasses tucked away behind neat neutral lines. Only a fitted glass ashtray with its own self-cleaning function (even Matty had to roll his eyes at that, no?) was perched within the concrete counter. 

Matty’s house had always been beautiful to me, honestly I was a little jealous of how calm and clean it always seemed, but it never failed to make me wonder where he kept it all. You know, all the little bits and bobs most of us just seemed to never find a place for- like his hoover for example, where the fuck did he keep his hoover? Did he even own one? Or did he have little nano robots hidden away in the skirting boards? 

As I followed down a newfound path of random thoughts that popped into my head, I failed to notice that I was no longer the room’s only occupant and jumped right out my skin, almost flinging a very expensive bottle of chardonnay across the floor, when I turned and found George watching me from the archway.

Immediately he raised his hands up at me in surrender, making sure to state that he was of no threat, though I could see that there was a small little smirk toying at the corners of his lips as he proceeded further into the room. I let out a big breath and lowered the bottle.

“What the hell are you playing at? Sneaking around like some- ninja!” I scolded with a wave of my hand, internally cursing myself for having stumbled over my words trying to come up with something clever to say. Of all the things I could’ve said to him after six months of.. well, silence. I chose that. Big pat on the back for me, please!

God, I wanted to die as I hastily spun back around to tuck the wine into the case I’d found it in, but mostly just to hide my reddening cheeks.

“Ninja?” He replied with a hint of humour, and I realised how long it had been since I'd last heard his voice. “No, but I reckon if you gave me an hour or so I could pull off that Karate Kid stunt.”

I couldn’t hide the soft snort I made. Still as arrogant as ever then.

“What, been doing enough yoga to think you could master that flip?” I threw back at him from over my shoulder whilst my fingertips danced precariously along the edge of a crystal glass. He hummed, and I could physically feel him drawing nearer.

“Got the crane down.” He shrugged, as though that wasn’t impressive in itself, and I could just about see him again, from the corner of my eye. “Figure the rest could surely follow.”

Lightly, I felt my head shake on its own accord, but was quick to dampen the tiny beginnings of any sort of smile. I gave a sarcastic hum back.

This was typical for us, conversing without words. A hum here, a look there. That’s all it had taken in the years we’d been together, the two of us always on the same page. Until we weren't.

I could remember a few years back, maybe at one of the boys first BRIT’s, where some hotshot, who’d acted as though he’d been in the game longer than I’d been alive, had waltzed over and started talking. Bragging, truthfully.

He’d heard a little of the band’s stuff, liked it I supposed, and tried to gift them all this ‘knowledgable’ advice, stuff people in the business would 'hate for them to know'. His words, not mine. George and I had immediately clocked on, but Hann had always been the polite one and Matty, well he’d wanted to know all the ins and outs of everything. He liked knowing. Understanding. Always had.

Ross though? Actually, I wasn’t too sure where he’d snuck off to at the time, was probably trying to chat up some actress or find a decent place to smoke. 

Either way, I’d turned slightly in my seat once the man had made himself far too comfortable in his invasion of our table, and with one shared glance at George, we both started up this game. Our game. It was one we'd always loved to play where we’d have to act so sincere in all our questioning and interest in the topic at hand whilst simultaneously trying to trip up our target or make them look like a complete wanker. The winner was always the one who got them so uncomfortable to the point where they’d just leave.

“I, uh,” George’s low stumble grabbed my attention and I peered over to find him rubbing the tip of his nose with his knuckle, something he’d done ever since I’d known him. “I wasn’t sure I’d come tonight. If you’d be alright with me being here.”

“Right.” Was all I said in turn, gaze focused on the glass again. 

I heard him move behind me. “It’s just- it’s your day, you know? And I was surprised you even agreed to all this, actually.” His chuckle was faint.

“Well, it’s not every day Matty asks to wine and dine you, I suppose.” 

He laughed again and I tried not to acknowledge the tightening in my chest, he’d always had the best laugh.

“Yeah, there’s that.” George accepted, he paused for a long second, “Still, he and Ross figured it’d be strange if I didn’t turn up. Hope that's alright with you.”

And now was the time to act.

So I put on a smile and turned, making sure it reached my eyes even as my heart clenched at the very sight of him. He looked somewhat older, even though only six months had passed. It hurt to know that I’d missed it, all that time I could've had with him.

“‘Course, why wouldn’t it?” I assured him, putting down the two glasses I’d picked up on the counter. “You still a strictly bourbon man, or are you feeling something different? It appears as though Matty’s stocked this thing up to the brim with all sorts of shit, most of which I can’t even read so I won’t try to name.”

“Um,” George murmured, almost sounding taken aback by my change in pace, but I paid it no mind, I couldn’t focus on anything other than getting through this. 

I had questions, yeah, but I didn’t want to ruin the evening for everyone else. Not this early on, at least. I knew that certain path was only destined to end in flames. 

“Whatever you’re having then is fine.” George settled on and I dipped my head at him, grabbing a bottle of Absolut alongside a lemonade can. “Straight to the hard stuff I see.” He commented, obviously eyeing what I was doing.

“It’s my birthday, I’ll have no judgement, thank you.” I retorted, pouring a rather hefty amount of the spirit into both glasses. 

George huffed out a gentle chuckle as he joined me by the bar. “No judgement here, birdie.”

He was a little less than an arms length away now and it took everything in me not to outwardly react to the slip. It was my name. His name for me. Uttered as though nothing had changed.

“Sorry.” George whispered, his swallow as audible as mine in the still room.

I squeezed my eyes closed for a brief second then forced another smile, topping off the rest of the drinks with lemonade. “No, you’re fine.” I shrugged a shoulder, focused solely on the drinks. “I’ve missed it and you were the only one to ever call me it, so.”

“I just,” George tried but I interrupted before he could press anything further.

“Honestly, don't stress over it. It’s fine.” I smiled, wondering if a gesture so easy should hurt this much. I slid a glass down towards him. “Should probably be getting back though, everyone else will be wondering…”

I gave him one last look and then shuffled towards the door. I rounded the corner with baited breath and tried to ignore the quiet curse I heard follow me as I hurried down the hall.

—

I found myself standing in the garden a little while later nursing another drink, only this one had been gifted to me by Ross. Stronger than the one I’d previously made, the coke used only to add a hint of flavour to the otherwise malty taste.

I watched Matty through the window as he frantically went back and forth between the oven and the fridge, trying to get everything done by himself. I was meant to be helping him but my mind had been elsewhere, listening to the laughter and echoing voices which had begun to drift into the kitchen.

It felt so strange, all of us being together again but still feeling so separate, and the alcohol wasn’t doing much to hinder that feeling.

It’s just that since the breakup, I’d only really had Matty to lean on. Ross and Adam had been there too, don’t get me wrong, they were always a text or phone call away, but not like they’d been before. It kind of felt like George had gotten them in this messy divorce, whilst Matty had been the kid in the middle, stuck between choosing. 

We’d always been so close, before. The boys had been my family. Now though, things felt so stilted and I fucking hated it. Being here with them, with George again, it only put a speaker to those feelings.

“Alright?” Came a familiar voice just a hand came to rest on my shoulder. I sighed and leant into the weight of it, a small smile limning my lips as Matty’s head fell against my own, the two of us just staring out at the sky.

“Shouldn't you be inside? Or are you trying to earn back all the money you spent on this house by starting a fire?” I queried quietly and huffed out an airy chuckle when his hip checked mine in retaliation.

“Don’t jinx shit, you muppet. Dinner is just about done- and I’ll have you know, that none of it will be inedible."

I hummed, “Holding you to that, Healy. Can’t go ruining my special day.”

“Oh, so we are acknowledging that it’s your birthday then?” Matty quipped back.

I pinched his side and rolled my eyes when he just laughed. “No, we are not.”

I felt his head shake as it moved against mine. “Swear, you girls are so hard to keep up with these days.”

“Compared to what, the old days? Back when you were a baby emo.” I chuckled and allowed him to steal my drink from me. He grimaced slightly at the taste. “Thank you for this though, it’s nice knowing people care.”

Matty moved then and I shuffled round to glance at him. He wore a prominent frown and was staring down at me with a sort of bewildered expression.

“People care about you.”

I let my own features soften. “I know that, I guess. It’s just nice to be reminded of it, I 'spose. Things have been off with us all for a while though. Since…”

He sighed, capturing his bottom lip between his teeth as he muddled through his thoughts.

“Yeah, they have. Even I’ll admit that. But it’s not down to you. Shit just happens, and we all deal with it the only way we know how." He stated, his hand in mine, a steady presence. "Saying that though, even after everything that went on- that’s still going on- they’re here, aren’t they? Ross and Hann and Carls. G…”

I had to look away, scared that he’d see the harsh light from the kitchen start to reflect in my watering eyes.

“I know. I just wish things were different. That I had a fucking time machine. So I could take back whatever it is I did, Matty. I'd take it all back in a heartbeat just to know that he still loved me the same. So he wouldn’t end up pushing me away.”

I guess there was no reply that could be given to fix everything I felt in that moment, but the hug Matty wrapped me up in was something I hadn’t even realised I’d needed.

“He still does.” He whispered in my ear as he drew tiny circles over the knobs in my spine. “That I know for fucking certain.”

Part four>

[nomoreusername]

Love Over Logic (Part 1)

Pairing:Sonya x female reader

Summary:When you reveal the Safe Haven location to the WCKD, they do everything but keep their promises.

It wasn't what you were promised. WCKD said they wouldn't hurt anyone, that they would be peaceful as they pleaded their side. They said that by this small betrayal you would save the world. They swore that when it was over everyone would understand and live the rest of their days feeling happier than they ever had.

They didn't follow through. Shoving the absolute love of your life on her knees and putting her arms behind her back so she couldn't move was not peaceful. Blowing up the camp was not peaceful. Killing Mary for not being on their side was not peaceful. Not a single thing about this was peaceful.

Sonya still hadn't looked away from you. Despite the pain that the girl she wanted a forever with could do this, she kept her cold glare. Despite the way she would still never love anyone the way she loves Y/N, the disgust of her decision was clear. Despite the way she would give her life to save her, she let the scowl cross her lips as she never broke her gaze. Even when Y/N was too ashamed to even look at her, she didn't pull her eyes off of her.

She couldn't wrap her head around it. What was the point of all this? Why would they do this? Why would they lie like this? Why would they hurt so many people?

It didn't matter now. It was happening. WCKD was murdering them in cold blood, destroying their hard work, crushing their spirits, and they did it before anyone could blink. Somehow, they had blindsided everybody here, even the girl who called them.

“You said you wouldn't hurt them. Why are you hurting them?”She asked frantically, her voice shaky as she begged Ava for an answer.

“It will be over soon,”She said simply, her tone blank and unsympathetic to everyone's pain.

“But you said you wouldn't hurt anyone. You gave me your word.”

“We want peace, Y/N. Do you truly believe we want to spill blood?”

Yes. She did. If they didn't, Mary would still be standing. She wouldn't be dead simply for not seeing WCKD as good.

Y/N didn't either now, but it was too late. There was nothing, absolutely nothing, she could do to take it back. Even though she would give anything to go back in time and not call them, there was no way to. No amount of begging or any kind of bribing could fix it. She had to watch the consequences of her actions, the fatalities she caused, with no way of making it all right.

“Please? Don't hurt them?”She begged, close to tears. This wasn't what she remembered. In the memories they gave her, WCKD always kept their word. They always gave choices and were fair to every last person there, no matter who they were.

Now she has to wonder if those memories were even real. Was it all planted in so she would do this? Was it a trap? Was it a lie before she could even tell? Did it go deeper than anyone could ever dig up?

At the end of the day, it doesn't matter. What's done is done.

With a firm hand, Ava guided her into the berg. Feeling as though she was watching from third person, she did as she was directed to. After all, that always has been what she does best.

One by one, she watched friends and strangers be forced inside, placed in chains, and made to sit on the ground. With gunshots and fighting still happening outside, she listened to it while also feeling as though her head was underwater, muffling all feelings and sounds.

What her mind did pick up on though, what it always will, was Harriet yelling Sonya’s name, then Aris’s. Knowing who would be here next, she stared at the ground as she purposely made her vision blurry. Not that it was necessary as silent tears spilled down her cheeks, but it gave her something to focus on besides all the hell and havoc that had just gone down in mere minutes.

“I’ll be back soon,”Ava stated, patting her shoulder and leaving to the front of the berg, Janson following her as the doors shut. Unable to face what she had done, she kept staring at the floor as regrets of her choice and questions of why they would ow to her flowed throughout her body.

“You fucked up, Y/N. You really, really fucked up,”Sonya reminded her, rubbing salt in the wound with both her words and her bitter and humorless laugh. Staying frozen and silent, she kept the world tuned out of her head as everyone quit speaking until they were right back to the place they had risked their lives escaping from.