#this was inspired by an actual conversation i had

[illbegottenfaith]

you must have just read it in my eyes (a Be More inspired fic)

Over the years, Theo realises just how much you mean to him, bit by bit (theo nott x reader)

a/n - my first Valentine's Day fic yay!!!! I have more planned (hopefullyy I'll get them all out? we'll see lol) hehe enjoy :))

tropes/warnings - literally no warnings lmao, one tiny suggestive line, fluff

word count - 1.9k

taglist - @hzdhrtss @justaproudperson @ebriton @thaliashifts

The first time Theo thinks you must be something more, it catches him completely off guard.

It’s on a cool September evening, just as dusk is settling on the horizon. He's at Hogsmeade, walking back to Hogwarts with his friends scattered along the path, laughing and tripping over themselves. A cold gust of wind runs through them while he adjusts his gloves (Merlin knows the cold is ruthless on his joints) when this girl, one he’s said perhaps a grand total of two words to, turns and tugs at the sleeve of his coat.

He’s too stunned to resist. For the first, but definitely not the last, time, he lets you drag him around as you wish.

You were always around—a presence that never demanded attention but was impossible to ignore. You had mutual friends, exchanged the occasional dry remark, but never anything beyond that.

But that changed on this brisk autumn evening. Without looking back, you reached behind and wordlessly pulled Theo along so he wouldn’t lag behind, all while your conversation with Ivy continued unbroken and unfettered.

It was such a small thing. Thoughtless, instinctive. You hadn’t even glanced at him.

But Theo had looked at you, and for some reason, he couldn’t look away.

After that, you became more than just a vaguely familiar face in Theo’s life. Bit by bit, you began to take shape in his mind as he learnt more about you. You had a younger sister. You didn’t care for wet weather. You twisted your ankles on an alarmingly regular basis. Like him, you took Arithmancy, but, unlike him, you actually enjoyed it. It was an ordinary evening in the common room when you set a cup of tea down in front of him, unannounced, unacknowledged. As aggressively nonchalant as he tried to appear, you couldn’t help but notice him pulling out his hair for the better part of the last hour over whatever assignment he was working on.

Theo looked up from his Arithmancy quiz, gaze flicking from the cup to your face. But you were too busy looking at his parchment, brow furrowed as you silently mouthed the words along while reading them.

After a few seconds of silence, you extended an arm, tapping on one of the questions.

“Not quite right.”

Theo reread the question and, sure enough, he was a little off. By the time he looked up again to thank you, you were already settling into the chair across from him, casually stirring your own drink. He watched you curiously.

“Like telling people they’re wrong, do you?”

“When it’s you? Sure.”

He didn’t react to it immediately. If anything, he was amazed at how your voice could soften the blow of the snidest of remarks. Instead, he studied you, cool and unreadable as ever.

You sighed, adjusting your position as you poured your attention back into your crossword. “You’re staring,” you noted, not looking up, when he showed no signs of looking away any time soon.

“Am I?” His voice was even, measured. He took a slow sip, testing the tea. The smirk slid right off of his face. Two sugars, no milk. It was perfect.

He could have asked how you knew. Could have pointed out that he’d never mentioned it, that you must have noticed all on your own. But he didn’t.

Because he had been watching you, too.

Theo had heard it all before. A name spoken in a certain tone. A pause just long enough to say what they wouldn’t dare to outright. A muttered, “once a Nott, always a Nott,” just loud enough to reach his ears.

There was nothing new in the way they spoke about him—nothing particularly creative, nothing worth the effort of a response. He had learned long ago that silence was the easiest way to make those kinf of people uncomfortable.

But before he could decide whether this was another moment best left ignored, your voice cut through the conversation.

“And yet,” you said, tone light, almost unnervingly idle, “you've spent the better part of the evening trying to impress him. Almost like you care what a Nott thinks of you.”

The silence that followed was immediate, the shift in the air unmistakable. The words were clean. Precise. Lethal in a way that left no room for retaliation.

Someone shuffled their feet. Another cleared their throat awkwardly. Theo didn’t turn, didn’t look at you, but he could feel the weight of the moment settle between them, thick and suffocating. He could see the scathing look of derision he knew he'd find in your eyes, the one you saved for people like them.

You didn’t linger - you never saw the need to stretch out a moment that had already served its purpose. You had already moved on, making some offhand remark to a friend as if the exchange hadn’t quieted the common room.

Theo exhaled through his nose, amusement curling at the edges of his otherwise impassive expression. Merlin knows he didn't know how to put it into words. But for some reason, he didn't have to. Not when it came to you.

Later, when you were walking back to the common room, he let his knuckles brush yours as you turned the corner.

You didn’t acknowledge it. You didn’t have to.

Theo was not a sentimental man. But when he looked at you, he found himself memorizing things he had no business noticing. The way you tilted your head when you were listening. The ink smudges beneath your fingernails. The way you had mastered the art of dozing at breakfast when you thought no one was paying attention to you.

He found himself slowing down just to see you huff and drag him along more often. Only now, he had figured out the next best thing to do was to then immediately pick up the pace and lengthen his stride, all while you hurled breathless obscenities at him as you struggled to keep up, still attached to his sleeve.

Little things, small enough to be forgettable. But never to him.

Perhaps that was why, on this particular evening, he found himself more attuned to the details than ever - the rustle of your coat as you walked beside him, the fleeting half-smile that played at your lips as you took in the sights around you.

The sky had deepened into a cool, wintery dusk, the last traces of daylight sinking beneath the horizon. The air smelt crisply of pine. Hogsmeade, bathed in the golden glow of streetlamps and shop windows, buzzed with its usual evening crowd. Students loitered outside Honeydukes and couples drifted toward Madam Puddifoot’s. There was a honeyed air of anticipation, something quiet yet tangible, threaded through the brisk February breeze.

You and Theo had spent the afternoon in their usual way—wandering from shop to shop, falling into conversation that meandered just as aimlessly. You had tugged on his sleeve, as always, urging him along when he lingered too long in the bookshop or took his time finishing his butterbeer. He had walked a little too fast, just to hear you sigh in amused exasperation before catching up.

As you made your way back to the castle, Theo lagging abysmally behind, you turned. But this time, something was different. Looking at Theo, hair mussed by the wind, eyes glittering as they caught the light of the dim, flickering street lamps, you were struck by the sudden realisation that not once had Theo tried to stop you. In between the teasing and heartrending cups of tea, something had shifted without either of you knowing.

It was a subtle change. Almost unnoticeable.

You hesitated before reaching for his sleeve.

Just for a moment. Just long enough for him to catch the flicker of uncertainty before you masked it.

Theo felt the difference immediately. You had always done this absentmindedly, effortlessly. But now - now there was a pause. A consideration.

The cobblestone streets stretched ahead, illuminated by warm pools of lantern light. He glanced at you out of the corner of his eye, at the soft wool of your scarf tucked high against your jaw, at the way your breath curled in the cold air. You weren't looking at him, but he could see the faintest crease in your brow, like you had noticed the change, too.

He didn’t say anything.

But for the first time, when you tugged on his sleeve, he resisted—just for a second. Just enough to let you notice.

You glanced up to meet his gaze and you looked like you wanted to berate him for making you feel things he had no right to make you feel.

You didn’t pull away.

The restaurant is warm, its golden light spilling onto the pavement through fogged-up windows. Inside, glasses clink softly, laughter hums beneath the gentle murmur of conversation, and candlelight flickers against polished wood. It’s a quiet sort of place, intimate without being stifling, refined yet comfortably worn.

Theo lingers outside.

His hands are tucked into the pockets of his coat, shoulders squared against the chilly evening air, but he doesn’t make a move to step inside. Not yet. Instead, he watches.

Through the window, he finds you easily. You’re seated by the far wall, absentmindedly running your finger along the rim of your glass. The candle at your table casts a soft glow across your features, and you look—content. Not impatient, not waiting. Just at ease in your own company.

It doesn’t surprise him. It never has. You were always like that, more than happy in your own company. It’s something he's admired from the start. It's something he loves now.

And still, even with that quiet self-assurance, as though you cannot help yourself, you glance toward the door, briefly. You look for him.

Theo exhales, a slow, measured thing, before finally pushing the door open.

The shift is immediate. The warmth of the restaurant wraps around him, the scent of spiced wine and something faintly floral hanging in the air. His footsteps are steady as he makes his way to you, and as though you've felt his presence, there’s already a knowing smile playing at your lips as he reaches the table.

“You’re late,” you murmur, smiling despite yourself.

Theo slides into his seat, his gaze never leaving yours. “I can't help it. It's cold out.”

You huff a small laugh, picking up your glass. He watches as you take a slow sip of your drink, utterly at ease beneath the weight of his attention.

“I can think of a few ways to keep you warm,” you remark idly as you set your glass down.

The corner of his mouth quirks up. “Oh?”

There’s a glint in your eyes, but you don’t elaborate, only tilting your head in that absent way he’s long since memorised. It’s teasing, but it’s also something else - something unspoken, something that lingers between you, quiet and unassuming.

His fingers brush against the inside of his coat pocket. The small box is still there, tucked away safely. The weight of it is steady, familiar.

There it lingers at his lips, unbidden and unsaid.

Darling, please. Let it be more.

[inkedinshadows]

if ur still taking requests may I please ask for prompt #22 with cassian? it can be fluffy or smutty or both 🥰 thanks love ur blog btw!! 🩷🩷🩷

Starved For Your Touch

Pairing: Cassian x f!reader

A/N: Hi anon! Thank you so much <33 I wanted to include smut but inspiration for fluff found me first! I love drama queen cassian, hope you enjoy it 💕

Prompt: "You're such a tease today."

Warnings: none really, just a very tiny short piece of angst if you really squint

Word count: 1.5k

You had recently realized just how much Cassian craved physical contact, and your new favorite pastime was denying him of it. You wanted to see how far you could push him before he snapped.

Apparently, just a day.

You chose a short summer dress, fully aware of the way it hugged your curves and made your legs look longer. Cassian wouldn’t be able to keep his hands off you, and you were determined not to let him touch you.

When you walked into the living room, he was lounging on the couch with Rhys and Mor. You greeted them with a smile, and Cassian’s face lit up when he saw you. Without interrupting the conversation, he reached for you, but you stayed just a few inches out of reach, merely brushing his hand with a teasing smile as you made your way to the kitchen.

When you walked back out a few minutes later, you let him grab your hand and pull you closer. You knew he wanted you to sit on his lap. You both loved it. But today you didn’t, opting instead to settle on the couch beside him. He frowned but didn’t comment.

“You look lovely, sweetheart,” he said instead. “This dress suits you.”

“It really does,” Mor chimed in from her armchair. “Which means your hands will be all over her in three… two…”

You and Rhysand chuckled, but Cassian grinned. He didn’t even try to deny it.

“Actually, I have to go,” you announced, cutting the moment short.

Cassian stilled, his arm half-lifted as he was about to drape it over your shoulders. “You’re leaving already?”

You nodded. “Yeah, I’m going shopping with Elain, remember?” You patted his knee before standing and looking at Mor. “Want to join us?”

Her smile widened. “You know it.”

You leaned down to kiss Cassian, just a brush of your lips against his—more a promise of a kiss than an actual one. He tried to keep you there, to deepen the kiss, but you pulled back.

“Always eager for more,” you murmured, and booped his nose. “I’ll see you for dinner.”

Following Mor to the front door, you turned back to wave at Cassian, catching the stunned expression plastered on his face.

Rhys just looked amused.

~~~~~~

Cassian was waiting when you returned home a few hours later.

Mor and Elain had already come back, but you’d stayed behind to buy one last item—a flimsy piece of lingerie you thought he might like.

“How long have you been standing there?” you asked as the door closed behind you. “Not since the girls came back, I hope.”

“I saw you arrive through the window.” Cassian pushed off the wall and stalked toward you, an accusatory finger pointed in your direction. “I have a bone to pick with you.”

You couldn’t help but laugh at what you assumed was supposed to be an intimidating expression. It never worked on you. He could be intimidating when he needed to—he was a warrior and a general, after all. But when he pretended, his lips jutted out slightly in a pout and a small crease appeared between his brows.

“And what is it?” you inquired, trying to walk past him and up the stairs. You were carrying a few full bags and just wanted to drop them off in your room.

Cassian’s arm shot out to block your path. “You’re not going anywhere, sweetheart. Not until you tell me why you haven’t kissed me all day.”

You cocked your head. “I have kissed you today,” you retorted.

He scoffed. “Only three times and they were just little pecks.” Then, as if it was obvious, he added, “Which don’t really count.”

“Oh, you poor big baby,” you chuckled. “What if I’m just saving the best for last because I bought something I know you’ll like?”

Cassian’s eyes darted to the bags in your hands. He tried to peek inside, but everything was neatly wrapped. He looked back at you. “Something like…?”

You smirked. “Wouldn’t you like to know?”

Before he could stop you, you slipped under his arm and headed for the stairs. “I’ll leave these in our room,” you warned as you began the short climb. “And if I find out you snooped around, I’ll return the surprise.”

Cassian’s outraged gasp followed you up the stairs. You could practically see him clutching his chest, as if your words had struck him like a dagger to the heart. “When have I ever done something like that?”

“Cassian,” you scolded, not even bothering to turn around.

“Alright, alright.” You could hear the smile in his voice. “I promise.”

~~~~~~

When you joined the others downstairs, some were already gathered around the table, their choice of seating casual as always. But Cassian had saved you a spot beside him, and as you approached, you leaned in to kiss his cheek.

“Thank you, my love,” you murmured, making sure to brush your fingers along his wing as you settled into your chair.

He inhaled sharply, drawing a pointed look from Amren on his other side. She merely rolled her eyes before turning back to her conversation with Azriel.

“Sorry,” you quipped, feigning innocence. “I didn't mean to.”

Cassian narrowed his eyes. “What is going on?”

You shrugged off his question, focusing on filling your plate. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

His gaze remained fixed on you, tracking your every moment. Holding back a laugh was harder than you’d expected, but you schooled your features into an unreadable expression.

“You’re such a tease today,” he muttered. “The dress, the kisses, now my wing…” His eyes darkened slightly as he watched you take the first bite of your food. “And this morning, when you got me so worked up only to slip out of bed before I could—”

“Cassian.”

Both of you looked up. Rhysand sat directly across from you, his brows raised. It was the same look he wore when waiting for someone to admit they had done something wrong.

“What?” Cassian scowled.

“If you really can’t avoid discussing your personal life during family dinner, at least keep your voice down.” Everyone was looking at you now, but Rhys went on, an amused smirk appearing on his lips. “Besides, I’m sure Y/N has a good reason for keeping you high and dry.”

Laughter rippled around the table, but Cassian only glowered. With a smile, you placed your hand on his thigh, hidden from the others’ view. “I’m sorry,” you murmured, pressing another soft kiss to his cheek. “I’ll make it up to you.”

He simply grumbled, “Oh, you will.”

The rest of the dinner passed uneventfully. Your hand lingered on Cassian’s leg, but he paid it little attention. He seemed distant, glancing toward Azriel more than once throughout the meal. The Shadowsinger merely raised an eyebrow each time their eyes met.

Had you gone too far? Maybe you shouldn't have teased him in front of the whole family.

When dinner ended and everyone moved into the sitting room for drinks, you watched as Cassian left without a word. You made to follow him to apologize—for real this time—but Azriel pulled you aside before you could.

His expression was so grim that you paused before you could ask him to talk later.

“What’s wrong?” you asked instead.

Azriel hesitated. “I’m worried about Cassian. Is everything okay between you two?”

Your heart sank. Of course Azriel had noticed, but for him to be concerned enough to pull you aside… maybe you had really pushed Cassian too far. You needed to talk to him as soon as possible to explain things.

“No, Az, it’s fine,” you started, trying to explain. “It’s just that I—”

Your words turned into a startled scream as two strong arms suddenly wrapped around you, lifting you off the ground.

Cassian’s laughter boomed in your ears as he crushed you to his chest. “Got you!”

Your hands flew to his forearms, your heart pounding. “What… what are you doing?” you mumbled, still trying to make sense of what was happening.

Azriel’s lips curled up into a smirk. “Good luck with him,” he said before slipping away to join the others in the sitting room.

“What…?”

Cassian began striding toward the stairs, still holding you from behind, your feet dangling uselessly above the floor.

“You shouldn't have let your guard down, sweetheart,” he murmured in your ear. “You really thought you could tease me all day and get away with it?”

Azriel. He had distracted you just long enough for Cassian to sneak up behind you.

Cassian set you down on the first step, only to spin you around and scoop you up again. “Now I’ve got you, and you’re not going anywhere. You have a whole day to make up for.”

You wrapped your arms and legs around him as he started up the stairs. A breathless laugh left your lips. “So you’re not mad at me?”

“Worse than that.” He grinned, his hands sliding from your thighs to your ass, squeezing playfully. “I’m touch-starved. So why don’t you start fixing that?”

This time, you obliged him, cupping his face and pressing your lips to his before he even reached your bedroom door.

Taglist: @mrsjna @navyblue-eternity @paintedbyshadows @highladyandromeda @starswholistenanddreamsanswered @azrielsmate3 @mollygetssherlockcoffee @mirandasidefics @tinystarfishgalaxy @cynthiesjmxazrielslover @anarchiii @readinggeeklmao @anneas11 @azrielslittleslut @lilah-asteria @lorosette @azrielsrealmate @pey2618 @mellowmusings @k8r123-blog @daughterofthemoons-stuff @minnieoo @saltedcoffeescotch @georgiadixon @quiet-because-it-is-a-secret @ivy-34

1k taglist: @onebadassunicorn @thegoddessofnothingness

[post-it-free]

I fully and 100% share the anger and contempt for third party/uncommitted. I will never forget it. However, I am trying to shift back to others who don't have their heads so far up their own asses. Because even though they contributed to this fucking nightmare, they don't matter. Not like we shouldn't address the harms of their "arguments" they don't matter because they couldn't get even close to 2% of the vote in any state. Adding stein's votes to harris wouldn't have saved us.

The big thing that we've learned (and that online leftists refuse to) is that Americans are not secretly progressive. This is me paraphrasing from 2 videos i found clarifying for me, one by Olurinatti right after the election and the other by FD Signifier about "why trump actually won". And the thing is, people who voted for Biden stayed home (racism and sexism) and a lot of people were inspired by fascist rhetoric. Most people who voted but not for Harris said it was because she was "too left". Which was also sexism and racism.

I know I'm not saying anything anyone in this chain doesn't know. I'm saying that is the energy I am bringing to conversations with Really Online Leftists: she would have lost by even more if she had listened to you. The ideas you want politicians to stake their careers on are not nationally popular (unless they only apply to white people). You believe you are way more powerful and influential than you actually are, and that is going to be everyone's downfall

Trump voters owe me financial compensation.

[liketwoswansinbalance]

Pick-up Lines (or Attempts) by SGE Prequel Characters

I wasn't planning on doing anything related to Valentine's Day, but came up with this. Feel free to disagree with me if anything seems off. Some of these are hyperbole-infested, haha.

⸻

Hook:

Flirting: [He takes up the person's hand and says seductively,] What you think about [some egocentric yet relevant topic of conversation], lad/lass?

Flirted with: He flirts back—whether he has any sincere feelings for the person or not.

Midas:

Flirting: Is flirting beneath him? Likely. He doesn't like soppy Evers who mistake him for one himself.

Flirted with: Doesn't bother responding or dismisses the person. Or worse, he suspects high-handed manipulation at play and says something like "Find someone else."

Rufius:

Flirting: [He doesn't have the guts to flirt? May bring the object of his affections pastries.]

Flirted with: Completely oblivious. Mistakenly recognizes flirtation as an attempt to befriend or as just others simply being "friendly" to him for once.

Kyma:

Responds kindly in either scenario. Might let many, many suitors down.

Marialena:

Flirting: I foresaw a future for you and I together.

Flirted with: Laughs in the person's face. How pathetic, she could think. Or she blatantly lies and tells them they will die of smallpox or malaria because she is contagious and ought to be on her deathbed, if only to get rid of them. If not, she could string the person along for a while, to do her bidding.

Peter Pan:

Flirting: [N/A]

Flirted with: Yuck. Bluck. Bleh. I'm not getting disgusting girl cooties!

Rise Rhian:

Flirting: [He initiates a handshake, and holds onto it for too long.] Hello... [Unfortunately, his mind goes blank and he blushes. In some cases, he may find something clever to say, especially about the physical appearance of his crush.]

Flirted with: [Tongue-tied, attempts to act coy in front of the admirer, probably blushes profusely. Can't look anyone in the eye.]

Fall Rhian:

Flirting: [Wouldn't bother if a guy isn't his prophesied True Love... probably. Do old habits die hard like his brother had? Only one way to find out. Expose himself to handsome guys (students?) and get over the feelings.]

Flirted with: May respond by thinking some form of: Hostile human lifeform. What's the trick this time? He can no longer trust after everything that had gone on.

Rafal:

Flirting: [*Crickets* Then, a voice sounds from behind his "victim:"] Ahem... greetings. I am your stalker. Do you love me? Please. I command you to love me. I promise you, you won't find anyone better. I'll make it for certain.

Flirted with: [Stares at the person like they're stupid for even trying and says something scathing in return.]

[I think he has the potential to be off the rails awkward or deeply questionable, in terms of having a sound mind, if he's not acting seductively as part of a greater ploy and actually has real feelings for someone getting in his way. Hence, the slight deviation from canon.

His first response was also inspired by "Stalker's Tango" and "An Unhealthy Obsession."]

[haytan]

WILDFLOWER | G.A

inspired by billie eilish's wildflower. I think you can already predict that it's very angst. I cried writing this and I love it even more because of it.

𓍼 WORD COUNT: 3390

𓍼 SUMMARY: after listening to Two People on Good Riddance tour something invades you, like a fever.

𓍼 WARNINGS: angst, good ending...

good riddance had been out for a few months now, yet you still remembered the nights when gracie came home late from the studio. it might have seemed like a bad thing, but she always found a way to make it up to you—small surprises, late-night apologies that always ended with her between your legs—so, in the end, it was never really that bad.

one of the things you admired most about her was her honesty, especially when it came to her feelings. while working on the album, she never let you forget how much she loved you, how important your relationship was, and how those lyrics were nothing more than echoes of old wounds.

more than anyone, you understood what this album meant to her. it wasn’t just a way to express everything she had been through, but the first project that was truly hers, a piece of her heart laid bare. and you had been there for every part of it.

before love ever crossed your mind, you and gracie were just friends. and you had the luck—or maybe the curse—of knowing her ex-boyfriend, of watching them grow together and, eventually, fall apart.

it should have been easy to let time wash it all away, to accept that the past was nothing more than that. you had promised yourself it wouldn’t matter anymore. you had promised gracie, too.

but then two people started playing.

and when gracie sang that one specific line—

"and you know, you know every inch of my body"

that was when the tears started falling, before you could even think about stopping them. that was the night you started seeing him in the back of your mind again when you started feeling like you were burning alive.

but you knew she didn't mean to hurt you.

so you kept it to yourself.

…

the next morning, usually filled with kisses and silly conversations, is ruined by a tension that settles between you like something unspoken—thick and heavy. the air inside the apartment feels too still, as if it’s holding its breath, waiting for one of you to break the silence.

gracie leans against the sink, absentmindedly stirring her tea, though you’re not even sure if she actually intends to drink it. her fingers tap a slow rhythm against the ceramic mug, eyes fixed on some distant point.

you sit on a stool by the counter, arms crossed, so close yet so far away. the hum of the fridge, the faint ticking of the clock on the wall—everything sounds too loud in the midst of the silence between you.

"are you really not going to talk to me?" gracie finally says, her voice quieter than usual but heavy with frustration.

you exhale through your nose, hearing your own heartbeat echo inside your head. "i don’t know what you want me to say."

"i want you to say whatever it is that’s bothering you."

you shake your head, staring at a spot on the floor. "it’s nothing, gracie."

she laughs, but there’s no humor in it. "liar. you shut down the moment we got home. you barely looked at me all night. just tell me what’s going on!"

"i already told you—i’m fine."

"no, you’re not." she leans forward slightly, exasperated. "and i’m tired of pretending i don’t notice when you’re upset just because you refuse to talk to me."

your chest tightens. part of you knows she’s right. but another part—the one that’s been burning since last night, since that damn song and the way it made something ugly take root inside you—wants to resist.

you run your hands through your hair, a habit stolen from her. "maybe i just don’t want to talk about it, okay?"

gracie shakes her head. "god, why do you always do this? why do you always push me away when something’s wrong?"

"because i don’t want to fight with you!" you snap, your voice rising as your patience wears thin. "i don’t want to ruin the morning or… or make things weird before your show!"

gracie exhales sharply, setting her mug down on the counter harder than she intended. "and you think not talking makes everything better? because right now, it just feels like you’re shutting me out."

you press your fingers against your forehead, breathing heavily. "i just need time, okay?"

"time for what?" her voice wavers now, a trace of hurt seeping in. "for me to stop asking? for me to just sit here and pretend i don’t see that you’re upset?"

"for me to figure out how to talk without sounding like an idiot!"

that makes her pause. the tension between you crackles in the air, the silence stretching too long.

gracie swallows, the sound making you shiver.

"you know what? forget it," she says, turning back to the sink and picking up her tea.

you close your eyes for a moment, inhaling deeply. "gracie—"

"no, i get it." she cuts you off, taking a long sip. "you don’t want to talk. fine."

gracie turns back to you, searching your face for some sign of regret, but she finds nothing but confusion.

"in the end, i’m always the only one trying to fix things," she says before walking away, the sound of her heavy footsteps echoing as she climbs the stairs.

you stay there, sitting on the stool, staring at the empty space where gracie stood just seconds ago.

your fingers grip the edge of the counter, and you let out a shaky breath, frustration still pulsing beneath your skin. this wasn’t how you wanted the morning to go. this wasn’t how you wanted things to be before her show.

but now it’s done.

you rub your face, trying to clear your thoughts. but everything feels blurred, tangled—a mess of emotions you don’t know how to unravel.

the apartment suddenly feels too small. the air inside it, too heavy.

you need to get out.

standing up quickly, you grab a sweatshirt draped over a chair and shove your keys into your pocket. the soft click of the door unlocking echoes through the apartment, but there’s no sound from upstairs. no attempt to stop you from leaving.

a part of you wishes there was.

you walk down the stairs slowly, hands buried in your pockets, with no real destination in mind. you just keep moving.

the cold morning air hits you the moment you step outside, and an immediate urge to cry swells inside you. your nose starts to sting, your eyes well up, and before you know it, those words are replaying in your head again.

"and you know, you know every inch of my body."

you know she loves you. you should let this go, shouldn’t you? but he lingers, always there, in the back of your mind.

last night, when gracie wrapped her arms around you, kissed the nape of your neck, and told you she loved you, you wanted to turn around, hold her tighter, tell her you loved her more, and start a silly argument over it.

but every time she touched you, all you could think about was how he felt.

had gracie ever looked at you and seen him? in the dark of the bedroom, between kisses and whispered promises, had a part of him ever slipped into her mind?

and if, just for a moment, she had wished it was him instead of you?

you try to push the thought away, try to hold onto the certainties gracie gives you—the way she reaches for your hand without thinking, the way her eyes light up when she talks about you, the i love yous that sound so real.

but doubt creeps in, spreading like a loose thread unraveling everything.

what if they’re not?

what if, deep down, you’re only here because he’s not?

the thought tightens in your chest. you swallow hard and keep walking, unfamiliar streets closing in around you.

but nothing feels as endless or inescapable as the maze inside your own mind.

…

the lights dim, and the crowd erupts into cheers. the air is electric, pulsing with anticipation, and gracie feels it thrumming through her veins. she grips the microphone tightly, fingers trembling just slightly, but she forces herself to take a deep breath. this is her moment—her show. no matter what happened this morning, she needs to push through.

but she knows better than to think she can just shut it out.

as she steps onto the stage, her eyes scan the audience, moving quickly over the sea of faces. the adrenaline in her chest spikes as she catches sight of you.

standing near the back, hands buried in your pockets, shoulders drawn tight, looking at her like you’re not sure whether you want to be here or not.

the moment stretches between you, thick with words left unsaid.

gracie knows that for months she has been exposing you to these painful memories embedded in her own songs. but she also knows that they are past pains, without weight or meaning, and she expected you to know that too. if something was wrong, you would tell her. wouldn't you? but as she stands there, watching you from the stage, doubt grips her chest.

did i cross the line?

abrams swallows hard, forcing herself to keep moving, to wave at the fans screaming her name, to smile like she’s okay. but her mind is already somewhere else, stuck in the heaviness of this morning, the way you looked at her, the sound of the door clicking shut behind you as you left.

she drags in another breath, stepping up to the mic as the opening chords of the first song hum through the speakers. the setlist is the same as always, but tonight, everything feels different. she wonders if you can feel it too, if the weight pressing down on her is pressing down on you as well.

and then the next song starts.

the one that ruined everything last night.

the crowd sings along, voices blending with hers. her gaze, however, is locked on yours. she sings the line without hesitation, without breaking, watching the way your jaw clenches, your eyes darkening just slightly. she wonders if you can tell that she’s looking at you. if you can hear what she’s trying to say through the words that once meant something else.

i didn’t mean to hurt you.

it’s just a song. it’s just a song.

but that doesn’t make it any less real, does it?

the song ends, the moment passes, and yet, the weight lingers. the rest of the show blurs together—flashes of movement, chords, applause—but that moment stays lodged in her ribs, burning like something she doesn’t know how to name.

by the time the final song fades, the crowd’s cheers ring in her ears, and gracie barely remembers getting through it. sweat clings to her skin as she steps backstage, her heart still pounding too fast, and she doesn’t know if it’s from the performance or the way you looked at her.

she doesn’t have time to figure it out before she hears movement behind her.

turning slowly, she finds you standing there, just a few feet away.

you’re still wearing that same guarded expression, the one that makes something in her ache, but there’s something else beneath it now. something hesitant. something like regret.

she wants to say something, anything—but what is there to say?

where were you?

are you okay?

i’m sorry?

but before she can choose the perfect false words, you take the first step. "we should talk… at home."

"yeah, definitely," she says almost automatically.

you hold each other’s gaze for a moment, both fidgeting with your hands—shared habits.

the ride home is silent. the radio plays some random melody, but neither of you really listens. gracie keeps her hands on her thighs, fingers restless, resisting the urge to reach out. she doesn’t know if it would be welcomed. if she still can.

on the other side, you stare out the window, your hand so close to hers. close enough that if one of you just…

but no one moves.

back home, the silence is just as heavy. gracie drops her bag on the counter but doesn’t step away, fingers gripping the marble as if she needs something solid to hold onto.

this time, there are no distractions. just the two of you and the space between you.

"can we talk now?" gracie asks, her voice low.

"yeah," you answer hesitant. but it takes a moment before you can actually speak.

gracie’s breath seems caught in her chest as she waits, and you hate it—hate how uncertainty spreads across her features, like she’s bracing for something bad. but the truth is, you don’t even know how to put what you’re feeling into words.

you run your tongue over your dry lips before finally saying:

"that song last night, two people… it really fucked me up."

gracie blinks a few times, surprised by the raw honesty in your voice. she swallows hard before responding.

"i didn’t…" she pauses, the words dying before they fully form. "i didn’t mean for it to hurt you."

"i know." you squeeze your fingers, letting out a heavy sigh. "but it did."

gracie nods slowly, eyes fixed on you, unsure of where to step. "you never said anything before. about the song, about…" she hesitates. "him."

"because i thought i was fine," you admit, your voice coming out rougher than you intended. "i thought i had let it go. but hearing it—hearing you sing it—just brought everything back, and i hated it. i hated that it still gets to me."

gracie stays silent for a moment, her gaze locked on you like she’s searching for the right thing to say. then, in a hesitant, almost resigned tone, she asks:

"do you want me to stop singing it?"

do you want that?

"because if you do, i will."

"of course not," you say, shaking your head. "that’s not the point, gracie."

"then what is the point?"

"i don’t fucking know!" tears start streaming down your face, and suddenly, you’ve never felt more exposed than now. "i’m sorry…" you bring your hands up to your face, as if trying to hide somehow.

gracie doesn’t think. she just moves.

before she can second-guess herself, she closes the space between you, wrapping her arms around your trembling frame. you tense at first, your body stiff against hers, but then, slowly, you sink into it.

your hands clutch the fabric of her jacket, desperate for something to hold onto, something solid in the middle of everything unraveling inside you.

gracie presses her face into your hair, eyes squeezing shut. "hey," she whispers, voice barely steady. "it’s okay. you don’t have to be sorry."

but you shake your head against her shoulder, fingers tightening. "i hate this," you choke out. "i hate feeling like this. like i’m stuck. like i—" your breath catches, breaking apart in your throat.

gracie pulls back just enough to look at you, cradling your face in her hands, her thumbs brushing the tears from your cheeks. her gaze is searching, pained, but steady. "then don’t do it alone." she almost whispers. "let me be here. let us figure this out together."

"look at me," she continues, tilting your chin up with gentle fingers.

your breath hitches. "gracie—"

"i love you."

you swallow hard, eyes flickering between hers. "i know that you love me."

"no." her grip tightens, not to hold you in place, but to make you feel her, to feel the weight of what she’s saying. she looks at you like she’s searching for something deeper, something that words alone can’t reach. "i don’t want you to just know. i need you to feel it. i need you to feel it in every vein in your body, how much i want you, how much i love you, y/n."

your chest tightens, throat burning with unshed tears.

"you’re my baby, my girl, my fucking adorable, sweet princess," she breathes, her forehead resting against yours. "i’d give you the whole damn universe if you asked me. and i’m sorry for not noticing how hard this has been for you."

"you don’t have to do anything," you shake your head. "it’s not your responsibility. it’s not your fault."

gracie lets out a soft, almost disbelieving laugh, brushing a stray tear from your cheek with her thumb. "i’m your girlfriend, of course it’s my responsibility. but it’s not just that—i want to. i want to be here. i want to hold this with you."

you let out a shaky breath, your forehead still pressed against hers. the warmth of her hands, the closeness of her body, it’s the only thing keeping you grounded.

gracie watches you, waiting, giving you space even as she holds you close. there’s no rush, no expectation. just her, just this moment, just the steady rhythm of her breathing mixing with yours.

"i don’t know how to stop feeling like this," you admit, voice barely above a whisper.

"you don’t have to figure it out all at once. we’ll take it one step at a time. no pressure, no rush. just us."

you close your eyes for a moment, letting yourself lean into her, feeling the warmth of her presence wrap around you like something safe, something solid.

then, after a beat, you whisper, "say it again."

gracie pulls back just enough to meet your gaze, her lips curving into a soft, knowing smile. "i love you."

you shake your head. "no. the whole thing."

her hands tighten around your face, eyes dark and unwavering as she speaks again, voice like a vow:

"i don’t want you to just know how much i love you. i need you to feel it. in every breath, every touch, every part of you. you’re my baby, my girl, my sweet, adorable princess. and i’d give you the universe if you asked me."

tears slip silently down your cheeks, but this time, they don’t feel heavy. it’s love, because of love.

gracie catches one with her thumb, her smile turning just a little teasing, a little mischievous. "and i’m never singing two people again unless you say it’s okay."

you let out a breathy, tearful laugh, shoving her shoulder lightly. "i never said that."

she grins, eyes crinkling, before she leans in and presses the softest, most deliberate kiss to your lips. like a promise. like a beginning.

gracie doesn’t pull away right away. she lingers her lips barely brushing yours, memorizing the shape of you, like she’s making sure you feel every ounce of her love in that kiss. when she finally does part from you, it’s only far enough to rest her forehead against yours again, her breath mingling with yours in the small space between you.

"you okay?"

you nod, a little shy now, a little overwhelmed but in a way that doesn’t hurt as much anymore.

she smiles, thumbs still tracing light patterns on your cheeks before one hand slips down, lacing her fingers with yours. "come here," she says, giving your hand the gentlest tug.

abrams leads you to the couch, pulling you down with her, and before you can even think, she’s tucking you against her side, wrapping you up in warmth. it’s so easy, so effortless—the way your body finds its place against hers, the way her arm fits snugly around your waist, like you were always meant to be here.

"do you wanna talk more?" she asks after a moment, her voice soft. "or do you just wanna stay like this for a while?"

you don’t answer right away. instead, you shift, pressing your face into the curve of her neck, breathing her in. she smells like vanilla and something distinctly her, something comforting.

"this," you murmur against her skin. "just this."

gracie hums, pressing a lingering kiss to your temple. "okay, baby. just this."

and so you stay there, tangled together in the quiet, her fingers trailing lazy patterns along your back, your hands resting against her chest, feeling the steady rise and fall of her breathing.

it’s not perfect. there’s still a lot to talk about, a lot to work through. but for now, in this moment, in her arms, you feel safe.

and that’s enough.

guys…

thanks for reading <3

back to nav

[mrs-hatake]

Pretty When You Cry

Pairing: zayne x f!reader

Genre: hurt/comfort, grief, mourning.

Synopsis: Y/N sees her childhood friend and long time crush crying for the first time.

a/n: i'm not a doctor nor do i have any knowledge about the hospital's hierarchy so sorry for the wrong info ;-; inspired by my own post, this and this . i actually wanted to write for sylus and caleb but zayne stole the show oops

Navigating through a dimly lit room isn’t challenging. It’s the eerie silence that has Y/N hesitating taking another step forward. 

As always, the apartment and bedroom are impeccable. There are no clothes strewn about here and there. Everything is organized by name, color and expiry date. Everything’s so clean that a surgeon can probably operate on the wooden floor. 

Y/N stops in front of the bedroom door.

It isn’t closed. There’s a small opening where light –no doubt from the dolphane night light she had gifted him years ago– is penetrating through the gap. The pale blue light reminds Y/N of the small illumination that sometimes accompanies the burst of ice whenever Zayne uses his cryo powers. Captivating, beautiful and icy to the touch. 

Taking in a deep breath, Y/N gently pushes the bedroom door open.

Nothing seems out of place at first glance. 

Some of the books Zayne has been reading to write his research are still piling up on his desk from a week ago. Y/N can see the potted plants she and Zayne had bought through the years to give his home a more lived in atmosphere still decorating his room. 

If Y/N hasn’t received that ominous phone call this morning, she wouldn’t think anything is wrong. 

But then takes another step forward and steps onto something squishy. Startled by the unexpected sensation, Y/N’s gaze glances downwards. The succulent plant bunny plushie that Zayne had won last year is flattened like a pancake under her socks clad foot. 

Slowly, Y/N bends down and picks up the doll, holding it firmly against her chest. 

She goes to place it back on the bed but she freezes in place at what she sees before her.

Sitting on the edge of the bed with disheveled hair and rumpled clothes is her childhood best friend and long time crush, Zayne. He is hunched over, heaviness clinging onto him like expensive cologne. 

“Zayne?” Y/N calls out his name, slow and gentle. She approaches him the way one might approach a frightened animal. 

When Zayne doesn’t respond, Y/N moves closer.

“What’s wrong?”

It’s a stupid thing to ask, Y/N knows this. She received a call from the head of department from the hospital Zayne works at. Though the entire conversation is cryptic and brief, Y/N is smart enough to pick up on the hidden message. 

“Zayne.” Y/N tries again and this time, the young intern responds. 

Zayne turns his head to face Y/N and she musters up all the strength to not gasp nor gap at the state Zayne is currently in.

Fair skin is tinted with a rosy hue around the corner of Zayne’s eyes and the tip of his nose. His cheeks are stained with dried tear tracks which have alarm bells ringing in Y/N’s head. 

Quick as lightning, Y/N sits next to Zayne, not caring if her sudden movement might scare him off. 

“Zayne, please, talk to me.” Y/N pleads. 

Zayne closes his eyes, his silence as he tries to drag emotion back under where he doesn’t need to feel it. But Y/N’s plea, filled with fear and concern, has his eyes brimming with tears again.

Startled, Y/N throws her arms around Zayne and pulls him into her embrace, just like she did with the plushie, desperately holding onto him and protecting him from whatever’s tormenting him.

Y/N She rocks gently back and forth, hoping that the lulling movements will stop Zayne’s precious tears from falling. Her hand rubs up and down Zayne’s arm in soothing motion as her lips press gentle kisses on his head. 

Zayne lays limp in her arms, yet he instinctively shifts, pressing his face into the soft curve of Y/N's neck. His body trembles as he chokes on a sob, memories of this morning resurfacing like angry tidal waves. Y/N’s gentle touches are like cool balm to his flesh wounds but they can only do so much.

When the tremors stop, Y/N tenderly pulls back but is sure to have Zayne firmly in her arms. 

It is difficult for Zayne to see Y/N past the tears clouding his eyes. Though, the delicate caress of Y/N's fingertips glides over Zayne's cheeks, tenderly sweeping away his tears, each stroke reminiscent of a soothing spell. Like magic, the tears slowly come to a stop. 

Zayne’s eyes red and glassy from crying, while his lower lip trembles slightly, jutting out in a vulnerable pout. His voice, hoarse and strained, breaks the silence as he whispers, “She didn’t make it.” 

Just like the person who is the head of the department, Zayne’s statement is vague. Yet it helps Y/N connect the dots as the voice of the older man echoes in her head.

“Dr. Zayne operated on a six year old girl today.”

[abitofboth]

GOD HELLO YES I’M SORRY IVE ONLY JUST SEEN THIS BUT ABSOLUTELY!!!!

I've started to see more welsh!owen popping up in the fandon recently which is making me SO happy!! it's one of my favourite headcannons for him and honestly, at this point, it's cannon in my eyes lmao

it started for me because I'm welsh myself and I hit all my favourite characters with my welshification beam, but aside from that, one glaring reasoning is his name actually! the origins of 'owen' come from the welsh name 'owain' (pronounced oh-wine) which is a pretty common welsh name.

there's a very famous man in welsh history called owain glyndŵr (oh-wine glind-ooh-er) who was the last native welsh person to hold the title the prince of wales, and he was born in 1359 so it's been a pretty long fuckin time since someone welsh has been on the throne (not that I support the monarchy, but it's worth noting because there's a lot of history between the welsh and the english with a lot of animosity between the two nations). all of this to say, owain glyndŵr led a 15 year long revolt to end english rule in wales, which I think is interesting to think about the comparisons of owen going against the world's leading governments with his work with chimera post-fall, even if the contexts are wildly different lmao. (glyndŵr did a lot of other very interesting things in welsh history which is definitely worth a read about)

I also really love the idea that owen was born in and grew up in wales, then later moved to london when he was a young adult. the thought that once he crossed over the border, he was saying goodbye to his old self and signing his life away to the british government and fully stepping into the world of spies. combined with him then going on to dedicate his life to chimera's cause, it's kind of heartbreaking to play with the idea that once he left wales his life was never really ever his own. he just became weapons for other people.

I also have the hc that he taught himself his RP accent. not so much any more, but back in the day many english people looked down on the welsh (look up the 'welsh not' for example) and I feel like owen would have this fear that his welsh accent would hold him back. he worked with/for the most powerful people in the world, he rubbed shoulders with the british government, he wanted to be respected, he wanted to be in a position of influence within the agency: he was not going to get that if he didn't sound like a rich english man. he had to fake his existence in high society and the easiest way was to force the accent out of himself. I like the idea of him involuntarily slipping back into it when his guard is aaaaaaall the way down (namely, when he feels safe with curt. :') )

speaking of, I LOVE the idea of him throwing in welsh words and phrases every now and then. I don't think he'd be fluent, but definitely knows enough to hold conversations with family etc. he absolutely calls curt 'cariad' (love/darling). 'del' is another cute one that can mean pretty/sweetheart that I think he would like using- “ti’n iawn, del?” would mean "you alright, sweetheart?" which HELLO!! is such an owen phrase to me

I also have a separate owen hc that his favourite book is the hobbit, and tolkien was pretty heavily inspired by wales when writing those books!!

and one last thing because I realise I'm word vomiting here: the welsh word 'hiraeth'. there's no direct english translation for this word, but it's essentially the feeling of a deep longing for something, especially for one's home. I think owen's entire being is stained with this feeling. a grief filled homesickness- whether in the context of his actual home, or the home he finds within curt, he goes kind of mad with it. it's even more heartbreaking to think of this feeling immediately after he fell and was left alone with no home to speak of. owies!!

I've sprinkled welsh owen into a few fics I've written in the past and I love seeing it pop up in other people's fics (one I remember and love was written by @considerablecolors with such a lovely subtle detail of owen's first crush being a boy called gethin) and it's just a hc that I really hold near and dear!! I've probably missed things out that I'd love to talk about but this is very much just a stream of whatever came spewing out first. I'd LOVE to read other people's thoughts and headcannons if anyone is willing to share!! <3

owen carvour my welsh king

[pinkbirddiaries]

Logan: What do you do when your French fries get cold?

Tyler: I just eat them

Ashlyn: I throw them away

Aiden: I microwave them

Ben (in ASL): I’m not related to him

Taylor: My French fries don’t get cold… I just eat them first

[chio-chan2]

POV: Doof is struggling to get out of bed and get ready for work (HighSchool Teacher) and he messages Perry in desperation.

Heinz: I don't want to get out of bed... It's cold!!! 😫😫🥺

Perry: I will bring you a caramel macchiato if you get up

Heinz sends a blury pic of him out of bed

Perry: I will bring it at 10 am

Heinz sends a pic of him back under the covers

[byfulcrums]

Fucking around w the HSR text thingy part 2

[smilepebble]

doodles from what i affectionately call the "WHA castaya AU", in which malaya is the former watchful eye of an atelier whose students disappeared after a strange rainfall, while castti conifer is a mysterious amnesiac doctor that appears suddenly in the great hall's infirmary.

[sendmyresignation]

i think there's really something to be said about how there has never been a record i've encountered where people wanted justification or excuse to refuse to acknowledge the intention and seriousness of the project itself like danger days by both defenders and haters. i find it so incredibly bizarre and strange and partially fascinating.

[farahfriday]

[lord farquaad pointing and laughing meme] the british man has fallen for the american imperialist propaganda!

ghost image credit to yumethefrostypanda

[yourfavoritehorseman]

Y/n: I'm really excited for the haunted house tonight!

Jason: Are you sure you can handle it?

Y/n: Of course! I love haunted houses. Anything pertaining to Halloween, really.

Jason: No, I know. It's just that, well, I can hear you running down the hallway at night after you flip off the light in the bathroom.

Y/n: ...that's not me! It's probably Damian!

Damian: *from another room* It isn't!

Y/n: Okay, yeah, I do that, but I can totally handle the haunted house tonight!

Also y/n: *jumps when the icemaker makes a noise*

Jason: Whatever you say, baby.

[margindoodles2407]

bro haven't you ever had a homie before

[meihouwangslittlecumslut]

My only contribution to the jjk fandom is this

Chimera!megumi

Reblogs > likes!