#anyway im also not reading now which is what i MEANT to be doing

[mossy-aro]

ultimately i think my insistence on aro positivity honestly is as much a political stance as a personal one.

when i say aro positivity is crucial and that i dislike doomer-ist posts that express sentiments like 'I hate being aro so much I wish I was dead instead’ it's not because I don’t think there can and should be a space for negativity and acknowledging self-hate, or the many ways being aromantic can really suck sometimes. i find that to be very important!

that being said. there is smth here about how self-hate posts are sometimes just arophobia that we inflict on ourselves. and when we put that out into the ether it (intentionally or not) can become arophobia that we inflict on other members of the community. i think there absolutely needs to be a place for negativity and the expression of anger and frustration and self loathing even - these are all good things to talk about because these are things that we experience. that being said, it can also be genuinely upsetting and triggering to people to have what is essentially arophobia shown to them and then have that be validated by other aspec people. your personal thoughts can affect your wider community on a level you may not anticipate. and i understand it i truly do! it took me so long to be able to recover from accepting being aroace - it threw my entire world off kilter and made me question everything about my place in the world.

but my insistence on aro joy and positivity is because ultimately i do believe that building is at the core essence of it all. that ultimately discussions and the purpose of community should be about construction, not destruction. and this is both a personal and a political stance. talking about how much you hate yourself and cultivating online discussions/spaces where negativity about aspec identity is the main and only theme is destructive - if that’s where we let the conversation end. these thoughts can and should be used as a vehicle to look for a path forward!

joy and positivity create a space where the focus can become on forging a path forward, on construction, on community building instead of tearing ourselves and others down with negative thoughts. it’s not productive or healthy when it stops at a place of negativity - it becomes actively destructive to the essence of community.

and i do think that this is especially poignant considering the fact that being any kind of queer, but especially aromantic (and/or asexual) means forging a path for yourself and making your own happiness where there is no obvious way forward. our communities exist mostly online (right now, anyway), there is little recognition of our existence in the real world, the effects of amatonormativity are both pervasive and actively dehumanising, and there are legal, economic and social structures in place actively making our lives more difficult. yes that all sucks! it’s good to acknowledge that. we need to in order to change it. but more importantly, that’s not the end. we are still here and our happiness, our future is for us to determine. even if we can’t change the laws or society, loving yourself and understanding aromanticism as a political identity (as well as personal), as a radical worldview, and as a protest against amatonormativity is essential for both community and personal well being. the personal is political.

tldr. i guess my point is that as a community, we should focus on building, improving, and nurturing ourselves and each other (construction) as opposed to destruction. we should recognise aromanticism and asexuality as political identities as well as personal ones and rely on community and self-love in the absence of anything else as a form of protest and political power. destruction (the recognition of everything that is wrong) is essential as a starting point - but where do we go from there? we rebuild.

[vogelmeister]

one of the worst things i have ever done in the name of art is decide that the final monologue would be in poorly written dutch and then have to translate that into English and then decide how you’re going to display this bc its way too much dutch for the little footnotes you have been including when a character does use a dutch word but also you also like,, need to translate this into english so now you have an appendix and that's way too fancy but it's still in Dutch and you still need to put it in English and it's not even hard Dutch like its basic yet your head hurts still looking at it even though you know what you did and what you wrote and words are hard and you simultaniously know and don't know and this long ramble is exactly how your brain was operating at the time so yay. me.

[indigodawns]

.

[bunnyb34r]

Well I WAS gonna make gravy since I'm AWAKE but uh... I think I'll wait til 5 like I originally planned 😰

[maemil]

God, I was getting annoyed with some choices the writers started making a bit after the halfway point of Batgirl (2000), only to be informed that this was pretty much exactly when Kelley Puckett stopped writing.

[onakomiyaki]

WHAT IS THIS | dr3 x brabham!reader | lh44 x brabham!reader (platonic) - smau

summary : you got into dating rumor with lewis hamilton after your sudden appearance in bahrain gp 2021. and your friend is not happy at all.

fc : emily ratajkowski, pinterest.

a/n : this is part of 'just a silly crush' universe, so i suggest you to read it first <3 and also this is just a small break (i lost the chapter 3 and 4 on my draft brb crying)

y/nbrabham.official

Liked by f1, lewishamilton, tommyhilfinger, and 1,786,901 others

y/nbrabham.official alright i take back what i said about cars go vroom-vroom. y'all cool, i guess.

big thanks to @ mercedesamgf1 and @ tommyhilfiger for inviting me!

View all comments

30 March 2021

user1 HELLO?!? F1 AND Y/N?!?!? WHAT DID I MISS?!?! WHEN WAS THIS?!

user2 she decided to wake up and choose chaos, because what the hell??!

lewishamilton Glad you came, Y/N! Come again next race? 😊

y/nbrabham okay hamilton, now you're pushing it too far 🙄

lewishamilton Well, at least I tried.😮‍💨

user3 HELLO?!?!? WHAT IS GOING ON

mercedesamgf1 Our best paddock girl! 🥰

y/nbrabham.official admin stop making me blush! 😳😳

user4 there's no daniel in the likes, what's going on?

user1 someone said that daniel is unfollowing her because she attend bahrain gp as lewis plus one, while he'd been trying to invite her since his debut race and she refuse to come.

user2 she's actually look sad and guilty when daniel refuse to look at her and avoided her at the whole race :(

user7 she doesn't deserve the spotlight :\ she only there because she is brand ambassador for tommy hilfiger. what did she knows about f1 anyway.

user5 GIRL SHE'S LITERALLY THE DAUGHTER OF DAVID BRABHAM?!?!

user4 blud is talking f1 knowledge to one of the brabham is crazy

mclaren maybe you can go to ours next race? 👀

redbullracing she will come to ours next, sorry.🫢

mercedesamgf1 BACK OFF I SAID 🤺🤺

user9 NAHHH THE ADMINS ARE ON IT AGAIN

y/nbrabham.official maybe... 🤔

user9 Y/N ?!?!?

danielricciardo posted a story!

lewishamilton

Liked by f1, y/nbrabham.official, maxverstappen, and 347,970 others

lewishamilton We out ✌🏾

Thanks for the photos and for supporting me, dear friend! @ y/nbrabham.official

View all comments

30 March 2021

y/nbrabham.official i look like that one kid in meme... the one who smile at the burning house... what is this lewis... 🤨

lewishamilton You look fine, Y/N stop worrying so much! 😩

y/nbrabham.official i am a model, of course i worry about my image 😤😤

user6 DEAR FRIEND??!? WHAT DOES THIS MEAN?!?

lewishamilton She is my beloved friend! (I got rejected)

y/nbrabhams.official we are friends! (plz ignore lewis)

user44 HE GOT WHAT BY WHO?!?

user1 only y/n could reject THE lewis hamilton.

user10 i mean it is y/n, she can reject me, spit on me, call me names and i would still thank her

user12 @.user10 okay grandma, lets get you back to bed.

mercedesamgf1 looking' fresh 🔥🔥

user9 MAX I SEE YOU

user3 it is probably daniel stalking with max's phone

maxverstappen I have no comment on that.

user33 MAX?!?!?!?

user2 BOY BFR RIGHT NOW

user4 WHAT DID YOU KNOW MAX VERSTAPPEN

landonorris 😶

user5 LANDO NORRIS?!

user11 ohh so this is what daniel story meant.. (im delulu)

user14 wait you might be onto something since daniel unfollow y/n.. (let me join you)

user23 OKAY BED TIME FOR YOU TWO, CHOP CHOP

"lew, daniel unfollowed me on insta. what should i do?" you said, voice panicking through the call.

"calm down, y/n. i'll try and talk to him." lewis, voice groggy, said.

it was almost 4 a.m in imola, and lewis had just finish reading a book. meanwhile it was 1 p.m for you in australia, and he is kind enough to listen to your sudden panic call. daniel had unfollowed you and you just notice that because you are opening your twitter after a week away from it.

the whole bahrain gp literally flooded your timeline so you just opted to stay off the twitter. which proven not so wise because now you're left with few chapters behind.

first, daniel unfollowed you. which of course understandable regarding the situation you're in. but daniel hasn't give you a chance to even apologize because that man is ignoring your messages and call and he of course won't read your dm

second, you just notice most of the grid is following you. other than few friend that you know about a.k.a daniel's friends, lance stroll, valterri bottas, and even zak brown decided to joining the bandwagon. and you know it won't be long until your next grand prix invitation.

"he is angry, y/n. that is understandable. and also why didn't you tell me sooner about your whole anti f1 agenda? i can prevent this disaster happen, you know that."

"yeah i know, i should've at least talk to you... but tommy really want me to go! he personally talk to me lew, how can i say no to him?"

"okay, fair. by the way, we've been friend for how long now? 3 years?"

"around that, yes. why?"

"and how long you've been friend with daniel?"

"umm, 19 years 20? i can't remember"

"yeah that outta do it. anyways i'll try talking to him okay? he avoided me too, maybe i'll ask max verstappen to help. i better go to sleep now, its like almost 5 a.m and my body is screaming."

"okay, you do that. i'm gonna go with my lunch... thanks lew."

"anytime, y/n."

anna watch as you return to your table with a suspicious look on her face. she never see you this restless or this nervous after your 'beef' with elsa hosk back in 2017. anna had her suspicion that it is about bahrain and she knew that it is partially her fault as well, but who knows?

"who was it?" anna asked, sipping her virgin mojito.

"lewis hamilton." you simply said, taking of your sunny as you open the menu.

"ohh, you finally agreeing on that second date?"

"what? no! he trying to help me to talk to daniel again."

"oh right, daniel."

"he didn't block me, but he definitely ignore me." you said, voice dejected.

anna wave her hand, calling the waitress to finally take your orders. you frown at her as the waitress approach both of you.

"i didn't order yet." you said.

"you've been ordering the same thing in this restaurant for almost 10 years, y/n. trust me i know what you want."

so you pout your mouth, rolling your eyes as you let anna order for you. she's not wrong that's why you let her be. this restaurant is one of if not the only restaurant that you always go to whenever you visit perth. you went here first time ever with daniel, back when you are 16. this restaurant just open then and you are excited to let daniel drive you around after finally getting his driver license.

"have you tried calling max? he is daniel closest friend on track right?" anna suggest, looking at you silently.

"should i?"

"try it."

and so you did. you open your phone, hovering at the contact name as you hesitate to press the call button. i mean it is 5 a.m at imola anyway, he won't pick up. right?

"hello?"

"uhh, hi max. this is y/n brabham. sorry for bothering you this early."

"ah don't worry i already woke up an hour ago. what can i help you?

"its about daniel."

"oh, yeah. bahrain?"

"yeah, he is mad at me. he won't answer his phone, unfollowed me on everywhere, and just avoiding me."

"he is mad at you, that's for sure. but he won't be mad at you forever. trust me, i know."

anna watch you in silence and you just looked away from her, staring at the ocean. you know anna is being nosy, but you let her anyway.

"i want to apologize to him... but how?"

"well, i have an idea. you have place in monaco right?"

"yeah, i do have house in monaco. why?"

"okay, here's the plan."

next masterlist

[ribbonbite]

mulgogi [sebastian solace]

in which a certain prisoner is a kpop stan and sebastian hates(loves) it

a/n ♡ this isn't meant to be taken seriously (and is lowkey cringe) so to the people who hate fun THIS ISN'T FOR YOU!! also it's kinda short im sorry <3 also badly written but erm ^_^'' and to non kpop fans who like sebastian too, this probably won't make much sense im sorry 😭

(this is NOT an excuse to mix my hyperfixations and it is NOT cringe. it is also NOT a reflection of my headcanon of sebastian being a secret kpop stan who likes girl groups. /s)

name inspo: '"mulgogi" by fromis_9 (get it bc sebastian is a fish and mulgogi means fish HAHA!!)

God, Sebastian fucking hated them.

Not only were they super annoying to him, flashing their beacon at his face and whatnot, they were a kpop fan. Whenever they came into the shop they always blasted music that pissed him off. 'I dunno, Sebastian! Maybe you should stan fromis_9', they would say with a stupid grin on their face.

Why were they so joyous too? They were in a facility where almost everything is out to get them. It's like their brain was only full of puppies and kittens or something, even though they're experiencing the horrors of humanity.

Sebastian started biting his finger in irritation at the thought of them. Oh how he wanted to so badly punch them in their stupid yet cute face. As he got lost into his violent (and somehow sweet) thoughts, he suddenly heard noises coming from the vent.

Oh god... not them again...

"Guuueeessss who!" [Name] announces with the most bright tone of voice Sebastian has ever heard in his life. He instantly became nauseous as they walked into the shop.

"Oh... It's you." Sebastian says through gritted teeth, clapping his palms together. "I sure am glad you're back!" The sarcasm of the grumpy fish went over the head of the prisoner.

A grin made its way onto [Name]'s face. "Anyway, you know what time it is!" They exclaim before pulling out a speaker. Where did they even manage to get it? How is it even working in whatever hellhole they're in? Who knows.

With a press of the power button, the familiar tune of a specific song that [Name] liked playing started. The happy and summery tone did NOT match the current situation they were in.

"Have you seen my Hayoung photocard? I carry this around with me all the time!" They said, pointing a piece of paper with a random lady on it at Sebastians face

The fish looked at the paper with lowered brows, not amused at whatever the prisoner was doing. "...You're very annoying." He mutters as [Name] put the photocard back inside their bag. He hated the fact that he found it kind of endearing.

"Aww, but I know you like it!" [Name] teases. "Your tail is literally swaying to the beat of this song right now!" They pointed at his lower end, which was indeed moving despite Sebastians irritated face. He took a deep breath before crossing his arms. "Yea yea... the song is good." He admitted with defeat.

[Name] grinned and started jamming along. Maybe this was a weird way of coping with the fact that there are entities who could end their life at any moment, Sebastian thought.

Whatever the reason was, he was glad that they had some sort of light in their dark situation. He still found them irritating but hey, at least he has company, right? And he found [Name] sort of cute so he didn't completely despise them.

"Sebastian, I think you should really stan fromis_9." Their voice shook Sebastian out of thought. He looked at them for a moment, a deep sigh leaving his mouth.

"Sure! Why not."

if u can, please stream fromis_9's comeback "supersonic"! out august 12th <3

ending was a bit choppy and weird im sorry >_<

thanks for reading!! 🩷

[hurthermore]

hii!! ur writing has a choke hold on me!!🤯anyways, im so deprived of some comfort rn- could you maybe do something related to aftercare? For ex: Alastor comfort after a bit of degradation was taken too personally from reader :> (maybe some comfort while bandaging them up too idk)

Literally obsessed w ur shit ur like my fav hh writer, and ty for reading :3

Of course!<3 and TYSM!! That’s so sweet<3 warnings for sexual content, fluff? (Idk what fluff is apparently from my death one shot)

Your Alastor had always liked indulging in a bit of rough and degrading play; but this time he had went to far.

He had crossed one of your boundaries he hadn’t been aware of, calling you a degrading name you weren’t okay with; and as soon as that word left his mouth, you had become stiff.

Alastor had noticed immediately.

Stilling inside you, halting all movements, Alastor could only look in your eyes as he searched for consent within, searched for anything in your expression that still said you wanted him to continue; but he could not find it.

“Is everything quite alright, darling?” His tone harshly contrasted the nasty and rough demeanour he had with you only moments ago; now giving you a loving and soft voice as he checked in on you.

Looking to the side, you avoided his gaze as the word he used on you still pang through your chest. “Don’t call me that ever again.” You had spoken more harshly than intended, with a sharp snap in your tone, verbally indicating your distressed mood.

Immediately, Alastor had pulled himself out of you, only to wrap his arms around your torso, pressing his face in the snuff of your neck as he registered you were referring the to not so pleasant name he had called you as he fucked himself inside of you. “I’m sorry, darling.” He had meant it; truly. The dousing of guilt that consumed him as you emotionally pulled away from him had him panicking ever so slightly. “It won’t happen again.”

Sighing, you knew he had meant his apology, and despite how much the word he used had hurt you, you knew he had no ill intentions when using it; he merely indulged in a bit of degradation that you also found sexually arousing.

Placing a hand against the back of his hair, you tilted your face back to his. “It’s okay love; just please don’t say that again.” You had whispered ever so softly in his hair, only to feel him shiver from your breath cascading down his neck.

“Would you like to stop?” He had mumbled against your skin, asking for your consent to continue the sexual encounter.

“Yes…”

You weren’t in the mood anymore; and as soon as your deny for consent left your lips, Alastor clicked his fingers against one another. On command, the room you both inhabited slowly changed, warping from the confines of your shared room to a familiar one filled with items of pampering; a room Alastor only brought you to after he had made love to you or fucked you.

He had always been a gentleman to you, despite his preference to be less than gentleman-like whenever he pummelled himself into your walls, he always put your pleasure and your needs before his own.

It was something you were grateful for; and one of the many reasons you loved him.

Wrapping your arms around his neck, Alastor began hoisting you up, guiding your legs to link around his naked waist as he carried you to the large, hot bath imbedded in the floor; a bath which mimicked one of a hot tub in size.

Stepping inside, his hooves clicked against the metal alloyed bathing area as the two of you began to submerge within the hot water; it’s temperature relaxing all of your muscles as it began to douse your body.

Alastor had slowly settled you down in the bath, only to take a seat beside you as he held you close, his hands stroking parts of your body as he continued to comfort you.

You believed you would fall asleep if this were to proceed.

“I am truly sorry, my love.” He had spoken with such honesty and vulnerability as he held you, apologising to you yet again, despite doing so earlier.

“It’s okay, Al.” You only responded with a soft sigh as you leaned yourself against him.

“You know I don’t mean those things during our rougher sessions, don’t you, my darling?” He had asked ever so softly and gently, attempting to approach the subject in a calm manner, one that would be proefficient in cheering you up; his beloved.

You had only mumbled a yes, nodding your head as Alastors lips began pressing themselves against your neck. “I know, love. It’s just- that word.”

“It won’t be used again,” He quickly interrupted you. “My perfect little darling, I swear it.” He said between the pecks of romantic kisses he placed against your neck.

The smile that enriched your face wasn’t missed by your lover as you allowed him to pamper you, to echo sweet words of love and loyalties into you skin, to kiss sweet gestures of love along your body.

You were blessed to have such an evil man be your darling sweetheart.

[licorice-tea]

And There You Are, An Ocean Away

Pairing: Trafalgar Law x reader (and a little Nami x Vivi if you squint)

Content: friends to lovers, fluff, anxious/hopeful crush feelings, confessions, long distance relationships, reader is a Straw Hat Pirate, and Law is a little awkward <3

Word Count: 1.2k

A/N: this is one of the first fics i’ve finished and i’m not the best at grammar rules so there are probably a few mistakes! also i might have made Law a little ooc lol, but besides that im just trying to write more to improve! thanks for reading :)

Edited 1/17/23

be-beep. be-bee-

“Hello?” Law cuts off the ringing of his transponder snail. He can’t help but smile to himself upon hearing the voice on the other end of the line.

“Law? Merry Christmas!”

“Merry Christmas, y/n.” He leans back in his desk chair, twisting the cord of the transponder snail around finger “E” while holding the phone in the other hand.

“Sooo,” you drawl, “have you guys started opening presents yet?”

Law can practically hear you smiling, which makes him exhale in amusement before responding. “Yeah, the crew exchanged gifts and opened them earlier this morning. How about you?”

“Mhm, we were up as soon as the sun rose- Chopper and Luffy woke up the whole crew.” You pause, and he can imagine you biting back a laugh while shaking your head as you often do. “Anyway… Did you get everything you wanted?” You sound expectant, almost knowing.

In his usual deadpan tone, he answers simply. “Bepo got me a new coffee blend.”

“That’s nice of him… he’s always so considerate.”Based on your tone it’s not quite the answer you were looking for, but you provide commentary anyway.

“Ohh yeah,” He continues on the other end of the line, feigning the recollection of something important, “and there was this massive box on deck…”

“Oh good!” You exclaim as Law chuckles. “You scared me, I thought you hadn’t gotten it. Did everyone like their gifts?”

You’re referring, of course, to the comically large box that the Straw Hats had shipped to the Heart Pirates. It was packed to the brim with gifts for every crew member. After all, what was the point of having tons of berries from “stolen” treasure if not to use it on your friends? Or at least, that’s the reasoning you used to convince Nami to rearrange some funds for gifts to the Heart Pirates and other allies of the Straw Hats. Though, maybe it was just because you had mentioned sending a gift to Vivi back in Alabasta as well…

“They all really liked it, a lot. Was it your idea?”

“No,” you explain with a playful cadence, “it was a group effort.”

“Sure thing, but the bows and wrapping paper has you written all over it. And the handwritten card…”

“I have the best handwriting on our ship! Besides, we all signed it so, its from all of us.”

The only part that 100% was not from all of the Straw Hat Crew, was a box with Law’s name on it at the bottom of the much larger box. Inside the present addressed to the “Captain of the <3 Pirates” was a neat little coin display with places for 25 coins, as well as a card tucked in beside the display.

“Well, it was nice of all of you then.” He concedes with a snark in his voice. “And, uh… I like what you got for me, y/n.” Law’s voice comes out a little quieter, and maybe even a little deeper towards the end. He sounds hopeful, not 100% sure if it was you that had chosen his gift, yet knowing that only you could have selected something so sentimental and- ugh, perfect. His tone makes your stomach do flips.

“Yeah? Good, I’m glad.” Your voice, now a bit softer, replies. “I was worried you might have already had-“

“I-I didn’t. I’ve just been storing my collection in boxes...” He trails off, now tracing the edges of the coin display you’d gotten him. It was nothing exceedingly special or expensive, but it meant a lot knowing you had thought of him- just him- and went out of your way to send him a gift. The thought that you cared about him as much as he did you had his heart beating faster already.

You only knew Law was a coin collector because he chose to tell you. Thats how it usually was with him- he only shared the parts of himself he wanted to share. (Though you did also have a knack for “catching his vibe” as you liked to say.) Anyhow, you also knew his office was painfully tidy and there was little to no decoration, despite having ample bookshelf space. And so, a display for his not-so-secret hobby seemed like a perfect gift!

But, that wasn’t the only thing you’d added to his present. There was also a card, in which you’d written something along the lines of “I’m so glad I met you…. You deserve so many great things, but hopefully this coin display will suffice for now… I have feelings for you…. Merry Christmas! xxx, y/n” You had sort of just slipped in the confession between other clauses.

“And did you read the card…?” Your face suddenly feels a little warmer. Not that there was anything scandalous in the card, just some very honest words about your feelings for Law. Words you hadn’t ever been bold enough to say out loud and in person, and still hadn’t been brave enough to write without lots of other thoughts and well wishes surrounding them.

“Card?…” You hear some shuffling on his end, “I’ll read it now.”

“Mkay.” Your short response is a telltale sign of your own nerves, which makes him curious to find out what you could’ve written.

There’s a prolonged silence as he reads, and Law’s heart skips a beat as he nears the end. His eyes go back over and over 5 specific words: “…I have feelings for you.” He feels nearly giddy with excitement, but it comes out as pure anxious energy. He never thought this would actually happen; a scenario where you reciprocated his affections had only ever happened in his imagination up until now. Usually in these scenarios, he’d have worked up the courage and audacity to tell you how he felt in person, and not only would you accept his confession; you’d also return his feelings. But now that it was actually happening? He found himself at a loss for words, heart beating in his ears and probably blushing like some lovesick idiot.

Law wants to say something perfect for you, something charming and witty, but all he can think of in the moment is, “… I read it.”

His throat feels dry, like he doesn’t know what else to say. Law likes you too of course- how could he not? Ever since you’d met back in Saobody Archipelago, though the interaction had been brief, he’d thought you were beautiful, strong, and somehow a little different from the other Straw Hat Pirates. Then he’d gotten to know you; really know you, beyond your fighting capabilities and the information on your bounty poster. You were kind, witty, selfless, hardworking, and so much more. And alas, absence only makes the heart grow fonder.

Sure, you’d started off as allies, but that quickly became friendship, and a close friendship at that. He liked you because of your acceptance for nearly anyone, so long as they seemed a good person. Even more so, your ability to understand his emotions despite his usually reserved nature (he secretly thinks it’s some sort of sign, but in reality you’re just emotionally intelligent.) And you like Law because of his obvious (though he tries to hide it) love and passion for so many things: his crew, his work, etc. This, along with his witty, albeit odd sense of humor, made you enjoy his company quite a lot. The two of you took most every chance you had to be in each others company, since they were few and far between. Sometimes you’d chat, with you doing most of the talking and Law being content to listen and only add comments where he thought them necessary. Other times you’d follow each other into battle to provide support for the other, though neither of you had ever really needed help in those situations.

You swallow the lump in your own throat and continue, “You don’t have to have an answer or anything right now, I just want you to know how I feel.” Law doesn’t say anything, and so you continue while trying not to sound disappointed. “Merry Christmas, Law.”

“…”

“Law?”

“I like you too.” his words come out sort in a rush, like he had been holding his breath.

“Y-you do?”

“Yeah.”

You can’t help but smile.

“Well, uh, I have to go now, but… Can I call you tonight?” He asks hesitantly, even though you’ve already confessed that you feel the same way he does.

“Yes, that’s fine! I… I was worried that you didn’t feel the same way for a second.” You laugh, light and airy.

He scoffs, but you know it’s not meant to sound mean when it comes from him. If anything, it’s endearing. “Of course I do.”

You giggle again, “Bye, Law.”

“Bye, y/n.”

As soon as you hang up, his nervous frown turns into a small smile, and it grows and spreads across his face until he’s grinning like a fool and hiding his face under the brim of his hat.

[joannasteez]

almost blue (1)

pairing: cody rhodes x black reader warning: explicit descriptions of violence and sexual activity. minors please do not interact. readers eighteen and older interact only please. descriptions of alcohol consumption and the use of deadly weapons. authors note: JOHN WICK AU!!! so excited to share this! i had this sorta kinda in my back pocket for a while, while trying to build up tanks of blood, which you can find to read here. not everything in this is super true to the world of john wick but the most im using as inspo is the aesthetic anyways. also a one off mention of john wick lol. that and some of the names for certain things. italics in the beginning represent flashback perspective music inspo: almost blue by chet baker word count: 4800 tagging: @333creolelady @harmshake @theninthwonder @kill-the-artiste @empressdede @southerngirl41 @2-muchsauce @crxssjae

new york. the continental hotel and it's flatiron shape. september 2019. the rain, this soft unsteady pitter patter. a gentle gray coloring the sky. the air cold and biting. the city filling its brim with a sleepless droning. 

and amongst the deathly sort of decadence—gold trim and blood red carpet floors—bath water disturbs till its sloshing to overtake the tub. a messy spill against the floor. his lips working over yours. fingers kneading deep enough into skin that it stains with the print of his touch. nails tender in his hair and your body melting in till the heat of him breaks over your skin. his everything settled into the wisp and charm of your voice as his pleasure becomes whole. too great.

—but his memory tires from old moments like these, a shell of itself as it attempts in vain to restore to it's former glory. has been in a perpetual state of exhaustion for sometime. but this straining is singular. a throbbing at the forefront of his skull. a tight pulling pain at the nape of his neck till it's creeping wild at the tip of his spine. forcing him to grow ill as he works to reminisce. body wistfully undone. and what words do the men of our time say about insanity? to be in a perpetual state of trying, doing, in hopes of something new. and so on he went, flirting with this disaster, this run of nostalgia, so much so that memory has forsaken him, taking these little complexities —the new york rain and the taste of your lips— along with it. 

but cody can handle the load and reload of a glock 26 as fast as he does it well. a deft maneuvering before the barrel raises and he pulls the trigger, the recoil driving sharp. a bullet through the skull and the splattering of blood. whoever meant to kill him, now dead in his wake. 

but what cruelty this is. a traitor to his own body. living with nothing but the means to kill and tattered memory. with him still, only, all of the things left unsaid—

you'd smelt of vanilla. the yearning about his tongue deep and yet to be settled. his lips a shadow as they feathered against yours. his questions overdone with a frightening passion. "where are you ten years from now?" 

your fingers slipped over his skin, as easy as they would over porcelain. a delicate taking over wet soapy muscle till it clawed over his shoulders and against the heat of his cheeks. "somewhere warm and comfortable. retired".

where ever you were, is where he wanted to be. "am i with you?"

a reversion, just barely perceptible, but there all the same. something like fear, like hesitation, pushing against a situational sort of tenderness in your eyes. the warmth slowly but forcibly outdone by the cold. lukewarm. just like the fate of too old bath water. not enough of either extreme. lukewarm. 

"seems more like a question for you to answer".

"answer it anyways".

and he couldn't feel your lips anymore. too much air, too much distance. caution thick. woven about your words. the tones. the inflections. "ten years from now, you'll be somewhere as warm, as comfortable and retired too".

"am i with you?" 

to draw such a long length of need into the air. passions and hopes and dreams. cody knew. it would've been easier to take the sear of a bullet, the ripping tear in of a knife or the crack of something blunt and unforgiving to his skull. those things easier than the down trod of such a silence. your eyes having gained more and more distance. fear peaking soft and brown before the quick slip over of indifference. like you didn't care for his whispered words sounding too much like forever. and recovery from bullets and knives and blunt force was tedious. sewn up skin and the reformation of fine motor skill. but this. the way you suffered him to feel the drift away of your body and the simple, delicate, eager push in of your touch. something in his heart—amongst the lukewarm water—failed. this low dropping into a less lively place. 

new york. the continental hotel and its flatiron shape. june 2024. a peak of the sun amidst more grayish than white clouds against an icy pale blue sky. the air breezy with a teasing smell of rain. like a stray tendril before some great unraveling. the city as sleepless as it's ever been. 

and amongst the deathly sort of decadence—scarlet sage in bloom and the ever present air of readymade violence—cody sips at a short glass of brandy. an edgy spike to his tongue as it settles. everything of the continental he possessed now lost to time and the overwork of his sore tired memory. lost to a bout of corrosion done by words left unsaid. because he did not remember your answer after the persistence of his "am i with you?” all thats left, this great blurring. of words and the finer littler complexities. your lips and your eyes and the soft ways of your touch. and maybe it came to be this way for good reason. using such a burn to his ego to fuel the fire of his rage. revenge for memories unforgettable. around the glass of brandy, his hands feel stronger. less careful in how they hold. caution be damned. he sips again to finish. his finger buttoning his suit jacket, making way from the bar and across the communal space of the hotel. 

warmth at his ear and a twitch in his trigger finger. something like eyes resting over him. watching him.

he continues to a connecting hallway. elevators and mosaic floors. maybe the brandy wasn't the best idea, but neither was coming to such sacredly awful ground. lovers trauma and all that bullshit jazz. 

the fourteenth floor is quiet. his steps carpeted by soft wool. a second twitch in his trigger finger that leads into the sharp driving heat reminiscent of staggering gun recoil. a sweet burning in his arm, the muscles knowing, remembering. but he has nothing of use on him. nothing to snuff out and quiet that vicious call of death. his hotel room styled with a modernistic flare to it's luxury. clean and unadorned. a simple reflection of his own style thankfully, but nothing extravagant to weaponize. he would have to, if needed, to make due. a slim ball point pen, sleek and multifunctional, rests next to a complimentary bottle of wine. "enjoy your stay", in cursive. cody feels the warmth at the tip of his ear again, something greater than a simple bout of paranoia. his fingers slip the pen into his pocket, a reversing in his steps to triple check the locking function of the room doors.

and he shouldn't be so wound up should he? conducting business was, is, has always been forbidden on hotel grounds. 

his fight or flight saying otherwise. breathing over his skin overwhelmingly warm. lingering wearily. intuition always a nagging son of a bitch but never wrong. it's never failed him. 

cody showers, stands amidst the icy rain of too cold water. cody showers, because warm baths terrify something in his body. the possibility of turning stale and lukewarm. too distant and uninviting to be either extreme. like eyes and soft lips he can barely form well enough to reimagine. 

and the bed sheets are welcoming. slipping along his skin with a delicate relief. but still, something feels wrong. a heaviness to the air that precedes this faithful old tryst with life. with death. the ring of his phone working to unburden him suddenly, but for only some seconds. the number blocked. he answers, rushing to fish that ball point pen from his dress pants. sleek and multifunctional in his grip. but the urgency in his maneuvering cuts short with the slip in of something dangerously angelic. memory sore and exhausted no more, but now rushing back to him fervid and unrelenting. a tender charming tone in his ear that disrupts the stalwart build of his resolve. september 2019. june 2024. five years of an almost complete pain. icy feeling wind with the teasing of a torrential down pour. almost there but not quite. the anger and the pain never red enough. the sadness almost blue. 

"the loft in tribeca" you start. cody commits it all to memory. the words, the tones, the inflections. shuffling to rough his pants on. pen in his pocket. phone wedged to his ear as his fingers rip off the casing of a pillow. body easy as it maneuvers to protect his six o'clock, leaning against the wall. his eyes scope along the room. an over examination. waiting. "if you're not dead in the next 30 minutes, meet me there". 

the call drops. 

the slow unlocking click of his hotel room door. his muscles burn with remembrance. eyes sharp. his ears attune. the shells of them warm. cautioned steps approach the entry way of the bedroom but they fail to go unnoticed. thudding against the soft carpet. and if not for the possibility of his demise, cody would laugh. surely this was amateur hour. boots and inconspicuous were no more suited together than suede in the rain. and he'd made that rookie mistake before. back when he was a rookie. but the high table were no idiots, sending rookies to bring his head in, unless they hated him that much and felt he should feel the brunt of that hatred with some disrespect. and disrespect it was. 

cody's breath holds. his head thumping against the wall before he makes a swift crouch to his knees. a gun rounding the corner, and a bullet flying aimed for where his head had knocked in. a simple quick diversion. nothing special or particularly extravagant, but enough to give him seconds to maneuver. and oh this is disrespect in deed. dominik mysterio the source of his current heavy breathed, adrenaline rushing circumstance. cody knuckling the hold of the still upward pointed gun with a punch before another sinks into domink's abdomen. a short grunt breaking from the scrappy, ill-sophisticated, mullet wearing piece of shit. and surely dominik is more of a piece of shit when his heavy boot toughs into cody's jaw. racing for the gun. 

but cody is quick. has felt and faced harsher things. if anything, its more of an irritation he feels than a full measure of pain. it was hard maintaining good skin considering the life he led. he spits against the carpet. iron on his tongue. red staining the clean line designs. he reaches for dominik's leg just before he's in reach of the gun. pulling him near and flipping him over quickly. a rough hand in the silk of domink's mullet as he rains down punches with the other.  cody ill satisfied as he hears the sloppy singing of grunts from the younger mysterio. and as his frustration mounts, swindled by the audacity of the high table, dominik gains an advantage. his hips shifting up to propel cody, his arms lean and tight and trapping over cody's and rolling. 

"you three piece suit, hugo boss wannabe wearing motherfucker", dominik's face bloody and angry. his fists balled and quick as he comes down against cody's face. 

the impression of the pen presses into cody's thigh. memory and dexterity working like a trained muscle. amidst the  barrage of fists, cody reaches for the sleek ball point pen. clicking the tip and rushing it into dominik's side. harsh vicious stabs till the pain takes hold enough for him to hesitate. plunging the inky tip into his neck, where blood flows to gush. breaking up out of his skin. choking on air and the pain of a slow to come death. 

"bulletproof three piece suits asshole", cody roughs out. kicking dominik for satisfaction. 

if you're not dead in the next 30 minutes, meet me there

the loft is the same. unadorned by that uncanny but natural weathering of time and neglect. warm homely autumn inspired tones with splashes of green and hand carved wooden furniture. cody ever the horrendous sucker for hand carved shit. an intimate union of labor and passion. ever the reflection of a once lively relationship. carefully cultivated, ending poorer than a bastard dying with his eyes wide open. because when you go that way, you deserve it. but cody? his passions didn't deserve that violent abrupt end. and yet here he is, creeping past the entrance. a painful stuttering of footfalls as he goes. muscles sore and his skin on fire. 

dominik mysterio was a warm up. a warning even. the call must've went out. a bounty worth enough for people to try him. the train ride to tribeca interestingly violent. a woman with a knife, a man with a gun and another thinking his bare hands were some great unstoppable force. and no, cody did not make quick work of them. not as quickly as he would've liked. but he managed. and at the very least, he'd suffered a slitting cut to his cheek and a laceration to his chest. that piece of shit running the blade right through his tattoo. some maybe secondary bruising and a bad headache. but he's not dead. not like the idiots that tried and failed to kill him. 

the loft, much like the continental hotel, is agreed upon neutral ground. a place for trysts and the sharing of information. or rather, thats what it used to be. now, cody isn't so sure. 

and his limping is pathetically loud. shoes a heavy clack against the floor. makes him bristle annoyed. you stand just behind the kitchen island. wine bottle opened. a glass in hand as you sip. more beautiful than he remembers. soft looking still, your eyes casting over the rim as you sip, undeniably deceptive. 

a gun lays easy on the coffee table sat between two couches. too easy. but his displeasure gets the best of him. he shifts for it quickly. a swift up of his hands positioned about the gun, aiming for your face. 

you knew his whereabouts. so much so that you knew the whereabouts of the people trying to kill him. taking the chance to trust could cost him his life. and cody quite likes his life. 

"you had me scared a little bit". a gentle float of words. a finger dancing along the rim of the wine glass. a daring stare down the barrel of the gun. "i thought you got bested by a second rate mysterio". and when cody doesn't move, captured by pain, caution and the mystique of your presence, your eyes roll. his form fixed and perfected. trigger finger cool, but his heart unsure. "cut the melodrama. put the gun down cody". 

"you knew i was being followed", he clips. jaw tight. 

"i mean...duh...", you give. dry and teasing. finishing your wine. "half of that was me, and lets not be silly", covering the length of distance between your bodies slowly. a stalking patience. a fierce feline approach. "you shot a bullet through the skull of one of thee most important men. finding out don't come cheap when you fuck with the high table". 

"everybody seems to forget I had to bury my father", the barrel of the gun kept high with perfect aim as you near closer. "killing that sack of shit was just me evening the score". 

"i didn't kill your father cody". 

was that sincerity? empathy? a sudden waft in of warmth after years in the cold. it felt unreal. true but unreal. and he was sure it wouldn't last. 

"obviously", cody bites out. 

your forehead nestles against the barrel of the gun. his memory overwrought. his senses in a frenzy. a horrible mixture in his skin of pain and elation. steeped with the fear of having to endure another sudden vanishing. angry that such an endurance was his portion in the first place. 

"so then why is the gun still pointed at me?"

his fixed form eases. your hand slipping the gun from his hold gently. fire over his skin as you touch him for the first time in five years. a deft maneuvering about the cold heavy metal to expose the contents of the magazine. amusement coloring your eyes and spreading over your mouth for a teasing little smile. 

"they're blanks anyways", emptying the magazine as the faux bullets fall to the floor. your hand settling down the gun and its magazine on the coffee table. leaving him in an exasperated awe as you head toward the kitchen. "just wanted to see how thin your patience has worn". 

your chin jutting over to the couch. hands full of medical supplies as you pad over to him softly. his body aching and slow as it rests into the tender leather seating, but moving without delay still. always under the gentle charm of your voice, his being falling under this servile sort of subjection. making him bristle silently within himself. all that time and distance amounting to nothing for his resolve. 

cody surrenders. mind over matter no longer needed. succumbing to the full weight of his pain. hair messy with red droppings of other peoples blood. his muscles sore and the hammering about his skull diligent and taunting. 

"my pain has always been a funny little joke to you". 

you pull the coffee table closer to the wide spread of cody's legs. your own slipping over to straddle the strength of one of his thighs. your body warm and comforting against his skin. an old feeling blooming in his chest. you were doing this on purpose. he's sure of it. to see him waver and yield to the charm of your presence. gentle touch dabbing to rid his cheek of dried blood before you went about cleaning the wound. his fingers itching to form to your body, desperate to push dull nails into your skin again. to form in and caress with the intent to renew his memory. 

your eyes flit to his crotch. "its a lot more than little. give yourself some credit", you muse. applying butterfly stitches. 

the air is thick. forces him to maintain a steady breath. memory overwrought once more. a mighty rushing in that heats him whole. your hands working his button up open. the lax take of your palm to his belly forcing a throb to the crux of his thighs. the closing in of the distance makes for easy intimacy. a registration of the lesser noticeable, more complex things. the prick of your nails telling familiar stories, as they work to rid him of the shirt all together. tender and caring, similar to how they used to be. your eyes roaming and thinly glazed over. he spares a glance at the wine bottle. halfway done. your ministrations functional but indulgent of the moment. of his skin.

a quicksand sort of state of affairs. if he doesn't pull himself together now, he would fall into you. full consumption. and he can't possibly risk his life because he's half hard and overdone with sentiment. 

"how long have you been following me?"

you apply something like a salve after cleaning the nasty chest wound. an anesthetic. how sweet of you. to suddenly take his pain into consideration.

"a few months". 

"why am i not dead?"

your body adjusts a top of him. somehow closer. your knee nearly running into his crotch. "yet", you give. beginning the process of suturing. "the question everyone wants to know is why is cody rhodes not dead yet". breaking shortly to peer over him. a full examination it seems. heat rising in his cheeks. "cause he's no john fuckin wick. so why is he still here". pressure of the needle feeding into his skin. your lip tucking under your teeth in full concentration. "people don't know resilience is the bane of even your own existence. a little meat puppet made to take push pins". 

he scoffs. "this doesn't feel like a compliment if it is". 

you finish off the suture. a hesitant but delicate maneuvering off his thigh to rid of the medical supplies. the heat of you gone in an instant. "its an observation". the uncorking pop of that half drunken wine bottle. a generous crimson pour that you sip at. 

"on what basis exactly?" 

a whipping swing of kitchen cabinet doors. a bottle of brandy and a short glass. for him it seems. and the pained parts of him grow excited at the possibility of a simple taste. anything for a temporary fix. something to numb the burn in his bones. 

"very close encounters".

and no you don't dip into the leather to sit beside him when you return. you assume a much more compromising position. a full straddle of his legs as you gift him his little amber colored remedy. and if at any moment he ever thought he needed it and actually didn't, let this be the moment where that edgy spike to his tongue becomes essential. something to help him as he searches for a secure hold at control. and of course he drinks it all. an easy burning slip against the back of his throat as he feels the heat of you settling back into him. once dormant urges awakening in his fingers. supple thighs lined up over his kevlar woven dress pants. the baggy button up you'd decided was good enough for his visit thin and something like revealing. the other details left to his imagination. and God was that prone to running at any moment. tripping and falling away from him well enough till his crotch became to uncomfortable to bare the perfect fit of his pants. your empty hand returning to where it'd been. roaming tenderly against slow but steady bruising skin. his nose picking up the sweet wine on your breath. the glaze about your eyes. thighs over him, clenching slightly. 

"you were always a little too indulgent with the wine", cody gives. 

your eyes flitting to his crotch again. bulge more prominent. the teasing of your nails inching over past his navel. your throat humming. "and you with me". 

"don't think much of it". an attempt made in vain he thinks. feeling the hard throb of himself as soon as the words leave him. "it tends to happen. adrenaline from almost dying multiple times", his thigh knocking up into yours to grab at your attention. tipsy eyes drifting to the cold blue of his. "now spill. why am i still breathing?"

"because the number isn't high enough yet". another sip of wine before turning to rest it at the table. your hands free to run over the muscle of him. about his shoulders till your thumbs are caressing at his nape and the hard cut of his jaw. and that nearly drives him to insanity. the weight of you resting right where he pulses with life. "i take your head now, i'd be settling. and the game of it all ain't that fun right now anyways. its too amateur hour-ish for me. i wanna battle it out with the adults". 

"im flattered", cody deadpans. 

you smile. thumb soothing over his lip. "as you should be". 

"why else", the pulse about his blood wild. an unadulterated beating that coaxes to life the run off of his imagination. his touch a staggering grip at your jaw. pulling your eyes to him. lowly sat pretty brown eyes with a penchant for doing him inexplicably dirty. but they draw him in all the same. his stomach empty. filled with nothing but the slosh of brandy. cody feeds into the daze of it. the possibility of a buzz. your lips a breath from his. desire on your tongue by way of the sweet smell of wine. "talk".

your hips shift over him. a rut into the fabric. friction to appease the ache, he's sure of it. thin panties and the desperate curl in of your nails. running into his scalp. trying to persuade him with tender touches and the charm of such wanton need. and its working. fuck, itsworking well. had worked some time ago and doing well now just the same. because cody, despite such deadly skill, was not immune to this type of torture. could not battle it with stalwart patience or dapper precision. and as you rut against him again, mind clouded by wine and your own intent, his fingers burn to touch you more. not so simple and plain but disgustingly greedy. his lips smooth against the seam of yours. amber brandy and red wine a near perfect melding together. 

"fuck", you relent. your nose knocking soft into his. laughing with a wry sort of amusement. "it would stroke your ego to a nice little finish if i did say it wouldn't it?"

cody hums. slips his hold till its anchored about your neck. measured in its pressure. his tongue licking to wet his lips. the slight of it forcing a tremble into your body. 

maybe his suffering isn't a lonely one after all. 

you whimper. taking a hard swallow. 

"vindicate me", cody rasps. 

your struggle is apparent. surfaces with a tear that stains your cheek. body undone by the defeat of such an intimate admission. 

"i miss you", fragile and nearly unclear. 

he smiles mirthless against the soft ways of your skin. his nose buried into the dip of your neck. "i don't trust your sentiment".

"it's true cody". 

"she says, after admitting she wants to kill me".

"better me than someone else". your fingers abandoning him to grip into the leather of the couch. a tight take to it that fastens your body into him. your mouth lax as your lips slip over his. the tease of a kiss filled with too much tension to bare. "touch me", you give. a plea and a command all the same. 

his fingers working in swiftly, a firm obedience, cupping your cheeks to steady the wild go of your tongue as it snakes to slip at his. a frail whimper singing from your chest and the return of your sharp nails. digging against his scalp to bring him impossibly closer. nearly suckling his tongue whole as your hips rut at him again. a less cautious shifting as you look for harsher friction. the pain of a murderous sort of labor and the pleasure of touching you again warring over the tenderness of his skin. coaxing him to groan and wince. strong, tired fingers forcing your hips to rock over him. an easy, stable grind along the hard bulge of his cock that leaves you living without the proper brilliance of words. reduced to the struggle of too pleasured moans. 

your teeth prickling and sharp as they snag against his lip. fingers deft, undoing his zipper. the heat of him hard and throbbing dangerous. his headache out done by more pressing matters, hazy and his senses going numb with lust. palms persistent, sinking into supple flesh. and fuck does it feel good. even better when his patience thins. fingers stretching the fabric of your panties till they tear. the slick way of your arousal making for an easier pace. a sweet teasing slip through your slit. his imagination wild and unfettered. even the thought of slipping in to have his full way with you enough to twist the base of his belly. groaning into your mouth.  

fire in his fingers as they pull against the fat of your ass. sweltered skin sweet in his palms. forming with every push and spread and pry that he gives. 

your mouths depart. a hesitant slipping away. breaths heavy. your face hiding in the dip of his neck. your pussy messy. bewitching even as you grind mindless into him. an undulating heat over his skin. "cody", a mantra as it travels to slight the beating of his pulse. 

the tell tale trembling in your body. a breath away from bliss. and he can feel the build in his bones. the return of an ache thats been transformed. throbbing and restless. an urgency he works to relieve. and with it so does your mouth. less desperate to consume him. melting to linger at his lips. breathy and stuttered. 

"right there angel", he gives. a whisper against your lips. corralling the last bits of resolve to break. your hips stuttering but caressing faithful still. coming undone. rutting greedily to grasp at the last bits of pleasure.

and here he finds that charming sort of relief. an unfurling warmth about his skin. snatching your body into him as he strokes against you and throbs, coming undone. release pooling and spurting against the baggy button up you'd worn to tease him with. 

your lips finding his again. needy still. and he accepts without wait. ready and willing. your moaning along his tongue delicate and wispy. reminiscent of a memory once forgotten. new york. september 2019. cody cups your face again. thumbs dusting over the apple of your cheeks. on a mission to stain himself with this moment. sweet red wine mixed with aged brandy. 

she was getting to be a lil too long so i had to break her up! but how do we feel about our little hitman?

[fortemelody]

AHHHSHFBTKFNTLFKGNFMDM SONIC 3 TRAILER SONIC 3 TRAILER SONIC 3 TRAILER IM LOOSING MY SHIT RN

here’s some things i noticed/wondered/loved:

- i think in that scene where tom is on the ground yelling for sonic, he is wearing a special forces suit. maybe he upgraded from cop to working with gun?? if so i think that’s a really good use of his character actually! he wanted to save a life and raise a family above all else yes, but he still got his previous dream of doing more serious cop work!

- shadow just. has a big ass portal?? like holy shit he’s just suckin the life outta earth and ig that’s one way to do it (or maybe it’s just a ring and i’m stupid idek)

- i’m sure we’ll learn more about this in the actual movie so i’m not too worried, but i’m super confused at the very beginning scene. apparently sonic didn’t change his heart…but he did tho? like he learned what being a true hero meant in the last movie. tbh i feel like that’s enough but hey i’m not against more character development for our boy so!! (also that bit where he’s like “in my lungs” was actually really funny to me, ben schwartz’ awesome delivery caught me off guard)

- GERALD ROBOTNIK ALIVE HUUUUH?! tbh i would’ve preferred if maria was alive, i feel like that would be an interesting dynamic. but also ig that would make it harder for shadow to learn anything so i totally get it. anyways i’m just glad they’re putting a little twist on the story, it keeps it interesting. they already sorta did that with the knuckles and iblis thing actually! (even if that show sucked ass and although that probably wasn’t intentional 😭)

- even tho bro only got like… 3 lines, i really think keanu fits shadow. he’s very soft spoken in comparison to the rest of the case which feels nice. also he’s like the “really bad” guy so ofc he’s not gonna be yappin on and on like sonic or robotnik and he’s gonna take things uber seriously.

- where was my girl maddie :( i think she was only in like a singular frame. hope shes in the movie a somewhat significant amount. i heart pretzel lady!! could live without wade tho like pls im so sick of his bowling soap opera 💀

- FAT ROBOTNIK FAT ROBOTNIK FAT ROBOTNIK!!! after fucking 3 movies they finally fulfilled jim carrey’s wishes!! let the man get creative like please i love jim carrey sm aughdfhfnfmschxj. also love how we got so much stobonik content within that short scene like jesus come get y’all’s food

- shadow at one point says something along the lines of “when we’re done, there won’t be anything left.” maybe i’m reading WAY to into this but what does the “we’re” part mean?? is he working with others? i feel like this is either gonna be team dark or some new movie exclusive character(s). edit: someone made a valid point that he’s actually probably referring to gerald (look at reblogs!)

-CHAO!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! lowkey wonder if the room therye in is like an amusement park or somethin like that

- no sign of amy :( but honestly my prediction now is that she’s gonna be the post credit scene teaser cus they always do a new character reveal there. first tails, then shadow. and honestly now i think it might be better that way so shadow can have a chance to breathe and show his story in full. i’m pretty sure i vaguely remember colleen (tails’ VA) being kinda mysterious about amy’s appearance when asked, and also the fact that it was confirmed that this isn’t the end of the movie franchise/universe. but ig we’ll just have to wait and see!

so sorry i stated this yesterday morning to give my initial thoughts but then got busy and completely forgot to post/finish it. and today i started (and am close to finishing) a very long edit of the trailer, so be on the look out for that too!

genuinely i feel like this movie is gonna somehow be even more record breaking than any of the previous movies and i am so here for the hype 🙏

[ewanmitchellconnoisseur]

"𝑨𝒈𝒐𝒏𝒚" - 𝑷𝒂𝒓𝒕 2 Aemond x Reader

A/N: I had not originally planned on this being a series but the Aemond girlies loved the first one so here is a second as a lil gift. //Divider by @firefly-graphics & @cafekitsune

Summary: You wake up to unfortunate circumstances. It only gets worse when you finally get some answers. A dream confirms that whatever chance you had at having a normal life was gone.

TW: Blood, Death.

←  Previous Part • Final Chapter →

Word Count: 3.6k (Not proofread, we die like men 🫡Im also just too tired I'll do it eventually🤣)

You yawned as you sat up in your bed rubbing your eyes. You look over to the spot Aemond was in and simply see a flower. Blushing you reach over and smell the flower.

You look over to the bath on the other side of the room and notice there's no steam coming out of it. You stand up and grab your robe off of the armchair next to your bed.

You walk over to the door after you wrap yourself in the armchair and attempt to open the door. You're shocked when the door doesn't open or move an inch.

"Hello?" You try opening the door again but they don't budge. "Is anyone out there?" You wait but hear no response.

You're unsure of what to do now. You look around your room for something to do. All that you manage to find are some of your old toys and unfinished projects.

You sit in front of the fireplace trying to think of what could possibly be going on. You remember a piece of the wall that could move and search for it, trying your best to remember exactly where it was. You end up finding it next to your dresser.

The piece moves easily and you reach inside. Your hand touches something and you instantly remember. You lay down flat on your stomach reach in with both hands and pull out the wooden box.

You're filled with nostalgia as you sit down on your bed with the box. You blow off the smoke and open it up.

Inside lies a small journal which you place to the side already deciding you have to see what young you used to write about. Inside also lies a small cushion you had sewn for you and Halaena's dolls. One of your teeth which Aegon convinced you to let him take out by tying it with string to a door.

You're confused for a moment at the last item. It's a black handkerchief with gold detailing. You pick it up and stare at it a moment before you remember.

Aemond had found you crying in a corner of the library covered in dirt, mud and God knows what else. He had asked you what happened and although you didn't want to tell him he convinced you too. You admitted that your brothers had joined Aegon in tormenting you by throwing mud at you insisting it was just a joke.

Aemond felt bad especially since he understood what it meant to be at the end of their cruel jokes. He pulled out a handkerchief and wiped the mud off of your face before walking you to his mother's chambers.

Alicent cleaned you off and got you a clean dress before seeking out the boys and your mother. All three of them were forced to shovel horse shit while you, Helaena and Aemond watched and ate cake.

The memory brought a smile to your face. Aemond had asked you for the handkerchief back but you told him you couldn't find it.

You pick the journal back up excitedly and open it up to a random page.

King's Landing 117 AC

Dear Diary,

Today my brother was born. Father named him Joffrey, I personally think his name is stupid but I held my tongue. Septa Anne would be proud. I went with the boys to the dragon pit today. It was awfully boring. Aemond and I watched while they got to practice commands. AND YOU WILL NOT BELIEVE WHAT THEY DID! They gave us pigs! PIGS! Called them the "Pink Dreads".

Sometimes I wish I could just gouge out Aegon's eyes and put them in his soup when he isn't looking...maybe I can get Helaena to catch a beetle for me...

Anyways. I went to the kitchen to get cake but then Harwin stole it! He said it was taxes? WHAT EVEN IS TAXES?

You can't help but laugh as you continue to read. You fall asleep while reading about the time Aegon fell out of a tree while trying to grab a bird.

You wake up and blink a couple times, clearing your vision. You sit up and jump back when you see Aemond next to you lying in your bed.

"Gods! When did you get here?" He has a smirk on his face as he continues to read while eating an apple.

"A while ago. You were sleeping peacefully I didn't wish to wake you." You nod and look at what he's holding. You quickly notice it's your diary and try to snatch it out of his hand but he's quicker. He clicks his tongue at you as you try to reach for it. "Im quite enjoying this. Listen to this one. Aemond gave me a flower today!"

"Aemond! Stop! Give it back" Your face flushes in embarrassment. "I was a kid!" He drops the apple and manages to grabs your hands with one of his and holds them down.

"He is so cute!" He looks back at you with a shocked expression. "You thought I was cute, princess?" Aemond pulls you to sit in his lap and you hide your face in his neck out of embarrassment. "Aemond smiled at me today!"

"Stop!!! Please I beg of you!" He laughs and puts the journal down.

"And this!" He lifts you out of his neck and waves the handkerchief in your face. "You swore to me that you lost it! Liar!"

Aemond begins tickling you and rolls you over caging you under him. He leans down and leaves a trail of kisses from your neck down to your collarbone.

"Aemond?" He hums back in response. "Why was I locked in my chambers?" He stops kissing you for a moment before he leaves a final one on your cheek and sits up.

"You need to break fast first...then we can talk."

Aemond calls for food and for your handmaids to prepare you a bath. You're shocked at first cause of how open he was about being in your chambers while you were fully undressed. You wanted to ask if the talk had gone well about the betrothal and if that's why he was ok with people seeing him here but you opted to wait.

He watches you eat occasionally grabbing slices of fruit off of your plate.

"If you want one you could just take from the tray you know?" He smirks as he puts another grape in his mouth.

"But they taste much better off of your plate." He leans over and bites the strawberry that you're holding.

"So." He leans back in his chair. "Are you going to tell me why I was locked in here?"

The atmosphere immediately changes and is tense. He sighs deeply.

"...King Viserys died..."

Your eyes widen and you drop the food in your hand back onto the plate. Your heart clenches at the news. You had spent much of childhood following him around, you had even willingly chosen to be his cupbearer in some of his council meetings simply because you wanted to be near him.

"...that doesn't explain why I was locked in my chambers Aemond. Matter of fact that is far from an explanation. If my grandsire died I should have been notified."

Aemond fidgets with his hands the same way Alicent does as he looks at the wall.

"Kepus. What are you not telling me?" He continues staring at the wall occasionally looking at you. "Aemond." [Uncle]

"Aegon was crowned king." He says it quickly with his head held high. "As the king's firstborn son, he is the rightful heir. He was crowned before the masses in the dragon pit."

Aemond watches as your breathing quickens and your facial expressions. Your lips are pressed together as you're clenching your hands so tight.

"Who made that decision?"

"It was the King's wish. He said it upon his deathbed to my mother." You roll your eyes and stare at the wall. There was a battle going on within your head. Part of you was understanding of the firstborn son point but the other part was devastated for your mother.

"Does my mother know? What of my grandmother? I was supposed to leave with her this mourning."

"...your grandmother interrupted the crowning. She was riding Meleys, many people died and just as many were injured." You cover your mouth with a shaking hand. "I believe she is already on her way to Dragonstone probably to speak to your mother..."

Meanwhile in Dragonstone

Rhaenys wasted no time heading straight for the princess. She had no time for formalities.

She walks into the room seeing them both by the fireplace.

"Thank you, Ser Lorent." Rhaenys stops at the head of the table. "Princess Rhaenys, might we hope for news of Lord Corlys' recovery?"

"Viserys is dead." Rhaenyra's face drops as Daemon turns around. "I grieve this loss with you Rhaenyra. My cousin, your father...possessed a kind heart." Rhaenyra struggled to comprehend what was happening. She knew her father would die soon but hoped she would be back to King's Landing in time to be there.

"There is more. Aegon has been crowned as his successor" Rhaenyra clutches her stomach as Daemon walks over.

"They crowned him?" Rhaenyra was looking off into space, grieving.

"How did Viserys die?" Daemon had a look on his face that no one could quite place. Was he sad? Angry? Or just plain confused.

"I could not say." They both look at each other.

"How long ago?" Rhaenyra asks.

"A day past, perhaps two. I was made prisoner in my quarters while the Queen made her preparations."

"Viserys has been slain." Daemon watches Rhaenyra.

"Alicent demanded you declare for Aegon." It was not a question, Rhaenyra already knew that it had happened.

"She did. I refused her." Rhaenyra let out a shaky breath.

"And yet you are alive." Of course, Daemon was skeptical, when was he ever not?

"The High Septon crowned Aegon in the Dragonpit. I witnessed it myself just before I fled on Meleys." Rhaenyra was still clutching her stomach.

"They crowned him before the masses." Rhaenys nodded.

"So that the masses would see him as their rightful King," Rhaenys responded.

"That whore of a Queen murdered my brother and stole his throne. And you could have burned them all for it." Daemon's unknown emotion was now evident, he was angry, livid even.

"A war is like to be fought over this treachery, to be sure. But that war is not mine to begin. I only rushed this warning to you out of loyalty to my husband and to my house." She took a deep breath. "The greens are coming for you Rhaenyra. And for your children."

"M-my children?" Rhaenyra's face contorted in pain. "My daughter! You brought her with you?" Daemon stood straight up.

"Sadly...no...Alicent had her chambers guarded well and her room had no passages. I'm sorry. I did not wish to leave my granddaughter either."

"You left my daughter with those cunts?" Daemon walked around the table to face Rhaenys. "You left her to become a bargain in this war?"

"I did my best Prince Daemon. We have allies within those walls that can get a message to her. Once I hear word she is alright I will be sending someone in to retrieve her."

"You have done enough." Daemon pointed at her. "I will retrieve my child from the snakes you fed her too."

"Enough Daemon..." Daemon turned to face Rhaenyra who was now hunched over gripping the table. "The babe... it's coming..."

King's Landing

Aemond watched as you paced around the room. You had requested he leave you alone for the a day only allowing in your handmaidens and refusing to see anyone else.

Since you had called for him this morning you hadn't said anything in almost an hour and instead paced around the room looking for the words to start this conversation. Occasionally you would stop, point at him and open your mouth but then you'd scowl and resume pacing again. He could tell you were conflicted.

"Ñuha jorrāelagon, kessa ao sit ilagon? Before you burn a hole into the floor." [My Love, will you sit down?]

"Now is not a time for jokes, Aemond! Do you know what your family has done? This is an act of war! They have usurped the throne right out from under my mother's feet. If you think she will let this go easily- no, if you think Daemon will let this go easily you are all sorely mistaken." you begin pacing again.

Aemond stood up and walked over to you and grabbed your hands.

"Gīda." [Calm] He pushed a strand of hair out of your face. "Everything is going to be ok."

"What will happen to me?" The thought had crossed your mind many times as you wondered what would be made of you.

"My grandsire and the King have agreed to our betrothal. They will announce it as part of the terms if she agrees to declare Aegon as the rightful King and kneel before him and the council."

"Terms?" You back away from him letting go of his hands. "Our marriage would no longer hold meaning Aemond. It would be seen merely as something my mother won in bowing to Aegon, a spoil of war. Either way, she would never say yes."

"Then Aegon will marry us anyway." He shrugs and pulls you back into him as if none of this bothered him. "He is my brother and he knows of the love I hold for you."

"And if I say no?" His face became stern.

"You wouldn't hurt me so."

"You mean the way that you have today?" He sighs deeply. "Why did you not come and free me from my chambers?"

"Because I knew you would leave at the first chance." You look away from him and he turns your face back towards him. "You're mine and I wasn't willing to risk losing what is mine."

You would typically enjoy this possessive air around him but you currently found it suffocating. You wanted nothing more than to put space between you but he was holding you tight against him.

"Aemond. This is not right. You must understand that?" He rolled his eyes and let you go.

"Who sits on the throne is none of my concern and not on my list priority."

"Then what is?" You step towards him angrily.

"You!" he snaps. "You are my only priority. If you say no to marrying me then you will be made prisoner here. You will spend the entirety of this war locked in here." You could tell he was being truthful. "Marry me and you will at least have some freedom."

"Some?" He walked back over to the table and sat down tired of this conversation. "What is some?"

"You will be allowed to walk freely around the castle with a guard of my choosing."

"And Vermithor?" You think of your dragon and where he could be. You had claimed him when you returned to Dragonstone after what happened at Driftmark. Aemond's bravery in claiming Vhagar led you to sneak into where he sleeps and approach the dragon yourself. You had also thought that if you claimed him you could ride to King's Landing and see him. You had learned the song Daemon would sing and tried singing it to him to calm him down. It worked despite almost being burnt to a crisp you had claimed him.

"I will visit him on Vhagar." He reached for your hand but you shied away. "You must understand that my grandsire worries about allowing you to have full freedom. After a while, you will be allowed to go riding."

"How long is a while Aemond?" He visibly gulped and bit the inside of his cheek. "How long?" Your voice was cold and made the hairs on his neck stand.

"Until you give birth to our firstborn." He said it quietly already knowing how you would react. It was smart you'd give them that. They know you wouldn't fly away while your child is in their possession. "My grandfather's decision not my own."

"And did you try to fight him on it?"

"Why would I?" He shrugged but soon noticed the angry expression on your face. "I want marriage with you, I want children." He tried to reach for you again.

"So do I Aemond! But not like this." You take his hand and he pulls you to sit on his lap. "I want us to marry because it is what we want. I want my mother to be there! This isn't the way I want to do this."

Aemond leans his head against your chest.

"My hands are tied, my love." You get off of his lap and walk over to the fireplace facing your back to him.

"I wish to be alone."

"Baby..." You hear him get up and walk over to you.

"Please go...now!" A few seconds later you hear him sigh and leave the room. You sit on the armchair and allow yourself to cry.

This was all too much for you. You worried for your mother and the rest of your family. Did they think you were a traitor now? Will they think you have chosen Aemond's family over them if you were to marry him?

You know there's no way your mother will kneel before Aegon, even if she decides to, Daemon would rather lock her in her chambers than agree to that.

How could they be so foolish? So reckless?

You walk over to your bed and lie down. You go over the pros and cons of agreeing to marry Aemond. You then think about ways you could escape. Maybe agreeing to a betrothal will at least get you the right to walk around, you could find your parent's allies within the walls and find a way back to them.

You can stall the wedding for a while. Aemond would understand you'd prefer to be married only after the war was over and your family could attend.

You soon tire yourself out with all this thinking and fall asleep.

You spend the next day alone in your chambers. Alicent had invited you to join her in breaking your fast but you respectfully declined. You needed more time.

You saw a boat sail out from King's Landing and knew it was most likely Otto heading out to deliver the terms to your mother. You knew it would not go well and they would be lucky if she didn't feed them to Syrax for their treachery.

It was only the following midday when you grew worried. You saw Vhagar fly away from the castle. Part of you wish you knew where he was going and the other part of you remained angry. You thought he knew you better, if he did he would have fought harder for your freedom right? He would have denied Otto's offer and not allowed him to make your marriage into something that they hoped would sway your mother into giving up her crown.

Gods you missed her, you prayed every moment for her safety. For all of their safety.

It rained that night. Something was off. You could feel it in your bones. You tried to sleep hoping it would calm your nerves. Your handmaid brought you tea to help you relax. You soon fell asleep but sadly even your dreams were disturbed.

You wake up on the floor of pitch black. Everything around you was dark. There was no light just darkness. You sat up and looked around.

"Hello?" Your voice echoed. You stood up and began walking around in the dark abyss not knowing where you were going.

"Gēlȳn enkagon jamela!" You hear Aemond's voice. [You owe a debt!]

You quickly turned around but nothing was there.

"Aemond?" You walked in the direction that you heard his voice. As you got closer you noticed your feet getting wet.

"Taoba!" You hear him again but in a different direction. [Boy!]

You turned again where you heard his voice and walked quicker in that direction. You felt something patter on your head and looked up. Nothing was there just darkness but you could for sure feel something wet as if it was rain.

There was a flash of a bright light to which you shielded your face.

"Daor Arrax!" Arrax? That's Luke's dragon.

"Luke? Luke, are you there?" You noticed your clothes clinging to your body as they were now soaked the scent of salty water filling your nose.

"Vhagar! No! No..." What had happened? Why was he saying no?

You look around you quickly trying to make sense of what it is you are hearing. The rain is heavier and you look at your hands. They aren't just wet...they're red. Your dress is now too stained red. You touch your cheek and look back at your hands and see the same red substance.

Something drops from above causing you to step back quickly. More pieces fall from the sky surrounding you. You shield your head and scream as the red rain grows heavier and more pieces fall.

When the rain softens and the sound of stuff falling ceases you open your eyes and look around you. Your face twists in pain as you see pieces of the body of Arrax surrounding you. It only gets worse when you see a human body part. You look closer and notice the hand.

"He got me." You hear his Lucerys voice and you instantly know it was his hand.

You wake up in a sweat your hair sticking to your neck and your pillow drenched. You look up and see Aemond standing at the end of your bed his clothes drenched.

And in that moment you knew.

The war had started.

A/N: So this is clearly turning into a series. Which I'm actually not mad about. Not sure where this is going but naturally the chances of any of this being 100% original is not possible. There are far too many HOTD fanfics for any ending or storyline to be original. I can only hope that it is 100% enjoyable.

I will still obviously do my best to come up with a unique ending but I feel like to have a unique ending people need to die. I need to start killing off characters like Grey's Anatomy 🤣

Anywho I hope y'all enjoyed this part! If you wish to be added to this Taglist or any other one please let me know!

Gen Taglist: @thought--bubble, @valeskafics

[castiwls]

back again!! would you do something with sam winchester perhaps where sam does something that makes reader realize that she’s in love with him and then skips to confessing and such?? love ur work SMMM

you are in love - s.w

Pairings; Sam x fem!reader

Synopsis; One coffee changes (almost) everything

Warnings; fluff (lots)

Notes;Tysmm!! I love this idea so much i really need to write for sam more <3 Also I highly suggested listening to 'you are in love' (by taylor swift) while reading this as I kinda based it on that song:)

Masterlist

'Small talk, he drives Coffee at midnight The light reflects The chain on your neck He says, "Look up" And your shoulders brush No proof, one touch But you felt enough'

The night breeze was cool against your skin as you settled into the grass beside Sam. “Here.” He passed you a takeaway cup which had been sitting beside him. You thanked him before taking a sip of the warm drink. “Is coffee at midnight a good idea?” you asked tilting your head slightly. Sam shrugged looking over to you. “Not like we were gonna sleep anyways.”  

The two of you sat in relative silence, making small talk as you slowly finished your drinks. You felt a small buzz from the caffeine slowly start to warm your body. “Y/n. Look.” Out of the corner of your eye, you could see Sam put down his drink before he pointed up to the sky. As he moved his shoulder brushed yours. You followed his finger and squinted slightly. “What am I meant to be looking at?” 

Sam let out a small laugh before leaning slightly closer and moving his finger in a pattern. His finger traced lines in the sky as he spoke. “Perseus was a Greek hero who killed Medusa. After He killed Medusa he found Andromeda who was chained to a rock, her parents wanted to sacrifice her to a sea monster. He saved her and later they got married.” You listened as Sam continued to explain how the two had become constellations and what they meant.

As he spoke you found yourself more and more captivated by his story. His smile seemed to grow as he spoke listing more and more information on the myth. As you watched him speak you felt yourself slowly become more and more captivated by him. The stars reflected off his eyes making them glisten slightly. 

 A small shiver ran through you as a particularly cold breeze ran through the area. 

“Are you cold?” The question brought you out of the almost trance-like state you had been in. You quickly looked away and cleared your throat. ‘No. No im fine.” Sam frowned before moving to take off his jacket. “Oh. Sam you don’t have to im-” He shook his head before cutting you off. “No. no, it's fine seriously.” He smiled as he wrapped the jacket around your shoulders.

His smile sent a slight flush to your cheeks. The jacket smelt like him, something which sent butterflies wild in your stomach. “That's a beautiful story.” You quietly spoke turning fully to face him. Sam smiled and you could have sworn a small blush dusted his cheeks. 

After a moment he stood before offering you a hand. “It’s late, we should probably head back.” You nodded allowing him to pull you up. 

You stood for a moment mulling over your thoughts. Were you in love with Sam?

It had been a few weeks since the night in the field and your feelings had only grown more.  You knew you had to say something soon or you were gonna go mad. The last few weeks had been with seemingly case after case but you finally had time to yourselves. 

Dean had wandered off to a bar a few hours ago leaving just you and Sam in the bunker. It was now or never. “Sam.” You called as you walked into the map room. Sam looked up from his laptop with a small smile. “Hey, what's up?” He shuts his laptop and turns his attention to you. 

“I uh..I need to talk to you about something.” He nodded before gesturing to the seat beside him. Your hand shook slightly as you sat down and placed your hands on your lap. Taking a breath you tried to push your nerves down before looking up to him.

“I don’t really know how to say this” You laughed nervously, beginning to play with your hands in your lap. You knew you had to say something now or you might not get the chance for god knows how long. 

Sam watched you for a moment equally confused and concerned by your behaviour. Leaning forward he took your hands into his drawing your attention back to him. He gently squeezed your hand. 

Taking a deep breath you opened your mouth. “I think im in love with you, but I don't wanna make it weird if you don't feel the same way an-” Your rambling was cut off by someone pressing their lips against yours.

It took a moment for your mind to catch up and register that the person kissing you was Sam. After a moment he pulled away moving to brush a strand of hair away from your face. 

“Took you long enough.” Both you and Sam flew away from each other at the sound of another person’s voice. Dean leaned against the wall with a smirk he waved a hand in your direction before pushing off the wall. As he walked past he clapped his brother on the back before sending you a wink and wandering down the hallway. “Remember to use protection lovebirds.” He yelled before disappearing around the corner.

Sam shook his head as you let out a quiet laugh. “Truthfully,” He started leaning in again. His hand moved to cup your check. “I think I’ve been in love with you since we met.” He gently ran his thumb across your cheek and you felt a slight flush on your cheeks.

His words left you feeling slightly giddy as he connected your lips again. 

You’d never been more grateful for coffee in your life.

'You are in love True love You are in love'

[grimsonandclover]

hi j came across ur blogs and FINALLY. someone who doesn’t write about puppy art or stepcest. i tbh would read anhtbjng abt patrick but i love childhood best freind patrick fics or enemies to lovers fics the most!!

All I Want For Christmas

Childhood Bestfriend!Patrick Zweig x classical singer!reader

Song of the post 'WHAT'S IT TO HIM? - Quadeca'

Yes! I don't yuck other people's yum but I noticed how it's everywhere in this fandom, which is fine, it's just not for me! There are some versions of puppy!characters that I can enjoy, but not when it gets really into the puppy stuff, ykwim? Stepcest and any other incest things are a hard no from me, though. Anyways, fuck, I love these two tropes so much, I could eat them for breakfast lunch and dinner and still have them as snacks and still never tire. but childhood friends to lovers >>> im such a softy for it. I wrote this the moment I saw your message, so it's semi-proofread, more so just me writing the little story I thought of as it came to me. if you want a smutty part two lmk and ill write it in a flash

I have no clue where the Christmas theme came from, it just kinda happened. I don't even celebrate Christmas lmao.

This was meant to be a blurb. Now it's a 5k word slow burn blurb. Hope you enjoy!

also the song linked has nothing to do w the story lmao, it's just what's playing. <3 quadeca

SFW

5.3k words

childhood bestfriend!Patrick Zweig, Never dates Tashi/Loses Art!AU, slow burn, timeskips, no content warnings

--(x)-- 1998 - 2006 --(x)--

You both grew up quite rich, you and Patrick Zweig. Going to the same charity events and galas and birthday dinners as kids because your parents would drag you both along to brag about your accomplishments. Patrick's parents would brag about how he's a tennis prodigy that's gonna go pro one day, have you seen him play? And your parents brag about your voice and your grades, how youre gonna get into any school you want (which you would be able to anyways since theyd just pay the school board). You've got the voice of an angel and since you were four they'd make you get up at parties and events and sing something by the piano. You were groomed to love the spotlight just like Patrick was groomed to love the rush of tennis.

Patrick loved hearing you sing. When you'd be ushered over to your spot by the piano player and ask the adults what they'd like to hear, Patrick would sit up from his slump at the dinner table or sofa, perking up like a dog being told its time for treats. He didn't really know anything about music, he just knew your voice did something in his chest.

You loved seeing him play. Your family had plenty of casual tennis players of its own, tennis being quite a popular sport amongst the wealthy. You understood the gist of it, but that wasn't why you asked your parents to go every time Patrick got to play. You wanted to go because it felt like the closest thing to seeing a shooting star up close. He was like a fireball on the court, even from a young age. His couches kept trying to train the unique serve out of him, you could see their cringing from the sidelines whenever he'd do it, but eventually they stopped when they realized how much he won with it. Because he did. A lot. It was mesmerizing to watch.

One Christmas the two of you finally properly spoke to eachother. You were both ten. Your parents had all gotten wine drunk in the other room, leaving the kids to try and get along in the Zweig's living room. The Christmas parties were always held at the Zweig house, it was the biggest. Didn't matter that they were Jewish. Never even crossed their mind, too big of an oppertunity to schmooze and secure business deals. Patrick never gave it a second thought, just happy he got gifts.

You two had just sat down by the fireplace as the other older kids convened on how to sneak some liquor without anyone noticing. You were too young to care about things like that, instead talking to eachother about school and your respective passions. It was the first proper conversation you'd had even though you had practically been in each other's lives since birth. Patrick liked hearing about the unserious gossip from your all-girls private school, how once again you were on the deans list and top of the class. He found it the funniest thing in the world when you confessed that you'd cheated on a math exam, your weakest subject. How you'd done that quite often actually. Patrick liked knowing you weren't as perfect as your parents boasted you to be, because that made you actually perfect in his eyes.

You liked hearing about the rowdy boys at his school and at tennis practice, and the stupid fights that would break out. Patrick would tell you about the famous tennis players his parents would get him to meet, some even practice with. How they'd comment on his serve, too, and when Patrick would imitate their voice and mannerisms, youd laugh till your stomach and cheeks hurt. Patrick decided then, at ten years old, to commit your laugh to memory. It was a sound as beautiful as your singing.

That became your routine at every dinner and every party your parents would take you to. You'd find solace and company with eachother, a rare, true friend in your world. You both never told your parents about the friendship because even then you knew they'd try and take advantage of it. Turn it into some political relationship, breed you two to marry or something for their benefits.

When Patrick's parents sent him off to the Mark Rebellato Tennis Academy when you were twelve, you cried into your pillow for hours. You'd promised to write eachother, but there's only so much writing a twelve year old can do before they get distracted. Your meetings went from twice a month to once a year. The Zweig family Christmas party.

Just like when you were ten, the two of you would meet up by the crackling fireplace and swap stories, updating each other on your lives. You performed with a real live orchestra last week a version of Silent Night and your mother cried from the crowd. Patrick was sorry he couldn't be there but you handed him a CD with a recording of the night, knowing he'd want to see it, and he said it was the best Christmas gift he'd ever gotten. He hadn't even watched it yet, but he knew. The tennis racket once owned by Bjorn Borg was a pretty great gift too, though (he'd keep it hung on his dorm wall for his entire time at the academy, then later in a case in the trunk of his car to keep it safe).

He had met a kid named Art at the academy, and he talked about how they became fast friends. Best friends. You didn't really have much time for friends, too busy with school and all the extracurriculars your parents had signed you up for since birth. It was kind of like that for Patrick before he left, and you were happy he got the chance to meet someone at the academy. Art sounded great, and you wished you could meet him.

The next year you did it again, but at 15 Patrick got pneumonia on Christmas eve and couldn't come. You sat by the fireplace alone, picking lint off your sweater. Not much had changed apart from his absence. The older kids, now nearing college, were still thinking of ways to get alcohol. Some messed around with eachother in the various rooms of the house while the parents were off doing whatever parents did, not having much else to do. You stayed by yourself, watching the fire and praying to God that Patrick would be okay.

The year after, Patrick was back. He was older now, and so were you, of course. You were both 16 now, puberty catching up with the both of you in the year you hadn't seen each other.

Patrick had started properly shaving now, and when you first laid eyes on him, waiting for you by the fireplace, the slight shadow of hair on his chin and jaw was the first thing you noticed. Your eyes trailed up the stubble to his cheeks, which had lost the baby fat and now made the apples of his cheeks much more visible, especially as he smiled up at you. He called your name excitedly, standing up to meet you in a hug. You had hugged before, but he never wore cologne before. He had clearly gone through a growth spurt, too, and easily could rest his chin on your head. When you pulled back from the hug, you grabbed his shoulders and held him at arms length, just looking at him. He did the same for you, taking in the slight increase of height yourself, the more mature glow in your skin, and, since he was still only a teenage boy and still Patrick Zweig, your new boobs. His eyebrows raised, a slow and impressed whistle blew from his lips as he gave you alook. "You've grow." He smiled, and you swatted his arms while you blushed. "Look who's talking." You said, poking his biceps. Tennis academy did him good.

You had never thought about it before, but that one year apart and your reunion woke something in you up. Patrick Zweig was hot. You didn't know, but that same part of his own brain ignited. The whole night you two still talked as normal, still giggled over stories and swapped gifts. He got you a necklace made from your favorite metal, a tiny but intricate tennis racket charm hanging on the bottom. It was simple, but it was so precious.

"So I can be with you more than once a year." He explained, and you couldn't help yourself when you pulled him into the biggest hug you could manage. It was the most heartwarming gift you had ever gotten. And it made you laugh too, especially when you reached over to give him his gift.

When he opened it, his eyes widened and laughed, picking up the simple silver chain bracelet with a tiny charm of your initial on it. You were a little nervous to give it to him, worried it seemed too couple-y of a gift instead of something you'd give a friend, but now that anxiety had gone. He put it on immediately, and you were so grateful that he didn't think it was too girly or soft for him to wear. Patrick Zweig could be crude and perverted (something you realized when he let slip the way he looked at some girls back at the academy), but he wasn't insecure. Not in that way, at least.

You sat a little closer together that year, knees brushing as you caught up. Art was still his best friend and you two made plans for how you could meet. You were still singing, the Christmas time performance of yours now a yearly tradition. He was still never able to come, but he promised one day he would. The other kids were now too old to come to his house, off at college dorm parties, some even old enough to be already married and having Christmas parties of their own. The living room was much more quiet for the two of you but it's not like you ever noticed them much before. The one true new addition was the cigarette that now dangled from his lips. You had initally scolded him for the new habit but it didn't take long for it to be passed between the two of you as you spoke. You did your best to not think about how it had touched his lips and then would touch yours.

When graduation came around and it was finally time to go off to college yourself, your heart sank a little. College meant you two would be too busy with your own lives to come back, and your parents already weren't too committed to dragging you along with them to their events anymore. When you sat by the fireplace for that final year, you found you had less to talk about. Life felt pretty slow for you, especially with your lack of real friends. It was the same deal every year. School, choir, then independent vocal lessons, then horseback riding, then the youth advisory board, then tutoring. Your days were all a countdown to Christmas, the one day of the year you weren't some busy prodigal daughter with too many responsibilities on your shoulders, but Patrick Zweig's best friend. That was the only thing expected of you.

Maybe not in the way Art Donaldson was, but you were his best friend. He was the love of your life, you were sure of it.

He asked about your plans for school, and you said you'd probably go to Julliard if you got accepted. You were being humble, of course. You got your acceptance letter months ago. Patrick, not knowing that, assured you that you would. "They'd be stupid to not let you in." He smiled, cigarette balancing between his teeth and his bottom lip. You nudged your shoulder against his, thanking him for the vote of confidence. When it was your turn to ask him, he shrugged.

"Ah, I dunno." He blew smoke from the corner of his mouth, away from you. Patrick sat, thinking to himself for a moment before turning to face you. "I've been thinking about it, and... I don't think I'm gonna go." He shrugged again, and your eyebrows pulled back in surprise. "Do your parents know that?" You asked, knowing they'd never allow him. The Zweigs loved boasting about how Patrick was going to continue the family name. Tennis might be his gift, but they expected him to finally grow up and be an adult, not a tennis player.

He shook his head, turning back to the fire crackling before you. "Fuck them," he whispered with a smirk. "I'm gonna go pro. Play at challengers and shit until I rank for the bigger stuff. Play at Wimbledon or the Olympics or something. Don't wanna risk an injury at some school before I can even do anything real, you know?"

You nod your head, understanding. It made sense for him, you just were worried about how his parents would react.

"Art's gonna go to Stanford." He said, lips a little downturned at the mention. "He wants a safety net, I guess. I don't really know." He blows another puff of smoke, handing the cigarette over to you. Then he turns to you again, chuckling a little humorlessly. "Gas is gonna be a bitch, going from California to New York."

"What do you mean?"

"Going back and forth to see you and Art." He said like it was the most obvious thing in the world, shocked you even asked. "Guess I could fly," Patrick thought to himself, thinking over the logistics of it, then seemingly deciding it would work. "Worth it."

Your chest constricted a little at the thought of him going through all of that just to see you. You insisted that he didn't have to, that you'd gladly fly over to see him instead of the other way around, but he persisted. "You'll have school and friends and shit. I'll have plenty of time to come over. Plus, you know, phones exist." He teased.

Patrick was right. They did, of course. For some reason, though, you two never called. Never even thought about it. It was a little nonsensical and you laughed, and he joined. You promised that you'd start calling him, and he promised you the same thing.

When you hugged him before you had to leave, you pressed a kiss to his cheek.

"Merry Christmas, Patrick."

He grinned, cheeks warming and turning pink. "I'm Jewish." He laughed, giving you a final hug. "Merry Christmas."

--(x)-- 2010 --(x)--

Graduation night at Alice Tully Hall was intense.

Four years had gone by in a flash and it was already the last week of May-- actually, it was already the end of graduation itself. Your cap was on your head and diploma in hand, the other one busy shaking the hands of the few late family and family friends that had come over to congratulate you. You were exhausted, both from the four years and from the night. All you wanted was to go to your apartment, flop onto your bed face first, and sleep the night away.

You had spent almost the entire celebration biting your nails and scanning the hall for the two pairs of eyes and smiles you wanted to see the most. When your name got called and you walked up on the stage, and your mother cried in the crowd like the night of your first concert, and your father gave you the same, unattached nod that was the closest he could get to saying he was proud of you. Patrick had told you he was gonna be late, just having finished a challenger in Philidelphia the same day. You just didn't think late meant missing the ceramony entirely.

Patrick was sitting in thick New York City traffic, banging his fist on his steering wheel, yelling at the car next to him. Art was in the passenger's seat, sighing and pinching the bridge of his nose.

"You fucking moron! Dumb fucking cunt! You know how much this is gonna cost!?" Patrick yelled, pointing to the driver's door that now had a dent in it. The traffic was so heavy he couldn't move, and he didn't want to get out in case it budged. He knew he was late, and now some guy in a truck, in a fucking truck in New York City, had just bumped into the side of Patrick's car. The dent wasn't anything that would permanently damage the car, but it was pretty nasty. "Who taught your to drive?" He yelled, almost leaning fully out of the window now. Art reached over to pull at the back of his shirt, trying to get him back in. "Are you blind!? We're in the middle of traffic and you still managed to hit me?"

"Christ, Patrick, get back in the fucking car!"

Patrick swatted his hand away. "My best friend is graduating and now I gotta pick her up with this shit on my car. What's your insurance!? I'm gonna sue the shit out of you!"

Cars started beeping at him and the driver in the truck was yelling back just as colorfully. "That piece of dog shit almost looks better with it! You should be fucking thanking me, asshole. Maybe your insurance will give you a better car!"

"A better car!?" Patrick was red in the face. "Why don't you let me return the favor then!"

"Oh, shit." Art was scrambling over the center console to really pull him back, knowing it was seconds away from getting violent.

--(x)--

You were leaning against the front doors playing with the tennis racket necklace you had never taken off when you got a call from Art. You had gotten it from him the first time you met him freshman year, it being the one connection you had to each other for the whole school year. He had become a really close friend of yours, even through he grainy speakers of your phone. You picked it up eagerly, the first thing you could hear being angry beeping in the background and a voice that sounded like Patrick yelling.

"Art? Where are you guys? What's going on?"

"Oh my god," Art said your name, a little frantic. "Okay, so, uh, we're running late, I know-" there's some shuffling you can hear, and you cut in. "The ceremony is already over." You tell them, a little disappointed. Art frowns but his attention is pulled back to the situation at hand.

"Congrats on graduating! Um, anyways, I called cause Patrick's kinda losing his shit right now. Some guy hit his car--"

"Oh my god! Are you guys alright?"

"Yeah, yeah, we're fine. It's just a dent. But now the two are in the middle of the street and Patrick's getting his ass kicked." He sounds nervous, because of course he is. His best friend is catching fists to the face. "I tried to help..." Art continues, and his hand goes back up to touch the future black eye he's now sporting. "But, um, I just wanted to let you know that I don't think we'll make it over-"

In the background, Patrick interrupts, managing to gather the strength to push the giant man from on top of him. "Oh, we're making it!" He yells out loud enough that you can just hear it over the speaker, then throws another punch at the guy's jaw. Patrick's nose was bleeding and his eyebrow was cut, and the other guy wasn't looking all that great either. He spat at the guy, adding "You made me miss her graduation." with another punch.

The cars around them suddenly started move, and the two friends froze. Traffic was moving again. The guy got another good punch onto Patrick before he was able to scramble up and run back to his car, yelling at Art to start driving before the guy caught up.

They finally got to Lincoln Center looking like a pair of hot messes and you spent the weekend in your apartment with them sleeping over, caring for their cuts and bruises and catching up, smoking out your apartment window. It was the best weekend you'd had in years.

--(x)-- 2019 --(x)--

The crowd cheering was deafening, and the spotlight was blinding. Nonetheless, you took a bow, thanking the audience for the night. Your hand reached out to the orchestra and another round of applause boomed. Nobody could smile bigger than your were. No one could beat the butterflies in your stomach.

It was the week before Christmas, and just like you had since you were 12, you were performing a concert. This time however it wasn't on a small stage at a theater in your hometown, but at Alice Tully Hall in New York City, the same hall you had graduated in nine years ago.

The lights dimmed and that was your cue to leave, first excitingly hugging the musicians who played so beautifully that night. You thanked them all, wished them a happy holiday, and walked off stage. Waiting for you, as always, stood Patrick Zweig.

The years had done him well. Tennis kept him built like a marble statue, age refined his features, and his own laziness left the slightly auburn stubble on his cheeks to grow out. He was wearing the one tux he still owned, slightly tight around the arms and legs as he outgrew it.

Patrick had long cut contact with his parents, becoming financially independent (much to the dismay of his bank account), and no longer had to deal with the constant phone calls about how he was letting down the Zweig name with his tennis career. The days of them bragging about his talent were long gone, it was meant to be a hobby, not a career. Who was going to take over the Zweig family business now? He couldn't give less of a fuck. His designer wardrobe slowly sold off to pay for all the gas he consumed driving from matches to his best friends throughout the years, shedding his past with every article of clothing.

Patrick made sure to never repeat the same mistake as your graduation. At every event, he was there. Early, if possible. Never joining tournaments or challengers held on the same day as important events like tonight, not that there really were any on Christmas Eve. He made sure to make up for all the time you weren't together growing up.

Patrick held a bunch of roses in his hands for you as you approached, enveloping him in a hug. "Flowers are from the three of us." He spoke into your hair, referring to him, Art, and Art's wife Tashi. Free hand wrapping around your shoulder to squeeze you back with equal amounts of love. "Lily even made you a card. You were incredible, like always. Incredible."

You smiled up at him, kissing his cheek before hugging again. When you pull back, you look around him for the aforementioned Donaldsons. "They're waiting for Art to finish pissing. Whole night he kept complaining, drank too much water on the ride here but idiot didn't want to get up in the middle of your show and go." He chuckled, handing you the bouquet. You loop your arm into his, the feeling of him grounding you after the intense rush of adrenaline and emotions that came with performing to such a large audience or such a special night. Walking out into the main hall together, a couple people greet and shake your hand, some asking for pictures. A person even recognized Patrick, which was quite uncommon with his career now dwindling down an unfortunate and unsuccessful path (You were sure any day now he was gonna pick back up and climb the ranking again. You made sure to tell him after every match).

The two of you leaned against a wall as the attention died down and people began going home. In your heels, you were tall enough to rest your head comfortable on Patrick's shoulder. He smiled at the gesture, leaning his head on yours. Closing your eyes, you took in the whole night. The fading adrenaline, the sweat that gathered on your forehead drying, the sound of the crowd getting quieter by the second. The material of Patrick's tux on your cheek and ear, his steady and relaxed breathing, the warmth of his embrace, the musky cologne he had been using since he was a teenager.

Patrick enjoyed the moments alone he had with you. He wasn't Patrick Zweig the failed heir to the Zweig throne just like how he was a failed tennis player. He was Patrick Zweig, your best friend. That was the only thing expected of him.

Longer than Art Donaldson ever was. You were the love of his life, he was sure of it.

He inhaled the scent of your hair and your perfume, arm wrapped around your shoulder as his thumb rubbed comforting circles on it. When he closed his eyes, he replayed how you looked on the stage while you sang. You were as beautiful as your voice. Always had been, always will be. Every performance of yours took him back to when things were much simpler, when he'd watch you by their otherwise untouched piano at formal dinners and you'd sing a Sinatra song for the parents. He could almost taste the roasted chicken, almost feel the silverware in his hands.

Your hand reached up to your chest and your fingers played with the little tennis racket charm, a habit you'd had for years. Patrick loved knowing you kept the necklace on after all this time, even on nights like this where you could've replaced it with something much more grand and expensive.

He had never taken his bracelet off. Even in the brief relationships or hookups he'd have and partners would question what the initial stood for. He'd never answer, just tell them it was important to him.

You opened your eyes again when the sound of little feet in little shoes click-clacked on the tile floor towards you, your name exclaimed from eager lips. Lily bounded up to you, her honerary aunt, and wrapped her arms around your waist. Art and Tashi followed behind her.

Lily pulled back from the hug, looking up at you. "You were like a superstar!" She beamed, one of her front teeth missing. You hug Art and Tashi who compliment your dress and your performance before leaving with them to the dinner reservation you all had, Patrick's arm still around your shoulder as you walked.

At dinner, through mouthfulls of spaghetti, Lily asked you constant questions about what it's like to sing and be on stage. You answered every single one, and at the end of her little interview she made an announcement. "When I grow up I wanna be a tennis player like mommy and daddy," she started, Tashi scolding her to stop talking while she's eating as she wiped with a napkin at the corners of her daughter's mouth. Art's bottom lip jutted out in a little pout, melting in the hands of his daughter. "But, I wanna be a singer-tennis player. So I can wear pretty dresses like you."

You laugh, coming to Tashi's defense. "Your mom wears gorgeous dresses, Lily."

"Yeah, but she doesn't wear them on a stage. I wanna do that."

Point proved, you shrug. Patrick turns to look at you as he's sitting directly beside you. He doesn't say anything, just admires you under the dim and moody lighting of the resteraunt as you talk with Lily, resting his chin in his hand and smiling into his palm. Art and Tashi share a knowing look.

The night decidingly comes to an end when the couple announces they need to put Lily to bed.

"I'm not twenty anymore," Tashi says, handing the bill to the waiting server. "I knock out at ten P.M."

Patrick drove you home like you agreed, and it was assumed he'd stay the night like he often did on your couch. As you changed into more comfortable clothes in your room, he grabbed his own clothes from the trunk of his car and changed in your bathroom. Afterward, he silently observed as you washed off your makeup and took down your hair from its simple updo. It felt domestic. It felt like something a boyfriend does with his girlfriend after a long day. Patrick let himself pretend for a moment that that's exactly what was happening.

When you were done the two of you sat on the couch and cuddled, debating on what movie to wind down to as you settled into his arms as he laid his head against the arm rest.

"Home Alone?" You ask, grabbing the remote and flicking through the options. He shook his head.

"Watched that with Art and Lily just last week. What about Elf?"

You agree, and the movie begins to play. The volume's low and you spend more time talking to each other than actually watching, one of your hands on the arm wrapped around your chest scratching up and down and the other resting on your stomach. Patrick's hand on your chest toyed with your necklace while the other arm rested on your head, lazily scratching as you watched and talked. Neither of you realized when you both fell asleep there.

The sun rising through your window wakes you up, the light bright against your eyelids. You shifted a little, lifting your head but keeping your eyes closed. The first thing your senses picked up on was the warm body of Patrick underneath you, steady rising and falling breaths and the lignering scent of the cologne he applied yesterday still faintly on his skin. His hands were still on your chest and head when you woke up, sliding off when you moved to look at him.

The stresses of adulthood were almost undetectable on his face. Patrick had the same freckles littering his skin that he had as a kid, and you used to tell him that in a crowd of identical people you'd be able to pick him out just by the freckles on his waterline. Did that make sense? Probably not, but it did when you were fourteen. You didn't really care, to be honest, just wanting him to open his eyes so you could see the freckles there again.

As if he could hear your thoughts, his eyelashed fluttered before opening. The first thing he saw was you.

Like an angel. His tired brain though for a moment he died and went to heaven.

"Goodmorning." He rasped, morning voice deep and scratchy. You smiled, looking out the window at the falling snow. "Merry Christmas." You say instead. "I'm Jewish," He chuckled, a hand raising to brush a strand of hair from your face before whispering "Merry Christmas" back. He said the same thing every year.

You stayed silent like that, laying on his chest and just staring at him as he played with your hair. There was some sort of unsaid agreement between the two of you, something your souls communicated with each other without your knowlage as you slept. Patrick felt like his heart could stop at any moment with how etheral you felt.

"What do you want for Christmas?" He asked, breaking the quiet in the room and whispering it like a secret.

Your eyes moved from his to his lips, and at the action his tongue darted out to lick them. It felt like the 21 years you had been best friends slipped away from your fingers and had gone. Time was gone. Reason was gone. The only thing left in the entire world was you, him, and the couch. You knew what you wanted. You had wanted it since you were sixteen. He's sure he's wanted it since the creation of his soul.

His hand moved from your hair to your jaw, both of you slightly breathless, eyes on the other's lips. His calloused hands told you, you weren't dreaming despire how hazy reality felt. His breath on your lips told you, you were still alive despite how heaven-like reality felt.

Patrick leaned in, his nose rubbing on yours and your foreheads touching, lips mere centimeters apart, eyes barely open. His best friend. His soulmate. He was never whole when he wasn't around you.

He kissed you on Christmas morning, the charm of your inital on his bracelet tickling your shoulder, the tennis racket on your necklace resting on his chest.

[hjparisian]

you're losing me pt. II- theodore nott x reader

p: theodore nott x gn! reader w: angst (sorry not sorry), slight cussing summary: (Y/N) is coping with their fight with Theodore, but an unwanted conversation reveals more than (Y/N) expected. a/n: the long awaited part two, thank you all for being patient and for all the love you gave to part one. can't believe it took me this long to get part two out and im so sorry but i had trouble writing and coming up with ideas

Winter break had felt like the longest and worst couple weeks to (Y/N) ever. All they really did was sat in their room, read, attempt to study, and occasionally write to Pansy.

The Malfoy's had thrown a party on New Year's Eve. All pureblooded families were invited, which meant (Y/N)'s family and the Nott family. They were not ready to see Theodore. Unfortunately, no matter how hard (Y/N) tried, they couldn't escape it.

The day of the party, (Y/N) sat and stared at the outfit laid out for them to wear. Maybe it'll spontaneously combust and they would have no outfit to wear and can't go. Yeah, right. As if that'll actually happen. Their mother probably has a bunch of backup outfits for them to wear anyways.

At least Pansy said she would try to stay by their side the whole time. Keyword, try. Because Blaise would probably try to steal Pansy to go snog somewhere.

The second (Y/N) and their parents entered the Malfoy Manor, they felt like running away and throwing up. Why? Oh, because of course the first person they'd find was Theodore Nott.

"(Y/N)!"

Oh bless Pansy for catching their attention. But also curse her because apparently the sound of their name caught Theodore's ears and made him turn his head towards them.

(Y/N) looked away from him.

(Y/N) hugged Pansy. "Pansy! How has your break been?"

"It's been nice. Got to hang out with Blaise a lot," she said. "What about you (Y/N)? How have you been feeling?"

Now, (Y/N) could lie and say they've been great and having a lovely break. But of course Pansy would see straight through their little lie.

"If I have to be honest Pans, I still feel like shit."

Pansy looked at them with concern. The fact that the reason (Y/N) felt terrible was in the room didn't help them.

"Well, I know Millicent and Tracey are here and I know they wanna catch up with us. Plus there's drinks. There's nothing better than drinks at these boring parties, right?" Pansy said in attempt to make (Y/N) feel better.

The two had gone and found their fellow schoolmates at the side of the room. Unfortunately for (Y/N), Daphne Greengrass and her sister Astoria were also there.

Pansy and (Y/N) greeted their schoolmates, with (Y/N) avoiding eye contact with Daphne. They listened as Pansy was telling the other girls about what she's been doing.

"What about you, (Y/N)?" Tracey asked them. "Done anything fun during break?"

"I've just been home reading," They told Tracey. "My parents decided not to go to France this year so I've been cooped up in my room."

"What about Theodore?" piped Millicent. Pansy's eyes slightly widened at her friend's question. "You didn't go see him?"

(Y/N) wanted the ground to open up and swallow them whole. Of course their other friends would ask about their relationship with Theodore. No one seems to know what's going on other than Pansy and maybe Blaise.

"No I didn't," (Y/N) said. "He's been busy." They looked at Daphne to see any reaction from her but surprisingly it was pretty neutral.

"I think I'm going to get a glass of champagne or something." (Y/N) said. "Anyone want one?"

"Oh, one for me please!" Tracey told them. (Y/N) nodded before leaving to find one of the waiters walking around with trays full of champagne.

After grabbing two drinks for themselves and Tracey, (Y/N) turned around to find themselves face to face with the one person they did not want to see.

Theodore fucking Nott.

The boy also grabbed a glass from the waiter's tray and took a sip on it.

"So, you're here," He said to (Y/N).

"I am."

Theodore looked them up and down. "You look nice."

(Y/N) gave him a curt 'thanks', wanting to get away from here.

"(Y/N)," Theodore called out.

"What do you want?" (Y/N) asked him impatiently. "I've got friends waiting for me."

"Just wanted to say hope you're having a nice break," he said hesitantly, almost as if he wanted to say something else.

(Y/N) gave him an odd look before shaking their head and walking away, not wanting to look at him a second more.

Once (Y/N) returned to their group and handed Tracey her drink, they find Pansy staring at them.

"You alright?" She whispered. "I saw you had a run in with Theodore."

(Y/N) nods their head. "I just want to get this party over with."

The rest of the party had gone alright thanks to Pansy, who managed to stay with them the whole time. They went the rest of the break without seeing Theodore, but unfortunately, the holidays ended and (Y/N) had to return to school and see him.

They'd did everything they can to avoid being around Theodore for longer than they have to, whether that was finding a different route to classes, sitting besides Pansy a few tables away from him (though this one wasn't really a change), or studying in their dorm rather than the library.

The only thing (Y/N) couldn't avoid was sitting away from him during lunch and dinner. Sure, they could beg Pansy to sit farther down the table, but the others would find it odd that the two were not sitting with them since they always ate together.

So (Y/N) just had to suck it up and remain civil. The good thing was that even when Theodore and (Y/N) were in good standing, they would always sit with Pansy so no one would find it weird. This whole thing was a struggle because even though (Y/N) was upset at Theodore and trying to avoid him, they could help but seek glances at Theodore. So did he.

(Y/N) had enough of being cooped up in their room, so they decided to study in the common room one night. There were a couple people scattered in the room, but most of the Slytherins were either in their dorms or snuck out to merlin knows where.

(Y/N) was looking at their Transfiguration book until a voice disrupts their focus.

"Hey. Do you mind if I sit here?"

It was Theodore Nott.

"There's plenty of space in the common room Nott," (Y/N) pointed out. "You can sit somewhere else."

"Well actually, I wanted to talk to you."

(Y/N) rolled their eyes before looking towards Theodore. "What's there to talk about?"

Theodore huffed before responding. "We need to talk about what happened before break. We didn't exactly left off on the right foot."

"Obviously."

(Y/N) felt a multitude of emotions hit them. They felt angry, upset, frustrated. They weren't even sure they wanted Theodore to address what happened. It would either end in two ways, they would move past it and stay together, or it would lead to the end of them.

But (Y/N) knew they couldn't avoid this any longer. They nodded towards the seat next to them.

"Sit." Theodore sat down.

"So," (Y/N) began. "Talk."

"Right. Well, I think you should know why I was talking to Daphne." Theodore starts. "Her parents and my father were talking about joining forces with the Dark Lord. And my father decided I was old enough to join them."

(Y/N) saw Theodore rub his left forearm, where the dark mark was usually placed. This news shocked them. (Y/N) knew that his father supported Voldemort and preached his ideals, but they never thought he would make Theodore become a death eater.

"Daphne found out what happened when she overheard my father and her father talking with each other. She confronted me about it so I admitted it. Wasn't worth trying to hide if she pretty much already knew about it. She's been trying to calm me down and help me not think about what happened."

There were a million different things going through (Y/N)'s head, yet the only thing that settled was why didn't he tell them? They could've help him too.

"Why didn't you tell me about it?" (Y/N) asked.

The boy sighed, not daring to meet their eyes. "I didn't want you to get involved in this."

"Theodore, I don't care," they exclaimed. "I want to help you. I would've listened to you and help you!"

"(Y/N) this is not your place-"

"I'm not a child anymore Theodore!" (Y/N) screamed. "I know what's going on, I'm not an idiot!"

"(Y/N), you have to listen to me! Your parents aren't involved with the Dark Lord this time around. If I told you and someone finds out, you could put you and your parents in danger."

(Y/N) huffed. "Oh, but Daphne gets to know?"

"Daphne is protected because of her parents and she found out herself. I did not tell her."

"Oh, but you continued to talk to her about it!"

Theodore was starting to get frustrated. "Who else was I supposed to talk to?"

"Me! Your partner? Or even Draco, his dad supports Voldemort, he'd probably understand how you felt."

Theodore's eyes widen a bit at the mention of Draco's name, but (Y/N) didn't notice.

"Look (Y/N)," Theodore slowly said. "I'm sorry I didn't talk to you about this. But you have to understand why I didn't tell you. I still care about you and this is something I didn't want you to get mixed in with, alright?"

(Y/N) sat there, calming themselves down. There was still one question that's been haunting them since the party.

"(Y/N)?"

"I just have one question for you." (Y/N) said, looking towards Theodore. The boy motioned for them to continue. "Did you ever feel anything for Daphne?"

There was a bit of hesitation in Theodore before he responded. "No."

(Y/N) looked at him oddly, noticing his hesitation.

"Theodore? Tell me the truth."

Theodore sighed before speaking. "I never lost feelings for you, but when I was talking Daphne, I felt different around her."

"W-what?" (Y/N) stuttered out. "Did you do anything?"

"No! I promise you I would never do anything with her." Theodore told them. "She's talking with Pucey anyways."

(Y/N) could feel the whirlpool of emotions coming back. Theodore confirmed one of the things they were hoping wasn't true. But he still liked them. But he's been hiding about him joining the Dark Lord. It was all too much to take in.

They leaned back against the chair with their arms crossed, staring into the dimly lit fire. "So, what do we do now?"

"What do you mean?" Theodore questioned them.

"About our relationship. What happens now?

There was a minute of uncomfortable silence penetrating the now empty room. The two of them not saying anything.

Another sigh emitted from Theodore before he stated his answer. "I think it's best if we take a break."

(Y/N) could feel their heart break at his answer. Their nightmare came true. They were losing him.

"There's a lot going on lately. With the war and Dark Lord rising it's going to be difficult to handle it all, especially with where I stand with him," Theodore said, motioning towards his left arm. "And I don't want to get you or your family involved in it."

"Yeah, y-you're right," (Y/N) choked out. "But we can still talk and be friends, right?"

"We can try."

(Y/N) nodded at his answer, trying not to let the tears welling up in their eyes escape. It seemed that Theodore had noticed it though, as he wrapped his arms in one last embrace.

"I love you, Theo."

There was a moment of silence before Theodore responded.

"I love you too."

The two sat there, (Y/N) quietly sobbing into Theodore's shoulder, not wanting to let go because that would be the last time they would be with him and would confirm their nightmare.

They lost Theodore.

[wands-natsthing]

Sunday Morning

This story was on my old acct @wandanatsthings I made a new one (aka this one) which will be the acct I use from now on.

HI, so this is my first fic and first time writing anything so stay with me lol. I love reading ALL of the wandanat x reader fics on here and I decided that I was gonna try myself. Now I know this isn't great or even good for that matter but it is the start of hopefully a great journey and as time goes on I'll continue to get better fingers crossed. So if you have any tips or feedback please feel free to comment and enjoy. :))

(P.s im dyslexic and grammar isn’t my thing)

Word Count: 960

Warnings: I don't think there are any? maybe religious beliefs but it does not go far in detail. It's really just fluffy.

Summary: Wanda and Natasha surprise you by going to church with you one Sunday.

It was a Sunday morning when you heard the alarm you set the night before go off. The alarm told you It was time to get up and go to church. As you rolled over to turn the alarm off you realized something. Your girlfriends were nowhere to be found. Now I know what you may be thinking. "You're gay and are going to church?" I know that may seem a bit off to some people, but the church is somewhere I've always felt safe. It's where I grew up. Even when I was struggling with my sexuality and homophobia I always felt like I could go to church and feel safe and accepted. It was one of the only places you felt that way besides your girlfriend's arms. Speaking of you still had no idea where they were.

Now it wasn't super early. You weren't one of those people who got up to go to church at the butt crack of dawn. It was only 9 am. That meant Natasha should have been back in bed with you and Wanda from her early morning run by now but she wasn't and you had no idea where Wanda was. You decided to get up and go look for them. You had to get up and get dressed soon anyway so you wouldn’t be late. You listened to see if you heard anyone in the bathroom and you didn’t. So You decided to make your way downstairs.

The closer you got to the stairs you could hear lovers laughing together and the smell of Wanda's pancakes. The sound and the smell put a smile on your face.

You walked down the stairs into the kitchen and before they could see that you were there, you just admired them. Seeing them wrapped up in each other’s arms. Natasha had her arms wrapped around Wanda’s waist while Wanda was at the stove making sure the pancakes wouldn’t burn because Natasha couldn’t cook to save her life. You loved seeing them so domestic. You also took note that Natasha wasn't in her normal morning workout clothes and Wanda wasn't wearing the pajamas from the night before. You didn't have much time to think about it though, because your beautiful witch finally noticed you standing there.

She walk’s toward you with a smile on her face and open arms. “Good Morning detka how did you sleep?” she asked. “I slept okay, I woke up to an empty bed though,” you say pouting. Natasha then comes up behind you wrapping her arms around your waist “Good morning baby” she says with a kiss on your forehead. “I'm sorry you woke up alone, we wanted to make you breakfast and ask you something. Isn't that right wands?’ Wanda looks up at you and nods saying “that is right love.” You notice they're looking at each other the way they do when they have something planned. “ You two are up to something,” you say, giving them a look. “Yes but you will find out after breakfast now let's go eat,” says Wanda.

You all follow Wanda to the dining room table with plates of pancakes in hand, you sit down in the seat you always do with Natasha at the head of the table you to her left and Wanda across from you to her right. While you guys are eating you pay more attention to their outfits. Natasha had on a white dress shirt and black slacks. While Wanda had on about the same thing just with an added suit jacket. They both looked nice you thought but you couldn't help but wonder where they were going dressed like that. You couldn't remember them telling you that they had anything planned this morning. So you decide to ask them. “Hey guys are you going anywhere this morning? You look nice” You see them turn to look at each other with smiles on their faces. Wanda is the one to speak up. “Actually yes detka, we were wondering if we could accompany you today at church?” They both look at you with hopeful glints in their eyes.

Now neither one of them was religious in any kind of way but that didn't stop them from letting you go church at all, you never even really talked about it besides them asking you how it went every time you got home. You never invited them simply because you didn't think that they would want to come, but hearing that they were asking you to come made your heart melt. You loved that they were taking an interest in something that meant so much to you. In something that made you who you are. “Detka '' You hear them say in your midst of awing. You snap out of it and say “Yes, Yes I would love for you to come with me’ ‘But are you sure I know you guys aren't religious like that.” “We are so sure sweet girl, we want to see the place that makes you feel safe and the place that makes you, and that brings that smile to your face every Sunday” Natasha says. Wanda then goes on to say “ yes exactly what Tasha said we want the experience and would love to go with you.” You start to tear up at their words you couldn't believe it. “ You don't know how much this means to me. I love you guys so much " And we love you too,” they both say. You all get up and hug each other so tight with smiles on your faces. You look up at them and say “I thank God every day for the love that we share and I will forever cherish it."

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What do you guys think? lemme know!